I'm Mal. 28 year old Marvel and Top Gun Enthusiast. I go by Any Pronouns. My Tumblr and posts are 18+, so Minors Do Not Interact. If your age isn't in your bio, or you're a blank blog, I will not think twice about blocking you, This is your only Warning!
Jake Seresin Series
Ghost (On Going Series, on hiatus)- When an unexpected crash happens, Lovers turn to enemies.
Bradley Bradshaw Series
Written in the Stars (On Going Series, on hiatus) - Soulmate AU where the soulmates first tattoos match each others.
Jake Seresin One Shots:
Look What You Made Me Do - A One Shot written for CherryCola27's 1k Celebration | Jake Seresin x OC
Bright Rays & Happy Days- A fun day at the amusement park, ends perfectly. Jake Seresin x F!Reader (Sunshine Universe)
Best Stitch Day Ever - Sunshine's favorite movie is Lilo and Stitch, and she's got a little surprise for Jake when he gets home.
Bradley Bradshaw One Shots:
One Thing Right - Bradley Bradshaw
Former Gunpowder & Lead Extra: Meet Attie Blake - This fic is my hard work. I will not be deleting it while the rewriting of said series is being done by the people who originally created the series.
Mini Series
Bradley Bradshaw:
A Million Nights
Part One | Part Two
Jake Seresin:
TBD
🏷️ TAGLIST IS ALWAYS OPEN, COMMENT, REBLOG, OR ASK TO BE ADDED. 🏷️
Prompt requested by @dakotakazansky: They kiss ur ankle, and up your calves. "Please, baby.." the desperate tone, but that dominant, humiliating fire in their gaze promising something sinister after. AND "that's my good girl."
Warnings: explicit sexual references, mentions of deadbeat ex-boyfriends, Jack has a bit of grovelling to do...
1.8k
“Tell me what to do to make it up to you.”
Your ex would throw those words in your face with bitter exasperation whenever you dared to be upset with him, as if his apology was somehow your responsibility. Your emotional needs were just another shopping list he expected you to write (and he’d still call you from the store asking what type of milk to get, despite you buying the same carton every week for three years). Being a considerate partner was just another reminder you were supposed to give him, or an appointment you needed to make on his behalf (because, of course, it would be your fault if he forgot and didn't show up).
But Jack was a little older than the men you'd dated before. You hoped he’d be better at this whole relationship thing. Or, at the very least, he'd have his shit together enough to manage grocery lists and schedule life admin. Thankfully, he’d proved you right for the most part. He planned great dates without needing to consult you 20 times about simple details. And he always kept you in the loop if you weren't on the same shift and things at the ED got crazy. He remembered stuff, even offhanded comments about things you liked or wanted to try. Your coffee order. The names of your friends and family. The new sushi bar that opened up in town.
He’d really fucking annoyed you today, though.
“You undermined me, Jack!”
You couldn’t keep your frustration bottled up anymore. It had simmered inside you through the last hour of your shift, handovers to the day team and the journey home in Jack’s car. But the second you were safe in the confines of your apartment, away from the prying eyes of the Pitt and the outside world, you blew.
“You undermined me and took Robby's word over mine. Never mind that I’d spent half the night with the patient and her family, you let Robby swoop right in off his motorbike so the two of you could play heroes together.”
“We made the right call,” Jack replied, confusion evident in his voice. “She pulled through. Thanks to all of us: you, me, Robby, everyone-”
“I know it was the right call. It was my call. Except I didn't get the chance to make it because I'm just a lowly R4 to you compared to the great King Robinavich-”
“Whoa - That's not fair.” Jack knew what was happening now, clearly. “You're making out like I just blindly follow Robby into battle when you know damn well I would challenge him if I thought he was wrong. I do it all the time. You've been there-”
“You didn't today.”
“Because he wasn't wrong!”
“NEITHER WAS I!”
Jack flinched. He looked like he was going to speak again, but then he thought better of it and took a moment to stew. You decided you didn't care about what he was going to say next. You didn’t want to hear another excuse or find out how he’d was going to twist the blame back onto you.
You brushed past him and headed to your bedroom.
“I'm going to bed. I’ll see you at work later, I guess.”
You expected to hear the front door click anytime soon. Your ex always ran after a fight, then came back hours later with an ugly, garish bouquet, only to get mad when you didn't fawn over him like a soldier returning from war.
Tell me what to do to make it up to you.
You sighed and collapsed into bed. Maybe Jack would at least have better taste in flowers, you thought, before sleep pulled you under.
-
Barely a few hours later, you woke again. You’d tossed and turned too much for your liking, and your fragmented dreams all featured Jack.
Your throat was dry, so you padded into the kitchen for a glass of water, only to be met with a surprise.
Jack was still there. You'd never heard the front door click.
He was lying on your couch in just a T-shirt and boxers. His scrubs had been shoved into his bag, and his prosthetic leg rested against the coffee table. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. The dark shadows under them told you that if he had gotten any sleep, it couldn't have been much.
“Jack? Why are you still here?”
“Didn't think I should leave.” His voice was thready, but he made it sound so simple. So obvious. He sat up slowly and made sure to look straight into your eyes. “I don't run when things get hard.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that. You didn’t know where the conversation would go next. No one had given you a blueprint for this before.
Jack patted the spot on the sofa next to him. You hesitated, then your tiredness made the decision for you. You sat, curling your legs underneath your body. Jack shifted to face you and gently took your hands in his.
“I'm sorry for undermining you during our shift. It was never my intention, but that doesn't matter; how you felt about it does. As your Attending, I should have trusted you as my resident to lead your patients’ care. I should have insisted on it, not let Robby jump in and then ride his coattails.”
Oh.
“And, as your partner, I should have listened to you properly and tried to understand your perspective, instead of jumping straight on the defensive. You shouldn’t have to spell shit out for me like that. I’m sorry.”
Tension lifted from your body. Turned out, your anger was easy to quell – Jack was just the first man to figure out how.
Sensing the lowering of your defences, Jack pulled you closer so that you were draped around him.
“Now,” he said, nudging your nose with his. “Tell me what I can do to make things up to you.”
For the first time ever, that infamous phrase didn’t fill you with dread or make you bristle. Because Jack was the only man who’d really wanted to know the answer.
You caressed his cheek. “I don’t need anything else. You apologised, and you meant it. That's enough.”
Jack shook his head. “That’s the bare minimum. I don't settle for the bare minimum,” he said firmly. “So, now you get to tell me what you want, what you need from me right now, so I know for next time.”
“Next time?” you teased.
His words didn't worry you. You weren’t naive enough to think your relationship would be frictionless from now on. You’d both make mistakes. But knowing Jack wouldn't keep making the same ones gave you hope.
Jack grunted a laugh into your neck. “Hard as it is to believe, I ain't perfect. But I promise to always try.”
The way Jack's hands were roaming over your sides made it easy for you to relent.
“Hmm…in that case…” You sighed as Jack started to kiss along the column of your throat. “…I like bougie chocolate boxes. The ones that look all sleek and are tied up with ribbon. Dark chocolates are my favourites. Oh, and champagne truffles…”
Jack slipped the loose neck of your sleep shirt over your shoulder, giving him more skin to worship.
“Dark chocolate and champagne truffles.” A kiss. “Got it. Anything else?” Another kiss. “How about flowers? Can’t have chocolates without flowers.”
“I like flowers. But keep it simple and sophisticated. Like… a few white lilies with some greenery, or a bunch of white and blush pink roses, not overly fussy bouquets with too many colours.”
“Of course. You’re a sophisticated woman.”
Somehow, some way, Jack had rid you of your shirt and had begun trailing more kisses along the slope of your breasts.
You were on a roll now. “I'm not big into jewellery either. Necklaces and bracelets kind of annoy me. I think it's a sensory thing - and I don't have my ears pierced. You would not believe the number of guys that have bought me earrings.”
Jack scoffed. “Schmucks, the lot of them.”
In the progressively dreamy haze of Jack’s touch and increasingly ardent kisses, you drifted to a reclined position, finding yourself resting against the arm of the sofa with a cushion nestled behind you (courtesy of Jack). Slowly and sensually, his lips and hands made their way down your body, taking your sleep shorts and cotton underwear with them.
“You know, if you really want to get me in a forgiving mood, you could just buy me a Hermes handbag.”
Jack’s eyes met yours from his newfound position between your thighs.
“Could I really?” he replied, mirth dancing on his tongue.
“Uh huh. Though maybe you should save that for a bigger sin, they cost a pretty penny.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Jack promised. “But is there something I can do for you right now instead?”
He kissed along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, alternating between nipping lightly with his teeth and greedily lapping up your taste with broad strokes of his tongue.
"Please, let me make things up to you, baby…" A deep, throbbing heat pulsed at your core in response to the desperate tone of Jack’s voice. Desperate yet dominant, imploring you to give him his orders so he could play the obedient soldier. The ritualistic way he was practically on his knees, grovelling at your feet, kissing up up up from your ankles to your calves to your thighs – every one of your exes would have found it humiliating, but the fire that blazed in Jack’s gaze told you he loved this, he loved playing at being under your heel and the seductively sinister promise of what would come after.
His face hovered dangerously close to your cunt, and his chest rose and fell as he inhaled your scent. Those big, broad hands of his gripped your thighs, holding you open wide so he could inspect the ever-increasing evidence of just how aroused you’d become in a few short minutes.
“Think I might know what you need, baby, but I want to hear you say it, loud and clear.”
The pounding pulse of your heart swooped down your spine and found a new home at your core.
“Your mouth, Jack!” you blurted. “Give me your mouth.”
Omg omg omg omg Beth!!! You are a god send and I am screaming!!! I was just about to send you an ask thanking you for all the Jack Abbot fics you've been reblogging, for feeding my delusions about our new favorite collective doctor husband when I see that now you're going to write for him!! You just made my day!! AAAAJSHFJSK I could request a hundred blurbs because I am obsessed with that man (who isn't) but for now, may I please request one of the sweet treat/romantic prompts? Either number 21 or 23? I can't decide so I leave it up to you! Thank you so much Beth, you're amazing! It's a blessing that now we're going to have Jack Abbot content with your beautiful writing! I didn't think I could love your blog more but then he appears on it at the same exact time that I develop a crush on him so I stand corrected! Hope you're having an amazing week and that your dreams are filled with scenes of Jack Abbot taking care of you and giving you sweet little kisses. Sending lots of hugs and love! 😊❤️🩷💙🫶🫶 (Sorry for the long ask, you just gave me an outlet and an excuse to share all my feelings for that gorgeous man haha)
Hi! Thank you so much for this lovely message and for requesting the first ever Snack-aJack! I really hope you like it - I tried to work in both prompts too 🥰 Dr Jack Hot Damn Abbot has a chokehold on me right now for sure, so I am very happy to be a receiver of Jack-related excitement 😂
Disclaimer: I haven't watched all of Season 2 yet (waiting for more of it to come out in the UK so I can binge!) and have only seen clips of it on Tumblr, so some details might not be right!
Nightcrawler
Prompts: 21. tugging at their collar when kissinggg kekekeke
23. mini dates in the rooftops, lying on a macrame chair/hammock on top of each other and watching the moon !!!!
Warning: Mentions of war and a car crash
Jack once told you that the most beautiful night skies he'd ever seen were those he'd witnessed in Afghanistan.
You'd only been together a few months, but things were pretty serious. Love was a word that passed frequently between your lips, and thoughts of moving in together, marriage even, had started to form.
Sitting on the roof of your apartment building, sharing a beer and searching for the few stars visible above the city’s glow, Jack shared more of his time as a combat medic, adding missing chapters to the story of his past. A tale that, so far, he’d been slow to tell.
During the endless hours he'd spent in perpetual alert patrolling in darkness, he'd found solace in the onyx expanse overhead. A lustrous, glittering blanket, the true Star-Spangled Banner, a black painted canvas pricked with holes for the heavens to shine through.
“I miss it”, he confessed.
“What do you mean?”
“I miss it. Afghanistan, the Army, all of it. I’ve never felt more alive.”
The admission shattered you.
Because how could he possibly still yearn for a time that had taken so much from him? How could he look back fondly on days that were marred by terror and destruction, when he’d finally found a real chance at safety and life?
Even now, he was hell-bent on seeking danger in chaos with SWAT and the night shifts. You tried so hard every day to show him he didn't need to dance with death and crawl through the darkness anymore. But it was no use. There was nothing you could do. Not even the promise of a future you could build together was enough to draw him to the light.
“It's who I am!” Jack bit back when you tried pleading. The usual soft huskiness in his voice gave way to crisp determination. “All the shit from my past you say you hate; it's a part of me. It happened to me. Not to you, not to ‘us’, to me. I’m dealing with it the only way I know how, and it's not something you can just dig out of my chest and heal over, so I need you to stop fucking trying to. And if you can't learn to live with that… then I don't know what we're doing here.”
-
Things weren't easy between you for a while. What once was solid ground had turned into thin ice. But you tried. You bit your tongue and held your nerve because you knew Jack needed you to. You did your best to ask questions without judgment and listen without reproach. Slowly, you found yourself on a path to understanding. Though if you were truly honest with yourself, you didn't fully understand until you witnessed Jack work for the first time. Not at the ED fixing up a broken leg, but taking control in a crisis.
You were on a date one night when a drunk driver lost control of their car and came crashing through the front window of the restaurant. Thankfully, neither of you was hurt, but you were shaken, shell-shocked and dumbstruck amongst the chaos of broken glass and rubble, sirens and screams. But Jack was in his element. He acted immediately, grabbing the restaurant’s first aid kit and treating the wounded with calm, reassuring authority, taking command of the scene around him as if he were the director of a play.
