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starlightvld · 2 months

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Bait & Switch, pt. 4

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: angst, hurt AND COMFORT, MWIII spoilers

---

The man with Johnny's face has spent the past six hours fighting for his life in a locked down medical ward at the temporary base of operations for Ghost's solo op.

The complications began during the helo ride when the medics attempted to treat his injuries. The gas hissing through the helmet apparently contains a powerful cocktail of drugs, and the withdrawal kicked in the instant they cut off his vest and removed the helmet. He was almost dead before before they found the compressed vial of liquid in the vest, figured out what was happening, and reintroduced just enough of the drugs via IV to keep him stable. The doctors are currently trying to find something to counter the severe withdrawal symptoms.

Ghost knows all of this because he refuses to leave the man's room.

He needs sleep, but he can't bare to close his eyes. His world has sped right past fantastical into the outright surreal. He's terrified of getting too attached and having to deal with the devastating loss all over again.

And yet there's no doubt the man in the other bed looks just like Johnny. The curve of his nose, the jut of his scarred chin... Ghost can't seem to rip his gaze away. He would think he's crazy if not for Laswell, who was waiting for them at the air field and immediately took charge. She's the reason they dragged a hospital bed into the room for Ghost instead of arresting and detaining him when he refused to leave. She's the reason the man with Johnny's face isn't hand-cuffed to the bed.

She pats Ghost's arm and sighs, though her gaze remains on the man in the bed. "You know... the chance that it's actually him—"

"Is almost nil," Ghost rasps. "I know. How much longer for the DNA test results?"

"Another few hours. But we don't know if that proves anything."

"What do you mean?"

Laswell shrugs. "We can compare his DNA with what we have on file for John MacTavish, but we cremated any other comparable evidence."

Ghost stills. "You mean from the... the other Johnny?"

"We'd need a blood sample. And even then... we have no idea what Makarov's done. If he's playing with genetic manipulation, even a DNA test might not be conclusive."

Ghost stares at the man who has tried to kill him hundreds of times. And who might also be the love of his life.

He wants to believe so badly, he's willing to do anything. He finally turns to meet Laswell's gaze.

"This is some sci-fi bollocks, but... Johnny's journal was in his tac vest when he was shot. It's covered in his dried blood. Or... the blood of whoever that was in the tunnel with us."

She covers her surprise well, but he catches the flicker of shock all the same. "If you can part with it, I'll see what the techs can do. It might be too late to get anything usable, though."

Ghost turns away to memorize what he can see of the new scars on the man's arms and what's visible of his face around the oxygen mask. Whatever can be said for him — enemy or not — he's not had an easy time under Makarov's thumb.

The heartbeat line flickers in time with the steady beep. Ghosts hands are shaking. He crosses his arms to hide the evidence.

"I"ll call Price."

---

In the end, the lab techs, supported by Laswell, come back with both the initial DNA results and a drug to help with the withdrawal around the same time. Ghost is on his own drip now, the nurses tsking his dehydration and lack of sleep, and he watches through drooping lids as the nurses slowly introduce the new medication to the man with Johnny's face. A subtle uptick in the man's heart rate is the only result, and based on what Ghost saw when they sedated the man in the helo, he doesn't think it means what the nurses think it means.

As they watch, Laswell's phone buzzes. She reads the message, shakes her head, and blows out a long breath before looking Ghost dead in the eye.

"The DNA for this man is a perfect match with our records for John MacTavish."

Ghost's heart rate kicks up several notches to match with the elevated beeping across the room. He can only stare at her before turning his gaze to—

"Johnny?" he whispers.

Laswell doesn't say anything, but her hand comes to rest on his shoulder. It feels like the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Nothing seems real anymore.

There's still a chance it's not him. Still a chance it's a trick, but...

"This is so fucking twisted," Ghost growls.

"I know," she murmurs. "But we'll get him."

Makarov.

Ghost's mind reels as the news truly settles. All this time, all these years, has his Johnny been right there in front of him? Trying to kill him and the others because of Makarov's sick game? Was Makarov laughing every time he sent Johnny to fight them?

It feels too cruel to be real. And yet when has his life ever been anything but cruel? Johnny was the one bright spot until that, too, was taken away.

But maybe... maybe this is his chance.

The nurses file out of the room, satisfied with the man's... with Johnny's progress. Ghost rolls himself out of his bed, biting back a curse at the strain to his stitches.

"Ghost!" Laswell knows better than to try to hold him back, but she does step in his way. "We don't know—"

"I need this," is Ghost's only answer.

His cracking voice conveys far more than the words themselves. He needs this moment. Needs to say what he never got to say to his Johnny, whether that turns out to be the man who died in a tunnel under the English Channel or the man lying in a hospital bed beside him.

Laswell stares him down, but he returns her gaze with equal determination. Finally, her shoulders slump.

"Just... try to keep in mind we don't know if this is real."

He gives her a curt nod. She sighs... and then helps him shuffle across the room, IV drip in tow, and gingerly settle on the edge of Johnny's bed. Much like Ghost, they've stripped Johnny down to nothing but a hospital gown, exposing a myriad of scars covering his arms and hands.

He's beautiful.

And alive.

For the first time since he thought Johnny died, Ghost's eyes burn with something other than impotent rage.

"I'm sorry, Johnny."

As if waiting to hear Ghost's voice, blue eyes flick wide open. A hiss from the other side of the room tells him Laswell has seen it, too, but the man he wants to believe is Johnny doesn't move to attack or even speak. He just stares. Ghost blows out a breath and pulls off his mask.

"I'm so sorry," he says again. "I shoulda done a better job protecting you. I... I failed you."

Johnny blinks and then narrows his eyes. "I'm the one who failed. I let Makarov take me. Let him turn me into a monster."

His voice rasps through the room, guttural and angry. But Ghost understands. If this is truly his Johnny, the anger could only be directed at himself.

"Don't be stupid. It's not your fault. This is all Makarov."

"Ghost," Laswell warns.

"It's true, isn't it?" he asks over his shoulder. "Even if this man isn't really Johnny, he wouldn't be here without Makarov pulling the strings."

Johnny's gaze doesn't waver, but there's a horrific kind of self-loathing swimming in his eyes. Ghost reaches out, hesitating for just a moment before brushing his shaking fingers over the back of Johnny's hand.

"I..." Ghost swallows around the lump in his throat. The words that finally escape are no more than a whisper. "I want to believe it's you. Promise me... promise me you're really you."

The twist of agony in Johnny's expression cuts through Ghost like a knife. "I don't know, Ghost. I think I am, but... There's so much I don't remember. The man in the tunnels... he thought he was me by the end, too, I think."

Ghost tries to pull himself back together. Tries to keep himself aloof.

But it's no use. Now that the idea has taken root, he can't dig far or fast enough to uproot it.

"S'alright," he says in a soft voice. "Laswell's on it. We'll get it sorted."

Johnny stares at him and then slowly looks over at where Laswell is standing off to the side. She glances at Ghost, her face a study in stoicism. She shakes her head, and finally her expression melts into a wry smile.

"We're glad to have you back, Soap."

Soap blinks. The agony in his expression transforms into surprise before slowly morphing into the heartbreaking dawning of hope.

The moment stretches.

And then Johnny surges upward and shoves himself into Ghost's chest. Ghost thinks he should probably fear the sudden movement, but other than a faint uptick in his heart rate, his body barely reacts. Hearing Laswell's admission about the DNA flipped some kind of switch in his brain, and whether he likes it or not, this man is now Johnny in his eyes.

If that belief turns out to be misplaced, if this man is a... a clone or a trick meant to destroy him, so be it.

"Please," Johnny whispers. "Please, Ghost."

Ghost knows what it's like to come back from torture. He could barely stand anyone touching him after it was all said and done. He was like that for years.

But this is the man who always sought out touch in some way or another. Who probably hasn't experienced physical kindness in literal years. Ghost gives in to his weakest impulses, gently wraps his arms around the broad shoulders he remembers so well, and lets himself sink into the moment. Johnny's arms are trapped between them, his head buried in Ghost's chest and body shaking with increasingly violent tremors, though Ghost feels no tears seeping through his thin hospital gown.

Probably too much in shock to cry.

So Ghost just holds him, his embrace strong but gentle. He holds him through the first round of nurses, who check Johnny's vitals and exclaim over how well he's doing for a man who almost died a few hours ago. He holds him when those same nurses chastise Ghost for getting out of his own bed. He holds him until his eyes droop and his head bobs, exhaustion and the promise of sleep too potent to deny.

He even holds him through the arduous process of lying down in Johnny's bed, careful not rip stitches or get limbs or bodies in the way of either of their various tubes and wires.

If it were up to Ghost he'd never let go of Johnny again.

But Makarov is still out there, and if anything, the revelation of what that monster did to his Johnny makes him all the more eager to put a bullet in the man's brain.

For now, though, he'll stay by Johnny's side... in spite of Laswell's concerned glances.

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 >>

#soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #COD #Call of Duty #COD MW reboot #bait & switch #hurt/comfort #we have reached the comfort stage!#kate laswell #Ghost POV #Yes there's a part 5 #gotta get Price and Gaz in on this #OG Starlight

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rocknroll7575 · 5 months

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Team ARCZ is... crazy (Pt.1)

Part 2/Part 3/Part 4

XXX

Arslan threw a right hook, and then quickly delivered a kick to his left side, before producing three quick punches into the boy's torso.

Jaune slowly staggered back in pain, each blow felt as if Arslan was not hitting his Aura, but was physically getting him.

Jaune looked back at the Lioness with a hurt glare, only to see her coming in with another punch. Jaune tried to block the strike, but a single punch from Arslan sent shocks through his body, causing him to stumble back and lose his defensive stance.

Jaune glared at Arslan as he sagged and took deep breaths. 'Damn it! She hits like a damn bull! I can hardly block any of her attacks without feeling almost every limb go numb!' Jaune told himself.

Arslan didn't let up as she charged at the blonde, and in the blink of an eye, stood in front of Jaune with her right fist pulled back, which she quickly thrust forward, delivering a devastating blow to the young knight's gut.

Arslan then shifted and punched him in the face with a left punch, sending Jaune stumbling back one more.

"This Job takes a special kind of person, if you ain't got a few screws loose, you won't make it long,"

Those words of Qrow rang through Jaune's mind as he continued to be hit.

"When in a fight, you must be selfish Jaune, otherwise you'll lose,"

Ozma's own words also swirled inside the young man's head.

Arslan then spun and delivered a high kick to Jaune's rib, before pulling back and swiping Jaune's feet out from under him, causing him to fall on his back to the ground, however, Arslan quickly towered over him and pushing as much Aura as she could in her fist, she struck him hard in the chest.

Jaune felt all the air leave his lungs and then felt himself falling into unconsciousness.

Jaune's eyes felt heavy as he breathed in deeply, trying hard to regain as much oxygen as he could back into his lungs. 'I... need the resolve...' Jaune told himself. 'No more holding back... No more...!'

Arslan began walking away, believing that she had knocked out Jaune after a couple of blows, as even with his Aura at 50%, he barely stood a chance.

Her strikes struck his aura hard enough that while he was not touched physically, the kinetic energy and power from her strikes still transferred through.

He would wake up with a few large bruises and was going to be very sore and stiff for a while, she was sure of-

"Ugh! Damn that hurt!"

Arslan's eyes widened as she turned around quickly, and when she did, she saw Jaune, sitting up and slowly getting back on his feet. 'Impossible...! He's getting back up despite all the damage I've dealt!?' Arslan thought in shock.

From the stands, Jaune's team was amazed by their leader getting back up after the beating he had just taken.

The rest of PAYS was also Impressed.

Yang smirked, "Heh! Looks like Vomit Boy's got more spunk in him than I thought!" She praised.

Pyrrha nodded, "He certainly can take a beating," She said.

Weiss huffed, "Please, he's simply a fool, can't the dolt realize he can't win?" She asked.

Arslan looked at him and simply kept up her unimpressed expression, "Stand down, you've lost," She stated.

Jaune smirked, "Have I?" Jaune asked, his tone full of amusement. "I'm still standing and hey, I didn't hear no bell!" Jaune said.

Arslan glared, "Why continue, you're clearly in immense pain," She said.

Jaune chuckled, "You bet I am! But no pain no gain, right!" Jaune cried, letting out a little chuckle in the process as well. "I ain't done! So let's keep going!" He cried as he took a fighting stance.

Arslan was taken about by the sudden change of demeanor within Jaune.

Up in the stands, Reese looked baffled, "Please tell me those punches gave him some sort of brain damage!" Reese cried. "Because there is no way he's sane right now!"

"We'll have Professor Peach take a look at him when this is all over," Cardin said with a smirk.

May shook her head, "he's so dead," She said.

Back in the arena, Jaune smirked wildly, "Come on!" He cried.

Arslan sighed, "Very well," She said.

With frightening speed, Arslan rushed forward and when in range, quickly sent a punch at him, which struck him in the stomach, however, just as he was struck, Jaune smirked and bashed the bottom of his handle into Arslan's face.

Arslan's head didn't budge but she felt the impact and was shocked by the amount of force she felt behind it.

Arslan then struck Jaune's sword hand, disarming him. Arslan then grabbed both sides of his head and headbutted him, stunning him long enough that he let go of his shield.

Arslan was about to take a step back before she felt Jaune grab both of her wrists and he pulled her right back toward him and returned the headbutt., which not only caused his Aura to glimmer but Arslan's as well.

Arslan was once again stunned by the force and power behind Jaune's physical attack, it felt as if it shook her very soul.

With Jaune's aura weakened, it didn't protect him as much as it should so after the brutal attack, his forehead bled, but he smirked at Arslan and had a crazed expression on his face as blood fell down his face, "Let's go blow for blow! Come on! Let's embrace until one falls! Jaune cried with a crazed chuckle.

Arslan herself began to smile wickedly, as she felt a fire burst up inside of her that she had never felt before. She pulled her head back and headbutted Jaune for a second time, getting some of his blood on her but she didn't care as she felt the passion of their fight grow.

"Thank you... Jaune," Arlsan told him under her breath, "My hunger for battle is back!" She cried.

The two continued to hold onto one another as they continued to trade blow for blow with their heads, both faces getting bloodier and bloodier as each of their aura began to lower.

Before finally, Jaune's aura shattered with a final blow to Arslan's head and he let go of her arms and stumbled back, still smiling as he looked at Arslan.

Speaking of the Lioness, she two stumbled back, and Jaune's blood, and even some of her own, fell down her face, as she walked back, she felt her entire body tremble, like before, it felt like every blow Jaune delivered, rattled her soul.

