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444ajax · 1 year

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beg for it

– miguel o'hara x male reader.

cw; dom!miguel, sub male!reader, miguel is mean in this, a little non-con but you (the reader) is into it, rough sex, impact play, praise, degradation, breeding kink, a little surprise at the end, miguel speaks spanish in this (i google translated it so if it's not good, sorry). also, this is 4k words and no, i won't do the "MDNI" because y'all ignore it anyway.

It seemed like you were just rubbing it in his face that he couldn't catch you, no matter how hard he tried. Sure, there were times where he almost caught you, but you slipped out of his grasp before he could finally put a stop to this.

Until one day, Miguel did catch you.

And he wasn't nice about it.

+++

You were swinging through rooftops, easily dodging Miguel, laughing underneath your mask. The chase was so fun and enthralling that adrenaline began to pump through your veins, kindling a fire to brew and burst through the crevices of your chest and —

And then your foot slips, causing you to lose balance as you stumbled off the rooftop and landed on the dumpster, back erupting in agony as you gasped.

Fuck, you couldn't help but think as you rolled off the dumpster and landed on your side, air rushing out of your chest as you once again gasped. You laid there for a few seconds, breathing — no — gulping in air desperately. Then, you hear feet smack on the ground by the end of the alleyway and you freeze.

You almost forgot about Miguel because of the white-hot flashes of agony coursing through your body, nails digging into the filthy ground as you forced your gaze up and there he was, standing menacingly.

You could make out his broad chest, his wide shoulders, his tiny waist, and how his fists were curled up.

In other circumstances, you would find him drop-dead gorgeous, stunning, beautiful. Miguel isn't gross, or ugly, or any negative symptom.

But at this moment, you aren’t thinking about his beauty or his fat voluptuous ass, or his deep voice, or—

Goddamn, stop being down bad! And so you focus on the fact that you're absolutely screwed as you turned around and tried to crawl — your muscles burning and aching as you did so, panting.

”Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Your words are cut off as you heard Miguel’s callous, harsh laughter.

You could hear him approaching — footsteps slow, but loud enough to ring in the otherwise empty alleyway.

“My, my, what do we have here?” Miguel rasped, chuckling to himself; it's muffled because of his mask and you tried to crawl more, but your muscles were screaming. “And here, I thought I could never catch you, after all this time.”

You grunted, hearing Miguel’s footsteps stop before the heel of his foot digs into the lower end of your back, a quiet gasp escaping your lips.

“And now?” He presses harder on your back, making you groan, “I have you here. Alone. Maybe injured.”

You can't help but shake your head, attempting to crane it upward so your gaze can meet his own; a throbbing sensation in your head forces it back down, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I–I’m not alone—”

Miguel laughs again, digging his heel harder. “Stop the lies,” he hissed. Then, he removes his foot and you decide that it's either definitely getting locked up or trying to salvage what you can of yourself.

You begin to lift yourself up on your elbows, arms trembling as you try to use one of your web shooters to yank a broken chair down the alleyway, but Miguel is faster.

He immediately drops to sit on your fucking backside, pressing down, down, down, until you're forced on the ground again; his hand had encircled around your wrist and he slams it down, uncaring and unkind as you grimced in pain.

“Fuck!” You cried out in pain, trying to wriggle from beneath the man, but he quickly used his other hand to grip the base of your neck and slam it down onto the cement; pain explodes in your skull, affliction rushing through your blood and you weep.

“Stop fucking moving,” Miguel growled in your ear, and you do, chest wheezing with bated breaths. Everything fucking hurts and you let yourself become limp for a moment; the presence of Miguel doesn't leave. In fact, he leans away for a moment before he’s leaning over you again, minty breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

A shudder ripples through your frame and you have to hold yourself back from whimpering, feeling Miguel's hand tangle in your dark tresses as he grips them, yanking your head back.

“You’re trapped, you little shit, I have all of my crew on speed dial.” Miguel says, warning in his voice.

You squeezed your eyes shut, swallowing. Warmth pools in your stomach and you're trying, desperately, to fight against it.

Not now, you think to yourself as you could feel Miguel’s talons scraping and digging into your scalp, causing beads of crimson to drip down the slope of your temple.

And sure, like any other person, they would have cried in pain because it hurts, but you? No. You liked it.

“Fuck, I—” Your voice is breathy, quiet. You can feel yourself slowly getting hard in the suit; it constricts around your cock and you squirm, holding in the moan at the contact. “It wasn't — I was just…messing with you.”

Miguel is quiet for a moment, his breath harsh before he snarls out, “Just messing with me? You kept ruining the multiverse, and we had to clean up your damn mess! Eres estúpido,” He finished in Spanish and wow.

You swallow again, trying to clear the lumpiness and tightness in it as you whispered, “I…It wasn't like that …I just—”

Miguel slams your head back on the concert and hisses, “Save it! I don't want to hear your fucking excuses, maldito mocoso.”

His tone is harsh, yet there's a hint of huskiness and rasp in it that makes your back bow, just a little. Of course, nothing goes unnoticed with Miguel, and he grabs your neck; his talons barely missing the fabric of your suit.

“You think I haven't noticed?”

You freeze, nails digging into the dirty ground, trying to control the storm brewing. “Noticed…what?” Your reply is quiet, but Miguel is in your space, in your face, his breath fanning over your ear and over the side of your face; your mask had slipped a little to expose these features, and you were terrified that he would know who you were.

“The fact that you're enjoying this,” he breathily says, warm lips brushing along your ear. “You like this, huh? Does it turn you on when men like me chase you?”

You don't know what to say. He isn't wrong, the evidence in your suit that is too damn tight, a bead of precum dribbling from the tip of your shaft.

And — when Miguel pressed his hips against the curve of your ass — you could feel him and fuck, he’s big.

“S’fine, I—” Miguel huffs, before pushing some of your mask up a little more, making you try to claw at his arm and he quickly pins that.

“Don't you fucking dare,” Miguel growled, before he forcefully twisted your head to the side as he hungrily pressed his lips against yours; it's rough, unkind, as he devours your trembling whines. He swallows them as Miguel wrapped an arm around your neck, fingers caressing over your jaw, squeezing it until you mewl.

He pulls back, inhaling sharply as spit connects your lips before he leaned in again, kissing you once more.

This time, he's a little more gentle, swiping at your bottom lip and you open your mouth, letting him inside.

Your tongues brush against each other and you moan, swirling yours along his and he groans, scraping his talons along your cheek.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, pulling away as he pressed more kisses along the curve of your cheek, then your jaw, until he huffs and pulls back. “Fuckin’ look at you, cariño, you're a mess.“ He thumbs at your swollen lips and you can't help but whimper.

Your eyes are blown wide and your face is flushed, body warm and hot and needy as your hips bucked against the ground; Miguel easily noticed and pushed your head back down, making sure to sit back on your legs for a moment as you writhed.

