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rogueddie · 8 months

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Steve nearly winces when he steps into the room, following behind Dustin and Mike. He's already wishing he'd tried to shut Lucas up as soon as he'd tried to say that "no, really, I don't mind!"

Because of course he's this unlucky. Of course his date would skip out almost last minute, of course he'd end up with no excuse to avoid helping Dustin with his stupid D&D game and of course the person who probably hates Steve most is crouched on the biggest chair like it's a throne.

Eddie Munson eyes lock on him immediately. He stares for a while, making Dustin and Mike shift awkwardly beside him.

"Absolutely not. No way." He's grinning though. His eyes narrow slightly at Steve, like he's daring him to do something.

"You asked for a sub, we delivered."

Steve simply raises an eyebrow, pointedly shifting the sheets Dustin had helped him make up. It draws Eddies attention off his face, finally. When he looks back up, he's smiling a little more genuinely.

The guys standing at his sides are still glaring, looking almost cruelly excited when Eddie stands up, meandering his way over to them.

He gently plucks the sheet out Steves hand, eyebrows slowly raising as he reads.

Everyone is waiting, eyeing Eddie impatiently. Dustin and Mike are tense, as though waiting for Eddie to blow up. The others seem to expect the same, though Steve imagines they're more excited for it.

"Why did you come?" Eddie eventually asks, still holding onto the character sheet. "What could possibly be so important about this that King Steve would miss the championship game?"

"Dustin said this one was important," Steve shrugs. Fights to keep his calm demeaner. "Something about it being the last one or something. He's been going on about this shit forever. Seemed cruel to leave him high and dry at the last leg."

"Well…" Eddie eyes the character sheet before handing it back. Looks Steve up and down, before finally grinning. His eyes crinkle at the edges. "Welcome to Hellfire, Lady Elora."

He sticks his hand out. Steve shakes it, trying not to grin back.

Even with how often Dustin has talked to him about the game, Steve is clueless. Dustin and Mike both save him from embarressment every time though, quick to argue different options in such a pointed way that he knows the others aren't fooled by.

But Steve doesn't mind, often finds himself rolling his eyes at their antics only to find Eddie eyeing him almost fondly.

He finds that he enjoys it though. He'd make the character Elora as a joke, mostly just throwing whatever seemed to fit at random. An Elf who's a ranger, chaotic neutral, swinging around a bat with nails.

He wonders if it sounds as stupid to everyone else as it does to him.

He's often lost on the story too. But Eddie is brilliant at telling it. Even when he doesn't understand what he means, he flinches when the others yell at a reveal. Anxiety bubbling up when things get tense, slowly getting more and more invested in the game. Even he can tell that they're nearing the end, the final fight.

"You're scared, you're tired, you are injured," Eddie says. "Do you flee Vecna and his cultists? Or do you stand your ground and fight?"

Steve already knows the answer before Dustin speaks up; "I say we fight. To the death!"

"To the death," Mike echoes, nodding.

"To the death." Steve sniffs, doesn't bother fighting the grin.

Eddie grins back at him, the others chanting the sentiment. Steve feels warm with his attention locked on him.

Steve has the first roll. He still doesn't understand the numbers, but the others cheer so he assumes it must be good. But then it goes downhill, so many bad rolls.

Everyone is too hyped up for Steve to keep up so he focuses on Eddie. He's jeering, jumping up out of his seat, encouraging the chaos and seeming to control the energy of the room. When he laughs, he sounds more like a movie villain.

And then, one of them calls time out.

They huddle into a circle, just like they did in basketball. Steve is surprised by how easily two of the older boys pull him in.

"Guys, I hate to say this but we have got to flee."

"I concur."

"Didn't we just agree 'to the death'?" Steve frowns. He's not ready to give up yet. He can feel how close they are.

"That wasn't literal!"

A hand tightens on his shoulder. "Vecna just decimated us. We can't kill him with two players."

"You too?" Dustin sounds just as annoyed as Steve feels. "Vecna only has 15 more hit points left, don't be pussies!"

"Pussies? Really? Cause we're not delusional?"

"No, no, Dustins right," Steve butts in. Barely holds back a warning to Dustin about his language; it's not the time for babysitting. "We're too close now, we can't give up!"

"HEY!" Eddie calls, easily drawing all their attention back to him. "If I may interject, gentleman… whilst I respect the passion, you'd be wise to take Garreth the Greats concern to heart. There is no shame in running. Don't try to be heroes. Not today."

Something about his smirk and stupid head tilt just makes Steve more determined. If he has to continue fighting this stupid game alone, god dammit, he will.

Steve only half pays attention to Mike talking strategy. He's already made up his mind.

"What do you say, Elora?" Dustin turns to him, looking uncertain.

"We can kill him." Steve sounds more sure than he probably has any right to be. But he is. He can feel it in his bones. They can win.

"Fuck yeah we can," he grins at Steve. The others look more uncertain. Dustin turns back to Eddie, shoulders back, chin up and looking almost proud. "Let's kill this son of a bitch!"

Dustin gets first roll and it's bad.

It's all down to Steve.

He can feel how tense everyone is. Dustin and Gareth start yelling when he takes to long. But he can't roll yet, follows his gut; he has to get this right, has to roll at the right time.

It's just like swinging a bat in baseball, he tells himself. Just gotta time it right…

He rolls.

The dice seems to move in slow motion. Steve can almost hear each time it bounces off the board. The tension is so thick that it almost chokes him, for a moment he's sure that he can't breath.

20.

There's a moment where no one reacts. Then Dustin yells, grabbing Steves arm and shaking him in his excitement. Mike, a more similar height, throws his arms around his shoulders. It's a little painful to have him shouting directly in his ear but, he too, is too excited to care.

The others have started yelling too, Eddie dramatically overacting his shock too. Steve can't help but laugh.

It takes a while for everyone to calm down. An even longer moment to stop talking enough so they can start packing their things up. Steve only brought his jacket and character sheet, so he stays stood at the end of the table to wait for the kids.

Eddie keeps glancing up at him as he packs most of the pieces away.

"Harrington," Grant grins at him. "Never thought I'd be saying this but... thanks for coming."

"Oh, uh, yeah, no problem," Steve tries to smile.

"Dude, you missed the championship game to save our asses in DnD," Gareth grins, throwing his arm over his shoulder. "Who woulda thought, though. Steve Harrington, huh?"

The other two laugh. Steve finally feels a little lighter, on safer ground.

"How the mighty have fallen, huh?" Steve tries. And they laugh, Jeff slapping him on the back.

At the doorway, he lingers for a moment, whilst everyone else starts heading down the hall.

"Thanks for letting me play," Steve says, turning to Eddie. "I know I'm not... uh..."

"Don't strain yourself," Eddie waves him off. "It's fine. The kids have raved about you enough for me to figure out that you're a good dude."

"Oh. Thanks."

"You should join their next campaign."

"I don't know. You're graduating, right?"

"Aww, you like me that much, big boy?" He puts a hand to his chest, batting his eyelashes.

But Steve remembers the rumors that went around, remembers exactly how true they were proven to be. And, well...

"What would you say if I am?" He fires back.

Eddie, true to his reputation, is never one to back down from a fight; "then I'd tell you to ask me out like you mean it."

"Alright. If you're free tomorrow, 8pm, would you wanna go on a date? With me?"

"You picking me up in your fancy car?"

"If you want."

"Yeah, I'm free."

"So... that's a yes?"

"Yes, that's a yes."

Steve can't help but fistpump, but it makes Eddie giggle, so he counts it as a win.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #altorprecanon #this thing has been in my drafts since august 2022 😭

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vaciena · 2 years

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Don’t overexplain to people trying to make a joke don’t overexplain don’t

#istfg I need to find fandoms where people don’t misuse the concept of war crimes #except then I’d be bored #all of them end up related to it somehow eventually even when I try #so I’m gonna bitch in the tags—the tag was ‘character didn’t sign the Geneva convention’ which. i get what you’re saying. but that’s not #he’s not a country #conventions are signed by countries #and it only matters if it’s ratified #also the number of ways people use the term war crimes to refer to things that…aren’t war crimes is very impressive #considering it has an actual list of things that count and it’s quite long for a convention #it doesn’t actually matter what people say in their fandom jokes and I recognize it and therefore am not actually saying anything #but it sticks out like a sore thumb to me #and I swear I’ve seen something similar at least ten times this week #i recognize also that intl law and how the intl community works are comparatively specialized topics to learn #but I am begging you. please understand the basics of what it means when a country signs something or agrees to something and the #connotations of a convention vs un resolution etc etc etc #it is genuinely helpful for trying to understand why your country acts in xyz way in xyz situation #making your own options to influence that through domestic action clearer #okay. I’m done.

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weebsinstash · 10 months

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I'm sorry but I can't stop thinking about a certain angsty idea

Like pretty sure this is implying getting married is a canon event? But in a way, doesn't that kind of, really strip the choice and actual love and magic out of it? Or, could you at least understand the idea of a Spiderperson who may feel that way? Did you genuinely fall in love with someone if it was "supposed" to happen? And the universe could fall apart if you don't so you arent really even given a choice to say no? Isn't that like having a preprogrammed robot instead of a true lover?