Jaune chuckled lightly, "Well, I tried, but... it was a good fight, right?" He said before he fell onto his back, unconscious.

Arslan smiled at Jaune's unconscious form, he heart beating faster and faster as she looked at the man who managed to go hit-for-hit with her and reignite her passion for battle, a small blush appearing on her face, "You were... magnificent~!" She said with a smile.

#rwby #jaune arc #arslan altan #jaune arc x arslan atlan #team arcz #team pays #rwby guardian ghost au #jaune x arslan

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moseslikellamas · 3 months

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♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.4

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - Caught and immobilized by her sworn enemy, the Blackwood heir, Shanda struggles to turn the night into anything resembling a successful mission.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, mentions of violence, adult language, period typical misogyny, unaddressed sexual tension, condescension, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count- 2.2k

!MinorsDNI!

Ahoy, I have returned. I can’t stop thinking about this story. I dreamed I was writing it in my sleep 😅 now with unacknowledged sexual undertones!

Shanda sputtered and coughed, gagging on the leaves and mud as she lay confined on the ground. Her shoulders were throbbing from the force of being pulled backwards and her wet cloak began to chaf around her neck. Benjicot was heavy against her back as he let her struggle for air. All she could think was, Martyns going to kill me. Which was somehow morbidly funny to her considering, the real threat was here, now.

“I knew you’d come back.” He muttered, his voice soft against her ear.

He removed the knife from her neck and using her hood, pulled her head up mercifully allowing her to finally breathe. Her airway clear, she gasped. Rain splattered against her upturned face, as she watched the needles of moisture falling. From this angle the rain seemed infinite, the expanse of clouds another kingdom of its own. She decided if he was going to kill her, this was as good of a view to die to as any. She could feel his warm breath against the side of her face. And for a moment they both just lay there, breathing heavily.

“Who are you?” He demanded at last, painfully squeezing her wrists and pulling sharply making her shoulder scream out in agony. But she did not budge, she bit the inside of her cheek as hard as she could to keep from crying out. She knew her best shot at turning this situation around meant he had to let go of her. Telling him anything was out of the question though, instead she planned to piss him off enough for him to try and cart her off to Raventree. She was a wanted ‘criminal’ after all. If he loosened his hold even a little bit, she could work with that.

He snaked the arm he’d used to pull her head up tightly around her exposed neck and began to squeeze. Her heart pounded in her ears, blood rushing to her face as he slowly began to cut off her precious air supply again. She struggled against him but it was a fruitless effort, her vision wavered. He was really going to kill her, she thought as the world around her grew dimmer. Then just as quickly he released his hold, and she panted sucking air in anew.

“That’s it, breathe.”

Shanda shivered barely hearing the continued stream of dialogue he was cooing at her. She was too busy trying to orient herself, her head was spinning. And when she settled into a semi normal breathing pattern, he started again.

Whispering in an infuriatingly sweet voice he said, “Who are you?”

She groaned frustrated and tried again to pitch her body away from him. The heir continued babbling while she wore herself out attempting to break free.

“Come on, it's an easy question. Or have you forgotten your name already?”

His soft tone was at odds with the arm slowly crushing her windpipe again. The heir to Raventree was fucking insane she decided. He continued to talk to her, mocking as she felt her consciousness falling away. Her whole body was tingling from lack of oxygen and she felt like laughing.

This time when he allowed her to breathe a pathetic whimper escaped her. She felt weaker, chest heaving and horribly vulnerable in a way she never had before. And she began to suspect he had no intention of killing her.

“What about now hm?” He hummed using his hand to delicately stroke her neck.

It seemed as if he were the only person in existence. Her head was swimming and she couldn’t remember what he’d even asked her.

“Just your name, that’s all. You can do that can’t you?”

Unwilling to let him choke her again she blurted her name out.

“Shanda.”

No harm there, it wasn’t an unheard of name in the river lands and she’s already exposed her gender last night. It was her last name she needed to keep under wraps.

“You can speak, that’s wonderful. Good job.”

Her mind was sharpening back up and she bristled at his response.

“Now, how about you answer my question from last night? What are you doing here, in the borderlands spying?”

A name was nothing to give away. But she definitely couldn’t tell him that. Panic began to bubble up inside her as he sighed, saying, “And we were making such good progress.” Before his hand wrapped back around her throat. He was going to torture every last word out of her if she didn’t do something. Her mind turned a mile a minute while it begged for air. Come on, why would I be here? But forming coherent thoughts is hard to do without breathing. Her vision went black.

Shanda came back around to the sound of her own moaning. A deplorable and pitiful sound. Had she passed out? She slowly blinked her eyes back open, the terrible realization that she was still held captive dawning on her.

“Welcome back.”

Her resistance was waning. She wasn’t trained or prepared for a situation like this. She was a decent fighter because she’d grown up around too many brothers for her parents to stop her. One of them was always sneaking her out and helping her practice. But that didn’t mean she was encouraged in the endeavor or given any proper education. Women had life done to them, they didn’t get to decide. So laying there, sworn enemy at her back, she admitted half truths.

“Why does anyone spy? Information.” Her voice was small and hoarse, barely audible over the rain.

“And what would you do with the information?”

“Use it.” She bit out. This night was turning out to be more useless than the last.

Blackwood’s hand cupped her cheek and she was too tired to pull away.

“Don’t be daft.” He said sharply then switched his tone back to the fraudulently sugared one he’d been using. “Tell me who you’re spying for.”

Left with no alternative, she decided to ramp up pissing him off.

“How about you tell me what the fucks wrong with you? You’re a sick man, I guess they’ll let any old brute be heir at Raventree. Though you can’t be too good at it or else you wouldn’t be out here assau-“

A stinging slap cut her words off and she hissed in pain. His hand was back around her throat, threatening. It only slowed her down for a moment.

“See? Pathetic behavior. Do you feel better about yourself now?”

Finally, she was given a lucky break when he released her wrist, allowing her arms to come to rest on the ground. Before the feeling had even begun to move back into them, he used the hand around her neck to push her backwards. Her legs still pinned, her back arched, pushing her stomach hard into the ground. Her arms were shaking as they tried to support her in the awkward angle. With his other freshly freed hand, he hit her again much harder and she cried out.

“I do feel better now. And when you tell where you came from, I’ll feel phenomenal, baby.”

Shanda ignored him, her hands working to open her side strapped bag without him noticing.

“Wouldn’t it be better to tell me now rather than the guards at Raventree? They won’t be half so gentle as I am.”

She located the buckle and slowly worked it open.

“Besides, a fragile little thing like you shouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

His continued lecturing was adding to her growing frustration but she pushed him out of her head as best she could, while flipping the flap of the bag open.

“Whoever sent you out here can’t care about you. Better you tell me who it was, i’ll set them straight on where a lady like you should stay put.” His hand was back to stroking her neck.

Didn’t he have real duties to perform? She nearly snorted at his words, little did he know he and her father shared the same sentiment on a woman’s place. But both were fools so what did they know? She locked her hands around the raw onions she’d stuffed in the, carefully pulling the peels back. Wrapped up in his own hubris, he did not see the onions until she’d managed to reach up and rub them into his eyes. Knowing that wouldn’t be enough to get the crazed man off of her she aggressively jerked her fingers into his eyes.

“You little -“

Shanda didn’t hear the rest of his sentence, he’d dropped his hands away from her in pain. And she had done what she did best, slammed her head into his, knocked him into the mud and ran. Though not before grabbing her bow and blessedly, the knife he’d dropped. She was moving as quickly as possible, her plans abandoned. The only thought in her mind being, don’t let him catch me. She chanted it like a prayer and maybe it was. She kept a better eye out for the traps she’d set. She was nearly out of the copse of trees and feeling slightly better about it.

There were still miles of land in between her and Stone Hedge and she couldn’t lead him there. She could hear him behind her fast on her heels. But this was the Bracken side of the river and she knew it better than he ever could have hoped to. She dashed over known holes and led him into the sinking mud, slowing him further and further down. Back on equal footing she gained a bit of confidence back, maybe this night wouldn’t be a complete waste.

As they ran out into the wet night she started to lead him into the series of snares she’d set. The first triggered beautifully, catching him long enough to throw him off of his momentum and releasing just as fast to send him stumbling into the next one. The next snare caught his legs tripping him and to her immense relief he triggered the last snare, which wrapped the dormant net around him. Tangled and confused, he thrashed for a moment while she circled back to him. Grabbing him by the head she slammed her knee into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Then she quickly grabbed his hands, wrestling with him to tie them up. She knew the net wouldn’t hold him and she wasn’t confident about the ropes either once she secured them.

Angrier than a wet hen, she screamed at him.

“Oh you pretentious, unconscionable, worthless man! I should kill you.”

Then she kicked him as hard as she could in the stomach, satisfied when he doubled over in pain. She didn’t like violence but it felt good to not have him laughing or belittling her.

“I’ll tell you where I’m from Blackwood.” She spat, pacing in front of him feeling unhinged. “I’m from the shadow of your ruin. When all of your life falls to pieces and the name of your house fades from history it’ll be mine that they call out. I’m here to put an end to the ignoble suffering your kind inflicts upon the riverlands. I’m the bane of Blackwoods and the menace on the Redfork.”

He was silent as she dug around in her bag. The rain was slowly starting to break up and she didn’t want to take the chance of running home with the bag of fat trimmings. Instead she pulled them out and began handing them off of the man on the ground, twisting his wrists together. She had no doubt soon he’d be free but she planned to be long gone by then. She hoped if nothing else, a wolf might answer the smell and terrorize him all the way back to Raventree.

Before she left she turned to him to say, “This fragile lady, is going to ruin your life Blackwood.”

Then she was gone, running through the muddy grass running opposite of the way she was meant to be. She would need to run for a while to throw him off in the event he followed then she would double back, before sneaking into the back gates of Stone Hedge. While she ran her mind turned over the peculiar situation she found herself in.

The wind had picked up as the rain died down, and the night slipped into nautical twilight. The clouds swirled overhead, growing lighter the closer it approached dawn. Her body was sore beyond belief and she didn’t relish the long run home. She would arrive at dawn though which was lucky, she wouldn’t have to tell Martyn how monumentally she’d fucked up. It was clear now that Benjicot Blackwood was not like other nobel men, he was more astute. He’d managed to throw her off guard too many times. The next time they met, she hoped to spend less time on the ground.

She stared out at the ocean of grass and the forest hills in the distance. She loved the river lands and didn’t intend to ever leave them. Making the Blackwood threat her utmost priority and they were a worthy threat beyond petty rivalry. She began to double back, starting the long journey home and as she did she sent up another prayer. Let me be known. Please let me bring the Bracken name back to a point of pride. I’ll fight at the warriors alter until my last breath, just let me fix this.

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snitchcrimsonwrites · 5 months

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Maybe pt. 7

Pairing: Norm MacLean X Female Reader or OC if you squint

Former friends to a relationship?

Life is pretty easy in Vault 33 until you're trying to rekindle a former friendship and Raiders attack. Now, our main characters are trying to navigate newfound feelings, all while undercovering the mysteries of Vault 33. Stay tuned. Follows the main storyline of season 1; some events may be reordered for plot.

Norm navigates his decision to aid Lucy's escape from the Vault with help from his friends, finding comfort and another demotion on the table.

Part 1 Here. Part 6 Here Part 12 Here

Part 2 Here Part 8 Here

Part 3 Here Part 9 Here

Part 4 Here Part 10 Here

Part 5 Here Part 11 Here

Norm had quite the day and was ready for it to end. The post-events of the raider attack and his sister leaving the Vault to find their dad had left him physically and emotionally exhausted. He didn’t know how much more he had left in him. So when he heard a soft knock at the door of his outer living space, he wasn’t sure if he was in the headspace to deal with a visitor inquiring about his dad… or sister, for that matter, as it wouldn’t be long before the word on her rescue mission got out.

When the pressurized door unlocked, he was relieved to see it was you standing at the threshold.

“Hey, I don’t mean to bother you,” you started, but he waved off your apology. “No, it’s alright. What’s going on?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“I came by to check in and see if you needed anything or wanted to talk—or not talk,” you added quickly. “I can do that too if you want some company.” You fidgeted with your hair, not quite knowing how to word the next part. “I just know how weird going from a full house to an empty one can be,” you trailed off.

Norm perked up at the thought of spending time with you; maybe he had a little more social battery left. “Yeah, actually, that sounds nice,” he mused, stepping aside to let you in. “Though, I don’t think I have it in me to do much talking. I can put something on if that’s alright with you?”

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, moving into the MacLean’s living room and claiming a spot on the couch.

Norm flipped on the Radiation King television set, the box coming to life with grey images of cowboys fighting gunslingers from an old copy of “The Man from Deadhorse,” his dad’s favorite already queued up. Immediately no. “Let’s try something else. Any requests?” Norm asked, not feeling like dredging up any emotions associated with putting on a Western.

“Dealers choice.”

“Communists from Space! It is,” Norm decides, grabbing the next available tape, popping it in, and joining you on the couch.

The two of you start off silent, attempting to enjoy the film with the limited social interaction Norm requested, but before long, neither of you can resist adding your own color commentary to the events on the screen.

“I’m confused,” you interrupt. “Doesn’t a communist invasion from space imply that the containment policy failed in Europe, Asia, and now space? They’re suggesting America is losing on all fronts.”

Norm snorted. “I appreciate that your suspension of disbelief stops at American geopolitics and not at the fact that those space helmets aren’t connected to any source of oxygen.”

“I’m asking the real questions here, Norm,” you giggle back.

“I think the bigger question you need to ask is how the communists even managed to get the alien forces on their side? Cause there’s no way there’s a shared language.”

“I’d guess propaganda and the universal promise of American government secrets,” you deadpan.

That sent you both into a fit of roaring, sidebusting laughter.

As the laughter subsides, Norm announces, “Thank you for this. I didn’t realize how much I needed it until now.” He was grateful for the company but also for your ability to make him feel whole after the events of the last couple of days. No obsessing over the concerns about his family or what you two saw in 32, just time he was able to be Norm.

“Of course, if you haven’t noticed by now, I really enjoy our time together,” you say, unable to control the blush rising to your cheekbones.

“I do, too, and I hope I’m not being presumptuous by saying I would like to continue spending more time like this together,” Norm stated, trying to gauge the status of where the two of you stood. Was this friendship, or were you moving into the “something more” territory?

