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waayoutofline · 2 months ago

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Murder On The Dance Floor (part 1)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: None in this chapter.

WORD COUNT: 2510 (give or take)

A/N: Hello!! So, this is heavily inspired by the song Murder on the Dance Floor (duh). I think it really suits the dynamic between Agent Natasha and Vigilante!Reader, and I thought, okay, let’s actually write it instead of just thinking about it and eventually forgetting. There are a few changes from the canon universe. In this AU, the Avengers didn’t separate after the Sokovia Accords (I’m a child of divorce, okay), so they’re a real family here. Peter is also part of the team and was never forgotten by every single human except, well Hulk (he deserves better). Natasha is alive and well, along with Yelena.And finally (last thing, I promise), this will be part of a mini-series. Maybe with three parts.That’s about it. Enjoy, and thanks for reading! :)

It was too late to do this. Natasha rubbed off the tiredness of her eyes for what must be the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. This was getting ridiculous.

”…What if-“

“For the last Yelena, we are not committing arson.” The blonde grunted at the quick dismissal, sliding down the synthetic, black leather chair. Crossing her arms with a tired pout, she didnt look much to different from the six year old girl Natahsa remembered. The clock in the conference room is getting more obnoxious by the second, as if teasing them to not having an answer yet.

Across the room, the sulked eyes of Benjamin Horvat were looking right back at her. His picture was poorly pinned, hanging unconventionally by a small blade (courtesy of Yelena) on the board. Steve wont be happy when he sees it.

”It would be a small one! It wouldn’t be that hard, just some small fires around some of his clubs, see if there is any luck and make him come out. Quick and subtle.”

”There is nothing subtle in that plan Yelena.” Natahsa turns down again dryly.

It’s been six hours since Yelena payed a visit to the renovated compound, bringing her 5 month old puppy Fanny (which is currently being spoiled by Wanda and Peter). She came in with new dirt onto a possible Hydra ex-officer, one of a depressing long list that the team has yet to tackle down. Most of them ran when SHIELD fell down.

The two of them plus Steve and Bucky, managed to get intel on Benjamin’s Horvat. He was currently involved is some kind of shady precious gem business, along owning some expensive clubs that served as covers for the mafia. At first glance, you’d say that he was just another second class criminal. But that as far as aparences went. Because people like him were worth something, he was heavily guarded.

His intel was precious enough to make him valuable and well-protected. Access to him seemed almost impossible.

The worst part was that he didn’t even bother using conventional transport. Even after combing through all national surveillance, he didn’t appear on any of the cameras. Not even Redwing, Sam’s beloved drone, had managed to get a clear visual of him. It was almost as if he’d gone underground (which he hadn’t—Natasha checked). And despite his love for nightlife, the clubs he owned and frequented were highly exclusive, each with multiple layers of security clearance.

After a long evening, both Steve and Bucky called it a night, but the two sisters were too stubborn to let it go. They were both running out of ideas—or, in Yelena’s case, running through a list of increasingly dangerous, borderline illegal suggestions. Eventually, exhaustion began to take over, and the blonde started dozing off, her head slipping forward as sleep crept up on her. Natasha wasn’t far behind, her eyelids drooping as the hours dragged on.

But then—a sharp, static crackle echoed through the speakers, jolting both women awake. Instinctively, they snapped into defensive stances, eyes darting to the screens around the room as they flickered in a disorienting pattern of black and white, struggling to stabilize.

Finally, the screens gave a clear image, revealing a shadowy figure cloaked in darkness.

“Night, ladies! Glad to see you’re still awake,” a teasing, lilting voice echoed through the speakers. “Huh, take out from Luigi’s huh? Their pizza rolls are to die for.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, a flicker of recognition sparking across her face. Her posture shifted, shoulders squaring as an unconscious surge of energy overtook her weariness. It can’t be.

“I’d prefer pizza bites. Who are you?” Yelena asked, mirroring Natasha as she stood up. She’d clearly sensed the change in Natasha’s demeanor.

The redhead grabbed the tablet on the table next to her, attempting to trace the breach, but the system was completely overridden. Whoever this was shouldn’t have been able to slip past their security. She called for FRIDAY, but the AI didn’t respond.

“Aw, come on, not even a hello? Do you know how long I spent trying to surpass that stupid robot of yours?” the voice continued playfully. “It’s been a while, Natty. I thought you’d be glad to see me—or, well, hear me.”

Natasha’s face remained painfully stoic, but her white-knuckled grip on the tablet betrayed her turmoil. She knew this person loved theatrics, but even for them, this was going too far. “How many times have I told you not to call me that.” Natasha grunts in annoyance, a headache already starting to set in. There is a brief silence. She can practically see your pout from here.

“Geez, so grumpy.”

Yelena watches the exchange with curiosity, somehow not detecting a real threat. “I sense some... history here.”

“There is!”

“There is not!”

Both women snapped at Yelena, making her eyes widen as she instinctively stepped back, lifting her hands in mock surrender. “Ha, when you say that, it usually means there is…” she stated, amused.But the sentence died under Natasha’s withering stare. “Alright, just an observation. Geez, you are grumpy.” she muttered under her breath. Catching Natasha’s warning look, Yelena slid back into the chair, still grinning despite herself.

“Can we focus?” Natasha said, voice clipped.

Yelena just shrugged, casting a glance between the two of you.

“Oh, come on, don’t get shy on me, Agent Romanoff. Is it because we haven’t had our little “I run, you go after me” sessions recently?” You teased. “I promise, you’re the only one I let chase after me.”

It’s true that its been a while since you have gone under the radar. Even if you weren’t out committing your little revendouz vigilantes acts, Natasha still couldn’t help to keep an eye out for you. It wouldn’t be the first time that you took a mini sabbatical and returned with more messes for her to clean up.

Finally, from the shadows, a woman stepped a young woman, posture relaxed, radiating an air of practiced confidence. You wore your typical casual clothes, a fitted jacket and a crop under it. Your face was partially obscured by the lighting, but Natasha could see a few loose strands of hair escaping, catching faintly in the room’s dim light. Chest rising up and down rather fastly. It’s like you just returned from somewhere.

Your eyes, bright yet focused, lingered on Natasha with an amused glint. The faintest smirk played at the corner of your mouth, an expression that made Natasha feel strangely restless. There was something in that permanent look of yours that always kept her on edge.

“Who are you?” Yelena blurted out.

You gasped dramatically, resting a hand on your chest as if genuinely wounded. “Why, you hurt me, Agent! Didn’t you tell her anything about me? And here I was, starting to think that I meant something to you.”

Natasha sighed in exasperation, her gaze still scanning for any sign of how you managed to break in. But it was as if you’d been authorized from the inside. She knew you were good, hidden behind that playful demeanor, but it was exhausting how you always seemed one step ahead. “There’s nothing to tell,” Natasha replied curtly, “besides the fact that you’re a pain.”

You huffed in false offender , crossing your arms. “Archenemies would have sufficed. Besides, that is no way to greet someone who can help you with Horvat.”

Both of them froze at the name. Giving up, the redhead throws the device on the table, getting slightly closer to the TV and crossing her arms. If this was going where she thought it was, caution was very much need. Especially with you.

“A little…birdie, told me that we have, for once, a common enemy. Excluding each other of course.” You smiled at the last sentence, but your eyes were bright with a dangerous spark.

“He’s not as unreachable as you may think. I guess that by now you have figured that he frequents the nightclubs in the Lower East Side. He is supposed to assist to an event tomorrow at night. Just our luck, right?”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. “Our? What, exactly, do you want with Horvat? Did he make it onto your little blacklist?” She scowled, still irritated by the last man you’d managed to eliminate right under her nose.

As if reading her thoughts, you let out a light, teasing laugh. “Ah, well, I wouldn’t exactly call it little,” you said, an amused glint in your eye.

Natasha huffed under her breath, visibly displeased with your evasiveness. “What’s in it for you?”

Your smile faded just slightly, and for a moment, a flicker of real purpose showed through the facade. “Let’s just say he has something I need. Something personal.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her suspicion unwavering. “And how in the world would you ever entertain the thought of me agreeing to work together?”

“Because you’re stuck,” you shot back, your voice sharper than usual. “Let’s be real, Romanoff—if I could do this alone, I wouldn’t be here. But not even you can’t get to him on your own. And…neither can I.” You admitted through your teeth. The playful glint softened, replaced by an intensity Natasha hadn’t quite seen from you before.

“I need someone who won’t mess it up if I’m going to get to him,” you continued, the amused mask slipping just a bit more. “That’s where you come in. I mean, who better to handle some undercover work than the Black Widow herself?” The slight provocation didn’t go unnoticed, but Natasha’s mind was already racing with possibilities.

The room fell into silence, the ticking clock on the wall seeming louder than ever as Natasha’s eyes bore into yours, as if trying to see every hidden motive. Perhaps she should just go fetch Wanda. Still, she held herself steady, determined to avoid letting any trace of intrigue slip. It only took a spark for you to create a fire.

Yelena, sensing the tension between the two of you growing sharper by the second, finally cut in, a note of exasperation in her voice. “So… how could you get us in—”

“Yelena, no.” Natasha cut her off sharply, her posture rigid and unyielding. “We are not entertaining this. And I’m certainly not working with her,” she added, the cold in her tone unmistakable. She turned her gaze back to you, her expression filled with deep distrust. “She does nothing but trick and deceive, and I’m not about to let her pull us into a mess.”

You held her gaze steadily, a flicker of hurt passing through your eyes—brief enough for Natasha to notice. She shook her head sturborling, she couldn’t afford to feel any remorse for you. But as quickly as the emotion came, it vanished, and you rolled your eyes playfully. That was something that sparked Natasha’s curiosity. Just like herself in the past (maybe still now at times) it seemed as if you had a mask. She didn’t know exactly how genuine that unserious facade, the one you always seemed to hide behind, truly was.

“So distrustful and uptight as always, I see. Tell me, has she always been this way?” you asked, looking at the blonde. Yelena shrugged, starting to answer but clamping her mouth shut as Natasha arched an eyebrow in warning.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about this either. But it’s the only way. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so,” you said, your tone uncharacteristically steady. “I’ll even compromise and act like one of your ‘goody-two-shoes’ heroes.” You almost gagged on the words. “Swear I’ll play by your rules, as long as it gets us to him. If there’s one thing about me, it’s that I don’t lie. Have I ever lied to you, Natasha?”

There was no mockery in your voice this time, just an unexpected sincerity. Natasha paused, caught off guard. Had you deceived her? Absolutely. Tricked her? Too many times to count, wounding her pride each time. But lied, outright and blankly, right to her face? As shocking as it was, she couldn’t recall a single instance. No matter the game, you’d always been blunt about what you were going to do.

Yelena, noticing Natasha’s hesitation, leaned in. “сестра (sister), maybe… maybe she has a point. We’re no closer to him on our own. And if she can get us in…”

Natasha looked at her, seeing the reason in her words, though every fiber of her instinct fought against trusting you. After a long pause, she rubbed her temples, exhaling heavily. As sad as it was, there wasn’t any better option. But to admit that she had no other option than to work with you, of all people, was burning her pride.

“Fine.”

Yelena gave a small fist pump of victory, relief lighting her face after the hours they’d spent trying to come up with a solid plan. Meanwhile, you grinned, satisfaction gleaming in your eyes.

“But—” Natasha cut in, fixing you with a hard look. “No tricks, no double-crossing. As you said before, do this by my rules, is that clear?”

You raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of your usual defiance flashing in your expression. “Well, I mean… it is my plan so technically—”

“My. Rules.” Natasha repeated, her voice dropping to a dangerously low tone that left little room for argument. Her stare bore into you, unyielding, and the confidence in your face faltered just a bit. “Understood?”

You swallowed, any spark of rebellion snuffed out under the intimidating weight of her gaze. “Understood,” you muttered, a hint of surprising, begrudging compliance in your tone.

“Oooh, scary mean glare,” Yelena muttered under her breath, clearly entertained as she watched you two bickering. A mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned back, curious to see how will play out between you two. Perhaps she should pay visits more often.

“Enlighten us, then. What in the world does this great plan, legal plan of yours involve?” Natasha inquires dryly. Another cheeky grin on your face was enough for her to know that she won't like it in the slightest. It was almost sinister, how much you enjoyed to push her bottons.

”Well…that answer can vary. How are your dance moves, Agent Romanoff?

Clearly baffled, she didnt have time to answer when someone blasted through the door, startling all three of you. “You! Are you the one you hacked FRIDAY?” demanded a frantic Tony Stark, dressed in Iron Man-themed pajamas, bags under his eyes and a steaming coffee pot in hand labeled “#1 Best Hero” (a gift from Peter). Honestly, Natahsa is a firm believer that he bought it himself but whatever.

You giggled almost manically. “Oops, that’s my cue! Talk to you later to get into details, Agent.” You practically purred, teasingly waving goodbye before cutting the connection in one swift motion. Natasha was met with her reflection on the now dark screen, your last words hanging heavily on the air.

Natasha drops on the chair heavily, grunting and rubbing her temples while looking at the roof in despair. How does she always end up in these situations?

#fanfic #natasha romanoff #avengers #grumpy nat #nat x reader #marvel blurb #natasha x reader #natasha x fem!reader #enemies to ?#marvel #mcu

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astroboots · 1 year ago

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Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces.

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes.

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession.

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy.

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all.

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets. Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise.

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect.

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?”

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot.

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman.

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat.

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window.

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life.

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you.

In fact, he’s just plain always there.

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room.

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again. He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder.

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer.

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe.

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching.

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay.

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not.

Are they petty? Oh yeah.

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over.

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud.

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4?

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara.

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange.

His justification?

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO.

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself.

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan.

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full.

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point.

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds.

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?”

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say.

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest.

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu.

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard.

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why.

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons.

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts.

“Why do you hate him so much?” You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention.

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it.

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.”

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated.

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck.

You leave the restaurant frustrated.

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward. It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says.

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both.

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright.

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat.

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that.

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat.

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile.

That was easy.

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played.

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower.

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book.

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–”

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing.

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you.

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore.

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does.

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world"

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours.

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure.

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask.

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time.

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now.

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses.

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon.

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you.

You sigh.

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money.

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away.

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down.

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life.

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb.

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had.

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel.

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists.

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse.

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck?

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop.

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing?

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection.

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time?

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer.

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it?

