#screaming a few things into the void before going to bed

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

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“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.” 

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now. 

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart. 

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country. 

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty. 

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to. 

It’ll be days before you see them again. 

If you see them again. 

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility. 

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her. 

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you. 

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” 

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.” 

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.” 

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.” 

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.” 

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say. 

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.” 

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.  

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.” 

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you. 

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat. 

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.” 

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.” 

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say. 

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.” 

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts. 

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through. 

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask. 

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.” 

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?” 

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.” 

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.” 

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.” 

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone. 

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision. 

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.” 

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit. 

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you. 

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away. 

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega. 

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment. 

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you? 

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you? 

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you. 

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday. 

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants. 

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore. 

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news. 

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them. 

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling. 

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you. 

You’re not sure you’d survive that. 

Most omegas don’t. 

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least. 

You shake your head. “Nothing.” 

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.” 

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard. 

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.” 

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?” 

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you. 

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?” 

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.” 

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?” 

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.” 

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know? 

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep. 

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care. 

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you. 

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go. 

You know what will happen if you let go. 

“She’s no daughter of mine.” 

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over? 

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown. 

“Easy, easy.” 

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you. 

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.” 

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest. 

“You’re alright, you’re safe.” 

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over. 

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms. 

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently. 

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch. 

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself. 

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly. 

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you. 

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.” 

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.” 

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s. 

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do. 

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you. 

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.” 

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks. 

“The day after.” You answer. 

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.” 

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask. 

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.” 

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask. 

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.” 

“What are we gonna tell John?” 

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.” 

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently. 

“Think about it.” She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.” 

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days. 

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background. 

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.” 

“I know, we’ve missed you too.” 

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?” 

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon. 

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.” 

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion. 

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.” 

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again. 

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you. 

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell. 

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you. 

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared. 

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her. 

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know. 

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting. 

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door. 

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers. 

Maybe you need to start paying more attention. 

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here. 

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.” 

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her. 

Apparently something’s changed. 

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly. 

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now. 

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this. 

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now. 

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.” 

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again. 

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost. 

You’d take those times back over this right now. 

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person. 

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did? 

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble. 

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving. 

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they’re not there to protect you. 

You’ve made a big mistake. 

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.” 

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door. 

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line. 

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all. 

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf. 

No one will hear you scream. No one will care. 

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.” 

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life. 

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?” 

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.” 

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.” 

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe. 

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?” 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.” 

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark. 

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you. 

No one would know. No one would care.  

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?” 

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.” 

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.” 

Something about his words don’t sit right with you. 

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside. 

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs. 

She doesn't even seem bothered by it. 

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you. 

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words. 

She’s American. 

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.” 

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief. 

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it. 

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks. 

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open. 

Someone was inside your room. 

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx

@protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai

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@daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

#call of duty #call of duty fic #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 #task force 141 x reader

[lxclerc]

𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 | 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary... charles' lonely call breaks your heart further requested... yes! warning... angst pairing... charles leclerc x reader

note... a little drabble requested back in november 2022. i'm so sorry for it being super super super late but if whoever requested it is still here then i hope you enjoy it! feedbacks are very much appreciated and encourages me to write more! extra note... also i'm taking a semester gap year so i will be trying to post more and get through requests so let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

you’re exhausted, having just got home from a forty eight hour shift. being a surgical resident is absolute hell and you’re not quite sure how you’re managing but somehow you’d manage to drag yourself back home, frowning as you reach for the light switch only to find the wall empty. 

right. you’re in your own apartment, a place you hadn’t really lived at for months. mostly you’d come here when you needed something but more times than not, you go home to his apartment. it had been your home rather than this sad, lonely place void of his laughter. 

you sigh, letting your bag drop to your thrifted couch. you suddenly wished you’d stayed in the hospital on call room instead of here. being back in this place reminds you of all the things you no longer have, of the person you no longer call yours. 

god the self pity is getting tiring and you’re far too tired for another midnight crying session and so after washing the grime off your skin, you’d settled on your sofa with a bag of chips, flipping on the TV to some trashy american series to drown out your loneliness. 

however, as fate would unfortunately have it, you hadn’t even reached the second episode before your phone started ringing, his smiling face displayed on the screen. you’d frozen on your spot. you remember the exact date you’d taken that photo of him and you still had the ringtone you specifically chose for him. 

you’re haunted, your body full of memories and his fingerprints imprinted in your soul. even now, three weeks, two days and twelve hours since he’d called it off, he still haunts. you wanted to let out a bitter laugh as the ringing stopped. who’s counting right?

you refused to be his lonely call. you might be absolutely miserable and pathetic but you respect yourself enough for that. you won’t be his lonely call just because his friends and his girls are gone. you’d been his six am good morning but you will never be his midnight number whenever he starts wondering if he’d made the wrong choice. 

your phone lights up again but you let it ring. if he had more things to say to you then he can say it after the beep. 

he calls more times after that, keeping you awake as you stare at your ringing phone. a few times, you catch yourself reaching for it, reminding yourself that he’d been the one to make this choice. he’d been the one to make excuses about both your schedules being too much. and it was so unfair how he tormented you for it. this entire thing was unfair. you were willing to give everything to charles. you loved him far too much and you’d been under the impression that he felt the same but if he was willing to give you up so easily, did he really love you as much as he claimed he did?

he’d made his bed and now he needed to get used to sleeping on it. 

it was around two am when he finally stopped calling and you’re sure you’ll have a headache come tomorrow morning from staying up too late. you decide to call it a night and end your self inflicted torture, putting your phone on silent as you turned off the TV and chucked your empty bag of chips in the trash. you were just about to turn off the light when the knock came and you knew without checking exactly who it was. 

you sigh, frozen in your tracks as the knocks became more and more insistent. 

“y/n,” his voice is rough, scratchy as though he’d spent the entire night screaming at the top of his lungs and you felt a tear slip down your cheeks. he sounded so broken. maybe as broken as you felt. “s'il te plaît, mon amour.” please, my love.

you stay rooted to your place. this is unfair. this is so fucking unfair. he’d been the one to give up. charles gave you up. how dare he come crawling to you now? 

“Je suis désolé. Je suis désolé. Je pensais que je pourrais apprendre à moins t'aimer. Tu me manques,” he rambles. “i miss you so fucking much i didn’t even think it was possible, baby.” I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I thought I could learn to love you less. I miss you.

a sob rocks your body as you fall to the floor, clutching yourself as though you’re trying to hold yourself together. 

“please, baby,” he begs and you can hear the way he’s crying too. “J'ai besoin de toi.” i need you.

and then you open the door. because you loved him too much. because you could never give up on him. 

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @writing-about-current-obsessions @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis @multilovebot @lovelynikol16 @troybolton-14 @dr3lover @myescapefromthislife @sunf1owerr @t-nd-rfoot @navixfr

#formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc one shot

[tacticaldiary]

It Was Never Meant To Hurt

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

It’s been 4 days since she’s seen him last. Four days since they gave into each other and she woke up next to an empty bed. It hurts more than she cares to admit, to be used and discarded.

Masterlist

Four days.

Four days since she woke up to an empty bed, the wonderful memories of the night before, the touches and whispered promises against skin going sour the longer she stared at the empty spot next to her.

He’d taken his boots, the shirts he sometimes left in her army-issued wardrobe, and even the pillow smelled nothing like him anymore.

It was almost like he’d erased every trace of evidence that he might be in her life.

And it hurts like a bitch.

“Stay?” She’d whispered into the crook of his neck, shuddering breaths shared between the two of them as she lay there pliant and sweaty in his arms.

“If you insist, love.” He’d whispered, lips pressed to her temple, a deep, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. It was the best she’d felt in so long, safe and guarded and blissful just laying there with the person she’s loved for over a year now.

They’d been together for a few months now, shared heated glances during meetings, lingering touches before missions, teasing remarks through the comms. It had been good, they had been good. She thought Simon had come to trust her more with the way he’d taken his mask off for her the first time he kissed her.

She’d tried to convince herself it was all in her head at first. That Ghost just wanted his clothes back. Keeping his boots in his own room was more convenient after all, and scents normally faded away, didn’t they?

It was easy to pretend at first, to go about her day like nothing was wrong, like there wasn’t a gaping hole in her chest expanding with every step she took, every dark corner she glances in hoping to see a glimpse of that mask of his.

She’d lost hope on the third day when she finally spotted Ghost in the hallway for the first time since that night...

And he’d walked right past her.

Not even a glance.

She remembers standing there for a moment, stunned at the blatant ignoring, the soft footsteps fading away indicating his departure.

So was she just...another notch in his bedpost?

Was he just playing with her to get her in his bed? It made sense. He’d gotten what he’d wanted and if that really was the case, there was no reason to talk to her and keep her around other than for their missions, was there?

She wants to laugh, or cry? Scream, maybe? Would that make it feel better, loosen the tightness in her chest at the indignation of being used and discarded like-like she was someone cheap?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forces her feet to keep moving to Price’s office. This feeling could stay lodged inside her, but it didn’t mean she could disregard her duties for it.

Still, hot, angry tears prick at her eyes, ones she refuses to let fall lest they show the world her inner turmoil, her embarrassment, and anger.

                                · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Four days.

Four days since Ghost last felt anything close to content.

Clenching his jaw, he focuses on the methodical movements of the pistol in his hand, checking the capacity, reloading and firing off a clip.

One, two, three.

Head, neck, heart.

Three lethal shots.

Three days since he last felt her touch.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers the weapon a fraction, trying to get his thoughts together. Ghost was a cold man, he knew how to push things aside and focus on the task at hand, but he never could seem to push her out of his mind.

Even now, in the middle of practicing in the base’s shooting range, every time there’s a moment void of the bang of a shot fired, his thoughts drift to her as if his mind needs her to fill the physical absence left behind.

“Fucks sake.” He mumbles under his breath, switching out the bullets.

He loves her too much.

The day Simon Riley loses her is the day he fears he’ll lose whatever’s left of him. The shattered, broken pieces of a man that she had somehow stitched together into something worth loving in his eyes.

All his broken pieces are jagged and sharp, nicking and cutting the fingers of anyone who tries to piece them back together.

Her hands are bloody with the effort.

It’s why he needs her to understand, needs to stay away from her because Ghost is not someone who is easy to love. Inevitably he’ll put her in harm’s way, taint her with his darkness to a point where even she may consider it unforgivable.

Avoiding is easier than giving it a chance.

Ghost calls it a tactical retreat.

The door opens, and he doesn’t hear it creak but it’s through pure instinct alone that Ghost spares a glance to it, catching wide eyes with his own.

His body hums with anticipation, with the itch to reach out and touch, grab, feel. She looks...tired, he registers. They’re still staring at each other, his gaze impassive, hers surprised and...was that a flash of anger and hurt? They stay exactly where they are.

She’s expecting him to say something, Ghost knows. Maybe to break the silence between them that’s been lasting the past half week, maybe to explain and clear the air.

He turns away from her silently, fires off a couple of shots at the nearest target.

It was for the best.

Ghost was a selfish man, but not selfish enough to cause someone he loves harm. Being with him was a liability, he’d realised that when she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms, an action so full of trust it made his cold heart twist. He has no doubt she can handle herself. She was part of the 141 after all, handpicked by Price.

But at the end of the day, she was still human. Not immortal.

So was he, if the painful ache in his heart was anything to go by.

He half expects her to leave, so he’d be mildly surprised and frustrated when she plants herself a few feet away from him, bringing up her own weapon. She fires.

Three shots.

Heart, heart, heart.

There’s nothing but the popping of bullets for the next few minutes, though Ghost never seems to look away from her for more than a couple of seconds. Her movements become more agitated, more jerky like she’s getting progressively more antsy.

It’s only when her gun clatters to the floor and she lets out a pained groan that he snaps his head towards her instinctually.  

Clutching onto her hand, she glares at the gun underneath. She’d touched the hot barrel, her fingertips an angry burning red.

“What?” She snaps, the frown on his face deepening when his eyes flicker to her face. “Finally got something to say?”

“You should get that to medbay.” Is all he says, turning back to his own weapon.

A beat of silence, then a huff of frustration, and suddenly she’s right in his face, standing so close if he breathed in deep enough their chests would brush. It jars him on the inside, being so close to her after so long but outwardly he pins her down with a calm, blank stare.

“So that’s it then, Simon?” She says, eyes narrowed. “We’re back to this now?”

He clenches his jaw but says nothing. It’s the wrong move because it seems to irritate her further. “You just-you left me.” She exclaims. “Acting like I don’t exist, actively ignoring me? What the fuck, Simon?” Mixed in with the fire in her eyes is a layer of hurt which he spots easily.

How does he explain himself?

She doesn’t give him the chance.

“I mean, fuck-” She exhales sharply, turning her head to the side for a moment. When she turns back his heart drops at the light sheen of dampness in her eyes. “If I knew you just wanted to sleep with me I wouldn’t have gone along with it.” Her voice is the barest bit less angry now, more...defeated. “You led me on for five months. Five months. Just to get me in my bed and call it a day.” She barks a laugh that makes a chill run down his spine. “You’re a heartless bastard, you know that?”

Her voice cracking at the end makes reality crash back down to him.

Muted horror creeps into him as he takes in what she’s saying, what she’s assumed.

She thinks he used her. Just wanted to get into her pants and toss her aside.

For the first time in years, Simon Riley feels dread.

“What was it? Was I not good enough for Ghost?” She mocks, but it’s almost like she’s talking to herself, reflecting in some sick way. “You saw someone who was easy on the eyes and took it as a challenge, is that it? For what, some kind of intrinsic satisfaction?” She runs a hand in her hair, briefly pulling at the roots before letting go. “You shouldn’t have pretended it meant anything to you when-”

“You don’t know anything.” He cuts her off with a low voice.

“I think I understand enough.”

“You don’t.”

“Then explain.” She exclaims, shoving him hard. The man doesn’t budge, hands snapping up to grab her wrists and keep them pressed to his chest. “Try and talk yourself out of this once you mangy-”

“It’s for your own good.” He says.

“Who the hell are you to decide what’s good for me?”

“I’m not easy, love.” He says, tightening his grip when she tries to pull her wrists away. “This was never going to be easy.”

“Don’t call me that.” She hisses, and damn if Ghost was a more emotive man it would have made him wince. “I was ready for that.” She clenches her fists. “I knew it would never be easy, but you’re making it fucking impossible by avoiding me.”

“You’ll get hurt.” He sighs, frustrated that she just doesn’t seem to understand.

“You’ve already hurt me.” Her voice breaks.

He blinks, her words rattling around in his mind for a second.

He has.

Simon has hurt her. Perhaps more than any physical injury probably could. Tears prick at her eyes, just barely about to fall, and he’s never seen her look so tired, so exhausted, and shaken even after some of their toughest missions.

Simon has seen her get shot in the leg and walk it off without a trace of tears, yet here she stands in front of him on the verge of breaking down because Simon made her feel used.

Worthless.

Because of him.

Shit.

Releasing a shaky breath at the realisation, Ghost lets his hands travel up her arms until they graze her shoulders, grabbing gently. She lets him.

It’s more than he deserves after what he’s let her believe for the past four days.

Dread, loathing, and anger churn through his gut. Not at her, never at her. At himself, for thinking that pushing away someone so strong-willed could ever result in anything but catastrophe for the both of them.

Screw him and his attempts at being selfless.

Simon Riley is a selfish man at heart.

He pulls her into his chest, sighing in muted relief as she pressed her forehead against his chest. Like she used to.

Like it belongs.

“Thought you’d be safer if you kept your distance.” He says low and accented into her temple, brushing his lips against it through his mask like he did the night he left. “I realised it that night.”

“So you left?” She whispers shakily, hands clutching onto the back of his t-shirt. “Instead of talking to over with me, you just fucking left?”

His throat tightens uncomfortably. “Thought it was best.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” If he feels her tears soak through his shirt, he doesn’t bring it up.

“I see that now.” He tangles a hand into her hair, and the familiarity of it nearly knocks the breath out of her lungs. “Didn’t know it’d hurt you this much.”

“I didn’t think-...” Her breath hitches, and she pulls away to try again, meeting his gaze with tear-stained eyes but a demanding, soft gaze. “I didn’t think it’d be that easy for you to leave.”

Screw him. His hands tighten around her and he shakes his head firmly.

“You think it was easy to leave you?” He scoffs, disbelief painting his voice. “You’re out of your mind if so.”

She blinks, stilling as if it’s new information and he’ll admit to feeling the slightest bit remorse that he’d led her to believe that he’d have no problem leaving behind one of the only good things in his life just like that. Without a second thought.

“It was harder than any goddamn op I’ve been through.” He rumbles, watching her eyes widen. “Didn’t think I’d get past your door before turning back.”

Her silence unsettles him, because she doesn’t speak for a moment, just takes him in. Weighing him, weighing his words and his actions. Five months of progress against one night of fucking up.

Simon won’t admit that he holds his breath, knowing that her next word would be a declaration of where the both of them would go from here.

Her answer comes in the form of her wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

The relief that hits him is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

“I’ll fix it.“ He mutters, rubbing circles into her waist. “I’ll fix this, sweetheart.”

“You better,” she whispers into his skin, her eyes fluttering shut.

Requests Are Open!

(30/06/2023)

#fanfic #fanfiction #ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #mw2 #soap mw2 #mw #modern warfare fanfiction #modern warfare x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare price #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod modern warfare #cod mw22 #cod #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #hurt #hurt comfort

[klausysworld]

Love is never simple PART 2!!! (Part 1 here)

(I will be changing some things about the original plot, I hope that nobody minds)

After returning home Klaus ordered two of his hybrids to follow and report on Y/n. If she was any good at vampire hunting then he needed to keep a good eye on her. He didn't want her to think she had any kind of upper hand over him.

It was clear to say that he underestimated her.

The second his hybrids set their eyes on her she could sense it. It clicked in her mind immediately that Klaus knew. She had two ways to play: pretend she didn't know or send him a message. She didn't think about it for too long if she were honest, she desperately wanted to behead a hybrid.

It was easy to take them out, they weren't expecting her to be behind them when they followed her round the corner. She called Tyler and yelled t him to get his sorry ass to the street she was on. She them threatened to leave him in a similar state to his fellow mongrels if he didn't do exactly as she said.

That evening, when klaus came home he found both hybrids sat on his bed. Blood covered his bedding, drenching the mattress and staining everything. The hybrids held the others heads in a way that made it seem like it was an offering and it was so psychotically disturbing that Klaus found himself smiling. A laugh left his lips and he pressed his hand to his mouth to quieten himself, unaware that Tyler was messaging Y/n and letting her know of Klaus's reaction.

Klaus changed rooms, not wanting his floors to be stained. The hybrids were burned and he let the others mourn them for a day before getting back to work. He then began to wonder how he should go about Y/n. Clearly she didn't want to be on his side, however he also remembered how she had behaved on the night of homecoming. She had started off being revolted but for a good few minutes she completely forgot what he was. Deep down she was still a just a girl and he could use that to his advantage.

Klaus decided he would try to push her buttons a little. He knew that she had been apart of the reason that Damon and Mikael didn't kill him, this fact made him curious. She didn't want him dead? Or she did but for some reason she needed him alive? He wasn't sure but whatever the reason, she didn't show any warning signs that she was planning his murder. Besides, she wouldn't have sent him his hybrids like that, proof of what she was, if she planned to use it against him. She was smarter than that, he was sure.