“Not presumptuous of you at all,” you affirm, taking the opportunity to position yourself closer to Norm on the couch. He stiffened slightly, surprised by the contact of your vault suit against his, but took your repositioning as a sign to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “Is this alright?” he questions, ever the gentleman.

“Perfect,” you respond as you lean in to rest your head on his chest and watch the rest of the movie.

Something more, alright, noted.

________________________

Norm is awoken by the sound of static on the television set and is momentarily disoriented when he realizes one, this wasn’t his bed; he was out on the couch, and two, the weight on his chest preventing him from sitting up was you curled up under his arm sleeping at his side. The two of you had fallen asleep on the couch sometime during the second movie you put on. He eased back down onto the sofa, intent on enjoying the moments before you both woke up.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He feels you stir at the sound of your alarm and begin to reach over him to shut off the device. No, just a few more minutes, he wished.

“Sorry,” you manage sleepily, rolling the upper half of your body over Norm, grabbing the Pip-Boy, and quieting the beeping. Norm does his best to suppress his imagination from running wild over the nature of your position hovering over him as you turn off the alarm. In another swift motion, you move to sit up and stretch away some of the sleep. Norm does the same, hoping you won’t notice how much your simple actions affected him this morning. “I didn’t mean to stay the night and keep you out on the couch,” you continued, unsure if you overstayed your welcome.

“If it means you staying over, I’d gladly take the couch,” Norm replies, causing both of your cheeks to redden.

You linger, not wanting to leave but knowing you’d be late if you dawdled any longer. After checking the time on your Pip-Boy, you decide it’s time to get up from the sofa and move to the front entryway. “I’ve got to run and get cleaned up for work, but we can meet up after my shift if you’re up for it.”

“Definitely,” Norm assures. Everything else in his life might be turned upside down, but this was his one piece of solace.

“Okay, it’s a date,” sealing your statement with a kiss on Norm’s cheek before pressing the release button on the door. As the door slid open, you both were surprised to see Chet waiting outside, arm raised, ready to knock on Norm’s door, and he looked equally as surprised to see you leaving the MacLean residence so early in the morning. You decide to play it off as nonchalantly as you can.

You greeted Chet with a wave and a sweet, simple “Good Morning, Chet” as you hurriedly exited the hallway and headed toward your place. You trusted Norm could navigate a conversation with his cousin without your help.

Chet didn’t wait for Norm’s invitation to enter. He rushed into the MacLean domicile, making sure you were out of hearing distance, before he exclaimed, “Now, what’s going on with that?!” Gesturing wildly towards the direction you left from. “You had (Y/N) stay over? When did that start?”

Norm sighed and closed the door behind him, not eager to try to explain himself to his cousin. “It’s not like that,” he said, emphasizing the suggestive “that” Chet implied. “Nothing happened; she came over to watch a movie, and we fell asleep. Nothing to tell,” he wrapped up with a shrug. He wasn’t optimistic about his chances of ending the conversation with that explanation.

Chet looked at him and said, “Come on, Norm. You and I both know that when you invite a girl over to watch a movie, you’re not actually doing much movie-watching.”

“Gross,” Norm rebutted, knowing who the girl in question was. “Is this what you came over for? To traumatize me and dissect my relationship with (Y/N)?”

Chet frowned, not because of Norm’s taunting but because he was reminded of why he was here in the first place. Norm’s love life was a welcome distraction from the news he had to share. “No, I was supposed to inform you that the Vault council has summoned us for a hearing this morning. I’m starting to think they’re not pleased we helped Lucy.”

“Of course, they’re not. Did you think they were going to be? That we’d help her escape the Vault, and they’d give us a thumbs up and a sticker?” Norm asked. There was no way he was that naive.

_____________________________

Norm waited outside in the hallway while Chet took his turn meeting with the council. Suddenly, the silence in the corridor was broken by the sounds of sobbing and hyperventilating from behind the door. He guessed the council had made their decision.

The council room door slid up slowly, and Chet exited. His face was puffy, and his eyes were red from the bouts of crying behind closed doors. He wondered if they were particularly tough on him.

Norm decides to do the polite thing and asks him if he’s okay, even though his emotional state clearly displays the answer.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m being reassigned,” he replied with a strained thumbs up. “ You were right; the whole “opening the Vault door for Lucy” thing didn’t sit too well with the council, so I guess I’m not gatekeeper anymore,” he said, trying to hold his composure.

“It’s not a big deal.” Norm could see right through that lie. This was a massive deal. For most people in the Vault, their identity was intricately intertwined with the position they held in the Vault. Take that away, and you’ve got all the material for a full-blown identity crisis.

“I’m just not really sure who I even am anymore. Sorry…I. Mmhm.” Chet couldn’t hold himself together any longer, excusing himself from the conversation.

Woody appeared in the doorway, summoning him into the meeting. “Norman, you’re next.”

Norm finds his familiar seat in front of the council, and Reg wastes no time kicking it off. “You know why you’re in here?”

“Cause I helped my sister escape the Vault.” Cause I couldn’t just ignore my family in trouble.

“Escape?” Woody laughed. “ You and Chet put your sister in incredible danger by helping her out that Vault door. The rad levels up there alone….”

“Worse,” Reg interjects, trying to highlight a larger point,” you could have killed us all. What do you think started all this? These Vaults are impenetrable, meaning that those raiders could have only gotten into Vault 32 because some bonehead opened the door to the surface.” He wasn’t like they didn’t take this into consideration, but some things are worth the risk.

Betty, who had been quiet until now, shooting Norm a glare that threatened to burn through him, piped up. “A single bad decision put everyone at risk, not just Vault 32 but 33 and 31 as well. I telegrammed with the Overseer at Vault 31. Thank goodness, they’re unscathed. But you could have destroyed the last vestiges of civilization.”

“It was Lucy’s idea.” Maybe playing the dumb coward could work in his favor.

“And you didn’t think to at least try and stop her?”

“No.”

“What are we going to do with you?” Betty asked. He wasn’t quite sure if it was rhetorical.

“You were going to reassign me a couple of weeks ago; move forward with that, I guess,” Norm resigned, but he was growing tired of the council’s hypocrisy, and the next lines just slipped out. “I’m just glad to hear that we punish people down here for breaking the rules. Is that just for Vault dwellers or people who come down here and murder vault dwellers?” He made his position on the matter as clear as possible.

Betty smirked at his statement, “Now that I think of it, we’ve got a job for you, after all,” as if she had been waiting for a chance to punish his insolence.

#norm maclean #norm maclean x oc #norm maclean x reader #fallout tv series #fallout series

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badbatchsprincess · 4 months

Text

Heated ~ pt.18

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake.

Warnings: Violence, gore, kidnapping, Tarkin is a creepy hoe, Crosshair being a dick, Dom!Crosshair, smut, orgasm denial, spanking, mate bonds, Pip is influenced by Crosshair’s presence

DADDYYYYY'SSSS HOOOOMMMEEEE!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“I can’t believe she’s alive, sir.” You heard a woman’s voice echo in your mind. Her sound was unfamiliar to you.

The second thing you noticed was the mechanical whirl of the cold floor below you, everything was cold. Except for the warm softness under your throbbing head. Staying entirely still, you waited for your body to catch up with your hearing. You recalled your trauma training, wiggling each toe inside your boot, then moving up each joint and muscle throughout your legs before testing the response in your other extremities. It helped get your mind grounded in your body again as you lay on the cold ship floor.

Based off the smells, you knew you were no longer with your pack. This was new territory which only means one thing….

You’re in imperial custody.

You heard Crosshair’s familiar silvery voice mumble something back to the woman but decided you were going to try and figure out your situation first, listening before acting. He was close by you deduced, probably standing guard over your pallet on the floor. You were also aware that you had very limited time before you’d get to wherever they were taking you.

Listening a little closer, you heard plastoid armor shuffling all around you, there must be soldiers in the jumpseats lining his transport vessel. You heard the whirl of the ship knowing the engines were located on the under belly making it a newer model. Tech told you about their engineering. Usually the engine cores are located on the back of vessels, but new military class ships with loading ramps build the engines into the floor.

“What happened to her?” The woman asked again probably referencing the cut to your head and whatever sorry state you were currently found in.

“She got injured from that helmet they had on her.” Crosshair said shuffling his boots, he was standing right above your head.

You felt the air shift around you and sensed someone was coming near you, “She looks…stronger… than most omegas.” She said skeptically. You could feel the woman kneeling behind you as he observed your form.

“She wasn’t like that the last time I saw her, but she has been running with mercenaries.” Crosshair put a toothpick back into his mouth.

“That doesn’t seem normal for her kind.” You felt her lightly brush a curious finger tip over your collarbone but Crosshair’s snarl stopped her.

That was when you decided to act.

Crosshair’s second in command let out a startled gasp when you suddenly flew up off the pallet wrapping your legs around her neck in a vice grip making her claw at your legs as you squeezed the life from the soldier.

“Kriff.” Crosshair shot up off the wall but you got up quickly knowing you’d have to keep your distance from him. The second in command rolled her side, heaving, trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.

You sprung into action, taking the other storm troopers by surprise. You reached into your back belt where Hunter had put his blade and you gripped the handle firmly bringing it to your front. The first trooper that tried to grab you got his forearm slashed deeply making him scream and retreat. You then brought the knife down harshly into his neck kicking him away from you to bleed out.

“Get her under control!” Crosshair barked out nearing you.

You grabbed another trooper kicking him in the chest sending him backwards into Crosshair while you turned on the others using your blade to cut and slash your way through the mob.

“What the fuck!” One of the soldiers exclaimed as you expertly kicked out his knees and brought him to the ground using the knife and your vast knowledge of the human body to end his life in an instant.

“Omega!” Crosshair yelled but you ignored him. The severed bond seemed to have also prevented his alpha command from working. You were free from his influence.

Crosshair suddenly realized his one fatal mistake… you had been trained… by Echo.

He watched you cut down his men like they were nothing more than canon fodder. It was shocking. More of his men came flooding into the blood bath hearing the commotion.

You snarled at them flipping yourself through the air using your boots and beskar armor to bash them down into the durasteel floor with a harshness you were unaware you carried. When you reached down to grab a discarded blaster, Crosshair’s second raised her blaster aiming at you.

“Do. Not. Kill. Her!” Crosshair pushed her weapon to the side watching the plasma bolt burrow into the side of the ship. You watched her miss, and you turned on them, aiming your own gun and pulling the trigger. They both dodged out of the way in time, but you unleashed your training on the other unsuspecting troopers.

“I’ve never seen an omega do that!” You heard his second yell over the bangs.

“She’s no average omega.” Crosshair pressed himself into the crate keeping himself out of your range, “Set it to stun.”

He peeked his head out from behind the crate to find you heaving, covered in crimson blood, taking a trooper down into a flurry on the ground. Hunter’s blade had gotten knocked from your hands in the fight but that didn’t stop you.

If Crosshair wasn’t so set on his mission to detain you, he would have stopped to admire your work. He guessed all those months with his brothers, you had changed. No longer were you the meek little republic medic, but you had turned into a warrior.

“She’s going to kill the whole company if we wait any longer.” His second, Wren looked anxious. She was the best solder coming out of the imperial military academy. She was specifically selected for this very delicate mission which seemed to go in a direction neither of them had anticipated.

“We can’t hurt her,” Crosshair drilled into the two of them, “Nothing can hurt her!”

“I got that, but she’s fucking feral!” Wren scrunched back against the crate as a bloody helmet went flying by, “She’s going to tear apart the ship.”

And just like you had with Echo, it was like you got a whisper in your ear and you knew exactly what Crosshair had planned to do. He was between you and the cockpit of the ship. Mate or not, you were getting to that damn cockpit even if you had to kill the bastard to get there.

Just as you sensed him and the female trooper emerge from behind the crates, you spun, grabbing one of the flailing troopers by the collar, using him as a human shield for Crosshair’s stun ray. The young trooper dropped like dead weight and you watched as the woman pulled her trigger in your direction. You just stepped out of the way letting the stun ray fly right past you into a trooper behind you.

You used your boot to kick a discarded riffle up into your hands flicking off the safety.

Wren and Crosshair aimed for a second shot, but you beat them to it. It was like your body was moving on its own accord. Like something took over you…

You momentarily wondered if this is what it’s like being Crosshair. If so, you felt powerful. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. There was such cool collectedness. Such pure concentration.

Raising the weapon up and tucking it into your arm, you unloaded onto their crates missing Crosshair by, well, a hair. You heard him curse and duck while Wren threw herself down onto the ground to duck for cover.

“You’re going to take me back to Bracca now!” You snarled with a voice that didn’t even sound like your own. It was something silvery and wicked.

Crosshair’s voice was breathier than usual, “Learn some new tricks huh, omega?”

“You have no fucking idea.” You fired a few more bullets reminding him you still had the gun.

“I can’t take you back, Pip.” He said grabbing one of his plasma reflectors. He tossed it onto the wall watching you through the reflection.

You crept closer stepping over the gargling troopers who had fallen victim to your blade.

“Fine.” You smiled viciously, “Then I’ll kill youm and take the ship back myself.”

“You can’t do that mesh’la.” He sounded cocky, “You forget… you’ll die too.”

You smiled devilishly, “That’s no longer a concern.”

He furrowed his brow as he very slowly reached for fire puncher. Wren watched him anxiously clenching her own blaster. What the hell did you mean by that?

“Our bond has been severed, alpha.” You taunted.

Crosshair’s stomach knotted… what did you just say?

“Notice how your commands no longer work on me?” You kicked one of the destroyed helmets forward making Wren flinch. Never had she ever seen an omega like you.

You chuckled, “Your brothers made sure I’d be severed from you.” Bending down, you picked up the bloody knife holding it in your free hand. It was like Crosshair’s base instincts were flooding your entire being. It was thrilling. Having a peek inside his brain was like being dowsed in chilled spring water.

“Thats not possible.” He bit out watching you raise your weapon.

“But it is sweetheart.” You noticed the curve of his second’s back bowing out from behind the crate carelessly.

You locked onto your target hoping to roust her out of her hiding spot to get a clean shot.

Crosshair had to time his shot perfectly, or it would just be you and him. And while he was confident he could take you in hand to hand, you may not let it get to that point if you keep acting like a fucking ARC trooper. Fucking Echo maker kark it.

He watched you tighten your grip and peer down the scope, “What? Nothing to say?”

