Eventual Romance - Tumblr Posts

pygmi-cygni

6 months ago

T Minus 9

T minus ten part 2

(the way i stopped writing for ten minutes just to watch this gif over and over) (no i don't need help)

chapter warnings: language, medical inaccuracies, panic attacks, some angst, miscommunication, sassypants Miguel, we're getting somewhere guys i swear pls bear with me-

read part one here

You stared owlishly at the outstretched claw, the razor sharp edge gleaming in the hospital lighting.

Miguel's gaze was simmering. It would take nothing for him to sever your hand from your wrist, leaving a knob of bone and his glittering sneer. You felt heat building underneath your clothes. You didn't want to be rude and back away, but god if he got any closer-

You took a shaky breath. "Um..I...I need your actual arm, Mr. O'Hara, could you-"

A terrified lurch capsized your stomach as he effortlessly slashed the cage to pieces. This time you couldn't hold back a yelp. Standing now, you appraised him from a few feet away. The wall was the only thing keeping you from sprinting towards the other side of the planet.

Tension thrummed between you. You knew he was mad, and couldn't blame him. Not sure if he was mad at you or if you just happened to be the only person available, you debated whether or not small talk was appropriate. But given the way he responded earlier...

Be seen and not heard.

Slowly, you stepped towards his bed. Acutely aware of the carmine glare smoldering through your cheek, you tried to move efficiently. As you were carefully arranging yourself around the numerous cords, a small movement caught your eye. Confused, you looked up.

A gleam of white, and sharp fangs snapped an inch from your ear.

Shrieking, you stumbled back and threw the syringe across the room.

Oh my fucking god I'm going to die holy fucking shit what the fuck-

"What the fuck?" Your shriek shattered the tense silence.3

You could barely focus on the man in front of you over the hammering of your heart beat. A fuzziness started tickling your head. Don't pass out don't pass out. Collapsing, you shuffled to put your head between your knees.

Breathe. In, out. In, out.

That was closer than you ever wanted to be to a pair of fangs. Peeking from between your fingers, you saw the mountainous Spiderman hunched, shoulders twitching.

Was he laughing? If this motherfu-

The alarmed beeping of his heart monitor shocked you to your feet. Not laughing. Seizing.

Desperately clearing the terrified fog from your mind, you fumbled for the help button and tried to assess Miguel. He was groaning and hissing as warm crimson was covering his torso.

In his haste to bite your cheek off, he'd torn the tourniquet holding the rebar in place. Though the spear hadn't been removed, it was secured in place to prevent further damage. The pain meds must have been so strong that he didn't notice it. Until now.

An animalistic growl tore through the med bay. His claws tore through the mattress, his pained yowling making your ears ring.

Oh shit-

You scrambled towards the door, snatching up the syringe on your way. The alarms were already flashing, and you could hear the quick footsteps of your staff.

"He woke up, I don't know what to do-"

The crowd pushed around you, frantic shouts echoing in the long hallway. Techs, guards and nurses flooded Miguel's room. You could hear his roaring and caught a glimpse of vicious fangs in the bright lights.

In another rush of activity, a sedative was delivered and everybody tensed. Slowly, slowly, his breathing calmed and his eyes rolled back. Maria sobbed with relief. His claws had frozen an inch from her soft cheek. She stumbled back, safely out of reach.

You stood, shell-shocked, as the nurses ushered out of the tiny room. Dr. Ben stared stoically at you, nodding sharply in the direction of his office.

"Now."

Your eyes didn't move from the floor, feeling like a shamed puppy. Dr. Ben had finished his speech and was glaring daggers at your hidden face.

"Do you have anything to say?"

An embarrassed twinge choked your throat. No, you didn't. What was there to say? You'd entered a dangerous patient's room without clearance and hadn't had proper protection. Whatever happened had technically been your own fault.

"Did..." you swallowed down the ache, "did his injury worsen after?"

Dr. Ben let out a long sigh through his nose. Marching over to the main screen, he pulled up Miguel's file.

"Mild tearing across lower left pectoral as a result of aggravated activity," he read stonily.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, I didn't...he lunged at me and I got scared."

Dr Ben removed his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. An awkward silence ticked between you as he tried to explain the situation.

"We've...." he sighed heavily, grimacing. "We've found some things out. And I was meaning to tell you before the whole thing," he gestured towards the med students fixing the broken chair, "but clearly that didn't happen.

"The poison has been determined as non lethal, but if he's exposed to it for too long, it'll deteriorate his muscular tissue. He's clear so far, and the damage has been minimal, but any longer than...a month, and some issues might arise."

A month? That was so much time. "What do you mean a month? This kind of thing will be resolved-"

Ben cut you off and pulled up a chart.

"See his bloodwork? The kind of spider DNA he's been spliced with responds negatively to basically everything we can prescribe," he explained. you frowned, leaning closer.

"The labs have created a treatment, but it's diluted and he can't handle more than a small dose at a time."

You sat back, releasing a tentative sigh of relief. Treatment was treatment, and if it meant you wouldn't be in biting range for much longer, you were all for it.

"The downside is, it sets his treatment trajectory at around two months."

"Two months?" You shouted, rocketing to your feet. Dr Ben frowned at your outburst. Stay professional, good god. Words escaped you. This monster would be haunting your med bay for two fucking months?

HQ would be missing their leader for two months.

A heavy, oily dread trickled in your chest. Miguel was the blood and soul of the Spider Society. He literally had the entire world on his shoulders. Nobody even knew half the things he had to do to keep it running. If he wasn't at full working capacity for that long, who knew what would happen?

The chair wheezed as you collapsed backwards. This was insane.

"How..." you sighed again. "How...the fuck are we gonna keep this together? We can't just tell everyone that our leader is basically dead to the world-"

"No." Ben cut you off again, an uncharacteristic fury in his eyes. "This will not be addressed to the Society. There is no reason to work everybody up for something that will be over in ten weeks. Miguel can still work, he will just need a medical aide and frequent breaks." He held up a finger at your indignant scowl.

"I'm not finished. I propose that you administer the medicine twice a day and monitor his progress. The only, and I mean singular reason for anybody other than the two of us to know about this would be his death."

