#coma inducing for me i guess

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 6 Buried Truths

Summary: When the past can only be contained for so long, Joel is there to pick up the pieces. Rating: 18+ MDNI Explicit Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, mentions of a hospital setting, mentions of injury, mentions of past trauma, a FUCK ton of angst, little sprinkle of smut, another cliffhanger (don't worry, i won't make you wait long) A/N: This is the part where you all collectively say OH...

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s hand remained wrapped around yours as you stared blankly out the plane window. Everything had been a blur the last twenty-four hours. After you got off the call with Beth, you ran through calling the school to find a substitute, packed what you could into a small carry-on bag, and went online to book the first ticket out to Boston. You tried to talk Joel into staying back in Austin; he had work and Sarah to care for, but he was adamant about coming. He made a quick call to Tommy to make a plan for Sarah and contacted his work to find coverage for the rest of the week. He was only apart from you when he rushed home to pack his travel bag. Then you were both off to the airport: you bleary-eyed and Joel more stoic than you could ever recall seeing. He hadn’t said much between security and the flight gate, but you were too exhausted to try and force conversation. 

“Hey,” Joel said, nudging you. “How you feelin’, baby?”

You glanced at him and shrugged, the tears from earlier still drying on your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I guess.”

His fingers squeezed around yours before he brought your hand to his mouth to kiss it softly.

“He’s gonna be alright,” he assured. “Beth said he’s recovering now, right? It’s just gonna take some time.”

While you and Joel were waiting at the gate, you called Beth again to find out what happened with your dad. She explained he had been up on the ladder fixing the roofing above the patio when his foot caught in one of the steps, ultimately forcing him to fall ten feet to the ground. He had a broken hip, a fracture in his lower spine, and a severe concussion—leaving him in a temporary medically induced coma. Beth had said he was lucky to be alive, but the anxiety still bubbled inside you in fear of what he would endure through his recovery. The thought of his injury only elevated the already strong emotions connecting you to the past, making it nearly impossible to cope with your dad’s accident while you simultaneously still struggled with your own.

The plane made a rocky touch-down in Boston well after midnight, the autumn rain causing the plane to slide against the tarmac before coming to a jarring stop. You and Joel rushed around the other passengers, filing out of the plane and sprinting through the airport to find Beth. You singled her out of the crowd, her face rosy and hair piled onto her head in a messy bun. The second she had your arms around you, you crumpled to the ground as the sobs broke out of your chest. 

“It’s okay, sis,” she said, her voice breaking. “He’s stable. It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if—what if he’s not?” You sobbed. 

You clutched onto her sweater, your head buried into her shoulders. She hushed you, her hand rubbing into your back.

“The doctors said he’ll make a full recovery. We just need to wait,” she said. 

“Is there any…” Your voice broke once more.

“No,” she whispered. “There’s no serious damage to his brain.”

You choked on your breath, relief swimming through your veins. This wouldn’t be like your accident; he would be okay. 

“C’mon,” she urged, pulling you to your feet. 

You wiped your nose across your sleeve, sheepishly turning to Joel. Gesturing from him to Beth, you gave a weak smile.

“Joel, this is Beth. Beth, this is Joel.”

Joel and Beth stood motionless, staring awkwardly at each other. You glanced between them, your eyebrows furrowing. Why weren’t they saying anything? 

Finally, Joel cleared his throat and extended his hand to Beth. 

“Nice to meet you, Beth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Beth took his hand cautiously, giving him a friendly smile.

“Same here.”

You’d revisit this awkward interaction later, but you needed to go home. 

“Is mom home?” You asked Beth. 

You reached for your bag, but Joel gently nudged your hand away. He took it into his hand and walked to the parking garage behind you and your sister.

“Her and Stella are at the hospital,” she explained.

You stopped in your tracks, sending Joel staggering into your back with a soft oof.

“Sorry,” you muttered to Joel. You turned back to Beth. “Take me home.”

“No,” she said sternly. “They want you there. You need to be there.”

“Beth,” you started.

She lifted a hand to silence you, glancing over your shoulder at Joel.

“Can you jump in the car real quick? I need to talk to my sister alone.”

Beth tossed her keys to Joel, waiting until the back door shut before she glared at you. 

“Does he know?” She questioned.

“Of course, he doesn’t know,” you argued. 

She scoffed, folding her arms.

“Considering everything going on, you didn’t think to mention it to him?”

“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy getting my ass out here as fast as possible. It didn’t register in my mind to share the sad details of my accident with him.”

“You need to tell him, sis.”

“This isn’t the fucking time to do it!” You snapped. 

Beth rolled her eyes, her lips pursed for another attack.

“It’s going to come out sooner or later. You know that, right? He’s not going to run away if you tell him.”

“Bennett did, so why is he any different?”

“Stop comparing him to Bennett!” She yelled. “He’s nothing like him, and if you seriously think that, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” you mumbled.

“What? The truth? Because the truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.”

“Fuck you,” you spat. 

Beth laughed. She actually laughed. Rounding the car, she left you standing teary-eyed and frustrated. 

“Get in the fucking car,” she shouted. “We’re wasting time.”

You hauled yourself into the front seat, keeping your eyes out of the window and avoiding the heavy truth sitting between you, Beth, and Joel. If any one of them told him about your past, you’d kill them. It was yours to share whenever you were ready. 

Beth drove like a bat out of hell to Mass General. No one said anything the entire drive, and you were grateful for it. After the blowup between you and Beth, you had no more energy left to fight. You just hoped you’d be able to reel in the anger with Joel; he didn’t deserve it. 

Mass General loomed above the rain clouds settling over the city. Joel and Beth had already exited the car while you sat inside its warmth, your eyes stuck on the Emergency sign at the front of the hospital. Joel tapped on the window, stirring you from the numbing sensation rolling through your body. You didn’t even flinch at the sound of his knuckles on the glass. Joel cracked the door open, pulling it wide enough to fit his broad between the metal and your shaking body.

“C’mon baby,” he urged, offering his hand. “I know y’can do this. I’m right here with you, okay?”

“I can’t,” you whined. 

Joel crouched slightly, leveling you with soft brown eyes, a curl drifting over his forehead. You wished you were both in bed, curled under the covers and far away from Boston. You wanted his soft hair between your fingers and his stubble ticking your skin. But no, you were here in Boston, with a rain cloud hanging in the sky and your father unconscious in a hospital bed. 

“Look at me,” Joel breathed.

You wanted to look anywhere but at him. If he looked at you any longer, you’d shatter completely. He cautioned your name, coaxing you from your hesitation. His strong hands cupped your cheeks, holding you firm as he kept your focus on his eyes.

“I’m right here,” he repeated. “Ain’t gonna leave your side no matter what. Y’understand? Whatever happens, I’m right here.”

You chewed on your lip to keep the sobs from escaping. It was surprising you had anything left to cry; all you did was cry… and cry… and cry. 

“I can’t go in there, Joel. You don’t—you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand,” he pleaded.

“Go without me. I’ll wait outside, okay?”

“Baby,” he groaned. “Beth will have my ass if I don’t get you inside.”

You scoffed, ripping his hands from your face. 

“You speak a few words to her and suddenly know how she’s gonna react?” You glared. “You both acted so fucking weird in the airport and now you’re taking her side?”

Joel straightened to his full height, the shadow of his body blanketing you. You were pushing him away; you knew it, and so did he. You just needed to nudge him a bit more, and he’d run. You’d be alone again and spare yourself the humiliation and heartbreak.

“I ain’t takin’ sides,” he argued. “I’m bein’ realistic. I saw the way she went at you back there. I’m not ‘bout to get the same treatment for leavin’ you behind.”

“Just go!” You yelled. You shoved at his chest, forcing him back into the door. 

He didn’t respond in anger like you expected. He did the opposite, pulling you towards him and into a desperate kiss. You tried to push him off—tried to fight it— but he only held you tighter.

“Keep fightin’ me, baby,” he said against your mouth. “I’m only gonna fight back.”

“I hate you,” you cried. “I hate you.”

But you didn’t stop kissing him. You gripped the wild curls at the base of his neck, pinning him to your lips as you sobbed through every slant of his mouth. 

“Why won’t you leave?” You cried, the words muffled as his tongue searched for yours. “Why, Joel?”

“I ain’t leavin’ you again, baby,” he murmured. “I can’t.”

Joel pulled away from your swollen lips, tears pooling in his eyes. You instantly felt remorse for treating him so badly. You wouldn’t do to him what Bennett did to you. 

“Remember when I said this was real?” he asked. “Do you still believe that?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears ran down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Then trust me when I say I’m never leavin’. Not now. Not ever.”

You inhaled a sharp breath and buried your head in your hands. 

“Just give me a minute, okay?” You exhaled. “Catch up with Beth, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, echoing the words you spoke only a few weeks ago. 

“You and your deals,” you grumbled, peeking out your fingers.

That garnered a slight grin from Joel, his lips curling upward.

“Take your breather, and I’ll wait by the back of the car. If y’wanna go in, we can go in together.”

You remained silent, hiccuping over another sob. Joel raised his brow, waiting for a response. Avoiding his eyes, you nodded, the Emergency sign taunting you from a distance. Joel leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead and abandoned you to retreat toward the back of the car. 

You steadied your breathing, focusing on the slow inhale and exhale of the air within your lungs. It wasn’t you in that hospital bed; it was your dad. He didn’t sustain the same damage you had, and that’s all that mattered. Whatever the outcome, he was better off than you had ever been, and you needed to be grateful for it. 

You let your legs move on their own accord as you took your spot beside Joel, his hand instantly grasping around yours. His touch grounded you in the moment, keeping you centered as your mind swam upstream through the rocky waves of the past. You had to stay strong. You had to prove you could do this.

The second your feet crossed through the sliding doors, all that strength collapsed. Joel hooked a strong arm around your back, bracing you to his side as he guided you into the waiting room. Your mom and Beth sat side by side in the worn-down seats, their faces grim and tired. 

“Hey,” you said wearily. 

Your mom's eyes snapped up, and she broke down at seeing you. She ran up to yank you from Joel’s grasp, smothering you into a tight hug. 

“Oh, honey,” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How’s dad?” You asked, speaking into her hair that wrapped around your face.

“Doctors haven’t given much of an update, but he’s alright. They’re taking him in for surgery in a few hours to help reset his hip.”

“And his head?” You faltered.

“There’s no serious damage,” she whispered.

You peered over her shoulder to where Beth sat, eyes meeting in a quiet understanding. There was still a tension running thick between you both, but those words from your mom were enough to soothe the surmounting anxiety inside you.

“Mom,” you sighed, tearing away from her embrace. “This is Joel.”

You motioned to Joel behind you, an eerie repeat of what had happened between him and Beth. Your mom stood frozen, her eyes widening as she stared at him. Joel cracked a welcoming smile, extending his hand out to her. No one moved, and his hand remained wavering in the stagnant air. 

“Mom?” You pressed.

She shook her head and opened her arms to Joel, inviting him in for a hug. It was strange but not entirely unexpected, considering the circumstances. 

“Hi, honey,” she said as she rocked Joel back and forth in the embrace. 

“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” Joel replied. You caught on to the way his biceps flexed around her, squeezing her just as tightly as he would with you. He was comforting her, and something softened inside you. 

Beth cleared her throat behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your mom released Joel and turned towards Beth.

“She should go up and see him,” Beth told your mom.

“She is right here,” you snapped.

“Oh, now she wants to listen to me,” Beth snorted.

“Both of you!” Your mom shouted. “Enough!”

You shrunk away, folding yourself into Joel’s warm frame. The press of his body against yours quelled the anger rising back up, and you kept focus on his hands rubbing over your arms to keep from lashing out. Beth was pushing, and you knew exactly why.

“Listen, Beth, stay here and chill out,” your mom started. She glanced back at you and Joel before continuing. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll take you to see him.”

You followed your mom up to the ICU, your eyes shifting from one room to another. The repetition of machines beeping and murmurs of nurses through the hall slammed into your head like a hammer, and you found yourself clinging to Joel, twisting his cotton shirt until it stretched between your fingers. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel crooned. “I got you. Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

Mom guided you to the room where Stella was perched on a chair beside the bed. You averted your eyes from your dad, refusing to look. Stella turned to see you walk in and immediately sprinted into your arms, sobbing into your chest.

“I know. I know,” you cried.

“I was so scared it was going to happen again, sis,” she muttered. 

“They said he was okay, right? It’s not going to happen to him,” you assured. 

“But what if it does? What if he wakes up and doesn’t remember—.”

“Don’t,” you interjected. “Don’t say it.”

She peeled herself from you and wiped away her tears. Joel stepped forward, his hand pressed to your lower back, as he made his way to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he smiled, extending his hand.

Stella flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. Your mom watched them with a knowing look, something you couldn’t discern. 

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she sighed. 

Weird. You only really talked to Beth about Joel and didn’t expect her to share it with anyone except your mom. 

Joel rubbed her shoulders gently, then pulled away. 

“Likewise, Stell.”

Stell. You didn’t recall calling her that in front of Joel; that nickname was reserved for you and only you. Your head was pounding, and the nagging feeling that you were losing grip on reality was slowly settling in. You worked so hard to remember everything; it wouldn’t happen again. Not now. 

“You okay, sweetie?” Your mom cautioned, stepping beside you.

Her voice roused you from your confusion, and you made the mistake of looking at your dad for the first time. He looked so much smaller, lying in the hospital bed: a breathing tube situated under his nose and IVs running through the bend of his arm. Oh God, and his face. Both of his eyes were rimmed in dark bruises, and a thick layer of bandages was wrapped over his forehead. Was that how you looked all those years ago? Your stomach churned with nausea the longer you looked at him. The whirring of the machines in the room dizzied you, and you felt your body swaying in place. Joel quickly steadied you, his arms coming around your front to lock you into a tight hold. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmured into your ear. 

“Do you want to be alone with him, sweetie?” Your mom asked.

“Please,” you said, nodding. 

Joel kissed the crown of your head before following your mom and Stella out into the hall. You glanced over your shoulder to see them all huddled together, the cracked blinds inside the room obstructing your view of what they were saying. You’d ask Joel about it later.

Turning back to your dad, you let the real tears fall. The ugly, gut-wrenching ones you had held back for so long. Tears that weren’t just for him, but for you as well. No one in your family knew the fear and pain that came with a head injury. No one could understand you—not even Bennett, despite everything he tried to say and do. You were alone in its entirety, but you’d be damned if your dad dealt with the same. 

Cradling his hand in yours, you drew circles over his calloused skin with your thumb. You didn’t have words to express your pain, so you sat in silence. The constant repetition of machinery beeping throbbed through the recesses of your brain, a migraine looming on the horizon. You’d suffer with it later, but it would be worth it just to stay in this moment a few seconds longer.

“I love you, dad,” you whispered. 

You didn’t know if he could hear you, but you hoped he did. 

You remained silent for a few more minutes and glanced at the clock above the bed. 3: 13 AM. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had drained away, and the fatigue in your body was settling in rapidly. You wanted to lie down and wake up when everything was better, but it all came with time. And you hated that. You hated time and things it had stolen from you.

A light rap on the door startled you from your silent cocoon, and you turned to see Joel peeking in through the window. You motioned him to come in, and he bent beside the bed, his hand resting on your thigh.

“How ya’ doin’, baby?” He asked softly.

“I’m tired,” you lamented.

He smoothed his hand over your legs, the warmth of his touch radiating through your body. You leaned into his touch, letting your head rest on his.

“I’m gonna ask Beth if we can take the car and go home,” you said. “I can’t be here anymore, and I need sleep.”

“We can do that. Your mom said they’re gonna take him for surgery in a few, anyway. No point stickin’ around if we’d just be waitin’.”

“When he’s out of surgery, they can call me, and we can come back.”

“Sounds like a plan, baby. Let’s get you home.”

Joel offered to drive Beth’s car back to the house. You sat beside him, your head propped in your hand, watching as he drove through the city streets. Even cast in the late night sky, he was so handsome. The rich tan color of his skin seemed to be illuminated by the moonlight glinting through the windshield, his brown eyes softer than you’d ever seen. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his lips, but he still looked so kind and so loving. Joel glanced over at you as the car slowed in front of the red light. 

“What’s that look for?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m just really thankful you’re here,” you exhaled. “I’m sorry you had to see me so angry earlier. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.”

Joel leaned over the dash to pull you in for a soft, fleeting kiss.

“There’s a lot happenin’ right now, baby. Be angry all y’want. I can take it,” he said.

You chewed on your lip and nodded, turning your attention back to the street as the light turned green. Joel drove in silence the rest of the way to your parent's house, guiding him quietly with directions every few turns. Even though it had only been a few weeks since you were last home, the streets were scattered with yellow and orange leaves, autumn settling over the neighborhood. The car's tires flattened over them as Joel slowed to the front of the house and killed the engine. 

“This where y’grew up?” Joel asked, tilting his head toward the house.

You nodded, but your eyes were glued to the porch. The ladder was still lying on the ground; the metal pressed into the cold grass of the front lawn. Joel must’ve picked up on your fixation and sighed. 

“I’ll go pick it up, baby. Why don’t you grab your bag and head in, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” But your eyes didn’t stray from the ladder.

You watched Joel reach the ladder, his body a beacon under the moonlight. His tall figure moved against the cover of the night sky, working quickly to move it off to the side of the house. You took an extra moment to collect yourself before gathering your bags and meeting him on the porch. Joel took them immediately from your hands as you guided him into the house. You’d give him a tour of it tomorrow; you just wanted to curl under the covers of your bed and waste away. 

When you opened the door to your bedroom, Joel gave a low whistle, glancing around at the artifacts of your childhood. Miscellaneous pictures of you and your sisters hung on the walls, along with a collection of CDs stacked on the floor in one corner and a reading nook built into the windowsill. The dated white armoire was nestled against the wall beside your vanity, and the large queen bed sat untouched and nicely made with its white comforter and grey pillows. 

“Nice lil’ room y’got here, baby,” Joel chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” you shrugged.

You dumped your bag on the ground, collapsing backward until your back hit the bed with a soft thud. Joel followed your lead, and you both lay there silently, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in circles. It was tempting just to succumb to sleep right in that moment, but you knew you needed a shower to wash off the lingering stress of the day. 

“Come shower with me?” You asked, glancing over at Joel.

“Of course.”

The heat of the shower pelted your skin as Joel rubbed a loufa into your back muscles, working out the knots that had materialized through the long day. You basked in the warmth of his body pressed into yours, your head falling back against his muscular chest and eyes drifting shut. His tender touch helped alleviate the pressure building in your head, and you prayed that the migraine would subside soon enough. 

“Doin’ okay, baby?” He asked, his mouth pressing into the side of your neck.

You hummed at his lips on your skin, bringing your arm up to wrap around the back of his neck. His fingers drifted over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips softly before trailing between your legs.

“Can I?” 

“Mhmm,” you sighed, shifting your body slightly so that he could explore further.

His hand dipped between your legs, your arousal already pooling at your entrance. He was slow with his touch, each graze of his fingers over your sensitive bud eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Joel’s mouth roamed over the expanse of your neck as he continued to draw circles over your throbbing clit. Your fingers tugged at his wet curls, urging him closer. The blood coursing through your veins thrummed with pleasure as he teased the build-up of your release. 

“You’re beautiful, baby. Y’know that?” He whispered in your ear.

Maybe it was the gentle touch of his fingers or his words swimming through your mind, but your climax shattered you into pieces in record time. Your thighs clenched tight around his hand as you let out a soft cry. 

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Let go, baby.”

You slumped against his body, your heart settling back into a normal rhythm. Joel held you close, wrapping his arms around your front and swaying you under the spray of the water. Your eyes grew heavy the longer you remained in his embrace, so you decided to cut the water and drag him out and into bed. 

Under the security of your comforter, you clung to Joel and buried your head into the crook of his arm. He traced circles over your bare arm, letting you lay quietly against him. The familiar pressure of a migraine began forming in your mind, the pounding ache settling behind your eyes. You squeezed your eyes tighter, curling yourself up into his body in hopes it would fade away as you slept. 