He barely slept as he thought of every possibility. He had so many questions that would never be answered and so many theories that would never be proved.

Meanwhile Y/n was sat at her desk, a book in front of her that she had filled out herself. The title?:Niklaus Mikaelson.

She stayed up all night making sure she studied all of his silly little tricks. She found any connections to witches he still had, she needed to make sure he had nobody powerful beside him. She knew that the rest of the originals would be walking around town soon enough and she couldn't have them in contact with witches as well. The whole damn town would be up in flames.

So she set out early, around half 3 in the morning. She sped to get to the desired states, knife in hand and gun hidden just incase she couldn't get close.

Y/n was gone for over week killing off the closest of Klaus's alliances. By the time she returned, Klaus had Tyler bite Caroline and Elena was missing. Damon rang Y/n in a state, telling her that Stefan had her and was threatening to throw her off Wickery bridge.

Y/n had just gotten into town and pulled her car over when she spotted Stefan's car screeching to a stop. Elena's cries could be heard and Stefan's yelling.

Y/n ran over, opening the car door and pulling Elena out into a hug. Elena sobbed into her chest hysterically while Stefan slammed his own door shut.

"Put her back in the car" he demanded, his eyes still void of any emotion. Y/n went to scream at him but Elena was already there "how could you? My parents died on that bridge- I almost died...you know that...you saved me" she whimpered, holding onto Y/n's sleeve like a little child.

Stefan tried to make the argument that this was the only way to get at Klaus. That he had the upper hand and that he wasn't actually going to drive off the bridge but Elena wasn't budging. She begged to know what would have happened if Klaus didn't give in but Stefan didn’t entertain the idea. After letting Elena stand her own for a moment and seeing Stefan so carelessly regard her life, Y/n snapped.

"Elena get in my car" she instructed and Elena fell quiet. She hesitated for a second, but after taking in the expression on her face and knew it was best not to argue. Obediently, she walked to Y/n's car and sat in the passenger seat. She could see Y/n's phone and so rang Damon, warning him that Stefan may turn up bloody and bruised and also crying down the phone over what happened.

She tried her best not to look up when she could hear the muffled yelling and fighting from in from outside.

Y/n had Stefan on his knees, bleeding from the head and stomach, a hand of his 'hero' hair in her grip as she dragged his face up and leant down "Give Klaus those fucking coffins back or I swear to fuck that I will help him destroy you" she threatened but he shook his head with laboured breathing.

"I won't let him win" he panted and she smacked him across the face making his head whip to the side before back to her

"how blind are you Stefan? If this is how you're behaving then he's already won." she whispered, holding his chin tightly. She scoffed lightly when he wouldn't look and her "you're fucking pathetic" she told him. "If you think for one moment that I'm going to let you petrify Elena, torture everyone around you just for some stupid revenge fantasy-"

"He ruined my life, Y/n! He's already destroyed me and I want to watch him hurt" he growled

"why?" she questioned, knowingly

"Because I'm fucking angry Y/n!" he stated and a small smile quirked at her lips. She could work with Stefan if he felt something, his humanity was trying to come back.

"Then you care too" she whispered "you're just not letting yourself feel everything"

"I can't Y/n" he uttered, his eyes watering "If i let myself feel everything- everything I've done...I can't survive that"

"You deserve to feel the pain Stefan. Look around...you need to feel the hurt so that you can move past it." she told him and he looked down. "I give you until tomorrow night to give in before I'm forced to handle this my way" she muttered before placing her hands at his jaw and snapping his neck to the side.

She got into the car and drove Elena and herself to Caroline's. Klaus was just coming out of her house making Elena lower in her seat while Y/n got out the car.

Klaus glanced her up and down, noting the blood she had splattered all over her clothes and the teary doppelgänger in the car. "Caroline's been healed" he told her calmly, keeping his distance.

"I'll be changing the ownership of that house so you can't get in" she warned and he chuckled, watching as she grabbed a white birthday bag from her boot and walking towards Carolines.

He watched her for a moment as she opened the front door, he listened as she gave Caroline a hug and her birthday present before leaving shortly with the promise of seeing her tomorrow. His eyes locked back on hers as soon as she stepped outside

"what?" she barked and he smirked

"nothing, nothing" he claimed and she sighed "I was just wondering whose blood-"

"Stefan's but don't worry, I didn't kill your boyfriend" she mumbled, heading back to her car

"He's not- oh for gods sake" he muttered, following her "Where is he?"

"Hopefully thinking his time over" she opened her door and looked at him once more "You should have you coffins within 48 hours, if you don't...come find me" she told him for sitting down and closing her door. He watched in interest as she pulled out of the drive and Elena began to whisper to her.

Once they got home Y/n told Elena of her and Stefan's conversation and how she hoped that this would bring the Stefan they knew back. Elena looked at Y/n with a soft look

"You think...he could be something less than a monster?" she asked quietly and Y/n swallowed thickly.

"I think...I think he doesn't want to be a monster" she whispered "I- he wasn't always a monster...so maybe he could...I don't know, like, be better?" she mumbled, confused with the situation herself. "But that doesn't mean I like him, or that you should ever feel like you have to forgive him." she told her and Elena nodded.

"I don't think I can... not for a while" she whispered and Y/n nodded

"That's probably a good thing" she smiled weakly and the two sat for a moment before disappearing to their own rooms in an attempt to get over this day.

Thankfully, with an extra shove from Damon, Stefan came to and agreed to make a truce with Klaus. So they decided to give all the coffins back, however before leaving them in Klaus's living room, they undaggered every last Mikaelson. Except of course, the one which was closed but Y/n had witches on the phone to figure out how to open it already.

It took the help of a lot of Bennet witches, dead and alive, they even had to locate Bonnies mother. Surprisingly there was no sight of Klaus or his family for the few days it took them of draining the coffins magic until they were sure that the seal was broken. Y/n had firm words with Abby and made sure to comfort Bonnie as well as she knew how to.

And then they waited.

Unbeknownst to them, the Mikaelson house was practically a war zone. Klaus had been enduring a series of well deserved torture from each of his siblings, screaming empty threats and promises at them until they temporarily killed him in some of the most painful ways they knew how to shut him up.

Until each of them was silence by the mere presence of their supposed-to-be-dead mother. She claimed the house as her own in a matter of seconds and had her children on a tight leash.

They cleaned up and hid in their rooms, confused, afraid and somewhat hopeful.

Another day went by before Esther decided they needed something special to celebrate their reunion, a ball. She also demanded that they try to find dates. Niklaus especially.

Esther was a clever women, a crafty bitch of a witch. Over her last few years of being on the other side she had kept an eye on Y/n. She had spotted her, seen her potential and invested herself into it. Esther had also happened to see the homecoming, she knew that her son's interest had been captured. She knew how easily Klaus would soften just from a girl being kind to him for a few moments. Whether he liked it or not, Y/n had now taken a place in his mind. Esther also believed that despite Y/n somewhat befriending a couple vampires that her hatred would outweigh any bond she seemingly built and that if she could get her to the ball and spoke to her then she would be of even more use.

And, as expected, Klaus went to the Gilberts house. He had an invitation in one hand and a beautiful ballgown wrapped up in the other. For some reason he had a weird feeling in his stomach and his head ached. He gave a few hesitant knocks to the door and stepped back. He took a breath, fully prepared to be hit and told to fuck off and die.

He did not expect a half asleep Y/n to open the door, her eyes squinted to block the sun, her hair big and fluffy and her face bare of any makeup. Her brows scrunched together when she saw Klaus and she cleared her throat

"Yes?" she asked, trying to sound more assertive but the oversized jumper and sleepy eyes made it far too difficult to take her seriously. He could feel his face twitch to a smile but he tilted his head down to hide it. He shook his head subtly to himself before looking ack to her eyes and opening his mouth to get some words out. Instead, he just ended up staring at her, unable to form the sentence he wanted making her wipe her eyes and wake up more to pay attention.

Her eyes dropped to the gifts in his hands and his awkward, nervous behaviour. "Oh dear" she muttered and his face flushed, was she going to say no before he even asked? With a sigh and an eye roll she reached her hands out and took both items from him, placing the box inside by the door and tearing the envelope over. Klaus watched with wide eyes as she read both the formal invitation and Klaus's personal message where he asked her for a dance. She doubled checked that times before glancing up at him.

"See you at seven" she whispered with a nod before closing the door. He stood there for another minute before turning around and heading home, unsure on what he was supposed to do now.

Meanwhile Y/n walked into the kitchen where the Salvatores, Elena, Caroline, Bonnie and Matt all sat looking to her expectantly. She held up her invitation and in return they each held up theirs.

"Alright so, just so we're all on the same level-" Caroline began, leaning forward in her seat "some guy named Kol has invited me, Elijah invited Bonnie, Rebekah wants Matt and now Klaus has asked Y/n!?" her voice progressively grew louder and higher. Damon and Stefan sighed before Elena spoke

"Yeah.. and uh... Esther, their mother, wants to speak to me...privately" she mumbled and everyone went quiet for a second.

"So do we...go?" Bonnie asked and they all murmured quietly.

"I mean...free drinks and possibly food? Do they do food at dances or do I have to eat before I go?" Y/n asked tiredly and Caroline shook her head

"No no, you'll look bloated if you eat beforehand" She muttered and Damon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right" Y/n whispered.

"Screw it, we should go" Elena decided and reluctantly everyone came to an agreement.

The girls would all go to Caroline's to get ready and meet the guys there.

Once they had done each others hair and makeup, made sure they all felt right and ready. They all stayed in Bonnie's car for a little while outside of the Mikaelson mansion

"Something bad is going down tonight" Y/n murmured and Elena sighed.

"We have to face it" she whispered

"Or we get shit faced and forget whatever goes down?" Y/n offered and Bonnie giggled while Caroline placed her hand over her face before opening the door

"come on, lets get" she called and they groaned as they piled out and maid their way inside.

Y/n let them filter out to the Salvatores and their dates while she swiftly weaved her way toward the sweet scent of alcohol. For once she didn't sense Klaus watching her as she downed four flutes of champagne in the space of 60 seconds, letting it rush straight to her head and smiling to herself.

With a quiet chuckle Klaus made his way over, standing just behind her and to her side as he cleared his throat "Y/n?" he called and she whipped round

"Klaus" she greeted and he smirked

"Enjoying the beverages?" he teased lightly

"Uh honestly no, it's rather disgusting but if you drink it fast enough then you don't really taste it" she grinned and he raised a brow

"Well...that's not what I was expecting...then again you've been very unpredictable today...are you feeling alright, love?" He whispered the last bit as though it were a serious matter and she rolled her eyes once more.

"Well everyone else got an invite, I was glad not to be the only one" she told him and he hummed

"I see" he stated, looking her over for a moment before taking a breath and smiling "you look stunning, sweetheart" he complimented and she glanced away from his gaze.

Y/n wasn't the relationship type. She wasn't ever really given compliments, she was rude to most people especially supernaturals and lets face it they covered half the town. The occasions she did attract attention it was because she 'looked hot' or 'sexy' which only pissed her off more and made her avoid any kind of revealing or tight clothes when since the 9th grade. So she didn't really think Klaus meant anything by those words, and she didn't want him or anyone to say things like that if it didn't mean anything.

So she looked past him and ignored the compliment, instead glancing around to spot everyone. "So do you have to like announce the dances or do you just go whenever?" she asked and he tilted his head

"I thought this town had dances all the time, you've never been to one?" he questioned, and she shook her head

"Elena dressed up and did the dances with mom. I went to Aug- I went hunting with dad" she answered and he nodded

"Hunting..." he trailed despite knowing the answer

"Vampires"

"Vampires" he repeated. "When exactly did you start hunting vampires?" he asked curiously and she shrugged.

"I don't really know...I was maybe six or something like that when I saw one and it soon after my dad was filling my head with knowledge on them" she explained and he frowned a little but before he could comment Esther was tapping her glass and encouraging her children to come together so should properly announce the occasion.

Esther switched her gaze between the Gilbert sisters and the Bennet witch. She couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, everything was going her way. So she stood proudly for a moment as she watched her children dance what she assumed to be their last nights away.

Klaus gently placed his hand on her waist, watching her shift and take a breath before taking his hand. She didn't like to touch him, he could tell by the look in her eyes but she didn't push him away, she still put her hands on him with no intention of harm and that was enough to make Klaus smile.

Y/n tried to forget that he was a psychotic thousand year old vampire/werewolf hybrid just for a moment but it was more difficult this time. The music was slow, unlike the homecoming, and there was a specific routine which she was already struggling to follow which meant he couldn't decide to start spinning her around unless she wanted even more eyes on her and he knew for a fact that she didn't. Klaus could feel how tense she was, her eyes never landed on him and when he tried to compliment her she only looked more uncomfortable.

He sighed to himself and watched her for a short moment. She truly did look elegant that night, like a princess. The dress fit her like a glove and for once he was able to see the soft curves of her body though he knew not to comment on that. He wasn't really sure if he was allowed to comment on anything. She was gorgeous, the makeup on her face only emphasised the features he had already liked on her, like her eyes and her lips. But at the same time he wanted to see her like he did early that day again, when she was drowsy and messy. He liked that she didn't cover up every tiny little mark on her skin or feel that she had to sit and style her hair each morning, though he was still fond of how it had been done for this evening. He had so much he was thinking but he couldn't find a way to say any of it to her. Not when she looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

Reluctantly he tried to catch her eye "Love?" he whispered and she glanced to him "can I show you something?" he asked and she nodded, anything would be better than pretending to enjoy any part of that.

So he guided her upstairs, to his art room. She was skeptical but he expected her to be as such. Still, he took her inside and let her look around. His eyes followed her, waiting to see if her expression or body language would give away any of her thoughts or opinions.

Curiously she dug through his sketches, seemingly looking for something specific. He came beside her and placed his hand on top of hers "What are you searching for?" he asked quietly and she looked up at him for a moment. He tilted his head and gave a gentle smile to try and show he bared no harm and she hesitantly told him

"The sun and moon curse...you made drawings right? On scrolls and stuff?" she questioned and he smiled

"I did yes" he confirmed and took her had without thinking, bringing her to his room where he then let her go and began digging under his bed making her laugh. He remerged a moment later with a box, he tossed the lid onto his bed and pulled out a bunch of old, tattered pieces of paper. He flipped through them before bringing a few over to her, letting her hold them and study them with genuine interest. He explained what different parts meant and found himself with a hand on her shoulder as he pointed to different sections.

"Just to be a hybrid?" she questioned and he shook his head

"I don't care that I'm half and half, if anything it's only made things more difficult. I just wanted to feel whole." he told her, glancing to find her fully turned to him and listening making him sit down on the edge of his bed and her to follow suit, much to his surprise, before he continued. "When my mother suppressed my werewolf side, it quite literally felt like part of me was locked deep inside me and begging to be set free. I walked this earth for a thousand years, never feeling quite like myself...though I suppose I don't really know who I am anymore. In some ways your mindset is correct, vampirism changes a person. But it was not vampirism that made me a monster... it was my mother and my...and Mikael. I'm sure you know of plenty humans that you and the rest of the world would consider a beast. If they lived as long as I have, even without the urge to drink blood, they would become a horrible creature no matter their species."

She contemplated his words for some time in silence and he let her. She knew he was right. Anyone would go mad if they had been though the masses that he had and had to keep going that that amount of time. Y/n didn't like that there were so many different ways to think about things. She wished that it was as simple as 'all vampires are evil' but it would never be that way.

She looked at him for a minute or so, it was so odd how someone so vicious could look like an angel. She always told herself it was a disguise but really it was proof of who they used to be. Their eyes especially, they held so much. Especially his, she could see the pain and the sadness, the anger and the betrayal, fear and paranoia, but she could also see that little flicker of warmth. Part of her wished that she could go back and never of left her fathers office, she shouldn't have gone near those vampires. She wished she could help Klaus relight that little spark inside him but she just didn't think she could. Her hatred was deep rooted, she had been and secretly still did torture and experiment on vampires. She had been stealing blood samples from her supernatural friends and giving it to Augustine. For years Y/n assumed that she was doing the right thing, protecting her own, but now she worried that she had been behaving almost as badly as the vampires themselves.

She hesitated slightly but Klaus still saw it, he could see a lot going on in her head and let it settle before speaking again.

"You can keep the aztec sketches" he told her and she blinked at him

"Oh- no that's okay" she smiled and handed them back to him but he pulled his hands away

"I don't know why you wanted to see them but I'm glad that you did and that you spoke to me...listened and what have you. I didn't really think you would come tonight and so I want you to have them as a thank you of sorts?" he told her and she smiled softly

"Can I ask...why would you want me to be here tonight? I mean you have a lot of options, less complicated ones. I don't know what you thought tonight would become but surely you didn't think that anything more could become of this right?" she asked and he shrugged softly

"Maybe one day" he offered but she shook her head

"I will never be a vampire" she reminds "and I don't think I could ever truly have feelings for a vampire and even if I did, what would be the point if I just grew old and you didn't?"

"I'm sure we'll find out soon sweetheart" he whispered.

They both sat quietly for a moment before a thud and a crack could be heard. They both let out a huff before Y/n groaned "Fucking Salvatores"

Klaus let out a laugh and stood up, offering a hand to Y/n and pulling her up "I'm certain a Mikaelson will have involvement too" he smiled and she tutted

"Oh what ever will we do" she whispered as they made their way back downstairs, finding Kol on the floor and Damon standing over him. She gave Klaus a look to which he smiled knowingly as she followed Damon to his car, before turning to deal with his own family.

They were both to busy to realise the glare that Esther had on her face. She had only heard the last few exchanges of their conversation and then that look at each other. She expected Klaus to fall fast but Y/n was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to help kill Klaus. Still, Esther held onto a small amount of hope that Y/n wasn't completely taken yet and would at least stay out of the way when she eliminated the vampire race.

That night everyone seemed to go to sleep with a bucket load full of thoughts swimming around their minds. Some more dreamy and others leaning more towards nightmares. It was unknown which ones would come true.

(There shall be a part 3, I just didn’t want it to be a drag to read all in one go)

#vampire hunter oc #vampire hunter x vampire #vampire hunter x klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson one shot #klaus mikaleson imagine #rebekah mikaelson #the vampire diares imagine #niklaus imagines #tvd klaus #elijah mikaelson #klaus m #klaus mikaelson x y/n #kol mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #klaus michaelson #tvd universe #hope mikaelson #klaus mikaelson headcanon #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson yandere #klaus mikealson smut #klaus mikaelson x yn #klaus mikealson x reader #angst comfort #tvd angst

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Phantom waking up in a cranky mood (probably because he was playing all night) and going to Swiss all teary eyed and whiny with his pacifier clipped to his shirt

When Phantom woke up it was still dark. That didn’t matter though, no amount of darkness would help the throbbing in his temples behind his eyes. He screwed his eyes closed, the pain was almost blinding. He rolled over, pulling his bat plush to his chest and curled up in a ball, whimpering as the pain seemed to increase as he moved. He sniffles, feeling tears welling in his eyes and he wishes he hadn’t gone to sleep alone tonight, he wished desperately that there was someone, anyone, with him he could curl up with and cuddle and they could make him feel better. 

