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jadequeen88 · 2 years

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Nothing Compares: Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader

Cross-posted on AO3

Read part 2 here Summary:

The thin walls of your apartment rattled with the slamming of your front door. You jumped awake in fear, knowing you were supposed to be alone tonight. After your initial panic, you knew by the sound of the heavy footsteps and quiet cursing exactly who was terrorizing your home at 2:45 in the morning.

Eddie Munson.

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Having a kid can change people, but not always for the better...

Notes:

I wrote this faster than ANYTHING I've ever written before, so if there are any mistakes, I apologize! I wanted to try my take on Eddie becoming a dad. Although I think he means well and would be a great dad, I could see it being a hard transition for him. As always, please let me know what you guys think. Hopefully, I will be adding more chapters to The Last In Line soon! I also have a couple of more WIPs in google docs that I'm very excited about. Looking forward to all your comments! ALSO! There will definitely be a part 2 to this!

TWs:

Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Soft Eddie Munson, Dad Eddie Munson, Oral Sex, Making Out

Eddie Munson.

The specter who never seemed to stop haunting you, no matter how many times you tried to exercise him from your life. Maybe those assholes back in high school were onto something calling him the spawn of satan. It’s one of the only reasons you can come up with at this point. You knew it would be best to go ahead and wake up. The longer he spent ransacking your apartment, the more riled up he’d get and the longer it would take to calm him down.

You pull your robe around yourself and slip into the hallway, wincing slightly at the cold wood beneath your feet.

“Where is he?”

You grimaced. Eddie had clearly gotten wasted after the show tonight. He stood in the middle of your living room, cropped tee still damp around the neck with sweat and eyeliner skewed. You hated how your gut lurched with want at the sight.

“Who, Eddie?”

“Who?” he looked at you with that infuriating expression he wore when he was exceptionally worked up. You wanted to slap him and kiss the breath out of his lungs in apology at the same time. “My fuckin’ son, that’s who!” His eyes are wild and he’s nearly screaming. If his fit resulted in old Ms. Connor calling Jim Hopper again, you’d string him up from a light pole.

“Eddie, I told you Sunday at drop-off that Wayne wanted to keep him tonight. He took him fishing this afternoon and now he’s sleeping over.” you walked a little closer trying to school your features. You knew if the rage you felt bubbled over with Eddie in this state, you’d have to call Jim yourself to haul you and your ex to the station.

“Did not. I would have remembered,” He mumbled, still walking around opening closets and doors.

“I can’t do this tonight,” you sighed. Your hands started to shake.

“Oh, you can’t do this tonight? Huh? And why is that? Got your little pencil dick boyfriend hiding back here?” Eddie stomped towards the bedroom you used to share, hell-bent on catching you in a lie you’d never told.

“Eddie, you know I don’t have one!” Maybe you should save yourself the trouble and call Jim at home. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time you had to disturb the Byers-Hopper household in the middle of the night.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’ to me, Birdy,” the old nickname sent pain through your chest. Sometimes, you wished for a quick slap instead of these painful exchanges. At least the sting from a blow would fade instead of crawling inside your body and festering like Eddie’s words had a habit of doing. “You went on a date with him last weekend.”

“One date, Eddie!” your voice pitched higher as he threw open your closet. He slammed the door to the ensuite bathroom against the opposite wall before looking under your bed. “I never called him back!”

“Oh, dear! Why ever not?” Once Eddie was satisfied that you weren’t hiding a man in your apartment, all his attention focused on you. His arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side, waiting on a response.

“You know why not,” you blinked rapidly, refusing to give him any more of your tears.

“Tell me,” he demanded softly, walking towards you. He was close enough now that you smelled the vodka seeping from his pores. How long had he been drinking tonight? You watched his arm rise, standing still as a statue as he reached out towards you. His ringed hand sat heavily on your neck. Eddie bent forward, trying to meet your downturned gaze. The thick callous of his thumb felt like fire against the underside of your jaw. You knew if you looked into his eyes, your resolve would shatter. You used to joke with Eddie about how his puppy dog eyes were his superpower. If only you knew then that they’d be used against you one day…

“Birdy…” you could hear the tears in his voice. You couldn’t take this anymore.

“Stop calling me that, please,” you wished you’d yelled it. You wished you’d have sounded strong and determined. You wished you could shove him away and scream at him. But you were just too fucking tired. Instead, your plea came out a watery, weak whisper.

“Don’t want to,” he whispered, now both hands cupping the side of your neck. His forehead fell down to connect to yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I miss you so goddamn much. You know that?” he sniffed back tears and your own finally fell from your eyes.

“You’re just drunk, Eds,” your hands came up to his chest to push him away, but only lingered there, digging into his sweaty shirt. “You only miss me when your drunk.”

You felt him shake his head and grip your neck tighter. “Miss you all the time. Just too scared to say it sober,” his words slur even worse through his tears. “You know I’m a fuckin’ coward, baby.”

His wrists felt so solid beneath your hands. The sick, sad, lonely part of your soul rejoiced at the sensation, of him touching you and you touching back. Reluctantly, you pulled his hands away and turned to sit on the foot of your bed, openly weeping now.

You remember sitting in the same spot the night you kicked him out last year. Eddie still behaved like a child while you had a toddler of your own to think about. All the hours away at band practice, the drinking, him dealing even after you said you didn’t want that around your baby. The straw that broke the camel’s back was finding the blonde in his lap at a party you tracked him down to. You’d been up all night with a sick toddler, not knowing where on earth your husband was. Thank God his saint of an uncle was around to watch the baby while you combed through the dark streets of Hawkins looking for Eddie. Of course, he’d been at that asshole Billy’s place…

You remember the sick smirk Billy Hargrove leveled you with, ice blue eyes looking at you up and down shamelessly. He gleefully pointed to where Eddie sat, girl in lap, drunk out of his mind.

“You know,” he’d reached his arm around your waist and purred into your ear. “If you really wanna get under his skin, I’d love to help you out with that, mama.”

You shoved him away, vibrating with fury. “Fuck you, Billy.” you stomped across the room as he responded with a, “Yeah, that’s the point I was makin’, sweetheart!”

Eddie looked up at you in shock, pushing the girl away roughly.

“Fuck you, Eddie Munson. I’m done,” you wrenched off the thin, gold band he’d given you the day he proposed to you under the tree you’d played under when you were both just two poor trailer park kids. You didn’t care to hear his excuses. You didn’t care that he swore he’d never cheated, that he was so drunk that he didn’t even realize a girl was on his lap. You saw the writing on the wall. You knew it would only be a matter of time before his desire to play rockstar would destroy your already fragile little family.

So you kicked him out that night. Since then, you’d raised your son mostly on your own with help from Robin, Steve, and sweet Uncle Wayne. You never kept Eddie from his child, he was an excellent dad when he wasn’t in his own head, but Wayne usually handled the drop-off and pick-up times. You could tell it hurt him to see his nephew potentially becoming like his father. He always promised his uncle that he wouldn’t become his father. Wayne stepped in when the crime and alcohol took a front seat in his life, rasing Eddie as his own. Nowadays, Wayne wasn’t too sure his nephew would keep his word.

After a few months, however, the drunken visits started. At first, your resolve was solid. You were determined to keep Eddie’s shit out of your life and out of your son’s life. But the loneliness and heartache got a little more prominent with each fight. Going on that date last week solidified it… You still loved Eddie. That wouldn’t change, no matter the time or distance.

Eddie hadn’t seen you cry since the night you ended things. You made sure of it. You knew that once he cracked you the slightest bit, there’d be a very real danger of him making his way back into your life. It was a gamble you didn’t want to take.

But tonight, the dam burst. Eddie dropped to his knees in front of you, lying his head in your lap.

“Don’t cry, Birdy. You’re killin’ me,” his hands rubbed up and down the sides of your thighs to comfort you. “Tell me why you didn’t call him back. Please, baby. Just say it,” you sobbed as you pushed his curls away from his face. You still couldn’t look at him, but you felt his gaze on you. “I gotta know you still love me, Birdy. I gotta know because sometimes I think I might die ‘cause I love you so much.”

“Eddie, stop,” you gripped his hair as you felt him nuzzle his tear-soaked face into your stomach.

“No, goddammit! I won’t! You gotta listen this time,” you softened when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. “I know I’m fuckin’ stupid, okay? I know I fucked up a lot, but I never ever cheated. I never could. I can’t live with myself anymore knowing you think I did something like that.”

“There’s so much more to it,” you finally opened your eyes, looking towards the ceiling to gather your thoughts. “The drugs and the constant partying… Eddie you know I love all the guys, and I love you being in the band, but you can’t find a balance between all of that and being present for us as a dad and partner.”

“Birdy, I will! I swear on my mom’s grave, I will do better!” at the mention of his mother, you finally looked at him. He never talked about her unless he was deadly serious. You wiped his black tears away from his cheek, still avoiding his eyes. “I wanted to tell you earlier, call you before the show, but I got all fucked up in here and couldn’t,” Eddie pointed to his head to emphasize his point. “Gene hired me back at the shop,” you raised an eyebrow, finally meeting his gaze. The only job Eddie kept for any considerable length of time was working on cars downtown at Hawkin’s Tire. It seemed to be one of the only honest jobs he didn’t outright hate. “Full time. I’ll be workin’ forty hours.”

“But Eddie, you said-”

He shushed you gently, shaking his head. “For the past year, I’ve scraped by with dealing and playing gigs, and I’m fuckin’ miserable,” his voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled past his lashline. “If I don’t get to go home to you two every night, nothin’‘s worth it. Not the music or the high. I’m starting to hate every second of it.”

“You’re drunk right now,” you ran your fingers through his hair and watched him melt into your touch. “How can I believe you?”

His grip around you tightened, and he sat up a little straighter, “Give me a week,” he whispered. “Let me come home next Friday when I get off work at the shop with my first paycheck cashed.” Eddie’s hands traveled to your hips. You gasped when he gripped you tight. “I’ll bring you yellow roses and that wine you like. I’ll bring the little squirt pizza and rent that one stupid Muppet movie he loves,” you started to smile reluctantly. Eddie’s own grin matched it. “And after, I’ll give him his bath and read to him while you open that wine,” you gasped when Eddie’s lips brushed along your exposed collarbone, but you didn’t move to stop him. “When he’s asleep,” he kissed the top of your cleavage and bit back a moan. “If mama wants,” you don’t stop him as he pulls one side of your robe off your shoulder, exposing the soft bralette you fell asleep wearing. “I’ll worship her all night,” his thumb lightly traced your hardening nipple. You gasped and grabbed his shoulders. “Like I’ve been aching to do for months.”

You pulled Eddie up from the floor, standing with him. Your lips met in a flash, months of pain and longing seeping through every brush of tongues and touching of lips. The outline of Eddie’s cock was already pushing into your hips and your mouth watered. When your hand met his denim-clad bulge, he let out the sweetest, filthiest moan. Before you could get very far, he pulled your hand away.

“No, baby,” he planted a wet kiss on the corner of your panting mouth, “Wanna taste you. That okay?” you nodded as he backed you towards the bed.

Even though Eddie’s hands were shaking, he took his time, just like he always did.

“Tell me there hasn’t been anyone else,” he spoke into the skin of your inner thigh.

“No one, Eddie,” you gasped as his tongue met the fabric of your soaked panties. “Only you.”

“Not even Harrington?” he growled, hooking a finger into the crotch of your underwear and pulling it to the side.

“Christ, no!” you groaned as he went straight for your swollen clit, sucking and nibbling it. “You know better than that,” you sighed, grabbing a fist full of sweaty, dark curls. Eddie groaned and you could see his narrow hips grinding down onto the mattress.

“Pull harder,” he gasped. You obeyed and he doubled his efforts on your clit, kissing, licking and nibbling on it. He moaned into your pussy, grinding down onto the bed harder. “Oh, fuck,” he murmured, “Gonna cum in my jeans like a teenager.”

“Do it,” your voice was husky as you found your confidence again. You sat up and slung one leg over his shoulder, gripping his hair even harder. “Show me how pathetic you are, baby,” you rolled your hips into his mouth and the hold Eddie had on your hips tightened. “Cum in your pants while I use that smartassed mouth,” He nodded enthusiastically and you threw your head back. Eddie helped move your hips with his iron grip and a few moments later, you were orgasming into his open mouth. As you came down, you brushed his hair from his sweaty brow. You could tell by his anguished expression he hadn’t come yet.

“Sit up here,” you said, grabbing the back of his neck. Eddie didn’t hesitate to obey you. “I told you,” you purred into his ear, “to cum in your pants for me.” you straddled his lap and he nearly let out a shout when you put your weight down on his crotch.

This was all relatively new territory for the two of you. Normally it was you underneath Eddie being reduced to a whimpering mess, but neither of you seemed too bothered by the new dynamic. Quite the opposite, actually. You can’t remember seeing Eddie this worked up since you were teenagers.

You devoured his mouth as your hips rolled against his, coaxing his release from him. Eddie came with a shout that you happily swallowed. After a few moments, you both started to giggle. You knew you should get up and let him clean himself up, but it felt so good to be near him again and he made no moves to get up form the bed.

“Please don’t think this is a complaint,” he said, kissing your neck lovingly. “But what the fuck was that, huh?”

“Guess that’s what happens when I go that long with no sex,” you laughed. Eddie groaned and wrapped you in a tight hug.

“Never thought I’d be so happy about cummin’ in my jeans, sweet thing,” he growled, rolling you over to lay on top of you.

Things got quiet again and the reality of your situation began to set in. “Eddie?” you questioned. He looked up at you from where he lay on your chest. Thankfully, he seemed to have sobered up considerably.

“Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“Never, Birdy,” he smiled with with whole face, laugh lines deepening and eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll prove it to you Friday.”

“Friday,” you said, hazarding a small, hopeful smile.

“It’s a date,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and you pushed his face away laughing.

“Oh a date he says,” you teased. “Pizza and the Muppets. Is that what dating is like once you have kids?”

“Afraid so, sweet cheeks,” Eddie walked towards the dresser, looking in the bottom drawer to see if any of his clothes were still there by chance “We’re boring now.” He smiled over at you when he found an old pair of grey sweats.

“I still sleep in them sometimes…” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. Eddie simply nodded and walked into the bathroom to change.

“Just don’t forget the wine and roses,” you warned, raising your voice so he could hear you through the door. “I might never forgive you if you don’t follow through on that part of the deal.”

“I would never,” he said in mock offense as he opened the door. You thought he looked even better in the old pajamas than he did in the tight, ripped jeans. “But you’re forgetting the most important part.”

“What’s that?”

“The worshipping,” he crawled up the bed towards you again. “Might want you to boss me around again, Birdy.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you said as you slapped his hip lightly.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded as he cuddled into your side. He threw the blankets around you both and before you realized, you were drifting off into the best sleep you’d had in months.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #jade writes smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 1 year

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Idk if this is angst but here's the ask

Bau team x male reader that grew up in a rich but cold family

Since he's an only child he was always expected to be perfect and be the best student or be good in multiple things like playing the piano and painting and golf and in the same time attention formal parties but now he's burnt out maybe or doesn't understand that it's OK to make mistakes

Warnings: talk to cold and distant family, perfectionist mindset.

You fucked up. Badly, no ifs ands or buts. You had messed up big time and you nearly lost a victim because of it. Luckily, Reid had spotted your mistake and you and the team had managed to get to the victim on time, saving him. But then, you fucked up again and now the unsub was still on the loose.

You were dreading getting back to the station, Hotch had been giving you looks that you couldn't quite decipher since Reid had pointed out your mistake. You were shitting bricks, quite frankly.

When you arrived back at the station, Hotch motioned for you to follow him into the break room and you did, legs feeling like lead. Shutting the door behind you, you turned to him, "I'm sorry Hotch, I didn't mean to miss it-"

"I just wanted to check that you were okay," Hotch said. "You've been acting off for a few days now and I'm worried."

"Why are you worried? I'm fine," You dismissed, "I made a mistake Hotch, shouldn't you be reprimanding me for it?"

"Why?" Hotch asked. "You're allowed to make mistakes," Hotch says, you flush red as you look down at your hands.

'No. Others are allowed to make mistakes.' You think to yourself. You had expectations you had to live up to. You had to be perfect. You didn't have time to make mistakes.

"What's going on?" Hotch asks hesitantly, he knew you weren't one to talk about your feeling, that you tended to just let them build and build and build and then you'd shut yourself off from everyone.

"I have... expectations." Hotch also knew that when something was affecting you, you built a wall around yourself. He knew that when you got like this, you separated yourself the best you could to emotions. Hotch wasn't supposed to profile his team, but he could imagine that perhaps this was because of a distant family who expected ridiculously high for a child. He could also imagine that this had been internalised growing up and still affected your day-to-day life.

"What expectations?" He asked. "To be perfect?"

