#so it slipped as soon as i had it over the window ledge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

megalony · 2 months

Text

Saving Grace

This is a new Eddie Diaz imagine that is going to be split into two parts, requested by a lovely anon. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: After Eddie saves a woman on a call, she becomes very attached to him. He tries to tell her he isn't interested, but it doesn't go well when she decides to taunt him by hurting his wife.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I can't reach."

"Then get out the way and make some room." Sliding off her jacket and removing her helmet, (Y/n) tossed them to the floor before she patted her brother's shoulder to make him move.

She waited for him to wiggle his way back through the window and take a step back into the apartment away from the window. As soon as he was away from the window, (Y/n) dug her hands into the windowsil and pushed up onto her toes to try and lean out.

She took a deep breath before she turned herself around and pushed up until she wedged her upper half through the window and sat down on the ledge. Her body jolted when she felt Evan grab her thighs that were still inside the window and she heard him shout something along the lines of how reckless she was being.

There was a woman who had fallen through her balcony floor and she was wedged in the floor but she was beginning to fall. If she slid down much further she would fall through and she was five stories above the ground.

Eddie, Hen and Chimney were all in the woman's apartment and on the balcony to try and pull her out. While (Y/n) and Evan went into the apartment below to try and see if they could help secure her somehow. But there wasn't a balcony below hers, only a window that (Y/n) was now sitting on the ledge of.

"Be bloody careful! If you fall I swear to God-"

"Keep hold of me and I won't. Eddie lower the harness to me." (Y/n) braced one hand on the unsteady balcony floor above her before she leaned her right hand out near the woman's torso that was through the floor.

They needed to secure the harness around the woman's waist so if she fell, she wouldn't plummet to her death.

(Y/n) waited as one of the team above her slowly shimmied a harness through the hole in the floor. Once it was close enough, (Y/n) pushed up and grabbed it and clipped it around the woman's waist. She kept one hand on the balcony to keep herself stable while her other hand stayed on the woman's lower back when she started to wriggle and slip.

"All secure."

"I- I'm gonna fall!"

"You're not gonna fall, because I'm not letting go of you. Okay?" Eddie took a deep breath to try and steady his heartbeat before he shifted his left leg further out onto the balcony.

He was leaning over the woman, both arms wrapped around her upper chest with her hands scrunched up into his shirt so tightly he was sure she was going to rip through the material. She had done well holding herself up until they got here to free her. Chimney had managed to cut away the broken pieces of wood in the floor that had been cutting into her chest and back and Eddie kept hold of her so she didn't suddenly plummet down.

With his left foot braced near the railing, Eddie tried to balance his weight between his feet so the floor wouldn't give way again and send them both down. He had a harness on for his own safety and one around the woman he was holding up.

When she suddenly started to slip, her face pressed down into Eddie's shoulder and her scream vibrated through his system and made him wince. He forced all his energy and strength into his arms and started to pull up, wrenching her up through the floor before she had chance to fall any further.

He wouldn't let her drop down or dangle on a harness, he had hold of her and he wasn't letting go.

He could feel Hen's hand on his shoulder as he dragged the woman up and moved his hands down to her hips to hold her better when her legs finally came up through the floor.

"Feet down… there we go. Let's get back inside on solid ground, okay?" A breathless smile flooded Eddie's face once she was stood beside him a foot away from the hole in the floor that looked extremely unsafe.

Her hands stayed dug into his shoulders like they had melted into him and she didn't dare lift her head from his shoulder, unable to believe that she was safe again. Eddie stayed perfectly still to lessen the chances of anyone else falling back down and he nodded at Hen who gently took hold of their victim and tried to get her inside.

Everyone needed to move off the balcony and get inside where the floor was less likely to give way on them.

Once she was inside, Eddie reached his hand out for the balcony rail to steady himself and he took a quick peek down through the gap in the floor. His blood ran cold and his jaw locked when he looked down at saw his wife staring up at him with a nervous, half smile.

"I thought I told you to be careful?" He rose a brow when (Y/n) grimaced and looked down at the window before she looked back up at her husband.

"Evan's got me."

"I don't care. Get back inside before you fall out the window." His expression was stern and he leaned down a little more to watch and make sure she got back inside.

Eddie knew for a fact (Y/n) didn't have a harness on because the harnesses and winch were up here. The last thing he wanted was his wife leaning out a fourth story window like that and risking falling down herself.

He watched her wiggle her way back through the window before he leaned u and slowly moved across the balcony and got back inside, too. He wasn't staying out here any longer than necessary. Eddie didn't fancy a piece of wood stuck in his leg or the horrid feeling of dangling on a harness if the floor gave way and sent his stomach up into his throat.

He barely got himself back through the door before the woman had her arms curled around his chest and she suddenly glued herself to his front.

"Thank you!"

"It's okay, all part of the job." He patted her back and stayed still until she finally unhooked herself from him. Eddie wasn't one to go round hugging strangers, even if they were thanking him like this, he didn't know what to do or how to act. He was only comfortable hugging close friends or family.

He worked on undoing the harness around his chest when she stepped back and he took a slow step back himself, trying to keep a bit of distance between them. He felt like he was close enough to feel each shallow breath she took and he didn't like it.

"Still… it's not an everyday thing for me. So thank you for being my saving grace…"

"Eddie." He finished when he noticed her eyes dart down to the nametag on his chest. She could see that couldn't be his first name, there weren't many people who would be called Diaz for their first name.

"I'm Lydia."

***

Darting his eyes across the table, Evan glanced across at his sister as his lips faltered into a frown and he pointed his fork towards her plate. "You not hungry?"

She hadn't eaten anything. They had been rushed off their feet this morning and well into the afternoon. Evan was on his second plate since he had missed breakfast and worked up an appetite. But there was his little sister, sat there not even bothering to eat anything. She had had all of one bite of her cottage pie and it wasn't like her.

None of them skipped a good meal on shift, not with the amount of times they had to forgo dinner in exchange of an emergency.

"The smell… it's making me feel sick." (Y/n) pushed her plate into the middle of the table in case Evan wanted any more.

She let herself sink down into her chair and tilted her head back towards the ceiling as she let her eyes fall closed. She was getting sensitive to smells lately and it didn't matter if it was food she loved and had eaten thousands of times before. Most foods now smelt strong and horrible and (Y/n) couldn't stomach them.

For the last week, she had been sticking to cereal or a plain chicken sandwich, it was all she could manage without throwing it back up again. (Y/n) knew if she got any worse, Eddie would be on red alert and turn into her personal doctor. He didn't like it when she was ill.

"You got it bad, huh?"

(Y/n) peeked one eye open and glanced to her left to look over at Hen, finding the medic smiling softly at her with a knowing look in her eyes.

"This kid's draining me," (Y/n) muttered back, to which Hen chuckled.

Morning sickness wasn't something (Y/n) had been weary of until this month where everything she ate came back with vengeance. It was bad enough having to tell the team that now she had to go on restricted duties for the next few months, without getting sick and feeling even more like a nuisance.

Her hand moved to rub slow circles across her stomach that she stared down at in wonder. She didn't look any different yet. There was only a very slight change to her stomach, not that there would be a big difference yet when she was only four months along. But that meant (Y/n) only had three months left at work before she would be benched to maternity leave.

Whehn she heard Eddie's voice in the background, (Y/n) opened her eyes and did a quick sweep around before she let her head drop forward. Her eyes found her brother and she nudged her plate across to him and swapped them round as if they were kids again, trying to fool their big sister.

Evan had always been a machine. He could eat anything and have two or three helpings so whenever (Y/n) wasn't hungry, they would switch plates so (Y/n) could pretend she finished her dinner and Evan got extra helpings. It was a win win situation that always fooled Maddie, who was more of a parent to them than their true parents were.

"What- oh come on, I've already had two plates." Evan gruffed when (Y/n) took his plate in exchange for hers. That meant he had to eat her plate or Eddie would suspect something was up. Evan never left a full plate.

"Do you wanna cover my shift if he sends me home?" (Y/n) folded her arms over her chest and sat up straighter in her chair, raising a brow at her brother who pulled a face before he looked over at Eddie.

"Baby I know that's not your plate."

Eddie pressed his phone to his ear as he stood behind (Y/n)'s chair and looked down at her with a stern expression. His free hand curled around her shoulder and he pursed his lips when she tilted her head back into his abdomen and tried to smile up at him. He wasn't stupid. Eddie wasn't going to believe that (Y/n) had thrown up breakfast, missed lunch, but somehow managed to clear a full plate of dinner when she wasn't well.

He could hear Hen snickering beside them and Evan grumbled something before he pushed the plate away and leaned back in his seat.

"Alright, here's your mum." Reaching down, Eddie held his phone out to (Y/n), watching her lips curve into a smile when she guessed who was on the other end.

Chris.

(Y/n) gratefully took the phone and got up from the table, glad to get away from the food that was making her stomach churn. She felt Eddie kiss the back of her head and his hand slithered down to her hip before she moved over to the sofa near the tv. And Eddie took her place at the table since he hadn't eaten his dinner yet.

"Hi baby, how was school?" (Y/n) let herself slump down on the sofa and she propped her feet up on the coffee table.

Carla had picked Chris up from school today and whenever they were both at work, Chris always rang them when he got home from school.

She had been in Chris's life for the past four years and from the moment (Y/n) married Eddie, Chris started calling her his mum. He loved her as if she really was his real mum and (Y/n) had taken to Chris from the moment she met him.

"Nice try. Did she eat any of it?" Eddie muttered quietly across at Evan while Hen got up to go clear her plate, leaving he two of them to it.

"Nope." Evan shook his head and placed (Y/n)'s full plate on top of his empty one. He didn't want to get involved. Evan worried about his sisters silently and although he wasn't happy about (Y/n) not eating anything, he couldn't do or say anything. Evan knew that Eddie was the one (Y/n) would listen to.

If Eddie told her to go home because she was ill, she would go and rest. He was the only one who could get through to her and the only one whose worries were enough to make (Y/n) back down.

"And she wonders why I get worried or tell her to stay home." He shook his head as he started to eat. Eddie hadn't been thrilled three days ago when he had to go to Bobby behind (Y/n)'s back and tell him that she needed to go home. She had thrown up so badly she was starting to dehydrate and she couldn't concentrate properly.

But Eddie only had (Y/n)'s wellbeing at heart and if she wasn't well, she shouldn't be on shift, she should be resting at home.

After saying goodbye, (Y/n) hung up and let her head slump to the left against the cushion on the sofa. Only a few hours left and then she and Eddie could go home to Chris.

Her eyes looked down at Eddie's homescreen and her lips curved up into a smile. It was a picture Eddie took a while back of them both lying in bed with (Y/n)'s face buried into his neck and her arms tightly wrapped around his bare chest.

Her thumb hovered over the lock button but just before she pressed it, a notification popped up and his phone vibrated. He had text.

"Eddie…" She pushed up off the sofa and took a deep breath to try and clear her head. But her eyes narrowed and her lips fell into a frown when she saw the message that hovered over the top of the screen.

'Don't worry. I won't tell your wife anything, or what we've been talking about. Lydia. XX'

Her chest tightened and her body shuddered as adrenaline surged through her stomach and bubbled up into her chest.

Had she done something wrong? She couldn't help that her first thought was Eddie talking about her. Had she done something to upset him and make him go to someone to talk about her?

But it wasn't as if they had argued a lot recently. (Y/n) couldn't recall the last time they had argued. Things were going great between her and Eddie, or so she thought. She was pregnant for God's sake, they were expanding their family together. What would be so bad about what Eddie had been talking about with someone to make it so secretive like that? What was so bad that (Y/n) wasn't supposed to know about?

Eddie wasn't the type to cheat. He wasn't like that and he had no reason to go and cheat on (Y/n) when they were happy together. A few months ago they had decided to start trying for a baby and they barely started trying before the first pregnancy test came back positive. Eddie wouldn't cheat on her now.

(Y/n) locked her eyes on her husband, stood in front of the sink as he dried his hands after doing the washing up.

The paranoia in her chest simmered down a little when his eyes locked on her and a smile fluttered across his lips. But when Eddie saw the unease written across her face, his smile started to dampen.

"Everything okay babe?"

"You know, if this is some kind of joke, Eddie, I don't find it very funny."

Eddie's face fell and his chest tightened when (Y/n) pressed his phone into his chest until he reached up to take it from her. No sooner did his hand envelope hers, (Y/n) pulled back and left the kitchen.

Panic bubbled up in Eddie's chest and his face fell as he watched her walk away. What had he done? He hadn't said anything. He left her to talk on the phone with Chris. Eddie had barely even mentioned about her not eating her dinner either, he was still unhappy about that because he was worried about her. Had he started a fight without knowing about it?

His eyes glanced down at his phone and he clicked on the message that popped up, but when he read it, a groan tumbled past his lips and he shoved his phone into his back pocket.

He dropped the teatowel and jogged through the kitchen, following his wife down the stairs as she made her way to the ambulance. (Y/n) would busy herself making sure the ambulance was stocked and ready for whenever they got their next call out.

"Baby- baby stop a minute and talk to me please."

When (Y/n) opened the back doors and went to climb up, she gasped as Eddie's arm pinned around her middle and he pulled her back when she got one foot up on the step. Her hands clenched down on his arm and she groaned when Eddie effortlessly pulled her back and turned her around in his arms so she was facing him.

His hands held her arms and he nudged her back until she sat down on the edge and he could move to stand between her thighs. She tried to fold her arms over her chest but Eddie moved them out the way and cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him.

"Have I missed something?" (Y/n) whispered quietly. She felt a desirable urge to tear her head out of Eddie's grip and move to stand up tall in front of him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

She stayed sat down and pressed her knees into his thighs to squeeze him between her legs. Her lips pursed and she waited for an answer. He wanted to talk, so they would talk. It would be easier than giving Eddie the cold shoulder for the rest of their shift, and (Y/n) knew she wouldn't do well trying to ignore this. She would only wonder and fester on what that message meant.

"You remember that call out last week… the woman who feel through the balcony?"

"Hm."

"Somehow, she's got my number. I've blocked it, but she keeps messaging me. Here, check the messages, I haven't replied but she isn't giving up so easily." Eddie pulled his phone from his pocket and placed it in (Y/n)'s hand before he moved to crouch down between her thighs.

His hands cupped her upper thighs and started to rub up and down, and he leaned to kiss her knee.

He wasn't lying. Eddie didn't know how Lydia had gotten his number, but she must be changing her sim card or changing her number because he had blocked her but somehow she was still getting through to him. She tried calling him, he wouldn't answer. She texted him and he responded once to ask her politely to stop.

Eddie was married. He had a wife and son and a baby on the way, he didn't want to be talking to another woman and he certainly didn't want her pestering him like this. It was becoming annoying and irritating and Eddie didn't want this to worry (Y/n).

"Why didn't you say anything?" (Y/n) handed the phone back without checking. She trusted Eddie, she didn't want to rummage through his texts and act as if she didn't trust him being faithful.

"Because I blocked her, I thought that was it. I don't want you worrying about this when you're not well. I've got you, Chris and the baby to think about, I'm not stressing over this too."

Eddie had his hands full with his family. He was always worrying about Chris for one reason or another. He worried about (Y/n), and now he was especially worried about her since she was unwell with the baby. Eddie saw no point in stressing about this woman who kept trying to message him. She hadn't done anything strange except for the incessant calls. Eddie was happy to go on ignoring her and pretending this wasn't happening.

"Now come on. I know for a fact Hen stocked the supplies when we got back, I want to see you eat something."

"Eddie-"

"You either eat something or you go home. I'm not taking any chances with you both."

Adrenaline fluttered in (Y/n)'s stomach when Eddie leaned forward and pressed his lips to her stomach over her shirt. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair before she let him pull her up to her feet.

"Whatever you say," She murmured quietly as she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him close enough for a kiss.

***

Doing her level best to hold her chin up and keep the calm smile on her face, (Y/n) took a deep breath and strode through into the station. She didn't spare a glance towards the brunette on her left as she passed her by and walked in between the truck and the ambulance.

Lydia was back.

(Y/n) knew Eddie hadn't been best pleased when Lydia turned up at the station last week, unannounced and claimed she was there to thank the team for helping her. It settled strange for everyone since she was solely focused on talking to Eddie and not the rest of them.

The quiet word he had with her to politely ask her to stop calling him and not to come by the station again didn't seem to have the desired affect if she was here now.

"Hey, how's my nephew doin'?"

(Y/n) let herself relax when she felt Evan grab her from behind. His hands found her shoulders and he leaned down due to the height difference, hovering his chin near her shoulder while he grinned. He kept hold of her and walked behind her, following (Y/n)'s trail towards the gym since she could see her husband in there.

She had switched her shift around to work this afternoon so she could have the morning off for her appointment. It meant (Y/n) could have a calm morning, take Chris to school and then go to her appointment with the midwife before coming on shift. She got to see her husband for a few hours too before his shift ended and he went to collect Chris.

"Fine, he's at school." A grin found its way onto (Y/n)'s lips and she looked up at Evan who rolled his eyes.

"Good, but I meant the other one." Evan leaned his hand round and prodded (Y/n)'s stomach until she squirmed and pulled away with a laugh.

"The baby might not be a boy, you know, but they're fine." (Y/n) let Evan give her a quick hug before he drifted from her and moved towards the stairs to go up to the annex.

Her sights set ahead of her and she quietly walked into the gym and placed her bag down on the floor beside her. She kept her footsteps light and her movements slow as she trailed further into the room until she was stood directly behind Eddie.

He had his back to her, wearing a pair of loose black shorts and a tight fitted grey vest. His hair was damp with sweat and starting to flop forward near his forehead, but (Y/n)'s sights kept moving back towards his arms. Watching the way they tensed and bulged when he pulled back and how the muscles popped when he thrust his hands forward into the punch bag.

He slammed his gloved fist forward into the bag before he froze when a pair of arms curved beneath his and familiar hands planted in the middle of his chest. His lips curved into a breathless grin when he felt (Y/n)'s lips smother the side of his neck.

Reaching his hand up, Eddie tore the strap free from the glove and dropped it to the floor before doing the same to the other.

He wasted no time turning around in (Y/n)'s arms and curving one arm tight around her waist while his other hand brushed his hair away from his forehead. His grin showed his teeth and he dragged his tongue across his lower lip when (Y/n) lifted her arms to cocoon them around his neck instead.

"There's my girl. How'd it go, hm? All good?" His lips attached to (Y/n)'s jaw as he spoke and he worked his way up to her lips. Hungry as he drank her in and stole each breath she tried to take until her nails dug into the back of his neck, begging for air.

A spark jolted through (Y/n)'s chest as she nudged her nose against his and felt his free hand move down until his palm pressed over her stomach.

Eddie hadn't been too happy to have to work this morning when (Y/n) had her appointment, but he had to so it worked out for him to pick Chris up from school while (Y/n) was at work. He knew they could try and arrange the next appointment so he could go along. He missed most of Shannon's appointments when he was in the army, Eddie didn't want to miss any of (Y/n)'s this time around.

She felt his thumb swipe across her stomach over her shirt and he stole another kiss while he waited patiently for her to tell him how it went.

"All good, although I've got another handful of vitamins and protein sachets to take. The baby's doing good." (Y/n) brought her hand down from his neck to hold his wrist as his fingers continued to skim across her stomach.

To boost her up and make sure she didn't get dehydrated or lose any weight, (Y/n) had been given some more supplements to take and extra vitamins.

"I'd best keep an eye on you, then." His lips pressed to hers again before he moved to graze his teeth along her neck.

"Eddie,"

"Hm?" The way she said his name had shivers shooting down his spine and he tightened his arm around her waist. His other hand finally moved from her stomach to cup the side of her jaw and he pulled back just enough to hear her speak. With his nose still touching hers and his panting breaths mingling against her lips.

"Your girlfriend's here, again."

Confusion burned in Eddie's eyes and he leaned his cheek against the side of (Y/n)'s head to look behind her through the window, across the station floor. She felt the way he growled deep within his chest and his arm pinned her tighter to his chest when his gaze burned onto Lydia at the far end of the station.

Why was she back again? Why couldn't she take the hint and leave them all alone, leave him alone?

All Eddie ever wanted and needed was right here in his arms right now. He didn't want anyone else. He didn't want Lydia always hovering around and trying to get close to him.

"I'll get rid of her." He muttered against the side of her head where he pressed another searing kiss.

He would tell her to leave, in no uncertain terms.

***

Eddie raked his fingers through his hair when he watched the truck slowly reverse into the station. He flagged it down and gave a thumbs up when it was parked as far back as it needed to go. He patted his hand down on the side of the truck as he walked round to the door and waited for the team to hop out.

