#no beta we die like the old ones did

[vampyrsm]

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏

✽ — PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ✽ — SYNOPSIS: When a job goes south, Bakugou and Kirishima are left dealing with the consequences of saving a life that maybe they shouldn't have. ✽ — WORD COUNT: est. 30.2k ✽ — WARNINGS: Female reader (she/her used), Cyberpunk AU, gun violence, gunshot wounds, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, body modifications, amnesia, death threats, POV changes between Bakugou & Reader, enemies to lovers (?), eventual smut, angst, no beta reader, no second part, there are no happy endings in night city. ✽ — NOTES: It only took me two years but hey, it's here. You don't necessarily need to know anything about cyberpunk to read this, I've tried to explain things as best as I can in the fic itself. But if you have any questions, please feel free to send me an ask! ✽ — EXTRAS: Playlist // AO3

“Shit!”

“The fuck did you do now?!” The blonde rounds the back of the car, a hand clasping the handgun tight in one hand whilst the other runs frantically through his sweat-slicked hair. It was not meant to go like this, this was meant to be an easy job. 

That’s what Aizawa said! Easy! The warehouse they were supposed to hit tonight was rumoured to be empty, no one had been seen moving in and out of it for days. There wasn’t meant to be a gunfight and now Bakugou worries about how it’ll come back around to bite him in the ass. 

His eyes snap away from the pools of blood and a mixture of chemical fluids. Kirishima is hunched over something in the open trunk of the car, his shoulders are bunched and Bakugou can practically feel the tension rolling off of his best friend in waves. “Oi, what the fuck is—”

Kirishima steps back, and Bakugou’s words die on the tip of his tongue when he stares down at the loot Aizawa had sent them to get. He had said it was just a simple shipment, a bunch of cyberware shit that needed to be shifted from one side of Night City to the other. But this was not just any old sort of cyberware. 

Arasaka cyberware. 

That meant the crate would most likely be tracked, and inside of it would be goods worth more money than either of the two Mercs had touched in their entire life.

“Oh fuck me–” Bakugou speaks first, eyes locked onto the metallic case. “Ei, we need to drop this shit. We can’t be caught with it, they’ll have our fucking balls.”

“No shit we can’t be caught with it! But what do we do with it now?! We can’t just leave it, what if the Maelstrom comes back and takes whatever’s inside of it?” Kirishima’s the one glaring at Bakugou now, the look making the man of 6’8” seem more of a terrifying monster than anything. “Why did you have to say yes to this job, man? We were fine for a few more weeks–”

“Because it would’ve gotten us both out of the fucking city Eijirou!” Bakugou yells finally, he is shorter than Kirishima but still at his own height of 6’3”, he makes up for his lack of height in comparison with his explosive anger. “I took it so that we could go back fucking home! Don’t you want that?!”

“Of course, I wan–”

Bang!

Instinctively Bakugou and Kirishima drop to the ground, Bakugou pulls his handgun up and is ready to fire whilst Kirishima's skin shifts with the metal plating. The two of them were a two-man team that was inseparable, Kirishima the shield and Bakugou the firepower. Both of their eyes are locked together as they wait to see if there’s another gunshot, Bakugou’s heart feels like it might beat its way out of his chest any minute now. He was certain he had gotten everyone, his optical enhancements had confirmed as much. 

The red of his eyes flash to life as he takes a deep breath before peeking over the back of the car, it’s silent for a moment before he hears a dragging noise and sure enough—there’s a body heat signature east of the car, hidden behind some boxes and crates. His arms adjust on the car, holding his gun steady, ready to shoot the second their head peeks over the crate.

…But then the heat signature flickers out, and Bakugou drops his position in confusion before there’s another bang and this time the bullet does collide with the car. 

“Fuck, they’ve got some sort of tech that lets them hide from my optics,” Bakugou whispers harshly to Kirishima who has his back plastered to the car, his face stoic despite the possibility of being taken out by someone who was possessing cyberware that’d allow them to appear out of thin air practically. 

Kirishima nods once, the body plating along his forearms clicking into place as he readies to use himself as a human shield. Bakugou steels his nerves, eyes flashing back to life before finally saying “Move with me.”

The two of them are up in an instant, Kirishima crossing his arms over his upper half and tensing his muscles to ensure his body mass covers Bakugou entirely whilst the blonde slips his arm just beneath Kirishima’s with the gun poised and ready to shoot. The crimson of his eye gleams in the darkness when he catches the heat signature once again dashing from one crate to another and this time Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. The gun fires in rapid succession, neither of the men flinching. The reaction is immediate when there’s what sounds like something falling to the floor. 

“Lost visual again,” Bakugou confirms when the warm red spot vanishes from his vision, leaving just droplets of what must be blood on the floor in their wake. Both mercs wait in silent anticipation, Kirishima moving with each step Bakugou takes as if it were second nature to him—perhaps at this point in life, it was second nature. 

Kirishima had come with Bakugou from Tokyo to Night City nearly 15 years ago with the plan that the two of them were simply there for one job. It was going to give them life-changing money, something the two of them desperately needed for themselves and their families back home. 

“Ei!” Bakugou yells, Kirishima plants both of his boots against the ground and brings up his arms to defend his face. The bullet buries itself into the metal plating of his arm, pulling a deep grunt from the man.

“Motherfucker–!” 

Bakugou again fires the gun, a snarl resting on his face and this time he hears the sound of flesh being hit by the bullet, and then the sound of a body slumping onto the ground. Kirishima finally steps down from being the human shield, pulling his arm up to view the bullet that’s embedded deep into his forearm. No doubt the Doc will be pissed about this when he gets back.

“All good?” Bakugou asks, changing out the mag in his gun before glancing towards the foot he can now see peeking out from behind the boxes. Kirishima grunts a yes whilst pulling the bullet free from his arm, the sound of it hitting the floor loud in the now silent warehouse. “Doc’s gonna kill ya for that.” 

“Ya think? She only just upgraded it for me.” Kirishima almost whines, quite the opposite of the man he just was as he watches the black liquid of the synthetic fluids leak from his arm in place of blood. “If I ask her nicely, do you think– Hey, where are you going?” Kirishima watches Bakugou slam shut the trunk of the car before stomping his way over to the body he’d just shot, he had to know if it was enough scumbag from some gang or if Arasaka were already onto them.

Bakugou rounds the crate, readying his gun to fire once more and freezes in place; gun raised just slightly, eyes widened and mouth ajar. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me—Ei, get here. Now.”

Kirishima walks over when the ash blonde hisses at him to hurry the fuck up, wiping the black liquid free from his arms before looking down at what Bakugou was staring at. 

“Ohh.. fuck, dude.” He gapes at the girl lying on the floor, covered head-to-toe in blacked-out clothing. But it wasn’t the fact it was a girl that Bakugou had taken down, but rather it was the fact she had the Militech symbol stitched into the sleeve of her t-shirt. “What the fuck did Militech want with this?”

“I don’t know—maybe to reignite that old corporate war they had years ago with Arasaka? Everyone knows both of them are fucked up.” Bakugou is still frozen, the handgun still aimed to shoot. If he takes out this Militech assassin, it’s most likely going to be tracked back to them and by them; he means the new family he had found in Night City. It was a tightly knit group, all coming from similar backgrounds to his own but ending up in NC for different reasons. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t get them killed because he took a job to run away.

Kirishima squats down next to the body, head tilting as he leans a little closer towards her head. His hand hovers just next to her face, “The fuck you doin’ now? Gettin’ your big ass fingerprints all over the body so they ca—” 

“Shush,” Kirishima demands, and Bakugou goes to defy immediately before he’s shushed for a second time whilst Kirishima puts his index finger beneath her nose. It’s a tense moment, but he feels it. “Still breathing, we could still call trauma and—”

“And what? She relays to her boss that she ran into one very identifiable red-haired giant and his angry friend? No. We kill her.” 

“Wait! Wait!” Kirishima moves to push the gun away when Bakugou raises it, meeting his scathing glare with his own determined one. “What if we use her for info? Clearly whatever is in that box is worth enough to get both Arasaka and Militech willing to fight.” 

Bakugou’s jaw ticks as he clenches it, eyes flicking between his red-haired friend and the girl on the floor. He’s right, Aizawa might know something about this, and if they’re able to pull info from her about Militech then they could probably sell it to Arasaka for a pretty penny. 

“Shit.” He huffs, finally pulling the gun back and holstering it. “Fine, but you’re the fucker that’s got to explain why we’re dragging a half-dead Militech asshole through the Docs door.”

“—not keeping—” 

“This is your—” 

“Guys.” 

Everything felt…wrong. Nothing felt like it belonged, and yet it did at the same time. Mechanical parts clicking and groaning, blood pumping in and out, brain whirring to life. Lights that are far too bright for delicate eyes, and all noises submerged in synthetic water. 

What was happening? 

Where were you?

“Can you hear me?” a voice calls from a distant place to your left, you want to open your eyes or will your lips to move to form the words that are hanging at the end of your tongue. What happened to you? Nothing made sense, you didn’t recognise that voice and you didn’t recognise the coldness of the metal table you were laid on. 

“Hey—wait, calm down.” A smooth, cold hand presses itself against your sternum and it was as if a light switch had been flipped in the dark recesses of your mind. You didn’t have to think when your own hand wraps around the offending limb, fingers curling dangerously tight.

“Shit, I knew this was a fucking mistake!” A new voice, distantly familiar. There’s a scrambling of feet, and finally, your eyes are opening. The light is blinding, but you can make out the blurry outlines of figures that are double your size and they’re frantically moving to reach something; guns, you belatedly realise and you don’t miss a beat in hauling yourself off of the metal table. 

The two men—you can finally see them now and they’re nothing short of a pair of gigantic cyborgs—have turned to you with guns raised but they haven't made a move yet. Your arm tenses around something until you hear a squeak accompanied by a choking sound. Hesitantly you glance down to see you have a woman with brown hair pinned to your chest with one forearm crushing her throat and the other raised in their direction. 

“Now, just hold on.” The one with the red hair speaks, his hands raised to show he’s no threat but you don’t miss the way his skin shifts with the metal plating. Armour. He must be the shield, and the other must be the firepower. 

“Lower your weapon.” Weapon? You flick your eyes towards the blonde who most definitely isn’t lowering his weapon. The redhead shifts again, and he’s taken a step forward towards you but his hands are still up in surrender. “Please, lower your weapon.”

He must see the confusion on your face so he points towards your free arm currently not crushing the woman to your body. You hesitate to look where his finger is pointing, but it’s hard to miss when your eyes drift slightly away from the redhead. In place of your arm is what looks like an M-179 precision rifle. 

Wait—how do you know what type of weapon that is? You’ve never held a gun in your life before, you–you…–you were just some street rat. The weapon retreats back into your arm, clicking your own metal plates back together until it’s smoothed over as if it had never existed in the first place.

Did these people put these parts into you? Had they found you passed out in some dark alleyway and dragged you here to experiment on you? That’s the only explanation, it’s the only reason you’re in this dingy ripper doctor's office. 

“S–Stop. Can’t—breathe.” the woman croaks against your arm, and you realise you’re actually starting to crush her windpipe with your forearm. She stumbles forward with a hard choke, whilst you launch yourself back into the surrounding deskspace. Metal clangs and surgical instruments fall to the floor in a loud clatter, the roaring in your ears is too loud to hear what the people are saying to you.

Another set of hands place themselves against you, your upper arms this time but they’re no longer cold, they’re warm. A shroud of red covers the edges of your vision and all you can focus on is the face directly in front of yours, his lips are moving and it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say. 

Why does his face seem so familiar? You had seen this hair somewhere before, and those teeth. You had never run into someone with such sharp teeth and yet your mind couldn’t stop trying to find just where you had seen them before. The red-haired man looks over his shoulder, letting you see the blonde who was frowning in your direction still brandishing the gun that was pointed directly at your head if anything were to go wrong. 

“—know man!”

“Move so I can—”

“You.” Both voices silence immediately. Two different sets of red eyes on you and yet they both carry a different feeling; one filled with curious sympathy and the other hardened disgust. “Who are you? I–I think I know you.” 

“Uh, well, I’m Kirishima.” There’s a groan of annoyance from what you assume to be the blonde whilst the one named Kirishima keeps his eyes on yours. “What about you, what’s your name?”

Your lips part, tongue moving to accommodate the syllables of your name and yet nothing comes forward. You try again with furrowed eyebrows but it feels like your tongue is too big for your mouth and your throat is restricting around your name. In your oncoming panic, you latch a hand to your throat, widening your eyes when you try again and again to spit your name out.

“Hey! Alright!” A hand comes around your wrist and peels your fingers away from the skin of your throat, and Kirishima takes a deep breath when he looks down at you. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” your only response is a shake of your head, and you swear the man's shoulders slump as he deflates a little at your admission. Had they known you?

“Fuckin’ brilliant, Ei. Now Aizawa’s gonna have our ass for bringing back a death machine with memory loss and the tendency to lash out!” Death machine? Did he mean you? However you don’t get to answer the question because the blonde stomps out of the room, the slam of the door stunning the room into silence. 

Another sigh before Kirishima drops his hands from your upper arms and straightens out to his full height. He is huge, bigger than anyone you have ever seen before. “You should rest before tonight.” He supplies, turning towards the door and you realise the brown-haired woman had also vacated the room at some point. 

“Wait. Tonight?” you take a careful step after him and you don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen, nor the way his forearm plating clicks to ready himself. Was he scared of you? No. That can’t be right, this gigantic man could not be scared of you. You’re certain he could crush you if he wanted with just a single hand.

“Tonight you’re meeting our fixer.” and just like that he was gone, the door closing behind him with an audible click. 

They had locked you in.

Looking back around the room, eyes caught on the glint of various medical tools that had been scattered across the white tile floor. There are no windows besides the one at the far back of the room, but even from where you stand you can see it’s barred. You were well and truly trapped.

And so, with nothing else to do, you sat in the desk chair by the bed you had woken up on—and waited.

...

The next time you see Kirishima is when he had come to collect you from your makeshift prison, at some point someone—you assumed it was the Ripper—had shoved clothes in through the small gap of the door, you hadn’t realised you were in a state of undress when you had initially woken up. 

Kirishima smiles at you, but you can see it doesn’t meet his eyes as he towers over you. He’s dressed differently too, in a black leather jacket over a red distressed vest and black jeans with some very expensive-looking sneakers. He looked much more like his age like this, you didn’t realise he was more around your age. 

“Ready?” Kirishima offers, burying both of his hands into his front pockets and leaning against the frame of the door—While he seemed relaxed, you knew he was blocking off your only escape route.

You look down at yourself, you’re not quite sure how they had managed to get your size somewhat right but the black cargo pants and graphic tee were comfortable. The only thing they hadn’t measured correctly was the heavy orange bomber jacket that dwarfed you immensely. 

“Yeah, readier than I’ll ever be anyway.” Kirishima just nods, finally pushing the door open and letting you walk out first before he shuts the door behind you both.

The door immediately opens out onto a street, the floor is wet from the rain and the neon street lights give the dingy alleyway some light. You can’t tell where you are, when you look up there is nothing but a concrete overpass blocking you from seeing the sky. “C’mon, he doesn’t like tardiness.” 

“Who?” You jog to keep up with Kirishima’s wide – normal – steps, you barely come up to his shoulder and you have to crane your head up to look at him. 

“Aizawa, our fixer. He doesn’t normally meet with new faces, but you’ve piqued his interest.”

“But how? I’ve not done anything, I don’t even know who I am.” You try to explain, the emptiness that sits in your brain is unnerving, to say the least. 

Kirishima finally looks down at you, nothing but pity in his eyes. “That’s exactly why he wants to see you.” 

The rest of the walk is in silence, not that Kirishima seems to mind much whilst he flicks through his phone. You’re not quite sure who Aizawa was, but you knew what Fixers were. They were smugglers, fencers and they loved to handle information. Is that why he wanted to see you? To get information from you? But you had none to give, and when Fixers often don’t get what they want… they dispose of the useless item. 

Sparing a glance towards Kirishima, he was far too engrossed in his phone to realise the thoughts you were currently harbouring. You could make a run for it, he’s much bigger than you, sure, but you’re smaller. Maybe you’re faster. He could lose you easily in a crowd of people, you don’t want to be killed for something that’s not your fault. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Kirishima says without missing a beat, his eyes not drifting away from his phone and you have to focus on not tripping over your own feet at being caught out. He hadn’t even looked at you, you weren’t that obvious– “If you run then that means I have to admit Bakugou was right and then I have to chase you down.” Finally, he looks at you, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re still going to do it. 

“I won’t run.” You say with less conviction than you would’ve liked but Kirishima seems happy enough with it, finally pocketing his phone into his back pocket before nodding his head forward.

“Here we are.” You turn to look at the building you’re both standing in front of. It fronts what looks to be a bar, not quite as modern as some of the others you had passed by. It looked more oriental and authentic. It’s not imposing, it blends in perfectly wedged between two other buildings that look like stores—it’s the perfect place for a Fixer you realise, it stands out enough to those seeking the man known as Aizawa but in an area shoddy enough that it won’t draw in too many people. 

Kirishima doesn’t give you more time to inspect the building, guiding you inwards with a hand between your shoulder blades until you’re past the old wooden doors and inside a very well-kept bar. It’s relatively empty, with a few people hanging around by the bar but it’s quiet.

Your eyes rove over the multitude of artwork hanging from the walls, swirling paint strokes and sculptured mythical creatures. Kirishima drops his hand from your back once he’s sure you’re secured in the building, leaving you standing alone whilst he meanders towards the bar to talk to a pretty girl with bouncy curly pink hair.

“Oi,” a gruff voice calls from behind you, your shoulders jump at the closeness of the gruff voice and you spin to see the blonde from earlier. He has a frown on his face the second he meets your eyes before they drag down and latch onto the bomber jacket you’re wearing. He seems to glare somewhat harder, sucking at the back of his teeth. “No fucking around. I won’t hesitate to blow your head off this time.” 

“This her?” a deep, almost sleepy voice drawls and you turn to meet the man to whom the voice belongs. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, and tired eyes yet the look he’s giving you is enough to tell you he’s very alert. You can’t help but straighten your spine a little, attention drawn away from the blonde who just huffs and wanders elsewhere. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.” 

You’re left blinking at the man, the silence suffocating until you look hesitantly across the room to meet a set of red eyes—but they aren’t Kirishima’s. Bakugou was clearly growing agitated the longer this was drawn out. “I’ve never been a threat.” 

“Bakugou and Kirishima seem to think otherwise, even our Ripper Doc had said you have some interesting chrome.” Aizawa continues, settling into one of the seats close by before he regards you again. “But they also said you don’t remember who you are, is that true?”

“I–... Yes, it is.” Interesting chrome? “I don’t know how I got my upgrades, I woke up surrounded and I just acted on instinct.” 

There’s a beat of silence, the palms of your hands growing sweaty and you suddenly feel like you’re standing in a pit with lions. 

Then Aizawa breathes in deeply, sighing a little on his exhale. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” There’s a noise of disagreement from Bakugou somewhere to the side but Aizawa continues anyway, “You could be useful to us. I’m sure your memories will come back over time and you’ll be even more valuable to us then. It’d be stupid of me to let you go.”

“Let me go? You want to keep me prisoner?” 

“Not a prisoner. We just can’t have you wandering the streets in the state that you are, it’s safer for everyone involved if you stay here.”

It made sense, you supposed. You would be safer staying in one place instead of wandering the streets, especially if you had no idea who you were. Swallowing the lump of anxiety, you nod your head in agreement and Aizawa visibly relaxes in his seat before he casts a glance towards Kirishima and Bakugou. 

“On second thoughts… I think it’ll be better for you to stay with those two.”

“What?!” Bakugou all but yells, the beer bottle in his hand smashing onto the floor in haste to get to his feet in disbelief. “I am not a fucking babysitter, and I’m not looking after some corpo—”

“You found her, you look after her. Didn’t I teach you that when I found you?” 

Bakugou’s upper lip curls into a snarl, his eyes darting from Aizawa and towards you–it’s like you’ve been pinned to the spot underneath his hateful gaze. His tongue drags along his lips, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth before he leaves without another word. Kirishima is quick to take his place, stepping up close to you to take you back to wherever you had to stay. 

“I promise he’s not always this bad—well, most of the time he is but he’s a good guy,” Kirishima says, a hand back on the spot between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the bar and back onto the open street where you finally see Bakugou once again. He’s sitting on a motorbike, an expensive-looking one. “Yo, Bakugou. Are we–”

“You have one fucking chance left. If you pull that shit again that you did at the Docs, I’ll personally rip your head from your shoulders. Got it?” Bakugou points a finger in your direction, which only makes Kirishima huff a sigh of annoyance and drag a hand over his face. “One. Then you’re done.”

He must not expect an answer as he slips the helmet over his head, the sleek black of it reflecting only the neon street lights but you can still feel his glare on you before he revs his engine once, twice—then he’s gone. 

You look up at Kirishima finally when Bakugou is gone, and the redhead just smiles awkwardly at you whilst rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did warn ya.”

To say the next few days were painful is an understatement. 

You had been confined to an apartment shared between both Kirishima and Bakugou, whilst the redhead was happy to have another roommate—Bakugou was not. He made it his mission to make it hellish for you. 

It started with him refusing to cook you food whenever he did for Kirishima and himself (Kirishima had to convince him to at least give you something to eat or you’d die and then Aizawa would be pissed). Then it started with the loud music early in the morning, you had no real bed so you had to sleep on the expensive U-shaped couch and Bakugou took great joy in turning the radio on and making sure it was on full blast. 

Kirishima did try to stop Bakugou’s attempts to drive you to a point of anger that would make you act out, which only had Bakugou sneering in your direction before he left to go do whatever the fuck he did all day. 

And it was going somewhat well, that same routine every day. Until Bakugou got a call.

Currently, you’re sitting on the couch, your elbows digging into your thighs whilst you lean forward. The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of the passing Trauma Team AV that flew by the window. 

Kirishima was staring out of the window, both of his hands pressing against the cool metal window ledge, the lights of the nightlife outside reflecting off of the various strips of chrome covering his jaw and down along his throat. 

Opposite you was Bakugou, his knee bouncing in what appeared to be nervousness whilst both of his hands were buried deep in his blonde hair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above.

“This cannot be fuckin’ happening.” He groans for the nth time that evening since ending the call. “That old fucking man—the nerve, all of the shit I do for him… and this is how he rewards me?!” 

“Dude, Aizawa has never steered us wrong. He obviously thinks we can trust her.” Kirishima says in an odd tone like his voice was devoid of any emotion. You supposed it made sense, he had never been able to trust you either for whatever reason.

“Well, I think we can’t.” Bakugou drops his head back forward, meeting your gaze and a sharp shiver rolls down your spine. “You remember what I told you before I let you come and squat in my apartment?”

“Our apartment.” Kirishima supplies quietly, though Bakugou is undeterred.

“You’ll kill me.” 

“Right, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou finally stands, swiping the pulse rifle off of the table between the two of you before fixing it over one of his shoulders. “Now get the fuck up, we’ve got a Tyger Claws cunt to go kill.” 

The back of Kirishima’s car was very plush, you couldn’t help but wonder how good at being mercs the two of them were. They seemed to be living in the lap of luxury yet they decided to stay in Night City, but you didn’t dare ask why they were still here. Bakugou would probably take the opportunity to bite your head off. 

You sunk into the leather and watched the city pass by, the rain bounced off of the roof of the car and rolled down the windows in thick streaks. It still made no sense as to why Aizawa put you on this mission with them too, they were capable on their own so just what did Aizawa expect from you? You can’t even remember a time when you had used a gun so surely you’d just be deadweight—another reason for Bakugou to be on your ass if you fuck up. 

As if somehow sensing your inner anguish, Kirishima turns in his seat enough to meet your eyes. 

“Ready for this?” You’re not quite sure why he’s asking, even Bakugou seems to furrow his brows in confusion at why the redhead even gives a fuck about if you’re ready or not. “It should be a pretty simple gig, the Tyger Claws are ruthless but this guy we’re going for? Big junkie, won’t see us coming.” Kirishima grins at the end of his sentence, and you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face.

“Right, yeah, I’m ready.” You say with a small nod.

“Say it with more confidence and I might actually believe you for once.” Bakugou gruffs from his own spot in the driver's seat, with only one hand on the wheel and the other propped up on the door beside the window. He’s chewing at the skin of his thumb; one might think he’s actually a bit anxious. Kirishima only gives you a look you now know is his attempt at apologising on behalf of the antagonising blonde before he sinks back into his seat with a huff.

“Don’t gotta be so rude all the time man, she probably doesn’t want to be here as much as you.” Kirishima all but grumbles to himself, looking away when Bakugou shoots him a scathing glare.

“Yeah? Then maybe she’ll fuck off at the first chance she gets, won’t have to deal with her anymore.” The car falls into an awkward silence at that, not even Kirishima can counter the fact that it would be simpler if you did disappear but you can see the sad frown that’s making him look much more like a kicked puppy than anything. The music on the radio does nothing to squash the tension, instead, it only adds to the palpable dark energy rolling from Bakugou in thick waves. 

Soon enough the car is pulled into a darkened alleyway, only the rats and drunkards faintly aware of the presence of the two big mercs who get out of the car in a heartbeat. They seem to move in an organised way; a practised routine you realise. By the time you close the car door behind you, there’s a gun being thrust in your face. “Here, I know it’s not much but—it should do the job,” Kirishima leans a little as if sharing a secret “It’s all Bakugou would agree to give you, think you still scare him.”

You hum, eyeing the handgun in your hand and feeling its weight. It felt lighter than you expected, your fingers moulded perfectly around the hilt and you tilted your head to inspect the barrel. Something feels very familiar with the gun now in your hand, and as you look at both Bakugou and Kirishima to thank them you falter for a moment. 

Your vision flickers, the city behind them flashes to an old warehouse before it returns to normal. Kirishima seems to be talking animatedly but Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto your own, an unreadable expression on his face—maybe it’s because there is no real emotion on his face. No scowl, no anything, he looks like a blank slate. 

“Anyway, we ready for this? It’ll be over before we know it and then we can go to that ramen noodle bar I mentioned last week!” Kirishima grins, slapping a hand against his hardened stomach. 

“Yeah.” Bakugou finally speaks, breaking his eyes away from your own and down to the weapon in his hands. “The plan is Kirishima will be the shield, I’m the firepower, and you just follow us and keep quiet.” He says whilst staring you down, gone is the blank expression and that familiar frown is again creasing his skin. You just nod, and he seems happy enough with that response to turn on his heel and lead the way into the back exit of the building. 

The building is rundown, as are all the buildings in Night City outside of the high-end Corporate zones. You traverse over tipped-over vending machines, various boxes and crates that had been ripped apart and ransacked for all their worth. It’s dark and dingy, a low stream of smog flitting through the air from the old vents in the ceiling. The only way you can tell you’re going the correct way is with the help of the flickering dim fluorescent lights overhead, Kirishima and Bakugou are both deadly silent and somehow moving without even making a noise. 

The journey up the stairs is quick, without the worry of someone hearing the three of you coming, both men take the steps three at a time—leaving you to hurry after them as quickly as you can. 

Both of them freeze once they reach the door that leads to the 6th floor, Bakugou shifting a few steps back and Kirishima takes his spot wordlessly in front of the blonde. The clicking of Kirishima’s skin has you focusing on him, the way the metal plating shifts almost looks like his skin is hardening. Bakugou has his own gun raised, the heavy rifle looks like it weighs nothing in one hand when he taps the other on Kirishima’s shoulder indicating he’s ready to breach. 

It all happens in three very quick steps. 

First, Kirishima rips open the door to the point where it’s detached from the wall and tumbles down the stairwell—you have to plaster yourself to the wall to avoid being squashed. 

Second, breaching. Bakugou has both his hands back on his rifle, his eyes illuminating the chrome strips on his face whilst Kirishima steps forward with purpose. 

Third, gunfire. It happens in five quick taps of the rifle's trigger, Bakugou hardly shifting from the recoil as he swivels just his upper half whilst hunching his shoulders slightly to ensure each and every single one of his shots is a direct headshot. The sound of bodies slumping on the floor is your cue to finally enter the room, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t.

The room smells horrific, a stench you for some reason recognise as death. But it wasn’t coming from the fresh bodies, no, it was deeper in the large room. The translucent sheets of plastic that hang from the ceiling obscure most of the room, with multiple splatters of blood staining the material. Bakugou lowers his weapon slowly, Kirishima finally parting ways to do his own investigation of the place. 

“Think we got him?” Kirishima asks, using his foot to roll over one of the men Bakugou took out before grimacing at the clean shot between the eyes. Bakugou was a beast with the gun, there’s a reason why he was so sought out by Fixers other than Aizawa. 

“Dunno, I didn’t get a clear look at their faces.” Bakugou comments from the other side of the room, squatting down to roll a guy over to inspect his face. 

Both men are too occupied with the gig to notice that you’re traversing through the middle of the room, pushing past the thin sheets of plastic to grow closer to the source of the blueish neon lights. With each step, the smell grows stronger, a rotting kind of stench mixed with what smells like fried electronics. A shiver rolls down your spine, a warning to stop yourself from pushing past the final sheet of plastic. Your fingers curl against the material, crinkling it and still, both men are blissfully unaware of what you’re about to unveil—

An empty ice bath. 

Your eyebrows furrowed together, multiple thick wires and cords were all scattered around the bath yet there was no one connected to those wires. You take a hesitant step forward, the smell is still so strong—something isn’t right. The ice bath looked fresh, except for the blood staining on either side of the white porcelain, following the streaks upwards until you see a blinking screen displaying vitals.

Ayaka Ichida. Age: 26 Occupation: Arasaka Executive ECG: N/A Blood Pressure: N/A

“Arasaka?” You murmur to yourself, fingers ghosting underneath the word. Why did that name send a painful twinge through your head? Perhaps it was just the notoriety of the corporation. Arasaka were rumoured to be funding the Tyger Claws way back in 2020 but it’s been nearly sixty years since then—

Your eyes lose focus the longer you stare at the screen, no longer looking at the words but rather the reflection of something moving behind you. It’s neither Bakugou nor Kirishima, you would’ve heard them approaching. This is a woman, her skin completely exposed, and dripping wet. Shit. 

Her arm raises, the revolver sitting in her hand looks weighty and it’s definitely fully loaded when you catch the barrel of it. You spin on your heel, a hand stretched out ready to yell at Bakugou to move but it’s like you hit an invisible wall. Everything feels fuzzy in your brain, a wave of electricity passing through your body and shooting up and down your spine. 

You must’ve shouted something because you can see Kirishima raise his head in worry, Bakugou clambering to his feet but it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. The barrel spins, the trigger clicks and the flash of the gun is bright in your eyes. 

You don’t quite realise you’ve moved until it’s too late, the fuzziness in each of your limbs is all-consuming. It’s as if you’ve been dunked in ice water and your limbs are slowly regaining their warmth—it’s painful. You blink, and suddenly your face is in Bakugou's; his eyes are wide and mouth agape as if he’s at a loss for words. Your entire right arm aches, but your spine hurts something fierce.

Not quite understanding how you had moved from one side of the room to the other, you glance over your shoulder to see the body—it’s more of just a pair of legs at this point, blood sprayed up along the walls and to the ceiling; bits and pieces dripping and dropping with a sickening wet thud. Did you do that?

The ache in your arm brings your eyes back to it, and it’s no surprise to see that the entirety of your arm was replaced with the rifle you had pulled out not too long ago at the Ripperdocs. It doesn’t look like you damaged your arm, the skin easily shifting back into place whilst you turn back to look at Bakugou. There’s a spray of blood on his face too, the blonde of his hair tainted by a dark shade of crimson that almost looked black. Bakugou is looking at you with what you might assume is worry, or some level of it anyway as he still seems to be frowning.

You open your mouth to speak, your throat tightening until you sputter out a thick vicious black liquid. Immediately your hand comes up to your mouth, touching your lips to see the synthetic blood leaking from your lips in thick rivers. “Wha…” you try to speak. Taking a step back from Bakugou, it feels like you’ve been hit by a train, your fingers go to press against the sore spot on your back but instead, you meet—nothing.

Your fingers pass through where your side should’ve been. You can feel the sticky synthetic blood coat your fingers as it continues to pour from your body, you can even feel the outline of the frayed edges of the artificial muscles you didn’t know you had.

“Shit!” There’s a set of hands on your shoulders, your entire world tilting backwards suddenly. “Hold the fuck on!” A voice calls from somewhere, yet you can’t see where it’s coming from. Your senses shut down one by one until you’re left floating in an endless amount of space. 

It’s dark here. 

Cold.

The vastness of the space around you expands over the horizon, and it feels like something is pricking into your skin. It hurts, everything hurts here. It’s too loud, yet it’s completely silent. Glancing down at your hands, your stomach drops and swoops in anxiety at the sight—you’re not made of human matter, but rather data. Pixels, bunched together to form a non-corporeal form of yourself. You’d heard rumours of this before.

Cyberspace. 

It’s an odd feeling, to be existing but also not at the same time. The Net was such a vast expanse of data and network that almost anyone in the world could access but not everyone could take a step into cyberspace in the third dimension. It was jarring without a doubt but the unlimited knowledge one could access whilst inside of it? That’s why there were so many Netrunners, people dedicated to diving into the Net and hacking whatever data they needed. 

But this place you were currently in didn’t feel like you were getting an endless stream of data, it was as if you had been cut off. Everything around you is freezing cold, with not a single thread of data to grab onto to understand just where you are. 

“Hi?” someone says from your side, your head turned sharply to see someone with both lilac hair and eyes, they had a tired expression on their face but even the surprise on their face was easy to spot. 

They hadn’t expected to be put into the Net alongside you. Both of their hands moved up to show they had no weapons, not that an experienced Netrunner would need weapons inside of a place like this. 

“Listen, I was told to try and come pull you out. You’ve been in here for two weeks and—”

“Two?” How has it been that long? You had only just woken up, it felt like you had just been in the gunfight and protected both Bakugou and Kirishima; even potentially giving your life up for the blonde. “I–I don’t understand, how has it been that long? Who even are you?” 

“My name’s Shinsou. You need to listen to me very carefully if you want me to get you out of here, okay?” He takes a step closer, stretching out a hand in an attempt to touch you—

There’s a pounding on your head, a throbbing pain that spreads behind your eyes and down to the base of your skull. Accompanying the throb is a low hum, more of a thrumming kind of noise that beckons you to turn around. Slowly you do, eyes glancing up from your hands to meet a set of dull blurred verdant eyes. Though these eyes do not seem familiar, they seem deadly, calculating. They glare at you through the opaque screen you hadn’t noticed, you can just about make out their body on the other side.

They have a single hand pressed against the screen, and the other curled into a fist that’s repeatedly beating against the screen. Each time it hits you can feel the pressure on your brain, was this your own consciousness? Who was this person? You move to take a step back but their punches only grow more frantic, more aggressive. It’s getting louder and louder, and the pressure on your brain is unbearable. Why can’t you wake up? The throbbing grows more intense until there’s a shooting pain that brings you down to your knees, curling your fingers into the ground. 

You can’t hear the voice of the man named Shinsou anymore, you’re not even sure if he’s still there. All you can focus on is the throbbing pain, the way it chokes you and holds you in place. Demanding your attention.

“Found you.” A static-filled voice speaks from the darkness, and you look up to see the crack in the screen with a much clearer view of almost black-green hair. It sounds like he might be laughing, it sounds almost manic before he calls out a name, a name you can’t ignore—your name. “I’ll see you soon.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the world around you started to melt away until you were left in complete darkness once again, though this darkness felt somehow different. You could feel something beneath you, smooth and metallic, familiar.

The second time you awake in the Ripperdocs office isn’t quite as jarring as the first, the lights are dimmed and there are no arguing voices. It’s easy to open your eyes, staring up at the overhead lights that have been turned off. The room is silent, the only distant noise is the street just on the other side of the door. 

Slowly you rise from the table you had been laid out on, you didn’t need to look around to know you were alone this time. Has it really been two weeks since—you gasp, fingers touching the side where you had been hit but instead you meet the warm flesh of your body? Looking down to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, it looked like you hadn’t even been hit. No scars. Nothing.

There’s a laugh nearby, drawing your attention to the set of double doors you had never set foot through before. You slide from the cold table, your bare feet gently slapping on the cold tile floor. Taking a step forward your body falters, swaying to the side on uneasy legs, the table of surgical instruments clatters when you bump a hip against it and you freeze to see if anyone would be alerted to your presence. 

No one comes bursting through the door.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take another step forward. This time you were careful of where you placed your feet, and with each slow yet steady step you finally regain control over your legs. Soon enough you’re standing in front of the double doors, the voices on the other side muffled but they don’t sound familiar in the slightest. Were you even back with Bakugou and Kirishima? Had you been sold off as Bakugou had wanted? Fear danced up and down your spine, you’d have to fight your way out of here if that was the case. 

Steadying your heart, you raised your hand carefully to the door, ready to burst through.

Three… Two… One.

You slam the door open, throwing your body through the now open space and your arm lifts as if on autopilot to readjust the metal plating to reveal the rifle buried deep into your very bones. With a quick scan of the room, you register you’re inside what looks like a common room of some sorts. There was a sofa, a pool table, a kitchen on the east side of the room and a gigantic TV that was broadcasting something. 

There’s movement, a heat signature, and your arm automatically moves to point at the two men who are on the sofa. The yellow-haired one is the first to scream, then the one with black hair who scrambles off of the sofa to try and seek safety. 

“W-Wait!” The black-haired one yells, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot! We’re not the enemy!” 

Another door on the other side of the room beside the kitchen bursts open, there’s a scrambling of feet and clambering to all get in the room first. But Bakugou is the first in, his hand firm around the gun in hand as he raises it ready to shoot until he realises he has the barrel of his gun pointed at you. If you weren’t staring at him you might’ve missed the way his shoulders sag in relief. Kirishima is next to come in, eyes darting from both men who were sprawled amongst the mess of chips and used beer cans that had been dashed across the room in their attempt to flee immediate death. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” A voice that’s now familiar to you calls your name, the man with lilac hair sidesteps around the two hulking figures. There’s a lazy smile on his face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Both Kirishima and Bakugou parrot the name Shinsou had given you, eyes drifting from Shinsou and to you, connecting the name to the face they’ve been living with for a while now. 

“Yep, that’s the name of our friend here.” Shinsou walks into the room as if there wasn’t just a standoff moments ago, dropping into an unoccupied seat. “We should probably tell you everything that happened whilst you were ‘out’.” He makes quotation marks around the word, both of you missing the way Bakugou has his eyes locked onto you—or more importantly, your side. Shinsou gestures for you to sit down, and you make your way around the couch slowly whilst the two men you had scared scamper to sit elsewhere. 

“I’ll be blunt with you. You’ve been out for nearly three weeks in total. We would’ve tried to pull you out faster but… you have some very impressive chrome. It took me two weeks to break your defences and even then you rejected me in a heartbeat.” 

Your eyes break away from Shinsou as he explains your ‘absence’ to watch Bakugou as he tentatively perches on the arm of the couch right next to you, both of his arms crossed over his chest. But the things Shinsou is saying make no sense, you hadn’t pushed him out, it was—you scrunch your eyebrows together, the headache still ever present in the back of your mind the harder you think. 

The silence stretches out in the room, just the sound of the TV droning on about Militech moving towards renewing partnerships with Lazarus. 

Shinsou clears his throat, demanding your attention once again. “Your wounds actually healed by themselves. You have synthetic muscles but they’re something else. No one has ever seen something like that, even Uraraka said it’s not something Rippers can get their hands on.” 

“Yeah… you weren’t actually breathing by the time we got you back here… I—We thought you were going to die.” Kirishima supplies from his position behind the couch, both of his hands clamped on the back of it and you can see the worry settled on his face when you look up at him. So you were dead for a portion of time, had all your chrome and cyberware saved your life? If what Shinsou said is true about your muscles repairing themselves then the time locked into your consciousness made sense.

Shinsou seems to notice the shift in the air first, clearing his throat before he stands up. He gives a stern look towards both Kaminari and Sero who are blatantly staring at you as if you were some anomaly. “We should go.” 

“But—” the one with the yellow hair and black streak starts, eyes darting back to you with a question that was probably best unasked.

“Nope. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” Shinsou commands, already partway out of the door and he knows Sero and Kaminari will follow as he doesn’t bother looking back. 

And soon enough, it is just you, Kirishima and Bakugou who looks like he’s about to shit himself with how tense he is next to you. It’s awkward, to say the least. You’re not quite sure what you should say, sorry for the trouble? Sorry for not dying? You’re sure that last one would apply to Bakugou, he had wanted you gone. 

“Why?” 

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, his head held now between his hands as he stares intently down at his shoes; knee bouncing, he’s anxious. You glance at Kirishima but the redhead just shrugs, urging you to look back at Bakugou. “Why what?”

“Why the fuck did you take the hit, huh?” His eyes meet yours, and you can’t miss the white of his eyes partially red, he was on the verge of tears. “Why the fuck would you do that when I mean nothing to you? It makes no fucking sense, no one just jumps in front of a bullet for someone. I wouldn’t have fuckin’ done it for yo–” He stops himself short, chewing on the words on his tongue that are better left unsaid. But the words still sting the same regardless of how true it is: Bakugou would not have taken a bullet for you, he would not have risked his life for you. Why did you care so much?

“I don’t know.” But it’s not the answer Bakugou is searching for, a frown is on his face but it’s not quite the same as the usual one you often saw him wearing. This one looked pained and confused. He diverts his gaze quickly, refusing to look at you once again before running a hand through his hair. “I guess I felt like I owed you for saving my life.” 

Bakugou only gives you one last glare before he’s up from his spot and marching back out of the room, leaving an icy chill in his wake that makes Kirishima sigh. 

“He means to say thank you, it’s… been a lot for him. We really did think you’d die on us back there, and I think Bakugou didn’t want another death on his conscience that wasn’t done by his own hand.”

Kirishima stands to his full height when you do, both his hands buried into the pockets of his jacket. “Anyway, let’s just go back home, yeah? You probably want to shower.” 

“Tellin’ me I smell, Kirishima? You don’t smell of roses yourself big guy.” You grin when he smiles at you, the banter between the two of you is easy. His shoulders sag with relief before he’s strutting out of the room before you. 

“Nah, not roses. Just pure manliness.” 

“Manliness smells like a Maelstrom cesspit?” Kirishima whirls on you with his mouth agape, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

The city opens up to both of you when you step out of the doors, the difference this time being it’s the middle of the day and the streets are bustling with people going to and fro with their plans for the day. You take a deep breath in, Kirishima still rattling on just next to you about how Maelstrom actually doesn’t smell that bad. You break into an easy smile, a genuine laugh leaving your mouth for the first time in a long time. 

A tingle runs up and down your spine, the shard slot on your neck buzzing as if someone was tugging on it, you look in the opposite direction of Kirishima to see if perhaps there was a nearby jammer or Netrunner who tripped on your own network.