"Hotch, I can't make mistakes in a job like this. If Reid hadn't caught it, we could have lost him." You pressed, "I can't afford to make mistakes in a job like this."

"We all make mistakes." Hotch stated, "Do you really think that we don't make mistakes?"

You sighed, you knew everyone made mistakes. Really, you did. But it had been drilled into you that you needed to be the best possible version of yourself. You needed to be perfect. Mistakes weren't an option. Mistakes meant failure.

Hotch sighs gently, "You don't need to be perfect all the time," He begins, "We're human, we're meant to make mistakes. It helps us grow."

"I can't afford to make mistakes." You state.

"Why not?"

You debate just leaving it, not saying anything. And you would have, had Hotch not looked so concerned, "Mistake means failure." You say, with a firm nod before looking at Hotch. "And I can't afford to fail in this job. I need to be better."

"(Y/N), we all make mistakes. I've made plenty of mistakes on the job." Hotch says, he watches you shift slightly where you stood. "Okay, here's the deal, you go back to the hotel, rest for the rest of the day and tomorrow is a fresh start."

"Because I made a mistake?"

"Because you're burnt out." Hotch corrects. "You've been pushing yourself ridiculously hard and you need a break."

"I'm fine-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer on this, I'm afraid." Hotch said, "Go to the hotel, rest, get some sleep. Tomorrow you'll feel refreshed."

"Fine," You huffed, "But only because I have to."

"And, (Y/N)?" You turn to look at Hotch. "We're going to have to work on that perfectionist mindset."

"Is it really problematic though?"

"Yes."

"Ugh, fine." You groaned, "But let the record state that I disagree."

#aaron hotchner #male reader #aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotchner x reader #x male reader #x reader #reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 11 months

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A Possible Price x Journalist Reader Short Story

Word Count: 1k

"You ever been in love before, Captain?"

Price nearly chokes on his spit when he hears Gaz ask him that, lowering the cigar in his hand he'd just started smoking.

The two men stood outside a pub near the north side of Hereford, just about ready to call it an evening. Light snowfall dotted the pink sky like little white dandelions blowing away in the wind, as the docile crowds made their way about the snow-covered city.

Price scratched his head, somewhat perplexed, his black beanie hugging his hair as the cold air of his breath fogged around him. "In need of a bit of advice, Kyle?" he teases.

"Nah, nothin' like that, sir," Gaz shrugs casually. He slips his hands back into his pockets, looking off towards the street. "I just never hear you talk about anyone. Been startin' to think you might be some kind of grumpy, old hermit, Captain."

Price chuckles, taking another drag from his cigar. "A hermit?" he says. "Well, can't say I haven't heard that one before. As far as my love life goes..."

Price thinks back for a second, letting his gruff voice start to trail off into a distant thought, as some even further memories start to resurface. Some he hasn't thought about in quite some time now.

He blows the smoke out from his lips leisurely, shuffling in his stance a bit as he spoke. "I haven't had the pleasure," he states.

"Really?" Gaz sounds genuinely shocked by this. "Never?"

"You sound shocked," Price grins.

"I am," Gaz admits. "We talking 40-year-old virgin?"

"Now you're just havin' a go at me, Sergeant," Price laughs. He wouldn't comment on the fact that Gaz had been a few years off on the Captain's age. No doubt he looked the part of the old man, all the same. "I've been in my fair share of rodeos, believe me."

"But nothing serious?"

"Jesus kid, am I bein' interviewed?" Price laughs to himself.

"These are important questions, Captain," Gaz says sarcastically. "Between brothers-in-arms."

Now Price knew the Sergeant was just twisting his arm a bit, how he imagined a son probably would act at his age. At times, Price had to remind himself that Gaz was not his son; it felt easy to forget lately. Both men were also a bit tipsy, so he'd give Gaz a break on the intrusiveness of his questions.

Truthfully, the Captain didn't care about sharing with Gaz more details about his personal life. Price never was much for secrets, he just wasn't someone who'd go around sharing personal details uninvited, either.

If you want to know him, just ask, he's always thought.

Price finishes his cigar, flicking it off to the side before slipping his hands back into his pockets, sighing to himself as he thought back to the one person he could say meant a damn to him at some point. Jesus was that a long time ago though, he's realized.

"There was someone, once," he admits. "An American woman. Friend of Laswell's."

Gaz gasps. "Was she a spy?"

Price blows raspberries, squinting his eyes with joking disapproval. "She wishes," he says. "She was a journalist. Freelance. Never really good at it, but it always did make her happy. Though it was hard to tell at times..."

"Is she 'the one that got away' then, sir?"

Price chuckles to himself at the Sergeant's comment, though he doesn't follow it up with a reply. His silence speaks volumes enough.

"Say it ain't so, Captain," Gaz teases. "You ever try lookin' her up again?"

Price shakes his head immediately, wanting to laugh just at the thought. He couldn't even imagine how that interaction would go. "She wouldn't want to see me," he says. "I'm sure she'd sooner drown herself at sea."

Gaz shakes his head in defeat for his Captain. The Sergeant has certainly had his fair share of burnt bridges with past lovers. He can only imagine how many bridges his Captain's had to burn.

"You never know, though," Gaz shrugs. "Time changes people."

A car pulls up to the side of the road, stopping right in front of the men. The driver didn't even need to roll the window down before they both knew who was inside -- Gaz's younger sister Maya.

She waves to both men, long black curls bouncing playfully and her eyes especially ogling her brother's attractive, older boss. She did that a lot. Seeing as she was half his age and related to his colleague, however, Price couldn't be any less interested.

"Hi, John!" she waves to him, completely ignoring as Gaz made his way over to the passenger's side of the car. "You do something different with your mustache?"

"Just a new shampoo I've been trying out," Price unconsciously begins to stroke the facial hair on his chin.

"It looks good!"

Gaz gags to himself, remaining in the door of the passenger's side. "Maya, please," he warns her. He then turns back to his Captain. "Need a lift, sir?"

"I was lookin' forward to takin' a walk actually," Price declines. "You both have a good night."

Price watches Gaz drive off, waiting for him to round the corner before finally letting out a small sigh.

Lately, Price has suspected that the Sergeant felt bad for him, pitying him if the word wasn't so harsh. Gaz has known his Captain for years, including all the nothingness he had to return home to every time the team had leave. Gaz couldn't quite wrap his head around someone being content with coming home to just an empty house and his own devices, but it's been a suitable life for Price thus far.

If it ain't broke, why fix it?

Apart from his dog and neighbor, the Task Force had been his family, as had the SAS. When life took him away from that, he always had himself and his career. What more was there to need?

Price lingered outside the pub for a moment longer, however, pondering over Gaz's words. Thinking back to a time when he once felt ready to drop everything for a relationship as wracked with highs and lows as yours had been.

Time changes people...

Price always thought he knew that better than anyone.

Chapter One Here!

Idk what this is. A bit self-indulgent, the first thing I typed for Price, believe it or not. It's been sitting in my drafts since mid-April. At the time it had come down between this and Bloodstained Honesty. But this plot kind of haunts me, ngl.

An Angst turned Fluff Romance Story. That's the rough idea I had in mind anyway. Heavily inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Though this is just a brain fart of that basically. Thoughts?

#john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain john price #call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #modern warefare 2 #modern warfare #mw2 #Spotify

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five-rivers · 8 months

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Prompt idea: Undergrowth wants his Daughter back. Whatever it takes

This got way off track, but... here you go.

A vast and nameless rainforest spread itself over several islands in the warmer regions of the Ghost Zone, reaching out hungrily in all directions. Although the rainforest of the mortal plane shrunk, this forest only grew.

Many ghosts made their homes in this rainforest, and civilizations, too, empires, kingdoms, and tribes driven to extinction on Earth finding a second life among spectral branches and vines. Of course, one could say the same of nearly anywhere in the Ghost Zone. It was, after all, an afterlife.

Undergrowth also resided here. Along with his family.

"Why is he sulking this time?" asked Silvagenitus, lying along a reaching upper branch and peering down through the understory to the depths Undergrowth lurked in.

"What is he always sulking about?" asked Liana rhetorically. "As if those skyscrapers won't be trellises in another few hundred years or so. This is the ice age all over again."

"I don't know," said Canopy. "This seems different. And he isn't wrong that humans have destroyed a lot of forests the past few centuries."

"Here, let's ask Mycorrhiza," said Liana. "Oi! Mycorrhiza! What's Undergrowth sulking about?"

"I'M NOT SULKING!" rasped Undergrowth, clawing his way halfway up the nearest tree trunk.

"He won't say," said Mycorrhiza, quietly. "Something about humans."

Undergrowth snarled.

"Well," said Silvagenitus, reasonably, "we can't help you if you don't tell us what's going on."

Undergrowth snarled and grumbled some more. "My children–" he started.

"Oh, here we go again," said Liana. "They aren't children if they don't think."

"My daughter–"

"Your what?" chorused the other ghosts.

Undergrowth sneered. "It's not like you care."

"It's hard to care if you don't tell us anything," said Canopy. "But a daughter, really?"

"A precious seed among human refuse," said Undergrowth with a sniff. "We only had a brief time together before she was unfairly lured away by that horrible boy, but I would do anything to get her back."

"Anything but ask your family for help," commented Liana.

"I will win her back–"

"Has your daughter actually been taken, or did she just leave?" asked Liana.

"It's that boy's fault. He's no good for her, that cold-hearted little weed."

"I hate to be the one to bring this up," said Mycorrhiza, "but did you actually ask her if she wanted to be your daughter? Or talk to her at any point? You do have to do that with real children, you know."

"You do have a bit of a consent problem," agreed Liana.

"I don't want to hear that from the two of you parasites."

"Excuse you, I'm symbiotic."

"Okay, so you'll do anything but ask for our help or actually talk to your daughter, is that right?" asked Liana. "What actually was your plan here? Because I don't get it."

"It would be helpful to know what you intended to do about this," said Canopy.

"I will unmake that pestilent city–"

"Ah, there isn't a plan, then," said Liana.

"You should have a better plan," agreed Silvagenitus. "Maybe a gift. What does she like? Any hobbies?"

"She has a great love of all things green and growing," said Undergrowth. "And I am not apologizing."

"We don't expect you to, honestly," said Liana.

"But we will help you, won't we?" said Silvagenitus, graciously.

"Of course," said Liana. "We are family, after all. I want to meet my niece, too!"

Mycorrhiza went first. They were more subtle than their siblings, better able to sink into the ground and sneak. Humans didn't often pay heed to what lay within the soil, and neither did their ghosts.

Also, the seasons were beginning to turn, and Mycorrhiza's siblings didn't deal well with cold. They could prepare the way for them.

"There are a lot of mushrooms this year, huh," said Danny, leaning over an indigo and orange toadstool. "I've never seen one like this before."

"It's because of global warming," said Sam confidently. "All these oil and coal companies pumping chemicals into the air with no thought to how that's going to affect the ecosystem."

"You might as well blame something closer to home," said Tucker with a scoff. "Like, you know, Undergrowth, Vortex, the portal to hell in Danny’s basement…"

"Don't call the Ghost Zone hell," said Danny. "We've got friends there."

"Yeah, and Danny's parents should have been way more careful. Like, who knows what kind of crap the portal lets out into the environment? I mean, beyond the ghosts."

"Yeah, they could have tried a little harder to make things safe," said Danny with a sigh. "You don't have to tell me that."

Pamela Manson looked out her dining roo. window and scowled. "How much do we pay that gardener?" she asked.

"I don't remember offhand," said Jeremy Manson. "I'm sure it's reasonable. Why, dear?"

"Well, if they can't keep those awful mushrooms off our lawn, it's obviously too much."

"I think they're great," said Sam. "Weren't you the one complaining about how there isn't any color in the garden in the fall? This'll change things, won't it?"

"Samantha Analise Manson, if I find out you seeded our lawn with those weeds–"

"Mushrooms don't even work like that! They aren't plants!"

"I don't care what they are. They're ugly, and– Where are you going, young lady?"

"School!" Sam shouted angrily over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her. And good riddance!

"So," said Silvagenitus, clearly in a good mood, "what's your verdict? Our niece? This mysterious boy?"

"Our niece is lovely, and her human parents are awful. If Undergrowth hadn't already claimed her, I'd be tempted. As for the boy… Being angry with him is like being angry at winter. It's ridiculous."

"Undergrowth is a little ridiculous at times, isn't he? I suppose that is what little brothers are like."

Danny frowned up at the cloud of fog over the trees in the park. "Is it just me," he said, "or do those clouds look a little green?"

"Could be," said Tucker. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. "Hard to tell with the light. Do you think it's 'cause ectoplasm's gotten into the water cycle or something?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, but I hope not," said Sam.

"Yeah," said Danny, shuddering. "Can you imagine? The hot dogs are bad enough, but what if all the roadkill in the city came to life? Or whatever is dead in the sewers and rain drains? Or you're eating a sandwich outside and it starts to rain, and now you've got to fight off bologna on rye… I'm going to check it out. You guys go ahead without me."

"Don't forget the English homework!" shouted Tucker after him as he flew up and towards the park.

"Ugh," said Pamela Manson, "why has there been so much fog lately? It's so dreary."

"The weather doesn't exist to please you, Mom," said Sam, rolling her eyes.

Although… Danny had called her last night and said that he'd felt something in the clouds, although he hadn't found a ghost. So maybe her mother had a right to complain after all. The fog had been thick in their neighborhood. On the other hand, the weather really was just like that, sometimes.

"How is it?" asked Canopy.

"What's 'it'?" asked Mycorrhiza, playfully.

"The girl, the boy, the city, the soil, the… artificiality. The pollution."

"Oh, it's not so bad as all that," said Silvagenitus. "Much better than… When was it? Fifty years ago? When were we last on this side of the veil?"

"Okay," muttered Danny, "I can accept the mushrooms, and the green clouds, but this? This isn't natural."

He and Tucker stared down the street, Danny floating a few feet in the air. Yesterday, the street had been an entirely unremarkable one, only of interest to Danny and Tucker because it led into Sam's neighborhood. Yesterday, it had a few normal trees - just barely past the sapling stage - and today, each of those trees had grown dozens of feet, tall upper branches reaching into the sky.

Those new branches dwarfed the original trees, and also had massively different leaves, each one dark, thick, broad, and waxy, unlike the smaller leaves of the trees they grew from.

"Yeah, I don't think this is structurally sound," said Tucker, gently pushing on a slender tree trunk. The whole tree swayed. "Undergrowth?"

"No," said Danny. "It feels different. It all feels different." He shook himself. "Ugh, my skin feels all prickly. It's like whatever it is has been here for a while, but I haven't been able to find them. Come on, let's go find Sam."

"So, your neighborhood's turned into a jungle," said Danny.

Sam rolled her eyes. "My parents consider it a personal attack. Figure out what ghost did this?"

"Not yet. I'm sure I'll get attacked sooner or later, though. What about you? How are you holding up? After all, you know, the whole thing with Undergrowth…"

"Come on, I'm not letting one bad week dictate my life and keep me away from the things I like. You guys haven't, after all."

"I still have nightmares," pointed out Danny.

"And you don't let them stop you. Besides, this is kind of cool, and also not hurting anything yet, right?"

"Yeah," said Danny. "That's true."

"Okay, you've got everything ready for me over here? Because I'm so tired of Undergrowth's whining."

"Yes, Liana, we're ready for you," said Silvagenitus, tiredly. "We've been ready for you for a month at least."

"Hey, no need to get snippy."

"Hey! Hey! Liana, you're here. Guess what? She thinks I'm cool."

"Wow, that's a first for you, huh?"

"Yeah," said Danny, glaring at the curtains of flowering, glowing vines. "I'm drawing the line here. Yoohoo! Ghosts! Ghosts! I'm talking to you! Come on out! I'm sick of waiting for the other shoe to drop! If it's Undergrowth– well, you'd better bet I'll be kicking your butt for coming back out here after what you did to Sam!"

"Hey, what about me?" asked Tucker. "I got one of those vines plugged into my neck, too."

"And Tucker!"

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Danny…"

"I don't care! I've been stressing about this since the mushrooms, and you'd better believe I'm ready to fight!"

"Well," said Mycorrhiza, "if you put it like that…"

A circle of mushrooms sprung up around the three teens, and a glowing green portal opened inside of it. Two fell through, and the third dove after them.

They landed among ghostly branches, and four large ghosts grinned at them.

"So," said Canopy, "humans. Let's talk."

"Let me get this straight," said Tucker. "You're Undergrowth's siblings, and he recruited you to hold some kind of… family intervention so Sam will join him on his take over the world mission again?"

"Well, it's more that he complained so much that we got curious, but, yes, essentially," said Silvagenitus. He passed Danny a cup-sized and shaped flower full of nectar. Danny held it loosely, as if he was afraid it'd bite him.