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked, noticing the tension paralyzing your muscles.

“Migraine,” you choked out. 

“What do y’need? I can go get it.”

“No, I’m fine,” you lied. “Just stay here. Please.”

“These happen often?”

“Not in a while.” You couldn’t find the strength to form complete sentences, so the words came out choppy and pained.

“Will sleep help?” 

“I hope,” you muttered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Joel’s arms tightened around your body, anchoring you to his side as he hummed softly into your hair. Pain pulsated through your head as you forced yourself to fall asleep, your limbs shaking as they wrapped around his torso. 

All you wanted was for the pain to go away. 

A few hours later, the morning light dancing through the window stirred you awake. The residual aching pain in your head still lingered, but it was far more manageable than it had been before you fell asleep. Joel snored softly beside you, and you took the chance to watch him as he slept peacefully beside you. The creases in his skin were softened in his slumber, his face relaxed and calm. His lips were parted slightly, the bottom one plush and pouty and tempting to kiss. You nestled into his body, your mouth roaming over his scruffy jaw and eventually reaching his lips. The strange urge to say I love you nearly tumbled out of your mouth as you kissed him, but you swallowed it and saved it away. It was the first time you thought those three little words in the space with someone other than Bennett. Knowing Joel was digging closer to your heart, breaking down every barrier and wall, it was still frightening. But if this sudden trip had taught you anything, he was right; this was real. You weren’t ready to confess those words, but in time you would. 

Just not now. 

Joel roused himself from sleep, groaning softly as he pulled you in for a gentle kiss. 

“Mornin’, baby. How’s your head feelin’?”

“Better,” you sighed. 

“Ready to go back to the hospital?”

You groaned, shoving your head under the comforter. 

“I hate it there.”

He squeezed your side, urging you back up to the surface. Your eyes connected with his, the morning light coloring his eyes a rich shade of amber. Flecks of gold scattered through his irises, blending into the rich chocolate brown you were drawn to. 

“Why do y’hate it so much?” He wondered.

“I—I just don’t have good memories of it.”

“Y’wanna talk to me ‘bout it?”

You rolled onto your back, closing your eyes as the memories waded through the headache still swimming in your head. 

“Bennett, there’s a chance this could actually work,” you begged. 

“I’m not risking it. What if it doesn’t work and things get worse?” He argued. “Isn’t it easier to just move forward?”

You rubbed circles into your temples, trying to soften the onset migraine surging to the surface. All this arguing was making you nauseous and tired. Why wouldn’t Bennett be on your side about this? Why wasn’t he agreeing with you?

“I want to remember,” you lamented. “I want those two years back.”

“The doctors said it’ll take time. Why isn’t that enough?” Bennett sighed, crouching down to meet you at eye level. 

“You don’t understand, Bennett.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped. 

It was the first time you’d experienced his anger in such a way. He wasn’t taking your side, and he wasn’t even listening to your requests. You could only nod and cave to his arguments; he was the one holding the power now. You had to trust him. 

Situating yourself against the headboard, you inhaled sharply and glanced at Joel. 

“I might as well tell you since everyone is on my case about it,” you groaned. 

“Only if you wanna, baby. I ain’t gonna force you,” Joel sighed, looking up at you.

Giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts, you dove into the story.

“I was in an accident when I was twenty-two, or I guess twenty-four. The last thing I remember was being twenty-two and just moving to Austin with Bennett. We had just moved into our apartment, and I was about to start substitute teaching while finishing my Master's degree. Everything was great. Then, I got in an accident on the way home from school, and the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital. 

“I guess in the crash, my head hit the dashboard hard enough to cause serious damage to my brain. They—the doctors, told me I had sustained enough trauma to cause retrograde amnesia. I woke up thinking I was still twenty-two, Joel. I lost two years of my life. I couldn’t remember a single thing.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whispered, propping himself on his elbows. 

“Bennett tried to fill me in on pieces of it, but trying to remember did more damage than anything,” you continued. “I had migraines all the time. I could barely function for the first couple of months, and that’s when my parents talked me into coming back here. To Mass General. They ran so many tests on me and tried to find solutions, but there was no hope. Bennett was adamant about not causing any more damage to my brain, so I just gave up,” you explained. 

“You gave up tryin’ to remember?” He asked, pulling himself up to sit beside you. There was a deep furrow between his brows and a noticeable shift in his body language. Everything was tense, from his jaw to how his fists clenched together. 

“Yeah. I trusted Bennett with the memories I no longer had and knew he would take care of me. Or at least, I hoped he would. The doctors suggested I stay in Boston to go through psychotherapy to help try and piece together those memories, but Bennett was against it. It caused a huge riff in my family since they wanted me to stay and get help.”

“He kept you from rememberin’ things,” Joel frowned.

You nodded, digging your knuckles into your eyes to try and push away the pressure building behind them again. 

“We were here for almost two months, just constantly going in and out of the hospital. I’d have these debilitating migraines that would lead to fainting spells, so I was always back at the emergency room for more testing. The outcome was always the same, though. I felt so defeated every time like it was my fault,” you confessed. 

Joel laid a hand on your thigh, smoothing over your skin as you tried to drag in a lungful of air. 

“It ain’t your fault though, baby,” he assured.

“I should have advocated for myself more. I just did whatever Bennett said because he knew things I couldn’t remember. He even proposed here. He made this big, long speech about how he never wanted to face the fear of losing me again, and I went with it because I loved him. I loved him enough to do whatever he said because I owed it to him.”

“You were tryna heal from everythin’,” he offered, trying to make sense of it all. “It’s not your fault for what happened after.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“But it is,” you argued. “It’s my fault Bennett left. If I thought our fights before the crash were bad… It only got worse. We moved out of our apartment and got this big house. We decided to speed through our engagement for the sake of my fucking memory. All the while, Bennett just started to get angrier and angrier. I was trying so hard to remember things, and he just started to remember less. He was always fighting with me over every little thing. He barely touched me or looked at me. For fuck sake, he wouldn’t even sleep in the same bed as me! It’s like he didn’t want me to have those memories back, and I just—I don’t understand why.”

Joel pulled your head into his hands, his eyes darkening as he stared at you. His thumbs rubbed over your cheekbones in an attempt to calm your rambling. You wanted to flinch away from his touch, but he only held you tighter.

“None of this is your fault,” he emphasized. 

“It is, though,” you sniffled. The tears were ready to slip at any moment. “He wanted the girl I was before the crash, and I was so hell-bent on trying to fix my memory that I stopped being that version of myself. I couldn’t be what he wanted, so he left. I wasn’t enough, Joel. I couldn’t fight for him to stay because he didn’t want me. I—I’m so fucked up, Joel.”

Joel’s nostrils flared, a wash of anger clouding his eyes. But you knew it wasn’t anger toward you. It was toward Bennett.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “You’re not fucked up. Bennett was an asshole, and I swear I’d kill him if I could.”

“That’s not funny,” you deadpanned. 

“It wasn’t meant to be funny, baby. I’m serious. Ain’t no way y’went through hell and back for him to do that to you. Y’didn’t get the time to heal because you were so focused on tryin’ to make him happy, and he didn’t deserve you. You know that, right? None of this is your fault.”

You shrugged off his hands and scooted out of the warmth of the bed. Digging through your bag, you pulled out a change of clothes, carelessly throwing an outfit together while Joel sat motionless on the bed. 

“Baby,” Joel pleaded. “Stop for a minute, ‘kay? Are you listenin’ to me?”

He threw back the covers and strode to where you stood, your arms halfway into a sweater. He helped tug it the rest of the way, settling it over your body before reeling you in for a long kiss. It was his weapon for shutting you up, and he was really fucking good at using it. You dragged yourself away from his mouth, staggering back until there was enough distance between you and him. 

“I should have fucking listened to everyone,” you heaved. “I should have fucking stayed in Boston, but I wanted to prove I could do it. I wanted to prove I could continue living with this fucked up part of myself.”

Joel cautioned your name, and you took another step back.

“Look at me, Joel!” You laughed. “I’m fucked up! I still can’t remember a damn fucking thing, and being here is only a brutal reminder of that. I lost so much of myself because of that accident. And I swear to God, if I lose my dad, too. I—I can’t…”

Your knees hit the ground before it even registered in your mind. Joel was quick to drop to the floor in front of you, pulling you into his lap as the sobs wracked through your body. You rocked yourself back and forth as Joel’s arms wound into a vice around your chest. He hushed you softly as you audibly cried loud enough to echo around the room. 

“You aren’t gonna lose him,” Joel whispered in your ear. 

“What if—.” You choked on another cry.

“Breathe with me, baby. Just breathe. C’mon.”

Joel inhaled loudly, coaxing you to do the same. You followed his lead, exhaling when he instructed to. You both repeated it a few more times until you felt the surge of emotions slow. 

“That’s it, baby,” he sighed. “I’m right here with you. Everythin’ is gonna be okay.”

You burrowed your head into his chest, your tears dampening his bare chest. How was he not running away from you? You laid all your damaged pieces out, and he still had his arms around you. You didn’t deserve it. You couldn’t make sense of it.

“What do y’say we get back to the hospital?” Joel offered after a moment. “We can check in and see how the surgery went. It’ll give you some peace of mind.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced. 

Joel helped you to your feet, and you both finished changing in silence. You grabbed your purse and followed Joel to the car, and you both returned to Mass General. 

“He’s fine, honey,” your mom said, giving you a weak smile.

You were all crowded in the hospital room surrounding your dad as he lay unconscious on the bed. 

“The doctors say he’s going to make a full recovery,” she continued. “They’re going to slow the sedative down, and hopefully, he’ll be waking up in the next day or so.”

Beth and Stella stood close together, Stella’s head resting on Beth’s shoulder. Their expressions were painted with relief, and you felt your muscles loosen at the news.

“So, we just wait?” You asked. 

“We will wait,” your mom corrected. “You and Joel should go back to Austin. There’s no point sticking around now that we know he’s alright.”

You turned to stare at her, your lips twisting into a scowl.

“I am not leaving until he wakes up,” you argued. 

“We’ll call right when he wakes up,” she offered. “I know being here is hard for you, honey. And you’ve got a job that needs you.”

“Mom!” You shouted. It was loud enough to startle everyone. “I’m not leaving.”

“She’s right, baby,” Joel chimed in. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“I want to stay.”

“Look, let’s make a deal. We stay another day and then go home, okay?”

You glanced between everyone in the room, finally settling your eyes on your dad, still unconscious in the bed. Everyone was right, but you didn’t want to leave yet. You weren’t ready. Even if being here felt like hell. 

“One more day,” you agreed.

You remained at the hospital most of the day, shifting between the waiting room and your dad’s room. Everyone took turns visiting him and meeting with doctors, and Joel stayed at your side every minute. Stella took a liking to him most out of everyone, spending a good majority of the time talking his ear off about Sarah. Seeing Joel engage with her as he did was endearing as if they knew each other and were old friends catching up. He treated everyone in your family so kindly that it was hard to continue shoving down those three little words. You wanted to say them more than ever…but weren’t sure when you’d feel ready. 

Eventually, the day faded into night, and your mom urged everyone to go home while she insisted on staying. You didn’t know when she had slept last, but she was adamant about staying with your dad. Beth drove you all home, humming some song that floated through the radio. As the house came into view, she dialed down the volume and turned toward the backseat. 

“Joel, Stella, will you guys head in while I talk to sis?” Beth asked as she parked the car.

You gave her a confused stare as they filed out and walked up the driveway toward the house. 

“Did you tell him?” She asked, turning to look at you.

Her eyes were dark with heavy circles, and her lips stuck in a straight line.

“I did,” you nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He just sympathized with me. There’s not much else to say,” you shrugged. 

“That’s it?” She pressed, her brows scrunching together.

You scoffed, glancing out the side window. 

“What did you want him to say, Beth? There isn’t much to say when you tell someone your memory is all fucked up.”

“I just figured he’d say more,” she offered.

“Like what?” You snapped. “Nothing he says is going to magically make it better.”

“I know, I know. I just thought he’d say more.”

You stared at her, the tiredness creeping into your bones. You didn’t want to argue anymore, not about this or anything.

“Can we just go in? I’m tired,” you said.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Beth and Stella offered to make dinner that night, all four of you quietly eating in heavy silence as the evening drifted later. Once dinner was all said and done, you and Joel retired to your room, curling up under the covers once again. You tangled your legs between his and kissed up his chest and under his jaw.

“Baby,” he warned. “The girls are right down the hall. Don’t be doin’ that.”

“Why?” You questioned, continuing the path up his cheek and to his lips.

Joel captured your mouth in a hungry kiss, his hands tangling in your hair. You moaned softly as the kiss depended, his hands roaming over your body.

“I want you, Joel,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Baby, we can’t,” he groaned. But he didn’t stop kissing you.

He rolled his body over yours, pinning you to the bed as his hand slid under your pajama bottoms. You bucked into his hand, searching for a fleeting touch to quell the ache growing between your thighs. Joel responded to your desperation, slipping a finger between your slick folds. 

“I’ll be quiet,” you promised. “Just keep kissing me.”

Joel relented to your pleas, locking his mouth with yours again. He added another finger, plunging them inside you as you cried out at the pressure. His teeth quickly bit down on your bottom lip, a silent demand to keep your voice down.

“Sorry,” you exhaled.

“Be good for me, baby,” he whispered. 

His fingers abandoned you, but it was barely a moment of loss before he sank his cock into you. You used all your strength to hold back a groan of relief as the slight sting of your body stretching to him faded into bliss. Joel kept his hands tangled in your hair as he rocked into you, your bodies moving in unison as he drove himself deeper with each thrust. 

“Joel…” You whimpered against his mouth.

“Stay quiet, baby.”

His mouth roamed down the column of your throat, sucking gently at your skin as he reached one arm down to hook around the back of your knee. The change in position only sent his cock deeper inside you, your core clenching around him with every drive of his hips. 

“It feels so good,” you panted, rolling your hips. “I’m so close, Joel. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he hummed. “Cum for me, baby.”

His hips snapped harder against you, and you bit back another cry of pleasure. Your body thrummed with the need for release, the waves crashing inside you growing stronger. Just a little more… a little more. Joel’s other hand snaked between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your clit. You arched into his touch and ground your nails into the skin of his biceps. 

“Joel,” you choked.

The orgasm exploded through you, fogging your vision as your core pulsated around his cock. Joel let out a strangled groan and tumbled over the edge with you, his release filling you only seconds later. 

Joel collapsed against your body, his cock slipping out of you as it softened. You welcomed the weight of him, letting his skin meld into yours. I love you. It was just a breath from escaping your lips, but you kept it shoved down. 

Another time, you told yourself. 

“Can I sleep like this?” Joel chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Whatever you want, handsome,” you giggled. 

He peered up at you, a grin curving over his face.

“There’s that word again,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up. You like it.”

“I really fuckin’ do.”

You bent your neck to kiss his forehead before settling back against the pillow. It was easier to sleep like this, knowing you’d have him in your arms when you woke up. It made everything inside you hurt less. 

After an extra day at the hospital, nothing new had progressed with your dad. Your mom assured you that she would call if she had any news of him waking up, so you and Joel said your goodbyes and made the trip back to Austin. 

Nothing had changed in Austin, not that you were expecting it to. Joel returned home after spending an extra few hours under your bed sheets with you, groaning about not wanting to leave. You urged him to go, knowing Sarah was probably missing him. That first night home alone was the hardest; the nightmares continued again now that you had no distractions. The migraine had returned at full throttle when you woke up the next morning, and you had to make an extra effort to pull yourself from bed and dress for work. Not a single cell in your body wanted to return to a classroom full of loud kids, but you had missed enough days and needed to make up for lost time. 

Maria was the first to drill you with questions as you arrived at the school. 

“Is everything okay? I asked around and only heard that it was a family emergency.”

You shuffled into your classroom, Maria hot on your heels. You could barely stand the stream of light coming through the windows, let alone the sound of her voice.

“My dad had an accident, that’s all,” you assured. “Everything is okay.”

“Oh, thank God he’s okay.” She flung her arms around you, giving you a suffocating hug.

You peeled away from her, steadying your body against the corner of your desk. 

“I’ll tell you more later, okay? I just need to prep for classes before the first bell.”

“I’ll check in on you later,” she announced before leaving. 

The day moved on slowly, and before you knew it, your final class was over. As the students filed out, you started gathering your things but noticed Sarah lingered behind.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” You asked as she approached your desk.

“Um, kinda?” She gave you a sheepish look. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

She shifted her weight between her legs, her hazel eyes on the floor.

“Are you dating my dad?”

Your breath stalled, and you were unsure of what to say or do. Was it appropriate to lie? You and Joel hadn’t discussed the possibility of her finding out much and now was definitely not the time.

“Why do you ask?” You were deflecting.

“I overheard him talking to my Uncle Tommy last night,” she explained. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, and blood rushed through your ears. God, what had they said? What did she hear?

“Go on,” you insisted, your voice unsteady. 

“My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.”

At that moment, her hazel eyes met yours, and everything came crashing down. You tripped over your words and found yourself gripping the desk.

“Miss Smith?” Sarah cautioned. 

“I’m sure your dad was talking about someone else,” you lied. “Why don’t you head home? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She looked at you with confusion written all over her face but eventually followed your request and left you in an empty room.

You sank into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew Joel’s feelings were there for you, but you didn’t want to hear it from Sarah. You wanted to hear it from him. Searching for your purse, you found your phone and dialed his number with shaking hands.

He answered immediately.

“Did y’hear from your mom?” He asked in a rush.

“No, it’s not that. Can you—” You steadied your breathing. “Can you just meet me at my house?”

“Of course, is everythin’ okay? You’re worryin’ me.”

“I’m fine, Joel. I’ll see you there in a few.”

You hung up before he could say anymore and be-lined for your car. You drove home on autopilot, the words jumbling together in your head. 

I think he’s already falling in love with you. 

My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.

Over and over again, Beth and Sarah’s voices played on a loop. You turned onto your street and blinked back tears. You weren’t ready to face this. What were you going to say? What would Joel say? What would—

You slammed on your brakes right before you got to your house. 

Joel’s truck wasn’t there. 

But Bennett’s car was.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #pre outbreak!joel #angst angst angst #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

[zvdvdlvr]

— Leaning to Live Again.

— 🪻. Synopsis. It’s been four and a half months since your fall. You’re starting physical therapy, and the team (and your husband) is there for you every step of the way- as Aaron gets started on filing a product liability lawsuit.

— 🪻. Warnings. Foul language. Frustrated reader. Female reader. Welder reader. Husband Spencer. Physical therapy. 1.6k fic. Mildly rushed ending. Not mych dialogue. I have no physical therapy experience, so I apologize for any incorrect terms/activities/phrases. Pet names.

— 🪻. Extra. Welder!Reader is getting a lot of love :))) Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

— 🪻. Other Welder!Reader fics. Lunch Break. Alive and Breathing.

You spent five weeks in the ICU, four of them in a medically induced coma. The doctor said that it was so you actually gave your body time to recover; the first few weeks after surgery was always the rockiest stage of any major injury.

Spencer spent every waking hour with you, if you were conscious or not. He read to you, had conversations with you, and told you anything that came to mind because he knows you love his voice. After three nights straight at the hospital, the nurses practically begged Spencer to go home, rest, recuperate, and get cleaned up. And Spencer admits, he felt a lot better after going back to your shared home.

When the doctors decided it was time to wake you up, Spencer was all but shoved out of the room. Something abour “not overwhelming her” or something. Spencer wasn’t listening anyway. After texting JJ, she told Spencer she’d let everyone know the news as they were currently in South Dakota catching a serial rapist and killer. And then Spencer resolved to pacing, reciting each song lyric you told Spencer reminded you of him. He repeated the few poems he had gotten you to read, voice softening as you read the words. And Spencer repeated the vows you and him had written for each other, remembering your face and your voice, the way you stood and how you smelled. He relived it as you were being pulled out of the darkness of your unconscious.