He and Hen had come back off a small call out to find the rest of the team rushed out for a new call, leaving the second shift in charge.

He leaned his shoulders up against the truck and waited as the door opened and the team started to file out.

A smile formed on his lips when he watched Evan hop down from the truck but he could feel his lips faltering when he noticed the look of panic on Evan's face. He pushed his shoulders off the truck and moved closer to Evan, but he stopped when Evan turned round and reached his arms up into the truck.

Panic ignited in Eddie's chest as he watched (Y/n) stumble down from the truck. Her body was shaking, her arms were cocooned to her chest and her legs almost gave way when she was back on solid ground.

"What happened?" Eddie cast his arms forward and grabbed (Y/n) the moment she was on the floor.

He felt the way she jumped against him, not expecting him to be here the moment they pulled up in the station. (Y/n) let her shoulders slump back into Eddie's chest and when his arms deadlocked around her waist, she let him take her weight as her chin tilted forward into her chest.

"Buck, what happened-"

"We barely got out the truck on the scene and she blacked out. Bobby made her wait in the truck and she threw up."

Evan slammed the truck door shut and leaned back with his hands on his hips and his eyes focused on his sister. They hadn't even put on their helmets on the scene when (Y/n) suddenly went down like a domino. Evan sat her down on the floor for a minute before he helped her up into the truck when Bobby told her to wait this call out.

When they got back, she had thrown up and was reduced to tremors that had started to ease on the way back to the station.

"Did you eat breakfast this morning?" Eddie tightened his arms around (Y/n)'s waist when she arched her lower back into his torso and doubled forward. Her hands clenched down on his arm so tightly she started to draw blood and she felt the world spinning as she threw up onto the floor.

"You're looking at it," Evan muttered quietly and ran his hand across his jaw as his nose crinkled in distaste when his sister threw up by their feet.

"Mi amor, I think it's time you went home."

Leaning forward, Eddie pressed his lips to the back of (Y/n)'s neck and smoothed his thumb across her stomach while he sighed into her neck. She couldn't stay on shift when she was this ill, she needed to go home and rest and try to recover. Staying at work was only going to drain her and make her feel a while lot worse.

"(Y/n)…" Bobby leaned one hand on the side of the truck and looked over at the three of them. "Take the rest of the week off please. The last thing we need is you going to the emergency room."

It was an order, not a request and (Y/n) nodded before she flopped her head back on Eddie's shoulder and let him guide her away from the truck and towards the locker room. She couldn't be this ill on shift again or it was going to cause problems for the team. They would end up driving her to the emergency room and the last thing anyone wanted was (Y/n) getting to that point. She needed to go home and look after herself and get better.

"Let me take you home-"

"No, you're still on shift." She tilted her head to the side and pressed her temple against Eddie's jaw. She wasn't going to make more of a fuss and have Eddie leave shift to take her home. She was okay to drive and then she could collapse on the sofa and go to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

Plus, this meant (Y/n) could tell Carla she didn't have to collect Chris today or for the rest of the week. She was going to be home, able to look after him every day.

"I don't like the thought of you going home alone, not like this." Eddie didn't want (Y/n) to be on her own when she looked this unwell. He could feel her trembling against him and she was flushed and sweating.

"I'll call you when I get home, and when I've picked Chris up from school. I swear, I'll be fine."

(Y/n) wasn't sure how long she had been asleep.

The moment she got through the door, she called Eddie to say she was home and when she flopped onto the sofa, she could feel her mind starting to shut down almost immediately. The last thing she heard was Eddie's voice on the other end of the phone, asking her to try and eat something and let him know if she did and if she started to feel any worse.

But she didn't know how long she had been asleep for; all she knew was that she didn't wake up because of the alarm she set so she was on time to collect Chris.

She woke up because there was a hand covering her mouth.

Fingers dug bruisingly into her cheek. A rough palm pressed down on her mouth, mashing her lips against her teeth and pushing her head down into the cushion until she was almost imbedded into it.

When her eyes frantically opened and scanned around, she realised it wasn't anyone she knew stood in front of her.

But when she felt the blade of a kitchen knife press against her throat beneath her chin, her body started to shake.

And all she could do was scream.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz #imagine #911 imagine #pregnancy #pregnant! reader #evan buckley #bobby nash

368 notes · View notes

enkvyu · 10 months

Text

jjk characters as spiderman pt. one

part one featuring: satoru, suguru, shoko word count: ~3000 warnings: mentions of death, murder and grief. use of profanities. varied headcannon formatting and writing styles part two coming soon

gojo satoru

having spiderman as your boyfriend, is really annoying

sometimes you'll find yourself strolling down the street, peacefully doomscrolling through your phone, when your world flips upside down and gravity is taken from under your feet. only bundles of web keep you suspended in the air, and even your phone which had slipped from your hands, is webbed to the side of the building

blood rushes to your head, fuelling your anger and you have a feeling that you already know the suspect before spiderman shows himself, a certain swagger in his steps as he approaches you

"are you in trouble, random citizen? do you need to be saved?"

you want to curse him out and he knows it. so before you can open your mouth, gojo lifts the bottom of his mask and closes the distance between the two of you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. that shuts you up every time

the bus creaks over the edge of the broken bridge, passengers huddled in corners or pressed up against the window in a means of escape. you usher the children out the door where strangers safely on the other side reach for them. a jarring abyss lays waiting in the gap below.

another creak, your hands fly out to find balance and you hear the screams of others reflected inside your head. the tremble in your fingers becomes harder to hide as the bus slides down, down, down, suspended only due to the front wheels clinging to the ragged edge of the road.

spiderman was late, and that mistake was all it’ll take for countless lives to stain his hands. but of course, your boyfriend was the one and only spiderman, and though you often rolled your eyes at his arrogance, it was there for a reason.

a sudden cheering tears your eyes away from the ledge, and your shoulders sag as a distant figure flies into view.

even in this moment, you can't help but laugh as he swings excessively over the site. it's almost like time stops when your eyes meet, and you see him through the white of his mask. eyes wide, was that a stammer in his swing? and suddenly he's coming towards you.

something flickers to your right, and you spot the prowler slashing his way towards you too. it must have been the widening of your eyes that gave it away as gojo turns his head and traces your gaze. the stammer in his swing is unmistakable now and with a weird feeling brewing in your stomach, you greet him.

gojo calls your name and you have to hush him before the sound gets too loud. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine, spiderman. none of us are harmed. everyone’s only terrified because the bus is about to fall into that weird blackhole thing, down there." his eyes follow your finger and he curses. "think you can do your job and save us?” you say when he doesn't immediately move.

gojo nods. his webs fly out from his wrists and ties the front of the bus to two poles on either side of the bridge. they wrap round and round and round once more, just to be safe. just as gojo is about to pull the bus up, the prowler drops onto the road.

you turn your head with spiderman and only the whispers of bystanders fill the scene.

“spiderman! long time no see.”

“this was your doing.” gojo grits out.

“think of it as a surprise gift. i wanted to return what you gave me.” the prowler lifts his hand and yanks at his right arm, pulling it clean off.

you shriek and hide your eyes with your hands, peeking between your fingers to see that the arm was mechanical.

“i needed a hand.” gojo retorts. “who knew you would come to my rescue. you didn’t need much convincing to show yourself to me, huh? this time for sure, i’ll get you.”

the prowler laughs and its the sound of death. “then lets see if you can catch me.”

he starts running off into the crowd of spectators, a path craved out for him without much effort. spiderman takes a single step forward, before turning back. you recognise the question in his eyes even before he has the chance to voice it.

“go!” you shout. “we’ve got it from here. the longer you stay here, the less time we’ll have to be safe. just go!”

gojo’s eyes show hesitance even through the mask, and for a second, you think he might stay.

his arm comes up, web shooting from his wrist to secure the bus even more to the edge of the bridge. fear makes your mouth dry but you manipulate it to show a smile anyway.

“be safe.” spiderman says. “i love—”

“just go!” you say over him, hoping the people around him didn't hear his last few words. “we’ll be okay, dummy.”

when spiderman leaves, you take in a sharp inhale before turning around. “everyone, come up one at a time! the bus won’t be falling anytime soon but we still have to hurry. get the children out first, here, take my hand!”

metres away, the prowler tumbles back as spiderman’s feet hit him square in the chest. “you followed me all the way out here, gojo? even though your girlfriend’s in danger?”

gojo swallows back the sour taste in his mouth. “she told me to come.” his webs pull him up high and he uses this to put power behind his next punch. “the only person you should worry about is yourself, getou.”

“where are your usual quips? you seem to be out of your element.” getou dances around gojo's moves with ease.

“if you have enough time to talk, then you have enough time to win. so show me what you’ve got.”

getou growls, digging his claws into the cement underneath and lifting it up, sending it straight up in the air. gojo easily swishes to the side, feeling the piece of earth skim his chest as it rushes past. letting the momentum turn him around, he spins and shoots webs at the prowler’s feet.

“you missed!” gojo taunts, jumping off a streetlamp as the prowler throws something at him again. again, he webs at the prowler.

“it wasn’t you i was aiming for.”

gojo lets the comment fall off his ears, diving between the prowler's legs to kick him across the back of his head. getou grunts, and tries to move only to find himself held in place.

“you’re done.” gojo says, dropping down to walk towards the prowler.

getou stays silent as gojo walks up, before jerking forward, stepping out of his boots to headbutt gojo. spiderman groans, clutching his head, giving getou enough time to run off. before he could give chase, he was already gone, now more nimble having discarded his armour.

the prowler has slipped from his fingers. again. gojo snarls, before sighing, he shakes off his regrets and attempts to clear his mind. no, he shouldn’t be focusing on this right now. right now, he just needed to make sure you were safe. turning back, he surveys the scene for something to swing on, to gain aptitude.

there were those two poles on either side of the bridge, from earlier. perhaps it was the dust he had kicked up, but he could no longer see them in the distance. something chilling fills his stomach, and he chooses to ignore it, aiming his wrists for the next best thing and slinging forward.

the crowd parts for him.

“where’s the bus?” he asks no one in particular. the bystanders whisper, but it isn’t an answer that leaves their tongue. gojo’s eyes take in the crumbled bridge, a large chunk of cement situated at the scene that wasn’t there before. with a gutting feeling, gojo peers over the edge of the bridge, straight at the black hole.

his grief is the city’s soundtrack for that night, ringing through the streets where he once kissed you.

getou suguru

being spiderman is so easy, getou thinks.

as he weaves through the jungle of tokyo skyscrapers, wind caressing his face through the latex, a true tranquillity washes over him. there was nothing quite like being a superhero, especially if you were as good as getou was at his job. and boy was getou good. in fact, he was so good that he wasn't even going to be late to your date.

being spiderman is so easy.

spiderman swings through the open window of his room and with a huff, yanks off his mask. his hair tumbles out, all fuzzled from the static and harboring small knots. getou smooths his troubled hair as best as he can, but gives up settles for finding a cap to shove over it instead, since he’s sure you would complain if he showed up in his current state.

getou spins around his room, whistling in haste, clicking off his web shooters and throwing them somewhere behind him.

the tune dies on his lips when he finds you sitting on the edge of his bed, phone forgotten in your hand.

you stare up at him like he's grown two heads. though, it might be more accurate to say that he grew two faces in that moment.

your initial surprise wears off and you jump at the opportunity to interrogate him. "getou? no, spiderman? are you spiderman? what am i saying, of course you are! you're spiderman! i just saw you swing into your room! you'd think spiderman would have better instincts than this."

at first, getou panics. his hands flail around frantically as if to wave away your questions, but it only fans the flames. eventually, he cracks. laughing, he holds you by the shoulders. "slow down! i can't answer all these questions if you don't let me."

you beam up at him and he remembers why he fell in love with you in the first place. "my boyfriend is spiderman." you reaffirm in wonder.

"and my girlfriend is the most incredible girl i know. who's going to let me change out of my dirty suit before you press me further."

"i was wondering what that smell was."

"i was fighting a sewer monster. you'll see him on the news soon enough."

"so this is where your large, inflated ego comes from. i was wondering where you got your confidence. if only i knew it was because you're spiderman! the spiderman!"

getou exhales a mix of a sigh and a chuckle. he’s almost tempted to think this was a blessing in disguise, for you to know and accept who he was. your eyes peering up at him, not seeing him anew, but seeing him whole. “okay, okay, enough. are you going to stick around to find out what spiderman’s body looks like underneath the suit too. or are you going to let me change by myself?”

for a lost moment, getou wonders why superheroes hide their identities.

spiderman’s hands yearn to grab onto you, the world like rushing water against his ears, fingertips stretched to their limit and he pleads in that moment that if you live, when you live, he'll never involve you with his spiderman side gig again. he’d been so thrilled to bring you along, take you soaring in the skies, sharing that intimate moment suspended between twilight and the city below, letting his most precious person join him in the joys of his world that differed so much from yours. he thought the world would explode in a million happy little pieces of confetti if he did so.

the ground breaks into view and getou sees you, backdropped against the incoming grey cement, and you see him, illuminated by the moon peeking through the steel bars of the watchtower, his mask ripped to show the vulnerable boy beneath.

he screams your name again but you can barely hear it, only making out the outline of his lips.

you've never felt the thrill of falling before, but you know you can't say the same for getou. spiderman practically lives in the air, caught between webs and the night sky. so you wonder why he looks the way he does, fear agape and swallowing his face, a raw kind of desperation that eats up every other facial feature and spitting out the ugly, worrying kind, when he’s in his element.

fingers touch fingers and with effort, spiderman reaches you.

the sudden rush of adrenaline leaves you gasping in his arms and you feel his breath mingling with yours. alive. you had felt the presence of the ground closing in on your neck seconds before his webs halted your descent, a single second late and you’d likely be dead.

the two of you huddle on the ground, holding tight on one another as if letting go would mean you'd never see each other again. getou lets go first, a shaky breath prefacing his words. you smile quietly at his concern, tracing his face with a shaky hand.

"thank god, i thought i would lose you—"

getou hears the bang of a gun before he sees it happen, your head lolled to the side until it thuds against his arm, a frozen smile on your face. he wonders briefly if the relief on your face was fate’s big, cruel joke, or if he should be happy that you had died thinking everything was going to be alright.

blood slowly leaks from the wound on your head. getou turns his head to the perpetrator and toji smiles back.

“a gun might not work on you, but it sure as hell would work on your girlfriend.”

when toji aims the gun next, getou ducks behind another pillar, his arms still holding you. the bullet hits the ground and a cloud of dust separates him and toji momentarily, and he takes the given second to look at you.

your eyes that once saw him, seeing nothing.

ieiri shoko

the news anchor reported that authorities had discovered webbed villains scattered throughout tokyo with several organs misplaced. they don’t want to jump to conclusions nor falsely accuse a certain web-related superhero, the anchor says, but they’d appreciate it if spiderwoman could confirm or deny any connections she may have with the current situation.

you turn away from the tv to shoko, the spiderwoman herself, as she lounges across the couch.

“what’s that about?” you ask.

your girlfriend pauses her game to look up at you. "it wasn't me. what would i do with organs anyway?" she says around the lollipop in her mouth, flicking it side to side to talk.

you think this is reasonable enough and let the topic drop. they were probably exaggerating anyway, that's what the news does best. shoko may not have the strongest moral compass, but suggesting that she was hoarding organs was extremely far-fetched, especially since she did a great job at ensuring tokyo’s safety.

huffing, you lean into her. "you could sue them for defamation."

"spiderwoman in court? wouldn't that be something. besides," she quickly gives you a clumsy kiss on the corner of your mouth and it tastes like raspberries. "you're the only one whose opinion i care for."

a comfortable silence stretches out between the two of you and you revel in the moment. it was rare to catch her away from her hero responsibilities, after all.

"what would you do if they were right though?"

you sit up and give her a level stare. "but they're wrong, right?"

"right. but if they weren't. hypothetically."

"shoko, where did you put the organs?"

“i hid them in your basement. what? you told me you never used it for anything. besides, i wanted to show you this interesting thing the human heart can do. where are you going? come back, i’m sorry, i’ll put them back!”

it was her potential that caught the eye of the spiderverse, an elite society of spidermen across the multiverses that ensured the stability of the cosmos. at first, shoko had been intrigued. different worlds, some so akin to her own but so unfamiliar at the same time, the endless opportunities and specimens and curiosities, shoko was enthralled.

though you weren’t on the need-to-know basis, shoko would whisper tales of her otherworldly adventures on late-night sleepovers and you both would giggle over the fantastical. it’s slightly bitter when she leaves for days on end, but you reassure yourself that it never exceeds a week, and that she’ll come back with a stolen souvenir and another world to share.

when shoko finds out you have to die, must die for the sake of the universe and all that exists beyond it, she feels conflicted. she could always reject the customs of the spiderverse, but the fantastical sights and infinite promises it held were all too tempting.

she’s forced to promise to not come in between the canonical event.

the decision breaks her. seeing you was no longer comforting. everything feels temporary, rearing to break apart and on nights she feels it the most, seeking momentary peace at the end of a burning stick despite your protests, she wonders if she could have fought harder. but it was choosing you or choosing the world and being spiderwoman meant she was capable of doing one, but not both.

eventually, shoko stays away. it happens like the flick of a switch, leaving earlier in the morning or denying the weekly movie night, or leaving your texts on delivered for weeks. and the entire time, you’re left in the dark.

shoko’s last selfish wish, she told herself, was to at least not see it happen. if she never saw it, never knew when it happened, then did it happen at all? so she fills her mind with thoughts of disgusting creatures and beating, pulsing hearts, of blurring villains and endless citizens in distress, and never of you.

but just like how she had never been one for rules, you weren’t one either. tracking her down, tracing her every move, you began to plot out her schedule on the rare occasions she’d come back to her world, to pick up a few clothes or to watch you through your window, never daring to come inside.

you feel triumph when you hop universes with her, unbeknownst to shoko’s knowledge. your feet dangle in a space not bound by time or gravity until they thud on unfamiliar soil. you’d made it, you think, you've successfully jumped through space all in the name of love. you did it even better than interstellar, even.

but someone once said: “there’s no curse more twisted than love.”

your naivety leads you to a battlefield, one on a scale that leaves shoko bleeding and panting, hand on knees, the other swiping a red streak across her mouth. just as she squeezes her eyes shut in the face of an incoming fatal blow, you jump in between

her eyes shake as you lie in her arms. battle rages on as spiderpeople from various universes come to her rescue, but the noise and clatter tunes out and a hollowness fills the void.

your hand comes up to rub the red mark on her cheek, but the force behind the gesture is weak and losing strength by the second.

“why are you here?” shoko asks. she grabs your falling hand and presses it back on her cheek, giving you the strength to smear the blood. it only makes the spot messier though, rubbing over your hand and over hers.

“i love you.” you choke. “you never said it back before you went away.”

“you idiot. i love you, you don’t need me to say it back. you should already know.”

“then why did you leave me?”

“i didn’t choose to!”

you close your eyes as everything feels heavy. “can you tell me a story? of what you’ve up to without me?”

“i can’t.” she manages to say around a sob.

“shoko.”

“yeah?”

“you never took those organs out from my basement.”

“you could have cleared it away when i was gone.”

you smile despite yourself. “that would just have made your disappearance sadder. they reminded me of you.”

you can feel shoko’s body trembling underneath you. taking in a deep breath, and you have an inkling it might just be your last, you manage out a few more words. “i love you.”

but just like how she had left you without a goodbye months ago, you don’t hear whether she replies before you slip away.

as thank you for 100 followers and support on my previous posts !! i don't know why i keep writing angst when i can't even do it well, call it self-sabotage. i don't really have a fav from this post but megumi's that will be out on part two comes in close so look forward to that 🤍

530 notes · View notes

soothinglee · 4 months

Text

rainy days⏤✰

lee felix x reader | 0.8k✔︎

my notes⎯ I hope you like this one! I personally love when it rains so why not combine my two favorites! lets cross our fingers and hope I can get another story out by tomorrow. also I found that I get a lot of inspo at 4 a.m, something about the peace and quiet!

warnings ⎯ none! just some (failed) light-hearted humor.

genre⎯ fluff

songs⎯ prelude in e minor, op. 28, no. 4

⎯ catalog for skz✰

the forecast on the news had told viewers that there was an expectant rain shower coming in from the south. nothing too heavy where you had to be worried about ringing out your drenched socks and fighting back when the wind upturns your umbrella.

that weather man is a liar.

the downpour that hits your windows drums in a consistent pattern, puddles of rain water pools on the window ledge, the wood begins to warp after countless efforts of stopping the leak from the cracks in the seal, ultimately ending in vain.

you had ditched the soaked towels for a warm cup of tea, wrapped in a wool blanket on your couch as a re-run of some over-rated show plays on the monitor. it had be only 30 minutes since you last heard from felix; he had texted you notifying that practices had ended early due to the unpredictable storm coming in, how chan firmly told them to stay safe on the way home and how 'fatherly like' he was acting.

in return you heart his message and send back a- he's right! no texting while driving! see you soon!

due to the rain clouds hovering over the sun the sky had darken in the short amount of time it took felix to get home, and when he did he did not try to hide it.

from the kitchen, where you were huddled over the kettle on the stove, you heard the front door smack open and seconds later a loud squelching sound.