"Who does he think he is?" demanded Sam. "He has no right to talk to me at all– He doesn't have the right to be anywhere near me, and he somehow thinks he's my father? Is he crazy?"

"What about the conquering the world thing?" said Danny, who looked vaguely ill. "Shouldn't we focus on that?"

Sam waved him off. "They've been here for over a month and haven't hurt anyone or anything except for my parents' sense of aesthetics. Besides, they've been great for the local ecosystem. Where was I? Right. That jerk Undergrowth–"

Liana sidled up to Undergrowth. "Hey," she said, smugly. "You'll be happy to know our plan worked. She's coming to talk to you."

Undergrowth brightened. "She is?"

"Well. It's more that she's coming to yell at you, and bringing her friends to beat you up, but baby steps. After all, you did start your relationship with mind control."

"I hate you."

"Sorry, I'm too busy for you to hate me. I'm too busy thinking up birthday presents for my niece– oh, but you don't even know when that is. Ha ha."

"Do you think sending Liana to tell him was the right choice?" asked Silvagenitus.

"Eh," said Mycorrhiza, "better to get it out of the way, now. Consider it softening him up for Sam."

#danny phantom #answer #ask #prompt #prompt work #prompt fill #prompt fic

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shy-urban-hobbit · 2 months

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@elmonstro , I ended up combining three of the prompts in the end 🤣.

Lambert has a confession to make in the only circumstances he feels he can.

Lambert lay rigid in the hard, narrow bed - made even narrower by the presence of the other occupant.

"Lambert?" Aiden turned his head to look at him, eyes flashing as they reflected the scant light afforded to them in the middle of the night thanks to their mutations. It was one of those nights where the Wolf was thankful that their ability to see in the dark wasn't nearly as powerful as the rumours suggested (shockingly, it wasn't Jaskier who'd given rise to the exaggeration that it was exactly the same as moving around in daylight for them).

"What's got you smelling so anxious?"

"Nothing." Lambert replied, resolutely staring at the ceiling. He could practically feel Aiden raise a disbelieving eyebrow in response. Lambert gave his own answer in the form of turning over so his back was now to the other. The first time Lambert had done this, Aiden had taken slight offence. Now he merely followed suite, the bed creaking as he moved into the same position, pressing his foot against Lambert's calf in a silent 'whenever you're ready.'

Lambert curled his fist into the pillow momentarily, trying to get his thoughts in order. He'd never been particularly good at opening up to people - not face to face anyway. He'd catch himself searching for the looks of pity or disgust from those he'd chosen to confide in, or for them to outright laugh in his face and the words would just die in his throat and be reborn as harsh barbs instead, designed to push away rather than reach out. If they were back at Kaer Morhen, his solution would be to get shitfaced drunk to the point where he wasn't coherent enough to feel self conscious and none of them would remember the conversation the following morning anyway. As it was, that level of drunkenness on The Path just wasn't possible. Taverns weren't known for stocking White Gull afterall and no Witcher ever had the coin spare it would take to buy the required amount of wine and ale needed to achieve the same result (as proven by the fact that he and Aiden had spent the last of their coin current coin on this room, so waterskins and jerky it was for the foreseeable).

They'd discovered this workaround purely on accident one night. Lambert had sat with his back to the other, venting his spleen in the dark. His ranting about comments made by a particularly unpleasant alderman had started to turn a little too personal and he'd been so caught up that he'd mistaken Aiden's meditation for true sleep and hadn't realised the other was still awake and therefore had heard everything. Aiden had never offered anything which could be described as pity in response to these night time confessions, but the fear of seeing that or worse on the Cat's face still froze Lambert's tongue in the cold light of day.

"You know I'm shit at stuff like this." Lambert started lamely and immediately wanted to smack himself upside the head. He didn't need to see Aiden's face, he could see perfectly in his mind's eye the slight smirk that always danced on the others lips whenever Lambert stated the obvious - always amused, never condescending.

"But I just...I've been doing some thinking and there's something I have to say."

Aiden's brows would be slightly raised in the way they always were when something piqued his curiosity.

"I...that is...I" Lambert grit his teeth. This had sounded so much easier in theory.

"If there's one thing I've learnt about dealing with you Wolves over the years," Jaskier started as they all sat together in the Keeps great hall, leaning forwards slightly in his chair and steepling his fingers as if he was about to impart great wisdom, "It's that trying to be subtle just goes straight over your god's damned heads. You have any idea how many hints I dropped to this one over the years? The flirting, the innuendos! The straight up propositions!"

"And what was stopping you from just telling me outright how you truly felt?" Geralt asked, bumping his shoulder against the bards as he took a gulp of White Gull, "Would've saved us both shitloads of time. And headaches."

"Lambert?"

Aiden's voice jolted him back to the present. Shit, how long had he been quiet? His heart was absolutely deafening in his ears so Aiden would definitely be able to hear it and God's, why were his hands so sweaty....

"Lambert, you're starting to worry me now. Please say something."

Lambert closed his eyes to be met with the image of the little frown line that he now had to resist the urge to try and smooth out whenever it appeared between Aiden's wide, worried green eyes as he chewed on his bottom lip, a habit he'd been trying to break himself of because of the amount of times he'd accidentally made himself bleed.

"Iwanttobemorethanfriends."

"....one more time?"

Lambert took a steadying breath, forcing himself to speak slowly, "I want to be more than friends."

"Best friends?"

"Stop joking for once!"

Lambert bit back a noise of frustration. If he deflected with anger, Aiden deflected with humour.

"Sorry."

Lambert felt a slight pang of guilt at his outburst for the look of chastisement he couldn't see, but he knew would be there.

"I'm being serious, Aiden." He carried on, focusing on the texture of the wall, the feel of the blankets on his skin. Anything to stop him from panicking and shutting up. Anything other than the picture of Aiden's face.

"I miss you as soon as we part ways, I keep finding myself thinking about how you'd react to certain things - how funny you'd find it or how much it would piss you off. It rains and I'm wondering if you've got somewhere to shelter...I know this is all normal friend shit and I thought I was happy with that, but..."

They lay in silence until Aiden pressed his foot slightly harder against Lambert's leg, as much a silent prompt as it was an offer of comfort. Lambert focused on a chip in the wall that was starting to look more and more like Roach in the night time shadows he'd been staring at it for so long.

"I don't know what changed, but seeing Geralt and his bard this winter it made me realise. I want that...with you and I don't want shitloads of wasted time and headaches over it so, now you know." The room suddenly felt far too small.

"Lam."

Lambert couldn't place Aiden's tone of voice as he moved around, but it wasn't one of the usual ones for when he was happy. Nor was his scent, which was the struck match sharpness of surprise. He squeezed his eyes tight shut as the other placed a hand on his shoulder and gently but insistently guided him onto his back. He didn't want to see the look on Aiden's face for this next part.

"Lambert, please look at me."

The Wolf shook his head no and felt Aiden's breath ghost over his face as he let out a sigh.

"Alright... Answer me honestly, pup. Do you trust me?"

Lambert hesitated slightly before nodding, unsure what that had to do with anything right now.

"Words, Lambert."

"Yes." Gods, why was Aiden dragging this out, just get it over with and turn him down already!

He felt the soft ends of Aiden's hair brush his face before lips fell on his. Lambert's eyes snapped open in surprise and met Aiden's. Colourless, but full of a fondness he never thought would be directed at him. The Cat gave him a soft smile as they broke apart, running a finger gently over his scar where it bisected his eyebrow.

"Will you look at me now?"

Lambert's response was to pull him in for another kiss. He didn't need to when he had Aiden's look of love committed to memory already.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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thewritersaddictions · 6 months

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Day Twenty-Six: Steve Harrington + Masturbation

Y/n had been gone for only a few hours now, at work. But the thoughts of her in my bed kept me from being able to focus on anything else but her body.

Y/n has been my best friend for years now. Her thoughtful words, and helpful hands had been what made her a great friend. She was always there when my parents weren't, and was always willing to help clean up after parties.

You see the thing was that Y/n was my friend, but I don't know I think after spending so much time with her, thinking about her that my feelings are no longer platonic.

She's grown more then just that in my head. She's been built up by the images of her next to my pool in her bikini, and the much more friendly hugs she gives. It doesn't help that she nuzzles herself into my chest and will fall asleep with her head on my chest.

On clock work if Y/n stays over, and sleeps huddled next to me. As if a riutal, every morning that I wake up with her in my bed, in my arms my boxers are tight and the ragging hard on is what I'm sporting.

I had to detangle mysefl from her graps and go take a cold shower. Hell the amount of cold showers I've taken since I realized just how much I liked Y/n has doubled.

Y/n had gotten ready for work, smiling at me sweetly at the doorway. The six in the morning alarm was annoying, but that's okay. As long as I got to see her beautiful face before she left. Some mornings I'd follow her down the stiars and make her a shake or a breakfast sandwhich.

This morning I hadn't instead I had stayed in bed, and the thoughts of her rolled past my eyes. Her skimpy shorts that she wore to bed, her strawberry lotion that stuck to the sheets as I rolled around the bed.

I stayed in bed for seemed like hours. I was able to at one point get back to sleep, but then even in my sleep did Y/n cloud my mind. Once again I woke up with a hard on, pressing tightly into my boxers. At least now there was nothing stopping me from pulling my boxers down my thighs, and pulling my cock out.

No need to go take a cold shower, to try and wipe away the thoughts of Y/n pressed up agasint me. Her breasts pressed into my side, or her legs laying across my own.

I bit my lip, pulling myself out of my boxers. One last thought that maybe it wasn't a good idea at all, maybe I should stop. I shouldn't further the ideas that I would love to fuck my best friend. My leaky cock disagrees, so I fall in line. The first squeeze around the head of my cock has me throwing my head over my shoulder. Nearly hitting the headboard.

My eyes squeeze tightly, as I being to jerk my cock. My own pre-cum being used as my lube. The head of my cock red, and sensitive as I think up all the dirtest thoughts I can about Y/n.

How'd she look with her head between my legs with my cock deep in her throat. How wonderful her moans would sounds bouncing off the walls in my bedroom. How tight her cunt must be, my hands aches but my cock feels so good as I pick up speed.

I don't hear the sound of the door opening, I don't hear the clicks of her heels climbing the stiars, nor do I hear the doors lock click open. I just keep pumping my cock around my fist, my bottom lip between my teeth as I close my eyes tight shouting out Y/n's name and explode all over my fist, and lower stomach.

My breath is ragged, rough. "So this is what you do when I'm at work." Y/n says teasing me. My heart jumps, and when I open my eyes it's Y/n standing there, arms folded over her chest and leaning into the doorframe. Shame fills me up automatically as I try to cover myself up.

There's a michvious grin on her face. "Oh Stevie, don't cover yourself up, not for little ole' me.' Y/n says with a smirk written all over her face. She get's closer to the edge of the bed. "Who were you thinking about?" She asks as she slips her shoes off. I look away, trying to get away from the conversation. "Oh Stevie, are you shy now? I heard you shouting my name." Her eyes are filled with lust, "Answer my question." She demands, "You…I was thinking about you." I mumble out in the most broken of voices I've ever heard.

"Is that why you get in the shower in the mornings?" I nod my head shyly. "Oh sweet boy." She says leaning over catching my chin in her soft hand. "How about round two big boy?" My cock jolts to life, and she laughs.

Completed on: 08/16/23

Posted on: 10/26/23

Kinktober 23- @lanad3lreyscokewhor3 @homelanderscumdump @hummusxx@chvnsdimple @vvitzvafflezvv @lokisivy @claud-blood0703 @iliketoreads-stuff @all-that-glitters-is-treasure@clearscissorsbonkgiant-blog @lxonix--ac @piecesofx @mortallyswimmingpainter @playwithfire99 @fucak @everythingneytiri @lovetheos @xxxxxoseungxoooo @durazopato @hotpead42069 @oddseabiscuit @capoda @witching-hour @viviwows @lover103 @alexlovesfiction @katiecat10 @electricfans @jianasmind @max-505 @powerbun21o @the-horny-simp @missy420-0 @jaq-dav @arescosplays

Stranger Things Master List // The Adults Master List // Kinktober '23

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xr0tt3nxfl3shx · 3 months

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👁💊My Medicine is underdeveloped and my Amygdala won't work.💉👁

Twomp[AU] fanfiction + art !! Pertains to the events in this post. [No beta we die.]

⚠️‼️TW: VOMITING / OVERDOSE / SUICIDAL IDEATION / UNREALITY / CORRUPT MENTAL HEALTH SYSTEM / GENERAL MENTAL ILLNESS THEMES‼️⚠️

A/N: i didnt wanna mention it tbh but just in case, ive been down the chemical consumption road 3 times, an i mention because i know the internet has opinions on mental illness in writing. But ive been there myself. All up close and personal like. so i think i can speak on it (dont castrate me)

POV: 👁Argos👁

I scratch at my skin in the dark of my room as if that'll hold in the tears from spilling over my burning red cheeks. The feeling of rage and overwhelming depression clash within me, and leave me to switch every few minutes between cursing the name of every therapist who ever told me that "I'm not even trying to get better" and crying over the idea that they might be right.

My heartbeat is so vigorous that it feels like at any moment the tendons will tear away and my heart will burst in my ribs. How could anyone say that to me? I seethe and hiss through my gritting teeth. Why can't I get better? I cry enough to fill an ocean and nearly drown in my tears.

I should be able to control all of this by now, I'm not a child. Yet, I can't stop thinking about putting the heads of those who hurt me on a platter. Or banging my head on my bedroom wall hard enough to dull the heartbreak. My eyes are running dry from all the tears, I've been at this for a while. My head is pounding from the adrenaline. All reasonable thoughts are drowned out, with intrusive and irrational ones taking the place of my internal voice of reason.

I can make it better, I can make this better. I just need to try a little harder! Just.. go a little further. These feelings, it's just a chemical imbalance right?

I'm running out of options, types of therapy, pills, at this point I might as well just get a lobotomy. I'm sure my therapist would like that.

There's still time to make this right. I don't have to end my life to end my suffering right?

I can prove them wrong. I will prove them wrong. It's just a chemical imbalance. I just need to fix it.

I rummage through the medicine cabinet above my bathroom sink, overlooking the blood crusting around the drain. There has to be something in here that can make my head stop pounding or my thoughts quiet down if not for just a little while. Maybe everything all at once? Yeah that should do!

Laid out in front of me on the cold tiled floor of my bathroom are various pill bottles. The amount of pills actually in them is varied, they like to switch my meds every other week it seems. I try to be hasty with this, pouring out a small handful of gel capsules into my hand. Each one smooth, glossy, and slightly cool to the touch.

You know, I've been here before, and typically there's some survival instinct in me, paralyzing my hands before I can do any damage. But all I can feel is anguish. And anger. And there's no more room for self preservation in me.

I take my first dose before I can come down from my emotion fueled adrenaline rush. Quickly now don't let the self preservation come back. I take my next dose of a new pill type, a tablet. It was a bad idea doing this dry but oh well!

Before I know it I'm slumped against my bathroom door, unable to continue my self medication on account of the mounds of pills I dry swallowed having begun triggering my gag reflex. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious about this, but it had to be done. My therapist is always urging me to take steps in the right direction!

(Though admittedly he never mentioned which direction is the right one.)

I make it back to my bed, dragging my feet and leaning on the wall for support the whole way. It's not even five minutes in when I start to feel the effects. I probably should've eaten before taking my pills like the instructions say.

This is different though, I feel my connection to reality slip right through my jittery fingers. Like the shadows in my room are divulging their presence. Like they are reaching out their hands, ready to take hold of me, pull me in and make me one with unreality. An emptiness overcomes me, something I've truly never felt before. And it's the strangest thing, because simultaneously I've never felt more alive in my life.

Everything is really funny, I've never noticed how funny everything is up until now. Every little unorganized thought that pops up in my foggy, spacing-out head manages to get a strained laugh out of me.

Visual snow floods my peripheral, the colors of the world begin to become one with the static in my eyes.

Ah, I remembered what I was going to do in here. I need to call Mr. Plant. I need him to know that I'm going to get better, and how much I love him of course. Oh he'll never understand just how much I love him! I love him to death, haha! Literally.

I dial in the number. Moving has proven difficult, like trying to control a vehicle while tired and out of it, or in my case trying to control a vehicle through the most debilitating brain fog I've ever experienced. The disconnection from body and thought is almost calming.

The ringing of the phone is such a funny thing as well. I could lose myself in the methodical rhythm and loose vibrations running up my hands- oh look here he's answered!

"M‐r… plant! I ha-ve.. s o me thi.. ng to tell you."

I am fighting to get the words out. The weak sounds I manage to get out of my raspy throat come out in uneven tones with jarring stutters. Why is it so hard to speak?

"I took.. a lot o-f... my me-ds. Ha-ha!" He hangs up immediately.