“Dr. Reid?” The nurse asked, pausing Spencer mid-step. He watched a few other nurses file out, and Spencer felt his heart beat a little faster in his chest.

“Yes?” He answered, breath held.

“Mrs. Reid is awake. You are more than welcome to go in there, but don’t put her on any additional stress.”

Spencer had barely said ‘thank you’ before he was hightailing it to the side of your bed. He felt the wind rush out of his lunge when he saw you blinking harshly, eyes trying to adjust to the light.

“Hey sweetheart,” Spencer whispered, tears trailing down his cheeks. He sat down and carefully took your callused hands in his.

You cleared your throat. “Hi,” you said finally, voice gravely from disuse. “You okay?”

A watery laugh bubbled out of Spencer. “You fall off a building and you ask me if okay. Baby, I love you so much.”

“Takes more than a fall to take me away from you, husband,” you murmured, letting your hand trace Spencer’s cheek. “But… how is everyone doing? I heard some of the things you guys said when I was… out, but I want to hear from you.”

The genius looked away, salty tears dampening his beautiful eyelashes. “Hotch is planning to prosecute the guys who made the safety harness that you wore because we all know you never would have worn something that was unsafe or had been recalled. We’ve just…” Spencer sniffled, turning his head to look back at you, “I guess we’ve just kept busy.”

You hummed. “How long will I be out of the showbusiness?”

Spencer looked at you, your eyes tired despite all the sleep you had been getting. He knew your world would shatter when he told you that you’d be in recovery for at least another year and a half. Your lipped twitched- an attempt to get the man you loved to smile. Yet again Spencer felt his heart crack: this was going to break you. “Doc says… about two years.”

The pointer finger still tracing Spencer’s face stilled. Your face blanked and Spencer felt the ari leave his lungs at how you looked at him. “What did you say?”

Spencer took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles as his tears fell onto your own and then slid down down down to the cold hospital floor. “Two years, baby.”

“Years. Tw-Two years,” you repeated in a whisper. “Two years.”

Spencer’s eyes shut. Your head fell back on the pillow, eyes boring holes into the ceiling as your own tears welled in your eyes.

“I know, baby, I know,” Spencer cried as you wept silently.

“You got this, wife,” Spencer whispered, pecking the crown of your head before going to stand across you, metal bars on either side of the wheelchair you carefully stood from.

It was your twenty third day of physical therapy, and boy was it hell. Your entire bottom half hurt, feeling as if fire consumed your muscles as you shakily got used to being on your feet again. Your back hurt the worst, though. You tried to play it off the best you could, but when the shooting pain took hold of the sensitive nerves of your spine, you couldn’t do more than screw your eyes shut andprace your head for the inevitable fall.

It had been getting better, you thought. Taking your first six steps was getting easier. Getting out of the pool was easier, and you could stand up without yelping in pain. But still, as you pushed through eveey PT session, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted at yourself for not being able to do basic human activities.

Spencer really atuck to his vows, remaining steadfast at your side through everything. He was at your every beck and call, updating you on your coworkers and all the other people you’d grown close to as a welder and as a woman. Spence took pride being able to help you, being your rock as you always are for him.

Aaron was actively prosecuting the company that produced the faulty equipment. As requested by Spencer, Aaron didn’t tell you much. It was better in both of their minds that you focused on recovery and not having Hotch dumb down the details of legal stuff- not that you were dumb, you just weren’t as educated as Spencer and Aaron. Obviously.

Penelope made a point to bring you food every other day. With her she brought a big hug, warm smile, and hot tea. You listened closely to the gossip she had to share, grateful that she didn’t try overly hard to comfort you- she was just like a sister in that way.

Emily stopped by when she could, but understandably had other plans for her time off; i.e.: napping. When she came Emily brought a book or two she had seen and thought of you about or a magazine.

J.J. tried as hard as Penny did, bringing Henry and Will whenever possible. You appreciated the family, feeling fully accepted as J.J.’s soul sister, despite only knowing Spencer’s coworkers for almost a year. Henry had clicked with you right away and told you stories as he snuggled up to you in the hospital bed. When he fell asleep, Will and J would make conversation with you.

Derek had dinner with you and Spencer every weekend. He brought something new every time and always shut sown your protests at how expensive it must have been, aspecially since the three of you combined could eat $300 worth of food- having fast metabolism and being an athletic person was worth bragging about while shoving half pound birgers into your mouth. Despite just the good food, Derek made sure to talk with just you, offering a deep conversation or a lightheard bickering session, letting you know you weren’t alone.

Rossi visited every time he had time. David had grown fond of you and your personality. You were a hardworking, sincere, and (painfully) honest person. All admirable traits, Rossi thought. He always brought flowers, chocolate, and a milkshake/smoothie for you. Though his visits were shorter in comparison to Derek’s or Penny’s, David visited more frequently. He filled you in on details of the lawsuit Aaron was working on, staff drama, and other fatherly conversation.

Slowly, the months passed.

60 more days passed before the hospital finally brought up your discharge.

Through all that time you had managed to re-gain the ability to walk, run, swim 2 laps uninterrupted, and were improving daily.

You were proud of your progress, but especially thankful of all the people that had stood by your side the entire way. Your eyes burned just thinking about the love Spencer’s family your family had for you.

When one of the nurses you had grown close to finally brought up your discharge, you threw your arms around her and practically cried tears of joy. Spencer kept his composure better, but you could see the shine in his eyes as he discussed the details as you pulled yourseld away from the nurse.

The team was on a case when you reported back to them, but J.J. and Derek immediately set up a quick video call to voice their happiness. Even Aaron stepped in frame, a warm smile on his face as he spoke of how happy he was for you. David showed up right at the end. You swear you saw a tear roll down his cheek as he told you how proud he was of you, how strong you are, and how thankful he is that you’re okay.

Beside you, Spencer ran his hands through your hair with a shaking hand. He, too, cried.

It was two weeks later when you shoved your bags in the back of your truck (you insisted it be the vehicle Spencer drove home) and left the hospital.

“I love you Spencer Walter Reid.”

The two of you stood, leaning against each other, in front of your home. The feeling of Spencer’s warm body under your touch made you feel alive- electric, even. You felt like you could do anything as you carried your own bags into your own home with your own husband.

With Spencer by your side, you were finally learning how to live again.

#female reader #x female reader #jules writes 📓🖊 #x reader #fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #welder!reader #x welder!reader #spencer reid x welder!reader #hotch #rossi #bau #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds imagine

[morganski-19]

part 1, part 2, part 3

Wayne stays at the hospital longer than he should. Rubbing his fingers along Eddie’s pick necklace like a rosary. Hoping that if he just prays hard enough, if his voice can be heard, Eddie will wake up. 

The prognosis isn’t great. Each day that passes marks another day where his chances of waking up get lower. Even though many people have woken up from medically induced comas much later than this. According to the doctors. According to the pamphlets given to him at the start of all of this shit. But those are just words. Words he doesn’t believe fully. 

Six days with no changes. No improvement. Just a tube to make sure he’s breathing regularly and an IV to make sure he doesn’t die of dehydration or starvation. The doctors say that his brain still shows activity, and his heart hasn’t missed a beat since he was last revived. Eddie’s alive, but just how much?

How much longer will Wayne sit in this agony waiting for him to wake up? Or how long until the string of hope just ends six feet under? 

Religion was something that Wayne dealt with sporadically. He was raised Catholic, sort of still is a practicing Catholic. Goes to church when he isn’t too tired, still prays, and goes to confession sometimes. Just didn’t always make sense. But now, it’s all he’s got. 

Eddie’s in God’s hands now. Whether that’s the God in the Bible, or some other deity of the many other religions in the world, Wayne doesn’t care anymore. As long as he’s heard, and this being knows his boy is good. That he was taken far too soon. 

Eddie liked to say there was nothing much for him past high school. That he was going to run out of town as soon as he could and fight to make something of himself. Be a struggling musician, find odd jobs. Anything to keep him out of the monotony of a corporate job. Get him away from the conservative views and stuffiness of this town. Somehow get big enough to prove them all that he wasn’t a failure. Or never come back to prove them all right. 

It would be a sad day when Eddie finally left for good. The trailer would seem empty without the life that Eddie brought. The peace and quiet that Wayne always asked for not bringing any peace because it was too damn quiet. He knew this now because it’s what’s keeping him here each day. 

The beeping of the heart monitor was like the heart beating in his chest. Some noise came from Eddie to prove that he was alive. Almost like he was acting himself again. The motel room he was staying in was too quiet. No music down the hall, no clanking around the kitchen, no yelling at the TV or a book. Just the occasional noise if there were neighbors and people driving to the hospital. It was all the wrong noise, though. 

“Excuse me,” a nurse says as she enters the room. “Visiting hours are over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Wayne nods, getting up from his chair. Back screaming as it pops itself back into place. It’s his day off, or night off tonight, so he can actually sleep. If it ever comes to him. Might be one of those nights where the ceiling and him have a staring contest. He’s been close, but never quite won one of those yet. 

The Chief’s car sits outside of the motel as Wayne pulls up. It’s only been a day since they spoke last, there can’t be that many updates. Wayne can’t think of any other reason he’s here. 

Wayne invites him into the motel room, the urge to offer him a drink screaming at him, but he has none to give. Hospitality doesn’t come with the room fees. 

“I’m guessing there’s something new, that’s why you're here.”

“Not necessarily. I’m still trying, but until the one guy I normally negotiate with comes out of hiding, that’s when the real talking happens.”

Wayne sits down on one of the chairs, too tired to keep standing. “Why’re you here then?”

“To check on you. I know the hospital life well. It’s no picnic, especially if you’re doing it alone.” He pulls another one of the chairs over to sit down. 

There’s no lie in that. “I’m about as good as anyone could think.”

The Chief pulls two beers out from under his coat, handing one to Wayne. He takes it faster than any beer he has in his life. Pulling out his pocket knife to take off the cap. 

“How long till that friend of yours comes out of hiding?”

Hopper shrugs. “Don’t know. Sent him a few threatening letters, and he still owes me one, so we’ll see. If things were better here, I’d go hunt the man down myself.”

Wayne nods. The company’s nice, he can’t lie. Sitting in solidarity with someone who knows what you’ve been through. Making sure nothing’s going worse than it already is. Like a sponsor through the hospital proceedings. 

When the sun finally finishes setting, the chief excuses himself. Not before handing Wayne a slip of paper with his number on it, just in case anything happens. 

The more days go by, the more Wayne is reminded that he’s not alone in this. Not fighting this battle alone. People believe him, more than just kids. People with influence. It shows in how people keep coming in and out of the hospital room. Saying how they know he’s innocent. That he’s guilty of some things, but not this. 

It makes him think back to that afternoon, snapping at the Harrington kid. It’s so easy to be angry at people who are better off, in so many ways, that vision gets blinded. Seeing someone who went through something similar to Eddie get out, and be conscious while his boy is still asleep. Probably will never have to worry about hospital bills and medical debt. It makes him angry. 

Even if the kid doesn’t deserve it. Wayne has no clue who this kid is and how he knows Eddie. Why he claims to have been there in the week Eddie was missing. What it all means. It doesn’t make any sense. None at all. 

But then the next morning when he’s getting coffee, there’s the kid again coming in beside Dustin. Talking to someone at the front desk before heading down the hall. Right to the elevator, and up to the floor Eddie’s on. 

Wayne heads back to the room, ready to kick him out again or apologize. He’s not sure yet. But, the room is empty. Steve is instead down the hall, talking to Susan Mayfield. Looking serious as hell, and halfway ready to cry. 

Another kid comes out of the room, one who’s stopped by a few times to check on Eddie. Lucas, Wayne thinks is his name. Remembers it only because Eddie had ranted a few times about some kid named Lucas trying to be on both the basketball team and part of the Dragons club. 

The kid says something to Steve before he’s being wrapped in a hug and starts crying. Steve just holding him as this kid breaks down. Presumably about the person behind those doors. Wayne assumes it’s probably Susan’s kid. Remembers hearing that she was in bad shape. Hopefully, that didn’t get any worse. 

Wayne returns to his room, not wanting to intrude. A nurse comes in a while later and asks him to step out for a bit. 

“What for?”

“Eddie’s breathing has improved over the last twenty-four hours. The doctor came in to check on him early this morning, and said that if by noon it was the same, the breathing tube could come out.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Wayne’s hesitant to believe anything these days. 

The nurse nods. “As long as his oxygen levels stay, well level, then yes. It means that his body is well on the way to recovery.”

Wayne nods, taking his coffee to the waiting room. There, he just waits.

Next part

Note: The next part of this will get a bit interesting. I've been having ideas for a while now of making this duel POV between Wayne and someone else, maybe Steve. Mainly because I keep thinking of conversations that would happen, but Wayne would be nowhere to witness it. But I think what this fic needs is a POV not directly in the main relationship that will be happening, to keep it an outsider POV fic. So I'm thinking that the second POV would be from either Robin or Dustin. I'm currently deciding between the two so let me know what you think. I'm also going to start posting this to ao3, and will provide the link to that once I think of a title. I will continue to post the smaller parts here on tumblr, and you will not be missing out on any of the story if you only follow it on here. For now all of the parts will also have the tag #morgan's wayne POV. If that changes, as it probably will since this is no longer just a wayne POV fic, I will let you know. Also, Max is alive, they just got a heavy diagnosis that you will learn of later.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs

#stranger things #wayne munson #jim hopper #dustin henderson #susan mayfield #lucas sinclair #steve harrington #pre steddie #post season 4 #eddie munson #eddie in a coma #everyone lives/nobody dies #chills right to the marrow fic

[floralpascal]

Could You?

Summary: Having survived your bullet wound, you and Ghost both face the consequences of your deepening relationship as Ghost grapples with the impact of almost losing you. (Set right after the events of Nightmare)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: reader was hit by a bullet, medical talk, canon-level violence, talk of death, secret relationship, mentions of smut, some hurt/comfort

A/N: Thanks to everyone who requested this chapter! Hope you all enjoy!

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

Ghost knew pain. He could handle the bite of the feeling, no matter how intense or prolonged. He had never hit a breaking point from it. 

But guilt? It cut deeper than normal pain. Guilt was a nebulous feeling - an affliction of the psyche that was impossible to stop and damn near inescapable. It gnawed at him from the inside out, like a poison running in his veins. It haunted his every thought and even found him in sleep. The pain of guilt was damn near unbearable. 

Two weeks. You had been in the hospital for two goddamn weeks. For a while, it had been touch-and-go, your situation fluctuating from dire to stable to dire again as the doctors worked to repair the damage from your gunshot wound. A few days after the incident, they had put you in a medically-induced coma. 

Ghost picked at the peeled plastic leather on the armrest of his chair. He scratched his nail under the dried edge of the plastic and pulled, snapping another bit of it off before flicking the flake to the floor absentmindedly. Then, he began the process again with a new section of the material. As the days had worn on, he had slowly torn a gaping hole into the covering. Each day, the hole in the armrest grew wider, just as the hole in his chest did. 

You laid in the bed in front of his chair, tubes and wires crisscrossing over your body. Your face held none of the defining characteristics of sleep that he had come to know. Instead of peaceful, you looked distressed, your eyebrows now pinched even in sleep. A shade of gray now clung to you, almost as if you were sick. 

“Simon.” 

Ghost looked to the door of your room, following the deep, gravelly voice to a disgruntled Price. He stood in the doorway, his eyes trained on Ghost. He wore simple camouflage fatigues, a change from the last time Ghost had seen him in your hospital room. Ghost also noticed that Price had trimmed his beard since then, as well. 

How long ago had that been? 

“I told you to get out of here,” Price grumbled.

“‘n I told you I’m fine.”

Price let out a huff of air before he moved closer. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Price looked tired and solemn. He eyed the flakes strewn around the hard linoleum at Ghost’s feet. “Why’re you here? Why’re you doin’ this to yourself?”

Ghost leaned back in his chair, eyes falling back to where you laid. He couldn’t hold Price’s gaze anymore. Price was a quick, calculating man and Ghost was sure that it wouldn’t take more than a few missteps on his part to guess exactly why this really hit Ghost so hard. With the mask and his usual stoic demeanor, he already had a guard against the Captain’s incredible gift for reading people. But Price had adapted, learning instead to read Ghost only by his eyes. 

Lying wouldn’t do. Price would see straight through him if he did. He’d have to give him the truth, just not the entire truth. “This happened on my watch. This is on me, Cap.”

It felt like only yesterday that Ghost had been sitting in a hospital bed just like yours warning you not to get hurt on his watch. Not when you were putting yourself on the line for him. It was a bit of sick irony now that you laid in this bed after taking a bullet for him - irony he wasn’t fond of at all. 

He couldn’t tell Price that you had been in Ghost’s bed only a few nights before that mission. That Ghost had fucked you slowly then, his forehead pressed to yours as he unraveled you. It was the most intimate he had ever been with you. Usually when you fucked, it was hard and fast. Feelings were there, only covered by rough desperation, but this was different. It had been something soft and vulnerable, something that was more than just sex. A wall had broken between the two of you, one that had held you both back from admitting that this was an actual relationship. 

Ghost had long stopped ignoring the fact that he had strong feelings for you, but now he was finding that those feelings had no discernible bottom. The deeper he fell for you, the deeper those feelings ran.

Maybe if Price knew all that, he would understand. But Price couldn’t know. If he did, he would be obligated to report that his Lieutenant had started a relationship with his Sergeant, a subordinate. The fallout would be disastrous. 

“You were watchin’ each other’s six,” Price asserted, his voice even and insistent. Ghost could tell that he was trying to be the voice of reason for him, a role the Captain played well. Even if Price didn’t know exactly why, he could see that what happened to you was eating Ghost alive. “You both did your jobs. Sometimes shit happens and good people get hurt.”

Ghost shook his head. “I’m her superior, my job is to keep her safe. It’s the same thing with the others - Soap and Gaz. I should’a been better than that.”

Ghost had replayed that moment in his mind a million times over. If only he would’ve been better, then maybe he would’ve noticed the gunman’s hiding spot or reacted quicker to take him down. If Ghost had just been better, you might have never gotten hurt.

Price sighed, scratching at the side of his beard as he turned his eyes to you. “Shit like this is never easy when you’re in charge, Simon. You know as well as I do that blamin’ yourself is a dangerous game to play. The only thing you can do is learn from it ‘n move on. I know you two are close but tha’s no reason to sit here torturin’ yourself.”

Ghost bit back a scornful chuckle. If only Price knew how close you truly were. If only he knew that seeing you like this made him feel like the armrest of the chair he sat in - slowly being picked apart piece by piece. 

“Styx is gonna pull through. Go get some rest,” Price said resolutely. 

“Sir-”

“Tha’s an order, Lieutenant,” Price barked. “Out.” Reluctantly, Ghost stood and walked towards the door. As he passed him by the doorway, Price called over his shoulder, “You saved her life. She’s gonna live because of you. Focus on that.”

That was easier said than done. As Ghost pushed out of the room and down the bustling hallway, dodging doctors and nurses as he went, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he had only saved your life because you had put yourself in danger for him again. 

It was his job to protect you - both his actual job and his job as the person you were in a relationship with. But he’d failed, and it was you who paid the price. 

It should’ve been him. At least then he would have some peace knowing that you were okay. He could take the pain if only it meant that he would take the pain away from you. 

As he made his way to his temporary room on this unfamiliar base, he could hear your voice in his head chastising him, could see the way your head ticked to the side as you challenged him like you had so many times before. It was a conversation he had with you on more than one occasion. 

“Oh, really?” you questioned, sarcasm lacing your voice. Your head had laid on Ghost’s pillow, only a few months prior, facing him in his bed. “So you can stick your neck out for me, but I can’t do it for you?”

“Precisely.” Ghost’s hand had slid up and down your bare side - the side that would later take the bullet that was meant for him. Irony was a cruel thing in retrospect.

You had narrowed your eyebrows at him, dropping your teasing tone as you leveled your serious gaze. “That’s bullshit, Simon, and you know it.”