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!?

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you.

Maybe you need to give up too.

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death.

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face.

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

“Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing.

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.”

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing. He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body.

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you.

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away.

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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red-mage28 · 1 year ago

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“Uzi would hate N after finding out he killed Nori” believers need to watch the show again. Cause like

No the hell she wouldn’t???

Could’ve easily blamed V or J in episode two, but instead she blamed humans as that was the working theory for “who sent the disassemblers”.

Told Doll to fuck off when she mentioned “not being the only one who’s lost parents to the Murder Drones” in episode three

Hell, episode one, she’s standing in front of one of her mom’s potential killers and what does she do? She tells him “wow you’re getting mistreated also you were sent here to clean up the human’s mess and die. That’s fucked up, join my rebelion”

If anything, Uzi’d be trying to reassure N that it wasn’t really his fault and shift the blame to the solver (or JCJ, she still doesn’t seem to like humans)

#murder drones #murder drones uzi #I’m certainly not the first person to say something like this #point still stands #yes this is about vanitymoth #redmage post

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buzzkillers · 1 year ago

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WHITE HOUSE DOWN

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie fuck after he kills the President of the United States: Norman Osborne.

Tags|Warnings: Happy 4th of July (sarcastic), public oral sex, cum facials, enemies to enemies that fuck, exhibitionism, bratty reader, graphic violence, bad British slang, UNEDITED

WC:4k

In under an hour Fascism, Capitalism and President Norman Osborne died in the same way: pathetically and in a roaring beat of gunfire and raging anarchy.

It was so punk metal that Hobie reckoned he could've cried.

Maybe even let out a blood curdling scream before he joined his mates in celebration; in a fight that continued to roar beyond the thick walls of this stupid building. Of the world's now fallen symbol of false freedom, colonization and white supremacy.

All of it was dead now anyway, all of it was gone. So yeah Hobie reckoned he should’ve cried; maybe he even was crying but he was too pent up on adrenaline and rock and roll to notice. Who fucking knew. Who fucking cared?

What mattered was that Osborne’s head was detached, that his guitar was covered in guts and brain and enough idiocratic bullshit that it had clattered to the floor.

His weapon stained against the fancy White House carpet. He didn’t mind though, it added to the decor. You didn’t seem to give a shit either. For you, blood still stained your locs and your lips stayed wrapped around his cock.

And well Hobie didn't follow rules. They were barely a suggestion in his radar. Yet apart of him knew this was off kilter, even for him. Even for Spider Punk.

Spider Punk, the not-hero and the now killer who instead of killing capitalist and fighting corporate drones was here. Here with black nails that dug into your back and wicks that kissed the skin of your cheek.

It felt good.

This reward, you told him as you guided him towards the pigs desk. Your hands already at the buckle of his jeans before you looked up at him; eyes hazy and murderously dark.

It reminded him of foggy London nights, of polluted air and days where he gasped for his inhaler. Something that tried to be something else. It made Hobe feel triumphant, out of breath.

And yet this was ‘His reward.’ You growled again as if this was normal and you weren't you but something different, something new.

At that, Hobie couldn’t help but laugh. It was a pretty comedy after all, a neat joke as your palm— shaking and slick with sweat wrapped itself around his cock and your knees dug into the floor. The blood stained floor.

He inhaled sharply, either from the adrenaline or the genuine need to breathe before his smile slipped into something wide, dangerous. You shot a glare at him.

"Something funny?" You mouthed, as if your eyes weren't muggy, as if there wasn't a revolution going on a wall away. Hobie of course simply looked down at you, his own eyes liquid dark, but alight with adrenaline and fire and everything that made a corporate pig like Osborne underestimate him.

“Fuck yeah,” he rolled his hips up.

"Everything's a bit funny right now, love"

Below him, you only scoffed as if what he said wasn’t sick given the circumstances.

As if this was simply another one of those nights; those long nights where this would be your signal to leave. To keep your distance from Hobie Brown, the Spider Punk with too much venom on his tongue and righteous anger in his every word. But you didn’t, you simply looked at him, calculative, nervous.

Around them, the war raged on and the sounds of corporate drones getting their ass beat made the floors vibrate. None of them aware of their leader's demise before his team crushed them into dust. Below him you sighed, that gleam still in your eyes. (murky puddles and polluted skylines.)

"Of course you'd make this hard,"

"Can't just let me suck you off and shut up huh, SP?" You muttered, and you see Hobie would respond. There was always an excuse to be barked, a word to be said. But music still thrummed through his veins, the air was singing (screaming) and you were here.

Not with Osborne. Not in a lab, cooped up but here.

He smiled. "I'm not known for consistency,"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes, "I've heard the speech,”

"can't be consistent, can't be bought, can't shut up,"

Shut up?

He licked his lips and tasted the metal, the blood. 'Im gettin’ tired of your mouth, boy.’ Osborne had sneered before Hobie broke his face in.

Yeah, he didn't listen to him either. He shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I don't think so,"

You rolled your eyes. “Spider-”

“Aw, am I ruining your fantasy love?" You cut him a look.

“Catchin me off guard like this, you must’ve planned it, no?”

Your grimace deepened. Which was cute. Very cute. “So you’re just gonna keep talking?”

“—I mean I'm not against you knowin' your onions and all that, but between you being stuck in your lab and arguing with us who knew you had the time,” he whispered, before your eyes went sharp and your nails dug into his thighs. A warning, that only made his cock hard and his hands crack the lip of the desk. Cute. He thought again.

So bloody cute that he blinked and his heart raced like a drum, like a rip of his pick against his guitar.

‘Lay on your back’ you said, ‘drop the guitar.’ and he did.

You had demanded it with a trained nonchalance. Completely unbothered as if he didn't hear the way your lungs sharply inhaled when his guitar separated Osborne's head from his spine. Cartilage, tendons and a thick spinal cord crushed into dust beneath his rebellion before you pounced on him.

You gave him that same look now and it was wicked hot. He couldn't deny it. A fun mix of cheekiness and nerves before you cocked your head and, “You know what, fine,”

In a blink, his back was shoved harder against the desk. His hands twisted into your locs, while your mouth wet, hot and slick like honey, like blood enveloped him, turned him inside out and made him want to curl over and actually cry.

Not cause it felt good or spectacular or amazing but because it was you. Only cause it was you.

Below him you sucked him off like you had something to prove. Like it was a challenge. It would be a crime to look away. To not match rebellion with rebellion, your hatred with his faux indifference while your lips remained dry, your handwork sloppy and your rhythm off. It was honestly the worst blowjob he’s ever had.

But you were enthusiastic and you looked up at him as if you expected more. Like Hobie was supposed to fall to his knees and thank you. Of course, a flicker of frustration came out when he gave you the opposite: a slick smile and his eyes wide in wonder.

"Leave it to you too give someone an angry blow job," He cocked his head, "Reckon you’re overthinkin’ it, love?”

You choked in response. Your mouth off his cock and looking as if you were about to spit on the floor before you paused and Hobie watched you swallow instead. Something hot shot in his core.

“Never,” you sneered as if this was just another part of the battle, your own personal fight.

Hobie just snickered, a gleam in his eyes even as you went still, embarrassment hot on your face.

“Yeah that's what I guessed," he whispered, before gloved hands gripped your jaw. Tight and restrictive.

“Quick tip? You’re too rough with it love, let me guess didn’t watch enough videos?” he teased, before he realized where exactly his dick was.

You gave him a sharp smile, "want to repeat that?" No, not particularly. He rolled his shoulders.

“Slow down,”

“Where's the rush,” he teased before there was a thump and a scream and oh, he guess they've found the bloke's head. Took them long enough.

If Hobie remembered how hard he kicked it correctly; The fuckers skull was three rooms away with thick walls and flimsy doors in each of them.

His smile turned giddy, "We all the time in the world,"

"Please tell me you're joking," and there it was again, that look. That need for order and propriety. Hobie patted your cheek.

"What, getting nervous?" Your eyes shot to the door. To the distant footsteps that only got closer to the currently unlocked room.

"Hobie,"

"Fine," he shot the hinges up with webbing. It wouldn't last. But you didn't need to know that.

"See? Good,"

Quickly, your shoulders relaxed; your nape warm beneath his hand, prickled and covered in sweat till he gripped it harder, guiding you down until your mouth was on him again. He shuddered.

“Make it wet,” you looked confused, your eyebrows twitching before your mouth went agape and he felt it.

Something hot and sticky that dripped down his cock. Your lips were now sheen, a messy mix of precum, sweat and everything that would never normally be in a pretty mouth like that.

Of course, you still managed to glare at him. And yeah nah, he wasn't gonna think about why that made his mouth dry before he angled his hips up and up until the tip of him was at the rim of your lips; he took a deep breath.

“Grip the desk for me,”

You frowned again, harder if that was possible. And Hobie couldn't have that.

"Wh--" in a blink he's already bullied his thumb passed plush lips and sharp teeth. Expertly, rubbing his painted nails against the soft flesh of your cheek until drool and spit slicked down his wrist and,

"That's wicked," he whispered.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this," You shot him a look. Your eyes still shakingly looking towards the door. The soldiers have gotten louder, they've must've bursted pass the first room. But Hobie only sighed, unbothered

“Is this why you've been so nice to me lately? Been wanting to give me this," he rambled, his eyes back on yours before his smile melted into a smirk. The last thing Osborne ever saw, before his head rolled down the stairs.

Now, the funny thing about trying to tell a punk what to do was that you shouldn't actually expect them to listen. Osborne learned that the hard way. But you weren’t like the rest of them. No matter what the team said about you turning your back on your upbringing for the cause. You weren’t like them. Clean and simple.

It was written in the cracks of your face, in the corners of your eyes. That want for order that battled with the need to rebel and make things right.

It's probably why you continued to look at him like that; your eyes slitted, red and angry.

You hated it but you wanted it too. Which meant that it took no effort to grip your jaw, keeping it still as you moved to chop your teeth onto his thumb. Light work.

But it was another thing to dodge the whistle of your studded fist and the gleam of spikes on your knuckles before they're webbed to the dead Pigs desk. You were smart not to try again. Still your face stayed twisted in anger.

Hobie couldn't help but laugh again, all sharp teeth and youthful indignation in his voice.

“I'm not good with mixed signals love, you hate me, you don't, you want to give me a reward about a job well done and then whine about it,”

“This is still a reward right?” he whispered, his voice deep and molten. It dragged you into a spell, made you nod. “Good,”

"Now, why don't we start stickin’ to our words, yeah," you made no room to reply, just continued to look up at him with that fire in your eyes that reminded him of madness, of a man whose body could be found in various parts of this makeshift castle. For the first time, Hobies face went stern, his body hands suddenly on your nape gripping tight.

"Yeah?" He repeated.

That madness in your eyes only take a moment to flicker, a moment to wick and out before your face twisted again, "Yeah,"

"There we go,"

You made no room to stop him. As his prodded his cock against your lips again, against that slick heat, hellfire, glory, his reward that was found in the tightens of your throat. "Good,"

He gripped the back of your neck tighter. “There we go,”

“Breathe through your nose,” Then you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared to choke, for Hobie to bruise your throat, for your jaw to ache while he used you like you prepared to use him.

Then he hummed, like a thrum of his guitar, like the flutter of a hummingbird. It was your only warning before he brought you down, slow, sluggish. He made you feel the weight of him, the way it pressed against your tongue, expanded your throat.

You couldn’t help it really, the way your eyes closed. The hazy sensation that made your vision blur. Hobie fucked your throat as if he had all the time in the world. As if a world leader wasn’t rotting in the next room.

And this would be a great time to joke. For Hobie to make you regret bringing him here and not give the secrets to ruining him but nah, this was better. This was more satisfying. Worth the shock in your eyes as you tried to keep them open. Your cunt not so subtly grinding against his boot.

“Don't look so surprised love”

“Let me guess, you expected me to go hard?” he whispered, voice ragged.

“Wanted me to bruise your pretty throat?” He dragged himself out again. Withdrew his hips, until your lips were once again at the tip of him. A thick residue of spit left behind.

Good.

Perfect even.

But below him you struggled to remain composed. Your mind was a fog that thickened, and your ears roared with the music that was Hobie Brown. The sounds of his shockwaves still in the air. On a better day, you'd remain aloof. You'd look at hobie with bored eyes and tell him to do his worse.

Clearly, that day wasn't today.

Your eyes were still closed after all, and the taste of him still stained your throat. You wanted more. You wanted-

His hand tightened on your neck.

“Now when did I say you could do that?” You blinked up, teary eyed with more of Hobie’s cock in your mouth than he previously allowed.

Suddenly, your cheeks burned and Hobie watched embarrassment wash over you. Watched you drown in it, in an attempt to cover up the desperate move before you just sat there, unable to go forward, unable to move back. “Cute,”

And then he jerked forward, cock hitting your throat until tears brimmed in your eyes and well Hobie was only a man at the end of the day. He unwebbed you, “Use your hands wrap them around me,”

Quickly, you complied. “Yeah love like that,"

You didn’t need further instruction. You continued the slow tempo he set. And for a moment, it stayed like that: you swallowing him with a sloppy mouth and tears in your eyes, your hands now slick with well, everything. Snot, spit and tears.

He laughed again, a bit more choked up and bit more delirious as your tongue dragged against the undervein of his cock. Sharp pleasure blinded him, he felt like it was too much, not enough. Like his heart was gonna burst from the adrenaline, the heat.

For a moment, he craved something on his lips too. Something just as hot and slick and you. He reckoned you'd like that. Want to shut him up with your thighs locked around his head and your cunt slick on his studded tongue. If you were gonna do this, you might as well do it right, do it in the worst way possible while Osborne's corpse rotted in the next room.

Below him, you gripped him tighter. Suckled your lips at the head of him until he shuddered and groaned. His palms slicked in blood gripping right at your face. If he knew this would be the reaction to winning the war— he'd bring Osborne back to life himself.

Let you watch him kill him again, again and again if it meant you looked at him like that. Like a drunkard, like the feeling he got when he strummed his guitar just right, just perfectly against his pick. Until you were like this: your lips, tight and harsh. Sucking him off as if it was another fight, your eyes red hot with anger and tears.

He was close.

He couldn’t even be embarrassed, if they knew what a pretty picture you made no regular bloke would be either before he felt it. That liquid hot build up; like something molten that grew and morphed and dripped in his belly before his thighs trembled, his fist cracked the desk and you looked marvelous.