Is he not happy for me? It wasn't long before I heard sirens closing in. Did he call the cops on me? That's no fair, no fair at all.

I've never been rolled into the back of an ambulance on a stretcher before but there's a first time for everything I suppose. It's too bad I'm too out of it to really experience it.

In the ambulance is when the first wave of nausea hits. I could barely even feel the EMT insert the IV or hear when they asked me questions.

———

The heart palpitations do their diligence distracting from the perforations left in my arm from the injections of various medications and the IV drip.

My respiration is just as irregular as my heart's chemical damaged rhythm. I feel like I'm drowning in this heavy air and it feels like the knots in my stomach have spread to my heart. This pain is so unbearable that I feel the need to crave it out of myself with a blade.

The world is doubling- no tripling, blurring, and mushing together all at once. I can feel the hum of the fluorescent hospital light buzz through my head. The scent of rubbing alcohol and sterilized equipment is evident throughout the cold medical facility.

By my own hands I've made my body a place unsuitable for living. I've "almost drugged myself to an early grave" as the hospital staff keep reminding me.

Speaking of body, I can no longer tell where I end and the wires of the EKG machine begin. Neuropathy has set in and nerve sensation has dulled for the most part, except in my stomach and heart where it hurts the most of course. But me and the machines they have me hooked up to might as well be one as long as they are taking the place of my dysfunctional body systems.

When they run the EKG scan, which they do about every half hour, they ask me to stay as still as I can, but it's hard to control the shaking when I don't know where it comes from in the first place. I'm by no means cold, or if I am I really can't feel it.

Have I mentioned the shaking? The tremors? I need to grow accustomed to the flavor of raw stomach acid soon, because that's all I've been throwing up anymore. It's all that's left.

The nausea begins to build all over again, like my stomach is writhing and contorting in my torso. I can feel the knots being tied. Over the next few minutes it builds and builds, I'd do anything to stop the encroaching bile now. The nausea completely overwhelms my senses right before another round of the most violent retching I've ever experienced. Accompanied by the most awful squelching and splattering sounds as it hits the rest of vomit already resting at the bottom of the bag.

I feel like I'm nearing being turned inside out everytime it happens. And I've filled yet another vomit bag. This isn't going to stop for days as the doctor told me. I doubt I'll get the luxury of unconsciousness.

The activated charcoal they gave me to drink is like this black sludge, "slow and steady now, don't drink so fast you throw it all up but not so slow that you succumb to the consequences of your own actions." Well maybe that's not what they really said but it's how it felt. I can tell the staff are judging me, I just know it! They think I deserve this.

At least the charcoal is cherry flavored.

My many eyes dart around the clean and pristine hospital room erratically, glancing off in every direction. I don't want anyone to look at me anymore. I can't stand the buzz of the lights and I can barely bring myself to move enough to blink. Or even move enough to breathe. I am much too dizzy and light-headed to even consider standing up. I'm so dizzy I could swear I'm phasing in and out of my body. The only thing keeping my consciousness bound to this body is the unending pain ancoring me in the reality of my situation.

It's growing increasingly unbearable.

Above all else I am losing my mind trying to figure out where I went wrong tonight. These chemicals were supposed to fix all these feelings. The pills were supposed to fix me. My psychiatrists and therapists all told me that I'm sick, disordered, and all I needed was to buy a few more medicines.

It must be my fault, it must be if hundreds of milligrams of mood stabilizers can't just make it better.

Tell me, anyone tell me, why I'm so useless that I can't even help myself?

Why am I so worthless that my medicine won't work on me?

I am almost entirely suspended in unreality. The prozac, olanzapine, mirtazapine, and everything other useless drug they gave me were meant to cure me. I've tried everything!

I've done the very most I can to try and make the bad thoughts quiet down. And are the thoughts that tell me "I'd be better dead", my own thoughts, or a symptom of one of my diagnoses?

Is the reason I'm like this the same reason I don't deserve love, or do I not deserve love because I'm like this? I want to get better. I swear I really do.

So why does no one believe me?

"Sir, you have a visitor." The nurse informs me in a harsh yet hush tone.

The words barely make it through my chemical head. I'm practically catatonic in this hospital bed. But when I do process them I pray to every divine that it is who I think it is.

Red petals on the top and bottom, two yellow petals, one pink and one blue. I was right!

I can't believe he came all the way down to this void to come see me. I really thought he'd stay home. I don't think anyone or anything could possibly understand the pure desperation I feel coursing through my veins. Right alongside the saline they're using to flush my IV of course.

My boyfriend entered my hospital room, #34 I believe, I saw when they rolled me in on the stretcher. Tears well up in my dried eyes, I couldn't feel enough of anything to cry while drugged out of my head but seeing him, well, I need him more than I have ever needed anyone before.

The look on his face when he saw me is one I didn't know he was capable of, pure horror even. I must look horrible stained with my own bile in these itchy hospital scrubs. He is quick to clasp my hand in his and rub along my knuckles and the back of my palm. Through the blurred vision and tears I can't even make him out anymore but I don't need to, I just need his touch. I need it so badly.

I have no depth perception at the moment, or hand eye coordination, and again everything is quite blurry so it was mostly unintentional when I pulled him in by the sweater. He leans into me and wraps his arms under my upper back, holding me against his chest.

He's warm against me, holding me gently in a hospital bed. I can't feel much at all other than the pain, his warmth was the only other sensation I could pin down in my head. It was such a harsh contrast from how I normally see him acting.

With him so close I can't tell where he ends and I begin this time. Even in one of my most painful moments, I feel a familiar comfort in my palpitating heart. He's the only thing keeping me from going entirely mad. He has no idea what I'd give to melt into him right here right now, become an amalgamated abomination of our half hazardly bonded flesh and bone. I'm afraid I'd ruin him and all his perfection with me and all my misshapen and grotesqueness.

I am especially disgusting as of now, making him worry about me like this. Can I not be horrible for just one second? Selfish, that's it. I must be selfish. I take another go at speaking a moment after we pull away. All I can muster is an apology that comes out more like a pathetic stammer through my tears.

The way his cold gaze met mine shook me. I've never seen real tears stream down his face. He looks so... distraught. Its like he's looking right through me and simultaneously looking directly at me. And on top of everything I've never seen him sign so frantically. He rarely signs at all.

"Please don't be sorry."

…

"Don't strain your voice."

"Just stay right there, okay? Do you need anything?"

"I'll get you anything, I'd do anything for you."

I knew he cared about me, but I guess I never realized just how much. Or maybe I just forgot. How horrible am I?

Is it possible I'm actually worth something to him? Worth enough for him to call me an ambulance, worth enough for him to comfort me in the hospital bed, worth enough for him to cry over me?

Was I really worth staying with all this time?

My thoughts are interrupted by another round of retching, it seems those knots in my stomach weren't just anxiety. Mr. Plant holds my hand through it. I'm gonna be here a while, I know that. But he's here with me, and from the looks of it he isn't leaving my side anytime soon.

I'll make it out alive, not for myself, just for him. And for the possibility that maybe he needs me just as much as I need him. I wish my mind wasn't so scrambled, so I could find the words to express just how much I love him.

I love you Mr. Plant.

#overdose #vomiting #tw overdose #tw vomit #unnamed twomp au #twomp #ashur gharavi #argos twomp #the world of mr plant #twomrp #twomp fanfic #plargos #eye love you #I'm so sorry regular twomp enjoyerd #YOU JUST GOT [COMICALLY ANGSTY TWOMP AU]'D #Spotify

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pinkslaystation · 10 days

Text

[Part 3] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's Part 1 and Part 2 hehehe enjoy ;> Word Count: 5k trigger warning: drugging. viewer discretion is adviced.

Dating Simon reminded you of the British economy, constant fluctuations.

He would stay over at your flat, shower you with wet kisses, and the next day he'd walk right past you as if you didn't exist.

It felt like at times Simon did really love you. He listened you to, he brushed and plaited your hair post sex, but sometimes it's like his brain would switch and his behaviour would mimic that of a ghost.

Though it been nearly 3 months since he'd popped that question in the car, you often found yourself regretting your decision.

"I do like him...but I mean- it's just, he doesn't like me back you know? Sometimes I wake up and he's just staring at me like I've just told him I've killed his dog. I mean, he doesn't have a dog I don't think, but if he did, he'd prefer the dog over me, y'know.

I don't even know why I said yes that day. I mean, he's the first real guy that's actually shown interest in me. Maybe that's why I crave his attention so much. He makes me actually enjoy being with my family, if that's so hard to believ-"

"With all due disrespect, d'ya know you?" Your neighbour answers finally.

You stare back, blood rushing to your face, "I literally live next door to you. I smile at you before I leave for work every morning-"

"So, there's nothing wrong with your face?

"What? You know me- and I'm talking about Simon, he's next door to me too..."

"What?"

"You know skull face..."

"Who?"

"Tall buff dude, y'know."

"Huh?

"Riley-"

"Oh, the guy with the big dick."

You choke on your saliva, "What- How? Um..."

"Military dude yeah? The fit blonde? Yeah, he's big, if you get what I'm saying, virgin."

You furrow your eyebrows, words trailing off, "No I'm not...I'm sorry, how'd you know..."

"Yeah, he's fucked like everyone in this building, girl. Why d'ya think he doesn't come to the flat meetings? 'Cos then he'd be surrounded by all the people he's stuck his dick in, duh." She states like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Guy comes in, drinks a bit, and runs out."

"...I thought it was because he was nervous to see....me?" At this point, you don't know if you're telling your neighbour or asking her.

"Oh girl don't be delusional, you ain't no Beyonce. Anyway, been a while since I got that dick. Let 'im know next time you see 'im." She winks at you before, hobbling off with her walking stick.

"Yeah...sure...wait- Mrs Brenda, you're like 65... AND MARRIED-"

When the 3rd month anniversary mark finally reached, Simon decided to treat you to an expensive meal at a luxurious restaurant.

And by that I mean, 6 McNuggets at Maccies.

"They're cold, babe." He complains, slouching across you, one leg bent and propped on his seat.

Yes, Simon. Because you spent 15 minutes arguing with the worker for an extra packet of mayo. But you refrained yourself from saying that, in case you'd anger him further.

"So how's the task force?"

You've learnt very little about Simon, one part that stuck out to you was that the people he was closest to was his team in the military, naming his Captain John Price, who seemed to pop up in every conversation the two of you had.

"You got that 'lil mustache on yer face again."

"Excuse me?"

"Nah babe, it's cute. Reminds me of Captain's."

It hurt even more when he showed you a picture of John Price and you're face to face with a middle aged man with a full grown beard, who's being compared to the peach fuzz on your upper lip.

"Team's good." He sighs out of exhaustion. "Soap's engaged now, y'know."

You smile, mind suddenly racing to the thought of Simon proposing to you, but you shake it away, oddly cringing at the thought.

"'Old man's thinking of getting transferred to the States. Finally..."

The thought of Simon being jealous over his Captain was always a hidden theory for you. He'd mention it so frequently, it was as if he was keeping tabs on his superior, bringing it up at every moment at his signs of weakness. And when he'd compare Price to you, it was never in a positive light, rather one where it felt like he was looking down at Price, but through you.

You wondered if Simon had a superiority complex, and maybe that's why he'd chosen a little naive lamb like you, to project all of his insecurities onto you.

I mean, you're not gonna do anything about it are you? Nah, you're gonna take it like the good little girl you are.

I mean you are right now- literally.

His dick is cramped right in your pussy, his rounded tip rapidly kissing at your cervix. His chapped lips crash against yours, but you can't seem to ignore the faint taste of his Big Mac through his mouth.

"Can tell your cunt likes that, 'lil slut." He seethes out, through inconsistent breaths. You can barely hear him, through the sound of your sweaty bodies colliding and the ringing through your head.

You hum uncomfortably. It was gonna be a long night.

The following weekend, you find yourself spending eons getting dolled up for a get together at the base. You decorated your face with a bold smokey eye, paired with a lined red lip, only to be mocked by Simon.

"Red? We're going to base, not the circus."

So you take off the lipstick. And the eye makeup. In fact, even when you changed from a tight black pencil skirt to a matching sweatshirt and joggers combination, you still find yourself being berated by Simon.

"Getting kinda lazy with the clothes huh, love?" He asks, cocking his eyebrows towards you.

Is he for real?

Grunting in response, you look out the window, shoving your headphones in, grateful for the noise cancelling feature so you wouldn't have to sit through Simon's mouth breathing throughout the journey.

The meeting itself was as awkward as imagined. The moment the pair of you entered the room, Simon decided to detach his arm wrapped around your shoulder and immediately brisk walk to the nearest woman possible. If he was trying to fool his team to thinking he was single...boy was he good at it.

Being left out in an unfamiliar space was unfortunately not too foreign for you, and you quickly found solace by the water fountain, sipping on a plastic cup of lukewarm water.

"Bored, eh?"

You jump, having zoned out.

You turn to a man you've seen oh so many times on Simon's phone.

"Captain John Price?" You smile.

"The one and only, lass. My, a pair of sweatpants. Priorising comfort, are we?" He jokes, lightly.

"Were you expecting lingerie?"

"Pretty either way." He chuckles, and you eye the way his eyes squint as he smiles, and the smile lines painting his cheeks. You shouldn't be looking at your boyfriend's competition captain this way.

You're at peace with John. You find yourself opening up about yourself, something you now know you couldn't truly do around Simon. John cared about what you said, reacting to every joke you dropped here and there, unlike Simon, who plays connect the dots with your forehead blemishes as you rant passionately.

John chuckles, "Oh God. Work sounds intense."

You hum, admiring his laughter, which cuts off to the sound of a loud buzzing (buttplug?) coming from his back pocket. He excuses himself from the conversation, but you can't help but eavesdrop.

"John Price speaking. Yes. Uh huh-what? Another soldier? Same substance? Christ's sake...Doctor's got a name? Succiny- Succinylc- what? Okay, okay. I'm coming, gimme 20 minutes-what, now? I'm...busy" He turns to flash you a small smile, "Okay, fine. Dammit."

"You okay, seemed urgent?"

He dramatically sighs, "We both got work problems...There's been a...how do i say this...another one of our soldiers have been getting drugged?" It sounds more of a question than an answer, "We think it's some sort of new drug on the black market, and now that our enemy's have a hold of it, our soldiers...fuck, getting drugged left, right and centr- Sorry, um, unauthorized information..." He trails off, realising he's said too much.

You're ears perk up, "Drugs? What are the um, symptoms?" You can't help but be curious.

John looks around, as if to check if anyone was listening to the conversation, though most people are hammered on hardcore liquor and cigarettes. He lowers his voice, "Starts off with headaches, nausea, then there's seizures...worst case scenario is paralysis. Gotten 4 of our soldiers already, poor men, had to be medically dismissed...."

You hum, silently and unsure of what to reply with. If you were attempting to flirt with John, the mood had definitely dissipated.

"But hey, listen. You ever need a change of pace, a better job, you can call me." He grabs your hand, and messily writes his phone number with a biro, winking before he leaves.

Maybe you will call him.

As the sky becomes darker and the clock strikes past 9 P.M., you find yourself walking outside the building, searching for Simon.

"...annoying."

Huh? You peer over the corner to overhear the conversation. Was that Simon?

"..follows me around a sad 'lil shit."

Was he talking about you?

You catch a quick glance, confirming that it was indeed a drunk Simon, with who you believe was Soap.

"Her mum's hotter, too. All over me." Simon boasts, whipping out his phone, presumably to show them a picture of your mother, as it sparks a 'milf alert' comment from Soap.

"...nothing compared to her. She's like a doormat."

You look at Simon, and for a second, you swear he made deliberate eye contact with you.

"She's fuckin' spineless."

For a moment, time pauses.

...

Spineless.

You're spineless.

I mean, it may be true. But the truth doesn't always have to come out, no?

After doing so much for this man, you'e still...spineless?

Laying at the comfort of your bed, dragging a tipsy Simon out of the car and him rushing to his flat, you find yourself gazing down at the smudged ink on your palm. Maybe it's time to switch your job.

Who knows who you'll run into...

That night, you rest, dreaming about John Price.

You're in an abyss in your dreams, John's pale muscular arms wrap around your frame, with the faint scent of cigars and whisky wafting around your nose. You blink and you see the bottom of his groomed beard, and small smile resting on his tired face.

You blink once more. But this time, you don't see John Price. This time, you're staring into the sullen eyes of a skeleton-masked man, lifelessly staring straight at you with no emotion. You look down the body of Simon.

The lower half of his body was missing.

By the third blink, you jolt awake and look around, but this time you're on the floor wrapped in your quilt and covered in sweat. Very much alone.

What was this dream trying to tell you?

The jump from retail to cyber-operations was large and challenging. You went from serving customers to quite literally serving the country, from scanning items to defending the weapon's system. But 2 weeks into your new career and you feel like you've actually put your degree to some use.