He sniffles again and whines when the pain didn’t ease at all in the next couple of minutes. He’s just about to call out for help when he remembers that Swiss’ room is just next door to his. He doesn’t need to wake the whole pack up he can just scurry across to Swiss. Swiss will help him. 

The only dilemma to going to Swiss is room is he has to face the darkness of his room and the dark creepy hallway. He lets out a pained whine feeling his ears pin back in fear. He peers into the endless black of his room, clutching his bat to his chest so hard he can feel the clip of his pacifier dig into his chest. He has to be brave. Papa and the other ghouls always tell him how brave he is all the time so he can do this. If he’s quick he’ll only be in the darkness for a few seconds and then he’ll be with Swiss. And Swiss will always protect him, he said so himself. 

He jumps from his bed, the pain in his head ignored over the fear of the darkness. Or what’s in the darkness. He lets out a squeak at the thought of a creature that might me hiding among the shadows, with glowing red eyes and sharp claws ready to snatch away any little ghoul that it finds. 

He lets out a sob at the thought and burrows his gave into his bats soft fur, hoping that if he can’t see the monsters they won’t be able to see him. He pulls his bedroom door open and steps into the hallway. It’s cold, colder than his room with no fireplace to heat it. He shivers, peaking out from over his bat to scan the hallway for monsters. There’s no glowing eyes, just an endless void of black. He scampers quickly along the wall until he finds the door to Swiss’ room, not giving the monsters anytime to realise here there. He opens the door and slams it behind him way too loud for the time of night that it. 

Swiss’ room was also dark. Oh no. He’d forgotten about that. But he could hear Swiss breathing and could see a vague Swiss shape on his bed in the darkness. It soothes him a little knowing he’s no longer alone. 

“Swiss?” He calls out into the darkness. Swiss doesn’t stir. “S-Swiss?” He called out again, the name catching on his throat as he feels more tears roll down his cheeks. 

There’s a shuffle of the bed covers along with a groan as Swiss turns over and peers into the darkness.  “Tommy?” 

Phantom let’s out a sob and he stumbles forwards, tripping over something as he goes. He lets out a scream, running towards Swiss.  “Swiss, Swiss, daddy, it got me. Please don’t let it get me.” 

Swiss sits up just in time for Phantom to crash into him. Swiss pulls him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and running his hand down his back as Phantom wraps his legs around his waist and buries his head in his neck.  “What is it, babybug? What got you?” 

Phantom whimpers, pushing his face deeper into Swiss’ neck. “The monster.” 

 Swiss frowns, placing a kiss to the top of Phantom’s head.  “Monster? What monster, baby?”

“The one that lives in the dark.” Phantom mumbles into his neck, rubbing his cheek against Swiss’ scent gland.  

“Baby, there’s no monster up here. The closest thing we have to a monster here is Papa Nihil.” 

Phantom giggles before he sits up and looks at Swiss.  “But it touched me.” 

“I think that was a shoe, darling.” Swiss runs a hand through Phantom’s hair. “My rooms a little messy, I haven’t had time to clean it for a while.” 

Phantom rests his head back on Swiss’ shoulder, nosing at his scent gland again.  “Oh.” He giggled again. “Just a shoe.” 

Swiss sits back against the headboard pulling a phantom with him. The smaller ghoul curls up in his lap, resting his head on Swiss’ chest so he can listen to his heartbeat. Swiss cards his fingers through Phantom’s hair making the ghouls sigh and lean into his touch.  “What’s got you awake so early, babybug? Nightmare?” 

Phantom shakes his head.  “Head hurted.” 

“Oh my poor baby.” Swiss kisses the top of his head again. “Does it still hurts?” 

Phantom let’s out a whimper, now the distraction of the monsters has gone he remembered the pain in his head.  “Yeah, daddy.” 

“Oh my poorly boy.” Swiss shuffled down so he’s lying back down and pulls the covers up to cover the both of them. “You want me to help with it? I know my quintessence isn’t that strong but I think I can handle a headache.” 

Phantom snuggles deeper into Swiss’ chest. “Yes please, daddy.” 

Swiss massages at Phantom's temples with two of his fingers, channeling the little quintessence he has through his fingers. Phantom relaxes almost immediately, his jaw going slack as he lets out a little moan in relief. 

“That feel good, darling?” Swiss smiles down at the ghoul, watching him snuggle his bat to his chest. 

Phantom hums in reply, his eyes fluttering closed    . He starts to feel tired now that the pain in his head is slowly starting to disappear thanks to Swiss. He starts to chew on the wing of his bat not realising what he’s doing, finally feeling comfortable. 

Swiss tuts lightly at him, pulling the wing out of his mouth.  “Don’t chew on that, babybug. It’s not good for you.” 

Phantom whines and pouts up at Swiss.  “Daddyyy.” 

“Here you have this.” Swiss pull the clip attached to his shirt finding Phantom’s pacifier on the end. He taps it against Phantom’s bottom lip and pushes it into his mouth when he parts his lips.  “See? That’s better, huh?” 

Phantom thrills as he sucks the pacifier, his eyes feeling suddenly incredibly heavy. 

“Go back to sleep, bug. It’s still so early we’ve got more time to sleep.” Swiss continues to rub at his temples. “And in the morning I’ll make you breakfast, anything your little belly wants.” 

Phantom thrills again and snuggles his bat closer into his chest and he cuddles deeper into Swiss. It doesn’t take long for him to drift back off to sleep, a deep purr rumbling through his body. 

#regressed ghouls #the band ghost #ficlet #phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #anonymous #ask #my writing

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Stud.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel x Reader (Spider-Verse).

Summary: Miguel wants a family. You don't, but he doesn't care.

A Grab Bag For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

TW: Trans!Miguel, AMAB!Reader, N0n//C0n, Overstimulation, Forced Breeding, Bondage, Themes Of Helplessness, and Unhealthy Relationships.

You almost wished that he would paralyze you.

It was an awful thing to think, an awful thing to want, but you just couldn’t help it. You knew what it was like to be at the mercy of his venom. You could remember how it felt to have your body stiffen against your will, your joints lock into place, your mind remaining clear and lucid and hyper-aware that you couldn’t do anything to get away from him, and still, you couldn’t help but think it’d be better than this – than the feeling of his webbing pulsing around your wrists and ankles, of your body going limp not because of anything Miguel forced into your veins, but due to just how weak you were, compared to him. Then knowing he’d given you a fighting chance, and it hadn’t changed a thing.

Not that he’d meant to. It was a matter of practicality, of limiting as many adverse variables as he could without pumping you full of aphrodisiacs and turning you into a brain-dead toy. There’d been tests, nights spent with his fist wrapped around your cock as he measured your sensitivity, your refraction period, your… output, for lack of a less off-putting choice of words. Paralysis made things difficult, dampened your reactions, made it difficult to get what he wanted out of you and into him, and therefore, it was off the table, along with sedatives, tranquilizers, or anything else that might’ve made the experience less excruciating. You’d fought back at first, kicked and screamed and clawed at him in hopes that he’d do something to put you out of your misery, but that’d only earned you your improvised restraints and a knot of soreness in your pelvis, where his hips beat into yours. He was straddling you, knees bent and hands wrapped around the bars of his headboard, his expression caught between concentration and empty-headed lust. You couldn’t imagine how he was still upright, still rational, still riding you just as violently as he has been when he first slid you into him. You hadn’t done anything other than moan and cum, and you were barely on the verge of consciousness.

Barely, barely, then not at all. Your eyes fell shut, your mind going blank for all of half a second before one of his hands dropped to your face, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, keeping you awake despite your best efforts to save yourself just a few minutes of suffering. His pussy clenched around your cock as your eyes met, but any semblance of pleasure was lost to the agonizing burn of overstimulation. You wished you were numb. You wished he would let you go numb. “C’mon, amor,” he panted, his voice raspy and a tired smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I know that’s not everything you can give me.”

It was. It really was. He’d already taken everything he could, from you. Your cum was already spilling out of his cunt, already mixing with his slick and pooling on his sheets. Your sides were rubbed raw where his muscular thighs were slotted against them, and you couldn’t begin to imagine the pain you’d be in tomorrow, after the adrenaline faded and the ache set in and Miguel’s ‘aftercare’ proved to be a glass of water, a military-style shower, and more unwanted affection. That was, if he even decided aftercare was necessary, if he didn’t just leave you tied up and prepped for your next breeding session. You wouldn’t put it above him, knowing how he tended to leave his half-finished projects spread across any available surface for months at a time. Despite your immobility, you shuddered, imagining yourself staying chained to his bed and milked dry until he got the two little lines he was looking for. Until he had something to fill the empty void in his chest where his heart should’ve been, the one your exploitation alone couldn’t heal.

You forced yourself not to think about it. You forced yourself not to think about the future. You forced yourself not to think about anything as his pace sped up, as he took to grinding himself against you, as his back arched and his head dipped lower and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His skin was damp and hot, but it wasn’t a feeling you’d have to suffer for long. With labored, jerky movements, he raised his head and forced his lips against yours. The kiss was messy, violent, all teeth and tongue and fangs. You didn’t kiss back – if you had the strength, you wouldn’t have wasted it on that – but that did little to deter Miguel. He wanted to use you. Your cooperation (or lack thereof) wouldn’t change that.

“That’s it, just— Fuck, I know you’re going to love her.” You could feel him clenching around you, his slick dripping onto your stomach. He was going to cum again, and judging by the tightness in your chest, the raw agony clawing at the back of your skull, you weren’t far behind. “Do it. Knock me up. Breed me.”

It was an order, a demand, and you were too exhausted to disobey. It was more pitiful than anything – barely the forced, rigid aftershocks of however many climaxes he’d forced out of you. Still, his tight cunt forced every last drop out of you, milking you for all you were worth as he clenched his eyes shut and convulsed around you. Finally, finally, he went still, letting out a breath of a sigh before straightening his back. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched his hazy features contort into a careless grin, felt something deep inside of your chest fall and crack as he rolled his hips, falling back into a steady rhythm before you could so much as start to hope he was actually done with you, this time. “Just a little more,” he muttered, as your vision blurred and, exhausted and in agony, you slipped out of consciousness and into a restless, dreamless sleep.

“Just a little more, then we’ll be a family.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere oneshot #yandere spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse imagines #yandere across the spiderverse #spiderverse imagines #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #yanderecore #yancore

[fanficsformyfaves]

And I've Been Meaning To Tell You, I Think Your House Is Haunted

Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader

WARNING: ANGST, Emotionally and Physically Abusive Relationship with Father, Hurt to Comfort

PREFACE: After a fight with her dad, Reader runs back up to her room, when she hears someone at her window

A/N: Phone calls are Colored and in Bold!

Sidney and Billy aren't together and Billy and Stu are not a killers in this A/U!

"YOU'RE A SHIT DAD! YOU DRIVE MOM AWAY BY CHEATING ON HER AND NOW, YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU SOLD MY CAR?! FOR WHAT?! TO BUY MORE FUCKING BOOZE?!", I scream,

Shoving him backwards. Just then, my father slaps me across me the face, causing a gasp to escape me as a result. I hold the stinging hand mark on my cheek, as the ringing began to pick up in my ears.

"Bitch to someone that fucking cares", he spits,

Sitting back down and picking up another bottle.

"Kill yourself", I say under my breath,

Before storming back up to my room and slamming the door behind me.

My life was a living nightmare that I couldn't escape from. Ever since my mom left, everything went to shit. All my father ever did was turn to alcohol to fill that void and he used me as the punching bag to distract himself from his own misery.

I wanted to go with her, but she was already gone before I even knew what happened. The only reason I found out was by reading the note she left on the kitchen counter when I woke up that morning.

To say I was devastated would be an understatement.

As I sat on the foot of my bed, struggling to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill and remembering the pain I felt on the day day she left, I hear something rustle on the other side my window.

"What the fuck?", I mutter to myself,

Getting back up. I reluctantly make my way to the window and open it to look outside.

At first, I don't see anything, but then I feel a hand grab at my wrist, making me scream at the top of my lungs, as I pulled away.

"Hey...it's just me", Billy reassures,

"Billy? What the-"

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me", he interrupts,

While climbing through to the inside of my room.

"What are you doing here?", I question,

"I heard you screaming from down the street", he answers,

Dusting himself off.

Billy and I met during sophomore year and got together a few months later. Him and his friends were the only people I actually enjoyed hanging out with. My dad never cared about me, so it was nice to have people that did. Whenever another fight would happen, they'd always insist on me staying the night at one of theirs.

"It's fine", I sigh in defeat,

Sitting back down on my bed.

"Doesn't sound like it", he joins me,

Before taking my hand into his.

"Look, I ain't gonna make you tell me anything you don't want to...but I'm worried about you, kid", he caresses the back of my hand,

As I nervously chew at my bottom lip.

"You know I'm always here to listen"

"It just sucks, Billy. He fucked up things up with my mom and now he's fucking things up for me", I explained,

He shakes his head, tucking a rouge strand of hair behind my ear. It was just then he notices the hand mark on my cheek.

"What the fuck?", he exclaims,

"Billy-"

"Did he fucking hit you?", he cuts off,

"Yes, but, it doesn't matter-"

"Like hell, it doesn't!", he yells,

Getting off the bed and rushing towards my door, when I make a desperate attempt to stop him by wrapping my arms around his waist.

"Billy, please don't!", I shriek,

Not wanting to make things were.

"That son of a bitch can't just hurt you and get away with it!"

"Billy", I sob,

Unable to hold back the tears from spilling any longer. His body softens and he looks back at me from underneath his arm.

"It'll only make things worse, please", I pleaded,

Seeing how distraught I was, he takes a deep breath and turns to hold me tight in his arms.

"Okay, fine"

"He'll hurt you too. Just...please don't"

I would've never been able to forgive myself if something happened to Billy.

"Hey, look at me", he says,

Pulling away and holding my warm face in his hands.

"I'm not letting you stay here. My old man's out of town for the week, so you can stay at mine"

"I couldn't impose-"

"It's not imposing, if I ask"

"I'd make me feel a lot better to know you were fine and what better way to make sure of that, then to have you stay with me?"

"I don't know, Billy"

On one hand, my dad couldn't give less of a shit where I slept, but on the other, I hated feeling like a charity case.

"Look, we could invite the gang over and watch some scary movies. I know you're a sucker for those", he suggests,

Making me laugh to myself.

"We could even stop by the store and get you your favorite snacks, obviously, it's my treat", he added,

Taking my hands into his. I couldn't help but sigh contently at his sweet he was. Every time we were together, it felt like nothing else mattered, except us in that moment.

"So?"

I take a moment, before finally agreeing.

"That does sound nice"

"Yes! Alright, pack your shit and meet me outside. My car's parked down the street, so I need to get it", he exclaims excitedly,

Pressing his lips go mine, as I giggle at his eagerness.

"I'll call everyone and let them know we're meeting at yours"

"Sounds like a plan. See you in a minute", he says,

Hurrying out the window. I pick up the landline and dial up Tatum and Sidney first. A few rings go by and they both answer at the same time.

Sid: Hello?

Tate: Hey!

Me: Hey, so, impromptu movie sesh at Billy's. Are you girls' down?

Tate: Hell yeah!

Sid: I'd love to, but my dad would freak if I asked to go to Billy's house

Tate: Then, don't tell him? Just say you're staying at mine

Sid: I don't know-

Tate: We're going

Sid: Tate!

Tate: Oh, come on, Sidney, I'll pick you up!

Me: I really want you guys there. I'm inviting the guys too and I'd rather not drown in all that testosterone

Tate: Exactly! We can't just leave our girl to fend for herself!

Me: Pretty please with the juiciest cherries on top?!

Sid: *Sighs* Alright. I'm packing a bag

Tatum: Awesome! I'll be there in 10

Me: Kk, see you there! Just gotta call up Bert and Ernie

I joke, before hanging up and putting in their numbers in. As I waited, I began stuffing my backpack with pajamas, toiletries, my books for tomorrow and a change of clothes.

The moment I was done pulling up the zipper, Stu finally answered the call.

Stu: Hellooo

Me: Hey, Stu! Got a minute?

Stu: Oh, I've got all the time in the world for you, gorgeous

Me: *Scoffs*

Just then, Randy joins the call.

Randy: Hello?

Stu: Ugh, why'd you add rat-boy?

Randy: If I'm rat-boy, what the hell does that make you?

Stu: Incredibly sexy in comparison?

Randy: You know what-

Me: Jesus, could we please cut the biggest-dick-contest short?

Randy: He started it!

Stu: Oh, grow a pair!

Me: GUYS!

I scold, finally causing them to fall silent.

Me: I was just about to invite you for a movie night at Billy's, but if you two fucknuts can't get along-

Stu and Randy: No!

Stu: I mean...fine. We'll behave, Ms.(Y/L/N)

He promises in a sarcastic tone, making me roll my eyes.

Me: Just get to Billy's

I eventually hang up the phone, pick up my stuff and climbed out the window. Just as he promised, there Billy was, waiting for me in his car. I hop in and he turns up the music.

"You ready?"

I smile and kissed him once more.

"Hell yeah"

#billy loomis #scream #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis oneshot #billy loomis fanfic #billy loomis fluff #billy loomis angst #billy loomis smut #skeet ulrich

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.6

a/n: we get a bit of backstory about our dear little reader. let's see how she handles parents weekend, shall we?

Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: light swearing Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 (Masterlist)

Parents Weekend. Most of the students at Nevermore loved it; it gave them an opportunity to show their family how they were doing, who their friends were, what they were doing with their young lives. And truthfully, it was a joyous weekend. There was more laughter and joy than any other point of the year, even the Rave’N.

Even in the past, you had enjoyed Parents Weekend. The few days Momma and Pop could come up and visit and talk and give you the family you never truly had. Filling that void and giving you the space and opportunity to just be a child. You and Nicky had never been more grateful for something you hadn’t realised was so important.

You understood why they hadn’t been able to come the past few years, truly you did. The others had plays, concerts, events, exams. They were all a little more important than a weekend away, especially when it was a full day’s train ride. They had offered to come, but you told them to stay; being one of the oldest definitely had it’s downsides.

But you enjoyed seeing everyone else’s families rolling in, all the excited chattering and hugs. Even Enid’s family had arrived. You gave them a quick wave and polite smile before running off to hide. If Mrs. Sinclair made one more comment about no one coming to visit you, you were going to scream. The concern was sweet, but there was no point in dredging that fact back up.

“Will you be heading out soon?”

Even though your heart rate accelerated at the sudden appearance of a voice, you shouldn’t have been surprised. Principle Weems knew of your plans for the day and had already given explicit permission to be out all weekend. So why you flinched at her voice, you had no idea.

Must have been nerves.

“A lot sooner now that Mrs. Sinclair saw me,” you said, sending a smile to Mr. Sinclair when they all turned to look at you. “I’m trying to avoid the attention this year.”

“I know you were planning on staying away for the weekend,” Principle Weems started, “but maybe tomorrow you and I could socialise with the other families.”

The tone in her voice, now that was a reason to be surprised. An uncertainty accentuated by the slightest shake behind her words. Without drawing any attention to you both, you looked at her out of the corner of your eye to see that yes, that forced smile of hers was real.

It would mean cutting your trip in half. These trips only happened every other Sunday and this was your one shot at a full weekend. Would it be worth it? Is it what he would want you to do? Probably, you thought with a silent sigh. As much as it felt like throwing your heart into a juicer, you knew what the best thing to do would be.