All the air in your lungs rushed out in a Fuck. That was...a really big deal. Did you want that job? Hell no, Miguel had literally almost turned you into a chew toy thirty minutes ago. But if you didn't, who would? And then...you shuddered to think.

"Okay...so...how does it work?" Focus on the work, not on him. He's just a patient.

Two doses of 120 mg every twelve hours. One in the morning and one delivered via IV in the middle of the night. A simple routine that only needed charting the immediate our before and after administering. You'd had harder times taking care of the flu. This wasn't hard.

Why am I so stressed?

Maybe it was the shade of red that glowed beneath dark lashes. Maybe it was the vicious snap of his fangs a breath from your cheek. Maybe it was the utter hatred that his gaze ensnared you with.

Focus. Breathe. Only ten weeks. that's seventy days.

Your eyes shot open. Seventy-

Breathe.

"You start tonight at 1800 sharp."

Fuck.

The slam of the office door cracked your remaining resolve. A sob wracked your chest, and you cried into your jacket.

Maria found you later, sat on the floor of your shared apartment. Miguel's file was strewn about, papers haphazardly stacked and shoved into color-coded folders. A tablet and a laptop were open, live updates of his monitors relaying data across the screen. You were passed out, a half-eaten bowl of soup gone cold in your lap.

"Psst," she hissed, gently shaking your shoulder. You scowled gently in your sleep, wrinkling your nose. She tried again, more urgently.

"Ffuck you wan'?" you mumbled, batting her hand away to rub sleep from your eyes. The dim room blearily came into focus. Maria peered down at you, brow creased.

"It's 1730," she hissed again, "Ben wants you down for a briefing!"

1730? Who gives a fuck what time-

"Miguel." You tripped over your bowl of soup, nearly covering the carpet in minestrone. Maria rolled her eyes and threw a keycard at you. You hurriedly thanked her and bolted.

Of all the times to sneak in a nap.

You were glad for the study break, though. Hours of tediously inspecting X-rays and blood samples were beginning to fry your already exhausted mind. At least the situation was starting to make sense.

Dr Ben was understandably irritated when you showed up exactly thirty seconds before 1800. Not late yet, your defiant gaze smirked. Gritting back an insult, he pointed you to the syringe and IV setup on the counter.

"you'll do a wrist drip and administer the meds after he eats. It needs to be taken after he eats at least one meal and drinks a half liter of fluids. No alcohol, caffeine or pain meds. Capiche?"

you nodded, brushing him away to begin setup. It wasn't a difficult system, he was being oddly frenetic.

Maybe because Miguel would slit his throat if he got it wrong.

This was your patient. Get it together.

hot breath gleaming bone s n a p sharp-

Stop.

Shakily trying to calm your racing heart, you brought the prepared meds out to the white room. Ben watched, lips pursed, giving you an impatient nod to continue. Breathe. Breathe.

The restraints had been removed; instead, Miguel had been knocked unconscious with a sedative intended for hippos. He was out cold.

He can't touch you he can't hurt you just be quick-

Breathe.

"I can do this," you whispered, snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves. Miguel's breath was wheezing, you realized, a soft rasp that indicated his injury was worse than you thought.

It must have grazed his ribs and his lungs.

Focus.

ten weeks

Focus.

we'll die if he does

"Focus!"

You blanched, realizing you'd screamed out loud. Praying to anybody up there, you peeked at Miguel. Still asleep.

A sigh of relief.

You were halfway through inserting his IV before you heard it.

A groan.

His eyes were still closed, but his heart monitor had noticeably spiked and the blankets were rustling around his other arm. you still had to give him the meds and his fluids and take his vitals and holy fuck he's waking up

You froze. The eye contact was blistering, despite his bleariness. He studied you. Flashes of something you couldn't identify flickered across his face as you stood like a deer in headlights. The needle hovered centimeters from the back of his hand.

His claws were absent, though he was gripping the sheets for dear life.

You took a deep breath and tried to neutralize your face.

"I'm...I'm gonna prick you just a li-little, okay? Try not to-"

He hissed and yanked his hand away from your gentler ones, all drowsiness gone. Pure hatred had return to his gaze. You tried not to wilt. Why is he so difficult?

"Miguel," you tried again, patiently, "please-"

"No." His voice was wrecked, twisting his harsh response into something that curdled your blood.

you were beginning to tremble. Afraid of dropping the syringe, you set it down and swallowed. don't bite don't bite don't bite please oh shit

"I don't wanna..." your voice broke. Tears clogged your throat and you felt the urge to vomit. Panic had dug its claws into your head and wasn't letting go. Calm down calm down breathe

If you freak out, he's gonna freak out. Stay in control. Stay in control.

The whole time you were grappling with your sanity, Miguel was watching shrewdly. As soon as you released the syringe, his fists unclenched. you gulped in air, trying to stay as discreet as possible.

A patient had never rattled you this much. It shocked you. Your patience was unrivalled, and the ability to stay calm in these situations was commendable.

Why now were you crumbling?

When Miguel's gaze shifted away, an ounce of pressure lifted from your chest. Be quick be quick be quick-

You swiftly took up the syringe and made a grab for his hand.

too slow-

He snapped his teeth again and tore away, ripping out the IV. A broken gasp made you drop the needle.

Both of you retreated, you to the far corner and him to the confines of the little cot.

"Wh-wh-why..." you were muttering fearfully, rubbing your arms for comfort. Tears were falling steadily now, streaking your cheeks. Snot made you choke. you were burning with shame and fear like a sniveling child chased by a big dog.

A low ringing made you wince. Breathe. You were getting lightheaded. Breathe. Five things you can see.

A few deep breaths later, and the world stopped tilting. Your heart settled enough for you to stand shakily, still pressed into the corner.

You assessed the scene in front of you. The syringe was destroyed, and the dose was unsalvageable. A spare was tucked into your pocket, thankfully. Miguel was heaving, spittle flecking his cheeks. Like a rabid dog.

A rabid, terrified dog.

What was he afraid of? He was three times your size, and you weren't small. Though you spent ample time at the gym, he could snap you like a twig. Even in his state he had the advantage.

The needle.

He was afraid of needles.

Well.

The medicine couldn't be given orally, so he'd need it put in an IV. ...The IV he just ripped out of his arm. Placing a new one was out of the question, due to the obvious needle involved. You breathed in through your nose.

New plan.