But instead, you’re faced with something that makes it feel like you’ve been submerged beneath icy waters, your bones rigid and muscles tightened. 

Standing idle amongst the moving crowd is a large man, with broad shoulders but that isn’t what makes him stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not the corporate suit he’s wearing, but rather it’s the mop of green hair on his head accompanied by emerald eyes that are wide with mirth when you meet his gaze over the crowd. You can see his lips move, but it's like his voice is deep in the back of your brain.

‘Soon.’

Kirishima calls your name from your side, drawing your attention back to him for a split second before you glance back towards the crowd. The man was gone. “All good? Do you need more blockers?”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, blockers? Oh. Meds that rippers always pumped you full with whenever you had any amount of cyberware. When was the last time you had taken some anyway? “No, uh, I’m fine, thank you. Think I just need a real sleep.” 

“You just woke up from like a month-long nap, you’re telling me you’re still tired?” He grins down at you, guiding you back down the familiar street. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

The door to the apartment slides open with a hiss, revealing the dim lights of the amber overhead lights. Bakugou was home. Kirishima steps in first, shedding the thick jacket he had on to toss it onto one of the hooks. You followed after him easily enough, it hadn’t felt like so much time had passed but looking around the apartment you could see it. 

Things had been moved, the plant on the window ledge had blossomed and grown beautiful red leaves. Stepping further into the apartment, you watch Kirishima disappear behind a black glass door that slides open for a split second to reveal Bakugou who was hunched over what looked like one of his rifles before the door slid shut. 

You had been forbidden to enter the armoury, it was for Bakugou and Kirishima only. Bakugou had come with that rule, you couldn’t blame him but it wasn’t as if you needed their weapons. The thought of the gun embedded in your arm makes it ache, a tingling sensation that numbs your fingertips momentarily. Sitting down on the couch, you let out a sigh of relief when your muscles finally decompress and relax. 

Despite your body relaxing your mind was still running far too fast, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth—you suppose it’s from the fact you were connected to the Net with no blockers, all that information could fry someone's brain and you’re just glad it hadn’t happened to you. 

The peace and quiet doesn’t last long however, soon enough the entrance door opens with a whoosh and you turn in time to see a multitude of people walk in. You recognise two by name; Aizawa and Shinsou. You recognise both men with yellow hair and black hair, but there’s a woman with them that you haven’t met before with short dark purple hair. 

“What the fuck are you all doin’ in my fucking house?” Bakugou growls from near the armoury, arms crossing over his chest.

“You didn’t think we’d let you walk away with the coolest new member of the gang, right?” The one with yellow hair flops into the seat next to you, long gone is the fear he had shown just earlier that day. 

He grins at you when you stare at him, “Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want.” Kaminari offers with an easy smile, earning him a snort from the black-haired man who smacks him on the back of the head.

“Ignore him. Name’s Sero, it’s nice to meet you without a gun pointed in my face.” You shake his hand when he offers it to you, still wordless at how they’re effortlessly welcoming you into their gang. 

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou finally yells, but no one flinches at the volume of his voice. “What the fuck are you all doing in my house?!” 

“New job.” Aizawa supplies, and immediately the room plummets into silence. “I know it’s only been hours since you woke up, but we really could use your help on this next one.” 

Bakugou moves to open his mouth, but Shinsou jumps in. “You’re the only one here who can disappear from someone's optical enhancements. Do you know how rare that is? We wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off without any problems.” 

Aizawa continues, “You won’t be doing it alone of course. The whole crew will be going, but you will be the key player in this job, you’ll have to be the one to go in first.”

“When?” is the first thing you ask, and all eyes shift to you. 

“In three days. Ideally, we would’ve done it sooner but I figured you might want to rest first. From what I hear, you had quite the trip on the Net.” 

Aizawa notices the way your eyebrows furrow, “Shinsou was in there with you, but it was Jirou–” He points over his shoulder at the girl, who raises a hand for a moment. “–who broke through your defences. Apparently, there was some resistance from an outside source. Got anyone who'd be interested in protecting the data in your head?” 

You shake your head, the only outside source may have been the man with green hair but even then you weren’t sure if he was real or not. You hadn’t been on blockers, you had been using your chrome carelessly. It could just be exhaustion. 

Aizawa just nods his head, turning his attention to both Kirishima and Bakugou before gesturing with his head for them to come to talk to him privately. Kaminari and Sero both dive instantly at the chance to talk to you, gushing over the cyberware you were sporting. Apparently, they had never met someone who lived to tell the tale after having so much changed.

Aizawa sighs when he’s away from the group, slumping against the wall whilst Bakugou and Kirishima stand before him. Kirishima looks tense, and Bakugou is… well, Bakugou. 

“You remember the original job?” Both men nod. “The package you were ordered to retrieve is Arasaka’s countermeasure to the new power Militech has come into. Jirou had a look at it and apparently, it’s some sort of advanced AI that can short-circuit everyone in its vicinity and even cause people to spiral into Cyberpsychosis.” 

“What the fuck?” Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the others.

“What’ve you done with it?” Bakugou asks, not missing the wince on Aizawa’s face.

“Handed it back to them.” Bakugou’s frown deepens, lip curling to reveal gums and canines but Aizawa jumps back in. “I didn’t have a choice, Bakugou. It was tracked, after you left with the girl they sent some jacked-up chrome head to come and pick it up.”

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. This was bad. Arasaka were pieces of shit when it came to cyberware and if they were going to hit Militech with this then another corporate war would definitely be on the cards. “Shit, fuck. You sure it was an Arasaka guy that came to pick it up, not someone working for D—?” 

“No, if I picked up on his chip, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes myself.” 

“Not if I do it first.” Bakugou snarls, earning a nod of approval from Kirishima. “Fucker already ruined our lives enough, we don't need him to get his hands on something that could kill us all.”

“You think they know about her?” Kirishima prompts after a beat of silence, all three men turn their attention to watch you on the couch. You were still static, Kaminari arguing with Sero about something whilst Jirou and Shinsou teased Kaminari about whatever it was. You looked out of place but at the same time, it felt as if you were always meant to be amongst the crew. You smiled easily, even laughing along with the group. 

“I don’t doubt it. Jirou said the outside source that was blocking her from hacking into the system was military grade. She has something important to someone very wealthy. With this next job, stick close to her. If Arasaka makes a move, they’ll be trying to take her out first. If Militech makes a move…” 

Aizawa shares a look with Bakugou before the blonde nods in understanding. “Good. Good luck on this next one, you’re going to need it when working with those idiots.”

Both men watch Aizawa leave before joining the rest of the gang on the couch, Bakugou sinks into a spot opposite of you and Kirishima slumps himself not too far from everyone, his legs spreading as he fully reclines into the seat. All attention is still on you, and Bakugou can’t help but keep his eyes locked on you. 

“We should celebrate!” Kaminari grins, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect. 

“Celebrate what?” Kirishima is the one brave enough to take on Kaminari, effortlessly shifting the attention away from you momentarily.

“The newest member, obviously! I think we should show her a good time.” There’s a series of groans, a squawk of indignation from Kaminari whilst Sero berates him for always making everything an innuendo. Yet Bakugou can’t find it within himself to fight the decision, his eyes watch the way your eyebrows lift in interest before a smile brightens your features.

Maybe he’ll go along with it, just this one.

...

Part of him wishes he had fought Kaminari on some part of it. It was no surprise that the bar hopping eventually led them to visit Jig-Jig Street. It wasn’t the nicest place to be, it was the rundown part of Japantown that people often went to when they were desperate enough to get their dick wet. 

Jig-Jig Street was the red light district of Night City, where you could ‘buy love’ by the hour or even get in contact with dealers who would sell you the most exotic of drugs or enhancements that would cost you a pretty penny. It was dangerous too, something that Bakugou often argued about whenever the others tried to drag him here. Too many times he had come home with a nasty black eye or even in the back of a police car from the fights that broke out here.

The crude flashing neon signs had Bakugou hunching in on himself, practically snarling at Denki who dared to poke fun at the gigantic blonde. Thankfully, it’s Kirishima who once again saves the day by shooing Kaminari away with the rest of the gang before he draws Bakugou in by his shoulder. 

Bakugou just grunts, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest before his eyes drift towards the redhead who’s now staring down at him. 

“What?” Bakugou barks, modified canines adding to the visage of him being a feral dog. 

Kirishima just laughs, “Loosen up man, let Denks have his fun. I have a feeling this next job is going to be a hefty one.” 

Bakugou shakes his head, squaring his jaw whilst he mulls over Kirishima’s words. He supposes Kirishima isn’t exactly wrong; this next job feels like there’s a heavy weight resting on them. An expectation of something; something that Bakugou hasn’t quite figured out yet. 

His eyes drift over towards you, embedded right in the middle of their little group. You still were a little bit stiff, eyes blinking owlishly whenever Kaminari came on a little too strong—but the alcohol had helped you loosen him, he thinks, you seem to smile a lot more now. 

“Whatever, get the fuck off me.” Bakugou snips, shoving Kirishima’s hand off of him and Kirishima knows not to take it to heart. Instead, he steps aside, watching his oldest friend stalk away into the crowd to god knows where. 

Bakugou wades through the crowds, dodging the half-naked bodies and the people high out of their minds who attempt to grab at him for his attention. He hated this part of town, it was the worst part of Night City – besides the gang wars and other shit the corpos got up to.

But this was a display of the depravity of the city, a show of just how long people would sink to feel something in this shithole of a city. 

Finally, Bakugou breaks out of the crowd into the open street. It was empty, given that it was nearing three in the morning. He lifts his head to stare at the sky, the overcast clouds enough to make him grumpier. The rain always fucked with his chrome, the cold chill that came with it would send it haywire. 

Glancing back, he can’t see the group he came with anymore and something in him itches to find you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble that naturally comes with both Sero and Kaminari. 

“Running away?” A voice comes from his side, and it takes the years of experience that comes with being a hired gun to not jump out of his skin. His head snaps down, and a shiver rolls down his spine when he meets your gaze. 

“Yeah,” he admits, surprisingly, “Can’t fuckin’ stand this place. And you should split when you can too, you’ll end up getting roped into a threesome or some shit.”

That makes you purse your lips in an attempt to smother laughter before the corner of your lips threatens to break into a smile, there’s an easy air around you. You seem more relaxed, most definitely because of the drinks you had been throwing back when Kirishima challenged you. 

“Nah, Kirishima let me leave.” Bakugou arches an eyebrow at that, Kirishima had known you were leaving too? That motherfucker. He knew you’d come following after him, like a moth to a flame. “Figured it’d be safer to walk home with you than try and navigate my way out of here.”

That has Bakugou nodding in agreement, the fuzziness of tonight's drinks softens his need to put his guard up around you. “C’mon, it’s about to piss down and I’m not getting caught in it.”

He’s already walking away, and it doesn’t take long for you to match his stride. Your own hands are buried in the pockets of the orange jacket Kirishima had given you all that time ago – did you know it was his? He bought it with one of his first paychecks, it was in one of his favourite shades of orange but somehow it looked much better on you. 

His eyes drift away from the jacket you’re wearing and up to your face, you’re eyeing the signs as you walk by. They’re a range of ads for braindances that plunge you into a full-blown porno and ads for physical enhancements for stamina. It’s no surprise that everything in this part of town was about sex, Japantown practically ran off of it. 

But his eyes catch on your bottom lip, how you worry it over with your teeth and squint a little like you’re not really reading everything that goes by. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” 

“Huh?” You look up at him finally, and it makes Bakugou’s chest flutter with something unknown. It takes everything in him to push it down, chalking it to the previous train of thought about advertisements. 

“What you worrying about? Yer gonna chew through your fuckin’ lip if you keep overthinking whatever it is.” 

The way your eyebrows draw together and your face nearly crumples makes him want to backtrack, but instead you wipe your face of whatever emotion you had just felt. 

“It’s hard to explain. More of a feeling than anything.” 

Something Bakugou isn’t good with, he’s not one to talk about his feelings or whatever the fuck is plaguing his mind. “Just spit it out.”

You follow him up the steps to the large apartment building, and yet you remain silent as you try to mull over the words you want to say. Bakugou expects you to just ignore his request, and he doesn’t blame you. He’d never talk about his feelings even if someone held a gun to his head.

Once inside the apartment, he watches as you sidestep around him to go and stand before the large window. Pressing a button to let the metal shutters roll upwards in quick succession until the district of Japantown is exposed to you. It’s a sea of neon lights, people ebbing and flowing like water as they move around each other without ever looking away from the devices in their hands or implanted in their minds.

“Can I show you?” You speak finally, once he shucks off his jacket and flings it onto the back of the sofa. He eyes you for a moment, show him? Show him what, your feelings? His nose crinkles in thought, but he finds himself relenting. The liquid courage he drank earlier makes itself known when he relaxes on the sofa. 

“Sure,” and you’re turning to look at him as if you expected him to shout at you or worse. But you don’t comment about it, scared to lose your chance so you move over to him. Settling into the seat next to him he can’t help but notice you don’t budge him at all, your own weight nothing compared to his own — had you always been this tiny? 

“You gonna kiss me or some shit?” He blurts when you turn to face him, your knee pressed into his thigh and he tries to not think about the bareness of your legs. You snort, however, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that.” And you’re reaching for him despite that, his body grows rigid beneath your touch. Your fingers are gentle as they stroke along the smoothness of his neck before they card up through the short hairs of his undercut at the nape of his neck. You’re so close he can see the intricate thin strips of metal that help with your enhanced eyesight. 

He doesn’t find himself moving away, but rather leaning into the gentleness of the touch. 

“Hold still,” is all you supply before he feels something slip against the back of his neck, the plating shifting and moving until his body involuntarily jolts. Everything in his body yells at him to move, to stop you from doing whatever the fuck you’re doing but it’s too late. The connection is made and he’s plummeted into darkness.

There’s a blinding light and he blinks it away, only to find himself submerged in what must be the depths of your consciousness. It’s similar to what he’d seen in his short dips into cyberspace when the time called for it, but this is different. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, screens and flicking images dash around him. 

Memories, he realises. Your memories from the moment you woke up and up until the very moment you sat down with him, but it’s not the memories you’re showing. Rather it’s the emotions connected to them, it’s bombarding his senses. He feels the tug at his heart, the fear that races up his spine when you first woke up in an unknown place and then the blissfulness you had felt when he took a bullet for him.

How could you feel at peace when you were going to die? It was too much for him to wrap his mind around, and quickly the emotion was changing. There was a sadness that weighed down on his body this time like his body was being pulled into icy waters when he heard the words he spat at you when you first woke up. 

You felt sad? Bakugou didn’t know, it made his heart ache something fierce. He didn’t want you to feel sad because of him – fuck, he just wanted you to know how much it bothered him for you to dive in front of him like that. He wanted you to know just how much time he spent in that shitty docs office, watching your near-lifeless body repair itself before his very eyes. 

But he couldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t tell you that Kirishima often was the one to wake him up from his slump across your lap in the mornings when he fell asleep hoping you’d just wake the fuck up and explain yourself.

Another jump in emotions, and he feels happiness – acceptance. You’re sitting among all his friends, and even with him in the picture, you feel like you found a place. Something in the memory makes his eyebrows raise, you glance at him and that feeling spikes. It feels like a thunderous amount of butterflies flutter in his stomach, rising up until they bombard his heart. 

He hadn’t even known you were looking at him like that. Yet beneath all that, he could feel the melancholy that came with your circumstance. You don’t feel like you belong, or perhaps it was the reality of your previous life's existence that weighs heavily on you. You had unresolved business, and that’s something Bakugou can relate to fully.

The next time he blinks, he feels the pressure of your forehead against his own. The slipping of the cord from his plating and how your fingers curl a little more into the longer hair further up the back of his head.

“Do you get it now?” You’re the first to break the tension, your question but a whisper above the whirring of the fan above your heads. 

And he thinks he does, that feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. You were content yet you were lost, you were happy yet you had a longing for something. You felt something towards him that was so indescribable it made his heart flutter. So he just nods, his own forehead pressing a little harder against yours to get it across that he truly does get it. 

His hand cups your jaw, thumb rolling across the fullness of your cheek before it presses into the flesh just a little. Your breath smells sweet; faintly reminding him of the drinks the both of you had earlier in the night. He doesn’t suspect you’re drunk, he definitely isn’t but that soft buzz keeps him from thinking too much. 

“It’s so confusing.” You admit, the word is just a breath against his lips and he finds himself wanting to swallow it. “I don’t want to think.”

That’s enough of a sign for him to make a move, his stomach churns with anxious excitement when he leans in. His lips finally press to yours in a tentative touch, your lips are warm and just as soft as they look. It draws him further, and further until his lips are moving against your own in a fluid movement. 

You don’t fight him when his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you into position so you can’t escape when he pries your mouth open with his tongue. The sweetness is stronger on your tongue, tangy with alcohol yet intoxicatingly enjoyable when he explores you like he might never get the chance again. 

It’s like everything explodes at that point, Bakugou grows insatiable; he needs to taste you. He needs to know you inside and out, this hunger pooling low in his stomach and burning a river of fire down to his groin. It makes him groan into the kiss when you offer a reprieve for a quick breath, he nips and bites at your bottom lip to see if he can pull any noises from you.

And he delights in it when he can, your moans are so foreign to him yet it’s a heady feeling. It has him tugging at you until you’re situated over the tops of his thighs, and in a fluid motion, he’s standing. His hands cupped under your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh that he’s never had the chance to feel before. 

It takes him no time at all to cross the space from the living room to his bedroom, the door sliding open and closed with a hiss before the automatic locks click into place. He tosses you from his grip onto the plushness of his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning when he didn’t bother to make it. 

Bakugou looms over you like a predator, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths – you’re no better than he is, your lips are swollen and wet from his ministrations. Your heavy breathing only accentuates your breasts, drawing his attention down to them to see the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers move automatically, tucking underneath his shirt to tug it over his head. 

It’s flung off into some unknown direction, and when he looks up you’re leaning up. Your fingers skate along the sharp edges of his muscles, pressing into the places where the fat resides. Then you trace along scars that are white and some that are pink; you’re transfixed on him. It makes him preen under your gaze, and in your momentary distraction, he undoes the belt on his jeans before they’re pushed down too. 

The smile you give him makes his heart pitter-patter in his chest, you’re smiling up at him as if he’s the world to you. But the rational still-sober part of his mind insists that it’s just for the sex – he’s just a one-night stand to you and the feeling is mutual. Right? That is what Bakugou wants out of this, right? The tension in his stomach is unnerving, something akin to nausea at the idea of letting this not blossom into something more.

But he doesn’t get to ruminate on it further, your fingers drift downwards along the deep V on his hips until you’re at the top of his boxers. Automatically his fingers stroke up along your jaw, across your cheek until he’s hooking his fingers to the back of your head when you start to lean in closer. 

The feeling of your lips against the hard outline of his cock makes him jolt and melt at the same time, the rumbling moan is deep in his chest. How long had it been since he was last with someone? Fuck, he doesn’t even know but he can’t focus when the tip of your tongue slowly drags up along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

He must jolt too harshly because you laugh a little to yourself before you take pity on him. Bakugou wants to snap at you, shut you up for even daring to laugh at him but the words die on his tongue the second he even thinks of them. Your hands are undeniably soft when you wrap your hand around his hardness. 

There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, an indication of either your concentration or perhaps your trepidation for what’s to come. 

“Lie back,” he offers instead, your eyes drifting back up to meet his and you slip free from the hand hooked on the back of your head, the loss of your softness around his length leaves a longing that lingers in the depths of his stomach. This time he takes the time to undress you, sliding you free of the dress Mina had managed to wrangle you into. 

It looked far too good on you, something he wouldn’t admit at the start of the night but his inhibitions continue to slip. “Look at you, so beautiful.” 

His fingers skim up along the now bare expanse of your hips, brushing past your panties line and mapping their way up your sides. You’re just as scarred as he is, but yours are so different from his. He can see the almost invisible lines where someone has taken a scalpel to you and modified your body. Did you even know who did it?

He swallows the lump down in his throat, forcing his attention up to your breasts once his hands brush along the sides. His thumbs roll up over your nipples beneath your bra, the pebbled skin hard enough–sensitive enough to earn him a shiver of delight. The smile that brightens up his face is nothing short of sinful, it shows the modified canines and displays all his carnal desires without him having to even utter a word.

You lift your body up when he demands it, letting him slip you free of your underwear until you’re as bare as he is. And Holy fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous. His eyes leave no part of you unseen, his gaze roaming over you until you’re practically squirming.

“Please.” You whisper, gasping when his fingers finally find a home in the width of your hips. “Stop staring and do something.” 

That has an eyebrow rising in your direction. “Oh? Someone’s demanding when she wants something. You want me to hurry up and fuck you until you’re too dumb to remember your own name?” 

“You’re too much.” You all but whine, and he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat in your cheeks if he were to lean in closer.

“You have no idea.” Bakugou grins, a sultry smile that has your hips bucking beneath his iron grip and he’s swooping down. 

Lips pressing into yours in a much more hurried fashion compared to earlier; it’s a hunger that can only serve to work someone up until the point of completion. It has his tongue rolling into your mouth, brushing against the back of your teeth and trying to hear you choke on him when he’s bearing his weight down on you.

He’s positively devouring you, and his hands work to spread your legs wide for him on either side of the thickness of his own thighs. Then his fingers make their way down between your legs, brushing against the crease between where your thighs bend. You’re whining, moaning and biting back just as hard when he dares to bite your bottom lip. 

He wants to fucking ruin you. 

Bakugou draws his head back just enough to peer down at you, the light filtering in through the half-shuttered window highlights parts of you that are otherwise shrouded in the darkness. It illuminates the harsh rise and fall in your lungs, the way your nipples are pebbled in the cool air and the slight glisten on your inner thighs.

Finally, he indulges you. His fingers press between your folds to slide against your clit before they slowly venture downwards. His middle and ring fingers circle against your entrance teasingly slow, his lips parting to breathe in your whines for more. 

His eyebrows crumple with your own when you moan at the intrusion of his thick fingers, his head is swimming with how intoxicating it is to be above you like this. To have this level of power over someone who could definitely kill him before he could blink.

The stretch is easy enough with how wet you got so quickly for him, and he groans all low and rumbling in his chest at just how tight you are. You’re so soft and velvety inside, your walls clenching rhythmically with your deep inhales.

For a moment, he just holds his fingers deep inside of you completely still. Relishing in the way you try to shift your hips beneath him despite how he’s pinning you down beneath the weight of his own body. It’s such a stark difference to the nervous wreck he’s seen you as, and so fucking better than the cold-blooded killer he knew you were deep down. 

“Fuckin’ look at you.” He whispers into the heated air between the sparse gap between you two, his eyes half-lidded as they meet your own. You’re trying your hardest to glare at him, but you can’t quite fight the euphoric feeling of him curling his fingers just a little to shut you down. 

“Who knew all it took to get you nice and compliant was to stuff you full with my fingers?” His tone is a little mean, a little condescending. The tears don’t come for you however, but he can see you slowly dropping into the headspace he wants you to be in. 

“Please,” you beg—a plea, a sweet melody that Bakugou thinks he wants to listen to for the rest of his life. But this was just a one-night stand, right? 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“Just–... Move already, please.” He grins wide at the whimper at the end of your words. A small part of him wants to draw this out, make you suffer just a little but the rational voice in his mind tells him he’ll only get more out of you if he obliges. 

So he does. His fingers crook upwards, brushing against the spongy spot that no one but he could reach with the length of his fingers. The reaction is immediate, you moan so sweetly that it has his own eyes threatening to flutter and roll into the back of his head. 

You’re practically gushing around his fingers as he fucks them into you, repeatedly crooking his fingers in an attempt to see how quickly he could make you crumble beneath the palm of his hand. Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his own when you try to close your legs to stop the onslaught of his fingers. 

Bakugou noses into your cheek when you tilt your head back, your lips parted as you try to breathe in. But he doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes you further into the bed with his weight, shifting his body up just slightly so your hips are forced to bend with him – then suddenly he’s fucking his fingers into you impossibly deeper.

His lips hover just next to your temple, panting heavily against you. It’s a task and a half to stop himself from painting the inside of his boxers that he’s still yet to remove. But he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make you cum on his fingers.

He doesn’t stop when he feels your hand clamp down around his forearm, the strength there is enough to stop a moving truck—except you’re distracted, lost in the pleasure that races up and down your spine until it settles in the back of your mind. You’re too lost in your own head to be embarrassed about the sloppy sounds between your thighs, his fingers forcing more and more juices from you until he’s certain his bed will be soaked through.

As much as Bakugou wants to watch your pussy take his fingers so well, he can’t move his gaze away from your face. You look like something they used to paint in cathedrals, an angel. Your head is thrown back into his pillows, eyes scrunched closed and mouth open to let your moans spill free. The light from outside bathes you in neon colours, catching on the metallic strips of your chrome. 

Even if it is just a one-night stand, Bakugou doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the image of you in the throes of pleasure. 

Especially not when you finally do reach your climax for him. Your hand at his wrist tightens immediately, your thighs lock up with a tension that would worry him if he wasn’t aware of the intricate materials that you were composed of. Your chest stutters, and your mouth opens wider until he’s gifted with the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard; a series of moans that grow breathier with each pass of his fingers. 

“‘S too much.” You protest weakly, the hand that was wrapped around his wrist pushes in an attempt to free your swollen pussy from his long fingers. But he doesn’t pull out yet, only slowing down the roll of his wrist until finally he pulls free. Your entire body relaxes finally, muscles growing lax from where they’re wrapped around his waist. 

“It only takes one time and you’re done?” Bakugou questions with a teasing arch of his eyebrow, watching in amusement when your head rolls slightly to glare at him. It’s a hardly-there glare but you still give it to him regardless, it makes him grin down at you. “Nah, you’re not done.”

You’re like putty in his hands with how easily he manoeuvres your body around, tucking both of your legs together before twisting your lower half to the side. A large arm keeps your legs held up and off to the side, whilst his unoccupied hand strokes along the rigid length of his cock. It aches, pearled with pre-cum from just watching you cream all over his hand.

He levels the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, easily finding the hole that was previously spread so wide around just two of his fingers. The warmth is intoxicating, flooding his senses and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice you moving just slightly to slide a hand down over your hip to feel the length of his cock disappearing deeper and deeper inside of you.

The groan Bakugou lets out once his hips fall flush against your own is sinful enough to have you clenching around him, turning that beautiful groan into a hiss through clenched teeth. He snaps his gaze up to you, only to see your own gaze heedy with lust and half-lidded. He can feel every single inch of your velveteen walls, can feel the way you’re still panting and clenching around his cock. 

He thinks he could die here, quite happily might he add.

A large hand comes down to your ass, shifting the flesh just enough so he can flit his eyes downwards and see the sticky mess that’s already tacking his pubic hair. That same hand comes back down again to level your ass with a firm spank, and it has you squeezing around him tight enough to stop him from rolling his hips back to start fucking you.

It’s enough to make him forget he’s fucking you raw.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ hard. You like it that much, hm?” Bakugou goads with a bite to his bottom lip when he feels you pulse at the tone he takes with you. With enough willpower, he rolls his hips backwards just enough to pull himself out halfway before fucking his cock back into you. “Tell me how much you like it.” 

His stomach tenses when you brush the pads of your fingers against the tensed muscles there, his eyes drift away from where he was connected to you, along your arm until he finds your face. You’re looking him in the eye, eyelids heavy and lips parted when you moan low at the feeling of him rolling his hips smoothly once again. 

“Say it,” Bakugou bares his teeth at you, the modified fangs in his mouth gleaming with the passing lights through the window.

“Bak—” 

He moves before he can even think, faster than you can react. His hand engulfs the entirety of your lower face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks until he can feel the solid metal that was buried in your very muscles. Your eyes are wide, more alert but you don’t fight him surprisingly. Bakugou hunches his body over your own until his forehead connects with yours, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

The angle he’s at now has your eyebrows crumpling together, mouth opening in a wordless moan—he’s so fucking deep that he’s pretty certain he’s pressed right against your cervix.

“No, use my fuckin’ name.” He growls in your face, hissing his words through clenched teeth. You’re clenching around him so tightly that his head feels like it’s filled with nanites, infiltrating his brain until all he can think about is you, you, you.

A harsh thrust of his hips has you gasping, he can see you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back and eyelashes flutter closed to bask fully in the pleasure. But you keep his gaze, sturdy and unyielding. 

“Katsuki.”

He’s never heard his given name on your tongue before, so breathy and sweet that it has his pace faltering for a split second. His name sounded perfect when you said it like that, as if your very vocal cords were crafted just to moan his name like that—like an angel. Bakugou gives in to the urge to moan in return, jaw falling slack. 

Your hand is delicate around his wrist, guiding him to free you from the grip he still had on your jaw to slide it downwards until he finds your throat. His fingers latch around it naturally, digging in just enough to have you gasping against his open and waiting mouth but not enough to hurt you. He can see that you enjoy it—can feel it in the way your pussy drools for him more.

The second his hand locks around your throat, everything empties from his mind. His hips move as if they were designed to fuck you, to feel your skin slap against his and to have your entire body jump with each harsh rut. Your moans vibrate against his palm, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever your moans grow louder, more desperate when he shifts his weight just enough to bully the tip of his cock against your cervix.

The hand around his wrist tightens, the tips of your nails digging into his flesh. It makes him hiss in pain, gritting his teeth to fuck you harder. His entire body glistens with sweat, dripping down along his hairline where strands of his ash blonde hair stick to his dewy skin. It pools in the hollow of his throat and builds along his biceps, which flex and bulge with the effort of keeping up his position hunched over you. 

“G’nna—” You gasp, his hand instinctively closing around your throat before relaxing. “‘M g’nna cum.”

And fuck, if he thought you whispering his given name was hot then he’s not sure where that ranks. He’s not sure why he’s never considered just how hot it would be for you to admit you were close to orgasm, to inform him that he’s doing such a good job at fucking you that you’re about to cum.

“Yeah?” He huffs in the effort of his pace, suddenly rearing back and releasing your throat in favour of shifting your position. He throws your legs over his shoulders, large hands grasping at your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed properly. “Then cum.”

With his hands lower down on your body, Bakugou’s able to free one hand from grasping at the meat of your thigh to let his thumb roll over your clit with enough pressure to have your knees turning inwards and back arching off of the bed. The moan that comes you from is angelic, a sound that has his stomach twisting in anticipation and the need to cum—but not yet, he’s going to fuck you as much as he can before he reaches his end.

He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him to the point where his hips are forced to take shallow thrusts. But his hand doesn’t give up on your clit; he switches to his fingers to pinch and cruelly swipe at your swollen clit. Your toes curl against the back of his head, and Bakugou finds himself leaning into the feeling—needing to feel every single part of you whilst your pleasure crests.

And when you do cum, Bakugou can’t help but groan alongside you. 

“Fuuu—... That’s it, good girl.” His tone is a little breathy, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths he has to take to keep up the pace to fuck you through your orgasm and beyond that. His hand drops away from between your thighs, sliding up to grab at your waist before moving you up along the bed whilst situating himself on top.

He tugs your legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them tightly around his waist—you move easily for him, so pliant and willing to do anything for him after he made you cum on his cock. Your thighs mould easily around the thinner part of his waist, your ankles locking naturally. 

His cock remains buried deep inside of you, still savouring the aftershock waves of pleasure that have your walls throbbing around him. Bakugou leans down into your space, with one elbow to the side of your head whilst the other latches itself onto the headboard. You meet his gaze, finally gaining back some clarity. 

“Back with me?” He grins, sharp teeth on display when he looks down at you. He wonders if you find him intimidating like this, you’ve shown you were somewhat afraid of him in the past—never stepping on his toes, or overstepping when he ordered you to stay the fuck out of his way. Part of him doesn’t want you to be afraid of him anymore, he wants to make you smile more, laugh more, moan more—

A hand caresses itself along his cheek, drawing him out of his lust-ridden mind until he finds your eyes. Your thumb drags itself along the apple of his cheek, across the corner of his lips until you press your thumb against his lips. He’s not sure what’s enthralled him exactly, maybe it’s just the look in your eye—because you’re not looking up at him like you’re afraid, but rather you’re looking up at him with something scarily close to admiration. 

Your thumb drops down from his lips and to his chin, and with the slightest of tugs you pull him down into your space. He collapses onto both of his elbows on either side of your head, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your face. He can smell you this close, a mixture of sweat and that sweet perfume Mina had bought for you. 

Again, he doesn’t fight it when you pull him that final inch. Your lips are smooth against his own, so gentle and intoxicating. You kiss him like you want to savour this, savour him. And so he lets you, he lets you savour him just as he savours you in return. His mouth pries yours open easily enough, your tongue eager to meet his own in a smooth curl.

His hips begin to move on instinct, both of his thighs spread wide so he can thrust hard and deep. Your skin slaps against his, a wet sound that has the pit of pleasure in his stomach tightening and tightening with each passing second. His balls smack against the roundness of your ass, drawing up with the urge to spill deep inside of you—but he won’t, as much as he’d love to feel your walls milk him for all he’s worth.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss off, head falling back into his pillows whilst he props himself back up over the top of you. With a better view of your body, your tits that bounce with each rut of his hips, he finds himself standing right on the precipice of his climax. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic in their strength and depth—effortlessly fucking you through your next orgasm when you open your mouth in a silent scream.

“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Bakugou pants, his stomach clenches and his balls draw up tight. He pulls back suddenly from your space, away from the intoxicating heat that radiates off of your body to pull from your pussy entirely. His hand wraps around his cock and he fists it aggressively, thumb pressing against his head before he sucks in one deep breath, only to release it in a loud groan.

His cum comes in thick waves, drawing lines up along your stomach and up along your chest. You lay there, with your legs wide open and eyes half-lidded; watching him cum all over your body. Bakugou finds his hips still thrusting with each spurt from his cock, squeezing every last drop before tapping the sticky tip against your belly button where it had mostly gathered. 

His entire body relaxes immediately, the weight of his responsibilities disappearing into nothing when he lets his mind bathe completely in that post-nut haze. You seem in the same mind, letting your legs droop at his waist and an arm coming to rest over your eyes, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

Slipping away from you, Bakugou doesn’t bother to pick up the clothes scattered around and instead beelines it for the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He pauses by the door leading out, he can’t hear any noise—hopefully, Kirishima was still out, if not then he’s going to be up Bakugou’s ass about fucking you. 

Rummaging through a stack of towels, he finds a light and small one to wipe you down with. But as he’s about to re-enter the bedroom, he turns to see you’re standing up and looking around for your underwear.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” He gruffs, his own voice ruined from the session—he needs a drink of water, he makes a mental note. 

You look up at him, quite like the image of a deer in headlights. “Uh, well—I just thought you’d want me to… go.” 

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together before his eyes flit down to the ropes of cum still on your skin and he wants to ask if you planned on ruining your clothes with his cum. Instead, he shakes his head, stepping back into the dimly lit bedroom. 

“Get back in bed, let me clean you up.” He watches as you stare at him for a second more, hesitating or debating on refusing his offer. But clearly your exhaustion wins out, because you turn with a drop of the dress in your hand and climb back in his bed, careful to not drip any of his cum on the sheets. 

On the way past, he reaches down to a compartment in his wall to pull out two bottles of water. Placing them on the bedside table, he stands at the foot of the bed looking down at you. He can see you squirming under his gaze, the embarrassment starting to creep up on you but Bakugou can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed about the fact he was still completely naked. It felt good, with you.

You don’t squirm away when he wipes you clean, careful between your legs when he sees how puffy and swollen you look down there. But it still makes you flinch, a quiet gasp leaving your lips and it’s impossible to not smirk up at you before he drops the towel somewhere in the pile of abandoned clothes to be dealt with tomorrow. 

Grabbing one water bottle, he offers it to you. “Drink up, and then actually get in bed. ‘M tired as fuck.” 

He turns away when you take the bottle from him, still sporting that slightly bewildered look on your face as if you expected him to kick you to the streets—or rather, the sofa. Part of him does question why he’s letting you stay in his bed in the first place, but the idea of you going out to that shitty sofa after sex… it just doesn’t sit well in his chest.

He gives you the time to bury yourself beneath his sheets whilst he kicks the dirty clothes towards the far wall, next to the laundry basket before returning to you. You look tiny in his bed, made especially large to accommodate his height. You’re nearly lost beneath the thick sheets and mountain of pillows, it makes his lips curl into a playful smile before he crawls into bed with you. 

You shift out of the way to let him lay down, the room dimming further until you were both plunged into darkness save for the passing lights through the slatted shutters on his window. He can still make you out in the dark, with his optics shut down and eyes naturally enhanced—he can see you’re looking at him over the top of the covers, debating on if you should still make a run for it.

“Fuckin’—...” He huffs a sigh, shifting under the sheets so quickly you don’t have the time to stop him. “Stop actin’ like I’m going to bite you or some shit.”

You curve into his muscle easily enough, moulding into the shape needed to be held close. His chin rests atop your head, thick arms looped around you. It’s odd—Bakugou wasn’t a hugger, definitely not a cuddler but having you in his arms, the smooth feeling of your softer skin beneath his and the warmth that comes from your very being is comforting. 

His heart flutters in his chest when he can feel your arms slowly wrapping around him until you’re embracing him fully. You cling to him as if you were expecting him to rip you away at any given moment and ruin the moment. Has he really been that harsh to you? Sure, he’d been a bit of a dick when he first met you but you were choking out their only Ripper whilst holding a gun to their faces that’d eradicate them before they so much as blinked.

And sure, he had a tongue as sharp as a knife… fuck, maybe he was that harsh with you. He blames it lazily on the drink still in his system, despite the pestering fact in the very back of his mind that he worked most of it out of his system fucking you into his bed. It makes his head ache with the sudden rush of conflicting feelings, thoughts that clash over and over—

Forcing his eyes to shut and muscles to relax, he basks in the warmth of your much smaller body wrapped around his own and lets himself fall asleep.

You wake up feeling… warm. Not hot, nor cold. Comfortable too. The softness of the sheets around are some of the best you’ve felt in weeks, the blanket you’d been given to sleep with on the sofa was somewhat scratchy when you’d tuck it under your chin. This one is smoother, doesn’t catch on the thin intricate strips that are near-invisible to the naked eye that line your body. 

There’s a weight across your body, a leg wedged between your own and a heavy arm draped over your waist. The warmth is coming from directly behind you, a solid press of muscle that breathes steadily against the back of your head. And if you glance just enough over your shoulder, you find a head of blonde hair that’s softened after a night of sleep. 

Bakugou has himself plastered against you, completely. His face is buried into the back of your hair, and with him this close, all you can smell is him. His bed smells strongly of the aftershave he uses, and the man himself smells like your late-night activities—a musk that has your head in the clouds in remembrance. 

You’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that you can remember, anyway. Bakugou treated you more than just someone he wanted to fuck, he didn’t toss you around or disregard the fact you had to cum too to enjoy yourself—he made sure you were on the same level as pleasure as he was, if not more. He kissed you like a lover would. 

That last thought has your face heating, an odd feeling of butterflies fluttering up into your stomach until they settle in your lungs. It was ridiculous to have such a childish thought flit into your mind, Bakugou certainly wasn’t the type of man to settle down—his lifestyle didn’t fit with it.

You could tell just from the way he lived in his own home, he functioned to serve himself only—with the exception of Kirishima when he forgot breakfast. But outside of the walls of his apartment, his work lifestyle wasn’t fit for a partner in any sense of the word. He was a merc, mercs didn’t lock themselves down with someone because it was dangerous. Simple as.

Having a partner in Night City was the same as putting a target on your back. You became weak and vulnerable—something Bakugou would never let himself be. You knew that just from the weeks of living beside him. 

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard this early?” Bakugou’s voice is deeper, raspier in the mornings… and it’s impossible to not clamp down in longing that he was still buried inside of you. 

He shifts behind you, one long deep breath in before he releases it. His muscles ease off of you when he breathes out, the weightlessness of sleep disappearing with each second. Instead, the arm that was slung over your waist grows bold in it’s movement. His large hand guides his fingers delicately over your skin, circling your belly button before meandering off until he finds your hip.

“Hm?” He nudges you with the tip of his nose, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are smouldering, barely open and yet the red that stares back at you is bright. The long eyelashes you’ve never had the chance to see so clearly bat delicately against his cheekbones. 

“Nothing, sorry for waking you.” You whisper back, and his eyes automatically drift down to watch the movement of your lips. The hand at your hip kneads softly at the flesh there before it moves lower, the tips of his fingers skirting up and down along your thigh. It’s enough to draw a harsh shiver up your spine, and in turn, causes Bakugou to let out a raspy chuckle.

“Yeah?” You pick up on the playful tone in his voice, a teasing grin growing on his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me? Hm?” 

You’re drawn to him biting on his bottom lip before his grin grows wider, watching you watch him—a back-and-forth dance to see who snaps first under the surmounting sexual tension in the room. The hand on your thigh slips down, hooking his fingers into your inner thigh to hoist your leg a little higher up on his hip. His cock is hot and hard where it presses between your thighs, the tip tapping against your clit. 

Shifting himself up onto one elbow, partially hovering over you from behind, he finds your lips with his own. The kiss starts off softer than he kissed you last night, it’s not as hurried—not yet anyway. Bakugou kisses you like he wants to savour your flavour, to save the taste of you on his tongue. He tilts his head just slightly to delve in deeper, and then prying your mouth open with his. 

His tongue is invasive, in the sense that he has to dive as deep as he can into your mouth. His tongue curls against the roof of your mouth, feels along the points of your teeth before he’s back to caressing your tongue with his own. The hand between your thighs spreads you lewdly beneath the blankets, a middle finger finding your clit before he strokes it down along your slit; wet and slippery for him.

Bakugou groans into your open mouth, before greedily going in again after the single breath he takes. This time the kiss is more energetic, more consuming. His cock twitches between your thighs, tapping against your thigh with its sticky tip. You can’t help but roll your hips back into him, push your ass out in invitation—

A loud bang in the living area has you both flinching, lips parting just enough for you to see the scowl starting to form on Bakugou’s face.

“Fuckin’ Ei. Just ignore ‘im.” His voice is harsh with desire, a low whisper that has your stomach tightening. Bakugou swoops back in, devouring your lips with more vigour, desperate to get what he wants now he knows that his roommate is awake—who knows when he’ll get a chance like this again. 

He manoeuvres you on the bed, climbing over the top of you until you’re in a similar position as last night; your thighs at his waist and his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head. His cock bobs again between the two of you, smearing his pre along the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His lips part from yours once again, this time to chart a path down along your jaw and neck. He bites and kisses in tandem, sucking your skin until you can feel the bruises starting to blossom there. 