Still kinda obsessed with the concept of a Spider Reader where you didn't get scouted by Miguel until after you had already lost your loved ones, but, it's clear that some Spiders are scouted before they have all of their events (Pav), and, I can't stop thinking about, you're in the Spider Society and making friends and having fun and stuff and you're. Still supposed to get married or have a relationship or something and you're just, completely avoiding having anything at all, not even dating anyone, nothing really feels natural to you and you just don't really want anything?

Months and months and months pass and you've turned multiple people down in your home dimension and Spiders at the Society are told not to interact with you in certain ways, which becomes overboard when no one ever seems to want to hug you or even high five you or touch you at all (because "oh don't let them get a crush on you, they can't break canon" or some dumb paranoia) which just eventually develops into isolating you from the Spider Society, and they all think, "ok good they'll spend more time at home and then start the route for this canon event and we can talk to them again" but it just. Doesn't happen. You're starting to show up to the Society less and less but the only thing that changes when you get back home is a loneliness that you fill with a pet and some platonic friends

Peter B is trying to "subtly" nudge you. "Ya know kid, aren't you in your 20s now? Isn't it time you try and, I dunno, get into college or something? You've got so much potential!" as he willingly omits how he met his wife in college and maybe it's in the model that you could meet your spouse there too as a potential option

But I like the idea and already lowkey established concept that canon changes and has tweaks here and there and can be bent in certain ways so, imagine like, idk, imagine Reader already being with the person who is supposed to your soul mate, and, you find out about The Model or whatever, the Arachno Humanoid Poly Mutiverse or whatever, and you just realize kind of on accident that, oh having a relationship at all is kind of just another prison for you to be in, huh? Another choice stripped away from you, another thing that made you feel like a rubber stamp in existence in the weird copy/paste Spider Society. So you just. You don't intentionally bomb the relationship but you become so extremely depressed and refuse to talk about it with your SO that they actually leave you, making the choice independently, changing canon but not breaking it

But here's Miguel, which I guess you could imagine as a protective obsessive romantic figure or even platonic parental, and he's all but grinding his teeth because, as he sees it, you're not only risking completely breaking your canon which you know Would Fucking Kill You, but, why are you constantly shooting down what are supposed to be good changes for your life? No relationships? No college? No aspirations at all? Why are you not living up to your full potential? He's so frustrated because he KNOWS you could "be better than this" and that you're "supposed to" be better than this, but you just seem. Depressed and defeated. He wants you to be better because it's better for your life, your future, your safety (even if depending on preference it absolutely gets under his skin to see you with anyone else romantically or sexually)

And I have no idea how they would externally force you into some kind of relationship but, I've also thought about, alternatively, the tried and true "Reader lost their home dimension but somehow didn't disappear and lives on Earth 928B now" (the movie specifics its 928b ok, pet peeve I know, 928 is comic Miguel, 928b is ATSV movie Miguel) and eventually, somehow, your bracelet comes off one day and you're about to freak out and it's like, wait, you aren't glitching??? Why aren't you glitching? I mean, you're happy to not be in pain and flashing colors, but, this doesn't make sense? And you don't wanna tempt fate but you don't bother to get a new bracelet or, other people are around to witness this weird event and so, Miguel is immediately investigating what happened. I imagine maybe they scan you with the Go Home Machine and it's just like "ha ha yeah you're home already :)" you know like some "Dimensional Match: 928B" and the machine doesn't even activate, it just scans you with the drone, is like "yeah you're good lmao" and goes back to sleep

And now Miguel is like, you know. Understandably concerned because now there are two Spiders for Nueva York, but, also, he's just like, unbeknownst to you absolutely over the moon necause if you're technically a part of his dimension now, maybe you can complete your canon and have some sort of happy ending. But. Miguel never had his wedding either? Or at least not the "true" one, like how Peter moves on from Gwen to Mary Jane? Cue Miguel suddenly spending suspicious amounts of time on his platform in the dark looking at holograms and algorithms and asking Lyla to calculate the probability of you two maybe becoming spouses for each other

AND YOU'RE SO FUCKED IF IT SAYS YOU CAN LMAO. Cause now not only is he all the more obsessed with you (you were BROUGHT to his dimension by a miracle, can't you SEE you're destined for each other) but now it's "don't you understand? Not only are we MEANT for each other, you don't have a choice! You CANT break canon!" And he's fucking putting a finger in your face and lecturing you about how, you know what, it's ok if you're scared and you're not ready. You know why? Because you two were made for each other, and, he must have been made to be this strong so he can protect you and make decisions on your behalf, right? It's all in The Model. It's all in God's Plan. The two of you are going to get married whether you think it's the love you're fantasizing about or not, and Miguel is more than thrilled that he was essentially just handed a certified excuse to keep you all to himself on a silver platter

Also. I guess this is preferential but. Imagine if Earth 928B's solution to two Spidermen, like how Miles' "corrected" itself with getting rid of blonde Peter, what if the universe and canon just went, "actually it's all cool though cause technically one of them isn't going to technically in name be a Spider anymore, they're going to be forcibly turned into a cute little pampered house spouse" and ON GOD he's getting children out of you if you're capable of it and that ISN'T optional. He's thinking you can start at AT LEAST three babies and then talk about how many more from there? He's always wanted a large family with lots of cute little girls and boys, you know 👉👈

#yandere x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #yandere spidereverse #atsv spoilers #yandere stuff #sinprompts #also separate idea but. miguel who hates how you arent maximizing your potential and #essentially kidnaps you and since he sees you as perfect tries to force perfection out of you #platonic yandere dad slash tio Miguel who says no datingg whatsoever vs romantic yan miguel who forces you to date HIM

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moondirti · 11 months

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animalic (4)

← chapter three // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.5k summary: things don't go according to plan warnings: enemies to lovers, light bondage, sexual tension, arousal, choking, canon-typical violence, dub-con elements, paralysis, suicidal ideation, self-hatred, angst, miguel o'hara is not nice, no use of y/n notes: y'all. i promise we are getting somewhere. i promise. lmk what you think tho cuz i thrive off comments

“Lyla?”

While you’re – regrettably – unable to make good on your promise to phase through the floor, you catch yourself hoping it splits to swallow you whole instead. It certainly would be a better alternative to the purgatory you currently face.

“Lyla? Come in, Lyla.”

Feeble rays of light filter in through the weathered windows, their reach slowly growing as night surrenders to the wakings of dawn. Variegated motes bob lazily, suspended upon the streams of sun, quivering back and forth between a range of countless colours. Paralysed and splayed atop the frigid, hard ground of the empty store-lot, you try counting them all for lack of anything else to do. Pink, green, orange, gold. You wonder what force chooses the order, whether it’s sequenced to fit some plan of high design.

“¡Ay, coño–”

Slowly, you let yourself scrutinise other things, too. The scent of neglect that permeates the stale air, particularly pungent around the entryway. You trace the yellow-brown mass that runs along the door’s hinge edge, and attribute the vaguely muddy smell to rot. Then, it’s the glint of shattered glass, winking at you from lost corner’s of the room. They look narrow, far too inconvenient to clean out with a standard broom. You revel in the understanding that whoever had been in charge of scouring the wreckage appears to share your habit of quick quitting.

It’s only when your vision begins to water do you divert your attention to the situation at hand. Last you needed to blink, it took half a minute for the command to register, and even longer for the motor neurons in your eyelids to act. By the time you eventually got them closed, you’d already started contemplating whether his venom would be the death of you.

(Lame end to a lame life.)

It didn’t take a genius to figure out, though. You know that, if he wanted to, he could’ve kept imbuing you with the substance until your body was no longer able to perform the basic mechanisms necessary to sustain life. He could have kept his fangs lodged deep into your neck – encroached upon your stuttering veins, bathing in the ichor that flowed – until he felt you go limp, concentrated with his poison. It would have been a denouement to his problems – right there, easy, sandwiched between him and the wall – but it wasn’t. Because he didn’t.

Just like he didn’t let you plummet to your death that day at the quarry, or strangle you while you were unconscious back at HQ.

So, no. It doesn’t take a genius to acknowledge that Miguel O’Hara doesn’t want you dead. As he fiddles with his malfunctioning watch, you endeavour to come up with a divisive list as to why that is.

One: you’ve charmed him. The notion is almost funny enough to elicit a snort, given that you weren’t cast in an immovable anathema.

Two: he’s a good guy. Somehow, this option seems less viable to you than the first.

You find your third prospect slinging from the threads of a fraying memory.

You’d been a student, before – attending college at a reputable institute close to home. It’s easy to forget what it was like most nights: cramped in that two hundred square foot dorm, borderline losing it as you tried to validate your claims on matter-antimatter rockets and their potential contribution to interstellar travel. There were concerns of total annihilation, and sourcing, and an array of other limitations – that which you’d dedicated your academic career to drawing up proposals for. It’s laughable now; the stress and theories blurring together to form a vague picture of your long-lost ambition.

You have a hard time conjuring what exact future you were so hopeful for, but the lamp by your roommate’s bed remains clear in your mind’s eye. Warm-white, comforting. For as long as you were awake, tapping away at a never-ending thesis, she’d work through the latest volume of her beloved murder mystery anthology.

It was the night before your start at an internship with Alchemax that the series came to a close. Her aggravated screams still ring fresh behind the clouded pane of time. You had thrown your pillow at her in a belligerent plea.

(You wanna elaborate?

The suspect behind every case was shot!

So? Isn’t that a good thing?

No, dumbass. It means the detectives fucking lost! They’ll never be able to prove how right they were.)