Your family have been ringing you almost weekly, asking about your new position, although it's mainly your mother interrogating you about Simon.

And to say he was upset with your choice of working with the army, was an understatement, in his words, he felt like you were crowding him in all areas of his life. His home, his workplace, and now his mind.

You'd ask him to drop you off, considering he's going the same way, but he'd come up with unjustified excuses.

"Can't. Need to be there early."

"Nah, gonna distract me, love."

"Can't be seen with you." He mutters the last one, but you're not deaf and Simon can't exactly whisper very well. Sometimes you wonder why you haven't broken up with him.

So you've resorted to the next option.

Public transport. Calling John Price.

"You're not a burden, sweetheart. Who's been tellin' you that?"

You subordinate <3 But you can't say that, so you resort to casually laughing at his question. You can't help but think about the reoccurring dream you've been having, they always start the same.

You're in a abyss, and you're in the arms of John Price, you blink and suddenly face to face with the half-corpse of Simon. You're struggling to work out the deeper message of the visio-

"Love, you there? Went to lala-land or something?"

Think about John Price. Focus on him, why are you still bound to that jerk? You think.

"I'm good. So uh, how's the situation with you? And the um...drugs thing?" You look at him, your words surprising yourself, since when did you have an interest in drugs?

"Oh, uh. We're not allowed to disclose that sweetheart...besides, Simon didn't tell you? Kinda big thing here..."

Of course, Simon wouldn't tell me, why would he? You tell me, John.

You give him your best puppy dog eyes, eyebrows knitting together, "Oh..."

He runs his thick fingers through his brunette hair, adjusting himself in his seat, "Succinylcholine. There's a mixture, but that's the main component. Causes paralysis to the legs and spine...seems like that's what they wanted, to paralyse our soldiers, 7th victim this we..."

Paralysis huh. You turn to look at the passing trees outside the windows. Paralysis to the spine and legs...

By the time you reach work, you're at your computer by your desk, typing away at the lines of code on your programme, once again eavesdropping to the conversations in your vicinity.

"...it's the same location they keep getting deployed, why are they getting deployed there again?"

"Captain Price is going this time..."

"...2nd guy's in a coma now..."

The chatter dies down to the loud slam of the door: Your supervisor.

"People. Come on. Chop chop, we have deadlines to meet. Stop the chatter, fucks sake."

You get back to your screen, but you can't help but shake the unsettling feeling off your mind.

Ding!

11:26 A.M. Si:- Come outside on your break. Need to talk.

I guess you're finally breaking up.

"Getting deployed."

Simon's scarred hands caress yours, gently lifting your ring finger and slotting a shiny silver ring, with a skull stuck in the center. You think back to the times where you told Simon that you preferred gold jewelry over silver, since it complimented your skin tone better. To love is to be seen I guess.

A crowd of soldiers begin whistling at the scene, and Simon retracts his hands almost instantaneously.

"Wanted to give this to you for anniversary...but I ordered it a little late."

You hum, immediately twisting the ring around your ring. It's tight and cramped.

"How's work?" He asks, his eyes roaming around the people behind you, his gaze not falling on you once since the conversation had started.

"Oh it's goo-"

"Cool. So um, here's my key if you need something." He hands you his key, more like shoving it into your chest, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead and running off towards the crowd of soldiers that were now practicing drills.

Seems like you've gotten promoted from girlfriend to house-keeper.

By 8 P.M., you and a handful of your colleagues began to go home.

With your 4th cup of caffeine in your hand, you check Simon's text once more.

7:52 P.M. Si:- What time u finish Si:- 8? Si:- Too long to wait, going home

He couldn't wait 8 minutes?

As you trudge past the empty hallway, you're met face to face with the door of the lab, which you notice was half open.

You felt like a character in Alice in Wonderland. Trespassing is a crime, is it not?

A normal person would just inform a staff member and go home right? Definitely wouldn't enter the room. And definitely wouldn't head straight towards the counter that held various labelled test tubes.

Definitely wouldn't snatch a test tube labelled danger, and most definitely stuff it in their bag and run out the door, as if they haven't basically committed a crime.

But it's a good thing you wouldn't consider yourself a normal person.

The wind blows against your skin when you finally make it outside, and it feels like natures punishing you for breaking into the army's laboratory. With your bag clutched tightly against your chest, your mind begins racing - what if someone saw you? What about cameras? What if-

"There you are love. Thought I'd have to come 'n get you myself."

John leans against his range rover, wrapping his large military jacket around your shoulders, and you instantly lean into his towering frame.

"John...didn't you go home?"

He shakes his head. "Saw Simon speeding off the moment we finished, thought you needed a ride, especially at this time."

The wind blows against you again, and your smile falters, remembering the contents of your bag.

"Can we go home now? Please?"

A comforting silence accompanied the drive, with John's palm ghosting your thigh ever so slightly and you had to resist every urge in your body to just lock hands with him.

So you do.

His large hand encompassing yours completely. If his grin could widen anymore, they just did, and you swear you could see faint dimples decorating his cheeks.

But they fall just as quickly, jerking his hand back.

"Nice ring."

You're visibly confused, eyes dragging back to the tight skull band wrapped around your ring finger.

Fuck you, Simon.

When you exit John's car at the entrance of the block of flats, your eyes catch another deep brown pair of menacing eyes, standing at the balcony, hiding behind a black balaclava. You can't see the lower portion of the face, but you'd bet your life that there was a smirk hidden behind the cloth.

You grit your teeth, tossing the ring by the nearest bush as the car drives off. The grip around your bag tightens, and you remember the test tube.

If you're going to ruin my chances of love, I'll ruin your chances of life, Simon Riley.

A week later and the test tube lay aimlessly on your bedside time, alongside a small post card gifted yesterday from your truly. John Price, that is, not Simon.

Leaving soon - If I find something you like, I'll bring it for you :-D - J Price

Even the way he drew his little smiley faces warmed you.

On the other hand, Simon had shot you a single text, ignoring all the spelling mistakes.

Si:- bee home ina mont. by.

When he gets home, you're immediately breaking up with him, assigning yourself mental homework.

But for the meanwhile, you have to decide what to do with the test tube...for now you decide it's too risky to keep it at home, who knows if the wrong people get their hands on it.

So you opt to shoving into deep into your purse.

At work, as you walk back to your team's common room, you hear the commotion coming from the...laboratory?

"Doctor, how careless are you?"

"Sir...I-I-I didn't do anything! The lab was locked, I don't know who would have taken it-"

"And how are we sure you haven't stolen it? I mean for all we know, you might have the drug at home. How do we know you're a traitor and working for the other side. I should have you reported."

"Boss, you've known me for the longest! And why don't you stop shouting me and get these cameras fixed already-"

"Captain Price's gonna flip and fire his entire team when he comes back-"

"If he comes back that is-"

"Boy if you don't shut your mout-"

Scurrying to the common room, you shut the door abruptly. You don't why you stole the drug, but you do know you can't let anyone find out about what you did.

Not Simon.

Not John.

A month had nearly gone by, and a train of gifts has began coming, from small affirmation notes to bags of lego flower bouquets and teddy bears. All of course, accompanied by a small note with the signature smiley face :-D.

Considering the notes weren't hand written, you couldn't tell whether it was from Simon or John, though it was quite obvious. Even though you liked John, you couldn't help but feel some sort of sorrow towards Simon. I mean, who else does he have apart from you?

On a dark Friday evening while you and your team were getting ready to leave, the sound of shouting followed by stampede coursed through the hallway. Screams of terror broke from whom you made out to be doctors and nurses.

"What's happening?" You turn to your coworker.

"More people have gotten drugged, like 7 this time..."

You couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt washing over you, considering a sample of the weapon of the crime was quite literally concealed with your belongings.

"Oh -"

"Apparently, Captain Price and Liutentant Riley were involved."

That was enough to strike a nerve. You don't know which name hit you harder, but before your colleague could even stop you, you began sprinting down the hallway towards the hospital rooms.

By the time you reach though, it's already too late, and the doors have shut, the nurse informing you that surgeries have already begun undergoing. But for who, they didn't disclose.

It didn't matter who it was, you just had a reoccurring thought that if maybe you had left the sample alone, maybe a curve could have already been developed.

Oh God, this is your fault isn't it....?

A person's going to die in your hands, and you're not even a soldier.

With discomfort running through your nerves, you sit by the hospital rooms, your hands feeling heavy under the weight of your head, waiting to hear more from the nurses. But as they rush in and out of the room with urgency, your voice gradually drowns out by the monotonous beeping of the machines inside.

4 hours go by, and you can't tell if it from the lack of sleep or not, but the staff around you shoot you looks of pity as if you're in critical condition. Those hours in the waiting room felt like hell, and you couldn't help but notice the lack security in the building. No cameras again, huh?

"Nurse, is John Price in there?" You ask wearily, the strain in your voice was evident.

The nurse shakes her head, "It's Lieutenant Riley."

Your breath hitches, and unfortunately you can't help but a slight feeling of relief.

"Is he okay? Was he...drugged?"

The nurse clenches her jaw, "That information can't be disclos-"

"He's my boyfriend." You urge, standing up to meet the nurse eye to eye.

The palpable tension in the air was uncomfortable and pervasive, hanging over the room like a heavy fog, and the nurse eventually breaks, slowly opening the door to what looked like a corpse.

"No traces of the drugs were found in his body, but there's no way to really say in the early stages...He is displaying some symptoms however..." She reads off a clipboard.

You nod, though her words aren't really getting to your head, "Like...paralysis?" There's no movement from the bed, just the constant ringing from the machines.

The nurse pauses, "No. Headaches, and muscle pain, just the regular. Bullet shot in the shoulder, but that's been taken care off. We're still monitoring him. I'll be outside if you need anything." With that she leaves, shutting the door behind you. And you find yourself alone with Simon's corpse.

Simon's face looks like broken china, like fine art but damaged externally, yet still holding the essence of its beauty within. His features, usually composed and serene, now bore the cracks of strain and worry. His under eyes were now darker than ever, and you couldn't help but press your now tear soaked lips across his rough cheek, until you stopped.

His neck, though scarred, bore scattered red marks, which you know could be confused with a rash. But it wasn't.

They were hickies.

Fresh hickies.

It's been a month since you've last seen Simon, so you immediately rule out yourself, disregarding the fact that you haven't even been intimate with anyone in a while.

As you sit beside the bed, a surge of anger rises within you, fueled by the betrayal and disappointment coursing through your veins. You want nothing more than to confront Simon, to unleash a torrent of accusatory questions upon him, but you know it would be futile.

His chest rises and falls gently, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you.

The situations looks like that particular scene straight from your dreams. Dark room, alone with Simon, him laying there still.

His body is still intact, you think. Intact and littered with marks.

You try to recall what happens in the dreams after this, but you always wake up at the last second.

And you can't help but inch your hand towards your purse., the outline of the test tube screaming at you to finally use it.

Use it for the reason you had originally stolen it for.

Use me.

Drug him. It screams. It's not like he ever loved you? Francesca, remember her? The other women? Your own mother, your own flesh and blood? Think about the times he forgot your anniversary, your birthday, when he insulted you, in front of you, in front of others, hell, even behind your back! You're spineless remember.

I mean you'd be doing the world a favour, getting rid of this from this world, wouldn't you?

Wouldn't you.

John Price would be proud of you wouldn't he?

He finally be with you.

With a steady hand, you reached into your purse and retrieved the test tube, its contents glinting in the dim light of the hospital room. You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before steeling yourself and uncapping the tube.

The acrid scent of the drug filled the air, its toxic fumes making you gag slightly. But you pushed past the discomfort, focusing all your attention on the task at hand. With precision, you extracted the entire liquid from the tube and carefully poured it into Simon's IV drip, mentally wincing at how effortlessly you had manipulated the situation.

You have to get rid of the drug somehow, and if it means using it against him, then so be it.

The next morning had come and you're awaken by the phone buzzing by your bedside table, the screen lighting up with John's name. You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before you finally answer, steeling yourself for whatever news awaits you on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Your voice comes out strained, betraying the anxiety churning within you.

"Hey angel, it's me," John's voice crackles through the phone, the urgency in his tone palpable. "You need to come to the hospital. It's Simon."

Without a word, you hang up the phone and hail a cab, the journey to the hospital passing in a blur of anxious thoughts and racing heartbeat. Did they find out you stole the drugs? No...how could they? The empty test tube is in your bin, at home, not at the hospital and there's no cameras at you recall...

Arriving at the hospital, you're met with a scene of controlled chaos. Doctors and nurses bustle about, their faces tense with worry. You navigate through the maze of corridors, the familiar scent of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, you reach Simon's bedside, and what you see makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. Simon manually lies propped up against the pillows, his face pale and drawn, his body racked with violent tremors as he retches into a basin. The sight is enough to make you physically ill, although it slowly dissipates, seeing the now purple marks on his necks darkening.

John appears beside you, and without a word, he takes your hand in his, his grip steady and reassuring, pressing a small kiss at the side of your head. In that fleeting moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

"I'll be outside," he mumbles, leaving with you with Simon.

With a heavy heart, you take a seat beside him. Simon looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion. It takes all your strength to meet his gaze, the truth burning like acid on your tongue.

"Hey." He groans out. He can barely move, as his head painfully cranes to look at you, the effects of the drugs taking effect slowly.

"What happened." But it's more of a demand than a question.

Simon sniffs, "Traces of drugs..."

"No. I meant your neck."

He pauses, like he was trying to carefully choose his words, though he didn't have much of a escape now.

"Don't act like I see you and Price-"

"Don't bring him into this, Simon."

Don't lie to me anymore.

A tear rolls down his cheek, but you can't tell if it's crocodile tears or not.

"They-they... dismissed me."

You hum, a smirk gradually building up on your face.

"Why?"

Simon closes his eyes, "Back. My spine. Can't move it..."

You let out a slow, deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

"I know." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but the words hang heavy in the air between you. "I drugged you."

Simon's eyes wince once again, studying your face silently.

"Excuse me?" He begins.

You stand up, placing your purse back on your shoulder.

"What- what do you mean? You he-heard me? Love. Listen to me-"

You walk towards the door.

"WAIT. Wait. What do you mean you knew? You said you knew. What. What did you do. Sweetheart. Come back. Let's talk. You love me don't you? I love you! Where's that ring I gave you?"

You laugh, twisting the door handle.

"Baby, you better not fuckin' leav- THEY'LL FIND OUT-"

"And who's going to believe a damaged, deluded man, Simon Riley? You were out on a mission, I'll pin the blame on the enemies."

Simon shakes in his bed, unable to control any part of his body now. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME- HOW FUCKIN' DARE YOU- After that life I gave you-"

"Life? You call that living?"

"I LOVED YOU WHEN NO ONE ELSE DID-" His voice is painfully loud now, you're wondering how no one's running to his room already.

"Love? You don't know one thing about love, you fucker."

"I should have never fucked you, you- YOU BITCH-" He shouts, his body flailing violently, globes of tears racing down his clenched jaw and red cheeks.

"Rot in hell Simon Riley, I guess we're both fucking spineless now."

And that's a wrap for this mini seriesss - thank all of you for sticking around ;D IM AWARE IT TOOK SO LONG- I KEPT WRITING IT AND FOR SOME REASON IT DIDN'T AUTOSAVE LIKE TWICE??? SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT- Quick Notes: Let's all be real. We wanted reader to get with ol' john boy. But let's also be for real, if Reader was an object, she'd be a doormat. Although I've implied John Price x You, the bitch really needs to focus on herself and sort her shit out right now 💀 in the near future they're together for sure. ALSO the reference of drugs is highly inaccurate but let's all switch our imaginations on <3 lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyyysho3s

#call of duty #cod #ghost angst #ghost #simon riley #john price #ghost cod #ghost x reader #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon angst #simon ghost riley

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13docwriting · 5 months

Text

NOTE: this post was made on November 26th, 2023, before the 60th specials aired. I wasn't going to post it but due to the recent episodes, I feel it really fits. It's me, more than a year after the Power of the Doctor! As time moves on and more spoilers / interviews / trailers / content comes out for the 60th (and then some), my already limited hope continues to dwindle for human kindness. Why? Here's my twenty page essay down below! (I'm not kidding, it's 20 pages)

The Thirteenth Doctor has been a life changer for me, as many could tell from my username. Chibnall's series came to me in the midst of the pandemic and a very hard time in my life. Ironically, my motivation for watching DW once again after more than a four year hiatus of the show was actually the idea of the Doctor being a woman. My reason to stay, however, was the stories we received. I've lived through the Chibnall and Jodie bashing on this hell-site in real time. I've read downright nasty comments on any/all of Doctor Who's social media posts about thirteen's series. I've seen people call each other horrible names for simply liking one of the Thirteenth Doctor's episodes... And now, as her series has ended a year ago, I'm even more saddened to see her era get pushed to the side as if to be forgotten. Nobody came at me with the whole "it's not because of Chibnall/Jodie's era! DW just needed a reboot!" I would have agreed! I would have agreed that a fresh coat of paint would have helped DW gain some more traction, especially in the states! The more people who watch DW, the better! But the change RTD is presenting and the continued changes come at the cost of dealing with bullies online and defending something I love with all my heart.