“It's who I am.”
In that moment, you finally saw him clearly. And your love for him became exponential.
-
Now, years later, seeing Jack in his SWAT fatigues made you smile. You would draw him close by the collar and kiss him good luck, be safe. You teased him gently before a night shift, swooning into those big buff arms every evening; “There goes my lover, Captain of the Nightcrawlers. When oh when will he return?” (never had a nugget of gossip from Dr Ellis given you so much joy). And, on the rare but treasured nights when Jack was yours and only yours, the two of you would lie in the hammock you'd set up on the balcony of your shared home and gaze up at the sky.
You couldn’t give him Afghanistan. But you could give him the moon.
“I think this might be my favourite time of day,” you admitted once.
Jack held you tighter and pressed his lips to your forehead.
“I think that makes you a Nightcrawler now, too, Mrs Abbot.”
In 2025, I'm trying to get back into writing and posting some fics. I have some updates for some of my series fics that I'm working on, but dipping my toes back in, I'd like to focus on some One-Shots.
Who all would be interested in a small collection (3 fics) inspired by The Tortured Poets Department?
One- Shots I have outlined are:
"But Daddy, I Love Him" (Rooster x Reader)
"Guilty As Sin?" (Rooster x Reader)
"I Can Fix Him (No Really, Can)" (Hangman x Reader)
Warnings: Blood, language, whump. 18+Minors DNI. Banner Credit @thedroneranger
A/N: Hey, y'all. I'm dipping my toes back into writing and trying my hands at some whump for Whumptober. This is the first of 3 TGM Whumptober fics I'll be releasing!
...........................................
When most people thought about immortality, they idolized it. They coveted the idea that they could cheat death, make a fortune, or travel, or be a part of the future that everyone dreamed of but would never be around long enough to see.
Yes, the idea of immortality had a certain air to it that drew you in like a moth to a flame, and no ever really thinks about the consequences. Just like the moth going toward the light, unaware of the fate that was waiting for it, he too was enticed by the idea.
Moreover, he was more drawn to the idea of not dying in a medical tent in the Carolina wilderness, miles away from his home, fighting for a nation that didn't even exist yet.
He was young, barely twenty-five, able-bodied, and brawny from years of working on his family's farm when the revolution broke out. He had so much to live for, so many things he wanted to do. So when the field doctor with the mysterious eyes came to him offering a cure to all of his pain and suffering from the gunshot wound to his shoulder that would surely end his life, he agreed without hesitation.
Looking back now, he realizes that maybe he should have turned the doctor down and died with the rest of his friends. The pain that came after he agreed was far worse than any gunshot. The sound of the blood rushing through his ears was louder than any cannon fire, and the burning sensation in his veins was hotter than any camp fire or summer day back on the farm.
But peace came after that. For a while—at least. Then came the thirst. The one that no matter how much water or wine or ale he drank—it couldn't be quenched. Then there was the hunger. The deep, insatiable hunger that no meal could touch. The hunger that hurt so deep in his stomach that he thought he would surely parrish as he stumbled through town that night.
Until he stumbled upon the man in the alleyway, too drunk to walk, that had cut himself on his whiskey bottle. And that's when he smelled it. The blood. Fresh and warm and oozing like red gold down the man's fingertips and onto the cobblestones. And it that moment, he knew exactly what he needed to satisfy the craving that nothing else would touch. In that moment, he realized what the doctor he'd never seen again had turned him into, a creature he'd only heard about in tales that parents told to scare their children.
That night, as he feasted, he had an epiphany, he'd been granted a gift, and he wasn't going to waste it.
.......................
Two hundred and some odd years later, he didn't feel the same about his "gift" as he did back then. In fact, it was more like a curse. He was damned to wander the earth forever, which meant he was damned to be alone. He'd watched everyone he ever loved die. First, starting with his mother in the winter of 1781, then, his wife and son ten years later during childbirth. He'd tried saving them the way the doctor had done for him, both times, when he'd sunk his teeth into the soft, supple flesh of their necks and tasted their blood, he couldn't stop. It was like a demon possessed him, inhibiting him from hearing their cries and blinding his vision until he'd drained them dry, leaving their bodies limp and lifeless in his arms.
For a while, he vowed never to try again and never to love again until he knew he could find a way to keep her forever.
So, for the next two centuries after the death of his wife, child, and mother, he practiced. Starting on small animals at first, working his way up to larger ones, the eventually people.
He'd successfully master the art of turning, and now, he needed to find the perfect mate. Someone to spend eternity with.
He suspected that it would take him a while to find the right one. He certainly wasn't expecting it the night he walked into the bar and was hit with the most enticing scent he'd ever experienced.
He followed it until he found you.
You were exactly what he was looking for. You were probably around the same age that he told people he was. You were beautiful. A stunning natural beauty that drew him to you.
An aura that called him. A beacon of light in his darkness.
So, he walked right up to you, and asked "can I buy you another drink?"
You turned to the handsome stranger who'd offered to buy you a drink and gave him the once over. He oozed charisma and charm. His eyes, that could only be described as golden, sparkled as he flashed you a stunning smile.
"Sure, thing. I'll take another tequila on the rocks." You told him. He laughed before ordering one for each of you.
Once that glasses appeared before the two of you, you cheersed before extending your hand and introducing yourself.
He took your out stretched arm and brought the back of your hand to his lips, and placed a kiss there. "Charmed to meet you, darling. I'm Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw."
Bradley didn't miss the way your pulse quickened as he held your hand. Nor did he miss the blush that crept to your cheeks. He continued to sit there at the bar and talk to you for hours. And the longer he did, the more it affirmed for him that you were definitely the girl he had been looking for you. You'd been the perfect girl to have around forever. Now, he just had to convince you of the same.
..............
If Bradley has learned anything in his 273 years of life, it's patience. If he was going to convince you to be his eternal bride, he knew he'd have to play the long game. He wasn't deterred by the fact that it may take months, maybe even a few years, to convince you. He had been waiting to find someone like you for over two centuries. A little longer wouldn't hurt. Which is why he was perfectly fine in agreeing to take the relationship that was budding between the two of you as slowly as you wanted.
Bradley had also learned to be discreet about who—what he was. As the world moved on, and his age stayed the same, Bradley made sure never to stay in one place for too long. He also learned that taking jobs that kept him away for long stretches of time helped provide the perfect cover for when he needed to sneak away and feed.
Right after he was first turned—the fledgling stage, he would later learn what it was called— Bradley wasn't as careful when it came to choosing his meals. Anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path when his thirst arose would become one of his victims. He couldn't bear to be around people because the tangy metallic scent of their blood drove him mad with need.
Later, he learned to control it. He could function in society and keep up the act. And for a while, it worked. Until he took the wrong person as a meal.
She was the daughter of the local pastor, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. After she disappeared, the police began looking, asking questions. Bradley became paranoid that someone saw him, that he wasn't careful enough.
So he fled town and vowed to himself that he'd only feed on people he knew wouldn't be missed. Criminals, the homeless, vagrants, and vagabonds with no one to come looking for them, no one to ask questions.
He'd come to San Diego about ten years ago, claiming that he was twenty-two. Shaving his mustache and letting his hair grow helped make it believable. The one thing all the stories get wrong about being immortal is that your hair and nails stop growing. They don't. And for that, Bradley was thankful.
Because of this, he learned he could spend about fifteen to twenty years in one place before speculation arose. A shaggy haircut and a beard can do wonders for a person.
............
Maybe that's why it was so easy for you to believe that Bradley was thirty-three. Despite the fact that he seemed like an old soul, wise beyond his years.
He also told you he was in the Navy and that he was an aviator, which meant he had frequent deployments and trips for work that he couldn't tell you about. Which is why you never questioned him when he told you he was leaving for a few days or weeks or months the longer the two of you were together.
You never suspect that half of those "trips" and "deployments" were, in fact, times when Bradley traveled somewhere to feed.
He was smart. Making sure to go to a different state, so if what was left of the body was ever found, it could never be traced back to him.
He had a system, a routine, a schedule that worked and kept him under the radar and undetected for decades. It worked for him, and eventually, he would share his secrets with you, and the two of you would stay in the shadows together forever.
...............
You were busy in the kitchen of the house you and Bradley shared. He was due back from his latest deployment today, and you wanted to make sure he had a hot meal waiting for him. You wanted to make sure he had plenty of fuel for the plans you had later for the two of you.
Not that he ever seemed to need it. Your boyfriend had the most amazing stamina. More so than any partner you've had before. He told you it because he was an elite fighter pilot, the top one percent, and being the best at everything was in his blood. You had to agree with him. Bradley could go for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you, and never asking for more than one of his own in return.
You shivered as you flipped the steaks that were in the grill pan you had on the stove. You pulled the one for Bradley off the heat while leaving yours to cook a bit longer. He always preferred his more on the rare side, while you favored a more medium cooked steak.
You'd just finished setting the table when you heard Bradley's keys in the door. "Honey!" You squealed as you launched yourself at him. He easily caught you and held your frame against him.
"Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled as he kissed you passionately. His lips glided across yours before he trailed them across the column of your throat, stopping when they reached the juncture of your neck and shoulders. He grazed his canines over the pulse point that was thrumming just below your delicate skin.
"Bradley—" you groaned into his neck, gentle pushing on his chest. "Yes, Darling?" He asked you, pulling you closer to him. "I made dinner." You chuckled. "We can eat later. I missed you, My Darling Girl." He whispered against your ear.
"No, I want to make sure you have plenty of fuel in you for the plans I have for you later." You laugh again before dragging him to the dining room for a hot meal, blissfully unaware that the food you made would have no effect on your boyfriend.
That night, you let Bradley carry to your shared bedroom and strip you down the crimson lingerie you'd chosen specifically for the occasion. You let him tear the delicate lace from your body with his teeth, and then, you let him make love to you for hours until both of you were sated and his cum was dripping down your thighs and sweat covered your skin.
In the early hours of the morning, Bradley lay quietly beside you, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept. It had been two years since that faithful day he met you and knew you were destined to be his mate. As he watched you, he knew in his heart that it was time to tell you about his plan. Hopefully, you wouldn't take much convincing, and under the next new moon, he'd take you up to one of his—hunting— cabins and change you. He'd find a perfect first feed for you, and teach you everything you needed to know. Then, once your fledgling phase was over, the two of you would have a bonding ceremony to seal your love forever.
Bradley could feel that the time was coming soon. All the work he'd put in. Moulding you—grooming you— shaping you into his perfect mate would soon come to fruition.
.....................
Bradley had been acting—different— the past few weeks. Not different in a bad way, but doting on you much more than normal. He'd taken you out to a few fancy dinners, bought you some new clothes, and he came home every day with a new flower arrangement. He'd also given you the most beautiful necklace you'd seen. Honestly, you weren't sure how he afforded all of this, and when you asked him about it, he told you not to worry. He'd been so calm lately. You hoped he would be that way when you gave him the news you'd just received.
You waited patiently in the living room for Bradley to come home. When you heard his keys in the door, you jumped up to greet him. "Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled before kissing you passionately.
"Bradley, come sit. I have some news to share with you." You told him as you led him by the hand to the couch. His mind raced with what it could be.
Could you be pregnant? It wasn't unheard of for his kind and mortals to have a child together. That was how he lost his first wife, Elizabeth, and his son, Nicholas.
Her body couldn't handle the labor. Thankfully, Bradley knew what to do this time. If you were pregnant, he'd start the changing right before you gave birth. The strength the change offered you would see you through the labor.
His heart raced at the idea. Maybe this was the second chance he'd been waiting for.
"Bradley." You let out a long exhale as he sat there waiting patiently.
"Yes?" He eagerly replied.
"I've been offered a job!" You told him excitedly.
"What? You already have a job." He said dejectedly.
"I know, but this is a promotion. Head of the new office in Virginia. Isn't that wonderful? I know it might take some time to get your transfer in, but my office is willing to work with us. You could be back home! We would be so much closer to your family!" You bounced with excitement on the balls of your feet.
"Darling, it sounds like a wonderful opportunity, but I'm happy here. I don't want to move." Bradley told you. His voice was more stern than normal. Your smile fell from your face.
"Wha—what do you mean? Bradley, this is everything I've been working for. I've supported your career with your deployments and moves more times than I care to count in the past few years. I know it seems like a lot, but this is what I've always dreamed of. Why can't you see that?" You pleaded with him.
Bradley inhaled sharply. "We aren't moving to Virginia. That's final." He said with no room for argument.
Rage bubbled inside you. How dare he say that to you. After all you'd done for him.
"You're right. We aren't moving. I am." You deadpanned.
Bradley turned on his heels. Your words hit him in the chest like a dagger. No, he thought. No, no, no. After all the work he'd done, there is no way he's letting you leave him now. You were staying with him whether you liked it or not. Bradley had worked too hard to let you go. He'd spent decades learning to control his temper. The unbridled rage that could come with what he was. He'd kept it under wraps for decades. But hearing you say that you'd give him up so quickly? It caused something inside of him to snap.
................
You weren't sure what was happening. One minute, you were packing a bag to leave. The next, you felt a jolt of pain shoot through your neck. Then, your whole body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. You cried out for Bradley, begging him to help you, to save you from the invisible attacker. But instead, all you heard was a voice that almost sounded like his, whispering in your ear that it would all be over soon.
...............
When consciousness came back to you. It was slow. The first thing you noticed was the smell. You weren't wrapped in the warm vanilla scent of your home. No, you were somewhere near the woods. You could smell the dirt and hear birds somewhere in the distance.
The next thing you noticed were the sheets. The soft cotton ones of your bed had been replaced by a stiff and scratchy flannel.