Your gaze caught on the slow trickle of blood from his arm where the tubing had been removed. Start small. Taking gauze from your pocket and a small tube of ointment, you held them out in front of you.

"I'm going to patch that, okay? Just some ointment, it doesn't even sting." Your voice was light, careful. Like handling the younger patients. You can do this.

Miguel made no move to stop you as you tiptoed closer. You didn't take your eyes off of him, gesturing for him to give you his arm.

He didn't budge.

It's okay. Start small.

Gently, you ran your fingers up his tan forearm, stopping at his elbow, then going back. the wound was small but deep. Miguel was gritting his teeth and glaring daggers at you. You didn't react, patient as ever. The angle was awkward; his twisted torso angled his arm so you had to reach across the bed.

Your chest was very exposed to his claws, but you had more important issues.

"Lay back," you whispered, "you'll exacerbate the wound again." He scowled harder, hissing in Spanish.

"Miguel. Please. Just...straighten out."

After a long moment the pain began to register on his face. He shifted marginally, and you let out a relieved breath. Progress.

You bandaged his wound efficiently, keeping your movements light and gentle. His grip slowly released on the sheets. You ignored the holes his talons had carved along the mattress.

"I don't like needles either," you said quietly, tucking the soiled gauze into a disposable bag. He didn't answer, but you saw the look of surprise on his face.

"I used to take shots because I got sick all the time," you explained, moving to grab your tools, "I never got used to them."

He didn't answer. That was okay, he wasn't scowling anymore. You took this as a green light, placing the pressure cuff around his enormous bicep.

Your heart was steady, tears dried on your face. Okay. We're okay.

"You have tattoos."

His question made you jump, nearly crushing your pencil. His lips lifted amusedly to reveal a shiny canine.

s n a p hot breath scream-

You stepped back, swallowing bile. He must have noticed your fear, because he dropped the smirk and scowled again, looking at his lap. Stupid stupid calm down, you've pissed him off.

"I got over it," you rushed to say, wanting to relieve his grumpiness. "I...I don't know, I guess I liked the design more than the needle."

He just nodded sharply, still looking away. No dice.

Back to square one.

You finished his vitals, but the elephant in the room reared its ugly head. He needed his meds. Clearly the pain was getting to him. Miguel's forehead was dotted with sweat, and his abs were quaking from the cramps. A sickly pallor dulled his warm complexion. You had to be fast.

"I...I'm sorry. I know that doesn't...help, but you need to just let me-"

"No," he spat again, teeth gleaming. "I'll get on without it."

You couldn't believe his aloof tone. He was so selfish, for someone with your survival in the palm of his hand.

"No, Miguel," you said sternly, "you can't."

His gaze was incredulously infuriated.

"Your muscles are dissolving as we speak. In a month you won't be able to stand up." Your voice was raising. He needed to understand. He needed to know how bad this was.

"Then I'll work sitting down."

"Don't be stupid! you are the reason any of us are here, and because you're too afraid of a stupid fucking needle you're willing to sacrifice-"

"Don't you dare talk about sacrifice before you've-"

His scathing response was capped with a yell. Impulsively, you'd stabbed the syringe into his pliable chest, right above his heart.

The silence was deafening.

Run.

You dashed out of the room, severing his bellow with the click of a lock.

One dose down, 140 to go.

that was a hot mess but maybe it's okay? I'm trying to get past all the technical stuff but my inner med student isn't letting me I'm so sorry!!! I will tone it down in the future please believe me-

thots?

taglist: @neeshsoodrippedout

comment if you want to be added xox

next part

Tags :

fanfiction fanfic miguel o'hara miguel spiderverse miguel x reader atsv miguel across the spider verse spiderverse spiderman 2099 reader insert x reader x you slow burn series chapter 2 enemies to lovers hurt/comfort angst eventual romance eventual happy ending

35 notes View Post

pygmi-cygni

6 months ago

T minus 8

Y'all can figure out the title situation by now, right?

content warning: basically the same as the last two chapters, less techy stuff dw, blood, some more anxiety, tension, angst

is it weird that the head doctor's name is Ben? I realized he might get confused with Ben Reilly (tho i don't plan on mentioning him) if it's funky lmk

also - taglist ppl, if you want to be on my general (all fic) tag list, pls specify, I just have you on this specific fic's taglist.

enjoy!

This was ridiculous. Fucking unacceptable. You were not going to let this manchild disrupt your workflow. You had gone through med school, the collapse of your entire universe, and countless crazy patients.

Miguel O'Hara was not going to be your downfall.

After escaping to your room after the brush with death - aka Miguel's fangs - you'd had a good cry before realizing the situation.

You can deal with it, or you can drown in it.

Though your education was in healthcare, a mandatory part of medical training was mental wellbeing and psychology. You had a few coursebooks lying around...

Despite the words bleeding together and the stained coffee mugs littering your floor, you pored over textbooks until early the next morning. Fuck Miguel and his needles. You were going to do your job with the least number of puncture wounds possible.

You strode into his sickroom with a fresh coat of concealer and a thick stack of papers. No syringe in sight.

He was immediately suspicious of your lifted chin and confident stride. You could feel his apprehension tingling, carmine gaze following you around his temporary abode. Let him judge. At the end of the day, you had the needle and he had a sore elbow. Not your fucking problem.

"This is how this is gonna go," you said flatly, rolling next to his bed with a sheet of paper and a pen.

"Twice a day, I am going to come in here and give you a shot. Then, I'm gonna force feed you and take your vitals. Then, I'm gonna do it again the next day and the next until this day," you circled the small calendar at the bottom of the sheet. "And you aren't gonna give me any shit about it, okay?"

The words tumbled out as precise as you'd practiced in front of the mirror twenty times that morning.

Miguel's eyebrow lifted at your direction but his mouth stayed curled in a sneer. You swallowed, willing him to say something. The strong facade you'd put on was slowly succumbing to sleep deprivation.

Too early to give in.

You were stuck in another staring match, so focused on his blistering glare that you didn't realize he was slowly leaning closer. Until his breath brushed your ear and you could see his teeth glimmering.

"No."

One word, and your spine was quaking with shivers. You blinked rapidly, veering away from him. His impassive stare returned and he leaned back into his pillows.

You sat stunned. Then pissed.