“I would love to,” you said far too softly. Hopefully Principle Weems had heard you because you weren’t sure you could say it again around the tightness in your throat.

But Principle Weems smiled. “Then we will see you tomorrow.”

She left you standing there with nothing but a dry mouth and an uneasiness in your stomach. It continued to plague you on the flight to Hanover, and reached a crescendo as you greeted Nurse Jackie at the desk and walked into the room. Only when you sat down in your chair by the bed did you feel that anxiety and fear metamorphosise into a comfort you couldn’t put into words.

“Hey bubba” you said as you started digging in your bag for the book. “You look like shit, when was the last time you shaved?”

The high pitched, headache inducing beeping of the heart monitor answered.

“We’ll clean you up before I leave,” you huffed, “I’m not kissing your scruffy cheek.”

The ventilator hissed.

“I told you about that girl I like, right?” You asked. The chair creaked underneath you as you pulled your legs up and crossed them. “The goth girl that looks like she wants to murder everyone, except it’s kinda hot?”

One spike of the heart monitor.

“I was thinking of asking her out again.”

An increase in the beeping of the heart monitor.

“No, it’s not a date." You rolled your eyes. "She doesn’t use that word.”

Another rapid increase.

“I know that’s what it is, she just doesn’t like the word.”

The heart monitor returned back to normal.

“Anyway, I need your thoughts. Would it be stupid to ask her to the Rave’N? It’s not either of our style but it’s still tradition so I just… need some brotherly advice.”

Three breaths from the ventilator before the heart monitor spiked twice.

“You were supposed to say yes,” you said with a huff. “Fine, I’ll ask. But if she turns me down, I’m blaming you.” You pointed your finger at the bed. With a smirk to yourself, you flipped the pages of the book open. “Okay, let’s see, we stopped after Gandalf and the Balrog, right?”

The heart monitor spiked once.

Your smirk turned into a smile before you started reading. Line after line, page after page. At the end of each chapter, you would look up to check on your captive audience, listening for any indication of his thoughts from the heart monitor. With each new chapter your stomach dropped all over again, some sad desperation for a response that was never going to come.

A groan escaped your lips as you shifted in the chair, stretching your legs out until they rested on the bed and you could lean back a little further. You made the mistake of looking up in the middle of the chapter. Your throat constricted, the words becoming harder to force out.

“Sorry,” you said as you cleared your throat. You picked up where you had left off.

Nicky laid there and listened as you read through the rest of the book, the uneasiness in your voice disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

—---

There was nothing in heaven or hell that was quite like love. It came in all shapes and sizes, from romantic to familial to platonic. That unbearable queasiness that settles in your stomach like a body settles at the bottom of a lake and gives a certain sort of intrigue and comfort. To know that someone would kill for you, to die for you. That was what made love so exciting.

Morticia could see it in everyone present at the Parents Weekend events. Although the day was rather dreadful - far too bright and sunny - everyone was filled with love for whoever they were with. She could see it in Enid Sinclair’s family, whom she had introduced herself to. It was present in Wednesday, although a much different expression (she knew Wednesday still loved them).

And she saw it in Larissa and the young woman accompanying her.

She had noticed Larissa immediately, as she so often did, but the young woman caught her eye. The way she would look up at Larissa as if she hung the moon in the night sky. Morticia knew Larissa had no children, and yet she looked at the young lady the same way Morticia looked at her own children.

“I’ll be right back,” Morticia told Gomez before making her way to where Larissa was standing.

“Morticia,” Larissa called out once she was near. She sounded far more joyful than usual. “Always a pleasure.”

“I see you’re enjoying the festivities for the day,” Morticia said even though her gaze fell to the young woman who was actually quite tall, now that she was up close.

“We are,” Larissa said, her smile softening as she looked at her companion. “Allow me to introduce you both, this is Morticia Addams.”

“Oh, you’re Wednesday’s mom,” the young lady exclaimed with a grin and enthusiastically reaching her hand out, “I’m Y/N.”

Ah. So that’s who you were. Morticia knew exactly who you were. Numerous times she had heard Wednesday or Enid talk about you, even just in passing, with an admiration that she rarely saw from her own daughter. Her features would soften and she would threaten you bodily harm far less often than usual. 

It had been so unusual at first to hear Wednesday talk about anyone, let alone someone that brought out a completely different side of her. They were only occasional mentions of you, but they were enough for Morticia to catch on to it. One mention of your name and Wednesday’s eyes would go wide before trailing off to the side, her train of thought completely derailed for a fraction of a second too long.

While Morticia would never proclaim to know for a fact that her daughter had feelings for you, it was easy enough to tell. And when Enid had let it slip all those weeks ago that you had taken Wednesday to perform an autopsy? Then the immediate darkening of her daughter’s cheeks and nose before changing the subject? It was all Morticia needed to know.

And now she could put a face to the name.

Across the field, Wednesday stared in abject horror as her mother shook your hand. The same horror that she assumed one would feel when witnessing something traumatic, such as a car accident. A feeling that settled deep in her stomach, clawed it’s way up her throat because as horrifying as the scene was, she just couldn’t look away.

That feeling of horror slowly morphed into one that she couldn’t explain when you smiled at her mother and your feather’s twitched at something she had said. That single twitch, the ruffle, put a weight on her heart and forced it to beat harder, so hard that she could feel the physical pain within her chest. Why were you smiling at her mother like that? What had she said to make your wings twitch in that childishly giddy way?

Oh no.

Her heart’s struggle to beat came to a full stop like a car hitting a brick wall. Her mother was leading you over to where Wednesday and her family were situated. The way you followed her, with your hands swinging at your sides, reminded Wednesday of an avenging angel; dark and foreboding and your eyes on every little thing that passed.

She wanted you to follow her around like that. Would you keep her safe from those who wished her and her family harm? Her heart told her you would, you always would, you had already done so time and time again. But as you got closer and closer to seeing her family, her entire being, her mind told her no. No, you wouldn’t keep her safe, you wouldn’t keep her family safe. You were far too innocent, far too sweet, so adverse to trouble.

But she wanted you to stay. She needed you to stay the way a gaping wound needed stitches. Craved your touch the way a an infection craved moisture. It was humiliating to think such thoughts, Wednesday knew that, but if it was the truth then it was the truth. She needed you to stay and be near even if it was as nothing more than an acquaintance.

Though she refused to ever admit it. It was a weakness she would never act upon.

Her mother finally brought you to the family and introduced you to Wednesday’s father and brother. You shook their hands, a polite smile on your face, and Wednesday felt that budding feeling in her stomach again. Your smile should have been reserved for someone more deserving than her father and brother.

You were invited to sit with them for a time, and you agreed quickly. Most would have tucked tail and ran, no one quite understanding how her family could be the way they were. But you sat down beside Pugsly - why would you not sit beside her? - and engaged in conversation far easier than most.

All Wednesday could do as you talked was stare at you. At the way you gestured your hands wildly as you talked, or how you held eye contact with everyone when they talked. You got along with Pugsly; why could you not get along with her the same way? Your conversations with him flowed as effortlessly as a river flowed into the ocean. Wednesday certainly couldn’t hold the same amount of engagement.

She noted the way your eyes flicked over to her every now and then as you talked or listened. Whenever someone would ask you a question, you would look at Wednesday first, almost as if asking permission to answer. She would give you a singular nod, and you would continue. What would cause you to look to her in such a way? Surely you knew how to answer questions on your own, did you not? And yet, she almost found herself enjoying the attention, no matter how discreet.

“I should probably get back,” you finally said once the conversation had lulled. “It was a genuine pleasure to meet all of you.”

You gave a polite wave, shook her father’s and Pugsly’s hands, kissed her mother’s knuckles, and walked back to where Weems was standing. Wednesday already felt feelings about you leaving; feelings that she didn’t know what to call since she admittedly hadn’t felt them before. She didn’t know why, but she desperately hoped her family had liked you, had seen you in the same light that she oh so often did. She-

-were you wearing her sweater?

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #everyone but her au

[draculasfavoritewife]

No Word For Hero

Summary: You love him and the way he will always be your protector, but sometimes facing the truth is the most terrifying thing of all.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares and discussions of death. The one-two punch of angst and fluffiness all in one. This one is a fair bit more somber than my other Mando stuff.

Another trope I will never ever get tired of -- the "having a nightmare while sleeping with your partner" routine! 🥳 Gets me in my feels every time, particularly with a character like Din who (to me at least) canonically also has frequent nightmares. I first drafted this one a couple summers ago as a result of all my feelings after that big moment in "The Marshal", as I'm sure will be obvious.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

It's coming, exploding up from beneath the billowing sands, looming over everyone, titanic, monstrous, ravenous....

...He turns to you, ever so briefly, tilts his head in that meaningful look you know all too well...that damn look that means he's going to play hero again.

Damn his altruism.

When is he going to stop?

You already know that answer, too. It lurks forever in the back of your mind, awake or asleep, always whispering there, a constant venom ever deepening its grasp around your heart until one day the cold reality finally breaks it.

He'll stop when he finally doesn't come back to you.

When he's at last granted the warrior's death you know he desires.

Only then.

You can't even scream as he disappears down the dragon's throat, too frozen with horror to make a sound....

You bolt upright, gasping for breath, damp hair clinging to your face and tears running down, their salty tang sharp on your lips.

Stupid nightmares.

"Go away," you mutter, rubbing harshly at your eyes. "Just stop."

The cot is small, realistically much too small for two adults, and your distress is painfully evident to the man sharing it with you, whose arm has just been violently dislodged from its place around your torso.

"Bad dream?"

He sounds tired. He hardly ever sleeps through a full night at the best of times, and even then it's rarely a deep sleep.

If the old saying "sleep with one eye open" were actually true, Din would be its personification.

You curse your overactive mind a second time, for disturbing his precious few moments of rest along with your own.

"I'm fine." You don't lie back down, instead pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms tightly around them. Normally you find his quarters chilly, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes the room suddenly feel close and stuffy.

He shifts against you in the dark, no doubt to study your posture. "You don't sound fine."

You sigh. "I will be. You should try and get some sleep, Din."

You hear him lean back into the wall, a long exhale betraying stiffness somewhere in his muscles.

You've offered him the side of the bed that's not right up against the wall, but to your surprise he actually likes to be pressed closely between your body and the solidness of metal at his back.

You suspect it gives him a sense of security in a life that holds so little for him.

"I'm sorry I woke you," you add before he can speak again.

"You didn't." His revelation is cool and distant, as if his lack of rest means nothing to him. "I haven't slept at all tonight."

You turn to stare at him in dismay, only to be met with the void of deep darkness. "Why didn't you --"

"What? Wake you up to tell you I can't sleep?" Somehow you know he's shaking his head at you. "That fixes nothing, Cyar'ika. My sleep was disturbed since long before we met." His voice softens as he reaches for you, his large, comfortingly familiar hand stroking down your side. "But when I have you in my arms, listening to your breathing, I can at least find some peace. And that is often enough."

You let out another shuddering breath and gaze out into the dim compartment, the images from your nightmare replaying over and over behind your eyes like a holovid stuck on loop.

"I think I need some air," you murmur.

"Take my shirt, then." You're grateful he doesn't try to stop you; he knows you were taking care of yourself for a long time before you two struck up your partnership. He trusts you to look out for danger.

"Vor'e, Cyare." You slide from the bed, his fingers trailing away from your hip as you break from his gentle touch. He watches as you blindly take his shirt from the pile of clothes left on the floor and pull it over your head, pausing only to grab a vibroblade before exiting his quarters.

"I'll come back," you promise softly.

And the words sting deep down as they leave your lips, knowing that one day, one of you might not be able to keep that promise.

The night is cool and clear on this planet, and the breeze smells like living growth from the thick woods nearby. It's a far cry from the dust and smoke of so many of the worlds you've stayed on before, and soon you start to calm down, heartbeat returning to normal and perspiration drying at the wind's light touch. Everything is peaceful around you, the night birds calling and water flowing somewhere behind the trees.

Not for the first time, your thoughts stray towards the impossibility of trying to stay somewhere like this place, to drop everything you know and carve out a life on a frontier planet somewhere. You and Din and Grogu, living modestly and secretly away from the prying eyes of the Imperials or the Jedi, pretending at normalcy....

There's the key word.

Pretending.

You've played many parts since you lost your buir so many years ago. Dancer in the clubs of the Core worlds, thief, animal wrangler, pilot, hired gun. You could adapt, you feel fairly certain. It's the skill that's most reliably kept you alive this long.

But Din....

He's so deeply entrenched in his upbringing. His honor, and the hunt, mean everything to him. Whatever else he tries to be, he will always be the Mandalorian first and foremost. The Way runs through his veins, thicker than blood, and the fierce heart of a warrior beats beneath the beskar.

It's why he will ultimately always make sacrifices to keep those under his protection safe.

It's who he is. His identity.

The reason that one day he might not emerge from the belly of the beast in triumph.

And you love him, exactly the way he is. You'd never ask him to change.

But Maker, sometimes the knowledge of what that means hurts deeper than any physical wound.

So you stand there at the edge of the woods and let the tears come, let the sobs wrack your body as you bury yourself deeper in his comforting shirt, praying that the day never comes that all you have left are memories and clothes that smell like him.

Eventually, your grief runs its course and you can breathe once again. The crunch of footsteps in the damp grass warrants a side glance, but as you thought, it's only your beroya, come to check on you, no doubt.

"You've been out here a long time," he remarks.

"Had a lot on my mind."

He encircles you in his arms from behind, chin resting in the dip of your shoulder. You're surprised that he didn't replace his helmet to come out here, but sunrise is still a long way off.

"I'm usually the one with the nightmares," he teases softly. "This one must have been rough. Want to talk?"

You find his hands at your waist, interlock your fingers with his.

"I lost someone. Someone very important to me."

Turning slightly so you can rest your cheek against his, you kiss the very edge of his lips. "It scares me, Din."

He's quiet for some time, and you try to imagine the expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispers. "I can't give you anything but my word that I will always try my hardest to come back to you. That is what fuels me, ner'kar'ta. The fire in my blood, the strength in my bones, is knowing that I need to make it back for you. But I realize that it is a double-edged blade. Because it also means I would give everything, to keep you safe in the end."

"I know, Din. I remember what my buir used to tell me, you know, how we have no word for 'hero' in our mother tongue, because to be Mando'ade is to risk all for the ones you love. I know I'm so selfish." You turn all the way around at last, hiding your face in his bare chest. "But I accept your vow. And it will have to be enough."

Collecting yourself and finally raising your haunted gaze to his, you manage a small smile. "But I will fight for you, Din Djarin. Death will find one hell of a struggle when it finally comes for you, I can promise you that."

"There's my girl." The fond grin in his voice is audible. "Now, will you come back to bed? It's getting lonesome in there."

You let him lead you back to the ship, and the sigh of the wind now seems to promise to whisk your fears away for the time being.

The door slides shut behind you, and you shiver, realizing all of a sudden just how cold you are. His shirt is a welcome barrier against the biting chill, and you wonder how he was able to get along without it outside.

"Cold?" he asks.

"Yes." You reach out for him, wordlessly begging for his warmth.

He sidesteps you and folds his arms across his chest. "Take it off," he demands, and indicates the shirt with a nod, husky voice brimming with humor and a shade of something hungrier. "Or I will."

You hug the worn fabric closer to your body and shake your head mutinously. "But it's the only thing keeping me warm!"

"So you've chosen the hard way." He crosses the small space in a couple of long strides and starts to tease the garment off of you, bit by agonizing bit. "And how dare you let a piece of clothing do a man's job."

"You're making me cold again," you complain as he pulls you into bed with him, the hunter retreating back to his lair to finish off his fortunate prey.

"Then honor dictates I repair the damage I've caused," he hums, and you surrender to the bliss of being completely enveloped in his embrace. Din has always run hot, ever since you started sleeping together, and his warmth and familiar weight are so much better than any sweet dream of yours could be.

In the here and now, he's still alive, and he's still yours.

There will be no more tears tonight.

"Better?" he growls into your throat.

You run your fingers through his thick curls, sighing at the way he always manages to banish all of your dark thoughts away. And maybe now there will even be time for him to get some sleep before morning as well.

"I am now."

Vor'e = Thank you

Buir = Parent

Beroya = Bounty Hunter

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Mando'ade = Child of Mandalore

#din djarin #x reader #the mandalorian #bounty hunter #romance #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #female reader #sentimental #favorite tropes #nightmare #comfort #star wars #self insert #a bit sad #bad dreams #soft din djarin #angst #hes so lovely #im not crying you are

[doxypsychlean]

Hi! Could do a Aegon II Targaryen x Targaryen niece reader. Like there married and they get in a fight over something little and he disappears for the night and she thinks she he's cheating. But he's out been flying his dragon. Happy at the end please?

Pour Me Another

Aegon II Targaryen x Targ!Reader

Warnings: More Targcest

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your toes off!

English isn't my first language. I don't proofread. I slap commas wherever I feel they're needed.

A/N: Welp, idk about yall but to me, this is as close as we can get to a happy end w her thinking he's cheating.

It had been long since the last log in the fireplace had turned to ash and the fire had died. The wind that was coming through the wide open windows let out another enraged howl as it stormed into the room. It was gone just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the young woman to stare at the canopy as she laid on the bed, not moving a muscle. She kept going over what had happened few hours earlier, in her head.

"I do not ask much of you, Aegon, just do not make a fool out of me for everyone at court to see!"

"I have done no such thing! I was just having fun! Nothing happened between me and that girl!"

"I do not care,Aegon! Have your way with as many whores as you wish, but have the dignity to do it behind closed doors!"

She winced at the memory of his pained expression. The way he dropped at her feet, knees slamming into the ground. Aegon crawling over to her, hands reaching for hers.

"Why don't you trust me? I haven't been with another! I love you..."

Then came the slap. Her heart acted, before her mind. The thought of him, touching her with the same hands he'd used on those whores, filled her with disgust. Resentment. Jealousy.

"Do not say that again."

The woman turned on her side, hands clutching at her throat. She tried to swallow the lump, but the thing refused to go away. Her eyes were burning with angry tears. She sat up with her head lulling, as if she'd downed an entire barrel of the finest Dornish wine.

His eyes. Those crystal eyes, who'd been turned to her and only her, ever since they were children. They held nothing but pain in that moment, after she'd slapped him.

"I'll go..."

"Back to your whores, I suppose. Have you no shame? None at all?!"

Aegon left her there, quickly getting back to his feet and scurrying out of their shared chambers.

Another freezing howl came from outside, the sound bouncing off of the walls. She got up from the bed and made her way over to the fireplace, stumbling around as she walked. She stopped between the two chair, right in front if the table, where a few clean cups and a wine jug stood.

"He left me. Again." She whispered to herself, vision going blurry. "Again."

Hands slammed down on the table, the woman bending over slightly. She felt sick. Her throat had gone dry, and that lump... Still there, not budging.

Trembling fingers reached over to one of the clean cups. The woman straightened her back, her whole body swaying from side to side. Her brows furrowed, face twisting. She swung, the cup falling from her hand and into the dead fireplace. Glass shattered with a horrified scream for help, shards flying in all directions.

The doors behind her flew open, wood slamming into the walls. The hinges protested loudly, creaking as they were forcibly stretched to their full.

"What's going on?" Aegon's voice rang through the room, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. He saw nothing at first. The silence had set back in, staring from above as the Prince looked around the room, searching for the intruder.

"Got your fill for one night?" A low voice came from the void.