At that, he had leaned forward and pushed his mask up above his mouth before he brought his lips to your neck. He pressed the plush of his lips to the sensitive spot at the curve of your neck - the spot he knew would drive you wild. A gasp escaped you as you tilted your head to bare more of your skin to him, your body slowly arching into his touch. 

“You can always stick your neck out for me like this, love,” he whispered against your skin before lightly nipping his teeth at the flesh there. 

An obstinate huff escaped you. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you countered, but your words had held no venom, your voice light with growing lust. It was more a concession to his caress than a genuine jab. 

“You already did that, Styx,” he had teased before rolling you over top of him so that your bare thighs straddled his large hips. Excitement flashed in your eyes as you smirked down at him, your face only inches away from his own. He brought his lips to the shell of your ear as he added, “But you can do it again if you really want to…”

Ghost opened the door to his room, trying desperately to shake the memory from his mind. To shake you from his mind. 

The room was plain and minimalistic. Gray walls, a cement floor, a small closet, a small wooden table, and a rickety single bed that could barely hold his mass were all that the small room contained. For years, accommodations like this seemed like staying in a five-star hotel. Hell, in the field, he considered a clean sleeping bag on the hard ground to be impressive. Although this guest room looked like every other quarters on every base he’d ever been on, it still felt colder somehow. More empty. 

Ghost ripped off his boots before collapsing onto the green bed, the springs groaning under his weight.

What if this relationship with you was a bad idea? Ghost and you had already broken a list of rules a kilometer long, enough to have both of your jobs if anyone ever found out. He would do everything in his power to keep you away from the fallout if it ever did come out. But that wasn’t the issue for him right now. What if this relationship with you was putting you in danger? What if it was compromising the both of you?

You had both swore to each other that you wouldn’t let this affect your work. Even though you had risked your life for him once even before your relationship started, he worried that you had taken that bullet for him because of your relationship with him. Had you done what you swore you wouldn’t?

Ghost had felt the moment he broke his promise: the second you went down, the mission meant nothing anymore. All that mattered was getting you to safety. He had been compromised, let his feelings for you rule him. It was the first crack in his armor, the once-perfect soldier finally slipping. The worst part was that, given the chance, he wouldn’t change a damn thing about how he reacted. He would do it all again. 

There were reasons for the rules that prohibited his relationship with you, just as there were consequences. A dark voice in the back of his mind said that it was his fault. He let this relationship start - let the both of you fall into this knowing damn well how you both felt. He had let the two of you compromise yourselves. As a result, you now laid in a hospital bed desperately holding onto life and he was going out of his mind. 