Admittedly, you know very little about Miguel, but you have an idea of what matters most to him. It’s entirely possible, then, that he refuses to kill you for what your death would do to negate his efforts thus far.

“Oye,”

Your mental traipse is reeled in when the devil himself snaps at you. Steadily, your pupils roll up to look at him.

“I need your day pass.”

You continue to stare. His jaw clenches.

“Because of your little headbutt outside, my watch is busted. My only hope of fixing it is by using the parts of your day pass.”

Is he asking? Does he expect you to respond?

You can’t fool yourself into believing he’s that ignorant.

But Miguel stays on standby, scanning your lax form. He takes in the webs that wrap around your waist, branching out to your thighs and shoulders, restraining your arms behind your back. When his eyes meet yours again, the reluctant question you see glaze over them pushes the recognition to the forefront of your mind.

He is asking.

Or, notifying – making sure you’re aware of what he’s about to do.

God, you wish you could speak. You’ve never come up with so much to say without promptly blurting it out before. Irritation and amusement rip at one another within you, locked in a brutal dogfight fated to have no real winner. How hypocritical of him to pick and choose when your treatment takes priority over his mission; you’re littered in marks that all point to his prior negligence of such subtle humanity. Four stabs above your wrist, a pounding migraine at your temple. If it weren’t for your paralysed stomach, you’re certain you would have regurgitated your innards as consequence to the concussion he’s given you.

But, oh.

How funny would it be if you agreed. To let him discover the harrowing truth for himself.

Deliberately, you muster an affirming blink.

Miguel's weariness escapes him in a heavy sigh, the weight of it etched upon his expression. Thick brows furrow, evidence to his age creasing between them, before he sinks down with a purposeful grace and carefully flips you over. Despite the resentment that festers in your gut, you can’t help but hiss a mental sigh of relief at the service it does to your elbows, which had begun throbbing in response to the pressure that the hardwood floor exerted.

From that point onward, it becomes a guessing game of sorts; you can’t see him, nor are you able to tilt your head and confirm your assumptions as to what he’s doing. Deprived of your most reliable sense, the others strain to fill the gaps in your knowledge, drawing upon every available cue; the sound of his miniscule grunts, the warmth of his skin – that which penetrates through his gloves. You’re alarmed into attempted action when the characteristic rip of his claws equipping pierces the strained air – your body powerless in addressing the adrenaline it secretes – until the spider-man touches his forefinger to your palm.

“Relax.” He all but commands. “I’m just cutting the webs off.”

You’ve no reason to trust him, of course, but you can’t exactly pitch a complaint right now.

(Perhaps it’s in your best interests to ignore how easy he’d been able to read you.)

A few moments of jostling ensue, before he withdraws with a curse. Your arms remain ensnared in the tight restraints, the ache that smarts your skin all too real for the continued predicament to be illusory. An assortment of jokes occur to you.

Can’t get it up?

In your peripheral, you catch him weighing his options. The pause is laden with a sticky indecision – this change in placement, you realise, exacerbates the already difficult task of breathing for you.

While you fixate on that fact, he seems to come to a conclusion. With one swift manoeuvre, he positions himself astride your thighs, straddling the deadened extremities, and reaches forward to push your wrists apart. You’re quick to catch on to his intention, how the arrangement gives him better leverage, yet–

His groyne presses into the swell of your ass, worsening with every bid to sever the webbing. It’s impossible not to notice, especially not when the seam of your jeans start to shift in tandem, smoothing over your clothed core. It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last roused like this. Enough for it to feel brand new, a wrapped curse in a prim little bow, eager for all that you shouldn’t be.

And… Christ–

And then he unfastens the lines around your arms, and runs his hands up your skin. It’s not gentle, nor is it brutish, but you can feel his desperation escalating. His touches grow progressively antagonistic, kneading your palms up to your shoulders, patting down to the shallow pockets of your pants. You’re searched like you hold the key to his success – you suppose that, in some oddly comical way, you do. And it should be upsetting, blasphemous.

But you’re no sacred thing. You’d laid down that possibility a long time ago.

No. You’re foul, questionable at your best, and erupt into goosebumps over the ruthless grip of a man who hates your very soul. You’re a deeply detestable spirit, truly, but a detestable spirit who has just managed to get one up on Miguel O’Hara.

He throws you back around, wrapping his hands around your throat. His snarl is primal, maturated in acrid anger.

“Where is it?”

You’re sure that, in some alternate reality, your face is stretched in a shit-eating grin.

“Where’s the fucking day pass?”

Your satisfaction is short-lived.

You’ve never been one to notably detest humiliation. It’s productive – healthy, even – in smaller doses; a fitting consequence for those who you deem deserve it. Yet, as you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over Miguel’s shoulder, forced into a meandering parade through the streets of New York, you breach into uncharted territory – a threshold where your tolerance encounters its breaking point.

He makes no effort to soften his strides, unmoved by the idea of providing even a shred of respite for your susceptible self. If anything, it feels as though he deliberately seeks out the harshest terrain, silently chastising your earlier defiance in the most passive aggressive manner known to man. He’d reinforced your constraints before marching out on this fruitless venture, and now you bobble uselessly, backside pointed upward, anchored solely by the meaty arm around your knees.

At least you’ve regained control of your mouth.

“D’stroyed it. Gone. Dearly d’parted–”

“If you’re going to run that little mouth, then make it helpful.”

“M’bein’ helpfoo,” you start, straining your weakened vocal cords in an effort to mock him. The grip of paralysis may have slackened its hold, but neurotransmission remains at an all time, sluggish low. In all actuality, it astounds you that he can even begin to decipher your words from the tangled murmurs they become.

“You had it on at the convenience, and a little bit afterward. You can’t expect me to believe that you dealt with it while running for your life.”

Running for your life. Sure.

Displeasure sparks at the confidence he imbues in his assumption.

“Escoos m– hnngh–” A sudden jump of stress robs you of breath, your stomach plummeting alongside the rapidly distancing ground. As Miguel propels himself above the city skyline, effortlessly evading the crowded streets via a web he’d grappled to an adjacent building, you’re confronted with a stark reality – that this is the very first time you have ever, and likely will ever, experience what it’s like to swing.

It’s exhilarating and nauseating all at once, gravity relinquishing its command as you transcend the confines of the physical, soaring through some reality where law loses significance. If it had been you, your arms and skill and jurisdiction, you’d never come down. But maybe that’s why it isn’t; maybe your life was meant to lead up to this, and only ever this.

(Not antimatter technologies or heroic conquest. Yeah, this feels more fitting.)

Your skin prickles. You phase through the sturdy frame that’s held you up so far, and plummet from its grasp.

Slicing through the boundless sky, you’re accompanied by a profound tranquillity. It isn’t absolute – fear still gnaws at your core, its presence undeniable. But, amidst the churning horror, your instincts are fainter than they ought to be. They whisper in a subdued tone, overshadowed by conflicting conceptions. One, being the inference you’d drawn earlier about how – whether you like it or not – Miguel would not let you die.

Another, quieter suspicion hints toward the full reality of your… relief.

Though, of course, you’re right about the former. Tree-trunk biceps wrap around your waist, pulling you close as he slingshots off to a nearby rooftop. You flop into him, a ragdoll to the overwhelming force of his agitation, and squeeze your eyes shut at the hints of patchouli permeating from under his mask.

You don’t have to face the gospel just yet.

“¿Qué mierda? Eh?” He shouts, propping you up against a ledge. “What the fuck was that?”

You don’t have an answer for him. Your heart lurches, catching up to the urgency at hand, striking on the hollow bars of your ribcage to some reckless tune. It’s only amplified by the torrent of blood distending through your system, throbbing at your temple, rushing by your ears.

What the fuck, indeed.

He damns you, it seems, with a fervour that breaches the heavens, as if willing God Himself to commit his plea to eternal memory. Or not; truthfully, you can’t tell. With the roar of your own snowballing thrill, it becomes impossible to discern the sequence of interrogations that explode from him. The world around you fades to the background, your preoccupancy consumed by the disquietude it leaves in its wake.

Your sense is only validated a minute later when, two blocks away, an ear-piercing shriek ruptures your dissociation.

Miguel stiffens, slowly turning to face its source.

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘕𝘖-𝘏𝘜𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘐𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘓𝘠-𝘔𝘜𝘓𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘈𝘉𝘈𝘚𝘌:

Earth-15 – analysed, marked as closed.

Spider-totem – The Spider: soon after being bit by his radioactive spider, convicted felon Peter Parker merged with Earth-15’s variation of the carnage Symbiote.

Notes – do not engage, at any cost.

chapter five →

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

Text

Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #yandere hxh #hxh imagines #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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jymwahuwu · 25 days

Note

I see your and blbrrymilk's Dr.Ratio with bimbo reader and I give you: Dr.Ratio with a Reader who thinks he hates them.

He just never seems to have a single kind word to say to them. They're made to feel that they're horrible and stupid no matter how hard they try. They do their best to improve and he still deems it not good enough. So they just start doing their damn best to avoid him, and it turns out they're really good at that.

It's only when someone over hears him ranting about never being able to get a hold of them anymore and that they're in the process of setting things up to leave the planet, and that person says "Shouldn't you be celebrating? It's not exactly a secret that you despise them" does it click.

Now this emotionally stunted man has three options: 1. Letting them go because he fucked up that's not happening, 2. Corner them and somehow make their feeble mind understand that no he doesn't think they're the scum on the bottom of his shoe, or 3. Kidnap them.