He tried to draw away, cause he was proper and raised right but he couldn't get far. Not against someone who looked like they wanted to prove something. You started this for a reason after all. So of course, your hands pressed into his hips, kept him still. Fucking brat.

Before the room became an echo chamber of gasps and whines and— he lurched forward, hands on your shoulders, a sharp cry of your name.

The orgasm was just as violent as the murder. It ripped through him and rearranged his insides until it felt painful, overwhelming. Like he was stuck in his own shockwave, pulled at the seams, the points of musical notes at his ears.

Then he whimpered, sharp and inaudible. But it made your eyes glitter all the same before you pulled off him with a satisfying grin as the violence in him transcended to a soft shudder.

Both of you didn't talk for a minute. Just let everything settle. Until slowly the world trickled back in and Hobie watched half amused and half delirious as across your face, emotions flickered too fast for him to dissect.

What he did know was that you were looking at him, at the floor and then randomly at the door. Oh yeah, the goons. He should focus on that, but you were still on your knees, looking pretty and fucked out and well Hobie couldn't help it. He suddenly had the taste for something sweet.

"Up, c’mon"

You looked at him, leg kneeled. "Fuck you,” you coughed, throat dry. “Where do you think I was doing?"

He shook his head, and with little effort, he towered over you. You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips plush and the corner of your mouth twinkling with beads of white and shit, shit. Hobie did not wait for you to get up.

In a blur of red white and blue, the two of you switched places. It was like carrying a stack of paper, a bag of groceries before you plopped into the desk; your eyes wide, legs spread and cunt wet through your trousers.

"Hobie come on—"

His thumb dug into the seam of your jeans, ripped them in two until you were cunt hit cold air. You dripped on the desk. "Don't be selfish,”

“I thought this was a reward,” And then hobie’s tongue was on you, desperate and hot.

Studded fingers pressed into your hips, digging,digging and "Hobie, what-” Hobie pressed you further into the desk.

His tongue was slick and sticky against your folds. The pleasure that was white and hot grinded you to a halt. Your brain morphed into mush. You weren't going to last. This, you can admit with a certainty as your thighs wrapped around hobie’s head anyway.

You looked towards the door, but Hobie with his freakishly long arms gripped your jaw and forced your eyes back on him. Pay attention, they said. Until your eyes went wide, frantic; and your hips fought the battle of jerking away from Hobie and against him while he flicked your clit; his finger prodding against your entrance.

It's almost embarrassing how fast you came.

Even worse how you tried to hide it. With teeth the bit into your wrist, and moans that you tried to choke down while your hips moved on him with a grind that only made it worst, made it last.

You grunted and swore, the flat palms of your hand slammed into the desk. Once twice and then Hobie got up, looked at you splayed out on Osbornes desk, jeans pooled to your knees, the hairs of your cunt glistening.

"Good?”

With a gasp, you could only focus on the sound of the door as the screams of soldiers bulged against the doors frames.

Your blood was pulsing but you couldn’t feel your throat. Couldn’t feel the scratches and bruises that later you won't be able to tell was from Hobie or from the fight.

The wooden door bent beneath the weight of the army. Before eventually it popped and you threw the spider a smile.

“Good,”

#hobie brown smut #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader #atsv smut #hobie brown lemon #tw: smut #hobie brown imagine #spiderpunk smut #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you

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oogaboogaspookyman · 6 months ago

Text

Soooo a reply in the most recent Oil Is Thicker Than Blood release (by @dronebiscuitbat ) gave me an idea! And threw my impulse control out of my window!

BE WARNED: this contains a more than implied spicy Nuzi scene, which is canon in the universe of Oil Is Thicker Than Blood. I also tried my best to finish this so be also warned for potentially sucky writing lmao

Edit: I FOUND THE GUY THAT INSPIRED THIS SHIT IT'S @/makiyu23 THANK YOU DUDE THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN I WOULDN'T HAVE MADE THIS WITHOUT YOU

[EAVESDROPPING]

That red eyed freak... She's gonna pay.

Crawling in the vents. She always loved crawling around, whether it's the roof, the walls, or the ventilation systems, it always felt so good and satisfying.

This time didn't feel good the usual way now. It felt good like a revenge. Fitting.

While she's doing that, she found a few trinkets along the way! Neat! Things to look at instead of her glasses! She always disliked looking at her own glasses out of boredom, it brings memories she doesn't have consent for... Y'know what else she didn't consent to?

...

Let's not joke about that time, V...

...

Anyway! Back to searching through the vents! And sending those updates on the red thing stuff too!

"robo-god i fucking love crawling it's satisfying like-..." She stops for a moment... Then sighs... "Let's not ramble about these things alone V, you'll seem crazier than you already are..."

After long minutes of crawling around in the vents and sending updates on the search, she started to hear something...

Talking?

There's people talking...

There's people talking.

"Look, i'm just sayin', we can't have these Murder Drones in 'ere at all, ya know their body count? As someone who like- counts the deaths and missing drone cases, i say they're up to like- the THOUSANDS!"

"You know Khan's orders and announcement, they're living with us now, end of. We cannot keep having this conversation, Sean..."

"Susan please just- just understand what i'm trying to say here!"

"We can't keep up a relationship if all you're gonna ramble about is the Murder Drones wanting to make amends."

A Worker with an irish accent... Rambling to another, 50% masculine 50% feminine and 100% tired sounding, about the fact that she and N are living in the bunker with them and how he's against it. Of course. If she could drop down right then and there... She would. But she can't, she made a promise... Stupid promise but hey, she cares about that idiot.

...

Stupid feelings, stupid concept of caring, stupid core, now she feels all mushy and gross...

Ughh, get back to work you trauma bag!

Beep. Update sent. And as she crawls around the vents, a message for Lizzy. Heehee Lizzy she cute- SHUT UP BRAIN.

SD-V: yo liz i caught two people talking while i crawled in the vents, wanna hear?

A few seconds later...

Lizthequeen: OMG yes!!! drop the gossip gurl!!!

SD-V: so theres these two workers talkin shit about me and n for obvious reasons and apparantly these two workers are also a dumb lovey dovey couple

Lizthequeen: oh shiz you talking about sean and susan??? oh theyre having constant problems with their relationship i heard!!

SD-V: thats what im saying. theyre in constant problems with their relationship yeah

Lizthequeen: they are fr?? daaayyuummm gurl...... are they breaking up now???

V stopped to look back and crawl a little backwards to hear...

"... Susan- Susan please don't do this to me-"

"No no no no you know what? You know what? We're done here, all you ramble about is your racism, fuck you and fuck off"

"Susan please!"

Then a slam... Then a sigh...

"... WELL GOOD RIDDANCE I FUCKING GUESS!"

She began crawling forward again... God damn.

SD-V: yup

Lizthequeen: RN????? HOLY SHIT?????

SD-V: yup

Lizthequeen: they finally broke up........ thank you for sharing the info bestie i owe u so much

SD-V: yeah you owe me a good hanging out

What the FUCK. WHY DID YOU SEND THAT WHY DID YOU SAY THAT

V immediately stopped messaging in flustered frustration, yellow filling her visor and embarrassment filling her... Everything. Fuck's sake.

...

Lizthequeen: what do u mean by that ;3c

SD-V: nothing shut up buzz off im busy anyway BYE

Then to the right goes the program...

...

That was stupid.

...

Okay that's processed.

As she crawled by, she began to hear more chatter... Right, people exist.

"Guy imma need to talk to ya"

"Oh no. My name in b flat. I'm in trouble"

"More like i wanna discuss something with you regarding the whole Khan's daughter and N thing..."

"... Am i in trouble?"

"Stop saying you're in trouble, i just wanna talk"

PFFFFT

"“Stop saying you're in trouble” yeah shut up before you get in trouble hehehehehe-"

"What the HELL was that?!"

V squeaked in surprise, then yelled back, attempting to threaten the two into submission.

"YOU BETTER NOT TRY ME OR I WILL DROP DOWN AND RIP YOU TO SHREDS YOU TOASTERS!!"

...

"Okay, no need to yell lass, we would've listened anyway"

"Yeah what Han said"

V sighed in relief and kept crawling and sending updates. Situation avoided.

...

Crawling by crawling by, crawling by for the sake of your life~

This is getting really boring, i fucking hate this now i wanna go home~

She sang as she crawled in the vents, sending updates every few as she found new things and new gossip, making herself laugh a little as she crawled... She needed those laughs and those moments. She needed a break from the tension and the fear. The dread. That red eyed freak...

...

That red eyed freak.

...

"You want me to lead?" She heard, faintly, as she crawled about...

What in the god damn?? Uzi??

"Lay down then"

What????????

She crawled forward and stopped to hear the possible new gossip...

...

What the fuck are they doing down there.

"Relax, okay?"

"O-okay..."

Uzi?? N?? What are they...

...

Oh they can't be.

"I-i'm not t-that insteresting"

"You're gorgeous, actually"

"Shouldn't i be saying that to y-you?"

Nuh uh they're not i don't believe... N would be a bottom though.

A little more of hearing from inside the vents, it becomes clearer as every second passes. She can't move.

She jerks a leg forward, yet it's stiff. She can't move.

She tries the same with one arm, it's stiff too. She can't move.

She tries to at least launch herself forward, but her whole body is stiff. She can't move.

She sighs... I can't move... I can't stop hearing...

"Ngh... Uzi..."

JUST MOVE LET THEM BE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOV

She jerks an arm, trying to continue crawling.

Again.

And again.

FINALLY.

She manages to continue crawling by...

After ceaseless crawling, ending up finding nothing, and having heard quite the event... You think she'll have a word or two for them about it?

She's laid down across the ground, alone in her nest in the spire, seemingly dissociating after the events that transpired...

"Well... Damn." Her last words said in surprise.

...

We never got to go far in our relationship.

She swapped her hand up with the submachine gun and aimlessly let loose a barrage of bullets, drowning her thoughts in noise. Drowning her sorrows in noise.

Heavy breathing, panting.

...

"Let's not think of that, V..."

#murder drones #spooker's writing #suggestive #Nuzi is having [REDACTED]#serial designation v #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #uzi x n #<- teehee #they're mentioned but still #md lizzy #vizzy #md vizzy #v x lizzy #a bit for y'all ;3c #also envy angst heehoo never forget the past

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roseofhybrids · 7 months ago

Text

I can't recall if I ever went on a ramble about a MD head canon I have (I feel like I have, but maybe I've just thought about it so often that I've convinced myself I've made a post about it. Either way, let us endulge in the fixation)

it's about the worker drones' simultaneous crippling fear of the disassembly drones and general indifference to death.

Here's a cut because this ended up way longer than I thought it would-

Just about every worker drone is terrified of the murder drones (reasonably so, as they can peel one of them open like a mechanical orange) and yet in spite of this, they show a blatant disregard for safety once the sky demons are out of sight.

First two times we see something like this happen is when Khan lets Uzi go outside at night to "look at the door hydraulics" and later when the WDF guard corrects N on the name gin rummy instead of running for his life. Now, maybe Khan was too excited about Uzi showing an interest in doors to think about the potential danger, and maybe worker drones are big dumb dumbs most of the time.

But then you have situations like in the promening and cabin fever where groups of drones will initially show fear before quickly relaxing around the murder machines. They go from shaking in fear after watching one of their classmates being shot to offering friendship and poking one of them in the face in mere minutes.

So, why do they go from terrified to unbothered so fast.

Well, we know the drones on Copper 9 were mostly used for mining, a dangerous job that can have deadly accidents even when human safety standards are in place. So, JCJenson has to program these drones to dig up the ore, carry it to the surface, process it, et cetera. Building and repairing robots costs money, so ideally you'd want to minimize them getting damaged in the most cost-effective way possible. Safety measures decrease production and safety equipment costs money, so what are they to do?

My head canon/theory is that they programmed the drones to avoid situations that will damage themselves. Something to stop them from walking into pits and sticking their heads between moving gears. So if a drone sees another drone get broken by something, they're programmed to avoid the thing that lead to their buddy getting killed. See another drone get crushed by a rock? Avoid loose boulders. See another drone fall into a smelter? Avoid moving along the edge of the catwalk. And so on and so forth.

But you don't want them to be too careful. After all, if you program them with too much anxiety they'll be too scared to work, which will decrease production. So they also programmed them to proceed if they see that there's no immediate danger. Sure, three drones fell into a sinkhole in this area last month, but Steve's standing over there and not falling into the ground, so it must be safe. With this, also comes an explanation for their indifference to death, even when it happens to friends or family. If a drone grieves losing a coworker, then they won't work as well. So once the initial fear of seeing another being breaking passes, they move on and get back to setting off explosions (standing a few extra feet away this time).

Going back to the scenes from The Prommening and Cabin Fever-

The crowd is initially scared of V when she drops in. But when Lizzy explains that they're friends and insists that they "forgive and forget" they go right to clapping and cheering. As soon as the known threat proves to be safe, the fear switches off.

Cabin Fever is an even better example. They've all just watched V shoot another drone. N acts very friendly, but they remain afraid. That is, until Lizzy and Thad move to stand next to the two murder drones. They see the two not die by doing this, and immediately the entire group relaxes and are soon treating N and V as though they're just your run-of-the-mill drone. The worker teens only show fear again when they do something that could threaten them. Such as at the archery range when V points the bow at them.

They show similar behavior around Uzi that episode as well. When ever her presence is brought to their attention, there's visible fear. This makes sense with her past behavior in mind. Railgun exploding in class, taking over classmate's sentience, general violence. She's proven to be a potential danger, and so they're afraid when first seeing her. When she doesn't immediately do anything to harm another drone, they soon calm down to the point that they forget she even exists. She makes herself known when the bus arrives at camp Fear till their attention is drawn to the teacher and then the murder drones She shows up at the archery range and arrow into a flesh beast Fear until she runs away, name then forgotten She rips a drone's head off and pauses for dramatic effect In those few seconds of not killing her, Lizzy switches from afraid to criticizing her

It's like once the "threat" is resolved, their brains determine she isn't worth focusing on to the point of the drones forgetting her name. (In particular, Lizzy is really unbothered by almost getting killed in that episode. Possibly because she's been spending time with V? A sort of desensitization)

After all, if another drone isn't a danger, and they aren't working alongside them (not in the same mining team, not in the same clique) it isn't worth it to have info on them and tosses it to the recycling bin.