I'd like to remind everyone that Chris Chibnall did not just barge his way into Doctor Who. He has written episodes for DW for a while before he took over as showrunner. Tenth Doctor: 42 Eleventh Doctor: The Hunger Earth, Cold Blood, Pond Life, Dinosaurs in a Spaceship, the Power of Three. Recognize some of those titles? Yeah, even when I was a wee lass, those were some of the best episodes DW had ever done. "42" scared the crap out of me in the best way, "Dinosaurs in Spaceship" had me smiling ear to ear, etc. etc.

Don't just take my word for it, read some of the reviews for those episodes. They are highly positive if not still mid-range.

That being said, I have a hard time believing that every single one of Jodie's episodes have been awful. And, if not outright stated as awful, certainly below every single nuwho Doctor.

Was there some not-so-great episodes? Yeah, of course! But every Doctor has had some questionable episodes. With a show that has a new plot nearly every episode, you're going to have some misses! My point being... Chibnall CAN write good episodes and, with that being said... Why HAS Thirteen's era been considered one of the worsts? Well, I think it's because, as always, people hate change. We've just come off of Twelve's era which was rooted in deep and meaningful conversations with a underlying of, dare I say it, Time Lord Victorious. Twelve holds a special place in my heart for the amount of care he showed through his era. From the Twelve's darkest moments, Thirteen is born. Thirteen is a ray of sunshine that holds hope in the palm of her hand. She's happy, bubbly, and ready to smile. She wants the universe and everything it has to offer and she's ready to travel the stars again.

Chibnall introduces a series of stories that are rooted in that hope. There's kindness at every turn, there's compassion, there's empathy... Is that the reason people hate her era? No. A new Doctor has never stopped anyone from getting back into the show. So, it's the writing, you say? I have one thing to say to that: Prove it. Point me in the direction of bad writing without ONCE mentioning the word "woke". If you found Jodie's era to be preachy, perhaps there's a reason that you take offense to it. DW has always been a progressive show and it will forever stay that way. And I am the first one to admit that, again, there are weak episodes. There IS some bad writing, but the hate that Jodie's ENTIRE era gets, I feel, is unjustified. So, if not writing, must be the acting! Where? When? I had no problem watching Jodie Whittaker be the Doctor. She's quirky and fun and eccentric... She has a thousand different emotions on her face at one time. Any actor that knows how much a smile can hide is a talented one. Besides that, her work on Broadchurch and her newer works (One Night, Time) have some raving reviews. She clearly has talent. So, not the acting or writing... Companions, then? Why? "The fam" had all of their moments to shine. I won't say their character arcs were perfect, especially for Ryan and Graham, but they did have their own arcs. Was it the fact that there were three totally separate companions at once? Was it just too big a job? I can't answer that one. I personally felt that they all got a good ending, one that makes sense and that isn't tragic for the sake of tragedy. This my be my opinion piece, but I liked having multiple companions that had their own little storyline, but that's MY opinion and I'm fine with someone calling me out on that. Let's go really basic... It's because the Doctor isn't meant to be woman, right? Oh, so, the Master can be a woman and that's totally fine, but when it's the Doctor... Woman can be villains but they can't be the main protagonist, right? I didn't see people up and arms over Missy, why was Thirteen so different? I remember seeing her very first introduction trailer and having people immediately be upset by the gender change. Well, forget my opinions, let's look at the statistics and viewings numbers, right?

HOW ABOUT NO. Remember the writing strike that just ended? Remember how regular cable has been nearly done with? Remember how writers are fighting to earn something for streaming services? We can't rely on normal/live views while a literal pandemic was happening, while streaming has become the norm, while watching online for free has existed for so long... Views have CHANGED. The way people consume media has changed, especially during the pandemic. Now, for an excuse... The pandemic happened. It changed how people were filming, it changed how close people could get to one another in terms of acting, it changed filming times and locations. I can't confirm, but I know that the Flux storyline was cut by two whole episodes, which could be the reason a lot of people felt disappointed by the end of the Flux. Chibnall and Thirteen's era had so many real-life obstacles to overcome that past era's did not have to deal with.

I'm tired, alright? I'm tired of defending my love for a character. And to have that love be spat out in the form of a different writer by.... 1. Discarding the Thirteenth Doctor's iconic outfit after a regeneration for the first time ever (under the guise of calling it "drag" if Tennant was to wear her outfit even after a male co-star had just worn it.) 2. Introducing a very popular Doctor back into the show ("to gain views") 3. Doing a soft reboot by calling the new season "season 1" (could be Disney's fault, but I'm not entirely sure of that fact) Every day I read another article about how RTD is "saving" Doctor who when I myself have been saved by the Doctor already. I didn't ever need to justify my love of a character until today.

#anti rtd #doctor who #doctor who spoilers #dw spoilers #opinion piece #13th doctor #dw fandom #thirteenth doctor #dw

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danganronpa-headcanons-imagines · 9 months

Note

Could you do the Danganronpa V3 Boys being a passenger Driver for the Girlfriend father who doing a driving test and this like this video

https://youtu.be/WWwiKjCli94

This is an interesting prompt, I've never written for something like this before.

I can do my best!

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V3 Boys as Passengers of S/O's Dad

Shuichi Saihara

When you first started dating, Shuichi was still really self-conscious about himself, and was worried about his impression on your Dad. So when he asked him to help with his driving test, Shuichi thought it would be a great way to bond. Thank god he wasn't wearing his hat this time, cause it would be gone by now. I'm talking it would have flow into the Atlantic ocean by now. Your Dad was absolutely insane behind the wheel, and Shuichi didn't need to be the Ultimate Detective to know that. He desperately grabbed onto the seat to stop himself from flying away. The majority of the time he was silent, but at the last hurdle a giant scream rung out Despite feeling like the world was spinning, Shuichi actually made a good impression on your Dad! He was super thankful and appreciated Shuichi's help. With a shakey hand, he gave a thumbs up, dreading having to do this ever again

Gonta Gokuhara

Car? What's a car? Gonta has never even been in a car his entire life, even when he went to school. He always just walked everywhere, that's what he was used to. So when your Dad asked him to join him on a driving test Gonta was happy to assist! He really wanted to make a good impression on your father, and wanted to prove he was worthy to be your boyfriend. Oh dear god get him off this thing- For a first experience in a car, this was NOT ideal. Your Dad was infamously known in your family to be an erratic driver, and Gonta had never even been on a roller coaster before. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest as he gripped on anything he could grab onto. So many screams almost escaped his throat but he was trying soooo hard to not be rude! Gonta is a gentleman, he can handle this! Yeah, at the end when your Dad thanked him, he gave a weak smile and nod, legs shaking. When he offered to drive Gonta home, he QUICKLY declined and said he'd walk! For the next few months just the sight of a vehicle made him break out into a cold sweat

K1-B0

Hm, riding in a car, huh? Kiibo never really had to ride any vehicle or public transporation before, so this was a new experience. He had a minor moral crisis (a robot in a non-conscious vehicle? Is that appropriate, does he need to ask it's permission?). With your Dad's reassurance, Kiibo was able to shake it off and join him! If he had a heart, it would have lept out of his mouth at this point. The constant road bumps and sharp turns threw his systems out of wack. It felt like his eyes were spinning in their sockets. He kept trying to give feedback and tips, but every movement quickly shut him up in fear. He managed to be quiet at the beginning, but near the end he couldn't hold in the screams anymore At the end of the drive, Kiibo managed to realign himself and give some good feedback. He made sure to make notes on the speeds your Dad was going and the angle of his steering. Your Dad nodded his head and took notes, grateful for the input. After he got home, Kiibo pretty much collapsed into your arms (thankfully you didn't fall over from the weight of his metal) and nearly cried. He was pretty sure it was retribution for entering the car without it's consent. Just hold him for a bit, he'll get better

Kaito Momota

Driving lessons? Hell yeah he'll join! Kaito was already good friends with your Dad, so helping him with a driving test was a no brainer. Not to mention he's gonna be an astronaut, he's gotta get used to G-Force. Let's go! Oh lord. Oh lord oh jesus. Kaito is a brave boy... BUT NOT A BRAVE ENOUGH BOY FOR THIS- Sure, he isn't great on roller coasters, but he never expected to experience anything like this in his life. For some reason it was even worse! Probably because one wrong wheel turn and they could be dead. Unlike a lot of the others, he did NOT hold in his screams. Kaito was screeching at the top of his lungs, mouth foaming The moment he stepped out of the car, Kaito collapsed onto the ground. Feeling the sweet sweet earth was comforting. After thanking him, your Dad tried to console him, but Kaito insisted he was fine. He just needed a few moments or else he'd probably throw up. Thank god rocket launches are this bad! ...right?

Kokichi Ouma

Kokichi doesn't really give too much a damn if your Dad likes him. It's a nice bonus and makes it easier during family events. But even if he didn't like him, Kokichi would date you anyways. When your Dad asked him to look over his driving test, Kokichi decided why not? He was bored anyways, might as well do something to pass the time Okay, so he was fine... at first. For the first half he was actually having fun! It was kind of like a roller coaster at an amusement park and it was super exciting. He had his hands up and everything, laughing like crazy. That all came to a sudden halt when they were 1 second away from crashing into a tree, only saved by a sharp turn. Now he was scared. Kokichi realized that this wasn't safe fun anymore, his life was in the hands of an inept man. For the rest of the test, he was crying and screaming in fear After the test his face was covered in tears, and was left sniffling like a child. Your Dad asked if he was okay, but Kokichi did what he does best: lie. Nah, he was totally fine! All that crying was just a joke. That answer satisfied your Dad, but inside Kokichi was still shaking and scared

Korekiyo Shinguji

The thought of a man his age not having a license intrigued him. Most adults earn their license early in their development, usually at age 16. When your Dad asked for Korekiyo's help, he happily agreed. It would be a great way to study and inspect your father, and get a good read on your family's history and behaviors Jesus christ. Korekiyo has never experienced anything like this before. Let's be real, he is a kinky bitch, he's used to getting thrown around. But whiplash is not sexy! His body was as stiff as a board the whole drive, in fear of losing a limb. He's never thrown up in his life, but this is definitely the closest he's gotten. At first it was mildly interesting, even humorous. But at this point Korekiyo's plan to study and inspect was thrown out the damn window. All he could think of was the inevitablity of meeting his dead sister in the afterlife After the drive ended, and his life was spared, he let out a sigh and loosened up again. Your Dad thanked him for the company, and Korekiyo humbly accepted. At the end of the day he realised he didn't learn a damn thing about your father or your family that whole ride. Maybe it should stay that way

Rantaro Amami

When your Dad asked him to help with his driving test, Rantaro happily agreed. He had a good relationship with your father, and felt this would be a great way to get to know eachother. Drive around, chat a bit, have a good time Rantaro is a chill man. Nothing really fazes him, and even if it does he's pretty good at hiding it. This was no different, but fuck it was the hardest situation he's ever encountered. His mouth was tightly shut and his eyes wide open. He tried his hardest to initate a conversation, but every bump made his mouth clamp shut. Even if he got the words out, there was no way your Dad would hear, he was too focused on aceing this test At the end Rantaro put on a good facade of calmness. Your Dad tried to apologize and see if he was okay, but Rantaro brushed it off and assured him he was fine. The day ended on a good note, but Rantaro was sure he'd never drive with your Dad again... at least until he got his license

Ryoma Hoshi

Ryoma was fine with being a passenger. Your Dad was trying to get his license at a higher age, that's admirable. He can't really reach the pedals on a normal car anyways, so Ryoma thought it couldn't hurt to try out a normal sized car for once. Can't be that bad right? This man already knew he was going to be dead soon, he now accepted this car would be his tomb. Death Row was a distant dream, his body will be found in a pile of scrap metal. With every bump they hit, his body would fly up off the seat, only saved by the seatbelt. Ryoma was completely silent the whole time. There was no point in screaming Even when the car stopped, it took a hot minute for Ryoma to even get out. It took your Dad calling his name to break him out of his trance. His voice was calm when accepting your father's appreciation, but inside Ryoma was still ready to shake hands with the devil. He loves you so much, but that day it was tested

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{Like my work? Consider tipping me on Ko-fi! Every little bit counts~}

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa v3 #shuichi saihara #Gonta Gokuhara #Kiibo #k1-b0 #Kaito Momota #Kokichi Ouma #Korekiyo shinguji #Rantaro Amami #Ryoma Hoshi

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matchbet-allofthetime · 11 months

Note

Hellooooo, i really enjoy your works and your requests were open so can i please request a reverse comfort where the reader comforts vergil after he had a nightmare

Sweet Dreams (Vergil Sparda x GN! Reader)

Word count: 1189

A/N: anon. your brain. it's massive. you didn't specify which game (which is perfectly okay!) so he can really be read as any version of Vergil throughout the series :D also thank you SO much for being my first request and i'm so glad you enjoy my works!! i really hope you enjoy!

warnings for vivid talks of nightmares (with comfort ofc), a little bit of blood, and some cussing here and there.

────────────────

Vergil has nightmares and you're there to keep him safe. You'd always keep him safe.

─────────────────⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅─────────────────

A dull sound resounds through my dreams. I twitch. I shuffle my head out from where it lays under my pillows, like I always do to block the morning sun. I wait. Wake up some.

A scream.

Vergil.

Oh no. I jolt out of bed, nearly tripping over my sheets in the process and drag my sweatpants up my hips. I grab one of my knives and latch its holder belt across my waist.

I hear nothing but screams and inhuman cries and I pad along, rushing across the long U-shaped hall all the way to Vergil's room- on the exact other side from my own room.

I get to the door and try to open it, only to find it locked. I growl out in frustration and wedge my knife between the stained oak door frame and the door itself and shove. Hard. The door cracks open and I know I'll have to replace the frame later. Doesn't matter.

I bound into the room and stop just shy of Vergil's bed, ducking as his tail whips over my head.

As it whips again, his body half DTing in the height of his misery, I catch it in my hands and as it flicks and he claws through nightmares that are only in his head, I sit on his bed and drag his thrashing body into my lap.

"Vergil, wake up. C'mon, fuck, Vergil-" My words aren't working. His tail nearly slices its way out of my hand. I take a deep breath. Hold it.

"VERGIL!" I shout.

He bounces up in shock, almost knocking his head against mine. In his newly-awakened state, he claws his way to the edge of his bed, as far away from me as he can get and he scans the room for any dangers- and any of that which ailed him during the time of Nelo Angelo and Mundus.

His blue eyes are icy and cold but they're glowing a bright blue with his anger and fear. His brows are furrowed and he's bitten his lip so hard blood seeps into his nightshirt.

We're at a standstill and his breathing comes far heavier than mine. He's alert and afraid. I make the first move. Bad choice, but I do it anyways.

The point of his tail stops just short of piercing my jugular but his gaze softens the second I reach out both hands, palms up in a display of passivity. He allows one of my hands to move closer to his face and the second my hand is a hair's breadth away from his cheek, he grabs my wrist forcefully and smushes his face into my palm. His lip quivers and his eyes sharpen before they close and he lets out a sob. His tail drops.

I move closer and despite his size versus mine, I do my best to pull him back up to the headboard and as much into my lap as I can manage.

He's wracking with sobs and I know there's this narrow margin for which I can calm him while Nero and Dante are away on a mission. I know there's this minute, minuscule, fraction of a margin in which I can convince him he's safe.

I push his face into my shoulder and he cries out so loudly, so much more verbal than I'm used to, and my heart clenches horribly.

"Vergil, hey, I've got you. You're safe. You're at the DMC, you're safe with me, in Redgrave." I say as I stroke my fingers through his hair. His breathing is erratic but already, he's begun to calm. I'm lucky he didn't go for the Yamato in his cusp of fear when he first awoke.

He says nothing but I continue anyways.

"I've got you, it's okay. You're safe. Dante and Nero are kickin' demon butt for the week with Trish and Lady and Nico. And soon, Dante'll be back with enough pizza to feed a small army and he'll piss you off as the ladies laugh. And he'll throw a beer bottle at you- again- like he always does, and you'll try to stab him with the Yamato like always and Nero'll call you two dumbasses." I finish.

I'm breathless by the time I'm done but my words have more than done the job. My presence helps tremendously too. Vergil's breathing has evolved into hiccups and sniffles in my now tear-soaked tanktop. I don't mind so much. I make a mental note to tell Dante to let Vergil kick his ass when he gets back.