"babe?" he drawls out, unmoving from where he stands, "can you uh, can you come here?" theres a comical desperation in his voice and you can't help the chuckle that slips from your lips.

you ditch the mug in your hand to cater to your helpless boyfriend, who stands there with his arms eagle spread, hair stuck to his forehead and neck like glue. there was a faint smell to him that started to over power the candle you had light awhile ago.

"phew," you huff, holding your nose walking towards him. a amused smile graces your lips, "you smell bad."

he rolls his eyes and lets you take his jacket off his back and watches you drop it to the floor, "yeah yeah, just hurry please? it's starting to get itchy and I don't know if its me or outside but something isn't right."

"yeah you think?" felix lets out a laugh and attempts to grab you with his wet sleeve but you manage to slip away in due time, though not without a scar. the backside of your sweater has a long wet strip in the middle of it. "look at what you did to me!"

"how about you quit complaining and help me!"

"nobody told you to go out and not bring an umbrella."

"(name)!" he takes his second jacket off and leaves it where the other lays and begins to remove his shoes. he takes a second to look at it, then at you, and then tips it over. a bucket full of water pours from the sole and onto the circle carpet underneath him.

as you stand there you can't help the horrific expression that makes its way onto your face. neither of you say a word as you watch the last couple droplets fall before you sniffle and shake your head blankly, "that's just disgusting."

felix, with the same expression says, "tell me about it, I wore it."

after a second you shake your head to clear the revulsion and go to grab all the discarded clothes. they feel ten times more heavy in your arms due to them being in a bundle so you rush towards the laundry room to leave them there. on your way you shout to felix, "go in the kitchen and finish off the tea! I started it before you came in."

Felix makes a delighted noise and you hear his bare feet smack against the floorboards, "for me?"

you roll your eyes though he can't see it and round the corner to where he stands hovering over the sugar and honey, "duh, but save me some."

"of course." his voice comes out as a soft mumble and you can't help but smile.

both of you stand there in each other company. it was peaceful, the sound of the rainfall against the roof of your apartment, fighting its way inside through the windows. the occasional clink of the spoon to the mug as felix stirs in the sugar. no bright overhead lighting, the only source of lumination was the small table lamp in the next room. you close your eyes to take it in. it made you feel serene.

a light weight is pressed onto your shoulder and you open your eyes to find felix looking at you with a glimmer of concern, "you okay?" he whispers, careful not to rip the ambiance with his voice.

you hum, a gentle smile taking over your face as you lean forward and place your head on his hand, "never felt better."

#lee felix x reader #Lee Felix x you #Lee Felix x y/n #skz x y/n #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz fluff #stray kids #bang chan #lee felix #soothinglee

140 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 3: Blood Moon]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

“I wish you could join us,” Nico says, almost sulks, snow catching in her hair. She’s riding a gorgeous white mare that the Duke of Hightower purchased for her. He’s in no hurry to gift you a horse. King Viserys—epochs ago, on your wedding day, on the blood-orange July afternoon when you looked into Aegon’s glassy, shadow-ringed eyes and knew exactly what sorts of demons you’d be sharing your life with—once promised you an Andalucian for each child you gave your husband. He hasn’t mentioned it since. It’s slipped his mind, most likely; that’s what happens to the king’s notions that concern the Greens. They stumble around in his skull for a while, find a window, jump from the ledge and free-fall into oblivion.

You smile up at Nico with your feet planted firmly on the ground like fertile roots and a hand resting on your belly. Five months along, over halfway there, farther than you’ve ever been before. The season is winter, but you feel like spring. You feel like blossoms unfurling, like ivy scaling walls of frozen stone. “Next year, with any luck.”

“But what if I’m with child by then?”

“Then you’ll get to return the favor and gallantly wave me off as I gallop into the distance, a vision of Boudicca herself.”

“Didn’t that story end with mass murder and suicide?”

“Nico, not everything needs to be said out loud.”

She laughs, raucous and jarring. Horses’ ears go back; crows take flight from stripped trees. It’s Christmas, and that means it’s also boar hunting season. The feast tonight will require a boar’s head to be served—a tradition that dates back to ancient Norse pagans, to faiths of earth and thunder and sea—and the court has assembled to procure one, the men armed with spears, the women riding along to cheer them on, hounds braying and circling agitatedly, servants sprinting around with jugs of wine. “Alas,” Nico says. “I cannot help it. I am Italian.”

Then she reels her mare around and trots off to join the hunting party. Once not so long ago, you had no true friends here. Now you have at least one. Two, if you count Aemond…although you can’t decide if Aemond is a friend. Sometimes he feels like less, other times much more. He grows close and then is far away again, a tide that’s always a few hours from receding. You watch Nico depart with hardly any heartache. Your relative incapacitation will be finished soon enough, your position vindicated. The clock is ticking.

Daeron compliments you as he canters by on Tessarion, heavy hooves leaving impact craters in the snow: “Princess, that’s a lovely gown.” Lavender, purple, the color of royalty, a declaration of your own worth. That’s not something you can rely upon others giving you. You’re between worlds at the moment: neither fully Navarran nor English, not an outsider nor a future queen.

“Thank you, brother. Good luck!”

Daemon reins up beside you, peering down with glittering dark eyes. When anyone ventures too close to Caraxes—whether horse or human—he snaps at them like a wolf. Surely there is no beast better suited to its master. “I think you’d look better covered in red. Isn’t that the color of your people, Navarre?”

“Prince Daemon,” you purr, one hand still on your belly, your victory in progress. “Enjoy the hunt. I know you get restless when you haven’t murdered anything in a while.”

He should quip back, but he doesn’t. He just grins, his gaze locked on yours; and his grin stretches wider until it sends a bolt down your spine like cold lightning. You have the sudden, dreadful impression that there’s a joke you aren’t in on. “You have no idea.”

Caraxes squeals and jerks back his head as Vhagar shoves between you, massive withers and haunches making space where none existed before. Caraxes nips Vhagar’s shoulder, drawing blood; Vhagar snorts in reply, a low rumble like a storm. Caraxes retreats, ears flattened, but Daemon pitches you one last crooked smirk as he leaves, a threat, an oath.

“Perhaps we should serve Daemon’s head at dinner,” Aemond says.

“He certainly looks like a pig to me.”

“You aren’t too disappointed, I hope. To have to stay behind.”

You smile, petting Vhagar’s silky muzzle. She has a white blaze down the front of her face, white stockings like patches of snow on rich spring soil. “It’s temporary.” What was Aemond like on my wedding day? You try to remember. All you can conjure is a vision of him staring at the floor as you linked your trembling hands with Aegon’s and the priest spoke, as if the match was so ill-fated he could not bear to witness it. It took you a year to learn that he didn’t disapprove of you after all. Something else weighed on him that day, something else dragged down his eyes like an anchor moors a ship.

Aegon passes you both on Sunfyre. “I’ll bring you back something, wife!” he vows, swaying drunkenly in the saddle, his chaotic silver hair shagging in his eyes. Fortunately, Sunfyre seems aware of his rider’s limitations; his steps are lithe and cautious, almost timid. His coat is a river of gold beneath grey skies. When Aegon urges the horse to go faster, Sunfyre ignores him.

You turn back to Aemond and raise an eyebrow. “Make sure he doesn’t break his neck?”

“As always.” And then Aemond is gone too.

The king will not join the hunt. He is getting too old for it—although no one would say that aloud—and Queen Alicent, ever-sacrificial, is staying behind in the palace with him, overseeing preparations for the feast. The other royals vanish into the forest: Daeron and Nico, Aemond and Aegon, Daemon and Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, trailed by the rest of the cast of characters, Blacks and Greens alike. Joanna Montford was replaced by Agnes Stafford, who was replaced by Sibylla Beaufort, who was replaced by Cecily Chaucer. There is no shortage of young women whose fathers are rabid to push them into the bed of the man they call the heir to the throne. A servant brings you a cup of apple cider, and you sip it as snowflakes melt into the fur of your coat.

“It’s not personal,” Rhaenyra says. You whirl to see her and Syrax; they have appeared like ghosts, both pale and ethereal, both fearsome without being malevolent. “Prince Daemon’s taunts, I mean. Any of our antagonism. Distrust that swells into hated.” Her hair is long, loose, strands of ivory in the wind. Her eyes—clear water, cool and stoic—flick down to your belly and then back up to your face. She’s a lot like Aemond, you think, seeing the extent of their resemblance for the first time.

“It feels very personal.”

“I could have liked you in a different life,” Rhaenyra counters, like parrying swords. “You have just enough ruthlessness in you. A river, but not a sea. You thirst for freedom. You wear chains called obligation. But when my father named me heir, he painted a target on my back. Even if I renounced my claim, there would always be men willing to take up arms for me. I would always be a threat to Alicent and her children. Just by breathing, just by having blood hot in my veins. Either I will be queen…or I will forever be at the mercy of the Greens. Would you trust your life to the Duke of Hightower, if you were standing between Aegon and the throne?”

“No,” you admit. You can barely bring yourself to trust the Duke now…and you’re on his side.

“And so we are destined to be mortal enemies.” Rhaenyra shrugs; no great loss, she means. “I only wanted you to know that it would have been just the same if you had been sent to England from Portugal, or Sicily, or Castile, or Bohemia, or Genoa, or Naples, or France, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s not about who you are. It’s about what you’ve married into.”

And then she takes off on Syrax, joining her uncle-husband and her eldest sons in the forest, dissolving into a gnarl of branches like tangled threads. You retreat back inside Westminster Palace to do what you do best: watching, wondering, waiting for the future to decide to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the hunting party returns hours later, Prince Aegon is empty-handed. He’s also soaked to the skin. Water drips from his face, begins to freeze in his hair. He shivers and gripes as servants throw blankets over his shoulders and usher him away towards his bedchamber to be warmed in a bath cloudy with herbs and steam and rose petals. Cecily Chaucer hurries after them, her lovely brows knitted together with girlish concern. Of all Aegon’s mistresses, you like Cecily the best. She’s insatiable; she keeps him so busy that he rarely totters into your bed to paw at you before being reminded that you have been temporarily exempted from your marital duties.

“He fell into a stream,” Nico informs you, in equal parts disapproving and amused. “Aemond and Daeron fished him out like a trout.”

Your eyes scan the group: shaking snow from their hats and their coats, congratulating each other on obstacles jumped and animals killed, Prince Daemon accepting applause from his fellow Blacks for being the attendee to slaughter the requisite boar. A good omen for their side, surely. Servants carry the gigantic, bloodied carcass off to be prepared by the cooks. But one face is missing from the crowd. “Where’s Aemond?”

“Oh,” Nico recalls as she yanks off her gloves by the fingers. “He has something for you.”

“For me?”

“In the courtyard,” she says. Daeron approaches to collect her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, his large blue eyes bright and adoring. He’s gentler than his brothers, more content, less complicated. And he’s proud of being a Targaryen. He’s growing out his white-blond hair; it’s already longer than Aegon’s. “I think you’ll find it…” Nico grins mischievously. “Perfectly bearable.”

You trudge out to the courtyard through the mounting snow, cold wind tearing at your hair and clawing pieces of it out from under your hat. Aemond is the only other person there…and he’s elbow-deep in a colossal black-furred monster. There is a pile of entrails on the snow beside him glistening like rubies, garnets, rosalines, wine. Servants ferry away bowls full of offal: a lung here, a rope of intestines there.

“What is that?”

Aemond stands and waves at it cavalierly, drops of blood flinging from his leather gloves. “A bear.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bear?”

“It’ll make a fine rug for your bedchamber. You can place it by the fireplace and lie on it on cold nights. Read your books, do your embroidery.”

“It was bold of you to assume you’d be able to find me a Christmas present on Christmas day. Not much room for error.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

“Congratulations.” He glances at your belly, rounded out like ripening fruit with his brother’s child. A stain of blood like fever rushes into his cheeks. He blushes very rarely, and only ever around you. No one else seems to know that he’s capable of it. “For being over halfway there. It must bring you great relief.”

“Yes, I suppose the Duke of Hightower won’t get to ship me back to Navarre now. In a crate, like an animal that couldn’t be tamed.”

“What a waste that would be.”

You shrug, stepping closer, though mindful not to squash any bear organs beneath your shoes. “I wouldn’t mind being sent home if there was anything for me to go back to.”

Aemond stares at you, alarmed. “You haven’t grown attached to anything here? In nearly a year and a half?”

“Well…there are a few things,” you say, smiling at him. Aemond smiles back. His long silvery hair is secured in a single thick braid, his gaze curious. You try not to imagine what is under his eyepatch; that strikes you as something he wouldn’t want you to think about.

“Vhagar,” Aemond teases.

You laugh. “Yes, mostly Vhagar.” You look up at the grey sky, thick with clouds like steel. “But I miss my family. I miss the heat, the mountains, castles and cathedrals the color of golden sand. I miss riding horses and sparring with my brothers. I miss being understood, being loved. In Navarre I was alive. But in England…ever since I arrived here…it’s like I’m locked up waiting for someone to let me out. But the prison is my own flesh.”

Aemond studies you. “It’s not for much longer,” he says at last, soft and solemn. “And I would change it if I could.”

“In any case, I really can’t go back, I think. It wouldn’t be like it was before. My siblings are marrying and spreading out across Europe. My parents are getting older. And if my husband discarded me for being incapable of producing children, no one else would ever want me. I’d never have my own household. I’d be doomed to be a spinster, forever dependent upon the charity of my parents or my siblings. Either that or in a nunnery. Although, truthfully, Navarre has some beautiful nunneries.”

“You’d make a terrible nun.”

“Because I’m too vicious or too lustful?”

“Vicious, without a doubt. Lustful…I don’t feel qualified to speak on.”

“Depends on who’s in front of me, I suppose.”

You contemplate each other across the gutted bear carcass, snowflakes filling up the space between you instead of words. Again, Aemond’s cheeks flood red. When he wrings his hands together, you notice that they’re shaking. His hair is sopping; beads of melted snow pool along the edge of his jaw, slither down his throat. He could catch his death out here.

You go to him, pull off a glove, and press your bare palm against his forehead and then his cheek: the scarred one, the ruined one. “You’re burning up, Aemond,” you say, worried. “Are you alright—?”

“Fine.” He shies away from your touch. But then, without thinking, he moves to tuck an escaped lock of hair back underneath your hat. As his thumb grazes your face, you feel the warm stripe of bear blood that he inadvertently marks you with. “Goddamn, I’m so sorry—”

“No, that’s perfect.” You smile up at him. “You know I secretly favor red.”

“Princess?” Nico calls from the doorway, and you cross the courtyard to meet her. “You’re still out here? You’re missing a riveting game of Tric-Trac—” She cuts off, her eyes going wide as they skate across your cheeks. “Sweet Jesus, how’d you get blood all over your face?”

You glimpse back at Aemond as you answer. “Carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re weaving ribbons the color of evergreens into Nico’s hair when he comes into your bedchamber, carrying a long thin box made of pink ivory wood.

“Oh, marvelous!” Nico trills, clapping her hands. “What’s inside?”

“Poems, I hope,” you say.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Aemond replies placidly. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, the rest flowing freely. He’s wearing a dark, rich, jade-like color, just like Nico is, just like the Duke of Hightower and Alicent and Daeron will be. Someone has probably even stuffed Aegon into something green. You are the lone nonconformist in a deep purple like the skin of a plum. In truth, you can’t win. People will gossip no matter what you wear. Red makes them think of what Daemon calls you, of the wasted blood you’ve spilled. Green makes them speak of how you’ve yet to serve their faction properly. Black is out of the question. At least when they see you in purple, your name gets to live in the same sentence as the word royalty.

“Well?” Nico prompts eagerly. “Open it!”

You look at her, apologetic. So does Aemond.

“Oh,” she realizes, then sighs theatrically. “Alright. I understand. I’ll deport myself now. Ciao.”

Only when she’s closed the door behind her does Aemond open the box. The lining inside is crimson velvet. It cradles a sword. You gasp and lift the weapon out of the box by its hilt, then pull off the scabbard. It is lightweight, silvery, perfect. You can see your own reflection in the polished steel. There are shallow engravings down the length of the blade: mountain ranges, twisted oak trees, bridges and cathedrals, the flag of Navarre. You can only see them when you tilt the sword to catch the rage-orange glow from the fireplace.

“I had it custom made for you,” Aemond says, abruptly nervous. “So it wouldn’t be too heavy or too long. The hilt should fit your grasp precisely. I took one of your gloves for measurements.”

“A thief.” You marvel at the sword, twirling it a few times. The blade cuts through the air, soundless, seamless. “Aemond, this is…this is so far beyond what I deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s part pleasure, part necessity. You might actually need to protect yourself one day.”

“It’s a shame I’ll only be able to bully you with it under the surreptitious cover of darkness.”

“Just until Aegon is king. He wouldn’t care, I don’t think. He wouldn’t forbid you from training.” He gestures to the blade. “And the engravings are—”

“All things from home.” You beam at him. “From Navarre.”

“That’s what the common people call you, you know. The Princess from Navarre.”

You glide the sword back into its scabbard and return it to the box. “They must hate me. For failing to secure the succession.”

“I wouldn’t assume that.”

You take the pink ivory wood box from Aemond’s hands and place it in the chest at the foot of your bed, your preferred spot for squirreling away valuables. And then you lift out Aemond’s present: a vast tapestry that he helps you unfold to reveal the design of.

“It’s incredible!” he exclaims. “It must have taken you ages!”

“Well, all I’m allowed to do currently is needlework, so I’ve done a lot of needlework. I made one for Aegon too, although I’m not sure what his hobbies are besides drinking and fucking Cecily Chaucer. So his tapestry is mostly landscapes.” You point to various scenes on Aemond’s. “There’s King Arthur and Guinevere��and Sir Lancelot, arriving to ruin them. There’s Beowulf battling Grendel’s mother. There’s Robin Hood…there’s the Rollright Stones and Stonehenge…and in the middle is Saint George slaying a dragon. I made the dragon black, with little white whiskers if you look very closely. And I’ve named him Daemon.”

“They’re from the stories I told you,” Aemond says quietly, examining the tapestry. “On that afternoon back in July. When we took Vhagar out together for the first time.”

“It must have been memorable.” You smile. “And then the border is ivy and roses, mostly green, of course…except for one little red rose I added down here in the bottom corner. And that’s—”

“That’s you,” Aemond says. “Red like Navarre.”

“Yes.” Your voice is suddenly wistful, a little sad. “You’ve made me like the sound of that word again.”

“What? Navarre?”

You nod. “Hushed, gentle…” Reverent? Awed? Protected? Cherished? “Like a prayer. Like a poem.”

You help Aemond refold the tapestry, avoiding his eye. The only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled echo of violins and lutes through the palace halls. Outside the window hovers a blood moon, a ruby in onyx, a drop of fury in an ocean of void. He takes his Christmas gift back to his own bedchamber, and then he returns to escort you to the feast.

“Oh, darling,” Alicent says when you sit down beside her at the high table. There are sprigs of holly in her hair, but her dark eyes are glazed and melancholy. They often are. Sir Criston Cole—a knight whose family are vassals of the Duke of Hightower—is her shadow, peering watchfully around the Great Hall. “Be sure to eat plenty of boar…and bread…very good for the baby. But no fish! And not too many vegetables. Here, let me get you some of your apple cider…” Alicent waves to a servant, and they promptly fetch you a full cup.

King Viserys gives you a distracted nod but no other acknowledgement. He is deep in conversation with Jace; Luke is gawping, mildly disturbed, at the severed boar’s head that adorns the table, cherries shoved into the sockets where its eyes were this morning. Rhaena offers you a kind, demure smile. Baela glares at you as she sips her wine. She’s the most war-worthy of any of the Black children; you imagine that Daemon will have a sword and armor waiting for her when the bloodbath begins. Surely she’d inflict more damage than either of Rhaenyra’s docile, dark-haired sons, like skittish lapdogs always looking around for someone to tell them where it’s alright to sit. Baela’s Arabian, Moondancer, is small but remarkably swift and agile. She’s the best jumper of any of the royal horses.