Another cup shattered, this one dangerously close to Aegon's head. It flew past him and hit the door, the Prince raising a hand just in time before the new wave of glass shards could meet his eyes.

"How were they? Any good? Tell me, husband..."

The voice was getting closer, accompanied by the sound of something dragging across the wall.

Her face showed from behind the door, the light of the candles in the corridor bouncing off of it.

"I wish to know."

Aegon tried to move towards her, but the woman stretched out her hand. He noticed the wine jug she was holding, half empty.

"You're drunk."

A scornful laugh came from her, but her mouth stayed closed. She looked up at him, eyes red and pupils constricted. Her tongue ran over her dry lips.

"I take after you."

Her head dropped back down with another laugh. Her shoulders shook with the sound, chest going up and down fast. She lost her balance as she put the jug next to her lips.

"Now that I am a drunkard, like you, all I need is to find me a few whores to keep me occupied." The woman said with a smack of her lips. A floppy grin twisted her face, but her eyes stayed the same- cold and distant. As if she was far,far away. "Have to fill the time when I'm not drinking with something."

Aegon tore the jug out of her hand as she tried to take another swig. The woman hissed, hand reaching to take it back. Aegon wrapped his free hand around her waist, the one with the jug going high above their heads.

"Tell me, husband..." The word came out with a growl. "Do you not wish me to be like you? That way I'll stay out your way. I won't torture you. We'll both be free to do what we want."

She dropped her hands down, her head turned to the side.

The wind came back once more, the still open doors swaying violently as the unwanted guest strode in through the windows.

"It wouldn't be that bad, you know?" The woman whispered. "You'll be with all the servant girls and whores you want. And I..."

She trailed off as she reached to fix the chain that was hanging around Aegon's neck.

"Well, maybe I will take Ser Erryk for myself. Or Ser Arryk. Maybe both of them?"

Aegon frowned, his top lip curving in a snarl. His grip on her got stronger, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"What? You can fuck half the Red Keep, but I can't enjoy the company of two handsome knights?" She teased. "Maybe I will seek them out on the morrow, once you're gone."

Aegon shook her, her head swinging as he did.

"You will do no such thing." The Prince said, pointed at her face with the same hand he was holding the wine jug with.

She eyed the thing, hunger in her eyes. Then those same hungry eyes looked past the jug and to his. A shiver ran down her back, the skin of her bare arms prickling.

"Why? Give me one good reason to not do it."

Aegon rolled his eyes, then let go of her. He took a step back, head shaking.

"Because I love you."

"I told you not to say that. Not to me." The woman closed the distance between them once more, chest touching against his. "You can lie to them all you want, if those women are foolish enough to believe it. But not me."

"I am not lying to you." Aegon said as he walked past her. He circled around one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, then sat down. His fingers ran over the glass jug one last time, then he placed it back on the table. "I wish you could see that..."

"If you're not lying to me, then why did you leave me again?" Her voice came from his left, slurring as she reached for one of the two remaining cups, then the jug. After, she sat down next to him, on the other chair. "You left me, so you can go back to them."

"I didn't. I was out with Sunfyre." Aegon admitted as he took the jug from her again. He reached for the other cup.

"Why?" She asked before she downed hers.

"I...I wanted to..." He was watching her from the corner of his eye, not sure of what to say.

"To get away from me?" Her cup hit the table. She bent forward, hands burying themselves in her silver-white hair.

"Do you think you'll ever find it in yourself to believe me?" The Prince asked, one leg crossing over the other as he leaned back. "I wasn't lying, I haven't been with another in... a while now."

"I doubt it." She whispered as she pushed her long hair away from her face, then turned to look at Aegon. "There will always be a part of me that will question you."

"Why?"

"What you've been doing throughout all these years has showed me all I need to know."

Her hands ran over the naked skin of her arms, just now realizing how cold it actually was. Aegon stood up as he unclasped his cloak. He stopped in front of her, then threw it over her shoulders.

"You lie, you drink, you bed every single woman that you lay eyes on. How can what you say ever be true?" Trembling fingers wrapped around the cloak, pulling it closer around her body.

Aegon walked over to the windows and shut them.

"It's late." He said. "And you're drunk."

The woman nodded her head with a giggle. She got up, leaving his cloak to hang off the chair.

"I'm also freezing." She announced, body swaying from side to side.

She was no longer feeling angry. In fact, she wasn't feeling anything. Just cold. And tired.

She stumbled as she got on her feet, knocking one of the cups on the floor.

Aegon reached her with a few big strides, then he picked her up. Another giggle came from her, hands wrapping around his neck as the Prince made his way to their bed

He put her down and pushed her back. Her head hit the mattress, bouncing up and down. Aegon laid beside her, then covered their bodies with the blankets.

She turned her back to him, then one hand reached back for his. She draped it over her body, eyes falling shut as he pulled her closer.

"Maybe one day..."

He placed a kiss on the crook of her neck, then sighed.

"I hope...Until then, I love you."

She didn't protest this time.

Aegon watched her for a bit, her body going up and down with every breath. Then his eyes closed.

The wind let out one last roar as it slammed against the shut windows, desperately trying to crawl back inside.

"I love you too."

#aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd fanfic #hotd #game of thrones #accepting requests #dance of dragons #requests open #house of the dragon

[bloodynereid]

Burnt Longing

part 4 of Those Sunlit Kisses! you can find part 1 here, part 2 here and part 3 here.

pairing: robert 'rosie' rosenthal x fem! oc (lucy everett)

warnings: assumed death, really bad coping mechanisms, crying, mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of smoking, angst with a happy ending

description: lucy gets a call.

a/n: i made the mistake of listening to sufjan stevens while writing this and nearly ended up sobbing like a small child so that was fun. anyways hope you enjoy the last part before the epilogue! i had so much fun writing this series (not really this last part but yk). also pls make sure to read the previous parts or else you will be VERY confused. OH and this isn't about the real people just the characters portrayed on screen!

Lucy felt herself float off again, the words in front of her were becoming blurry as tears started to pool in the edges of her eyes. She bit her lip, hard, in an effort to make them go away and tried to refocus.

The smell of coffee, ink and paper surrounded her at the desk she shared with Martin, one of the older correspondents who more or less hated her. It was a small mercy that he was off on assignment that afternoon; he wouldn’t be there to witness her complete breakdown.

She hadn’t cried since she got the news, instead she threw herself into writing and now it seemed like her body was done fighting the battle against grief as tears fell down her cheeks.

Lucy thought back to the horrifying phone call she had gotten in the middle of the night about a week ago, maybe longer. God, time was starting to blur.

The loud ringing of her phone pulled her out of a deep slumber, making Lucy stumble around until she finally lit the hallway light and got to the living room just in time to pick up the phone before the last ring.

“Hello?” She asked groggily, coughing slightly trying to clear her throat that was clearly thick with sleep.

“Lucy?” She perked up at the familiar sound of Harry’s voice.

“Yeah? Is everything alright, Harry? Is this about the travel arrangements for next week be-”

“It’s Rosie.” 

The tone in his voice made an ice cold chill run down the length of Lucy’s spine. Her instincts were screaming at her to run, to do something but she stood frozen as Harry’s voice sounded more and more muffled. The ringing in her ears intensified as she uttered some words in response to one of Harry’s questions and then clicked the phone back into the receiver.

She felt like a ghost from that moment on as she got back into bed and didn’t move until the sun started to shine through her window.

Sleep had evaded her grasp for the days after, the only thing that seemed to get her to finally rest was quite a few glasses of rather strong scotch.

Lucy wasn’t really sure she was actually at work at that moment. She was aware that she had written and delivered two articles in the past few days which according to her editor were some of her best work yet but she didn’t feel real.

There was a cold feeling encasing her body like a shroud, that knowing that she would most probably never see her darling Rosie again was chipping away at her soul.

Lucy knew she wasn’t the best at coping with grief, and there was a large possibility that Rosie was still alive. He had promised to come back to her after all, but she could never be sure. Not until she heard his voice, saw his ocean blue eyes and ran her hands through his curls.

She couldn’t believe that it was a month ago when she last saw him. When she last kissed him. When they last hugged. When- Lucy muffled a sob with the palm of her hand as she blurrily looked around the newsroom.

The feeling of complete desperation hadn’t gone away since she had heard those horrible words. Lucy had done what she had always done and threw herself into work but it felt different this time. It was like her other half was just gone. Void.

Lucy wiped off the tears that started to fall from her eyes and looked at the hand written pages of notes in front of her. A brief exhale later she started to gather them together into one not very neat pile and shoved them into a folder. 

She then briskly walked over to Johnson’s office, watching as her editor typed away at his typewriter - probably writing an angry letter to the promotional people that came in that morning. He still hadn’t gotten another assistant and now had to deal with typing things out himself.

“Hey. Is it alright if I leave a little early today? It’s rather slow today.” Lucy said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She could already feel the tears starting to pool in her eyes once again.

“Of course, Everett. Uh- are you alright?” Johnson said as he looked up for a moment and grimaced slightly.

“Oh yes. Of course. Just tired.”

“Right. Will you be alright by tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir. It’s nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix.” Lucy knew that the only thing that could mend her broken heart at that moment was the news that Rosie was alive but her editor didn’t need to know that. Not when he literally fired his last assistant for just messing up his coffee order.

“Wonderful. See you tomorrow then, Everett. Good job this past week.”

“I try, sir. Thank you.” Lucy tried to smile slightly as Johnson looked at her for a moment before nodding and going back to angrily typing out something.

The streets of London were crowded and Lucy desperately tried to keep things together for just another fifteen minutes until she reached her flat. She kept getting jostled by passing strangers and annoyed mothers.

The only time she took a moment to stop and breathe was when she saw one of the many wreckages that the German bombs had caused. She thought she was desensitized to it all by now but it still made her heart ache whenever she saw the ruins of lives that could have been.

Rosie was one of the reasons why more German bombs weren’t dropped and Lucy just kept getting reminded of the man she so desperately loved. The world just wasn’t fair. It was like she saw his ghost everywhere.

Cold bed sheets welcomed her in when she finally collapsed into bed. The open bottle of scotch that sat on the bedside table burned her throat as she took a gulp of the burning liquid. 

Lucy also went to grab the pack of cigarettes she had swiped from Martin’s side of the desk that morning. She hadn’t smoked in a while and she knew that if Rosie saw her right now he would be disappointed. But he wasn’t there and that was part of the problem.

So Lucy lit up a cigarette and sat cocooned in bed until several hours later the sound of the phone ringing filtered through the flat. She laid still as it seemed to get louder and louder, taking drags of the stolen cigarette until the phone stopped ringing. 

The last time she had answered that damned thing, her entire world had stopped. Her irrational mind supplied her with the tortuous idea that the call would be to inform her this time that Rosie was no longer M.I.A. instead that he was K.I.A.

The phone rang again. And again. And again. Until Lucy had no other choice than to angrily stub out the end of the cigarette and walk over to the living room. Where with trembling hands she picked up the receiver and pressed the cool plastic to her ear.

“Lucille Everett speaking.” She answered cooly, clutching the cord with such intensity she could almost feel it penetrating her hand.

“Lucy? Darling? Are you there?” Lucy’s heart stopped for a moment and then restarted when she heard Rosie’s voice through the receiver. This couldn’t be real. She had to be dreaming. A strangled breath fought its way out of her throat as she dropped the phone back to the receiver.

A moment later the phone rang, and Lucy bit her lip as she traced the black cord. Her heart was thumping and she couldn’t believe that this was happening. She gingerly picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear.

“Rosie? Rosie? Are you real? Are you alive?” She whispered, not allowing herself to hope too much. This might just be some scotch induced delusion after all.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m okay, I’m here. A little banged up but I’m alive.” Lucy let out a relieved sob and collapsed onto the couch cushions.

“I thought- you promised you would make it back to me.”

“I did and I have. I would never leave you by choice, Lucy.” Lucy felt herself smiling slightly at Rosie’s familiar American accent. The fog slowly began to lift from her brain and she let herself to giggle slightly. Probably sounding completely insane but who cared? Her Rosie was alive.

“God. Rosie. I love you.”

“I love you too, so much.”

“Never do that to me again, you hear me Robert Rosenthal? I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“I swear on the love I have for you, darling. I’m here, alright? I’m going to be here for the rest of our days.”

“I sure hope so because I’d rather not be marrying a ghost.” Lucy said as happy tears rolled down her cheeks, her laughter sounded foreign to her ears. It was a sound she hadn’t thought she would make again.

“I promise that when this is all over I will get that ring to you.”

“You better, my love.”

“Lucy! Lucy! There’s a call for you.” Lucy turned around from the celebrations and looked as Margaret passed her pointed at the phone hanging off the wall.

“Thanks. Can you hold my glass?” Margaret nodded as Lucy passed her the champagne glass she had been sipping prosecco out of. She could hardly believe that it was the end of the bloody war! When Churchill had announced it on the radio it felt like the weight of the world suddenly disappeared from her shoulders.

“Hello? Lucille Everett speaking.” Lucy said as she pressed the familiar weight of the phone to her ear.

“Lucy! Darling! Let’s get married.” Rosie said, clearly laughing - making Lucy's already joyful heart burst.

“I thought we were already doing that!”

“Yes, well…”

“Rosie. I want to marry you but you said you wanted me to meet your mother first, hmm?”

“Alright but we get married right after! And I just know she’s going to love you.”

“Well we have all the time in the world now, darling.”

“Yes, we do. Are you coming up here soon? I haven’t seen you in too damn long.”

“What have you been drinking, Major?”

“Lucy…”

“Alright! I’ll stop teasing. I’ll be there when Harry can find me a place to stay.”

“Croz!” Lucy pulled the phone away from her ear and shook her head at Rosie’s antics. She pressed it back and heard some muffled talking before a loud indignant yelp was heard.

“Hello Rosie’s sweetheart! I’m Bucky.” Lucy let out a laugh as she heard the voice of the man Rosie so admired.

“Hello there.”

“Oh she’s British! Why didn’t you tell us, Ro- hey!”

“Sorry about that, darling. He arrived last month and has only been causing too much trouble.”

“It’s alright, Rosie.” Lucy said with a laugh, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Of course. I cannot wait to marry you.”

“That makes two of us, I love you.”

“I love you more.” Lucy heard as various other men’s voices chimed in with ridiculous imitations of Rosie’s accent before the line clicked.

The world was suddenly theirs again and Lucy couldn’t wait for the rest of her life. A life she would share with Rosie.

i'm sorry??

taglist: @justheretoreadthxxs @callumsgirl

#rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota spoilers #mota fanfic #mota oc #masters of the air oc #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #my ocs <3 #harry crosby #nate mann #maria writes

[yns-world]

Never Fade Away

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x Fem!Idol!Reader A/N: Y/S/N = Your Stage Name this is an extension of this, feel free to read :)

2022

nobody said showbiz was easy, but should it border hellish in order for something to change?

you loved johnny, and johnny loved you, that was a fact that you both knew so well— so when did things become so difficult?

in your and johnny’s case, opposites attract. but what you didn’t account for was that opposites also repel. 

both of your lives were constantly in the spotlight, and this relationship even more so. with millions of eyes flicking over every move, every microtransaction, there is barely any room to just be. 

you two were a match made for the stage, nobody could beat the stage presence you two shared when you performed, but this fame was taking a toll on you both. 

in the short year you guys dated, it was like fire and ice. burning hot with passion and then freezing over with frostbite.

but as time went on, the cracks in the relationship began to show. the flaws in you both began to grow bigger and bigger but neither of you knew what to do, so you ignored it. 

but ignoring was the absolute worst thing to do, and now you’re having screaming matches that last for hours, days, and then weeks of silence.

of course, the media is all over this. 

“Johnny Silverhand’s New Victim”

“Y/S/N Seen Storming Out of Silverhand’s Apartment”

things could only go on for so long before you had to cut things off— something that nearly tore you to shreds.

johnny begged, he cried, he pleaded, he waited outside your apartment for hours on end. he damn-near kissed the ground you walked upon just so you would glance at him once more, because in his mind he cannot for the life of him make sense of why the perfect woman would just leave him.

but that’s exactly why you left. you left because he can’t fathom why the relationship was going to hell. you had to break it off because johnny was a sinking ship and you refuse to drown with him, no matter how much you might adore him.

that was johnny's breaking point and he hasn't been the same since.

while he dated you, he created his most iconic and best selling music that topped all the charts. you were his once-in-a-lifetime muse, and the world knew that.

but when you broke up, he lost that spark. his heart strings were torn apart and he couldn't pick up the guitar for months.

the only time he picked up the guitar was to play a solemn a-b-c tune while he recited the tragic poetry of his heart.

he'd release a few more singles that could all be chalked up to a last ditch effort of staring into the void and expelling the demons of his heart.

"Never Fade Away" was the last song johnny ever performed. that song was an homage to your memory and how you'd never fade from his own memories.

2023

it's been a year since you broke up with johnny and it hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows for you, despite what johnny likes to tell the media.

there were countless nights where he was holding you from behind, his steady breath a calm rhythm in your ear, but you'd wake up everytime in a gasp, frantically searching for him on his side of the bed.

it took you months to finally wash the sheets because you wanted his scent to linger for as long as possible. his cologne that mixed with his musk.

the first few months were wretched, but you grew to resent him. deep down you still ached for his touch, but you had to lie and say you wanted him dead, if not, then the aching pain of his memory would kill you first.

august 20th, 2023. a day that was supposed to blur into the past endless days, but the last thing you expected was to see the man of your dreams—and nightmares—wearing a bulletproof vest and riding in a militech helicopter.

similarly, the last thing johnny expected was to see the architect of his heartbreak walking out of the Arasaka building.

waves of emotions flashed across his face—awe, joy, hurt, and finally resentment. 

johnny's scowl deepened and his resolve strengthened. Arasaka was not only the architect of his filthy world, but also stole the love of his life.

it wasn't rational to think that, but when has johnny ever been rational?

just moments before, johnny only planned to tear down the building. but now that he's seen you—walking out of that corrupt building with all of your lavish clothes and accessories—his aim shifted.

Arasaka stole everything from him. they ruined him. he has nothing left to lose.

in that moment, he made his peace with death. 

he overtook the machine gun and let out a visceral warcry that he’s been choking down for years— everyone would pay for his pain and suffering. 

august 21st, 2023, the very next day. over 4,000 dead, a crazy terrorist group, and you at the epicenter of it all.

some would brush you off as irrelevant, others would dub you as the “terrorist’s girlfriend”, blaming you for the demise of a beloved singer. 

but despite the chaos of the outside world, you could feel your internal universe crumble. johnny’s body hasn’t been found yet but you are sure that he’s gone. 

you’re so sure because you felt the deepest part of your soul chip off. the connection is severed. there’s a void inside of you, and you know all-too-well what johnny used to say about an abyss.

“If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :) DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going &lt;3 i'm open to cyberpunk requests so feel free to send me one <3 also, lmk if y'all wanna see more idol!reader content and/or have any ideas since i'm kinda rocking with it :) as always, have a great day and i'll see y'all in the next one <3

#yns world #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 v #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk 2077 x v #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand x v #cyberpunk 2077 johnny #cyberpunk 2077 johnny silverhand #cyberpunk johnny #requests open

[distortionbobble]

supernova //final

one | two | three

pairing: anakin skywalker x f!poc!reader

summary: you face the consequences of loving anakin. 

warnings: minors dni. death of a child, order 66 in general, kinda suicidal thoughts, mentions of pregnancy, elements of masochism/sadism?, choking, angst, biting, the whole smut shebang, canon levels of violence, anakin is very much the way he is at the end of revenge of the sith but maybe exaggerated for my own twisted desires lmao

word count: 9.5k

a/n: i went a little off the rails with this one heehee but also i would totally love to talk about this fic more so i might post a separate more fleshed out a/n for funzies 

Sixty nights without Anakin Skywalker. 