"That's not the correct answer," you said coolly. His eyebrows twitched again. Did he think you would cower and scamper off again? What a surprise he was in for.

"Easy way or hard way, Miguel," you taunted, pulling out one of the two doses. "If you let me do this, in five seconds it will be over and I'll be gone."

He didn't look at you, but subtly shifted away from the offensive syringe.

"Or you could drag it out until you're crying and you'll still get a poke."

Another bloodcurdling stare. Aw, the big baby doesn't like it when I call him a coward. Too bad.

You could hear the gentle uptick in his heartrate as you began to prep the area, wiping gently with an alcohol patch. His breaths were louder, whistling above your head. It didn't take this long to clean an injection site, but you wanted to give him time to realize what was going on.

"Wait," he muttered, snatching your wrist before you could grab the medicine. You let him and hoped he couldn't feel your own rapidly beating heartrate. Using your other wrist this time, you took up the syringe and tried to nudge the protective seal off.

"Not yet," Miguel protested, batting you away. You fixed him with a warning glance.

"Easy or hard, big guy, but it's gonna happen."

He tried to swat you again, but you barked out a "Stop."

Flinching, he retreated. Anger simmered in his eyes, but he bit his tongue. You tried to soften your tone. He's a patient, be nice. He's hurt, it's just the adrenaline.

"Don't swat me when I remove the seal, you might accidentally stick yourself," you explained kindly. Replacing the seal, you set the needle on the tiny table next to him. Miguel regarded you warily, unsure if he could trust your sudden surrender.

Talking. He liked the talking last time. Trying to medicate him in this state would be impossible, you had to de-escalate.

"Why...why is this hard for you? I mean, what's the scary bit?" You sat back, keeping your hands empty and in view of him.

He snorted and fidgeted with his hospital bracelet.

"I need to work," he said gruffly, looking at the clock, then wincing. You tilted your head.

"No, I meant about the nee-"

"I need to get back to work," he insisted, "I've been gone too long. The Society won't survive without me."

You leaned forward and peeled back the blankets. He knew better than to stop you, but you could sense his agitation.

"Until that-" you pointed to the sour-smelling bandages crusted with blood, "goes away, you won't be going back."

"That's impossible."

"Cry about it." You dismissed his annoyance as you peered at the dirty gauze. You'd replaced it only a few hours ago, how bad was the infection? It shouldn't have absorbed the ointment and worsened. A crease furrowed your brow. You reached out to feel around the wound. He groaned, twitching under your hands. The pale complexion returned, and sweat had dried around his chest.

How come he didn't ring for help?

"Okay, let's try something else," you said slowly. "I'm gonna replace these and clean you up, got it?" The expected silence rang out, and you took it as a green flag.

It took you a few moments to collect your scissors, gauze and other supplies, all the while Miguel was breathing heavily through his nose. You were calm as morning fog while you worked, barely wrinkling your nose at the foul smell.

What the....The wound was ragged and swollen. Had you been the only person paying attention? The torn was flesh had clearly been neglected, or else it wouldn't be nearly as rancid.

Don't freak out, you reminded yourself, feeling Miguel's scowl directed at your face. He doesn't need to know.

"That's not supposed to be like that," he guessed, reading your obvious distress. you startled and tried to smile, but it wavered.

"No! No, it's..." you trailed off, acutely aware that he saw right through your act.

Deciding to focus on the task at hand, you began carefully snipping away at his bandages. It was soothing, just another routine. he's not dying he's not dying it's just a routine check up, nothing terrible, it's okay

Is the poison contagious after contact?

You froze, realizing Dr Ben had never explained the dangers of exposure. You had your gloves, but they were flimsy, and a paper mask could only do so much. Fuck. You'd already gotten blood and gore on your hands, it wasn't really a good time to fix that.

Here goes nothing.

Miguel did a stellar job of not biting your head off, though his pained grunts and clenched fists didn't help your heart rate. You were efficient and cleaned him up quickly, though his appearance wasn't improving. It was only day two. Not good.

"Okay, scary part," you warned, reaching again for the syringe. He was still riled up from the agony of his new dressings. It wasn't the way you wanted it to go, but he was running out of time.

"I can't bargain with you on this," you said shakily, "because it isn't up to me. i'm just the messenger, and I don't know how else to tell you."

Deep breaths.

"Your tissue is decaying, and if I don't give this to you, you won't be able to work at all. Ever," you added for emphasis when he almost protested. "I know you hate needles, I know you hate being here, I know you hate me, but seriously, please just let me do my job."

your hands were shaking. He looked...impassive, as if he'd turned to stone during your plea. Stick him. Just do it, just poke him right in the arm, he's not moving-

Miguel inclined his chin and released his harsh grip. You were shocked and almost dropped the syringe. That was quick. Maybe it wasn't the needle?

"You gonna stab me or what," he snapped. Scurrying forward, you gently took his hand in yours and probed for a vein.

"Little poke," you whispered, before carefully injecting the vial of clear liquid into his bicep. He let out a strangled groan and grabbed your arm, clutching for dear life. You let him squeeze, though his grip was threatening to cut off your circulation. Breathe breathe breathe he's okay you're okay it's okay breathe

"Not so hard, yeah?" you kept your voice quiet, rubbing his shoulder carefully. Miguel was still in the throes of panic before he suddenly blinked awake. Like a robot, his arms were at his sides and he stared straight ahead.

Confused, you searched his gaze. A haze had gone over his irises, but nothing extreme. All good so far. As quietly as possible, you ran through his vitals and coaxed a cup of water into him.

After a few minutes of waiting by his side, you signed off on his form and backed out of the room.

3 down, too many to go.

And so it went. He never looked at you, never acknowledged your existence each time you peeked into his room. A week went by, for better or worse. His wound was making disappointing progress, but it wasn't getting worse.

However, his approach to the needle wasn't getting better either. He liked the talking, seemed to calm him slightly when you rambled about other patients or your daily routine.

But whenever your hand ducked into your coat pocket, his face would go hard and he'd hunch like a cat, hissing and scratching when you got too close.

"Miguel, please," you begged, eyes pricking with tears. It had been a long day. the longest. four spiders lost, three injured, and one in critical condition. You'd worked your ass off, then slogged to your last patient. you just didn't have the fight in you.