“What are you…what are you going to do?” You asked, voice quiet; hints of nervousness slips into your tone and you wonder, briefly, if Miguel can notice.

When he replies, he either hasn't noticed, or doesn't care enough to comment. Both seem suitable. “Use your brain, what do you think I’m going to do?”

You hear his talons rip down your suit and you gasp, trying to crawl away; you knew what was to come and you wanted no part of it.

“No, no, stop—” You cried but Miguel held you down, pinning both of your wrists and squeezing them so hard until you sob, face buried into the ground.

Yet, your cock twitches, more precum leaking and your suit is stained; Miguel is an asshole, a menace, but he makes your body so hot that it feels like it could boil over.

You want this.

It seems like Miguel has read your mind because he leans down and whispers, “Don't fucking pretend you hate this. Remember, you got hard first.”

He's not wrong.

“Miguel, I—” You gulp, accidentally brushing your ass against his clothed cock and moaning.

He leans back his hips and tsks. “If you want it, you gotta beg for it, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy. Pretty boy. Pretty—

Miguel just said you're pretty and your brain is melting, so you're nodding, words almost slurring as you whispered;

“Please.”

He doesn't shift for a moment before a shallow “fuck” escapes his lips and you can hear movement, a zipper sound, then something is rubbing along your ass and you know it's his cock.

“Can't wait until I’m filling up this ass of yours, what do you think, hm? I know you can take me. Boys like you will do anything to be fucked. Isn't that right, querido?”

You nod, moaning as he ripped more of your suit until your ass was exposed; Miguel easily maneuvers you until you were onto your hands and knees, a groan escaping your mouth as your cock hung between your thighs.

God, you were so hard, that it physically pained you.

Miguel's large hands roamed over the dip and curves of your supple ass, before squeezing it and giving a nice, rough smack; the flesh jiggles you and you groan, arching your back deeper.

“Mhm, good boy, just like that — keep that back arched,” Miguel muttered as he spread your cheeks and leaned forward, blowing warm air over your hole.

A whine escaped your lips as you wiggled your hips, desperate. “Please, Miguel, need it—”

“Is that so, slut? You think you deserve this? My tongue, lapping over your hole, hand wrapped around that pathetic cock of yours that just keeps fucking leaking,” Miguel growled out the last part as his large hand engulfs the base of your dick and squeezes tightly, forcing a muffled cry from your lips.

You were trembling, toes curling as you nodded, breaths ragged. “Please, please, need it—ngh—so badly,” you begged, nails clawing at the ground as Miguel stroked from base to tip, tightening his palm around the head as he stroked over the glans; sensitivity flowing through your veins as tears sprung to your tears.

Miguel curses, “Suenas hermoso — necesito hacerte sentir bien,” and then Miguel dives forward to push his warm tongue along the curve of your hole before flicking it, making you moan as you sink your head down onto the ground. Pleasure wracks up and down your spine, thighs trembling.

You peek one eye open as you watch Miguel wrap his hand around his cock and squeeze the base, grunting into your hole; he pulls back and spits on it before slurping, relaxing you enough so he can ease his tongue inside, making a surprised groan leave your mouth.

“Oh, god, please–” You whined, back arching deeper, trying to get a hand around your dick to release some pressure but Miguel is quicker, slapping it away.

He pulls back, making sure to collect the precum that has been leaking on his palm to smear it over your asshole, before easing one finger in; it's easy and you relax, grunting. His fingers are thick as he pushes past the tight ring of muscle, groaning himself.

“Just like that, babyboy,” Miguel’s voice is encouraging and you shudder, letting yourself relax more as he pushes all the way knuckle deep. A gasp leaves your lips and you squirm, uncomfortableness stretching across the pane and curve of your frame.

Miguel wraps his other hand around your cock, tugging on it. It's clear he’s trying to distract you. “I know you can take it, like I said.”

You pant, but nod anyway. “I—I can,” you stumble over your words and feel sweat roll down your temple.

“That’s right.”

You think about his talons and shift, “You haven't scratched me with your talons, at least, in my ass.”

Miguel thrusts another finger inside, making you grimace. Wrong thing to say, then?

“Sounds like you're asking me to do it.” He says it like a statement, not a question, and you shake your head quickly before opening your mouth; no words of such slip out, instead, a moan falls from it as he scissors you open easily.

He keeps stroking you, making you pant and moan in bliss. Miguel then proceeds to curl his fingers upward and —

“Fuck!” You cursed in the open, gasping as he hit your prostate, and you moaned wantonly. Miguel continues to press on the bundle of nerves, forcing back-to-back cries and squeals from you.

Miguel grunts, leaning over you as he eased his hand off your cock. “You sound so good, sweetheart. Like a little mutt in fucking heat, dontcha agree?”

You're nodding, but you're too deep in your pleasure to really think as you gasp, feeling him stroke over it consistently. The tightness in your balls, your stomach, in your chest slowly begins to unfurl as you claw at Miguel's forearm that rested next to your head.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, Miguel—ngh, hah—so close, m’so close—!” You squealed, but then he slips his fingers out, forcing your climax to settle down before it could explode. You slump down onto the floor, limbs quivering.

Miguel easily rolls you onto your back, his suit pooling around his waist and the front part tucked under his heavy balls; broad chest covered in little scars here and there, nipples hardened, waist snatched and wide shoulders hunched over as Miguel caressed over your smaller frame.

“Even though your mask is halfway up, you still look good—” You tried saying, but Miguel slaps a hand over your mouth, narrowing his eyes.

“Shut up,” and then he pulls his hand away before he lifts your legs up and settles them over his shoulders, forcing your body to slide up as one of his large hands grip your waist, the other wrapping around the base.

You look down and swallow, tongue darting out to lick your chapped lips. “I know you said, uh—”

Miguel glares at you, face scrunching in annoyance, fangs poking over his bottom lip.

“But…I don't think it’ll fit, I mean, you only prepped me a little and–”

Miguel rolls his neck as he pressed the blunt head of his cock against your wet hole, looking up; his dark, crimson eyes stare into yours as he says, “Then we’ll make it fit, you fucking slut.”

Then he pushed the head inside, slowly, but the stretch was unbearable as your back bowed and your chest was exposed; Miguel greedily touched your nipple and rolled it between his fingers, making a whine leave your lips.

“F–Fuck, Miguel,” you moaned, feeling him push his cock deeper, carving himself in and out of your hole. It felt amazing, yet it hurt so much, you knew it was gonna ache after, but in the moment? You didn't care.

He keeps pushing, panting as he wraps his hand back around your trimmed waist, squeezing it. “Fuck, you feel so good around me, so goddamn tight — might make me cum raw in you,” and then he eased more of himself into you.

You freeze, blinking as you look at him. Shit, you forgot to ask if he had a condom or not, and you know you wouldn't get pregnant but still…STDS and shit.