And not a single one has felt right. From the moment you were exiled from the Jedi Order, you’ve felt more and more that you’re only a bystander as the events of your life occur to someone else. You’re trapped on the outside, watching through walls of glass, suffocating silently with no one to hear, and no one to help. 

Each look of disappointment from those who once believed in you is burned into your mind. You never thought you’d live to see that, really. They’re all you see now when you go to sleep, like ghosts that chain you to the mistake that upended your life. 

Mistake. It feels wrong to think of Anakin as that. Some nights, the thought of him is the only thing that gives you the strength to keep breathing. You always find yourself reaching out to him, your heart trying desperately to fill the void of his body in a bed that he’s never been in. For so long, sleep just meant that— you and Anakin, together, safe, comfortable. Long before the forbidden tainted your feelings for him, back when he’d crawl into your bed because he had another nightmare and it was only with you that his mind went silent.

Master Windu has assigned you to an agriplanet, one far from what you were familiar with. Lothal imposes its dull monotony on you every day now, from its bleak sunrises to its equally lifeless sunsets. You work along a few of the Jedi who have chosen to work on the agriplanet as a means of escaping the war, exhausted and drained by combat. They’re just as tired as you are, but this place means something different to each of you. To them, it’s a place for recovery. To you, it’s a prison. A place where you’re forced to abandon your hopes and dreams. 

Each day is the same: wake up, wash yourself from head-to-toe, eat the bland food they serve at the eating halls before going to the farm. In any other circumstance, you wouldn’t mind it; in fact, maybe you’d find the repetition harmless. But now, the repetition only forces you to dwell on Anakin. What he’s doing, where he is. You wonder if he’s moved on to Padme now that he knows he’ll never see you again. You wouldn’t blame him if he did, but it’s the only thing you can think about, and it consumes you. Day and night. Jealousy and obsession burn at the edges of you because when you fell, you fell hard. 

The worst part of all of it is that you don’t feel like yourself anymore. You can’t recognize the person you’ve become. You stare at a ghost every morning in the mirror. If you’re not a Jedi, what are you? 

This morning is like every other— you’re woken by the gray light of sunrise as it creeps through your room, hoping the swell of nausea subdues itself before you get out of bed. The nausea made itself known to you only recently, only about a month ago. You pay it no mind. 

And then you sit, staring, trying hard to forget the mornings that you woke up next to Anakin. Trying to forget that you’re never gonna get that again. Trying not to think about what he’s doing, if he misses you as much as you miss him. 

The silence screams at you. You carry it with you, even as you leave your hut, surrounded by the chatter of Jedi who actually got to live their dreams. You wish that was you, that you’d gotten the chance to be the Knight you were raised to be. 

You’re jealous of them. So jealous. But you swallow down the anger and begin your work for the day, trying to ignore the sting of tears as you sink into your despair. More than once, you find your hands wandering to your belt, instinctively reaching for your lightsaber. You can’t remember a single day since you got it where it wasn’t clipped to your belt by the moment you woke up. Your lightsaber was like an extension of yourself, and you felt its absence after having taken it for granted for so long. Being a Jedi was more than just fighting. You missed that part of training, sure, but your mind was always hungry to learn, to fulfill that never-ending urge to know and do things better. Learning battle strategies, learning diplomatic tactics, working with others and learning how to make them bend. Now? You’re cut off and while your hands are busy, your mind is forced to wander. 

Anakin is your favorite distraction. What would he do if he was with you right now? He’d loathe this place, that’s for sure. He’s always lived so fast, driven by his impulses. You can almost hear him groaning about his boredom in your head, hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his smile. You’re sure he’d make the dreary work a competition, bringing his own life and light to the task because that’s what he always did when he was with you. 

You almost wish you’d forget him. Erase his love from your mind. Maybe then, this separation wouldn’t be so painful. But what would you be without him? You loved, and you knew love, felt love. Love had taken careful hands and it had sculpted you, from the clay and the dust and the dirt, and it had sculpted you so grand before the fall. Oh, but how lovely was the fall? Misery is sweet on your tongue when you think of Anakin Skywalker. You can’t forget him, because he is your everything; to forget him would be to forget yourself. 

You’ve just sat down for dinner, body fatigued from the day, when a shadow is cast upon you, and you look up to see the smiling face of a woman you’ve only seen in passing. “Congratulations,” she says to you. “The baby will be as strong as its parents.” 

The spoon you’d been raising to your mouth falls from your hand and clatters to the ground. “What- what baby?” you stammer out. You’re sure the woman must be talking about someone else, because you’re sure you’re not pregnant. Maker, being pregnant would be a nightmare that you’re not prepared for. You’ve never even dreamed of having a child, too busy adhering to the Jedi Code. You can’t be pregnant, you just can’t be. 

The woman’s smile is unfazed as she reaches out to you, just lightly grasping your hand, and you can feel what she feels, what you hid from yourself for the past two months— a flickering presence, just barely there, deep within you. No. Your head swims and you gasp for air that just doesn’t seem sufficient. Panic floods your body at the realization that there is a living thing growing within you. A baby. Yours’ and Anakin’s baby. 

“Master Kenobi, I need Master Kenobi,” you mumble, shoving yourself away from the table and stumbling back to your hut. Your feet catch on the roots and rocks in the ground and your body slams into the walls of your hut as you shake in fear. You don’t know what to do. Can you do this? You’ve never been weaker, alone and afraid, without your best friend by your side. You need Obi-Wan, you need his guidance. 

You’re frantic as you turn on your hologram, hands trembling as you try to get a hold of your former Master. You bite your knuckles nervously as the signal pings out, almost crying in relief when the hologram of Obi-Wan’s familiar figure lights up in blue. 

“Y/n,” he says, with calm surprise. “I take it you’re—” 

“I’m pregnant,” you blurt out, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes and splashing against your clothes. Then the dam bursts and you begin to sob, chest heaving as your breath escapes you. Soft wails of panic escape you because now you’ve said it, now it’s real, and more than anything, you need support right now. Obi-Wan watches you silently, a look of pain on his face as he takes you in. He looks up, trying to rein in his own tears as you call his name between sobs. 

“Padaw— Y/n,” he corrects himself, lips twitching downwards as he reigns in his own sadness. It’s not easy for him to watch the girl he’s almost raised for so long suffer, with nothing he can do to help. “Y/n,” he says again, softer this time. “It’ll be alright.” 

“I’m so alone, Master,” you cry out, tears still falling from your eyes. Your tongue slipped in calling that. He’s no longer your Master, and remembering that slices open wounds that have barely begun to heal. Obi-Wan is kind enough to ignore your mistake.

“You’re not alone,” he reassures you, still watching you as you calm down, rubbing the bone behind your ear anxiously. 

“What am I gonna do, Obi-Wan? She’s never gonna know her father. She can’t ever meet him, and if she does, he certainly cannot know that she’s his.” You sniffle and wipe your face with the back of your hand, sighing as you think about her future. “What if she feels abandoned? Am I gonna mess her up and be a terrible mother?” Your voice breaks. 

“Should you choose to keep the child, which no one will force you to do, you will be an amazing mother. While Anakin cannot know of his child, I will be there as much as I can to ensure your and your child’s well-being. And when it is time, she will be taken in by the Order, where she will be safe.” You laugh bitterly at his words. 

“Safe, safe like I was?” Obi-Wan just lowers his head in shame. You’ve never been good at controlling your temper, and seeing your words wound him hurts deep down. You look down at your clenched fists as you slow your breathing, trying to reign in your anger. And you try again. “Thank you, Obi-Wan,” you say. He nods quietly at your words, and you find yourself with your hand atop your belly protectively. 

“Y/n, if you do not wish to keep the child, you do not have to. There are many options to—” 

“I want to,” you interrupt. You hadn’t realized it before, but you did. And if she turns out anything like her father, you’ll never be bored. “When she’s taken in by the Order… could- could you please make sure she meets her father? She doesn’t need to know it’s him, but that’s what I want for her.” 

“I cannot promise anything, but if it’s possible, I’ll try and have them meet.” Obi-Wan evading your request is no surprise. Words mean everything to him, and he doesn’t make promises lightly. But it comforts you to know that he’ll try, to know that he’s on your team even when you feel so alone. 

There’s nothing left to say now. Your situation has left you with a cold distance between your former Master, your interaction saturated by a cold silence. You muster a soft smile— one which he returns— and the call is cut, leaving you in your solitude again. 

In another life, Anakin would’ve been by your side. It wouldn’t have been fear you felt, but excitement. You can just picture it in your mind— he’d be so happy with the news that he would throw open the windows and scream to the world that he, Anakin Skywalker, was going to be a father. But here, in this desolate life of yours, the only sound is silence. 

It burns, deep down, this loneliness. You want nothing more than to cross the galaxy and be swept up in his loving embrace again, safe and supported and loved, both you and your child. He’d love you so much, even now, but that’s exactly the problem. Allowing him to love you would be reckless, dangerous, and you love him too much to allow him to love you. Besides, you’ve lost everything, all for him. There’s no point in dragging him down to the depths of hell just for him to burn at your side. 

You cross your room to the mirror, standing in front of it and shedding each article of clothing until you’re left bare, studying your skin in the dim firelight of your room. Is this what Anakin would see? You picture him standing behind you, his rough hands on your smooth skin, tracing every inch of you as he shows you over and over again what it’s like to be loved. You close your eyes and mimic the path his hands would take down your body, consuming your being with the fire that his love is. Grief wraps its hands around you instead and you feel choked, tears spilling down your skin as you weep openly. 

Nobody can hear you. Nobody will wipe your tears and hold you til it passes. 

And it’s then, when you feel loneliest, that you hear it— your name falling from Anakin’s lips. You’re sure you imagined it. 

“Y/n,” he whispers again, and you whirl around to see him. He’s drenched, and you can see fresh droplets of water landing on his bare skin, collecting and building until they’re running all the way down his bare skin. You force yourself to swallow hard as your eyes follow the maps made by each trail, running down the strong panes of his abs before they swoop down to the hard bones that make his v-line and down further still. For a brief second, the familiar swell of lust rises within you. After all, who could resist the sight of Anakin Skywalker in the shower? 

But that building lust is accompanied by that bitter longing you carry. You need Anakin Skywalker to breathe, and here he is, like a gift from the Force itself. And he is beautiful and he is connected to you, and it feels like it’s just you and him in the universe all over again. Then you breathe and remember that he’s not yours, he never was. Anakin Skywalker was sculpted by the universe to become the Chosen One, not to waste his life as your beloved. You need him, and love him, and you never will have him. 

Still, your mouth betrays you when you cry out his name, reaching out to meet his hand and swallowing that sharp disappointment when your hand just passes through his. You know he’s not truly here, but it hurts nonetheless. 

“My love,” he sighs, reaching out to touch your face. It doesn’t matter that it’s not real, it doesn't matter that he’s lightyears away from you. You can almost feel it as you hover your cheek above the apparition’s hand and you have to look up to stop the tears in your eyes from falling. I miss you, you want to say. Come to me. Find me. I love you, I miss you. But you say nothing. 

“Have I wronged you so much that you cannot bear to speak to me?” Anakin asks, pained. You shake your head, unwilling to say anything because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from crying. 

“Let me find you,” he urges. His voice is as gentle and loving as you remember, and you find yourself placing a kiss on the apparition’s hand. The false intimacy stings. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll fix all of this, I promise. I’ll save you.” 

Your shoulders begin to shake as you step back, sobbing quietly and shaking your head because you don’t have the strength in your voice to tell him no. You hate hurting him. Seeing his face like this, contorted with that agony that you know too well, hurts you more than it should. 

“Please,” he begs, dropping to his knees as you continue to back away from him. His tears are falling freely now, collecting on his lashes before they bend and break away to kiss his cheeks. And you’re tempted, again, to tell him everything— to say that you’re pregnant, that it’s his, that you’re on Lothal and you’d follow him wherever he goes. You want to say it all, but it feels like your jaw is wired shut and all you can do is shake your head. Your ambition, your hopes and dreams, were so cruelly dashed by the Order. You see no reason for him to experience the same thing. And even if it hurts him, it’s for the better. It’s what you’d want in his position, to be encouraged to follow your destiny, not turn away from it. Besides, love is a fleeting thing. He’ll forget you someday and the pain will only be a fading scar. 

It dawns on you when you look at his broken form that you resent him, to some degree. Because he got to keep everything, while you lost everything, and yet he has the audacity to break in front of you. You want to scream at him, scream that it isn’t fair, that you’re in far greater pain than he will ever know. But you know that you’d feel the same in his place, because you’re so close to shattering. He is your everything. 

I hate you. I adore you. I need you. Why couldn’t it be you? Save me. Stay away from me. You want to say all of it, you want to say none at all. You’re at war within yourself, and Anakin on his knees with your name dripping off his tongue only makes your head pound. 

“Leave,” you say, finally finding the strength to use your voice. “Leave and never think of me again.” Your voice is steady, a facade you struggle to maintain. Anakin’s bottom lip trembles as you shut him out, his hands falling limp to his body as the image begins to fade. 

As soon as the last remnants of light fade from your vision of him, it feels like a cord has been cut and you collapse into yourself, so exhausted from it all that you can’t sob, you can’t cry. You’ve been denied your happiness one too many times but this? 

This is what breaks you. 

~~~

Two-thousand one-hundred and three days without Anakin Skywalker. 

You’ve killed the woman you once were. And, like a phoenix, you were reborn from the ashes of her. Long gone are the days where you were so connected to the Force that it was part of you— now, even something as small as lifting a rock makes your hand tremble and your head throb. Your connection to the Force was lost with the person you were, and it took a long time to fill the void you were left with. 

You gave birth to your daughter, Maya, whose spirit matches her father’s. Obi-Wan visits you every month, bringing gifts for your daughter and support for you. He isn’t here every day, but he’s here when it counts— every one of Maya’s injuries has been kissed and sent away by Obi-Wan well after they’ve healed. She’s quite attached to him, and you can’t stop that growing fear that it mimics her father’s all too well. But she is still a child, rosy-cheeked and so full of promise that you banish the thoughts immediately. 

Maya Skywalker is five years old now. You’re certain Obi-Wan will assign her a different last name, or erase it entirely, when she’s adopted into the Jedi Order. She doesn’t even know her own last name, which you and Obi-Wan decided to do in order to prepare her for her future in the Jedi Order. 

If she’s adopted into the Jedi Order. She hasn’t shown any signs of Force-sensitivity, but it only makes sense, given her lineage. You’re sure the child of the Chosen One and another almost-Jedi would bring forth a child blessed by a high midichlorian count. 

Of course, as her mother, there is a part of you that wants her to not be force sensitive. For her to stay with you, safe for as long as you can ensure it. That way, she’ll have more choice, instead of her destiny being written by the Jedi Council based on how many midichlorians are in her blood. 

You’re braiding Maya’s hair as you prepare for Obi-Wan’s visit to celebrate Maya’s birthday. Five years old, the time that the Jedi begins to identify which children are best suited for protecting the Force. You’re slower and more deliberate than usual today, because you don’t know how long you’ll have her with you before she’s taken by the Order and you never see her again. The threat of losing her too sits heavy on your shoulders. 

“Mama, why are you being so slow?” Your daughter complains, tugging your skirt. You blink and brush off your fears, shooting your daughter a teasing smile as you work your hands faster and finish her hair. 

“Sorry, little lothcat. I was just busy thinking about how big you’re getting.” 

“How big, mama?” 

“Almost as big as me,” A deep voice rumbles from the doorway. 

“Obi-Wan!” your daughter shrieks, beelining straight to his shins and making him let out a resounding oof when she collides with him. 

“I’m five now,” Maya says, but her words are muffled by the fabric of Obi-Wan’s clothes. He pulls her upwards quickly, flipping her upside-down quickly and making her giggle gleefully before setting her gently on his hip as he holds her. It makes you smile, seeing your former master being such an important part of her life. 

“Hey, Obi.” 

“Hello,” He responds, smiling at you gently as Maya pulls on his beard. “Now, what does the birthday girl want to do today?” 

“I wanna save a Senator, just like you and Anakin did,” Maya says, determined. 

“Oh, your mother told you about that, huh?” He asks, smiling. Maya nods, pushing herself out of Obi-Wan’s hold to get her feet on the ground. 

“Anakin is my most favorite Jedi,” she says, spinning around the room. You can’t do anything but laugh, because of course he is. You haven’t shied away from telling her the stories of Anakin’s bravery and everything he did. It was your way of letting her grow up with her father, even if she didn’t know that Anakin was her father. 

“Not even me?” Obi-Wan asks, a pout on his lips. He’s always had a soft spot for Maya. 

“Not even you, Uncle Obi. My favorite is Anakin. I wanna be as strong as him,” Maya shouts, jumping up onto your cot. She raises her little hands to the sky, imitating what she’s seen you do as you act out as Anakin, her chubby cheeks puffed out as she stares in concentration. 

Obi-Wan looks to you in mild amusement when the wooden comb that lays on your dresser suddenly goes flying, straight past Maya. Your head snaps towards her, hands still outstretched as her bottom lip begins to wobble in fear and now, stronger than ever, you can feel her Force signature. Perhaps it’s because you’re her mother you’re able to sense her despite your disconnect from the Force. But you know what this means— that she’s Force sensitive, that she’s destined for great things, that there’s power in her blood. 

You know it means that you’ll have to give her up to the Order. 

Maya begins to cry, afraid, and both you and Obi-Wan move towards her to console her. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, baby,” you say, bringing her to your chest and placing a kiss to her hair. “It’s okay. Mommy can do it too, see?” She looks up, sniffling, wiping away her tear tracks as you raise your hand in concentration and pray that it works. It’s been so long since you’ve even attempted to use the Force, but for your baby you’d do anything. 

It’s hard, at first. You feel like you’re underwater, searching for just a glimmer of light and you feel so cold. You reach out for it, only to be slammed into the barriers you’ve spent years building up. Memories you wish you could forget swirl around you, diluted but sharp against your skin. You can feel it, just barely out of reach, that familiar pulse that’s as much a part of you as it is the rest of the universe and you latch onto it with all the effort you can muster. 

The comb rises a few inches, wavering, before it finally clatters to the ground again. Your eyes meet Obi-Wan’s and you can see the disappointment in his eyes. A long time ago, you could’ve lifted that comb up without having to blink. It’s a cruel reminder of all that you’ve lost, of all that you once were. But it’s enough to satiate Maya, who gets up from your lap excitedly to go inspect the comb. 

“You knew this day was coming,” Obi-Wan murmurs to you, eyes trained on your daughter. He can read you like a damn book, always has been able to, and you know he can feel your apprehension at having to let her go. 

“I know,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“If we don’t separate her from you now, it’ll be extremely difficult later on, and it might hinder her in the future,” he warns. “There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.” Then he turns to you, taking your hands in his own. They feel softer than your own, your hands calloused and rough from the accumulating years of difficult agricultural work. It’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it serves to remind you of how much things have changed. How much you’ve changed. 

“I know.” You don’t dare to look away from Maya, watching her because you know all too well that you will never see her again. You’re afraid to even blink, because you don’t want to risk missing even a millisecond of her. She’ll be gone by nightfall, but all you want is to hold her in your arms and, selfishly, keep her here with you. You should be glad that she has this opportunity. That she’ll accomplish everything that you never could. The part of you that was raised as a Jedi beams with pride, excited for her to thrive, even if it’s away from you. The part of you that’s her mother wants to burn the Order to the ground just to get one more year with your baby. 

Instead, you take a deep breath and accept that you have to let her go. “She’ll be safe, right, Master?” 

“I promise she’ll be safe,” he assures you. “I’ll leave you two to say your goodbyes.” Obi-Wan squeezes your hand and gets up, walking out the door. You notice that it’s unusually overcast today, instead of the usual sun that you expect from Lothal. An unusual day in its entirety. 

“Maya,” you call out softly. You do your best to hold your tears at bay, because you don’t want your last memory with her fragmented by sadness. Even when she forgets what you look like, you want her to remember that you loved her, that you were happy with her. 

Your daughter, your sunshine, sports a toothy grin when she looks up at you. “Yes, mama?” 

“Isn’t it so incredible that you can do something this amazing?” You ask her, trying to seem as excited as possible. You want her to be excited about being a Jedi, and you know that means you’ll have to fake your own excitement. She nods, confused but excited. “Well, because of that, you get to go with Uncle Obi-Wan to the Jedi Temple. And you’re gonna learn how to do so many things, Maya, and you’re gonna get so strong.”

“Strong like Anakin Skywalker?” She asks you, hopeful. You laugh and nod, looking up so that the tears that prick at your bottom eyelid won’t fall. “And mama, you’re coming with me?” 

You sigh and bite your lip, struggling to maintain your enthusiasm because you’re gonna miss your sweet girl so much. You hold her little face in your hands, kissing her forehead before leaning back to look at her. “No, baby. Your mama isn’t as strong as you are. And I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but just remember that mama’s always gonna love you, okay, baby?” 

Maya nods, but you know she doesn’t understand what’s going on. She’s calm because you’re calm, but the pain of separating from Maya is the most difficult thing in the world. How much will life cruelly rip away from you? 

You hold her tightly in your arms as you continue to fight back your tears, holding her for the last time. “If you’re ever scared, know that you can always go to Uncle Obi-Wan, and if you can’t find him, you can always trust Anakin Skywalker.” She nods, and you separate from her, managing a weak smile before getting up and walking with her outside. Obi-Wan waits outside of his jet, smiling kindly at your daughter and you with that deep understanding in his eyes. 

“It’s time,” he says, and you watch her board the jet, waving them goodbye and watching until the jet becomes a distant pinprick in the sky. Then you turn and walk away, feeling hollow inside all over again. 