Just fucking sleep. He just needed to fucking sleep. 

~~~

Ghost found no solace when his eyes closed. He found you there, too. He was lost in the space between sleep and consciousness, a restless and aching plane of existence. He couldn’t tell whether the images he saw were dreams or memories or some odd mixture of both. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

His eyes snapped open, his consciousness yanked back to the dark, cold room. It was quiet for a moment as he tried to figure out what had woken him.

Someone banged on Ghost’s door again, the knocks hard and fast. 

“Ghost.” It was Soap’s voice that came from the other side of the door, though it held none of his usual energy. It was too somber. “The doctors woke Styx an hour ago.”

Ghost sat up and quickly pulled on his boots again. When Ghost opened the metal door, he found Soap poised to knock again, his fist raised before he froze. Soap relaxed then, dropping his hand to his side. 

“They’re lettin’ visitors in now. I thought you’d wanna know,” Soap told him, his voice low. He appraised Ghost with solemn eyes, his mouth drawn tight in apprehension. It was a rare look for the young soldier. 

Ghost offered him a, “Thanks, Johnny.”

He pushed past Soap, heading swiftly towards the hospital wing of the base. Soap ran to catch up, his boots smacking into the concrete hallway floor, falling in stride with Ghost. 

Soap was quiet until the pair entered the hospital section of the base, the distinctly sterile aroma making Ghost feel sick. 

“LT…” Soap drew cautiously as they traversed the packed hallway. “What happened to her?”

“What d’ya think, Johnny? She got fuckin’ shot.”

Soap rolled his eyes, dodging a nurse that dashed between them as she headed towards some unknown emergency. “Yeah, I know that. I mean, how’d it happen? You haven’t said a word about it to anyone but Price.”

Ghost simply shook his head. 

“C’mon,” Soap pushed, “what happened out there?”

Ghost stopped right outside of the closed gray door to your room. He had known Soap long enough to know that he would keep asking until he got an answer. He might as well pull the band-aid off now. “I had my back turned, a guy jumped out, she shot him, and took the bullet that was meant for me.”

Soap’s face dropped, some of the pieces of why Ghost had kept this quiet finally clicking into place. He tapped the fist of his right hand against the palm of his left hand nervously. The only thing he said was, “Oh…”

“Yeah.” Ghost gazed at your door.

“Well, at least you both made it out of there, yeah?”

Ghost grumbled, “Barely.”

“Ghost,” Soap chided, clearly catching Ghost’s irritation that you’d risked your life for him again, “you’d do the same thing for her. I know you would.”

“Tha’s got nothin’ to do with this.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if it had been you who’d been shot instead of Styx, I’d be standing here having this same conversation with her. The two of you are more similar than either of you will admit.”

Ghost let out a long huff. 

“Just go easy on her,” Soap urged. “I’ll be waitin’ out here. Might call Gaz and tell him she’s awake. Then I’ll go in to see her after you.” He clapped a reassuring hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he passed by him to go sit in the waiting room. 

Ghost turned back toward your door, a knot forming in his stomach. All he had wanted for weeks was to see you awake, but now, the thought of facing you was paralyzing. 

Ignoring his apprehension, he grabbed the cold door handle and turned, slowly peering into your room. Price stood beside your bed, still clad in the same fatigues he had been in earlier, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently to you. 

You. You were reclined back on the bed, your hair wild from the weeks spent asleep. Your face showed the weight of what you had endured, eyes tired from the physical strain your body had been under. But you looked alive again. Some of the gray had begun to dissipate from your skin, your normal glow beginning to return. 

Hearing the door open, you and Price both turned your heads to Ghost, your conversation cut short. Whatever you were going to say died on your lips the moment you saw him. When your eyes met his, he felt like he could finally breathe again. 

You were alive.

Price cleared his throat before resting a hand on your shoulder. “We can finish this conversation later. I’m happy to have you back, kid.”

You nodded at Price, your eyes not straying away from Ghost for long. Ghost could barely tear his eyes away from you either. 

Price strode across the room, giving Ghost a pointed look before walking out of your room and closing the door behind him. 

It was quiet for a long moment as the two of you simply took each other in from opposite sides of the room. While you were asleep, there had been so much he wanted to say to you, but now every word was lost. 

You looked relieved to see him, eyes wide like a doe. 

“Ghost…” Your voice was hoarse, almost painfully so. Ghost moved forward to the side of your bed, as if somehow he could fix it, could take away some of the pain. “Price said you were here,” you croaked. “And that he had to kick you out.”

He nodded. He had been by your side for weeks, had seen you almost every day, and yet hearing you talk to him made it sink in that you were really here. You were really alive. 

“He said you were gonna rip that chair to pieces if he let you stay.” You ticked your head toward the chair Ghost had occupied for days. You chuckled a little, but the movement made your whole body tense up, your face screwing in pain. You let out a hiss, your breaths going ragged. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” you claimed, but your voice was only a mock impression of being okay. Pain still drew your lips into a hard line as you pressed them together. It was the same thing you had done when you got shot, almost like a reflex: I’m fine. The memory burned his insides like acid. 

“No, you’re bloody not,” he retorted. 

You huffed out a long breath as you laid your head back on the inclined bed, your eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. You knew exactly where he was going, exactly what was going through his head. You warned, “Ghost…”

“Why?” He asked, voice calm but strained. “Why did you step in front of me?”

You shook your head, your gaze dropping to meet his once again. “Why? You know damn well why.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You think it was even a choice? If it was me, would you even have to think twice about stepping in front of me?”

Ghost huffed indignantly, looking at the ceiling. 

“That’s what I thought,” you said lightly. 

“Maybe tha’s the problem,” Ghost growled. You quirked a confused eyebrow at him before he continued. “We said we wouldn’t let this - us - affect our work. This was never supposed to be-”

He cut himself off, frustration marring every fiber of his being as he turned away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Relief and pain battled inside of him, the combination enough to tear him apart. It was too much.

The silence hung over the two of you for a long time, the only noise in the small room being the steady, fast beep of your heart monitor. Each beep was a reminder of why this was a terrible idea. It was a reminder of what he had to lose, a reminder of what could be ripped away from him at any moment. He squeezed his eyes closed, his hand coming to grasp the back of the abandoned, torn chair to ground himself. 

He never meant to let you this close to him. He never meant to care like this. 

“Do you think you could go back?” you asked, your voice steady and hoarse. He knew you well enough to know what you sounded like when you were covering up how you truly felt, though. It was too calm, too measured. “Simon, I mean it. Could you go back to the way things were between us before? Because if so, just do it now while I’m hopped up on painkillers. Make it easy for me.”

He could end it now - tell you that it was over like he should have a long time ago. But the damage was already done. Even if things ended with you now, he would never be able to stop the way he felt for you nor stop it from influencing him. He would always care more than he was supposed to. He had already gone so long without you - been on the verge of losing you for weeks - and it was about to rip him to shreds. How could he ever choose to let you go?

With his back still turned, Ghost countered your question with his own. No matter how you answered, he wasn’t sure he could take the sting of it. “Could you?”

Your response was immediate and unwavering. “No.”

Your admission hung in the air, the revelation an indictment of his own choice. 

Then, Ghost said your name. Your real name - the name he almost never used. It dripped from his lips, the weight of it a confession of equal measure. 

He wasn’t strong enough to let go of you.

When he turned around to face you, your eyes were wide. He saw a small flash of relief cross your face, the medicine you were on surely hindering your ability to hide it. A small, weak smile slowly drew at the edge of your lips. “I like the way you say it.”

Ghost walked to the edge of your bed then, the plastic creaking under his added weight as he came to sit on the edge of it with his body twisted to face you. He dropped his bare hand to lightly run his fingers along the back of yours, being mindful of the wires and tubes attached to you. You caught his intention immediately, turning your hand to slowly slip into his grasp. It was quiet for a long time while he ran his thumb back and forth over your skin. Somehow the gesture was more intimate than any night spent tangled with you in bed.

“What do we do now?” you whispered, your head tilting at him. 

Simon met your gaze. Your eyes were heavy, the physical strain you were under taking its toll. 

“You’re gonna get some rest,” he commanded. “Get your strength back. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

You nodded before squeezing your eyes shut. “Think I’m gonna need some more meds soon. This headache is terrible.”

He leaned over you and plucked the remote with the “Call Nurse” button on it from the other side of the bed. Untangling your hand from his, he placed the remote in your grasp.

“You might wanna get out of here before that nurse with the bun comes back,” you warned, your tone light. “I think she hates you for what you did to that chair.”

He rolled his eyes. That nurse had shot him a nasty glare each time she had come to check in on you in the last few weeks. “Trust me, I noticed.”

Simon stood then, his eyes flitting to the still-closed door of your room. In one swift motion, he turned, bent over your bed, pushed his balaclava over his nose, and lightly brought his lips to yours. You froze in surprise for a moment before you melted into the kiss, your lips chapped but insistent.

He had wondered if he would ever get to feel this again. To feel you, the way you ran through his veins like a wildfire. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. It was a reminder of everything he almost lost and everything he still stood to lose.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispered, his lips still brushing yours with each word.

You didn’t answer. He knew you couldn’t; he wouldn’t like the answer. Instead, you simply brought your cold hand to the exposed flesh of his chin. The feeling sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn’t because of the cold. 

It was you. Just you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fanfic #my writing

[clusterbuck]

i can’t control my brain

6x10 coda

buck always drives.

it’s insane, and inane, but that’s what eddie’s thinking as he clutches the steering wheel with both hands. that buck always drives when they go somewhere together, and now—

now eddie’s driving like his life depends on it, because it does. because buck’s life depends on it, and eddie’s pretty sure his life depends on buck’s.

his hands squeeze tighter, so tight the skin over his knuckles threatens to split open.

blood would spill over to coat his hands, run down his wrists and fall into his lap and it would be fitting, to turn himself inside out like that. it already feels like he left half of himself at the top of that ladder, watching buck be lowered into bobby’s arms and not knowing—

so it would be fitting, he thinks, in the vague, distracted way that thoughts like this come and go. if his insides were on the outside.

the thought comes back to him later, when buck’s been wheeled into the hospital by a team of ER doctors so practiced that eddie couldn’t tell a single thing from their expressions. bobby claps him on the shoulder and eddie flinches, the contact stinging like all of his nerves are on the outside of his body.

“hey, whoa,” bobby says, and eddie doesn’t understand how his voice can be so gentle at a time like this. “you got thrown around pretty heavy by that lightning strike, are you injured?”

“i’m—i didn’t—buck was the one that—” eddie mumbles.

bobby frowns, and signals to a nearby nurse. “you don’t remember going down?”

“i—oh,” eddie says, blinking. “i guess i did. but i’m fine, i’m not the one we’re supposed to be—”

“eddie,” bobby says, and stops him in his tracks. “i can worry about two people at once. i’m very good at multitasking. will you please just get checked out?”

“fine,” eddie sighs, if only to placate bobby. it’s not like anyone is going to be able to fix what’s wrong with him unless buck wakes up.

until buck wakes up.

somebody gives him the all-clear, and instead of going back to where bobby and hen and chimney are waiting, eddie wanders down one hallway, and then another, and another until he finally ends up outside a room.

outside the room. buck’s room, where buck lies motionless and pale, somehow dwarfed by the hospital bed despite his usually massive frame.

maybe it’s the fact that buck’s always seemed larger than life, and there isn’t much life left in him now.

eddie’s not sure how he got here. how, in a hospital with hundreds of rooms along dozens of corridors, he found his way to buck’s room. it doesn’t make any kind of logical sense, isn’t probable or statistically likely, but—he’s here, and buck’s inside, and—

“are you family?”

there’s a young doctor standing to his left, peering at him over the clipboard clutched to her chest.

“huh?” eddie asks, blinking a couple of times to try to focus on her.

��are you family?” she asks again. “he’s not really supposed to have visitors yet, but if you’re family—”

“i—yes,” eddie says, so fast the words trip over themselves on the way out. “i’m his—he’s my family.”

she gives him a careful smile, one he can’t read into no matter how hard he tries. she opens the door and lets him in, then stands in the open doorway for a moment. “he’s in a medically induced coma,” she says. “to give him time to heal. we’ll know more in twenty-four hours.”

“thank you,” eddie says, and stumbles over to the chair by buck’s bedside, barely making it before his knees give out. his hands find one of buck’s, weaving carefully around the tubes to clutch it. to ground himself. his head drops, and for a moment he just breathes, ragged, listening to the sound of the hospital equipment and the steady beat of buck’s heart.

when he looks up again, the door is closed and the young doctor is gone.

“buck,” eddie says, and realises it’s the first time he’s said buck’s name since he was screaming it on the ladder.

“buck,” he says again, just because he can. “listen to me. you’re not going to die. you hear me? you’re not dying on me right now.”

he takes a deep breath. “you’re not dying on us. you said you’d take chris to the space exhibit opening next month, remember?” he says. “come on, you wouldn’t back out of that, huh? and what about the treehouse you guys keep saying we should build? there’s so much you haven’t done yet.”

there’s so much we haven’t done, eddie thinks. so much i haven’t told you. so much i keep putting off saying, because there’s always tomorrow, right?

but the words get stuck in this throat on the way out. so he swallows, and blinks, and tries again. “buck—you can’t die before i ever—”

then he shakes his head. “you know what? no. i’m not doing this deathbed shit.” he pauses, almost like he expects buck to answer. but of course he doesn’t.

“i’m not doing this,” eddie repeats. “listen, if you want to know, you’ll just have to wake up so i can tell you to your face.”

he settles back in his chair, buck’s hand still loosely clasped in his. “it’s okay,” he murmurs. “i’ll wait.”

#911 spoilers #911fic #911 6x10 #buddie #buddie fic #in which i am once again just saying words #shush emma #emma writes

[itiswormtimebaby]

Time

You're beginning to question why Bucky won't sleep with you, but you ask the wrong person

Pairing: Biker!Bucky and Bug (+Brother’s best friend Bucky, Plus sized fem reader) (Steve is reader’s adopted brother) CW: Friend’s calling each other “bitch”, references to sexual acts

“I don’t know if I should call you a stupid bitch, a dirty bitch, or a lucky bitch.” Cilla, the platonic love of your life, stares at you from the passenger seat of your car. “Straight out the gate and he’s already hitting it raw, I guess I’ll go with all three you stupid, dirty, lucky, beautiful” she tacks on the end to soften the blow, “Bitch.” Stupid was probably fair, dirty was a compliment, and lucky was factual so you let the comment ride without protest. There was one thing that was bothering you about her statement though, “I don’t think it’s fair to say he hi-”

“Bitch,” She cuts you off, “be so fucking for real.” 

“He turned you into his own twinkie- cream filled.” The voice comes from the backseat where McKenna, the third member of your friendship trio is devouring a nerds filled grape slush. Cilla groans in disgust at the bad joke while you pull a face in the rearview mirror, refusing to break eye contact with the man until he cracks first, slowly lowering his plastic spoon back into the sticky purple treat; “I, uh, I really regret saying that.” “Good! That was fucking weird, and now we all have to live with it. Sit in your shame.” Despite your admonishing tone there’s no real upset behind you words as you carry on;

“But as I was SAYING, it was just the tip so I don’t- like it doesn’t feel like that counts. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing, I just…” The silence sits heavy in your ears but you can’t find it in yourself to continue, suddenly embarrassed despite being in the presence of the two people you’ve trusted with damn near every dirty little secret you possess; why hadn’t it progressed past that?

“Fuck it! Who wants to lose their virginity on a Monday, anyway?” McKenna’s outburst breaks the silence and blessedly removes the spotlight from you, “Yeah,” you acquiescent with a half-hearted chuckle, “you’re probably right.” The conversation moves on quickly enough, though the thought is persistent in your mind- why hadn’t it progressed past that? 

Hours later, McKenna returned home to his husband, sun dropped beyond the horizon, you pull to a stop outside of Cilla’s house, the dark-haired woman making no move to exit the vehicle; “How are you actually feeling about it?” There’s clearly only one situation she could be referencing but in truth you’re not sure how to answer. She was the first call you’d made after coming down from your chocolate-brownie-hell-high, after Bucky finally showed back up in the aftermath, after dates one through four, and especially after five, she’d heard details even McKenna hadn’t, every salacious little tidbit. But you hesitate now, a bond forged in college deadlines, all nighters, stress induced coffee comas, movie marathons and evening walks had blossomed into a beautiful friendship with two main tenets; you burn I burn, and no bullshit. You knew she would listen and take it all in without judgment, but part of you hesitated, worried that her honest take, because she would be incredibly honest, wasn’t something you were ready to hear. 

“I’m confused,” You finally settle on. She doesn’t offer acknowledgement besides a small hum, no pushing, no rushing. “Everything has felt so good.” At that Cilla does let out a little snort, raising her eyebrows suggestively, though makes no other move to interrupt; “I wasn’t actually talking about that, though he does make me feel amazing. I just mean…Bucky’s been in my life since I was pre-pubescent, he may actually be what jump started puberty for me,” Cilla’s eyes roll at your joke as you pause again to gather your thoughts. “He was this larger-than-life presence, cocksure, the muscle to Steve’s mouth and I just- oh my god I was so in love with him. I’m sure there’s still notebooks floating around where I waxed poetic about his eyes, wrote Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes over and over again in the margins…”

You peter off before taking a steadying breath, suddenly thirteen again and trailing along behind Steve and Bucky, the latter of which was the epicenter of every girlish daydream you had. “He had this girlfriend when we were in High School, Dot? I was so fucking jealous of her, she had everything I wanted because she had him. I know Bucky cared about me, in some way, but it wasn’t the same as he cared about her and it broke my heart.”  You can still picture her; pretty red curls, shy smile, hand wrapped in Bucky’s anytime he was within arms reach. 

“Once he enlisted, once there was some space between us, I realized there was a lot of naivety I needed to tear through-” You hesitate, fearing the explanation will be muddy but push on anyway, “like, the love I felt was real- but I also built it up a lot in my head? In a way I think it was probably unfair to him, projections from a kid who was newly navigating the difference between romantic and platonic love, but everything just felt so big and all encompassing.”

“He was your first love.” 

“He was,” You nod in agreement, picturing  Bucky at fifteen, knuckles bloody, Steve behind him with a bruised eye and busted lip, the body of your latest would-be-bully crumpled on the floor, “but that’s not- that’s not how he felt about me.The romantic love, or infatuation, or whatever- it was one sided, very obviously so. I used to wish it was different, dream of a day where he’d drop Dot’s hand and reach for mine but then I realized-” You squeeze your eyes shut, thankful for Cilla allowing you to set the pace of the conversation as you ruminate over the relationship, “I realized after he’d left how shitty that was, just because he wasn’t in love with me didn’t mean he didn’t care, what we did have wasn’t a consolation prize.” 

Your friend rests her hand gently on your forearm, nodding her understanding; “Life went on, he and Steve were deployed, I was in school, they came home, they joined the club, he dated other girls, I dated…But I never really got over that feeling of first love, it just- deepened?” You nodded your head at that, happy enough with the explanation, “It sprouted new roots, more substantial ones, I fell in love with him all over again, a different version of him in a way.” 

You were getting to the part you didn’t want to say, the part that worried you most, “Like I said what we had wasn’t a consolation prize, Bucky’s always been one of the best people in my life, even when I probably annoyed the hell out of him. I’d made peace with knowing that how we felt about each other didn’t line up and then, well…” 

“Then he showed up on your doorstep with flowers begging for a date?” 

“He showed up with flowers after I accosted him with my feelings.”

“Don’t forget the FINALLY.” She prods you pointedly at that, having been driven half mad over your analytical obsession with the word, when I FINALLY fuck you, “he clearly had thought about it, and he even said that’s not all he wanted, don’t go where I think you’re about to go.”

“Where am I about to go?” You ask her. 

“Questioning his intentions, whether he really likes you, wants to be with you…HE asked YOU out, that means something. Just because y'all aren’t having sex doesn’t take away from everything else.” 

Everything else. Cilla was right of course, it’s not like Bucky was running around acting disinterested; he brought you flowers, took you on dates, kept you fed, ran errands with you just for some extra time together, gave you mind blowing orgasms, made you laugh. But then why…

“But then why won’t he sleep with me? He clearly cares about me, thinks about me, but why not- his body count is high, why not one more?” You deliver the last line like a joke, but no part of it feels funny. “I know he cares about me, truly I do. But I guess I just worry- like he’s cared about me since we were kids, so maybe he doesn’t want to sleep with me because he’s figuring out that romance isn’t what he really wants between us and that’d be harder to walk back having-”

“Don’t,” Cilla cuts you off, “do that.” You look at her a bit helplessly as she pushes on, “Has he actually given you any indication he doesn’t want to date you? Aside from not sticking it in?” 

It was crude but she had a point, and you knew Bucky, knew he wasn’t one to string people along. 

“No.”

“Exactly, it’s just dick, don’t let it ruin something special.” 

“I just- I’m all in, so why is he holding back?”

“It’s still a new relationship-”

“I’ve known him forever-”

“But not like this. This is new. He may not be exactly where you’re at but clearly he has feelings for you. My advice would be to hop out of your head and just enjoy things as they progress.”

You nod once in acknowledgement, still not quite ready to move on from the topic;  “Should I just ask him why?” 

Cilla mulls it over for a minute, “I… wouldn’t, not yet. Give it some time.” 

Time, right.

But you couldn't help the worry that persisted, what would Bucky be figuring out in that time?

All things Bucky and Bug found here: to be loved Main masterlist: here

#bucky and bug #biker!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #plus sized reader

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

S A C C H A R I N E.

one phone call can change your whole perspective on life. it can change everything you know in a matter of seconds, and most of the time, the phone call is regarding bad news.

that’s what happened to harry. after picking his son up, alfie up from school, his phone rang and that’s when his heart fell into the pit of his stomach, it was the hospital.

they didn’t tell him much over the phone, just that he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible to talk, so that’s what he did and that’s when he was told the news, news he never expected to hear.

you, his darling wife, the women he adored with his whole heart, the mother of your angle boy was in a road traffic accident and had life threatening injuries, and was placed in a medically induced coma, the doctors deciding that you needed to heal on your own time.

harry never left your side, every morning, every afternoon and every night he was there, holding your hand and hoping and praying that you’d wake up, that he’d wake up and that this whole thing was just a fever dream.

authors note - this was originally a one shot, but everyone was asking for a part two, so guess what? i decided to be everyone’s guardian angel and make this into a mini series, the chapters are already planned out and just need to be edited.

if you’d like to be on the taglist, let me know and i’ll add you to the list!

mentions of a car crash,

mentions of miscarriage,

hospitals,

mentions of epilepsy,

mentions of comatose,

mentions of death.

If you find anymore triggers, please let me know and i’ll add them to the list!

saccharine expressions

[published 26.08.2023]

in which, your husband postpones his american leg of tour because you get involved in a road traffic accident, resulting in you ending up in a medically induced coma, your husband and four year old comes to visit you everyday and they always have something new to tell you. this is everything that Harry experiences whilst you asleep, speaking to you whilst holding your hand, getting forced to eat because he doesn’t want to move and reassuring your son that mummy’s going to be fine.

word count - 8k.

saccharine recoveries

[published 05.09.2023]

in which, after being in a medically induced coma for the past four days, your eyes are finally open, just when your husband thinks that everything is rosie, trials and tribulations occur once again making the processes of your recovery ten times harder, but he’s optimistic and always looks on the bright side, even when that all comes crashing down.

word count - 7.9k

#saccharine!universe #musicforastylesrestaurant #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fake ig #harry styles headcanon #harry styles x oc #harrystylesdrabble #harry styles fake social media #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harrystylesxreader #harry styles one shot #harry styles x yn #harry’s house #harrystylesxyn #dad!harry #dadrry

[multifandomslxt]

Nct 127 as fratboys Pt.1

I enjoyed this wayyyyyy too much lmaoo

Taeil

first off

baby he don't wanna be here lmaoooo

He don't even know how he got in a frat in the first place

he majors in one of three things

comp sci

finance

or accounting (Yes finance and accounting are different)

Taeil wouldn't be your typical frat boy

he's definitely turning his assignments in on time

and he is never

and I mean NEVER up for a party

but allows it to happen anyway

however, if its finals season...

He is the one who shuts the party down when the clock touches 12

"Everyone get the fuck out! You have exams in a few hours"

The father of the frat honestly

He's pretty laid back and doesn't bother anyone

Some would think that he doesn't get laid either but c'mon now

he fucks around ALOT!

Don't let him fool you

Has had a threesome multiple times

but don't tell anyone I told you that

He hates the parties but always gets 4-5 BJs at each

and guess what y'all

if you fuck him

NO ONE WILL KNOW!

he won't brag about it and he won't tell a soulllll

If his friends are eyeing someone he's been with b4

and they ask him about her

trust and believe this man won't say a word

he'll shrug and be like "Ion know"

ughhh and he pulls easily too

Usually he beats around the bush

but always makes it clear he doesn't want anything serious

all in all he's a sneaky and quiet fratboy

lol

Johnny

Yeah...

everybody knows about this bitch right here

He is a business major.

Period

do not question the facts

doesn't give too much fucks about his grades though

as long as he gets a degree after this shit

he's good.

He would be known as the irresistible heartbreaker

cuz he WILL pull you in

and then drop you after he fucks.

I'm just being honest here y'all lmaoo

He is THE life of the party

like if a party is happening and he ain't there...

it's gonna be lame asf

He and Jaehyun are notorious for making their coma-inducing

jungle juice

Surprisingly he has a good fashion sense for a frat boy

oh and he definitely comes from a rich family

so yk he's driving his car around blasting

Drake and Tyga

Smokes hella w33d btw

like I'm not even joking

his circle clean as hell though

vibes are always through the roof

He fucks every other day

and everybody knows he does

why?

because he posts about it on social media

yup.

i said it.

He would definitely tag your ass too

so if yk you don't like the inanet knowing

that your- in his words- "pum pum wetter than the ocean"

then leave this man alone

lmaoooo

overall a menace and a jerk- typical fratboy (I'm sorry I wanted him to be sweet too lol)

Taeyong

He's a nerd.

I'm sorry but Taeyong does not belong in a frat 😭 jk k

but

He 100% has his legos displayed in his room

like don't even say it's not true

His idea of a fun time is spending hours building a lego set

He's definitely a communications major

maintains a relatively good gpa

so he's ight.

And a ladies man

Oh yupp

Everyone who has his twitter sees his posts about pussy eating.

And lemme tell you something

Bitches have lined up in front of the frat to get eaten out by this man

ya hear me???

And he brags about it on the dl

would be notorious for attending 2-3 parties for the semester tho

why?

his legos.

he NEVER has a shirt on

I swearrrrrr

he also smokes w33d with Johnny sometimes

but doesn't do it often bcz it tends to fuck him up a bit too much

can't roll one to save his life lmao

in terms of fucking he only does it when he's stressed

Did a threesome with Taeil once

He's the type to stare you down from some creepy ass dark corner at a party if he finds you hot.

He's definitely not the type to just tell anyone that he ate you out or fucked you randomly

but if one of his friends were to ask him

he's telling it all and giving you a rating outta 10.

for your sake

you betta hope he don't give you anything below 6.

#nct scenarios #nct smut #nct 127 #nct dream #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct yuta #nct taeyong #nct fluff #nct doyoung #nct donghyuck #nct jaehyun #nct haechan #nct johnny #nct mark #nct kpop #nct taeil #nct x reader #nct icons #nct imagine #nct #nctzen

[training4theapocalypse]

minors, people I know irl - DNI - this is fucked up

Yandere Billionaire Jeffrey Steinberg x fem reader

warnings: non-con, yandere, breeding, kidnapping, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Deactivated

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: SMUT, the most extreme non-con I have ever written, forced bondage, edging, forced orgasm, kidnapping, forced impregnation

Summary: When the apocalypse hit, you, Jeffrey Steinberg and eight of the world's other greatest minds were trapped in an underground ecosphere. This is an AU where the betas kill Nico and McKenna so Jeffrey hatches a plan to repopulate the world. (Full disclosure: That plan involves strapping you to a table and getting you pregnant.)

A/N: Genuinely might kink-shame myself into deleting this in the morning. Rape and forced pregnancy are incomprehensibly awful in the real world. This fic is intended to be an escapist fantasy. PS This is the only fic my partner has refused to proofread for me so apologies for typos.

Chapter text:

200 days.

200 days was all it took for the men of Evergreen to decide you were nothing more than vessels to be used to repopulate this hellhole of an underground ecosphere.

When they lined you up and began debating who belonged to whom, you and Ida took your chance to execute your hastily pulled-together plan.

Ida slipped a sickle she’d stolen from her agriculture station into a belt loop behind her back. You had pocketed a wrench from your mechanic’s workbench. You weren’t going down without a fight. 

When Jeffrey Steinberg looked you over, dictating your height, weight, blood type and other vital stats from Cortex’s electronic display, you took your chance and whacked him on the side of the head with the wrench. 

Then - chaos.

Ida grappled with David who caught her wrist as she slashed wildly with her sickle.

You were knocked off your feet and pinned to the ground.

Yelling.

Fighting.

You only remember Cortex being commanded to deactivate you before you were sucked into a black oblivion of nothingness. A door closing. More nothingness. The same door. Nothingness.

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

You wake up with a gasp - coughing, choking on air.

You’re in a hospital room. A brief glimmer of optimism that this was all just a coma-induced nightmare vanishes in an instant when with a sinking feeling of recognition, you realise you’re not just in any hospital - you’re in Evergreen’s hospital. David’s doctor’s office. This nightmare is real. And it’s only just beginning.

You’re in stirrups. Wearing a hospital gown. With your arms shackled above your head.

Oh, fuck.

You try to move your legs from the stirrups but they’re fastened tight. The handcuffs around your wrists only dig in when you try to slip your hands from them.

There’s an electronic beep and the door slides open.

Instinctively, you try to close your legs together. Preserve your last shred of dignity but your attempt is futile - the stirrups don’t move.

“Nice of you to join us,” says Jeffrey. Anger flares up in you when you see him. To think that you ever had even the tiniest romantic feelings towards such an awful human being. 

“Us?!” you ask shrilly, a fresh wave of panic sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Just an expression.” Jeffrey presses a few buttons on the door panel, locking it behind him. “It’s only me.”

You should have guessed from the start that he’d be a monster. 

Nobody becomes a billionaire without stepping on a few toes or, indeed, crushing a few skulls. Everyone else here hated Jeffrey Steinberg from the outset. But you? At the start of all of this, you had actually liked him. The two of you had spent your spare hours flirting with each other. You were like two peas in a pod working to fix Cortex. Mechanic and Programmer. Hardware and Software. Yin and Yang. It only made the betrayal worse when, mere days after Nico and McKenna were both killed by Nico’s experiments on human cloning, Jeffrey had decided that you and the rest of the women were to be reduced to glorified incubators.

“Only you?” you spit. “For now, right? Whose turn is it next?”

He shakes his head and stands adjacent to you at the head of the bed. This small movement to respect what little dignity you have left doesn’t give you much comfort when you know what’s next. “It’s not like that,” says Jeffrey.

You laugh although there’s nothing funny about the situation you find yourself in. “What’s it like, then?”

“It’s just you and me. I chose you and that’s one of our rules - David, Axel and I’s rules, I mean.”

“So you care about rules now?” you ask. “What about laws?”

“I care about the rules I make because there are no laws.”

You scowl at him with all the hate you can muster. “Who undressed me? Who strapped me up like this while I was deactivated?”

“David. It was entirely clinical. He’s your doctor, after all.”

“And you believe that? I could be pregnant already. In fact, come to think of it - I do feel kind of nauseous,” you say looking at him in distaste. “Or maybe that’s just the effect of the present company.”

He smiles. A perfect, arrogant smile that reaches his green eyes. “See? This is why I like you. You always have so much fight.”

“Get me out of these handcuffs and you’ll really like me, you piece of shit,” you hiss, pulling at your restraints.

“I know you think you’re angry but this is humanity’s last chance for survival,” says Jeffrey, picking up the tablet with your vitals on it from your bedside table.

“Look at yourself. Humanity is already dead.”

“After the betas killed Nico and McKenna, this is the only way we can survive.”

“You’re a psychopath if you think living like this is better than dying.”

“It’s about more than just living. It’s about our entire species going extinct.”

You stare at each other in silence for a few moments. You absolutely hate that even under these circumstances, you find yourself blushing when he looks at you for too long.

“Fine. Go ahead with your turkey baster and get this over with,” you say, breaking eye contact with him and staring furiously ahead. 

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

You hold your breath as Jeffrey puts the tablet down and walks to the bottom of the examination bed standing directly between your open legs. Something long and metallic glints in his hand and you attempt to shrink back.

“Safety scissors.” He holds them up so you can see the blunt ends. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Not with scissors, maybe, but you clearly have different definitions of what hurting another person means. 

Jeffrey holds the end of your hospital gown and cuts upwards, careful even with the blunt ends of the scissors, not to touch the cool metal to your skin. Your chest heaves as the scissors split open the fabric over your tits and you close your eyes when they reach your neckline. You keep your eyes tight shut, listening to the snipping of the scissors as he cuts the fabric of your sleeves and pulls the gown away, leaving you entirely naked on David’s examination bed. Your nipples harden when you feel the cool breeze of the air conditioning fanning over them. 

Jeffrey lets out a low exhale. “Your fight wasn’t the only reason I chose you.” You open your eyes to find him staring at your body. “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” 

Even though you still have to clench your fists to avoid letting him see that your hands are trembling, you feel your core tighten as butterflies erupt in your stomach. Under normal circumstances, you’d have liked to receive a compliment from Jeffrey - have him admire your naked form like this. But you remind yourself your current circumstances are as far away from normal as you could get.

“Don’t compliment me, you psychopath.”

He steps closer between your open legs and places his hands on your hips. There’s nowhere to cringe away to - but the sensation isn’t unpleasant. His hands are warm on your skin when he draws his thumbs along your hip bones. You feel goosebumps prickle on your skin as he does.

“Are you cold?” he asks gently.

The contrarian in you wants to argue with everything he says. To admit you’re uncomfortable in your vulnerable state would be giving him the upper hand. But the cool air makes the hair on your arms stand up so instead you swallow. “A - a little,” you answer quietly, deciding there’s no point in being even more uncomfortable than you already are.

“Cortex, turn it up to twenty-two degrees Celsius in here.” There’s a wave of warm air - a blessing on your cold, exposed skin. “That’s the temperature you like, right?” You don’t answer but your fists stop clenching and you can feel where your fingernails have been digging into your palms. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Jeffrey puts the scissors down on the empty hospital rolling tray table. He notices your eyes following them.

“I told you they’re blunt. But I bet you’d like to stab me with something right now,” he teases. “You’ll come around eventually.”

He smiles, teasing you like you’re friends again and this is just a silly game. Like how he did before everything went to shit. “I’ll never come around. If you go through with this, I’ll throw myself down the stairs. I’ll drown myself in the reservoir. I’d rather die than carry your baby.”

“I won’t let that happen. Cortex will be with you day and night.”

“Cortex can’t keep a watch on all of us. The others -”

“The others. Hannah and Ida both relented. They’re excited, even, at the prospect of giving the human race another chance.”

“They relented after being strapped to a table and forcibly impregnated?”

“They went along willingly with Axel and David, respectively.” You can’t ignore the way his thumbs are so tenderly stroking your hip bones.

“And you’ll be able to live with yourself once you’ve done this? Done this to me?”

He shrugs. “I’ve already made peace with it,” says Jeffrey, drawing his thumbs down and massaging your vulva.

You look away, trying to ignore the surge of heat you feel in your core at his touch. “Stop that,” you snipe. “Can’t you just jerk off until you’re close and finish in me?”

“The chances of conception are higher if you cum too,” he says, pushing your outer lips together, putting the tiniest bit of pressure on your clit. You breathe in sharply, freezing for just a second before trying to move your hips away from him to no avail. “Besides, if I know you’re having a good time it makes it much more enjoyable for me.”

“This - this is not my idea of a good time, Jeffrey.”

“I think - deep down - this is exactly your idea of a good time. I see how you look at me.”

You flush, embarrassed that he’s throwing your earlier flirting from weeks ago back in your face. “You’re deluded.”

He tuts gently. “Now, you can’t lie to me when I can see how wet you are already. ”

This time you feel your embarrassment creeping right down to your chest. “I can’t - I can’t help how my body reacts to you touching me - I mean, being touched.”

But he smirks at your slip-up. “Sure. And when you’re begging for my cock in a few minutes, we can pretend you can’t control that either.”

“Fuck you, Jeffrey.” 

“Now that’s the spirit,” he says and your pussy protests when he removes his hands to drag over David’s office chair. You watch as he sits down and wheels closer, his head and shoulders still visible. “God, you have such a pretty little cunt.”

Jeffrey slides two fingers along your slit, dragging your wetness up and over your clit. You turn your head and look away, trying to appear disinterested. You’re determined not to enjoy this. Not to give him anything.

“What’s wrong? Are you worried if you watch that you’ll finish too quickly?” he asks, a mischievous grin lighting up his face as he lightly circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers. 

“I’m just wondering if they have a hospital TV so I have something to do while you get this over with,” you say, blandly - a direct contrast with the heat pulsing from your clit. 

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that. Not when I can see you soaking the bed.” He runs the two fingers between your lips and holds them up so you can see them glistening and wet under the fluorescent clinical lights. “Do you want to taste it? Make sure I’m not lying?”

You stare at him insolently, refusing to answer.

“What am I saying?” He laughs. “You’d bite my fingers clean off if they came anywhere near your mouth, right?” Jeffrey sucks on his two wet fingers, briefly closing his eyes, before slowly withdrawing them. “Mhm. You’re missing out. You taste so fucking good.”

You hate that he’s hot when he does that. You hate that he’s hot full stop.

Why is the psychopath you're stuck here with hot?

Billionaire CEOs are used to controlling everyone around them. You’re not surprised he’s getting off on having you completely at his mercy. What surprises you is that he’s good at it. 

When he slowly pushes two fingers inside you and curls them up, it’s like he knows it’s exactly what your body needs. You can’t help but gasp, feeling him gently stroking your G-spot. You bite your lip, trying to stifle any further noise involuntarily leaving you.

You don’t want this to feel as good as it does.

You try and leverage yourself up and away from him using your handcuffs but it’s no use when your legs are strapped down. Your ass barely lifts off the bed. He notices but he doesn’t stop tapping his fingers.

“C’mon, where are you going? We’ve barely even started,” he complains before inching his chair closer and pressing his lips against your inner thigh. “Tell me - how much - you want me - to fuck you.” Each pause is punctuated with a kiss or a suck on the sensitive flesh of your thigh as his fingers continue to curl up inside you. 

“You’re crazy if - if - if - ah-” You swallow, watching him smile triumphantly against your soft thigh. Stop, you have to think of something else. You’re a mechanic - not a machine. You can be mentally strong. You don’t have to react automatically when you have these very specific buttons pushed. You exhale steadily. “- If you think I’d ever want you to fuck me.”

But the more you try to appear bored, the more relaxed your body becomes and that only heightens the sensation of Jeffrey toying with your pussy. Feeling your legs untense, he pushes his fingers in deeper and with a jolt of pleasure your back arches. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You curse yourself for making this so easy for him. 

He laughs softly at the way your body becomes pliable under his touch and his hot breath fans over your clit. He picks up pace, tapping firmly against your g-spot. Everything pulls up in you like a spring tightening. 

Oh, fuck. This is it. You’re gonna - 

Suddenly, Jeffrey removes his fingers and frowns. “You know what? Maybe this was a bad idea after all.”

You feel your heartbeat in your ears below your waist screams in protest.

What did he just say? “R - really?” You’re surprised to hear your voice is just a whisper. 

You know you should feel relieved. But you were so close. 

You try to remind yourself to feel victorious. You resisted cumming long enough for him to come to his senses, after all.

“Although…” He tilts his head. “You’re soaked. What a mess you’ve made… somebody should really clean that up.”

You shudder when he draws his tongue all over your entrance, lapping up your arousal with the tip of his tongue before going back for more. He carefully avoids your clit, making sure not even the tip of his nose touches it. You feel the bundle of nerves throbbing, begging for his attention. You want him to notice, to move up just a couple of centimetres and slip his tongue over the sensitive little nub. 

So, you chase it instead. The lower half of your body is in total disregard of your protesting mind. You roll your hips forward hoping to catch his velvet tongue as he mops you up.

“You like this, do you?” smirks Jeffrey and he pulls back to watch your chest heave. You stop your wriggling abruptly, as your brain fights to regain firm control of your actions. “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to cum until my cock is inside you. And the only way that’s going to happen is if you ask for it.”

He looks over you with a smug smile but you’re not going to crack yet.

Are you?

“This is how you’re going to justify it to yourself, then?” you snarl, with renewed pent-up aggression.

“What you’ve got to understand is that I didn’t become a CEO without firstly, having what it takes to make someone break, and secondly, refusing to compromise when it matters most. And you’re going to break long before I decide to compromise.”

He stands up and pinches both of your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and you suck air in through your teeth. “I wonder if you’d let me suck on your nipples today or if you’d try and bite me…” he thinks aloud, with a discerning look into your eyes as if trying to read your mind. Honestly, you’re not sure how you’d react, you feel so dizzy with need that you’re not really processing what he’s saying.

“I think it’s safe this time,” Jeffrey decides and then, as if for good measure adds, “Remember, I can bite too,” before latching onto your hard nipple. You huff a sigh, the fight burning inside you instantly forgotten as the contrast of his soft tongue running circles around the peak of your nipple makes you want to just melt away.

He firmly rolls your other nipple between his fingers and you arch under him, trying not to moan. Jeffrey takes an agonisingly slow time sucking on your tits, swapping from right to left, trying to fit them in his mouth, burying his face between them as you watch helplessly. The steady pulsing in your clit still throbbing, waiting for him to pay you attention below your waist again.

“God, you’re so hot when you’re being well-behaved,” he says. It’s probably a fair assessment - the last time you saw Jeffrey you hit him over the head with a wrench. You scowl - you don’t want him to think you’re complying just because his mouth on your nipple felt good.

“What’s that little pout for?” coos Jeffrey, straightening up and tracing a finger down your torso. “I know you’re smart but aren’t you tired of thinking all the time? Always thinking about machines and schematics. Solving problems. Wouldn’t you just like to relax for once?”

You purse your lips. This entire time in Evergreen has been so mentally draining. 

“If you really thought about it, wouldn’t you like the chance to stop fighting to prove yourself? All you have to do is say the word and you can stop fighting. All you have to be is my little fucktoy.” You screw your face up and he laughs. “You’re not gonna make it easy for me, are you?”

Jeffrey leans down and presses his tongue against your clit. You pant, waiting for him to give you clit the same treatment he was just giving your tits. He looks up at you and raises his eyebrows. “I’m not gonna make it easy for you either. You want to be a worker instead of a fucktoy? Then you can work for this too.”

“Fuck,” you whine, feeling tears prickling the corners of your eyes. 

You push your hips up against his face and rock back and forth as much as your constraints allow. Jeffrey follows your needy movements and sucks on your clit, swirls his tongue across the throbbing sensitivity and groans, sending deep vibrations across your skin.

You curse yourself for being so desperate for your orgasm. 

Everything pulses and burns. Fuck, it radiates from your centre as you grind yourself against Jeffrey’s face. 

“Ah - fuck,” you whimper as everything pulls up fierce and tight once more. Your fingers wrap around the chains of your handcuffs, giving you something to bear your weight against as you roll your pelvis and feel the flutter of his tongue on your clit.

Jeffrey pulls away and you actually cry out this time, arching your back and lifting your hips right off the bed as you helplessly try to follow his mouth. 

“Was that a close one, baby?” He clicks his tongue soothingly. “Shhh, you don’t need to cry.” You huff and blink tears from your eyes as he leans over and wipes a fat tear from under your eye with his thumb, smoothing it across your cheek. “All you have to do is ask. Ask for me to fuck you.”

You take a gulp of air and shake your head, using your very last bit of resolve to pull yourself together. 

“No?” he asks and with difficulty you shake your head again. With a sigh, he turns away from you and unbuttons his shirt. You blink slowly as he reveals his toned, muscular shoulders and back. “Usually this is reserved for girls who behave. But I can make an exception - given the circumstances.”

The room is silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and your laboured breathing. Your eyes rake over him. He has no right to make you feel self-conscious. Especially when it’s his fault that you’re in the state you’re in right now. But he does. Just him existing - looking like that - makes you self-conscious of the sweat glistening on your stomach and the puddle of arousal coating the examination bed.

You were attracted to him the first time you saw him. Felt his bicep when you hit him on the arm playfully in the control room. Watched his muscular forearm flex under a rolled-up sleeve when you asked him to lift a piece of machinery while you fixed one of Cortex’s attachments. You already knew that his physical form was more than it seemed under his tailored shirt.

But Jesus fucking Christ.

Like the control freak he is, he folds his shirt neatly before turning back around and standing between your open legs again. Your gaze flicks down, following the dark blonde trail of hair covering his chest and stomach. 

Jeffrey undoes his belt and the gentle clinking noise seems deafening in the quiet, clinical room. The atmosphere crackles as you hold your breath. 

Waiting. 

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his overpriced, designer boxers and eases his cock out. And of course, it’s hard already - there’s no way he wasn’t getting off on this. But he’s thick too. Without realising it, your whole body tenses up when he wraps his hand around it.

“No.” You look away adamantly. Though you’re not sure whether you’re protesting about him having his cock out or if you’re resolving not to be persuaded by temptation.

Deciding it’s the former, Jeffrey says, “I already told you, I’m not gonna fuck you until you’re begging me for it.”

Jeffrey cups your pussy and for a second, your body hopes against your own will that he’s going to slip his fingers inside you again. But you feel a pang of longing when instead, he gathers up your arousal on the flats of his fingers before coating himself in your slick.

“I thought you’d break sooner than this,” he says, stepping close enough that the underside of his cock brushes your clit. Your breathing picks up again - his touch sending an electric current through you that kicks your needly little nerve endings into hyperdrive. 

He doesn’t fail to notice. 

Jeffrey holds onto your hips and fuck, you feel so small in his large, firm hands. He edges closer, dragging his length along your clit. All the gears whir furiously inside your brain - normally your thoughts are so collected. You wish your brain was working properly but all you can focus on is the delicious way he’s rocking his hips, putting the lightest pressure possible on your clit.

You can’t take it.

You can’t fucking take it.

You buck wildly, your body begging for more pressure but he keeps steady, giving you a knowing smirk as you arch your back again, chasing the sensation. 

“God dammit,” you sob, wishing you had a hand free just to slap that smile off his face.

Your fingernails dig crescent moon indents into your palms as you exert yourself, shamelessly trying to grind against the underside of Jeffrey’s cock.

“Come on, baby. You can get it if you want it. Almost there.”

He follows your movements this time, pulling your hips into his own.

Holy fuck. 

Your heart leaps into your throat as you teeter on a tightrope, willing yourself to fall off. To let yourself plummet.

Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, you think with every little grinding motion.

You squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm rears its head.

Then Jeffrey steps back and his departure fucking winds you.

“No! Fuck, nonononono!” you wail.

“I told you that all you have to do is -”

“Fuck me. Fuck me. Pleeeeaaassseeee,” you howl, feeling tears hot and wet on your cheeks. 

What the fuck are you doing? This is so fucked up. 

And what’s worse is that you want it. 

You like it.

“Tell me you want me to breed you,” says Jeffrey, placing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

You nod, looking away in shame.

“Tell me. Using words.”

“I - I want you to breed me,” you mumble, feeling your face turn bright red once more.

“Good girl,” he says, slapping you on the side of the thigh like you’re livestock. Jeffrey inches forward and you’re so slick and hot between your legs that you’re able to take him more easily than you’d imagined when you first saw the size of his cock. His grip on your hips tightens as he slowly sheaths himself in you, sucking through his teeth.

“I’m glad you finally saw sense,” he grunts, wrapping his hands around your thighs to better leverage himself so he can sink into you deeper.

Sense? What sense? Your own thoughts have never made less sense than right now. You don’t know how to tell him this so you just whimper, blinking at him slowly while he stretches you out. The head of his cock presses against your G-spot and your eyes roll back in your head, grateful that this most sensitive part of your insides is getting the attention it’s been crying out for. 

Holy fucking shit.

Your walls clench around him, clamping down hard as your legs begin to tremble. Jeffrey groans before pulling back out and slamming into you and, fuck, you’d be screaming if you could breathe properly right now. You’re only sure that you haven’t been deactivated again because you can still see. 

“You’re all - fucking - mine. Forever,” he says through clenched teeth, drilling into you. 

He removes a hand from your hip and starts rubbing circles on your clit as he thrusts. You finally take a gasp of air - so deep that you might be waking up from reactivation - as stars are exploding behind your eyes. “Ah - ah, Jeffrey - fuck,” you whine. 

And then you’re writhing. Writhing and grinding as much as you can while he uses your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into you. You’re not losing it this time. He’ll be merciful this time, right?

“You gonna cum for me?” asks Jeffrey. “You gonna cum from being used like a slut?”

“Yes, yes - yes,” you pant, chasing your impending orgasm, everything pulling inside you like a rubber band getting ready to snap.

“Tell me you want my cum -”

“I - I want you to cum - fuck - cum in me,” you say, cutting him off before he can even finish as you take open-mouthed gulps of air. “Breed me. Use me. Do whatever you want.”

“Fuck, I’ve never heard you say that before,” he murmurs to himself, furrowing his brow. With renewed determination, he speeds up his thrusting in time with the circles he’s rubbing around your poor, abused clit. “Come on, baby. You can cum now,” he breathes.

You don’t give him a chance to change his mind. You vault over the edge this time. Your core tightens like a vice then explodes - wet and hot around his cock, squeezing and spasming around him as you tremble and beg for him to let you finish this time. 

Jeffrey lets out a low groan, coarse like grit as he fucks you so hard the examination table moves and squeaks on the polished stone floor. You feel his cock pulsing inside you as he growls his way through his release, shooting ropes of his seed inside you. 

He pulls out of you quicker than you’d like him to. But it’s with purpose as he pulls up his boxers and says “Cortex - tilt the bed back minus 30 degrees.”

The bed mechanically reclines until your pelvis is higher than your head. It doesn’t help with how dazed you’re feeling.

Your state of mind must be painted all over your face because when Jeffrey walks around to the side of the bed, pulling on his shirt he says, “Just like this for a couple of minutes to give us the best chances of conception.” He brushes a sweat-soaked strand of your hair back from your face. 

You look at the ceiling as you regain control of your breathing. 

Eventually, Jeffrey puts you upright. 

“I’m going to take off your restraints so you can go to V-mem,” he says. “I’m warning you now that Cortex will deactivate you if you try to harm me.”

“V-mem?” you ask.

“I can understand that your current situation could be considered to be… traumatic. V-mem will help you rewrite that trauma.”

You nod and watch silently as Jeffrey presses a button that undoes your restraints. He taps an electronic key fob above your head and it unclips your handcuffs.

“Better?” he asks, watching you rub your wrists. You remain silent. You’ve nothing else to say. Nothing you can say that will change what your future will be down here.

Jeffrey frowns and hands you a fresh hospital gown and you put it on before following down the corridor in your bare feet to the V-mem room.

“You - you know how to use it? Even though McKenna is gone?” you ask, stepping into the chamber.

“We’ve not only used it but we’ve improved it,” he says, pulling the door shut. For some reason, this particular door shutting jogs something in your brain. “V-mem can do more than just help process trauma. It can actually delete memories.” 

You stare at him through the glass pane. He might be evil but he has a perfect face. 

Too perfect.

You remember hitting him pretty hard with a wrench. Shouldn't there be a bruise?

“Jeffrey... how long was I deactivated for?” 

“Which time?” he replies absently pressing buttons on the V-mem pod.

Your stomach sinks.

Deleted memories.

“How many times have we done this?” you ask, your throat feels tight as he continues to press buttons.

Jeffrey pauses. “This is the first time you’ve ever asked that.”

“How many times, Jeffrey?” you plead.

“Nine.”

You feel bile bubbling up in your throat.

“And - and how many more times will we need to do it?” you ask, trying to keep your voice as casual as if you were asking the weather.

“We’ll keep doing it until you’re pregnant. Or until you agree that this is our best shot for humanity. You’ve taken much longer than Hannah and Ida to come around.”

“I agree,” you say quickly. You can’t let your memories be erased. You can’t let this happen again to future you. “I - I see it now. You were right Jeffrey.”

He raises an eyebrow sceptically. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I - I’m not sure. I think it just took a while to sink in.” His expression remains still. “And now I - I realise I’m so lucky that you chose me and I’m not stuck with David or Axel.”

Jeffrey’s face softens into a smile. It’s been so long down here that his ego must have been feeling so neglected. 

“I’m the lucky one,” he says, opening the door of the V-mem pod and cupping your face. “You are the smartest person down here and I’ve missed you while you’ve been deactivated.”

You paint a simpering smile on your face, choking down the retort on your tongue - that it was he who deactivated you in the first place.

“No - I am. Think about how smart and beautiful our children will be,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes. 

He laughs “Come on - let’s get out of here,” says Jeffrey helping you out of the pod and putting an arm around you. “And back to my quarters.”

“Your quarters?”

“Well, if we’re going to be parents together we should probably start sleeping in the same bed, right?”

“Right,” you chuckle weakly, letting him lead you down the corridor to the bed that you’ll be spending the rest of your life sleeping in.

#tw.yandere #tw.noncon #tw.dark content #tw.breeding #freddie stroma #jeffrey steinberg x reader #jeffrey steinberg #hidden signal: evergreen #hidden signals: evergreen #evergreen podcast

[peaches2217]

Traduzione Non Necessarie

*Sequel of sorts to Traduzione, Per Favore?. Y'all are gonna want Google Translate/DeepL/your translation service of choice on hand for this one.

AO3 link!