He remained silent, focusing on aiming his own shot perfectly through the reflector. Right as he sensed you squeeze the trigger, he quickly pulled his own. He heard both you and Wren shriek, as your bullet graze Wren’s back, while his bullet knocked the gun from your hands. He stood up in an instant ready to stun you when you threw Hunter’s knife with all your force, watching it soar through the air rotating at the speed of light. Crosshair just barely stepped out of the way to made his shot while the tip of the blade sliced through the side of his skull just missing his ear.

He watched you collapse into the puddle of blood with a thump as he pressed his palm to the side of his head feeling the blood pour.

He did it.

He made the shot.

Wren whined in pain and he set down his riffle to check on his second. He flipped her over seeing the angry red canyon you’d carved through her back all the way to her opposite rib. That was definitely going to leave a scar. The alpha screamed in agony as Crosshair maneuvered her to keep her off her back.

Then he ran over to you. Your stunned body lay amongst your victims. He almost couldn’t believe the brutality in which you killed them. It was like you had been trained your entire life in combat. There was no way Echo could have conditioned you that quickly. He was stunned. He looked around at the ship seeing all the blood splatters and stray bullets. It looked like a butcher was in here. He just couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Has the target been detained?” The pilots asked from the cockpit.

Crosshair radioed back, “Yeah, but let command know we’re going to need a clean up team.”

He stared down at your limp figure, you were covered head to toe in his men’s blood. He shook his head still shocked you had caused so much violence, Wren’s pained cries echos off the durasteel walls drawing his attention away from the slaughter.

~~~

Crosshair had taken extra precaution and used a pair of binders to keep your wrists detained as he slung your body over his shoulder. You dangled limply as the landing ramp opened up to the comfortable warm Nabooan air.

On the tarmac, a team of hazmat troopers arrived to carry away the deceased, and a squad of medics came to help Wren while the remaining two pilots exited the ship with Crosshair. He didn’t miss the way the entire garrison stared in absolute abject horror at the tiny bloody omega on his shoulder.

He heard their murmurs and knew that they were discussing his infamous mate.

You had become quite the conversation after Tarkin made it his upmost top priority to track you down and retrieve you with no expense spared.

Crosshair had also torn apart the base when he first felt the bond sever. He knew his outburst had reached every corner of the imperial base with gossip. Of course everyone was beginning wondering who this important omega was, and why she was so important to Tarkin’s favorite soldier and the empire itself.

Crosshair heard the whispers and the gasps at seeing you and the damage you had caused on the way over here.

“Is that her?”

“An omega did that?”

“Is that her blood?”

“Did he do that to her?”

The hushed comments continued as Crosshair crossed the landing pad carrying you inside. Tarkin was alerted immediately that you had been found and brought back to Naboo upon entry to Nabooan airspace.

“Is this her?” Tarkin asked approaching the sniper curiously.

“Yes.” Crosshair replied coldly.

“What happened?” Tarkin observed the dripping blood on his pristine floors from your bound finger tips.

“She killed the entire squadron.” Crosshair adjusted his grip on you.

“Alone?” The admiral questioned. His skepticism was evident.

“Yes.” Crosshair said plainly, “It appears my batch mates have been training her in close quarter combat.”

“How many of your men?”

“All of them. She nearly had the captain too.” Crosshair watched Tarkin circle the two of you looking very pleased, “She killed the medic that treated her on Bracca, but he insisted I get her to a bacta tank. She fell nearly two stories during an explosion.”

The admiral hummed in displeasure. He gestured for another medic who came running over to them, “Get a medical team prepared to treat her. She must make a full recovery.” Tarkin ordered.

Crosshair watched the medic leave and return with a stretcher which Crosshair carefully set your body down on. The sniper and the admiral keeping a close pace behind the medic as he pushed you towards the medical wing.

“Has she always been vicious?” Tarkin questioned bending down to get a look at your face.

Crosshair noticed a small audience gathering in the halls trying to get a peak at his mate, “I’ve heard stories of her past, but I haven’t witnessed it myself until today.” Crosshair said, “Her violence had been instinctual… protecting pups.”

“Very good.” Tarkin approved, “I want you to take good care of her. She’s a remarkable specimen. She must remain in optimal health.”

“Sir?” Crosshair questioned.

Tarkin gave him a tight lipped smile, “I want you to retire being a soldier and be her… Alpha. You may keep her, as I am sure you desire that now that you know she is in fact alive”

“Just so I’m clear, you don’t wish for me to serve the empire any longer?” Crosshair was confused. Tarkin didn’t want him to be a sniper anymore?

Tarkin gestured for Crosshair to enter into the medical lab before him.

“You will continue to serve the empire but you have a new purpose.” Tarkin explained as the two of them trailed towards the new residential sector. “Your mate is a very rare variant lupine. She is not to leave this facility as she is integral to our new project. She’s a very unique specimen indeed.”

“Rare variant?” He questioned, watching the beta scientists carefully lift your limp body up into the bacta tank. They removed the binders and started peeling off your boots and outer layers before beginning the sequence to drop you in.

Tarkin watched the process as well, “Her kind is not bound by monogamy like the rest of us. I was skeptical at first, I don’t believe she knows what she is either. Most of her kind have been hunted into extinction.”

“May I ask what you need her for?” Crosshair felt a tinge of anxiety simmer in his stomach. His alpha instincts weren’t liking this. He just got you back, he wasn’t letting anyone take you from him. Not now.

Tarkin explained, “We are looking for the most effective way to replenish our military. Sure, mandatory conscription is convenient, but it has been made very obvious to us that the clones were and are superior soldiers. We wish to bring forward another generation of warriors made from clone DNA and…” He gestured to your limp body. Crosshair tensed and bit back a snarl.

Tarkin continued, “However, we understand that the omega picks her mates, as she has with you and other clones we discovered through some… interrogations.”

Crosshair knew he was referring to Captain Howzer. His fists tightened slightly. The jealousy he tried so hard to repress was rearing its ugly head.

“She has a natural disposition for attraction to clones, she’s extremely intelligent, and as we have now learned, she has a calling to violence. She’s the perfect candidate for our program, and due to her very rare genetic variation she isn’t bound to monogamy, which means more pups… my head scientists believes that she will be a remarkable specimen for a new cloning program.” Tarkin clasped his hands behind his back.

Crosshair forced himself to take a silent breath.

Tarkin wishes to clone you?

He watched the blood caked to your skin dissolve in the bacta solution as you floated peacefully.

Crosshair looked sideways at the Admiral, “You wish to clone her, then breed her clones with other clones?” Crosshair was trying to follow along. The empire wanted to create an entire generation of clone offspring… using you…

“Precisely.” Tarkin nodded curtly.

Crosshair turned and looked to the admiral waiting for the catch.

Tarkin just smiled and looked up at his favorite sniper, “Keep her happy and healthy, those are yournew orders.”

Crosshair nodded. This has to be the strangest set of orders he’s ever received. He watched Tarkin spin on his heel and head for the door.

The Admiral was about to leave the medical bay before he angled his head looking over his shoulder back to Crosshair, “and I expect you to complete the mate bond, and pup her, as soon as possible.” Tarkin paused waiting for Crosshair’s response.

Crosshair just nodded, trying to make himself speak “Yes, sir.”

Tarkin gave a satisfied huff as he marched out of the facility. Crosshair just stared blankly at the empty walk-way trying to even begin to understand all the information he just received.

This just got a lot more complicated.

~~~

The sharp taste of bacta coated your mouth making you smack your lips together trying to clear it. Your mouth was unbearably dry and when you tried to open your eyes, you felt like they had been welded shut. You groaned rubbing at them trying to will your eye lids to obey but they were heavy.

When you were able to finally crack them open, you blinked a few times trying to adjust to the lights. You then realized you were perched on a squishy bed under a thick duvet cover. Never in your life had you ever felt such soft sheets. You ran your hand over the white cottons before forcing yourself to sit up.

The disorientation came to a screeching halt when you noticed the looming dark figure in the corner of the room.

There lay Crosshair, still as a statue, seemingly asleep upright in a lounge chair.

You sucked in a breath going entirely still. You were suddenly afraid your movements would wake him.

You couldn’t remember much, but all you knew was that you needed to get the hell out of here… where ever here is…

Slowly, you shimmied your legs out from under the duvet before hopping down onto the plushest carpet you’d ever felt. You realized you were in nothing but a silk slip as your bare legs were now exposed to the comfortable air. Nothing about this was making any sense, what the hell is this place?

You crept forwards keeping your feet light and a concentrated eye on Crosshair’s form. He hadn’t moved one bit as you crossed the massive bedroom.

Just as you were about to open the door…

“Omega.” His voice made you freeze in place.

He still hadn’t moved, nor opened his eyes. You could hear your heart beating in your ears feeling like a little prey animal under his predatory aura.

“Go back to bed.” He said lowly.

You remained frozen trying to weigh your options. Run and pray, or comply and wait. Neither were good. And this was Crosshair, he was abnormally agile like his brothers. He’d snatch you up like a nexu.

When he realized you weren’t going to listen, he opened his eyes without moving a muscle. You felt yourself bite back a whimper as fear suddenly started to ebb its way into your nervous system.

You watched him stretch as he stood up loosing up the tight muscles from sleeping in that padded chair.

You backed up a step determined to run if he made any sudden movements. You also realized he wasn’t in his military kit either, he was wearing a loose black t-shirt and a pair of matching joggers. His feet were bare too. You hadn’t ever really seen him like this outside of your apartment. You suddenly began to wonder if you were back on Coruscant?

Well, this was certainly no apartment of yours…

“You need to rest omega.” He very slowly approached you.

You shook your head starring to feel like a disobedient child the way he was scowling at you.

“Y/N.” He snarled, “Wanna do it the hard way? Fine.” In a flash, he lunged at you and you scurried out of the way narrowly dodging his grasp. You screamed running from him as you crossed the room.

“Omega!” He yelled chasing after you, swiping for your ankle as you jumped across the massive king size bed and took off running on the other side of the room flinging yourself into the adjoining closet before locking the door behind you. He might be significantly taller than you, but you were speedier.

He growled pounding on the metal trying to figure out a way to open it. You quickly dismantled the locking mechanism giving yourself some time before he came barreling in.

Your heart was racing as you looked around trying to figure out a way out of this before he inevitably came to retrieve you.

“Be a good girl and open this fucking door omega.” You heard him from the other side of the door.

Looking up, you tried finding an air vent or something that could help you but you couldn’t find anything.

Remembering what Tech always said, you got down on all fours crawling around the clothes in the closet looking for a vent on the floor. When you noticed a difference in the wall, you pushed the clothes back revealing a grated vent.

“Yes.” You sighed crawling forwards to rip it from the wall. But to your dismay, it seems someone had already thought two steps ahead of you. The vent just led to a smaller one that no human could crawl through.

You heard the door panel whoosh open and spun around to see Crosshair marching towards you.

You stood up, ripping the clothes from the rail and started throwing them at him. He just batted them away unbothered by your attempt to stop him.

“Alpha please!” You whined backing up into the clothes clearly frightened.

Something in him switched and he stopped in his tracks. Maybe it was the sound of your voice warbling with fright, or how small you looked in the sea of black clothes, but he came to a total stop staring at you.

You were a lot less intimidating outside of the beskar his brothers adorned you with. You looked too small suddenly, not like the fierce warrior that took out his entire garrison with your rage just a few mere days ago. The owlish eyes that frantically searched for an out, made his skin crawl. You shouldn’t be reacting like this to him… he’s your alpha for kriff sake.

“Please.” You whispered the beg seeming like you were searching for something in him.

He sighed, “You can’t be up running around yet. You fractured two ribs and your pelvis from the fall.” He was the one now pleading with you, “Please, go back to bed.”

You took a deep breath trying to read him. Was this a trap? You couldn’t really tell, but you knew he wasn’t lying about your ribs. You could feel the ache with every breath.

Slowly, you stood inching towards him. He didn’t move a muscle, instead he allowed you to pass him before he followed you out of his closet and into the main sleeping quarters.

You saw him following you from the corner of your eye as you very tentatively crawled back up onto the bed settling back in the middle like you had beed previously. You kelt on the mattress watching him stand at the foot of the bed crossing his arms.

He stared at you intensely making your squirm in the silence.

“How did you do it?” He asked sounding pissed. Your heart began to patter.

You stared at him trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

He narrows his eyes, “The bond.”

You looked down at your hands fiddling with the sheets, “I was dying. You brothers took me to a planet where force sensitive wolves severed the bond to save me.”

He remained stoic as ever. It was unsettling.

“I thought you died.” He bit out harshly, “Nearly killed me.”

You whined quietly with guilt.

He bit at his lip missing his toothpick, “How are you fine right now? It feels fucking empty in here!” He jabbed a finger into his chest, “it’s torture!”

You just stared at his chest feeling your heart break for the alpha. You had thought about the kind of pain he might be feeling, those dreams kept you up at night. The others tried to convince you he’d be fine and that he probably didn’t feel much of anything, but you knew deep down it was so much worse.

His confirmation only made you feel more guilty. You studied his face better in the day light. He was skinnier than you remembered. It had been months running around the galaxy with your pack, while you had bulked up with muscles, your alpha across from you looked like he had been dragged through bantha shit for months on end. Even his hair was longer and mused from sleep. He looked so different.

He sighed seeming exhausted.

He reached forward to touch your ankle but you flinched drawing your limb closer to yourself. The look in his eyes nearly made you cry on the spot. He looked… horrified? Guilty? Disgusted?

“Omega.” That wasn’t the reaction he wanted from you. He also seemed guilty?

You were about to open your mouth to say something… anything… when the door to the apartments chimed open and a small army of medical droids floated inside.

He stood upright putting himself between you and the imperial doctor walking inside. The small beta man approached with his glasses and a data pad kind-of resembling Tech. You watched him hesitate in the doorway seeing Crosshair puff out his chest and cross his arms with a raised brow waiting for an explanation. There was no chance this man was stepping one more foot inside this room without Crosshair’s explicit permission.

Clearly, entering an alpha’s bedroom with his omega in bed wasn’t the smartest decision.

You instantly recognized the uniform which only meant one thing… you were in imperial custody. That also meant that whatever this place was, it was also imperial.

You peeked out from behind Crosshair getting the doctor’s attention he looked at you before looking back at the alpha towering over him.

You needed to start to devise a plan to get out of here.

“I-I uh, I uhm need to get new scans. If t-that’s okay?” The technician stuttered as Crosshair’s aura intimidated the hell out of the poor kid.

You realized Crosshair had made some kind of reputation within this new empire… and it clearly wasn’t one of rainbows and butterflies.