We see the solver drones and disassembly drones break this line of behavior. Along with Khan, Thad, and Lizzy to an extent. (Which, in all fairness, could just be main character privileges)

Khan of course shows to still care about Nori's death years after the fact, as well as concern about Uzi leaving at the end of the pilot. I think it's worth noting how the other WDF members in episode 2 react to him prioritizing Uzi over building a door. Calling the idea "cringe" and displaying general annoyance and sickness at the idea. Is it just because it's Khan and Uzi, or do drones just see anyone putting family over work as strange?

Thad isn't afraid of Uzi and doesn't have a negative view of her like the other teenage drones. Has he not witnessed her "shenanigans" or is he just braver and kinder than most drones? He isn't afraid of N in episode 2, but, as he says himself, N helped save his life. He also shows some concern for other drones dying when he mentions the disappearances to Uzi in Heartbeat.

Lizzy has also shown to be braver than most drones. Little fear around Uzi, was able to hang around with V long enough to set up the prom scheme, helped Doll set up said prom scheme despite Doll doing a bunch of murdering, willingness to just walk up to J and trying to punch her. Her being around V and Doll would suggest she doesn't have the same concern about other drones dying the way Thad does. But that could just be her putting up a front. Perhaps we'll get to see a little more in episode 8.

Hope anyone who read through all this found at least some enjoyment in doing so. I thought this would be, like, 3 short paragraphs tops, but now there's a little over 1200 words.

#murder drones #head canon #rambling for 12 hundred words #took like an hour to write all that enjoy

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 2 years ago

Note

Hiii could you some breeding smut with prince consort aemond of drone with his wife ? Like they already have kids but he just can’t get enough of his ruler of dorne.😅

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Aemond x Wife!reader

summary: breeding smut with prince consort Aemond of Dorne with his wife ? Like they already have kids but he just can’t get enough of his ruler of Dorne.

Word count: 1,9K

Warnings: Fluff, smut, breeding kink

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

You felt hot, way too hot, naturally in Dorne it was hot all the time but today it was exceptionally hot. You groaned trying to roll over in your bed to find a colder spot but was held back by someone. You cracked your eyes open to be met with the blazing sun of Dorne. You looked over your shoulder to find your husband sound asleep, is white-blonde hair around his head on the pillow and he was holding your tightly against his chest.

"Aemond" You tried pulling away from him but he only held you tightly. A sheer layer of sweat had covered the both of you throughout the night.

"Stop moving" Aemond whined with his morning voice. You sighed when you felt something hard rub against your thigh from below. Yet Aemond made no move to do anything except hold you.

"You seem to facing some trouble, husband" You teased flexing your thigh against his hard cock. Aemond groaned opening his eye to glare at you. His eyepatch long gone and the sapphire shinned under the sunlight.

"Stop that" He ordered. He pulled away from you laying on his back. The sun made his sweaty skin shimmer lightly. You turned to face him and placed a hand on his chest, he was much tanner now than when he first moved here to Dorne. It was not as smooth as it was now, he was cold and calculated shocked by the freedom you had in here. He scrunched his face in disgust at the fact that your father the prince will give you his position instead of your younger brother because you were older. However now after many years of marriage and several children and your father's passing he accepted your traditions and ways of life, he beamed with glee at the fact that your daughter Viselora will inherit the title princess after you.

"Let me help you" You whispered in his ear. You let your fingers run down his chest and laid it flat over his hard length. Aemond whined desperately rolling his hips to get some type of friction.

"The power you have over me woman" He groaned grabbing your hand to roll you over him to the other side of the bed climbing on top of you. You giggled wrapping your arms around him.

"How come you still look so beautiful even after four children?" he asked lips brushing against the skin below your chin. Small moans and heavy breaths escaped your lips as he began mouthing at the sweaty skin. He licked at the salty sweat not caring but instead loving it now that he grew used to it.

"What can I Ah- say the gods love me" You moaned. One of his hands trailed over to your breast giving it a small squeeze. He tweaked your nipple over the fabric of your very-very thin nightgown that was see through. His lips moved down to cover your other nipple, licking, bitting and sucking on it.

"Aemond-" You head fell back onto the pillows. He gave a harsh suck to your nipple imagining them filled with milk again. It has been two years since your last child was born, your only son named Rhaekar.

"I love you more" He raised his head up to look at you. He looked much healthier now than he did when he first arrived, his fave glowed and he no longer looked solemn and ready to murder someone at any given moment, he smiled more and he showed his softer side more.

"I know" You ran a hand through his hair. His eyes watched you reaction as he ran a hand up your though touching your hole softly. You huffed rolling your hips down. He always found a way to make you feel wet without even touching you.

"I wish to fuck a new babe into you" he admit moving to lean his forehead onto yours. His finger pushed inside smirking at the lack of a small cloth, you were used to his sexual appetite and have not worn underwear to bed for the majority of your marriage.

"What are you waiting for?" You asked teasingly. One hand into his hair and the other around his shoulder pressed him down claiming his lips with yours hungrily. He kissed you as if you water and he was a thirsty man who have been walking in the unforgiving dessert for the past at least decade.

"Fuck! You're so beautiful" He cursed pulling back to look at you. His hands scrambled to pull your night gown off and threw it somewhere in the room. His breeches followed your night gown, you knew the maids would know what you two did once they came to clean but you did not care, you never did.

"You are handsome as well, my prince, Prince Aemond of Westeros and Dorne" You ran a hand through his hair, it was untied as usual in bed an framed his face making it look almost like a mane around his head or a curtain shielding him from the world except you.

"The most handsome man in this world" You wrapped an arm around his shoulders pulling him closer. Aemond groaned leaning his head down to press desperate kisses to your throat.

"You have the tongue of a snake, my love" He jested against your ear. One of his hands moved down grabbing at his cock pumping it slowly making sure it was as hard as possible, only the best for his devoted wife.

"Only for you, husband" You whispered in his ear, tongue sooting out to lick a strip behind his ear making him shudder. Aemond let the tip of his cock run over the folds of your hole. You sighed in content rolling your hips up to meet his flesh.

"You surprise me, wife" He pushed himself inside of you. You mewled holding onto him tightly. His has always been too big for you. His lips mouthed at your neck slowly creeping down to the top of your breasts.

"Why so?-ah Aemond" You questioned. He rocked back and forth slowly trying not hurt you. One of your hands racked down his back as a punishment for making you wait for him to fuck you like you wanted, like you deserved.

"You could have a hundred lovers yet you chose to cum only on my cock" He answered. He pulled back to look down at your face. Your face grew red from anger at his words. You pushed him on his back much to his surprise making him yelp. You climbed on his lap literally shoving him inside of your tight pussy. He cried out holding onto your thighs in a deathly grip.

"Your cock is the only one I want in my orvorta" Private part/Pussy. His eye rolled back as you bounced up and down with no mercy on his cock. The sound of High Valyrian rolled off your tongue like a prayer, his lessons where not going in vain.

"My love-ah" Aemond was usually quiet in bed but right now at the sight of you on top of him, riding him like the dragon he was had him like a squirming teenager.

"Se mērī orvorta jaelan iemnȳ yno iksis aōhon, se mērī nūmo jaelan naejot plant iā riña iemnȳ yno iksis aōhon se daor else" The only cock I want inside of me is yours, the only seed I want to plant a child inside of me is yours and no else. Your hands ran up his chest feeling every muscle flex under your hands. Sweat doubled in amount on his skin making you want to lean down and lick it off him, you were twisted like that. Aemond's eye snapped open in shock when one of your hands wrapped around his long delicate neck.

"Gaomagon ao shifang?" Do you understand? You asked. He nodded whimpering below you. You leaned down claiming his lips and giving him space to move his hips against yours. he wrapped an arm around your waist holding up and jackhammered inside of you feeling his peak approach.

"Kessa qogralbar nyke hae se zaldrīzes iksā" Yes fuck me like the dragon you are. You cried in his ear. His cock filled you so good, it made you want to tear at your own flesh from how good it felt. You leaned your head between his neck and shoulder biting down on the flesh but Aemond did not care anymore.

"Iksan jāre naejot tepagon ao another riña" I'm going to give you another child. Aemond promised in the shell of your ear. He rutted inside of you like there was no tomorrow, like he will die soon and won't be getting to fuck your cunt anymore.

"I an feel you tightening around my cock, my love, are you close?" His voice sounded husky as he whispered in your ear. You nodded your head letting go of the flesh. Your eyes sparkled with pride at the red mark left behind and stuck your tongue out licking on the abused skin.

"Fuck, so good for me, princess" He moaned rolling you over. Your eyes met his the second your back was on the mattress again. His hand both of his hands beside your head hammering inside of you like there was no tomorrow. Your insides were twisting almost as if they were trying to make room for his cock inside of you.

"Aemond!" Your head fell back on the pillows eyes not daring to move away from his singular one and the sapphire, it looked like it was gleaming with pride, withe emotions. Your legs wrapped his waist locking just above his bottom pulling him closer if that were possible.

"So close" You heaved. Aemond smirked moving one of his hands between your sweaty bodies. You felt like your were crashing the second his pointer finger touched your clit. Your mouth fell open with a loud cry, one that you would hear in a brothel usually faked by one of the workers trying to get her costumers to cum but yours was anything but fake, it was real and the evidence was the wetness that coated the bed and Aemond's cock.

"So tight" The veins on Aemond's neck looked like they were on the verge of popping, his hips only stuttering when you squeezed him so tight, he was unable to move. You ran a hand through his hair and the other down his back letting some moans leave your lips at the overstimulation, you were trying to get him to peak faster.

"So good for me" He praised stilling inside of you balls deep letting his seed seep inside of your womb.

"You were so good for me as well, my Aemond" His heart soared at the nickname. He claimed your lips in a heated kiss as he pulled out of your cunt swallowing your gasps of shock. He pulled back only to watch as his seed seeped out of you. He ran the tip of his soft cock over the mess pushing it back inside of you and let his cock settle there.

"I love you" You moaned squeezing around him. He let his weight crush you but in a painful way. His head rested in between your neck and shoulder, arms laying on each side of you while he rested atop of you.

"I love you too" He whispered. You peppered kiss on his shoulder and neck, over any freckle you could find, peppering him with love and saliva the same.

"So much" He whimpered rutting his hardening cock inside of you. Aemond was determined to get you with child again. To show who you belonged to, who owned your body and heart. And you accepted with an open heart, open arms and legs and a weeping cunt, only for him.

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undeath1245 · 26 days ago

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The drone societies of Copper 9 [unfinished headcanon]

This post has been sitting in my drafts for about two years. And as of now, I’m not planning on finishing this up, so here it is.

So far, the only drone society we know of is the Worker Drone colony hiding underneath the bunkers, led by the Worker Defense Force. But, I have this strange feeling that they aren’t the only Worker Drone colony here on the post-apocalyptic Copper 9, but I can’t be so sure until season one drops. So for now, I’m going to post some headcanon about other Worker Drone colonies here on Copper 9.

The JC Jenson Era

From what we know, worker drones are autonomous robots built to perform heavy-duty work, particularly in mines and factories. This fleet of Worker Drones were sent to the faraway terrestrial exoplanet Copper 9 to mine for resources for JC Jenson’s outer space division (brand name being JC Jenson, in SPAAAAACEE!!!!). I’m going to make a headcanon that they arrived in Copper 9 about 35 years ago. We currently don’t know what other resources they were mining for apart from copper, from where the planet probably got its name from. It could be other similar materials usually found and mined on Earth, like iron, nickel, aluminum, carbon, silicon, or sulfur, but that’s my educated guess.

I have a headcanon that JC Jenson was using some of their planetary colonies as a front to store away their dangerous experiments or failed experiments, like experimental drones or other scientific nonsense, like that blurred out flesh thing we saw in the teaser for season one. I already came up with an OC that was supposed to be a planetary guardian of sorts before he went incredibly haywire, but I’ll get to him later.

As we already know, the human workers were inadvertently the cause of the... Great Yeeting; Goddamn Liam and his meme addiction. It's fairly obvious that this was probably caused by a freak combination of ignorance and apathy, with the workers doing some weird shit with the planet’s core and all. Maybe they were trying to alter it so that the planet’s atmosphere would stop producing these perpetual blizzards, unless these blizzards were caused by the Great Yeeting itself. If so, then what was Copper 9 really like before JC Jenson’s space division settled here? Was it a planet with a bright, stable atmosphere and lush environments? Were there extraterrestrial life striving here? Was there even an alien society?

The Posthuman Era

My headcanon is that there are about five worker drone colonies situated on Copper 9, each with their own cultures and how each of them deal with the disassembly drone epidemic: the Central Colony (Uzi’s colony), Northern Colony, Northeastern Colony, Western Colony, and Southern Colony. The Worker Defense Force was founded about 30 years ago by Khan Doorman to ensure the safety of the worker drone society in case humans ever arrive back to Copper 9 to either regain control of them, or worse: destroy them. Largely, they focused on building durable, reinforced doors, while also learning various forms of self-defense such as martial arts and melee combat; this was before they resorted to a pacifistic approach.

The Murder Drone Era

Most of the worker drone colonies hid underground through a large bunker system, while some of them continue to reside outside the bunkers while hiding from or fending off disassembly drones. These drones are regularly called Outside Workers or outsiders, and are often looked down upon by other colonies due to their “foolishness” for not choosing to hide in the bunkers. But then again, would you rather spend your entire life hiding underneath the bunkers like a coward and let these killer robots wreak havoc onto your world? The world you worked hard to build after the extinction of your human oppressors?

I think that some of the disassembly drone squads don’t exactly follow orders to wipe out the worker drones of each sector, rather than enslave them instead. Now, I think that some of the squads already figured out that they couldn’t live without drinking warm, sweet oil, yet they’re programmed to destroy every worker drone they see, but they couldn’t disobey protocol. So to remedy this without disobeying the company, they decide to spare the entire populace of a sector, and in return, they sacrifice 10 to 20 worker drones every month or so, almost as if they’re farming worker drones now.

Now, there are a couple of worker drones that actually fought back against disassembly drones, according to J. Perhaps these drones had defied their programming and actually learned how to fight and defend themselves, and are probably equipped with state-of-the-art weaponry like rifles and cannons. I mean, surely the humans might have brought weapons here to Copper 9 in case they run into any extraterrestrial wildlife, creatures that they haven’t encountered before. But then again, was Copper 9 already devoid of life before? I mean, there seemed to be perpetual, worldwide blizzards before while the humans were there, or it could be the result of the planet’s core exploding. But, all that matters that these worker drones are probably armed and incredibly combative, so it’s plausible that they’ve fought disassembly drones before. But, had they ever killed one before?