“Condom?” You pant, trying to push against his large chest, but he’s quick to shove you back roughly and essentially trap you so you can't move; you realize belatedly that you're in the mating press position and moan, writhing.

Miguel is all the way in and fuck it hurts yet the stretch is so good, you find your hands digging and clawing at his muscular biceps because of it. You can't tell if you want to beg for more or ask him to pull out.

“Too late for that, cariño, but it's s’fine, isn't it? Whores like you just take it like this — raw and deep so they can breed you, right?” Miguel’s voice is husky and raspy, it brings a shudder down your spine and you can't help but whimper at his words, writhing some more.

“Not—” You gasped, toes curling as you felt his hips roll forward, almost pushing you back. “Not true, Miguel, not—”

He’s shaking his head and leaning into your space, large frame pressing you down, down, down, until you whimper. “It is true, and you can't deny it. Admit it, baby, admit that you're a fucking whore.”

The thick head of his dick is pressing against your prostate and you moan, arching your back as he slowly pulls himself out, then pushes back in.

“Say it,” Miguel hissed, pushing himself out faster before ramming his hips forward, jolting you back and you have to hold onto him; your eyes are watering, cock twitching and leaking precum, it ends up smearing across the pane of your stomach as you nod.

You sob out, “Yes, yes, I’m a whore,” and moan as he grinds against your sweet spot.

“That’s it,” Miguel murmured, a wicked grin on his pretty lips. “Since you said it, I’m gonna reward you like the good little slut you are.”

Miguel begins a deep, but hard rhythmic pace as his hips and balls slap against your ass, his head near your face as he grunts in your ear; his harsh breaths fanning across your sweaty face as you cling onto him and squeal when he pulls back and forces himself back inside, each time.

“Hah—ah—yes! Miguel, please, harder—” You cry out, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he folds you completely in half, making a gasp rip from your throat as he placed his arms next to your head and tangled his fingers with yours.

He continues to fuck you like this, making your eyes roll back as your mouth falls open; streams of unfiltered, breathy whines escape your mouth and you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Look at me,” Miguel rasped, his own voice cracking as you trembled.

Miguel buried himself to the hilt, grinding against your prostate as you sobbed, eyes flying open as you writhed.

“M–Miguel, please…” You begged hopelessly, jolting from the constant pleasure on your spot. “Keep going, need it, need you to fuck me stupid and–”

He looked at you and then boldly pushed your mask off, gazing into your watery eyes as he brushed away your locks. Fear sinks deep and low into your stomach and you quickly look away, trying — (failing) — to hide your face.

“Chico hermoso,” Miguel whispers, before using his hand to brush off his own mask, then he dips down to kiss your bruised lips. It's soft, too soft, before he rested his forehead against yours.

You feel your throat tighten. “M–Miguel?” Your voice breaks.

Then, he pulls away and settles his arms around your head once more before saying; “You wouldn't look at me like I asked.”

Miguel then keeps pounding into you, mercilessly and ruthlessly as you hold onto him, nails carving into his flesh. Your cock is trapped between both of your sweaty bodies and you wrap around him, moaning into his ear.

“Taking me so fuckin’ well like I knew you would,” Miguel groaned, thrusting into you faster. “Been wanting to do this since I laid eyes on you, muñeca.”

You rake your nails down his broad back and hear him moan, hips spluttering before he resumes; not stopping, even though your limbs are trembling as you feel your stomach begin to tighten.

The orgasm from earlier is creeping on you and your back barely arched as your head pushed back against the ground, eyes rolling back. You can feel it getting closer, rolling in the pit of your stomach, settling beneath your bones and in your cock.

“Miguel, please, please, s’close, please–!” You cried, holding him closer as he erratically rutted into you, panting in your ear.

The rope in your stomach is loosening, forcing you to hold onto Miguel even more and you sob, “Miguel!”

He groans, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “You wanna cum for me, hm?”

Nodding, you claw at his back again. “M’gonna cum, fuck, I’m so close—ngh—let me cum, Miguel, please, I need it–”

Miguel huffs and tangles his fingers with yours again, removing his face from your forehead to whisper into your ear, “Beg for it, mi amor.”

Your voice pitches into desperation as your orgasm begins to unravel, “Please, please, please, Miguel I need it, I need to cum—ngh—please, I’m desperate, I’ll do anything just to cum, let me cum,” and you sob, tears rushing down your cheeks as Miguel groaned.

“Go ahead, baby, let go for me — be a good boy and cum for me,” Miguel rasps and you do, your orgasm untangling at the seams as it washes over you in waves; your heart thrumming hard as you wailed into his shoulder, body jerking and spasming from the intensity.

Ropes of cum paint both of your stomachs but Miguel doesn't even seem to care as he ruthlessly fucks into you. He’s animalistic in the way he pounds into you, unrelenting and unforgiving.

You can't even formulate a response or a moan because of how hard he’s fucking you; all you can do is hold onto him and rut your softening cock against his toned stomach, the aftershocks of your orgasm still making you spasm.

“Gonna fill you up sweetheart and breed your pretty hole — joder cariño, ya voy..” Miguel hisses, giving a few more hard thrusts before his hips stutter as he lets out a breathy moan. His talons accidentally dig into your hands and cause blood to spill because of how much he’s coming.

Both of your breathing is heavy and ragged as he slumps against you, releasing your hands as Miguel sighed, propping himself onto his elbows.

“I hurt you—”

You shrug and mumble, “S’fine. I’ve been a brat recently.”

Miguel hums before his tongue darts out to lick up the blood easily, soothing his tongue over the cuts before he pulls back, grunting. “All cleaned up.”

“It’ll heal, Mig, so it's fine,” you stressed and the man huffs, nuzzling against your cheek with a grunt.

His voice is muffled as he says, “I know, but still. We didn't plan that part out.”

“You know how much I’m a slut for pain, though, so is it really a problem?”

Miguel is quiet before he pulls himself away and gently eases his softening cock from your hole, which immediately allows his seed to spill from your asshole and you flush, cheeks in a deep shade of red.

“No need to be embarrassed, pretty boy, I did just fuck you in this alleyway, knowing anyone could see us,” Miguel brushes away your hair and gives you…a small smile? You can't tell because it's so dark, but his red irises stick out and your hand strokes along his sharp cheekbone.

“Yeah, you're right. We definitely needed this, but, uh, can we go? I’m absolutely starved.”

Miguel chuckled. “Of course, baby.”

Back at the apartment, Miguel gives you a massage, a well-deserved blowjob, and fucks you in multiple positions after you beg for it.

#miguel o'hara #male reader #i have no idea on how to tag #miguel o'hara smut #x male smut #x reader #smut #size difference #miguel x reader #mlm smut #bottom male reader #top miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 1 year

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Hi :D! Would you mind doing (romantic) headcanons for Hobie with a gender neutral reader that sleep walks and talks a lot. And sometimes they'll have full legible conversations in there sleep because it seems like their actually awake. I had to ask bc I do this. 💀 sorry of it's weird.