You smiled suddenly realizing you could definitely use this to your advantage…You were his omega after all. The kid noticed your grin as you suddenly settled back into the thick covers.

He slightly narrows his eyes watching your mischievous face turn sickly sweet as you opened your mouth to speak, “Alpha?” The tone of your voice was like a soft caress to Crosshair’s ears. You suddenly looked up at him mustering the most nervous look you could.

When he turned his attention to you, you squirmed uncomfortably making worried eyes at the medical technician. Crosshair’s protectiveness kicked into hyperdrive and he turned back to the beta, “Get out.”

“B-but!” He tried to explain.

“Now.” Crosshair stepped forwards making all the droids and the medical tech nervously back out of the room.

You smiled and waved at the technician making the kid sputter as he darted out of the apartment.

“The next person to walk in here without permission will not walk out, do I make myself clear?” Crosshair growled menacingly, locking the main door behind the kid.

When he returned you were leaning against the headboard watching him cross the massive bedroom. He gave you a knowing look, like he knew exactly the game you were playing with him. You crossed your arms over your chest pushing up your breasts watching him approach the end of the bed once again.

“You’re far more manipulative than the last time I had seen you.” He snipped and crossed his arms to match yours.

You eyed him, “A lot has changed.”

“Clearly.” He retorted.

You steeled yourself, “You tried to kill me.”

He stilled, taking a quick calming breath, “You defied direct orders.”

“I am your mate Crosshair!” You snarled leaning forwards on the bed unable to keep your voice from raising.

“Are you?” He narrowed his eyes.

You took a breath trying to calm the anger raging inside.

Maybe he didn’t view you as a mate anymore, not after the bond was severed. That thought hadn’t crossed your mind until now.

“Why am I here?” You lifted your chin trying to mimic his coolness.

“You are, or were, my mate. I serve the empire. You are to remain here with me, as it should be.” He replied coldly.

“And if we no longer have a bond?” You raised a brow.

He blinked slowly, “You are to remain here under imperial custody.”

“What do they want with me? They wouldn’t allow one soldier to send an entire garrison for one measly omega, now would they?”

“You’re not just some measly omega now are you.” He pointed a finger at you, “You have some explaining to do, cyra’ika.”

“I don’t have to explain anything.” You growled.

He scoffed changing the subject, “Where are they?”

You just stared at him. There’s no way you’d sell out his brothers to the empire.

“Do they know?” He raised a brow, he was referring to your special designation, “I’d presume so, you begged them to fuck you all the same.”

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I bet they kept fucking you too, huh sweetheart?” He leaned forwards placing one hand menacingly on the bed started to crawl closer, “Once they thought I was gone and out of the picture, they had you all to themselves.” The jealousy in his tone was evident. You knew he never liked to share.

“Did you know? All this time?” He was hovering over your covered legs making your heart race. The last time he looked at you like that, you had your nose pressed to his belly as you had taken him greedily down your throat.

You felt a sudden rush of heat flow through you at the memory.

“Know what?” You whispered.

He smirked, “What you are?”

“What am I, Crosshair?” You laid back on your back as he hovered over you keeping you pinned to the mattress beneath him.

He watched you swallow and noticed the unmarred glad still in tact. He smiled wolfishly down at you. He knew what you were, after Tarkin was explained, all the pieces fit together perfectly. However, he couldn’t help but indulge his jealousy, “You’re mine.”

He reached forwards gently making contact with your gland with his bare hand. Like a taught rubber band, you felt something snap violently into place making the two of you gasp violently and writhe on the mattress as an unbearable current zapped through your entire system like a lightening strike.

“Kriff!” He grunted trying to keep himself up and not crush you as he gripped at his sternum.

You wheezed pushing up at him suddenly feeling claustrophobic. You needed to get away.

Forcing yourself up from under the covers, you weakly crawled to the side of the bed wobbling on your feet suddenly overcome with the sensation of Crosshair everywhere.

His scent, his energy, his emotions… it was suffocating. You felt like there were two people inside you as you let out a cry feeling it all come to a freezing halt.

You clutched the wall trying to catch your breath. You spun around to face him as he hunched over the mattress. He looked at you wildly.

“The bond.” You breathed. It was intact.

Then came the burning desire.

You were suddenly possessed with the need to mate with your alpha.

You crossed the room practically jumping up into the bed crawling to him as he pulled you closer. You sighed feeling his skin against yours once again and you realized just now much you missed his touch.

You wiggled underneath him yanking at his shirt, pulling it over his head revealing his chest and a spattering of new scars you didn’t recognize. You also didn’t care. All you wanted was him inside you.

Like he could hear your thoughts, he smirked, nipping at your neck sending your nerves into overdrive. You were flustered everywhere and it was sending aching tingles down into the base of your belly.

You used your feet to push the waist band of his joggers down revealing the lack of boxers. You smiled and reached greedily for his cock starting to pump him rhythmically. He thrust into your hand as his breathing deepened clearly desperate for your touch.

“Omega.” He sighed almost silently.

He pawed at your silk covered tits before frustratingly tearing the straps to get access to you.

He kissed south, ignoring your squirming as he left your warm palm to lick and suck at your hardening nipples.

You cried out as he latched on with his warm mouth making you start to drip between your thighs.

“I’m still mad at you.” You whined pushing your chest up into his mouth.

“I know.” He tore the slip dress even further until it was fully off your body. His free hand slithered down between your thighs. You parted them eagerly as his fingers traced tight circles around your clit. You mewled grinding your hips into his hand as he worked you open.

You growled frustratedly wanting more, “Just fuck me Crosshair!”

He withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels before gripping your hips and flipping you over. He brought down a harsh slap against your ass making you scream.

“So, fucking bossy these days.” He teased rubbing the reddening area, “My vod let you get away with that, huh?”

You pushed your ass up into him ignoring his comments.

“Who died and made you empress?” He laughed sardonically.

You huffed as he brought down another harsh slap. You inched up the mattress crying out at the sting. You felt him nudge up behind you, pressing his thighs into yours, then you felt the tip of his cock brush against your dripping cunt teasing you with his warmth.

“Are you going to behave? Or are you going to be a little brat?” He spat at you pinching your welting ass making you squeal.

You snarled and whipped your head around to see his evil smirk as he trust forward in one fell swoop wiping that nasty look off your face in an instant.

You felt like the air was punched from your lungs as he filled you to the absolute brim. The stretch hurt, making you squirm, but Crosshair was merciless. He gripped your hips in a bruisingly tight hold as he pulled you back against his thrusts. You couldn’t recover from his brutal thrusts, all you could do was go limp and take what he was giving you.

“Give up so soon?” He mocked.

You could only relax, feeling yourself adjust to his presence while he abused your dripping pussy.

Your moans reverberated off the walls as his powerful thrusts rocked the king size bed against the wall. You clawed at the mattress trying to find purchase and push back against his onslaught. He chucked at your weak attempt as he leaned forwards to grasp the back of your neck in his hand, pressing you to the mattress keeping you pinned beneath him.

This felt so wrong but so damn good. Ugh. You mewled as he hit that perfect spot inside you, and suddenly the room was filled with the sound of your squelching cunt and his thighs smacking against yours. You couldn’t believe this was happening right now. It almost felt like a fever dream.

You reached your hand down between your thighs wanting to cum so badly but Crosshair knocked your hand out of the way to replace it with his own.

He rubbed soft circles edging you as he continued to thrust. You cried out feeling your climax approach and you squirmed around in his grasp trying to throw yourself over the edge.

You felt your end coming when Crosshair fully stilled inside you.

You let out a defeated whine feeling your climax slip further and further away.

“No!” You cried trying to push his hand out of the way and finish yourself off yourself, but he wouldn’t budge.

He leaned forwards pressing his mouth to your ear, “Where are they?”

Your body thrummed with arousal and anxiety… so this was how he was going to torture the information out of you.

He was seriously going to deny your orgasm until you cracked?

You whined pinching your eyes closed.

You heard him chuckle as he straightened back up continuing to thrust with a slower pace keeping you just idling on the edge.

You cried out desperately trying to push yourself back on him but he held you still.

“You don’t get to cum until you tell me adi’ka.” He smirked.

“Why?” You sobbed into the mattress.

He continued to stroke you just right making you shake. Your orgasm was starting to ebb into your field again and he seemed to sense it through the bond bringing himself to stop. You let out a deflated grunt as your joints shook with the need for release.

“Please Crosshair!” You begged.

He remained stoically still.

You felt tears pooling in your eyes, “Please let me cum alpha! Please!” You were on the brink of insanity.

“You know the rules sweetheart.” He reminded petting the raised welt of his hand on your ass, “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll give you as many orgasms as you can take.” He lightly toyed with your clit making you shudder.

You sniffled gripping into the covers.

“I can feel you resisting.” He sounded curious, “I can feel it in the bond. Poor thing, you want to cum so badly don’t you little one?

You huffed trying to gather yourself.

“I know you’re a stubborn one.” He smiled nipping at your shoulder, “Good thing I’m stubborn too.”

You were karked. You were karked because you knew he wasn’t going to like your answer regardless.

“Please.” You whispered rubbing your face into the bed.

“Tell me little one, and I’ll make you cum.” He promised.

“You won’t like my answer.” You whined clenching around his hardness. He rewarded you with a little slow thrust trying to egg you on.

You sighed, “I don’t know where they are.”

He hummed speeding up his thrusts slightly giving you a small taste of relief.

“You know them alpha, they’re never anywhere too long.” You cried feeling him start to rub your under stimulated clit, “T-They were taking mercenary jobs for money. We were never anywhere longer than a day or two at most!”

“Why were you on Bracca?” He started to rub faster making you moan.

You stuttered, “T-the chips.” You sighed as he picked up this thrusts, “Wrecker’s chip was hurting him and I took them all out.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He slowed and you whined.

“I needed real surgical equipment. The old republic ships all had them!” You admitted. You were careful to leave Rex out of this. There was no reason for the empire to know he was alive and rescuing clone prisoners.

“Good girl.” He praised bringing his pace back up to the brutal pace you craved, “Now, was that so hard?” He couldn’t help but tease you.

You just groaned finally feeling your climax approach as he rewarded you for your confession. His skilled fingers brought you to the edge and swiftly threw you over and you came with a deafening scream. It was so powerful your entire body shuddered and convulsed as his thrusts got a little sloppy too before he came with a grunt.

He continued thrusting through his orgasm until he couldn’t take the stimulation anymore and pulled out watching as your cunt fluttered and his spend oozed out of you in creamy droplets. He watched mesmerized as you collapsed onto the bed totally worn out. The edging had been rough on you, and he realized he probably should have been a little softer on you since you were supposed to be in recovery.

He tried his best to catch his breath as he slid off the bed to hunt down a wash cloth. He came back to clean you up and then himself before he disappeared into the bathroom again. You curled up on your side pulling the sheets over you trying to still come down from your high. Your brain was laden with pleasure as you felt yourself drift off into peaceful sleep.

You sighed, escaping Crosshair and this place would have to come later.

These next few chapters are going to be fucked ngl, dirty Crosshair smut to come, and angstttttt

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure

@rains-on-kamino

@minimissmoo

@z-and-the-batboys

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@9902sgirl

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@sxftiebee

@booksandtitts-blog

ALSO IF ANYONE WANTS TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST PLEASE COMMENT BELOW, I KEEP LOOSING YALL IN MY ACTIVITY BAR LOL MY BAD

#crosshair #hunter #tech #wrecker #abo #echo #star wars #bad batch #smut #omega #tarkin #clone wars #tbb #rex #imperial crosshair

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gloomysoup · 6 months

Text

when the world stops turning (my heart stops beating) - pt. 4

hello yes i know it's been a while. this part has been a pain in my ass for months. i needed to get it just right and rewrote this thing so many times it's not even funny. and now, after editing it five times over the last two days, i'm just posting it. what's done is done. if i came back to it again i would have rewritten and i don't wanna do that. so here it is at least. there is also going to be at least one more part. i'm shooting for two more hopefully but i make no promises. the next part could very well be the last. i hope you enjoy :)

ao3 pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4

cw: hospitals, dissociation, mentions of overdose, addiction, sobriety, and relapse

Eddie couldn’t move. His body was fighting against every instinct he should have in the moment. Someone could throw something directly at his head, and he wouldn’t react. The buzzing voices around him faded in and out as he stared at a chip in the wood of the table in front of him.

One of Steve’s doctors had finally come to speak with them. They couldn’t say anything for certain at the moment, but he was alive, and that’s all Eddie heard before his head went fuzzy again. His mind was still reeling, caught on the fact that he should have seen this. He should have noticed. He should have been able to help Steve. He failed the only person who’d ever loved him like that, the only one who ever would love Eddie like that. Because Steve was it for him. He’d always known that. No one else would even come close. No one could ever compare to Steve Harrington.

Not only had he failed Steve, but he’d failed Robin too. He was supposed to keep Steve safe. Robin couldn’t lose her best friend; Eddie knew that. He’d promised to take care of him. He couldn’t even do that one thing right. God, what was he going to tell Robin?

They didn’t want Steve to have visitors yet. Eddie managed to gather that much at least. It was still touch and go. He wasn’t awake. They weren’t sure if he ever would be. They’re flushing his system, but it’s really just a game of wait and see. They might be able to see him in the morning, but the doctor wasn’t making any promises. It all depended on how the rest of the night went. If he made it through. They couldn’t say anything else for certain. There had been a lot of drugs in his system. He’d been deprived of oxygen for a long time. There was no way to be sure what would happen next. That was all up to Steve now.

Eddie sat there in that uncomfortable waiting room chair for hours. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat or drink. He didn’t even get up to go to the bathroom. He just sat there, staring at the same chip in the wooden table. His friends all tried their best to get through to him. They tried to coax him into eating or drinking something, but their efforts were unsuccessful. No one could get through to him, and he preferred it that way. He deserved to sit in his own silence, letting his brain run reckless and spiral to the depths of his fears and anxiety. He had failed.

He noticed that the more time seemed to pass, the antsier his bandmates got. Though, he couldn’t be exactly sure that’s what was happening. Time escaped him.

Time was such a funny thing, wasn’t it? It can feel like it speeds up, slows down, or stops entirely, but it never changes. It’s always the same. It’s all in the imagination. Eddie was never that good at telling time as a child. Even as he grew older, he found it difficult to keep track. As he sat in that hospital, his entire life on the brink of falling apart at the seams, time was nowhere to be found. Nothing made sense. He just sat silently, staring. People moved around him, time passed, but Eddie didn’t move. He was trapped. His body was at the hospital, but his mind kept bouncing around. From his mom, to Wayne, to Steve on the bathroom floor. An endless cycle. Eddie was hanging on by a single thread: the only thread of life left in Steve.