Far from the table, in the midst of dancing nobles, Daemon and Rhaenyra are enmeshed in whispers and caresses: he tilts up her chin, she grasps the small of his back. You feel a yearning, a hollowness beneath where your ribs circle your heart and lungs like a halo. Without thinking, you glance to Aemond. He’s been looking at you too; he pretends he wasn’t and begins sawing through a slab of boar meat with a serrated knife. Daeron is asking him about sparring techniques. The Duke of Hightower is parading Aegon around the hall to pay his respects to the nobility of Southern England, men who will kill and be killed for him one day before too long. Aegon is bleary-eyed and bungling, tripping over his own feet; the Duke is practically dragging him around from his scruff like a kitten.

“Sweetheart, will you dance with me?” Queen Alicent asks Nico, who immediately leaps up from her chair.

“Of course, Your Majesty! It would be my pleasure. It’s a shame that the king cannot join us. It must be difficult having a husband so much older than you are. Nearly your father’s age!”

Everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and gapes at her.

“Oh,” Nico begins haltingly, mortified. “Oh dear. I should not have said that. I cannot express the depths of my remorse.”

King Viserys booms out a laugh, and then Nico is smiling again. “Go on,” he tells her. “Enjoy the festivities. Keep the queen entertained when I cannot.”

As Nico and Queen Alicent descend to join the dance, you remain where you are, where you always are: on the outskirts, inside the glass bowl. But not for much longer, you think gratefully, running your palm over the swell of your belly. You eat as much as you can, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Your hips and ankles ache, your body forever adjusting to a never-before-known burden; there is torsion like a sailor’s knot in your lower spine. When the discomfort refuses to abate, you excuse yourself from the table and make slow, meandering laps around the fringes of the Great Hall, draining cup after cup of apple cider as servants bring them to you. The Duke of Hightower casts you a stern warning of a frown before he resumes wrangling Aegon. Aemond, still at the high table talking to Daeron, follows you with one intent blue eye.

“You can’t honestly believe he’d make a good king,” Daemon says, materializing out of the crowd like a bat at twilight. Enormous Scottish deerhounds—Christmas gifts from King Corlys and Queen Rhaenys beyond England’s northern border—trail after him, growling at you. Daemon flicks his strange, deep-set eyes towards Aegon. “He’s a drunk. He’s an embarrassment. He has no athletic prowess whatsoever. I’m sure you can confirm that from firsthand experience.”

“I can confirm that he hasn’t murdered his first wife yet, surely an attribute by anyone’s calculation.” You watch the Duke tow Aegon from one exchange to another, and for the first time, you wonder what sort of man Aegon would have been without the weight of the throne on his back.

“But of course, it wouldn’t actually be Aegon ruling if the Greens won. It would be Otto…and Alicent…and Aemond.”

Daemon puts great emphasis on this last name. You turn to him, startled.

“Oh, forgive me, have I said something that gets under your skin? Or…rather…into it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon grins, baring his teeth like fangs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Tell me, would you happen to know who Otto is planning on marrying him to? I’ve heard rumblings.”

“Someone with parents who have ample soldiers and equipment with which to mutilate you, surely.”

“Helene of Austria.”

“Helene?” The breath evaporates from your lungs, vanishes like brief winter daylight. “The daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor?” It’s an immensely powerful match. It’s a match so ambitious it has rarely even been suggested. You summon triumph to your voice, an arrogant glint to your eyes. “This is very bad news for you.”

“And for you too, I think.”

He knows, you think, terror-stricken, aware you aren’t doing enough to hide it. That I desire my husband’s brother. That I want Aemond. That maybe I even love him. You try to fling some flippant retort at Daemon; you cannot find one, it’s like scratching your fingertips along the bottom of an empty box. Victorious, he swigs his wine and begins to saunter away, panting Scottish deerhounds on his heels. And then you call after him: “It didn’t get you far, did it?”

Daemon halts mid-step and slowly—very slowly—turns back to you. “What?”

“All that Targaryen blood. All that bone-white hair and ferocity, charisma and swordsmanship. King Viserys still chose to reject you as his heir. He still doesn’t trust you to advise him. He still denied you his daughter’s hand in marriage, and you were spineless enough to let him. You left her alone to suffer first. With a husband who couldn’t satisfy her, with a lover who could only give her bastards. And now you expect the world to forget who you’ve always been: reckless, savage, deeply selfish. All those things you stalk around here so proud of are worthless, because you’ll never have what you really want. You’ll never have the throne. And neither will Rhaenyra. You are the same as I am, Daemon. I am an asset and yet a curse to Aegon; you helped win the North for Rhaenyra, but the South will never yield to you. They will fight you with everything they have, every man and horse and blade. But there is one difference between us. When I bear Aegon a son, my curse will be lifted. You will never stop endangering Rhaenyra, her cause, her inheritance, her children, her life. And if she burns, it will be at least half because of you.”

You’ve never seen him truly angry before, you realize now; you’ve never seen him without the undeniable upper hand. His grip rests on the hilt of his sword. “I should—”

“Go on,” you dare him in a fierce whisper, your fingers closing around his wrist. “Slay Aegon’s wife and child in front of all the court. It’s the kindest thing you could do for the Greens. Make yourself more enemies, win us more friends. Everyone suspects that you are a beast already. Prove them right.”

Daemon rips his hand out of yours. “Happy Christmas, Navarre,” he hisses. “If fate is just, it will be your last.” And then he storms away from you, Rhaenyra meeting him at the other end of the hall and speaking with him there—conspiring? inquiring? scolding?—in urgent whispers.

Nico pushes through the throngs of dancing nobles to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asks, a palm laid on your shoulder.

“Fine.” Helene, you think, rubbing the aching curve of your back with one hand, sipping apple cider with the other. They’re both trembling. Beautiful, wealthy, coveted Helene.

“Are you sure? You don’t look good. What did that bleached weasel have to say…?”

But you can’t hear her, because the pain in your spine is now reaching like poison through veins to spread across your belly, to tighten, to clamp down, to gnash with steel teeth like needles, like knives. Your cup tumbles out of your gasp, spilling apple cider across the floor. You yelp in pure shock at how unexpectedly the pain comes. And then you begin to understand what it means. “No,” you plead in a whisper. You stagger backwards until you hit the wall. “No, no, no…”

“What?” Nico asks frantically. People are beginning to notice; heads spin in your direction. Tears are springing from your eyes. Blood is snaking down your legs, slick and hot on the velveteen inside of your thighs. Soon they’ll all be able to see it: your agony, your ruin. The Greens, the Blacks. The Duke of Hightower, Prince Daemon.

Nico doesn’t understand. You don’t know how to tell her. I’ve killed another child. I’ve failed again. You can feel Aegon crawling back into your bed. You can see letters from your mother—so proud at last, so full of praise—shredding themselves into dust. And then it flashes like cannon fire in your mind, not just the loss of an heir but the loss of a life: a name that will never be given, a voice that will never be heard, steps that will never leave imprints in sand or soil or snow.

I have to get out of here. How am I going to—?

An arm circles around your waist, strong, shielding, taking as much of your weight as it can. “Walk with me,” Aemond says. And then he half-carries you through the nearest door and down a passageway, Nico struggling to keep up, chatter exploding at the feast you left behind.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your bedchamber, as soon as you are out of sight of ill-intentioned observers, you collapse to the floor. Your palms and knees bruise against wood; a wail tears from your throat. “Not again,” you sob. “Aemond, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Nico says: “Are you sure it’s a…?”

Aemond is kneeling on the floor beside you. He’s helping you pull back the hem of your gown. You see it on his face before you see it on your own skin: there’s blood, a lot of blood, too much for it to be anything but lethal to the child. It’s all over his hands and his clothes; it’s all over the floorboards.

“Oh God,” Nico moans, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh…oh my God…”

“Get the physicians,” Aemond tells her. “Speak to no one else. Go now. Go!”

Nico rushes out of the room. You can’t stop sobbing. The pain is excruciating, not waves but one continuous, saw-toothed twisting, a feeling like being gutted, like you’re a slaughtered bear and someone has their fingers raking around inside your womb.

Aemond is trying to pull you to your feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get into bed—”

“Aemond, I can’t.”

“Yes you can—”

“I can’t!” you cry out, weeping helplessly. Then he stops trying to lift you and instead sinks down to join you on the floor. You clutch wildly at him—at his forearms and his shoulders and his long silvery hair—and he doesn’t flinch away. He draws you into him, his hands staining you with blood everywhere they land. You don’t care; you don’t want him to stop. You bury yourself in the warmth of his chest, his arms around you like the border of the moon, like a ring.

“Shh,” he soothes through your hair. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says, his voice hoarse. “Of course I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenes like fragments of a dream, things that later you aren’t sure were real:

The physicians and midwives delivering your dead child, Aemond tilting a cup of strong wine against your lips. Your ladies washing blood off you with dripping rags as Aemond stands with the physicians in the doorway. They think you’re asleep, but you’re not; you’re not awake either. You’re halfway here and halfway not. Parts of the room are foggy, others are as clear as glass, as still water. A physician is telling Aemond that the child was a boy, perfect in every way except the one that matters most. He doesn’t breathe and never will. Too early, too small, beautiful and doomed.

“Don’t tell her that,” Aemond is saying. “Don’t tell her anything unless she asks.”

Now it’s later—two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter—and he’s dragging someone into your bedchamber. They’re fighting him, they’re trying to cling to the doorframe so he can’t force them inside.

“Get in there,” Aemond growls.

Aegon replies: “I don’t know what to say to her, what the hell do I say—?”

Your husband is at your bedside, undoubtedly miserable but not in a way that makes you feel like he sees you. There is the scent of wine and sweat drenched with perfume, lemon and lavender. “I’m sorry,” you murmur like a faint wind.

“It was not your fault, wife.” Aegon’s eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hanging low and limp. “It is a great tragedy, but it was not your fault.” And then he glances at Aemond to make sure he’s done the right thing.

Now your husband is gone, and Aemond is holding a cool cloth to your forehead. He speaks in little more than a whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just send me back to Navarre,” you say weakly. “I can’t do this. Talk to the Duke. He’ll get the marriage annulled. I know he will. He can find another wife for Aegon, another alliance. He’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ruined. I’m worthless. Just send me home.”

“You are home,” Aemond insists.

You watch the firelight as it flickers over him, smooth skin, brutal scar. “What happens next?”

“You’ll try again.”

“There’s no point, Aemond.”

“Look at me,” he commands, cradling your face with his hands. “You’ll try again. And again, if you have to. But you will have children. I know you will.”

His voice is breaking. His eye is glistening, tortured. This is how the father should be. This is how Aegon should be. “Aemond, why are you so hurt by this?”

“Because you are suffering,” he says. “And because they’re pieces of you.”

You lose sight of him, float for a while, return again thinking of Aegon and the Duke of Hightower and Daemon and Rhaenyra. “No one here really knows me. No one loves me.”

Aemond is standing beside your bed. “Nico loves you.”

You gaze listlessly up at him and say nothing.

“Aegon loves you, I believe,” Aemond continues, but he won’t meet your eyes. “In his own way.”

Still, you look at him. Still, Aemond doesn’t look back.

Say it, you think, desperate, aching, tears biting in your eyes. Say that you love me too. Even if it’s just as a sister, an ally, a friend. Please, Aemond, just fucking say it.

He doesn’t say it. Maybe he leaves, maybe you are submerged in unconsciousness, maybe both. The memory dissolves around the edges until it is a pool of star-flecked obsidian like the night sky.

But this next part you know with certainty was real, because it is something you can touch, like a millennium-old relic from Egypt or Athens or Babylon. You wake in the morning to find three items on your nightstand: a cup of apple cider, a cup of strong bitter wine for the pain, and a single piece of parchment folded and tied with a red ribbon. You blink confoundedly at it for a while as muted winter sunlight seeps in through the windows, not being able to make sense of it. And then you open the parchment. Aemond has written at the top of the page in his hectic, uneven letters: Ivy. You read his words and all the anguish that went into them—smudges from his own fingerprints, wayward drips of black ink—like falling down the rungs of a ladder.

Scream into me, I’ll be the jar for your fury; I’m starving

for anything that tastes like you. I’ve been counting the lines

on your knuckles, the boards of the floor, wondering if you’ve

figured out that I’d wear fractures and bruises like amethysts

if it means you’d touch me. For seventeen months you’ve been

the ivy on my walls, vines like the needle-width legs of a spider

carving out my past, every last notch and shadow—splitting ribs,

scraping marrow—until there’s no part of me left that can remember

a time other than this, your voice and your wit and the scraps of you

I’ve stitched into me. Ask me what I burn for and I’ll whisper like

the dawn: you growing over my skin until I’m covered, tendrils

twisting down to the bone, everything I was before

ash and myth beneath your hands.

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you

316 notes · View notes

hyuukais · 9 months

Text

Ticklish

word count: 576

genres: hueningkai x reader, established relationship, fluff

warnings: none i think (lmk if i missed smth)

author: hi so,,,it was my birthday yesterday (the 9th) and umm it’s kai’s birthday soon and i love him and the original fic i was gonna publish for him won’t be finished in time so here you go 🫡

The soft dragging fingers along your shoulder are all that’s tethering you to consciousness. Sound is muddled; filled with fuzz. Light clicks and breaths and heartbeats, the reminders of life beneath your ear.

Slowly, the touch trailed off, weaving down your sides, tucking you deeper in their embrace, as the flat of a palm came to rest atop the plush of your stomach. It was faint. The first circles along your skin barely cause a stir. However, as he continues pushing up parts of your shirt and slowly making a path over your hip, a prickling sensation rises on your skin. Goosebumps follow the tips of his fingers. Electricity trickles from every touch of his bare skin. The growing feeling shakes you awake bringing up a bubble of laughter.

“Hue-Huening that tickles.” Creaking your eyes open, slipping out soft words in between laughs.

Your boyfriend turns his eyes down to you tucked into his side, drifting off on his shoulder. Kai’s hand flinches away from your side. “Sorry, angel. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He keeps his voice low, breathy between you two.

“No, no, it’s okay. Just-” You reach back for his hand, guiding it along to curl around your stomach. Situating it slightly above your navel, you pull your hand away to place it on Kai’s chest, “There. That’s comfy, right?”

The lovely laugh Hueningkai gives rumbles deep in his chest, ringing in your ears. “Very.”

Taking in the sweet curl of his lips reddened by flushing in his cheeks, you find a blue glare filling up the room. You finally look around at the space you’ve woken up in. Both curled close under the sheets of Kai’s bed. His Switch had been discarded and he was instead balancing his laptop upon his stomach. A youtube tab was open but it seemed Huening had yet to choose a video. The blue light of his screen was all lighting up the darkening room. Tiny cracks of dying sun still hung from the window ledge. Everything sets your mind to melting back into Hueningkai’s caring arms.

Settling down to his chest again, you crane your neck to meet his eyes. A cocoa mix shaded in purple, bringing out his pupils so rarely seen. The black almost fills out his irises and yet it still remains obscured by the bright fringe dusting his forehead. Blond tips brush along the delicate bump of Huening’s nose. Your eyes take this path again and again; down to the sharp tip of his nose, losing any thought in the silence. Dipping further, there his lips sit so full and empty. Plush and wide and waiting; you want to answer their call. Pushing forward in a routine you’ve lived hundreds of times. Meeting lips in a silken haze of sleepy appreciation. Breaths are drawn short and eyes are fluttered shut. Your fist tightens on the loose sweatshirt Kai is wearing, losing everything to his sweet kiss. The arm you’d wrapped around yourself pulled you closer. In search of a firmer grasp, his hand pressed down on your body before sliding back over your side with fleeting fingertips. A familiar sensation bubbling up a laugh that pulled your lips away.

“Sorry–tickles.” Creaking eyes back open, you meet Kai’s growing smile with your own. Lost in all the ecstasy of love, your laughter shared back and forth in the same breaths, his happiness seeks to fuel your own.

“I’ll keep my hand away, promise.”

taglist: @seung-scrittore @keiho @laylasbunbunny

142 notes · View notes

eridianfic · 3 months

Text

꧁Late꧂

Take from me/what you want/what you need

Pairing: MC X Sen

Length: <1k

Tags: hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader, angst, general audience

a/n: there's so much angst inherent to Sen's concept! This is probably wildly ooc bc we know so little about her, but I couldn't help myself:) heavily inspired by two songs, embedded at the end.

You know she’s not in the bed besides you as soon as you wake. It’s not the temperature that alerts you. After all, her side is always cold as the grave, just like her. No- it’s the weight of the bed that’s different, the mattress pressing around you instead of shifting towards her, and the blankets pushed off to the side when she got out of bed.

You find Sen sitting on the window ledge in the kitchen, tiles cold under your feet. You’re cold too- the air is chilly on your skin now out from under the comfort of your blankets. It’s almost pitch black in the rkkm and you just faintly see her silhouette, a dark void in front of the moonlight outside. She’s nearly motionless but she acknowledges your approach with a slight turn of her head towards you. You breathe together, quietly. Her breath comes out slower, more labored. After a pause, she speaks.

“I don’t think I can stay here much longer.”

“You’ve made up your mind?”

She sighs, a deep, rattling thing. “You know I have. I can’t hold on longer for you. I’ve been trying. It’s not working.”

Her faint outline against the moonlight feels more akin to a ghost than a person sitting in front of you. You guess it’s only fitting.

“Sen, I know it feels hopeless, I know that. But listen, we haven’t been searching for that long. I think there’s a cure out there for you, something that will alleviate your suffering and bring you back to-“

She cuts you off. “Bring me back to you? Back to life? I wish I could be with you. You know that. I’ve been trying and trying. And when I tell you it isn’t possible, it feels like you don’t hear me. Like you’re choosing to not hear me. You need to let me go.”

Your breath catches a little as your throat tightens. "Sen. Sen, I'll give you whatever I can. Whatever you need from me. Stay here. Stay with me. We'll figure it out".

She laughs at that, sharp and jagged. It cuts into you. "What I need from you is your blessing. Your acceptance that the person you know is already gone." She softens a little, and you can hear the rustle of her against the windowsill as she shifts towards you. "You've fallen in love with a ghost. It wasn't meant to be."

You stumble towards her in the dark, kneeling in front of her.

"God, Sen. You told me we shouldn't get to know each other when we met. But aren't you glad we've had this time together? Don't you want more of it? There's so much we haven't done together, so much I don't know... If it's about hope? I'll have enough hope for the both of us." You scoff dryly. "All the sins in the world and the one I got was greed. I want you. I want more time with you, more memories, more opportunities to find out how to fix this". Your hand reaches out to hold her cold hand in yours, fingers running over the delicate line of stitches.

What you don't say is that she's the only one you have. That if she leaves, you'll be alone. Alone again, always betrayed, always left behind, never worthy of being fought for. With her, there's something that you've never felt before. Serenity frozen, isolated from the world. Insulated from each of your problems. A place, deep in the earth where you can hibernate, together. A grave, perhaps. Away from time.

Her hand slips out of yours. "Don't do this to me," she whispers. "I've been brought here against my will. When is it going to be about what I want, for myself? I can't. I can't sacrifice myself for them, for you. I don't want to. Help me find a way to end this. To let me rest in peace like I want to. Don't you know? I've experienced it. Peace, at the end of it all. The stillness and richness of soil, of stone. That's what I want."

You hate yourself for saying it, but you say it anyways. Mutter it, in spite of yourself. "My peace is you, Sen. How can I have that without you?

There's a note of finality to her voice. "I guess you just can't understand. It's not something for you to know. It's my journey to go on, and you can choose to accompany me or not."

You've known that she felt this way. Couldn't stop yourself from trying to convince her one last time. You nod. "Whatever you'll give me. Whatever time we have left together."

You rest at her feet for a moment, leaning against her knee. She places her hand at the nape of your neck, gently carding through the strands of hair. You sit there together, quietly.

Your head nodding sleepily and resting heavily against her leg causes her to pause. "Come back to bed. We'll start looking again in the morning."

You follow her upstairs. You'll follow her until you can't any more. Until she goes to a place you can't reach.