My hands keep curling through the thick pale strands of Vergil's hair. I move my other hand to his bedside table and grab the glass of water he keeps there and carefully open his drawer to get one of the cloths kept within. I pour the water carefully onto the cloth and begin dabbing gently at Vergil's blotchy cheeks to clean up the drying tears.

He hates that I'm looking and tries to hide his face from me. He doesn't want to seem weak. He doesn't want me to hate him. I couldn't even if I tried to.

I continue cleaning his face and I look him over, checking for any wounds. He has a few small swollen marks from his dulled nails and the new cut in his lip from his teeth, but aside from that and the damage to his throat and mind, he seems no worse for wear. I sigh in relief.

I lean down and press a soothing kiss against his forehead as I move his hair back from his face. I wipe at the blood on his lips. Good as new. The cut should heal come sunrise. I look to the window briefly. Probably past 3.

"I've got you, darling, I've got you. I need you to sit up a bit for me, okay?" I ask, setting the washcloth on his bedside table.

Vergil nods slowly and I let him take his time in shuffling himself upright into a comfier position. When he has, I bring the glass of water to his lips and hold it as he drinks graciously. He hums a bit more clearly now, though his throat is still torn from his screams.

I don't ask and he doesn't say anything, other than-

"Thank you." Vergil says softly. He leans toward me as I move the glass to set it back down safely. It's his turn to kiss at my forehead and I smile up at him.

I let him lay back down under the covers and his fingers play with his amulet thoughtlessly. A comfort him and his twin shared in rare moments.

As I snuggle next to him, he pushes himself into me as much as he can comfortably and I simply hold him as he needs me to as he drifts to sleep.

Right before he goes, into a far safer and much more guarded dreamland, he murmurs into my skin, "I love you."

I smile again and kiss his hair fondly. My fingers rub soothing figure eights into his back softly.

"I love you too, Vergil. Sweet dreams."

#DMC #DMC5 #DMC4 #DMC3 #DMC Vergil #Vergil Sparda #Vergil Sparda x Reader #GN Reader

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potatomountain · 1 year

Text

To Love A Monster Ch 1

Typhon

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: there will be potential triggers for anxiety and mental illnesses all throughout this story. Not all characters are nice at first.

AN: so here is chapter one! I'm super happy to finally post it :) this is a slow burn, and has a slow plot, focusing more on MC and her growth, so there might be some chapters that don't involve any of the boys at all just FYI. That said, I hope you will love this story regardless <3

This is a work of fiction, in particular Fan fiction, and in no way is this a representation or an accurate depiction of ATEEZ or any other idols/people used for this work.

Any feedback is always appreciated and adored! Comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist <3

Masterlist

next chapter

...

"What is wrong with you?"

People ask me that all the time and I would wonder the same.

I'm everything people warn their children about. Everything they are afraid of. They tell you to be a good kid so you don't get cursed by Typhon. Even after years of being around, people like me are still considered diseased, evil, cursed. If you interact with us, you'll have bad luck or you'll die or someone close to you will get hurt- or you're forever damned.

They're nothing more than superstitions, but ones people believe even after research has proved them wrong. Yet hearing it my whole life, it's hard not to believe it.

That I am nothing more than what they say.

Monster. Freak. Weird. Disgusting. Cursed. Mutant. Damned.

I've kept my head down, dying my hair a more natural color nearly weekly to cover up the unnatural blue violet the fine strands are. I wore sunglasses even indoors to hide the unnatural slitted pupils and bright flecks in my irises. Hats were my friend as they hid the points of my ears when I couldn't get them glued to a more human shape.

Even now, staring at the reflection of myself in the window, with all my inhuman qualities covered… I still felt out of place, and wished for nothing more than the earth to swallow me whole. Hell was where 'my kind' belonged if you believed the masses.

Most of the time I wondered if they were right.

The hushed whispers around me were normal, nearby tables in the Cafe watching with bated breath as I brought my teacup to my lips. Some sighed with relief, others in disappointment, as I had no fangs or extra teeth for them to spot. Even with the hat and glasses, it was still obvious I was not human.

"Are you wearing enough layers?" Across from me, my father was eyeing the hoodie and zip up I wore despite the late summer weather just outdoors. Those like me either ran too hot, or too cold, and were easy to pick out in a crowd.

I shrugged, setting the cup down and turning my attention to the distinguished researcher that was my father. One would think the look of concern in his gaze was one for his daughter, but no- he was simply concerned about his prized research. "I don't run that much colder, this is enough." Shifting slightly in my seat, I eyed the elder man behind my shades, tilting my head to the side. "Is there a reason you wanted to meet like this, instead of the lab, Doctor?"

He stiffened at the title, looking around as if anyone would be concerned with recognizing him when in reality they were too busy gawking at me. There was a reason those like me weren't common to see, no one liked being stared at like a circus freak everywhere they went. "I didn't want to talk about this in the lab."

"And what is it? That you want to talk about?" Confusion dripped in my tone. He may be my father but I could hardly recall anything fatherly he had done. Not like in the shows and books I've indulged in- or the typical familial relationships I see on the streets. He was my father in name and DNA only, but he only cared about the parts of me that weren't even human DNA.

Clearing his throat he stiffened. "Well… I hadn't mentioned it beforehand but I had been seeing someone, romantically, and recently I had proposed marriage…" He grew bashful, which I found unlike him.

"I don't see why who you date or marry is my concern, Doctor." I mumbled, looking down to my tea. "You and my mother had a strictly business relationship that ended once I was of legal age to move out." I continued matter-of-factly, as if it actually pertained to the situation.

He shook his head and leaned forward. "You are my world, Ty, so I want it to be your concern." His lips pulled into a smile beneath the freshly trimmed mustache of his, but I didn't return the smile. "In fact, I want you both to get along. As this is a personal matter, between father and daughter, that's why I wanted to talk to you outside of the lab."

Despite this being perhaps the most touching moment between us, I could only nod, bringing the tea up to my lips again.

Taking that as agreement from me, he continued on. "She is excited to meet you as well, so much so she wanted to invite you to dinner at our house. Tonight, at seven. It will be just us four."

He stopped when I bristled at his words, slowly bringing the tea back down. "Four?"

"Ah- her youngest son will also be joining us."

Suddenly tea didn't sound so good. I fought off the wave of emotion, the anxiety and fear that wanted to grip my chest and take full force. It was only due to a comment from the young kid at the table over I realized I had not done a very good job.

"Mommy… her cheeks are blue."

My father had heard it as well, and while normally he would take this opportunity to delve into the intricacies of my blood and what I was, this was not the lab and it was not the time. Gently he reached over, placing a much warmer hand on my cold one. "Ty?"

"I'll be there at seven… Dad." Clearing my throat I stood up, pulling the zip up hoodie closer over my chest and scurrying out of the Cafe with a quickness.

Out of habit I easily dodged the foot traffic outside the downtown Cafe, heading for the subway to head home. I hated this part of the city, but I was here once or sometimes twice a week for my father. I was lucky he allowed me to live in a more secluded apartment complex in a less busier part of the city, but really I didn't have much of a choice.

Not all apartment complexes would allow a Typhon to live in their building, even in one of the more progressive cities in the world towards Typhon's alike. Or maybe it was simply a capitalistic thing? With more and more Typhon's being born every five years, companies saw a new market to monopolize: Typhon's.

Not exactly fully human, there were plenty of human goods that were worthless to us. Contacts dissolved in our eyes, and hair dye would fade faster than normal humans. Typhon's couldn't mask their qualities until they were about ten years of age, but for those that had extra appendages or limbs- those stayed and made clothes and other products harder to find.

Our nearly all meat diet also was something to capitalize on.

My father was no different, a scientist that saw an opportunity of progress and he created one himself. He created me.

And yet I was the one who had to live among the other humans and try to pretend that I was one of them, even as I stood on the subway waiting in a marked spot just for Typhons as we weren't even allowed to share the same train cart as humans.

This world didn't want to accept me or my kind, and it had a harsh history of this prejudice. Only difference was that we weren't entirely human, and that seemed to just fuel the human's egotistical agenda that they were the superior race even more.

Stepping onto the train, I barely acknowledged the two other Typhon's already there, both on either end of the car. One was smaller and more bundled than I was, while the other was larger and more intimidating, not even bothering to hide the yellow eyes he had narrowed on my form. I sat between them, dead center of the car and pulled my phone out to mindlessly scroll on social media.

Some platforms were so full of anti-Typhon hate they weren't even worth going on, while others I just had to worry about the Typhon focused ads.

Ad after ad of targeted products or mindless propaganda, but I only really carried about the news. A habit I had picked up on, as whatever was big in the Typhon world would usually influence my father's research with me.

The U.S have begun their Typhon classification system based on the general Typhon qualities to decide government funding and shelters, as well as any harmful Typhon's to be isolated.

Great- as if Typhon's needed more separation and repression.

With 2023 just around the corner, the next Typhon year, the United Kingdom, as well as Japan and perhaps Korea, have cut prices and increased funding for more birth control to ensure less Typhon births and overall deaths in 2023. In regards to this, U.S have officially passed a federal law that allows all and any abortions during a Typhon year to prevent casualties of new mothers.

I stopped scrolling, staring at the article with a sneer. The first Typhon year had been 1988, the wave of immense and uncategorized energy that resulted in the Typhon phenomenon had been released during the summer. The second wave happened in 1993, in the late fall, and the third 1998, the summer once more. It was the third wave that had proved my father's theory of this phenomenon happening every five years.

And now people were using this theory as a means to avoid a Typhon child? I could understand, to an extent. Only half of the children survived the birth, the other half born Typhon, and most of the mothers died in childbirth. It didn't matter how far along a mother was, once the wave of energy engulfed the earth, within a week the mother was in labor and giving birth to a fully developed child or miscarrying in a nearly fatal way.

The mother's that survived usually ended up in poor health. My own lost her ability to have kids, and had suffered spinal damage and had to undergo physical therapy to learn to walk again. And that was the better side of side effects and survival.

Even so- to be that afraid, even governments and religions were putting aside all agendas in an attempt to prevent more Typhon's from existing.

Am I so wrong to exist?

If this news was anything to go by… yes I was.

It took everything I had to hold the tears at bay. I pulled both hoods over my head and lowered it despite the only two around being two more Typhons.

It was barely even noon and I knew today wasn't going to be easy, not if I had to deal with that dinner. I was already having a hard time keeping my mask up and my emotions from slipping through. With the added bonus of meeting who would be my step mother and step brother for the first time, despite only hearing about them this morning, I was sure of it.

Still, once home in my apartment, the heat cranked high enough I had no need for my sweaters, I curled into the nest on my bed and hoped some rest would balance my hormones enough for the already grueling dinner ahead of me.

. . ...........................................................................

I had rarely actually been to my Father's home, one of the nicer, more secure apartment complexes not far from his work. It was a building that monitored it's guests closely, and my father would always have to personally escort me from the lobby to his apartment. He was standing there, in one of his nicer dress slacks and shirt, with a strained smile at my own appearance.

I didn't like dresses, they were usually far too flimsy to keep me warm, but he had wanted me to dress up. The thick stockings kept my legs as warm as they could with the knee high boots, a thick cardigan barely kept me from shivering as I walked over to him.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a sideways hug. "There she is. Jisoo is eager to meet you, she even roped her son into helping with dinner. He's around your age I believe."

I simply nodded, letting him pull me towards the elevators as the security and front desk attendee both glowered at me. Out of habit I pulled my beanie down more, eyes downcast even if they were hidden behind the shades. The shades alone probably gave me away.

My father rambled on about his now Fiance, and it was the first time I had ever heard him talk so highly of someone who wasn't one of his team of researchers. By the time we reached his apartment I was already tired of hearing praises of the woman and her sons, which she had two of.

I couldn't imagine having siblings, how was I supposed to treat these two sons of hers if my father would continue to insist I get along with them? What were their opinions on Typhon's? Would they even want to associate with me?

My nerves were tying themselves into knots and I hoped I could keep the anxiety at bay long enough to have a normal dinner. Maybe I could delude myself into treating this as a family dinner.

"Don't be nervous, Jisoo is going to love you Ty, I promise." My father reassured me once more at his door, removing the hat and sunglasses and soothing down my cardigan nervously. His own nerves didn't help mine, despite his words of encouragement.

Once there was nothing more to fret over, he ushered me inside. I could never get over how grand his apartment was, his achievements plastered on the walls and all the awards he had won for his ingenious research into Typhons on display for any guests he might have. However I quickly noticed a feminine touch in the air, my gaze capturing several small things that just solidified it wasn't just his home any more.

"Jisoo? I brought her." My father called out next to me, motioning for me to step past the living space and head for the dining hall.

I stepped in hesitantly, biting down on my lip as I spotted the two new presences that would be constant in my life if my father had his way. "You two are just in time! We're almost done setting up the table." The woman in a nice black cocktail dress looked up from the other side of the table, her eyes locking onto mine and rooting me into place. She smiled wider, brightening her features in a way I was not used to being looked at. People didn't smile at me kindly, even my father's were often forced, so why her? "San dear, say hello."

The broad back that had been facing me turned at the woman's urging, but this time when his eyes met mine I got the reaction I was used to. He stiffened, stumbling away from me several inches until he was leaning back against the table, sharp eyes wide now like a cat's and the color draining from his tan skin.

I knew I looked like a human, in every aspect except the slitted pupils and brighter eyes, and the pointed ears. I forced a smile to try and ease his obvious discomfort, but he just snarled.

Yes, this was the reaction I expected.

"San! Don't be so rude!!" The woman leaned over and hit his shoulder a few times roughly, huffing her frustration. "I want you two to get along, you'll be step siblings soon enough."

My father ignored us both and moved around the table to wrap his arms around JiSoo's waist, placing a kiss on her cheek. "Let them be dear, they'll have plenty of chances to get close."

San shook his head, but he seemed to be composing himself as he stood up straighter and away from the table. "No one told me she's a Typhon."

"Doesn't matter, she's more than human enough." Jisoo whined at him before turning her attention back to me. "Please, sit, I have so many questions. Your father enjoys talking about you and his research often, but I want to hear about you-"

I hesitated, looking between the oddly sweet woman and the expectedly cautious son of hers. I could see the resemblance, and both were beautiful. Both were human. It was a sharp look my father sent my way that had me moving to take the seat Jisoo motioned towards.

"That's better." She took her own seat at the round table, my father to her right and my left, with San on the other side. I was well aware he had moved his chair a bit closer to his mother. He made the distance more obvious by scooting his plate even further from mine. "Now, a lot of these are heavy on the meat so do tell me if you like them. Your father says you don't have a particular favorite."

"That's right."

"Oh she can speak. Wow." Jisoo sent a glare in her son's direction at his comment, but he seemed to brush it off and moved to start eating.

Jisoo smacked his hand away. "Of course she can. She gets to eat first, stop being rude."

"Why does she get the special treatment?" I started to tune out San and his comments, instead reaching for the water to hopefully ease my nerves.

"Because it's her first time eating with us and I'm sure she is scared and even more nervous than you are."

I nearly choked on the water at her words, coughing as I set it down and pounded my fist to my chest a few times. It was enough to have three pairs of eyes on me the next second. "Sorry but… please don't concern yourself with me. Can we talk about something else? How did you meet Doc- I mean my father?"

Seemingly pleased with the topic change, Jisoo and the man in question shared a look. "Well for work. I contacted him about some of the research he had been doing about three years back. You see, I run Ty-Goods, one of the Typhon oriented supply companies. With so many products out there that aren't useful to Typhon's, I wanted to make products specifically for them so they could experience life a bit easier."

I turned my attention to my father but he was watching Jisoo with an expression of awe. "What was the research? And the product?" I turned my attention back to the woman, reaching for the first dish that caught my eye. I wasn't particularly hungry but if I didn't eat soon, San may glare a hole into my head.

Jisoo tilted her head in thought. "His research into their diet I believe. While it's well known meat is the primary part of their diet, I wanted to find other things. It seems most foods are edible but in small doses, yet he had expressed his interest in drinks. From what I understand, fruits are hard to digest? As well as heavy spices and herbs?"

I nodded slowly, thinking about that particular year. My stomach hadn't been too happy about all the things I was eating and drinking, and how detailed I had to describe every effect they had, both good and bad. However, his research in that regard had led to discovering a formula that helped make most of those foods digestible. "I can't handle spicy or heavy foods often. And tea I couldn't hold down… wait, you said Ty-goods? Didn't you come out with an entire brand of tea for Typhon's? It's even popular in cafes now."

Both Jisoo and my father beamed at my question, the former nodding enthusiastically. "Yes! I hear that you enjoy it often."

I thought back to this morning and nodded. "Yes, I have a cup every morning and one before bed."