(Hello! Sure I can! Enjoy!)

Hobie Brown x Sleepwalker!Reader

He didn't catch on at first

But as time went on he started hearing noises noticing things were bumped around when he got up on the morning, etc

He was trying to figure it out, or think if he or you moved them during the day

He obviously came up empty handed

So he was stumped for a while, until he woke up in the middle of the night

He rolled over, and went to hug you before he literally shot up in bed because you were damn gone

He was worried but more confused and got out of bed, and then he noticed he was hearing little noises coming from the living room

So Hobie being Hobie, he went to go see what was happening and if you were doing anything

His spider senses didn't go off so he didn't feel the need to grab something to defend himself, as it was only you

Hobie got to where you were, and looked around before his eyes finally found you

"(Name)? What are you doing?"

Hobie was looking at you, and only just saw you either sitting there of standing there

He was trying to talk to you but you were saying nothing bad, just walking or standing there like a zombie

You actually started creeping him out because it looked like you were staring him

"Aye! Stop doing that, love!"

He thought it was a weird prank until he finally got to you and started waving his hands in front of your face

You were mumbling too but never responded yet to anything he was saying

He then came to the realization you were damn sleepwalking

He was standing there for a moment before he started laughing to himself

He found this funny and also funny that he worked himself up for nothing

He tried his best to help you wake up, shaking your shoulder or just touching you tos nap you out of it

If you did, great! And he would help you to bed, guiding your sleepy self while he's still laughing his ass off

If you didn't wake up, he'd still guide you back to bed, a little with your sleepwalking resistance, and laugh as he put you back down to bed

He had to hold you for a little while to ensure you wouldn't go off walking again

In the following morning when you were actually conscious he told you about it

He found it funny, even if you found it embarrassing

He was just saying things like

"I just gotta make sure ye' don't wander out of here."

Don't try and leave the apartment, you'll send him into cardiac arrest if you did that while he was asleep and you were sleepwalking

When it happens he turns it into a little game on where he finds you today

I feel like he enjoys the sleep talking the most

At times he just thought you couldn't sleep and wanted to talk

You sounded so wake and so conscious he never realized and was answering back

You would mumble sometimes, but were saying actual sentences so he didn't know for a couple conversations

Until you just fucking stopped talking in the middle of a sentence

He was confused and saying your name, before finally looking over and seeing you were literally still sleeping

He went over all your conversations again and again

Until he realized you were goddamn sleep talking the whole time

He was more embarrassed now for himself as he was an idiot talking to another sleeping idiot

He never mentions it again unless you do

He'll take him talking to someone who was sleeping to his grave

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

Taglist:

@mushystrawberries @sweetheartlizzie07 @itstooearly-its3am @Ihavetoexist @kaorussgf @samsketchezz @yas-v @Lovelymiaablogss @the-dumpster-fire-of-fire @sussybaka10 @shisuishoe @sairavity @moonlight-rosevine

#across the spider verse x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #spider punk #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #spider punk x you #spider punk x reader #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown

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honorarysimp · 2 months

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Chapter 1: Bite Me

series masterlist

Mabel really, really, doesn’t want to be doing this right now.

There’s at least five other things she could be doing right now, but no, she’s doing the one thing she swore she’d never do again.

Is this rock bottom? It has to be.

Charlie, who’s sat in the passenger, has been prodding her with question after question since she told him she knows someone who might be able to help them.

It’s not that she’s dodging his questions per se, but she isn’t entirely sure how to answer them either.

They’re in deep shit right now, no thanks to her, and the predicament reminds Mabel just why she doesn’t stick her neck out for strangers anymore. Not that Charlie is exactly a stranger, she is sort of sleeping with him, and he is sort of her boyfriend.

But this? This is a bit much, even for her, which is why it puts a bitter taste in Mabel’s mouth knowing who she’s having to turn to for help.

In their defense, it’s not like the guys signed up to get a hundred thousand grand worth of heroin stolen from them. Tom had accused her of being the one who ratted them out, which wasn’t true, so she had to act fast.

Being a snitch around here can get you killed, rumors can get you killed.

There’s only one person who stood any chance to helping her put out this dumpster fire.

And when she pulls up in front of a house on the more secluded side of town, Mabel feels the ache in her chest at the familiar porch steps. That swing, the unkept bushes out front, even from where she’s parked the car on the road she can spot a few beer cans littering the wooden rail.

Seems like nothing has changed at all.

“-Mabel”.

Her eyes snap to Charlie, who’s already looking at her, he’s probably been saying her name for a good minute now based on the confused and worried expression on his face.

He let his brother trash on her at the bar, even when he said he believed her, Mabel was righteously pissed at him for not standing up for her. But, that aside, she agree to let him come with her for this.

Charlie is a good guy, a great guy even. There’s something there without a doubt, and Mabel is fairly sure she could grow to be in love with him. She could be happy even, considering all the opportunity having him around will bring.

Is it wrong? Maybe. But Mabel promised herself she’d get out of this goddamn town, away from everything tainted and poisoned.

And for what it’s worth, she actually does like Charlie.

First, unfortunately for her, she’ll have to figure out how to get them out of something that was suppose to help them.

A hand on hers makes her snap out of her thoughts again, Charlie says her name again, softly. But she instinctively pulls away, because she can’t, not when that house sits just over his shoulder out the window behind him.

“Sorry, just uh… it’s a lot” is what she says, and he nods, trying to reassure her with his softly spoken words, but Mabel tunes them out.

She can’t help it, not when her eyes keep getting drawn to that paint chipped black door, and the familiar car parked in the open garage to the left of it.

Has it really been a year?

“Let’s just get this over with” Mabel mutters, cutting the engine and pushing the drivers side door open far too aggressively.

All she can hear as she walks along the path and up the porch steps is her own heartbeat slowly increasing, fidgeting with her fingers at her sides.

She doesn’t knock, she never did before and she won’t start now. Charlie splutters behind her, glancing around with wide eyes as if expecting law enforcement to roll up, Mabel doesn’t wait for him as she makes her way through the threshold.

It almost relieves her when she doesn’t smell that distinct linger of Mary Jane in the air, but Mabel steels herself, reminds herself what happens here isn’t her problem anymore.

Finally she pushes herself forward, wooden floorboards creaking under her boots as she makes her way deeper into the house that was once the closest thing to home Mabel ever had.

It hurts, how much she misses it here. The worn leather couch, the framed movie posters lining the walls, the tv stand she knows has drawers full of CD’s with a variety of film genres. A line of conch shells along the windowsill, those same windows that always stay cracked open to allow in the sound of ocean off in the distance.

And then she reaches the study.

There you are, back to her as you seem to be reorganizing the books on the shelf you face, even then Mabel knows you heard her walk in.