~~~

Peach pulled in a deep, steady breath, slowing and finally stopping the transfer of her magic. Five seconds. That seemed like a good number, nice and round. Her heart fluttered nervously as she withdrew her hand from Mario’s brow, waiting for a response.

She knew exactly how much magic it took to send him into a deep slumber. Anything before that point was merely guesswork. She could only hope she had guessed correctly.

At present, she didn’t put too much stake into that hope. Mario’s eyes wouldn’t open all the way, it seemed, no matter how hard he tried, and his pupils were blown so wide she could hardly see the blues of his irises. Perhaps the five seconds had still been too much.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

It took him a few moments to respond, his head lolling back and forth as he thought. “Hmm… kinda like…” He exhaled sharply, the rest of his body going into an unsteady sway. “Feel kinda like a big ole’... wet spaghetti noodle, maybe… all dizzy ‘n’... phew…”

Peach rushed to steady him before he lost his balance, planting her feet firmly into the ground so he wouldn’t immediately knock her over if that came to pass.

Too much. She would know to reign it in even further next time.

Still, as she helped him to the ground, he seemed perfectly content. He sprawled out in the fresh summer grass with his arms spread, basking in the sunlight like a photosynthesizing plant.

“Mm.” He nuzzled his cheek into a patch of grass beneath him. “Soft.”

The sight drew a fond, amused smile from Peach, and she made herself comfortable beside him. 

This had become a ritual of sorts, one of their many excuses to extend their time in each other’s company. It began as a random suggestion as they chatted one day while awaiting a tardy diplomat, one that hadn’t been entirely serious: Peach’s magic could touch both the body and the mind. She had become skilled in healing, practicing on her own scrapes and bruises as far back as early childhood. Broken skin now mended instantly beneath her touch, and, with a greater deal of effort, she could even reverse infections and heal broken bones.

Her ability to manipulate the mind — or, rather, the sheer scale of that power, the tales of predecessors who had corrupted themselves beyond redemption through its abuse — terrified her. She had distanced herself from that power in response. But it still lay deep within her, whether she wanted it to or not, and the realization that she didn’t even know how to wield it scared her almost as much.

Having confided this in Mario, he had in turn offered himself as a test subject (a “geh-knee-pig,” specifically, some charming otherworldly colloquialism meaning roughly the same thing). Peach had laughed it off, at least until he brought it up again of his own volition the next time they were together.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she had confessed.

“You could try shutting my brain off,” he had suggested back. “And hey! You wouldn’t even have to worry about putting me into a coma, because you could reverse that pretty easily, right?”

He had found his joke quite funny, so she never had the heart to admit she had spent his first slumbering spell obsessively checking his pulse in response. Just in case.

Mercifully it never came to that. She learned to bring him rest with increasing care, and she learned further that the sight of Mario sound asleep, all of his cares far from his mind, was among her favorite sights in the world.

Inducing sleep had become second nature to her. She wanted to practice further control, hone the fine motor skills of her greater magic. So today, she had asked to put Mario into a trance rather than full sleep, and he had happily agreed.

He would be getting sleep anyway, so it seemed.

“Forgive me,” Peach said, slipping off her high heels and setting them to her far side. He was right. The grass was lovely and soft beneath her soles.

“Huh?” was Mario’s well thought-out response.

“It was too much.”