#Glitch Productions #Liam Vickers #Murder Drones #Khan Doorman #Serial Designation N #Serial Designation V #Serial Designation J #disassembly drones #worker drones #headcanon #worldbuilding

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euphoricsleeplucidity · 7 days ago

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Day three of that short series of Christmas-themed Murder Drones fics. This one is one of my favorites, I feel like the other two are kinda weak - but day four is my absolute favorite and I can't wait to share that tomorrow. :3

iii. Hot Chocolate

"Tessa used to love hot chocolate on Christmas."

It was an absentminded comment made by N, but one that had stuck with Uzi.

From his description, it was melted chocolate, or something like that. Obviously, they didn't really have access to chocolate - and it's not like the drones could even digest something like that.

But Christmas was two days away, and Uzi wanted to surprise her friends with something.

So, she had heated up some oil in a microwave. Yeah, okay, it was not at all difficult to do that but it was the thought that counts, right?

With that thought in mind, Uzi enters the pod with two cups of 'hot oil', as she's decided to refer to it as.

N lights up as soon as he sees her, but V grumbles and mouths something Uzi doesn't understand. Whatever.

"Uzi! You're back!" N says happily, tail wagging behind himself as he approaches her. He notices the mugs in her hands, and tilts his head. His pupils dilate from the scent of oil that wafts toward him, steam rising up from the heated liquid sloshing around inside the cup.

"Yeah-" She pauses, and bashfully hands him the mug, suddenly embarrassed. "Uh, I made you… something."

Another pause, feeling like she should probably say more when he remains curiously silent. "Remember when you were saying how Tessa liked hot chocolate? Well, it's not chocolate but I figured it'll give the same… vibes or feeling or whatever."

"Aw, Uzi!" His tone is excited once he finally responds, accepting the mug from her, holding it carefully. "Thank you!" He lifts it to his lips and takes a sip.

Blushing, Uzi rubs the back of her neck. "You're welcome."

She peers behind him, to V, who leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching them with curiosity and something bitter. Envy?

Uzi isn't deterred, and approaches her with the other cup in hand.

"Here," she says, outstretching the mug for V to take. The disassembler doesn't, instead seems startled.

"Uh," is V's intelligent response after a moment.

Did she seriously think that Uzi was going to give N something and not her? Uzi's eyes narrow, patience running thin as she shakes the mug a little to try and entice the disassembler. "Well?"

Again, V seems stunned silent.

Another moment passes before she uncrosses her arms to grab the cup. "… Thank you?"

Uzi reaches a hand out, considers patting V on the shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring, but thinks better of it and drops her arm. "You're welcome," Uzi mumbles, albeit genuinely, turning back toward N and approaching him.

The two talk while he sips from his mug, even sharing some with Uzi herself, and V watches them with a smile and something warm that isn't the oil while she drinks from hers.

#my writing #murder drones #serial designation n #uzi doorman #serial designation v #murder drones n #murder drones uzi #murder drones v #n x uzi #nuzi #murder drones christmas specials by me :3

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dronebiscuitbat · 30 days ago

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Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 104)

Uzi came back online slowly, her systems sluggish and uncomfortably warm. Every limb felt like lead, and her head was filled with radio static.

“Mm?” Was the noise she made as her eyelights blinked open, she was covered in a thin blanket but her chassis was bare from the shirt she was wearing previously.

“She's awake.” She heard V say, startlingly close to her audials, making her confused for a moment, even more so when the wall she was leaning against moved.

Oh. The wall was V.

Uzi weakly started falling backwards with the support, but V caught her again, and brought her right were she was before, leaning back against V's chest.

“You're overheating, here.” V brought something sweet smelling up to her lips, it made her mouth water and stomach ache in hunger, so she lent forward without thinking, sinking her teeth in what felt like somebody's arm.

She found herself not caring as she both sucked up the lingering oil and chewed on the metal casing, feeling her temperature begin to tick down and her body become more responsive.

Memories that had been foggy due to her overheating slowly came back. The pain, the happiness, the fear and adrenaline.

“W-where’s…?” She asked, voice shot after screaming for so long.

“I'm right here honey.” She felt pressure resting on her leg move, her vision became more clear as more systems came online.

N was hovering over her, smiling, Bishop curled up asleep in one arm, Tera in the other. “Hey… welcome back.”

Uzi smiled back, shifting her leg only for pain to shoot through her again. “Nngh!”

“Yeah. Don't move too much, you're taking a long while to regenerate ” V said from behind her, her legs either side of Uzi.

“Why the hell am I in your lap?”

“Because we had to clean you up and you kept moving.” V said nonchalantly. “I was the restraints.”

Uzi looked down at herself and her surroundings. She'd been moved out of the now rather gross center of the nest where she'd been before. All three of them were against the wall, her oil and blood stained clothes thrown to the side including her beanie.

“How are you feeling?” N asked, squeezing her leg gently.

“Lighter?” She quipped, making V snort out a genuine laugh and Uzi to join, until her laugher turned into coughing and both dissasembly drones became concerned.

“Fine! I'm fine.” Uzi quickly assured. “Just… weak.”

“Bet you hate that.” V chuckled, though it lacked any kind of aggression, and Uzi felt her tail wrapped around her other leg get tighter.

“Bite me.” She mumbled, smiling as her gaze returned to her mate. “How long was I out?”

“Only a couple hours. If you're still tired we can stay with you a little longer…” N suggested, his expression endlessly soft.

“Liz is on her way, Thad too. I let them know.” V hummed, it was still strange to hear her voice so… kind.

“N-no it's okay… I kinda wanna… not be naked when they get here?”

V snorted again and N lit up in an embarrassed smile. “Whoops. Yeah that's fair.”

“You all look the same? What's it matter?”

“Says the one who runs around half naked all the time?” Uzi bit back.

“Have you tried to find clothes that fit this body shape?”

N let the girls have their playful argument, setting down his kits gently into the nest while he fumbled to the other side where they had stored some spare clothes.

He pulled out a purple top with black straps instead of sleeves to hold it up and smiled, bringing it back over.

“Here, this'll work.”

Uzi nodded, about to emerge from underneath the blanket before looking up at V and glaring.

“Oh for- fine!” V backed up and turned away with her arms crossed; not really seeing the point but doing it anyway.

Uzi tried to put on the top… but found she was simply too weak to do it by herself. N just lifted her arms for her and helped her along, fixing the straps and smoothing it out.

He ran his fingers through her hair to work out some tangles before resting his hand on her cheek, she nuzzled into it immediately, closing her eyes and purring.

“Still beautiful…” He smiled, giving her visor a kiss.

“Ew.” Said V, still turned away.

Uzi just laughed and leaned in to properly kiss him, melting under his warm touch.

It was only about ten minutes later that V dove out of the nest to pick up Thad and Lizzy from the base of the building, bringing them up to the entrance.

By that time, Bishop was already onto his first ever feed, done by Uzi, now propped up on pillows instead of V.

He kicked his little legs as he sucked from the bottle, his tail going everywhere without rhyme or reason.

“I don't think he has any control over his tail.” N laughed as he and Uzi leaned on each other's shoulders, watching thier son in her arms. Tera watched from her own perch in N's other arm, similarly fascinated.

“Like his dad.” She laughed, burying the top of her head underneath his chin.

Thad was the first one in front of them, his eyes hollow as he stared, almost transfixed. “He's a tiny N!”

N wagged his tail proudly “Yeah! He is!”

“Are you okay Zi?” He asked, and she nodded in return. “As I can be.”

Lizzy was next, coming next to Thad.

She smiles at the tiny baby, eyelights softening before her and Uzi meet in the middle.

Uzi smiles back, and a tear comes into Lizzy's eyelight before she quickly turns away to look at anything else. V comes to her side and hugs her tight.

N and Uzi embrace again, their emotion being unable to contain and-

There's the sound of leathery wings outside, and a thud of someone landing. Immediately, N's in front of his family, growling threateningly.

V's doing the same for Thad and Lizzy, her girlfriend gripping onto her shoulder and Thad peeking around her side.

Purple eyelights and purple hair tied in a ponytail hanging from the side emerged from outside, faded purple wings and a tail with many eyes.

She laughs, it sounds so painfully familiar.

“Room for one more?” The stranger asks, amusement in her tone.

“M-mom?”

Next ->

#murder drones #oil is thicker then blood #uzi doorman #asks #serial designation n #nuzi #biscuitbites #tera doorman #bishop doorman #nori doorman

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dearestspirit · 3 months ago

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a note heard in heaven - 07 (final)

mizu x fem!reader | au based on the film the handmaiden | word count: 10,495 | warnings: mdni. this series will contain sexual and dark themes, including: abuse, sex, sexual assault/harrasment, period typical misogyny, murder, allusions to suicide, and period typical stigmas against mental health.

series masterlist | previous part

You sit across from Taigen in a lavish hotel, somehow stomaching your meal as he babbles on about riches and luxury. Nausea stews in the core of your belly, all your worry for Mizu leaving your head empty of ways to reply to the man’s droning. All of your senses tried their best to focus on anything else– the scent of cigarette smoke wafting through the air, the pleasant taste of your food, the sunlight brightening the more western styled decor. The rattling of your hands is hidden behind small, polite bites. Ever so ladylike, newly wifelike. A sharp heave to your heart as you manage to notice the subtle dilation of Taigen’s pupils as his gaze trails over you. One that you’d come to understand is ingrained in your genetics to recognize; like prey at the bottom of the food chain, you feel your skin prickle, an urge gnawing at the very marrow of your bones. His plate, untouched, completes the predatory picture painted before you. Taigen was more than capable of being patient to act upon his carnivorous desire. How long you had, you were unsure.

Disregarding your trepidation, or at least refusing to comment on it, he slides an envelope your way over the table. Contained inside is a collection of black and white photographs depicting a well-furnished home.

“It’s owned by Russian nobles,” He leans over with his elbows on the table, a fang-toothed grin taking over his face. “We can marry again, there.”

Your brows shoot up at that, eyes trained on him to see if you can detect any hint of humor in his words. Your attempt to speak up is interrupted by a waiter coming by, taking your plate and replacing it with a sweet dessert.

Giving you no time to question him, Taigen resumes. “Soon enough, I’ll get notice from the asylum staff that my wife has passed.”

“Oh,” You pause, a strawberry dotted with cream nearly in your mouth as you instead lower your fork. “I thought you’d ask them to just keep her there.”

“Mm, well, I supposed she wouldn’t like to live there very long. Besides, you should’ve both known by now that I’m nothing if not a bastard.” He chuckles at that remark, though you couldn’t find it within you to even huff.

Digging into his suit jacket, he pulls out a passport. Inspecting its contents, you’re impressed with how polished the forgery is. With this, you’d officially become Mizu. Any legal traces of your old life would be no longer as soon as Taigen received word from the hospital.

“I’d like for us to get married again, once you take up her name.”

You scoff at that, shaking your head.

“I’ve come to like you, actually.” He tells you, and the unmistakable feeling of your veins running cold freezes you in place.

“Has it ever occurred to you to think about Mizu? She’s all alone in that wretched place.” It’s your best attempt at changing the subject. After all, she was the only one on your mind anyway.

You think of how, if she were here, dining next to the two of you– her chair closer to yours, hand perched on your thigh to soothe your nerves– she would’ve let her head rear back and cackle in Taigen’s face. For him to have any notion in his mind to genuinely confess romantic attraction to you… you have to think of her laughter so that you don’t cry. You have to think of the way she’d choke on her breath at how pathetic he is, even in an establishment such as this. No concern for social expectations, just utter amazement at Taigen pursuing the impossible. How her hand would travel a smooth path up your back and would curl around your shoulder as she tells him you’re spoken for.

“Why would I care?” Taigen snorts. “For how she was raised, you would think by now she would’ve seen it coming.”

“And you would think you wouldn’t fall for your partner in crime, Taigen.” Is about all you can muster up, hoping to dissuade him.

“Ah,” He shrugs, leaning back and lighting a cigarette. “To be honest with you, I can’t find myself minding, even if my love for you ends up costing me everything.”

Bile tickles at your throat at his nonchalant use of the word ‘love’, as if any of the time you two had shared could reasonably end with love as its conclusion. As if the bloodthirsty way his hands had touched you was love. As if all his greedy want for your money was love. From your end, you could’ve only summed it up with indifference. Disgust, even, if you wanted to push it that far.

Love burrowed itself far deeper in the reaches of your heart. That’s what you knew. Love was… it was someone rushing after you, finding you teary-eyed at the top of a staircase. Carrying you back to your bed and staying until sleep came to you, trick and all. A pair of shoes you couldn’t fathom scuffing, couldn’t bear to muck with mud. Floating, fragrant petals in cozily warm water. The flavor of bittersweet candy, a thimble grinding down all the painful parts of you that hurt. Earrings that, when you wear them, serve only to remind you of the eyes you wish you were looking into rather than your own reflection. Gentle hands undoing all superfluous buttons and laces without tearing into the skin underneath. A thin layer of sugar glazed over lips you wished to kiss forever. Cries of her name that wisped away in the blackness of night. Pitiful remnants of a library as she stood unshaken, metal baton in hand to ward off your suffering. Huddling closely for body heat when freezing fog rolls over the two of you. Blue waves of the sea, a halo-esque ring of light. Verdant hills accompanied by her husky chatter in your ear.

Love was companionship.

Love was her.

“With all due respect, I’m not quite sure what you’d know of love.”

Mizu scowls at the handful of rice she holds, the lifeless body of an insect poking out from where she had just bitten. She had to eat to survive her stay here, of course, but fuck. Sighing, she rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck, joints popping. The scratchy fabric of hospital clothes weighed on her. There was no room for distrust between the two of you anymore, she knew that. Still, she can’t shake the twinge of worry thrumming through her. Not that you’ll leave her– you wouldn’t, and she can’t believe that for the first time in her life, that’s actually true of somebody– but of you, alone, with Taigen. If he had even an inkling of what’s been plotted behind his back, it wasn’t certain how he’d react. Intrusively, the thought that he might hurt you claws at her. Rice squishes in her hand as she finds herself clenching her fist, leg shaking and chains clanking around her ankles. Mizu tries to be a patient woman. Tries to not immediately want to cut down everything in her path, but… Shit, she wishes she had pushed Taigen off that fucking boat, passport be damned.