You don’t turn until she wraps her knuckle against the doorframe, hesitantly stepping into the study, it’s only then when she realizes Charlie had followed her inside. Stepping up next to her, his eyes on you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

When you do face her, it takes everything in her not to buckle, those eyes never fail to make her chest ache.

She fucking hates it.

“Hey sunshine” you say softly, as if you cherish the long lost nickname rolling off your tongue after so long.

“Lucky” Mabel says flatly, bitterly.

You smile, widely, almost charmingly. Mabel glares, unrelenting and jaw muscle twitching as she clenches her teeth.

Your gaze then goes to Charlie, but rather than any emotion Mabel assumes you’d express, you only look amused.

“Looks like you took my advice” you say as you look back to Mabel, who only feels bile start to work its way up her throat.

“That’s not funny, nor anywhere near true” Mabel deadpans, which makes you shrug, smile only growing as you slide the book in your hand back on to the shelf before turning to face them fully.

Charlie looks between you two, once and then again, “you two close?” he tries to gauge the dynamic as he shifts his weight from one foot to the next.

Mabel’s head tilts just slightly, rolling her eyes as her thumb comes up to scratch the space between her eyebrows.

“Use to be” you answer since she doesn’t, tucking your hands into your jean pockets “back in the day”.

Mabel is silent, jaw slightly offset as she runs her tongue along her teeth in her mouth, “Charlie can you give us a minute?” she says as her gaze lingers on you before dropping to the floor. Watching him from her peripheral over her shoulder.

Charlie laughs humorlessly, mouth quirking up only to fall the moment she turns her head to shoot him a look. He looks ready to protest, eyes flickering between the two of you before deflating slightly, sneakers squeaking against the wood as he begins to walk backwards.

The moment he’s out of the room, you trail after him, pausing at the door and then slowly pushing it until only a slight crack remains between it and the frame.

“What’ve you got yourself into now?” You ask as you turn to head back across the room, your shoulder brushing against hers as you pass.

On purpose? Absolutely.

“Now’s not the time to be grilling me” Mabel says flatly, crossing her arms as you move to sit back against the desk behind you, a sight that once use make her knees weak.

You hum, fingers curled around the edge of the desk as you lean your weight back against your palms “you wouldn’t have come here otherwise, am I wrong?”

“God, you really haven’t changed at all, still thinking that you know everything”.

“I think you forget just how well I do know you”.

“You don’t know me anymore-“

“And yet here you are” you say lowly, one corner of your mouth tugging up slightly as you add “it’s good to see you”.

Those words are like blowing dust off an old record, sat on a turntable, needle being rested down as the familiar melody begins to repeat itself again. A song Mabel has tried to forget the tune to, but with you, it’s her guilty pleasure.

A lapse of silence falls between the two of you, and as much as the words taste like battery acid coming out of her mouth, Mabel says them anyways.

You are, after all, the only person she fully trusts in a hundred mile radius. Even after everything.

“I need your help”.

You tense slightly, because of course you wouldn’t tease her for this, why would you? Mabel asking for help is the equivalent of watching pigs fly.

“Fuck Mabel, what’ve you gotten yourself into?”

Mabel clenches her jaw, looking away from you, wondering exactly how she was going to not only break this to you. But also how she was going to convince you to help once you knew the extent of the current predicament.

“Listen, I was just trying to help the guys and I understand being desperate for cash, and Charlie thought-“

You push off the desk, standing up straight which has Mabel’s eyes going back to you. You’re looking at her like you already know, and she’d be more surprised if you didn’t.

“It’s Weeks” she whispers, shifting her weight nervously before forcing her head up high, feigning a collected aura.

“We owe him a hundred thousand for losing a delivery”.

And then there it is, that familiar look of irritation, “goddamn it Mabel- it’s like what I did meant nothing to you? Unfuckingbelivable-“

You walk right past her, ripping the door to your study open, wood groaning under your quick steps.

Mabel is right behind you, not even sparing Charlie a glance as you both pass where he’s stood in the living room, pretending to keep himself busy until the loud burst of voices pulls his attention.

“Don’t you fucking start with me, I never asked you to do that, and the fact you still hold it against me-“

“-that isn’t what I hold against you and you know it-“

“-you shouldn’t hold anything against me considering the bullshit YOU pulled-“

The screen door cracks against the frame as you shove through the front door of the house, Mabel catches it mid bounce and slips through after you. It smacks the frame again, Charlie not being as smooth as he tries to keep up with you both.

“For the millionth time, I was honest with you from the start, are we seriously going to have this fucking conversation now-“

“-you’re the one who caught a goddamn attitude with me, when I was trying to be reasonable-“

You laugh humorlessly, shooting her a look of disbelief over your shoulder as you opt out the stairs of the porch, slipping over the railing off to the side instead. “You? Reasonable? Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

Mabel is quick to go around, catching up with you just as you reach the garage, rounding the vehicle just as you tug the passenger side door open “you keep fucking talk to me like that I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass-“

“Yo! Where are we going?” Charlie calls as he finally catches up, rounding the house and standing at the open of the garage, hands cupped around his mouth to get both your attention.

“Not you pretty boy-“ you point a finger at him, your other hand still gripping the top of the door of the vehicle, Mabel scoffs and smacks your arm hard before digging into her jacket pocket for her keys.

“Go to home, I’ll have Lucky drop me off after” Mabel says as she tosses the keys to Charlie, he fumbles them slightly, looking between them in his hand and the two of you just as Mabel slips into the car.

“What-“

“Not. You. Go home” you say warningly, a look in your eyes that leaves no room for argument as you give the passenger door a shove to shut it behind her.

He steps in front of you as you round the hood, eyes hard and chest puffed, he’s got a good foot on you but even then you just gaze up at him with a subtle smug expression.

“I’m not a child, and that’s my girlfriend you’re taking off with, I’m coming-“

“Your girlfriend?” You say with a laugh, which only makes the muscle in his jaw twitch as he clenches his teeth. You look through the windshield at Mabel who’s actively trying to act like she can’t see this confrontation happening.

“She’s came to me, so I can help you clean up your fucking mess, do me a favor and don’t make this worse than you already have” you say as you casually reach forward to give his chest a firm pat, pushing him out of your way as you head for the driver side door.

��Which you’re welcome for, by the way. Don’t worry yourself too much, I’ll have her home by her curfew” you say as you shoot him a wink, tugging the door open and dropping into the driver seat.

He takes a few steps back and out of the way as you start up the engine, the rumble coming from it loud from the confined space of the garage.

Mabel keeps her eyes out the passenger window, looking at nothing specific, arms crossed and stubborn grimace etched into her sharp features.

“Do you want him to come?”

A pause of silence, her shoulders tensing just slightly, “just go”.