Did he like to torture you?

"I will do anything, please just fucking stay still."

he hesitated.

"Anything?"

"I don't fucking care, please give me your wrist-"

"Let me go back to work." His tone was defiant, but urgent.

You fixed him with a no-nonsense glare. "You know the answer to that."

"I have the multiverse to attend to," he gritted out, "this stupid arrangement is not more important than that."

You couldn't fucking deal with this. "I will rip your fucking teeth out, you animal, I don't care how important you are-"

"I control the fate of-"

"I am acutely aware of that, O'Hara," you shouted finally, throwing the capped needle at him. He swore and ducked.

"I am so fucking aware that everything you do affects my wellbeing. But if you don't sit still and stop acting like a fucking child then you'll die and so will the rest of us." You were crying and your head hurt and the syringe was probably shattered but you just wanted to go home.

"I want to go home," you blubbered, "and I want to go to bed. If you let me do my job, then you can do yours. Please." You whispered, begging.

Miguel's nostrils flared, barely holding back. Maybe if he bit you again, you could take a long nap and this would all be over.

"One condition."

Your head thumped against his mattress. "I don't wanna argue with you-"

"One dose, one favor."

You rolled your face to the side, sighing tiredly. "I'm not having sex with you."

He sputtered, fangs shifting in surprise. "Wh-ay dios-no that's not- I meant a-" Miguel scowled at you for as he understood your delirious laughter was at his gullibility.

"I take the dose, no fuss, you do me a favor," he tried again, "professionally."

Any win was a win in your book. "Fine."

He relented, sticking his arm out and bracing against the handrail. Afraid he would double back on his promise, you stuck him a little more aggressively than you needed to in your rush.

"Okay, big guy, what'll it be?"

"Give me my work laptop."

Bastard. "That's cheating-"

"You said-"

"Fine," you spat, tossing the empty syringe in the bin. "One hour."

"Three."

"One."

"That dose hurt," he protested, and you rolled your eyes.

"Fine. Two."

A moment later, his laptop was under your arm and you were checking off another day on the calendar.

It definitely got easier. A tentative agreement had settled between you: one dose, two hours of work. It did seem to help his mood. Miguel still flinched when you aimed the syringe for his arm. He stayed still when you changed his bandages and kept his fangs to himself.

You were fitting him for the pressure cuff when you noticed. Last week, even the biggest cuff size could barely fit around his massive arm. Today, you could easily wrap it with a few inches to spare.

Frowning, you made sure nothing had come undone in the packaging. Everything was intact. Had he been flexing before?

"Um...do you mind flexing your arm for a second?"

He looked puzzled at the request, but did as asked. You tried again, but even then the cuff was loose.

"Nevermind, that's...that's fine, thanks." You gave a tight smile and jotted something down in your notes.

After his shot, you tried to see if the rest of his body was changing. He was still enormous, but there did seem to be a lackluster quality about him. Miguel's energy was reduced, his anger less potent and he was definitely tamer.

"Miguel, are you feeling okay?" you asked tentatively, gauging his reaction. Usually you knew better than to interrupt his working time, his anger would snap.

But today, he merely grunted and shrugged. Definitely lethargic. Trying to rationalize, you figured it might be his body finally adjusting to the medication.

Making a quiet excuse, you ducked into the adjacent office and discreetly dialed Ben.

"I'm worried it's not working," you whispered, chewing on a hangnail. Dr Ben hummed on the other line.

"His stats are looking a little low. I'll have another doctor check him out. You've done well so far, kiddo, this is a tough case. Take today off, yeah?"

You blinked at the quick change in subject. At least the problem was getting looked at...but Miguel still had his evening dose. I'll just come back for that, you amended. It had been so long since you'd had a day off.

In the few hours between your brief pop-in and Ben's call, you'd gotten groceries, done your hair and even had time to watch a movie.

Feeling refreshed, you threw on your gloves and pulled up Miguel's file.

Nothing had changed, really, except a small yellow notification underneath his recent immunizations. Single (1) dose of R4GE-57 administered at 2100.

What?

The meds Ben prescribed hadn't been titled, and you weren't even in the building at 2100.

Frowning, you pushed into Miguel's room.

"Hey, Mig-"

You stopped. He was sitting on his bed, hands folded limply on his lap. His eyes were open but unfocused. You tiptoed closer.

"Miguel?"

His head twitched, but his eyes had difficulty following your movements.

"You're not s'posed to be here," he slurred gravelly. His tone made you pull up short. You two weren't friends, but you'd definitely passed the growling stage.

"Ookay," you said slowly, "but I need to give you your last dose for today."

"No, that lady did. Maria."

Nothing made sense. Maria hadn't given him his second dose cause it would have been two hours early. And you were holding the second syringe, which was very much full.

"Wh...What do you mean? Maria shouldn't have given you-"

"Are you being slow?" His tone was vicious, lips curled to reveal his incisors. Miguel hadn't snapped like that in a week. You balked, retreating a step. Okay, take a deep breath. He's definitely unstable.

"That other nurse gave me the medicine, you are wasting my time," he snarled. Your heart rate was steadily rising. Breathe.

"Just let me-"

Your hand was halfway to his wrist when he lunged.

no no not again-

A cry ripped from your throat as your head collided with the edge of the table, and a dull ringing overwhelmed your senses. throbbing washed over you in waves, pulsing like a drum in tune with your panicked heart.

Nothing was focusing. Were you crying? Someone was shouting, it was bright and your head hurt and where-?

Somebody was dragging you away, and you uselessly batted at their hands.

He's my patient he didn't mean to no stop wait he needs his meds

Surely it wasn't your wailing, that angry wounded animal howling over the thumping ache in your skull.

He was making progress...

did i just make a simple enemies to lovers into a weird crazy multiplotline clusterfuck? yes. yes I did.

tags:

@neeshsoodrippedout

@ridiculous-hibiscus

let me know if u wanna be added/removed xox

Tags :

fanfiction fanfic miguel x reader miguel spiderverse miguel o'hara x reader reader insert reader is female angst eventual romance enemies to lovers astv astv miguel spiderman 2099

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thevegandarkelf

5 months ago

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter One

Masterlist

AO3 link

Lydia Vector is a trauma surgeon trying to find herself again after a traumatic incident--on top of surviving the zombie apocalypse. Along the way, she finds community, friendship, and maybe something more.