We all know he's most likely going option 3.

This is so relatable. If I met Dr.Ratio in real life, I would actually want to avoid him because my heart is very fragile and I cannot accept being scolded by the professor🙈

I guess both options 2 and 3 will happen.

After you realized that maybe you could never live up to the standards Dr. Ratio set for you, you kept avoiding him. You know he is completely disappointed in you. The best you can do is avoid him and not be around him. You even bought a spaceship ticket so you could leave this planet!

But the moment before the spaceship sets sail, you are taken away. You were frozen in panic, completely unable to say no to him.

"Why do you want to leave?"

"I-I thought you didn't want to see me again…"

"You're more stupid than I thought. Now bend down. I'll teach you a lesson now."

Eventually you'll realize through your swollen butt that you can never leave him. And he doesn’t hate you <3

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moon-rivr · 6 months

Text

treat her better part 2

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: angst, reader using someone 🤥 (sorta), unprotected p in v, face sitting

author’s note: hope you all enjoy this part <33 sorry it took so long (i got the planetarium part after watching bojack horseman 🫡)

word count: 4k

treat her better part one

"Wait, what?"

Out of all the things that Miguel could've said, this surprised you the most. Surely, he must've had some idea in the back of his head about how much he'd been neglecting this relationship. “I said I want to break up with you," you repeated, your hands moving nervously as you spoke. "No, no, I heard what you said. But I’ve done nothing but love you, so I'm not understanding why?" He responded, looking down at you as his brows furrowed.

The annoying beeping from his gizmo interrupted your train of thought and you hoped that for once, he would choose you over his other priorities. At least at the end, for what it's worth. "Maybe you should get that," you told him and he let out a small huff, rolling his eyes as he checked the gizmo. "Look, we'll talk about this when I get back home. You're overreacting about this," he said as he turned around and opened a portal to leave. You were unsure of why you felt a lingering disappointment at being left alone once more with the memory of the person you fell in love with.

You decided to lock up the doors and windows and disabled his access to the house through your gizmo. You hoped that it would be enough to convey to him that you weren't putting up with him anymore though a bit of doubt crawled up inside you. You were too much in your own head to get some sleep so you looked up at the ceiling as if it held some answer to your dilemma. You were just starting to fall asleep when a repeated tapping on your window ruined all chances of that happening.

"C'mon, stop being childish and open this damn window!" Miguel yelled from your bedroom window, tapping on it with much more intensity. You stayed in your spot and hoped that he didn't have half the mind to break your window. "It's raining! Look, we can talk about this whenever you want, just let me in!" He yelled once more and you felt a thump coming from next door, your neighbors tapping so you'd shut him up. Eventually Miguel left your window and you could finally breathe normally again, though you didn't get too much sleep that night.

You showed up to the Spider Society a couple days after that, taking a couple more days of your break since you weren't sure if you could handle being in the same building as Miguel. You did your best to ignore the whispers surrounding you and headed to the cafeteria to get a snack before your upcoming mission. You decided on getting a pan dulce with milk, sitting down alone as you scrolled through your gizmo to catch up. You only looked up when someone slid in the spot next to you, one of the more recent recruits of the society.

"Hey darling, I couldn't help but notice how upset you looked all here alone so I thought I'd check up on you," he told you, flashing his teeth at you. You offered a noncommittal smile and gave him your name. "That sounds beautiful. Tell me, what are you doing here all by yourself?" He inquired, leaning a bit forward as he spoke. "I'm going through a break-up right now, so I'm not exactly pleasant to be around," you responded with a small shrug, hoping that he'd leave you alone after that. "Well if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or a dick to ride on, just know that I'm here to service you," he remarked, winking at you.

You were certain you'd heard him wrong and you were about to say something when you heard your name being called behind you. You turned around to face Miguel and he looked like he would kill the guy next to you if his eyes were bullets. "I need to discuss something with you in my office," he told you bluntly and you decided to stand up to follow him, choosing the least uncomfortable option at the moment. "Hey man, what's your deal? I was trying to spit game and you totally ruined my chances," the guy stood up, trying to size up Miguel but failing miserably.

"My deal is that I want to talk to one of my employees and you're acting like your miserable pick up line is working. I'd suggest getting back to work given that you're still on probation," Miguel responded, looking down at the man as he spoke. The guy could've resembled a bobblehead with the way he nodded at Miguel, leaving as quick as he could. You walked back to Miguel’s office in silence, wondering what he could possibly have to talk to you about. Though you couldn't help but hope that it was work-related, a part of you wanted him to acknowledge how much he missed having you around.

You stood around awkwardly in Miguel’s office as you waited for him to speak and you found yourself making conversation with LYLA to try to break the silence. "LYLA, can you leave the room please?" He asked her, coming closer to you. LYLA brought her hand up to salute him before she disappeared, leaving you alone with Miguel. "Is this about work?" You asked him, swaying from foot to foot nervously. "No, it's about our relationship. I feel like we left some things unsaid," he responded, grabbing two chairs from the side and pulled them closer.

You took a seat and waited for Miguel to speak, unsure of what more you could say to him. "I want to know why you broke up with me," he told you, his red eyes boring into you as he waited for a response. "I broke up with you because it felt like I was more so dating the memory of you at the end rather than you. I stuck around hoping that one day you'd realize how much you were hurting me with this whole absent love thing but it didn't happen," you answered with complete sincerity as you looked at him. "I'm sorry for not being what you needed. You deserve better than me."

You blinked as you looked at him dumbfounded, unsure if you'd heard him correctly. "I never wanted someone better than you. I just wanted you to do the bare minimum in our relationship, I just wanted you to care enough about me to be better! But your only excuse is that I deserve better?" You raised your voice as you spoke, standing up from the chair. You were about to leave the room when Miguel grabbed your arm, stopping you from reaching the door.

"I can change you for you, I promise," he whispered, holding your arm so you couldn't leave while he was speaking. "I don't want you to change for me. Because then you'll end up treating me like I matter for a couple days or weeks before you go back to disregarding me and then the cycle repeats. If you want to change, good for you, but don't do it just because of me," you said, leaving the room before you burst out into tears. A part of you couldn't help but wish he'd cared enough to say these things while the two of you were together.

You were unsure if it was because he was something familiar and you just needed to find some release or if it was your subconscious speaking, but you called Miguel to come over to your place that night. You were regretting the decision the more that you waited for him to come to your apartment, but you decided to brush those worries away. It would just be friendly ex sex and that would be it. No strings and no attachments.

All the attachments that you held towards Miguel came rushing through you when you opened the door. You invited him in and let him make himself at home, watching as he navigated through the space like it was his first time being there. "Do you want some water?" You offered him, walking over to the kitchen but he stopped you before you stepped foot in there. "What are we doing here? I have a feeling you didn't invite me here at 12 just to ask me if I wanted some water," he inquired, looking down at you as he analyzed your expression. "I thought that maybe we could use each other for some relief.."

You and Miguel eventually ended up in your bedroom, skipping over the kissing and engaging in some minimal foreplay so as to not blur the lines of this agreement. "Sit on my face," he told you, his face completely serious as he laid down on your bed. You'd done it a couple times when the two of you were together but you were always so afraid of suffocating him. "Stop being in your head so much. I wouldn't ask you to do it if i didn't enjoy doing it."

You sat on his chest as you started to move towards his face, your clit rubbing up against one of the ridges of his abs. You couldn't help the moan that escaped you and he let out a small chuckle. "Ab riding? That seems something worth exploring at a later time," he murmured, his hands on your hips as you settled on top of him. He started off slow, licking around your folds as he got himself acquainted to the taste of you once more. "Missed this pussy so much," he said, delivering a slap to your pussy before he began his attack.

Your hands flew down to his hair, holding you in place as his tongue went in and out of your hole, tasting every juice that your cunt was releasing. Your hips began swiveling against his mouth as your clit rubbed up against his nose, working in tandem with his mouth. You looked down to see his eyes closed as he focused on what he was doing, treating you like you were the finest meal he'd ever tasted. His tongue continued its assault as you kept coating his face with new arousal, your juices glistening on his face as he slurped them up.

He slowly inserted his finger into your cunt, a loud squelching noise following after. He bit down on your thigh, the pain contorting with the pleasure as your cunt squeezed around his finger, coating him with fresh arousal as you unclenched. "Pussy only belongs to me, don't forget it," he whispered before his tongue went straight to your clit. He rolled his tongue around the nub, his finger curling to hit that spongy spot that had your toes curling. You brought your hands up to your breasts, pinching the nipples and tugging at them as you stimulated yourself even further.

You felt your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave, the sensation too much to bear. You wouldn't have been sitting up if it wasn't for Miguel’s tight grip on your thighs as he licked away at your release, eager to taste every drop that you would give him. You got off him a while after and he got on top of you, kissing down your neck. He left a bite on your collarbone before pulling back, probably remembering the no intimacy pact that you two had agreed upon.

"You sure you want to do this?" He asked you, stroking your thighs as he waited for a response. "I do," you told him, watching as he aligned his cock to your pussy. You felt the sting forming in your vagina as he slid inside, stretching you out already with just the tip inside. You did your best to relax and he slid in with much more ease, bottoming out. He leaned down, pressing a kiss on the tip of your nose before he slowly started to take his cock out. All the air from your lungs escaped like a deflating balloon when he pushed his cock back in, filling you to the brim.