You don’t offer another word, shifting the car into gear and slamming the gas. The tires screech as you cut the steering, pulling on to the road and fishtailing the back wheels as you speed down the road.

It’s quiet for a solid three minutes, it’s a bit strange, the both of you being back here. Where it all started.

“Fill me in so I know what I’m working with” you say as you slowly release your death grip on the wheel, the white in your knuckles easing as you flex your fingers.

Mabel takes a deep breath in, propping her elbow up on the car door and pinching the bridge of her nose.

But she does fill you in, briefly explaining to you how she’d met Charlie and then found out they needed quick cash to get their fishing vessel ‘Finestkind’ back from the coast guard, fishing illegally in Canadian waters or something.

They needed money, she put them in contact with Weeks and he gave them a job, a job that was a bust. Considering they got jumped and robbed of all the product.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you” Mabel says after a lapse of silence, you hum and chew the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah, well, he knows better by now not to mention anything to me involving you” you say bluntly, twisting your neck side to side and easing at the satisfying pops.

That makes her scoff, keeping her gaze out the window “committing arson to get laid definitely wasn’t your best moment”.

“Says a lot more about you for sleeping with me than it says about my pyromaniac tendencies” you say pointedly, which begins to pull a genuine laugh out of Mabel. But she’s quick to cover it, opting to shoot you a glare and swinging her arm out to hit your chest.

You bat her hand away, and then your eyes lock, the both of you clearly fighting back a smile.

“Please fucking pay attention to the road, before you get us killed” Mabel deadpans, looking between you and the windshield as she gestures towards it.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head but doing as she asks as, muttering a “bite me” under your breath.

____________________________________________

“I can’t guarantee he’ll listen”.

You push the passenger door shut as she slips out of it, both of your gazes on the familiar building ahead.

“No, but you’re the only person he’ll hear out”.

The Supreme Donut shop, for reasons you still don’t know, is his stomping ground. The donuts aren’t even that good, but who are you to speak on it.

As the two of you approach, you open the door for her and follow her in. The donut shop is a cliché, but it’s nice. Red booth chairs and white tables, wide windows for all the natural light you could ever need, tile floors and the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. You step around Mabel just as you spot Marky and Weeks sitting across from each other eating. Their usual table, you aren’t surprised. Talking quietly to one another, but when they see you they regard you with familiarity.

“We’ve been trying to call you, where you been?” Weeks begins, but when he spots Mabel as she steps around from behind you, the sight of you two side by side pulls a laugh of disbelief from him.

“Did hell freeze over? Or did Marky slip something into my coffee” Weeks jokes, dusting the crumbs off his hands as he glances to his older brother, who’s quiet but has a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“We came to talk to you about the shipment her people went out to grab” you say smoothly, tucking your hands into your jean pockets as you roll back on to your heels.

His eyes go from you to Mabel, a hum of acknowledgement as he leans back into his seat, rubbing the gruff of his chin before pointing at her “we was about to come have a nice chat with you, your ears must’ve been burning”.

“The crew got robbed by fake cops, Tom got his ass kicked by these guys” Mabel starts to explain, “all I’m asking is you hear them out before doing anything that could get someone hurt-“

“Of course I’ll take your word for it. After being such a help for me? But that doesn’t exempt the guys from being reckless with my product” Weeks says as he weaves his fingers together and rests him on his stomach, eyes lacking remorse as he props his feet up in the chair in front of him.

“C’mon Weeks, be fucking for real for a second” you say as you pull the chair out from under his feet, his eyes snap to you as you sit down in it.

“You of all people understand needing money to take care of your people, we all do, they can’t help it they got mugged. Give them a chance to work the shit out before you go killing people” you say quietly, holding his gaze with your own serious yet convincing one.

He stares unwaveringly at first, he and Marky exchanging a look before he takes a deep breath, chest deflating as his eyes return to yours.

“Alright, but if these jokers fuck me over, it’s your head on a platter” Weeks says as he locks his eyes with yours, without looking away he gestures to Mabel behind you.

“Hers too, and this time there is no forgiving or forgetting, no matter who you are to me or what all you’ve done for me”.

You hold your ground, neither of you looking away from each other. But then Mabel is muttering your name under her breath behind you, and your clenched jaw relaxes slightly.

“Thanks for your cooperation” you say as you give his leg a sharp pat, standing and beginning to walk away.

“I think I miss you two being together, you were always so much more tolerable when your bitch had you on a leash”.

It should’ve been expected, he always enjoys getting a rile out of you, which is why he doesn’t flinch when you spin on your heel to face him again.

“Don’t push it, Lucky”, but then Mabel is in front of you, hands on your chest and pushing you towards the door.

“Go. OUT”.

You hold his malicious gaze until she’s got you out the door, swatting her hands away as you beeline for your car.

“Hey, hey! Stop!”

“You got what you want, alright?! So don’t try and act like you give a shit” you snap as you wheel on her, but as always she’s matching you with an unwavering intensity.

Mabel steps forward, her gaze locked to yours, her entire body is tense and her face stoic.

“Stop acting so cold to me.”

“You’re one to talk” you hiss through your teeth, your gaze going back to the building you’d just walked out of, heart pounding unnecessarily fast in your chest. Not out of anger towards her, but out of something you won’t name: fear.

Mabel lets out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders visibly rising and falling, something is different about her reaction to your harsh demeanor. She’s normally snarky and cold right back but now she just seems… conflicted.

“It’s different with you and you know it, don’t try and pull that bullshit on me.”

You clench your teeth, still glaring at the building as if you have a personal vendetta with those walls rather than the individuals within you’d both just confronted.

“You don’t have the right to say that anymore” you mutter under your breath, forcing your eyes to hers, the unspoken year apart between you suddenly becomes loud.

Mabel’s body tenses once more, her jaw set and her eyes are a mixture of hurt and anger. Everything changes in the tone of her voice, going from snappy and annoyed to tired.

“Don’t make this about that. That- that was months ago.” Her voice is shaky but stern, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

It’s not a wonder why this conversation is suddenly diverting towards digging up the past, every single one you two have always seems to lead to it.

Probably because so much of it was left unanswered and unfinished.

You cover the emotions her words bring with a hard expression, eyes sharp as you turn away from her to walk towards the car again.

“Then you’ll be fine when I drop you off at your new pretty and rich boyfriend’s place”.

Mabel’s expression falters further at your words, her body tensing even more, face falling as you turn your back to her and start walking.

“He’s not my boyfri-“ Mabel can’t even finish that sentence as she begins to speed walk next to you, trying to get you to stop as a mixture of anger and… something else start to bubble deep in her chest.

“He’s under the impression he is” you say as you grab the car door, unlocking it and pulling it open, refusing to look at her.

Mabel follows you to the car but she doesn’t get inside, she grabs the window frame to block you from doing so, trying to get you to look at her “stop acting like you care who I’m dating.”