You slowly opened your eyes and sat up. You didn't recognize the room you were in. The walls were bare and wooden. Some kind of a cabin, maybe. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, and that's when you felt it. The thirst. The overwhelming urge to drink. But you didn't want water. You wanted something else. You just didn't know what.
"Hello?" You called out tentatively, unsure of who else was there.
"My Darling Girl. You're finally awake." You whipped around so fast you made yourself dizzy. Bradley stood before you, his large form leaning on the door frame. Only something was off about him. He wasn't the Bradley you once knew. He stepped forward and smiled, and for the first time, you noticed how prominent his canines were. Had they always been like that?
"Bradley. Where am I? How did I get here? Did you—did you kidnap me?" You shriek, eyes darting around the room. You try to breathe, but you can't get any air into your lungs.
"Darling, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself. Tell me. How are you feeling?" He says so smoothly.
"I feel like I want to know what the fuck is going on." You spit at him. "Where are we?"
"We are at one of my hunting cabins. I figured it would help with the adjustment if we weren't near people." He tells you
"H—help with what adjustment?" You say as you clear your throat. A burning sensation creeping in. "What—what did you do to me?" You say as you being to claw at your skin.
"I changed you—for the better. I made you perfect. The perfect mate for me for all eternity. I know it must be a shock, but you'll get used to it. I'll help you, My Love." Bradley tells you as he glides across the room to you and turns your towards the mirror you hadn't noticed before. You look in it and see yourself, well, almost yourself. Something is different. You just can't place it. You trace your eyes over your features, and then you see them. Two small puncture wounds on your neck. Your hand flies to to them.
"Don't worry, they'll go away. But these—" Bradley says, and he pulls your gums back to reveal your new elongated canines, "these are permanent."
You run your tongue over your teeth and wince at their sharpness. "Don't worry. You'll get used to them." Bradley assures you, taking a step back. Just then, you hear a thump in from another room. "Ah, perfect, looks like it woke up just in time." He smiles.
"What do you mean 'it'?" You ask him harshly. "Your first feed, My Darling Girl. I know you feel the thirst. Every fledgling does. I know it did. Believe me, your first feed is always the hardest, so I brought you one. I wanted to make this as easy as possible for you." He says almost kindly.
"Easy? You wanted to make this easy on me? Bradley, you kidnapped me and brought me to the middle of nowhere and turned me into a—a—a—" you can't finish your sentence.
"Vampire. It's okay, you can say it, dear. I turned you into a vampire so we can be together forever. Of course, I hadn't planned on doing it this early, but when you said you were going to leave me, I knew I had to act then. I've spent the past two years grooming you into the perfect mate for me. I knew it was you from the first time I picked up your scent at the bar. Ideally, you would have willingly let me change you, but it doesn't matter now." Bradley tells you calmly.
"You've been planning to do this to me ever since you met me? How could you! I trusted you! I loved you. I thought you loved me?!" You wailed. "I do love you. That's why I did all of this. Why I brought you to my hunting cabin. Why I found a first feed for you. Why I've practiced for years getting the art of transforming right. All for you." Bradley says.
"I'm not the first person you've done this too?" You ask in disbelief. "Well, I had to practice to get it right. After I lost my mother and my first wife because I failed at transforming them, I vowed never to do it again until I perfected it. I started on small creatures and then worked my way up to people. But don't worry. I killed them after. I couldn't have a bunch of my own creations trying to kill me." Bradley laughs.
"First wife? Creations? What the hell is wrong with you. How could you ever think I'd want to spend my life with you after what you did to me? How long have you been like this?" You fire questions at him.
"I was born in 1751, changed in 1776 by a field doctor during the Revolutionary War. I've been practicing turning since about 1900. But I never let my creations live long after I turned them, lest they take revenge and try to kill me. You see, the movies and the books have it all wrong. Garlic and wooden stakes aren't what kills a vampire. We can only be killed by a dagger through the heart by our creator or one of our creations. A creation killing their creator also reverses the effects. Turns them human again. I couldn't risk that so I made sure to take care of that before it became an issue." Bradley explains to you.
"You see, I've been alone for so long. I was married to a wonderful woman, Elizabeth, but she died during childbirth. I couldn't save her. I vowed to myself that I'd never love again until I could keep her forever. And you were the one I choose for that, My Darling Girl. You're special, perfect, my perfect mate. I picked you out of everyone." Bradley tells you as he cups your face. You look in his eyes and don't see the man you once knew. He's long gone, replaced by this—monster. But if you wanted to survive, you knew you'd have to play into his fantasy.
"I see now. It all makes so much sense. Now I know why you didn't want me to leave." You say what he wanted to hear.
"Exactly. And in one year's time, when your fledgling phase is over, we'll have a bonding ceremony, sealing our love with a blood pact, so we can never be separated." Bradley tells you with a smile.
"That sounds wonderful." You lie to him. "I knew you'd see my way. Now, let me help you with your first feed." Bradley smiled as you let him lead you by the hand to the other room.
...................
Lying to someone for a full year is much harder than anyone expects. But you knew if you wanted to survive, and for your plan to work, you had too.
You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. Even though this wasn't what you wanted, you looked stunning. A long-sleeved, lace, stark white gown hugged your body. A crown of blood-red roses on your head. Exactly what Bradley wanted you to wear.
You stepped out of the cabin your home, no, your prison for the last year and made your way across the field. The bright light of the full moon illuminated the area, causing your dress to practically glow in the light.
Bradley was standing near the edge of the clearing, waiting for you. You could see the glint of the bonding dagger in his hand reflecting in the moonlight.
"My Darling Girl. You look breathtaking. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment." Bradley praised you as he took your hand in his.
"Are you ready?" He asked you. "I've been ready." You smile at him.
Bradley takes the dagger in his right hand and makes a slice across his palm, then hands it to you. Your fingers wrap around the grip tightly.
"I've been dreaming of this moment all year." You tell him. "I've been counting the days."
Bradley smiles, unaware of the true meaning of your words.
You grip the dagger tightly and raise it up. Bradley waits with baited breath and watches your palm, ready for you to slice the skin. Instead, he feels something sharp pierce his chest. He looks over to see your hand wrapped around the dagger that is now in his heart.
You pull it out and watch the blood drip from the blade, staining your once pristine gown.
"My—My Darling Girl. What have you done?" Bradley asks you as he stumbles back. More blood oozes from the wound as he drops to his knees.
"I'm taking back my life. And I'm not your darling girl anymore." You sneer before he collapses dead on the ground, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.
You feel the exact moment he dies. You feel it in the pain, searing through your body and leeching out of every pore of your skin. You feel as though you may die, but you know it's worth it.
You black out and fall to the dirt.
When you finally wake up, it's daylight. You run your tongue over your teeth, and the once sharp canines are gone. You stand up and find that your white dress is now a deep shade of maroon, and the man you once loved has shriveled up to almost nothing. You give his remains a kick, and they turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze.
You pick up your dagger from last night and walk back to the cabin and find the bag you pack. You sling it over your shoulder and grab the keys hanging from the keyring near the door. You climb into the blue Bronco that had once belonged to Bradley and drive away from the cabin, from the woods, from him, and from the nightmare, you just woke up from.
Girl you killed it! 👀 like fern said the subtle manipulation, the love bombing to make everything seem alright, and then that finale of an ending! I’m floored!
Warnings: Blood, language, whump. 18+Minors DNI. Banner Credit @thedroneranger
A/N: Hey, y'all. I'm dipping my toes back into writing and trying my hands at some whump for Whumptober. This is the first of 3 TGM Whumptober fics I'll be releasing!
...........................................
When most people thought about immortality, they idolized it. They coveted the idea that they could cheat death, make a fortune, or travel, or be a part of the future that everyone dreamed of but would never be around long enough to see.
Yes, the idea of immortality had a certain air to it that drew you in like a moth to a flame, and no ever really thinks about the consequences. Just like the moth going toward the light, unaware of the fate that was waiting for it, he too was enticed by the idea.
Moreover, he was more drawn to the idea of not dying in a medical tent in the Carolina wilderness, miles away from his home, fighting for a nation that didn't even exist yet.
He was young, barely twenty-five, able-bodied, and brawny from years of working on his family's farm when the revolution broke out. He had so much to live for, so many things he wanted to do. So when the field doctor with the mysterious eyes came to him offering a cure to all of his pain and suffering from the gunshot wound to his shoulder that would surely end his life, he agreed without hesitation.
Looking back now, he realizes that maybe he should have turned the doctor down and died with the rest of his friends. The pain that came after he agreed was far worse than any gunshot. The sound of the blood rushing through his ears was louder than any cannon fire, and the burning sensation in his veins was hotter than any camp fire or summer day back on the farm.
But peace came after that. For a while—at least. Then came the thirst. The one that no matter how much water or wine or ale he drank—it couldn't be quenched. Then there was the hunger. The deep, insatiable hunger that no meal could touch. The hunger that hurt so deep in his stomach that he thought he would surely parrish as he stumbled through town that night.
Until he stumbled upon the man in the alleyway, too drunk to walk, that had cut himself on his whiskey bottle. And that's when he smelled it. The blood. Fresh and warm and oozing like red gold down the man's fingertips and onto the cobblestones. And it that moment, he knew exactly what he needed to satisfy the craving that nothing else would touch. In that moment, he realized what the doctor he'd never seen again had turned him into, a creature he'd only heard about in tales that parents told to scare their children.
That night, as he feasted, he had an epiphany, he'd been granted a gift, and he wasn't going to waste it.
.......................
Two hundred and some odd years later, he didn't feel the same about his "gift" as he did back then. In fact, it was more like a curse. He was damned to wander the earth forever, which meant he was damned to be alone. He'd watched everyone he ever loved die. First, starting with his mother in the winter of 1781, then, his wife and son ten years later during childbirth. He'd tried saving them the way the doctor had done for him, both times, when he'd sunk his teeth into the soft, supple flesh of their necks and tasted their blood, he couldn't stop. It was like a demon possessed him, inhibiting him from hearing their cries and blinding his vision until he'd drained them dry, leaving their bodies limp and lifeless in his arms.
For a while, he vowed never to try again and never to love again until he knew he could find a way to keep her forever.
So, for the next two centuries after the death of his wife, child, and mother, he practiced. Starting on small animals at first, working his way up to larger ones, the eventually people.
He'd successfully master the art of turning, and now, he needed to find the perfect mate. Someone to spend eternity with.
He suspected that it would take him a while to find the right one. He certainly wasn't expecting it the night he walked into the bar and was hit with the most enticing scent he'd ever experienced.
He followed it until he found you.
You were exactly what he was looking for. You were probably around the same age that he told people he was. You were beautiful. A stunning natural beauty that drew him to you.
An aura that called him. A beacon of light in his darkness.
So, he walked right up to you, and asked "can I buy you another drink?"
You turned to the handsome stranger who'd offered to buy you a drink and gave him the once over. He oozed charisma and charm. His eyes, that could only be described as golden, sparkled as he flashed you a stunning smile.
"Sure, thing. I'll take another tequila on the rocks." You told him. He laughed before ordering one for each of you.
Once that glasses appeared before the two of you, you cheersed before extending your hand and introducing yourself.
He took your out stretched arm and brought the back of your hand to his lips, and placed a kiss there. "Charmed to meet you, darling. I'm Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw."
Bradley didn't miss the way your pulse quickened as he held your hand. Nor did he miss the blush that crept to your cheeks. He continued to sit there at the bar and talk to you for hours. And the longer he did, the more it affirmed for him that you were definitely the girl he had been looking for you. You'd been the perfect girl to have around forever. Now, he just had to convince you of the same.
..............
If Bradley has learned anything in his 273 years of life, it's patience. If he was going to convince you to be his eternal bride, he knew he'd have to play the long game. He wasn't deterred by the fact that it may take months, maybe even a few years, to convince you. He had been waiting to find someone like you for over two centuries. A little longer wouldn't hurt. Which is why he was perfectly fine in agreeing to take the relationship that was budding between the two of you as slowly as you wanted.
Bradley had also learned to be discreet about who—what he was. As the world moved on, and his age stayed the same, Bradley made sure never to stay in one place for too long. He also learned that taking jobs that kept him away for long stretches of time helped provide the perfect cover for when he needed to sneak away and feed.
Right after he was first turned—the fledgling stage, he would later learn what it was called— Bradley wasn't as careful when it came to choosing his meals. Anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path when his thirst arose would become one of his victims. He couldn't bear to be around people because the tangy metallic scent of their blood drove him mad with need.
Later, he learned to control it. He could function in society and keep up the act. And for a while, it worked. Until he took the wrong person as a meal.
She was the daughter of the local pastor, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. After she disappeared, the police began looking, asking questions. Bradley became paranoid that someone saw him, that he wasn't careful enough.
So he fled town and vowed to himself that he'd only feed on people he knew wouldn't be missed. Criminals, the homeless, vagrants, and vagabonds with no one to come looking for them, no one to ask questions.
He'd come to San Diego about ten years ago, claiming that he was twenty-two. Shaving his mustache and letting his hair grow helped make it believable. The one thing all the stories get wrong about being immortal is that your hair and nails stop growing. They don't. And for that, Bradley was thankful.
Because of this, he learned he could spend about fifteen to twenty years in one place before speculation arose. A shaggy haircut and a beard can do wonders for a person.
............
Maybe that's why it was so easy for you to believe that Bradley was thirty-three. Despite the fact that he seemed like an old soul, wise beyond his years.
He also told you he was in the Navy and that he was an aviator, which meant he had frequent deployments and trips for work that he couldn't tell you about. Which is why you never questioned him when he told you he was leaving for a few days or weeks or months the longer the two of you were together.