Bakugou continues to consume you from the outside, pressing his hips down finally to relieve himself of the pressure building in his groin. He groans beautifully against your skin, a sound so intoxicating you can’t stop your eyes from rolling and your hands seeking purchase in his hair. It’s soft to the touch, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when you accidentally tug on it, his hips press harder against your own. Rutting his cock against your pussy.

“Shit, g’nna fuck you—”

“Yo, Bakugou!” The bedroom door opens with a loud hiss, and you can only squeak out in surprise when Bakugou all but presses you into the bed in an attempt to hide you. “I thought you said we had food in, and—... uh–...”

“Get the fuck out!” Bakugou snarls, reaching over to grab the closest thing to him on the bedside table. There’s a shift of his entire body, something flying through the air and the resounding plastic crunch of Kirishima being smacked by the poor water bottle that was launched. 

“Sorry!” Kirishima back peddles it out of the room before Bakugou can scramble to find something else to throw, the door hissing to announce that he was well and truly out of the room. 

The air is no longer thick with sexual tension, instead, there’s a lingering awkwardness that has Bakugou deflating on top of you. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heavy sigh that’s pushed out of his body in acceptance that he won’t be fucking you again today. 

“He’s such a fuckin’ idiot, can’t trust him to do shit on his own.” He grumbles against you, his lips so close you can feel each word forming on them. He leans up off of you, kneeling between your legs and you try your hardest to not grow embarrassed at your nakedness on display. He looks almost sad, defeated at the fact he knows he has to go deal with the red-haired giant that’s no doubt ripping apart his kitchen looking for food.

“Sorry,” he huffs, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips before he’s up and out of bed. “You can just sleep in here if you want. I know that eyebags said you need to rest after whatever the fuck happened so—just, rest here.” 

You raise an eyebrow before realisation dawns on you; he means Shinsou. You smile at that, tucking the comforter back around you and burying yourself among the pillows. You watch as Bakugou blindly digs through his wardrobe, plucking out various clothes until he finds what he wants. 

As if sensing your eyes, he glances over his bare shoulder at you with a wicked smirk on his face before bending down to draw his boxers up his legs. “The showers just in there, feel free to use whatever's in there.” He nods with his head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Okay, thank you.” You smile at him when he turns to look at you, he looks awfully handsome like this. Half dressed, a shirt in one hand and belt loose around his waist where he still has to button up his black cargo pants. He hovers for a second, fingers curling a little tighter around his shirt and you can see his jaw working to help him spit out the words he wants to say.

Except, he’s interrupted again by another bang—one that sounds suspiciously like the microwave door being broken. Bakugou groans in annoyance, running a hand through his hair before giving you one last glance just before he leaves the room.

You’re left in silence, the outside world still asleep despite the sun rising. 

“You fucking idiot!” Bakugou yells, muffled but still loud enough that you feel like you’re in the room with him. The rest of the argument fades out into muffled voices, and soon sleep retakes you with the comforting smell of Bakugou still clouding your mind.

It isn’t until a handful of hours later that you emerge from the bedroom. It had quieted down soon after Bakugou had come out to confront Kirishima, and you managed to shower uninterrupted—you found clothes laid out on the bed for you, no doubt from Bakugou who must’ve heard the shower running at some point.

When the door hisses open, you’re met with the smell of beer and the voices of multiple people. People you’ve come to know as Shinsou, Sero and Kaminari. Of course, Bakugou and Kirishima are there too but the former is quiet as he watches the group yap about something he’s uninterested in. 

“Nah, man. I’m telling you, she was looking at me.” Kaminari whines, earning him a snort of laughter from Shinsou and a shake of a head from Sero.

“You’re delusional, she’s a doll. They don’t see a thing.” Sero snickers when Kaminari pouts at that, leaning into Kirishima’s side who mockingly consoles him for thinking he had a chance with a doll.

The name is something that most people know, it was a way for people to get away with doing whatever they wanted to another person without the repercussions. Fuck a doll and they have their memory wiped by the end of it, confess murder and they’ll just smile at you. Dolls. You’d seen plenty of advertisements for it last night whilst visiting Jig-Jig Street, the idea of a chip like that existing made you feel sick.

A call of your name has your eyes blinking, snapping out of the trance and looking towards the source. Shinsou. Immediately Sero and Kaminari flinch in realisation that you were standing right behind them on the sofa, an unwanted reminder of when you had nearly blown them to pieces no more than 48 hours ago. 

“How’re you feeling?” Shinsou asks, head tilting slightly.

“Fine, better than yesterday.” You smile back a little, eyes making their way automatically towards the ash blonde who sits with his knees apart on the opposite side of the sofa, an arm draped over the back of it and a beer can cradled in the hand on his thigh. “Still tired.”

“Even after you slept all day?” Kirishima asks next, and you make the mistake of glancing at him because he has a very knowing smug grin on his face. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t—”

“Oi, shut the fuck up.” Bakugou grunts before taking a sip of his drink, and you’re thankful for the intervention. You use the momentary distraction created by Bakugou to slip into a seat, finding the only place available between Bakugou and Shinsou—there’s a large enough gap that you know was reinforced by the blonde. 

Bakugou only offers you a sideways glance when you settle into the seat next to him, you can feel him watching you; observing to see if you had any regrets from the previous night. But you have none, not a single one. You felt… happy. You didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread sitting on your chest, instead you felt at ease. You relax into the plushness of the sofa, indirectly sinking into the spot where Bakugou had his arm slung over the back.

The conversation has already moved on, thankfully. All four of the men engaged in the conversation, with Bakugou drinking away at his beer whilst observing the group gathered. 

“Do you remember that gig over in Watson?” Sero snorts, earning him a groan from Kirishima and a laugh from Kaminari. Sero flicks his gaze over to you, and you can see the mischief there when he realises he has an audience who haven’t heard the story.

“Hanta, don’t.” Kirishima whines, sinking into the seat with a large hand coming up to cover his face. You’ve never seen him quite like this; embarrassed. It was new, and you can’t help but smile at the idea of hearing something that would cause the giant of a man such emotions. 

“But she hasn’t heard the story!” Sero exclaims, grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. “Alright so, we had this gig over on the Northside, up in the Watson district. It was probably one of the easiest gigs to date, a simple in-and-out steal.”

You can feel Bakugou shift next to you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him grinning over the lip of his beer can. 

“Anyway. It was me, Denki and Ei.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “And for some reason, big Red here wanted to be the guy to do the stealth portion of the mission.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Uraraka just installed some new cyberware. She said I wouldn’t make a sound!” Kirishima huffs when you shoot him an incredulous look. A man who was over 6 ft 7 was definitely not suited for stealth work. If anything, you would’ve picked Sero—lanky, tall, light-footed.

“You’re about as heavy as a bull, you’re heavy footed as fuck Ei.” Bakugou goads, a grin on his face when Kirishima turns the glare his way. 

Sero snickers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We were meant to just steal this van, apparently it was Maelstrom property but we needed what was in it. All Kirishima had to do was sneak in, hotwire the van and get the fuck out of there. Instead, he trips every alarm known to man and has to hightail it out of there in a van with only two wheels.” 

Bakugou offers a laugh, a genuine laugh at the memory of Kirishima returning to the hideout with a van hanging on for dear life.

“What about the time we had to eradicate that Daemon on the Net?” Kaminari snickers, which in turn has Shinsou turning his sights on him. “Shinsou popped a boner when his connection was flooded with those sex toy ads.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shinsou growls, and you watch quietly when he lashes out at Kaminari who dares to laugh in his face. “I told you, the next time you tell someone that shit I’m—”

The conversation fades out slowly, your eyes focused on the spot in the centre of the coffee table. Daemons on the Net. Something about that sounds too familiar, would the man you saw in your own subconscious connected to the Net count as one of those daemons? Has someone injected you with something to cause a break in your cyberware? 

You can still hear his voice, calling out your name. You could still feel the shards of glass he shattered in your mind, in your soul. They were lodged so snuggly against your vital organs, pressing yet waiting to be given the order to execute. That happiness you had felt just moments ago is washed away, replaced with the reminder that you were clueless as to who that man was—clueless to who you are. 

A nudge to your foot has you blinking rapidly, glancing down to see Bakugou had knocked his foot against your own. You look at the man at your side, only to find his eyes already set on you. His hand is empty of the beer can he was drinking, and he’s staring at you like he was able to see your inner struggle. 

“C’mon.” He grunts, standing up suddenly and you have no choice but to follow after him. You follow him towards the front door of the apartment, where he suddenly turns to you with the black and orange bomber jacket you’ve grown attached to. You don’t fight him when he throws it over your shoulders, holding the arms to help you with putting it on. 

“Where you goin’?” Kirishima calls from the living area, all of the guys turning their heads to watch you adjusting the jacket on your body whilst Bakugou does the same with his own riding leather jacket.

“Out. Need more beers, figured I’ll take this one with me to save her from you guys being a bunch of freaks.” That earns him a number of groans and insults. “Shuddup, last time you were left with a girl alone, you all had to stiff leg it out of there.” 

He doesn’t wait for the next round of insults hurled his way, instead, he pushes you out of the door first before letting it shut with an audible hiss behind him. You can still faintly hear them arguing through the door but Bakugou shows no issue with the fact he probably just left his own apartment to delve into chaos. 

Bakugou leads you down the stairwell that leads to the garage, he holds the door open for you once you reach your destination and you’re met with a large parking lot. You’ve never been in here before, all the times you went out it was with Kirishima and he was adamant about walking around Night City instead of driving—he hated traffic just as much as the next person it seemed. 

You follow behind Bakugou like a lost puppy, eyes darting from car to car. All of them ranging from heavily modified or straight-up pieces of junk that should be scrapped for a few Eurodollars. When he comes to a stop at the end of the garage, a light flicks on overhead to show the sleek black motorbike you saw when you had been first introduced to Aizawa. 

Bakugou steps off to the side, rummaging around through a bio-coded locker which leaves you to investigate his motorbike a little more closely. It’s beautiful, obviously one of the pride and joys of the ash blonde. Your fingers ghost delicately along the smooth leather seat, it looks untouched—or rather, well-loved and cared for. 

You tilt your head to look down along the expensive body, eyeing the fact there wasn’t even a single scratch on it. Just how well did he care for this bike? Your eyes spot what you’re looking for; Yaiba. 

“It’s a modified Kusanagi CT-3X, if you’re wondering.” Bakugou finds himself next to you, one helmet perched atop his head and forcing the hairs down into his eyes, the other is under an arm.

“A rare Arasaka bike, right?” Bakugou nods at your words, an eyebrow arched as if he’s impressed you even knew that—to be fair, so are you. Your mind buzzes at the information you’re able to pull effortlessly from the bank of information sitting in your mind. “One of the fastest and most expensive bikes out there, how’d you get it?”

“Callin’ me cheap now?” He sneers but there’s no heat to it, he grins when you turn to look at him. He adjusts the helmet under his arm, holding it up to you so he can place it carefully over your head. “It was something I got with my first real paycheck, I always wanted one. Even as a kid when I lived in Tokyo, Yaiba had some of the best bikes out there and I just knew I wanted one.”

You smile up at him when he reveals just a slither of his past. So he wasn’t from here, it made sense. There was something about him that was never truly comfortable about being in Night City, no matter how long you live here—you’re never truly a part of the city as an outsider. Bakugou’s careful in pulling down the helmet, pressing a button on the inside before pushing down his own helmet.

“You hear me alright?” He questions, and you have to stop yourself from flinching at the voice in your ears. You nod at him, and you can hear him snicker quietly over the Bluetooth connection between the two helmets. “Alright, let’s get going before Ei comes and hunts us down.”

He slings a leg over the bike effortlessly, the entire thing bouncing on it’s suspension before he looks over at you through the small lifted gap of his visor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing from him to the seat behind him—if you can even call it that, there’s hardly any room and you’re going to be pressed up right against him. Why does that even matter when you were naked and under him this mor—

“Stop thinking and get the fuck on.” He grumbles, going as far as to reach over to grasp at your forearm to tug you forward. You have no choice but to clamber ontop of the bike behind him, your hands coming to loosely grab at the material of his leather jacket. Bakugou sighs heavily through the comms, using one hand to grasp at each of your hands individually to secure them snugly around his chest. “Hold on, this thing goes fast.”

The bike rumbles to life beneath you, Bakugou no doubt revving it on purpose to make you scoot closer to ensure you weren’t going to slip away when he put his foot down. You cling to him, your arms tucked tightly around his ribcage and head tilted so you’re not poking the front of your helmet into his back. 

Soon enough, you’re out on the road, and you’re amazed by just how easily Bakugou moves the bike with his own weight. He makes it seem effortless when he weaves in and out of traffic, how he bends easily forward forcing you to move with him so that he can pick up speed. You can only watch the world blur past, streaks of rain hardly leaving a mark against your visor from just how quickly you’re going.

You cling to Bakugou, hands grasped tightly on his stomach. You can feel each of his muscles under his shirt, they tense and hardened when he rounds corners much too quickly. He sits back up from his leaned position, forcing you backwards and tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You can see from the speedometer that he’s way above the legal speed limit, hitting a solid 150mph.

The wind and rain batter against the exposed strips of skin on your body, and your hands sting like you’ve been pelted with a million little rocks but you can’t complain too much. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s something else. You feel weightless when Bakugou expertly rounds corners or when he picks up speed along a long stretch of road, weaving between cars that beep and no doubt scream at him for being such an idiot.

“Look to your right,” he speaks into the microphone that’s connected directly to your helmet, his voice sounds calm—at peace. This was his peace, his getaway. To speed his way through a city that could kill him in the next moment. 

You do as he says, glancing to your right to see… you. It’s a clear reflection along some corporate building, you can see yourself attached to his back holding on for dear life. The city on the other side of you is bright, flickering and flashing despite the downpour of rain. You didn’t notice it when you were in the garage but Bakugou had modified his bike to light up, the inner trim of the wheels is set alight with bright neon orange lights.

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity. You let go. You can hear Bakugou over the comms shouting at you to grab ahold of him again but you feel free. Weightless. Truly weightless. You can’t hear that man's voice in your head anymore, you can only hear the howling wind and the beat of your own heart. You can’t feel that barrier in your mind, splintered and fractured, irreparable because you’re free. 

When your arms extend out at your sides, you can feel a frantic hand grab at the fabric of your jacket. Bakugou holds you in place whilst you let yourself go; to feel free, for the first time. Your heart races in your chest, the feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced before in your life and you want to cling to this feeling, to this freedom. To the man in front of you, the one who had gifted you that freedom so easily. 

The reflection of the two of you disappears quickly, the building left behind and you can’t help but grin when you finally hear Bakugou again over the whistling wind.

“I swear to fuckin’ god, I won’t be scooping your brains off the road. Put your arms back around me!”

You laugh into the helmet, wrapping your arms once again around his body. You can still feel the tension in his back but it melts just slightly when you grasp tighter than before, holding the entirety of your body against his own. 

“You got a death wish or somethin’?!” He still growls despite you being reattached to him, and you give him another laugh that makes his shoulders sag just slightly in relaxation. “Fuckin’ idiot—...”

“Thank you for bringing me out tonight.” Your words are met with silence, your head comes to rest against the broadness of his shoulders comfortably as you watch the world pass by. The city eventually bleeds out into green, grass and trees that tower high into the sky. You’ve never been here before.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou grumbles quietly, and if it wasn’t for the connection between your helmets you would’ve missed the bashfulness in his voice. “We’re nearly there so just hold on this time, dumbass.” 

You let your body move effortlessly with his, swaying from side to side when he does sharp turns around corners that would have an inexperienced rider thrown off the back of their bike. The rain has started to lessen, only a light drizzle that drenches the back of your jacket and you only squeeze tighter around the single source of warmth. 

Bakugou slows the bike down to a complete stop once he reaches the destination in mind, with a glance around you can see you’re in the middle of nowhere. There are a few houses dotted around, if you can call them that, they’re more like massive mansions. 

“C’mon, keep that on and keep quiet.” Bakugou taps your thigh to get you to climb off the bike before he follows after you. You watch him manually move his bike to hide in the shadows behind some bushes and you’re furrowing your eyebrows immediately in confusion. Just what exactly was he planning?

He tilts his head in a gesture to get you to follow, taking you off of the road and down a steep hill that leads further into the underbrush. The city is obscured by the number of trees and large shrubs, and you nearly lose sight of Bakugou when he ducks in and out of the shadows—but as you watch him, you realise he knows his way through all of this a little too well.

“You’ve been here before?” You whisper over the link, and you see Bakugou glance over his shoulder at you for a moment before returning his gaze forward.

“Yeah, been comin’ here since I first moved here. It’s the only place with some real grass.” His voice lowered down to a whisper has your stomach set alight with butterflies. You continue to wordlessly follow him until he abruptly stops, throwing a hand back to grab at your forearm before pulling you down into a crouch next to him.

You peek around his shoulder, your eyes silently activating to see what he might be seeing. Immediately you hone in on a large SUV parked up on the ridge of the road, around fifty feet in front of you. There’s four heat signatures, all of them belonging to men who are in thick armour and strapped with multiple weapons.

“Arasaka.” You whisper to Bakugou, who quietly nods his head. He doesn’t move a muscle, holding your wrist tightly in his hand as if he’s waiting for them to just look in your direction and open fire. “They’re not holding their weapons, they’re not looking for anyone.”

“The Arasaka estate is up ahead. They’re still on guard dog duty.” Bakugou supplies, causing your eyes to move away from the group of men to the estate he speaks of. You can see it much more clearly with your augmentations active, you can see the heat signatures within and the overwhelming amount of security measures in place.

There’s an indistinctive shout causing you to dart your eyes back towards the group of people only to see them piling back into the car. Bakugou visibly deflates in relief, his hand around your forearm slips down to your wrist before he’s tugging you after him. You follow lowly just behind him, mindful of each step as you grow closer and closer to the edge of the underbrush. Bakugou exits first, standing to his full height which drags you up next to him.

When you glance around, you’re silenced by the view. It’s beautiful. Night City is in the distance, so wide and yet so tightly compacted into tall skyscrapers and tall flashing neon signs. Bakugou’s hand slips away from your wrist when you take steps towards the cliff edge that looks down on the lower level of residents, you can’t take your eyes away from the city before you.

It looked so… small. So dense and yet you knew the intensity of it all from the very moment your eyes opened in that ripper’s office. Night City was a vicious beast, a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out if you weren’t strong enough to survive—but when you look at it from here, look at how insignificant the people are and how tiny the city is. It’s almost impossible to comprehend.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Bakugou speaks clearly next to you, having taken off his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. You follow suit and remove your own, thankful for the fresh breeze and slight drizzle against your face. You glance towards Bakugou only to see his eyes set on the city before you, absorbed in his own thoughts. “Figured you could use it too.”

“It looks so beautiful from out here, but inside… it’s—”

“One of the worst places to live. Yeah, I thought it’d be great moving here all those years ago. But I was a dumb kid with a dumb idea, and now here I am.” Bakugou huffs, running his free hand through his flattened hair to re-fluff it before settling himself down onto the ground.

You take his lead and sit next to him, putting your helmet to the side and being careful to not let it roll off the edge of the small cliff in front of you. Setting your eyes back onto the city, you feel that sense of freedom again. You were free from the city, even for just a moment, you felt like you could breathe for yourself for the first time. Your heart wasn’t pounding, your mind wasn’t racing and your skin wasn’t itching in knowing what lay beneath it all. 

“Any reason you spaced out when Dunceface started talking about Shinsou’s gig with the Net?” Bakugou inquires after a moment of silence, you turn your attention to him to find he’s leaning against his propped-up knees, head tilted in your direction. “Don’t gotta tell me shit but—”

“It just reminded me of when I was… healing.” You admit, not missing the way Bakugou visibly winces at the reminder of what put you there in the first place. “When I was in there… Something happened, and hearing Kaminari talk about Daemons—it made me think about why I can’t remember anything.”

“What, like someone’s infected your network or something?” Bakugou shifts slightly, raising his head to look at you properly with a level of concern that looks frankly terrifying on his face. He looks… worried.

“I don’t know, maybe? It’d make sense. I have this empty part of my head that I can’t access, like it’s been cut off from me or something. What if there’s a Daemon in my system? Or worse.” 

“Shinsou would’ve picked up on that. Or even Jirou, she’s the one who said you had impressive firewalls inside that head of yours.” 

A part of you wants to agree with him, because it does make sense. They would’ve found the source of whatever was wrong with you, but instead, they came out empty-handed and you, empty-headed. But you can’t shake the vision of that man, the blurred green of his eyes and then when you saw him in the street… something just wasn’t right. 

“Maybe you’re right. I just—it’s scary, y’know? Not knowing who I am.” You whisper that last part, and Bakugou’s eyes turn from concern to a shade of pity. He shifts himself closer to you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders to pull you in close until your head is tucked against his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter who you were, that’s what I always told myself when I moved here. I’m not the same guy as I was back then, I found myself. I found a new purpose. That’s just what you need, a new purpose, a new life that you created yourself.” His words are mumbled from where he presses his cheek against the top of your head. 

A new purpose, a new life. That’s what you wanted. To shed yourself of whoever you may have been before all of this, before you had met Bakugou and Kirishima—before you had been let into their family even with them knowing you were capable of killing them all. Your heart aches but not in agony this time, it aches with joy. 

You wanted so much more than what this city had to offer, you wanted to find out what you liked; your favourite foods, your favourite movies, your favourite smells and also the things you hated. You wanted to live.

“I think I’d like that,” you smile, shifting your head against Bakugou’s shoulder to look up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft look on his face, an almost invisible smile on his face. “I want to see the world.”

“Yeah? The world? That’s a lot to see.” His smile grows when you laugh quietly. 

“Would you show me the world, Katsuki?” 

Bakugou is quiet at your question, his eyes flit down to your lips before they find your eyes again. He looks so beautiful this close, the different shades of red in his eyes are breathtaking. There’s so much captured in them, every emotion he feels and every thought he has flicks behind them before his eyebrows visibly relax, his body holding you closer.

He leans in, lips brushing against your own before he speaks. “I’ll show you it all.”

And when he kisses you, he kisses you softly and gently like you were to be handled with such care. It’s not love but you have a feeling that it might blossom into something like that. One day.

Before you know it, the three days of rest have come and gone. It felt like you had blinked and you were back right where you started before everything had happened in that plastic-wrapped room. But this time you had Shinsou on one side and Kaminari on the other in the back of Bakugou’s car. 

Currently, Shinsou was connected to your interface via a cable that slipped free from his wrist and fused itself into the plating on your palm. He had told you it was to relay all information that you’d need to ensure you got in there unnoticed, he loaded you with visuals of maps, layouts of their cameras and their usual patrolling routes.

Kaminari on your other side was fiddling with a hunting knife, the jagged edge was glinting in the passing street lights and every now and again it would buzz with electricity. He told you it was connected to his own chrome, he’s able to absorb electricity and pass it back through objects—something that had earned him plenty of shocks to the system that left him reeling.  

Even with the presence of Shinsou in the back of your mind offloading a multitude of data, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bakugou who was once again in the driver's seat. He had been different in the three days since that night outside of the city. He was more open to the idea of intimacy, often opening his arms for you at night and holding you in the mornings until he had to inevitably get up.

Kirishima had noticed it too, grinning along with the back-and-forth jokes between you and Bakugou. He thankfully didn’t make a scene out of the gentle touches he absolutely caught the two of you exchanging when you assumed no one was around.

Your chest fills with those pesky butterflies, the smile on your face must look mushy because you can feel the ache in your cheeks. You felt genuinely happy, an emotion that was your own and something you were able to hold onto. You wanted to experience everything with Bakugou at your side, and no doubt Kirishima would tag along too. 

After that night out in North Oak, you had returned home to find that it was just Kirishima left and Bakugou had offhandedly said that a trip to Japan was on the table. Kirishima had leapt at the opportunity to talk about his hometown, about the different shops and restaurants there. He spoke about his country with so much love, and Bakugou had a nostalgic look on his face—so you asked if he’d take you there one day. He agreed, of course, stating it’ll be the first stop on your way to conquering the world.

Kirishima, of course, had no idea just what that meant.

“Try to keep your head clear,” Shinsou comments from the side, effectively dragging you free from your thoughts. “It’ll go more smoothly if you’re not actively trying to force me out of that brain of yours.” Your eyes drag along the cable connecting the both of you, something that could open you up in the most vulnerable of ways. 

During the three days of rest, you spent more time with Shinsou too. He had been a Netrunner for a long time, even coming from Arasaka’s very own prestigious school with the help of Aizawa funding him through the entirety of it. The rest of the crew hadn’t been so fortunate, coming from no education at all or limited from when they lived in Tokyo.

That was another thing you were curious about. People didn’t just come to Night City for fun, it was a city designed to trap you here until your inevitable death. Apparently, Shinsou had always been in NC, born and raised in Japantown but almost everyone else had tales of the way things were being run back in Japan—long story short, it was being overrun by corporations that had no regard for people who were beneath them. It was either leave or die.

“Done. Should be good to go.” Shinsou says, withdrawing the cable connected to your wrist. The information flickers through your mind rapidly, similar to how someone would graze through a filing cabinet. Everything was here, this would be a simple operation if you pulled it off correctly.

You hadn’t realised the car had drawn to a stop until Bakugou turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was trying to figure out something to say. But instead, it’s Kaminari who speaks up, slapping a hand against your thigh before he grins. 

“Ready to pull off the coolest fucking job?” You don’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes lock onto the hand for a second too long before he meets your eyes again. All you can do is nod along, still unable to break your eyes away from Bakugou until he forces himself to look away first.

With a nod of his own head, Kaminari deems that worthy enough of a response and grins at you. His hand squeezes your thigh absentmindedly before he climbs out of the car, yelping with Bakugou grunts a command at him the second he steps out of the car.

Soon enough, you’re out of the car too whilst Kirishima ensures you have your weapon loaded and Shinsou talks over the game plan again. “You need to get to the underground levels. On the first floor, it should be primarily empty, the rest of Maelstrom will be beneath that. All you have to do is get into that room, snag a shard and leave. We’re here for backup.” 

“I’ll have to go dark when I’m inside.” You see Bakugou shift on his feet a little at that, the uneasiness of you being unable to communicate with them properly if anything was to go wrong. They all nod in agreement regardless, stepping back when you slip the handgun into its holster on your waist before shrugging off the orange jacket that Kirishima had given you all those weeks ago. Bakugou wordlessly takes it from you.

Looking at the building just across the street, it looks unassuming. A simple warehouse, but even you could see the spray tags on the walls of the Maelstrom, this was a significant base of theirs. 

Just as you’re about to step forward to begin the job, a hand grabs your elbow and you turn to see Bakugou looking at the building instead of you. “Don’t do anything reckless this time.” His eyes drift down to meet yours, the red flaring to life in his eyes for a second. “Got it, hotshot?” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Hotshot?”

“You took a pulse rifle shot—”

“Oh, you’re terrible. Really? Hotshot?” You grin at his words, it was another terrible joke he couldn’t stop himself from making. His lips twitch in a small smirk before it fades, the gravity of the situation settling on him once again. “I’ll be fine, I have you to back me up this time. Right?”

Bakugou stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Right. I’ve got your back.” He looks hesitant when you take a step backwards, his fingers that had been in contact with your elbow twitching at his side before he ultimately decides to pocket them. “Don’t play hero either, you get out of there if you have to.”

“It almost sounds like you care for me Katsuki,” his eyes widened the tiniest amount at the use of his name, no doubt a flurry of memories from just a few nights ago flitting through his mind. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking bullets for anyone today. I have the world to see, remember?” 

But before Bakugou could say anything, you fade into nothing right before him. Even when his eyes flash to life, he can’t see you anywhere. His eyebrows draw together in concern, this plan felt rushed—he should be going in with you, you shouldn’t be taking this on alone. What was Aizawa thinking? A hand clapping on his shoulder draws his attention away from where you may have gone.

…Your shoulders drop once Bakugou looks away, you could see the concern on his face, painted as clear as the sky above. You couldn’t remember if you had ever done solo missions like this before—having a partner to help would’ve been nice, but you had no time to dwell on it when you started to walk towards the big warehouse. You note the multiple cameras as you pass by them, the red blinking light flickers for a moment before they’re shut down. Have you always had cyberware that could shut down electronics? 

“That was me.” Shinsou’s voice is loud in your head, as if he were speaking directly next to you. “Sorry, should’ve said something.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur back, eyes darting back and forth once you slip through the open warehouse door. There was a big truck in the centre of the room, modified with spikes and reinforced windows. Definitely Maelstrom. 

“About twenty feet in front of you, and then to the right there should be a door that will lead to the stairwell. That’s your way in.” 

You follow Shinsou’s guidance without hesitation, feet moving silently across the floor whilst your eyes dart back and forth through the dark warehouse. It was odd for it to be so empty, were they all really below ground? Surely there should be a guard— “Stop!” Shinsou all but hisses at you, your entire body freezing at the edge of a rack of crates. 

There’s movement, and your eyes dart upwards to see a drone scanning slowly. Drones? Since when did Maelstrom have the money for drones? You don’t say anything as you watch the silent drone pass by, thankfully having not detected you even through your invisibility. This could prove to be a problem if they’re using tech like that, who knows what else they have hidden. 

“There are no mentions of drones anywhere. They’re chromeheads, sure, but they always liked doing shit themselves.” Shinsou supplies once you’re moving again. Slipping into the stairwell that Shinsou had directed you to, you notice the difference in temperatures almost immediately. It’s freezing. 

“Turning off comms.” 

“Wait—” His voice cuts out immediately, something doesn’t feel right down here. It shouldn’t be so cold, it’s like stepping into an industrial freezer. Maelstrom didn’t like the cold, for one simple reason; it fucked with their cyberware. 

Freezing temperatures caused it to malfunction, which meant… it’ll fuck yours up too. You need to back out, and report what you think might be down there but—something is stopping you. Aizawa would be pissed if you back out of this with your tail between your legs, he definitely wouldn’t let you come back empty-handed either. 

With slow careful steps, you continue to descend into the freezing depths of the basement. Rounding the corner that leads to the final set of steps, you stop in your tracks. The lights are off, save for a slow, long blink of a red light. All the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, something screaming in the back of your mind to back out now. Your hand slips to the handgun on your holster, withdrawing it when you press your back to the cold concrete wall. 

You can do this. You can find out what’s in this room, slip by and find the shard. You can do this. You can. Sucking in a harsh breath, you brace your body before whipping around the corner with your gun raised but your blood runs cold, determination falling from your face and morphing into fear. “What—”

...

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t contact her?” Bakugou snarls, glaring at Shinsou who’s hunched over a laptop that was once tracking your whereabouts. 

“She said she was turning off comms, but she wasn’t even in the basement yet.” Shinsou frowns, running a hand through his unruly purple hair for a moment. “Fuck, you don’t think she…?”

“No,” Kirishima replies, leaning against the car with his eyes locked on the building in front of them. “She wouldn’t do that, not now.” 

“Should we go in?” Kaminari offers, glancing over Shinsou’s shoulder to stare at the blank map. 

Shinsou opens his mouth to talk before all heads whip towards the warehouse, their hearts thumping in their chests whilst the sound of the alarms being tripped drowns out any words any of them may have wanted to say. 

There are approximately three seconds of calm before the storm hits full force. The Maelstrom weren’t in fact in the building at all, instead hiding in the surrounding smaller buildings dotted around. Yet none of them looks at the group that is sitting staring at the scene unfolding; they’re all descending onto the warehouse. 

Onto you.

“It’s a setup,” Bakugou says, words coming out monotone as if he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying—unaccepting of the ugly truth. “She’s been fucking set up.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. His feet move before he fully registers that he’s barreling towards what is most likely certain death, he thinks he can hear Kirishima shouting at him to stop but he can’t. You weren’t going to fucking die now after everything. 

His heart hurts from how hard it pounds against his ribcage, the rifle in his hand is light when he raises it to shoot anyone who steps foot into his path. Bakugou barrels through the open warehouse door, following the directions Shinsou had given to you no more than ten minutes ago. It seems a lot of the Maelstrom have made their way below ground, or had been shot on Bakugou’s way in.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of you being trapped beneath the ground with a gang of twenty or more descending on you with the intention of killing you. His hand itches around the rifle, fingers twitching with the urge to open fire the second he can. 

Something like true fear starts to pool into Bakugou’s stomach once he deduces that you must’ve descended the only set of stairs. The freezing fog slowly creeping up the steps is enough to make him shiver, the chrome in his body aches from the slow approaching cold. There’s no way you could be down there and still be alive, you were more metal than human than he was.

And yet still, Bakugou pushes through the veil of fear that washes over him and descends the stairs. The fog swirls and wraps around him like tendrils, tugging him further into the icy depths of the dark basement. His thumb brushes against the side of his gun, flicking it off the safety and soon a red laser helps guide him through the dense fog. 

He can’t see anything, or anyone, it does nothing to quell the horrid feeling that’s making a home in his chest. Had they already gotten to you? Kidnapped you? Did they know you were a high-priced target? The Maelstrom were no strangers to wanting to get their hands on money, they’d do anything for it.

In the darkness, Bakugou stumbles as the tip of his boot catches on something. He catches himself quickly enough, gun darting downwards and he’s unsurprised to see the remnants of one of the gang members. They already weren’t people anymore, but seeing them like this was something else. You had certainly been the one to cause such damage, but that just leads to the question – where the fuck are you? 

A hand clamps onto his shoulder, jolting the large blonde to move and reposition his gun until it was under the chin of whoever dared to sneak up on him. Just through the thickness of the fog, he’s able to see the illuminated red eyes of Kirishima staring down at him. It only soothes his heart a little, he knows Kirishima will have his back through this and for whatever is to come next. 

“You fucking big idiot, who just grabs someone in the dark?” Bakugou hisses regardless of the relief that settles into his rigid bones, his heated breath puffs out to add to the ever-growing fog that surrounds them. 

Kirishima smiles a little, albeit sheepishly and lets his hand drop from Bakugou’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to shout, who knows what’s in here.” Kirishima manages to whisper back, his eyes finally darting away from Bakugou to scour the darkness.

Bakugou can only grumble about that, Kirishima did have a point. Neither of them knew what was in there, and Bakugou couldn’t rely on his eye enhancements in the frigid cold. So he just moves, and Kirishima moves naturally along with him. 

“Do you think they got to her?” The dreaded question comes tumbling from Kirishima’s mouth.

“I fuckin’..- I don’t know.” Comes Bakugou's blunt reply, but he doesn’t mean for it to be so blunt. There’s just no other way around it, the possibility of you being taken or worse is slowly increasing. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do with the slow-building guilt in his conscience. He should’ve turned this job down for you, you were just blindly following whatever Aizawa demanded of you.

A click has both of the men freezing, Bakugou’s rifle in his hand poised and ready to fire the second the threat shows itself.

…The gun feels like a ten-tonne weight in your hand, it makes the synthetic fibres in your muscles in your body ache. But nothing is quite as heavy as the shard in your hand, it makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably to the point where your breakfast threatens to make a return. 

When you rounded the stairs and found the shard in a lone storage slot within an open cabinet, you had never wanted to run more. It wasn’t the fact it was a shard—but rather that it had your name engraved into the delicate metal. 

As soon as you had picked it up the red blinking light had turned off, the freezing air spilling from the now empty cabinet and tumbling onto the floor. You were plunged into darkness, and yet you could still see the shard as clear as day in your hand. 

However, it wasn’t just any data shard; it belonged to Militech. They were known for their ruthless advances in A.I. and other technological achievements, and the very thing in your hand with your name etched into it—you knew it could only mean trouble, whoever had dropped it off here wanted you to find it. But why? You didn’t understand, with each passing thought that involved Militech and the shard in your hand, it felt like your brain was ripping itself apart trying to recover memories that were locked behind a thick wall. 

You had to get rid of it; destroy it or make sure no one ever got their hands on it. This thing could hold countless pieces of information on the inner workings of Militech and its operations. 

“Hurry, or they’ll kill you.”

There’s a quick shuffle of footsteps coming down the steps behind you, and your fingers tighten uncomfortably around the chip. If you died here, you’d never be able to get away and ensure this thing never saw the light of day. The Maelstrom must’ve paid a pretty price for this thing, or perhaps they were keeping it safe until Militech came and picked it up. You couldn’t risk any of them getting their hands on it. 

You only had one choice. 

It’s not a painful procedure, it feels more like a tingle when the chip slides into the slot next to your own data shard on the back of your neck. But then it locks in, and it feels like you’re injected with nanites; they bite and chip away at you until they take root in your brain. They skitter and scamper across your spine, wrapping themselves around every vertebra. You can feel the way it spreads and wraps itself around your frontal lobe, squeezing until it’s too painful to bear. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your fingers press fruitlessly into the slot to try and pry it out of your body but it won’t release. It feels like your very soul is being warped and pressed into a mould, ripped and torn until you’re no longer a person anymore. 

The scream that tears apart your throat doesn’t sound like your own, it’s mangled and distorted—you can feel yourself fragmenting, your very skin splitting apart to rebuild itself in an attempt to save itself from the A.I. that was rapidly infecting your system. Your mind feels like it’s on fire, burning in the deepest depths of hell until finally, you feel nothing. 

Everything clicks into place, and the pain vanishes just as quickly as it had latched on. You move automatically when the first wave of Maelstrom approaches you, your handgun tossed to the side in favour of the gun embedded in your arm. It whirs to life, and you can only watch through the tinted glass of your eyes as you make your way through people as if they were nothing more than wet paper.

It all slowly comes to a lull, bodies slumped to the floor and blood sticks to your skin. It should feel cold but you feel like you’ve been locked out of your own body—everything is numb. 

It’s all so empty now, the memories you had formed over the last few months of being part of a family flicker and fade from existence. You couldn’t put a name to the faces in your mind, the voices and laughter becoming nothing but static that blinds you to the noise of approaching footsteps.

Not until it’s too late. You hear a shout, your eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out two outlines of gang members. One has a gun raised to you, the other has their hands raised to you as well yet you don’t spy a weapon. The Maelstrom weren’t known for their chrome for nothing, you suspected they had some interesting weaponry just like your own. 

Your eyes flicker, the augmentations in your eyes malfunctioning the longer you resist the command to execute all those who pose a threat to you. A warning flashes across your vision, a clear message that if you continue to resist you’re at risk of imminent death.

You raise your gun in response. There’s a presence looming just behind you, out of sight, yet you can hear a low chuckle – the familiarity of it has your blood freezing, and yet you can’t find the strength to stop yourself from acting on command for whoever was in control of the A.I.

“Put it down!” One of them yells, yet it’s muddied by the static in your ears. It sounds like they’re shouting through an old radio. “Lower your fucking weapon!” 

“They’ll kill you. Make sure you get there first.” The voice over your shoulder supplies, and you swear you can feel the puff of warm breath against your neck. There’s a soft brush of curls against your cheek when they lean just enough into your peripheral you can see green.

There are more whispers between the two of them, words you can’t make out but their momentary distraction is enough. Your arm tenses, the warning across your vision vanishes and then there’s a blinding light, it illuminates the darkness of the basement enough for you to finally make out the faces of the two men who had approached you. 

You can only blink, the familiar red and blonde hair makes your heart lurch. This all seemed so oddly familiar, a strange sense of deja vu washes over you. You expect to see one of them fall to the ground, but instead, it’s you who watches the world tilt and fall away.

You can’t move. Your limbs feel like they’re too heavy for your bones, and the cold finally starts to seep through your bones the second you make contact with the floor. 

“FUCK!” The blonde all but screams, and before you know it he’s in your face. Your body moves like a ragdoll until you’re scooped into his lap. You think you can feel the brush of his fingers against your forehead, frantically swiping away the hair that clings to your sweat-ridden skin. You can feel one of his hands move away from your face to press hard against your chest, you watch his face crumple when he realises something.

He’s speaking, rocking just slightly and the static starts to fade away until you hear him. “‘M sorry. ‘M so fucking sorry. I didn’t–I knew I shouldn’t–.” His sentences aren’t complete, broken up by the wet sobs that shake his body. His hand is wet when it comes back to your face, the smell of synthetic blood clogs your nose. 

The unnamed blonde continues to press his fingers against your face, squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to get you to respond but you can feel something now; a tug to just let go. You can only watch when the red-haired one squats down next to you as well, his mouth moves but there’s no sound.

You don’t think you have it in you to speak, to tell them something—anything, your world slowly starts to darken around you. But you hope the man cradling you knows he meant something to you; even if you can’t quite grasp the reason why. You just know that perhaps you might’ve come to love him, if you were given the chance to.

“Another disappointment.” The unknown man shrouded in a cloak of darkness watches from over the shoulders of both men who crowd you, but neither of them seems to notice him, too preoccupied with attempting to stop the rapid warmth that is spilling from your chest. The last thing you see is him shaking his head, a flash of green before there’s nothing.

. . . .

There’s a clatter on the sofa, followed by a choked sob. Bakugou rakes his hands through his hair, pushing back the long strands that fell onto his face. He side-eyes the headgear next to him; a braindance. 

It wasn’t just any braindance, it was one he had made specifically for him. They called it ‘Soulswap’, it was a walkthrough of your entire time with him, from the moment he had found you in that warehouse and up to the moment he had shot you. How it was made was something that Bakugou fought with for a while, it was morally wrong. To have someone dissect you like some high school science experiment and implant strands of your data—your memories—into something that he could watch. 

A ding on the coffee table draws his attention away from the braindance, and he swipes up his phone to see Kirishima has sent him a message.

[22:34] RED: Stop reliving it. You know that isn’t what she wanted.

Bakugou scoffs, what the fuck did Kirishima know about you? What the fuck did he know about the weight in his chest that replaced his once beating heart? He knew nothing. No one listened to him when he said that it wasn’t you at the end, that you weren’t in control. 

It was charted down to Cyberpsychosis on your unofficial death certificate. 

The uneasiness continued to eat away at Bakugou, even when he chose to ignore the onslaught of text messages from the others. It’d been this way for the last four years and it had only come to fruition now. It was hard to find someone capable enough of creating a braindance that wasn’t just a cheap way to get off or to kill someone without repercussions.

It was a delicate job, and he had finally found the guy to do it. 

Yet now he’s unsure if he should’ve gone through with it. Whilst it was all in cyberspace, he could still feel the emotions you had in your final moments. You had felt something for him, just as he had felt something for you—does feel something for you. 

Sinking back into the sofa, the world buzzes around him yet it feels like Bakugou is still stuck in that basement all those years ago. It used to take a more violent toll on his body, his modifications often becoming the victim of neglect until Kirishima forced him to keep taking the blockers to ensure he didn't spiral into psychosis. 

Bakugou’s head lulls back, staring up at the spinning fan on the ceiling. It won’t be long until Kirishima comes back and lectures him about bad habits or whatever the fuck he wanted to be on his ass for. 

“And with the renewed partnership between Militech and Lazarus, I truly believe we’ll be able to bring a stop to crime here in Night City.” 