~~~

It’s been three months since Maya left home. 

Despite the fact that she’s alive and well, there is still a shadow of grief cast upon you. You feel as though she’s been ripped from you too soon. However, it isn’t as painful as what you felt when you were exiled to Lothal six years ago. Your solace comes from the connection you feel with Maya. Despite the distance, it’s strong and unwavering. You can breathe easier as soon as you feel her, and know she’s okay. That’s all you need now. 

Since her departure, you’ve found yourself trying to find that connection to the Force all over again. It’s not something you find yourself doing intentionally, but rather while you’re in the fields, you realize your focus is trained on the pebbles in the field, trying desperately to make them rise. But you just… can’t. You don’t know if it’s the mental blocks, or if you’ve genuinely lost the ability to harness the Force. Your life is tearing at the seams, but you’re desperately trying to keep it all together. 

You’ve noticed that the air around you has felt almost jagged, and you know something’s wrong but as long as it isn’t Maya, you can’t be bothered to care. You’ve long left the universe to its devices, and you know by now that you can’t meddle with what fate has planned. It’s been a slow build of toxicity, forcing you to breathe a little faster, a little shallower. But right now, sitting in the hut you call home, it’s borderline unbearable, and you find yourself seeking out that connection with Maya. 

You expect her to feel calm, as she has every day for the past three months. But what you feel from her is fear. You’ve never felt anything like it from her, and it makes you panic even more. 

Maya? You think, hoping that she’ll hear you somehow. You’re not skilled in the Force anymore, not by any means, but you need her to hear you. You need her to hear your voice, to know that she’ll be okay. Besides, Obi-Wan and Anakin were most likely close by. Maya knows to trust them, and if they’re there, she’s safe. Maya, you urge again, despite your attempts to subdue the panic that rises in you when her fear won’t go away. Her fear breaks your heart and you’re beginning to get scared now, because she shouldn’t be afraid. The Jedi Temple is safe. So if she’s unsafe, has she wandered away from the Temple? She could be kidnapped, and your heart begins to race as you focus on trying to connect to her. You need her to talk to you, to tell you what’s going on. It may be detrimental to her training as a Jedi to reinforce attachment, but you’re her mother, not a Jedi. So, rules be damned, you reach out to your daughter to make sure she’s safe. 

Your voice in your head is so loud as you call out for Maya that you can’t make sense of much else. And you can connect to her, just briefly, before you feel a stabbing pain in your chest and the connection is severed. 

“Maya?” You whisper aloud, standing up as adrenaline overtakes you. You close your eyes and try desperately to reestablish your channel with Maya, but you cannot feel her. Your anchor to her is gone, and you can hear your heart beating as you desperately try over and over again, searching in the darkness, to find her. “Maya!” You scream. Your knees buckle from beneath you and your fists meet the floor, dragging against the dirt as you draw them closer to your body.   

You pound your fists against the floor until they bleed, screaming her name until your voice goes hoarse. You don’t want to believe it, you refuse to. You convince yourself that it’s just because you’re losing your touch, you lost the signal because you’ve lost your skill, and collect yourself up off the ground to crawl to your transponder. Surely if something was wrong, Obi-Wan would’ve sent you a message. The transponder is blank, and you sigh in relief. 

But when you reach out for Obi-Wan, you can feel him. If you can reach out to him, why can’t you reach out to Maya? And why does Obi-Wan feel afraid? In your entire life, you’ve never felt him afraid like this. And that grief, that riptide of grief that’s threatening to swallow him whole, you’ve never felt anything like it. And it only confirms what you wanted to deny. 

Maya is dead. And you sent her to her death. 

“No,” you murmur, standing up. The action is dizzying and you sway as you walk towards the door and out of your home. “No, take me instead. No, no, it can’t be her, she’s just a child. Take me instead,” You plead. You don’t know who you’re begging. The Force? The Maker? There is no Maker to listen to you. If there was, this wouldn’t have happened. But still you beg. 

You wander into the forest, the Lothal sun burning every inch of skin you have exposed. You trip over the branches but it doesn’t stop you, crawling on the forest floor until the energy is lost from your body and all you can do is stare at the sky. It taunts you, cruel and bright as you continue to beg and pray that the Force take you instead of Maya. You’d be willing to suffer every moment of your life so long as she was okay because there is no greater pain than this. If you hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking that she’d be safer away from you, she’d be alive right now. Her being a Jedi didn’t matter to you, it never did. You’d sent her to the Temple because you thought she’d be better off there than with you. If you hadn’t pushed her there, if you’d just kept her by your side… 

It’s all your fault. 

Your nails dig into your skin but you can’t feel it, so detached from your body that you don’t feel the branches and jagged rocks pressed into your back as you scream. Who will remember Maya when you and Obi-Wan are gone? She should’ve outlived you. To start a legacy of her own. She still had so much to live for, and dammit, it isn’t fair that you got to live while she didn’t. 

~~~

You don’t know how much time elapses while you’re on the forest floor, wishing the roots and vines would swallow you whole and take you into the Earth. The only company you find is your grief, that ugly monster that has followed you wherever you go. Your mind alternates quickly between denying it, convincing yourself that it was all a bad dream, to the empty awareness that it was all real. 

You pull yourself up, feeling your skin crawl at the stillness of your body, and you walk aimlessly. You’ve walked through these woods with Maya so many times before. The memories are like ghosts, haunting you. You just wish you could forget everything, because this pain is unbearable. 

That’s when you hear your name, just like how you heard it years before. Anakin’s voice. You turn and you see him emerging through the darkness of the night, but you’re frozen. He calls your name out again, walking closer to you still. He looks different now, but he feels different too. 

“Are you real?” You whisper. The sight of him is almost cruel to you. He doesn’t say a word, just nods and comes closer to you and runs his thumb over your jaw. It’s intimate and heart wrenching and you can feel it. He’s here, he’s really here. You don’t know how he always finds you when you’re at your weakest, but it feels so easy to melt into his arms. 

“Prove it,” you sigh. Anakin sweeps you closer to him and kisses you. His lips are consuming, familiar, and he kisses you with a dizzying aggression. Anakin kisses you until you’re lightheaded, suffocating you. His tongue dances with yours and his teeth clash against yours as he kisses you in a frenzy. You feel your back hit a tree and you feel him cage you with his arms against the tree. 

Anakin’s hands find their way to your hair and he tugs, sharp enough to make you gasp in pain. It makes him smile, lips curving upwards as they’re pressed against your open mouth. His hands explore your body like he’s forgotten everything, thumb pressed into every dip in your body and nails dragging against whatever skin is exposed. He’s rougher with you than he’s ever been before, but you don’t complain because the pain runs alongside your self-hatred. 

Anakin makes light work of your clothes, stripping you of the simple tunic that you wear for work and leaving you topless as he works to remove his own clothes. He moves fast enough that you’re not allowed a moment of thought, and for that, you are grateful. His teeth sink into the muscle of your shoulders and down to your breasts, painful and possessive but you relish in it. You absorb his neediness, his demands as he marks your body. You cry out at the pain and he clamps a firm hand over your mouth, rising up to look you in the eyes. 

And, Maker, those eyes. How could you have forgotten their intensity? His eyes are burning fires, brows drawn together as he drinks in the sight of you. There’s no love lost between the two of you as you use one another selfishly. He doesn’t care for you anymore, but the same can be said of you. It’s been too long, and you’ve left one another with wounds too deep to be healed with a kiss. But you can’t deny that you’re his, your souls tied to one another in a way far too significant to overlook. 

Anakin’s hand moves from your mouth to brush your hair back, and it’s a form of intimacy that you know is wrong. 

“I hate you,” you whisper, trembling. You can feel him pause, absorbing your words and you know they hurt him. You can see it in his eyes, too, the walls slamming in place as you force yourself to push him away. You don’t mean it, really. You just want somewhere to shunt your anger. You wish he had known about Maya, you wish he had been there to save Maya. The guilt inside of you is consuming you, and you want him to carry that burden too, to burn like you are right now. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Anakin’s tongue trails against your cheeks, lapping each teardrop up. He grinds his hips into yours, bulge pressing against your clit through layers of clothing and you groan as your pussy flutters. He pulls back and laughs at you sharply, before craning his neck down to kiss you fiercely again. 

“Look at us,” he says, tauntingly. He pinches your nipples, lips continuing to fuse against yours as you dig your nails into the flesh of his back. “Do you ever wonder,” he pants against your mouth as you palm his bulge, “what would’ve happened if you hadn’t abandoned me?”

You scoff and sink your teeth into the muscles above his collarbones, making him groan in pain. Your hands rest at his belt, toying with the lightsaber at his belt and you miss having your own. You want him to hurt like you did. You don’t want to think at all. 

“Less talking, more fucking,” you groan, tugging his trousers off and slipping your own off until you’re both left bare. His cock rests against your thigh, hard and warm, and when you grasp it in your hand Anakin whines loudly. “You’re pathetic,” you laugh, sinking your nails into his thighs and leaving little crescents in his skin. Maker, you missed him. Being this close to him elicits all kinds of emotions— all that anger, all that lust, all that longing that you buried deep down for so long bubbles up to the surface and spreads across your skin and you feel hot, hot and dizzy and you want him inside you already, dammit. 

You slide his length across your wet slit, teasing yourself with the right balance of pressure as the head of his cock sits at your entrance. That’s when Anakin grasps your chin with two fingers, firmly but gently, and forces you to look him in the eyes. His eyes mirror the same carnal lust that you’re feeling right now, but deeper still there is that bond that the two of you have. It remains steadfast and unbroken and you can feel his love for you, despite the unkindness that life has shown that bond. 

I love you, he mouths to you. Silently, as if using his vocal cords would give you too much power. It’s a weak and flimsy promise, but you can’t help mouthing it back to you silently. You allow the wave that is Anakin Skywalker to swallow you whole and forget yourself for a little bit. 

He pushes into you without warning, sliding his entire length into you and holding it when the base of his cock is brushing against your folds. He feels warm and thick inside of you, and it’s addicting. Anakin allows you to just barely catch your breath before he withdraws and slams it into you again, fucking you roughly with the tree bark against your back and the friction of his chest against yours on your front. He fucks you carnally, intensely, like he knows what he wants from you and he won’t stop until he gets it. 

Anakin’s fingers dig into the flesh of your love handles as he hammers into you relentlessly, almost bruisingly in their hold. It feels like he’s holding you tighter for every moment you’ve been apart and you look down to watch him slide in and out of you over and over again. 

He holds you up with one hand and the other begins to wander downwards, pressing against the soft curve of your tummy where you can feel it bulge when he fucks you. 

“You feel that?” Anakin asks, making you look at him through heavy lids as you try to maintain that facade of composure despite the way that you’re losing your mind with each stroke. “You feel how good we fit, baby? And you wanted to take this sweet cunt away from me. You’re mine, you know that? Mine. And I’m never letting go of you again.” The latter half is a growled promise full of desperation that’s accumulated over years. You can’t manage a response, too distracted by his hips meeting yours and the lewd sound of your bodies, hearts, souls entangling. 

Anakin moves his warm hand from your belly to your neck, decorating your throat before he just barely squeezes. It’s just enough pressure for you to slip into that woozy space where every sensation is heightened and you feel like you’re floating. 

You allow yourself to get lost in him as he fucks you. 

You’ve forgotten how impossibly full he makes you feel, stretching you out and forcing the breath out of your lungs. It feels like he’s going deeper with every stroke and every time his hips meet yours, your core tightens and you can feel the lightning bolts of pleasure jolt up your spine. 

“Say my name,” Anakin pleads. 

“Anakin.” 

“Again.” 

“A-Anakin,” you moan. You can feel yourself getting closer, each driving force connecting you to him and pushing you more to the edge. Your walls tighten around his length and he continues to use the pads of his fingers to circle your clit, providing just the right amount of stimulation as he lays his claim on you. He moans your name as he finishes but continues to thrust into you, determined to please you.

You can feel the tears pricking your eyes and you close your eyelids, allowing them to escape as your body processes everything. You sob his name, broken, as you reach your climax, but he does not taunt you this time— no, he holds you close as you cry and shares your grief as much as he can without knowing what your tears are for. 

He slides out of you and begins to dress you. It reminds you of the way you dressed him so many years ago at the Lake Palace, before everything went wrong. You want to tell him about Maya. He was her father, after all. But you know that he’s also the Chosen One, and it’s also your responsibility to make sure he doesn’t have the kind of attachment that pushes one into the Dark Side. The kind of attachment and love that a parent would have for their child. 

“You’re so different now.” You manage a weak smile at Anakin, and he kisses the palm of your hand. You trace the scar over his eyelid with your thumb and run your fingers through his long waves. There is love hidden in your touches, love that he cannot afford to keep but love that you’ll give him regardless. 

He turns away from you and begins to slip on his clothes, and that’s when you fish out the comlink from your pockets. There’s a message from Obi-Wan and you play it quietly next to your ear. 

“Anakin killed Maya.” That’s all he says before the message ends, and you have to replay it because you just don’t understand what he means. Anakin. Your Anakin, the one who would never hurt someone, much less a defenseless child. He killed Maya? Not just any child, but his own daughter? Was the Chosen One unable to feel that he was her daughter? It simply didn’t make sense. You don’t want to believe it, either, but you realize that this whole time that Anakin’s Force signature has been muted, more than you’re used to. 

With Anakin’s back still turned to you, you stalk over to his lightsaber, holding it in your hands. There’s no going back if you turn it on. If you turned it on and it was red, it would be undeniable proof that Anakin Skywalker is a murderer, that the Chosen One had fallen to the Dark Side. It would be proof that he had single-handedly made your life devoid of any purpose. 

You turn it on. 

You can see Anakin’s back stiffen as the lightsaber hums and before it can fully light up, you’ve already moved it next to Anakin’s neck. 

His form is bathed in the red glow of his lightsaber, and you feel sick to your fucking stomach. 

“It was you?” You whisper in disbelief. Obi-Wan might have told you who killed Maya, but you didn’t want to believe it. You can feel Anakin deshielding himself and now, you can feel it in his Force signature— there is an undeniable darkness within him.

The saber radiates pain from your fingers to your elbow, slowly creeping upwards, but you ignore it. Your anger makes your heart pump pure poison and power, and as Anakin turns towards you, you raise the blade and swing it down. He jumps out of the way. 

“You have to listen to me, the Jedi Order is evil! They’re the real evil! They tried to kill me—” 

“What, did they make you kill the younglings too?” You scoff, swinging the saber wildly as he backs away from you. The saber is heavy and the blade, corrupted by its master, only causes you more pain to wield it. 

“That wasn’t me!” He shouts, and all you can see is red. You scream at him, a noise full of pain and sorrow because his lies only add to your suffering. 

“Don’t you dare lie to me. You, you killed my fucking daughter,” you scream, and you’re close enough this time that the swing of the lightsaber burns cleanly thru his robes. 

“You have a daughter?” Anakin asks, shocked, as he harnesses the Force and pushes you a few feet away. 

“She trusted you,” you sob, voice breaking as you stumble towards him again and swing blindly. “I told her she could trust you. I told her she was safe with you.” 

You can feel the fury rising within Anakin before he even speaks. “Perhaps it’s for the best. After all, what future would she have as the daughter of some weak, worthless bastard?” His words cut through you like glass and his fury leaves you reeling. 

“Maya was your daughter. Yours! Your flesh and blood!” 

“Liar!” Anakin screams, sweeping his hand and sending you flying into a tree. 

“You know I’m not lying to you. I’m sure you felt it in her, too. Did she come running to you for safety?” You sob, getting up and ignoring the pain that shoots up your back at the movement. “I told her she was safe with you.” 

“You should’ve told me,” Anakin shouts. “That was my daughter, too, you didn’t think I had the right to know about her? Maker, were you ever going to tell me about her?” 

“I was protecting you! I gave up everything to keep you safe. Everything! You took away the one thing that gave me life after I had to leave everything behind! And for what?” You laugh bitterly. Anakin’s lightsaber is heavy and painful to wield and it feels like it’s burning your arm, but your fury fuels you and you drag the saber on the ground as you stumble towards him. Little embers burst into flames as the glowing red touches it, spreading behind you till the trees are ablaze with your anguish. 

Anakin lifts you up with a single movement of his hand, choking you in the air as you struggle and you’re reminded of just how strong he is. You fight back, and both of you collapse in exhaustion as the power that the other exerts over you wins. You’re quicker to recover, feet dragging behind you as you make your way to Anakin, who kneels on the forest floor and looks up at you with emotions that you can’t quite decipher. 

“I loved you,” you sob, hovering the lightsaber right next to his neck and trying to summon the strength to kill the love of your life. “All I wanted for you was to become the man you were always meant to be, to use that power for good.” You gasp, tears rolling down your face. The smoke from the fires burning around you singes your nostrils and eyes, but it’s nothing compared to the pain that Anakin is putting you through. 

“That’s why I left. I didn’t want you to have any distractions, any temptations in your path. I refused to be your downfall. You think I abandoned you? I had nothing when I came here, nothing! Maya saved my life. And you took her away from me. You took everything from me.” You can barely see him anymore, tears blurring the image of the man before you and you don’t have the strength to wipe them away, both hands still grasping the handle of the lightsaber as you shake. 

“Her blood is just as much on your hands as it is on mine,” Anakin refutes. He holds you in his gaze and the amount of rage in his gaze makes you uneasy, but you laugh bitterly at his words. 

“You think I don’t know that? All I can think about is how if I hadn’t sent her there, she’d be alive, Anakin.” He’s crying too now, tears carving their way down the ash residue left on his face from the fire. You blame him, you blame yourself, you blame everything. You just want Maya back. 

You lose your grip for just a second, weakened by the heavy toll that grief exerts on you, but a second is all that Anakin needs. He quickly disarms you and twirls the lightsaber to face you, rising and pushing you down with his feet. 

“Kill me,” you whisper, closing your eyes. You don’t want to keep fighting anymore. The universe would take revenge on Anakin for you, but you’re just too weak to carry on. Not without Maya. 

Anakin laughs darkly at your request and you can hear the hum of the lightsaber fade. The only thing you can hear is the fire as it spreads and the sound of his breathing as he stands above you. 

“You kept my daughter away from me, and she’s dead because of that. I won’t kill you, my love. No, that would be a kindness to you. You’re going to live, and you’re going to wake up every day with her death on our hands. If I am to carry this burden, I won’t do it alone. Live, and suffer.” 

Anakin walks away from you as you open your eyes. Your last glimpse of Anakin is with his back turned to you, flames licking at the bottom of his robes as he leaves you in the fire, a fire so bright you could mistake it for a supernova. You want to stay here, let the inferno swallow you whole, but you drag yourself to the hut where the remaining settlers are frantically rushing into the forest to put out the fire. 

Your Anakin Skywalker, the man you loved for so long, has been dead for a long time. Now, you have to learn to live in his aftermath. 