You never suspect that half of those "trips" and "deployments" were, in fact, times when Bradley traveled somewhere to feed.
He was smart. Making sure to go to a different state, so if what was left of the body was ever found, it could never be traced back to him.
He had a system, a routine, a schedule that worked and kept him under the radar and undetected for decades. It worked for him, and eventually, he would share his secrets with you, and the two of you would stay in the shadows together forever.
...............
You were busy in the kitchen of the house you and Bradley shared. He was due back from his latest deployment today, and you wanted to make sure he had a hot meal waiting for him. You wanted to make sure he had plenty of fuel for the plans you had later for the two of you.
Not that he ever seemed to need it. Your boyfriend had the most amazing stamina. More so than any partner you've had before. He told you it because he was an elite fighter pilot, the top one percent, and being the best at everything was in his blood. You had to agree with him. Bradley could go for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you, and never asking for more than one of his own in return.
You shivered as you flipped the steaks that were in the grill pan you had on the stove. You pulled the one for Bradley off the heat while leaving yours to cook a bit longer. He always preferred his more on the rare side, while you favored a more medium cooked steak.
You'd just finished setting the table when you heard Bradley's keys in the door. "Honey!" You squealed as you launched yourself at him. He easily caught you and held your frame against him.
"Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled as he kissed you passionately. His lips glided across yours before he trailed them across the column of your throat, stopping when they reached the juncture of your neck and shoulders. He grazed his canines over the pulse point that was thrumming just below your delicate skin.
"Bradley—" you groaned into his neck, gentle pushing on his chest. "Yes, Darling?" He asked you, pulling you closer to him. "I made dinner." You chuckled. "We can eat later. I missed you, My Darling Girl." He whispered against your ear.
"No, I want to make sure you have plenty of fuel in you for the plans I have for you later." You laugh again before dragging him to the dining room for a hot meal, blissfully unaware that the food you made would have no effect on your boyfriend.
That night, you let Bradley carry to your shared bedroom and strip you down the crimson lingerie you'd chosen specifically for the occasion. You let him tear the delicate lace from your body with his teeth, and then, you let him make love to you for hours until both of you were sated and his cum was dripping down your thighs and sweat covered your skin.
In the early hours of the morning, Bradley lay quietly beside you, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept. It had been two years since that faithful day he met you and knew you were destined to be his mate. As he watched you, he knew in his heart that it was time to tell you about his plan. Hopefully, you wouldn't take much convincing, and under the next new moon, he'd take you up to one of his—hunting— cabins and change you. He'd find a perfect first feed for you, and teach you everything you needed to know. Then, once your fledgling phase was over, the two of you would have a bonding ceremony to seal your love forever.
Bradley could feel that the time was coming soon. All the work he'd put in. Moulding you—grooming you— shaping you into his perfect mate would soon come to fruition.
.....................
Bradley had been acting—different— the past few weeks. Not different in a bad way, but doting on you much more than normal. He'd taken you out to a few fancy dinners, bought you some new clothes, and he came home every day with a new flower arrangement. He'd also given you the most beautiful necklace you'd seen. Honestly, you weren't sure how he afforded all of this, and when you asked him about it, he told you not to worry. He'd been so calm lately. You hoped he would be that way when you gave him the news you'd just received.
You waited patiently in the living room for Bradley to come home. When you heard his keys in the door, you jumped up to greet him. "Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled before kissing you passionately.
"Bradley, come sit. I have some news to share with you." You told him as you led him by the hand to the couch. His mind raced with what it could be.
Could you be pregnant? It wasn't unheard of for his kind and mortals to have a child together. That was how he lost his first wife, Elizabeth, and his son, Nicholas.
Her body couldn't handle the labor. Thankfully, Bradley knew what to do this time. If you were pregnant, he'd start the changing right before you gave birth. The strength the change offered you would see you through the labor.
His heart raced at the idea. Maybe this was the second chance he'd been waiting for.
"Bradley." You let out a long exhale as he sat there waiting patiently.
"Yes?" He eagerly replied.
"I've been offered a job!" You told him excitedly.
"What? You already have a job." He said dejectedly.
"I know, but this is a promotion. Head of the new office in Virginia. Isn't that wonderful? I know it might take some time to get your transfer in, but my office is willing to work with us. You could be back home! We would be so much closer to your family!" You bounced with excitement on the balls of your feet.
"Darling, it sounds like a wonderful opportunity, but I'm happy here. I don't want to move." Bradley told you. His voice was more stern than normal. Your smile fell from your face.
"Wha—what do you mean? Bradley, this is everything I've been working for. I've supported your career with your deployments and moves more times than I care to count in the past few years. I know it seems like a lot, but this is what I've always dreamed of. Why can't you see that?" You pleaded with him.
Bradley inhaled sharply. "We aren't moving to Virginia. That's final." He said with no room for argument.
Rage bubbled inside you. How dare he say that to you. After all you'd done for him.
"You're right. We aren't moving. I am." You deadpanned.
Bradley turned on his heels. Your words hit him in the chest like a dagger. No, he thought. No, no, no. After all the work he'd done, there is no way he's letting you leave him now. You were staying with him whether you liked it or not. Bradley had worked too hard to let you go. He'd spent decades learning to control his temper. The unbridled rage that could come with what he was. He'd kept it under wraps for decades. But hearing you say that you'd give him up so quickly? It caused something inside of him to snap.
................
You weren't sure what was happening. One minute, you were packing a bag to leave. The next, you felt a jolt of pain shoot through your neck. Then, your whole body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. You cried out for Bradley, begging him to help you, to save you from the invisible attacker. But instead, all you heard was a voice that almost sounded like his, whispering in your ear that it would all be over soon.
...............
When consciousness came back to you. It was slow. The first thing you noticed was the smell. You weren't wrapped in the warm vanilla scent of your home. No, you were somewhere near the woods. You could smell the dirt and hear birds somewhere in the distance.
The next thing you noticed were the sheets. The soft cotton ones of your bed had been replaced by a stiff and scratchy flannel.
You slowly opened your eyes and sat up. You didn't recognize the room you were in. The walls were bare and wooden. Some kind of a cabin, maybe. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, and that's when you felt it. The thirst. The overwhelming urge to drink. But you didn't want water. You wanted something else. You just didn't know what.
"Hello?" You called out tentatively, unsure of who else was there.
"My Darling Girl. You're finally awake." You whipped around so fast you made yourself dizzy. Bradley stood before you, his large form leaning on the door frame. Only something was off about him. He wasn't the Bradley you once knew. He stepped forward and smiled, and for the first time, you noticed how prominent his canines were. Had they always been like that?
"Bradley. Where am I? How did I get here? Did you—did you kidnap me?" You shriek, eyes darting around the room. You try to breathe, but you can't get any air into your lungs.
"Darling, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself. Tell me. How are you feeling?" He says so smoothly.
"I feel like I want to know what the fuck is going on." You spit at him. "Where are we?"
"We are at one of my hunting cabins. I figured it would help with the adjustment if we weren't near people." He tells you
"H—help with what adjustment?" You say as you clear your throat. A burning sensation creeping in. "What—what did you do to me?" You say as you being to claw at your skin.
"I changed you—for the better. I made you perfect. The perfect mate for me for all eternity. I know it must be a shock, but you'll get used to it. I'll help you, My Love." Bradley tells you as he glides across the room to you and turns your towards the mirror you hadn't noticed before. You look in it and see yourself, well, almost yourself. Something is different. You just can't place it. You trace your eyes over your features, and then you see them. Two small puncture wounds on your neck. Your hand flies to to them.
"Don't worry, they'll go away. But these—" Bradley says, and he pulls your gums back to reveal your new elongated canines, "these are permanent."
You run your tongue over your teeth and wince at their sharpness. "Don't worry. You'll get used to them." Bradley assures you, taking a step back. Just then, you hear a thump in from another room. "Ah, perfect, looks like it woke up just in time." He smiles.
"What do you mean 'it'?" You ask him harshly. "Your first feed, My Darling Girl. I know you feel the thirst. Every fledgling does. I know it did. Believe me, your first feed is always the hardest, so I brought you one. I wanted to make this as easy as possible for you." He says almost kindly.
"Easy? You wanted to make this easy on me? Bradley, you kidnapped me and brought me to the middle of nowhere and turned me into a—a—a—" you can't finish your sentence.
"Vampire. It's okay, you can say it, dear. I turned you into a vampire so we can be together forever. Of course, I hadn't planned on doing it this early, but when you said you were going to leave me, I knew I had to act then. I've spent the past two years grooming you into the perfect mate for me. I knew it was you from the first time I picked up your scent at the bar. Ideally, you would have willingly let me change you, but it doesn't matter now." Bradley tells you calmly.
"You've been planning to do this to me ever since you met me? How could you! I trusted you! I loved you. I thought you loved me?!" You wailed. "I do love you. That's why I did all of this. Why I brought you to my hunting cabin. Why I found a first feed for you. Why I've practiced for years getting the art of transforming right. All for you." Bradley says.
"I'm not the first person you've done this too?" You ask in disbelief. "Well, I had to practice to get it right. After I lost my mother and my first wife because I failed at transforming them, I vowed never to do it again until I perfected it. I started on small creatures and then worked my way up to people. But don't worry. I killed them after. I couldn't have a bunch of my own creations trying to kill me." Bradley laughs.
"First wife? Creations? What the hell is wrong with you. How could you ever think I'd want to spend my life with you after what you did to me? How long have you been like this?" You fire questions at him.
"I was born in 1751, changed in 1776 by a field doctor during the Revolutionary War. I've been practicing turning since about 1900. But I never let my creations live long after I turned them, lest they take revenge and try to kill me. You see, the movies and the books have it all wrong. Garlic and wooden stakes aren't what kills a vampire. We can only be killed by a dagger through the heart by our creator or one of our creations. A creation killing their creator also reverses the effects. Turns them human again. I couldn't risk that so I made sure to take care of that before it became an issue." Bradley explains to you.
"You see, I've been alone for so long. I was married to a wonderful woman, Elizabeth, but she died during childbirth. I couldn't save her. I vowed to myself that I'd never love again until I could keep her forever. And you were the one I choose for that, My Darling Girl. You're special, perfect, my perfect mate. I picked you out of everyone." Bradley tells you as he cups your face. You look in his eyes and don't see the man you once knew. He's long gone, replaced by this—monster. But if you wanted to survive, you knew you'd have to play into his fantasy.
"I see now. It all makes so much sense. Now I know why you didn't want me to leave." You say what he wanted to hear.
"Exactly. And in one year's time, when your fledgling phase is over, we'll have a bonding ceremony, sealing our love with a blood pact, so we can never be separated." Bradley tells you with a smile.
"That sounds wonderful." You lie to him. "I knew you'd see my way. Now, let me help you with your first feed." Bradley smiled as you let him lead you by the hand to the other room.
...................
Lying to someone for a full year is much harder than anyone expects. But you knew if you wanted to survive, and for your plan to work, you had too.
You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. Even though this wasn't what you wanted, you looked stunning. A long-sleeved, lace, stark white gown hugged your body. A crown of blood-red roses on your head. Exactly what Bradley wanted you to wear.
You stepped out of the cabin your home, no, your prison for the last year and made your way across the field. The bright light of the full moon illuminated the area, causing your dress to practically glow in the light.
Bradley was standing near the edge of the clearing, waiting for you. You could see the glint of the bonding dagger in his hand reflecting in the moonlight.
"My Darling Girl. You look breathtaking. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment." Bradley praised you as he took your hand in his.
"Are you ready?" He asked you. "I've been ready." You smile at him.
Bradley takes the dagger in his right hand and makes a slice across his palm, then hands it to you. Your fingers wrap around the grip tightly.
"I've been dreaming of this moment all year." You tell him. "I've been counting the days."
Bradley smiles, unaware of the true meaning of your words.
You grip the dagger tightly and raise it up. Bradley waits with baited breath and watches your palm, ready for you to slice the skin. Instead, he feels something sharp pierce his chest. He looks over to see your hand wrapped around the dagger that is now in his heart.
You pull it out and watch the blood drip from the blade, staining your once pristine gown.
"My—My Darling Girl. What have you done?" Bradley asks you as he stumbles back. More blood oozes from the wound as he drops to his knees.
"I'm taking back my life. And I'm not your darling girl anymore." You sneer before he collapses dead on the ground, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.
You feel the exact moment he dies. You feel it in the pain, searing through your body and leeching out of every pore of your skin. You feel as though you may die, but you know it's worth it.
You black out and fall to the dirt.
When you finally wake up, it's daylight. You run your tongue over your teeth, and the once sharp canines are gone. You stand up and find that your white dress is now a deep shade of maroon, and the man you once loved has shriveled up to almost nothing. You give his remains a kick, and they turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze.
You pick up your dagger from last night and walk back to the cabin and find the bag you pack. You sling it over your shoulder and grab the keys hanging from the keyring near the door. You climb into the blue Bronco that had once belonged to Bradley and drive away from the cabin, from the woods, from him, and from the nightmare, you just woke up from.
Girl you killed it! 👀 like fern said the subtle manipulation, the love bombing to make everything seem alright, and then that finale of an ending! I’m floored!
Warnings: Blood, language, whump. 18+Minors DNI. Banner Credit @thedroneranger
A/N: Hey, y'all. I'm dipping my toes back into writing and trying my hands at some whump for Whumptober. This is the first of 3 TGM Whumptober fics I'll be releasing!
...........................................
When most people thought about immortality, they idolized it. They coveted the idea that they could cheat death, make a fortune, or travel, or be a part of the future that everyone dreamed of but would never be around long enough to see.