“You know damn fucking well I do” you hiss, shoving the car door shut, yanking it free from her grasp in effect as you fully turn to face her, “and don’t pull that bullshit on me considering you came to me for help”.

“You say that but then you give me the silent treatment every time you see me around town, it’s childish” Mabel retorts, getting in your face, her breath coming out as shaky, and her teeth clenched.

“And don’t even try to pull that bullshit card. You know I couldn’t have not come to you for help”.

“Well you’re clear now, have your boy to get his fucking shit together because Weeks won’t give him weeks to make up for what he lost” you tell her sternly, chest rising and falling from your short cut breaths.

Mabel rolls her eyes, feeling like this conversation is clearly going nowhere. She steps closer, leaning into your personal space, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.

“Stop being a prick and stop acting like you know what’s good for me. I asked for your help, what I didn’t ask for was your input on my relationship”.

“I do know what’s good for you, that’s exactly why I told you months ago that you needed a rich daddy’s boy since I’m clearly only what you need when you need it” you say lowly, eyes hard and full of unspoken emotion.

Tension fills the little space between the two of you, a chemistry you both use to bask in, but now it’s only suffocating.

Your words sting with a truth that Mabel can’t deny. And it only makes the mixture of anger and sadness bubbling in her chest all the more intense. She feels like drowning, a feeling that’s only reserved for you, or maybe she never got over it. Mabel’s jaw clenches once more and her eyes are full of fire as she stares back at you.

“You always have something to say, don’t you? You don’t get to just give me fucking financial advice and then judge my goddamn relationship months after we broke up”.

“So you are only dating him for what he’s offering” you laugh, shaking your head as you round the car, heading for the passenger side.

Mabel’s face falls, and a pang of guilt runs through her. Why is that your first thought?

Mabel scoffs, following behind you.

“No! It’s not like that, it’s more complicated than that.”

You say nothing, holding her gaze as you open the passenger door for her. So many unspoken things linger in the air, you both know each other far too well, two sides of a coin you use to say.

Too similar, too different, too hot-headed, too compatible.

Your eyes cut to the car, then back to her, indicating she get in.

Mabel stays quiet and just stares back at you for moment. She can practically see the thoughts working through your head. You two always have been a mirrored image, and Mabel hates it because it makes it easy for you both to read one another.

It’s why you worked, and why you didn’t.

Mabel wants to say something, but a voice in the back of her head tells her to just get in the car, this is a fight she won’t win today.

Not that she can blame you, it’s not like you know the full extent of the truth behind what happened back then.

For now at least, considering how bad things are looking right now, it may only be a matter of time. You are helping her after all, she isn’t sure if you’ll hate her more or less if you were to find out the truth.

Mabel finally relents, getting into the passenger seat of the car, and as always you close the door behind her.

You truly shouldn’t be doing this for her, Mabel should’ve just dealt with the consequences, this is her mess.

Somewhere, deep within the confines of her chest cavity where her heart beats under the cage of bones surrounding it, she knows the truth.

To her you were a compass, a guide and martyr, her salvation that kept her grounded.

But Jesus fucking Christ, now you’re the biggest pain in her ass.

next.

#mabel x reader #mabel x you #mabel x y/n #mabel finestkind

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gunnrblze · 3 months

Text

Roommate!Hesh

Hello friends. This is my first actual lil piece of writing I’m posting (in this fandom, on this account lol). I’m debating turning it into a full fledged fic, so if you’re intrigued by that I’d love to know! Not to abase myself or anything, but my writing is quite mid lmfao, I just enjoy my silly thoughts n ideas so here you go :)

•1k+ words, SFW, could possibly be read as some slight stalker-ish behavior if you squint, but nothing actually dark like that! The man is just down bad :(

You weren’t exactly sold on living with a stranger yet. Especially not some army guy, but you had little choice.

Desperately needing a roommate after moving to Santa Monica, a friend mentioning a friend of theirs who has a brother. A brother who happens to be looking for a roommate too.

You trusted your friends judgement enough to pursue the recommendation. Figuring that living with a special forces soldier could either be pleasantly uneventful, or a dumpster fire, based on what you knew of the type.

But David, or Hesh as everyone reportedly calls him, was decent. Clean, respectful, kind when he toured you around the apartment. The near boyish charm that laced itself between his heavy presence may have caught your attention.

But a fling, especially with a new roommate, was not what you needed.

Your room was smaller than his, but having gotten to the apartment second to him, you understood first come first served. You just enjoyed the in-unit washer and dryer and stainless steel appliances, if you were being honest.

The apprehension you had, the hang ups of starting a new chapter, moving in with someone you only just met through a friend of a friend, started to dissipate sooner than anticipated. Instead filled in by a dull surprise.

Hesh worked pretty often, but even when he wasn’t around, it’s as if he were still there.

His section of chores always finished, some of yours even started or done completely for you. You asked him about it after divvying up the household responsibilities, making sure you weren’t confused.

But he insisted it was “no biggie”, he’d just found himself taking the trash out on his way to work. Tidying the kitchen up after he got home in the middle of the night and cooked himself an impossibly late dinner.

Said dinner he left in the fridge the next morning, a sticky note on top explaining that you should finish it up so it doesn’t go bad.

Leftovers usually kept for days though, didn’t they?

His boots by the front door, the smell of his aftershave somehow lingering everywhere throughout the apartment, his hat left in the bathroom and the goddamned coasters that he insisted be used around the living room.

When he wasn’t there, it felt like he was. A ghost permeating the walls. His broad frame, tall and wide, voice deep, green eyes that somehow always landed on you when he was near. They weren’t quite unsettling eyes, they were penetrating. As if he could see what lie inside you, too.

But when he was there, it felt almost arresting. Interrupting. You barely knew him, only lived with him for a few weeks.

But you weren’t sure whether you could tell if it even felt that way anymore.

Anything he bought, you were free to use or eat. Was he just that nice? Your old roommates wouldn’t let you touch their things with a 10 foot pole. But what was his seemed to be yours in a way, too.

You chalked it up to him being an eldest child. But you weren’t merely being treated like a younger sibling.

Your Netflix subscription ended and you didnt want to spend the money to renew it, but it didn’t matter because Hesh had Netflix too. Which meant you had it.

Hesh had every kind of household tool one could need in his toolbox, which meant that you had them now too.

Except you couldn’t use them. Because he’d fix whatever you needed. Hang up any picture frame of yours on your wall as you started to decorate your space. And you merely let him, somehow unable to insist that you could indeed, handle it.

It was only natural when he’d asked if you wanted breakfast one morning, explaining that he made too much food. Too much of your favorite food. Or when he not so subtly watched how you made your tea, filing it away in his brain so he could bring you a cup one day when you were sick in bed.

And then some cough drops. And soup. And cold medicine.

Maybe you felt a bit like a guest at a bed and breakfast, or maybe he was just raised decently.