Eddie would never survive if Steve didn’t make it out alive.

Eddie was aware that a long time had passed only by the ache in his joints and the dryness of his mouth. He also sort of needed to pee, but that wasn’t important. At least, not important enough to warrant getting up. He couldn't move. He needed to stay right in that spot. Nothing was more important than that.

“Come on, Ed,” Wayne’s gruff voice said from somewhere behind him. Eddie stayed rooted to the spot. “It’s time to go, kid. We’ve gotta get to the reception.”

Eddie stood silently, staring straight ahead at the marble headstone. His mother’s name was engraved with curly letters. Eddie hadn’t known that was possible. There were piles of flowers that he knew wouldn’t be there next week. He didn’t speak. His feet were glued to the soft ground beneath him. His suit was itchy and his worn dress shoes were a size too small. The tie around his neck was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe.

He broke down right there, tears rolling down his cheeks and gasping sobs bursting from his chest. He sank down to the ground at the foot of his mother’s fresh grave, clawing at the stupid red tie that his mother had bought him two years prior and the collar of his white dress shirt. Wayne sighed softly and sat down beside him, gently pulling his hands away and shushing Eddie as he loosened the tie. He let him collapse against his chest, tie almost completely off and the first two buttons of his shirt undone. Wayne held him through each wracking sob and stuttering breath, murmuring comfort until he’d gotten it all out.

“I couldn’t do it, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie whispered hoarsely. “Why couldn’t I do it?”

“Do what, Ed?”

“Save her.”

Why couldn't he do it?

“Eddie, seriously, you need to eat something,” Jeff said, holding out a bag of chips from the vending machine. Eddie stared blankly at the bag, seeing but not really. He heard the words coming from Jeff’s mouth, but his body refused to respond. He couldn’t quite fully process what he was saying. It slipped out of his head before he got the chance, replaced with his mother’s voice, or Steve promising he was fine. He was fine. There was nothing wrong. It was just weed. Nothing more. He was fine.

He lied.

What else had Steve lied about? What else was he keeping from Eddie? Every time Steve came home late, claiming some generic excuse about work or traffic or whatever else it may have been, how often had those been lies? What had he been doing instead? Getting high? Shooting up in a parking garage somewhere? Was he ever with someone else? Someone who wasn’t Eddie?

Steve would never cheat. Eddie had to remind himself of that over and over again. Repeat it on a loop in his head. Anything to get it to stay there.

He would not cheat. He would not cheat. He would not cheat.

But he would lie.

Eddie has never been insecure about their relationship before. He loved Steve more than anything. He always knew Steve felt the same. Steve loved him. No questions asked. Eddie knew. He didn't need to be told that Steve loved him. It was just obvious. Now, though, Eddie was second guessing everything. Why would he lie? If Steve could lie so easily about something like this, what else had he lied about? Had their whole relationship been a lie? Has Steve ever told him the truth about anything?

His brain swirled with more thoughts, more insecurities. He stared at the chip in the table as he spiraled. His fingers and toes were tingling. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. Any minute now, he was going to wake up. Everything would be fine. It was just one big nightmare. He would be laying in bed next to Steve, who would be snoring softly. He would roll over and tuck his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. He could hold him tight, bury his nose in the back of Steve’s neck and breathe in the scent of his shampoo. He could fall back into a peaceful sleep with Steve in his arms, safe and sound.

Except he wasn't waking up. No matter how much he tried, no matter how hard he willed his eyes to open, it didn't happen. He was trapped. There was no escape. Steve wasn't there. He may never be there again. This was all Eddie’s fault. If only he’d noticed. If only he cared enough. None of it was enough. Eddie wasn’t enough. He never should have expected to be enough for Steve. Steve deserved better.

Eddie never should have asked him to come on tour with them.

If Eddie hadn’t asked him to go, this never would have happened. Steve would be at home, in their apartment with Robin, probably sleeping in her room every night. He hated sleeping alone. He’d be sitting on the couch, wrapped up in one of Eddie’s hoodies and the threadbare blue blanket they took from the trailer when they moved, watching movies with Robin and a bowl of popcorn. He wouldn’t be dying in a hospital in New York. He’d be happy and safe. Eddie would miss him like hell, but at least he would be safe.

The sun was shining, blindingly bright, through the tall windows on the far wall of the waiting room when the doctor finally came back. Eddie’s knee had taken to bouncing anxiously a while ago, maybe an hour, maybe more. He can’t be sure. His brain had mostly come back online, but he still felt a little foggy. Untethered. His world was unbalanced. His ears were still ringing even as the doctor started talking. He barely heard a single word. Snippets of information filtered through the fog. Stable. Made it through the night. Up to Steve now. ICU. Visitors. The next thing he knows, Jeff is leading him through the halls with the doctor. It’s just the three of them. Other doctors and nurses bustled around them.

They finally crossed the double doors into the ICU. Eddie’s heart pounded as the doctor led them over to one of the sliding doors. She opened it, and Eddie couldn't move. He could hear the machines inside, see the edge of the hospital bed. If he turned his head a little, he knew he would see Steve. The doctor walked in and picked up the chart at the foot of the bed. She flipped it open and clicked her pen, writing things down and glancing at monitors.

“Eddie, why don't we go inside?” Jeff suggested softly, his hand on Eddie’s arm. “Steve needs you right now.”

Eddie's feet moved of their own accord, taking slow steps into the room. Jeff followed behind him, closing the door once they were both in the room. He carefully led Eddie over to the chair, giving him a light push on the shoulder to sit him down. As soon as he was close enough, Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand. An instinct he would probably always have. It didn't matter what was going on in his brain. If Steve’s hand was there, Eddie was holding it.

“Is he okay?” the doctor asked gently, nodding to Eddie.

Jeff sighed. “I hope so. This is all really hard on him.”

“How long have they been together?”

Jeff looked up, a little startled. It may have been New York, and queer relationships were a little more accepted than they were just a few years ago, but Steve and Eddie had always been careful. Cautious. They all had. But she was quick to respond before Jeff could even think to redirect.

“It’s okay, really. I know what love looks like. I would look at my partner the same way if something like this ever happened to her.”

“Oh.” Jeff glanced at Eddie, who had his eyes glued to Steve’s hand in his. “Um… it’s been almost eight years now. They’ve been through a lot together.”

She closed the chart and put it back at the end of the bed. She nodded a few times, watching the machines that beeped rhythmically. “I’m going to hold on to hope,” she said softly. “For them. For everyone like us. I can’t say anything for certain; this is all up to Steve. We’re doing everything we can. But I’m holding on to hope.”

“I guess that’s all any of us can do now, isn’t it?”

“I think so.” She cleared her throat and took a step back from the bed, turning to Jeff. “I have other patients to round on, but I’ll be back to check up on everything in a couple of hours. If you guys need anything, just let one of the nurses know.”

“Thank you.”

Silence fell through the room as the doctor left. Jeff took the chair in the corner, letting Eddie have whatever time he needed. He was mostly there for Eddie’s sake; someone had to make sure he would be okay until Wayne got there. Truthfully, they were all out of their depths here. No one really understood what was happening in Eddie’s brain. Not even close to the way Wayne would.

They sat there in total silence for a long time. It's unclear to Eddie just how long, but long enough that Jeff had gotten up four times. Once to get food, once for the bathroom, and twice to hit vending machines and coffee. Not that Eddie accepted anything Jeff offered him. His body still felt wildly disconnected from his brain. His limbs were heavy. He also knows it's been long enough that nurses have come in to check on Steve eight times, and his doctor has been back once. It seems the only thing Eddie’s mind can keep track of is how many times someone has entered or exited Steve’s room in the ICU.

Jeff gets up for a fifth time. Another bathroom break, from the few words Eddie managed to retain. The door slid shut behind him, and Eddie was alone again. He squeezed Steve’s hand three times, desperate for any sign that he's still there. That he's fighting for Eddie. Nothing happens. The machines beep. His chest rises and falls rhythmically with the calculated breaths of the ventilator. Steve’s eyes shift beneath his eyelids, but they don't open. They won't open. The door slid open again, and Eddie assumed Jeff was back, though it seemed like he wasn't gone very long. And then he hears it.

“Oh, God.”

Eddie’s head shot up at the sound of Robin’s shaky voice behind him. She looked wrecked. Her face was blotchy, her eyes puffy and red. There were tear tracks down her cheeks. Wayne was standing beside her, looking somber. He watched her take a rattled breath, crossing the room slowly. Her eyes don't leave Steve. Wayne followed a few moments later, coming to stand behind Eddie and put a hand on his shoulder. Eddie wanted to break. As if he hadn't been slowly breaking this whole time.

“They- they said it was an overdose?” Robin asked softly, her voice cracking at the end. Eddie merely nodded, still trying to find his voice. “What- what happened, Eddie? Was it- was he drugged? How- how did this- did he relapse?”

“Relapse?” Eddie croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. That didn't make any sense. For Steve to relapse, he would have to be…. “He- he was clean?”

Robin frowned, and her gaze finally found Eddie. “What do you mean he was clean? He's been clean since ‘85, Eddie. I- I helped him, after Starcourt.”

All the air left Eddie’s lungs in an instant. This was all his fault. Steve was- he was clean. Sober. And Eddie ruined that. He gave Steve weed. He brought him on tour. He took him to parties full of temptation. He killed Steve.

“This is all my fault,” he whispered.

“Eddie, you have to tell me what's going on,” Robin begged. “When did he relapse? Why didn't he call me? He promised he would talk to me if he wanted to get high again.”

“I- Oh, God. I didn't know. He- he didn't tell me.” Eddie couldn't breathe. His heart squeezed in his chest, and his lungs pushed the air from his body until there was nothing left. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get it back. He was already hyperventilating. “This is all my fault. Oh my god, it's all my fault.” He was distantly aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks again.

Wayne stepped between Eddie and Robin, crouching down to look up into his nephew's face. His hands were solid against Eddie’s skin, just like they always were. “Ed, you need to talk to me. Take a breath, kid. I'm right here, but you have to tell me what's going on.”

Eddie’s breath stuttered halfway through his chest. “I didn't know, Wayne.”

“What didn't you know, Eddie?”

“I didn't- I didn't know he was sober. I- I thought I- I was just trying to help. I- I gave him weed. I did this.”

Robin’s expression hardened. “You did this to him?”

“I'm so sorry,” Eddie choked out between sobs. “I didn't- I didn't know. I was just trying to help. And- and then he- I knew he wasn't telling me something, but- but he promised it was just weed.”

“Get out.” Robin’s voice was firm, but he could hear the trembling fear behind it.

“What? I-”

“Get out. Get out, right now. You did this, Eddie. He was doing so good until he met you! And now he's dying! So get the hell out, before I make you!"

It was at this moment that the door opened for Jeff’s return. He paused just inside the doorway. Wayne stood up, facing Robin.

“Now, Robin, I think-”

“I don't care!” Robin’s hands were shaking. “This is his fault! I want him out, right now! Or I swear to God, Wayne, I'm going to kill him.”

Wayne glanced back at Jeff, who was the perfect picture of confusion. “Jeff, take Eddie into the hall.”

“What-”

“Don't ask questions right now,” Wayne said sternly with a shake of his head. “Just take him to the hall. I'll be out in a moment.”

As soon as the door shut behind them, and Jeff had led Eddie a little ways from the room, he finally snapped. His knees gave out from underneath him, and Jeff was the only thing holding him up as he sobbed.

This was all his fault. He killed Steve.

First his mom, now the love of his life. It was all his fault.

-----

taglist: @mugloversonly @djohawke @acowardinmordor @hallucinatedjosten @geekyfifi @slowandsteddie @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @canmargesimpson @captainoliimar @ilikeititspretty

#gloomysoup #gloomysoup writes #gloomysoup ao3 #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #steddie angst #steve stranger things #eddie stranger things #steve harrington angst #rockstar!eddie munson #tw: drug abuse #tw: overdose

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definitelynotstable · 1 year

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Camomile pt. 6 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Hello! Finished my essay and then straight after had a ski trip organised so that’s why I’ve been awol! Missed you all loads. This one is a bit rough (not proofread) but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Synopsis: You've been rescued by the 141, Ghost is the only one who can calm you down. Word count: 1.4k Warnings: trauma, injuries, medical shiz, reader thinks they are dead Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags)

— — —

This haze doesn’t seem as peaceful as you expected death to be. Though you are probably going to hell, you think through the flashing of lights and colours. Killing was a sin, wasn’t it? Even if they were terrorists? Something like that.

There’s a ringing getting louder and louder. It’s piercing. Your chest hurts. You would do anything to relieve the pressure. Suddenly you can move your arms and your legs. Where are you? Someone’s hurting you. You thrash and flail against the grip of shadows and wisps.

— — —

A scream echoes down the hallway where the Lieutenant stands, arms crossed, jaw locked. Ghost stiffens, is that coming from your room? Nearby he watches as a nurse hurries past him and through a door. Medical personnel are yelling; something is beeping.

Shit.

Faster than he thought possible in all his gear, the Lieutenant races down the hallway. He comes to a screeching halt, catching the doorway.

There, in the centre of the room, is you. Almost five nurses and doctors are holding you down; you’re thrashing as they try to calm you down. You’re sobbing now, hyperventilating as a nurse tries desperately to hold an oxygen mask to your face. You’re saying something, what are you saying?

— — —

Who are these people holding you down? Where’s Ghost? What happened to those cobalt eyes you loved so much.

“Ghost!” You pant out his name between sobs, breath ragged. “Ghost please, they’re hurting me!”

You just need to see his eyes. You need to know you’re safe.

“Please!” You gasp, chest burning, “Simon!”

You’ve never used his real name before. It was something you had overheard Price call him when they thought they were alone in his office. Some people in the military were cautious about their names. You respected that and had never used it.

Until now.

— — —

“Simon!”

Ghost stiffens from where he watches from the doorway. He’d never told you his name. But the way you’d called out, scared and in pain, he couldn’t ignore it.

Before he even knows what he is doing the Lieutenant steps forward, roughly pushing between two nurses, batting their hands away. Their protests are silenced with a single glare.

“Let go,” he commands sternly, “You’re scaring them.”

— — —

Slowly the arms holding you down are gone. Something - no - someone enters your slightly blurred vision. The fluorescent lights give them a halo. Cobalt blue eyes blink down at you. Ghost. He looks ethereal. You raise a shaking hand, eyes watering.