Yes, the idea of immortality had a certain air to it that drew you in like a moth to a flame, and no ever really thinks about the consequences. Just like the moth going toward the light, unaware of the fate that was waiting for it, he too was enticed by the idea.
Moreover, he was more drawn to the idea of not dying in a medical tent in the Carolina wilderness, miles away from his home, fighting for a nation that didn't even exist yet.
He was young, barely twenty-five, able-bodied, and brawny from years of working on his family's farm when the revolution broke out. He had so much to live for, so many things he wanted to do. So when the field doctor with the mysterious eyes came to him offering a cure to all of his pain and suffering from the gunshot wound to his shoulder that would surely end his life, he agreed without hesitation.
Looking back now, he realizes that maybe he should have turned the doctor down and died with the rest of his friends. The pain that came after he agreed was far worse than any gunshot. The sound of the blood rushing through his ears was louder than any cannon fire, and the burning sensation in his veins was hotter than any camp fire or summer day back on the farm.
But peace came after that. For a while—at least. Then came the thirst. The one that no matter how much water or wine or ale he drank—it couldn't be quenched. Then there was the hunger. The deep, insatiable hunger that no meal could touch. The hunger that hurt so deep in his stomach that he thought he would surely parrish as he stumbled through town that night.
Until he stumbled upon the man in the alleyway, too drunk to walk, that had cut himself on his whiskey bottle. And that's when he smelled it. The blood. Fresh and warm and oozing like red gold down the man's fingertips and onto the cobblestones. And it that moment, he knew exactly what he needed to satisfy the craving that nothing else would touch. In that moment, he realized what the doctor he'd never seen again had turned him into, a creature he'd only heard about in tales that parents told to scare their children.
That night, as he feasted, he had an epiphany, he'd been granted a gift, and he wasn't going to waste it.
.......................
Two hundred and some odd years later, he didn't feel the same about his "gift" as he did back then. In fact, it was more like a curse. He was damned to wander the earth forever, which meant he was damned to be alone. He'd watched everyone he ever loved die. First, starting with his mother in the winter of 1781, then, his wife and son ten years later during childbirth. He'd tried saving them the way the doctor had done for him, both times, when he'd sunk his teeth into the soft, supple flesh of their necks and tasted their blood, he couldn't stop. It was like a demon possessed him, inhibiting him from hearing their cries and blinding his vision until he'd drained them dry, leaving their bodies limp and lifeless in his arms.
For a while, he vowed never to try again and never to love again until he knew he could find a way to keep her forever.
So, for the next two centuries after the death of his wife, child, and mother, he practiced. Starting on small animals at first, working his way up to larger ones, the eventually people.
He'd successfully master the art of turning, and now, he needed to find the perfect mate. Someone to spend eternity with.
He suspected that it would take him a while to find the right one. He certainly wasn't expecting it the night he walked into the bar and was hit with the most enticing scent he'd ever experienced.
He followed it until he found you.
You were exactly what he was looking for. You were probably around the same age that he told people he was. You were beautiful. A stunning natural beauty that drew him to you.
An aura that called him. A beacon of light in his darkness.
So, he walked right up to you, and asked "can I buy you another drink?"
You turned to the handsome stranger who'd offered to buy you a drink and gave him the once over. He oozed charisma and charm. His eyes, that could only be described as golden, sparkled as he flashed you a stunning smile.
"Sure, thing. I'll take another tequila on the rocks." You told him. He laughed before ordering one for each of you.
Once that glasses appeared before the two of you, you cheersed before extending your hand and introducing yourself.
He took your out stretched arm and brought the back of your hand to his lips, and placed a kiss there. "Charmed to meet you, darling. I'm Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw."
Bradley didn't miss the way your pulse quickened as he held your hand. Nor did he miss the blush that crept to your cheeks. He continued to sit there at the bar and talk to you for hours. And the longer he did, the more it affirmed for him that you were definitely the girl he had been looking for you. You'd been the perfect girl to have around forever. Now, he just had to convince you of the same.
..............
If Bradley has learned anything in his 273 years of life, it's patience. If he was going to convince you to be his eternal bride, he knew he'd have to play the long game. He wasn't deterred by the fact that it may take months, maybe even a few years, to convince you. He had been waiting to find someone like you for over two centuries. A little longer wouldn't hurt. Which is why he was perfectly fine in agreeing to take the relationship that was budding between the two of you as slowly as you wanted.
Bradley had also learned to be discreet about who—what he was. As the world moved on, and his age stayed the same, Bradley made sure never to stay in one place for too long. He also learned that taking jobs that kept him away for long stretches of time helped provide the perfect cover for when he needed to sneak away and feed.
Right after he was first turned—the fledgling stage, he would later learn what it was called— Bradley wasn't as careful when it came to choosing his meals. Anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path when his thirst arose would become one of his victims. He couldn't bear to be around people because the tangy metallic scent of their blood drove him mad with need.
Later, he learned to control it. He could function in society and keep up the act. And for a while, it worked. Until he took the wrong person as a meal.
She was the daughter of the local pastor, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. After she disappeared, the police began looking, asking questions. Bradley became paranoid that someone saw him, that he wasn't careful enough.
So he fled town and vowed to himself that he'd only feed on people he knew wouldn't be missed. Criminals, the homeless, vagrants, and vagabonds with no one to come looking for them, no one to ask questions.
He'd come to San Diego about ten years ago, claiming that he was twenty-two. Shaving his mustache and letting his hair grow helped make it believable. The one thing all the stories get wrong about being immortal is that your hair and nails stop growing. They don't. And for that, Bradley was thankful.
Because of this, he learned he could spend about fifteen to twenty years in one place before speculation arose. A shaggy haircut and a beard can do wonders for a person.
............
Maybe that's why it was so easy for you to believe that Bradley was thirty-three. Despite the fact that he seemed like an old soul, wise beyond his years.
He also told you he was in the Navy and that he was an aviator, which meant he had frequent deployments and trips for work that he couldn't tell you about. Which is why you never questioned him when he told you he was leaving for a few days or weeks or months the longer the two of you were together.
You never suspect that half of those "trips" and "deployments" were, in fact, times when Bradley traveled somewhere to feed.
He was smart. Making sure to go to a different state, so if what was left of the body was ever found, it could never be traced back to him.
He had a system, a routine, a schedule that worked and kept him under the radar and undetected for decades. It worked for him, and eventually, he would share his secrets with you, and the two of you would stay in the shadows together forever.
...............
You were busy in the kitchen of the house you and Bradley shared. He was due back from his latest deployment today, and you wanted to make sure he had a hot meal waiting for him. You wanted to make sure he had plenty of fuel for the plans you had later for the two of you.
Not that he ever seemed to need it. Your boyfriend had the most amazing stamina. More so than any partner you've had before. He told you it because he was an elite fighter pilot, the top one percent, and being the best at everything was in his blood. You had to agree with him. Bradley could go for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you, and never asking for more than one of his own in return.
You shivered as you flipped the steaks that were in the grill pan you had on the stove. You pulled the one for Bradley off the heat while leaving yours to cook a bit longer. He always preferred his more on the rare side, while you favored a more medium cooked steak.
You'd just finished setting the table when you heard Bradley's keys in the door. "Honey!" You squealed as you launched yourself at him. He easily caught you and held your frame against him.
"Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled as he kissed you passionately. His lips glided across yours before he trailed them across the column of your throat, stopping when they reached the juncture of your neck and shoulders. He grazed his canines over the pulse point that was thrumming just below your delicate skin.
"Bradley—" you groaned into his neck, gentle pushing on his chest. "Yes, Darling?" He asked you, pulling you closer to him. "I made dinner." You chuckled. "We can eat later. I missed you, My Darling Girl." He whispered against your ear.
"No, I want to make sure you have plenty of fuel in you for the plans I have for you later." You laugh again before dragging him to the dining room for a hot meal, blissfully unaware that the food you made would have no effect on your boyfriend.
That night, you let Bradley carry to your shared bedroom and strip you down the crimson lingerie you'd chosen specifically for the occasion. You let him tear the delicate lace from your body with his teeth, and then, you let him make love to you for hours until both of you were sated and his cum was dripping down your thighs and sweat covered your skin.
In the early hours of the morning, Bradley lay quietly beside you, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept. It had been two years since that faithful day he met you and knew you were destined to be his mate. As he watched you, he knew in his heart that it was time to tell you about his plan. Hopefully, you wouldn't take much convincing, and under the next new moon, he'd take you up to one of his—hunting— cabins and change you. He'd find a perfect first feed for you, and teach you everything you needed to know. Then, once your fledgling phase was over, the two of you would have a bonding ceremony to seal your love forever.
Bradley could feel that the time was coming soon. All the work he'd put in. Moulding you—grooming you— shaping you into his perfect mate would soon come to fruition.
.....................
Bradley had been acting—different— the past few weeks. Not different in a bad way, but doting on you much more than normal. He'd taken you out to a few fancy dinners, bought you some new clothes, and he came home every day with a new flower arrangement. He'd also given you the most beautiful necklace you'd seen. Honestly, you weren't sure how he afforded all of this, and when you asked him about it, he told you not to worry. He'd been so calm lately. You hoped he would be that way when you gave him the news you'd just received.
You waited patiently in the living room for Bradley to come home. When you heard his keys in the door, you jumped up to greet him. "Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled before kissing you passionately.
"Bradley, come sit. I have some news to share with you." You told him as you led him by the hand to the couch. His mind raced with what it could be.
Could you be pregnant? It wasn't unheard of for his kind and mortals to have a child together. That was how he lost his first wife, Elizabeth, and his son, Nicholas.
Her body couldn't handle the labor. Thankfully, Bradley knew what to do this time. If you were pregnant, he'd start the changing right before you gave birth. The strength the change offered you would see you through the labor.
His heart raced at the idea. Maybe this was the second chance he'd been waiting for.
"Bradley." You let out a long exhale as he sat there waiting patiently.
"Yes?" He eagerly replied.
"I've been offered a job!" You told him excitedly.
"What? You already have a job." He said dejectedly.
"I know, but this is a promotion. Head of the new office in Virginia. Isn't that wonderful? I know it might take some time to get your transfer in, but my office is willing to work with us. You could be back home! We would be so much closer to your family!" You bounced with excitement on the balls of your feet.
"Darling, it sounds like a wonderful opportunity, but I'm happy here. I don't want to move." Bradley told you. His voice was more stern than normal. Your smile fell from your face.
"Wha—what do you mean? Bradley, this is everything I've been working for. I've supported your career with your deployments and moves more times than I care to count in the past few years. I know it seems like a lot, but this is what I've always dreamed of. Why can't you see that?" You pleaded with him.
Bradley inhaled sharply. "We aren't moving to Virginia. That's final." He said with no room for argument.
Rage bubbled inside you. How dare he say that to you. After all you'd done for him.
"You're right. We aren't moving. I am." You deadpanned.
Bradley turned on his heels. Your words hit him in the chest like a dagger. No, he thought. No, no, no. After all the work he'd done, there is no way he's letting you leave him now. You were staying with him whether you liked it or not. Bradley had worked too hard to let you go. He'd spent decades learning to control his temper. The unbridled rage that could come with what he was. He'd kept it under wraps for decades. But hearing you say that you'd give him up so quickly? It caused something inside of him to snap.
................
You weren't sure what was happening. One minute, you were packing a bag to leave. The next, you felt a jolt of pain shoot through your neck. Then, your whole body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. You cried out for Bradley, begging him to help you, to save you from the invisible attacker. But instead, all you heard was a voice that almost sounded like his, whispering in your ear that it would all be over soon.
...............
When consciousness came back to you. It was slow. The first thing you noticed was the smell. You weren't wrapped in the warm vanilla scent of your home. No, you were somewhere near the woods. You could smell the dirt and hear birds somewhere in the distance.
The next thing you noticed were the sheets. The soft cotton ones of your bed had been replaced by a stiff and scratchy flannel.
You slowly opened your eyes and sat up. You didn't recognize the room you were in. The walls were bare and wooden. Some kind of a cabin, maybe. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, and that's when you felt it. The thirst. The overwhelming urge to drink. But you didn't want water. You wanted something else. You just didn't know what.
"Hello?" You called out tentatively, unsure of who else was there.
"My Darling Girl. You're finally awake." You whipped around so fast you made yourself dizzy. Bradley stood before you, his large form leaning on the door frame. Only something was off about him. He wasn't the Bradley you once knew. He stepped forward and smiled, and for the first time, you noticed how prominent his canines were. Had they always been like that?
"Bradley. Where am I? How did I get here? Did you—did you kidnap me?" You shriek, eyes darting around the room. You try to breathe, but you can't get any air into your lungs.
"Darling, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself. Tell me. How are you feeling?" He says so smoothly.
"I feel like I want to know what the fuck is going on." You spit at him. "Where are we?"
"We are at one of my hunting cabins. I figured it would help with the adjustment if we weren't near people." He tells you
"H—help with what adjustment?" You say as you clear your throat. A burning sensation creeping in. "What—what did you do to me?" You say as you being to claw at your skin.
"I changed you—for the better. I made you perfect. The perfect mate for me for all eternity. I know it must be a shock, but you'll get used to it. I'll help you, My Love." Bradley tells you as he glides across the room to you and turns your towards the mirror you hadn't noticed before. You look in it and see yourself, well, almost yourself. Something is different. You just can't place it. You trace your eyes over your features, and then you see them. Two small puncture wounds on your neck. Your hand flies to to them.
"Don't worry, they'll go away. But these—" Bradley says, and he pulls your gums back to reveal your new elongated canines, "these are permanent."
You run your tongue over your teeth and wince at their sharpness. "Don't worry. You'll get used to them." Bradley assures you, taking a step back. Just then, you hear a thump in from another room. "Ah, perfect, looks like it woke up just in time." He smiles.