#sen #touchstarved sen #touchstarved #touchstarved fanfic #touchstarved fic #touchstarved game #sen touchstarved #sen x mc #sen x reader #debut post!! tho I have a few fics in the works as some collabs with lovely people!#I tried to make this really sad but tbh it just comes of as kinda sad.#but damn sen has such a dillema between leaving and achieving her go #*goal #but leaving mc... or staying for them and perpetually suffering #tough tough tough #redspring studios pleasseee a smidgen of personality info so I can better characterize her <3 #Spotify

28 notes · View notes

sassenach77yle · 15 days

Text

"Go wi' God…mo duinne."

He stepped off the ledge and made his way down the steep incline, bracing his feet against tufts of grass, catching at branches to keep his balance, not looking back. I watched him until he disappeared into the oak clump, walking slowly, like a man wounded, who knows he must keep moving, but feels his life ebbing slowly away through the fingers he has clenched over the wound.My knees were trembling. Slowly, I lowered myself to the granite shelf and sat cross-legged, watching the swallows about their business. Below, I could just see the roof of the cottage that now held my past. At my back loomed the cleft stone. And my future.

I sat without moving through the afternoon. I tried to force all emotion from my mind and use reason. Jamie certainly had logic on his side when he argued that I should go back: home, safety, Frank; even the small amenities of life that I sorely missed from time to time, like hot baths and indoor plumbing, to say nothing of larger considerations such as proper medical care and convenient travel.And yet, while I would certainly admit the inconveniences and outright dangers of this place, I would have also to admit that I had enjoyed many aspects of it. If travel was inconvenient, there were no enormous stretches of concrete blanketing the countryside, nor any noisy, stinking autos—contrivances with their own dangers, I reminded myself. Life was much simpler, and so were the people. Not less intelligent, but much more direct—with a few sterling exceptions like Colum ban Campbell MacKenzie, I thought grimly.Because of Uncle Lamb's work, I had lived in a great many places, many even cruder and more lacking in amenities than this one. I adapted quite easily to rough conditions, and did not really miss "civilization" when away from it, though I adapted just as easily to the presence of niceties like electric cookers and hot-water geysers. Ishivered in the cold wind, hugging myself as I stared at the rock.Rationality did not appear to be helping much. I turned to emotion, and began, shrinking from the task, to reconstruct the details of my married lives—first with Frank, then with Jamie. The only result of this was to leave me shattered and weeping, the tears forming icy trails on my face.Well, if not reason nor emotion, what of duty? I had given Frank a wedding vow, and had meant it with all my heart. I had given Jamie the same, meaning to betray it as soon as possible. And which of them would I betray now? I continued to sit, as the sun sank lower in the sky and the swallows disappeared to their nests.As the evening star began to glow among the black pines' branches, I concluded that in this situation reason was of little use. I would have to rely on something else; just what, I wasn't sure. I turned toward the split rock and took a step, then another, and another. Pausing, I faced around and tried it in the other direction. A step, then another, and another, and before I even knew that I had decided, I was halfway down the slope, scrabbling wildly at grass clumps, slipping and falling through the patches of granite scree.

When I reached the cottage, breathless with fear lest he had left already, I was reassured to see Donas hobbled and grazing nearby. The horse raised his head and eyed me unpleasantly. Walking softly, I pushed the door open.He was in the front room, asleep on a narrow oak settle. He slept on his back, as he usually did, hands crossed on his stomach, mouth slightly open. The last rays of daylight from the window behind me limned his face like a metal mask; the silver tracks of dried tears glinted on golden skin, and the copper stubble of his beard gleamed dully.I stood watching him for a moment, filled with an unutterable tenderness. Moving as quietly as I could, I lay down beside him on the narrow settle and nestled close. He turned to me in sleep as he so often did, gathering me spoon-fashion against his chest and resting his cheek against my hair. Half-conscious, he reached to smooth my hair away from his nose; I felt the sudden jerk as he came awake to realize that I was there, and then weoverbalanced and crashed together onto the floor, Jamie on top of me.I didn't have the slightest doubt that he was solid flesh. I pushed a knee into his abdomen, grunting."Get off! I can't breathe!"Instead, he aggravated my breathless condition by kissing me thoroughly. I ignored the lack of oxygen temporarily in order to concentrate on more important things..We held each other for a long time without speaking. At last he murmured "Why?"—his mouth muffled in my hair.I kissed his cheek, damp and salty. I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving, not making love, just breathing the same air."I had to," I said. I laughed, a little shakily. "You don't know how close it was. The hot baths nearly won." And I wept then, and shook a little, because the choice was so freshly made, and because my joy for the man I held in my arms was mingled with a tearing grief for the man I would never see again.Jamie held me tightly, pressing me down with his weight, as though to protect me, to save me from being swept away by the roaring pull of the stone circle. At length my tears were spent, and I lay exhausted, head against his comforting chest.

It had grown altogether dark by this time, but still he held me, murmuring softly as though I were a child afraid of the night. We clung to each other, unwilling to let go even long enough to start a fire or light a candle.At length Jamie rose, and picking me up, carried me to the settle, where he sat with me cradled on his lap. The door of the cottage still hung open, and we could see the stars beginning to burn over the valley below.

"Do you know," I said drowsily, "that it takes thousands and thousands of years for the light of those stars to reach us? In fact, some of the stars we see may be dead by now, but we won't know it, because we still see the light.""Is that so?" he answered, stroking my back. "I didna know that."I must have fallen asleep, head on his shoulder, but roused briefly when he laid me gently on the floor, on a makeshift bed of blankets from the horse's saddleroll. He lay down beside me, and drew me close again.

"Lay your head, lass," he whispered. "In the morning, I'll take ye home."

#outlander #outlanderedit #the frasers #outlander starz #jamie fraser #outlander series #samheughan #outlander fanart #jamie&claire #jamie and claire #claire fraser #claire beauchamp #caitriona balfe #outlander books #outlander season 1 #outlander 1x11

18 notes · View notes

crappymixtape · 1 year

Text

move like water

it took so damn long, but finally you saved up enough to get your own place, and while it’s nothing fancy it’s yours, all yours, just like steve • *18+ only | ( 1.7k, smut all the smut, a sprinkle of fluff, established relationship, steve x you, steve x reader )

M O V E L I K E W A T E R 🎶 make you mine, giveon

Before the alarm went off at your bedside you felt Steve crawl out from under the warmth of the sheets, your body missing his as soon as he moved away from you. He was so much better at morning than you were, up with the sun while you protested against the soft light falling in through your bedroom window, but at least it made for a beautiful view.

Watching him shuffle his way to the bathroom, grey sweats hung low on his hips, he ran his hands through his hair and loosed a yawn. The muscles along his back tightened as he stretched his hands over his head and you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of your lips. How in the hell were you so lucky?

The soft static sounds of the shower mixed with whatever song was playing through the radio on the bathroom counter rubbed against your eardrums and you heard the glass panel of the shower close. Shutting your eyes for a minute you thought about lying there like you usually did, dozing for just a second more, but you couldn’t relax. Steve’s morning hair, the way his hips moved as he lazily walked across the room, the kisses he pressed to your forehead. Lifting your head you glanced at the clock.

7:48am. Plenty of time.

Dragging yourself out of bed, one of Steve’s giant oversized shirts dancing just above your knee, you traced the same path he’d walked to the bathroom.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Steve called over the shower door as he heard the door close. You could hear the grin on his lips, his blurry figure going through the motions of washing his hair.

“Gross,” you teased, grabbing your toothbrush and quickly running it through your mouth, leaning against the counter.

Steve laughed as you saw him turn and start washing out his shampoo, “I’ll make a pot of coffee as soon as I’m done, that should help.”

You hummed a reply and put your toothbrush back in your cup. “Coffee and…” you trailed off, fingers looping around the lace of your panties as you stepped out of them, pulling his shirt over your head.

“Breakfast?” he called back, tone matter-of-fact.

You couldn’t help laughing, your face flushing as you realized what you were doing, fingers curling around the glass panel of the shower and rolling it open. “Does this count?” you asked, peeking in at him as you stepped first one foot then the other into the steam with him.

“Does what coun-” he turned to call back to you, but stopped short when he caught sight of you, jaw slack and nearly dropping the bottle of conditioner he was now squeezing down into the drain.

You felt your confidence swell as you watched him watching you, slowly taking the bottle from his hand to put it back on the ledge and closing what little space there was between you. “This,” you grinned, pressing your lips to his.

He was impossibly wet, mouth slipping against yours as he caught your bottom lip between his, hair stuck messy across his forehead. “Oh yeah, yeah this definitely counts,” he murmured, pressing a grin into you, hands sliding across your lower back, pulling your hips into him.

Reaching back Steve turned up the heat on the faucet, kissing away the beads of water that had started to settle on your cheeks, your lips, your chin, your neck. His fingers pressed into the soft skin at your hips, nose nudging at your jaw, asking for more access and you gave it to him with the tilt of your head. It was slow, heavy, dragging across your skin and you felt yourself melting into him.

You could feel him against your thigh as he kissed you messy and wet, soft at first, but growing and wanting, needing you and the heat between your legs needed him too.

Steve grazed his teeth over your collarbone, tongue lapping at the water that had gathered there, and you moaned, hot and needy, your hips pitching against his. “What d’you want baby, tell me,” his voice was low, rough against your skin, still pressing and kissing and pulling on your body.

“Touch me, Steve,” your hand grabbed one of his and slid it between your legs, asking – no telling – him to feel you.

His fingers eagerly followed, slipping in the slick he’d pulled from you, and your breath caught in your throat. “Like that?” his lips were brushing against your ear now, other hand wrapping around your thigh and hiking it up to his hip. It opened you to him as he pressed two fingers gently into you, the rough pad of his thumb teasing against your clit, and you thought you might melt with the water that ran hot and dripping down your skin.

Feeling your head tilt back you loosed a moan, loud and blunted against the shower walls as your arms wrapped tightly around his neck holding on for dear life. Steve twitched against you hearing the deliciously dirty sounds that were slipping from your lips and he couldn’t help leaning back to look at you.

You were a sight, hair swept wet adn messy across your cheeks, water clinging to your lashes, your lips pretty and parted as you gasped for air, whispering curses against the feeling of Steve’s fingers inside of you. “You’re so pretty, baby, so good for me,” his words pulled another gasp from you as he picked up the pace, thumb drawing messy, heavy circles against your clit.

The feeling of the water, Steve pressing against you, pouring words into your ears like honey, fingers doing things to you that swore would render you undone. You felt yourself racing faster and faster to the edge, your nails pressing half-moon shapes into Steve’s shoulders, hips bucking into his hand. “That’s good baby, so good, you feel so good, want you come for me,” he murmured against your skin as his lips moved back down your neck, sucking a pretty lilac bruise against your skin, teeth gently nipping as he went and something inside of you shattered.

“Shit, Steve, fuck, I’m gonna come,” and your hips snapped into him as you clenched against his fingers. Biting into your lower lip you swore, his name falling from your lips over and over like a prayer as he slowed, guiding you through each wave of your climax, arms holding you steady as your legs shook.

Pulling his hand from you he let you lean into him, water slipping and falling down your bodies as it washed away your heat, and you huffed a laugh against his shoulder.

“You okay?” Steve grinned, slowly pulling you away from him so he could look at you, still holding you tight around your waist.

“I’d like mornings better if this was my alarm,” you teased, reaching up to wipe the hair from his forehead.

“I dunno, still feel like I’d have to drag you out of bed,” he was laughing a little and leaned back to turn the water off, but you caught him with your hand.

“Wait, I’m not done.”

The look he gave you then was wrecked, his mouth parted in a pretty little ‘o’, and pupils blown, edged in burnt caramel and honey.

You reached over his hand to turned the heat up again before dropping to your knees and taking him in your hands, half hard, but stiffening the rest of the way at your touch. “Christ, babe,” he said through gritted teeth, jaw clenched as his hands tangled in your wet hair. Bringing your lips to him you flicked your tongue out to lick across his tip and a shudder ran through his body. Humming against him you slowly slipped his length into your mouth and paused, looking up at him through your wet lashes.

Steve was a hot mess. Hand bracing against the wall of the shower, the muscles in his bicep tense as he held himself up. Eyes squeezed shut at the feel of you on him. Hair soaked and falling into his eyes. Mouth dropped open and breath hitched. Water dripping down his chest, his stomach, his thighs and onto you.

Starting up a slow pace you bobbed on him, your hands twisting around what couldn’t fit in your mouth, and he loosed a heavy groan. “Jesus, so good,” he swore your name, hips bucking into you as gently as he could manage, and your tongue swirled around him as you sucked in tighter. “Not gonna last long,” he hissed, but he didn’t care, he would drown in this feeling.

He was panting now, blowing water from his lips as his movements grew more frantic, his fingers slipping against the wet shower wall, other hand pulling in your hair. “So close, baby, gonn com–” and then he snapped, hips rocking into you as he filled your mouth and you swallowed.

Your hand tangled with his as you stood, helping Steve find himself in the dizzying bliss that had wrapped around you both. He slipped both arms around you, holding tightly, and pressed sloppy kisses to your forehead as he murmured praise and I love yous against your skin.

“I can make breakfast,” you smirked, Steve’s eyes heavy.

“Mmm, yeah I’m gonna need a minute,” he huffed a laugh. Reaching back to turn up the water again his brows furrowed and he looked up at you, eyes wide. “Uh–”

“What?” you shot him a confused look, “What happened–oh shit!”

Hot water quickly turned to cold and Steve couldn’t scramble fast enough to shut it off, “Fuck, shit!”

Water gone you both stood there for a minute, arms wrapped around yourselves, wet and cold until you couldn’t stand it anymore and started laughing, wrestling over who got to get out first. Steve weaseled his way past you and you opened your mouth to call him a shit, but it stopped in your throat as he turned back around holding your towel out for you.

“I’m giving you the water bill this month,” he teased, wrapping the warm, fuzzy fabric around you.

“Jokes on you, hotshot, utilities are linked to your account.”

Steve looked at you for a split second, as if considering what you’d just said. Humming in thought you gave him a look, weirdo, but then he was flinging a hand out and goosing your ass. “STEVE,” you swatted at his hand and he laughed. “You’re a menace!” and you ran from the bathroom, Steve and his grabby hands chasing after you.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

#steve harrington smut #smut #is it hot in here or is it just steve #brb melting #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve stranger things #steve x you #steve x reader

333 notes · View notes

deranged-chinchilla · 5 months

Text

silver foxes my beloved 💞

since my head has been rotting with the thought of being between these two fictional men, here’s a pair of one shots

Alan Grant |

(also it’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie so if the timing of everything isn’t as accurate, that’s why, anyways, enjoy! ✌️)

You thought going on a sponsored trip with your Paleontology mentor would be a fun time, but how silly you were to think such a thing.

Thinking you’d spend some possibly romantic and passionate alone time with the man, you had to suppress your disappointment along with your screams of absolute terror when the jeep you had chosen out of spite had been flipped over.

By what exactly?

A forty foot long tyrannosaurus rex, with sharp teeth filling its gigantic head.

You could see that in grotesqe detail as it curiously sniffed at the overturned vehicle’s now shattered windows, terrifying the children you were trapped with as you quietly shushed them and held them close to keep them from getting the giant creature’s attention once more.

“I know, I know it’s scary. But we’ll be okay.” You whisper in both Tim and Lexi’s ears as they whimpered, covering their mouths.

Then you looked up and, almost letting out a sigh of relief, you saw Alan getting out of his separate vehicle he got in with Ian, armed with a flare.

“Over here!!” Grant waved his arms as he shouted, earning the rex’s attention.

A pang of fear for him filled your chest but was quickly turned to pride as he opened the bright red light, waving it around to see if the dino would follow. And when it did, Alan threw it far away into the trees making the Rex follow after it.

That was when he made his way to your vehicle.

And though you felt a dulled pain in your lower leg from where the Rex had trapped you under one of the seats after nearly crushing the car, you made sure a sobbing Lex was out of there first and into the safety of Grant’s arms.

But before you could get Tim out as well, you heard Lexi scream and both you and the young boy froze in panic. Looking out again, you briefly saw Alan covering Lexi’s mouth as they remained stone-still beside the car before the Rex was right at the window again making Tim nearly scream as well before you covered his eyes and mouth.

Then the Jeep was spun around by the dino’s powerful snout making you and Tim involuntarily shriek as the car was pushed closer and closer to the ledge leading to long drop just before the dark forrest below.

Then pulling your foot free from the seat followed by a pained grunt as you gritted your teeth, you hurried Tim to the back of the Jeep in attempt o keep the vehicle in balance.

But the mud and rain made such a feat impossible and next thing you knew you guys were falling.

You held onto Tim with one hand while the other gripped what was left of the back window to ensure neither of you fell through where the windshield once was.

And luckily you didn’t fall for long when your car got caught on some branches and vines, suspending you in midair.

You quietly reassured the trembling Tim who seemed just seconds from throwing up as you looked around for any chance of escape.

But after a few minutes of what felt like total hopelessness, you soon felt the feeling lift from your shoulders when Alan was beside you on one of the tree branches.

“You guys alright?” He softly asks, looking around to make sure you were secure. While you gave him a relieved nod, Tim couldn’t hold back his bile anymore and puked, sending any food left in his system out the windshield.

After he was done, you helped the small boy to Alan and onto the safety of the branch before you carefully crawled your way to him to do the same.

But as soon as you were within reach, the car began to slip and your eyes widened, prepared to accept your fate.

But Alan wasn’t and quickly grabbed onto you, pulling you up into his chest right as the car fell.

You looked up at him as you tried to steady your breathing, but the proximity only made it harder as the air seemed to thicken.

That also may have been your injury and how high up you all were but same difference.

“I got you. I got you…” With his chest rising and falling heavily, and his voice soft with relief, you found him reassuring you and himself in that moment.

You squeezed him graciously, looking up at him.

“Thank you… but I think I might’ve bruised my ankle pretty bad.” You told him before he looked down and pulled up the pant of your leg to see a red bruise forming just above your ankle where the seat had almost crushed it.

Gently feeling it to check for any misplaced bones or fractures, you sucked in a breath through your teeth as Alan checked on it.

“It doesn’t seem broken but if it’s worse to walk, I’ll carry you.” He offered, and though it was tempting you shook your flustered head.

“I should be okay. Let’s just get back to the ground.” You panted before with the help from both boys, you all safely made it to the ground with Lexi meeting you there.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs |

Being a good friend of Abby’s, you spent quite a bit of time at the NCIS headquarters.

At first it was secret and she would sneak you in through one of the windows to her lab, but that was short lived with all of Gibbs’ surprise visits.

But when both you and Abby thought he’d for sure kick you out and forbid such a meet up from ever happening again, he surprisingly approached you without a scolding word.

Then he took hold of the collar of your shirt and clipped a visitor’s badge on it.

Then sending you a ghost of a smile, he commented on how Abby got a lot more done with you around and left.

But one night, just after the heartbreaking death of one of Abby’s coworkers, Kate, Abby was mourning and had run to the bathroom to fix her makeup after some reassurance from you.

While she was gone, however, and you held the fort, you were scared shitless out of your seat when a window suddenly shattered.

You ducked behind the metal desk in terror, clutching your racing heart in fear not knowing if that’d been a rock or a lucky gunshot that missed you.

Your question was answered however when the lights were shut off and you looked towards the door to see Gibbs rushing in to darken the room.

Then he crouched and made his way to you, not taking more than a second to be at your side.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked as you gripped his calloused hands with your own shaky ones.

“I wasn’t hit, I wasn’t hit.” You murmured, the second time you said it more for your own assurance as Gibbs let out his own sigh of relief.

“I knew I should’ve sent you home.” His comment seemed a bit backhanded at first, slightly offending and embarrassing you, before he embraced you warmly, rubbing your back soothingly.

You melted against his touch, resting your head against his shoulder as you sat side by side behind the safety of the desk.

“Where’s— Where’s Abby?” You asked, anxiety coursing through you at the possible grim answer.

“Safe, DiNozzo and McGee made sure of it.” Gibbs told you making you sigh with relief.

“Thank you.” You said, your body relaxing a bit as you stared off into the dark room.

His presence being enough for the lack of light to not scare you further.

There was a desolate moment of silence between you two, not tense like you would think, but comfortable.

“Why did you want to send me home?” You finally gather the courage to ask.

And hey, you were almost sniped, you had the confidence for just about anything now.

You couldn’t see his features all that well but you could sense him shift a little, turning to face you.

“Because you may not be hired as an NCIS agent, but I see you as part of the team. Hell, the whole team does. Kate did too.” He softly told you, his warmth carrying to you as you kept your head on his shoulder.

“I wish I got to know her better then…” You weren’t as close as her and Abby were due to your schooling schedule, but the few times you guys had run into each other when she wasn’t on missions were never short of heartwarming.