More simply put, she just missed you. Never before had she known the ways of love, and she had lived most of her life believing everyone around her would leave, or that she somehow deserved that rocky emptiness of being alone. It became clear to her over time that you were the same– so savagely left abandoned in a world you could only escape through death. Even then, was it an escape if the cycle repeated beyond your passing? It’s funny to her now, how she had shown up at your door expecting some naive, immature girl who wouldn’t have cared about her at all. She was so, so certain that you’d be disgusted with her, eagerly taking the opportunity to run away with a handsome, wealthy man. Mizu could’ve never predicted you, all your melancholic radiance that had enraptured her. How carefully you had pieced yourself together and how, crashing into her, you’d let her handle every unsightly, jagged shard of you. Every time you brushed against her, touched her, held her arm or her hand– it was in that she found meaning. Entirely reorganizing herself into a protector, into somebody worth protecting in return. Her fingertips trace along her lower lip, thinking of saccharine candy, ripe peaches, and the night she made a promise to you.

She’ll carry that promise to the end of the world.

Before her mind can return to visualizing the many ways to dispose of Taigen, heat crawls its way through the asylum. Thick, heavy smoke laden with ash creeps across the ceiling, the distinct scent of fire apparent. Ironically, it’s the first time since arriving here that Mizu feels like she can really breathe.

Finally, she’s able to pluck a hair pin from her usual updo. A thin piece of metal that luckily no one had bothered to confiscate. One of the nurses rushes to the doors, throwing them open to reveal dark, fiery clouds rolling in. Amidst the commotion of patients and staff alike hollering, Mizu reaches down to her shackles to start picking the locks. Freeing herself, she’s greeted by familiar faces– or, familiar bodies, rather– as her friends from back home don gas masks and makeshift protective gear. In all honesty, they look silly to her and she thanks whatever powers there are that you won’t have to see her like that. As much as she believes in your goodness and as much as she revels in the way you dote on her, she’d like to retain some shreds of her dignity beyond this whole affair. The sight is certainly something you wouldn’t let her live down.

Her old colleagues fuss over her, hurriedly getting her own mask and gear on. Mizu doesn’t even take a second to consider the risk of literally walking through fire with only shoddy equipment to protect her. So deliberately focused not on her survival, but yours. Getting you out of Taigen’s grasp and into safety. Into her arms, where she hoped you felt safest. And, perhaps a bit selfishly, she wanted to feel your lips at the crown of her hair. To rest her chin in the middle of your chest and close her eyes and not feel underlying dread. Splay the length of her fingers across your lower back to feel the realness of your skin. That once miniscule throb in her heart had grown, overwhelmingly emerging as what she could only call desperation. Desperation for your domesticity– stability she had never yearned for nor thought she needed.

But now, when the portrait of you as her wife had taken residency in her mind, there was nothing more she wanted. Every possibility of a life with you had rooted itself within her. She recalls the moment you had told her you could’ve even been happy staying with your fiance, as long as she was your handmaiden. Remorse chewed at her, thinking if she had confessed sooner that you wouldn’t have thought so lowly of yourself. Like you needed to convince her with wealth and extravagance to make her stay. Wherever the two of you ended up, it didn’t matter to her. Home could be a cabin built in the solitude of snowy mountains. Somewhere in the city accompanied by busy foot-traffic and bustling markets. Out in the grassy, sunny countryside with some animals or farmland. Little dwellings by the shore, a river, a lake. Even some kind of desert where she’d cringe at the heat and sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Anywhere, she decided. She’d take you anywhere after all this was over, as long as it meant never seeing your eyes gloss over with tears again.

Home was companionship.

Home was you.

Mizu wasn’t sure when she had become so sentimental. So sappy that she had to swallow down a lump in her throat, a tightly wound density of all her terror and all her adoration.

Drumming pulses in your ear, you can’t seem to slow your heartbeat. You’ve separated into hotel rooms for the night, Taigen no longer in your presence. Staring down at the two glasses you’ve filled with wine, you try to work up some courage within yourself. This is likely the only chance you’ll have to rid yourself of him. Clutching the vial in your hand, you unscrew the cap. His wedding gift to you, the tiny glass filled with liquid opium that, should your fiance have ever found you, would’ve been enough to kill you. Shakily, you tip it just so that a few drops cascade down into the alcohol. You could only hope he had been truthful about how strong the substance was.

If Mizu was here, you guessed, she’d be able to do this no problem. You hadn’t been oblivious to the intensity of her stares pointed towards Taigen. Though, back then, it wasn’t clear if it stemmed from jealousy or plain annoyance. The man’s arrogance was always laid on thick when he was near, so it came to no surprise to you that someone like Mizu wouldn’t be fond of him.

You give yourself a little self-assuring nod, determined to go through with the plan. He’d be the best at locating you two if it ever came down to that, and you knew it wasn’t a chance you could take with your fiance also likely to be on your trail. If he wasn’t already. Grabbing the two glasses, you figured all you could do was move forward. Even if you couldn’t bestow yourself with some false bravery, you at least knew you could do this for Mizu. For her survival, the likelihood that you two could reunite. What else could possibly matter more at this moment?

Even still, your steps as you make your way to Taigen’s door are hesitant. Realistically, while there were many paths your actions could take, there were only two possible outcomes. Either Taigen’s death, or… yours. You learned a long time ago that death was not all that terrifying. You were no stranger to welcoming it, even. Worse than that was the idea of leaving Mizu all alone. Shaking your head, you knock on the door. From outside, you can hear Taigen groan and the faint creaking of bed springs as he lifts himself up.

He seems surprised to see you, but he gestures you inside anyway. Taking a wide step away from him to make your way in, you clear your throat.

“I wanted to come offer my gratitude for what you’ve done for me,” You tell him, hoping there’s no wobble in your dictation as you put on a deceitfully flirtatious smile. “I supposed that I could at least offer you a kiss.”

Handing him one of the glasses you have, he shakes his head. “No.”

“And why not?” Your eyes dart to where he holds his drink, having not taken a sip yet.

“I can tell that it’s not something you truly want,” Taigen sits on his bed– covered in a layer of money– eyes half lidded as he looks up at you. “I wouldn’t want just a kiss like that.”

“I see,” You nod, clicking your tongue. “And if I gave you ten minutes? What would you give me?”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Anything.”

Taigen stands so suddenly that it startles you briefly, before his lips are wetly planted onto yours. One of his hands is already firmly at your waist, digging into the fabric of your clothes, trying to get under them. Inwardly, you recoil at his nature– so forceful, impatient. Nothing like Mizu, who takes only when you enthusiastically give. Leaves you waiting until you’re wanting, wanting, wanting. When his lips part from you, you slowly blink as you come to your senses, seemingly forgetting where you were as you thought about the one you wished you were with.

Thumb toying with your bottom lip, Taigen grins. “I’ll spend these ten minutes teaching you so much.”

Nauseating. Raising your drink, you take large, nervous gulps of the wine. Hoping to encourage him to do the same, as he has yet to indulge. The thought that he might know throbs at the back of your mind, a painful ache that you aren’t sure how to soothe yet.

His mouth finds its way onto your neck, repulsively blazing down the exposed planes of your body. It’s fine, for now, you think. Let out a staccato of exaggerated, feminine moans and he’ll be none the wiser. Abruptly he begins to peel at the neckline of your clothes, pulling the sleeves down your arms until your chest is bare. Discomfort bubbles up, and you take his jaw in your palm, guiding him downwards so the two of you are kneeling on the carpet. Forcing his drink out of his grasp, you sip, retaining it in your mouth. Clumsily, you knock your face against his to try to kiss him, spilling the drugged alcohol into his mouth. His eyes are wide as he fumbles, swallowing frantically as a few droplets escape. So you do it again, another rush of wine into his system until his cup is empty. Taigen’s head drops to the nape of your neck, once again ghosting his lips over your bare skin. A smear of wine stains you, clinging at his biceps to keep him from falling over on top of you. Body swaying, his strength was slowly sapped out of him by the opium.

Relief floods you as you crawl away from him, watching as he faceplants onto the floor limply. As grim as it is, you feel a bit giddy as you hop up to your feet once more. Tapping at the side of his head with a socked foot, he lays unmoving. Failing to show any signs of life, you’re immediately rifling through his discarded suit jacket, retrieving his passport. The next few minutes go by in a flurry for you. Tearing apart his wardrobe to take his clothes and cramming as much of the money layered on his mattress as you can into the briefcase he’d brought with him. Adrenaline coursed through you in staggering waves, nearly numbing your fingers as you worked. Mizu was waiting for you, and finally, you would be on your way to her. How many days since you last saw her had you spent looking at the sky, thinking it could never compare to the blue of her irises? How many times had you looked at Taigen, willing your mind to see Mizu across from you instead? How many times had you licked your lips, praying you could taste the tang of her sugar on them?

Mizu– the syllables of her name, the bells of her laughter, the shine of her eyes– all of her, spilling over in your mind until she tints every corner she touches.

Soon, is all you could think. Soon, she’ll be yours again.

The next time Taigen wakes, he’s splayed out on the floor, drool soaking into the pristine carpet underneath him. Groggily turning his head, he’s greeted by two swordsmen. He could only guess they were sent by your fiance. Clicking his tongue, he lowers his forehead back to the ground.

“Fuck.” He breathes, ever aware of how screwed he is.

It isn’t long before he’s hauled into some carriage to take him back to your estate, wrists bound together. Still, he manages to fish his cigarette case out of his pocket, taking the last three white papered ones and lighting them all to smoke.

It’s there, the library, where Taigen finally learns what you meant. When you two had first met and you had told him you would never go back to the basement. Claustrophobic and frigid, the dark room is practically a dungeon. A brutal display of all your fiance's grotesque perversions, hidden away from prying eyes. The overtness of it all even makes Taigen a bit queasy, though there’s nothing he can do about it as he’s strapped down to a chair. Fingers forcefully placed into some well sharpened bookmaking tools, once a proper thing that your fiance had cherished. Madness apparent, your fiance sat reading a letter you had written to him aloud.

Taigen’s consciousness drifted in and out, delirious from shock, fatigue, and pain. What he understood from what you had written was simple and struck directly at his ego– you had thanked him for sending Mizu to you. His shoulders raise in a self-deprecating chuckle at that, shaking his head and staring at his feet restricted below him.

“Can I…” Taigen heaves, ignoring the echoing drips of blood. “Can I at least smoke a cigarette, mister?”

Your fiance snorts. “What an idiot,” He rummages through Taigen’s jacket, finding the tin he was looking for. “I’ve arranged it so that no two girls can leave together, anyhow. They’ll be back with me soon enough.”

Placing the blue-wrapped cigarette between Taigen’s lips, he lights it for him as well. “Now, come on…” Your fiance goads, a malicious smile on his face. “At least tell me about your wedding night with her.”

Taigen grunts, inhaling the smoke deeply. He’s not surprised by the question in the slightest, now more familiar with your fiance’s ways than ever. The readings were already depraved enough as it is, but now, this room he was trapped in… Again, it made even him start to feel the swirls of distaste in his gut. Foolish man, he thought. Foolish for not just taking the money and running. His mind drifts to the night your fiance shamelessly asks about. There, at the inn concealed in the depths of a forested mountain, you had him fooled then too.

Worried that Mizu would be listening in, Taigen urged the two of you to ‘do your best’. Stepping away from him and disrobing, you had laid yourself on the bedroll, completely covering yourself under the blanket that had been provided. Taigen crawled over on his knees, caressing the side of your face, impressed at your beauty. Attempting to press his lips against yours, you had unsheathed a dagger and pointed it in his direction. In your eyes was a fire, the statement ‘no’ very clear in the flames.

Taigen pauses, taking his last blue-wrapped cigarette and lighting it. Breathing the smoke in deeply once more, he shakes his head. Remembering the truth but covering it up with some falsities that get your old man peculiarly excited.

That night you had pleasured yourself, Mizu’s humming drifting through the air. He demeans himself a little, thinking he should’ve known right there and then it was never going to be him who made it out alive. From above the fabric of your sheet, even he could tell the rhythm of your desire was harmonious with Mizu’s voice. How, when put together, your moans and her tune, made a complete song. When your finishing wail had sliced through the silence, you took the dagger to your palm to allow droplets of your blood to fall upon the bedroll. Convincing enough, he thought.

Tendrils of tinted smoke curl through the room, sitting thickly in every space it could. Taigen’s eyes squint as he watches your fiance grow weary, stumbling as he coughs.

“You know,” Taigen’s tongue darts out and wets his lips, lethargy overtaking him as well. “Mercury is the most fatal in its gaseous form.”

The older man falls to the floor, ailing and helpless.

Taigen rears his head back, taking quick breaths of the smoke, hoping the fatal gas invades his lungs even faster. As he fades, the last image in his mind is of all three of you cramped in that tiny wooden vessel before reaching the ferry.

Of your body, curving into Mizu’s as you tightly hold her hand. Of your face, where there’s a hint of a grin more venomous than he remembers, teeth sharply biting through the haze of silvery fog.

Of him, poignantly alone and rowing.

Mizu has always prided herself on her ability to keep herself calm. She’s always been levelheaded, capable of being rational in even the worst of times. The room resounds with the never-ending clicking of her shoes as she paces back and forth, eyes sternly on the floor. You should be here soon. Or, should you have been here already? Ignoring the burning stares of her friends who had rescued her from the hospital, anxiety starts to cloud her mind. Was there a chance you’d left her? Worse, was there a chance you were still plotting with Taigen? Or… what if you really did like him? More than you liked her? She wasn’t oblivious to the way his gaze started to shift when it landed on you. Being apart from you, it was so easy to let her lack of confidence swallow her whole. An insecurity she hid well, always seeming so self-assured. Here, without you, she couldn’t search for the sparkle in your eye, or the upwards quirk of your lips, or the subtle flush on your cheeks. Those things that only happen when you look at her. As if she’s someone precious, someone to be adored. Someone who was wanted. Even just imagining your bashful expression is enough to send her heart racing, hoping to be reunited with you sooner rather than later.