Your hands went up to his forearms as you gripped him, holding him as a lifesaver while he thrusted in you. His hips snapped with every movement, his balls slapping against your folds. Your moans filled up the room as he kept going, treating you like you were going to vanish at any moment. "I love you," he whispered so faintly that you weren't sure you heard him right. You chose to disregard it because thinking about it too much would just give you more confusion later on. He kept up with his thrusts, placing your legs on his shoulders as the new angle allowed for him to get deeper inside of you.

Your walls clenched around his cock, almost like they wanted to entrap him with every movement that he made. He played with your nipples, his rough hands kneading them and rolling them between his fingers. One of his hands went down to your clit, rubbing it at the same pace as he was to your nipples. You felt yourself coming up to that crescendo, the fall being nothing less than satisfying. Your juices coated his cock completely, providing him with the easy access that he needed to thrust inside of you. Your walls clenched around him once more and he came inside, his cock pummeling his cum deep inside of you.

He rolled off to the side eventually, catching his breath before the next round. You were coming down from your euphoria, taking a couple minutes to catch your breathing when you felt tears rolling down your cheeks. You weren't aware that you were crying until Miguel pointed it out, wiping your tears away with his pointer finger. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He asked you, using a gentle tone with you as he rubbed small circles on your stomach.

"I thought I could do this whole no strings attached sex with you, Miguel. But the truth is that I can't. I'm still so in love with you and I'm really trying not to be. I'm not completely sure why I called you over," you responded and he retracted his hand, getting up from the bed. You wanted reassurance from him at that moment but he wasn't going to give you any. "Stay safe, okay? I'll see you at work when you feel ready to show up," he told you, putting his clothes back on.

You couldn't help but bury your head into the pillow that he'd laid on, smelling the familiar fragrance of his cologne and shampoo. More tears rolled down your cheeks throughout the night but you couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. You looked up at the ceiling as you tried to fall asleep, eventually ending up in a restless sleep at 3 am.

You ended up going to work the following day, not willing to give Miguel that power over you and you headed straight for his office. You were about to ask him about an anomaly report that had popped up on your gizmo when you looked up to see him holding another woman in his arms. One of the new recruits. you felt your heart fall down to your shoes as you saw him kiss her the same way that he used to do to you. His hand on the small of her back as he supported her up. You almost tripped over your own feet as you quickly shut the door, walking over to the cafeteria.

You were eating your salad alone when the same guy from before approached you, sitting down next to you. "Hey girl, how have you been?" He asked you, though he didn't seem too interested in what your answer is. "Fine," you responded, setting down your fork as you turned to look at him. He took in your expression and folded his hands under his chin. "I have the best breakup playlist if you wanna hear it over at my place," he told you and you decided on going. You knew that it was wrong to use him to replace the feelings that Miguel had once elicited on you but you had a feeling he just wanted to see you naked. No harm, no foul.

Turns out, he didn't have the perfect breakup playlist when you got over to his place. But he did have chocolate covered strawberries and a box full of condoms. The two of you sat on the couch and slowly started to make out, exploring the taste of one another. He brought one of the strawberries up to your mouth and you resisted from eating it in one bite, choosing to eat it slowly and sensually. He introduced himself as Peter, like a vast majority of the Spider Society didn't share the same name.

He placed his hand on your thigh as he kissed you, but you couldn't get into it. His lips didn't feel the same way that Miguel’s did, he didn't know how to touch you the same way that Miguel did, and he certainly didn't make you wet the same way that Miguel did. You felt bad for thinking these things as you were with someone else, but you couldn't help but wish that Miguel was the person that you were kissing. You pulled away from him and got up from the couch, brushing over your clothes.

"I'm sorry but I have to get going. I'm just not really into this," you told him, hoping that he would understand. He got up from the couch abruptly, the plate of strawberries that were on his lap sliding right off. "What's the problem? You're gonna come over and get me all turned on just to leave?!" He raised his voice at you, getting too close for comfort. "I just don't think I'm in the right headspace to be having sex with you right now," you tried to keep your voice calm but you knew that if he kept talking to you like this, you'd end up snapping.

"You fucking whore! This is exactly why you couldn't keep your stupid boyfriend interested!" He yelled at you as you were walking out the door. You came back and slapped him, your handprint evident on his cheek. "And your fucking attitude is why you can't get laid!" You snapped back, slamming the door as you left. As you stepped away from his apartment, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe he had a point. If you hadn't done enough to keep Miguel away interested. If you weren't enough to keep Miguel interested. You brushed those thoughts away and headed back to the society, eager to get to the gym to practice some boxing.

Your life had been going pretty peaceful for the past month, you managed to stop thinking about Miguel so much and you improved on your fighting skills. It was the day of Jessica’s baby shower and you felt pretty good about it even if it was a guarantee that you would have to see Miguel at the event. You walked into the party with a pink dress on, placing Jessica’s gift on a table before going to greet her.

Throughout the party, you couldn't help but feel Miguel’s eyes on you. You decided not to engage and kept your attention on Jessica, a bit jealous of how she glowed when she was with her husband. You went out to the porch to get a bit of fresh air, a drink in your hand. "You seem better," you heard behind you, Miguel approaching you. You shrugged and took a sip from your drink, not offering much to go off on. He let out a small sigh and leaned against the balcony, looking over at you.

"Look, I'm not the best with feelings and all that other shit, and I'm sorry that I made you think for a second that I wasn't in love with you. Because I love you so much that it's physically pained me to be so far away from you so long. I know that I wasn't exactly present in our relationship but I felt reassured in the fact that you would always be there for me that I forgot about you," he spoke up, lifting up your chin so you'd look at him. "So why'd you kiss that woman in your office?"

The question caused him to drop his hand from your chin, letting out a small sigh. "I tried to replace you with one of the recruits. But the truth is, I can't get over you. She doesn't feel like you, doesn't kiss like you, she probably doesn't breathe like you," he admitted and you couldn't help but let out a small, dry chuckle. "Look, I’m not expecting for you to jump back into being my girlfriend but I want you to go out on a date with me. Let me try to earn the honor of being your boyfriend again."

You were about to tell him your answer when Jessica called you both back inside for the gender reveal. You went inside as soon as she told you since you didn't want to feel like you were intruding on her day with your relationship drama. You pulled Miguel aside when the reveal ended, his attention solely on you as you spoke. "Okay. One date and we'll see how it goes."

A few days had passed by and you weren't too sure if Miguel was actually being serious with his plan since he hadn't given you any clues or anything to go off on until you found a box waiting for you at your apartment. It was the dress that you picked out for the first date you had with him. You placed the dress on and followed the clues that he'd left with the box.

You ended up at a planetarium and you noticed that Miguel had set up a picnic outside. "I thought we could talk for a little while here, get some food. I hope you don't think it's too silly," he told you, beckoning you to sit down. You sat in front of him, looking over at the selection of snacks that he'd selected. He'd chosen out your favorite snacks despite the fact that he never seemed to pay that much attention when you two were together.

The two of you ate together, sharing some of your experiences about this time apart. "What an asshole. I hope you didn't believe what he said," Miguel told you when you got the part about Peter. You stayed quiet, playing with your fingers. "I will never not be interested in you, mi vida. You're the most captivating person in every room you stay in pero I got too used to you making excuses for me," he told you, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

As the two of you were at the planetarium, you couldn't help but notice that Miguel’s gizmo hadn't beeped once. "No anomalies tonight?" you asked, slightly teasing him as the constellations appeared. "No, I'm sure there are plenty. But you're more important to me and it's time I started to treat you like that," he responded, holding your hand as he continued to watch the stars showing. You rested your head on his shoulder, knowing that your relationship needed work but you would indulge in this small act of intimacy.

Miguel kept his promise and dedicated himself to spending more time with you, treating you like a priority. It took some work at first but he eventually learned to trust other people to share the burden with him. You stepped into his office, bringing him some food since he was working late. "Hola cariño," he said as you walked in, kissing your cheek once you got close. He held you for a couple seconds before he looked down at you. "I know this isn't exactly the perfect setting, but you I was wondering if you'd let me be your boyfriend again," he spoke up after a couple seconds, gauging for your reaction.

"Of course, Miguel," you said, standing up on your tippy toes as you kissed him.

@miguelcvmslvt @juniperbutnot @s0fia4 @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @migueloharastruelove @mangoslushcrush @skulfan1 @134340ona @death-moth-art @akoyaxs @innercreationflower @m4dyy

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sunlightmurdock · 8 months

Text

My Future in You | 2.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous | Next | Masterlist

synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, enemies to lovers kinda thing, mentions of pregnancy / birth complications, smut, unprotected pinv, oral (f receiving) , wc: 6.2k

…

“Hey, Bradshaw,” He looks up from his locker, brows raised as he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. Ames, one of his new acquaintances from flight school, is about six steps away and the one speaking. Bradley gives him a small nod of acknowledgement as he reaches for his clothes. “Is it true you’ve got a kid on the way?”

Being as young as he is, and straight out of college, Bradley understands the surprise. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s about to be a dad, but it’s not something that he advertises at work. He doesn’t advertise much about his life at work. Truthfully, his only goal is to get through flight school without any trouble.

“Uh-huh.” Bradley steps into his boxers and unwraps the towel from around his waist, draping it over his shoulder.