That voice causes Bakugou to snap his head up, glaring at the television that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It wasn’t often he would make TV appearances but it wasn’t unexpected. He watches the camera pan across an array of Militech drones and other tech that he can’t quite understand before it falls back onto the CEO of Militech.

Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya has a fake smile plastered on his face, hands buried in his deep expensive pockets as he stares at the interviewer just off to the side. His verdant eyes are dull, devoid of anything lifelike. Bakugou isn’t surprised entirely by that, Izuku was… once a friend, but he betrayed him and the rest of them for a chance at fame. 

He moved to Militech and quickly overtook the company, plunging them into tech that wasn’t short of war machines. 

“Hah, yes. It is true, we have been working on a new AI that we think will definitely be capable of deterring even those inflicted by Cyberpsychosis.” 

Bakugou blinks, his attention drawn back to the screen to see Izuku laughing about whatever had been asked, something about that laugh sounds familiar – not just from when he had known Izuku but from recent memory. 

And when it slowly dawns on him, it curdles his blood and makes his stomach tense. That laughter. The voice that lacks any emotion. The world fades into nothing around him the longer he stares at Midoriya talking animatedly about something in the interview, his chest tightens more and more until it feels like his heart may just burst.

It wasn’t a case of regular Cyberpsychosis.

Izuku Midoriya was the one who triggered it. He must’ve been the one who had planted that foreign chip, he wouldn’t just hand something like that over to the Maelstrom.

“We’re proud to announce the next line of fully-developed Artificial Intelligence; Akuma. This is just one of our newly created full cyborg—”

Bakugou finds his body locking into place, muscles growing tight and stomach twisting in knots before his heart plummets down into his stomach. His eyes widened. There. Right next to Izuku is… you. But it’s not the you he knew, it’s a duplicate, one of the new cyborgs created to withstand ‘Akuma’. 

He can tell from the way you hold yourself, rigid and cold like you were just some lifeless robot. You don’t respond to the stimuli around you, staring blankly ahead. It feels like his heart is being torn apart once again, shredded in a blender until there’s nothing left but an empty void that sits in his chest.

He knows for a fact that it’s not the real you, the one he held, the one who took a bullet for him—the one he was going to take home to meet his parents. He watched you go up in flames at a pyre funeral. It was Aizawa who had suggested it. “To make sure no one gets her.” Looks like that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

…No. Izuku must’ve had your DNA stored from when you worked at Militech. You were just an experiment, all the chrome you were sporting wasn’t just because you were a Militech worker, but rather because you were one of the prototypes for Militech. From the very start, you were destined to fail—another disappointment.

Bakugou doesn’t even register that he’s already moving, swiping up the bomber jacket you wore. The pulse rifle swung over one shoulder and the door slammed shut behind him. It was time to pay his childhood friend a visit.

[verstarppen]

summary; slowly but surely that fake dating plan you cooked up starts leaving its confined lines

pairing; mick schumacher x fem!reader [ no faceclaim ]

a/n; babe wake up star finally made a mick smau this demands a national celebration; title is count me in by they. because i was listening to it when this story idea appeared between my brain folds TW for mention of food poisoning and hospitals (comedic purposes) but if you're in a place where this might make you uncomfortable i strongly suggest you avoid this post and i'll see you for the lando series update tomorrow, take care

liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, mickschumacher and 295,953 others

ynusername favourite necklace

view all 63,029 comments

georgerussell63 I so desperately wish my ability to read would disappear.

ynusername you got us in this mess now suffer the consequences georgerussell63 I didn't do shit, it's entirely on your shoulders.

mickschumacher why aren't you holding them

ynusername no hand holding before marriage please

houseofwebber if they ever break up you'll see me on the news actually

eastcoastbearman babe wake up micky/n are alive

lewishamilton Embarrassing.

ynusername just like this comment

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ynusername took the dog out for a walk

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rothgothgasly stop calling me single in 29 different languages

albonite PARENTS ARE PARENTING

julyestie maman and papa

filipe3596 Hi God it's me again

setbackhamilttel mick the type of guy to say "i don't argue with my girl she tells me to shut up and i do"

ynusername it's true mickschumacher yeah setbackhamilttel THE LEGENDS REPLY!?

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mickschumacher visiting my favorite corpse

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ynusername EXCUSE YOU I CAN EAT SOLID FOODS NOW

mickschumacher i did that on day 4 get good ynusername sorry that my guts aren't as cool as yours mickschumacher let me rearrange them, then ynusername that was smoother than my throw up

mclandolorian HE ESCAPED

baconforza weren't you also a corpse like 2 days ago

armstrongslayer ARE THE RUMOURS ABOUT THE FAKE DATING TRUE

ynusername anything to piss george off

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 201,506 others

ynusername if a doctor sees this for legal reason these are old pictures :)

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lewishamilton And to think this all could've happened sooner had you people had the balls to say what should've been said.

ynlantern just like a bowl of cereal that's been collecting dust for an hour, it's still delicious in the end innit lewishamilton All's well that ends well, I guess.

vertiddieenjoyer the only people on earth that can go on a first date after 12 months of dating

nandogoat ao3 friends to lovers, fake dating, only one bed, 294k words, alternative universe - europe, no beta we die like mick's career in haas

osc_pastry i don't think they realize how funny this is to watch from the sidelines

pic credits: instagram and pinterest

blog taglist: @coffeehurricanes @iifloweringnightsii @jsjcue @lanando4 @fastcarsandshit @christianpulisic10 (hi besties hope you're having a lovely evening and you aren't also crying about the qatar quali)

[moonlight-prose]

If you’re taking those as prompts, ❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜ with Din perhaps?

LOVE IS A FIRE THAT BURNS UNSEEN

a/n: so i took forever on this, because i kind of fell out of writing for din for...well....awhile. i can tell you this sat in my wips folder half finished for months. honestly i was wondering if it would even get finished. but i was re-watching mando last night and decided why the fuck not. i can't remember which prompt list this was from because it's been so long, but that's okay. this is not beta read or edited, but we live and die by the pen.

summary: on your list of things that could possibly happen while bounty hunting with din, dying from hypothermia wasn't included. nor was finally admitting the truth to yourself about your feelings.

word count: 3.1k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, near death experience, angst, feelings being admitted sort of, p in v sex, a hint of choking, they're so in love it's sickening.

It’s fucking cold in the Razor Crest as you sit in the cockpit waiting for his return. You’re bundled in a jacket that has seen better days, but even with the extra layers you swear you’ll freeze to death before he comes back. Tempted to turn the ship back on in order to get some heat—you do the most to distract yourself from the frost currently eating away at the skin of your face. Din’s instructions were clear. Keep the ship hidden until he comes back with the bounty, which would be simple enough.

That is if the bounty he was currently hunting resided on a planet with a temperature that wouldn’t kill you from exposure. Everything had been fine two hours ago. You were working on repairing an old comlink as he tracked the bounty through space, having caught their signal on the outer edges of the galaxy. Except then…they were attacked. Neither of you could see who caused it or even why, but suddenly a lone ship was heading into the atmosphere on the one planet you always said you’d rather die than visit.

Hoth—a frozen pit that once housed the Rebellion of all places.

So, there you were. Shivering to gain some warmth as you scanned the area for Din’s signal. If the ship was right, he still remained alive. You only wished you could say the same for yourself by the time he came back.

The cold had begun to seep into your layers, hitting your chest directly and causing you to cough harshly. If he didn’t return within the hour he would find you dead due to hypothermia. Except that’s not what scared you. It was the fact that he would be the one to find you—a man who showed absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.

You weren’t sure when the crush started or even why, but you do know the realization hit you harder than a speeder-bike going at full speed one day while you were sitting beside him in the cockpit. He laughed at something you said, the chuckle low and slightly clipped due to his modulator and that’s what did it. What had you sitting there in shock—eyes wide—as it suddenly dawned on you that…you liked him. A lot more than you would have ever thought before.

“Maker fucking above,” you muttered, your teeth chattering with the words. “Hurry up, bucket head.”

Vaguely you recalled some survival tips from your time as a teenager on Bracca working as a scrapper. Never touch live wires, always look out for yourself, and when stuck in freezing temperatures—layers become your best friend. So, you stumbled out of the cockpit chair and towards the ladder that would lead you to the rest of his ship. Slow small steps were all you could manage as your body went into overdrive to try and keep you warm. Except the ship acted as an icebox rather than a heater.

You could lock yourself in his small cot, burrowing under the blankets he’d bought because of you complaining there wasn’t enough on the ship. But you’d first have to get there. It was a struggle to even climb down the ladder—your breath coming in gasps as your lungs fought against the freezing air. How long had you been sitting up there? You held no answer to the question, because the results were clear to you now; you were up there long enough to lead you right to death’s doorstep.

Dragging yourself along the side of the ship wall, you flinched as the cold metal touched your cheek. You should have gone against his orders and simply turned the ship back on. It would keep you from this—currently fighting against hypothermia as Din took his sweet time coming back.

The sound of the airlock on the door releasing when it opened brought a small flicker of hope to life, burning bright in your chest. But it faded just as quickly as it came. You caught sight of him dragging a half dead bounty up the ramp—his helmet turned towards you—before you collapsed to the ground. Your body shivering in a final attempt to generate enough body heat in order to keep you alive.

His voice calling your name echoed in the back of your mind as you drifted off—the concept of sleep far more enticing than it should be.

Steady breaths against your bare back was what you woke up—your mind drifting slowly back to reality. Or at least what you thought to be reality. The last thing you could recall was seeing Din’s helmet as your body did what it could to survive. How you ended up in the darkness of his cot, pressed against someone you assumed to be him…naked, was a mystery to you. Perhaps you were still dreaming. This must be how your mind envisioned some form of peace to ease your soul into an afterlife.

“You’re awake.” His voice caught you off guard—the breath in your throat catching.

“How…”

The shift of his body created a low burn of heat to appear at the bottom of your stomach as his arm tightened around your waist—drawing you closer. “You almost stopped breathing when I got back. Your body went into shock from the cold.”

“I was dying,” you said softly, the realization far less jarring than waking beside him in the nude.

He hummed, the low pitch a vibration you felt along your back. “I had to get you warm.”

“So you took off my clothes?” you asked, the smile prominent in your tone.

“Generating enough body heat only works when—”

“Both of us are naked.”

His fingers gripped onto the soft skin of your belly. “Yes,” he replied—voice slightly strained.

Somehow it never registered that he was actually sans armor and clothing until you felt his hand glide further up. The soft skin of his palm turned the spark into a fully formed flame that traveled its way through your body. He was laying beside you…naked. If you concentrated hard enough, you could feel the rise and fall of his stomach against your lower back—his skin soft there too.

Any other time your brain would have short circuited, but the sluggishness from sleep had yet to wear off. It made you rather docile—something you felt oddly grateful for. You were entirely aware, fully conscious of your words and decisions, but the tranquility in your body seemingly spurred you forward. No other time would you be this centered—this sure of yourself—and maybe that’s where you made the mistake, because this was dangerous. Revealing the feelings you’d harbored for months was like poison to your heart…positively lethal.

“Din,” you murmured, the soft heat coming from his body now spreading into yours.

If you knew you’d end up like this after one visit to Hoth, you would have come here a lot sooner.

“Yes?” Even his breath was warm as it brushed across the bare skin of your shoulder. Maker you were close in his bed that was barely big enough for him, let alone you beside him.

“I—” The words caught in the base of your throat, lodging themselves there like a stone you couldn’t swallow. You wanted to say it. Get everything out into the open and be done with it, but your mind seemed to be slowly coming to its senses.

“What is it?”

Closing your eyes, you let out a shuddered breath in the hopes that it would push down the erratic nerves which jumped under your skin. If you chickened out now, you’d never say the words. They’d be your secret—forever trapped in the cage of your heart until it was far too late to confess them. What’s funny is that they seemed like such easy things to say. How hard was it really to say I love you? How much effort did it take? Only you now realized it took a lot more than you expected.

It was far easier to die than to admit your feelings.

“I have to tell you something and I just—” Inhaling, you curled your hand around the blanket beneath you. “I don’t want you to look at me differently if things don’t turn out the way I hope.”

His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your hip. “I won’t.”

You scoffed. “You probably will.”

The subtle shift of his body against yours caused flutters to go through your heart—rendering you speechless for a moment. He was so close it was maddening. If you had the courage you’d turn around, press yourself to him, and whisper the words against his lips. But you were practically stone, unable to even turn your head slightly to feel the press of his lips against your neck.

“For a while now I’ve felt…well…my feelings towards you have changed.” You blurted them out, hoping it was like ripping off a bandaid. Except the silence of his response hurt more than you expected.

Until—

“I know,” he said, his hand pressing a bit harder on your hip.

Nothing could have prepared you for the shockwave that went through your body. “You know?” you exclaimed.

“I’ve known since our trip to Coruscant.”

You paused, trying to form something to say, but all you could come up with was: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Why had he let you think he held no feelings towards you? That you were alone in this. You felt him stiffen behind you, his hand pulling away slightly and your heart sank in your chest. Perhaps you had asked the wrong question. Or even touched on a part of this he didn’t want you to see. But you had to know the truth. You knew why you waited—why you couldn’t get the words out for the life of you—but why had he?

That is until he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly, jolting you back towards his body. A soft yelp left you as you tried to refocus yourself in the pitch black space. Except then you felt it. Pressing hard and insistent against your lower back—a part of Din you had only ever imagined, but never seen.

He grunted, his hand splaying across your stomach as you shifted against him. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

You gasped. “Din—”

“What you’ve been doing?

His hips canted downwards, grinding against you and sending heat sparking up your spine. Enough to combat the cold that still remained in you, but you wanted more. You craved it. Moaning softly, you pushed back against him, pressing your thighs together to hopefully appease the growing ache that formed. Except he was one step ahead of you. Shoving his bare thigh between your legs, he pressed it upwards, grinning at the way your head fell back against his chest—a guttural moan leaving your lips.

“Every day is fucking torture,” he rasped, his hand sliding even lower until his fingers were hovering right above where you needed him most. “Because I can’t touch you.” His lips pressed against the curve of your jaw. “Because I can’t kiss you…”

“Maker,” you gasped, reaching down to wrap your hand around his wrist. “I-I want you to touch me. Want you to kiss me.”

His fingers dipped down even lower, finally parting your folds. A ragged groan was pressed to your jaw, his teeth scraping down against the skin when he found you wet and dripping for him. You could feel his heartbeat against your back. How it was erratic and almost as quick as yours. He was just as nervous as you were—if not more so, because of his creed.

He wanted you to be his, to love him as he was with his creed, but he was scared that this wasn’t permanent. You wanted to show him the inner workings of your mind, the makeup of your heart—how he was seared into it. He was ingrained so deep into your soul that you couldn’t even fathom the thought of being parted from him.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

Nodding, you felt another moan begin to form, only for it to die as he pulled his fingers away. “No—”

“Shh,” he breathed, cupping your jaw as he moved even closer. “I’ll take care of you.”

Heat flooded your stomach, a whine forming in your throat as he pulled you back, the head of his cock now nudging against your entrance. You dug your nails into his forearm, your lips parting to form around his name. A ragged moan echoing in his small quarters, and he began to push forward. Sliding into you slowly as you fought to keep yourself quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed, wrapping his arm around your torso and thrusting into you completely, his hips pressing against your ass. “Won’t last—”

You keened when his hand fell to your clit, circling it with enough pressure to send jolts up your spine. For a moment he simply held himself there. Encompassed in your heat as he worked you over, building your release steadily until you were pressing into him. Your hips rolling against his fingers—fucking yourself on his cock. Soft moans were pressed to your skin, the stubble on his jaw scratching along your shoulder, and that only heightened everything.

For the first time…he was entirely yours. Bare and open as he indulged in something both of you had held back from doing for so long.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned your head and caught the corner of his lips in a kiss. Something so tender yet so powerful. It nearly sent you over the edge and you felt Din’s surprise at the action. How his body jolted, his hips nudging forward and fingers stuttering in their motions. Even though he had proudly claimed he wanted to kiss you, to finally feel your lips against his. He had never expected it to come true.

“Cyar'ika,” he breathed.

“I want…” You gasped, hips rolling against his fingers in quick movements as that blinding feeling continued to overtake you. “Kiss me Din. Please, please—”

His mouth found yours in the darkness of his cabin, and you felt your heart scream out. Felt your entire body give into him, his name, his signet forever carved into your heart. He was your future and he knew it. Which is why he kissed you with a fervor that you believed only existed in your dreams—a passion that you felt right down to your toes. His tongue slid along yours, tasting the shitty caf you had earlier—the desperation on your tastebuds.

“Ah…” You tried to form the words on your tongue. The feelings that were trapped in your heart, but they refused to be let loose.

“I know you want to cum,” he breathed, fingers speeding up as your walls began to flutter around his cock. His other hand shifted, wrapping gently around your throat to keep your face close to his. Pressing down lightly as you gasped. “Let me feel it.”

A keening broken moan of his name ripped from you, hands scrabbling to grasp for something, settling for his arm that kept you pressed against him. White flashed behind your closed eyes, his lips swallowing every sound you made as you writhed against him. Gushing around his cock.

You didn’t hear the hoarse shout that he pressed into your mouth, his hips thrusting into you quickly as he followed you off the edge. Filling you with a warmth that you swore you felt  in your chest. Biting down on his bottom lip you sucked into your mouth, moaning when he canted his hips forward, prolonging the sparks that ran up your spine. He was a panting mess and you tried to picture what he looked like.

Was his hair a mess? Were his cheeks stained red? Were his lips swollen?

The urge to simply open your eyes nearly overtook you, but you understood what came with that action. What would have to happen afterwards. Din had explained enough for you to grasp the basic details of what being a Mandalorian meant. So you kept them closed and opted to simply feel. You memorized how his lips against yours felt, what being full of him felt like.

You kept what you could nestled against your heart, remaining here for as long as possible. Din’s cock softened in you, twitching every now and then when your walls fluttered. But you solely had him to blame. Because he was running his hand along your body, grazing your nipples lightly before pulling away—the familiar feelings in your stomach stirring once more. If he wasn’t careful neither of you would be leaving this bed for quite some time.

Which didn’t bode well for you seeing as how you hated the planet you currently resided on.

“Din,” you breathed, pulling away to catch your breath before he dived down again—ready for round two of the hottest makeout session you’d partaken in.

“You want to leave,” he panted. There was something scary about how he could see your thoughts so clearly. You’d have to ask him about it later.

“No…” Your head fell back against his shoulder. “I want to stay here, but Hoth.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you want.”

Half expecting him to pull out and place his helmet back in its rightful place, you were a bit surprised when he remained put. Curling himself around you closer until his body perfectly molded yours. The cold still remained in the ship—the heaters unable to counteract the snowy planet—yet you found that you were perfectly content to remain right where you were. Wrapped in his arms—the certainty of your future now nestled in his heart. Mimicking yours in every way.

“Din,” you breathed in the darkness, feeling him trace something along your waist.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say…” You took in a breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. “I feel like you should hear me say it.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers pressing down. “I know cyar'ika. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” you asked softly.

“I do.”

You settled into the bed, allowing your muscles to relax and your body to once more give into the temptation of sleep. With Din right there, you felt as if you were able to finally relax. To give in and allow yourself to float.

“You know…” You yawned, feeling his chin settle against your shoulder. “Maybe Hoth isn’t so bad.”

He smiled, his lips brushing along your skin as you drifted off, mind succumbing to the sweet snare of unconsciousness. “No,” he breathed, continuing to trace the shape of his signet on your skin, because whether you wore it or not…you were a part of his clan. His life. “It’s not.”

[lizardaggro]

on the flip side

part 2 is out! part 3! part 4!

whaddya know, i already have my first piece of writing that's not for an rp. it's a mess, but that's okay, because i admit i have no clue what i'm doing! i welcome all feedback as long as it's not just plain mean. when i asked for writing ideas, i was suggested to try my spin on the twst bully!au, and so i present: reader/yuu is done with their bs. no beta we die like my sleep schedule. genre: gn reader, angst trigger warnings: bullying, slight yandere that hasn't escalated yet word count:896

You’d had enough, thank you very much. The constant jeers, “misplaced” textbooks, and shoves in the hallway were only the beginning. Before long, you were beaten and bruised, and all for what? Just because you didn’t have magic? According to your research, the majority of the population here didn’t either! But alas, such was your plight. The professors turned a blind eye, and Crowley couldn’t care less.

So, when someone “accidentally” dislocated your shoulder during PE, you decided enough was enough. The students you’d never bothered to learn the names of were one thing; you were going to call your former friends out on their bullshit. Despite Grim’s protests, you dragged him all the way back to Ramshackle the moment you had a break in between classes. Why that timing? Because the model student prefect would never cut class, of course!

You locked the door not once, not twice, but three times, thanks to the padlocks you’d had placed on your stuff in the past. Then you took your time creating the Junk Tower. Your materials were all the scraps people had thrown in your yard in the past. You had quite the collection. The windows? They’d been boarded for years, according to the ghosts. Back door? Kalim had it removed. Something about first years sneaking in. You figure it’s better not to ask how he managed to have a door seamlessly replaced with walls in one afternoon.

About twenty minutes after the last class of the day ended, you had your first knock on the door. “Oi, prefect, open up!” Ace demanded. Because of course it was Ace. He was the first student you met here, so it was only fitting that he’d be the first to know you weren’t fucking around anymore. You ignored him.

The knocking stopped “Oi Ace, maybe they’re not home?” Deuce, ever the voice of reason, pondered. You weren’t sure whether to love or hate him. He’d stop others from picking on you, sure, but the moment you disobeyed him, he went back to his old delinquent ways.

“Well, they weren’t in class, and there’s no way my prefect’s with someone else, so they’ve gotta be inside!” Ace insisted. His prefect? Since when were you his? Did Ace eat something funny while you were gone? Because the last you checked, he couldn’t stand the sight of you.

Deuce’s voice dropped an octave, or maybe two. You weren’t too sure how that applied to speaking voices. “Oi, Ace, what the fuck do you mean your prefect? They don’t belong to you!” Yes, thank you for the reality check. Deuce must’ve had the brain cell today. “Obviously I’m way closer to them than you are!”

Scratch that. Deuce did not have the brain cell today. Really though, what was with them? Why in the world were they fighting over who was closer to you when all they’d done lately was make it clear how much they hated you? Oh, wait. They thought you could hear them. This must be some sort of trick. Trey and Cater must’ve put them up to it, since they were far too dumb to think of anything this elaborate on their own. You decided to ignore everything they said from here on out.

All was well, until Adeuce simultaneously let out an ungodly screech. Now that was troublesome. What could possibly scare those two like that? Surely nothing good for you. With luck, it’d be Riddle come to behead them for not wearing fluorescent pink or some other dumb rule, but you wouldn’t bet on it.

You soon had your answer. “Ne, where’s Shrimpy? I wanna squeeze ‘em!” Suddenly you didn’t blame those two for being scared. Floyd Leech in a bad mood was always a force to be reckoned with. You could never tell if he was in a good or bad mood when he was “squeezing” you, and quite frankly, you’d rather not know. The sick fucker probably took pleasure in hearing your bones pop and crack under the extreme pressure.

“Floyd-senpai! The prefect is, uh, we’re not actually sure where they are,” Ace volunteered. You almost pitied him, having to put up with the more rambunctious Leech during basketball practice. Almost.

“Hah? What do you mean you don’t know? Crabby is always crowding around Shrimpy like a little parasite,” Floyd whined. Um, what? Is Floyd in on the joke too? Is the whole school conspiring against you? You wouldn’t put it past them.

A cloud of dust blew up from the floor where you swung your foot back and forth, making you sneeze. You froze. Did they hear that? Wait, what were you acting so scared for? What were they gonna do anyway, break the door down and hit you? All within your expectations when you’d formed this plan. The point was to prove that you wouldn’t just sit and take it anymore. You’d seen all their dirty little secrets, especially during the Overblots; you could hit them where it hurt if you felt like it. No one would ever think the perfect little prefect would tell someone else what they’d confided in them! So when Floyd broke the door down with a display of monstrous strength, you were prepared. You greeted them with a smile. “Ne, you guys,” you began, “would you believe me if I told you I’m done with your bullshit?”

[pearlsinmyhair]

please more x reader smut with jake or miles, im starving 😭😭

wrong.

a jake sully x fem!human!reader smut fic.

warnings: smut. pnv sex. cunnilingus. overstimulation/multiple orgasms. reader is in her early twenties. daddy kink. use of pet names. squirting. size difference. virgin reader. dilf!jake sully. possibly dark content, if you squint. no beta we die like neteyam (im sorry-).

words: 2.7k

a.n.: ask and ye shall receive! this has been in the cooker for a hot minute. @eddiemunsonguitar this is also for you.

Eywa, it was so wrong. Unbelievably so. So sinful that it made you burn with embarrassment and borderline self loathing every time you weren’t burning with desire.

Desire for a man old enough to be your damn father.

It was innocent enough at first. He was just so big, and caring, and funny. And as you got older, your mind started wandering away from a silly little crush to full blown fantasies. Fantasies of him coming into your room at night, grabbing onto you and having his way with you. Practically ripping off any clothes just to ravish you until you couldn’t so much as move the next day.

And at the center of all these fantasies were none other than Toruk Makto himself. Jake Sully.

How could you be blamed? The crop of scientists, as much as you loved them, hardly sufficed when it came to what you craved in a man. Besides, not one of them would even go near you in anyway other than platonic and parental; they had practically raised you.

You were isolated and horny, with no one and nothing to take your frustration out on. And the only one other than the scientists that regularly visited was the Olo’eyktan. Who never even really looked at you, frankly.

Then again, you didn’t see him up close and personal for the first eighteen years of your life; the first half of which was spent cowering in your room or behind tech, and the second half spent admiring from a distance.

Watching with greedy eyes how his abdomen flexed when he leaned over to study Norm’s tablet, or how his thighs tensed as he crouched, or how his fingers spread when he pointed to something.

You wanted to eat him. You wanted him to eat you.

It was only the night of your twentieth birthday and after one of the female scientists told you about na’vi mating traditions that you hatched your plan.

Reassured by her statements that na’vi didn’t stick to monogamy nearly as much as the typical human did, you put on the gifted tweng and matching top you got from Kiri and Tuk as a gift, strapped your exo pack over your face, and marched into high camp with your head held high.

Jake barely knew you when he first really saw you walking the perimeter of one of the huge fires in the caves of high camp. He knew of you, from Norm and Max and their off handed comments about the spoiled princess in their mix, but he’d never seen her.

‘Spoiled’ had always been a joke- you were a kid, and you had needs that weren’t always easy for them to provide. But they did their best.

His kids had mentioned you too; Kiri was especially fond of you (“Sometimes she’s the only one who really wants to listen to my thoughts. It’s refreshing.” Kiri had snapped one night not too long ago at dinner), and Tuk thought you made a great playmate. Lo’ak had considerably less to say, mostly because you didn’t come out of the Oxygen-Pods nearly as much as Spider did, and therefore you didn’t explore with them. Neteyam had escorted you to fetch a plant for Max’s research once, and claimed you were polite.

That was the extent that he knew.

And damn, he didn’t know shit if this is what you looked like. All long legs and coy smiles and soft giggles.

It was over the instant that you introduced yourself.

You both knew it.

ִ ࣪𖦹

“Fuck, Jake please-“ you whined, wiggling and bucking your hips in an attempt to get away from his flicking tongue. His massive hands held you in place, making your body sink into the mattress of your bed within your room. The poor thing creaked with each push of his hands and movement of your lower half, and you thanked Eywa that you had requested a private living space when you had turned eighteen. You don’t think you could face anyone with apologies for the noise of your late night escapades with the olo’eyktan.

“Hush… ‘m not done.” Jake mumbled into your folds, and you had to fight the urge to kick his chest as another shot of electricity made your whole body twitch.

Two orgasms and this man still wasn’t done. He had practically ripped off your panties as soon as he was through the door, picking you up and (gently) throwing you down on the bed. How long ago was that? An hour? Two? It felt like you were melting at this point, and the slurps of Jake’s mouth on your dripping pussy made you shiver with embarrassment and overstimulation.

“Y’know what to say if you’re done, yeah?” Jake asked, pulling back just enough to make sure his words were audible. Daring to look down, you were met with the sight of strings of your cum and his saliva clinging to his jaw, his lips nearly shimmering and parted as he watched you. He brought a breathing mask to his face as he waited, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh with his unoccupied hand.

You dropped your head and with a frustrated whine, and he slapped his palm against your leg. With a yelp, you gave him an audible affirmative, restating your safe-word. Satisfied, Jake licked a broad stripe from your fluttering hole to your clit, sucking the throbbing bud into his mouth and rolling it on one of his canines. You cried out, the rush of popping sparks and burning pleasure returning.

“Just one more, sweet thing. One more and i’ll give you what you want.” he cooed, nipping your labia and tonguing your entrance.

“Need it now, Jake. Can’t take it anymore.” you nearly wheezed, huffing as you felt the coil in your gut tighten. Something was different from before, tingling just below the hot waves of pleasure rolling through your body.

Tonight, after months of eating you out and finger fucking you, Jake had finally decided to let you take his dick. Only one problem with that. Itsie bitsie, really. Nothing serious.

Just that you were a virgin. And taking a dick over twice the size of a human’s was gonna practically rip you open.

So that’s what got you here, approaching your third goddamn orgasm so maybe, just maybe, your slick would make it easier for him to slide in.

Fuck, you weren’t gonna walk for a week, dick or not.

A flood of ecstasy overwhelmed you, and you felt some kind of tingling between your legs before you were slammed back, white clouding your vision as you cried out.

When you came to and looked down once more, you watched as Jake lapped at the juices adorning your thighs and lower belly, wiping some kind of liquid from his face.

“Y’squirted, baby girl.” he hummed as he kneeled over you, picking you up and adjusting you so that your head rested against your pillows and he could rest his knees on the mattress, situating himself between your thighs.

“Prideful skxawng.” you whispered back, only to be muffled by his mouth on yours as his hands found the backs of your knees.

He pulled back, looked down at you with worried eyes as his gaze traveled between your bodies back up to your face. “You’re sure you want this? It’s not gonna be easy, or painless.”

You shifted up onto your elbows, brushing his blunted nose with your own. “Since when did you decide to be my daddy?” you asked, voice low.

Jake’s reaction was predictably dominating; he hissed low in his throat, pushing his forehead down against yours so that your head landed back on the pillow. He rutted his hips forward, and you whimpered when his dick brushed your oversensitive clit.

“This isn’t time for jokes kid. Talk to me.” he growled, and you sobered quickly as he moved the head of his cock to your entrance, applying pressure so you felt some semblance of the reality of what was about to happen.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your hands to his face and pulled him down, trying not to think of just how much he had to crane his neck to lean closer. “Just… slow. If it doesn’t fit, then fine.” you tried, swallowing the lump in your throat as Jake nudged you again.

“Trust me, kid, it’ll fit. Stretched you to hell and back not too long ago.” he assured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just relax.”

“Oh, and let’s not call me ‘kid’ when you’re about to fuck me, yeah?” you snipped, tightening your thighs around his waist.

Jake chucked, muttered a soft “brat.” into your ear that got you to laugh. While you were distracted, he pushed his hips forward and slid the first inch of his dick in.

You squealed, and Jake had to keep his hold on your thighs tight and you tried to move away. Your hands flew to his shoulders, clawing into his skin deep enough to draw blood.

It should have hurt- he should have noticed the stings of pain.

But all he could register was tight, warm walls wrapped around his dick with a vice so harsh he swore they were gonna snap it clean off.

With breaks and whispered praise from him, he gradually suck inch by inch of his think cock into you tight little cunt, until finally, fucking finally, he bottomed out.

Tight. Tight around his tongue, tight around his fingers, but fuck. This was on another level.

You were so good- such a good girl taking all of that length, swallowing every inch he gave you with a few tears and quiet whimpers. He leaned closer, making sure not to rock into you too soon, and kissed at the tears tracking down your face, before finally pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing your soft cries every time you’d accidentally shift your hips or he his.

“Damn, pretty girl. Gonna cut off my blood circulation.” he grunted into your shoulder, and he was rewarded with a breathy laugh from you. Experimentally, he ran a hand down between your bodies, before having to mentally convince himself not to burst at what he found.

Leaning up, he looked down at the bulge in your tummy, running a hand over it before looking to your eyes. He found you looking down with awe, wide eyed and dropped jaw at the bump.

Jake placed his palm over it, and pressed down.

The moan you let out was sinful, so desperate and pleased that he nearly rammed into you just out of instinct. But he reminded himself to take it slow as he pulled out, feeling the warmth of your pretty pussy leave him, before pushing back in.

Eywa, Jake was huge.

Of course you knew he would be- you’re not delusional. But damnit, it was almost too much. Your legs quivered with each slow thrust of Jake’s hips, and you buried your face into his shoulder to quell some of your noises. It hurt. Hurt more than anything you’d experienced before. You were quite sure Jake would leave a permanent space for himself inside of you with how you were stretching.

Jake stroked his thumb against your skin where his hand still cupped the back of your thighs, pressing your knees up near your shoulders to get more leverage. The cot gave another soft squeak at the shift in weight, and for a moment you and Jake laughed, finding humor in the absurdity of fucking you into a rickety mattress in a room that Jake couldn’t fully stand up in.

The bulge in your tummy was only a physical manifestation of what you felt: fucking full. You could have cum just at the sight of it there, and by the foggy look in Jake’s eyes, so could he.

“Jake-“ you whispered, though it came out as more of a punched-out wheeze. “Move.”

His eyes flicked to yours for a moment, checking for any hesitation. When he found none, he shifted back on the bed, pulling away. You could feel the emptiness he left behind, and you opened your mouth to protest.

Before you could utter a word, Jake’s hands shifted from your thighs to your hips, and promptly rammed his cock back into you.

You screamed, the rush of pleasure and twinge of pain making you throw your head back as your hands flew to his shoulders, grounding yourself as he repeated the motion. You could feel him, deep inside of you, pressing against your cervix, his tip threatening to push past the barrier and straight into your womb.

That should have scared you, but it only made you rock your hips up to meet Jake’s with each thrust, reveling in the slick slide of his dick against your walls.

“Fucking hell, baby-“ he all but hissed, pinning your legs up again. “Taking this dick so well.”

You whined in response, trying and failing to assemble some kind of sentence to give him. Fucked out and cock drunk from just a few thrusts. How pathetic a sight you were. But no matter how humiliated you would feel later, right now you were confronted will all consuming pleasure and fullness.

Jake was confronted with the view of tears leaking from your eyes and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, whining and moaning weakly as he continued to pound into you. He was sure he wasn’t much better, anyway. Jesus, he thought maybe you’d loosen, only to be met with a tight clench of your tight little cunt around his cock when he hit your g-spot.

Everything was on fire. Your body, your mind, your pussy. Fuck, you needed to cum. You needed to fucking cum.

“Daddy-“ you whined, finally meeting Jake’s eyes as he bent over you, letting his nose brush yours.

“I know, baby girl. Go ahead and cum around daddy’s cock. Make him proud.” he grunted out, feeling his own release pool deep in his stomach as he tucked his face into the space between your shoulder and jaw.

His permission was all it took for something inside to finally snap, and you could feel yourself gush around Jake’s dick as your whole body trembled, thighs shaking even as Jake held them. After a few beats the pleasure turned into overstimulation, and your moaning became sobs, whimpering into Jake’s shoulder for him to cum already-

Jake shuffled closer to press himself as far in as he could as he felt the coil in his stomach tighten one last time, and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, tasting salt and iron as his release filled your core.

You barely even protested, your body jumping slightly under his at the pain, but otherwise you were limp in his arms. Jake pulled back to look at you, letting one of your legs go and bringing his hand to your cheek. “Hey…” he murmured softly, running his tongue over the dribble of blood from the bite mark marring your skin, waiting for you to come down.

“Hey…” you responded after a second, pushing weekly at his shoulder in an attempt to get him to stop prodding at the wound. Jake chuckled and shifted.

“Pulling out.” he warned you, before pulling himself out of you with a wet squelch. If you weren’t thoroughly fuck out, you would have blushed. But right now, all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

Jake chuckled once more, curling next to you and cradling your body against his chest as you began to drift off. “Are you alright?” he asked, his tail curling around your thigh as his hand ran over your back.

“Mhm.” you managed, pressing a kiss to his pectoral as he hitched one of your legs around his waist. “Just gonna be sore in the morning.”

He hummed in agreement, glancing at the bruises on your hips and waist from his hands. Jake knew he should have felt bad for it, and yet his chest hummed with pride at the sight of the physical evidence of him on your body.

Mine.

He pressed a kiss to your head as your breathing evened out, feeling his own eyes grow heavy.

“We’ll worry ‘bout it in the morning, baby. Just rest.” he whispered.

And with an ache between your legs and dripping warmth in your core, you did just that, already drifting away into sleep as his body calmed against yours.

[tteodoroki]

the dragon’s devotion [zhongli x creator!reader]

cw: obsessive themes, cult themes, religious themes, slight yandere themes I guess, not beta read we die like Makoto

notes: I just love the concept of Zhongli being the Creator’s most devoted follower. Idk why but it gives Gomez Addams in an unhealthy way tbh.

There is an old tale in Liyue, one that parents pass down to their children. It’s a story of love, of a being that tamed a wild beast. One where a proud dragon kneeled before his own God and in return, found love.

The Dragon’s Devotion.

That’s what the Liyue citizens called it, and it’s the name of the play that is put on every year during the Lantern Rite festival. Songs can be heard of this tale from Mt. Aozang all the way to Liyue Harbor, a true testament of the adoration and reverence that blossomed between two ancient beings. It started years before the Archon War, before the seven nations were even created. Morax, the God of Geo, and the [Y/N], the Divine Creator. In his youth, he was arrogant and insatiable, hungry for war and bloodshed. Until you descended Teyvat one day, where the Lord of Geo found you in what is now known as Luhua Pool, bathing in the crystal clear waters. It is said that your beauty and divinity brought him to his knees, where the proud God worshipped you and begged for your forgiveness for his arrogance and brash ways. Being the Divine Creator, you simply smiled and told him that you cherished and loved him. A bond was formed that day, one that soothed the beast inside the young God.

That’s the story that the public knows, anyway. You, however, are familiar with a much different, a more twisted story.

The basis of the story that today’s Liyue citizens are most familiar with is true to some extent. You did meet Morax in Luhua Pool, and he did beg for forgiveness. But you didn’t fall in love with him, at least not in the way everyone believes. That’s the version that the mortals of Teyvat like to believe in. Morax, one of the eldest and strongest Archons to exist. A proud man with an unshakeable faith, has been your most devoted follower ever since he took his first breath in Teyvat. He held you close to his heart. Everything he did, was to honor you. Even the actions he took during the Archon War, in his mind it was all done in your name. Every life taken and drop of blood spilled was for you, his beloved. His Creator.

“My Morax,” You whisper softly, your hand reaching forward to gently caress the Archon’s face. Morax knelt before you, his polearm laying at your feet. It reeked of death, the gold blade stained with the blood of your people. Your heart ached, mourning the countless lives that were lost. “What have you done?” Your voice trembles, eyes full of sorrow. Morax brings his gaze to look at you, his heart shattering at the look in your eyes. Was this not what you wanted? To be worshipped as you rightfully deserved? To be honored?

“This was all for you, my love.” He said, his golden eyes looking up at you with complete adoration. But you can see past that. In his eyes, you can see his true feelings. It’s not reverence or adoration or even love; it’s an obsession. In your naivety, you failed to see the truth in the beginning of your relationship, his growing obsession. The spark in his eyes was no longer there, in its place was a roaring fire that could not be quelled.

“Your obsession is clouding your judgement.” You say, moving your hand from his face. Morax watches your every movement with bated breath. Would you punish him for his transgressions? He will gladly take whatever you decided to do to him. In his mind, he deserved it for upsetting you. You pick up the polearm from the ground, the weight heavy and unfamiliar in your hands. You made this for him, your beloved Morax. It was supposed to protect the mortals of Teyvat, not destroy them. What was supposed to be a symbol of strength was soaked in the blood of your people.

“Punish me however you see fit, my love.” Morax says, golden hues watching you carefully as you look over the weapon you so carefully crafted him. Would you impale him with his own weapon? A fitting punishment, truly.

“No matter what you do, I could never harm you, my dear Morax.” You smile sadly, dropping the polearm to the ground. There was an ache in your chest, something akin to loss and grief. But at the root of it was anger. Not at Morax or any of the other Gods, but at yourself. This could have all been avoided if you didn’t descend to Teyvat. You would never have awoken this darkness inside of your beloved Morax if you stayed out of the mortal world.

“I fear that I have spent too much time here, in Teyvat.” You say, turning your back to the God of Geo in favor of gazing at the scenery below you. Beautiful glazed lilies bloomed around your feet, and you could faintly hear the rush of a nearby stream. You would miss this, you would miss your creations.

“What are you saying, my love?” There was an edge to Morax’s voice, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he sounded almost broken. The irony, really. The great Morax, the God of War, crumbling before you at the mere thought of you no longer gracing him with your presence.

“My time on Teyvat has come to an end. I have spent too much time in the mortal world.” You say, your voice as soft as the petals of the glazed lilies in front of you. You would miss the pleasures of gathering silk flowers and violet grass. Maybe in a few millennia you would visit again, and hopefully all of this could be forgotten.

“My love, please, don’t.” Morax pleads. He’s now standing at his full height, but compared to you he feels minuscule and insignificant. He tenderly grasps your hand with his, moving so he’s standing directly in front of you. His golden eyes, the ones that shine like the brightest cor lapis, stare at you in desperation. It’s a silent plea, begging you to stay in Teyvat, to stay with him.

You look at Morax, giving him a soft yet sad smile. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him, but you knew if you stayed with him, his obsession, his darkness would only consume him even more. If you stayed, you would be the cause of his destruction, and you couldn’t bear to watch your dear Morax destroy himself.

“Whatever it is you wish for, I swear to Celestia I will make it happen. I swear I will see it done, just please, stay with me.” There’s a desperation in his voice, panic, almost. Despite the urge that you have to wrap your arms around your beloved Morax, you hold strong. You have made up your mind, and you will leave the mortal world once more.

“My dear Morax, this is the one thing that you cannot give me.” You say, your fingers reaching out to cup his face one last time. He leans into your touch, golden eyes full of sadness.

“I will descend to Teyvat in the future if Celestia allows it. But for now, I just have but one request.”

“Anything.”

“Use your power to guide the mortals. No more bloodshed, I do not think my heart can take anymore.” You sigh, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“As you wish.” He nods. You give Morax a soft smile before leaning forward and kissing your beloved Morax once more. As painful as it was to leave, you knew you had to. You weren’t all knowing, and you didn’t have the gift of foresight, but you could sense that if you stayed, something sinister would consume your beloved Morax. In the end, this was for his safety and well-being just as it was for the rest of the people of Teyvat.

But little did you forget the main characteristic of a dragon; they never let go of what’s theirs.