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted SA, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--blood, violence, amputation, swearing

“Lydia Rae Vector, Board-Certified in Trauma Surgery!”

The grin that spread across my face caused my cheeks to ache. I looked out and saw my parents and brothers, who fought like hell for their front-row seats to witness their only daughter and sister receive her certification. This was the moment I had worked my entire life for.

My residency was complete. And my boards had been passed. I was officially a surgeon.

The “waterproof” mascara I had spent my last $20 on ran and flaked into my eye, causing it to water more. I take my certificate from the officiator, shake his hand, and look out to the audience once again.

And I see him. Every single time, I see him.

A man stumbling down the center aisle, appearing drunk and disorderly, but he’s covered in blood, and his skin is bluish-grey. Decomposition has clearly already started. That was evident by both the open wounds on his body and the putrid stench that accompanied him. And the rest always happens the exact same way.

The crowd notices him, and slowly, the entire auditorium falls silent. Security starts to come around from the emergency exits, but before they can get to him, the man has made his way to the front row.

And he attacks my mother.

Her screams, the screams of my father and brothers, the screams of the audience and the screams coming from my own throat haunt me. He rips her vocal cords out with one swift bite, and her screams cease as quickly as they began.

And this is always where my nightmare ends.

I wake up in a cold sweat, nothing unusual there. I throw myself upwards, letting out a small yelp and feeling all over myself with my hands, checking for wounds and blood. My mornings went exactly the same way.

Every. single. time.

The small shed I had spent the night in looked even dustier during the day. I used my hands to prop myself up off of the floor and and pulled my backpack, which was my pillow every night, out from behind me. Scooting slightly to my left to get out of the blinding sun coming in through the window, I unzipped it and went through the checklist that I always do, making sure every weapon I had was still in its place.

“Axe, knife, guns, spear,” I said out loud, pulling one of the small guns and the collapsible spear out and setting them on the ground next to me. Checking that the safety was still on for both guns, I checked for my other items. Nothing had ever been stolen from me in the night, but you couldn’t be too careful.

“Journal, water bottle, clothes, food, tools, gauze, lighter, bandages, disinfectant, sewing kit, pills, and my most unique weapon.” Once everything was accounted for, I took the blanket I had been using and folded it as best as I could, stuffing it in on top of everything. I slipped my water bottle out and took the smallest sip, just enough to get rid of my cotton mouth and dry throat. I slipped the gun I left on the floor into the strap on my leg and extended my spear, getting up off of the ground and dusting myself off.

I paused for a moment and listened to the birds chirping outside. I wonder what they were saying to each other, I thought to myself. They seem happy. Of course they did. They don’t have to live through the end of the world in the same way humans do.

My reveling in listening to bird calls was quickly interrupted by the sound of a scream. A human scream. And Walker groans.

I swung my backpack onto my shoulders and jumped to the corner next to the door. I lifted my head slowly, just enough for my eyes to enter the window frame.

There was a man, probably around my age, on the ground, and three Walkers surrounding him. I could see that he had lost his knife in the scuffle, and I imagine he was hesitant to use a gun because he didn’t want to attract more of the reanimated corpses. I readied my spear, took a deep breath, and kicked the door open in one fell swoop.

“Aye motherfuckers!” I yelled, drawing the attention of all three Walkers towards me. I skipped backwards, away from the man, putting a little more distance between myself & the undead. I swung my spear and stabbed the closest one right between the eyes, pulling it out and watching the heap fall to the ground. The other two went down similarly. I paused for a moment, perking up my ears and listening to make sure no others were coming.

Once it was clear, I ran to the man. He was still on the ground, groaning in pain. That’s when I saw the bite on his ankle. My heart sank. But I knew what I needed to do. I ran and kneeled down next to him.

“Hey, what’s your name man?” I said to him, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. I saw a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“A-A-Aaron,” he said, gritting his teeth through the pain.

“Alright Aaron, my name is Vector. I’m a doctor, and I can save you, but we gotta get you inside that shed right there. Can you sit up?” He nodded and used his arms to pull himself into a sitting position. I got up on my feet and put an arm around his back, under his arms.

“Alright Aaron, let’s get you on your feet,” I told him, and I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. He put his body weight onto his right foot & onto me, and we slowly stood up together. Thankfully, the shed was right by us. I got him through the door and helped him back down onto the floor. Once he was on his back, I moved like lightning to get out my small axe, disinfectant, lighter, bandages, gauze, and two of my shirts, one with long sleeves and a small one.

“Aaron, you probably know where this is going, but I’m going to have to cut your foot off. And then I’m going to cauterize your wound so it hopefully won’t get infected,” I said between inhales, taking the my smaller shirt and tying it into a knot to form a gag. We couldn’t have him attracting any more Walkers. “I need you to take this and bite down as hard as you can. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes…” Aaron said. I saw a couple of tears leave his eyes. He put the knotted shirt into his mouth, laying his head back onto the dirty floor. I poured a small amount of disinfectant onto my axe and onto his leg, just above the bite mark. Some of the disinfectant ran into the wound, and he writhed in pain.

“Alright.” I looked over at him, meeting his eyes, “I need you to stay completely still. Bite down as hard as you possibly can. You got this my man.” He squeezed his eyes shut. I raised the axe up, lining it up with where I was going to make my mark.

“I’m so sorry Aaron,” I whispered, swinging the axe down as hard as I could. Thankfully, his foot and ankle came off with one hit. His blood sprayed across the shed, getting onto the walls and all over both of us.

Despite the muffling of the shirt, his screaming was loud. The tears were flowing. And so was the blood. I grabbed my lighter with my right hand and grabbed Aaron’s hand with my left one, squeezing it to remind him he wasn’t alone.

“I’m going to cauterize it next. This pain is probably going to be worse, but I know you can do this. Just keep breathing through your nose and squeeze my hand when you need to,” I told him. He didn’t nod or acknowledge what I said in any way, but I had to keep moving to stop the bleeding. I flicked on my lighter and held it to his open wound, gliding it back and forth across the whole area. I did this for a couple of minutes to ensure the whole area had been cauterized. For Aaron, I’m sure it felt like hours. He squeezed my hand so hard that I was sure he was going to break it. His muffled screams were the only sound I heard.