“That’s crazy,” Ames chuckles from behind him, shaking his head amusedly. Bradley shakes out his wet curls. Eight months ago, he would have agreed. “So, you’re getting married, then?”

Bradley scoffs. Even if you can manage to ignore that thick accent, Ames finds a way to remind everyone that he’s from the middle of Buttfuck-Nowhere, Kentucky. Stepping into his issued khakis, Bradley turns his head once more to find that most eyes are on him now.

“No?” He answers, tone incredulous. He’s not sure why everyone’s first reaction when they find out that the two of you are having a kid is to ask when the wedding is. Seems a little outdated. It’s not something that you’ve discussed. Or even something that he has really considered.

“Man,” Ames laughs from behind him as Bradley pulls his white t-shirt over his head. “I can’t imagine being stuck with the same pussy for the rest of my life.”

Halfway through tucking his shirt into his pants, Bradley stops, and turns towards his new colleague. He inhales slowly, blinking twice at the red headed asshole who just made the mistake of making that comment.

This is his career on the line, sure — everything that he’s spent his entire life working towards. But it’s not just that. This is medical, it’s security, it’s going to make sure his kid is okay for the rest of his life. It’s not worth throwing that little weasel on the ground and making him shut his mouth.

He exhales, then winds his face into a tight-lipped smile. “Maybe once you lose your virginity you’ll feel differently, buddy.”

The heavy silence in the locker room is broken by a round of laughs, and the mocking immediately begins. Ames groans, trying to quieten the jokes at his expense. Bradley pulls his khaki shirt on, buttons it swiftly and grabs his bag to leave.

His boots thud along the halls, not stopping for anybody as he heads for his truck. It wasn’t that long ago that he was in the locker room at college, listening to this same shit without batting an eyelid. Hell, when you first came to him, he was the one saying it.

He slips into the driver’s side and drives home. There’s no making up for how much of an asshole he was, not that long ago. He probably still is, or still could be — but his kid won’t be.

“Seresin!” Your eyes widen at the sound of him swinging the front door open and letting it slam closed behind him. Dropping the screws, your body tenses.

“Shit, shit, shit…” You whisper, abandoning the screws on the floor. With how round you’re feeling, bending over to get them at this point is quite simply not an option.

If he’s looking down at his phone, there’s a chance that he won’t even notice you. You slow yourself at first, quieting your footsteps along the floor as much as you can.

“Hey! — I thought I told you to stay in bed.”

You groan in frustration, one hand on your bump, busted. Footsteps behind you tell you that Bradley is not only home from work early, but he is also ready to enforce the bed rest rule again for another day. Pretending that you hadn’t heard him is becoming a more and more frequent issue, as you continue along the hallway and into the nursery.

“I’m talking to you, Seresin,” Bradley drops his bag by the door and starts after you. His eyes widen as you speed up, unsteady on your feet and leaning back under the weight of your ever-growing belly. “Are you seriously going to make me chase you?”

Admittedly, the idea makes you laugh as you swing the door to the nursery shut behind you, just to slow him down. He swings it back open and steps in after you, brows knitted together in concern. “Come on, we had a deal.”

The deal being that you would rest as much as you can and call him when you need something, and he’d take care of everything that needed to be done. You’d just been so bored. It’s been days of this. Sure, the first day, you welcomed it. You’d had blood tests the day before and were tired. By now, you’re about to start pulling your own hair out without some kind of stimuli.

“Fuck your deal,” Out of breath from your six steps of speed walking, you pant at him, lips quirked through your fading irritation as you brace one hand on the wall to lower yourself to the ground. Bradley looks between you and the torn open flat pack box at your side. “I’m building this crib.”

“I said I’d build it!” Bradley tries to reason, frowning and darting closer at the unsteady way you’re crouching towards the ground.

It’s been a rough couple of days. Reading sounds boring, you can’t stand to watch another second of TV and you hate having to wait until Bradley’s home in case something happens. It’s hard to pretend that you aren’t a little pissed off about it.

“He’s my baby,” You strain, wobbling as you get closer to the floor. You’ve been thinking about him a lot recently. About if he’ll look like you, or more like Bradley, or maybe even your dad. You always heard that Jake looks a lot like your grandfather. “And I want to build his crib. You can help.”

Bradley stands there, lips parted like he’s trying to come up with a way to get you back in bed. He knows that it’s no use, if he was you, he’d be damn near climbing the walls by now. If this kid is anything like you, he’s got his work cut out for him — there are going to be two of you to defy his rules soon enough. After a few moments, he resigns with a sigh.

“Alright,” Bradley breathes out, stepping behind you to help you to the ground before you collide into it. Knowing that he’s got far more experience with this kind of thing than you do, he resigns to being your assistant without argument. “Alright. I’ll help.”

He settles you onto the ground, then grabs the flat pack box, settling it onto the ground in front of you. Tired from work, sure, but he catches sight of the smile on your face and finds himself smiling too.

“I dropped all of the screws in the hallway when I was running from you.”

He looks down at you. You look up at him, face squeezing into an almost apologetic smile. Curls short, mustache trimmed to keep up with regulations, you’re still getting used to seeing his features as much as you have been recently. His lips twitch, almost smiling. He tries not to, trying to be stern. You can see it in those big brown eyes that he thinks this is funny.

“I’ll get ‘em.” Bradley decides with a slow nod.

“Thanks, you’re such a great assistant.” You tease, shooting him a quick wink. Still leaning over you, Bradley’s eyes flicker over every inch of your face before he finally gives in and smiles softly. You’re steadfast, more than happy to play his game of chicken as he leans in so close that you can practically still smell the jet fuel on his clothes.

There’s a long pause of silence again, where he’s just watching you. Wearing maternity shorts and a t-shirt twice your size, sitting on the floor of your son’s nursery.

“Careful. You keep looking at me like that and I’ll build you whatever you want for the rest of our lives.” He tells you with a soft smile on his face, his voice raspy after a day of yelling over the sound of engines.

You blink a few times. Bradley watches you trying to come up with some kind of witty response, and he gives you a couple of seconds to try, but you’re equally relieved when he leans forwards and kisses your mouth. Sliding five fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, pressing closer to you.

He pulls back first, kissing the corner of your mouth and standing upright.

“God, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, Seresin,” Bradley breathes out, shaking his head as he swallows and turns to leave. “Can’t even kiss you without my dick getting hard anymore.”

He’s just gone for a few seconds. He gets around a lot faster than you do these days. But, he stops in the doorway as he’s walking back into the room. “What?”

You set the base of the crib down, looking up at him. Bradley’s lips quirk. He glances down and cups a hand over his half-hard dick, running his palm roughly over it through his khakis.

“Fuck first and we’ll build the crib later?” He offers you in one swift breath, lips quirking up into a grin as you smile back at him. He steps forwards and helps you up from the ground, still careful not to rush you even though his hands are on your ass and his mouth’s on yours from the second that you’re on your feet.

“Fuck yeah.” You agree against his lips.

Working open the buttons on his khakis, kissing him so deeply that it makes you dizzy as he walks you backwards, arms wrapped around you to keep you safe. He’s in just his white t-shirt and slacks by the time you’re at the foot of your bed.

Then, he stops kissing you. Just for a second, taking a moment to really look at your face. Once he’s done, he lifts his hand, eclipsing the nape of your neck, pulling you into him so that he can kiss you again. Up close, your head tips almost all the way back as his lips touch slowly against yours. Brief, disarmingly tender.

You press forwards and kiss him again, harder than he had kissed you. You let him nudge back your jaw so that he can kiss your neck. His strong hands steady you against him, his lips working a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

Bradley remembers when you first started hooking up again — how rushed all of those times had been, how desperate he had been to get his hands on every inch of you. His mouth too. He’d been a little rough, maybe, but you hadn’t been complaining.

He knows that you would probably enjoy that again now, but he knows your body. He knows that your hips hurt, even when you won’t admit it to him. He knows your breasts are sensitive, even though you like having his hands on them.

One thing that his mother taught him was to never act like he knows best. He doesn’t. You’d have no idea exactly how considerate he’s being when he touches you, careful to not press too hard on anywhere that’s too sensitive.

Pressing his fingertips lightly into your hips, he turns you around and walks backwards to sit on the edge of your shared bed, peeling his shirt up and over his head. There’s a brief moment where he’s torn between leaning back and taking a look at you, or grabbing hold of you and bringing you close again.

He falls for the latter, grabbing your thighs and pulling you between his legs. Your eyes are on him as he pulls your shorts down your legs, peppering kisses over your thighs and hips.

You swallow softly as he drags your panties down your legs to follow, his hand cupping your dripping sex, two fingers swiping gently through your growing excitement.

Closing your eyes, you exhale softly, anticipation vibrating through your middle, waiting for him to touch you. The feeling of his cool breath on your thighs makes you jolt, instinctively reaching out and grabbing hold of his bare shoulders.

Featherlight, his fingers slide under your t-shirt and guide it upwards. He hums in approval as you take the hint and grab the fabric, tearing it off and letting it fall to the ground with the rest of your clothes.

Tender, he reaches out and curls his fingers around your calf, lifting your leg and planting it beside his thigh on the bed. Now that you’re where he wants you, he grabs your hips to steady you and gets right to work.

As much as you try not to think about how many girls Bradley has slept with, each time he graces you with his tongue between your legs — you’re reminded that you should probably be thanking whichever one of them taught him how to do this.