[so-boredtoday]

The Scent

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've been transferred back to the general work zone without explanation after spending a couple of months working with Miguel. You decide to confront him about it but reason for your transfer is not what you expected.

Word count: 4K

Rated: M / NSFW

Tags/warnings: Mating cycles/In Heat, Biting, Scent kink, Knoting, Fluff, Smut, Oral sex, She/Her pronouns, Breeding talk, No beta reader we die as a cowards, Vaginal sex, Pet name, this is not good don’t let the tags fool you, Spanish.

Author notes: So here it’s the first one… I loved Miguel so much and the Oscar Isaac voice is a turn on to me so here we goo!

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

The following week marked the two-year anniversary of your arrival to the Spider Society. Jessica had invited you to join after you helped her deal with an anomaly in your universe. At the beginning you had individual tasks of little importance until your first team mission arrived. You had been assigned to Miguel's group for the first time, he didn't seem to care about anyone in his group, after a couple of missions you were able to start adapting to his rhythm, avoiding getting in his way and tying up loose ends when he needed it.

He liked working with you: You were efficient, something he liked very much and you were not intrusive which he liked even more, you did your solo missions on time and covered him perfectly in battle. You also brought him lunch without interrupting him and made his coffee just the way he liked without having to tell you how.

You did the reports better than anyone else and always had the answers he needed. Plus you are very good at talking to people, could see how you were genuinely interested in what others had to say. You were able to talk to him... which was not an easy task, at first you talked about casual things like Lyla's updates or Hobbie's disasters but soon you started talking about more important things such as the multiverse or even his family.

He had moved your desk into his office a couple of months ago, with the excuse that it would make the work more efficient. But the real reason was that he could see you from there even when you didn't realize it.

Jess started teasing him about how much he liked you but he would always deny it and end up grumpy. He didn't like you...he just thought it was nice how you smiled when something went right or how your hair fell a little messy over your face...well maybe he liked how you smelled… like black cherry and vanilla it was a pleasant smell that he began to get used to. Sometimes his office smelled like you when he arrived in the mornings which made him smile as he started with the day's activities, however right now your sweet smell had started to become a problem.

A couple of weeks ago something started to change in him. He could smell you even before you came into the quarters and being there next to you had become a living hell, your essence was affecting him in unexpected ways.

With you in his office every time you moved a burst of vanilla flooded the room, like when you stretched to straighten up or when you untied your hair it was totally intoxicating.

He felt the need to hold you in his arms and kiss you, just imagining it made his cock twitch inside his suit and it was getting annoying. He knew his rut was close but there were too many things to do in the GQ so he decided - for his own sake and especially yours - to return your desk to its original place.

It had been a couple of weeks of you working in your old space wondering what had happened. In addition to sending you as far away as he could, Miguel had been completely ignoring you and put you to Peter B's mission group. Something was wrong and you needed to find out.

You walked to his office to discuss but Lyla informed you that he was sick so he had taken a couple of days at home. Concerned, you decided to go to his house with a bowl of hot soup with the intention of helping him to get better, but above all to get some answers.

Lyla would help you to remotely open the door for you, the house was beautiful, with an exquisite Scandinavian style but with more earthy tones and small decorative accents of Mexican craftsmanship. Everything seemed to be in its place and there was no trace of dust anywhere. You left the soup on the open kitchen counter to check if he was okay but heard a noise in what seemed like the master bedroom, you approached and heard his voice through the door.

"Mieerda... I can even smell her in here" A knocking noise alarmed you a little and you opened the door cautiously. A book flew next to your head; the room was a mess with pillows torn, sheets disheveled and many items lying on the floor.

"Miguel, are you okay?" you asked as you walked in, his eyes looked confused to see you there "I came to drop off some soup for you...Lyla said you were sick and I was worried tha..."

"Get out of here." he said bluntly as he sat on the edge of the bed to turn his back on you, you walked to where he was “Que te vayas carajo”.

"No" you replied "You've been ignoring me all this time... you even took me back to the main work room... what's wrong Miguel? Did I do something to upset you? If so I didn't mean to, I apologize if..." He made a grunt interrupting you

"You didn't do anything wrong... It's my business go away please" He said with clenched teeth. You ignored his words and moved closer to face him. He looked feverish and he was sweating.

"Miguel you don't look good at all" You said ignoring his words putting your hand on his face.

When you reached his chest, Miguel gave a soft growl in response. His muscles were tense beneath your touch, and you could feel his heartbeat pounding against your hand. Despite this, he still wasn't saying anything.

"You have a fever Miguel, you need some medicine" You told him as you sat down next to him. He started to stand up to walk away "Let me take care of you Miguel" You told him by taking his hand. Miguel's eyes got a little darker, there was something in the air that felt heavy "Please".

As you spoke, Miguel let out another low groan from deep within himself. For some reason, hearing those words coming from you made him feel more at ease than before. He looked up at you, his eyes full of emotion. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "But you can’t help me”

"I can't do it if you don't tell me what's wrong, trust me Miguel... I just want to help you" I said looking at him with genuine concern.

Miguel hesitated for a moment, but then nodded slowly. Taking a deep breath, he finally opened up about his situation. "I've been feeling these… urges lately they have become so intense that they won’t let me work." he admitted, looking away slightly.

“Urges?” You said confused. “What kind of urges?”

Miguel took a deep breath, hesitating for a few moments before speaking again. "Sexual urges… It comes with powers. I have them from time to time…" he paused before continuing “I had always been able to control them but… They get worse when you're around... your scent… It makes them worse” he confessed in a quiet voice.

"Oh..." You blushed at his confession. "I didn't know sorry… I was so worried… I thought I had offended you in some way " You replied "Or that I had inadvertently jeopardized a mission and I made you angry without realizing it" you continued relieved "I’m sorry Miguel” You told him sincerely “…But don't worry you just need a little help and you'll be fine"

Miguel's face softened as he heard your words. His eyes were still wary though, like he was waiting for something else. "Y-you are going to help me?" he asked softly, sounding hopeful.

"In any way I can" You said to him as you approached him again "Tell me how I can help you Miguel..."

Miguel looked at you with surprise, unsure if he should trust you or not. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke quietly "Pero Cariño… I don’t want to hurt you"

"What could be so bad that would hurt me Miguel?" You asked looking at him tenderly

Miguel nodded slowly, looking relieved. He seemed hesitant but determined too. As you leaned closer, he whispered "I want to bite you..."

"Then do it..." You told him as you moved even closer… Vainilla y cereza negra he thought as he closed his eyes, your scent flooded the room and then without a hesitation you kissed him.

As soon as you kissed him, Miguel let out an animalistic growl in response. You could feel his sharp teeth pressing against your lips, before he started to kiss back passionately. Soon enough, his hands moved up from your waist to grip onto your neck tightly, pulling you closer to him.

“Miguel…” you say with a sight

Miguel responded by deepening the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of yours. His hand slid down your body until it reached between your legs, gently caressing your inner thighs. With each passing second, his desire grew stronger, making him more desperate to possess you completely.

Miguel's hand moved up to remove your jeans. Each movement was accompanied by a soft moan from you, heightening the intensity of the moment. "I want you," he whispered huskily, his breath hot on your skin “I have wanted you for months”

"Take me then" You said looking him in the eyes.

Miguel smiled devilishly before leaning in closer to capture your lips once again. His hands roamed freely across your body as he explored every inch of it, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched. You moaned softly as he pressed harder against you, letting out a growl of desire.

You heard the sound of the fabric of your panties tearing “Miguel… oh my god… they were brand new” You told him in a tone of mock indignation as he carelessly removed your button-down shirt and unclasp your bra to throw it away.

With a wicked grin, Miguel pulled away slightly to admire your exposed curves. Taking in each detail with his eyes, he then leaned forward to claim your mouth once more. As he kissed you deeply, he ground his hips against yours, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "Yes… I’m going to prepare you Cariñito”

You blushed when you heard the pet name again. His hands moved slowly across your body, exploring every inch of you with his fingertips. When he finally stopped on your pussy and then on your clit, he began to massage gently, sending shivers through your spine. "Are you already wet for me Preciosa?" he asked huskily.

As Miguel's fingers moved down faster and faster, your breathing grew heavier and deeper. His lips traveled lower, leaving trails of fire wherever they went. When he finally reached your most sensitive spot "I've wanted to taste you ever since I first smelled you...so sweet." The sensation was overwhelming, he started to lick your entrance and you closed your eyes while he made circular movements over your clit. It was overwhelming you tried to close your legs but he stopped them to continue devouring you, at some point your hands were on his head grabbing his hair as you began to tremble and a feeling of pleasure formed in your lower stomach it didn't last long before you were left trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

You looked at Miguel, panting heavily. With a satisfied smirk on his face, he pulled you close and kissed you deeply, savoring the taste of your passion. “Are you ready to take me now Cariño?" he asked.

The interior of your thighs was all wet and your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you gasped for breath “Miguel…” You said almost inaudibly “Please… I need you…”

His eyes darkened as he heard your plea, and he knew exactly what you needed. Without another word, he take you and lay you face down on the bed and lift your hips positioned himself behind you. Taking hold of your hips, he pushed himself inside you in one swift motion. "Ohhh...yes..."

Your face sank into the mattress, silencing a little the scream of pleasure when you felt him deep inside you "My God... Miguel" You moan

As he continued thrusting deeply within you, Miguel let out a low growl that was part pleasure and part dominance. With each powerful movement, he reached deeper and deeper until he couldn't contain the need any longer. "So pretty like this… and just for me… you want me to fuck you harder right Cariño" he said between breaths.

Tears of pleasure streamed from your eyes and as you felt it deep inside, the angle made each thrust touch that soft spot "Yes..." You said in a whisper.

He responded by increasing his pace, pushing himself harder against you with every stroke. His breathing became ragged and his grip tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Yes… just like that preciosa, cum for me” he murmured softly.

"I’m close…" You moaned, my hands gripped the sheet as you felt him moving inside of you, his hands tightened on your hips as your walls began to contract in their length and your legs trembled trying to hold up.

With each wave of pleasure that washed through you, Miguel grunted in satisfaction and increased his speed. As your orgasm subsided, he slowed down slightly but kept moving inside of you gently, savoring the feeling of being close to you. "That's right, babe, feel it," His knot was forming inside you

As Miguel continued thrusting slowly and steadily, you felt his body trembling from within. With each movement, he seemed to be getting closer and closer to release. His knot was big inside and you could hear the soft sounds of skin slapping together echoing throughout the room, creating an intense rhythm between the two of you. "Take it… take it all of it”

His breathing was heavy and his grip on your hips tightened leaving a red mark. Suddenly, without warning, he let out a loud moan and released himself inside of you, filling you up completely.

As you lay there feeling satisfied by the sensation of being filled up by Miguel's seed. Miguel wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you close to him as he nuzzled against your neck softly. “I need to bite you honey”

You shivered when he put his mouth in the back of your neck and began to give small wet kisses.

As Miguel kissed your neck, you shivered in anticipation, enjoying the warmth of his breath and the gentle touch of his lips. You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the moment, until suddenly, you heard a low growl coming from behind you.

Miguel slowly turned you around, you looked at him revealing that his fangs were now fully extended. His gaze was intense, and his breathing was heavy as he stared at you hungrily. "Don't move," he said in a low voice, before moving closer towards you. A feeling of dread settled in your chest and you closed my eyes in anticipation "Is it going to hurt?" You asked.

Miguel chuckled darkly, but there was no trace of humor or kindness in it. Instead, there was only an animalistic hunger mixed with lustful desire. Without warning, he grabbed hold of your waist firmly and pulled you close, pressing his body against yours. His hot breath brushed against your ear as he whispered. "Yes, it will hurt... but I promise it won't be too bad just stay still”

You let out a sigh with your eyes closed feeling his hot breath on your neck and suddenly a sensation of sharp pain flooded you as he began to bite you.

As Miguel bit harder, you let out a sharp gasp from the pain. You couldn't believe how strong he was, yet also gentle enough not to cause any more harm than necessary. Despite this, the sensation of being bitten made you feel like prey instead of a human.

Miguel's hand went down until it reached your pussy and to make circular movements on your clit. The sensation of pleasure that started to build up inside of you quickly overwhelmed your senses. Your breathing was heavier and faster as you began to moan softly in response to Miguel's hands. Soon, you were lost in a world of pure bliss, unable to think or control yourself completely.

"Vamos cariño, cum for me," Miguel said with difficulty with his fangs still in your skin. As you came closer to orgasm again, Miguel increased the intensity of his movements until finally, you reached your climax once more.

For a moment you forgot that his teeth were still on your neck until he let go. His teeth marks left behind a trail of red lines across your skin, but it didn't hurt anymore thanks to the numbing effect of his venom.

You were breathing heavily as he caressed you tenderly, helped you into his arms and then put his chin on your head. You closed your eyes for a moment as your breathing returned to normal "Are you okay?" He asked you softly

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine" You told him as you smiled, you turned to look at him, his hair was messy and his lips were a little swollen. "How are you Miguel?... I was able to help you?" You said whispering in his ear, he let out a small laugh. No one had ever seen him so relaxed, he looked you in the eyes and started to bring his face closer to yours.

His lips brushed yours for a few seconds and then he kissed you again softly, he took your face gently with his right hand and caressed your cheek. He pulled away from your face slowly to move down to your neck, he gave a couple of kisses on the bite mark and you closed your eyes at the contact "So beautiful… and just for me." He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully helped you onto his lap.

Miguel looked up at you with intense desire in his eyes as you lay on top of him. You both stared deeply into each other's eyes before he leaned forward and kissed you passionately. After several minutes of rough kissing, he pulled away slightly and whispered in your ear, “Ride me Cariño”

Having control after what happened before seemed a bit surreal. You kissed him again as you guided his length to place it in your folds, he let out a grunt as you began to push him inside you "Oh Miguel… you feel so good" You said to him.

Miguel let out a low moan as you rode him, feeling completely enveloped by pleasure. As you continued moving up and down, he reached around and grabbed onto your hips tightly, pulling you closer to him. As he continued thrusting upward, " Who owns this beautiful cunt??"

“It belongs to you Miguel…” You said in a needy moan your walls began to contract as you found the right angle, your eyebrows drew together and you let out a moan. “Only to you…” Miguel responded with a growl as he increased the intensity of his thrusts, pushing himself harder and deeper helping you. You gasped in pleasure as his movements grew more powerful, sending waves of sensation through your entire body when your climax came.

Miguel's breathing became ragged as he approached his climax, gripping you tighter as he plunged deeply inside of you. His eyes closed shut tight, groaning loudly as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through his veins. His knot feels big inside you, he trusted in you a couple of times and he cums again.

You felt his hot cum inside and looked at him as he kept his eyes closed. He looked handsome with his sweaty forehead and breathing erratically, he was still inside you without moving, you could feel his seed sliding down your thighs. That’s when a thought hit you "Miguel..." You said in panic "I'm not on birth control."

Miguel opened his eyes at the sound of your voice and looked back up at you with no worries in his face. "I know," he said softly, his expression turning serious. "In fact, I was hoping for that…” You looked at at him in confusion as he moved carefully to get out of you.

Miguel smiled reassuringly at you before leaning down to kiss you gently. "Don't worry about it," he murmured against your lips. "I'm not going to lie, I was thinking about it when I knot you."

You opened your eyes in surprise. "What are you talking about Miguel..."

Miguel chuckled lightly at your surprise. He kissed you again to stop your words, he moved closer so that his body pressed against yours. His hands began exploring your curves while his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. When he finally pulled away, he looked deeply into your eyes and spoke quietly. "Well, let's just say I like the idea of it," he whispered kindly. You shivered slightly from his words, feeling both scared and excited.

He continued kissing you and caressing your skin until you relaxed, it was then he carefully placed you on the bed so that you would rest. He stood up and walked to the bathroom leaving you alone on the bed for a moment reflecting on his words. After a few minutes he came out of the bathroom with a damp towel and helped you clean your thighs, he noticed how nervous you seemed. "Is everything okay?" he asked softly, kneeling beside you on the bed.

You avoided his gaze for a moment "Miguel... I don't think you're serious, are you?..." You said nervously "About the pregnancy"

Miguel looked at you thoughtfully before speaking again. "I don't want to scare you off, but... yes, I was serious about it." His voice was gentle yet confident.

You looked at him surprised, the idea of having a son with Miguel seemed crazy… you weren't even together... But that didn't stop you from fantasizing about what it would be like, the idea flitted through your mind as he caressed your legs lovingly and the more you thought about it the more it started to make sense. You guys were the best team in GQ and you spent all your time together even when you didn't have any missions. He cared about you as much as you cared about him, he knew you more than anyone and above all he understood you...

Before the rut situation and his sudden estrangement, you began to suspect that he liked you as much as you liked him. Hobbie annoys you with it all the time, Gwen encouraged you to be more flirtatious... Even Jessica hinted at how much he liked you sometimes but you were sure about Miguel’s feelings. He had never crossed the friendship line before this, that made you doubt ."Miguel…” You said with sadness in your voice “Do you really like me in that way or is this all just about your rut?" You asked

Miguel smiled gently at your question, his eyes softening with affection. "Is not about that…” He answered “I care about you… I always have," he said quietly. He said reassuringly. "I care about you deeply, more than anything else in this world. You're important to me” He paused for a moment before continuing. "I've been caring about you since the first day we met. I feel bad when you're not with me... you don't know how hard it was not being able to have you around"

Before he could continue, you kissed him with a tenderness that the two had not shared before. Miguel's face lit up with joy as he felt you kissing him like that. His heart was pounding faster now, but he managed to keep himself calm. He leaned forward slightly and brushed his lips against yours tenderly. "I love you Cariño" he whispered softly.

[ilovelyneysm07]

Endless Solo of Solitude - Hazbin Hotel x Furina!Reader

You are a dramatic person, always looking for the most interesting thing to be the focus of the moment. And people love it, people want your performances, people want to see you.

A/N: Here we are, it should be noted that I am not an experienced writer, so if there are errors, I apologize!

CW: SPOILERS for Fontaine’s Archon Quest. GN!Reader. Use of Maistel as a Gender Neutral term instead of Mister/Miss. Big ass wall of text. Bulleted list format. Use of (Name). No beta, we die like Focalors. Word count: 1.4k (1.444)

(So interminable… So lonely… Just… how much longer?)

The red moon shone beautifully over Hell, while applause could be heard at the Opera Epiclese. It was a normal night like any other in that Opera House, with its Overlord's show about to end.

“Thank you all for coming here!” You and the other “actors” bow to the audience with a smile and the curtain closes in front of you. You can still hear the applause and the voices of the demons as you and the actors head to the dressing room.

With every step you take, every actor following you disperses into the shadows, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door closes behind you, completely silencing the voices of the inhabitants and making your smile disappear completely, leaving in its place a tired expression. You sit in front of the mirror, leaving your hat on the table as you look at your reflection, you feel your cheeks hurt and your eyes heavy.

“How much longer will I have to do this...?” is a question that was never answered, your hands instinctively going to your neck, feeling the extra joint around it and the cold invisible blue collar. You flinch at the sensation beneath your fingertips. You run your hands through your long hair, feeling the tears fall onto the table.

80 years. 80 years have passed since this whole Overlord facade started. 80 years since you made the deal with that Overlord because you didn't know any better.

You really didn't know any better. It was clearly a trap that your 18 year old self didn't see or sense.

“You will take my position as an Overlord, or rather, pretend to be "me." Act how people feel an Overlord acts, be what they want to see. And in return, I'll help you when the time comes. An equivalent exchange of sorts, does that sound good to you?”

You really didn't know any better when you took their hand.

If people realized that you were not an Overlord, that you were a simple sinner pretending to be one, everything would go down the drain, everything you have worked for, the life you have sacrificed to make this work.

You, the Overlord of the Theatre and “Owner” of the Opera Epiclese, your performances reaching everywhere in the Pride Ring. People pay thousands just to see you perform. Or rather, the perfect mask they created for you.

The perfect mask that took you 80 years to perfect to fit on your face. The perfect mask that you were forced to wear.

Before your mind continues to torment you with gloomy thoughts, a knock on your door snaps you out of them. “Oh? Come on in!” you say, as you put on your hat at the speed of light.

“Maistel (Name)?” Your employee's voice entering the dressing room made you put your mask back on.

“Tell me, dear employee, to what do I owe the honor of being interrupted here?” you say in your best passive aggressive tone, wincing internally at your employee's discomfort.

“Uhm, it's about the Exterminations, Maistel (Name).” Your employee looks to the side, avoiding your gaze, and thank Lucifer they did, because if they hadn't they would have seen the nervousness on your face for a moment.

You look at him carefully, putting one of your legs on top of the other and crossing your arms. “What is it?”

“They have moved up the Extermination. According to 666 News, it will be in 6 months, Maistel (Name).” You can feel the nervousness in his voice, making your grip on your arm tighten.

The deer ears protruding from your head flicker for a moment, moving backwards. You shake your head, shaking your ears in the process. You look at your employee with a smile, forced, but it's a smile.

“Oh, what an unexpected turn of events! Who would have expected it...?” Certainly not you. The Extermination ended a few hours before your performance, why would they want to advance it? What happened? “You can go home, dear employee. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Maistel (Name).” When your employee leaves the dressing room, you let out a big sigh and look in the mirror again. Your hands go to your head, gripping it tightly, your forehead hits the table and your hat falls to the floor.

“Why is all this happening...? Why?” You feel like screaming, yelling to someone about all this, but when you feel the cold of the invisible collar on your neck, you are left speechless. As if your vocal cords were clogged and burned under the cold of the collar.

You don't know what to do. You never did.

During the Exterminations, you always stayed in the comfort of the Opera Epiclese, knowing that you couldn't do anything. Knowing that you were just a simple sinner, nothing more.

You sigh in frustration as you stand up, walking towards the exit of the dressing room and on your way to your own bedroom, wanting nothing more than to sleep and rest from your thoughts.

Just outside the Opera Epiclese, a couple were walking towards the building, one more lively than the other.

“Are you sure it's a good idea? We are in an Overlord’s territory!” one of the voices said, worried about her companion, while the girl next to her smiled happily. The blonde clutches her papers tightly.

“Don't worry, Vaggie! I'm sure someone like Maistel (Name) would be interested in the hotel, I feel it in my soul!” The blonde smiles confidently, and her partner, Vaggie, sighs, smiling slightly.

The truth is that they had been trying to talk to some sinners for a while to get them to join the Hotel, without having any luck. Of course, until the blonde saw that Opera House in the distance, her spirits rose rapidly.

“Just be careful, okay? They’re still an Overlord, no matter how much you admire them.” The blonde nodded confidently, and opened the large doors of the Opera House. Blue and black walls were elegantly seen in that reception, some Demons were emerging from what seems to be a recent performance. Charlie smiled at seeing an atmosphere so... calm, for hell.

They both walked towards the reception, where the receptionist was looking at some papers a little nervously, her gaze rising from the white mountain in front of her to look at the new faces. “Oh, uh, welcome to the Opera Epiclese.” The receptionist searched through her papers. “Names? What are you here for?” she said, pen in hand.

“Oh, Charlie Morningstar! And she’s my partner, Vaggie!” Charlie could see how the imp immediately fell silent. The blonde looked curiously at the demon, seeing her better. She’s an Imp. Her clothes are elegant and blue, her hat adorned with black ribbons. A strange color palette for Hell, where everything was red.

“C-Charlie Morningstar? As in… Lucifer’s daughter?” The imp quickly looked at her papers, feeling like she was going to faint. “Why does this happen to me...? And it's my first day... I should have gone home when I could...” the receptionist was muttering to herself as she searched through a large book with golden details. Charlie looked at her worriedly while Vaggie raised an eyebrow.

“Are… you okay?” Charlie asked and the Imp flinched at her voice.

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty! Just… searching, give me a moment, please!” The imp continued muttering to herself, something about 'wanting to go home'. “Uhm... okay, it looks like you're not on the recent guest list, Miss Charlotte…”

“Charlie is fine! And no, we’re not here for one of Maistel (Name)’s performances, we’re here to talk to them!” Charlie explains with a smile, and the imp smiles nervously.

“I-I see… Gimme one second, Miss Charlie…” The imp turns around in her chair, heading towards one of the phones. Charlie looks at Vaggie excitedly.

“Maybe we have a chance, Vaggie! How exciting to meet Maistel (Name) in person!” Vaggie could only smile softly at her partner's enthusiasm. Any normal person would say that it should be the other way around, you know, meeting the Princess of Hell.

The imp turns around in her chair again, looking at the pair. “Uhm, Maistel (Name) should be available in a few minutes. If you want, you can wait in their office.” The receptionist smiled nervously, and Charlie, grabbing her hands and shaking them up and down.

“Thank you so much! Let's go, Vaggie!” Charlie released the imp's hands and walked towards the door on the left. Vaggie let out a soft laugh and approached the imp, who was bewildered.

“Where’s Maistel (Name)’s office?” she asks, and the imp mutters.

“It's in the door on the right…”

A/N: This is part 1 of this miniseries, hope you enjoy this, muehehe.

[maggiecc]

When the World Shifts (Finnick O’Dair x reader) Part 2

Finnick O'Dair x reader

TW: It's about the Hunger Games, so murder, talks of death

You have been made shorter than Finnick, but it's not important. Do I include Y/N?

No Betas, we die like vikings.

Part 1, Part 2 (here), Part 3, Part 4: TBD

The day of the reaping came all too soon. The days leading to the reaping were filled with training, for Finnick, and you, as well as everyone taking shifts with Annie. If you were with her, Finnick trained with Mags, if Mags was with her you and Finnick trained, and if Finnick was with her, you and Mags trained. Annie had fallen back into many of her old patterns from the months after her games, if she did not have one of you to ground her she would start to scream and rip her hair out. You worried that when you and Finnick left, Annie would only have Mags but she will know where you are and you are unsure if Mags will be enough.

“Are you ready love?” Finnick pulls you from your thoughts. You take a breath in to steady yourself.

“Does it really matter?” You attempt to joke, but your words hold much truth. It doesn’t matter if you are ready, the reaping will occur and you will soon be on a train to the capitol, whether or not you like it.

The District 4 victors all gather together to walk over hand in hand. You walking next to eachother, Finnick, you, Annie, and Mags stepping onto the stage together. You looked at the bowls, the left had 3 pieces, and the right had 1; seeing them making it feel all the more real. 

The capitol representative who had drawn, Annie’s, Finnick’s, and your names walked up to the bowls. He began his long-winded speech from the capital all about the importance of the Hunger Games and how significant the quarter quell is. It was a summary of what Snow had said, and that speech was already burned into your brain. You start to disassociate from yourself, it had been so long since the last time time you had been at the reaping in person. 

After your victory, you tried to go to the reapings to meet the tributes after they were reaped to help comfort them, but it became too much. No matter how much you tried the tributes were outmatched by the careers. So over the years, you had to stop going, seeing the names pulled and looking at the faces of the children who were lambs to the slaughter became too much. Sometimes you still dream of those first few kids, 

Coral was only 14 when she was chosen, and had a smile that could light up a room. She made you a bracelet you still wear on your wrist, made of dried fish bones and odd-shaped shells. She went in with Moss, a soft-spoken 16-year-old. You grew up on the same road as him, his older brother even went to school with you. He did not have hope for himself but spent the game trying to protect Coral. They lost their game by a sneak attack while they slept, leaving you a wreck for weeks. The only comfort you had was they went fast, a mercy not many receive in the games. 

The next was Annie, and although she won the loss of her partner hurt you as badly as the first two you lost. Annie winning was both a blessing and a curse, it let you keep Annie but the next 2 years held hope which only made the pain hurt more. After losing 4 more tributes you eventually stopped going to the reapings. You wanted to be there to help the kids but the mental torment was simply too much. Finnick trained, them and Mags the group after, you returned to join the rotation knowing that it was hard for Finnick and Annie as well.

Your reminiscing was cut off by someone grabbing your hand. You turn to look a the source of the warmth and comfort. Finnick looked down at you and tried to give you a comforting smile. It was like he read your mind and knew what you were doing, and he was probably doing the same. You all knew not to get too attached but it was impossible to look a those young kids and not care.

“It will be alright, love” Finnick attempted to comfort you, but you could not even muster a response, only being able to squeeze his hand.

“We shall let the men go first,” The host announced, laughing as he pretended to search around the bowl, but there was only one name. You knew what the host was about to say but you still flinched upon hearing it. “Finnick O’Dair!” 

The host began to clap and District 4 reluctantly joined in, out of respect for their only male victor. Finnick gave the cameras a wave as he walks to the side for the next name to be called.

“Alright, now for the female tribute!” The host was loud and excited, so clearly capital. He saw this as some sort of game but the districts knew the truth. These were murders, children slaughtered for nothing, a war they weren’t alive for. “Our female tribute is . . . Annie Cresta!” Your heart sinks. Annie broke out in tears holding herself as she begins to weep. You knew what you were about to do, knew she wouldn’t enter the games but hearing her name still hurt her.

“I VOLUNTEER!” You scream tears starting to form. Mags begins to wrap Annie in her arms as you walk over to join Finnick. 

He wraps you in a hug and leans to whisper in your ear “We will make it out, I promise.” You nod your head and wipe your tears.

You move to stand side by side and grab Finnick's hand. You raise it high above your head for your District to see. All of District 4 began to cheer for their victors, turned back into tributes. They finally have a reason to have hope, both of you were survivors and maybe you could have a chance, that they would not have to watch more of their people be slaughtered for entertainment. You had the same hope, maybe you could make it out, maybe both of you could.

Once you were able to walk off the stage you run to where Annie and Mags stood. You wrap them up in your arms, and Finnick does the same holding all three of you. Your little family, the only people who truly understood you was being torn apart. Annie grabbed both you and Finnick, gripping your arms to the point her nails dug into your skin but you ignore it. She is still crying but not screaming anymore. She lets go of your arms and grabs your heads to put them to her. She was unable to speak but you understand what she is saying. Annie lets out a soft laugh and you know that she cannot control it.

“We will make it back to you, I promise,” Finnick tells her. You don’t know if she believes him, or if you do but she lets go of your heads. She grabs your hands to give you one last squeeze followed by Mags giving you both a soft touch to the cheek and a smile. 

The peacekeeper starts to head towards your group, a sign you had to leave. Their weapons stayed in their hands, not pointing towards you, but the threat was clear. You are leaving now.

“We’re coming you grunts,” Finnick told them as he turns to walk. You begin to join him but quickly turn your head around and mouth, I love you to the woman. Annie turns into Mags' arms as her weeping returns.

You turn to look up to Finnick, seeing him tensing upon hearing Annie’s cries but not being able to hug and comfort her. You grab his hand and squeeze it, making him look at you. “We got this. Mags will take care of her for when we come back.” you try to comfort him.

He gives you a soft smile that does not fully reach his eyes “Of course my love. They don’t stand a chance against us.”

You nod your head, then turn forward to walk, hand in hand with Finnick, knowing that whatever you are going to face you will at least be with him.

[bobby-r2d2-floyd]

The Nanny part 2

note: here's part two to the nanny! i'm hopefully going to try and start to get longer pieces out soon, i'm still trying to get back into the swing of writing fics again.

warnings: mentioned of parental death

trigger warning: one sentence in the fourth paragraph that talks about school shooting, but no violence actually occurs.

word count: 1.6k (sorry it's short, between yesterday and today i've had a headache that wouldn't go away :( )

no beta again, we die like men

inspired by: @roosterforme

previous part | next part

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

You just moved to California, wanting a change from the cold Vermont air and where better to stay than with your aunt, Penny Benjamin. Penny was your mom’s sister, an unfortunate accident in 1999 took your mother and your father, you were 10 years old. Penny was more than willing to take in her only niece, even if it meant having you relocate to Virginia with her. 

Years had passed and Penny had done all but adopt you, she called you her daughter when people asked, made all your appointments for you until you were old enough to make your own, she helped you with boys, and then girls, when you came out to her. She held you while you cried over your first real heartbreak, she taught you all about your period and safe sex. She made you feel comfortable, like you could go to her with any problem that you had, and she would fix it for you.

Maybe it also helped that your grandfather was an admiral in the United States Navy, but that’s beside the point, Penny Benjamin took care of you when you had no one once, and she was more than happy to do it again. 

Being a teacher, especially in today’s world, is hard. You had to worry about whether or not your school was going to fall victim to the next mass shooting, if you could keep your kids safe in an environment where the legislators didn’t care. It was a hard choice to make, leaving the school system, because you knew that they were already understaffed, and that there were no qualified substitute teachers available to take over your position… but between the abuse from your principal, the students, and the entitled parents? You were done.

You at least waited until the end of the school year before packing it all up and moving west. It was a sad goodbye with all the students you had loved but for your sanity, it was what you needed to do.

Penny had an open bedroom, and Amelia was thrilled to be living with you again, mainly so you can help her on her homework, and of course you were happy to see Penny and Pete back together. You always loved having him around when you were a kid, and it really did feel like your relationship with him never waivered, even though you only texted each other for holidays and birthdays after the last time he and Penny “broke up”. 

You were laying on the couch scrolling through your phone, not paying attention to whatever it was Amelia had put on the tv when Penny walked in after her short shift at the bar; it was a slow weekend and Jimmy had it plenty under control.

“Hey, so I might have told one of the guys Pete works with that you’d be willing to nanny for him.” Penny says as soon as she walks in.

“Are you talking to me?” Amelia asks, not looking away from the tv and Penny laughs.

“No, your sister.” 

That catches your attention and you groan.

“I don’t want to nanny some old admiral’s bratty kids.” you say as you sit up and Penny sits next to you.

“He isn’t an old admiral with bratty kids, he’s 35, the same age as Bradley, and he literally just had an infant dropped off on his front porch today.” she tells you and you look over at her. “He needs a lot of help, and you would be perfect for the job. Aside from working at the bar you’re never doing anything.” she shrugs and steals some of the popcorn that was on the table and you look at her with your mouth open.

“Okay, first off. Rude. Secondly, I do plenty of stuff!”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Uh, I help Amelia with her homework.”

“And you can help her while also helping Jake out with his daughter.” Penny says and you sigh.

“Fine.” you grumble and head into the kitchen, “do you eat yet, Pen?”

“Yeah, Pete brought me food to the bar.”

“Don’t you… serve food at the bar too?” 

“Not sushi.” 

You spend the next three weeks waiting to meet this Jake guy. Sure you knew of him, but you didn’t want to be persuaded by the ‘Hangman’ persona that he had before becoming a dad. Sure people don’t just change overnight, so you’re sure he still has quite the mouth and attitude, especially if this baby is keeping him up at night. 

You opened the bar early and the members of the Dagger Squad slowly filtered in. Bob was sitting at the bar with you while you were getting bottles ready, he was telling you a story from when he was a kid on his family’s farm and he was chasing down pigs and slipped and fell in the mud when the bell above the door rang. 

Looking over, you see a man you don’t recognize carrying a little baby in the cutest little dress you’ve ever seen, a diaper bag slung over his other shoulder. You shoot him a smile as he walks up to the bar.

“Hi! I’m Y/N Benjamin, but you can call me Saturn.” you say as you wipe a rag over the bar top, cleaning up some of the iced tea that Bob spilled. “You must be Jake?” 

This new man smiles at you and nods, “Yes ma’am.” he says, setting the diaper bag on a barstool. 

You watch his muscles flex as he shifts his daughter from one side to the other to give his arm a break and he catches you staring at her. “This is Avery.” he turns so you can see the little girl’s face and you let out a gentle little coo.

“Oh look at you! Aren’t you just the cutest little girl.” you say, talking in a voice that has her laughing and reaching out for you. You take her from Jake without even hesitating and she plays with the fingerprint pendants of your parents that you have hanging around your neck. 

Since the bar is still technically closed for another hour and a half, you make your way out from behind the bar and take a seat on the stool next to Bob who smiles at the little girl, pulling away as she tries to reach for his glasses but isn’t quick enough as she rubs her chubby fingers over his lenses. 

You and Jake just laugh at her antics and at poor Bob who is left with baby drool covered glasses for the time being, but even he can’t stay mad at little Avery. She looks up at you, blue-green eyes bright as she smiles her little gummy smile and laughs along with the two of you. 

Jake can’t believe how comfortable Avery already is with you, it took days for her to warm up to anyone aside from Penny; she still doesn’t like Rooster but Jake believes it's a hundred percent because of his mustache. Normally he’s nervous when she’s around strangers of any kind, even her own doctor when she first saw the woman, but with you he’s oddly… comfortable. 

Begrudgingly you hand Avery back to Jake, you have to open the bar in 20 minutes and you’re already way behind but thankfully Bradley volunteers to help you get ready. You’re standing next to him slicing limes as he cuts up some oranges.

“You know, she’s never taken to someone that fast before.” he says, making sure the slices are relatively uniform.

“It’s because I’m a woman.” you tease and he rolls his eyes.

“No, seriously. Penny was a given because she’s just the best, but Phoenix? Bob? She only just started to get along with them, and those two are the best people in this entire squad. It even took her a bit to warm up to Hangman and he’s her dad.” Rooster says, stealing an orange slice that he cut too thin before taking a beer from the fridge under the counter and walking away.” 

“You have to pay for that!” 

“Put it on my tab, Rings!” he calls out, throwing a wink over his shoulder and you roll your eyes, opening a tab for him before going over to the window and flipping the ‘open’ sign on.

You’re about halfway through your shift when Jake walks up to you, Avery sleeping against him despite the volume of the bar. 

“Hey, headed home?” you ask, taking the top off of a few beers before handing them to the patron that was waiting. 

“Yeah, figured she would prefer to sleep in her bed tonight than on the pool table.” he jokes and you give a gentle laugh.

“Yeah, probably.”

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out this weekend? Talk about what Pen offered? If-if you still think you can help me out?” he chews his lip a little, nervous for you to say you’re not interested.

“Yeah! Definitely, uh… here,” you grab a napkin and write your number down with a little cartoon drawing of a circle with a ring around it, how you always signed your nickname. “I’m off on Saturday and Penny isn’t opening on Sunday since it’s going to be such a hot night, she wants us to be off so I’ll be free whenever on both days.” you tell him and he tucks the napkin in his pocket with his phone.

“I’ll text you on Saturday? I can pick you up? Or I mean-” you cut him off with a laugh.

“You can pick me up, I assume you know where Penny lives?” he nods and smiles.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“Great, see you on Saturday, Dad-man.” you give him a wink before turning away to go help Jimmy out with the patrons that have gathered around the bar. Jake laughs and turns around to head out, Dad-man?

-----------

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[zirobitches]

One Piece: Soulmate AU

Always in this twilight - Crocodile x GN!Reader

Summary: Soulmates are incapable of hurting each other. As a pirate, this leads to some tragic moments midst battles. You thought you were prepared for when it might happen to you, but damn you were wrong.

Gn! Reader, Angst no comfort, no beta we die like Roger, Reader is Croc's First Mate and a former Roger pirate (Shanks/Buggy's age) but it doesnt really matter, also former slave background, congrats you are now in the place of my self insert OC, no promises on not being cringe this is literally a /reader fic, also had to make a fake crew bc we dont know enough crocs backstory HAND IT OVER ODA

Word count: 4500+

Also first fic on tumblr, idk what im doing here, lmk ur opinions. It is now 2:03am and i have class at 10:30. Might have to skip lmao

EDITS: grammar check lol. also cross posted it on ao3 - same name as my blog

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Soulmates weren't as common as you'd might assume when you first hear about it. There's an easy way to prove someone is your soulmate, but when that method is to harm them, well, it doesn't make it easy to find that person. And society gets a bit weird when you know your soulmate is out there.

you've known that some people carry around little needles to poke into strangers hoping to find the one. But that was in decent society; among pirates you more often heard tales of bullets suddenly dropping to the ground after they hit their target, or swords stopping on someone's skin as though it just hit steel. A battlefield is a hell of a place to meet the person fate had decided for you, but for pirates it had become a norm.

Not that long ago, some genius named Vegapunk did a study on how many people meet their soulmate - 1 in a 100. And that's just how many people find them. It never accounts for how many actually happily end up together. You had chosen to live your life as a pirate, so a happy ending with your supposed soulmate wasn't something you foresaw in your future.

You were always grateful most of your current crew felt the same. There was a small group among pirates that were always on the lookout to find their soulmate and then immediately retire. Your crew however like to joke that if they found them in battle, they would move out of the way so someone else could finish them off. It was a grim reality, but it was your reality.

However, on nights like these where you drank the night away, some romantic always had to bring it up.

"C'mon, did old Roger really make you so cold hearted that you don't believe in true love?"

"Pfft, you're fucking joking right?" You scoffed back. You always argued with Tink about this, but you understood your young navigator still had hope. Too bad you were the pessimist of the crew.

"It's not that I don't believe in true love," you continued. "Soulmates are real, I don't really see another explanation for not being able to harm only one other person in the world. But why limit yourself to waiting for a person you might never meet? So many are denying themselves to fall in love with someone else and then end up dying alone because they never found their soulmate."

Tink pouted in front of you. This was a tired conversation, one that was repeated every few weeks much to the chagrin of your other crewmates. But a controversial topic was always a great topic for a group such as yourselves.

"I'm not denying myself the chance to fall in love! I'm denying ever feeling heartbroken over someone who doesn't matter!" Tink tried to argue back, but you just groaned in response.

"And if you never meet the one? You'll just live and die without ever letting yourself even get a taste of what it is you're chasing." Tink glared, knowing it was futile to keep going, but the pink of her cheeks told you that the grog in her system was trying to get her to keep fighting.

It was then that a familiar tall figure caught your eye. There was your beloved captain Crocodile, trying to sneak behind everyone's back to grab another bottle for himself.

Crocodile was never much one for festivities, at least not one 'undeserved' as he might put it. While there was no battle won to celebrate, the night sky was clear and the waters calm; in the Grand Line, shouldn't that be enough to be happy about?

However tonight you weren't going to let him sneak booze and hide from the crew.

"Cap'n!" Apparently the grog was getting to you as well. "Come over here and help me crush Tink's dream of a soulmate!" You laughed as Tink gasped at your audacity. The rest of your company seemed more or less happy with how the night was going, but your captain was still less than enthused to join.

"If this is the same soulmate debate you've been going on about for the past 3 years, I will pass again. You already know my feelings on the matter." Crocodile's deep voice reverberated across the deck of the ship. Even if he wasn't giving orders, he still commanded the attention of everyone within earshot.

He gave a long drag of the bottle in his hand, and then turned to walk away. However you felt it was your duty as first mate to pester your captain into spending casual time with his crew.

"I may know your opinion, but would you be so kind and gracious to remind the rest of the crew? Perhaps?" You called out to the dark coat trying to run from the party, and saw him pause, then turn to walk back.

You could see some of the newer additions to the crew cower. You didn't blame them, Crocodile was an imposing figure, and was developing a infamous reputation as a pirate on the Grand Line. But he was your captain, and he would never hurt his crew, this you knew.