He stretched his arms high above his head, his back arching from the force of it. “‘S’okay, Princess.” He paused to yawn noisily before continuing. “Today, I take a nap! Tomorrow we try again. I win either way!” 

Always looking on the bright side. She expected nothing less from him.

She watched him as he made himself comfortable, drinking in every little detail. The pale freckles dotting his tanned skin which she had committed to memory like a star map, the single gray hair in his mustache, his unruly curls exposed from beneath his cap, which had fallen halfway off and was pinned beneath his head. The gentle arch of his thick eyebrows, the thin lines beneath his eyes… lines that were darker and more pronounced than usual, she noticed now.

Peach sighed to herself, fighting against the temptation to run a hand through his dark locks. Perhaps her slip-up was fortuitous after all. 

It hadn’t come out of nowhere, Mario’s suggestion that she practice by putting him to sleep. When he wasn’t a beacon of unbridled energy, he was curled up someplace high off the ground, snoozing away. Peach always found it cute, his unabashed fondness for napping. But the more they got to know each other, the more hours they spent in aimless conversation, she had discovered it was no mere quirk. He hadn’t told anyone that he struggled to sleep at night. At least not until he told her.

He would never admit the extent of it to her. He didn’t necessarily hide or deny it, the fact that he wrestled with his own thoughts and memories more often than he cared to admit, the fact that he lived in understated but constant fear of being unavailable to protect those he was charged to protect, the fact that, when he did find sleep on his own, it was often unsteady and filled with nightmares. But he wouldn’t say any of this outright.

In learning to control her magic, Peach could help him. She could give him reprieve where he might not normally have such a luxury. But she wanted to do more. He was her dearest friend, and she loved him as such and far beyond, and she wished more than anything to be a pillar of support for him when he couldn’t support himself. After all, she knew better than to assume him invincible. He was only human.

But he refused to take her up on the offer. His burdens weren’t hers to bear, he would insist. “Not your fault I’ve got too many thoughts bouncing around this big head!” And then he’d tapped his knuckles to his head for emphasis, giving her a cheeky smile. She didn’t find it quite so amusing.

It baffled Peach. He trusted her with the control of his very mind, yet even now she hadn’t earned his full vulnerability. More than once she had wondered if his volunteerism was an invitation, or a request of sorts. Did he want her to know of these things? Did he merely have trouble articulating them? “He’s not always the best with words, you know,” Luigi had said time and again.

It would be so easy. With a single touch, she could know it all. She could see his emotional scars, the images that haunted him most, his deepest, most locked-away secrets. He wouldn’t have to tell her anything; she could just know. How deeply into his mind was she welcome to dig?

That was a line Peach refused to cross, or even entertain with any great gravity, until she was given express permission. And right now, her only permissions were to aid him in rest. She swallowed and wet her lips. 

“May I?” She extended her hand to Mario once more, hoping the gesture was clear enough in his hazy state of mind. He peered up at her through heavy lids, but he nodded without hesitation, letting those lids fall shut as she touched his forehead.

Brushing his curls from his face, she closed her eyes, conjured her chosen thoughts, and let the images flow from her fingertips into his subconscious.

Normally she waited until he was asleep to do this part. Once slumber claimed him, she would fill his head with scenes of softness and warmth, vague but peaceful images that might trigger pleasant dreams. But what was the harm in getting an early start? He’d be out cold in five minutes tops anyway.

Today she transferred to him something a bit more specific: memories of their afternoons in her private garden, sharing cakes and tarts and chatting until the light faded from the sky. It was… selfish, perhaps, her hope that he might dream of her. But more than once he had told her that their shared time together meant the world to him. Such memories would no doubt bring him the most serene sleep.

Selfish urges were okay if they aided someone else too. That was her own unsteady justification.

Within moments, a smile spread across Mario’s face. “Ahh…” He turned his head in the direction of her touch, and she followed it, tapering the flow of memories and cupping his cheek. His skin was warm against her palm, the heat permeating her silken gloves. His Firebrand made his body temperature unnaturally high, he had once explained, though rarely did she get to feel the evidence for herself.

How often had she dreamed of cupping his cheek just like this, feeling him blush beneath her? How often did she use sleep as an excuse to escape into a world of fantasy, one in which he loved her just as fiercely as she loved him?

A chuckle jolted Peach back into reality. “W-what?” she asked, cautiously drawing her hand away. A wave of paranoia flooded her when Mario didn’t answer, just laughed some more.

“‘Il mio amico Mario è tondo e peloso,'” he said, and the paranoia lifted at once.

“‘Come una pesca,’” she finished. She hadn’t accidentally broadcast her selfish thoughts to his subconscious, she realized with no shortage of relief. He was remembering.

“Ah, brava, principessa!” He pressed his thumb to his index and middle fingers, his hand bouncing with each upward lilt in intonation. “Il tuo accento migliora di giorno in giorno.”

Peach couldn’t help but giggle with him. “Grazie,” she said, though she hadn’t understood most of the last part. Of all the memories he chose to cling to in his state of near-sleep, he chose the time she had accidentally and all too casually slighted him? (To be fair, it was quite funny, yes, but still.)

Reluctantly, she withdrew her touch once more, watching as he relaxed in the embrace of pleasant memories. The dark shadows beneath his eyes seemed to lighten, though whether this image was real or imagined she couldn’t say for sure.

Peach swallowed again. Her throat felt tight. These shared moments helped ease whatever struggles weighed him down, and for that she was grateful. But why couldn’t he bring those struggles to her before they robbed him of sleep? Why couldn’t he let the world fall from his shoulders long enough to entrust some of that weight to her?

“Mario?”

“Mm?”

She wrung her hands together, making her best effort to separate familiar sounds into still-new words. “Sai che puoi… dirmi… qualsiasi cosa,” she managed at last. You know you can tell me anything.

Mario’s face lit up in recognition, and she couldn’t help but be proud of herself. She’d never said it aloud herself before. It was always him saying it to her during their informal Italian lessons, encouraging her past her embarrassment, egging her on to ask questions no matter how silly she feared they might be.

“Oh, dai, sai che puoi dirmi qualsiasi cosa,” he’d say, nudging her if he was near enough, equal parts teasing and sincere. “Lo so,” she had learned to say in response, nudging him back if she was able.

Maybe she could get through to him this way, speaking to him in his native tongue when he was too tired to put up his guard. Maybe he would give her a “Lo so” of his own, and maybe, just maybe, he would follow through.

But that wasn’t the response Mario gave her. “Mm… davvero?” he said instead, his voice quiet with what Peach presumed was encroaching slumber. “E se ti dicessi che sei il mio sole e stelle? Questo la non turberebbe?”

A few moments passed in silence. Peach didn’t recall practicing any phrase set resembling this. Yet he was looking up at her, fixedly, as though he were expecting an answer to whatever question he had just posed.

There was something… oddly sad in his expression. He didn’t seem distraught, and no tears welled in the corners of his eyes, but his usual cheer was muddied with a sort of melancholy.

She didn’t like this feeling. She didn’t like seeing him like this. Her stomach turned and leapt painfully, as though urging her to do something.

“...Mind repeating that?”

Mario didn’t repeat himself. He redirected his eyes upward, focusing that sad smile on the sky above them, and Peach followed his gaze, a bit miffed. A fluffy cloud passed overhead amidst more modest and wispy offerings. It looked rather like a Jammyfish.

“Peach,” he said after a moment of silent contemplation, and that caught her attention, because she was never Peach. Even when he stood at her side as her trusted guard, even when he took her hands and pulled her from the castle grounds, urging her to follow him to some great sight waiting for her in town, even when they walked privately through rolling fields and let their shared presence ease countless unvoiced burdens, she was always Princess. Sometimes Principessa, rarely Your Highness, but never Peach. 

She wanted desperately to hear her name on his voice again.

Closing his eyes, Mario laughed, that giddy, sleepy laugh she knew she could never get enough of, and granted her wish. “Oh, Peach,” he repeated, his coherency rapidly slipping away, “there’s so much I want to tell you.”

That deep and unidentifiable sadness deepend in Peach’s gut. “Then why not tell me?” She startled at the desperation that leaked into her tone, clearing her throat in impulse and praying he hadn’t heard it. Why not trust me when you’re awake as much as you trust me when you’re asleep?

“Mi perdonerei mai,” he slurred.

“Mario, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He hummed a torpid apology, folding his arms beneath his head. “Well,” he rephrased, “I’m just… I dunno. You know? I am. And that’s not…” He shrugged. “And then you… you’re…” 

“I’m…?” Peach pressed, fearing she already knew the answer. You’re a princess. That was one of his very few quirks that frustrated her. Never mind that he was only human, and never mind that she was his best friend. She was a princess, and he was a hero, and it was his sacred duty to internalize anything he feared might burden her, no matter how desperately she wished he would lean on her, be vulnerable with her, trust in her.

His answer was buried beneath a yawn, so quiet she almost didn’t catch it: “You’re everything.” 

Birdsong and the distant chatter of groundskeepers carried the silence that ensued.

You’re everything. Those two words swirled around Peach’s brain in a dizzying cyclone. What did that mean? You’re everything, a ruler and a leader and a friend, and I could never bother you with my own problems ? You’re already doing everything you can and telling you about the things you have no sway over just isn’t worth it ?

“You’re everything,” he might say one quiet evening, somewhere in the midst of soft kisses and tender touches, and she would tell him then that he was her everything too.

Peach clenched her teeth. 

She had found the courage just a few weeks earlier to ask how one might express love in his native tongue, “like I might say to Toadsworth or you might say to Luigi.”

She hadn’t expected to learn that there was more than one way to say it. “Ti voglio bene,” he told her. “That’s how I’d say it to Luigi or to Toad — or to you!”

And how would your mother have said it to your father? How would I say it to you ? Peach couldn’t even begin to amass that sort of courage.

Mario lay still beside her, his chest rising and falling evenly. Her fingers twitched.

She could dig as deeply as she liked. She could see his every thought and he wouldn’t know, so long as he didn’t wake. She could finally know those things he refused to tell her, she could know his struggles intimately, she could finally begin formulating ways to really and truly help him.

At the very least, she could see for herself what dreams ran through his head at the moment. Was he dreaming of her, just as she dreamed each night of him?

…Perhaps she could sway his mind far deeper still. Perhaps she could make him…

Balling her hands into fists, Peach sighed, laying back in the grass. She understood now more than ever how her predecessors had so easily become drunk on this power. But she wasn’t her predecessors. And she wouldn’t betray what trust Mario had freely given her.

Sei il mio tutto.

Maybe one day she could say as much. Maybe one day she would stop creating fantastical scenarios in her head, and she would stop wanting more than she was already blessed with, and she would stop being so selfish and be content with meeting Mario where he was rather than wishing for more, more, more.

Maybe she could say it then, when she truly deserved to.

#super mario bros #smb #mario #princess peach #mareach #mario x peach #phew! nearly 3k words! longest I've written in a bit #peaches' fancy fics #also I don't think the title is grammatically correct but shhhhhh #I worked hard to make sure the rest is so I'm granting myself that liberty 😆

[seramilla]

Clara had always been rather clingy to her older sister. Since birth, one of the only ways to get Clara to settle down was if Odette was near or holding her, and so after the incident where Odette had gotten gravely injured, that clinginess had amped up into separation anxiety. Ever since Odette had woken up from her anesthesia after her surgery, her younger sister was all over her, and she was practically in Odette’s lap by the time verosika and her posse were allowed into the room.

(Just a short snip it of what I think Clara would be like after her big sister nearly died, and what Clara was like as a baby too, bc baby Clara is an adorable concept!!

—anon who wrote the attempted murder angst request)

After the assassination attempt against Clara that had left Odette gravely injured, Belphegor keeps Odette in a medically induced coma for several days. Even when she’s passed the most dangerous milestone of her recovery, and Bel decides to let her try to wake up on her own, it’s just over a week in total until Odette finally opens her eyes.

The first thing Odette sees upon waking is her sister, Clara, asleep in the small hospital bed beside her. The younger woman is cuddled up to her as close as she can possibly be without actually lying on top of her. One of Odette’s hands is grasped tightly in hers, and when Odette has enough presence of mind to look over at her, she squeezes her sister’s hand, testing her own physical limits. Clara is startled awake at the sensation. When she sees golden irises staring back up at her, Clara gasps, taking Odette’s face into her hands, and smattering kisses all over cheeks and forehead.

“ ‘Dette! Oh, sis, you’re finally awake! Thank god!”

“Clar,” Odette responds weakly. Her voice is hoarse from lack of use, and also the tubes that had been down her throat for days. She reaches for her sister, but she’s still too weak to do much more than grasp at Clara’s shirt. She looks Clara up and down, as if assessing her younger sibling’s own condition, before asking. “Are you okay?”

Clara screeches. “ ‘Dette, I’m fine! Don’t worry about me, you idiot! You almost died!”

Odette tries to sit up, but hisses when a sharp pain shoots through her shoulder, hip, and back. Clara carefully keeps her down on the bed with a hand; it doesn’t take much effort, because Odette is so weak. Odette tries sitting up again, but Clara gives a firm “No,” forbidding her to sit up, or even move.

“You have to lie still!” Clara explains. “You were hurt real bad. You need to rest.”

Ignoring her, Odette asks, looking worriedly around the room, “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s at home with Sera and Emily. Bel only let one of us in the room at a time, so we’ve been watching you in shifts.”

“And how long was your shift?” Odette questions, already suspecting she knows the answer.

“I’ve been here all day. Mom needed a break. She sat with you for days. Now it’s my turn.”

Odette smiles. Her little sister has always been attached to her hip. She guesses she shouldn’t expect her hospital bed to be any different. She wonders if Belphegor knows Clara had been in the bed with her. She probably wouldn’t have been able to keep her out of it, either way. Smiling, Odette looks up at Clara, with tears starting to fall down her face. The exhaustion and adrenaline from their ordeal is finally catching up with her.

“Thanks, Clar,” Odette says. “You’re the best sister anyone could ask for. I love you.”

That must have done something in Clara’s heart, because Clara is suddenly bawling, grasping desperately around Odette’s neck. Odette hisses in pain from being jostled around from the hug, but she hides it, so her sister doesn’t feel guilty. She’s gotten really good at that over the years.

“I love you, too, ‘Dette!” Clara sobs, covering her sister’s neck in snot and tears. She rubs it in, good and wet and sticky. “Please don’t ever do anything like that again! I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you!

Odette is really crying now, too. Ugly, desperate tears. She and Clara just lie there, holding each other for a long time, like they used to when they were kids. When they were scared, or just needed to feel that closeness that only sisters truly know. Eventually they both fall asleep again, equally exhausted from the last week’s events, for different reasons. The sleep is well-deserved, all the same.

#hazbin hotel #odette hazbin hotel #clara hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #ask #anon #fan theories #belphegor hazbin hotel #have some fluff with your angst #attempted murder angst au

[afro-hispwriter]

The Diamond Queen: Homelander

Homelander/John x reader(platonic), Soldier Boy/Ben x reader(mentioned, romantic), Reader x other female characters

Summary- You have a history with Homelander

Warnings- baby John, mentions of drug use, mentions of soldier boy's "death", herogasam, strap on sex, drug use, snorting of bodies, gxgxg, slight temperature play, more on readers' past

A/n- this is a prequel to Parts 1 and 2

Taglist for this series- @the-house-of-auditore-frye

-

Earving got placed in a medically induced coma after you returned from Nicaragua. They were worried he wouldn't pull through but his powers helped keep him alive. But Ben had destroyed him far beyond repair. You sat by his bed every day, crying.

It wasn't until Vogelbaum called for you. It took a bit of convincing but soon you were standing in front of his institute. It wasn't the first time you were there, you would be called occasionally when an out-of-control supe needed to be controlled or calmed down in their words. 

"I'm so glad you were able to come we know you're going through a lot with Noir and Soldier Boy. God Soldier Boy, hard to believe-." Vogelbaum started, 

"Just show me the supe." You cut off Vogelbaum and he frowned. You looked so drained of life, but who wouldn't? 

"Follow me." He led you through the facility and into the pediatric ward. It made you uneasy, controlling a child pained you. 

"A child?" 

"I know how much you hate it, I'm sorry." Another scientist was standing right in front of the door, making faces through the window. When he saw you approach he backed off and they let you look through the small window.

"Oh." A tiny baby, who could barely be a year old sat there all alone smiling and laughing as he held his blue blanket. "He's laughing, seems fine to me." You say not taking your eyes off of the baby. 

"That's why we called you, we think we have something here, but we need him to display his powers." 

"You want me to force a baby to use its power?"

"We'll pay you, double what you usually get." 

Money is money you thought and opened the door. You walked in and the giggling baby looked up at you with a big gummy smile.

"What's his name?" You asked Vogelbaum.

"John." 

"Hey, John." You say and sat down, crossing your legs. John crawled to you with his blanket in his hand, he grabbed your knees and used them to push himself onto your lap. "Oh hey." You grabbed him under his arms and held him tightly. As your hands touched his bare arms you felt a sudden electric shock between the two of you. Your eyes softened and you brushed his hair to the side. "Why do they have you locked up here? Hmm?"

He squealed and grabbed onto the hem of your shirt. His bright blue eyes stared right at you, instantly melting away any stress you had.

-

Since the day you met John, you visited him every day. You created a bond with the child. 

Vogelbaum watched the interactions every day as well. It fascinated him, the connection between you and your former fiancé's child was extraordinary. You didn't seem to know John was Ben's, and he'd like to keep it that way.

"Happy Birthday John, I got you some cake." In a singing voice as you carried a gift and a whole cake into the now 8-year-old's room.

"Thank you Y/n." John came up to you and instantly hugged you tightly. It was a very tight hug, any normal human would have been crushed. Ever since John started to display his powers you were there more. You calmed him down most of the time. As he did burn straight through one of the workers just the previous week. 

"Guess what flavor it is?" You say and set the cake down on the table.

"Vanilla!" 

"You got it!" You handed him the bag with his present and he sat on his head and instantly started ripping it open. 

"Cool! These are limited edition Payback figures!" 

"I know, luckily I know a few people." 

"You're the best." He hugged you again and out of the corner of his eyes a lit-up cake. It floated in front of him and he backed up. 

"Make a wish." John's eyes flicked up to you and back down to the cake. He thought for a moment and you made sure not to let your mind wander. He blew out the candle and you clapped your hands.

"Y/n?" 

"Hmm." 

"Can you watch the first Soldier Boy movie with me?" You knew you should've said no but John was giving you puppy dog eyes.

"Okay, sure."  

The two of you settled on his tiny bed eating cake. The entire movie John pointed stuff out, you tried to listen but every time Ben's face appeared you shut off. It wasn't until John shoved you hard that brought you back.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" 

"Y-Yeah sorry." Your voice broke a bit.

"I was asking if you ever met Soldier Boy. Since you know, Noir. Your brother worked with him." 

"Oh yeah, i-i met him a few times. He was everything the movies and the media made him out to be." 

"That's cool, do you think there will ever be another Soldier Boy?" You looked down at him and swallowed.

"I hope so, the world needs its superhero." 

You knew deep down that was Vought's plan. John has shown exceptional, dangerous power. Something that interested them heavily. 

"I wish I had your abilities, I hate mine. I hurt people." He says and his nose twitches. You set your plate down and wrapped an arm around him.

"I hate mine too, they aren't as fun as everyone thinks they are." John smiled at that.

"Just another thing we have in common."

-

It was the tenth anniversary of Ben's death(or disappearance). The world was celebrating their lost hero, mourning. 

Herogasm was mourning differently. You had never seen so many people fucking in one place. You have gone to herogasm quite a bit with Ben, but it was never this packed. 

Your nose burned as you snorted the white substance off the girl with fire abilities pretty pussy. While the girl with ice powers shoved her ice dick far up inside of you. You were high as a kite and loved it. The difference in temperature and the drug made your orgasm 10 times more intense than usual. 

"Fuck." You moaned out and lifted your head but got your face instantly shoved into the girl in front of you. She rocked herself harshly, moaning loudly as her clit ground against your nose. You opened your mouth as she came harshly, jerking her hips. 