"Splendid!" Jisoo took over the conversation the most as we ate, picking my brain over every dish I tried. It occurred to me that she was using me as a guinea pig for more products, but I didn't mind. Helping my father with research helped all Typhons, and if helping Jisoo with feedback supplied more Typhon-oriented products, I was happily giving my feedback.

She would also ask her son about the dishes, wanting to cater to both human and Typhon it seemed. The conversation stayed on that for most of the dinner, at least until we had begun to clean up.

I was once more caught off guard when Jisoo called out to me… by my name. My shock must have shown, her brows pulling together in concern. "I wanted to know if you would be more comfortable without the mask?"

Mask, or masking. A term used to describe a Typhon showing their more human side. It was also called glamor or camouflage but my father and those in the business usually referred to it this way.

"I don't think that's a good idea." I quickly shot her down, pulling my cardigan tighter around my torso. "You may be alright with the fact I am a Typhon, but he isn't." I pointed my chin at her son who hadn't really said anything towards me tonight making his aversion of Typhon's obvious.

San prickled at the turn in conversation, shaking his head. "And I wouldn't. Like hell I want to whatever grotesque-" He cried out as his mother hit him upside the back of his head. "Hey!"

"She isn't grotesque!"

"How would you know?!"

"I've seen pictures!"

The two began to bicker once more and again I tuned them out, focusing on trying to keep my emotions in check. However, that was easier said than done. I felt the mask slip with each raised tone and insult used. First my cheeks felt warmer, no doubt the light dusting of blue and intricate pattern of a deeper violet marring the skin there. I knew the pattern ran down the length of my back and thighs, the tingling of my now sensitive skin as it brushed against the fabric of the dress was becoming too much too fast.

My stomach twisted with nerves, their muttered whispers louder in my ears than they should be. Covering my ears, I whimpered and stepped back, reaching my limit. "Please stop."

Despite shutting my eyes, I could feel their gazes. Jisoo and her son both seemed to gasp, seeing the blue of my cheeks for the first time. "Oh wow- that's beautiful."

I couldn't remember ever being called that before, eyes shot open with surprise as I looked at the perpetrator. Jisoo was watching me in awe, hands pressed against her chest. But San? I expected disgust, yet I found none of it in his expression despite how openly he was gawking. He looked away first, mumbling something under his breath before grabbing the plate of dishes and scurrying off to the kitchen.

Jisoo and my father shared a look, and matching grins, before looking towards me. "There is one last piece of news we wanted to talk with you about."

I took a few apprehensive steps back, my spine tingling. "What is it?"

Jisoo stepped around the table, reaching out and motioning for my hands. Everything this woman did was throwing me for a loop, it just didn't make sense to me. Pure curiosity had me lowering my hands into her open ones, staring at the pale skin of mine compared to her tanned, the black of my nails a stark contrast. She gripped them tightly, drawing my attention back to her face.

"You see, San lives with me currently but I'm selling my home and moving in with your father now that we are to be married-"

I didn't like where this was going.

My father stepped up, placing a hand on her back. "I don't have the space for him, nor did we think he would like living with us. So… you have an extra room, we decided to-"

"To have him live with me?" I pulled my hands away from Jisoo's and instead pulled my cardigan closer. "When? For how long?" I couldn't help the quiver in my voice.

They shared a look, and I was already beginning to hate that. "Starting next week… and until we are married. We already talked it over with San, and agreed to get him his own place if he cooperates."

"Why can't you do that now?" Hissing, I took a few more steps back, resisting the intense urge to discard my clothes that were just too much on my sensitive skin now. "It's not just about a place to live is it?"

"We want you both to get along before we tie the knot, that's all." My father urged, but I could sense the underlying order.

This was another test he was doing, but this time it wasn't entirely for me. How would I manage living with a human? And could someone who clearly has a distaste for Typhon's warm up in close quarters to one?

This was all too much, yet I couldn't say no. My apartment was my father's. My life was my father's. I could only live as I did- because of my father.

My shoulders slumped and my head fell forward. "Okay… can I go now? This was… a lot. I'll have the spare room ready for San in time I promise."

I turned and left the dining hall the moment they both nodded, not even bothering to say goodbye to San.

I didn’t think he would want to. Besides, we were going to see each other much more than either one of us would like.

The entire way home I thought of the man with the broad shoulders and sharp features I could still picture twisted with displeasure at my mere presence. It was only due to my father’s message that I even had a time frame for how long I would have to suffer my soon-to-be step-brother’s presence in my home.

Nine months to a year… yet I didn’t think we would manage a week.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ateez san #tlam #to love a monster #mutant reader #ateez mutant au

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yourreality-mp3 · 27 days

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Obviously, Yuri is a very shy person and Natsuki is a very outspoken person and they have clashing views or at least...they used to.

Their views used to clash and they'd get into very messy fights, one evening, after club, even nearly escalating to physical with Yuri getting so uncharacteristically upset that she bashed her fists down on a desk and shockingly, startled Natsuki into complete silence.

"Story Telling." - A Natsuri (Natsuki x Yuri) fanfic by yourreality-mp3

Part 1- "Conflict."

(Before the masterlist comes out, to read more; go to my blog and press on the tag "story telling" it will lead you to every part)

Both girls froze immediately until Natsuki gradually broke down crying and yelled for Yuri to leave her alone. Scared but not wanting to escalate things any further, Yuri did as she was asked and walked around the second floor of the school for about 10 minutes, overthinking and afraid that she had caused some terrible downfall to the club and that she hurt Natsuki.

Calming from her panicked state, she slowly opened the club room door and seen Natsuki hunched over with the quiet sound of her sobbing resounding in the room. "Natsuki?" Yuri slowly stepped toward her and got on her knees, "Is it okay if I-" Yuri began to ask, hands stopping just before reaching Natsuki's shoulders, Natsuki reluctantly nods and so, Yuri places her hands on the crumpled up Natsuki's shoulders. Natsuki's balled fists of anger and sadness uncurled as she moved herself to sit up on her knees.

"I'm fine." Natsuki spoke shakily, cold tears being wiped by Yuri's long fingers. "I'm sor-" Yuri went to apologize but Natsuki just shook her head slowly. "It's okay. It's my fault anyway." Natsuki's body shuffles and she rests her hands on her face, "I was stupid to have broken down in the first place." Her voice seemed to be getting more clear.

"You also don't need to help me, I don't need anyone's help." Natsuki slowly rose up and walked toward a window, wiping her cheek stained with tears and taking a breath, Yuri slowly followed. "You know," Yuri rubs her arm, "It's okay to want help." Yuri walks toward her slowly, Natsuki seems to ponder.

"I don't..." Natsuki's eyes water and she grips the window cill. "Fine!" She shouts, trying to avoid the tears that are already falling, "Fine." She repeats, somberly. Yuri makes her way to Natsuki's side and they stare out the window at the golden setting sun. "It's getting late." Yuri comments, Natsuki nods.

"I don't really want to talk about it just yet." Natsuki rubs her arm, feeling the several bandaids underneath her uniform, at one point feeling at a bruise and wincing. "That's okay." Yuri says, "It's hard to want to talk about something that hurts you, especially if you've never said anything about it before." Neither of the girls look at each other but Natsuki reluctantly hits her pinky against Yuris' and they interlock.

Before the doors to the school locked, the two girls exited with their pinkies interlocked. "I don't really want to head home too quickly." Natsuki mentioned after a long bout of silence. "Let's take the scenic route then." Yuri began to walk Natsuki through the bushy path that led to a park filled with beautiful large trees and a garden filled with flowers. It was beautiful at this time in the evening and it was a place that Yuri would visit frequently and it always managed to calm her nerves.

Yuri brought Natsuki to a bench and they both sat, "Did you bring a book you haven't read yet?" Yuri asked, fishing around her bag for the 4th installment in a book series she was passionate about. "Nah, I've read practically my whole collection." Natsuki puts her bag on her lap and opens it, "That's what makes me a pro manga connoisseur!" She giggles triumphantly and Yuri smiles gently at the sight of her acting like her usual self and even blushes a bit at Natsuki's use of a word she'd clearly learnt from Yuri.

"But reading the same stuff is kinda bumming me out." Natsuki adds, Yuri thinks for a moment before remembering how Sayori left all her notes in the first volume of the book series Yuri was about to read the 4th volume for and digs in her bag, "I know it's probably very boring to you but I have the first book of my series if you want to read that." Yuri fishes it out and rests it on her lap.

Natsuki looks down at the dusty old novel filled with coloured sticky notes and cringes at it, knowing it'll be too much for her to really want to grasp but then she thought of something. "If I read that, you have to read the first edition of my favourite manga." Natsuki, in turn, fishes around in her own bag and pulls out the first manga in a set; the cover has cute girls in cute outfits, all of it is amazingly eye catching and pastel and it's a little bit intimidating to Yuri at first glance but they both take each other's books.

"Crap!" Natsuki's phone rings and she quickly pulls it from her pocket, breaking Yuri's sudden immersion in the manga and snapping her attention to the other girl. Natsuki walks away, talking into the phone for a minute and then coming back, "I have to head home now." Yuri nods and they both silently put each other's books into their respective bags to continue reading them at home. They each have their bags swung over a shoulder and their pinkies interlocked again as they walk.

About 20 minutes later, they've made it just a block away from Natsuki's place and suddenly, Natsuki wraps her arms around Yuri, "Y-you really should ask before doing touching someone without permission!" Yuri yelps out, but slowly puts her arms around Natsuki and that moment of shock fades. "Thanks." Natsuki mumbles, "Of course." Yuri replies, still timid and just as fast as Natsuki's warm arms were around Yuri, they were gone, leaving Yuri a little dazed as she watched the other girl walk down the sidewalk.

"I'll kill you if a single page gets bent!" Natsuki yells, making Yuri blink and then she realizes Natsuki's manga was still in her bag and reaches out her arm to give it back but then, she stops herself and walks home...

Could this be the start of a budding friendship? Or maybe even, a budding romance?! Find out more next time when the chapters release!

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pianapplez · 2 months

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Hello there 👋👀,

So I just found your blog and had a lot of fun scrolling through all the pjo show crit😂 I couldn't help but notice that one tag you left on a post where you said you had some beef with Annabeth's portrayal in the books 👀 Would you mind elaborating on that if you're comfortable with it🙈? Because I absolutely share that sentiment, but it's sooo veeeery rare that I see other people express anything like it... I've found that trying to be a part of the fandom can be pretty alienating most of the time, if you're not exactly the biggest most devoted Percabeth shipper...😅 And often any criticism leveled at Annabeth just gets you a smack with the "internalized-misogyny" hammer... it's even worse in the tv show now due to... obvious reasons...

Again just if you're comfortable with answering of course🙈 There is a reason I stayed on anon after all...😅😂

Really glad you asked because i finally get to ramble about this heheheh (going forward, know that i skimmed over The Last Olympian to have a clearer sense of what I meant because that's the book where Rick fumbles her character more than the others)

i'm gonna try to make as much sense as possible but short answer would be, she's underdeveloped. Long answer:

She really got on my nerves in the last two books, with the whole Rachel debacle and then the Battle of New York. I can't really remember a single moment in those books where she and Percy aren't bickering or having heated discussions, which really made me question their friendship status. Of course, it's not like friends can't fight and it obviously builds up the (romantic) tension between them, but it got unbearable at one point.

I understand she's a teenager in an incredibly stressful situation that didn't even get to have a normal upbringing- she grew up way too fast (run away at 7, head counselor at 12) while also not really maturing, which is not a problem for a character, if it is handled properly. Given the fact that I am writing this, Riordan did not.

On the surface, my biggest beef is that Annabeth is not exactly held accountable for her actions (ie. treating Rachel a bit like shit and going off on Percy for a bunch of stuff.) I know Percy is to blame a bit here: as far as we know, in TLO he basically cuts the greek world out of his life as much as he can as a coping mechanism. And while yes, he never apologizes either, he doesn't give her nearly half the hard time she gives him: always either giving him the cold shoulder (there must be at least one example of this in the entire series but i cant be bothered to look it up sorry) or starting an argument only to then storm off (see the "you're a coward, Percy Jackson!" scene, which is not the fairest example since she was confronting Percy about ignoring camp but also was a bit too harsh about it) (especially after finally reading the prophecy and being under the impression that he was absolutely going to die when he turned 16 lmao) or just straight up storming off (see, Annabeth reacting when Rachel shows up for the first time during the battle of new york). While most of these feel, at least to some degree, fairly justified given how the entire situation does an absolute number on her emotions, she comes off a bit brattish and like she's trying to rile Percy up, especially when it comes to Rachel, which in the context of a battle that could mean the destruction of the world.... Well, it reads as a bit childish to me, and i wouldn't exactly have that much of a problem with it if it was dealt with in some way (a two-way apology would be nice).

After that first impression, i realized that Annabeth is barely ever anything else other than a plot device (when relating to Luke) or a love interest (when relating to Percy). This might be because the books are on Percy's POV. Hell, on the third book he's even conflicted when Annabeth is considering joining the Hunters of Artemis, aka, when making a choice for herself would mean he loses her (which is fine and dandy but it feels like Percy is more upset about her choosing her own path rather than being sad about not seeing her as often); we really only get a few glimpses of her, as in, actually her when she's on her own.

Obviously it's impossible to talk about Annabeth without touching on percabeth, which also is, in my opinion, what hinders Annabeth's character the most. On paper they sound great. The guy whose fatal flaw is loyalty falls in love with a girl whose been let down by people over and over, and she decides to never give up on the boy whose always had people give up on him (can't find one of the million posts that talks about this right now but it always goes something like that) And yeah, the bickering is really well written! But that's literally as far as it ever goes: they don't ever seem to have fun together, because 8 times out of 10 the bickering ends up being passive aggressive, and mostly done by Annabeth. My biggest gripe about percabeth is that their friendship seems to be based off... shared trauma. Literally. Other than going on quests together we are given no examples of them hanging out, nor a reason why they would want to spend time together in the first place, not even a shared hobby. Yes, in the fourth book they had a movie "date" planned but of course they didn't even get to it, and surprise surprise, they had a minor discussion, and surprise surprise, Annabeth was passive aggressive again. It's hard to picture them having fun together when even the author doesn't write in any scenes in which they get along smoothly (and before you say anything, a scene in which they get along where neither of them is about to die, and they're not talking about previous adventures. Gets a bit hard then, doesn't it?) It's even harder to picture them as a couple when the moment she gets upset about something, she starts coming off as emotionally manipulative (see, again, literally any conversation with Rachel or about Rachel)

To be fair, the books are relatively short and don't allow many "filler" chapters, if you will; there's always something happening to keep the main plot or a minor plot point moving forward, but it's not like there is no room to develop the characters' relationships, especially when we're talking about the main char and what is essentially his endgame. As an example we have Percy and Clarisse, or Percy and Beckendorf. Their interactions are brief but still hold so much weight.

Worst of all, Annabeth could be one hell of a character; what's most interesting of all is how being a daughter of Athena she is still incredibly emotionally driven, which is displayed very clearly with her fatal flaw being pride: her telling the Sphynx that her questions were too easy was not smart nor strategic: it was completely impulsive. I seriously think she wasn't far from being the best character in the series had she been given more time.

I guess i have as much beef with Annabeth as i have with Rick for doing her dirty. I really could sum this up with: while her emotions are justified, she acts upon them quite poorly. And this is what i mean when i say she's underdeveloped, because it would've been nice to see her come to her senses a bit.

Would love to read anyone's opinions on her character though, feel free to comment, even (or especially) if you don't agree with me!

#pjo crit #anti percabeth #annabeth chase #percy jackson #tbotl #pjo tlo #the last olympian #percy jackson and the olympians #congrats anon on being my first ask!!!#sorry if it's too long or rambly i just have so many thoughts about her.#i dont hate her i dont even dislike her im just conflicted about her. sad that half of her conflict was being jealous over a boy #like yeah i guess said boy was the first real friend she ever had but also rick wrote it in a very “girls fighting over boy” kind of way #didn't really write it to make it seem like annabeth's reasons were anything more than just a hormonal teen acting out. there were no layer #sometimes i feel like im being unfair to annabeth and that maybe her being emotional and mean sometimes is her character and #she's actually written well and i just don't like her? but then i think over it and im not ready to give rick that kind of credit lmao #i truly believe he wrote her beef with rachel to entertain middle graders without really thinking twice about it #annabeth adds to the drama with her passive aggressive comments but at what cost.... maybe im reading too much into it idk #maybe i just find boy drama annoying..#but making it so that rachel is bound to maidenhood was such a lazy way to get rid of her as a romantic interest #the way rick butchered her character and any char dev for any of them in the tv show by rushing so many things... god. that's another story #if there are any typos i'll edit them later but my eyes are dry af right now and its late jdsjdfh anyway i hope my takes were interesting?#maybe i don't have that much beef with annabeth herself but the fact that percabeth is seen as the best endgame couple when i don't see it

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