"What do you mean 'it'?" You ask him harshly. "Your first feed, My Darling Girl. I know you feel the thirst. Every fledgling does. I know it did. Believe me, your first feed is always the hardest, so I brought you one. I wanted to make this as easy as possible for you." He says almost kindly.
"Easy? You wanted to make this easy on me? Bradley, you kidnapped me and brought me to the middle of nowhere and turned me into a—a—a—" you can't finish your sentence.
"Vampire. It's okay, you can say it, dear. I turned you into a vampire so we can be together forever. Of course, I hadn't planned on doing it this early, but when you said you were going to leave me, I knew I had to act then. I've spent the past two years grooming you into the perfect mate for me. I knew it was you from the first time I picked up your scent at the bar. Ideally, you would have willingly let me change you, but it doesn't matter now." Bradley tells you calmly.
"You've been planning to do this to me ever since you met me? How could you! I trusted you! I loved you. I thought you loved me?!" You wailed. "I do love you. That's why I did all of this. Why I brought you to my hunting cabin. Why I found a first feed for you. Why I've practiced for years getting the art of transforming right. All for you." Bradley says.
"I'm not the first person you've done this too?" You ask in disbelief. "Well, I had to practice to get it right. After I lost my mother and my first wife because I failed at transforming them, I vowed never to do it again until I perfected it. I started on small creatures and then worked my way up to people. But don't worry. I killed them after. I couldn't have a bunch of my own creations trying to kill me." Bradley laughs.
"First wife? Creations? What the hell is wrong with you. How could you ever think I'd want to spend my life with you after what you did to me? How long have you been like this?" You fire questions at him.
"I was born in 1751, changed in 1776 by a field doctor during the Revolutionary War. I've been practicing turning since about 1900. But I never let my creations live long after I turned them, lest they take revenge and try to kill me. You see, the movies and the books have it all wrong. Garlic and wooden stakes aren't what kills a vampire. We can only be killed by a dagger through the heart by our creator or one of our creations. A creation killing their creator also reverses the effects. Turns them human again. I couldn't risk that so I made sure to take care of that before it became an issue." Bradley explains to you.
"You see, I've been alone for so long. I was married to a wonderful woman, Elizabeth, but she died during childbirth. I couldn't save her. I vowed to myself that I'd never love again until I could keep her forever. And you were the one I choose for that, My Darling Girl. You're special, perfect, my perfect mate. I picked you out of everyone." Bradley tells you as he cups your face. You look in his eyes and don't see the man you once knew. He's long gone, replaced by this—monster. But if you wanted to survive, you knew you'd have to play into his fantasy.
"I see now. It all makes so much sense. Now I know why you didn't want me to leave." You say what he wanted to hear.
"Exactly. And in one year's time, when your fledgling phase is over, we'll have a bonding ceremony, sealing our love with a blood pact, so we can never be separated." Bradley tells you with a smile.
"That sounds wonderful." You lie to him. "I knew you'd see my way. Now, let me help you with your first feed." Bradley smiled as you let him lead you by the hand to the other room.
...................
Lying to someone for a full year is much harder than anyone expects. But you knew if you wanted to survive, and for your plan to work, you had too.
You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. Even though this wasn't what you wanted, you looked stunning. A long-sleeved, lace, stark white gown hugged your body. A crown of blood-red roses on your head. Exactly what Bradley wanted you to wear.
You stepped out of the cabin your home, no, your prison for the last year and made your way across the field. The bright light of the full moon illuminated the area, causing your dress to practically glow in the light.
Bradley was standing near the edge of the clearing, waiting for you. You could see the glint of the bonding dagger in his hand reflecting in the moonlight.
"My Darling Girl. You look breathtaking. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment." Bradley praised you as he took your hand in his.
"Are you ready?" He asked you. "I've been ready." You smile at him.
Bradley takes the dagger in his right hand and makes a slice across his palm, then hands it to you. Your fingers wrap around the grip tightly.
"I've been dreaming of this moment all year." You tell him. "I've been counting the days."
Bradley smiles, unaware of the true meaning of your words.
You grip the dagger tightly and raise it up. Bradley waits with baited breath and watches your palm, ready for you to slice the skin. Instead, he feels something sharp pierce his chest. He looks over to see your hand wrapped around the dagger that is now in his heart.
You pull it out and watch the blood drip from the blade, staining your once pristine gown.
"My—My Darling Girl. What have you done?" Bradley asks you as he stumbles back. More blood oozes from the wound as he drops to his knees.
"I'm taking back my life. And I'm not your darling girl anymore." You sneer before he collapses dead on the ground, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.
You feel the exact moment he dies. You feel it in the pain, searing through your body and leeching out of every pore of your skin. You feel as though you may die, but you know it's worth it.
You black out and fall to the dirt.
When you finally wake up, it's daylight. You run your tongue over your teeth, and the once sharp canines are gone. You stand up and find that your white dress is now a deep shade of maroon, and the man you once loved has shriveled up to almost nothing. You give his remains a kick, and they turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze.
You pick up your dagger from last night and walk back to the cabin and find the bag you pack. You sling it over your shoulder and grab the keys hanging from the keyring near the door. You climb into the blue Bronco that had once belonged to Bradley and drive away from the cabin, from the woods, from him, and from the nightmare, you just woke up from.
Summary: SWAT Officer Natasha Trace has a problem. Her new neighbour. One could even say she has a crush, but that can’t be true, could it? When you introduce yourself after a hard day AND you bring muffins, how could Natasha not constantly have you on her mind?
Warnings: mention of guns in the beginning, physical fight, bruising, Natasha is very gay (so is the reader tbh), cuddles, kissing
Word Count: 7.6k (because when it comes to Nat, nothing is brief)
A/N: Hello all. It’s only fitting that the first thing I post after a long hiatus is a Phoenix oneshot, since my first work on here was also a oneshot for her. I wrote this with encouragement from @/sylviebell, and it is dedicated to her in part. Enjoy!
===
“Nix, rabbit coming your way!”
Natasha vaulted over the deck railing, landing in crouch as she cut off the path of the suspect racing towards her, Jake hot on his tail, but still a ways behind. The man’s eyes widened as he went to duck by her, his whole body primed to jump out of the way if she made a move to catch him. She knew she didn’t look like a threat to this man, who seemed to be wider than he was tall, 6 feet of pure shit for brains, and more bullets in the gun he held than added up to his IQ.
“What’re the pigs doing sending a sweet little thing like you after me, huh?” His sneer was oily, the very expression would have made her skin crawl if adrenaline hadn’t been pumping through her veins. “C’mon baby, let me by and I don’t have to hurt you.”
The Glock in his hand was hanging loosely by his side, but Natasha didn’t move, standing in front of him, her finger millimeters away from her rifle’s trigger. “Not today, Harrison.”
“What a shame.” Harrison lunged forwards, his weapon raised, but she was faster. One gloved hand dropped her rifle, the other closed around his wrist, slamming it back into a two by four running along the length of the fence beside them. “You fucking whore!”
A fist slammed into her side, forcing a winded grunt to escape her as she slammed his arm back into the fence, the Glock slipping from his grip and landing between them. His eyes darted down, ripping his arm free and swung at her, making for his weapon, but a swift kick to his knee had him sprawling out on the ground.
Natasha pounced on him, a knee dug deep into the small of his back as she wrestled his arm behind him. His other hand stretched out in front of him, scratching at the dirt while trying to snatch the gun off the ground.
She pulled his arm back harder, glancing up to see if any of her team was nearby, but nothing. Harrison took that moment to buck up, his head snapping back and bouncing off her helmet and Nat reeled back, her eyes watering.
Harrison used her loosened grip to pull his arm free and get up, but he was cowed when Nat pulled her side arm, placing the barrel against the back of his neck. “Don’t fucking move.”
Jake chose that moment to show up, his rifle drawn as he saw his teammate perched on the back of their suspect, her pistol to his head. “Damn Nix,” he whistled.
“Shut up and help me?”
“Yes ma’am.”
If she had a hand free, she would have flipped him off, but instead, she watched him press his radio, calling in a Code 4, all suspects in custody. “Hands behind your back, Harrison. Let’s go.”
Jake’s rifle came into view, pointed down at the man underneath Natasha, daring him to try anything. Fortunately, he didn’t and once the zip ties were secured, she hauled him to his feet, frog marching him out of the backyard and down the sidewalk. She passed him off to a uni, keeping a sharp eye on the man while the cuffs replaced her zip ties, and Natasha couldn’t help but grin a little when Harrison glowered at her through the back window of the police cruiser.
“Nix. Nice takedown,” Coyote said, clapping her shoulder. “Glad we got at least one of those bastards, Rooster and I both had to drop ours. Then Seresin booked it after that shithead and you were gone.”
She scoffed, a sharp grin taking over her expression. “You think I’m gonna let him get the collar? In your dream, Yote.”
“Gotta show us all up, huh?”
“As the only woman here, fuck yeah I do.” Natasha Trace. 24-David. Phoenix. No matter what they called her, she remained the only woman on LAPD SWAT, shattering the expectations of the old guard who had condemned the mere idea of her presence in SWAT Academy.
“Be the best,” her former partner had told her. “That way they can’t ignore you. Prove them all wrong.” And prove them wrong, she did. Five years later, she remained on 20 Squad, but she was still the only woman in the black tactical gear. The only one standing shoulder to shoulder with a whole room of men, some of whom had wanted her gone.
The six person team of herself, Seresin, Rooster, Coyote, Micks, and the infamous 20-David himself, an older cop known only as Mav, had been hunting down a gang of white supremacists with the goal of attacking a number of Jewish synagogues in the hopes of burning them to the ground. James Harrison had been the second in command to the shot-caller, Morgan Whitmore.
Whitmore and his crew had trashed two synagogues already, having intentionally killed a number of people who tried to escape, and was now intent on disappearing underground with the rest of his so-called vigilante group, The True Bloods. With Harrison in custody, all they had to do now was lean on him, drop the blame for everything solidly on him and watch him scramble to deny everything.
“Roos! Whitmore!” Natasha yelled, pointing to a tall, scrawny, bald man about a hundred feet off from where they stood in the middle of a swarm of flashing lights.
She took off after him, her boots slapping against the pavement and her rifle bouncing against her thighs with every step she took. “Give it up, man!” Natasha heard Rooster yell. “You’re trapped.”
“That’s what you think, you k-” Whitmore shouted back, getting cut off as Nat barreled into him from the side, having snuck through a gate and tackled him to the ground with a grunt.
“Watch your damn mouth, asshole,” she spat, cuffing him and if she pulled the ties a little tighter than usual, no one would know aside from her.
Her teammate hauled Whitmore to his feet, rolling out his shoulders as he did. The same blue-black uniform she wore clung tight to him, it did to all of them. Builds hidden underneath the bulk of their vests and adorned with keepers full of everything they could possibly need for a job. Thigh holsters held Kimber Custom TLE pistols close to their bodies, ready at a moment if the rifles slung across their chests didn’t do the job.
It was hard not to feel like a badass when kitted out like they were. “Got him,” Bradley chirped, shoving the bald man forwards. He was caught by Mav, who led him over to the remaining squad car, shoving him into the backseat with little ceremony.
“Nice takedown, Nix.”
“Thanks. Asshole never saw me coming, then boom! I rode him to the ground like the world’s shittiest surfboard.”
Mickey laughed, the sound bouncing off the houses lining the street. “I’m sorry I missed it, you shouted and then you were just gone. Half the unis nearly took off after you before Mav told them to stand down.” He’d pulled his helmet off, dark curls sticking up at all angles before he raked a gloved hand through them. “Yote was talking about grabbing drinks after this, you in?”
Natasha shook her head, unbuckling her helmet with one hand. “Nah, I just want to go home and not think about things,” she replied. “Thanks though.”
Honestly, she was done with today. Natasha just wanted to go home and rebinge Brooklyn 99 while shoveling spring rolls into her face while in her sweatpants, and hopefully she came home just in time to catch sight of her new neighbour.
“You talk to her yet?”
“No.”
“C’mon Nix. Hot neighbor isn’t just gonna pop over and say something if you don’t make that jump,” Mickey reasoned, keeping his voice low.
An arm slung itself over her and Mickey’s shoulder, Jake dropping his weight onto them both. “Whatcha whispering about?” He had dropped his own voice to a stage whisper while still speaking loud enough to catch the attention of the rest of the squad. “Hot girls?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Eyes immediately turned to scrutinize her and Natasha’s cheeks flushed. “So there is a hot girl!”
Walking back to the armoured truck, dubbed Black Betty by most of the SWAT teams, Natasha had to endure comment after comment related to her love life, or lack thereof. “What’s she like?” Coyote pressed, sliding into the back of the van.
Natasha stayed silent, hoping Mickey would too, but no such luck befell her. “She hasn’t talked to her yet.”
“What?” Rooster asked from the driver seat. “How haven’t you said anything?”
“Because Chicken, it’s different for me than it is for you. I don’t even know if she likes girls.” Her face was hot and she was staring at her boots with such an intensity it was a miracle they hadn’t burst into flame. “And I can’t just do what you do. If you can even call that flirting.”
Jake bumped her shoulder. “Chin up. If she is into chicks, she’ll go for you.”
Rolling her eyes, Natasha slumped back against the wall of the vehicle, grabbing onto the bar above her head so she didn’t go flying across the back. “You don’t know that.”
“No we don’t,” Mav spoke up, his eyes kind. “But if she’s made you, the most cynical person on this team, crack her shell a little, she has to be special.”