“Simon?” Your fingers brush the shell of his mask, curling around his jaw, “Simon is that you?”

A gloved hand covers the one you have resting on his jaw. “It’s Ghost,” he corrects gently, with a nod.

“Ghost.” You repeat, eyes glazed as you struggle to keep him in focus. “Am I dead?”

He blinks, blond lashes fluttering. “No, but you will be if you don’t let these poor doctors help you.”

Suddenly you notice the five or so others hovering in your periphery. You feel your eyes well up with tears again.

“M’sorry,” you whisper, Ghost swipes a gloved thumb under your eye, “I got scared.”

“I know,” the Lieutenant nods, eyes still locked with yours, “But I’m here, I’ll look after you.”

Your lip wobbles, you feel so frail. “You will?”

“I will.” He squeezes your hand before placing it softly on the bed at your side, “Now let them work – I’ll be right here with you.”

You nod, their arms return, gentler this time. A nurse speaks softly as she walks you through everything she does. Eyelids heavy; you feel yourself slip away.

— — —

Something is beeping softly when you come too, lashes sticking slightly with sleep. Your room is empty, you hate it. You fumble for the call button at you side, pressing it hard.

A nurse walks in, she smiles to see you awake.

“How are you, honey? You gave us quite the scare.”

You swallow, throat dry and she leans over to help you up, her navy hijab tickling your cheek. A paper cup is pressed into your hands and you tentatively sip, the water cool and refreshing. You splutter a little and the nurse rubs your back, encouraging you to breath.

“Want more?” She asks, still supporting your back. You shake your head and swipe a hand over your mouth where some water runs over your lips.

“I was wondering -” you rasp up at her, pausing to clear your throat - “I was wondering where my friend went?”

The nurse nods, taking the cup back. “I think I saw them by reception, I’ll let him know you are ready for visitors.”

She swishes out of the door and you sink back into the pillows. Everything aches; it no doubt will for a while.

“Rags?” A gruff voice comes from the door, you look over as fast as your stiff neck allows you. A man stands, silhouetted against the fluorescent lights in the hallway. A hat sits, curled over his forehead. Squinting, you can make out his beard.

“Captain?”

The man nods; stepping into the room, he crosses to your side in two short strides. He isn’t who you wanted to see but his presence is welcome nonetheless. He stands over you, brows creased as he surveys you where you lie prone in the hospital bed. His eyes gloss over slightly, and he blinks, clearing his throat.

“Are you broken, soldier?” Price asks, his hand rests on the bedrail.

“No sir,” you croak out with a smile, he holds your gaze for a moment before sighing and sinking into the chair beside your bed. He pulls a hand over his face, scratching at his beard.

“Fuck, Rags I have to apologise, this should have never happened.”

You press the heels of your hands into the mattress and heave yourself up – waving Price off as he makes to help you. You settle with a groan, thoroughly exhausted from such small effort. You shudder at the thought of training after this.

“It isn’t your fault-“

-“but that’s the thing!” He cuts you off, voice raw with emotion you have never heard from him. “It is my fault. Makarov has it out for me and you were collateral.”

“With all due respect, sir, he has it out for all of us.” You retort with a long-suffering sigh, “I know the risks– we all know the risks of this job. Something like this would’ve happened sooner rather than later and I’m just glad it was me and not any of you.”

Price’s jaw ticks as he stares at you.

“Can you seriously tell me I am wrong, Captain?” You challenge, knowing you are right. But the guilt of being responsible for a team and for something to go so horribly wrong can’t be erased overnight. You know that.

The Captain swallows, “No. I can’t.”

“Exactly,” you sigh, with a wince. “Now quit sulking and get me the nurse, I need something for the pain.”

— — —

Soap and Gaz poked their head in a while later, Price was still there, tapping away on a laptop when they entered. He had stood up, patted your knee goodbye and given the two sergeants a nod as he left. You suspected they were taking some form of shifts so someone was always with you. You didn’t comment on it, you were secretly glad. They brought you a couple of books from your room and an eye mask – “because hospitals are bloody bright” Soap remarked passionately. Gaz offered to brush your hair while Soap sat in a chair fiddling with the adjustable straps of the mask. The younger man was careful not to pull at any of the wires which stemmed form your chest and to some of the machines beeping in the background; the gentle brush against your scalp causing your eyes to flutter shut with a small sigh.

“My mother used to do my hair,” Gaz murmured, running his fingers through your hair between brushes, “I never felt safer.”

You smile, cracking an eye up at him. “I think I understand why. I’m feeling pretty safe now.”

Gaz returned the smile, tilting his head to look down at you. “I’m glad,” he whispers, breath fanning down across your face.

A nurse came in not long after and insisted you sleep - Soap and Gaz resigned themselves with playing cards quietly in the corner as you dozed.

And slowly but surely the world slipped away around you.

— — —

Masterlist

Next part

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official-lucifers-child · 7 months

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pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9, pt 10

#polls #periodic table of elements polls

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icanhearcolors · 11 months

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Close Encounter pt. 5

WOOOHOOO I did it besties. College has been kicking my you know what but I managed to write another chapterrrrr.

Forgive any grammar errors please, most of this was written at 1am and I don't have an editor.

Hope you liiiiiiiiiike

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4

Word count: 5.2k

Color bleeds into peaceful darkness like ink spilled in water. The transition from unconsciousness to lucid dream happens so seamlessly you barely register the shift. The world around you focuses and sharpens until you are once again standing in a desolate purple sky. Levitating chunks of rock are scattered as far as you can see. Some are massive, some are as small as river rocks. You realize, as you creep up to the edge of the floating island you’re standing on, that each one hovers above a terrifying void full of swirling dust and shining constellations. The stars look close enough to touch. You kick some loose pebbles off the side of your rock and watch them descend until they fade out of existence, having fallen farther than your eyes can see. A heavy feeling weighs on your stomach. There’s something off about this place. Your head is quiet, your chest hollow. You feel empty.

“Finally.”

You swing around, your hands raising on instinct to cast a defense spell. For the first time in your life you feel nothing when you reach for the weave. That hum of magic that has lived in your chest since you were too small to remember is missing somehow.

You drop your useless hands to your side and brace yourself to run instead as a figure approaches you. Their expression is placating, their hands raised in a calming gesture one would approach frightened animals with.

You try to look them over, but by the time your gaze makes it to their plain black boots and back up you realize they look nothing like you thought they did a second ago.

Their eyes are a different color, their hair lighter, and the shape of their jaw is different. You start over, determined to memorize every detail. You stop at their hands this time. Was their skin always purple?

That thought is yanked from your head with a lurch. You know there is something missing, but not what. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, your body reacts to some horrifying revelation that you can’t remember. The tadpole in your head squirms.

“Relax.” The creature says in a dozen different voices.

“I apologize for my unfinished appearance. You’re early, I haven’t had time to work on this form yet. I was trying to perfect one that would comfort you, or at least help you to trust me.”

You meet their gaze and watch their pupils widen and swallow the whites of their eyes. Bones shift subtly under their skin, their joints move and bulge. They grow a foot taller. Their bones audibly grind.

You take a panicked step back. The shapeshifting creature lunges for you, but it’s too late. Your foot comes down on nothing but empty space, and you lose your balance with a gasp. Gravity sucks you into the void below.

You don’t even have time to scream before it swallows you whole.

You startle awake, wrestling with the blanket that might as well be tied around you until you manage to kick free of it and sit up, your chest heaving with huge gulping breaths that somehow don’t provide you with any oxygen. The sweat that slicks your clothes to your skin cools in the night air and you hug your knees to your chest. The darkness of the night feels unnatural. Alive even. The large campfire set up in the middle of your bedrolls works valiantly to fight it off.

You see that your companions are set up in a circle around it. Astarion, Gale, and Lae’zel are all accounted for. Flickering shadows dance over each of their sleeping faces. Strangely, you notice there’s a fifth bedroll occupied on the opposite side of the fire. You squint to try and make out any details but darkness completely obscures the figure. Did one of your companions invite another traveler to join your group?

You roll to your feet and creep closer to the sleeping stranger, a vague outline of a body under blankets. They’re almost unnaturally still. As far as you can tell their chest doesn’t rise and fall with breath. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s almost as if the light of the fire deliberately avoids them. The flickering orange light only touches the ground a hand's width from either side of their bedroll. You take another step, and then another, until the light of the fire abandons you too. The shadows here have weight. They lie on your skin and whisper in your ear. Hushed voices beg you to turn around, to go back to sleep, to forget.

You shake them off and hold up your hand, casting an orb of light. The shadows scream as they’re dispelled, and a thick silence befalls the grove. There is no crackling fire, or leaves shaking in the breeze, there is only the blood rushing in your ears and your pounding heartbeat.

There’s a human girl lying on her back under a fur blanket, pale and unmoving. She looks peaceful. Something about her seems so familiar. You kneel down to study her face, and wince when the leg of your pants soaks with something warm and wet. You hold the light over the bedroll and realize it’s drenched in a dark liquid. It reeks of rot and iron.

You’re kneeling in a puddle of blood.

Startled, you glance back up at the girl’s face.

Her eyes are open.

They’re clouded with death, but you remember them. The druid from the grove you couldn’t save.

A single tear falls from her eye.

The light in your hand winks out.

The shadows laugh.

You wake up with a gasp in your camp once more, tangled in your bedroll. The sky is decorated in the red and orange rays of the setting sun. Like before, the cold air all but freezes the sweat on your skin and wracks your body with shivers. The temperature drop from day to night was startling out here in the wilds.

“I think I’m in hell” You hiss through chattering teeth.

“I never imagined the nine hells of Baator to be so frigid, but I suppose considering our luck it is a possibility.” A familiar voice responds.

You turn to find that Gale is tossing chunks of meat into a cauldron of boiling stew over the fire you’re lying next to. The smell of it is so sinfully good you almost start drooling. You don’t trust it. You stand on shaky legs and lean forward, poking Gale in the cheek.

Gale regards you with concern, his brow furrowed. He makes no move to push you away, but he looks deeply confused.

“I will admit, I haven’t exactly been a paragon of sociality these past few years, but I think I would have noticed if it suddenly became appropriate to greet someone by way of- whatever it is you’re currently doing.”

“As a paragon of sociality I must disagree, keep up the good work Tav.” Astarion calls from somewhere behind you.

Gale glares at the vampire over your shoulder, but you pay no mind to their squabbling. Gale’s skin is warm under your finger.

“You feel so lifelike.”

You grab him by the chin and tilt his head in every direction, looking for the flaw that will prove you’re still dreaming.

He swats your hand away and leans as far back as he can away from your grasping fingers.

“Ooookay. I think the whole stabbing situation may have had more negative consequences than we originally thought. You should sit down.”

That’s a good idea. You can just wait here. You’ll have to wake up eventually.

You nod and unceremoniously plop back down on your bedroll. Your eyes are stuck unfocused and staring at nothing at all. Your mind is curiously empty. You think you should be feeling something, but honestly you’re just numb.

A few moments later Astarion drops gracefully into a crouch in front of you, leaning down to catch your eyes.

“Hey Tav? What’s goin on?”

“I’m waiting to wake up.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to finish speaking before he strikes, bluntly flicking you between the eyes.

You rear back in shock and rub your stinging skin.

“This wouldn't be the first time someone's looked at me and assumed they were dreaming but you’re not asleep Tav.”

“What the fuck Astarion!?”

He smiles, eyes alight with smug satisfaction.

“There she is. You’ve been out of commission for far too long, hero. If I have to hear one more story about Gale’s glory days I’m going to beg you to kill me.”

Gale scoffs.

“Keep making comments like that and you’ll go to bed hungry.”

“He won’t be able to eat what you’re making anyway.” You attempt to remind Gale before you realize he doesn’t know about Astarion’s… special diet.

The vampire holds up his hand as if to flick you again, an evil glint in his eye.

You flinch back in genuine fear. Your forehead still stings, you’d like to avoid a repeat.

“Ah,” Gale nods in solemn understanding. “Allergies?”

“Something like that” Astarion agrees, glaring at you.

You clear your throat nervously and glance around.

“Where is Lae’zel?” You change the subject.

“Just listen” Gale responds and tilts his head toward the trees just outside your encampment.

Sure enough you can hear the rhythmic thwack of steel on wood.

“What is she doing?”

“We needed firewood, the Githyanki needed to violently take her anger out on a tree, everyone wins” Astarion shrugs.

“Didn’t she have a concussion?” You ask. Gale nods.

“I wouldn’t mention it if I were you. She’s rather put out about it. She’s fine though. The Druidic healers were most competent. All four of us have been thoroughly examined and healed of all ailments. Well, other than the tadpoles of course. We still have those. Other than that, any remaining injuries are purely psychological.”

You nod, reminded of your nightmares.

“And how do I fix those?”

Astarion reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flask, tilting it toward you in offering.

You frown and shake your head, the idea of drinking on such an empty stomach makes you nauseous.

“You asked” he shrugs and tips the remaining contents of the flask into his mouth. He stands and offers you a hand, which you take, and pulls you easily to your feet. Your shoulder throbs in protest, and you start to wonder how “healed” it really is.

Gale loudly announces that the food is ready, prompting Lae’zel to trudge out of the forest a few moments later dragging a small tree behind her. It wrenches the plants from the earth and leaves a deep trench in the ground.

Maybe you’ll avoid Lae’zel for the night.

She seems a little upset in a way you’re not equipped to deal with.

Astarion turns and strides into the forest, presumably to look for his own meal.

You serve yourself a massive portion and eat in appreciative silence, scarfing down the only food you’ve had since being kidnapped.

When you’ve scraped the bottom of the bowl for every last drop, you turn to Gale, a question you’ve been dying to ask on the tip of your tongue.

“Gale, you seem to know a bit about cera-“ you trail off as the name of your condition eludes you.

“Ceremorphosis?” Gale finishes for you, and you snap your fingers.

“Yes! Ceremorphosis. I was wondering if you knew how long we have to… well- live?”

Gale’s expression sobers. He reaches down and grabs a few dry twigs, tossing them into the fire.

“I only know what I’ve read, I have no first hand experience, but I’ve found the general consensus is seven days.”

You nod, placing your bowl on the ground next to you as the food sours in your stomach.

“Six days to find a cure then. Surely more has been done with less” you mutter.

Gale nods and leans back on his elbows, studying the night sky.

“We’ll figure something out. I won’t die this way. I refuse to.”

His conviction is almost strong enough that you believe him. Almost.