It was bittersweet looking at it now.

“I miss her…” You admitted, turning to look at him too. “I don’t want to miss out on anything with the rest of you.”

While it was more aimed then intended, Gibbs got the idea and you could hear him make the noise he usually made when he smiled.

“Tell you what,” He started, and you could still hear his grin. “We get out of this and you still feel the same way tomorrow, I’ll see what I can do.”

You smiled at this, relaxing once more at his side as he kissed the top of your head.

While at the time you thought it was just something Gibbs did, a protective kind of thing, it turned into much, much more.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sorry if it’s bad this is my first time writing something public for Tumblr, but I hope someone finds this fitting of their taste and enjoys :D

#silver foxes supremacy #old men are the best men #alan grant #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #jurrassicpark

19 notes · View notes

softquietsteadylove · 3 months

Note

The 10 things I hate about u AU (spice) was so cool! More spice pls? 🤭

Thena looked up at the second strange noise--a little knock against her window. She moved from her bed to the ledge below her window as it happened again. Her jaw dropped.

"You gonna let me in, or what?"

Thena pulled her window open, glaring at him as he left the tree outside her window and actually climbed up onto her roof. "What are you doing here?!"

"You said I could come see you," Gilgamesh had the nerve to pout at her as if he weren't fulfilling that promise quite late in the evening. He pulled a - somewhat crumpled - bouquet of flowers out of his hoodie. "I even came prepared!"

Thena glared at the white roses wrapped in plain brown paper. She ought to have thrown them right in his face and watch him tumble off her roof, really. But she accept them, careful not to crinkle them further, "you had all day to do this. You did not have to come under the cover of night like a cretin."

"Look, I did try coming earlier, but I think your dad is so paranoid about me that I swear all he did all day was sit facing the front walkway waiting for me." Gil slipped in through the window and pulled down his hood, as well as untied his heavy boots as soon as he was inside. "I had to wait until he left before climbing up here."

She didn't have much of an argument for that. It wasn't as if her father would have allowed him in if he brought flowers and seemed a fine young gentleman. "And you couldn't text me that?"

"Hey, you didn't text me either."

Thena buried her nose in the flowers, trying not to seem embarrassed. She had...contemplated it. But the thought of texting him first after their last...encounter... In the end she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"They're nice, right?" he grinned, watching her admire her gift with open enthusiasm. "They're not even from the grocery store--I went to that legit florist that's downtown."

"That's," Thena paused, eyeing the white roses with baby's breath between them and then up at the boy in her room (the first ever). She sighed, "sweet."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," he added more softly, walking closer to her and leaning his head down. "I wanted to see you, Thena--really. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

It was no business of his if she had just so happened to spend all day in her room 'reading'. It wasn't that she was waiting for him. She would never want to devote such time to a romantic pursuit.

Thena inhaled, letting him kiss her, their lips meeting a little too naturally for her taste. It was as if she was already used to kissing him (enjoying it, even). It was as if the first time they had kissed wasn't literally yesterday.

Gil moved his hands to her cheeks, kissing her more intently.

She pushed at his chest, her ears filling with the sound of her own heart pounding and the crinkling of her bouquet's wrapping.

He blinked at her as they parted, already wearing all over his face what he was feeling. "Shit, you're mad. That's okay, I-"

"Gil," she chided, pressing her finger to his lips again. He smiled. She retracted it, clutching her bouquet and moving to her desk. Her water bottle was still full for a day of 'reading'. She twisted off the top and set the flowers therein. "Have you no patience?"

"Uh, not my specialty," he chuckled, and she had to concur. He eagerly moved over to her again.

She could scold him for expecting kisses every time they were so much as in the same room, now. But the thought left her as he did indeed kiss her again, and he was quite proficient in the use of his lips, she had to admit. Her hands rose to slide up his chest until she heard the clinking of the little trinket around his neck.

Gil wrapped his arms around her as she rose onto her toes and moaned quietly. He held her tightly and it reignited the warmth that had settled within her since yesterday. "C'mere."

Again, she lacked the words to dissuade him as he lifted her faintly and moved them back to her bed. He laid her down against her pillow while he laid over her, the holes in his jeans against the pure white of her duvet.

Thena dragged her hands down his back, under his hoodie but over his t-shirt. Not that she needed to encourage him, but she had to wonder why they were both still clothed. She assumed he came here for a reason, after all.

Gil moved his lips to her neck, and she let out a whimper. She had no idea that the location of a kiss could change things so drastically. And the pleasure this brought her was undeniable. "Thena."

A shiver ran through her, but Gil's body was pressed so close she could feel every inch of him. He was so warm, so solid--so oddly thick for a boy their age. Well, technically he was a man. Her...her something.

Thena breathed more heavily as Gil pressed his palm to her breast over the spaghetti strapped top she wore to bed. But he didn't linger, focusing on moving his hand to the shorts she had to match.

"Do you always dress this cute for bed?"

Thena ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It kept his head under her jaw, instead of letting him see her blushing. She had sat around all day in a particular outfit, and then had selected this particular sleepwear set. What a fool love made of people.

Gil accepted her lack of answer, slipping his fingers into her shorts like a practised professional. "I'm gonna do this right, Princess."

"What does-!" Thena bit her lip as he found the right spots expertly. Her hips swivelled but he moved with her, stroking and pressing with varying gentility. She was becoming feverish.

"I want you to feel good," he whispered, all but crooning in her ear as he stroked his fingers inside of her.

"I-I...I-" Thena blinked up at her ceiling, completely unable to form the thought. She felt too good, and she was trying not to scream it to the heavens. She pressed her hand to her mouth, breathing as heavily through her nose as she could.

"S'okay, sweetheart, just let it out," Gil cooed, his lips at the hollow of her cheek as he worked her into a frenzy.

Thena moaned into her palm as she came around his fingers. She hadn't expected this from him, but she would be damned if it wasn't good. More than she had ever achieved by her own hand, certainly. She panted, her knees knocking faintly.

Gil pressed a definitive kiss to her cheek. "You good?"

She nodded, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how good it was.

"Good," he leaned over into her vision to grin down at her. It wasn't his smug little smirk, though. This was just a regular, ridiculously sincere smile that pushed the apples of his cheeks up to the corners of his eyes. It was annoyingly cute. "I need to prove I can deliver, y'know?"

"Hm?" she blinked. She hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about, and she was still relishing the feeling of her orgasm.

"Look," he sighed, and a familiar and charming blush rose in his cheeks. "I know yesterday was...well, like, I don't think you...liked it as much as I did."

She had come home and collapsed into bed and screamed into her pillow. She had enjoyed it very much, he just wasn't privy to that information.

"So I just wanna make sure it's good for you, I mean," he rushed to explain. He gesticulated with his hand, trying to visibly explain why this was so important to him.

Thena eyed the hand he had just had buried between her legs and averted her eyes at the evidence running down to his wrist. "Yes, yes, I see what you're saying, needless as it is."

Gil looked at what had captured - and then repelled - her interest. He uttered a brief 'oh', and then proceeded to lick the substance with his tongue from the inside of his wrist up to his fingers before popping them into his mouth.

Thena flushed red from her chest and up into her face. "Dont'-!"

"What?" he just blinked at her, completely oblivious to how mortifying it was to witness. "I don't wanna waste it."

This was exactly he wasn't privy to how much she had enjoyed yesterday with him.

She pursed her lips at him, closing her knees, although it emphasized the state of her panties, and to some extent, the shorts themselves. "You achieved what you came to do, then."

"Not yet."

"What else could you possibly want," she huffed at him, but he didn't seem to mind the rude demand. He grinned at her again, licking his lips as he moved over to kiss her again. She whined as she tasted herself on him.

"Come on," he pouted at her, his hands on her knees. "I watched a video for it and everything!"

"I would not call pornography a tutorial."

"Ha-ha, so funny," he rolled his eyes at her. "I mean a real, educational video, Princess. I looked up diagrams."

"Diagrams?" she repeated, swallowing so dryly it was basically a gulp. The tightness below her bellybutton returned as he tapped his fingers against her kneecaps.

"What do you say?" he whispered against her cheek again. He even nipped the shell of her ear, which became inflamed in response. "Let me help you feel even better?"

She had half a mind to tell him to just leave, if all he had come for was to get a leg up on her in the orgasm department. But he started kissing her neck again, and her knees somehow came apart of their own accord. His hand returned to her shorts, just to pull them down past her knees and away.

She had almost expected him to languish in her nakedness and stare like an idiot, or make some boyish comment. But he kissed from the inside of her knee up her thigh, keeping his eyes closed and averted from her complete exposure.

"Try to relax, babe," he whispered to her as he reached the inside of her thigh, his nose brushing against blonde curls. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Thena pressed both hands to her mouth as his tongue resumed the work his fingers had just finished. For a ne'er do well and a delinquent, Gilgamesh had a very talented tongue. He moved in just the right way, responded to her reactions. He pulled back when she flinched and pressed harder when she moaned.

Gil kept one hand hooked around her thigh while the other arm laid over her, pressed above his head and keeping her to the bed and not flailing around. He pressed his lips down and moaned.

Thena moaned louder than she had planned, her shoulders heaving as she tried to control herself. She knew conceptually what this act entailed, but she never could have conceptualised what that would truly mean.

Gil pulled away, seemingly just for air, although he stayed close, kissing her crux of her hips. "You're beautiful, Thena."

She whimpered, her teeth driven into her lower lip. He couldn't say things like that when they were like this, and he was down there, and she was feeling all that.

He returned to his work, pushing his tongue into her again. It felt different from the completely carnal act they had fulfilled yesterday in his room, but this was something different. It felt both filthier and more beautiful, depending on how she thought of it. Not that she could get very far with any of those thoughts.

Gil worked harder for it, sensing her nearing her end. He held her more firmly, but never digging his fingers into her flesh too hard. He also squirmed on top of her duvet, trying to find the best angle for both of them. He was breathing roughly now, probably also in a frenzy.

"Gil," she panted, unable to keep her mouth covered given the air she needed. She bit down on her finger, "Gil, Gil, Gil!"

Her thighs came together naturally in reflex as her second orgasm came over her. But he endured it, letting her ride it out, his head pressed between her legs. At least if she kept him right there then it meant he couldn't really see anything.

She came down from it slowly, unwinding and uncoiling. It was like yesterday, in which all of her usually tense muscles had simply...let go. She couldn't even make a fist as she helplessly rolled to her side and Gil helped her close her legs.

She chose to keep her eyes closed as she heard him licking his lips and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

He crawled over her again, nuzzling her cheek. "Princess?"

She sighed. She wasn't ready to answer him, and like she had been doing all day: he could wait.

"Thena?" he asked again, though, eager for his feedback about whether he was a good lover or not. It felt like a dog wagging his tail at her for a treat.

She let her eyes flutter open and he was staring down at her like she was a work of art or a wonder of the world. If she wasn't already bright red, it was only getting worse the more he looked at her like that. "What?"

She had tried to huff and puff at him like she always did. But the one sharp intended question only made him beam at her like she'd made some great love confession. She almost scrambled to correct herself from whatever she had just exposed to him.

But he leaned down, turning her chin so he could kiss her properly. "Glad you liked it."

She wished she could glare at him, but she was so...sated. She barely lifted her head off the pillow as he leaned back. "I did not say that."

"Yeah," he shrugged, looking a little too happy with himself, "but if it was bad, you would'a just said so."

Was that what he thought of her? Well, that was true, but still. Thena dragged herself up into a sitting position, keeping her legs together and tugging the edge of her top down over herself in hopes of retaining a scrap of modesty. "That paints a rather unflattering picture of me."

Gilgamesh looked at her, smiling gently and looking at her directly with those deep brown eyes he had. "Any picture of you is breathtaking."

Thena blushed, horrified that sitting in front of him half naked was not the reason for her embarrassment.

Gil leaned over, kissing her again. He pressed his forehead to hers, "can I-"

"Thena?"

Gil threw himself off the bed while Thena pulled her throw up from the foot of the bed and over her lap. She was panting and bright red--very inconspicuous.

"Are you--oh!" Sersi froze as soon as she saw the state of her sister. Her eyes dashed to the bed, to the boots left by the window, to the flowers on the desk. She made a face, "you need to hide the evidence better."

And with that, she closed the door behind her and was gone.

Thena threw herself back against her pillows. She would never live this down so long as they both lived.

Gil peeked up from the far side of her bed, a devillish curve to his eyebrow, "guess we've been found out, huh?"

"I should be grateful," Thena sighed. That it was her sympathetic sister and not a certain monster in the downstairs study.

"I'll go."

She turned her head toward him, lying against her pillows with her hair splayed around her. Gil leaned down and kissed her again. She eyed the visible discomfort around the front of his jeans. "You really snuck in here for nothing in return?"

He shrugged though, retrieving his boots, which they had indeed forgotten to hide in the slightest. "I get the sense that I'm a little early for us to be undisturbed."

Thena sat up again at least, still with her throw covering her from the waist down. "Perhaps your bed is better for this kind of...rendevouz."

He smiled at her, zipping up his hoodie and pulling up the hood again, "or you could let me take out on a date, like a regular couple."

That was harder to agree upon than whose bed they should use for secretive and illicit love making.

Gil sighed, holding his tongue if he had any disagreements. He came back to her side one more time to kiss her cheek. He was surprised when she turned more to capture his lips, but he was gentle about it. When he pulled back it was slowly, tapping his thumb against her cheekbone. "Think about it, sweetheart."

13 notes · View notes

punchdrunkdoc · 1 month

Text

Part 3, Chapter 15

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

Sorry for the delay - had the cold from hell!

————–

PART 3

Chapter 15

Calina barely stirred as Matt slipped out of her bed the next morning.

He was more than loathe to leave the warm, comfortable haven but he needed to get ready for work. So he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, pulled the covers up and over her chilled skin, and crept out of her apartment.

He returned forty minutes later, once showered and dressed, with a hammer in one hand and a bunch of nails that he’d found shoved in a box under his sink. This time Calina was a little more alert - and she became more so when he started pounding a nail into the base of her window frame.

“Matt?” she asked, rolling over to face him. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing what I broke last night.” He hammered in another nail to keep the window shut. It wasn’t the neatest job, but it would do until he could arrange for the building Super to mend it.

As long as she was safe in the meantime.

“You came through the window last night?” She sounded befuddled.

“Well, I didn’t have a key to your front door.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He placed his tools on the window ledge and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to hide his smile. He loved sleepy, confused Calina - he’d missed seeing this side of her.

“No need to apologise, sweetheart. Why don’t you get some more rest?”

She relaxed back against the pillows. “Mmmm, okay. Thank you.”

“For the suggestion, or for the window?”

“For last night,” she explained, stifling a yawn. “I didn’t meant to mess up the whole ‘going slow’ thing.”

“We can go slow tonight.”

She smiled, even as her eyes fell shut. “Mmm, tonight. Our date.”

“That’s right. Our date.” He leaned over and kissed her, feeling her smile against his lips. “See you then, sweetheart.”

“Mmm.”

He smiled at her response - barely more than a hum of noise as she slipped back into slumber - then crept back out of the apartment. As he made his way to work, he searched his phone for possible restaurant options for that night.

And soon realised he’d made a huge mistake: he’d over-promised on this date, and was going to massively underdeliver.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he shouldered his way into the main office, his concentration still locked on his phone.

“What’s up?” Foggy asked.

“Everywhere decent is booked up.”

“Huh?”

“I’m trying to arrange dinner for me and Calina for tonight, but everywhere’s booked.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m glad you two worked things out. Secondly, what did you expect, man? You can’t leave these things to the day of. You gotta plan in advance.”

“What’s going on?” Karen asked, emerging from the conference room.

“Matt’s trying to find a restaurant for him and Calina for tonight.”

Karen sucked in a breath. “Good luck. Its crazy these days - you have to book weeks in advance if you want somewhere good.”

“I didn’t know in advance,” Matt replied through gritted teeth. “We only sorted things out between us a few days ago.”

“So what’s the rush?” Foggy asked.

“I already told her we’d do something tonight, and she’s excited about it. It’s our first date.”

Foggy and Karen seemed unimpressed, so Matt spelled it out for them. “Which means its her first date, ever.”

“Oh,” Karen said, sympathy in her voice.

“Yikes. Talk about pressure,” Foggy said. Before Matt could glare at him for the glib response, Foggy continued. “Good thing I’m in a position to help you out.”

“What?” Matt asked. “How?”

“I just so happen to have a reservation for tonight going spare.”

“Again, how?”

“I booked something for Marci and me months ago. Its our anniversary, so I went for something super classy and romantic. But she’s had to go out of town for a big case she’s working on.”

“That sucks, Foggy,” Karen said.

Foggy shrugged and smiled. “She more than made it up to me over the weekend. In several creative and mind-blowing ways, if you catch my drift.”

“I do,” she grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“So, I can have the reservation?” Matt asked, ignoring their banter.

“I dunno, man. Are you prepared to owe me this big? I mean, we’re talking leave-everything-to-me-in-your-will big. Donate-one-of-your-kidneys big. Nominate-me-for-sainthood big.”

“Its just dinner, Fog.”

Foggy pointed a finger at him. “It’s dinner and dancing, my friend. In the Rainbow Room. At the top of Rockerfeller Plaza, with the Empire State Building right outside the window. Women have been going nuts for that shit since, like, the 30s.”

Matt glanced at Karen. She nodded, reluctantly. “It is pretty spectacular.”

“Then I’ll take it. Especially the dancing. Calina will love that. The will, the kidney, the sainthood is yours, Fog.” He clasped a hand on his friends shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, buddy.”

———

The knock on the door startled Calina.

Who would be visiting her?

She’d already been to see Mrs Schneider this morning. The Widows were still packing up the safe house and moving all the surveillance gear into storage, and Matt was at work - he’d texted her only twenty minutes ago to confirm their date.

She didn’t really know anyone else.

The knock sounded again. Then a female voice called through the door, “Calina?”

It was a familiar voice. And she realised she did, in fact, know someone else in New York. “Karen?” she called, padding over to the door. She swung it open to find the tall blond smiling at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if you needed any help.”

Calina stepped aside to let her in. The other woman took a few steps in and stopped, taking in the clothes strewn all over the couch and the outfits hanging on the bedroom door. “I can see that you do.”

Calina hurried over to gather up the items from the couch. “Sorry for the mess. Matt’s taking me out tonight and I was trying to decide what to wear.”

Karen smiled. “Let me guess: he told you to be ready for 8, and that was it.”

Calina shrugged. “He said it was a surprise.”

“Men can be so clueless about this kind of thing. That’s why I came to help.” She held up her hands. “I won’t spoil the surprise, but I’ll make sure you have on the perfect dress for the occasion.”

“Dress? I was just going to wear pants. I have a pair that look really nice with heels and a silk top-”

Karen shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m sure they look very nice - you could probably wear a burlap sack and look gorgeous - but this venue calls for a bit more glamour.” She dropped her purse on the floor and started wriggling out of her coat. “Let’s see what dresses you have.”

Calina bit her lip. “I only really have one. But it doesn't exactly have the best memories attached to it…”

Karen froze with one arm out of her coat. Then she reversed-course, shrugged it back on and grabbed her purse. “Looks like we’re going shopping, then. Come on.”

Half an hour later they were on the third floor of Nordstrum’s, in the woman’s designer clothing department.

“Okay,” Karen said, clasping her hands together in front of her, as if rallying troops for a battle. “What’s your style? Sexy and daring, frilly and floaty, or somewhere in between?”

Calina shook her head, taken aback by all the choice in front of her. Give her a machete-wielding opponent looking for a fight, or a building schematic written in Japanese, and she’d know what to do…

But this?

She was at a loss.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what my style is.” She’d still been figuring that out when she was uprooted from New York to Maine, then again to New Jersey - where advertising the Widows’ presence with a bunch of online deliveries wouldn’t have been wise.

Besides, prepping for a raid against a megalomaniacal Russian super-villain didn’t exactly leave a lot of time for shopping.

Karen didn’t bat an eyelid. “No problem. Let’s just have a look around and see if anything jumps out at you.”

Calina nodded and approached the nearest rack. But immediately ruled it out. “Too bright.”

“Are you sure? With your colouring, you could definitely pull off something like this.” She tugged at the skirt of a cobalt blue slip dress.

Calina shook her head. “Not me.”

“See?” Karen smiled. “You do know what you like.”

Calina returned the smile, and started browsing through the gowns with more enthusiasm.

Occasionally, Karen would hold something up to gauge her opinion, which Calina was always quick to decisively offer.

“Too many ruffles.”