"If I ever met my soulmate," Crocodile began, "I assume it would be when I attempt to kill them." He took another sip from his bottle. This was one of the rare moments he was not puffing a cigar you suddenly realize. It made his face look younger, as though he was actually a man in his 20s as he claimed he was.

As though he knew you were thinking of him, Crocodile made eye contact with you. "When I realize I can't kill them, I'll call out for you." You felt your heart skip a beat. "Then you can finish them for me."

It was purely the grog's fault for making your face warm. The lack of a sea breeze was also suddenly apparent. But you couldn't be flustered, not when you were the one who asked for this answer.

You smiled, doing your best to brush off the tension. You were still maintaining eye contact with him after all. "Well there you have it. Not exactly the opinion I remember, but I hope I can live up to your expectations, Cap'n."

Crocodile nodded, then told you all to start to sober up or get to bed. "I don't need a crew of drunks on the Grand Line, or else we will never make it to the New World."

Your crew began to disperse and you went below deck to your cabin. You really hadn't had much to drink that night, yet your chest felt tight.

You thought you had learned your lesson, but no. Even after promising yourself you wouldn't, you became attached to your crew. Even after your last one fell apart. Even after you watched your first captain, your savior, be executed, you fucked up and dove straight into a different crew expecting it to be different.

You laid down in your bed, staring at the ceiling, the world slightly spinning. Suddenly all you can think about is when you met Croc.

-

It was little more than 3 years ago now, wasn't it? A whole 3 years since Roger died. The weight is still heavy in your chest, but not nearly as devastating as it was in Logue Town that day. You were a wreck, physically and emotionally.

After watching the execution, you were too heartbroken to join the others in pursuit of the One Piece. Your world has just officially ended, the crew was technically already disbanded, but now there was no hope of getting it back.

You ended up in some local bar. No one recognized you, and in the haze of all the excitement following Roger's death, why would they? You had just been some nobody apprentice who happened to stick on his ship after Roger saved your life.

But your sorrow did catch someone's eye.

You sat at the counter of this dive bar in Logue Town, mindlessly stirring whatever number drink sat in front of you now. You had run out of tears, and sat stuck in some frozen state of grief.

However, this sad portrait of yourself did not seem to deter someone from sitting next to you.

You paid them no mind, just staring into empty space, not enough energy to even remember you were still alive.

"You were a member of the Pirate King's crew weren't you?"

A deep voice rattled from the stranger, but it was his words that really caught your attention.

"How'd you figure?" You had paused your stirring at first, but now focused on your drink to avoid eye contact. You were a mess, you could feel your puffy eyes, and were still sniffling every so often.

"There's no reason anyone in this town should be sad that someone like him died. So, you must have known him, right?" The deep voice continued, and you could feel their eyes staring, but didn't have the strength to meet them.

"Well, you caught me. Going to take me in and see if you can get a reward? I'm afraid you won't find any posters of me though. I tended to get lost in the crowd, you could say." After that statement you finally grasped the glass in front of you and decided to knock back what was left. If this was the end of your little pirating career, so be it. It can die with Roger.

"Will you join my crew?"

Your head snapped up at that, and you finally looked up at the stranger.

Long black hair was slicked back to show all the sharp features of the man's face. A strong square jaw, a prominent, perfect nose, and pale, piercing eyes, hooded by thin black eyebrows. Undoubtedly, even in your drunken haze, you were sure sober you would agree the man was handsome.

After a moment to take in this stranger all you could manage was a "Excuse me?"

He smiled - no, smirked - and pulled a cigar out from his coat. "I could use someone with your experience on my crew." He carried on, as if you were discussing the weather outside. He lit the cigar with a lighter you hadn't noticed him pull out. Perhaps it was the booze, but looking at this guy, he almost seemed… fuzzy, around the edges.

"Having someone who once worked for the Pirate King should help me become the next Pirate King."

The stranger took a long drag from his cigar, then exhaled over the counter. You didn't know where the barkeep was now, but at the moment, it felt like you and him were the only people in the building.

You should be mad. Enraged at the audacity of someone to come up to you on the worst day of your life, and to ask you to work for them. But you felt nothing.

No. That wasn't right. You did feel something.

You chuckled. Giggled even. A small laugh that built up till you were laughing, nearly hysterically. You hadn't felt like this sort of light headed elation in a long time, and it was nice.

After taking a moment to catch your breath you finally looked back at the stranger. He didn't look upset at your reaction. He just kept smoking his cigar, waiting for an answer.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"I am Sir Crocodile, captain of the Neverland Pirates."

"Hmmm. Well, Sir Crocodile, I can tell you now that you have no chance of being Pirate King." You smirked back at him, propping your head up on your hand as you leaned against the counter.

This response still didn't bother the man. If anything, you swore he almost seemed… satisfied by your answer. Perhaps he knows what's coming next.

"I can help you out on the Grand Line and maybe help you get to the New World, but I promise," you leaned in towards this captain, staring him down. "You will never be the man Roger was. No one will."

Yet Crocodile was unperturbed.

"So you'll join my crew?"

You leaned back and reassessed your empty glass. You cast a quick glance at the bar and then back at the other pirate.

"Sure. I don't have anything better to do anyways."

-

You thought back in Logue Town you could never feel the same way about Crocodile's crew that you felt with Roger's, but you were always the fool. Now you are attached.

Now you need a reason to leave.

You couldn't waste your time or your heart with them. You had already died once with Roger, and if you stayed any longer you know you could never leave alive. You got up from bed - still plenty tipsy you swayed over - to your dresser.

Middle drawer, back left, underneath some no longer worn t-shirts was a small box. You opened it.

There were several small scraps of paper. Vivre cards.

As a child on Roger's boat, you were ecstatic to learn about vivre cards. A simple way to know the people you loved were alive and safe, and be able to find their exact location? It was too good to be true.

When you remember the feeling of Roger's paper burning in your hands at his execution, you knew the reality of vivre cards.

Your fingertips gently sorted through the papers you had made for some of Roger's crew. Each had a tiny name written in a corner. Shanks, Buggy, Ray, Gaban, Oden, and a few others of people who had been most important to you.

Maybe you could leave this crew and seek out the others. Rayleigh had always said he would retire at Sabaody, and your crew was bound to get there soon, hopefully in a couple months. The ache in your chest; you missed your old family. This could be the excuse you needed.

With a heavy sigh you closed the box and hid it away again. Sleeping on it would be good. Sleeping away the booze would also be nice.

Maybe then the tears would stop silently slipping down your face.

-

It turns out the excuse of seeing your old crew was unneeded. The news coo was kind enough to drop a reason to leave directly in your lap.

You stared at the newspaper for a long moment. The sinking feeling in your gut still did not go away.

You walked up to the bow where Crocodile was standing. He stared at the horizon as you approached the next island, Water 7.

"Captain."

Crocodile turned to look at you, face neutral, signature cigar in his mouth.

"Morning. The news any good?"

"They want to make you a Warlord."

Your own feelings were swept under the rug as your crewmates overheard. Instantly the deck was buzzing, the news spreading and making the once sleepy, slightly hungover crew come back to life.

"This is perfect!" The helmsman Diat yelled, a grin wide on his face. "Not only do we get the Marines off our back, it's recognition that we are some of the strongest pirates on the Grand Line!"

You would have laughed at him if not for the ice in your chest. Similar celebratory remarks were made all around you, but you didn't have the strength to pretend this was good news to you.

All you could feel was an icy feeling on your back, right where you had a large scar that tore up a long faded tattoo. But time could not get rid of the mark you could never forget about, no matter how much you wanted to.

Amid the spontaneous party you finally turned back to Crocodile. Amidst it all, he was still only looking at you.

Your words were quiet compared to the raucous around you, but your captain heard you just fine.

"If you become a Warlord I'm leaving the crew."

A couple of nearby crew gasped, heads whipped in your direction and murmurs quickly took place of all the yells.

Instantly protests, people yelling your name, yelling their arguments, but it all fell on deaf ears as you stared down your captain.

Tink of all people knew it was futile to argue with you, and turned to the man of the hour. "Captain! You can't just let your first mate leave!"

Before she could continue, Crocodile interjected. "You never planned on making me King of the Pirates, right? So you never planned on staying on this ship anyways."

This evoked even more protests from the crowd. Many of them weren't sure what you two were talking about, and some had begun to yell again.

The sounds were starting to be overwhelming, and this was not a conversation that required the whole crew anyways.

"That's enough from everyone!" You yelled over the cacophony. The crew went quiet. "This is a conversation for me and the captain, the rest of you need to beat it! Do something useful, we will make a port soon."

The crowd was not placated in the least, but it was true the ship would be docked soon, and there were things that needed to be prepared beforehand.

"You heard them. Get back to work." Crocodile finished your command, and the crowd dispersed. You knew they would still be listening, but it didn't stop you.

"I refuse to be part of a crew that works alongside the Marines. If you become a Warlord you automatically become their dog - then you may as well be a dog of the celestial dragons." Your tongue burned even at the mention of the world nobles.

Crocodile took a long drag of his cigar. He looked away from you and sighed an exhale of smoke, then dragged his line of sight back to you.

"I haven't decided yet."

You bristled at this. "Are you suggesting they already offered this to you? And I had to find out through a newspaper?"

Crocodile took yet another drag, and you lost your patience with his nicotine addiction. "Answer me Crocodile."

Your captain sighed through his nose this time, some of the smoke reaching you, a familiar smell after all these years. It once may have been a nice fragrance, knowing your captain was near, but now it blinded you and stoked your anger.

"We are almost to Water 7. Let's save it for there."

-

Tensions were high, especially between you and Crocodile, when your mood worsened when he disappeared while you oversaw the docking. But you docked. You got the crew into a hotel. During this time the crew began splitting into sides, which was not something you had anticipated. But you ignored it all until finally, Crocodile returned and you cornered him into in a room alone with you.

He had no cigar, and you had no drink in hand. It was a painfully sober room.

Crocodile sighed and slumped into an armchair. He dragged his eyes across the room till they met yours. You refused to look away this time, jaw set with determination to stand your ground.

"I don't want to be the Marine's dog," Croc began. "But they offered me a deal."

"The deal that our crimes are excused? Big whoop, as long as we don't get caught it's almost the same."

"No," he sighed, a large ring covered hand dragging down his face in exasperation. "A deal to help take down Whitebeard."

That got you silent. For a moment, as you recalled every time you saw Roger and Whitebeard exchange blows and fight for days on end.

"You? Take down Whitebeard?" You laughed, but it was a dry and bitter thing. "Your bounty is $81 million berries. Your devil fruit is great and all, but it is by no means fight and beat Whitebeard good. Even if Newgate was without his crew, our entire crew would be wiped off the map. You've lost it if you truly believe that this is achieveable."

Crocodile glared from across the room. Not his usual, perpetual glare, but a genuine, freeze you in your tracks ice cold glare.

He stood up, all 8 feet imposing over you as he stalked across the room. "I have let you say plenty of cruel things to me, but this may cross the line."

But you were his first mate and you couldn't fear him if you were supposed to talk sense into him. "Cross the line? I'm not the one who is making deals with the Navy so I can sail us to our deaths at the hands of Whitebeard!" You were yelling now, no, roaring at your foolish headstrong captain.

"If you take that ship and that crew as it is now to the New World to fight Whitebeard and his sons, no one will come back alive!" Your heart was on fire with rage and frozen in fear. Rage at your captain, who is very much overestimating his abilities. Fear for your crewmates who have no idea what sort of danger their captain was going to put them in.

Crocodile was now truly enraged on the same level as you. He sneered down at you as he suddenly grabbed you by the neck - much to your shock. "I wanted you there to see me become the next Pirate King. But if you can't support me for this, one of the biggest moments in my life since I've been a pirate, then I have no need for you anymore."

With his free hand he opened the door that was behind you. A group of Marines walked in with cuffs ready. "To sweeten the deal, what better than to give a former Roger pirate to the Navy?"

You felt all the blood drain from your face, as fear for your own well being finally pierced your heart. You looked up at Crocodile, and you could feel tears begin to creep at the corner of your eyes. "You never fail to surprise me, Captain."

"Well done Sir Crocodile." One of the Marines spoke, and you could tell from their uniform it was a Vice Admiral, though you didn't recognize them.

"A public execution of a Roger's pirate should be a grand way to ring in your instatement as Warlord."

You felt the world slow down around you and felt Crocodile's grip on your neck slip at the Marine's sentencing.

Crocodile began to speak, "That was not what we agreed on," But your ears had begun to ring.

Growing up on the Oro Jackson, you had picked up some neat tricks. You found out you were hopeless with the color of observation haki, but had a special knack for color of arms. Perfect against those darn logia fruit users.

In a blink of an eye you ripped Crocodile's arm away from your neck and you made a mad dash past him. And jumped straight through a window, glass and all.

You could vaguely hear a commotion behind you as Marines ran after you, but it was lost with the ringing in your ears.

You could hear and feel your heartbeat, pounding throughout your body as you ran through the endless alleys and canals of Water 7. You could feel tears pierce through the wind rushing past your face as you ran, desperately with no objective.

All you could think about was the way the heat of Crocodile's hand felt on your neck, the cold metal of the rings that had pressed against your pulse.

Have you ever really touched Crocodile before?

…

You missed him. You didn't understand why. He had just betrayed you - fucking hell, he was just handing you over to the Navy as part of his deal to become a warlord, but god. You wanted to be with him anyways. You're not sure how long you've been in love with him; his sharp eyes, the smell of his cigars, the rings on his hands, but gods above.

You had fallen in love with Crocodile.

In your realization you slowed down. Your legs and lungs burned, you were gasping for air and not just because you had been running.

Has it always been this dark? When did the day leave you behind?

You now stood in some nondescript alley, dimly lit a golden hue by windows that lined it. It was a long alley, each end blocked by canals. How you arrived there you weren't certain. But you weren't alone.

At one end sand had appeared. And from it stepped your dear, awful captain Crocodile. You both stared at each other, both of you panting for breath.

"I didn't want it to be like this." Crocodile's voice cuts through the air to you. You knew you should run. But for some reason you couldn't find the strength.

"I didn't know they would execute you. I imagined they would send you to Impel Down." Crocodile continued to speak. You just stood there and listened as he walked towards you.

As you watched him, there was a strange look on his face. You've seen it before but still didn't know what it meant.

He stopped walking ten feet in front of you. The light was still too dim to see him clearly, but it was fine. You knew his face well enough.

"I won't let the Navy kill you. Not after what the nobles did to you, it feels wrong." You had never told Crocodile what the scar on your back was. It didn't feel like it mattered anymore.

"I think I'll feel better about this if I'm the one who kills you."

You knew this was coming. The second you saw him at the end of the alley. But you agreed with him. If you had to die at someone's hands, you would pick Crocodile over anyone else. Even if it meant he didn't feel the same about you, it didn't matter anymore. You were so tired.

It would be nice to see Roger again.

But then Rayleigh's face flashed in your mind. You still had to pay him a visit. You still had to visit Wano to see Oden. You wanted to see Shanks and Buggy find the One Piece.

You couldn't see Roger just yet.

So, in a sudden scramble, you turned around and ran.

The ground where you had been standing suddenly crumbled. You felt a gasp finally escape your lungs as you realized you almost gave up. But not yet. You had to save your crew too.

Then you finally ran out of luck. The dim light hid a hole in the cobblestones and you fell to the alley ground. You quickly twisted your body just in time to see Crocodile's scythe of sand arc straight towards you.

It hits you right in the chest, and crumbles to dust.

Confused, you run your hands through the sand that has landed on your lap. You're not cut in half - instead you just have sand all over you.

Crocodile change his mind? He was letting you go? Thoughts and heart still racing, you looked up at him.

Oh.

Oh no.

The horror on his face was plain to see - that was supposed to be a killing blow.

But he didn't hurt you.

Your hand jumped to your neck from when he grabbed you earlier. But in retrospect, you had just been shocked by the action, he hadn't harmed you.

Crocodile didn't hurt you.

No.

Crocodile couldn't hurt you.

Because he was your soulmate.

It was the look on his face that hurt you the most. The disgust, anger, horror - this man did not want a soulmate. He did not want you. So why bother sticking around?

You scrambled back to your feet. Even if he couldn't hurt you, the Marines still could.

So, with blurry eyes and a heavy heart, you ran away.

Faintly, you heard a painfully familiar voice call your name, but then all that was left was the wind as you ran.

pt. 2 (if you want, but this might be better as a one shot)

[roosterforme]

Old Habits Die Hard Part 14 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You tell Bradley the truth about the photos he finds on his phone, and it leaves both of you feeling more possessive than you ought to. 

Warnings: Angst, swears, smut and fluff

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (fuckboy college student Bradley)

Check out my masterlist

The week of spring break was like a dream. By Friday evening, you had watched so many movies together, you lost count. Movie watching usually turned into kissing, which then led to making out. Bradley was the best snuggler you had ever known, and you really felt like you didn't even want to go back to class.

"Only six more weeks until we graduate," Bradley whispered when you brought it up. "I'm getting nervous."

You spun around in his arms until you were facing him in his bed. "About what?" The glow of his desk lamp brought out a honey color in his brown eyes, and you couldn't help but smile at him.

"Getting my acceptance letter."

"You told me you needed to have your final grades submitted," you said, still smiling. "That won't be until the week before graduation."

Bradley shrugged. "It's just a formality. If you show high enough grades through the first semester of your senior year, they usually accept you before then."

You watched as his eyes darted nervously around your face. "Oh. But your grades are great, right?"

"Yeah. It's not that...." He was pulling you tighter against him as he added, "I'm nervous he's going to block it again."

"Oh." You didn't know what to say. The navy was his dream. If someone tried to take it away from him twice, you didn't know what he was going to do. "He wouldn't do that. I hope."

Bradley's laugh was dark as you wrapped your arms around him. "At least I have you, Sugar."

You didn't dare move, knowing he needed this comfort right now. Just when you thought maybe he had fallen asleep, you felt his lips moving against your neck. "We have one more condom left."

You laughed. "How are we going to entertain ourselves after that?" 

But you were falling in love with him, especially after this week. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was probably in the Beta house kitchen. The very first time you ever called him Beer Boy.

"I hope you're joking, Sugar. First of all, sleeping with you is not the only thing that I want to do with you. Because second of all, I have 18 hours of Grateful Dead concert footage that we can watch together. Correction...that we will watch together."

You pretended to groan and hide your face from him. Honestly, you'd watch as many hours of whatever he wanted with him. "I have an idea for the last condom though," you whispered. 

"Tell me."

"Your door."

Bradley pulled you on top of him and started to undress you. "Love that idea. You're so fucking smart."

"Make me dumb."

So he did. He got you naked on his bed, and put his mouth everywhere. You were barely coherent when he started licking your pussy and murmuring about you being the dumbest girl he ever met. You wanted to take offense, but you were flushed and whining, so turned on knowing he made you this way. You wouldn't have been able to dispute it if you tried. 

"Come on, Sugar. Let's go get a closer look at my door."

Bradley scooped you up and absolutely hauled you to his bedroom door. He set your feet on the hallway floor and then closed it, before pushing you back against the wood. 

"Still just your name," he grunted, wedging you in place with his hip, while he rolled on that last condom. "I know you told me to paint over it, Sugar, but I was never going to. Not even if you told me you never wanted to talk to me again."

"Bradley," you whined as he pressed the front of his body against yours, breathing in the same air as you. His hot breath huffed against your cheek as he hoisted your leg over his hip.

You glanced up and over your shoulder to see your own phone number there next to the little collection of hearts he had drawn. You knew he hadn't painted it. You had been admiring it again ever since he became your boyfriend. But you never got tired of hearing him tell you that.

"You never wanted me to paint over it, did you?" he asked, pressing himself to your opening. "Tell me the truth."

"Bradley!" He was teasing you now, and you just wanted him inside.

"Tell me, Sugar."

You reached for his shoulders, trying to force him to move, but he grabbed you by your arms and pinned you in place, your foot barely touching the floor. 

"I didn't want you to paint it! Of course I didn't want you to! Now will you please fuck me?"

"That's all you had to say, smart girl." 

Your butt bumped back against the door as he slid inside you, his hips meeting yours in such a familiar way. He was sucking so hard on your neck, it stung; he was marking you up like he had in the library. He was going to make you cum for him just like he always did.  

You threaded your fingers clumsily through his hair, and he let you tip his head back so he was looking at you. 

"I love this," he murmured, and you immediately guided his lips to yours and kept them there until you both came. 

Spring Break had been the best week of your life.

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

The following week, it was back to class and back to the study room. Bradley held you on his lap, trying his best not to be too much of a distraction for you. But he couldn't help it. The weather was starting to feel like springtime, and he wanted to be outside with you. 

"Do you really need to study? Does it even matter now?" 

With a laugh on your lips, you turned in his lap to face him. "Yes, and you do too, Beer Boy. We can have fun at the parties this weekend."

But he just pouted at you and ran his hand over your jeans. "There are no parties this weekend."

"Why not?" you asked softly, running your fingers along his lips until he smiled. 

Bradley slowly, coaxingly guided you until you were straddling his lap. He nipped at the faded love bite on your neck, as he said, "The following weekend is Tyson's birthday rager. Can't blow our beer budget."

You giggled as he held you close. "Beer budget? For the shitty kegs or the good beer?"

"Shitty kegs. Since you're my girlfriend, Sugar, party rules do not apply to you. Nothing in the kitchen is off limits. Didn't I tell you that?"

Your smile was so bright as you leaned in to kiss him, Bradley could feel his own face light up. 

"You gave me the good beers the night we met. And you never told me anything in the kitchen was ever off limits to me."

Bradley kissed your lips and guided your hips closer to his. "I didn't? I guess I must have known right away."

"Known what?" you gasped as he let his hand slide up your top.

"That I would figure out a way to make you mine."

You sighed against his lips, and it was the best feeling in the world. "You're smooth, Beer Boy."

Then the alarm went off on your phone, and you jolted right off of his lap. Bradley was left grasping at air with a semi hard cock. 

"Sugar, come back."

"I have lab now. I had to start setting alarms, because you've been making me late for class."

Bradley eased himself to his feet and adjusted himself. "I'll walk you to your lab." 

He took pride in the fact that he was allowed to drape his arm across your shoulders and stroll across campus with you. He didn't get as many looks these days. He didn't get as many girls coming up to him asking where he's been or if he would be partying all weekend. And he took pride in that too. He was proud to be around you, but he was mostly proud of himself.

"You staying over tonight?" he asked as you kissed his cheek in the hallway outside of your class. 

"Walk over to my apartment and get me later, Beer Boy."

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

Bradley was walking home and looking for a picture of him with his mom on his phone when he found them. There was a set of photos that you had apparently taken of the two of you making out in the kitchen during spring break. He stopped in his tracks, with several other students hustling around him and making a fuss about him blocking the walkway. 

"Holy shit," he whispered with a smile on his face. You had taken one where he was untying your bathing suit and rubbing your tits with his thumb while he kissed you. It wasn't exactly the most pornographic thing he had ever seen, but it was you and him together. Bradley could definitely spend some time getting off to these. Starting as soon as he got back to the house.

He was trying to figure out why you had taken these pictures in the kitchen, but he really hoped you were trying to leave a little treat for him to find. 

And later that night, when you called and asked him to come get you at your place, he had the dirtiest of the photos pulled up on his phone screen as soon as you opened your door.

"What did I do to deserve these?" he asked with a grin. Then he watched your smile fade into a look of panic. 

"Shit," you gasped, trying to reach for his phone, but he kept it out of your grasp.

"If you were thinking about deleting them, don't you dare, Sugar! I just jerked off to one of them. I'm keeping them forever."

Your eyes went wide as you pulled him inside your apartment. "You really did?"

"Of course. I guess you didn't take them as a treat for me? Why do you look so upset?"

You pressed your lips together and looked up at him. "I really meant to delete them. And I'm sorry if I overstepped, but she's horrible and she had it coming!"

Bradley was thoroughly confused now. "Who?"

"Phoebe!" you groaned, tossing your hands in the air before letting them fall to your sides. "When you were making us the s'mores, in your kitchen? She texted you a dirty photo of herself." 

His eyes went wide as he felt sick to his stomach. "Sugar, I haven't talked to her. I swear! I haven't seen her. I deleted her number."

He was reaching for you now, but you were already in his arms.

"I know, Bradley. I believe you. And I believed you when you were making the s'mores." You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he rested his forehead against yours as you said, "But then I took the pictures of me and you out of spite. Because I wanted to make her feel bad. I wanted to throw it in her face that I'm with you and she's not. I'm sorry." Your voice broke on the last word, and you sounded like you were about to cry as you added, "I would never want to make you feel cheap."

Your words felt like they were melting over his skin. No one had ever been concerned about hurting his feelings before. You always made him feel good, and right now was no exception. You just made him feel like he was worth holding on to, like he was worth defending.

"I'm yours, Sugar. I'm not hers."

"You're not mad?" You looked so surprised, and your grip around his neck and shoulders was still relentless.

He couldn't help but smirk at you. "I'm not mad. You feeling a little possessive, maybe?"

Bradley watched your lips part slightly as you ran your fingertips along his scars. "Yeah, a little bit."

He nodded solemnly. "You should be. Ask me how many other girls get the good beers from me."

"How many?" you whispered, your eyes drifting closed as you kissed his lips. 

"None. Ask me how many girls have borrowed my clothes."

"How many, Beer Boy?"

"Just you." Bradley held you close and let you touch him everywhere.

"Not Phoebe?"

"Hell, no. Just you. All the sleepovers and spring break week? Just you, Sugar."

He felt your tongue dart out to taste his neck and moaned softly. Then you said, "That's good, because I'm actually feeling very possessive."

Bradley was a mess as you took him by the hand, and led him across campus to his fraternity house, your fingers laced through his. He felt possessive of you, too. He should have known, just based on that feeling, that Jeff would be hanging around the house tonight. 

"Try not to be alone with him," Bradley told you, leading you past everyone in the living room until you reached the kitchen. "We can hang out with Tyson and Janessa, or we can chill in my room. Just don't let Jeff get to you."

You rolled your eyes. "No sweat, Beer Boy. What's he going to say to me that I can't handle?"

"Nothing, because you're exceptional," he said, rooting around in the refrigerator. "Here, Sugar, have a good beer."

So when the two of you had drank a few beers, and the rest of the Beta guys were starting to get a little rowdy even though this wasn't a formal party, Bradley pulled you close to him. But you took that as your cue to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. 

"Hi, Beer Boy," you muttered between kisses, your lips meeting his again. Bradley let you push your hands up into his hair and rub yourself slowly against him. But everything else with you was too sacred, so he was just about to suggest you head upstairs when he heard Jeff's voice through his love haze.

"Good luck not getting syphilis from Bradshaw." He was just loud enough for you and Bradley to be able to hear him, but he could still totally try to play off that he was innocent and chill all night. 

Bradley felt his fist clench at your waist, but you just rolled your eyes and casually shouted over your shoulder, "Good luck finding a girl you can satisfy with what is likely a very small penis. You have small dick energy, Jeff."

Janessa snorted and choked on her drink. Tyson was glancing back and forth, looking like he was ready to step in if needed, but Jeff just narrowed his eyes and called you a bitch. 

"Takes one to know one, Jeff. Have fun graduating behind me." Then you turned your attention back to Bradley and said, "Let's go upstairs and snuggle."

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

The party preparations took all week. Tyson's twenty second birthday party was going to be an absolute rager. Since Jeff had been keeping a low profile the past few days, Bradley volunteered to pick up the kegs with Dev. As he hauled the kegs to the back of Dev's car, Bradley thought about the upcoming party. He knew Phoebe wouldn't miss it, but he was only looking forward to being with you.

And with only one more month until graduation, he wanted to make the most of his time. Bradley knew you were planning on visiting the University of Chicago for a few days at the end of April; you needed to meet your new advisor and find somewhere to live. It was killing him to know that you'd be halfway across the country if he was accepted into flight training. It was even scarier to think about having to look for another job if he wasn't.

"One more keg, before we run out of money," Dev informed it, and Bradley carried the last one out to the car.

"Too bad we can't buy anything shittier than this," he said, patting the keg with his hand. 

Dev laughed. "Right? It's not like we have to drink it."

"This party's gonna be huge though."

"So many fucking chicks," Dev remarked as he pulled out of the parking lot. 

Bradley just grunted in response and checked his phone to see if you texted him. 

"I can't believe you, of all people have a girlfriend, Bradshaw. And senior year, no less."

"She's different, man. She's better." Bradley also wanted to add that he was different now too, but he thought that Dev didn't really need to know about that. 

"Yeah, well, nobody blames you, because she's also hot. And I fully support it, because it pisses Jeff off."

Bradley just shook his head and laughed. "I'd be lying if I said that wasn't an added perk."

Once the kegs were on ice and the party was about to start, Bradley checked his mail for the nonexistent letter from the US Navy and quickly cleaned up his room. He was planning on sleeping in with you tomorrow and watching some of his Grateful Dead concert DVD with you wrapped up in his arms. He was planning on never letting you change out of his shirt, because you looked so perfect in it. 

And that's how you showed up to Tyson's party with Janessa, wearing his tie dyed shirt with the bottom knotted, showing off some of your soft skin. Bradley was convinced that between your short shorts and the cropped shirt, you probably weren't wearing any underwear. A smile played on his lips as you tucked yourself against his side and hugged him around the waist.

"You ready for this party, Beer Boy?"

"I'm ready to spend the night with you."

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

These two are falling. Thanks a million times to @mak-32 for being amazing and helping so much with this story.

PART 15

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[jeewrites]

Hold Fast | Ch. 1 Will Squat for Dinner

Series Master List

Inspo: In an IG reel @ tashabraziliano asks a guy at the gym to play a game where if she squats him he has to buy her dinner at Nando’s.

Rating: M for this one shot, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

A/N: Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being my beta and my write or die! Grateful to everyone who voted in my poll and @katareyoudrilling for encouraging me to post. In the Hold Fast AU all the guys make it back from S. America, additional details TBD if this ends up being a series

Word Count: ~4.0k

Tags: no y/n, gymbff!Benny, alcohol, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), alcohol, brief body insecurity and Frankie being down on himself, Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, alternating POV with one brief Benny POV

next chapter >>

The first time you went to train at Pope's Gym, Benny wouldn’t stop talking your ear off during your workout. When you finally got a word in edgewise, you made a bet with him that if you could squat him, he would shut the fuck up and let you finish your workout in peace. To his amazement, not only did you squat him, you repped him 3 times before setting him down to raucous applause. You’d been gym besties ever since. It didn’t hurt that he was nice to look at with his dirty blonde hair and penchant to go sans shirt so he could flaunt his abs as frequently as possible. Plus, his big golden retriever energy never failed to brighten your day.

Benny liked to tease you about the gym you used to go to that had vanity lighting, a smoothie bar, and chilled eucalyptus-scented towels. While Pope's had the most lifting platforms of any gym in town, you were adjusting to the lack of central A/C and other amenities you were used to. Pope’s was housed in a large warehouse space, bare metallic bones, with multiple commercial rolling doors instead of a proper HVAC system. Besides the rows upon rows of platforms, a selection of assault bikes and ergs lined one wall of the gym, while a section of accessory machines collected dust in the corner.

You learned which platforms got the most airflow depending on which rolling door was open and which ones the massive fans covered best. You had made the switch because you had outgrown your old gym which catered to the general public. The bougie public, Benny liked to remind you. You had started lifting heavy and wanted to lift heavier, so you found yourself signing up at Pope's after Pope himself had given you the tour around the space. You learned that Pope had started the gym after coming back from Colombia wanting to promote health and strength in the community while getting into better shape himself. Looking at the peach shape of his ass you could bounce anything off of, you knew Pope had been putting the work in.

Benny worked the front desk at Pope's between training and fighting MMA. His older and blonder brother Will would come by to work out, but he was often leaving when you were arriving so you didn't know him well beyond a friendly wave. Plus, it seemed like Benny used the majority of the word quota between the Miller brothers. Pope's grew on you and you got to know the regulars who trained the same time you did; enough that you gave them cute identifying nicknames in your head (often without knowing their actual names) and worried about them when they missed more than a session or two.

Benny was surprised to see you walk into Pope's one night an hour before closing since you always trained in the mornings. You had given him a short head nod instead of your usual big smile before stalking to a platform and slamming your bag down.

"Yooooo, everything ok?" he asks as he walks over.

"Does it look like I'm okay," you huff, aggressively wrestling your knee sleeves on. Glancing at him, you immediately apologize when he hesitates and takes a step back.

"Sorry, Benny. I'll be a lot better after I pick up some heavy things and put them down."

"Might help if you want to talk about it?" he ventures leaning against the barbell.

You finish tying your squat shoes before looking at him again with dejected eyes and sighing.

"I just went on a crappy date with a guy from one of those dating apps," you sigh again. "He spent the whole time talking about himself and how much he works out. Then he had the fucking audacity to question me when he asked how much I could lift."

"Fucking asshole!" Benny feels himself getting steamed.

"He just stormed out of the restaurant and left me with the bill when I refused to change my answer," you shrug, but Benny sees your jaw tick. "Apparently, I squat and deadlift more than he does and he couldn't date someone who could do that." You roll your eyes and huff.

"WTF! What a total loser. You don't need a guy like that who doesn't appreciate you," Benny replies incensed. He sees your face fall for a moment, eyes downcast and tight.

"I just — I've been trying to put myself out there again and it sucks," you mumble, cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's also been kinda lonely since I moved here, and I guess I could just use more friends, too."

"I'M YOUR FRIEND!"

"Yeah, my gym friend! We don't do anything outside of this hot, sweaty box Benny," you remind him with a small smile and playful shove to get him off your barbell.

Benny decides this is completely unacceptable and immediately remedies this by inviting you to the next hangout with him and his ex-Delta Force friends at Redfly's, a local bar nearby. "You know Pope and Will already," he reassures, "Tom's the owner of the bar and he's an asshole, but he's our asshole. And there's Catfish — we call him Fish for short. We've been trying to get him to come work out here, but he's been busy with his new pilot job for the hospital. And he shares custody of his 3-year-old daughter with his ex."

He could see your brain turning over all the information he was throwing at you. You don't seem to react either way to the news that Fish has an ex and a daughter. As you adjust the bar height you respond, "You sure? Don't want to crash a regular thing that you have with your guys."

"Nah, it'll be great! They'll love you!" Benny's determined to get you to come.

You hand him your phone. "Well... okay. Text me the details?"

With your phone in hand, Benny puts his number in to text himself and then convinces you to show him your dating profile. Between sets of squats you both take turns swiping on possible matches, Benny teasing you on your picks. Ever observant, Benny notices your preference for profiles with tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed candidates. As you work through your next set, Benny sneaks his phone out and immediately texts Fish.

Redfly's was what you expected for a bar run by an ex-delta force asshole. Dimly lit, buncha mismatched tables and chairs, lots of dark grain wood, and an air of neglect despite being quite clean. It was mostly empty except for a few grizzled guys who screamed regulars, nursing beers at the bar. Lots of beers on tap, but not so much for cocktail options. Not that you were a big drinker anyway. If anything, all the training made you an extremely cheap date. But damn, if you were going to drink, you wanted it to be a solid cocktail.

"THERE SHE IS!" Benny bounds over to you before grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the table in the corner. He introduces you to Tom who was standing by the table chatting with the guys. Tom gives a half-hearted greeting before stalking off back to the bar. Pope gives you a big smile and hug, "Good to see you hermosa, don't mind Tom. That was downright friendly for him." You snort as you settle into your seat next to Pope. Will also greets you with a small wave and an offer to pour you a beer from the pitcher.

"That's okay, I'm not much of a beer drinker." You wince, wrinkling your nose.

"I thought you said she was cool," Pope teases Benny who rolls his eyes and looks at you with faux betrayal.

"How about I buy shots for the table? Would that make me cool?" you smirk, getting up to go to the bar.

"Only if I get one too," says a warm, baritone voice from behind you. A tall, handsome man slides into the last vacant seat across from yours. Soft brown curls threaten to escape the Standard Oil cap nestled on his head. The warmest brown eyes smile at you as he holds your surprised gaze. "Hi, I'm Fish. Sorry, 'm late."

You want to trace the golden skin stretched deliciously along the column of his neck. Run your fingers through those curls that look so, so incredibly soft. And the strong curve of his nose... You snap out of your reverie before you respond with your name. "Better get those shots then," you say, trying not to trip over your unexpectedly shaky legs. Holy shit, why the fuck didn't Benny mention his friend Fish was gorgeous?

When Benny bugged him to come to the Friday night hangout at Redfly’s, Frankie hadn’t given it a second thought. The exuberant text from Benny, “You coming this week right? Got someone from Pope’s coming to meet you guys!!!” had two too many exclamation points for his taste. He figured Benny had a new lifting partner he wanted the guys to meet and his attendance had been pretty spotty between the new EMS pilot gig and balancing shared custody with Vanessa.

So when he walked into Redfly’s and overheard you say “… shots for the table?” He just assumed Tom had finally hired some help in the form of a very cute new waitress.

It wasn’t until he asked the guys when Tom hired you, eyes not leaving your form as you walked away, did he realize the absolute error in his assumption. “That’s my friend from the gym, Fish. SHE’s from Pope’s,” Benny rolled his eyes.

“C’mon hermano, you know Tom’s too cheap to hire help and too much of a pendejo for help to stick around,” Pope added.

Frankie pulled his cap low over his eyes and slid down his seat. He could feel himself flush. Fuck, he thought. Just made an ass out of myself demanding a shot from a total stranger.

You had frozen for a moment after he introduced himself before offering your name with a bit of a grimace. He thought you were gorgeous though and smelled incredible, fresh and citrusy with hints of something sweet and floral that lingered even after you had walked away.

“So, whaddya think, Fish?” Benny prods. "She’s smart, pretty, super strong, and a total sweetheart. Should ask her out."

Frankie flushes a deeper red. “S’outta my league Benny.”

“Aw, c’mon Fish, you gotta get back out there,” Benny persists. "Made it easy for you too. I happen to know you’re exactly her type."

“What, she into out of shape, 40-year-old, divorced, single dads with a toddler?” Fish grumbles. He hadn’t dressed particularly well tonight either, just his usual worn khakis and old faded navy t-shirt. Hadn’t suspected Benny was going to try to set him up tonight, although with Benny you never knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Might’ve mentioned summa that to her. She didn’t even blink, Fish. You got a shot and you should take it.”

Frankie finally tears his eyes away from you. You had just said something that made Tom smile ever so briefly and he wanted to know what you said. Frankie didn’t even realize Tom smiled anymore.

He sees Pope giving Benny that look that said Pope knew Frankie was indeed interested in you, but needed some extra encouragement and to get out of his head. How a single look conveyed all of that spoke to the years and shit they’d all been through together.

“Gonna help her bring over the drinks,” Benny says, popping out of his chair before Frankie could tell him to keep his big mouth shut.

He lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t even tried to comb his fucking hair before coming out tonight. He slides the cap back on hoping it catches the more unruly curls.

“You’re a total catch, Fish,” Pope says, pouring him a beer. “Don’t count yourself out before even shooting your shot.”

“Could just be a coffee date. Don’t overthink it,” Will seconds.

Frankie takes a big pull of his beer. Easy for these two to say. Both Pope and Will worked out regularly at the gym and had the physiques to show for it. As much as Frankie had insisted everyone needed to get back on their game when they got back from Colombia, he was the only one out of the five of them who hadn't.

At least it didn’t feel like it with his achy back and bad knees. Sure, he had finally gotten his pilot’s license reinstated and now shared custody of his daughter. But he was self-conscious of his soft stomach, especially next to Benny whose abs were definitely the example given in the dictionary next to “rock-hard.” What did he have to offer you besides a mountain of baggage and PTSD? Maybe if he just kept his mouth shut everything would be fine and he’d survive tonight without embarrassing himself.

At this point, you are willing to brave Tom the asshole to collect yourself before sitting across from Frankie and his big brown eyes again. Tom raises an eyebrow when you order six shots ("One's for you asshole," you say to Tom with a teasing glare) and ask if he could make an Aviation. You swear he gives you the faintest smile before grumbling about ridiculous froufrou cocktails, but he wasn't born yesterday and yes he could make you one.

Benny sidles up to you at the bar as you wait for Tom to finish making your drink, offering to help you carry the drinks back to the table. "You doing ok? You seem nervous," Benny observes as you tap your fingers on the bar.

"Why didn't you warn me Fish is fucking hot?" you pointedly whisper back.

Benny grins at you as he leans back on his elbows against the bar, "Fucking knew it. Totally thought he'd be your type, girlie."

"You trying to set us up??" you glare at him.

Benny shrugs with exaggerated innocence. "Maaaaybe."

You huff, "Does he know that? Am I even his type?" You cringe inwardly at your insecurity.

"Well considering he hasn't taken his eyes off you since you left the table makes me think you are," Benny smirks. The smug look stays on his face.

For once you're glad you took more than five minutes to put yourself together before walking out the door. You picked a pair of jeans that hugged your curves and a fitted top with a very complementary neckline. Black-heeled booties gave you a few inches and made your legs look longer than they were. Worth the hassle of walking in at least for one night. The lightest dusting of make-up, mostly eyeliner and glossy lip balm, highlights your facial features.

"So maybe I should shoot my shot then, hmm?" you wink at Benny with a knowing smile.

"If you're thinking what I'm thinking…," Benny grins thinking back on the day you two met.

"That's very purple," Fish observes as you and Benny set down the drinks for the table.

"It's an Aviation. You might like it considering you're a pilot, mmh?" you respond with a smile. Okay, you've collected yourself. Sort of. Let's see if you remember how this flirting thing goes.

"What are we taking shots to celebrate?" Pope asks.

"How about to new, strong, friends?" you quip.

"I'll cheers to that!" Benny raises his glass.

Conversation is light and fun with the guys. You marvel at their connection and closeness as they teased and talked like people who have been through some shit together over the years. You convince Fish to try the Aviation to which he declares it a "very fancy purple" and keeps sneaking sips much to your amusement. They fold you into their conversation, asking about your training, and what competitions you might try this season. They praise Pope about how the gym has flourished and rib him about his ever-revolving door of beautiful women.

"What about you, Fish? You thinking about getting back out there and dating?" Benny asks before flicking his eyes over to you. You remind yourself to thank Benny profusely for being the best wingman ever.

"'Dunno. Not sure where to even start," Frankie mumbles into his beer, casting his eyes down.

"I have an idea," you give Frankie your best coy smile.

"Yeah?" he breathes looking up at you. Those damn brown eyes.

"I have a game for you," you offer before taking a breath. “If I squat you, you get to buy me dinner.” Your heart is thrumming in your chest and you feel your cheeks flush, but damnit, you were going to shoot your fucking shot. "But if I can rep you, I want the whole nine yards. Pick me up at my place, flowers, dinner and dessert."