“You’re doing great bud,” I spoke softly, “I have padding and gauze that I’m going to put onto it next, then I’m going to wrap it in one of my shirts. Keep biting onto that one for as long as you need.” This time, he opened his eyes, which were bright red from crying, and nodded. I took a couple of pads and pressed them to his leg, holding them in place while I started the gauze wrapping.

“I’m sorry I don’t have an ice pack or anything to help with the burning,” I said. He spat my shirt onto the ground and let out a small chuckle.

“Sorry? You just saved my life.” I took my long-sleeved plaid button-up and wrapped his leg in it, using the sleeves to tie it around his calf. He was still hyperventilating a little.

“Just rest for right now,” I instructed, “once you’re doing a little better, I’ll help you get back to your home base.” He tried to pull himself up to a sitting position, but I lightly pressed on his shoulders to let him know to lay back down, “Stay like that. Just focus on your breathing. I have some water, and I have food if you’re hungry.”

“What did you say your name was?” he asked me. I pulled my water bottle, which was about half-full, out of my bag.

“Vector,” I repeated. I scooted over to him and helped him lift his head enough to sip some water without choking on it. I took my knotted shirt and unknotted it, giving to him to wipe the tears and water off of his face. He rotated his head and looked up at me.

“Vector, why did you help me?” he asked, “you could’ve just killed me, saved your resources. Or taken my stuff and ran.” I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“I took an oath,” I explained, “I’m a doctor. This is what I do.”

“How can I—“ a cough stopped him mid-sentence, “repay you? I can get you food, water, supplies. I have a community. Just say the word and whatever you want is yours.” I leaned back and grabbed my spear, which I had dropped on the way in, and collapsed it fully, rolling back and forth on the floor between my hands.

“Honestly, I could just use directions to a certain place, I must be close to it by now. I’m looking for a safe zone, it’s called—“

“Alexandria.”

I cocked my head at him, my words catching in my mouth and my facial expression displaying my shock. “How did you know that?”

“It’s the only one around here. We’re only a couple miles out” he laughed. Despite my protests earlier, he used his upper body to pull himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against some boxes, “I’m actually from there. I’m a recruiter. I go out with my partner Eric, and we search for survivors, like yourself, and see who would make useful additions to our community. And hell, we could definitely use you.”

I couldn’t believe my luck.

“I’ve been looking for Alexandria for months.”

Tags :

daryl dixon daryl dixon x oc eventual romance Slow burn slow romance oc original character the walking dead twd twduniverse

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thevegandarkelf

5 months ago

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Two

Masterlist

AO3 link

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, mention of amputation

Word count: 2.1k

Aaron and I stayed in that shed for probably two hours. He told me about his S.O. Eric and how they got separated, how he hoped that Eric had made it back safely. He told me about some of the people in Alexandria, how this large group of ragtag misfits had come together to form one giant family. There was power and water and food and shelter.

Alexandria sounded like a dream.

At some point, he took a lengthy nap, which I used as time to write. During my residency and throughout this last year and a half, the only hobby I had & thing that managed to keep me semi-sane was writing. I came to love writing poetry in med school & had journals upon journals filled to the brim with my work stuffed into my bedroom closet on a small shelf. I wish I could have brought even a few of them with me.

After he woke up, I gave him some more of my water and a little bit of my food. He pulled at the corner of the silver bag, stopping to read the text on the front.

“Is this fucking freeze-dried ice cream?” Aaron asked, laughing as he tore the corner off the bag.

“My dad was an astronaut. You don’t wanna know how much of that shit was stacked in closets in his office. I took all that would fit into my backpack before I started making my way out here,” I responded. He pulled the small, hard Neapolitan brick out of the bag, taking a bite out of the corner.

“Can I be frank?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“This tastes like shit,” he chuckled. I laughed in response.

“It does, but it’s food. I’ve been living off of that for the last year and a half. And any random cans I’ve found along the way,” I said, “I haven’t kept track of time, but it feels like it’s been months since I had food that wasn’t freeze-dried.”

“Well, once we get back, we’ll get you taken care of,” he told me. I suppressed my squee of joy and instead let it spread across my face in a gigantic grin.

After a little more time talking, he seemed like he had gotten enough strength back to slowly head back to Alexandria. I grabbed my spear and put it under my arm, propping myself up onto my feet.

“Alright, we’re gonna get you on your…” I caught the word I was going to say in my mouth, “foot…and take as long as we need to get back. Is there any chance some people could be sent out looking for you?” I put my arm around him again, and he put his weight onto his foot to push himself into a standing position. He then distributed his weight between his foot and on me.

“I mean, there’s a chance, but only if Eric made it back and told them what happened,” he told me. I unsheathed my spear to use as a walking stick, the sharp end pointing to the sky. We hobbled slowly to the door, and I had him stop and rest on a table.

“Let me make sure it’s clear.” I swung the door open and walked the perimeter of the small shed, listening and making sure there weren’t any Walkers nearby. I found a large stick on the ground for Aaron to use, picking it up and bringing it back to him. “Here, use this.” He took it in his free hand and gave me a nod. I grabbed him again, and after slipping through the door, I let him lead the way to the road.

“So you’ve obviously got medical skills. What’s your combat experience like?”

We hobbled along the road, me telling him about my brothers and my family and how I’d been alone all this time. Never had a group. There was the occasional Walker, which I would take care of with my spear. It was a peaceful walk for the most part.

After a couple of hours, I could see a wall through the trees. Aaron’s face lit up, as did mine. The two people on either side of what I assumed was the front gate raised their guns in our direction, keeping them poised. After we were out of the trees, they dropped their weapons when they realized it was Aaron.

“He’s back!” one of them shouted. One of them signaled to someone I couldn’t see, and they started opening the gate. A blonde man slipped through the small gap in the gate like butter and began running over.

“Eric!” Aaron yelled, starting to pick up his pace a little. Eric ran over at mach speed, embracing Aaron in a vice grip the second they touched. I pushed forward on Aaron to keep both of them from falling over. One of the two started making their way towards us, the other walking off towards the side to the trees. I was so enamored by Eric and Aaron that I didn’t even see him coming up behind me.