His tongue trails slowly along your slit, thumbs brushing slow circles on your hips as he trails lightly upward to your clit and stars with a circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your fingers smooth along the ridges in his shoulder, up along the nape of his neck. You always forget that he doesn’t have long, messy curls anymore. The back is buzzed down to a number two. Bradley groans in approval against your clit as you grab the longer hair at the crown of his head and tug softly.

Working up slowly, he trails his fingers along your middle and cups your breast in his hand, delicate as he kneads the sensitive flesh. You breathe in deeply, squeezing against your hold in his hair as he makes your stomach start to twist into that familiar knot.

Pulling back, he’s careful not to be too abrupt. Kissing your pelvis, your thighs, leaving you with a few teasing nips and licks. You moan out, letting him go finally. He shifts backwards, touching your palms with the tips of his fingers as he does. “C’mere, baby.”

You open your eyes again to look at him. His eyes are hooded, watching you lustfully, begging you into his lap. He watches you hesitate, glancing down at your bump.

In response, he shifts further up the bed and plants his head on the pillows, unbuckling his belt slowly, chest heaving. You watch the muscles in his stomach contort as he kicks the khakis down his legs, dipping two thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoving them down too.

“Come here,” He looks so desperate, fist wrapped around his swollen cock. He sighs in relief as he lifts his hips just slightly, rocking into the friction his palm provides. His lips quirk softly as he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not above begging, babe.”

Hesitantly, you kneel on the bed before him. His eyes light up, giving you a small nod of encouragement. Walking on your knees towards him, Bradley can’t help but groan. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

Always impatient when it comes to getting his hands on you, Bradley sits up swiftly and grabs your hand in his, making you giggle softly. Moving just a little closer, you carefully straddle his thighs, gasping as he drags you closer.

Hands cupping both of your breasts at once, he practically nestles his head between them, kissing each of them first in turn. Then, looking up at you through those thick eyelashes, you briefly catch the wolfish grin on his face before he turns his full attention back to having his mouth on your tits. Kissing, sucking, grazing the underside with a gentle nip every now and again.

Careful not to hurt your over sensitive skin, he’s suddenly soft as he takes your nipple into his mouth, fingers skimming tenderly along your bare waist. He circles each bud with his tongue, taking his time, then peppering them with affectionate kisses. Large hands trail around your waist to meet at the small of your back, then slide swiftly downwards.

Grabbing two handfuls of your ass, he drags you closer again with an eager grunt, squeezing your soft flesh in his hands. Two can play at that game. You grab hold of his broad shoulders, shoving him back down against the pillows.

He looks up at you, grinning, as you lift slowly and replace his hand with yours around the base of his cock. Trailing your soft palm along his length once, twice, and then lowering your hips just enough to guide the tip between your folds.

He inhales sharply, hands sprawling out open along your sheets, eyes dark as he watches you tease him. You watch his eyes follow up to the swell of your pregnant stomach as you rock your hips just slightly, brushing his tip against your clit.

“Oh shit, wait.”

Immediately, his brows knit together as you lurch forwards and lean across him, reaching for the night stand. His hands grab at your waist to steady you, beyond confused as you sit back up with a little box in your hands.

“What the fuck is that?” He frowns at you.

You fight the urge to hit him in the head with the box, because this is exactly how you ended up in this position. Your fingers work open the box as Bradley props himself up on his elbows to investigate. “These are condoms.”

“We haven’t used condoms since — y’know.” Bradley gestures towards your stomach, then looks back up at you again, frowning.

“Exactly. We need to start getting into the routine of using them again.” You tell him calmly. He sits up and grabs at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his warm mouth sucking at the sweet spot on your throat.

“We’ve got three more weeks to practice,” He murmurs, breath tickling your ear between open-mouthed kisses. You shiver, damn near dropping the box. “Come on, baby. You don’t want me to cum in you one last time?”

There’s a pause between the two of you, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of your ass as he sucks a deep kiss into the dip where your shoulder meets your neck.

The box clatters noisily against the wall as you toss it out of your way, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him hard. You pull back, breathless, and narrow your eyes at him, “One last time.”

He grins, nodding his head as you lift your hips to hover over his thick cock. “Fuck, I love you.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him. It would be kind of hypocritical, when you’re smiling too. Bracing yourself against his pecs as you lower yourself down onto him, he screws his eyes shut and groans happily. Settling down against his pelvis, you let your head fall back and sigh in relief.

He’s trying to train himself out of grabbing your hips and guiding you where to go, so he reaches down and loops his fingers between yours. As good as he’s being, he can’t help himself from shifting down the bed, spreading his thighs and planting his heels to change the angle that you’re sitting on him.

The next time you lift your hips and come back down, his dick grazes your g-spot perfectly and makes you grip his hands a fraction tighter. Panting out soft moans, you settle into a soft pace, lifting up and sinking down on him again.

The gold cross chain around his neck slides on his chest, calling your eyes to the smooth ridges of his tanned pecs. Bradley watches the way your eyes drink him in, spurred on as he rocks his hips to meet your pace.

The way he watches you is so intimate, like he’s memorizing every inch of your skin. The way you’re coming down on him feels like it’s knocking the breath from your lungs each time, your moans filling the air. His thumbs stroke softly along the backs of your hands. Everything about the way he has learned to fuck you is so perfect, and the adoration in his eyes makes it hard to even look at him sometimes.

You feel sexy. With his eyes on you like this, the way his body responds to you, you feel sexy as you roll your hips into him and he rocks back to match your rhythm. Filling you to the brim, making your orgasm build swiftly in your stomach.

He leaves one of your hands, reaching out instead and catching the nape of your neck, pulling you down against his chest. Your stomach presses firmly into his. He lifts his chin and kisses you.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groans against your mouth, pleased as you moan back in response. Your hands flatten against his toned pecs as you push yourself to sit upright, so that you can ride him harder. His head falls back against the pillows, fingers pressing into your thighs. “Fuck.”

Bradley wets his lips with his tongue, eyes unashamedly darting from your tits to your face as they bounce in front of him. His brows draw tightly together and you feel him shift, pressing his heels harder into the mattress, fingers marking into the soft skin of your thighs.

A muscle ticks in his jaw before he inhales sharply, trying not to focus on how close he feels like he is. It’s not like you aren’t close too. Just a little more. He bites hard on his bottom lip as your palms trail down to rest against his toned stomach and lift almost all the way up.

His gaze falls down, watching his length disappear inside of you once again, bucking his hips up hard to meet you as you come down on him. The buzz rips through you, your arms going weak as the feeling rushes through your body. Bradley wraps both arms around your middle as you collapse against his chest, continuing to rock his hips upwards as he chases his own high. The feeling seizes you, buzzing through your middle and all the way down into your core, thighs clenching around his hips, walls squeezing around him.

Bradley holds the back of your neck, keeping you close against him as he spills inside of you with a desperate grunt. His body shudders, exhaling deeply before he turns his head towards your jaw and kissing your skin once softly.

“Fuck me,” Bradley pants, brushing a hand softly over your messy hair, kissing your cheek. Briefly, Ames crosses his mind. He really wouldn’t mind this for the rest of his life. “How was that? — You okay?”

“Good,” You smile breathlessly, resting your head against his chest, hiding your face in his neck. “So good.”

You lift your hips and let him slip out of you but stay safely tucked against his chest for a while longer, just letting the two of you both catch your breaths. His fingers trail absently along the bare length of your spine.

“Hey, Bradley?” You hum, kissing softly at his throat.

“Hm?”

“We’ve still got a crib to build.” You remind him delicately, smiling as you feel his groan vibrate through his chest.

Soon enough, you’re up and both sitting on the nursery floor in your pajamas, staring silently at the instructions. Three and a half hours later, and a band-aid on Bradley’s beat up thumb, you’ve got a crib.

Bradley had heard of nesting, and he had been trying to prepare for it — but he didn’t think it would be as fun as this. Getting to sit on the ground with his best friend and playfully bicker over Part A and Screw C for almost four hours. Then, sliding into bed beside you and feeling you sleep more soundly than you have in days.

The results from the blood work were a good thing, it’s not Fetal Growth Syndrome, but you’re not out of the woods yet. He’s still behind where he’s supposed to be and now you’ve got no answers as to why. He knows that it’s been keeping you up.

So, if happily bending to your each and every whim is what gets you to finally rest, Bradley’s okay with doing that for the next few weeks until he gets to meet his kid.

The next morning, you wake up with him all over you again. He fucks you slowly, both of you laying on your sides, barely awake but smiling softly. Then, he begrudgingly gets up and starts to get ready for work. He hates leaving you naked in his bed in the mornings. If it was up to him, he’d lay there with you until the afternoon.

“I love you,” Bradley tells you, grinning as he darts forwards to press one last kiss to your cheek. As much as he enjoys watching the sky turn from burning orange to soaring blue over the runway, he’s sure that nothing will ever beat the sight of you in the first bed you ever shared, with one hand on your stomach, smiling up at him like this. He beams, leaning down and pressing his lips to your belly, just below your navel. “Both. I love you both.”

You lift your foot and kick softly at his thigh, “You’re gonna be late for work.”

As you push him away, he comes right back again, kissing your mouth like he’s taking in a breath of air. “I know, I know. But, I’ve got this girl at home who won’t listen to a thing I tell her, and how am I supposed to concentrate on, y’know, saving the world if I’m so worried about the troublemaker I’ve got at home?”