"You — you think you can squat me?" Fish looks a bit surprised, "I— it's, it's not that I don't think you can. But 'm... A lot bigger than you... 'm out of shape." His ears pink at the last part as he cups one hand over the back of his neck.

"I know I can. Do we have a deal?" you smile at him with encouragement and extend your hand across the table. Fish hesitates, but you try not to assume why.

"Jesus, Fish, if you don't take her up on it, I will," Pope winks at you.

Fish glances between you and Pope for a brief moment.

He reaches out and shakes your hand. "Okay, deal." You try not to get distracted by the way his large hand engulfs yours.

"Let's go, brown eyes," you tell him as you stand up from your chair and whip your hair up into a high ponytail.

"You're going to do this in heels?" Fish asks as he gets up from his chair with a grunt. Christ, he's so tall. And broad. You shrug and look up at him through your lashes, “I mean, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.”

You move so you stand with your side towards his front.

“I'm going to put my hand here,” you gesture to his right inner thigh just above the knee. "Is that okay?"

"Yep."

"Alright, you ready?"

He nods.

You carefully slump him over your shoulders in a fireman's carry, gripping tightly to his upper arm and thigh. You can feel the warmth of his body pressed deliciously across your shoulders. He's so warm.

You brace.

Benny's out of his seat, whooping and hollering. Pope's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, clapping, "Let's go, let's go!" Will's grinning and shaking his head in amusement. The regulars at the bar sneak glances over in your direction.

Frankie catches himself remarking on the particular shade of purple out loud when you return to the table with Benny bearing shots and a suspiciously purple beverage. He realizes after you respond and the dazzling smile you give him that you’re flirting with him. He thinks?? He’s so out of practice. God, he’d do anything for you to smile at him like that again.

When you slide your drink over to him to try he surprises himself by taking a sip. He’s even more surprised that he likes it. Crisp juniper dances across his tongue followed by a delicate floral sweetness and a touch of citrus with a spiced cardamom and anise finish. This very purple drink tastes the way you smell. And the giggle you give him when he calls it a “very fancy purple” blooms warmth through him, settling low in his core. He can only think about how he can elicit that sound from you again.

Which is how he misses Benny asking him if he’s thinking about getting back out there and dating. Fucking Benny and his goddamn big mouth.

But then you’re smiling at him again, telling him, single-dad, divorcee Francisco Morales, you have an idea. He’s looking at you and he can barely breathe as your eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint and your plush, glossy lips propose a game.

For a moment he’s confused. Did you not want to go out to dinner with him? Because if he’s honest, he doesn’t think you could squat him. He’s so much bigger than you. And he’s pretty sure if he tried, he could put you in his pocket. But then you’re brimming with confidence and extending your hand out to strike a deal.

It’s when Pope — fucking Pope — threatens to play your game in his place that Frankie is engulfing your delicate hand in his large one. You surprise him with a firm handshake and it’s then that he can feel the callouses across your palm. Callouses from many, many reps with the barbell.

Frankie finds himself towering over you, realizing you’re about to try and squat him in heeled booties. He vaguely hears you ask for consent to touch his inner thigh just above his knee before he finds himself suspended horizontally in the air across a set of firm shoulders, anchored by two small hands. He can feel when you brace, feel your entire core expand. The muscles across your shoulders and back flex underneath your fitted top. And suddenly he’s moving up and down, steadily with control.

You end up squatting Fish five times before setting him back down gently with a breathless giggle. He's towering over you again and you just want to press yourself into his broad chest and envelope yourself in the smell of his body wash.

"Dinner?" you smirk up at him.

"Wow, yeah, dinner on me," Fish flushes, impressed and a little dazed.

"It's a date then," you quip, poking him in the rib before you sit back down at the table. You notice his brown eyes spark with realization at your comment.

Will, Benny, and Pope all high-five you. Cheeks still pink, Fish pulls his chair around to sit closer to you. Tom wanders back over to the table grumbling that Redfly's isn't that kind of establishment with theatrics like you just pulled. But he also sets down an Aviation along with another pitcher of beer before returning to the bar.

"He's just jealous you didn't try to squat him," Benny laughs. You giggle in response as the conversation around the table picks back up.

Feeling Fish's gaze on you, you slide your cocktail over to him. A frisson of electricity shoots up your entire arm when his fingers brush against yours as he takes your cocktail glass.

You tilt your head towards him, your eyes meeting his warm brown ones, and whisper, "By the way, my favorite flowers are dahlias."

Frankie lost count by the time you repped him the third time. Just awed by you having the strength to carry him like this. He decides to just enjoy the rest of the ride.

When you set him back upright he almost melts into a puddle at the breathless giggle you let out. He catalogs that sound in his mind. He wants to brush back the hairs that have escaped your ponytail and he already misses your touch, wants to close the space between your bodies somehow without being creepy.

He gets lost in your eyes when you gaze up at him, he’s definitely over a head taller than you, and ask, “Dinner?”

Frankie is pretty sure he responds in the affirmative, still a bit dazed and very impressed.

It’s when you confirm it’s a date that his brain fritzes, reboots, and takes a minute to come back online. He blinks several times at the realization. He has a date. With you.

next chapter>>

Notes: Dahlias symbolize elegance, creativity, positivity, and growth. It also represents inner strength, likely due to the plant's ability to tolerate harsh conditions.

"Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.” — Ann Richards

🙏🏽 Thank you so much for reading my first fic! I'm bad at tumblr and new to tags/warnings/fan fics in general, so if I missed something please let me know.

I am open to constructive feedback but please be gentle with this baby powerlifting writer, yeah? I might be able to squat you, but I'm a big ol' softie.

Aaand I'm thinking about expanding on these characters and making Hold Fast into a series if anyone would want to read it. I may or may not already have a Frankie POV at Pope's Gym where he gets to see reader in her element. 👀

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held

[lewmagoo]

it’s happening again | rhett abbott

the fifth and final installment of the wolf series ; must read other parts before reading this one

listen to the playlist here (i recommend listening to it's happening again by agnes obel while reading)

description: in which a wolf is caught in a battle between life and death

characters: werewolf rhett abbott x werewolf f!reader, reader and rhett's children, my own ocs as members of the abbott pack

warnings: 18+, mentions of injury and bodily harm, violence, character death, depictions of grief, mentions of pregnancy and birth, angst

dedication: to @lovinglyeternal ; without you this story would not exist. to @bro-ooke for being my beta reader. and to @bradshawsbitch for always supporting me through this endeavor

Previously in The Wolf series…

You held back a sob, the hand over your mouth lowering to rest against your belly, where your unborn pup lay. You had only one thought. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

The doctor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Her eyes, deep brown and ever sympathetic, filled with tears. She could not sugarcoat her diagnosis. 

“I can give him some ancient herbal medicines that will help slow its effects, and ease his pain. But I’m afraid that all I can do right now is make him comfortable. I’m sorry.”

Your tearful eyes flickered to Rhett’s sickly form. His eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow. He was getting worse by the minute, and your world was falling apart. Your shoulders shook as another set of sobs wracked your body, painful and deep. 

You were losing him. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

Now

You shook your head, cheeks damp with hot tears. “There has to be something else you can do!” 

She sighed softly, hesitating, choosing her next words carefully. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, because the chances are slim, but…I do know someone who might have an antidote. A wolf doctor who’s an old friend. But he lives far away…I don’t know that we would be able to get the antidote here in time. Not to mention, there’s no guarantee that he still has it.”

“Well it’s worth a try, isn’t it?!”

“Honey, I just don’t want to get your hopes up. He might pass before the antidote ever gets here.”

“Please,” you whispered, grabbing her hand. “Just try. I need…I need to know we did everything we could to save him.”

Rose held your gaze for a moment before she reached a hand up to gently pat your cheek. “Okay. For now, I have a few things I can give him to at least make his pain less severe. I’ll give him some medicine and then make a phone call.”

You nodded, sniffling at more tears spilled down your cheek. You wiped them with the back of your hand. Rose moved to grab her medicine bag, which she promptly opened and began rummaging around inside. 

She set out three different glass vials. One had a botanical substance in it, which looked like a plant root. The other contained a powder. The other was a liquid. Then, out of the bag, she pulled a small mortar and pestle. She deposited a little of each ingredient in the mortar, and once she was satisfied, she ground it all together with the pestle, until a paste was formed. 

“Get me a cup of water, please,” she said, as she retrieved a spoon from her bag. 

You turned on your heel and rushed to the bathroom, where you filled one of the disposable cups you kept on the counter with water. Then you ran back to her, placing the cup in her outstretched hand. 

“Here,” she motioned toward Rhett, “help me get him propped up.”

You wasted no time in grabbing extra pillows from your side of the bed, carefully lifting Rhett’s head and shoulders before you put the pillows in place, raising him a little. He took a deep breath, though ragged as it was, and you realized this position made it much easier for him to breathe. 

Lovingly, you brushed your fingers through his hair. “I’m here,” you whispered. His head moved slightly in search of your touch. 

“Hi, Rhett,” the doctor gently spoke. “It’s Doc Tenpenny. I’m going to give you some medicine to help with your pain, okay?” She warned him before she even began to administer the dose. 

His eyes fluttered open, and he hummed weakly in acknowledgment. You held your tears back as you climbed into bed beside him, cradling his head as the doctor set to work. She carefully spooned the paste she had just made into his mouth. She followed that by giving him a drink of water to help it go down. 

He coughed, but managed to swallow it, grimacing at the bitter taste. 

Then, Rose used the paste to very gently smooth over his wound. The contact made him growl loudly in agony, and he tried to pull away from it. You wept as you held him down. 

Finally, she was done, and she carefully placed a bandage over the wound. “He’ll need an oral spoonful every half hour,” she informed you. “It will slow the poison down. The goal is to slow it enough to keep it from reaching his heart. But there’s only so much it can do. I have more of the ingredients in my clinic if you need more, but…with the fighting going on out there I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get to it.”

“How will we get the antidote?” You asked, your hand lovingly brushing against Rhett’s sweaty forehead. 

“I’ll call my friend. His name is Klaus. The last I heard he had come up with an antidote, but he had no way of mass-producing it. He may not have any left. I just want you to be warned that there is a very high chance we won’t be able to save Rhett. You have to be prepared for that outcome.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But we can still try.”

Rose nodded. “Where’s your cell phone? I’m afraid I left mine at the clinic.” 

“It’s downstairs, charging on the kitchen counter.”

With that, she hurriedly slipped away to make the phone call. This left you completely alone with Rhett. As you gazed down at him, you felt a fresh wave of tears well in your eyes. 

“Oh, my love,” you whimpered. “I’m so sorry. Please hold on, we’re trying to get you help.”

He took a labored breath, his eyes coming open again. “D-don’t know how much longer I can hold on,” he croaked. 

“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare. I know it hurts. But I need you to fight. Fight for your children. Fight for the pup in my belly. Please.”

He coughed again, groaning lowly as pain blossomed through him. “I’m…I’m tryin’. But you need t’…be ready, in case I c-can’t.”

“Don’t talk like that. I’m not letting you go that easy, you hear me? They’re not taking this pack’s alpha away from us.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, and you could see the tears that slipped down his cheeks. His trembling hand came up to weakly grasp your own. “St-stay with me, at least? Don’t…don’t want to be alone.”

You leaned forward to rest your head on his chest. “I won’t leave you alone. I promise. Now save your strength, please. Just rest, baby.” 

And for a few fleeting moments, everything was quiet. The storm howling outside was forgotten. There was no threat to the sanctity of your pack. No wolf fight taking place amidst the icy winds. No blood staining the snow crimson. All you knew was peace, there in your bed, curled protectively around the one you loved. 

But the reality of the matter began to set in. A bitter taste in your mouth. An ache in your chest. Your mate was in pain, and you could feel it all the way down to the marrow of your bones. 

You knew, then, what he’d felt when he almost lost you all those years ago. The terror and the pain he had experienced. All because Tillersons stole you away.  They prevented him from being able to sense you by putting a special sort of masking collar around your neck. Because of it, Rhett had thought you were dead. It was, as he had described to you, the worst moment of his life. 

And now, it’s happening again, you thought. It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening again. 

What if you lost him? The keeper of your heart. The father of your children. What if he slipped away forever, and you were left to go on without him?

The thought was agonizing. You had heard stories from other wolves who’d lost their mates. How it felt as if one’s soul was being stripped from their very being. You couldn’t fathom a life without him. He was the half of your whole. The piece that completed the puzzle that was your life. 

But here he was, gravely wounded, barely hanging on to life, and you were falling apart. 

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but soon, Doctor Tenpenny had returned. You sat up in the bed, eyeing her, awaiting her news. 

“I got ahold of Klaus. He told me that he has one vial of antidote left. But he’s going to have to fly in, and with the weather being the way that it is right now…it might be several days before he gets here. I don’t know if Rhett has that long, honey. He might not make it.”

You nodded silently, gazing down at your husband’s face. White as the sheets beneath him. A glimmer of sweat on his brow. You held back another wave of tears. 

“But he’s on his way, right?” You looked up at her, waiting for reassurance. 

“He is. But he’s traveling all the way from Alaska, and he can’t leave until tomorrow, at the earliest. All we can do is hope and pray my medicine will keep Rhett alive long enough for Klaus to get here.”

And so, the waiting game began. 

There was much uncertainty you were facing. It was the most frightening moment of your life, and your knees threatened to buckle under the weight. But you had little ones to be strong for. You couldn’t fall apart. Not when you were the glue holding them together. 

“I need to…I need to go check on the kids,” you finally spoke. “Call for me if anything changes?”

Rose nodded, offering a kind smile. “I will.”

You slid out of the bed, standing on unsteady legs. It broke your heart to walk away from Rhett. You were terrified you would miss something. Terrified he would slip away and you wouldn’t be there to hold his hand and tell him goodbye. 

You leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I love you,” you whispered. Reluctantly, you turned away, making your way back downstairs, even though half of your heart remained upstairs. 

Outside, the blizzard continued on, winds howling through the rafters of your home. Cautiously, you stopped to peek out the window, only to realize there was no one out there. It dawned on you that Malakai had likely lured the invading wolves away, leading them elsewhere so that your family would be safe. 

While you could hold your own in a fight, because combat skills came naturally to wolves, you were still vulnerable because of your children, and now, because of what had happened to Rhett. 

A pack was considerably weaker without its alpha. You prayed silently that there had been no casualties in the battle. You weren’t sure if you could stand to hear the news that your pack members had been killed. 

Malakai knew what he was doing. He would protect the pack in Rhett’s stead, and do what he could to extinguish the danger. You just had to trust in his abilities, and pray that those trying to harm your pack would be overpowered and defeated. 

You stepped back from the window, drawing the curtain so that no one could see inside. You double-checked that the door was locked tight, and then you finally moved to go check on your children. 

When you cracked open the bedroom door, you found that Amy had managed to get them all down for a nap. Even Arya, who’d long since graduated from daily nap taking, was sound asleep, cuddled up beside Leia. Amy held a half-asleep Zoella in her embrace. 

Your heart warmed at the sight, and you quietly stepped into the room. “Hey,” you whispered. 

“How is he?” Amy asked. 

You shook your head, trying not to well up with tears again. “No change. But we did get ahold of a wolf doctor who has a possible antidote. He’s traveling in from Alaska.”

Your niece nodded thoughtfully, her face still grim with worry. “What do you think?” She inquired. “Do you think this is gonna kill him?”

All you could manage was an uncertain shrug before you quickly reached out and wrapped your arms around her. The two of you stood in the middle of the room, crying softly as you embraced. You felt so lost, but you were grateful for Amy’s companionship. Rhett was very special to her too. The thought of losing him broke her heart. In a way, it felt as if she was losing her father. In her mind, her father was not the man sitting behind bars at the Wyoming State Penitentiary. It was the man upstairs in your bedroom, fighting for his life. 

“It isn’t fair,” she breathed, pulling back to wipe the tears that had trailed down her cheeks. “He doesn’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this.”

You couldn’t utter an answer, because you were too overwhelmed with emotion. But you didn’t need to say anything, because there were no words that could truly describe the way you were feeling in that moment. The one that popped into your head was the word crushed. You were crushed. 

But it was only just beginning. 

After your moment of shared emotion, you led Amy out to the kitchen, intending to prepare you both a cup of coffee. Something to occupy your hands would distract you for a moment. But just as you were placing each full mug on the kitchen table, frantic knocking could be heard at the front door.

Both of you froze in fear. Cautiously, you stood, making your way to the door. Using your heightened scent, you breathed in, and sighed in relief when you realized it was just Malakai. But when you opened the door, you gasped. 

His clothes were tattered. His skin was stained with blood. He was very clearly injured, but not fatally so, for he was still lucid and upright. Quickly, you stepped aside, allowing him into the house. You could smell the scent of other wolves on him. The iron of their blood. 

“How’s Rhett?” He asked. 

“No change,” you answered. And then, “What’s happening out there?” You asked him as you hurriedly shoved the door shut behind you. 

He turned to you. His face was bleak. “It was a blood bath. We killed most of Kane’s wolves. The few that were left retreated. There’s no telling if they’ll be back or not. But…you need to know that we had several casualties.”

“Oh, no,” you whispered, your heart sinking in your chest. 

He hesitated, as if his next words were difficult. “Sweetheart, I know you’re dealing with a lot right now. As alpha, it’s Rhett’s responsibility to hold memorials to honor our fallen wolves, but because he’s not able to…would you mind if I did it for him? I don't want to overstep, because he is your mate and you have jurisdiction to make decisions in his stead.”

Considering his offer, you nodded. You knew you didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to conduct a mourning ceremony. You were fairly certain you would collapse from your grief and the grief of those around you. 

“That’s okay,” you replied. “Go ahead and do it. But please send the families my sympathy. Who are the ones that passed?”

He listed the names of the pack members, all of whom you had known your whole life. It made your heart ache, and you found yourself lowering down to the couch beside you, resting your head in your hands. Everything was in shambles. 

“How…how are we going to come back from this?” You whimpered. Then you looked up at Malakai. The wolf who had once been your alpha. The one you still admired and respected. The one Rhett tried to emulate in his own plight as alpha. “Uncle Malakai, I can’t…if Rhett dies, I can’t take up his mantle.”

He stepped forward, kneeling so that he was eye level with you. His face was kind. His eyes were sympathetic. “You don’t need to think about that right now. What you need to focus on is taking care of yourself and your pups. Do what you have to do for your family. I’ll take care of the pack end of things. Alright?”

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped at your tears with your sleeve. “A-alright. Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He nodded. “Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help.” Then he stood. “I should tell you, Rhett’s mother is asking about him. I told her he was hurt. I think she’s on her way over here right now.”

“Oh, I should’ve called her,” you bemoaned, “I was so preoccupied with everything that I just didn’t think of it.”

Malakai shook his head. “No, it’s understandable. That’s why I told her myself. Figured it would take one less thing off your plate.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, trying to keep your emotion at bay. A knot was forming in your throat. 

He smiled, patting your shoulder. “No need to thank me.” Then he moved to leave. “I’ve got everything else handled for now. Let me know if you need anything.”

And with that, he departed. You remained on the couch, your elbows resting on your thighs, your chin resting on your palm, staring straight ahead. You felt frozen in place, unable to move, still processing what Malakai had told you. 

Wolves were dead. Your husband was dying. Your children were frightened. And so were you. For a moment, the grief felt too heavy to bear. Like you were going to drown under the weight of it. 

But then there was another knock at your door, and it pulled you out of your wallowing. You straightened, springing up from your seat and hurrying to the door. You opened it to find Cecilia on your doorstep, her face pinched in concern. 

“I heard about Rhett,” she informed you. There were tears in her eyes. “How is he?”

You reached out to take her hand. “Come with me,” you said. You guided her through the house and up the stairs, straight up to the bedroom. 

There, Doctor Tenpenny had just finished giving Rhett another dose of medicine. When Cecilia saw him, her hand came up to cover her mouth. 

She stepped forward, moving to stand at his bedside, and she shook her head. “Oh, my boy. My boy,” she whispered. You came up beside her and placed your arm around her shoulders. 

“What happened?” She whispered. 

“Malakai didn’t tell you?”

“He just said he was badly hurt.”

You took an unsteady breath. “It’s Wolfsbane. He was stabbed with a blade that was laced with it.” 

Cecilia gasped sharply, her eyes widening. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she whispered. Her shoulders began to shake as she cried silently. “I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t…I can’t lose my baby boy.”

Your own eyes welled with a fresh wave of tears. It amazed you that you even had any left to cry. Over the years, Cecilia had lost so much. She never spoke of it, but long ago, after she’d had Perry but before she’d had Rhett, she had suffered a miscarriage. Following that, many years later, she had lost her daughter-in-law, with whom she’d had a close bond. Then she had lost her husband and son to prison because of their involvement with Trevor Tillerson’s murder. 

She was all alone now. Rhett was all she had left. the thought of losing her son was too much to bear. “Can you save him?” She asked Doctor Tenpenny. 

Rose sighed softly. “All I have is medicine that can ease his pain and slow the poison down. I’ve called a doctor friend who has an antidote for wolfsbane poisoning, but I have to warn you, he might not get here in time to save Rhett. And even if he does, there’s no guarantee that it will work. He might be too far gone.”

Cecilia shook her head, reaching out to run her fingers through Rhett’s hair. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully. But just by looking at him, and listening to the slow beating of his heart and his quiet breaths, you knew he had slipped into a coma. 

“Please, save my boy.” 

You realized Cecilia wasn’t speaking to you. She was praying. It was something you hadn’t heard her do in a long time. After what happened with Royal and Perry, it seemed that she had lost her faith. But now here she was, whispering to a God you weren’t even sure existed. How could he allow such a thing to happen? A young father with four, almost five, little ones to take care of. It didn’t seem fair. 

But you weren’t going to argue with Cecilia over God’s existence. If praying gave her peace of mind, you would let her have that. 

She turned to you then, wiping at her tear-dampened cheeks. “Where are the pups?” She asked. 

“Downstairs, they’re all napping in Arya’s room,” you replied. 

She hesitated a moment. “Do you need help with them?”

“I don’t want to put all of that on you.”

But she shook her head, reaching out to touch your arm. “Nonsense, you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now and I want to do what I can to help. Do you want me to take them to my house?”

“No, I don’t want them too far away, just in case he…” You trailed off, trying to keep your emotions in check. 

Cecilia nodded, already knowing what you were insinuating. “I understand. Listen, I’ll watch over them, you focus on takin’ care of our boy, alright?”

Finally, you relented, because in all honesty, you had no idea how you were going to balance caring for Rhett and wrangling your children all at the same time. Having help would greatly benefit you, and lift some of the weight off your shoulders. 

So you let Cecilia assume that role, knowing she was happy to take care of her grandchildren. It was the least she could do during that terrible moment. 

“Amy knows their routine like clockwork,” you explained. “She’ll help you out.”

Your mother-in-law smiled softly. “Thank you for letting me do this. I need…I need to do something, at least. And I want to be close by, in case Rhett gets worse.”

“I’ll let you know if there’s a change, I promise.” 

She reached out to hug you. “I love you, honey. And I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“Me too,” came your whisper, your voice trembling. 

With one last look at Rhett, she slipped away, headed downstairs to speak with Amy. In the meantime, Doctor Tenpenny spoke up. 

“I have other pack members who were injured in the fight. Will you be okay by yourself for a little while?” 

You turned toward her, nodding your head. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll stop by my house to grab my cellphone while I’m out, just call me if there’s any change. I just gave him another dose of medicine so you won’t have to worry about that for another half hour.”

“Thank you,” you told her, “I’m grateful.”

She offered a sad smile as she reached up to gently squeeze your shoulder. “I’m happy to help. It’s the least I can do for my alpha.”

Soon after, she departed, and again, you were alone with Rhett. The silence that filled the room felt deafening. Suffocating, even. All you could hear was his breathing, so slow it was almost if he wasn’t breathing at all. 

“Hold on, Rhett. Just a little longer.”

You weren’t sure if he could even hear you or not. 

In the following hours, you were hit with ebbing waves of emotion. Deep moments of terrible sorrow that tore itself from your lungs in the form of wretched, heaving sobs, as you clutched Rhett’s hand, crying over his unresponsive form. Then there were moments of numbness. Where you were certain you had no more tears to cry. Where you sat there and stared at him and realized that hope was fleeting and fate might not be kind enough to preserve your husband’s life. 

And then, there was anger. Scalding, vibrating rage that thrummed through your veins. You thought of Kane, and the havoc he’d wreaked on your pack. Part of you wished he was still alive so he could suffer for what he’d done to your mate. You longed for him to die slowly, just like Rhett was dying. It shouldn’t be your husband in this bed. It should be the evil wolf who had done this, instead. 

But life was unfair in that way. Bad things happened to good people. 

As your emotions cycled through you, you grew weary, the events of the day finally catching up to you in the form of aching limbs and tired eyes. 

Cecilia made dinner that night, and she brought some up for you, but you couldn’t eat. You had no appetite, and the thought of food nauseated you. Instead, you threw yourself into caring for Rhett. Administering medicine every half hour, wiping at his clammy skin with a cool cloth, trying to keep him comfortable. 

The only time you left his side was to head downstairs to kiss your children goodnight and tuck them into bed. Your two youngest were irritable, and they both put up a fuss as you tried to get them to bed. Being off of their routine, and knowing something was wrong with their daddy, threw them for a loop. As little Zoella cried at the top of her lungs, your own eyes welled with tears, and the overstimulation was murder on your senses. 

It made you panicky, and Cecilia was the one to notice your distress. Immediately, she stepped in. “Go. I’ve got her.”

You didn’t argue. You turned on your heel and fled from the bedroom, your feet carrying you as you scrambled to the door, on autopilot. You had to flee. Had to breathe. Had to have silence. 

You threw yourself out into the icy night air, dashing down the porch stairs, bare feet hitting the snow. One, two, three, four running steps until you went down, knees hitting the ground. You threw your head back and let out an agonized wail, your pain echoing throughout your surroundings, above the wind and snow. 

Why does it hurt so fucking bad?

“Don’t take him from me! You hear?! Don’t you fucking take him from me!”

Who were you speaking to? God? The universe? Death itself? 

You had no idea that at the very same moment, upstairs in your bedroom, your mate wasn’t alone. Someone was there with him, seated at the edge of the bed, inching closer and closer. 

His body was not conscious, but he could see it so clearly in his mind. The beautiful, but sad, face of a woman. Stormy eyes. Skin so pale it seemed gray. Dark hair that fell loosely around her shoulders. 

“You’re almost mine, young wolf,” she spoke. Though she appeared to be no older than thirty, her voice sounded ancient, as if she had existed before the conception of time. 

“Not yet,” he told her, for he knew who this was. This was Death, come to steal him away. 

“The clock is ticking,” came her warning. “You can only stave it off for so long. Soon, I will have no choice but to take you.”

“No,” he insisted, determined. My babies need me. My mate needs me. I’m not leavin’ them yet.”

“Soon,” was her final utterance. And then she was gone just as quickly as she had come, leaving a draft of cold air in her wake. She was determined to have this soul, for it was so close to Death’s door she could almost taste it. 

Rhett wasn’t going down without a fight. 

Outside, amidst the drifting snow, you rose to your feet, wiping your cold cheeks with the back of your hand, clearing your tears away. That was it. You had drained every ounce of mournful emotion from your body that you had left that night. You dragged yourself back into the house, and up into your bedroom, where Rhett still lay peacefully. 

You went through the motions, deciding to get ready for bed. You threw on a pair of sweatpants and one of his flannels that smelled like him. Then, you administered another dose of medicine before you climbed into bed beside him and went through your phone to set an alarm for every half hour so you would remember to give him more doses. 

As you settled in, you rested your head upon his chest, whispered “I love you,” and closed your eyes. That night, you drifted in and out of a fitful slumber. Waking to give him medicine, plagued with bad dreams in between. Your mind kept replaying watching Kane plunge that dagger into him. The moment your life fell apart. 

You continuously found yourself between sleep and consciousness, until finally, when the sky began to very faintly lighten, you dragged yourself out of bed for the day. The hardwood floor was chill as you walked across it, and you shuddered as you rushed to gather your clothes for the day. Hurriedly, you changed, uncaring if you looked presentable or not. You had other things to attend to. 

As soon as you were dressed, you set to work taking care of Rhett. You knew that you needed to see to it that he was kept clean, especially so no infection set in. 

Doctor Tenpenny had returned late the night before, and you had told her she was welcome to sleep on the couch downstairs. You could easily ask her for help, but you didn’t want to, because this was a very intimate thing, and you wanted to be the one to care for your mate in this way. 

So you filled a small bucket with warm water, grabbed a towel and a washcloth, and set to work. Lovingly, you began to wipe him down, running the damp cloth over his body. He didn’t stir while you worked, he simply remained in his unconscious state, seemingly unaware that you were even doing this. 

You fought to hold your tears back. He was so vulnerable, and seeing him this way was incredibly difficult. You were so used to him being strong and steady. Now he could not even take care of himself. This powerful alpha was essentially reduced to a helpless child. 

But you couldn’t stand here and weep over him. You had to press on. So you took a steadying breath and continued your gentle washing of his body. You tenderly dabbed the dry towel against his skin to absorb any moisture, and then you carefully dressed him in a pair of sweatpants, leaving his upper body bare. 

You took the time to place a clean bandage over his wound, trying not to cry as you realized that it had gotten worse. The poison was sucking the life out of him, slowly but surely. 

There was a very real possibility that this doctor friend of Rose’s with the antidote would not show up in time. Oh, how you prayed that wouldn’t be the case. 

After you were finished dressing him, you gave him another dose of medicine, leaning down to kiss his forehead after you had done so. “Good morning, my love. Fight for me today,” you whispered. 

You hoped he could hear you. 

As you tucked the covers back over him, Doctor Tenpenny came up the stairs. For a moment, she watched you quietly, waiting before she gently alerted you with the quiet clearing of her throat. 

“I can watch him. Go get some food in you,” she urged. She noted the reluctant look on her face, and immediately shook her head. “That wasn’t a suggestion. I know you probably don’t have much of an appetite, but you need to keep your strength up. That pup in your belly needs you to.”

You sighed softly, hand coming up to rest over your abdomen. “I know,” you whispered. “I just…”

“I’ll yell if anything happens. Now go, feed yourself.”

You relented, shoulders slumping as you turned and headed down the stairs. She was right, you still needed to take care of yourself, even if you didn’t have the energy to do so. 

When you reached the kitchen, you found Cecilia already awake, preparing a pot of coffee. When she saw you, she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, they were darkened by grief over the state of her son. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart. How is he?”

“No change,” you murmured, voice hoarse. 

She nodded sadly. “I figured.” She closed the lid to the coffee maker and hit the on button. “Want me to make ya somethin’ to eat?”

“Sure, but…I don’t know what I can stomach,” you replied honestly. 

She held up her hand in a ‘say no more’ motion. “I’ve got just the thing.” She then set about making you some buttered toast, complete with a little cinnamon and sugar. On the side, a cup of chamomile tea. 

“This was all I could stomach when I was pregnant with each of my boys. It’ll at least give your stomach somethin’ to digest. Don’t want you collapsing on me now, because you didn’t eat.”

You whispered your thanks to her, taking a seat at the table to enjoy your toast. As you began eating, you hadn’t realized just how hungry you actually were. You devoured the piece of toast quickly. 

“Can I actually have another piece?” You asked, moments later. 

Cecilia smiled at that, and this time, it reached her eyes. 

As you were finishing your breakfast, the house began to stir. Arya was the first one awake, and she came padding cautiously out of her room. When she saw you sitting at the table, her pace quickened, and she ran straight to you. 

“Mama!” She exclaimed as she put her arms around your neck. 

You embraced your daughter, squeezing her to your chest. “Mornin’, baby.”

She pulled back to look into your face. “Is Daddy feeling better yet?”

You tried not to react emotionally as you shook your head. “No, he’s not.” You reached up to run your knuckles over her cheek. 

“But I thought Doctor Tenpenny was giving him medicine.” Her voice trembled. 

“She is, but it’s not going to heal him. All it’s doing is making sure he isn’t feeling as much pain as he was before.”

Tears welled in her eyes. As you looked into her little face, you saw her father so clearly in her features. In the shape of her nose and the quiver of her mouth as she tried to hold her tears back. “How is he going to get better then?”

You pulled her into you again, cradling her head against your chest. “Another doctor is coming to see him. He’s going to give Daddy a different kind of medicine that we hope will help him feel better.”

A few moments of silence before she spoke again. “I hope it works. I’m so scared, Mama.”

You saw no use in hiding your emotions from her. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

You held her there for a little while longer, until Amy emerged from her bedroom, followed by Max. Then, you parted from Arya and stood to have your children sit around the table while their grandmother made breakfast for them. 

You were eternally grateful to Cecilia for stepping in and helping you take care of the children. You knew there was no way you’d be able to do it without her. 

Although you longed to go upstairs and sit at Rhett’s bedside, you took a moment to spend time with your pups, because you knew how frightened they were. They needed their mother. 

You felt so torn. Part of your heart lay with Rhett in your bed. The other remained at the breakfast table with your kids. It was a very specific kind of pain that you could not describe with words. But your mind traveled back to the torment you had endured over seven years ago, at the hands of Patricia Tillerson. That was what you would liken it to. 

Cruel torture. 

The ache was incessant. And it only worsened as you kissed the top of each child’s head and finally made your way back upstairs. As expected, Rhett was in the same place that you’d left him. But this time, Doctor Tenpenny had news. 

“I just got a call from Klaus,” she said, and at that, you immediately perked up. “He’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered, placing your hand over your heart. 

Cautiously, she stepped toward you, placing her hand on your arm. “Listen to me. He might not have that much time. We’re already pushing our luck. You need to know that I only have enough ingredients left to make one more round of medicine. If we use it sparingly it will last us until tomorrow, but I don’t know how his body will react to lessening the dose. I don’t…I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep him alive.”

“All we can do is try,” you simply said. You felt so powerless. Hope was so close you could almost taste it, but Death hovered even closer, waiting to strike, prepared to steal your mate from you. 

Don’t take him from me. 

While Rose left to retrieve more ingredients from her clinic, you sat with Rhett, holding his hand in yours. You lovingly stroked your thumb over his knuckles, staring at the way your fingers wrapped around his hand. Your mind drifted to your wedding day, where you had stood in front of your pack, your hands in his much larger ones, pleasing your love and eternal loyalty to each other. 

It had been one of the most joyous days of your life. 

That day, you had made a blood oath to each other, which had joined yours and his packs together as one. But now, his blood was poisoned. 

What if he slipped away before Klaus could even get here? What if you had to hold him in your arms as the life left his body? The thought sent a terrible ache through your chest. 

“Please, just hold on a little longer.” You were so exhausted. So tired of begging him to stay with you. 

What if he wasn’t meant to stay with you? You couldn’t fathom a life without him, it didn’t make sense. But what if fate had its own plans, that involved taking him from you? What if your lot in life was to go on without him?

Could you truly do that? Could you walk around with only half of your soul? It seemed impossible. It seemed excruciating. But you had to prepare yourself for the very real possibility that he wasn’t going to survive. He was already on borrowed time. This medicine Rose was giving him could only do so much. 

Were you willing to give him permission to let go? Even though losing him would be torment, you also did not want him to suffer. You didn’t want him to struggle for every breath, you didn’t want him to have to fight constantly just to stay alive. 

A soft sob left your throat, and you leaned forward, lifting his hand in yours, resting your forehead upon it. You wanted to plead with him to stay. Wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to destroy your surroundings. 

But instead, you spoke softly. “If…if you need to let go…” but you couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t force them onto your tongue, because speaking them out loud made them reality. Your soft sobs grew in volume. “Oh, god. Rhett, I…I’m trying to be strong right now. I’m trying to be okay with letting you go, but I can’t! I feel like my soul is being ripped from my body. I’m losing you and I don’t know how to stop it!”

You were wailing at that point. Great, heaving cries. You were so tired. So fucking tired. The rollercoaster of emotions. The grief. The denial. The hope. The fear. You experienced all of it in the course of five minutes, and it was a never-ending cycle. You felt as if you were going insane. As if your grief would crush you beneath its weight. 

But your moment of despair was soon interrupted when Doctor Tenpenny returned. You managed to pull yourself together, drying your tears as she set to work preparing another round of medicine for Rhett. 

And so, the waiting game began. 

That day was one of the most agonizing days of your life. Time seemed to slow, minutes dragging into hours, as if someone had filled an hourglass with molasses. Periodically throughout the day, you went downstairs to eat meals and to be with your children. But as evening began to fall, Rhett took a turn for the worse. 

You were downstairs, helping Cecilia and Amy get the kids ready for bed, when Doctor Tenpenny came rushing down the stairs, her face grim. 

“I need you to come upstairs right now,” she said. 

Filled with trepidation, you followed her, your legs as heavy as lead. “Is he dying?” You managed to whisper. 

She didn’t answer, she simply kept going until she’d brought you to the bedroom. There, Rhett was still in the same place you had left him. “He’s burning up with fever,” she said. “It’s dangerously high. I’m trying to bring it down but with how quickly his temperature is rising…honey, I don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night.”

You thought more tears would come. You thought you would sink to your knees as the severity of your emotions overwhelmed you. But instead, you simply stood there, staring at him, unmoving. 

For the first time since this terrifying ordeal had begun, you felt numb. There were no tears left to cry. There were no wails of pain to be uttered. All you could do was slowly step forward and gingerly take a seat at his bedside. 

So this was it. This was the end, wasn’t it? You were faced with a decision. The most difficult one you’d ever make. “I’ll go gather up the kids. I want…I want him surrounded by love when he dies.”

As you descended the stairs again, you wondered if this was acceptance. How quickly you had gone from begging him to hold on, to now rounding up your little ones to say goodbye to him. 

You stepped into Arya’s room, where you found her huddled up in bed, her favorite stuffed animal clutched to her chest, still awake. When she saw you, she sat up, her face morphing into confusion. 

“Mama?”

“Baby, we’re going to spend the night upstairs with Daddy.” 

She perked up at that. “Is he all better now?”

Mournfully, you shook your head. “No. I just want us all to be around him tonight, okay? Now get your stuffy and your blanket. I’m going to go wake your brother and sisters.”

As you stepped out of the room, Amy caught you in the hall. “What’s going on?” She quietly asked, her face tight with concern.

You reached out, taking her hand in your own. “I don’t think he’s going to make it through the night. I’m getting the kids and we’re all going to sleep upstairs. I want…I want him to be surrounded by all of us. Want him to feel as much love as possible.”

Amy’s eyes welled with tears, and she lifted her hand to cover her mouth. “No,” she whispered.

You pulled her toward you, wrapping your arms around her. “Go get Cecilia. I want both of you up there too.”

You embraced for a long moment, soon releasing her so you could continue rousing your little ones from their beds. Soon, with your smallest one, Zoella, gathered safely in your arms, and Arya, Max, and Leia all trailing after you, you made your way back upstairs. 

You felt like you were not of your body. As if you had detached from yourself, and were watching the scene unfold before you from the outside looking in. You saw yourself guiding your children toward the bed. You saw yourself spreading blankets on the floor for them to sleep on. You saw yourself kissing the tops of their heads and telling them to hug their father goodnight. 

You weren’t the only one experiencing an out-of-body sensation. While Rhett lay perfectly still on the bed, he found himself standing in the corner of the room, watching as you got the pups settled. A cold hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned his head to find he was staring into the haunting gray eyes of Death. 

“It’s time,” she whispered. 

His gaze shifted back to his family. His mate. His pups. His mother. His niece. The ones he loved most in this world. The ones he could not bring himself to leave behind. “No,” he breathed. “No, I’ve still got lots of life left to live. I have a new little’n to meet. I have a family to raise. You’re not takin’ me yet.”

Death laughed, though it was a grating sound that reverberated through his head. “You think you have a say here, Abbott? You have no ground to stand on. When I say it is time, then it is time. I’ve come to take what’s owed me.”

Rhett shrugged her hand off of his shoulder, stepping away from her. “No, you’re not fuckin’ taking me! It’s not my time yet!” He exclaimed.

She only smiled, shaking her head, long dark hair swirling about her shoulders. “You’re a foolish one, aren’t you? This is fate, Rhett Abbott. You belong to me now.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he shook his head. “Give me until sunrise, please. As soon as the sun starts peekin’ over that horizon, I’m yours, fair and square.”

For a moment, Death seemed to consider this. Then, “Fine. You have until sunrise. No later.”

And then she was gone, leaving Rhett standing alone in the corner, watching helplessly as his family surrounded him, certain he was going to slip away. He had no idea if he was going to survive this. How could he? Even now, outside of his body, he could feel how weak he was. The wolfsbane had sucked all the energy out of him, rendering his body weak and frail. 

Could he truly fight this? Could he defy Death? For his family’s sake, he hoped so. He didn’t want to leave his babies. They still needed him. And he had yet to meet the little pup you carried within your belly. Another boy, he knew because of the way your scent had changed. It was the same as when you’d been carrying Max. 

He wanted to be there when that little one was born. But now, as he watched on, he realized that mortality truly was catching up to him, and he might not get a chance to continue the life he’d built with you. Was it really all for naught? Finding his mate, starting a family, achieving alpha status, all for it to come to an end in such a short time?

You had no idea that he was watching you. No idea that he was battling Death in the corner while you stood at his bedside, trying to be strong for your children. You had just gotten them settled in, after making up little sleeping spots on the floor for each of them, with Cecilia’s help. 

You tucked each child in, and then, you took a seat on the bed, beside Rhett. Amy and Cecilia sat at the end, wanting to be close by. Doctor Tenpenny graciously excused herself to head back downstairs to her sleeping spot on the couch, allowing your family this private moment, informing you to call for her if he got worse. 

After she left, Amy could no longer contain her emotions. Quietly, she began to weep, her shoulders shaking as she cried over the man who, essentially, was her father. Her grandmother pulled her in close, cradling the young woman to her chest. 

“Shh,” she soothed, rocking slightly from side to side as her hand came up to rest against the back of Amy’s head.

Of your children, it was Max who rose from his bed, driven by his tender heart. He wrapped his arms around Amy, and the sight brought your previously vacant tears back to the surface again. Arya followed her brother, and Leia, not wanting to be left out, joined both siblings as they crowded around Amy and Cecilia. Both women moved to hug the children, creating a little huddle at the end of the bed. The somber atmosphere had rendered everyone silent. But no words were needed. 

You did not move from Rhett’s side. Instead, you took his hand in your own, squeezing it gently, all while you cuddled a sleepy Zoella to your chest. Here, you had two of your greatest loves in your arms. One so full of life, and the other barely holding onto it. 

It felt as if your heart was being torn in two. You supposed that feeling would never go away.

But it was eased a little by the presence of your children. That night, instead of sleeping on the makeshift beds you’d set up on the floor for them, they all crowded into the bed. You didn’t turn them away, because you realized how much you needed them. Those four babies were your only comfort during the most difficult moment of your life. 