Letting Maverick’s words settle in the air, Natasha thought back to the last time she had seen you. You had come through the door like a hurricane had made a home in your veins, whirling and barely taking a moment to stop and breathe. She’d been on her way out of the building, but paused when she saw the determination in your eyes and the large box in front of you. Natasha had watched you haul the box into the elevator, your arms flexing as you carried it past her.
It had taken everything in her not to run after you and offer help, especially when she had caught sight of the way your legs looked in the black athletic leggings that were marked by what she had assumed was flour.
That was three weeks ago and she hadn’t laid eyes on you since, even if the two of you lived right next door to one another.
Maybe she would be lucky tonight.
===
Little did Natasha know, you were thinking the same thing as you boxed up the last of the treats from your bakery.
You had seen her for the first time while moving in four months ago and it had taken everything in you not to drop the box you were carrying past her. You knew she was staring at you and it filled you with a giddiness that had you squealing to yourself when you finally made it upstairs with the last box of books. The woman next door didn’t seem to do much, shifting from work to home and back again, dressed in a tight black tee and tactical pants that hugged her thighs in a way that had you drooling when she passed you in the hall, offering a tight smile.
Three weeks ago though? She had grabbed the door for you to haul the new nightstand you had just bought through the entryway and into the elevator, you hadn’t even had the time to say hi.
But from the little you saw of her, the only things you knew were that she worked for SWAT, she liked spring rolls and cherry ice cream, she listened to all sorts of music, but had a preference for rock and punk, and she was up at nearly all hours, seeming to have no schedule to what you assumed were her days off. You didn’t even know her name, but you had heard a shorter man with dark curls call her Nix once.
She didn’t need to know that you called her that in your head whenever you did see her, lost in her own world, earbuds blasting something you couldn’t make out.
But you had steeled yourself and spent an hour past closing decorating a box you were going to fill up with some leftover treats that hadn’t sold in time. If she didn’t like them, maybe she could bring them to her team and hopefully you didn’t just shoot yourself in the foot when it came to your very attractive neighbour.
===
Natasha heaved herself out of her car, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and made for the glass doors of her building. Her body may have ached like she had been thrown down a set of stairs, but she still kept her eyes out for your blue car, finding it parked in its usual spot.
You were home, but she had likely missed you on her way to grab the spring roll wrappers.
“Fuck.”
Natasha wasn’t a creep. She wasn’t, but after the day she had, the bruise creeping down her forehead from the headbutt earlier, she could do with the soft smile you always gave her when she saw you.
It made everything better, okay? And so did the way you always smelt like cinnamon, the scent stuck in your hair.
But she would have to wait for another day, Natasha thought, as she dragged herself up the steps to her apartment. You were home and doing your own things, why waste time dwelling on a situation she had no control over? Even if butterflies erupted in her gut at the mere thought of you waving to her, smiling like you did.
Nah.
Dwelling on it wasn’t a good idea, that would only end in disappointment.
Her keys rattled against the wood, the clinking accompanying the crinkling of the plastic bag she held. Finally, her door was open and Natasha slipped inside, leaning back against her closed door as she could finally try and relax from the chaos that had governed her day.
Boots tumbled over one another as she tossed them against the shoe rack and her backpack and sweater were abandoned on the chair by her entryway. She would deal with them later, right now she needed food and Natasha had never been more thankful to her past self who had prepared the spring roll filling how her best friend’s grandmother had taught her and left it to sit while she was at work.
Now all she had to do was assemble and fry them, maybe bake them if she wasn’t feeling up to the task of dealing with hot oil. They wouldn’t be the same if she baked them, but it meant a lot less effort and more time spent sinking into her couch cushions.
So she did just that; each roll getting placed on a tray until it was full. Then into the oven and Natasha dropped her dishes in the sink, grimacing at the clattering sound before traipsing off to change out of her work clothes and into a tank top and the softest pair of sweats she owned.
Natasha had just sat down, pulled her blanket off the floor and onto her lap when a tentative knock sounded from the door. Great. She was really hoping it wasn’t her team, her head hurt and the last thing she needed was to contend with Rooster and his monster appetite.
She refused to share her food with him anymore, given how much he ate. That was a mistake she only made once.
Pulling herself from the couch with a groan, Natasha padded over to the door, stealing a glance through the peephole to find… you. What were you doing at her door?
Her body seemed to lock up, completely paralyzed at the thought as to why you were outside. Why now? And more importantly, what was in the box you were holding? Mickey and the boys would never let her live it down if she didn’t answer the door. Hell, she didn’t think she would forgive herself if she didn’t talk to you face to face.
But she was still frozen behind her door, your shifting posture happening in front of her unblinking eyes. It was when you sighed and brought your hand up to knock again that something knocked loose in her mind and Natasha cracked her door open right before you made contact. “Umm… hi?”
In your mind, you were whooping and hollering, but on the outside, you gave her a small smile. “Hey, I uh… I live next door and I know we haven’t actually met in person yet, but I wanted to bring these over to you.” You held the blue box out in front of you, eyes darting between the white ribbon holding the lid on and her curious expression.
“Oh, thank you,” Natasha said, a smidgen of caution lacing her tone. She opened the door wider, stepping fully into your view, her hands out to take the box from you. “What are they?”
You let out an awkward laugh, passing over the box. “Oh, right. Sorry. I own a bakery and I don’t usually have treats left over at the end of the day, but I had more than I could eat on my own so I figured I would bring them over.” You were rambling, having been struck dumb by her in a tank top, biceps defined in a way that you knew there was strength in her. “A few muffins and some other pastries.”
“Any blueberry ones?” Natasha was grinning at your flushed cheeks, finding your apparent nervousness adorable as you fiddled with the belt loop on your tight jeans.
“Actually yes.”
Giving you a smile of her own, Nat pulled the ribbon free of its bow and the smell of baked goods filled the air between you both, making her inhale deeply and let out a groan. “How you have anything left over at the end of the day when these smell like this, doesn’t make sense,” she mumbled, peering into the now open box.
While she searched through the box for the blueberry muffins, you stood ramrod straight, trying to ignore your reaction to the groan she had let out. The black tank top and gray joggers were bad enough, but add in a sound like the one that had slipped from her mouth? God, this was one of those moments where it was both a blessing and a curse that you found women attractive.
“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself, Natasha,” she said, swapping the box to her left hand so she could offer her right to shake yours.
Natasha. God, even her name was pretty. Focusing your thoughts, you took her hand and introduced yourself, immediately priding yourself on not freaking out over the calluses on her palms and the small ridges of scars.
You fell into a natural silence, neither one of you sure on what to say next. “So…”
“I uh..”
“Sorry, you go first,” you told Natasha with a nervous laugh.
She was staring intently at the box in her hand, a blush creeping up her neck. The curiosity in your eyes combined with the warmth of your expression, and the tight jeans that cling to your legs had all rational thoughts escaping her mind. Natasha just wanted to drag you inside and never let you leave, but the logical part of her brain reminded her that as an LAPD officer, that was kidnapping and it was illegal. “Just uh… thank you for these. Really needed them today.”
The shy smile turned into a beaming one, the butterflies in your stomach coming back in full force. “You’re so welcome, Natasha. Happy to bring some joy to one of LAPD’s finest.” There was an inflection on your tone that you hadn’t intended but you couldn’t lie and say that watching the blush spread higher up over her cheeks wasn’t satisfying. “I’ll get out of your hair, have a good night.”
You stepped back, scanning over her face one more time, this time your eyes caught on the growing purple bruise halfway down her forehead. “Oh my god! What happened? Are you okay?” You knew concern flooded your once gentle expression, a sudden change from a heart beat earlier.
Natasha chuckled a little. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a job-related thing. I’m all good,” she replied, waving off your concern. Yet deep down, she was preening under your attention, relishing the fact that she had caught your eye, even if it was mostly from an injury that seemed to throb in time with her rapidly beating heart.
“Can I ask what happened?” Your voice was quiet, very curious but not wanting to overstep. “Completely fine if not, but that looks like it hurts.”
She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the oven timer going off. “Ummm…”
“All good. I’ll let you go get that,” you reassured her with a smile. “Hopefully that heals up soon. Have a good night, Natasha.” You turned away, hoping she didn’t catch the dejected look on your face. A part of you wanted to turn back and hope she invited you in, but a larger part of you was wary.
You never wanted to intrude, a leftover piece of your childhood that would never be fully left in the past. Especially now.
But as you disappeared into your apartment, you didn’t catch the pained look on the SWAT officer’s face, who now felt worse than before. She had been this close to inviting you in, a second more and Natasha would have dragged you inside, content to spill her heart at your feet in order to have you stay just a moment longer.
Natasha closed her door, the bit of muffin she’d eaten turning to sand in her mouth. She had your name now and the name of your bakery if the pastry box was any clue, and she vowed on the now aching part of her heart that she would talk to you again.
===
Three days later, Natasha still hadn’t seen you around the building. She hoped you weren’t avoiding her, but at this point, she didn’t care.
Mickey and one of the guys from 50-Squad, Bob, had teased the everloving crap out of her when she finally came clean about talking to you. They were immediately planning a trip to your bakery so they could try and catch a glimpse of you, but were overheard by the rest of her team who then wanted in, and now here she was, standing outside of your storefront with six hungry and nosy SWAT guys.
“It’s cute,” Jake said absentmindedly. “Wonder if it’s as cute as its owner.”
Natasha narrowed her eyes, smacking Jake. Hard. “Fucking enough Seresin.”
“Jeez Nix, okay.” He backed away from her, his hands up in a placating manner. Coyote backed up too, a teasing look in his eyes that were fixed on Natasha. “Was just kidding.”
There was a stormy look on her face, a thunderstorm swirling through her eyes, while normally severe, had become downright terrifying. Deep down though, Natasha’s heart was pounding in her chest like she was chasing down a suspect, her hands were clammy, and while she would never say it out loud, she was tempted to just get back in the car and drive off.
She hadn’t even been to your bakery alone before and now she had somehow dragged six loveable dumbasses along for the ride.
What was she thinking?
“Okay, I’m going in. Alone.” The men around her started to protest, but Natasha cut them off with a glare. “What do you want?”
Her team started talking over one another, all seeming to jostle in place in order to be heard. Bob and Mickey sidled up to Natasha, each making note of someone else’s order, offering to come inside with her in low tones of voice.
From inside the bakery, you had been restocking muffins when three gray cars pulled up, out stepping seven people all dressed in black tactical pants and thick black boots. You peeked over the display case to try and catch a glimpse of who was coming inside, much like you always did. But the hard stare of a shorter person made your heart skip in its usually steady rhythm.
Natasha had come by.
Closing your eyes, you tried to steady yourself. Your hands fisted your apron so tight as you steeled yourself for the door to swing open and reveal the woman you had practically been drooling over days earlier, but it never came.
Instead, you heard voices arguing on the sidewalk in front of the door, quippy, teasing remarks being flung back and forth.
“What the hell is that about?”
“No clue, Anya. I’m about to go tell them off, though.”
Anya, one of the few employees you had, laughed. “I don’t know. I mean, look. Ms. Jane’s baby boy is fascinated by the voices.”
“Maybe so, but Ms. Jane will not be impressed at the swearing.” You were right, the auburn haired woman sitting in the far corner of your bakery was glaring at the door like her expression alone could silence the ‘crass language,’ as she called it.
Clearly, she had never heard you slam your hip into the counter.
“Stay here, the last batch of muffins should be done in less than two minutes. I’m going to go give the loudmouths outside crap.” You rounded the counter, gesturing to the back room as you headed for the door.
You swung it open, nearly clipping the arm of a man nearly a foot taller than you. “Excuse me, if you are going to have an argument, can you please not have it five feet away from my front door? You’re driving off my customers.”
Heads turned to face you, all of them having the decency to look a little chastised. But you weren’t looking at them. Your eyes had fallen on Natasha, who stood nearly hidden behind a blonde, her eyes downcast with a bright blush crawling up to the tips of her ears. “Sorry, we were just trying to figure out which one of us was going to go in. Just so we didn’t take up the whole place,” explained the shortest man with curly black hair. He was the man you had seen your neighbour walking with in the early days of you moving into your new place.
“Completely okay if you all come in,” you reassured him with a smile. “Just keep the swearing to a minimum and your voices lower, officers.” You ducked back inside, practically running back behind the counter, giving Anya a wide eyed look.
“What happened?”
“They’re hot!” You hissed in a whisper. “Like model-on-a-magazine-cover level hot, Anya! And I just invited all of them in!”
Anya gave you a sympathetic look, a laugh escaping her. “God bless and fucking curse your bisexual ass, huh?”
You didn’t respond, choosing to make a series of frantic gestures that definitely made you look crazy, but you couldn’t find it within you to care. The door swung open, the little bell making a tinkling noise that had you abruptly putting your hands down and mumbling something about the muffins being done.
In the back room, you leaned against the wall, cursing your awkwardness. “It’s just some very attractive SWAT officers. They can’t hurt you,” you paused, catching the wording of your quiet rambling. “No, they could definitely hurt you, but they won’t. They have no reason to do so.”
A few moments passed and you could hear Anya chatting with a few of the people who had followed Natasha inside. You hadn’t been avoiding her, okay, maybe a little. But that was only because you had been crazy busy on your feet all day and you just wanted to lie down.
Not because you didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of probably one of the most attractive women you had ever seen.
Not at all.
Who were you kidding? “C’mon, woman up. You have a few more muffins to bring out to the front, have a chat with the customers of your bakery, dumbass. Then you can come back and hide.” Pep talk aside, you knew that you couldn’t stay back here forever.
So you grabbed the tray Anya had pulled out of the oven and carried it up to the front, plastering a smile on your face. “Excuse me, Anya.”