“You’re an idiot.” You scoff, pushing at his shoulder this time, grinning against his mouth as he comes right back in for another kiss. After maybe the fifth ‘last kiss’ in a row, Bradley pulls back enough to brush the tip of your nose with his. He exhales softly, his grin fading to a smaller smile.

“Promise me you’ll be good ‘til I’m back, okay?”

You lift your chin and kiss his cheek, wrapping your pinkie finger around his.

“We promise. No mischief ‘til Daddy’s home.” You tell him. He turns his head towards you and leaves you with one last kiss, for real this time, kissing your bump as he starts to stand up from the bed. He calls goodbye to you three more times total before he’s finally out of the door.

Laying in Bradley Bradshaw’s bed almost a year later, you smile to yourself. That dumb girl in his bed the night after Halloween would never have imagined herself here, giggling like an idiot with the guy that was meant to be a one night stand.

He’s gone for a while, probably about halfway to work, by the time that you decide to pull yourself up from bed and walk to the shower. It still counts as bed rest if your plan is to get clean, stretch out Bradley’s clothes and make the treacherous hike to the living room to sit on the couch.

Water streams over your hair, your face, warming your skin. Savouring the feeling, you stand there for a moment with your face towards the ceiling. Your backache is pretty much a permanent feeling at this point, but as you roll your shoulders back and stretch upright, there’s a sudden sharp pain in the small of your back, right the way through your middle.

Fuck. Bradley has been gone for less than an hour, and you’ve probably pulled a muscle. He’s going to be so much more annoying when he hears about this.

The water seems to soothe it. It doesn’t hurt too much when you’re reaching your arms up to clean your hair, or wash your body. But, the second that the water’s off and you’re leaning over to grab your towel, it happens again. The same, sharp pain, right the way through your middle.

Dressing yourself is always a chore at this point in your pregnancy, but this time you’re just mad about it. No trouble. Since when does no trouble equate to injuring yourself mere moments after he’s out of the house? — You’re growing sick of this helplessness. Even bending down to tie your own shoelaces is impossible at the moment, but Bradley hid all of your shoes that weren’t slip-ons like that would make you feel better about it.

Sighing as you pull the shorts up around your hips, you flinch at the sound of rushed knocking at the door. Salespeople. Another groan as you start to walk, your swollen ankles taking the brunt of your anger as you start to stomp towards the door. Just to make your worsening day that little bit more insufferable, halfway through the living room, you kick your toe into the back of the couch.

Grabbing onto the back of it for leverage and jolting forwards, you’re met with another sharp pain. You’re supposed to be taking things easy, shit. At least it’s an excuse for Bradley to use his years of knowledge from playing sports and massage your back for you later.

By the time you make it to the door, the knocker is already turning and walking away. From behind, you don’t recognise him. The second that you turn around, instinct tells you to slam the door in his face. It’s what Bradley would do if he saw his Uncle Pete standing on your doorstep at 7am on a Thursday.

One hand on your stomach, you’re visibly disgruntled, but Maverick knows it’s too late to just walk away without saying anything. His eyes dart from your swollen stomach and back up to your face. It’s clear that your pregnancy makes him uncomfortable.

“Sorry, I was… I was looking for Bradley, I’m… I’m a family friend.” The aging pilot on your doorstep explains awkwardly. He brings one hand up and scratches at the back of his neck. His blue eyes drop down to your stomach again.

“I know who you are.” You reply softly.

Pete swallows, then nods. It takes him a second before he remembers to speak again, giving a disoriented shake of his head as he steps towards you and extends his hand. “Right. Um, I wrote this, and I’d really appreciate it if you could give it to him. I just want a chance to explain.”

Looking down at the folded letter in his hand, your face softens. You glance quickly between him and the bundle of paper, your mouth twisting into a frown as you give a slow shake of your head.

“I can’t make him read it.” You explain quietly, lifting your arm and reaching out for the paper. Maverick sets it in your hand, his head bowed, eyes on the concrete outside. Maybe that’s just easier than looking you in the eye. “I’ll give it to him, though.”

That alone is more kindness than Bradley has showed him in the last two years. Maverick lifts his head quickly, blue eyes glassy as he searches over your face. You can see him fighting not to overreact, or frighten you.

“Thank you,” The pilot breathes out finally, like you’ve personally lifted the weight from his chest. “I apprecia—“

A sharp gasp and your hands fly to the small of your back. You crane your body, moving with the pain and stretching up straight. “Ow, fuck.”

Maverick freezes. He watches you for a few seconds, the searing pain that you seem to be going through. Suddenly, all he can think of was the time that Carole almost broke his hand when she went into labour with Bradley.

“Are you… okay?” Maverick broaches the topic cautiously as you seem to come down from the pain with a few deep breaths.

“Yeah. I think I pulled a muscle or something, it’s killing me.”

“Just… a muscle?” Maverick asks quietly. Brows furrowing, you stare at him. His eyes flicker down to your stomach once more. Finally, it dawns on you.

“Oh. No,” You shake your head quickly, “He’s not due for another three weeks.”

The aging pilot just stares at you. You could go into the ins and outs of it. That he’s a little small for this stage of the pregnancy. That they told you specifically that you were likely to be overdue as a result. Overdue. Like past his due date. Not three fucking weeks early. He’s not big enough yet

The front door’s still wide open. The two of you just stand there, silent, staring at each other. Equally unsure of what comes next. You gulp, smoothing a hand softly over the swell of your stomach. Maverick watches the tears start to well in your eyes.

“Should… Do I call Bradley?”

Pete doesn’t remember Carole looking this young, or afraid, but he knows she was. He was. Goose was the only one who seemed to know what he was doing, even though he hadn’t either.

Christ, he shouldn’t be here. Bradley should be here. Or Goose. Or someone who could help you. Anyone but him, he just knows that he’ll screw it up further — and Bradley’s going to hate him even more than he already does.

“Yeah. Call Bradley.” Pete croaks out, still standing awkwardly on your doorstep. He’s meant to be leaving today. He’s supposed to be back in Miramar by noon their time.

“What if it’s nothing? — He’s flying today.”

“Try him. He won’t be in the air yet.” Pete answers. If he’s good for nothing else, at least he’s got knowledge about what Bradley’s day at work should look like. “And your Mom. You should call your parents.”

“I — I don’t speak with my parents,” You’re already stumbling back, turning away from him, your voice trembling. Pete’s heart thuds in his chest. “It’s just Bradley.”

And Jake. You wish Jake was here. He would know what to do.

Maverick watches from the doorway as you disappear down the hall. He doesn’t dare take a step forwards. He’ll move if you start screaming for help or something. You reappear quickly and wave him inside, phone pressed to your ear.

The letter isn’t in your hand anymore but that doesn’t seem important now. You've met with Bradley’s voicemail three times in a row. Pete stands just inside the doorway, feeling like his knees are about to give out.

Closing your eyes, you will yourself not to cry in front of this stranger. You silently plead with this little boy to just hang on a little longer. Just until he’s bigger. Until he’s a little more ready. Until you’re a little more ready.

“Is there anyone else I can call for you? — A friend, or… a boss? — Anyone?” Maverick tries. You lift your head to look at him and he freezes as your eyes gloss over.

“No,” You whimper. Not down here, there’s not a single soul that you could turn to. Not with Jake being away. “Just Bradley.”

“Okay, um…”

You’re both standing on opposite sides of the room now, separately and silently freaking out. Finally, it occurs to you to check the time.

“Wait, I just — I went fifteen minutes without any kind of pain. If they were contractions, they’d be regular. Right?”

“I’m not sure.” Pete’s already shaking his head. He doesn’t know a lot about babies. Or pregnancy. Or families in general. But, if there’s any time to be cautious, it seems like that time would be now. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor. Just in case.”

Wiping at your eyes, you sniffle softly. “No, it’s — I’m — we’re fine. I’ll call my doctor, and I’ll wait for Bradley to come home.”

“Are you sure? — I mean…”

“I’m sure. Thanks. For being here. I’ll make sure he gets the letter.” Everything in your tone is telling him that he has overstayed his welcome and that you would like him to leave. That’s not really the case. You don’t mind him. But, he has just royally freaked you out, and you would like the privacy to continue to freak out in peace.

“Sure. Alright,” Maverick bumps into the wall behind him as he steps towards the door. Maybe he should stop by the base and try to find Bradley, let him know that he needs to come home early. “My number’s on that letter. If you need anything, I’m nearby. Just call me.”

One hand on your stomach and the other gripping the kitchen island so tight that your hand starts to lose feeling, you give him a tight-lipped smile. Maverick mumbles a quick goodbye and closes the door behind him.

Admittedly, he lingers just outside of the door for a while longer than he needs to. He just can’t help but wonder if this is the last he’ll hear from Bradley, or you — or this baby. He wonders if he’ll ever know this child at all.

The weight of it sits on his shoulders. Just a little extra, sitting on top of what’s already been there for the past twenty years. He bows his head as he walks back to his car.

Unlocking the driver’s side and pulling the door open, he doesn’t hear the front door fling open behind him.

“Mav!”

He stops and turns, brows drawing together. His jaw falls slack. You’re gripping onto the doorframe with one hand and your stomach with the other. Your legs are soaked.

“Fuck.” Maverick breathes out.

…

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