As they all drifted off, you remained awake. The room was blanketed by a moment of peace, with each child sound asleep, and Amy and Cecilia asleep on air mattresses on the floor. In those midnight hours, you huddled against Rhett’s side, hyper aware of every breath he took. You were waiting. Waiting to hear his breathing grow shallow. Waiting to hear his heart slow to a stop.

You listened for hours, so terrified that he was going to pass, and you would miss it. 

But sometime during the night, your body succumbed to your exhaustion. You slipped into a restless slumber, still partially aware of your surroundings. And then, in a dreamlike state, you saw something. 

A woman, standing at Rhett’s bedside, caressing his face. Your body went cold as you sat upright. Her gaze flickered to you, and she smiled. A haunting smile that made your heart sink. Her cold, gray eyes seemed to peer straight into your soul. She was beautiful, in an unsettling way. And you already knew who she was. 

“Get away from him,” you commanded. 

She sighed. “My dear, the sun will rise in just a few short hours, and he will be mine.”

“No, you can’t have him,” came your snarl. 

“You think you have any say in the matter?” Her fingers traced over his mouth. “I will kiss his sweet lips and drink his life force.”

“No! Get away! Get away, get away, get away!” You were shouting, flashing your golden irises, as if you could threaten Death herself. It didn’t work that way. You had no power over her. No leverage. She did what she wished and answered to no one. 

But then, all of a sudden, you heard the sound of knocking. Faint at first, but it soon grew so much louder. Death disappeared into the shadows, and you came to full consciousness as you gasped. 

Someone was at the door. 

Your heart seized in your chest as you hurriedly lept from the bed, startling the entire room awake in your haste. But you kept going, scrambling down the stairs as fast as you could. Doctor Tenpenny had reached the door already, and she did not wait for you to join her. She pulled it open to reveal Malakai on your doorstep, and there was someone behind him. Someone you didn’t know.

“He tells me he’s here for Rhett,” your uncle spoke.

He stepped aside, and you knew this stranger was the one who held the antidote that could save your mate’s life. Doctor Klaus Forrester. Highly skilled in lycanthropic medicine. 

“Klaus!” Rose exclaimed, reaching out to grab his arm. “Come! Come! We haven’t much time.”

He jumped into action, pushing past Malakai as he strode into the house. “What are we working with, Rose?” He asked as he followed her to the stairs. 

“He’s not well. I’ve given him an herbal paste to slow the spread of the poison, but it can only do so much. He’s burning up with fever. It’s been touch and go all night.”

Once the three of you made it to the bedroom, Klaus turned to you. “You. You’re his mate?”

“Yes,” you answered, voice thick with emotion.

The doctor nodded before he glanced about the room at the sleepy, frightened children. “The pups must go,” he continued, “they cannot be present while I’m working.”

“But–”

“Young wolf, I assure you, you do not want them to see what it about to happen. This antidote is vicious in the way that it attacks the poison in his blood. I do not know how he will respond to treatment. So please, get your children out of the room until it is over.”

Cecilia and Amy were already awake. Had been from the moment they’d heard the pounding on the door. They shared a look, and in seconds, they both sprang into action, gathering your pups, even as they expressed fear. 

“Mama, what’s happening?” Arya tearfully asked, running to you, pressing herself to your side. 

You knelt so that you were eye level with her. “Go with Grandma and Amy, okay? We’re going to try to help Daddy feel better. You can come back up when it’s over, understood?” You cupped her face lovingly, thumb stroking her cheek.

Bottom lip quivering, she nodded. “O-okay.” 

And with that, all four children were ushered down the steps. That left you, both doctors, and Malakai, who had just joined all of you in the bedroom. Anxiety roiled in your gut, and your hands trembled as you stepped forward, watching Klaus as he set his supplies out on the end of the bed. 

“How long has it been since he was poisoned?” He asked. 

“Three days,” Rose answered.

He shook his head, his brow raising. “He might be too far gone.” Then he turned to you, his face somber. “I will do what I can, but I cannot promise that this will work. It is very difficult to come by the ingredients for this antidote, and this is the last vial I have. If it does not work, there is no way to save him. With how long the poison has been in his system, it is going to be extremely challenging for the antidote to fight it.”

It sounded like you were damned either way. “I’m already losing him. Just get it over with,” you responded, defeated, broken, destroyed.

Doctor Forrester nodded. “Very well.” Then he turned to Malakai. “You. I will need your help to hold him down if his body physically reacts. This process is going to be very painful for him and the body will not respond well at first.”

Malakai stepped forward to assist the doctor. Silently, you moved to stand at Rhett’s bedside, gazing down at him, so peaceful in this state. It would only last for so long. 

Klaus set to work preparing the antidote, and you watched as he dipped a large syringe into a vial, filling the chamber of the syringe with the liquid inside. You were silent and unmoving, so terrified of what was to come. Malakai squeezed your shoulder. It did little to comfort your crumbling heart. 

Klaus spoke instructions to Rose, and she worked alongside him with the practiced ease of an old partner. They had worked together before. They were a team. But could they save your Rhett? Could they bring him back to you?

Klaus prepared a spot on Rhett’s arm for the needle to be inserted, disinfecting the area before he tapped on the syringe to release any air bubbles. Then, he began to carefully insert the needle into Rhett’s vein. On a silent count, he pressed down on the plunger, effectively releasing the antidote into his bloodstream. 

And just like that, it was done. The last of the wolfsbane antidote was now flowing through Rhett’s veins. All that was left to do was wait and pray that it would work. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Rhett remained still. The room was heavy with silence. 

And then, a sharp intake of breath.

You froze. 

Another gasp. Then another. You watched in surprise as Rhett’s chest heaved. His face began to contort into an expression of pain. He groaned softly, and then a little louder. Klaus knew what was happening. “It’s entering his system,” he said. Then he looked at you. “If this works, this is going to bring him to the brink of death as it purges the poison.”

You nodded, unable to speak. Your gaze flickered from the doctor to Rhett, as he took another great, heaving gasp. He shifted against the bed, and then, his sounds of pain grew louder. Sweat had begun to form on his brow. His limbs shook. His breathing grew labored. 

“Come on, Rhett. Come on,” you found yourself whispering. 

His body jolted. He growled, and his hands curled into fists. You gasped as he began to writhe. His muscles tensed, and his jaw clenched, so hard you feared he might break his teeth. His head turned from side to side against the pillow. Again, he growled, but this time, he sounded like a wounded animal, crying out in the forest as its leg was captured in the vicious jaws of a steel trap.

It was pitiful, and it sent a new wave of tears welling in your eyes. He grew louder still, and he began to thrash, fighting against the terrible agony that plagued him. “Hold him down,” Klaus spoke.

Hesitantly, Malakai moved to place his hands against Rhett’s shoulders, holding him in place. And that’s when Rhett seemed to come to a slight state of consciousness. You covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head as you stepped back. You wanted to look away. You wanted to cover your ears. But you remained frozen in place, unable to move, unable to do anything else but watch as the love of your life seized in pain.

And then the cries started.

He let out a harrowing wail, so deep and raw that it nearly brought you to your knees. You could feel it then. Every last bit of his pain, coursing through you as if you were the one lying in that bed experiencing it firsthand. He cried, he howled, he fought and thrashed and clawed and scratched.

His claws tore the sheets to shreds, and left bloodied scratches down Malakai’s forearms. But the older wolf did not flinch. He held Rhett in place with all his strength, even as he fought with all his might to escape it. 

The sounds of torment would not stop. They filled your ears and reverberated through your skull. Your body vibrated, filled with an unspeakable agony. And you cried. You lifted your hands to your ears, and you shouted, “MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!” 

But it didn’t stop. And you found yourself sinking to your knees, sobbing, shaking your head as you tried to drown out your husband’s screams. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. No more, no more, no more. 

All you could see was white flooding your vision, blinding you, searing through you like fire. You bowed in on yourself, curling into a fetal position, all while Rose Tenpenny rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you as you wept brokenly. 

And then, suddenly, you were not of your own body again. You were standing outside of yourself, watching the scene unfold. You stood at the end of the bed, and you saw her then. Death, hovering over Rhett, her hands wrapped around his throat, strangling him.

“NO!” You yelled at the top of your lungs.

“It’s time, wolf! The sun is rising!” She exclaimed.

Rhett clamped his hand around her forearm, fighting with all his might to remove her hands from his throat. He shook from exertion, his face red, his brow furrowed in determination. You surged forward, wrapping your arms around Death’s narrow waist, pulling at her with every ounce of strength you could muster. 

“LET HIM GO!” 

She leaned in, her mouth hovering over his own, and there, Rhett stared into her eyes. Cold and gray and dead. “You’re mine, Rhett Abbott.” 

You couldn’t pull her away from him. Couldn’t stop her. Couldn’t save him.

To your horror, Death brought her lips down to rest upon his, kissing him deeply. But something was wrong. In a strange twist of fate, Death pulled back, confusion written on her face. And that’s when she saw it. Rhett’s eyes were glowing red as fiery embers, clear and bright. 

He snarled. “Not this time, bitch.” 

Death let out a sickening gasp, just before Rhett reached up and slashed his claws against her throat. She dissolved into a cloud of sparkling black dust, and your arms, which had been wrapped around her, were empty. 

Your head snapped up, and you looked into Rhett’s face. You tried to speak to him, but in an instant, the scene faded, and you sat up with a gasp, returning to the reality of the moment. Doctor Tenpenny was still hovering over you, a careful hand placed upon your shoulder. It was as if nothing had changed. Except now, the room was quiet. No more cries of pain. 

You sat up, looking up at the woman above you. Against her cautioning, you suddenly scrambled to your feet, gripping the end of the bedframe to pull yourself upright. Confusion struck you as you realized Rhett still appeared to be unresponsive, his body still against the bed.

The only inclinations that he’d just fought for his very life were the shredded sheets and the healing claw marks on Malakai’s arms. And then Rose’s arm was around your shoulders. “You need to rest for a minute,” she told you, concerned. She had just seen you collapse. She worried for your well-being, and for the well-being of the pup you carried. 

But you? You thought of nothing but Rhett. “Is he…is he okay?” You asked, as Rose guided you to the bed, urging you to take a seat. You did, climbing in beside Rhett, your gaze never leaving his form.

Doctor Forrester was checking Rhett’s pulse. He didn’t answer you right away, and it spiked your anxiety. “Doctor? He’s okay, right?” You repeated yourself. 

He finally looked at you. “I can tell you that the worst is behind him. But he’s still not out of the woods yet. He needs at least twenty-four hours to recover. I won’t know for sure that the antidote did its job until he wakes up and I can give him a thorough examination.”

So it wasn’t over yet? You still had to worry about whether he’d survive or not. The thought sent you collapsing against the bed, curling against his side. 

“Everyone, leave,” you said. 

“I don’t know that—” Rose began, but you cut her off. 

“Leave. I want to be alone with my husband.”

No one argued. Klaus, Rose, and Malakai quietly excused themselves from your presence, and as soon as they were gone, you buried your face against Rhett’s neck, and you wept. 

What you had just experienced was the most harrowing event of your life. Paramount even to the suffering you had been subjected to when you were taken by the Tillersons. 

You had just witnessed your mate nearly lose his life, you had felt every last bit of pain he did, and you watched him fight Death with his bare hands. All of that, and you still had no idea if he was going to survive or not. 

You had no words left to speak. All you could do was continue to cry. And you did so until you were overwhelmed with utter exhaustion. You succumbed to sleep, allowing your weariness to wash over you in waves. 

You had no idea how long you slept. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. But you were dead to the world, entirely unaware of what was going on outside of this bedroom. 

You were so deep in the throes of slumber that you did not notice the warm, familiar hand sliding up your arm. Nor did you hear the intake of breath in your ear. 

In fact, you were sleeping so heavily that you did not hear these two simple words. “Little wolf.”

They were echoing somewhere. From a far-off place, traveling faintly through the air as a fond smile tugged at your mouth. You knew that voice. It was so comforting and kind. It greeted you every morning, and sang softly to you every night. 

You tried to focus on the voice. Tried to hold onto it and not let go. Again it spoke. Deep and rumbling. Permeating your dreams. Summoning you to consciousness. 

You woke with a gasp, scrambling to sit upright. You hadn’t been dreaming it, had you? You turned abruptly, eyes falling upon the man beside you. Staring back at you were those beautiful blues that you loved so much. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. “You’re…you’re really here?”

His mouth curled into the softest of smiles, and he moved to sit upright, leaning closer to you. “I’m here,”

You melted into a fit of sobs, but this time, they were joyous. Surging forward, you collided with him, throwing your arms around his neck as his own arms came up to encircle your waist. 

He held you as you wept, your body trembling in his arms from the force of your emotion. “Y-you’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive,” you repeated in disbelief. 

Rhett squeezed his eyes shut, nuzzling closer to you. Tears began to trail their own way down his cheeks. The last several hours had been amongst the most difficult hours of his life. He felt as if he had just fought in battle. And he had. A battle between Life and Death. 

Life had won. 

And now here he was, holding his mate in his arms. Your cries broke his heart. He hated that you had been put through all of this. But he was grateful that he could be here, now, to comfort you. 

You pulled back to look into his face, your shaking hands coming up to cup his cheeks. Your thumbs dried his tears. “I thought…I thought I was going to lose you,” you whimpered. 

“I’m here now, and I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he whispered with conviction. 

Again, you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tight, as if you were afraid he’d float away if you let go. But he was right. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was here in your arms, and he was alive. All the agony, the fighting, the fear. It was behind you now. 

It was replaced by an all-consuming warmth, flowing through you like a comforting hug. An unspeakable sense of relief and peace. The storm had passed. The sun had broken through the clouds.

Your mate was alive. It was time to rejoice. 

Tears still trailing down your cheeks, you pulled back to look into Rhett’s face. His beautiful, kind face. With his stubble-shaded jaw and his button nose and his big, round cerulean eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. 

You traced your fingers over his cheeks, which dimpled when he grinned. You circled your thumb over his lips, the ones that always kissed you so lovingly. You memorized the shape and feel of his face beneath your hands, so relieved that he was here, and he was real, and he was alive. 

“I love you,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I love you so much.”

Bottom lip quivering, he hummed. “I love you too, little wolf. More than anythin’.” He placed his hand gently upon your rounded belly, where his pup safely lay. 

You embraced again, crying softly as you held him close. “I was so scared,” you whimpered. 

He let out a shuddering breath. “So was I,” he admitted. “Was fuckin’ terrified.”

Again, you leaned back to look into his face. “Thank you for fighting,” came your whisper. “For coming back to us.”

“I’ll always fight like hell for you. Our story ain’t over yet, little wolf. We still got more to write.”

You smiled despite yourself, wiping at your tears. “I should…I should go get the doctor. Have him make sure you’re okay. He used the last of his wolfsbane antidote to save you.”

Rhett shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve gotta thank him,” he said. 

You leaned in and kissed him once more. “I’ll go get him.”

Your peaceful reunion came to an end as, reluctantly, you slipped out of his arms, climbing out of bed and making your way toward the steps. 

You were quick to descend them, making your way downstairs where you found both doctors sitting at the kitchen table, alongside Cecilia and Malakai. Cups of coffee were in front of them all. Nobody was speaking. They all wore somber expressions. 

But then, hope. 

“Rhett’s awake,” you called out. 

Cecilia’s head snapped up, and her eyes widened as she immediately stood. “He is?”

“He’s awake and he’s talking.”

Klaus rose from his seat. “I’ll check on him,” he announced, already making a beeline for the steps. You trailed after, interested in what he would say when he examined Rhett. 

In the bedroom, he found Rhett sitting upright in bed. “Hi there, Rhett. I’m Doctor Klaus Forrester.” And then, “you gave us quite the scare there, you know that?”

Rhett nodded, letting out a breath. “I know,” he murmured. 

“You, my friend, are lucky to be alive. Quite frankly, I’d consider it a miracle. With how long that poison had been in your system, it’s a wonder the antidote was even able to work. You’re a testament to true resilience.”

Rhett smiled softly. “I had a lot to fight for,” came his reply, as his gaze shifted to you, fondness shining in his eyes. 

Klaus turned to glance back at you, and he hummed lowly in agreement. “You did.” Then, his attention shifted back to Rhett. 

You moved to sit at the edge of the bed, watching as the doctor began to check Rhett over. He checked his blood pressure, his pulse, his breathing. Silently, you prayed that everything would be okay. That his health was restored and he was on the road to recovery. 

As he was working, Doctor Tenpenny joined the three of you, and she gently coaxed you into letting her check on you, too. “Your poor body has been through a lot these last few days. Let’s just make sure everything is all good, and that baby is healthy.”

You settled into the bed, right beside Rhett, as Rose checked yours and your baby’s vitals. Much to your relief, everything was perfectly fine, however, she did note your elevated heart rate, and told you to spend the next few days resting after the harrowing things you had experienced.

Knowing it was all over was such a strange feeling. Rhett had gone through the valley of the shadow of death, and you had walked through it alongside him. In the midst, it felt as if you would never make it out to the other side. And yet, here you were, both very much alive. However, not unscathed. The trauma you had experienced during these last few days would stick with you for the rest of your lives. But you would be that much stronger together because of it.

“Well, it looks like you’re going to make a full recovery, Rhett,” Klaus announced, after he’d finished his examination. “I advise you to take it easy for at least a week, until you get your strength back. It’s going to take you a lot longer to fully heal, since you were so close to dying.”

“Thank you,” Rhett said. “Really. I’m grateful. You saved my life, doc. Gave me more time with my family.”

Klaus shook his head. “All I did was inject you with an antidote. Your body did the rest. You’re one determined son of a bitch. Excusin’ my French,” he said with a wry smile.

Rhett returned the smile. “I put Death in her place,” he said. He reached over and squeezed your hand. You squeezed right back. 

“What do we owe you for the antidote?” You asked. 

The doctor shook his head, waving his hand. “Nothing. Considering the circumstances, I don’t want anything for it. Just save your money to take care of your family.”

“Are you sure? You said it’s the last of your antidote. Don’t you need more funding to make more?” You continued.

“Don’t you worry about that. I’m happy to do this service for you. Knowing your pups still have their daddy is compensation enough.”

Your eyes welled with tears, and you were overcome with emotion at his kindness. “Thank you,” you whispered. You looked at Rose. The doctor who you had known your whole life. The one who had delivered each of your children. “And thank you. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

And it was true. Rhett would be dead if Rose hadn’t been there. She was the reason he’d been able to get the antidote in the first place. You were eternally grateful to her for calling Klaus for help. 

“I think our work here is done,” she spoke up, glancing at Klaus. “I’m sure the two of you would like to enjoy your reunion in peace.”

You shot her a smile. “Thank you, again.” And then, “would you tell Cecilia and Amy to come up here? They need to see him too.”

And with that, the two doctors responsible for saving your husband’s life bid you their farewell, and left the room. Moments later, your mother-in-law and niece came rushing upstairs, eager to see Rhett healthy and whole again.

When Cecilia saw him, she immediately rushed forward. “Rhett!” Her arms were thrown around his neck, and for the first time since he was a small child, she cradled her boy in her arms, rocking side to side as she cried, whispering silent praises to God for sparing his life. 

Your gaze flickered to Amy, who remained at the top of the stairs, her eyes glimmering with tears in her eyes. As Cecilia slowly pulled away from Rhett, he looked over her shoulder, and he saw what you were looking at. 

Reaching his arm out, he motioned Amy forward, and in an instant, she crumpled into a fit of sobs, rushing forward and falling into his arms, trembling with the force of her emotions. “I thought you were going to die!” She wailed.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, soothing her. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

The three of you surrounded him, huddled in close, just relishing in this moment of utter relief. Rhett felt so loved, so cherished. After the suffering he had endured, the tenderness he was now experiencing at the hands of the three most important women in his life was something he savored.

But all too soon, the reunion was interrupted by Malakai. However, his presence was welcome. In a sign of deep reverence and respect for his alpha, he knelt at the side of the bed and bowed his head before he looked up at Rhett. “I cannot tell you how good it is to see you alive,” he confessed. 

“It’s good to be alive, Malakai,” Rhett replied with earnest.

Malakai slowly rose to his feet. “I wanted to ask your blessing to tell the other pack members that you’re alive. Everyone has been waiting anxiously to hear how you’re doing.”

“Go on. Tell ‘em I’m alive and not goin’ anywhere anytime soon,” Rhett said. And then, “What about Kane and his wolves?”

The older wolf’s face turned grim. “He’s dead. We defeated most of his wolves, but a few of them are still out there. We’ve been keeping watch the last few days, but I have a feeling they won’t be back.”

“And were there any casualties?”

“I’m afraid so. You weren’t in the position to make any decisions, so I had to ask your wife here if I could hold vigils to honor our fallen wolves.”

Rhett sighed softly before he reached out to grasp your hand, giving it a squeeze. “Tell the families to come see me in a few days. I want to talk to all of them personally,” he said. His tone was serious, and his eyes were sad. The thought of losing pack members broke his heart. 

“I will,” Malakai promised. 

“Thank you.”

“Anything else you need, you let me know, alright? Wanna do what I can to take care of my alpha.”

Not wanting to encroach further, Malakai quietly excused himself, allowing your family privacy again. But there were still four small pups that had yet to see that their father was okay. Cecilia volunteered to go get them, excitedly rushing downstairs to bring them to him.

You and Rhett waited with bated breath, and a few minutes later, you could hear their whispered chattering as they all came up the stairs, with Cecilia holding Zoella in her arms. Arya and Max were the ones who reached the top of the stairs first. 

You would never forget the looks on their precious little faces when they saw Rhett alive and well. It was like Christmas morning. “DADDY!” They shrieked, and within seconds, they were swarming the bed, and the room was filled with joyful giggles once again. A distinct contrast to the fearful cries they had once uttered as they witnessed their father upon his deathbed. 

As Rhett welcomed his little ones into his arms, cradling them close, he wept, for he could not contain his joy. He was crowded, surrounded by little hands, grabbing at him, hugging him, and tears ran down his cheeks. 

“Daddy’s here, little pups,” he breathed. “I’m here.”

The moment was amongst the most precious he had ever experienced, save for the day each child was born, of course. Life was as it should be again. The pain and suffering of the last few days had passed, replaced with a moment of healing and peace. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” he assured you, as you snuggled in close, joining the sweet embrace. 

Rhett held his children close for what felt like hours after that. None of them wanted to be apart from him, and that was okay with him, because he did not want to let go. It broke his heart that they had to experience such a traumatic instance, inadvertently caused by him. But what mattered most was that he was still here, with his babies. He could hold them and kiss them and tell them how much he loved them. 

And then there was you. His light. His love. His mate. The best thing that had ever happened to him. As the pups snuggled around you both, he reached out, cupping your cheek. “I love you, little wolf,” he confessed. 

You leaned into his touch. “And I love you.”

For the next few days, every available moment was spent in that bed, all together as a family. Respectfully, Amy and Cecilia allowed you to share that time without their presence, even though you assured them they were more than welcome. They wanted to give you and your children space as you all recovered from what you had endured. 

Lazy snow days were spent watching old Christmas movies, huddled together beneath blankets, never far from Rhett. The time spent together was therapeutic. You allowed your children to sleep in the room for the next few nights, knowing they needed to feel that security.

But time began to pass, as it always did. Life slowly began to return to normal. Rhett’s strength improved, and his body healed. He was able to assume his duties as alpha over his pack again. But this time, he had a renewed zeal about him. A new appreciation for life and its sanctity. 

He never took a moment for granted. 

–

As the months passed, and winter began to melt into spring, something happened. 

A new life joined your pack. Magnus Alexander Abbott was coincidentally born beneath the light of the full moon, in an unexpected turn of events. Rhett was the one who helped you bring the child into the world, catching Magnus in his arms as he made his grand entrance.

Together, you wept for joy as Rhett placed the little one on your chest. To think, you had almost lost him. But now here he was, having just delivered your second son, his eyes shining with tears of disbelief. 

He thanked the heavens for allowing him to take part in this sacred moment. For allowing him to live. He held you in his arms as the two of you experienced your son’s first moments earthside, and Rhett knew he wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world. 

He had gone through hell to get here. And so had you. But in the end, you had both survived. He knew, in that very moment, that as long as you had each other, you could face anything that came your way. Even Death itself. 

And that following morning, as you introduced your children to the new little one you had just brought into the world, Rhett gazed at you with love burning brightly in his heart, and he knew that everything was going to be alright. 

You would be faced with trials along the way. Life would never be perfect. But that was okay, because, in the end, you would always have one another. Your bond as mates would never die. And neither would your love for each other. 

Fin.

-

taglist:

@bradshawsbitch @laracrofted @sebsxphia @milesmillergf @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @withahappyrefrain @damrlova @just-in-case-iloveyou @theliterarybeldam @nobody7102 @agentorange9595 @powerlvr25 @mygyn @yanna-banana @whisperofsong @kmc1989 @peachystenbrough @callsign-magnolia @briseisgone @up-thereinthesky @attapullman @auroralightsthesky @bcarolinablr @ryebecca @ohtobeleah @floydsmuse @blindedbythelightt @combat-sixty-three

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under the Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Domestic violence mentions, hints at child abuse, child abuse mentions violence, phantom pains

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Again, none of this is beta read. We die like the younglings Anakin snuffed in the Jedi Temple

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @bad4amficideas

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Chapter 3:

The Victims

You sighed, checking the little egg timer in your apron pocket to see how long until the scones you were baking had left in the oven. Fifteen minutes. Ugh.

It had been a few days since Steven had come in and purchased his pillar of books. The two of you would make small talk, him thumbing through books and rambling about a subject on ancient Egypt that he knew. The moment you brought up your own obscure facts you have memorized from the things your father would read to you as a little girl, Steven’s eyes lit up and he got the biggest grin on his face, and launched himself headlong into info-dump mode. It was kinda cute, really, how excitable he got. You could tell the poor guy probably didn’t have many friends, aside from his brothers, whom he’d told you about, and a friend named Layla. You also found it endearing how his messy, bed-raggled curls would flop over his face, or how animated he’d seem when he would interrupt himself to bring up another fun fact…

But, it had been a day or two since he’d come in last. And to be honest, you kinda miss the guy. He was probably the nicest most engaging customer you had. He even admitted that he didn’t come in just for the books. He told you he liked your teas and treats, and he loved the comfortable atmosphere of your shop over a crowded cafe. But one day, he just had to ask:

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” He started, looking at the muffin in his hand.

“Hm?” You hummed as you stocked shelves.

“Are these… vegan?” He seemed hesitant to touch the muffine now, as if it were poisoned.

You giggle softly. “Yes, actually. I try to use recipes that everyone can enjoy. Vegan, gluten-free…”

“Oh! Wonderful!” He scarfed the muffin down rather quickly after that, his nose buried in the textbook on archaeology he had in his hands.

You set your phone down as you sipped your spiced tea. It was a rather cold and gloomy day today, not uncommon this late in the year, but still, it sucked. It reminded you of where you grew up in Maine, off the coast. Storms blew in all the time, you’d remember as a little girl getting up in the morning, wanting to run outside and play, just to be met with a dark and angry sky, blistering winds, and pelting rain.

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Your poor little six-year-old heart was crushed one day when a particularly bad squall blew into town, and you were trapped within the confines of your house, arms crossed, feet firmly planted as you glared out the window, lip wobbling.

How dare the weather ruin your plans for the day? You were going to play in your treehouse! Now the stupid wind was gonna blow it away! And if it did, your father would have to build another one, and that would take forever!

“Hey, there, Lil’ Bit.” Your dad said, kneeling behind you, as you stubbornly looked out the window in a seething rage. So, so angry for a little girl. You inherited your temper from your mother, surely. Though you personally never saw her mad, of course. Ever. But then again, she worked so much…

Your mom was what your dad told you was a “breadwinner”, which was a term you found dumb. You mom never entered contests and she certainly never won bread as a prize. It was so dumb! Why did adults have to use such dumb words for things?

“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad sang, leaning forward from where he was crouched to put his chin on your tiny shoulder.

“No, daddy, ‘m angy.” You mumbled, trying to shrug him off as lightning flashed in the distance.

He chuckled, his voice warm, much like your favorite pair of fuzzy socks after they were just taken out of the dryer. “Come on, princess. It’ll pass. They always do.”

“But why did it have t’ do it today!” You whined, not budging.

“Dunno, kid. The sky just felt like dumping buckets, I guess.” He said, humoring you.

“Daddy...” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Clouds don’t use buckets!”

“Sure they do!” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you. “You just never see em!”

“You’re silly.” You scoff.

“You’re silly!” Your dad laughed, scooping you up and spinning you around, finally getting a smile out of you as you shriek in laughter.

He tucked you against his chest and kissed you on your forehead. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you some sna–”

His eyes went wide and he gasped when you writhed, crying out and wincing like you’d just been struck.

“Babygirl, what’s wrong?” He asked, hurriedly sitting you on the couch as you curled in on yourself. He could see the welts start to peek out from beneath the sleeves of your little pink shirt.

It was happening again.

The pain in his heart gripped him like ice, knowing he couldn’t do anything to ease the pain his daughter was feeling. His poor, poor baby girl, whose soulmate was constantly being inflicted with whatever horrors they faced with.

He would curse it, sometimes. Your mark. Your bond. You were already enduring abuse that wasn’t directed at you. Or maybe it was in a way… Given that it was happening to your other half. Who you would one day meet. Maybe things will be better, when you had. Maybe.

But one thing was for sure, he hated whomever was inflicting those injuries on your soulmate more. Not only were they hurting your soulmate, they were hurting you. He’d imagined that you were close in age. If so, who the hell would abuse a child in such a way? The concept was completely foreign to him.

He rubbed your back, murmuring sweet and loving things to you.

He noticed something odd about your mark about a few years ago, right when the welts and bruises started to show and you would recoil in phantom pain... There was a new addition to your mark. At first it was one crescent moon. But then one became two, and two became three.

Right now, the bottom right moon was full.

He wasn’t sure what it meant… But he noticed your crying slow to soft little hiccups and sniffles as you sit up, rubbing your eyes.

He rested his forehead against yours. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

“I jus’ wanna know why it hurts so much, daddy.” You sniffle.

“Trust me, I know. Me and your mom are similar. I remember when we were kids, before we met… She fell from a tree and broke her leg. Man, it hurt so bad…”

You looked up at him, your big beautiful eyes glistened with tears. Your mother’s eyes. Little gems of hers that you would always have.

“Really?” You peeped.

“Really.” He stood and walked over to the bookshelf above the living room fireplace, and plucked a book off of it. He turned back to you and sat next to you, pulling you into his lap and kissing the top of your head.

“This book came from your great auntie over in London. You remember her, yeah?” He hummed.

Your fingers grazed the cover, old and worn, obviously well-read and well-loved. It had a picture of a woman with wings and a pretty dress on it. You couldn’t read the other words on it just yet, you were still learning how to read the bigger ones.

“Want me to read you some of the stories in it?” He inquired.

“Uh-huh.” You nod.

Your father flipped the pages open, and hummed again, softer.

“Now, let’s start with the tale of Isis and the Seven Scorpions…”

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You jumped, almost dropping the egg timer you had in your hand when your shop’s door dinged and swung open. A frantic young woman rushed inside, her sunken and baggy eyes looking at you, wide with fright.

You skipped the usual welcome and regarded her with a confused expression.

“I… Can I help you–”

“Please, I just need to–to hide!” She said, rushing over to you and gripping your hand, pulling you behind her and further into the winding shelves that made up your bookstore.

“Hey, Hey.” You say, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My–my boyfriend. He… He’s… I messed up and burned lunch and…” She looked to the side trying to check if he somehow didn’t materialize out of thin air over her shoulder when she wasn’t looking; and when she did… you saw them.

The already darkening bruises on her delicate throat.

Immediately you went into protector mode. You gently urge her towards the door leading to the stairwell that went up to your flat above.

“You hide up there, and call 999, okay?” You say to her. “You can stay here until the police arrive. If it makes you feel safer, there’s a deadbolt to the door up there. If your boyfriend comes in I’ll act like I didn’t see anything.”

You rush to the oven when you hear the timer go off, and pull out the scones (after slipping on your mitts), when the bell to your store dings.

You curse under your breath and say to the girl quietly. “Stay quiet, honey. I’ll be up when the police get here.”

You carefully slip the tasty treats onto a plastic tray and toss the pan into the sink with a clang; instantly regretting it when the young woman flinched and curled into herself, her arms instinctively reaching to cover her head.

You muttered and apology and balanced the pan on your hand as you hastily make your way down the stairs, to see whomever was incessantly dinging your “ring me!” button at the register.

When you finally break free of the labyrinthine bookshelves, you spot a rather large and angry looking man.

This had to be the boyfriend.

“Hello, one moment, please.” You say tersely, sliding the scones into the small display case showcasing the fresh treats of the day.

“Oi, you seen somebody come in here?” He demanded gruffly.

You take another visual sweep of his appearance. Rather big build, probably abuses the gym too much. He looks like he exclusively dines on protein shakes more than food… He could be trouble, if he got violent. The only upside is that you knew the layout of your little shop by heart, he didn’t. You really wished you had a gun under the counter, right about now.

You made a mental note to sign up for the courses and get the certificate from the police..

“Other than you, no, you’d be my first customer of the day.” You force the cheer into your tone as you bring a box of books and begin to half-assedly place them, hoping to look normal.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ customer.” He growled. “Don’ want no books.”

“Well, I also offer a variety of coffees, teas, and snacks–”

“I ain’t no fuckin’ customer!” He barked, getting in your face.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. That explains the slurred speech.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you please back away, you’re a little too close…” You say, your hands up in a submissive gesture, hoping to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"Does it look like I giv' a fuck? Ya fuckin' muppet?" He hissed at you, his eyes dilated and glassy.

"Look, I don't want to cause trouble, but–"

He seized your arm and gripped it painfully tight, you could feel the crunch of your radiocarpal joint being squeezed under his rough and indelicate fingers. "Did ya hear me, ya fuckin' cunt? I'm lookin' for my girl, I know she came in here! Don't lie t' me!"

"Sir, people come into my store all the time, and it's not really my business why unless they buy a book or a muffin. Let me go!" You retort, trying to pry his fingers from around you with your free hand.

"Shut th' fuck up!" He snarled, pushing you back against the bookshelf so hard the back of your head cracked on one of the shelves. Great, another pain.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" An unmistakably American accent called from the door of your shop.

How had you missed the bell? How did you not notice the sound of the door opening?

The drunken man holding you turned, still gripping you. "Great, another fuckin' yank? Can't you fucks stick to ya own country?"

You felt your pulse quicken, and your eyes widened at the man who stood in the door; dark, honey-tinted eyes aflame with anger. But the man the eyes belonged to?

Dead ringer for Steven. But he carried himself entirely differently, he even had his hair styled back in a different way. He wore a white hoodie, faded blue jeans, and some steel-toe boots.

"None o' ya fuckin' busniess, you dick." The man sneered, looking back down at you.

"It is if you're hurting the lady." He said gruffly.

"Oi, you got a listening problem?"

The man turned again, but he was met with the knuckles of the American man who just came to your aid; straight to his jaw, knocking him back against a cart you had full of discount books, sending them to the floor with a clatter.

The man cracked his knuckles, before gently grabbing you by the shoulder and moving you behind him for cover.

At this distance you could just barely catch a whiff of sandalwood and some kind of spice. A hint of aftershave wafted into your senses in accompany.

"You fuckin' dick!" The man grunted, shaking his head in an attempt to reorient his brain.

"You need a better repertoire of insults, buddy. Or stop hitting the sauce." The other man sneered. "Probably both."

The drunk lunged at him, and this guy was one step ahead, intercepting him by grabbing his wrists.

The crunch of bone was enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut, and when you dared to peek again, the drunk was clutching at his now bleeding and broken nose. Your savior on the other hand?

Barely broke a sweat. He headbutted him with the hardest part of his head, crunching bone and cartilage.

"Stay down, asshole." He growled. You spun on your heels to look at the door when two clothed officers came in, hands on their pepper spray.

"Everybody just calm down!" One of them shouted.

Ugh. Now you had a headache…

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By the time the officers, the battered girl, and her boyfriend all left, it was just you and your knight in shining hoodie. Who looked way too much like Steven.

You sat him down at one of the reading nooks and shakily wring your hands out to calm down. "Uh… Yeah, so…" You try.

"My name's Marc. Marc Spector." He said. "You, uh… met my brother, already. Steven."

You gasp. "The heathen!"

He choked out a startled laugh. "What?"

"Oh! Uhhhhhh…" You clear your throat awkwardly trying to change the subject. "You and Steven have different last names!"

Marc huffed through his nose. "It's uh… a long story."

"What, were you guys separated at birth or something? He speaks with a typical Londoner accent, you're full-blown American." You smile.

"Or something." Marc murmured, unable to meet your eyes.

"God, and Steven and I joked about my life being a setup for a book." You giggle softly. "You guys sound like you're straight out of a Dickens novel!"

Marc kind of squirmed in his seat. "Yeah…"

"So, uh… what brings you here today? From what Steven told me, you don't exactly pick up books all the time like he does." You say to him, tilting his head.

Marc wiped at his face with a groan, "Ugh. Don't get me started on Steven's books! He has too goddamn many–"

"Ah!" You say, flicking a stray curl. You weren't sure why your brain told you that was okay to do. It just felt right. The look he gave you afterwards sent your heart leaping into your throat.

Raw confusion, maybe some surprise?

"Uh… No talking like that is allowed in my store, there, pal…" You stammer out. "So… why are you here?"

"Steven said you had coffee. Didn't feel like dealing with a lot of people today." He kind of mumbled.

"Oh, I get that." You sighed softly in sympathy. Already, Marc struck you as the kinda guy who didn't like dealing with people unless he had to.

And honestly, you kinda felt for the guy. Something about him made your heart twinge in a funny little way.

"Tell you what, as a thanks for helping take care of that asshat, coffee is on the house, and I'll even give you a cup of my personal blend instead of the stuff on the menu."

"Uh, you don't have to–"

"Ah!" You say, wagging a finger at him as you walk away. "None of that in my store!"

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You sat and talked for a while. Hours, really. Whereas Steven loved to babble about things he knew, and was rather energetic about it, Marc was… reserved. Shy, almost. He was content to let you lead the conversations, piping in here or there on a subject.

He told you some about his time in the Marines, and how something happened to him mentally that got him discharged early. He was vague about what he did after that, but he mentioned moving to London after he and his wife ran into problems.

At first you almost asked a rather impertinent question, "Why did you guys split up?" But decided that was far too rude of a thing to ask. Even if you wondered why he married outside of a soulmate bond. Even if a marriage like that wasn't entirely uncommon…

"I'm sorry." You say softly, sitting across from him, your coffee long finished, the mug cold. "You've been through… a lot..."

"Yeah, you can certainly say that." Marc sighed, turning his mug in his hands for probably the hundredth time.

"So… Thanks again. For y'know. Helping me." You smile.

"No problem, easy enough to deal with a drunk." He shrugged. "And he looked like he was about to hurt you, so I had to do... something."

"Well I'm glad you did that something." You chuckle.

Marc cleared his throat and smiled back, a soft thing on his face, really. But it was nice to see.

He moved to stand, "I should, ah… go. Thanks for the coffee." He reached out to hand you a few notes from his wallet, and you declined, gathering the mugs to go wash them.

"Nope, I already said it was on the house." You tell him.

"But–"

"No buts!" You called out as you vanished into the expanse of bookshelves.

When you came back, you noticed that, stacked neatly on the counter, was a bundle of notes, your egg timer sitting neatly atop it, with a post-it note simply saying:

"Tell me your life story next time. Thanks. -Marc."

Chapter 4: Link

[mags-writes]

Sunlight Masterlist

Summary: frank castle finds his match in a woman from another dimension

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical swearing, first time writing x reader, no use of y/n, no beta readers we die like ray nadeem

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

PROLOGUE (you are here)

PART I || frank comes to stay

PART II || frank helps out in the kitchen

PART III || frank offers his shoulder for you to cry on

PART IV || frank gives you a call

PART V || frank contemplates homicide

PART VI || frank gets his worldview changed

PART VII || frank gets some insight

PART VIII || frank comes over for dinner

One moment you were walking down the street arm in arm with Matt Murdock and the next you were shrouded in darkness, alone in the rain. A flash of light, like something from a camera, was the only indication you got that something was about to change.

You'd heard of things like this happening. Flashes of light and then a missing persons report. It was happening all over the world and no one, not even the Avengers, had an explanation to give. The only thought running through your mind, despite the rain seeping into your shoes, was poor Matt would have no idea what just happened.

Everything looked similar although, you suppose, Hells Kitchen could look like any city in the dark. You took deep and calming breaths, willing the panic to subside long enough to get yourself together. You squared your shoulders and started walking until you came across a street name that looked familiar. The second you did, everything clicked, you knew exactly where you were in Hell's Kitchen, all you needed to do was hang a right, and three blocks down would be Josies.

You walked through the door and there were your friends like nothing had happened at all. Matt, Foggy, and Karen sharing drinks and laughing at something Matt probably said. You sighed in relief. Maybe you got lucky? Maybe you just randomly blacked out?

"Matt! Guys!" You grabbed onto Matt's arm, nearly hanging off of him. "You are never going to believe this. One minute I'm walking down the street with Matt and next thing I know I'm getting soaked-"

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Matt put a reassuring hand over yours on his bicep, frowning kindly in your direction. Ma'am was the first clue that had you stiffening. Matt not looking at you was the next. Yes, the man was blind but you were his girl in the chair, the one in his ear, and his makeshift nurse before you called Clair for help. Matt always looked at you. "Do I know you?"

The world stopped spinning.

"Matthew. Michael. Murdock." You said with wide and unflinching eyes and your tone made him drop his hand. "I have known you since your eyes could spy on the women's boxing matches that your dad dragged us away from. I did not just walk, at the very least, four blocks in the pouring rain for you to call me ma'am. Take it back."

"Uh, I'm sorry," Foggy leaned forward holding his hand out like he was about to try and move you away.

"Franklin Percy Nelson! Don't fuck with me!" You hissed, stiffening up further and giving him a sidelong glare that had him recoiling.

"Hang on Foggy," Matt said, before putting his hand back over yours. "Explain what's happened."

So you did. From the moment you woke up to the moment you walked in through Josie's doors. Every painstaking detail, telling him about the missing people around the world and the very, very disgusting and specific coffee order he gets.

"She's telling the truth." Matt said, completely shocked. "I don't know how, but she is."

"Listen to this," Karen piped up, looking down at her phone. "There are several reports of doppelgangers showing up in homes with similar or near identical memories of Earth citizens. And even more reports of formerly dead citizens showing up at their old homes they used to live in."

"How have we not heard more about this?" Foggy asked, throwing his hands up. "This is right up our alley."

"Probably because anyone who ends up in New York is weird enough to just blend in." You answered sarcastically.

"She's got a point." Karen shrugged.