~~~

Twenty-three years since Maya’s death. 

It still feels like part of you was cut away that day, but you’ve learned to live without that part. It still hurts, every morning, but time has been kind to your memories of Maya. You don’t think about her suffering or her death, but the brightness of her smile when she was with you. And you live your life, as best as you can. The Empire has ravaged Lothal far too many times to count but the little sparks of rebellion bring you hope. 

Anakin doesn’t cross your mind much anymore. In the earlier years, when he did, the memory of him was associated with rage. But you’ve grown and you understand now that the man who killed Maya was not the same man who you grew to love in your childhood. 

You’re washing your hands when you can feel something shift. It’s slight, and so far away you barely register it. You can feel Anakin, the way he was so many years ago when he was still uninfluenced by the Dark Side. Your Anakin.

And just as quickly as the feeling came, it was gone. After his death, Anakin Skywalker had returned only to die again. Something about that gave you a certain peace, to know that he died as himself. 

You don’t know why you find yourself turning around but you do anyway, and before you is the glowing blue Force ghost of Anakin Skywalker. There’s kindness in his gaze, one that you didn’t see when you were last with him. You don’t dare to look away from him because you know when you do you’ll have to let everything go all over again. He looks innocent, the way you think he would’ve looked if the Dark Side hadn’t influenced him. 

By the time you blink, he’s gone, with no evidence that he was ever really there. 

When the sun is set and the world goes quiet, you go outside to look at the stars. There’s one that’s brighter than all the others tonight. 

For some reason, it reminds you of Anakin.

#star wars fanfic #star wars #amongst the stars #my writing #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #smut #fanfic #angst

[1whore1gang]

Post MW3 Drabble:

Implied Soap x Reader, Platonic! TF141 x Reader, Potential Ghost x Reader if you squint. (made for f!reader)

SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVENT PLAYED THE GAME

enjoy :)

CW: causing,mentions of death, mental health, grief

It was hard for all of you when it happened. It was so quick, yet everything moved in slow motion as his body hit the ground.

The moment still haunts all of your dreams, replaying over and over in your minds.

It was the worst for you. It took weeks before you stopped crying as soon as you woke up. You’d gotten so used to rolling over and snuggling into Johnny every morning. He was your sunshine.

The first few nights were the worst, staring at the indent in the bed where he’d laid not even a week ago. You didn’t dare touch it, wanting to preserve him in a weird way.

You couldn’t even shower without breaking down. Johnny would always come sit on the sink and talk to you while you showered. It felt so empty without him.

Everything felt empty. Brushing your teeth without his arms wrapping around you. Making food and only making enough for you. Going to bree coffee and accidentally grabbing his mug with yours.

Nothing felt right, and you couldn’t bear it. Luckily you weren’t grieving alone. Simon was struggling just as bad as you were. Johnny was like a brother to him.

Many night the two of you sat in silence in the common area. No words are exchanged most of the time, you both just needed company.

The team all made sure to try to do little things for you. They bought you flowers, took you out for lunches. Price did whatever he could to attempt to keep you from spiraling. He even offered to let you give him a haircut, knowing you’d always make fun of him for how scruffy he was.

Gaz would make you sweets or help with chores around base. He would take you on walks or take you with on errands just so you wouldn’t be alone.

No matter what though, you still had this void in your life. You felt like a piece of you drifted away on that cliff with his ashes. It felt like you had watched your life dissipate into the wind.

He took a part of you with him, and you were afraid you’d never get it back.

You’d spend countless nights looking at old photos, reading old love notes he wrote you. You’d watch videos of him just to keep his voice fresh in your memory.

The only thing you were beginning to forget was his touch. The way his hands would ignite sparks at the slightest graze was slowly leaving you. The gentleness of his grasp was slipping away.

You missed him so bad, and it was beginning to become unbearable.

You were awake one night a couple of days after his death, lost in a rabbit hole of pictures and videos. It was nearly 3 AM, but you didn’t notice nor dare. A knock hit your door, and it creaked open to reveal Simon.

“Hey Johnny have you seen my-“ He looked up at you and realized his mistake. “I’m sorry Y/N…”

It took you a second to collect yourself but you smiled at him. “Hi Simon. Are you okay?” You watched as he began to slightly tear up. Simon wasn’t a cryer, but Soap’s death has broke him to his core.

“I miss him.” He said, his voice breaking your own heart. You looked down for a second, deciding if you were ready.

“Need a friend?” You said as you patted the side of the bed where Johnny used to sleep. Simon nodded but paused.

“Are you sure?” He said, cautious.

“Mhm. It feels too empty in here. It’s too quiet.” Simon nodded again as he removed his mask and sat next to you.

You both sat and reminisced on Johnny’s life. Sharing memories and laughs, you both began to feel better.

“I’m gonna try to get some rest. Just wake me if you need anything okay?” You began to lay down, feeling the bed shift as Simon rolled over with a ‘Goodnight.’

You felt the mattress dip and it’s like your body went into shock. That feeling was all to familiar and your brain was screaming at you to turn over and look for Johnny.

Sniffles began to sound out of you at the feeling and the memories it brought to your mind. Maybe you weren’t ready after all.

“Hey, are you okay?” You felt Simon place his hand on you gently.

“I don’t know.” You sobbed out, not strong enough to look at him.

“Do me a favor, roll over.” He helped you move onto your opposite side to face him. “Trust me?” You nodded and he pulled you into his chest as he held you, brushing his fingers through your hair and quietly shushing you. “I know how bad it hurts and I’m so sorry.”

From that night forward, Simon spent almost every night in your room, just so you both could actually get some sleep. The comfort of having someone there brought you both peace.

Weeks had gone by and you realized something was off with yourself. You woke up and looked at the day and panicked.

You were a week late.

You sneakily ran down to the store a block away and bought a pregnancy test, or two, or three.

Running back to your room unseen, you were quick to unwrap them and take them.

Minutes passed that felt like hours when your timer went off. You flipped each one over, looking at the results.

Positive

Positive

Positive

“Shit!” You yelled, your hands flying to your hair. As soon as the word left your mouth, you heard your door open and Simon enter. “Y/N?? You here? We missed you at training.”

You walked out of your bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind you and standing in front of it. “Are you okay? You look pale.” Simon walked up to you and placed his hands on your face to feel for a fever.

“Yeah I’m fine, I woke up late.”

“No, something’s wrong. Your eyes widened when something’s wrong and your pupils are dilated. Your breathing is elevated too.” How the fuck does he know that?!

“Just panicked about the fact I woke up late.” You shrugged it off, unmoving.

“What’s in the bathroom Y/N?” His voice drew serious. He wasn’t asking, he was telling you to move.

“Nasty stuff really, that time of the month ya know?” He didn’t believe you.

“Let me see. Nothing I haven’t seen before. In fact, I’ve seen worse.” What the fuck? “Please move.”

You swallowed HARD. “I don’t want you to see it though.”

“Y/N. Move. I know better than that. I’m not stupid. Let me see the bathroom.”

It took a lot of arguing before you stepped aside. Simon walked past you and his eyes laid on the tests. “You’re pregnant? This is what you were hiding?”

He turned to you. “Yeah…I don’t know how far along I am.” Simon nodded and chewed on his lip for a moment in thought.

“Johnny’s?”

Although it wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement, it hung heavy in the air. “Yeah, Johnny.”

Simon audibly swallowed as he continued to stare at the positive text on each one. He hasn’t moved hardly past the doorframe, hand still on the knob.

“I’ll help you.”

“Huh?” His words hadn’t registered in your mind yet.

“This is going to be okay. I’ll help you.” Simon turned to you and grabbed your hands, squeezing them. “You’re going to be okay.”

And you were. Simon helped you. You both went to appointments and began to buy things little by little. Simon even applied for housing so you didn’t have to do this in the barracks.

6 months in and it turned out everything was going to be okay.

#captain price x reader #modern warefare 2 x reader #simon ghost riley #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #tf141 x reader #cod mw2 #johnny mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick

[toki-is-the-king]

More Dethklok headcanons:

How I imagine each of their morning routines go.

•Nathan: Nathan likes his routine. He’s a a regular guy. If he’s not waking up screaming from a night long prophetic nightmare, he usually gets up around the same time every day, unless he’s hungover or feeling lazy. He strikes me as the type to go shower, then grabs the outfit he wore the previous day, sniff it, and then put it back on. He pretty much wears the same shit each day and choosing an outfit wastes time, in his opinion. If he doesn’t have to go anywhere then he just goes to the kitchen in his boxers and robe to drink from the milk carton. Then he likes to read the news paper, while wearing his glasses, and drinking his black coffee. He stares into the void for awhile, not talking, just clearing his throat or grunting while making a mental check list of what he needs to get done that day. I think Nathan tries his best out of everyone to be organized, the best he can at least. Nathan is one of those guys that would have a stupid mug that says ‘don’t fucking talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ or ‘not a morning person’. Some dumb Spencer’s type of shitty mug.The guys got it for him as a joke but he uses it anyway.

•Pickles: Pickles wakes up hungover, surrounded by beer cans, probably passed out behind the couch or in some really weird position that hurts his neck. He sits and stares at the wall for a few minutes, gets up to go puke, then heads to the kitchen to search for more beer. Pickles never learns, or he just doesn’t care. Charles just stands there shaking his head. Pickles has a bed but he hardly wakes up in it. He falls asleep in bed a lot and then finds himself passed out somewhere random, usually on the floor in the living room or his bathroom. He never remembers too much of the previous night and that’s okay. He likes blacking out. He doesn’t usually eat breakfast when he has a hangover and just finds random snacks to munch on until he feels a little better.

•Murderface: The first and I mean very first thing Murderface does when his eyes open each morning is jack off (with his bass playing hand). Then after a round of that he turns on the tv. Sometime later he probably joins Pickles who’s sitting at the table in his underwear. Murderface likes to have breakfast even if no one else is, so he has Jean Pierre cook him something right away. Murderface usually sits at the table, stabbing away at the surface with his knife, and talks at whoever is up. Pickles, who’s too hungover to even comprehend what he’s saying, and Nathan, who’s sitting off to the side silently doing a cross word puzzle. Murderface doesn’t care if they aren’t listening, he just likes to talk and hates awkward silences. When Nathan is done with the newspaper Murderface asks for it so he can read the obituaries. “I jusht like to schee who’s died lately…you know, caush I’m up at the crack of dawn, living my life, and they’re jusht dead! Ha! Fuck em!”

•Toki: When Toki wakes up, he always checks his Dethphone to see if he has any missed calls or messages from Dr Rockso. Toki likes to take those dumb morning selfies and send them to the Dethklok group chat. He usually says the same thing every time like ‘just workes up! Good mornings!’ and only Charles or Nathan responds because it’s so early. Toki wakes up the earliest because his body is used to it. As a child he had to be up before the sun in order to begin the family chores, so I feel like he’s usually up and going long before everyone else. He also can’t fall back asleep unless he’s hungover. Toki likes to have some quiet time with just himself for awhile, working on his model airplanes or coloring. He loves the guys but sometimes he likes to be by himself where it’s quiet and no one’s arguing. I think he also talks to himself or to his stuffed animals while he’s building his models, telling them about his nightmares or what he wants to do that day. Sometimes he just goes on rants and feels better afterwards. “Man I reallys hopes Dr Rockso nots in the slammer again! I donts know what’s to tells that guy! He nevers listens to Toki! I just tries to helps him cause he ams my friend!” Toki also has to take his insulin, which he’s gotten the hang of now since Charles instructed him to do it. He hardly misses a shot, knowing he feels better if he takes them. Sometimes though he can’t resist those sugary kid’s cereals and he’ll eat a big bowl of cereal and then take his insulin right away. He knows it’s risky but he likes sugar too much. The guys all stand there staring at him, making sure he doesn’t go into a diabetic coma. Murderface will wait around just a little longer than everyone else, you know just in case ‘hambuger time’ happens.

•Skwisgaar also gets up early. When he’s waking up alone and not in the company of the women who sleep over, he likes to get out of bed right away so he doesn’t depress himself by lying there and staring at the ceiling, wasting precious time that could be spent practicing guitar. He goes and takes a piss, showers, then spends forever brushing his hair and doing some kind of skin routine, but he doesn’t let anyone else know. Dude literally hides his facial stuff and face masks so no one asks about them. If anyone does see them, he usually says something like one of the ladies he was seeing that night left it. “Oh ja, dis sluts from de nights before leaves alls her shit in my rooms…so I’s just keeps it for a reminders how goods dat ah sexual intimasky was that day. It’s likes a trophy.”After he finishes with his hair and stuff, Skwisgaar sits and practices guitar until his hands are sore. If he’s not hurting himself is he really playing to his full potential?! He has a weird obsession with outdoing himself from his last practice session, pressuring himself to be better and faster each time. If he can’t play the fastest he won’t be the best. He has to be the best. Once his hands are too sore it motivates him to leave his room so he doesn’t fall into a hole of self criticism over his guitar playing. When he’s around others he’s the biggest show off about how good he is at guitar and he knows it, but on occasion even he doubts himself. And being alone and second guessing himself can be too much first thing in the morning, so he joins the guys in the kitchen. He usually has black coffee like Nathan and probably toast or something.

#dethklok #metalocalypse #dethklok headcanon #headcanons #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #william murderface #skwistok #charles offdensen #i love these guys #writing #writing dump

[leeeeeeeeech]

Desperate Measures Pt 2

"Say my name." he repeated, his words carrying a weight of anticipation. I take a deep breath, trying to find my resolve.

"I don't know your name." I say, much more meek than I meant. Fear and uncertainty clung to my words like tar. There was a brief pause, an eerie stillness settled in the room, broken only by the hum of the television.

A dark chuckle emerged from the depths of the screen, the man's face contorting into a rather unsettling grin. It was as if he was amused by my fear, drawing it in like a moth to a flame.

"Yeah you do," he responded, his gravelly voice taking on a playful tone. It was clear that he was toying with me, reveling in my confusion.

"Here, let me give ya a visual toots."

Suddenly, the screen began to stretch and warp, distorting reality itself. The man's fingers emerged from within the screen, long and gnarled like the branches of a twisted tree. As they extended toward me, insects crawled and skittered across the screen, tumbling onto the carpet in a chaotic dance.

Panic surged through me, and I stumbled backward, desperate to put distance between myself and this nightmarish intrusion. The room crackled with static, and the man's voice echoed once more.

"What are these?" he inquired, his eyes fixed on the insects that now littered the floor. Despite my fear, I found myself leaning forward, attempting to identify the tiny creatures. After a few moments of scrutiny, recognition took hold.

"They're beetles," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man's grin widened, revealing sharp, predatory teeth. "That's right," he purred, his eyes gleaming with a sinister delight. "Now, what's this?"

I watch in horror as the man contorts in a glass cup, green liquid pouring into it in rapid succession.

"Juice?" I blurted out, feeling more and more bewildered by the minute.

The man in the glass laughed. "Bingo!" he exclaimed, his eyes glittering with glee.

"Now," He transformed back into himself, holding the glass of green juice. Before I could interject he snatched a beetle from the carpet.

"Put them together!" He excitedly dipped the beetle into the juice, and threw it into his mouth. I cringed at the audible crunch.

"Beetlejuice?" His eyes snapped open, green sparks bounced off his irises.

"Yessss?" He responded, looking somehow more malevolent. I look around the room, waiting for something to happen. Beetlejuice sighs, directing my attention back to him.

"Ya gotta say it two more times toots."

"Oh," I falter, my adrenaline slowing down enough for me to think for a moment.

"If I say your name again, will you leave me alone?" I attempt to strike a deal with this... ghost? demon? I wasn't really sure what he was honestly.

Beetlejuice leaned in close, his grin stretching from ear to ear, his breath like a foul gust of wind. "Sure thing, sweet thing. But you gotta say it three times in a row, real fast, and then I'm outta here like a bat outta hell." He winked, or rather, blinked at me.

I hesitated, contemplating the consequences of complying with this bizarre request. But the relentless grin on his face was more than enough to convince me.

"Fine, Beetlejuice," I said, my voice trembling. "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

The room seemed to warp and twist, colors swirling like a vortex. Beetlejuice's cackling laughter filled the air, growing louder and more maniacal with each repetition of his name.

And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, Beetlejuice vanished, leaving me standing there, shaken and bewildered.

I rub my eyes, deciding to just go to sleep and deal with whatever bullshit just happened in the morning. I quietly pad to my room, and flop onto my bed. I turn over, sliding my hands underneath the pillow, ready to fall into the inky void of dreamland. As my hands slide, they're met with something extremely cold. I recoil, jumping at the freezing temperature.

I roll, flicking on my lamp to see what the issue was. As my eyes flicked back to my bed, I screamed. There, in all his disgusting glory, was Beetlejuice. He had a smirk on his face as he struck a seductive pose, jutting his hip up into the air. His moldy suit rubbing off on my comforter. I grimace, crossing my arms at the ghost.

"You said you would leave me alone."

He smiles, taking his fingers and squishing them into his cheeks in a faux-cute manner.

"I lied."

#beetlejuice x reader #my writing #this is officially becoming a series