“No, no she’s with me!” Aaron screamed behind him. Before I could fully process what was happening, the back of my head was struck, the pain vibrating across my face and down my neck. I could feel myself falling forward, and everything turned black before I hit the ground.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I slowly opened my eyes. Wherever I was was very bright, and the light was blinding. The back of my head was pulsating, each throb matching my heartbeat. I was sat upright, I could tell that much. After several rounds of blinking, I was able to open my eyes.

“She’s awake,” I heard a man’s voice say. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, but when they did, I realized I was in some kind of small cell. The first thing I noticed was a man sitting in front of me. He was leaned back in a chair, one leg propped up onto the other. He looked cool as a cucumber as he held his crossbow up, pointed right at me.

His voice was like gravel in my ears. And I liked it.

I practically fell over jumping up to my feet, putting my hands up at my sides. I backed up into the far corner. Looking around the room, I saw a few more people come in, each one taking a seat either in a chair or on a set of steps.

“Ya got other weapons on ya, sunshine?” the man with the crossbow asked me. I chuckled a little. I was wearing a black cropped tank and a skort where a portion of the front skirt part was missing. My clothes were small and fitted, so I don’t know where else they thought I could store a weapon.

“Look at me,” I said, shaking my hips a little and twirling in a circle, “where could I possibly store another weapon, up my p—“

The three women in the group giggled at my comment. “Shut up and sit down,” another man instructed. This one was wearing a cowboy hat and had a star-shaped badge pinned to his chest. The way this man spoke indicated that he was some sort of authority figure in this group.

“Could call it a pussy knife,” I said under my breath as I sat down on the small bench against the back wall of the cell.

“You’re gonna start with telling us who you are and what happened to Aaron,” he instructed. I leaned back and folded my arms across my chest, examining the group. There was the one with the crossbow, the sheriff with an attitude, a woman with grey hair, an Asian guy, another woman with short hair who looked around my age or a little older, and a Black woman with dreads, probably also not much older than me.

“What’s your name, cowboy?” I asked the sheriff, sass lacing my voice, “y’know, so I can address you properly.”

“Rick,” he told me, “Rick Grimes.”

“Well Rick, have you talked to Aaron yet?”

“You’ll give us your story first, then we’ll make sure it matches his.”

“Can I have my stuff back?”

“You might get it back, depending on whether or not I like your answer.” I met his gaze and sighed.

Fuck cops.

“I’m Vector, and I think I’m 32, depending on what month it is. I’m a trauma surgeon. Well, I had a month left of my residency when…all of this started. I was at Johns Hopkins for my residency and going home to see family for vacation. I had hardly left the hospital when people started evacuating. I decided to drive all the way back home where I found out that one of brothers had already lost his life. I, umm…”

I paused, trying to find my wording without letting my emotions get the best of me, “had to put him out of his misery. After some wandering, I found out about Alexandria, and…here I am. Got lucky enough to find Aaron. He got bit, by the way. I had just woken up and he was getting attacked nearby, which I saved him from. You’re welcome. I carry medical supplies on me, so I got him to safety, amputated his foot, patched him up, and here we are.”

“He said you gave him food and water?” Rick said. I rolled my eyes and huffed.

“So you have talked to him?” I scoffed, “and yes I did. I could’ve just killed him, or taken his stuff and ran, but I didn’t. Because I’m a doctor, and he needed help. That’s what I do.” There was a silence that hovered over us for what felt like ages. It felt like they were reading me, trying to gauge whether or not I was telling the truth. Meanwhile, the one with the crossbow hadn’t let up once.

“What kind of doctor did you say you were?” the woman with the grey hair asked.

“I’m a trauma surgeon. I was working in the ER before all this. I amputated limbs, put limbs back on, did organ transplants. I saw gunshot wounds, third-degree burns. You name it, I’ve probably done it,” I explained, “actually, my plan after completing my residency and getting a few years under my belt was to eventually join Doctors Without Borders, but now we’re here.”

“That’s uh…wow, that’s really commendable,” Rick stated, a small smile crossing his face. I nodded. “Do you have a group that would be looking for you?”

“No, I’ve never had a group. Just me, the pack on my back, and my own thoughts,” I explained, pointing to my head. The group looked surprised by what I said.

“You’ve survived by yourself this whole time?” he asked me, sounding surprised. I nodded.

“Never wanted to join anyone. I had my heart set on Alexandria from the moment I heard about it. Sometimes I would come across people, like I did Aaron, and I would offer my medical services and take off. Never really stuck around one place for too long.”

“Well that’s very trusting of you,” Rick commented, “how has that worked out?” I bit my lip to keep myself from wincing at the memories from that day.

“Well, for the most part,” I said. I rubbed at the rope scars on my wrists in a way that I hoped was discreet, “I mean, I’ve made it this long on my own, right?”

“What are your combat skills like?” he questioned. I had to suppress my laughter.

“I grew up with three older brothers…all Navy SEALs…they taught me everything they knew.” I leaned forward between the bars, locking eyes with Rick. “I’ll let you guess how my combat skills are.” The man with the crossbow made a face, though I couldn’t decipher what it meant. Rick seemed to take notice.

“Would you like her to demonstrate, Daryl?”

“Yeah, would you like me to demonstrate, Daryl?” I smirked, “I could kick you in the balls, bring you to your knees, and knee you in the face. Don’t need to be a Navy SEAL to know how to do that.”

“I like her,” the woman with the short hair said, laughing.

“Ya just tiny s’all,” Daryl commented. His Southern drawl and gravel-laced voice made me weak, though I didn’t let it show.

“I’m like 5’7”, I am not tiny,” I retorted, “and can you tell him to stop pointing that thing at me? I’m clearly not going to hurt anyone from in here.” Rick nodded to Daryl, who finally lowered his bow. “Thank you.” He then turned to the Asian man to his left, who got up and came over toward my cell, unlocking it and swinging the door open. I hesitated for a moment before stepping out, scanning my eyes across the group.

“Sooooo…does this mean I get to stay?” I asked, a small but enthusiastic smile crossing my face, “I promise I’ll be useful. Sassy, but useful.”

“Yes,” Rick said, “Welcome to Alexandria.”

Tags :

daryl dixon daryl dixon x oc twd daryl the walking dead Slow burn slow romance eventual romance twd daryl dixon fluff daryl dixon fanfiction

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