“I don’t like those sleeves.”

“There’s not a lot of give in that material.”

“Yeah,” Karen agreed, replacing the tight silk dress to its rack. “You’ll need to be able to move.”

“Why?” Calina asked, worried. “Is Matt expecting trouble? Are we going to be forced to fight at some point?”

Karen gave her a strange look. “No," she said slowly. "I just meant- actually, I can’t tell you what I meant. But there won’t be fighting.” She rolled her eyes. “Although with Matt’s luck, you never know.”

Calina smiled. “And mine. It would probably be safer if we just stayed on the couch and ordered take-out.”

“No. You’re going to go out, and have fun, and look amazing while you do it.” She turned away to rifle through the Mark Jacobs display.

Calina watched her for a few moments, feeling confused. “Why are you helping me like this?” she finally asked. “Isn’t it awkward? Given your history with Matt…”

“Matt and I were barely a thing. I mean, I did have feelings for him for a long time…but they were feelings for a version of Matt that didn’t really exist. Or a version that wasn’t the complete him.” She shook her head. “I’m not explaining this well.”

“You mean the version that wasn’t Daredevil.”

Karen sighed. “Yeah. It took him a long time to tell me the truth about his alter ego. Long after I’d already fallen for him, and after we’d started dating. And that truth shifted something. Or, it was more like all the lies shifted something. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He’s still a great man. An amazing, brave, caring man. Just not the one I’d built up in my head. And I could never reconcile that man with the one who lied to me, and pushed me to the side when his mission and Elektra came calling-”

Karen noticed something in Calina’s expression and hurried to explain. “But you don’t have to worry about that. Elektra’s long gone, and he’s in a better place now - not as obsessive as he used to be about being Daredevil. There was a time when he threw his whole life away to just be the man in the mask, but I can’t imagine him doing that now. Not when he has you. You’ve made him whole. That’s why I can help you. Because I see how good you are for him, and how happy you’ve made him.”

Calina barely noticed the compliment, and she hadn’t been worried by the idea of Elektra, or of Matt being Daredevil - she was too fixated on the the other thing Karen had said:

‘The lies shifted something.’

There were some stark parallels between Matt's relationship with Karen, and the one he now shared with her - and they weren't good parallels.

"I haven’t always made him happy," Calina admitted. "I sometimes think I’ve hurt him more often than I’ve brought him any comfort or joy. The way he lied to you, I lied to him. I kept secrets from him and hid who I really was. And I’m scared it will eventually shift something in him, the way it shifted in you. That he’ll eventually realise I’m not who he thought I was. That I'm not…worth it."

Karen stopped sifting through the dress rack in front of her, and looked up to meet Calina's eyes. "Is there something else you're not telling him?"

She sounded serious, and ready to do battle for her friend, so Calina rushed to reassure her. "No! Everything's out in the open between us. I mean, he doesn't know my complete life story-"

Karen scoffed. "He doesn't need to. He's not entitled to every moment from your life before you guys met. As long as you're honest about the big things."

"I am. Now," she added, with a slight wince.

Karen shrugged. "Well, then, you shouldn't worry."

"But all the lies I told-"

"Were probably matched by the lies he told you. Unless he introduced himself as Daredevil the moment you met."

"No, of course not."

"Matt's not a saint when it comes to honesty in relationships. Don't put him on some pedestal."

The irony of that statement was not lost on Calina - she'd beseeched Matt to not put her on a pedestal earlier in their relationship. Was she now guilty of the same thing?

"Matt doesn't trust easily," Karen continued. "I'm sure he's told you why."

"He told me that he's been betrayed and lied to a lot. By his old mentor, Elektra, his mother."

"He told you about his mother?"

"Yes."

Karen suddenly smiled, her earlier concern gone. "That just proves how much he trusts you. And even if you broke that trust once, the fact that he's still with you - and desperately wants to make it work with you - should tell you how much he loves you. Concentrate on that, not your past mistakes."

Calina nodded, knowing that it was good advice. She just didn't know how well she'd be able to follow it. As she'd learned over the past few months, her self-esteem issues ran deep.

"Thank you," she told the other woman. "And I’m sorry for offloading all that onto you. You just came to help me pick out an outfit, not act as my therapist."

Karen shrugged. "This is what girlfriends are for - shopping and relationship advice. Or so I gather. I’ve never really had female friends."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I lost my mom when I was younger, and since then, all the people of consequence in my life have been men. My Dad. My brother. And then Foggy and Matt. Ben. David, of course. And even Frank."

“Matt mentioned Ben to me. The journalist, right? But who’s Frank?”

Karen laughed. “Frank…is Frank. And the story of Frank is a long, and violent one. Probably best told over wine and cocktails and not in front of $500 dresses.”

Calina laughed. “I look forward to hearing it. And to the drinking. That sounds like fun.”

“It’s a date.” Karen re-focussed on the clothes in front of her. “But lets get you sorted out for tonight’s adventure first.” She held up yet another option. “What do you think of florals?”

———

She didn’t go for florals. Or ruffles. Or a bold colour.

In the end, the perfect dress was found by touch.

“Are you sure?” Karen asked when Calina unearthed the dress from the sale section. “Its more of an autumn dress than a spring one - that’s why its reduced. It’s quite…muted.”

It was muted - in both colour and style. Just a knee length, one-shouldered, cocktail dress. There was some draping in the back that left a lot of her skin exposed, meaning there was some interest to the design...but overall it was quite simple.

Classy and chic and simple.

Which, Calina discovered, appeared to be her style.

The main selling point, though, was the fabric. A sumptuous, luxurious velvet, which she knew Matt would love. He wouldn’t see the colour, or the silhouette, but he’d feel the dress against her skin. And that was the most important thing.

She explained her reasoning to Karen, and the other woman smiled. “The feminist in me would usually advise you to dress for yourself, not for a man…but I think an exception can be made in this case.”

Calina smiled, then headed for the register to pay for the dress.

She admired it now - hours later - in the full length mirror of her bedroom, twisting to check the fit in the back. Strappy heels adorned her feet and a couple of simple gold bangles dangled from her wrist, completing the look.

She was ready.

For her date.

Calina smoothed her hands over the front of her dress and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous.

Which was ridiculous. She’d been with Matt for months now. They’d slept together. Confessed their love. Survived crucible after crucible.

A first date was nothing compared to all that.

But still…the nerves persisted.

Or maybe it wasn’t nerves. Maybe it was just anticipation. A bubbling, fluttery kind of excitement that she’d never felt before.

She nearly exploded with that emotion when a soft rap sounded at the door. She skipped across the living room - as fast as the heels and the skirt of the dress would allow - and pulled open the door.

“Hi,” she said, greeting the man standing in the hallway.

He looked amazing.

To be fair, he always looked good in a suit - his office attire emphasised his trim figure and broad shoulders almost as well as his red Daredevil costume. But there was something different about this suit. It was deep black in colour and seemed tailored to every line of his body. The crisp white shirt looked expensive, and the narrow black tie was modern and chic.

And the ever-present red glasses made him look cool as hell.

“You look so handsome,” she breathed.

He smiled and leaned in to brush his lips across her cheek. “Thank you.” He lingered against her skin, breathing deeply. “You smell amazing. As always.”

He stepped back, and offered her the roses he held in one hand - it said a lot about how good he looked that she hadn’t even noticed the bouquet.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the beautiful blood red stems. “I always love it when you bring me flowers.”

“I’ve only done it once before,” he replied, referencing the solitary blossom he’d once carried across the rooftops of the city.

She shrugged. “I still love it.” She carried the roses over to the kitchen and started hunting for a suitable container to put them in.

“Then I’ll have to do it more often.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she replied quickly. “I wasn’t dropping hints or anything.”

He chuckled. “I know, sweetheart.”

She reached up to the cupboard over the fridge, her fingers grasping for the mason jar on the top shelf. She went on to her tip toes, struggling to reach the glass.

“Need help?” Matt asked from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “With me in these heels, we’re actually the same height. So unless you want to give me a boost…?”

He laughed again. “Why don’t you just put the flowers in a mug, and we can sort it out later. We need to get going or we’ll miss our reservation.”

Calina came down from her toes and stepped back, bumping into Matt. He grabbed her waist to steady her, his fingers clutching at the velvety material of her dress. Even when she regained her balance, he kept his hands on her, running his palms slowly down her sides.

“This feels nice,” he murmured, exploring more of the dress. He dropped his head to press a kiss to her neck, bared by the loose bun holding her hair up. His hands came around her front, over her stomach and up to her breasts. “This feels very nice.”

She smiled, glad that she’d chosen the right dress, and tilted her head to give him better access. His hands traced the shape of the garment, sweeping over her shoulders and down her back. He caressed her bare skin, sending shivers of delight down her spine. “Very nice,” he repeated.

“That’s not the dress,” she smirked.

“It isn’t?” he asked, his voice a rumbling whisper against her skin. “Feels just as soft.”

She laughed and stepped away from him. “Very smooth, Counsellor. But I thought we had to leave?”

He grabbed her hand, tried to pull her back into his arms. “We can be late.”

She laughed. “I don’t want to be late - I want to see where we’re going. I’ve been curious all day!”

Her curiosity had to wait another twenty minutes. By the time they’d hailed a cab and battled through the traffic on 48th street, it was close to 8pm by the time they made it to the top of Rockefellar plaza.

But it was worth it.

When she stepped foot in the Rainbow Room, her breath was taken away. It was a spacious room, filled with white linen-covered tables, most of which were occupied by women in gorgeous dresses and men in sharp suits. The tables were arranged around a hardwood floor inlaid with a large star in dark mahogany, and a band of musicians in white tuxedos played a slow jazzy tune on the raised dais.

Despite the size of the room, the atmosphere was intimate. Romantic. White lilies formed centrepieces on each table, and the soft flickering light from dozens of candles glinted off the crystals of the chandelier overhead.

Best of all, the nightscape of New York was visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the room. The empire state building loomed large, its top floors illuminated in hues of green and blue and the spire a beacon of white light.

The whole scene was…magical.

It was the perfect venue for the perfect first date.

————–

Chapter 16

If you want to see pics of the dress and the venue, check out the reference post (link in the blurb at the top).

Tag list: @hollandorks @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

#daredevil #daredevil fic #tabula rasa #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x original female character #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock x oc #daredevil fandom

13 notes · View notes

ashtronomyys · 1 month

Text

Our Future Days

Chapter 1 - When Hurricanes and Cyclones Raged

SoapGhost TheLastofUsAu OFD Masterpost (Includes further Tag Warnings) Chpt1 Masterpost

* Pt.1 * ~6.5k words

// Additional Warnings pertinent to this section: Implied Child Abuse / Implied Neglect / Implied Domestic Abuse / Child Witnessing Death of a Family Member / Civilian Death Dead Dove Do Not Eat / Heed the Warnings!!

I am giving y'all ample warning that this one is ROUGH. If you are not aware of how the beginning of TheLastofUs plays out, you might want to check it before giving this one a read because… yeaah lmao

**********

Simon was woken up by the sound of gunfire from somewhere nearby. Through his sluggish coming to, he could just make out the reverberations of someone shouting, followed by three or four loud bangs before the commotion stopped altogether. In the long stretch of silence that followed, Simon had kicked off his duvet cover, slipped into a pair of slippers, and shuffled over to the windowsill.

From his vantage point several stories off the ground floor, he could see hundreds of meters out into the distance. He peered out into the night, curious as to what was happening outside the hotel room. It was hard for him to tell with the dying light, but with the usual flash of cars and the lines of people weaving in between the buildings, looking not unlike long trails of ants marching along the raised cracks found in the sun-baked dirt of the Earth, the city seemed to be carrying on just the same.

Or rather, the same that Simon’s come to find as the normal of the city, his family having only been in Chicago for two days now. One of his father’s metal bands was having a farewell-tour, and at his father’s /insistence/, the whole family was brought out for the occasion. His mother had tried to talk him out of it, pleading that ‘Simon could only miss so many more days of primary this year’ but as usual, his father got his way.

And that’s how they ended up where they are now, his mother and father gone hours ago, leaving Simon alone to watch over his younger brother, Tommy, delegating all the parental responsibilities onto the freshly ten year old. While Tommy himself may have barely entered his toddler years, it was far from the first time Simon had been left to watch over the child and by now, it was safe to say that he did a far better job than his father ever did (as sad as that was).

Simon watched him now as his sleeping form breathed softly from the fold-up crib. He smiled to himself when he noticed the plush frog held in a tight grip under him. A gift from their mother, the ratty little stuffed animal never usually left his line of sight for too long.

With Tommy still sleeping peacefully, Simon took one last look at the horizon before going crawling back to bed as well. As his gaze followed the dim starlight scattering across the skyline, he could see billowing plumes of smoke breaking up the scene at every other interval. Black clouds seemingly stemming from fires in the inner city were starting to dot the landscape.

Which was odd, there seemed to be quite a few for one night. There were several groups of fires making their way across the cityscape and it didn't look like they were slowing down anytime soon.

Bad night for Chicago, it looked like.

Simon just hoped it didn’t mess with his father’s night out. God knows none of them will here the end of it if it does. He backed off the window ledge and tucked himself back in, taking one last glance at Tommy sleeping opposite to him before resting his head against the feather down pillows and joining him in slumber once again...

.....

He had just fallen back asleep half an hour later when a /ghastly/ scream echoed from somewhere inside the hotel.

The choked, guttural screeching passed through the floors above and carried down to their room, Simon jolting forward and knocking the bed covers on the floor. The commotion continued to echo for several minutes before it abruptly ended, cut off by the loud /*slam*/ of something solid from upstairs.

The clamor left Simon feeling a little more than on edge. The screams had sounded like something straight out of a horror movie, like one of those hellish nightmares his father forced him to watch as his own twisted way of “bonding” with him. Simon couldn’t help but imagine one of those fiendish beasts from those movies lurking the halls, waiting for him right outside their hotel room door.

He didn’t want to in the slightest, but with Tommy nestled soundly beside him, Simon knew he had to at least glance outside the room to check for both of their safety. He pulled out a stool to reach the peephole and steeled himself enough to look outside, his body starting to shiver out of fear.

He neared the spyhole on the door, stood on the edge of his toes and…

The only thing that greeted him on the other side was the dulled, yellow walls of the hallway. For a quick moment, he did spy an occupant one door down who stepped out into the hallway, briefly looking both ways before promptly closing their door once again.

Simon let out a sigh of relief. There was nothing there. No reason to be scared, just some idiots upstairs probably drunk out of their minds. With fear slowly rolling off of his shoulders, Simon was left feeling annoyed more than anything.

God, what kind of dump had his parents left them in this time?! He was used to being dragged to all kinds of dingy, seedy places, but this one was well on its way to becoming a new low.

His only wish at this point was that he’d be able to get enough sleep despite all the racket coming from their neighbors.

...

He tried to fall back asleep after that, but Simon found it more difficult this time. Between the stress he put himself under, and the relentless honking from the cars in the streets, it was impossible for him to relax. Frustrated beyond all belief, Simon decided to sit up on edge of the bed and turned on the television set at low volume.

He flicked through a few channels, nothing really catching his interest, and he eventually landed on the evening news. He slumped back on the bed, watching what was playing on the TV with a dismayed pout.

It started out boring enough, a reporter was on the scene at one of the fires he saw from his window earlier. Behind the reporter, the museum his family passed by a day ago was shrouded in flames. Bright orange and red jumped out from the windows and people crowded around the site to watch the tragedy unfold.

Now Simon had been used to fear at this point in his life. He’s lived the better half of his childhood in a constant state of fear, scared of the man he lives under the same roof with, dread and unease always bubbling under the surface when he is around.

But fear was a complicated emotion, one with many different layers, that came about in many different ways. And although Simon thought himself an expert on the matter, as the next sequence of events began to play out on the screen, Simon came to the very sudden realization that there was a whole new tenor of fear he had yet to experience. He learned that a whole new array of nightmares had yet to sink its teeth into him.

The reporter was yelling over the chaos on the screen when something /horrifying/ beyond Simon's wildest imagination happened on screen.

A mix of people started to run out of the theater and into the street, all looking deathly pale and moving erratically, as if they were being pulled on strings by a drunken puppeteer. Many of their clothes were tattered, and in some cases, bloody. Simon’s stomach turned at the sight of some of them running directly through the fire, darting into the street as if it were nothing! Flames danced up their sides and their bodies writhed and jolted in pain, yet still, they made a beeline for the terrified crowd before them.

Then those same people started to leap at bystanders, knocking them to the ground. They let out a series of shrill shrieks as they did so, the sound similar to the same mayhem that took place near their own room just a few hours before. He watched one woman in particular, acting more animal than human, let out a blood-curdling screech from the back of her throat. The woman sprinted and wrestled a man to the ground, slamming him into the asphalt repeatedly before diving down and /clamping/ her teeth into the man's neck. Simon jumped back at the sight, and the urge to turn off the tv battled with the immobilizing fear rooting him to the spot.

The film crew was in a pandemonium, they tried to pull focus away from the brutality, but not before another one of the figures lunged right at the camera. Cries of anguish were picked up on the microphone before the broadcast was abruptly cut and transitioned back to the stunned newsroom. A mixed array of shocked, horrified, and disturbed hosts greeted the viewers in an almost comical display if it weren't for the chain of events that were just seen. The broadcast eventually faded to a blank standby screen, and Simon was faced with the reflection of his own shaking visage in the TV set.

Part of him was thankful for the light dinner that he’d had that evening, for if he’d had a healthy plate of food, Simon was sure he would’ve thrown it up by now. As it was, he was left shaking uncontrollably on the duvet cover, beads of sweat forming on the edges of his forehead and staring into the distance, not looking at the room but rather replaying the scene that had played out in his head.

He was struggling to accept the images that he’d just seen as reality. It all seemed too outlandish, too horrific to be a real thing. There’d been some rumours, warnings and speculations about the recent illness spreading across parts of Asia and South America. Rumours that they were leading to riots and all kinds of mayhem, Simon chalked it all up to a bunch of nonsense at the time. He wasn't so sure about that conclusion now though…

The loud banging of fists on the door shook him out of his daze. Panic began to take a hold of him, and Simon started to plead to a God he had long since given up on until-

“Simon?! Simon, I need you to open the door, love!”

His mother’s voice rang through from the other side. Simon leapt forward and swung the door open, clinging to her thigh as she hurried in and slammed the door shut.

“Oh /Simon/, are you alright?” She kneeled down and brushed away the messy strands of blond hair clinging to his forehead. “It’s alright, love. Are you guys hurt? Nobody’s come by the room, have they?!” She spoke at such a rapid pace that her words became jumbled together. He could tell that she was frightened too, the quick, violent beating of her heart a dead giveaway.

“What’s h-happening, Mum?” Simon stuttered. He had worked himself up towards such a state of distress that he hadn’t even noticed the splotches of blood that lined the midriff of her dress when she first entered. As she began to soothe him, Simon caught sight of the nasty-looking gash on her right arm, the bleeding wound around her wrist in the shape of a line of teeth.

Simon started to steady his breathing, trying to get a grip on himself. “Did he-?”

“No! Nono,” his mother was quick to shut down his question. “No, something else did this… Here, Simon, I need you to listen to me carefully, Okay?” She waited for him to nod before continuing. “There’s some sort of accident... something bloody /awful/ is happening right now in the city.”

If it was anything like what he saw on the news...

His eyes must’ve widened like saucers, because in the next second, his mother was shushing him again, whispering a series of “I know, I know”s into his hair.

“I know, sweetheart. I-” she shook her head, “I don’t know what’s going on. But here’s what we are going to do.” She gently cupped Simon’s face and looked into his eyes. “There’s some nice people downstairs, some policemen and firefighters, who are telling people where to go. You, me, and Tommy, we’re going to go downstairs, and we’re going to follow them. And they’ll tell us where to go, that sound okay?”

“Yeah… okay,” Simon nodded a little more surely this time.

His mother kissed his forehead and wrapped him in a tight hug. “Good boy. You’re so brave, too brave for your age,” she sorrowfully chuckled into his neck. “Go get some proper shoes on, and don’t bother packing. We’re leaving, now.”

Simon brushed away the little bit of wetness from his eyes, moving on autopilot as he shucked on a pair of jeans and grabbed his shoes. Across the room, he watched his mother comfort a crying Tommy by cradling him against her shoulder, tucking one of her bags around her waist and handing him the stuffed frog to cling to.

He was trying to be brave, for his mother and Tommy’s sake, but honestly he was still overwhelmed by everything going on around him. In the midst of his fussing, he hadn’t even thought about the one more person missing from their party until now.