When the washing machine broke, he took a look at it before you could even bring it up to him, was he listening to you in the laundry room? Hard to say. Fixed it so you could do your loads of laundry.

But not before letting you borrow a t-shirt of his, since all your clothes were dirty, of course. You’d obviously have to wash the one you had on, too.

You thought you were surely screwed when your car broke down outside of work one day. But when you texted Hesh and asked if he knew of a good mechanic. he was, naturally, already in the area just running errands.

So he took a look at your car while you stood to the side and watched. Making a point not to watch his biceps flex around the ring of his t-shirt sleeve, or the way he brushed the sweat off his forehead.

Surely you were paying attention to his explanation of the drive belt in your car being too wore out, and not the way his fatigues stretched over the meat of his thighs.

Why was he in his work uniform if he was just running errands? You didn’t think about it very much.

Your job had been stressing you so much, and it appeared something like second nature for him to wrap you into a hug, rubbing his hand up and down your back, murmuring things that seemed too dulcet for a roommate of hardly even a month to soothe you with. Even though it helped.

He was always there, his magnetism suffocating. But not in the way that two hands might feel around your neck. But in the way the sunshine feels beating down on you. The way you feel tipsy before feeling fully drunk, charged but blissful.

Pleasantly inescapable.

You didn’t really stop to fully question his comforts though, not when he made you a cup of tea and put a movie on in the living room, sitting a bit too close to you.

Not that you minded of course, considering you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder.

And what kind of roommate would he be if he didn’t pick you up and tote you off to your bedroom? He knew you were half awake, and you knew he knew, but it didn’t matter.

With one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your back, your face that didn’t need to be pressed to his chest, it just didn’t matter.

Because what kind of roommate would he be if he didn’t lay you in your bed and cover you up, setting your alarms on your phone so you’d wake up the following morning?

How did he know your passcode? How did he know exactly what alarms you set?

It didn’t really matter to you after he kissed your head goodnight.

#david hesh walker #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #call of duty #cod #hesh walker #cod hesh #hesh hivemind🍯#cod fic #hesh walker x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty ghosts fic #gunnrblze writes #gunnrblze rambles

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envysparkler · 5 months

Text

Ted grinned as Grayson walked away, his shoulders hunched and his hands balled into fists. He hadn’t bothered laying out the evidence or the proof—both were easy enough to find, connecting Grayson’s disappearances with Nightwing’s appearances was like playing a goddamn match-2 game.

And it was no wonder that Grayson had the highest close rate of the precinct when he could just go and get whatever evidence he wanted. But Ted didn’t care about that. Not anymore.

No, he didn’t care that Detective Richard Grayson was Nightwing. He cared that Richard Grayson-Wayne was Nightwing. Ted was about to become very rich—if Grayson did as he was told.

Ten million. He would give Grayson two days to cough it up, or he’d go straight to Vicki Vale. Or perhaps Arkham, he knew a couple of guards there and surely someone in those cells would pay handsome money to know who Nightwing was under the mask.

Hell, he could even do all three. He held the cards here.

Ted smiled at Grayson’s pinched face.

Ted gave a parting smirk to Grayson as he left for his smoke break. The man had begun ignoring him, as if that would make the deadline go away. He had a little less than twenty hours.

Ted had gone ahead and got a visitor’s pass for Arkham for the day after tomorrow. He’d worry about specifics after he knew whether or not Grayson would come through.

It was cold outside, late afternoon edging into evening. He passed by a couple of other officers as he headed deeper into the alley. He lit the cigarette and took the first puff dreaming about the island vacation he’d be taking.

First class. Gourmet food. Five star resort and margaritas on the beach. Life was about to become much better.

A flicker of movement caught his eye and he turned, unhurried, as the garbage bag ruffled in the shadows, straightening.

Up. And up. And up. Until it resolved itself into a slender figure dressed all in black and most definitely not a garbage bag.

Ted blinked. The Bats usually only came out at night. And that they rarely ever ventured into Bludhaven.

Oh, so Nightwing had decided to take a different option out of his little predicament. It really was a shame—Ted might’ve even left him alone if he’d gotten the money. Now? Now it was fair game. And everyone knew the Bats didn’t kill.

Ted turned away from the figure and back towards the front of the alley—he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a figure dressed in black and purple, dangling their legs off the fire escape, grinning down at him.

He picked up his pace a little bit—he’d get back to the precinct and make it very clear to Grayson that his mind games weren’t going to work. The money, or the Joker was going to know exactly where to strike.

Someone stepped in front of the alley, blocking the entrance and Ted slowed his steps before coming to a stop.

Red helmet. Red bat. They didn’t know a whole lot about Gotham’s vigilantes, but the Red Hood was a sore topic for every gang in the city.

Ted slowly, quietly, moved his hand to his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice said behind him, almost breathing on his ear, and Ted shrieked, drawing the gun and twisting around.

He was disarmed before he even knew what was happening, the gun yanked out of his fingers as he was shoved back, hard, sent stumbling back into the dumpster. Above him, the girl in the black-and-purple suit giggled.

“Hood gets a bit testy about guns.” A tall figure in black-and-red, removing the clip, the bullet and tossing each piece in a different direction.

“I don’t get testy,” the Hood rasped, low and rough, “If someone points a gun at me, it’s only fair that I get to point a gun right back.”

“We’re trying to get him to stop using guns so much,” the girl said, sotto voce.

Ted turned back to the mouth of the alleyway. The Red Hood had a tire iron slung over one shoulder.

“What—what do you want? My wallet? My phone? I—I didn’t do anything,” he raised his hands. He would’ve backed away, but the figure in black was giving him the hives and he didn’t want to get any closer to them than necessary.

“Tt. We all know that’s a lie.”

Ted literally did not see where Robin had come from. He’d been staring as the Hood took slow steps forward, he’d blinked, and then suddenly there was a kid in green-and-yellow scowling in front of him.

A kid with a sword.

Ted immediately cast a glance skywards, because where Robin was Batman wasn’t far behind, before the strangeness of the situation settled into him. He was being menaced by a bunch of idiots in masks, in an alley in broad daylight.

“Look, I don’t know what you want but I’m a cop, you can’t just—”

“You know exactly what we want,” the girl said, swinging her feet. The all-black one took a single, menacing step forward.

“You messed with the wrong fucking Bat, asshole.” Hood tilted his helmet to one side.

“If you even dare to touch him—” the katana flashed. “I will remove your hands.”

“Look, Officer Devins,” the one in black-and-red said, “We’re willing to be reasonable. Leave Dick Grayson alone, and nobody has to get hurt.”

Ted was itching to shoot one of them—now he understood why his friends in Gotham were so fed up with their vigilante problem.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied baldly, “I didn’t do anything to Grayson. Can I go now?”

#my snippets #outsider pov #someone tries to blackmail nightwing #pity he doesn't know about nightwing's host of protective baby siblings

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