Outside, the streets are lively, people going to and fro. Weaving your way through them, at what you hope is a normal pace so as to not draw attention to yourself, your attention fully set on the various signs leading you to your destination. Directions repeated themselves in your head like a mantra, making sure you couldn’t miss any turns. Picking up speed, you briskly make a turn down a more narrow alleyway that takes you face to face with the building you had planned to meet Mizu at. While the doors were far less ornate than what you were used to, they still intimidated you all the same. With luck, she’s here. Hoisting yourself up the concrete steps, you raise your fist to knock. Before you can make contact, the doors swing open with a force that tumbles you down the steps, dropping the bag of money you’d taken. Carefully catching your footing, you look up at what’s caused the commotion.

A pair of ice blue eyes greets you, and finally. The cracks of your heart have begun to fuse themselves together, the warmth of her lapping at your wounds to heal you. Shattered thing that you are, made anew by the way her arms cling around your waist with ardent fervor. Her hair, loose and tousled, catching the rays of sun. Laughter ringing in your ears as all you can do is clutch at her. Arms tossed over her shoulders, gripping at the fabric of her kimono as you nuzzle yourself into the crook of her neck. Your body nearly tears itself in two, half gasping in mirthful giggles, half gasping in shaking sobs. Mizu’s hand pets at your hair, cradling the base of your skull and softly shushing you. For this brief moment, everyone else has crumbled away and that dream of yours truly exists, much like it did in that grassy field as the two of you ran. For this brief moment, the world is two people and the sidewalk they stand on. It’s the frenzied path that Mizu’s hands follow, up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms to your wrists until she takes your face in her palms– like she’s afraid of separating from you even for a minute.

Her thumbs drag through the still wet tear tracks on your cheeks, her lips parted. You watch as her eyes flick about, mapping out every detail of your features she can. Committing them to memory, as if you two would ever be apart again. When her eyes trace a path down to your mouth, there’s a shy flutter of her lids, a momentary dart of her tongue to wet her lips. Endearing as always, there’s the way her skin reddens in a creeping flush all the way to her ears. You had learned, over time, that Mizu was not one to vocalize the things she yearned for. She was a woman who preferred action over dialogue, letting her eyes, hands, and body language speak for her. Just by looking in those irises of hers, you can tell what she’s hoping for.

“Ask me.” You sniffle, a wide smile on your face as she’s already rolling her eyes.

“Come inside, first. There’s people out here, okay?” Mizu whispers and shakes her head, though the tears at the corner of her waterline are unmistakable.

She pinches your cheek as a pout forms, clearing her throat of unshed tears. Damn the world around you, she wanted to kiss you until you were sated and panting. Until your knees faltered and quivered, embracing her so you didn’t fall. Mizu makes a move to grab the briefcase you had so unceremoniously dropped earlier, offering up her arm for you to take. She’s grateful to see you latch onto her, cozying yourself up to her side in delight. You were more than welcome to crowd her personal space at this point, her usual qualms against physical touch thrown to the wayside when it came to you. It’s the first time she hides her gaze from you, suddenly feeling sheepish. After all this time being away from you, to finally being able to touch you… it’s overwhelmingly mushy. You look at her with such loving intensity. She needs a breather, needs to let her system cool off before she overheats and explodes right here in this alley. She supposes that was just your effect on her– turning her brain to lovesick soup.

“Everyone’s inside waiting… and probably peeking through the windows, so let’s head in.” Mizu grits her teeth, reminded of the teasing she endured in your absence.

“Okay,” You tell her, leaning your head to rest on her shoulder. “I missed you, you know.”

She’s more than relieved to hear it, any doubts she had washing away with your kind words. “Of course I know.”

You’re the first one to head to the door, holding it open for her as she effortlessly carries in the duffel of cash. Everyone approaches you hospitably, shaking hands with you and giving their thanks for the gold jewelry you’d gifted them. It puts your nerves at ease how cordial they are, seemingly liking you. While Mizu and you would be traveling away from them, you were glad to know you had their approval. Hopefully, if time soothed these wounds, you could write or visit them without worry for any consequences.

A few of them head into the other room, gathering up all the materials needed for the next step of your plan. It gives you a few minutes alone with Mizu, which you welcome.

“Will you ask me now?” You plant your hands at her collarbones, looking at her with pleading eyes.

“You really are infuriating,” Mizu huffs, but her pinkening complexion states otherwise. She lets her knuckles brush your cheek, using her thumb to tilt your chin. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes, please.” You mutter.

Mizu takes her time. There’s an eternity beyond this that leaves her craving something chaste with you. Craving the way her lips land on your forehead first. To your cheeks, where her nose nudges at your heated skin. Dotting the tip of your nose as she watches the excitement in your eyes grow, up until your lids close in anticipation. It’s only then does she bring her mouth to yours, her hands landing on your waist. Her kiss is tame, short-lived yet expressing all she had in store for you after you two made your escape. When she pulls away you follow after her, planting one more peck on her lips. Abruptly feeling demure, you take a step back, her hands falling back to her sides.

“Sorry…” You mumble, toying with your fingers to distract yourself.

“Don’t be,” Mizu swipes a thumb over the height of your cheekbone. “It’s… cute of you, really. I’ve never had anyone want to be so romantic with me before.”

“Their loss then, isn’t it?” You say as you bump your shoulder into hers.

You spend the next few hours getting fussed over. In order to make everything go as smoothly as possible, you’d be clothing yourself with a more masculine disguise. Besides, as a noble– or, former noble, at least– you would be more recognizable. Not that you had ever personally left your estate, but you’re sure your fiance has already had the news spread wide and far, guards looking everywhere for you two. With everything in place, you look like the typical man you’d see on the street. Your hair’s been made to appear short, a suit that’s just a little too large draping your frame, and you even have a patch of false facial hair to stick onto your upper lip when you’re ready. Mizu, of course, finds this amusing.

“Honestly,” She’s snickering from behind you. “You don’t look all that bad like this.”

“Is this how you felt when we were on the train together?” You ask, peering into the mirror as you took in your current image.

“Sort of,” Mizu shrugs, her voice lowering to that husky, flirty tone of hers. “Mostly I was thinking about how I must’ve looked more like your husband than Taigen. How I should’ve put you right in my lap and kissed you.”

“You should’ve.” Your eyes dart over to where she stands in the reflection of the room, willing yourself to ignore how her comment ignites a warmth in you.

“Logistically, we still needed him then,” Mizu comes up behind you, nose against the back of your neck as she leaves a kiss there. “Trust me, if we didn’t, we would’ve been the ones getting married at that inn.”

“Oh, would we?” You spin around to face her. “I seem to recall us talking about marriage once, specifically you being someone’s wife, and you very much replied that you’d pass.”

She scoffs at that, bowing her head. “That was… before.”

“Before?” You inquire.

“I can’t pin it down to one exact moment, but before it was you who I was picturing getting married to.” Her voice is small, sensitive. “Though, the moment I realized… it was probably that day I saw you kissing Taigen, out in the woods. That day… I really thought he had you. That you had romantic intentions with him.”

“You’re kind of oblivious then, aren’t you?” You smile, rubbing at her arms to try to comfort her. You could tell the sudden vulnerability took a toll on her. “I told you I thought about marrying you on that night I got you all dressed up, when you kept asking if I was really going to wed my fiance.”

She blinks, her memory jogging itself. This time, it catches the way you had stuttered back then, tripping over your words to say you… you’re asking a lot of questions. “Well, you could’ve been a little clearer.” Mizu coughs, covering the lower half of her face with her hand.

“I could’ve.” You laugh at that, shaking your head. “If I was any clearer, maybe you would’ve spoken up sooner.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Her response is curt, to the point. An emotion swims in her eyes that you can faintly recognize– something resembling regret.

“We were both surviving off instinct, trying to escape lives we didn’t want. I’m not going to hold that against you.” You soothe your hand up and down her back, feeling her sink into your touch.

She nods, though anything more she was going to say is interrupted by her colleagues returning to the room. Time for the real work to begin.

Together, after finally applying every piece of your disguise, it was their job to photograph you and prepare your fake passport. Since you’d be traveling under the cover of being a man, they’d have to adjust the picture inside. You had watched over their handiwork, noting the remarkable precision with which everything was completed. Hopefully it’d be up to par. Or, if you had any luck left, the ticket agent wouldn’t scrutinize it too heavily. You waited by the door, observing Mizu saying her goodbyes. Fiddling with the newly made passport in your hand, you tried to quell your anxieties. Everyone had reassured you how convincing the charade was, that you had nothing to worry about. More than anything you wanted to trust and believe them, but with your lives on the line, it was hard to. Or, it is hard, until Mizu finally turns to you and takes you by the hand. All it takes is one squeeze to quell the anxiety you harbored in your chest, one squeeze for your heart to thump wildly with love rather than fear. That coy smile of hers chips away at your resolve until you finally mirror her expression.

“There,” She says with a sense of satisfaction at seeing the upturn of your lips. “Now we can go.”

Arriving at the station, it’s blindingly bright. The surrounding architecture and decoration is bathed in a formless white, the nothingness of it all creating a nauseous twist in your stomach. Going around are a few men holding pamphlets which you can only assume has your image on it. They stop by multiple women, lifting their headwear and examining their facial features. It almost dizzies you, the agonizingly slow pace of the line you’ve slotted yourself into alongside Mizu. You crowd against her back, trying to find comfort in her closeness. In the way her spine dips, in the way you can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin blouse she dons. It softens what you think is the inevitable blow. That the ticket agent will see through your ruse and you’ll be back to hell in no time, but you had been with her until the end, you suppose.

So when he seamlessly– seamlessly as in Mizu takes care of everything while you freeze in doom behind her– exchanges your two tickets to Vladivostok for two tickets to Shanghai, you’re stunned. While he had checked a few lists, it wasn’t done with any sort of urgency or genuine belief that either of you were the women being searched for. You stand there, locked in place until her fingers curl around your wrist and beckon you to get a move on to board the ferry.

Reaching the deck, the sun has begun its descent, washing you both in a hazy orange. Mizu, wordlessly, takes a step towards you and tries her best to gently peel the fake mustache off your upper lip. She chuckles as she does so, feeling a flicker of heat crawl up your veins. As she pulls off the ring Taigen had given you, it’s a weight lifted. Many weights lifted. It’s a first for you. The idea that if you look over your shoulder, no one will be chasing after you, desperate to lock you away. Safe. Safe, with Mizu’s eyes sparkling like you’ve never seen before and the sun framing her in a halo, you’re safe. All you feel you can do is press a kiss to her lips, hoping everything you wish to tell her is translated in the way you give yourself to her.

The way you urge her below deck, to the room you had been assigned. It’s a beautiful one, decked in grandeur. There’s a few chairs and a larger couch in the room, accompanied by two porthole windows facing the night. That deep blue, sprinkled with a dusting of silvery stars was suddenly no longer a dream. And neither was Mizu. Here, in this private space, you could shed your hat and undo the pins in your hair. It allowed you a moment to breathe, stepping over to the luggage you had packed.

You turn to Mizu, looking at her expectantly. “I… brought something,” You’re muttering, a dash of embarrassment apparent in the way you speak. “For us, I mean.”

She takes the sleek black box you hand her, one adorned in ornate golden flowers and held together by a teal rope, tassel on the end.

“We don’t have to.” You’re quick, nearly stumbling over yourself.

“I haven’t even opened it yet.” Mizu throws an eyebrow up at you. Her movements halt, showing her concern. Her care, for she won’t open it if you really rather her not.

“Well,” You gulp. “You can.”

“Okay. I will.”

And she does.

There’s a tremble in the way she coughs as it opens to reveal two pairs of bells, each one on a length of rope. You can see the way her grip tightens, knuckles paling.

“Like I said, we… we don’t have to,” You’re putting your hands over hers, attempting to close the box. “I just thought, maybe to celebrate…”

Mizu wrenches the box back towards her, your hands falling waywardly to your side. Clearing her throat, she finally tears her gaze away from the bells to look at you.

“We can.” She tells you, pupils blown as you stare into their inky darkness. Inky like letters on a page you once read, pages you’d wished were her.

The unfiltered husk of adoration in her voice wracks through you, your mouth drying in surprise. “You’re sure?” You all but squeak. “Just because I want to doesn’t mean-”

“I want to,” Mizu says plainly. “I was only taken aback for a moment because of how much I want to.”

“Oh, then…” You bounce on your heels, hands clasped together in a nervous energy, unsure of how to move your body or exist in this space with Mizu’s confession.

She gingerly places the open box aside for now, stepping forward. Her chest flush against your own, it causes you to jolt slightly.

“Can I show you?” Mizu asks, and you find yourself fixated on the way her lips move, the way cockiness and desire and love swirl together in the syllables she speaks.

“Show me how the Count would?” Your skittish nature propels forward this joke of yours.

“Funny,” Mizu huffs, exhaling from her nose. “No, I’m going to show you how your wife would.”

There’s a powerful beat of your heart that almost knocks itself out of your chest before she’s arching into you, her mouth descending on you with quickness. To meet at the juncture of your jaw, curling around to your cheek as her palm takes residence on the side of your neck. Holding you in place, her thumb sits below your ear with a firm pressure. There’s a shine in her eyes, a teary glaze over them as you feel this newfound sense of freedom settle over the two of you. It all culminates, crescendos to the extraordinary point of your lips meeting. It’s paradoxically finite, the first yet the last. Singular yet familiar. The bookend of a story never told.

Something entirely yours.

Something that can be met only with the clutching of fabric, a blouse that’d sooner be torn to shreds if you had any lack of self control. Neither of you are a stranger to the machinations of this devotion, but you find yourself quelling the more primal depths of your brain. Beyond this ferry your life laid in wait, and you’re sure– or hopeful, rather– that you’d have more than enough opportunities to indulge yourself. Instead you let your hands roam, memorizing the texture beneath your palms, the silken smoothness of her as Mizu’s tongue parts your lips. It’s a simple motion with a simple response yet it sparks a heat of lightning through you all the same. Courses even stronger when her lithe fingers travel down the expanse of your sternum, languidly unbuttoning your dress shirt. Remorse paints her face as she pulls away from you, a physical pain at even the notion of being apart. Her chest heaves with a shuddering breath, helping you discard your stiff suit jacket to the side. Trailing a finger down your middle, following the path of undone buttons, she gulps. The softness of your skin underneath the rough pad of her fingerprint, a silent wish that those ridges could impart a brand upon you– and the same for her, as she’d welcome any mark of yours on her flesh.