Simon tugged on his mother’s side as she glanced out into the hallway.

“Mum, where’s dad?” he asked.

Simon picked up on the way his mother’s shoulders tensed up. She paused for a second, seeming like she was considering her words before speaking.

“He’s...” She wouldn’t look at him as she started to speak.

Another series of loud bangs cut their conversation short. A second disturbance had started up again, only this time, they could clearly hear the gasps and pained shouts coming from the room upstairs.

“We need to go. C’mon, Simon.” The matriarch ushered them down the hallway, and the three of them booked it down the stairs before Simon had the chance to ask any further questions.

As they pushed past the front doors of the hotel, it became clear to him just how much of a pandemonium the downtown area had become.

He had to cover his eyes from the blinding headlights of car after car that lined the streets. The sidewalk was packed with crowds of pedestrians being directed down the road by officers. Overhead, helicopters flew past them and trained their spotlights on the city center, shining down on the big balls of fire lighting up the buildings, the fires casting an orange glow across the city's many glass windows.

Tommy started fidgeting in his mother’s arms again, the bright lights and clamor of the evacuation too much stimulation for him. Cars kept honking their horns and people pushed and shoved at them as they were ushered, worry and tension growing amongst them like a virus.

Simon’s eye landed on one man in particular in a blazing red jacket shouting at an officer his family passed by on their way.

“Hey asshole, are you going to tell us what the fuck is going on, or what?!”

The man was standing on a bench on the edge of the street, heckling one of the mounted policemen riding a horse on the sidelines.

“Keep moving!” The officer shouted back. “All you need to know is that the city is under a state of emergency. You either stay inside and lock your doors or you keep walking!”

“Naw man, you need to tell us what’s going on! We’ve got people here with bite wounds and shit man!” Red-jacket shouted.

“Hey, what the hell is going on downtown? There’s people going crazy down there, I saw it on the news!” A woman closer to the road joined in on the yelling.

“Everyone, please remain calm!” A policeman several meters down the road spoke through the PA system on a cop car. “This area has been placed under a state of emergency. Follow the instructions of your fellow law enforcement officers and move in a calm and orderly manner. Once again, this area...” The man continued to broadcast the same message over the speakers.

Simon held tightly onto his mother’s leg, the procession seemed to be growing more restless the further their questions were left unanswered. She walked them along the edge of the crowd nearest to the buildings, moving at a snail’s pace as they tried to maneuver around the intensifying turmoil. The tension could be felt growing in the air, an electric current boiling under the surface, it felt a spring was being coiled back, nearly pulled to taunt and ready to spring forward at the push of a button.

His attention kept circling back to Red-jacket, who started mouthing off on the sidelines again.

“Hey jackass! We deserve to know what the hell is going on, man!”

“For the last time,” the officer shouted, “you need to step down and keep moving, sir! Your questions will be answered later, if you’d just-!”

The screams coming from the evacuees behind them drew away everyone’s attention. Simon turned to the source of the uproar, watching as a sickly-looking couple suddenly leapt out of the second-story window of a building not far off. The pair landed with a /bang/ onto the top of a van, and fell into the throng of people on the sidewalk. There was a mix of gasps and screams, followed shortly by the sound of garbled and stuttering howling afterwards.

Simon’s view of what happened after was blocked as the adults around him crowded the area.

The only answer he received came moments later in the form of the group closest to the crash erupting into horrified shrieks.

He heard a lot of shouting and the yelling of the policemen trying to bark orders out, only for it to be cut off by cries of pain. Several loud shots rang out into the night, and the crowd began to shove forward, right as more of the same ailing people began pouring out of the property.

Within an instant, the evacuation turned into a pandemonium.

People were trying to back away from the chaos, and hysteria only seemed to spread as the lot nearest to the building shouted for everyone to /run/. The crowd started pushing forward to try and escape, the drivers of their cars started slamming their doors into one another, moving to climb out and abandon their vehicles.

In the panic that ensued, Simon was shoved to ground by a passerby barreling their way through the sidewalk. His view of the city street spun for a moment before he met the slab of concrete below him with a harsh thud.

Time seemed to have drastically slowed down as he slowly lifted his head off the ground. His vision was blurry and his ears were left ringing after his fall, the surrounding havoc had blended into the same constant, loud roar. Simon sluggishly blinked away the dizziness in his head in an attempt to clear up his vision.

It was hard to spot his mother between the herd of feet moving past him, but what he could spot through his blurred vision was the flash of bright red on the ground a few meters away from him. Simon wiped at his eyes, wincing at the pain it caused on the abrasions on his hands, and watched the world gradually come back to him.

And the sight that he did come back to, the image he was subjected to made his stomach drop.

The heckling man from before was losing a wrestling fight with one of the sick people. The sick one, a gauntly looking old man, threw his entire weight at the poor guy, gradually gaining the upper hand with his fists and /biting/ down on the man.

It played out like a scene in one of those scary movies. Only seeing the real thing up close, no flashy cutaways or camera jumps away from the carnage, it was far more terrifying than anything Hollywood could have come up with.

Simon was left frozen, rooted to the spot, stuck watching in horror as the man lost his battle with that… /creature/.

That thing looked human, but it acted far removed from any other person. With his vision unobstructed, Simon could make out the varying shades of discolor on their skin, and how their hair seemed to be thinning and falling out. In between those patches of baldness on its head, long tendrils and growths, something resembling plant roots was coming out of their scalps.

And its eyes, irises rimmed with a dull, rusted yellow, its pupils were trained onto the man underneath it. Red Jacket’s body went limp, and the creature gradually lifted its head, looking for its next victim and craning its neck achingly slowly.

Its eyes scanned the surroundings, cloudy pupils darting along the sidewalk as it tried to follow all the chaos around them. Simon watched those muddy, cloudy pupils shift from person to person, bloodshot eyes moving from the road to the sidewalk and to the buildings.

Then its eyes finally landed onto Simon.

The thing’s gaze locked onto him, pinning him to the ground where he lay.

And Oh God.

Oh God. Oh GodOhGodOhGodOhGod.

And a whole new facet of fear dug its claws into him. Despite all that he’d endured, Simon had never before felt that sort of paralyzing fear that left him completely immobile. Nothing struck him with quite as much dread as staring into that beast's eyes had.

There was a faint shift in the eyes, something like recognition flashed through the thing’s pupils, then it was sprinting forward. It lunged towards the sidewalk and made a beeline for Simon, the beast staggering and tripping on its way to him, crawling on its hands and knees before getting up and making a mad dash towards him.

Just as the beast neared Simon, another pedestrian running past slammed into its side. They both fell to the ground, the fall knocking the beast off its course and distracting it from its pursuit of Simon, the passerby becoming the next target thanks to their unfortunate timing.

He probably would have been left petrified to the spot if it weren't for his mother shaking him out of it.

“/Simon!/”

Simon felt the sharp sting of nails on his arm, then he was hoisted off the ground. “My God, Simon, are you ok?”

Simon didn’t respond. He doubted that he could even if he tried.

His mother brushed him off, giving him a once-over, meanwhile, the yelling in the street continued. A helicopter flew above them and shined its spotlight down on the chaos. Harsh shadows were cast onto the scene, illuminating the groups of people being jumped and attacked, slamming into the hoods of cars or falling onto the concrete.

“We need to go… Simon, you stay close to me. Okay,” he heard his mother order him. “We need to go, cmon!”

The three of them raced down the street, Simon held a firm grip on his mother’s dress as they followed the crowd. Some of the officers instructed the procession to hide in the buildings, others told them to keep running down the street. Some of the residents came out to pull refugees in, others locked their doors and blocked people off from entering.

There was no order to be found in the mayhem.

Simon felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest as they ran. Tommy complained in his mother’s arms, his overwhelmed cries getting lost in all the noise.

He was still too young to really understand the nature of what was going on, but he surely picked up that something was horribly wrong based on their mother’s deep set frown and racing heart. Simon could feel it thundering in her chest from where he hid at her side. He could hear it in the way she kept repeating “My God. My God,” under her breath.

About a block and a half down the road, an apartment complex saw its front entrance slammed open. People scrambled away from the structure as some of the sick beasts started to pour out from there as well. The rushing traffic of evacuees collided in the middle, pinned on both sides by brutality that inched closer towards them.

It was like a nightmare, one that Simon kept hoping that he’d wake up from. A never ending wave of screaming, guttural shouting, and gunfire bounced off the walls and into the night. The crowd clamored on top of each other, knocking people and the sick to the ground alike. It had grown harder to tell the difference between beast and civilian, everything had mixed together to paint a truly macabre scene.

Simon shook in his mother’s grasp, dreading that there was no way out for them.

“Down the alley! We can break this fence! Hurry!”

Somebody shouted a few meters off to their left.

Sure enough, down a small alleyway between buildings, a fence blocked off a pathway leading off the street. There were roughly a hundred meters of a dark, narrow passageway that broke out into the brightness of the streetlights ahead, the road beyond that looking relatively untouched by the chaos.

“Look, the bridge! They’ve got the military guarding the bridge,” another lady exclaimed.

It was faint, but as Simon’s mother steered them off the street and after the group heading to the fence, he could see the top of the metal pylons from the bridge in the distance.

He remembered his family driving over that same bridge a few days ago. It was one of the dozens that crossed over a river that cut through a large portion of the city.

It divided the city. Maybe that was why they were holding out on the bridge, maybe the illness hadn’t taken over that part of the city. Maybe they would be safe if they could just make it to the other side.

That seemed to be everyone’s line of thinking amongst the small gathering of survivors who were huddled around the barrier, a group of men frantically pulled and kicked at the chain link fence.

Desperation and worry sat heavy on their faces. The fence was a lot sturdier than it appeared, propped up by concrete barriers along the bottom and not moving an inch. It still looked rather new and unscathed by the wear and tear of time, it gave just a tad with each push, but the ends of the fence stayed firmly attached to the surrounding walls, and the barriers prevented it from tipping forward.

More of the group joined in to pry at the wire, ramming their whole bodies against it and yanking at the fence. There was a constant stream of shouting between them.

“Pull the fucking thing off man!” One man shouted.

“I’m trying, I can’t break it off! It’s stuck!” Another replied.

“Just push it ove-”

“We can’t push it! The fucking barrier’s in the way!”

“Here, this corner! It's got some give in this corner, help me pull it!”

Simon couldn’t see the corner through the throng of bodies, but he could make out the cluster of survivors who swarmed around the small section of wiring that had started to give. They grabbed a hold of the fence, barking out orders and working together to peel it further back.

Despite all their effort, the fence barely moved a centimeter at a time, providing just a sliver more of an exit with each exertion.

More yelling commenced between the lot of them the longer it took.

“Pull harder!”

“I’m trying!” one man bellowed. ”It won’t budge any more than that! None of us are gonna fit through that.”

“It’s not going anywhere, maybe we should go back?!”

The raspy snarling that made its way around the corner broke through their infighting. Simon chanced a peek behind them, immediately regretting his decision when he saw more of the monsters block off the end of the alleyway.

“Oh no, nononono-” An older woman next to Simon’s family gasped, she waved her hands at the crowd, her clunky jewelry rattling at her wrists. “They’re there… they’ve found us!”

Her frantic crying caught the attention of the things. They let out a gravelly howl and charged down the alley, stumbling down the corridor and bumping into each other along the way.

“Fucking Christ,” Simon’s mother huffed, her body stiffening. Tommy’s cries began to pick up in intensity at the rising commotion.

“Oh God... They’re coming! They’re coming!” A second person began to cry out.

“Pull the fucking fence down!”

“It’s not /budging/!”

“What about the corner?!”

“It’s not working! Barely a fucking child could fit through that”

Simon screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t bring himself to watch what he was sure would be their demise.

This was it, he thought to himself. This was how they died. Surrounded on all sides by this gruesome savagery that threatened to wipe out the whole city.

His mother though, she wasn’t as defeated as he was.

An emotion Simon couldn’t quite place danced across her face, and then she was moving. She shoved her way forward, just about dragging Simon along with her. She set her sights on the child-sized hole the group of evacuees had created, lit by a fiery determination.

“Please! I have my two sons here!” She called out to the crowd of people she pushed through. “Please! I can’t let them get hurt, let me through!”

“Hey, she’s got her kids here! Let ‘em try to go through!” The voice of another woman closer to the front bellowed out.

With some help and the heckling of a few more people around them, a pathway was created for the family to walk through. They were quickly ushered to the fence, away from the feral shrieks that were growing in number.

Once there, a few of the men near the opening clasped the mangled section of wire that they managed to warp out of place. They pulled it back as far as they could, the narrowest of channels the best the group could do in freeing them a pathway.

Simon felt a bit of nausea rise within his stomach as he eyed the disappointing excuse of an escape… and what it implied.

It didn’t help that the people holding the fence back all wore down-turned, grim looks on their faces.

“Lady…” one of them started, stopped, and started again, “you’re… you’re not gonna fit through there.”

“I know.”

A pin needle dropping could be heard in the suffocating silence that followed.

The collection of men turned their gazes away, staring off at the floor or solemnly turning back at the crowd. Her words hit Simon, struck him harder and disoriented him more than his previous fall onto the concrete had.

The opening gave them just enough room for Simon and Tommy to be able to crawl through.

But not enough room for their mother to fit through as well.

His mother knelt down beside him and tried to cradle him, but Simon turned away. He couldn’t look at her, knowing what she was going to order him to do.

“Simon, love. Look at me, please.” His mother struggled to get Simon to obey, the child shaking his head repeatedly and clamping his eyes shut. “Simon… /please/,” she begged him, in a voice that further dug a knife straight through Simon’s heart.

He finally turned to look at her, forcing his eyes to meet hers being the hardest thing he’d done that night.

Simon could see her facade falter for just a moment. A single tear threatened to fall from her eyes, but then she cleared her throat and regained her composure.

“You have to go, Simon. Take your brother, get to that bridge, and keep him safe, alright? Find the military, some policemen, whoever you can find that’s in charge, just do not stop for anything! Not for me, for anyone else. You just get to someplace safe, the both of you, yeah?”

Simon sniffled. “But-”

“There’s no choice. You have to, love… God, I’m so sorry, Si,” she lamented. “You both didn’t deserve this. Any of this. I should’ve been so much better, I should’ve…” she cupped his cheek with her free hand and looked down at Tommy, ”done bloody everything /different/. God, I’m so sorry.”

She pulled the both into a crushing hug, and for a moment, Simon shut out the crumbling world around them.

He felt the dam that he’d been holding back burst forth, fully sobbing into his mother’s shoulder. She kissed the top of his head, whispering into his scalp, “I love you both so much, don’t ever forget that. I know you can do this for me. I know you’ll be brave and protect him, just like you’ve always done, yeah?”

"I- I can't le- leave you," Simon sputtered.

Simon's words were interrupted by the horrific screams coming from the sick, much louder to their ears now. It was closely followed by the shrieks of the crowd, including the shrill cry of the woman that had just helped them push to the front minutes prior.

“Holy shit. He needs to go. Now!” the man closest to them urged them.

Simon’s mother finally released him from her arms with one final squeeze to his shoulder and pressed him forward.

“Crawl through the fence, and then I’ll hand you over Tommy. Go!”

It took one more push from behind to get his body moving. Simon began crawling through the narrow gap, the sting of the metal tugging harshly at his back only partially to blame for the dampness clouding out his eyes.

On the other side, he turned in time to see their mother take one last look at Tommy. She leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, a faint kiss then placed on the tip of his nose.

It was a short, sentimental instant in time that sat at an odd juxtaposition to the gruesome imagery surrounding them. Tommy was still as agitated as he’d been throughout this whole experience, but for one brief second, his crying had subsided under the protective cover their mother’s embrace created.

With her bottom lip quivering, she tightened his swaddle and made the handoff to Simon. He grabbed fiercely onto his brother, the plush frog squeaking between them as Tommy grabbed onto his collar.

“I’m… I’m sorry Simon,” his mother apologized one last time, sticking her fingers through the chain-link fence to wipe away the shed tears on his cheek. “Don’t cry, love. You’re gonna be okay, I just know it,” she laughed, a pained smile breaking out on her face.

“Fuck, pin him down! We can fight them back! Just hold back thei- -/AGHH!/”

The man who’d just egged them forward succumbed to the surrounding chaos.

The things were wreaking havoc on the group now, there was no stopping or running away from them by that point. Simon’s mother paid the beats behind them no mind though, instead tipping her head at them and beckoning them to leave.

It took every bit of strength Simon had left in him to pull away from her hand. He spun on his heels before he had a chance to second guess himself, and hiked the pair through the dark passageway.

Nearing the edge of the alleyway, Simon couldn’t help but take one last look back at their mother.

And the image that he saw, her tear-stained cheeks as she watched them run to safety, it was the last time he ever saw her alive.

The spotlights from the helicopters behind the group lit a halo around the frame of her hair. Dozens of fists were raised in the air, some of them belonging to the civilians, grasping at the fence in one last go to pry a way out, some of them belonged to the sick, striking their fists down and tearing at anything standing in their way.

Their mother kept her eyes trained on the two kids while the rest of the group turned to face the onslaught. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and blew them both a kiss goodbye.

Simon had to tear his eyes away. He booked it down onto the street ahead and took off into the night, Tommy’s cries for his “Mum” falling on deaf ears.

It’s not like there was anything he could do to assuage and comfort the child. All he could do was keep running.

Simon pushed aside another thought in his head and simply focused on running. The only thought circulating in his head was to get to the bridge.

He had to make it across that bridge. For his and Tommy’s sake.

From that point on, the details started to become all the more fuzzier. All he could remember is running, so much running. It seemed that no matter how much he ran, the bridge never seemed to get any bit closer.

His feet felt weightless, and yet too heavy at the same time. He moved his legs to the brink of exhaustion but barely moved a fraction of the distance further.

Simon looked back at the city street, only to see that the road had vanished. In its place, a hideous, warped-faced monster barreled after them. The swarm of beasts that chased after the two had melded together, shoving and clawing at each other until they became stuck, plastered together in a mess of limbs.

The monster was formed out of an amalgamation of greying flesh, fungal growths bloomed forth out of the skin, and bloodshot, yellowing eyes stared daggers into Simon. If he was more cognisant, Simon would’ve noticed how his vision got progressively cloudier at the edges, and how outlandish the whole sight truly was.

But rather, his focus was more drawn to the faces growling at him and Tommy. His grip on his brother was iron tight as he shielded his eyes from the eldritch horror coming after them.

The monstrosity was gaining distance on them. And the closer it got, the more he began to recognize some of the faces amidst the thing’s features. He saw the faces of old friends and family, their visages barely able to be made out, blurring together into a mass of growths and snapping maws.

He saw clearer faces, still, charging forward. One of them was the old man, Price, tendrils of cordyceps wrapping around a tattered boonie hat. Among them he could also find Kyle, Farah, Nik, and even Laswell, all of them twisting and undulating with the rest of the horde, their faces just as mangled by the plant growths.

The overwhelming sense of impending doom had Simon conceding defeat, his legs finally giving out and his form crumpling to the ground, large shadows cast by the things looming over the two brothers, swallowing them whole.

In one sudden movement, cloves of the fungus ripped the monster clean in half, bursting forth and raining a plume of spores into the air that encircled the boys.

The thing was on them now, the screams of Simon and Tommy were drowned out by the roar of bodies towering over them. The beasts swooped down at them, crescendo-ing in a wave before dropping onto the pair, and everything around Simon quickly faded into an empty, black void...

************

"/NOO-!/"

Simon's body jolts forward in the bed. He thrashes around in his sheets, his body fighting back against an unknown force until his mind begins to clear up. His cries of terror begin to die down as his bloodshot eyes start to register his surroundings.

They take in the cracked, floral wallpaper peeling off the walls of the room, the tattered, linen bed sheets obscuring the moonlight outside, and the chipped, hardwood flooring of the bedroom.

Simon grinds his palms against his temple, falling back into the mattress and trying to rub away the throbbing pulsing in his head. His body is coated in a layer of sweat and short blond tufts cling to his forehead. His throat feels rubbed raw from the screaming he did in his sleep, and it takes him a considerable amount of time to calm the labored heaving his chest keeps up.

Fucking hell. It’s gonna be another one of those days for him then, isn’t it?

*** To be continued in Pt.2***

Sorry Simon lmao.

Btw if you feel that I miss any content warnings at any point in time, please do let me know, I'd be happy to add them on! (If I'm slow to respond I'm likely at work)

#soapghost #ghostsoap #fanfic #long fic #ghoap #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ash writings #ofd #thelastofus #fic in progress

18 notes · View notes