When the conversation dies out Gale retires to his tent to learn the spells etched into the scrolls he took from the grove merchant. Lae’zel pulls out her greatsword and begins hacking away at a wooden dummy, presumably left by one of the druids.

You turn your gaze to the crossbow haphazardly tossed to the ground near your bedroll. You had slept for hours after the battle, and Gale’s surprisingly good stew had energized you. There was no way you’d be able to sleep now. Out here on the sword coast the stars were bright enough to cast the grove in a soft blue light. Now was as good a time as any to learn a new skill. Besides, if you sit around wallowing in your impending doom for a moment longer you may take yourself out before the tadpole gets its chance to. You pick up the hefty weapon and stride into the forest, away from any potentially judgemental eyes. You walk for a long time. The dense forest is far too compact for you to practice with a ranged weapon in, so you hike until you stumble upon a small clearing.

You ready yourself and pull the bowstring back until you hear something click. So far so good. You load the bow with one of the five bolts that came with it and aim for the knot of a rather large oak tree. You pull the trigger and watch the bolt sail into the dark woods, far from the tree you were aiming for.

You shake it off, it’s your first attempt after all. You reload the crossbow, take aim, and once again watch as it disappears into the darkness. Maybe doing this at night in the forest wasn’t the best idea. Imagining digging through the bramble bushes to retrieve your missing bolts makes you wonder how bad ceremorphosis could actually be. As much as you don’t want to admit it, it rankles you that you’re terrible at this.

You lean against the nearest tree and slide down it, rubbing at your aching chest. You swear you can hear a clock ticking faintly in your ears. You have six days to live. The cold nights will give rise to the winter solstice in a month or two. If you had known last year’s celebration had been your last, maybe you would have actually celebrated it instead of locking yourself in your office and pouring over the mountains of paperwork your boss had asked you to look over. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, taking a deep breath through your nose. You allow the rustling leaves and the scent of the cool earth to calm you.

A twig snaps.

You freeze.

After a few moments of tense silence, you release the breath you’d been holding. You’re being paranoid. The most dangerous creatures in these woods are bears, and the druids seem to have befriended most of them. You’re safe.

You take a few more deep breaths when you hear it again, a branch snapping along with heavy breathing, from a rather large creature as far as you can tell.

You scramble to arm the bow with a bolt and hold it defensively in front of you.

You haven’t managed to hit a target once, but whatever roams these woods doesn’t need to know that.

The breathing gets louder as the creature draws closer, snapping branches and crunching leaves under its heavy feet.

You watch as a snout emerges from the bushes in front of you, followed by tusks. A boar shoves its way through brambles and into your little clearing. It spots you, then your crossbow. Its eyes widen with a recognition you didn’t realize boars were capable of. It squeals and whips around, its legs scrambling beneath it as it flees back into the dark forest. You breathe a sigh of relief and lower the crossbow, resigning yourself to the fact that you’ll need instruction if you ever hope to use it.

“What are you doing?” Someone asks so close to you, you feel their breath caress the shell of your ear.

You yelp in shock and drop the crossbow on your foot, letting out a slew of curses a sailor from the pirate isles would blush over.

Astarion is crouched behind you, one hand on the tree you’re leaning against, an exaggerated look of disappointment on his face.

“If I were a monster you’d be dead right now.”

“You’re an undead vampire, I think you qualify, and yet-” You pause to press two fingers to the pulse point in your neck,

“Yep. Still alive!” You shout.

The boar squeals in the woods somewhere, startling you. Astarion grips his stomach and laughs from somewhere deep in his chest.

“What is it with you and pigs?” You hiss.

“You’re lucky the wilds are full of those boars you know. I go long enough without feeding and our friends' necks start looking very appetizing.”

You sigh and throw your head back in exasperation, perhaps slightly too hard. Acting on reflex, Astarion catches the back of your head before it can slam into the bark of the tree behind you.

“You’re welcome”

“I don’t have the energy to banter with you Astarion. Leave.”

He promptly does the opposite and takes a seat next to you, leaning against your tree.

“What’s gotten into you?”

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Mind flayer larvae.”

“Ah. So all this moping is about the illithid.”

“I’m not moping.”

“Yes, you are, and you have every reason to.”

“So do you. According to Gale the tadpoles kill their hosts within a week's time. It doesn’t bother you that we might die soon?”

“My circumstances are… different.”

The response confuses you. The way you see it, everyone that survived the nautiloid is in the exact same situation.

“How so?”

Astarion presses the heel of his hand into his chin and cracks his neck on either side, stalling for time as he thinks of an answer. He sighs.

“If we fail, and I die in the wilderness somewhere a few days from now, I will have traded an eternity of darkness and starvation for a week of sunlight and freedom. Obviously I’d rather not die. I’d give just about anything to live long enough to give Cazador the brutal death I’ve been fantasizing about for oh- a couple hundred years now. But if I don’t get that chance, at least I will die as Astarion, not Cazador’s pet.”

You place a hand over your chest, genuinely moved and only slightly disturbed by that explanation.

“Astarion that was beautiful'' You turn and press your lips together in suppressed laughter at the regretful look on his face.

“No no no, you keep moping, your life has gotten dramatically worse. Continue being sad about it.”

“Well that was the plan but now I’m all inspired by your optimism in the face of imminent death.”

Astarion groans and pushes off the tree.

“That��s disgusting. I’m not an optimist.”

Your answering smile shows all your teeth.

“Could have fooled me.”

“I thought you weren’t in the mood to banter.”

“What can I say? You bring it out of me.”

He sighs, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. His face lights up with some epiphany, and he yanks two crossbow bolts out of his belt to wave them in front of your face.

“Missing something?”

You snatch the bolts from his hand with a grumbled thank you.

His expression remains passive but his eyes fill with mischief.

“How did you get these?”

“I was on my way back from my meal when I almost lost an eye to one of them.” He taps his finger against the razor sharp tip of one of the bolts in your hand.

“It’s how I found you in the first place.”

He motions toward the crossbow resting on the ground by your feet.

“I can show you how to use that. If you’d like.”

You were just thinking about how you needed someone to show you how to properly shoot the thing. Maybe a distraction is exactly what you need.

“I would.”

He leans down and picks up the crossbow. He loads and fires it within seconds, pinning a falling leaf to the trunk of a nearby tree.

You roll your eyes and he laughs.

“Just making sure it works.”

You expect Astarion to teach the way he does everything else, by flirting with you in a way that makes you wonder if he’s trying to seduce you or eat you. You brace yourself, but the witty remarks don’t come. Astarion simply shows you how pulling back the bowstrings unevenly can make it hard to aim, the timing of when to pull the trigger, and how to account for the wind. He’s a fantastic tudor, and he whistles loudly when you hit your target for the first time. You go from being unable to hit anything to being able to hit within the general vicinity of your chosen mark most of the time within an hour or so.

“That’s all the basics. Your aim isn’t exactly spot on but that’s not something I can teach you. You need to trust your instincts more.”

“My instincts are broken” You sigh.

“I’ve noticed,” he says darkly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve spent the last hour or so alone in the dark woods with someone you know would eat you alive given half a chance.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me, that would completely negate the whole saving me from the goblin thing earlier. Besides, you just had your fill of boar blood, you can’t still be hungry.”

“You adorable, naive little thing. I wasn’t talking about drinking your blood.”

You shove at his shoulder as hard as you can and he stumbles a step to the side, chuckling like the deviant he is. You’re almost relieved to have the relentless flirt back. The patient encouraging version of Astarion that taught you how to shoot a crossbow was harder to wrap your brain around.

He sobers quickly.

“Does it scare you?” He asks suddenly, as if he couldn’t hold back the words anymore.

“What?” You ask.

“What I am.”

Oh.

“Honestly?”

“Well I didn’t ask you to test your deception skills.”

“Yes.” You answer plainly, and Astarion nods, his expression intentionally neutral.

“Your instincts may not be so broken after all.”

As you gather the scattered bolts from the trunks of surrounding trees, an odd sensation builds in the center of you. You feel… guilty? Astarion both defended you and taught you how to defend yourself in one evening, and you hadn’t done a single thing for him. You feel like you owe him, and you hate owing people.

You know he despises being thanked, but maybe he wouldn’t mind exchanging one favor for another.

You place the bolts in your quiver and return to Astarion.

“I have something for you.”

His blank expression flickers with an emotion you can’t pinpoint.

“Should I be nervous?”

You reach into your pocket, pulling out the amulet you procured from the druid merchant. You hold it between you, watching the pendant sway instead of meeting his eyes.

“It’s a magical item. It allows a person, even someone not versed in magic, to use the spell contained within it. This one holds misty step. It’s a short-distance teleportation spell. You’re our archer, so I thought you could use it to find high ground in a fight faster than if you had to climb for it.” You brave a glance up.

Astarion reaches for the amulet, then drops his hand back down to his side. He looks almost scared of it.

“It won’t bite you.” You joke- an attempt to diffuse the tension.

“I just- I haven’t been given a gift in over two hundred years.”

Unfortunately, that doesn’t surprise you.

“I’d like to change that, if you’ll let me.”

He holds out a hand and you drop the pendant into it. He examines it for a moment.

“I have no idea how to use this.”

You smile.

“I could teach you, if you’d like.”

~~~

“I’m beginning to think there is no magic in this necklace and you’re just testing how long I’ll fall for your tricks.” Astarion growls several minutes later from his meditative position on the ground.

You sit next to him, your legs crossed in an identical position, your head tipped back.

“As I said, magic casting isn’t a physical skill, it's a metaphysical one. If you can’t reach for the amulet you won’t move an inch.”

Astarion opens one eye to make sure you’re not looking and reaches for the necklace.

“With your soul not your hand.”

He drops his hand back into his lap.

“I don’t have one of those darling.”

“It’s a figure of speech darling.”

He opens one eye again and smirks.

“Careful” He warns in an eerily hypnotic voice, and the hair on the back of your neck rises.

You rub the tingling skin and fix your companion with an admonishing look.

“Keep your vampire mojo to yourself and focus.”

He closes his eyes and bows his head. His mess of curly white hair immediately falls over his face. He looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him.

“The magic in the amulet can be felt. It’s full of unreleased energy. It wants to connect with you. All you have to do is allow it. Imagine your consciousness can move independently of your body and reach out to it.”

Astarion’s face scrunches in concentration, and you wait patiently as he tries to connect with the amulet.

A twinge in your skull makes you wince, distracting you. It feels different from the tadpole’s usual antics. Something clicks into place, and you feel a new presence slide into your already crowded mind. Astarion had linked you two somehow.

You feel the exact moment he realizes he’s not alone in his own head. His eyes shoot open and the connection snaps as quickly as it formed.

“What was that?” You whisper.

“I think I reached too far.”

“I wanted you to use the amulet not possess me!”

“You possessed me back!”

“Okay, it’s fine, just- try again. Aim for the amulet this time.”

Astarion closes his eyes again and you stare up at the stars, praying to whatever god was listening for patience.

His gasp brings you back down to reality, and when you face Astarion again his eyes are swirling with silver light.

You scramble to your feet and hastily back up several paces.

“We only get one shot at this until your next rest so make it count. Focus on the ground in front of me and just take a step. You should end up exactly where you want to be.”

He stands slowly, and stares pointedly at the ground at your feet. He lifts his foot, and disappears.

He apparates again no more than an inch away from you, and you lurch back in surprise, stumbling over your own feet. You reach out for something to grab to slow your fall, the closest thing happening to be Astarion, and you take him down with you.

He lands sprawled on top of you with a groan, and you wheeze as the breath is knocked out of you.

Astarion pushes himself up on his elbows, your noses an inch apart. His eyes still glow, the after effects of the spell he cast. He looks almost like a normal elven man in the moments before his usual red bleeds back in, crowding out the silver. You think about his question from earlier, does it scare you- what I am? A vision of a non-vampiric Astarion fills your mind. His eyes metallic, his skin tone warmer, his canines short and dull. This version is in no way preternaturally graceful. His gait is hurried, even clumsy at times. The sharpest thing he ever handles is a letter opener, and occasionally, he slips up and slices his finger when he’s rushing to get done with his work. The sight of the red blood that drips onto the white paper makes him woozy, so he rushes for a bandage, hastily wrapping the wound while refusing to look at it. He isn’t the most observant, but he’s whip smart, and a talented orator. He’s a little cocky but with the bright future ahead of him he has every right to be. He ascends to the role of magistrate in no time. He makes mostly fair judgments, but the lower city of Baldur’s Gate is cut throat, and one night on his way back home from a long night, he turns down the wrong street.

For better or worse that elf died that night. The man you know is someone else entirely, and has been for centuries. It was the vampire, not the mortal, that saved your life earlier in the day.

Your shoulder throbs when your thoughts shift to earlier in the day. You see in your mind the goblin that sunk its jagged blade into your shoulder, and the murderous look in its dull yellow eyes. The arrow that pierced its neck had spared you a dreadful end.

As if he can sense your thoughts, Astarion’s eyes cut to your shoulder. His smirk fades, and he pulls down the collar of your shirt just enough to reveal your new scar. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he traces the raised red line with his thumb. His cool skin feels amazing against the still-healing angry scar, and you can’t help the shudder that moves through you. Astarion’s gaze returns to yours, and you’re surprised to find his expression is absolutely wrathful.

“I killed that wretched creature far too quickly,”

“Personally I thought your timing was spot on.”

“Hmm.” Is his only response.

In a moment you become hyper-aware of every place his body touches yours. He’s settled on top of you, one leg between yours, most of his weight propped on his elbow, his other hand still stroking that damn scar. It’s becoming hard for you to think clearly. He on the other hand seems wholly unaffected, lost in his murderous thoughts. You clear your throat to get his attention.

“You can get up now.”

He seems to realize as you did the rather intimate position you two landed in, and a smile slowly creeps onto his face.

“I’m rather comfortable where I’m at”

You know he’s instigating, but the bait is too tempting.

“Move or I’ll move you.”

His smile turns devious.

“You think you can?”

There’s a challenge in that question. One you’re not entirely sure you can meet. Still, you lift your chin defiantly.

“I do”

He leans in, his jaw brushing your cheek as he brings his mouth to your ear.

“Very convincing.” He whispers, “I’d believe you if I couldn’t hear how fast your heart is racing.”

You can’t think of a witty retort.

You can’t think at all.

He leans back with a self satisfied look you desperately want to wipe off his smug face.

So, you reach up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and do the only thing you know will surprise him.

You bring his mouth to yours.

~~~~

Gettin shpoicy

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