That wish turns out to be fleeting– there are no barriers here, no line she can’t cross without your desire for her to do so– she herself can grant them. So she allows her teeth to sink into the skin bare to her. The column of your throat is granted no mercy, not now when you’re melting from the heat of her mouth. Not now when there’s no longer the lingering threat of someone else finding the flowers of reds and purples and yellows she’ll plant on you. Teeth laying claim on every inch she can muster, licking at the bruises blossoming. She pants against your neck, your hands tight around her biceps to hold yourself steady. Mizu is damn near ravenous, starvation fueling her as she is finally able to satiate herself with something she’s been denied for so long. Blood pumps through her with a thunderous current, radiating through her cheeks so warmly you can feel it.

“You know, right?” Mizu rasps, nose pushing your unbuttoned shirt to the side so she can latch herself to the nape of your neck.

“Know what?” You breathe, a particularly hard bite of hers causing you to mewl.

“That I love you,” She’s sliding a hand upwards, slipping your sleeve down your shoulder to expose even more of you to her. “I love you.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” You nod, heart throbbing. You’re sure she can feel the pound of it as her lips glide along your heated skin. “I love you too.”

“My name, please, say it.” Mizu asks sheepishly.

She tries not to dwell on the pang of selfishness she feels at the request. How long had she spent forsaking certain pleasures to steel herself to a world that has never wanted her? Is it so wrong to let herself whittle that world down, to pinpoint her existence to the way your voice calls for her? The way your voice wraps itself up in honey and coats her bones in the sickeningly sweet urge to live.

“I love you, Mizu.”

There’s a desperateness to the way she shuffles backwards, fully disrobing you of your shirt, torso completely in the nude now. The glow of her cheeks almost implies a drunken state, eyes glossed over and lips shining. It’s not long before she’s back to it, only this time she nuzzles her mouth to the side of your breast. Your wrists are enclosed in her hands now, leaving you still in your place as she works the fat into the grip of her teeth. Moving inward, it’s sudden when she pulls your nipple taut, releasing only when she hears the hitch of your breath and feels the squirm of your thighs. Her breath ghosts along your skin with a chuckle at your reaction, knowing there’s not much you can do other than relent and take whatever she offers you. You more than welcome it though, a distinct restlessness pumping through you.

“Mizu,” You plead, as she’s now turned her attention to the opposite breast. “To the… to the couch over there, at least, please?”

The want drips off your voice in waves, ones that fill Mizu’s lungs and snaps her out of her trance. You’re hauled into her arms, feet off the floor as she carries you with ease. Unceremoniously plopped onto the plush cushions of the loveseat, Mizu now stands tall over you.

Running your hands up and down her thighs over her pants, you peer up at her curiously. “May I undress you?”

Her fingers curl at the base of your skull, thumb caressing back and forth. “Sure, princess.”

You snort at the nickname, rolling your eyes, but the endearment in her voice enchants you. Tucking into the waistband of her pants, you pull them downwards at a teasingly slow pace. You grin, a quirk of irritation present in the furrow of her brow. As they pool at her ankles, you move to work the tie of her blouse undone. Mizu shakes it off, joining the pile of clothes amassing in whatever corner of the room they’ve been tossed to. She’s rid of her underclothes just as quickly, naked before you now. In another swift motion, her hair cascades down the flow of her shoulders and falls along her. It’s her natural state, all the prim and properness of her attire unfastened by your doing. Every tense muscle of hers melts, this way. Shoulders dropping, lids fluttering, chest sinking with a sigh. Melts her into a syrupy puddle taking form in your palms. There is no end to the blessing you feel, not when you’re the one she looks down upon so expectantly. Your hands trace down her lower back, over the swell of her ass and you end up with your thumbs dug into the meat of her thighs. Ghosting your mouth at her hip, you nip at the protruding bone there. She hisses, the slight pain making her wince. But you see her writhe, feel the way her hand comes to rest at your shoulder and she subtly starts to tremble. Secretly, she’s expressive to a degree where she’s easily readable, if you’re trained to see it.

Expressive and sensitive. There’s a high whine of her voice as your tongue swipes along the crease of her thigh, closing the distance between you and where she very much wants you to be. Stopping at her inner thigh, you decide it’s your turn to grace her skin with bruising hues, teeth settling into her. Her breaths sound adjacent to hiccups, like when one can’t get a full inhale before exhaling again. Like all she’s ever done was wait for you, hoping you’d kneel at her altar. You give her your worship in the form of fingernail tracks down the backs of her legs and teeth marks following a circular path. Up one thigh, arcing across the curve of her lower belly, down the next thigh. She was your Mizu, your very own deviously angelic sight to behold. In her eyes swam the prayer she wanted you to recite– and you would.

You use your thumbs to part her lower lips, opening her up to you. You’re in awe of her always, momentarily lost in the glistening of her arousal you’re met with. Bringing your mouth to her, you feel your lids flutter at the first hint of her taste, the first twitch of her thighs. Your nose is nuzzled into the pudge of her mons pubis, the faint curls of hair there. Eagerly, you trace your tongue over her cunt in rolling circles that have her whimpering, zinging through the silence directly to your own heat. Sucking at her clit, you can feel her hips stutter, her fingers reaching to your hair and pulling. You gasp, panting hot breaths against her. Using your hair, she grinds herself into you, your accepting mouth, as you grab at her thighs and hope you get smothered. It’d be a fine way to go, is all you can think. Mizu’s wetness stains the sides of your practically drooling mouth, coating even your chin in a sticky luster. She shallowly bumps her clit across your tongue, as you begin to notice her thighs shaking in your periphery.

“Close…” Mizu whispers down at you, the hold on your hair morphing into more of a gentle grasp. More of a caressing coddle, keeping you flush to her pussy.

You think it’s the way you look up at her that does her in– the flutter of your lashes, the way your tongue is held out for her to just use, the overwhelming gleam of your eyes that just scream please. Arms wrapped around her thighs, you keep her upright as her knees wobble, pitchy breaths in your ear as she rides out the shocks of her orgasm.

You can’t help but laugh into her inner thigh, elation tickling up your throat at how much you love her. How beautiful she is, how lucky you are.

Mizu’s brow furrows again, her trembling beginning to finally cease as she straddles your lap. Those fancy slacks you have on are quickly darkened at the contact.

“What’s so funny?” She’s quite obviously still breathless, but stubbornly she must question you anyway.

“Nothing’s funny, promise.” You lean backwards, causing her body to curve into yours. The way her heart is always searching to be close to your own, some sort of echolocation using the ever in tune beats. Your palm follows her spine, up the bumps of each vertebrae, coming to rest between her shoulder blades.

Mizu, reaching between your smushed together bodies, cants her hips in such a way so that she can finally undo your trousers. Aiding her, you lift up so she can successfully get them off of you, though it’s still a bit of a struggle. It takes a second but she also manages to maneuver you into the position she’d like you in– something that’s clearly never been a challenge to her thanks to her strength. You’re sprawled out, laying on your back and she’s between your legs, sitting on her knees. With one of your legs balanced on her shoulder, she smiles, greeting your ankle with a coy kiss. Like this, she has more than enough room to dip a hand between your thighs. Enough room to roughly press her thumb to your clit, swallowing harshly as she hears that first moan of yours break through. Spurred on by the way your head lolls back, her fingertips find your entrance with ease. You had been nearly soaked through your trousers, not to mention your underclothes, making the first thrusts of her fingers smooth. She curls them within you, prodding at that soft spot that has you cooing in wanton delight.

Mizu wants nothing more than to paint your image into the deepest recesses of her mind, make you a mural on every neuron. She’s relentless with her motions, the back and forth drag of her fingers, sculpting you to the shape of her until that’s all your body could manage to remember. With her free hand, she urges your lips open with her thumb. Of course, she knows by now how intelligent you are, how fiery you can be if really put to the test. There’s still a twinge of pride in her at the way you still so obediently take her thumb into your mouth, already twisting your tongue around it to sufficiently wet it. The way there’s no metal to dull the feeling, the way there never will be. Of everyone she’d seen you reject, of all the times she’d wondered what your true feelings were… those were all dashed away. You loved her, a certainty that no longer chilled her to the bone with dread. Rather, her heart constricts itself into the outline of a thimble, squeezing with a vigor that almost makes her cry. No shame or embarrassment prickling her teary eyes, just the cool relief of knowing.

It has her collapsing into you, mouth meeting yours in a wet fervor as your leg slips down from her shoulder. There’s an insatiable appetite that fuels her, makes her want to know no other sensation than the way you wrap around her fingers, the way you simultaneously crumble against the cushions yet arc up into her touch. Your arms become something much like angel wings to her, how they wrap around her shoulders in a protective shield, restraining her so close to you that whatever heaven lies between you two is nothing more than a mere sliver. Her chest rumbles with a groan as she feels the sting of your nails in her back, feels you start to spasm every time she crooks her fingers, feels the way your breath sputters into little hitched hums.

“I know, I know…” Mizu utters into your hair, vulnerable and wanting.

Hearing the reverence in her voice shatters you, every wire in your body snapping with a broken, choked moan. She continues to work at you regardless, though her pace slows as the crash wears off.

“Mizu!” You huff, giving a half-hearted, feeble attempt to swat at her arm.

“Sorry.” She wets her lips with her tongue, looking down at you with a lopsided grin, one that borders on mischievous as she slips her digits out of you and watches your thighs quiver.

You take a moment to recuperate, eyes closed and neck craned backwards to nestle into the couch. Mizu’s weight on top of you is lifted, and you hear the padding of her steps around the room. What really causes you to perk up though is the abrupt chime of bells, eyes snapping open to see her standing before you again, box in hand.

“You still want to, right?”

“Yes,” You clear your throat, raising yourself to your knees. “If you do?”

Mizu takes the same position, facing you as she kneels. The previous hesitance you harbored starts to dwindle even further as she stamps a chaste kiss to your lips, shaking her head in a nod. You’re sure the two of you are more than prepared, a sense of calm easing over you. Those stories that had once seemed so impure, so terrifying to face no longer existed. This was not an act of imitation or entertainment– this was you tangling one soul to another, willingly giving yourselves to each other without any malice.

Something like giddiness bubbles in Mizu’s chest as she finally holds one pair of bells, face flushing at the simple implication of it. One of her knuckles grazes at your lips, a silent acknowledgement. Open. When you do, she guides the silver charms into your mouth, one at a time. It’s an odd sensation, the weight of them on your tongue unlike anything you’d experienced before. Mizu’s eyes watch, mystified as you suckle, soaking them in a layer of spit. Even more mystified when she drags them out by the rope, moonlight catching on their shimmering appearance. Flame like redness blazes ever brightly as she cups her palm underneath you, the cold surface of the first bell prodding at your entrance. You take deep breaths, parting your thighs a bit more so she can gain some more leverage. In an attempt to ground yourself you crane your neck downward to rest against her shoulder, but Mizu shakes her head at this. Face cradled in her other hand, her thumb caresses at your cheek.

“I…” Mizu breathes, unsure of how to approach her desire. “I want to see you take it.”

You nod, throat constricting and unable to vocalize as you feel yourself take the bell inside you, finally. It’s not necessarily painful, just a slight discomfort at the foreign intrusion. Still, the anticipation excited you. You’re sure you must seem a disheveled mess but you knew it wouldn’t be long before Mizu was one too, which especially lit a spark in you.

“Is that alright?” She whispers to you, a kiss to your cheek as punctuation.

“Uh-huh, yes,” You tell her, one hand twisted in the fabric of the couch and the other clutching onto her. “More, please?”

When you look at her, she’s dazed momentarily, lost in the way the black of your eyes suggests an infinity, suggests time is circular and you two would find yourselves here over and over. She could only hope so.

“Of course, anything you want,” Mizu tells you. “Whatever you ask of me, I’ll answer.”

The other bell, directed by her hand, nudges into you with less difficulty than the last. An unusual fullness, unlike Mizu’s fingers– or your own, for that matter– one that sends you into a bit of a head rush. Woozy, cunt pulsing as you stave off the satisfaction of release until you can pleasure your lover as well. A distinct tremor in your fingers as you reach for the other set of bells, letting them chime as you raise them up. Eyes glued to the pale, barely there pink tint of her lips as they encircle the bells one after the other. It strikes you then, how whittled down and pliable she becomes in your hold. All the clay of her rigid angles, frustration and anger smoothened by the wet kiss of your lips upon her jaw, at the furrow of her brow, the corners of her mouth. Piercing ice, that which chills you deeply, turns into an awe-inducing clear sky. Your rumination of her halts at the sharp, pitchy cry that erupts from her. Mizu embraces the first bell sinking in, eyes squinting closed as she adjusts. Heated hushes leave you as your thumb traces over the ridge of her hip bone, soothing any aches.

“Okay,” Mizu mutters, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “That’s… good.”

“Yeah?” You smile, heart trilling with exhilaration– she liked it.

She nods, eyes darting to where your hand holds the next bell under her. Permission, a plea for you to continue. With a gentleness, you push upwards, watching as her body accepts the bell, stretching around it until it settles inside. Mizu sighs, a placated noise as she drops her forehead to your shoulder, urging you to lay back. There’s a faint ringing as you do so, causing a flush to creep along your chest and up your neck, prickling your skin. She just smiles above you, half in disbelief and half in ardor. Trailing her fingers up your thighs, she spreads your legs in such a way to where she can maneuver her own between them. With a quick glance to your face, she rocks herself down onto you, muffled chimes resonating in your ears.

Their ringing crests as she finds rhythm, the clarity of it sending a pulse through you until it buzzes through your fingertips and your toes. It’s the culmination of all you’ve ever wanted, a melody that strikes a chord you had long thought nonexistent. A yearning that had clawed at your very innards to be known, to be given to, to be loved. She buckles, face above yours, red and panting. Lovesick, too, with a foolish grin. Her sweet laughter mixes, collides with the song you two create, hurling you off the deep end as you join her. Join her in this composition, all those shattered bits of you crooning a harmony until your halves become a whole.

Until the hymn of all your adulation reaches heaven.

a/n: the final part!! i'm really sorry for the long wait between chapters, especially this being the last one. i experienced a lot of technical difficulties and personal life happenings so it took quite a bit. still, i hope this is a satisfying conclusion, i hope people enjoy the story because it meant so much to me to write and have fun with and see everyone's reactions. thank you for reading, everyone!! i appreciate everyone's patience and kindness so much more than i can describe. also, not entirely sure when/what i'll be writing or posting next. i hop around from interest to interest a lot so there's no guarantee there will be more bes related works so soon after this one, but feel free to leave suggestions in my ask box or in the comments!

#mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #bes x reader #bes x you

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