Ducking down, you pulled open the case and started adding your freshly baked muffins to the few that remained. “What are these ones?” A voice asked, startling you. “Sorry.”
A glance up told you that the curly haired man was talking to you. “Oh umm… brown sugar cinnamon. It’s like a cinnamon bun, but in muffin form.”
“Interesting… I’ll grab one of them to try.” His eyes seemed far more knowledgeable about who you were than he was letting on. “I’m Mickey.”
“Nice to meet one of Natasha’s coworkers,” you replied, slipping a muffin into a paper bag.
Mickey gave you a curious look. “Did she talk about us?”
You shook your head as you rang him up. “No, but it isn’t hard to put the pieces together when you all come in here together and you have come by the building every now and then.”
“I guess it isn’t,” he mused, tapping his card. “Nice to meet you too. It’s not everyday that we get to watch Nat fall over her feet because she finds someone attractive.” Mickey stepped away with a wink, his muffin in his hand as he and the other SWAT officers left, Anya having helped those of them who had wanted a treat.
The door shut behind him, Natasha giving you a shy wave as she left, which you returned. But a few minutes after they had pulled away, you were still standing there behind the counter in near shock. “She finds me attractive?”
===
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Natasha. She had seen you a few times while her team was at your bakery, overheard what Mickey had said to you (she had slapped him a few times after they left), and now, at the end of her day, her drive home was full of mental snapshots of you and the words of your coworker “God bless and fucking curse your bisexual ass, huh?”
Huh indeed.
Your car wasn’t in its usual place when she pulled in. Probably working late.
Oh well. After a day like today, all Natasha wanted to do was lie down and maybe, just maybe, she would catch a glimpse of you.
Her steps up to her apartment were labored, her ribs aching with each footfall jostling her, and the bruising under her shirt was enough to make even the most hardened officers SWAT had cringe in sympathy.
As she opened the door to the hallway, the elevator doors slid open to reveal you bundled up in a massive sweater. You spotted her and nearly dropped the bag in your hand in your hurry to grab the door and help Natasha forwards. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Just have to get some pain meds into me and I’ll be fine, Gorgeous.” Natasha didn’t even notice that the pet name slipped out, too busy trying not to overly focus on the feel of your hands against her hip as you helped her down the hall.
Your brain stuttered to a halt, risking a sideways glance at Natasha who didn’t seem to blink at the name she had just called you. She stopped in front of her door, trying to dig her hand into her jacket pocket but grunting from the pain. “Can you…”
Her body had frozen as stiff as could be. You weren’t a medical professional by any means but you knew for a fact that Natasha was hurting badly. “Yeah, here.” You stuck your other hand into her pocket, plucking the keys out as deftly as you could, grinning a little at the little LEGO police officer keychain that swayed from the movement. “There you go,” you mumbled, pushing the door open with your foot, leading Natasha inside.
She kicked her shoes off, slowly making her way to the couch while you stood aimlessly in the front entryway, looking unsure and a little out of place in the sparse but colourful apartment.
The woman in front of you sank into the cushions of the black couch, pulled a blanket so vibrant it nearly glowed off the back of it and tried, yet failed, to throw it over her feet, her muscles seizing and making her stop as suddenly as she had started. “Hey, hey,” you said softly, padding across the floor and rearranging the blanket over her legs. “I’m going to grab you some water and maybe something to eat and then I’ll get out of your hair, okay? Just… don’t hurt yourself.”
Natasha looked hesitantly up at you, eyes moving from the blanket you still held to the concern in your eyes. “Or…”
An eyebrow raised curiously, your expression so puppy-like that Natasha huffed a laugh that quickly turned into a groan. “Or what?”
“Or you could stay here for a bit? Keep me company?”
Her words were so quiet you nearly missed them. Stunned into silence, all you could do was blink at her, the questions hanging in the air tinged golden by the setting sun. It was an offer that glittered like the gossamer threads of a spider web, something so delicate that a simple movement could shatter it beyond repair.
Your gaze flitted over her face, trying to discern if this was a joke. Mickey knew your feelings for her, had parsed them out as easily as you could breathe, as easily as kneading dough. Had he said something?
But maybe, maybe Natasha felt the same electricity under her skin when your eyes met. Felt the pull towards you despite barely knowing who you were. Maybe there was a chance and all you had to do was jump.
“Someone has to make sure you don’t hurt yourself anymore than you already have,” you teased, trying to will away the blush that seemed to explode over your cheeks. “I can’t have the very pretty badass next door falling off the couch trying to reach the remote, now can I?”
Now it was Natasha’s turn to blush, her ears erupted with a bright scarlet so suddenly it felt like they had been set alight with how warm her body seemed to get under your grin. Nearly preening but also suddenly shy, a conflict in emotions that sent nerves to chase away the giddy butterflies that had made their home in her stomach. “Awesome,” she said lamely, cringing at how awkward she sounded, even to her own ears.
Biting back your smile, you chose to spread out the blanket over her lap, brushing a hand over her bare arm before moving towards the kitchen. You busied yourself with finding a cup, filling it with water and quietly humming as you waited for it to fill, losing yourself in your thoughts until the water rushing over your hand pulled you free from the daydream.
The cup clinked against the coaster and you turned to see Natasha watching you over the top of her phone. “Did you want to change into something else before you get too comfortable?”
A barely-there nod came from the SWAT officer who had seemingly lost her voice. “Ye- Yeah. Please.” There were a million thoughts racing through her head, none of them appropriate for this scenario, but they remained there. They were proof that it wasn’t just an emotional attraction, but you, sweet, kind, gentle you, wouldn’t act on anything while she could barely bend over to pick something up on her own.
You bent forwards, letting her rest her arms on you before slowly helping her stand, nearly stopping when she groaned, but the breathless sound of her voice had you continue on, your own face heating as the soft noise registered. “Where’s your room?” You had asked softly, shuffling your socked feet over the hardwood as Natasha moved slowly towards the hall.
In her room, you left her half sitting against her bed while you pulled open the drawer she indicated to find so many pairs of sweatpants they caught on the lip of the drawer above. “Any preference?”
Natasha shook her head, slowly busying herself with taking off her shirt. The compression material clung to her, forcing her to look in your direction with a silent plea.
It took nothing for you to oblige, rising to your feet and standing between her legs, eyes seeking permission to touch her. Another gentle nod and you moved slowly, pulling the shirt away from her good side and Natasha slipped her arm out.
In a few short moves, the black compression shirt was replaced by a soft cream sweatshirt and Natasha hadn’t stopped staring at you, so engrossed in the task that it never seemed sexual. If anything, the gentle motions of your hands, the soft touches felt like you were offering her a comfort she had seemingly gone too long without experiencing them.
Leggings were swiftly changed into sweatpants, your positions switching as she now stood over you while you drew the material up and let Natasha finish the rest, your back turned to her, offering a sense of privacy that was still reassuring.
You deposited her back on the couch, mumbling something about changing out of your work clothes before crossing the room and slipping out the door. Unlocking your door, you all but ran into your room, your cheeks flushing with heat.
Why had you offered to help her change? You hadn’t been able to meet her gaze after the initial check for permission, your eyes darting everywhere aside from her face. They fell on the bruise, the image sticking with you even after you had covered it with her sweater, dunking you under cold water the moment your mind started to wander into less savory territory.
What happened to cause that? To be fair, you didn’t know much about what SWAT did, but a bruise that large, practically turning the smooth expanse of her torso black and blue, wasn't normal.
Unless it was?
Either way, you knew that you had to calm your flustered brain down. Obsessing over the muscle you had felt under your touch, the heat of her skin… Fucking hell.
Yeah, no. Bad brain.
So you flexed your hands, grabbed a pillow and pressed it to your face, screaming into it in a last ditch attempt to clear your mind. Then you changed into the shorts you wore to bed, a pair of grey sweats and a white tank top, before snatching up your slippers and shuffling next door.
A timid knock was met with a voice telling you to come in, and you opened the door to find Natasha halfway off the couch, the remote in her hand. “I can explain,” she rushed out, looking ashamed at having been caught.
You blinked at her, frozen in place, your brain having not yet caught up to what you were seeing. “Why didn’t you just wait for me to come back?”
“Because I feel bad that the first time you’re over here, I’m basically immobile and you have to help me with things,” she explained, picking at her sweater. “And…” Natasha exhaled, shrugging her non-injured shoulder.
Her unfinished sentence hung in the air between you both, a delicate thing nestled in uncertainty and fear.
“And what?”
Natasha gave you a weak smile, finally letting her eyes meet yours. “And, I think you’re pretty cool and I want to get to know you better.”
Oh.
Oh! Eyes wide, you took a hesitant step forward and for the third time today, you had to be brave and take the leap. “Natasha…” you said softly, fearful that the stillness around you would shatter if you dared speak too loud, dared to move too fast.
But that’s what this had been, hadn’t it? Daring? You had dared to bring those treats over a week ago. Dared to give her a wave and smile every time you passed her by, and in a way, you had dared to open your heart up, risking rejection and scorn, from the woman now shuffling awkwardly on the couch before your incredulous look.
“Or, I mean…”
“No,” you cut her off, moving toward the couch and her semi-reclined form. Brown eyes tracked your movements with curiosity, the SWAT officer now alert with the sight of your determination doing its best to protect your vulnerable heart. “Don’t take it back.”
Natasha paused, her next words on the tip of her tongue. You stood in front of her, an unreadable expression on your face, and she felt exposed. Stripped down to the deepest darkest thoughts in her heart and soul, you were winding your way past every haphazard barricade she attempted to throw up to protect herself and that terrified her.
She so desperately wanted to know everything about you, what made you tick, what made you laugh so loudly she could hear you through the shared wall, all of it. She found herself wanting to see the look on her team’s face when she introduced you, wanting to know what made you you.
Natasha Trace, the skeptic, the cynic, the one who never progressed past the second date because ‘what was the point?’ had somehow, inexplicably found someone that made her want to try.
You were closer now, standing between her knees watching her with an intensity that nearly stole her breath. “Be brave,” she thought distractedly.
“Natasha…” you nearly whispered. “I want that too.” You watched her eyes fall shut, relief seeming to wash over her as she drew a shaky breath, her fidgeting hands stilling as pressed a warm palm on your hip.
Her touch seemed to burn through your pants, through skin and muscle, right down to the bone, branding you. “I didn’t…” she trailed off, glancing up at you, her heart in her throat. “I didn’t think that…”
The words left unspoken seemed to echo in the sudden stillness filling her apartment. Neither of you had dared to dream about what might happen if the other expressed interest, instead you had longed in silence, in fear of ruining a slowly growing friendship and if you could be together, at least you had the other, right?
It all happened at once, Natasha’s other hand grasped your hips, drawing you forward until your knees bumped the couch between her spread legs and your breath caught. In a sudden display of strength, despite her injury, Natasha pulled you onto the couch, settling you astride her lap, your hands finding the soft material of the sweater you had helped her with barely 20 minutes earlier.
Now, eye to eye, you saw the flecks of green in her irises, felt the soft shaky exhale she let out as you adjusted your position, careful to not put too much weight on her, not while she was still hurt. You let your eyes flutter shut, too overwhelmed by her attention and the feeling of her thumb grazing the waistband of your sweats, occasionally letting it brush your skin.
Your mind was screaming at you and it sounded a lot like Anya yelling “Girl! I’m not even gay and I would kiss her!” So once again, you pushed past your hesitation and brought a hand up to her cheek, cradling her face, your heart nearly leaping out of your throat when she leant against it, pressing a barely-there kiss to the meat of your palm. The gesture so light you had to see if she had even done it.
That was it.
You had to, you couldn’t forgive yourself if you didn’t kiss her.
So you did. Ducking your head, you drew Natasha towards you, letting your lips graze hers as softly as she kissed your hand. You didn’t even get the chance to pull away before she was kissing you back like you were the only thing holding her on Earth. It was demanding, forceful, just like the woman beneath you and you held on as she stole control from you, content to let her hands roam just as yours did.
Eventually persistence won out and her lips parted yours, her tongue exploring briefly until you pulled back a fraction to catch the breath she had wrung from you. Natasha’s pupils were blown wide, something akin to hunger dancing in them, but as she shifted a little, her ribs pulled and she had to groan.
You moved to climb off of her, concern quickly chasing away the fog her kiss had dragged over your mind, but she held fast, callused hands flat against your bare skin. “No. Stay.”
“But..”
Natasha shook her head. “I’m fine,” and you couldn’t tell if she was lying, but that thought left your mind as soon as her lips touched yours again. A thumb brushed your waist, startling a gasp against her mouth and you could feel Natasha’s smirk as she kissed you deeper.
But you were no longer content to be passive in this kiss, your tongue tangling with hers and wresting control from your SWAT officer. Her gasp made it all worth it, because if her kissing you back wasn’t enough, this was.
Natasha was just as affected as you, so when she pulled back to catch her breath, you had to smile. “What are you grinning at?”
“You.”
She ducked her head, a blush climbing her neck until it reached her ears. “So…” she said after a pause. “What now?”
You shrugged. “You hungry? I could always make something to eat before we watch a movie. Unless you have a better idea?”
Sneaking one last kiss, Natasha grinned. “That sounds perfect.”
===
A/N: Hey guys, Happy Pride, and thanks for reading! This is for both @dakotakazansky and for @/sylviebell, both have had huge parts in fixing my hand to write this, so it is for the both of them!
This was also inspired by this moodboard made for my 700 followers celebration
Fern I absolutely adore this fic! With rough and tough Nix, her sweet as buttercream bakery girl taking care of her, and all the goodness in between! I’m fully enamored!
I hope one day we can positively pressure the muse into showing us more glimpses into the love life of these two amazing characters!