"Thank you." She breathes out and the girl behind you pulled out making you whimper. 

"Want to have some more fun?" She kisses you should and you smile hazily.

"Another day." You say out of breath and flip yourself around. Both women stand up but before leaving they leaned down and pressed a long kiss to your lips before pulling away and turning to each other, pushing their lips together and you watch steam pour out from between them. 

"See you Y/n." You watched them leave to join whatever other group there was. You stood up and started searching for your clothes amongst the heap of them. 

You walked out of the house fully clothed, denying any advances or invitations on your way out. You even stole a bottle of tequila.

Fireworks popped in the distance. All for Soldier Boy.  They all acted like they fucking knew him. They knew Soldier Boy. You knew Ben. 

You sat on the wet ground, drowning the bottle of alcohol. You hadn't touched a bottle in years. Both alcohol and drugs.

When you first received the V and discovered what your abilities were. The voices were so loud. You couldn't control it, you couldn't shut them out or just focus on one mind. You were at a party and on the verge of tears of how sensitive you were when someone offered you a little bag of powder. It was your medicine until you finally learned to control it. Ben helped you control it, and he didn't even understand it. 

Ben was the one thing on your mind. It made you think of what your life could have been like if he were still alive. Would the world finally know who their beloved hero's love is? Would your relationship be accepted? Would you have had your wedding? Kids? Would he have retired? 

So many questions and no answers. But they made you think of John. You've known the boy for almost 10 years. He felt like your son. You watched him grow. You practically raised him. He could be your son. 

-

That's how you ended up in front of the institution. Eyes bloodshot. Could barely keep up. 

You opened the doors and walked right past the front nurse. She called you for saying visiting hours weren't until the next day but she got cut off by her neck snapping. You forced the security doors open and alarms started blaring around the building. 

Workers noticed you and immediately got out of your way. 

"Where's Vogelbaum?" You slurred at one and they shakily looked around, stammering over their words. 

"I'm right here." You whipped around and almost stumbled but caught yourself. "Seems like you're having a night, why don't we talk in my office." He points back behind him. 

"Don't bullshit me." You cocked your head to the aide and you were in his mind. He was nervous, everyone was. But Vogelbaums's mind was screaming something about a collar. "What collar?" 

"Y/n, don't. It's been a day for you, with Ben and his-." 

"I'm taking John with me, he-he deserves a good life."  You say and the scientist sighs.

"We can't let you do that." That made you laugh.

"Did you forget who I am? What I can do?" you simply closed your eyes and everyone in that hallway was under your control. "Bring me John." 3 people walked away like robots, while everyone else was frozen at attention. It wasn't long before John screamed your name down the hall.

"Y/n!" You turned around and immediately opened your arms. When he got closer he stopped. "Are you okay?" You probably looked terrible, horrifying to a child. 

"John is okay, I'm here to take you home. We can be a family." At the sound of family, John immediately perked up. 

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smiled brightly and ran into your arms.

"Can we leave now?" He whispered into your neck and you nodded.

"Right now." As you pulled apart Johns's eyes widened in shock.

"Watch out!" You turned around but it was too late. Someone in all black stood there holding a silver collar. Before you could react it got slammed on your neck and it locked. Your hands grabbed at it, trying to rip it off but to no avail. Suddenly John blasted the person with his heat vision, instantly killing them. 

Your control over everyone fell. You tried to activate your diamond form but nothing worked. 

"Fuck." You say and John kneels down next to you. "This shit won't let me use my powers. FUCK!" 

"We have to go." John cries.

"I know, I know." You say and feel your body slowly start to weaken. "What is- what is this doing to me?" You asked yourself and your eyes started to flutter close. 

"Gas them." Someone said and a can clatter next to you. You started coughing harshly and John dropped to his knees, coughing hard as well. You collapsed face first into the ground, slowly falling unconscious. 

-

Your eyes fluttered open and the blinding light was unbearable. 

"Fuck." You mumbled and slowly started to sit up. 

"Y/n, lay back down." A deep voice made its way to your ears.

"Mmm." You flopped on the bed and blinked rapidly to get used to your surroundings. You looked around and your eyes settled on the scientist you wished you could keep calling your friend. 

“You really fucked up.” You rolled your eyes.

“I'm leaving. With John, and you’re not going to stop me.” You say and in an attempt to control his, a shock triggered makes you scream. “What the fuck?” It made him chuckle. 

“You know Vought is so terrified of you that they had me create a contingency plan just for you. At first, it was Soldier Boy himself but then the two of you started getting involved so we had to turn to something different. Hell, I didn’t even think it was going to work. But here we are.” That’s when you felt the metal on your neck, you reached up and grabbed it but a tiny shock made you let it go. 

“What is this?”

“This is the device that won’t let you use your abilities, it weakens you, and if you try to use the. It seems powerful shocks, enough of them and we fry your brain. You’ll become a mindless zombie.” He stood from his chair and got close to your face. “Just like everyone you control.” You gave him a hard glare before looking away and swallowing.

“What do you want from me?”

“I need you to leave. Never come back. And don’t come looking for John. America. The world needs a hero again, and it's going to be John.” 

“He’s just a kid.”

“He won't be in a few years. I'm going to propose a deal.” He says and you stay quiet. “You’re going to leave and never come back and in return. We take this collar off.”  He grabbed it with his hands and he tugged it. “It will stay locked away and nobody will be able to replicate it. Vought will also make sure you live comfortably, funded for the rest of your life. Does that sound good?” 

Your jaw tensed and you took in a deep breath.

“What about John, he’s going to ask.” You say and feel your eyes water.

“We’ll worry about that. Now, do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand with a raised eyebrow. You looked at it and back up at him. With a deep breath, you grabbed his hand. 

-

A/n- not proud of this one tbh. Let me know what you guys think though. Going to start working on part 3 ASAP:)

#soldier boy x reader #ben x reader #the boys #homelander #x black reader

[mixed-kester]

AITA for not giving this guy another chance after he mistreated me?

I (22) have been pining over this person (500+) for over three years now, but it reached a breaking point and I gave up.

I was the one who pursued him because he seemed lonely and lost and he always rebuffed my attempts at making friends, but like the utter dumbass i am, I tried and tried; i even went up to his mom's house and got killed because I wanted to enact revenge for him.

And yes, when i said I wanted to make friends with him, I mean it in every sense of the word. I tried to reason with him, to be like him so he can have someone to relate to. Hell, I even tried to join his weird-ass cult before it dissolved. That's how obsessed I was with him.

Emphasis, of course, on was.

I started having dreams of another guy (24) who's just like him-- only this time, he's a bit kinder. A bit more softer. A bit less like a monster, and more... humane. Well, time "passed" inside that dream and I realized that I liked this person more than I liked that guy, so I wanted to stay with him forever.

Alas, dreams aren't meant to last, and I woke up as a consequence of a botched attempt to repair that asshole's consciousness. (EDIT: Lesser Lord Kusanali gave me admin access. Y'all can't see what it is because I signed an NDA.)

Of course, it's back to this person and not the kind one-- but this time, I knew. I didn't tolerate shit from him-- but when it came to too much and tore a love letter right in front of my face, I had enough and told him to fuck off and die.

So, i hereby contacted an insider from the Akademiya and slept in a medically induced coma for a year. (EDIT: a more accurate term is Dendro-hastened slumber, thanks u/akademiya-tighnari!) And yes, that meant I get to be with that other guy more!

…but for some insane reason, another year with him got cut short by-- you guessed it-- the same asshole who mistreated me. I gave him the cold shoulder, as I did the year before I slept, and told him to fuck off repeatedly when he kept following me like a stray cat. (EDIT: no, I did not have a chance to file a restraining order to the Matra-- he's a nobody in every sense of the word. no records, no anything. I don't even think I knew what his name is.)

He kept trying to talk to me about giving him another chance, but I told him that that bridge isn't even burnt, he dropped an atomic bomb on it and blamed me for making him do it, and told him once more to get lost and get out of my sight.

However, my therapist thinks I should give him a chance as he was her former client as well, and she can see that he has changed. (EDIT: No, I did not force her to violate her patient-doctor confidentiality, stop spamming comments.)

My other friend (26) confirmed my therapists observations. I usually trust his judgment, but I'm not sure I should trust this one. He has a propensity for embellishing truths.

So, am I the asshole in this?

image source

#genshin impact #wanderer: tinuvion #esther #writings #astronetwrk #kaeya #nahida #lesser lord kusanali #genshin x oc #wanderer #scaramouche #wanderer genshin impact #scaramouche genshin impact

[traitorca]

My Iron Lung - The Walking Dead

Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader: 1

Masterlist

Disoriented.

Disoriented was the only word that could be used to explain that agonizing plane trip to Georgia, and in following, the extensive drive to Kings County. Your childhood home, the one in which you shared with your older brother, Rick, the same man who was shot in a police chase and left in a comatose state in the hospital.

When you got the call, it was late that evening, having just clocked out of work early to get some very needed shut eye. You hadn’t slept in days, being called to the office to investigate a newly reported bacteria in one of the patients donated for study.

You were walking to your car, the bastard sitting alone in an empty hospital lot. You had stayed late tonight, being the last to finalize a recent study.

“Hey-! Lori, just the girl I was missing.” You cheered, exhaustion lacing your tone as you opened your car door. “What’s up?”

There was no response, just heavy breathing, an unfocused mind on the other side of the phone. You could tell something was very wrong.

“Lo?” Your voice came out more raw than intended, worry now flooding your mind. You knew of your brother’s marital issues. Christ, he’d call you in distress, day by day about the countless nonsense they chose to argue about. “Lo? Did you guys fight-? Hey, you’re okay right?” You knew Rick wasn’t aggressive, never in your life could you imagine he’d get violent, not with Lori. He treated that woman as if she was fragile, like he was afraid to speak his mind. That’s what pissed her off so much, you knew that. “Just- breathe! Hey, it’s okay-“

“No-“ Lori’s voice croaked out, pained, broken whimpers following as she failed to keep her composure.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You frowned, adjusting your position in your front seat. The doors were locked, key resting in the cars ignition. “Really- it’s going to be okay-“

“Rick’s been shot-!”

You fell silent, jaw slacking as your eyes nearly widened out of their sockets. Your lips quivered, small cracks of sound escaping your throat before you cleared it. “..he’s dead?”

It was more of a statement than a question. You didn’t want to know the answer, but at the same time, you needed it.

“..No- no, not yet. He’s- he’s in the hospital right now- he’s in a coma they said.” She was afraid to answer, voice shaking as if she couldn’t believe it herself. This poor woman.

Carl. Oh, poor Carl.

“I’m coming.”

“Oh-“ Lori sounded relieved, her breath releasing as if she had been holding it in. “Oh- but I don’t want you to get in trouble with your job-“

“That’s my brother, Lori.” You whisper “and you’re my family. You need me more than they do.” Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. He was still alive- you could make it to see him.

“Oh god-“ she started to cry, her voice breaking under the pressure, long ugly sobs releasing into the phone.

“I’m coming, Lo. I promise.”

Working as an epidemiologist was plenty difficult, but being across seas was even harder. You and your brother shared many values, one of them being family oriented. You loved your family. Your sister in law, your nephew, your parents, but your brother was the closest person you ever had to a best friend. Seeing as you grew up quite sheltered under the protection of your older brother and his best friend, Shane, you never found the need to venture outside that circle.

That was until you all grew up, and they chose their professions, and you chose yours.

“Remember when we were little and I stole your toy truck?” You whispered, firm hand gripping his own. Rick looked like every other body you had seen in your line of work. But he wasn’t like them.

That seems like a insensitive thing to say- as if those bodies weren’t people too, once alive- laughing, crying- breathing people. (ironic considering what you’re reading huh? guess we’re all just bodies in the grand scheme of things.) but the difference was- Rick wasn’t dead. He was in an induced comatose state, hooked up to several ivs, machines clicking and beeping as they worked to keep him stabilized. It sounded like your new life, the sounds you had grown so accustomed to- now surrounding the memories of a life you once lived.

They had gone into surgery before you had even arrived, bullet wounds dressed in thick, white bandages. You wouldn’t label yourself as a paranoid individual, but you wouldn’t lie when you said you checked them at least once or twice since you had been there. They had to force you out by the time visitation hours closed- you begged, attempting to use your badge, your rank as an individual, to stay with him in the hospital. Your brother had always been a protector- but seeing him now, you felt as if it was your time to return the favor. Alas, most people in the United States who worked in healthcare were jackasses, so they were the least bit lenient, and you were sent home.

Shane had temporarily moved in with Lori and Carl, your sister in-law and nephew almost dependent on him as Rick slipped into his unresponsive state. You didn’t blame her for needing the extra help, that’s why you had flown all the way from the UK to see her.

Now, you would say your relationship with Shane was strained- you two definitely got along FAIRLY well in your youth- but let’s just say, his aggravating ass could’ve been an attributing factor to your occupation being across the ocean. So seeing him now- well, you wished it'd be under better circumstances- this didn’t really give you the chance to be an ass towards him.

“Hey, Aunt Y/N-“ Carl started.

“Yeah babe?”

“What’s it like? In Europe?” He came to sit next to you, the couch barely shifting underneath his weight.

“It’s not as hot as this, I can tell you that. Jesus Christ, I don’t know how you put up with it. So glad I left-“

He giggled at that, head leaning down upon your shoulder. You smiled. You had never given a thought to having kids- hell, you never really dwelled on relationships. High School was a mess, leaving you with an untasteful look into what future relationships could hold for you- highschool sweethearts were hard to come by, Lori and Rick being an exception, but even now you could attest that there was nothing “sweet” about them. They had a rocky relationship, as much as you’d like to say you didn’t blame either of them for their quarrels, Lori left you often surprised at what problem she had conjured up against your brother. Nevertheless, your brother raised you right, and you knew she meant well. For the most part.

“It’s not that bad! We have ice cream-“

“Oooh yes, Ice Cream.” Shane joined in, walking over to the couch with a mug in his hand. Coffee sounded so good right now. “Y/N, I didn’t get to welcome you back properly- so, I hope this will suffice. You’ve been real busy with Rick- so. Relax a bit.”

You take the mug almost immediately, eyelids slightly lowering as you brought it near to your face. You sipped from it, body immediately encased in a foreign warmth. You couldn’t imagine a world without coffee. (Woo child, get ready too.) “Relaxing would be wonderful, Shane. If only that was possible.”

He laughed, save his questionable sense of humor, as his hands went to mess with the remote control to the tv.

“Can I have some coffee-?” Carl curiously asked, eyes wide as he took in the glorious mug cemented in your hands. He half expected you to hiss, like a vampire revealed in the light- but you merely smiled, hands lowering the mug to his lips.

“Careful Carl, it’s hot.” You giggled. He honestly felt more like a brother than a nephew, reminding you of Rick when he was younger. It was uncanny.

He took one sip and recoiled- cheeks puffing out as heat swelled to his face. “Gross-! It tastes burnt!”

“Yeah, because there’s no sugar in it, idiot.” You responded, hand going to mess with his hair. He groaned in response, body sinking into the couch to avoid your hand. Despite the noise, Shane seemed rather distracted by what was on the tv, driving your attention away from giving Carl the biggest noogie of his life.

‘UK GOES UNDER GROWING PANDEMIC, MARTIAL LAW ACTIVE’ in big bold letters. A news lady giving a report, videos and photos of strange, sickly people. What a time to come over to the states, am I right? What the hell did you miss? Surely this couldn’t be related to the patient you had seen a week ago- something couldn’t spread this fast. Not normally, you’d get a sign first- a warning.

Was that patient your warning? Had you left them unattended to see your brother- was this your fault?

“Well shit, you know anything about that?” Shane pointed the remote at the tv, drawing his hand back down to the side of the couch. You jumped, almost as if he had read your thoughts. “Lori, you hearin’ this?” He called to her, distracting her from her frazzled, grieving state in the other room.

“What?” Now she had another thing to worry about- great, thanks Shane. “What the hell is that?”

You just stared, eyes narrowed, struggling to fully understand the concept placed in front of you. Videos of people biting- no, eating other people. It was something out of the horror games you’d used to play- Silent Hill level shit. “I didn’t hear about any of this.” You whispered, eyes trailing down to Carl, who seemed equally perplexed as his mother. She looked so lost.

“I’m sure it’ll be taken care of- Martial Law is a big deal.” The only thing you could muster, eyes meeting Lori’s. She looks grateful for your attempt, but it did nothing to calm the panic behind her eyes.

And as if the good lord was smiling down on you, he decided to prove you wrong. One more fucking time.

Which brings you to now, things stuffed in a car as you waited on Shane to come back with your brother. You were semi-confident- (haha, right)- in your abilities, as a scientist and a doctor, that you could take care of your brother in his state while you got the FUCK out of Kings County and to Atlanta. The pandemic- newly named the Apocalypse, was the fuel of everyone’s Halloween, Michael Jackson: Thriller inspired nightmare. Zombies everywhere, but they weren’t dancing- no, they were just- doing.. zombie things. I guess.

That’s making light of a situation that was not fucking funny. It actually, to your dismay, was as dry and dark as Shane’s humor.

Carl and Lori laid in the back seat of the car, huddled away from the windows as you sat in the driver's seat. Stressed was an understatement, you were scared shitless. Waiting for your brother and his best friend to come out of those hospital doors, government troops rushing in and out of them at the same time- guns, gunshots, sirens- those dead people walking the streets, steering for any sound, anything that moves.

“Shiiit, come on Shane- come on-“ you were gripping the steering wheel, leather squeaking as you strangled it, nails nearly folding in on themselves as you pressed. “Oh shit-“ you watched as a gun was shot by an army soldier, a bullet fatally landing in a corpse's head, its body dropping afterward. Blood flew everywhere, your eyes growing heavy as you wished to close them- close them and wake up only to find that this was a dream.

You know that before this, you had wished your brothers accident was a dream- a stupid, fucked dream, but this was so much worse- and the candle on top? it might’ve just been your fault.

But to your experience, the Grimes family had a strange way of coming to church, and if being the subject of every plague was your way of repenting, God was giving you no chance to miss it this time.

Which, must've been why he had sent Shane back out of that building without your brother over his shoulder.

taglist 🏷️: @poubxlle

#the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #daryl dixon x grimes reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd x reader #twd #Rick grimes #Shane Walsh #daryl dixon x you #grimes reader #carl grimes #lori grimes

[vi-enti]

school’s over so back on the fanfic grind (a grind i have not openly shared on the internet since like. 2018), unsure if this is an idea to continue but i am thinking so hard... about the difficulties of the healing process. really gotta purge that poison

. . .

“Hello, this is… Hajime Hinata. The date is… I have no idea what the date is. It’s been 14 days, 9 hours, 47 minutes and 24 seconds since we woke up from the Neo World Program.”

“…I don’t know why I said it like that. It’s been about two weeks.” 

“Uhh… I’m not sure what to say here, really. Naegi—Makoto, that is—told me this would be a good way to get my thoughts down. That way if there’s anything I forget, or anything I want everyone to know after… Well, I don’t think I can really forget anything. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could.”

“Sorry there are so many quiet gaps. I’m trying to think about what I want to say... I guess I’ll start with the facts, and we can go from there. I was the first person to wake up, and then Sonia. Kazuichi took a few hours longer, he was so… his limbs were so scarred. I could barely tell the healthy tissue apart from all of the burns and cuts. When he got out, he just kept screaming and crying, he just kept—“

“Akane was next, but she was barely a shell, too weak, so Makoto put her back under for a few more days before waking her up. She wasn’t in the pod though, we—they moved her to a hospital bed in a different room. This facility really has everything. You wouldn’t believe the scale of the medical equipment, Tsumiki would love it—“

“Basically, Akane woke up a week after Kazuichi, technically, and then we put her into a medical coma for a while. We as in… I didn’t do that. I mean, I did, but it didn’t feel like me.”

“Actually, I never feel like… me. I don’t know who me is supposed to be now. I’m still him—I mean, I’m still me—but I’m not me— fuck, this doesn’t make any fucking sense, I just can’t— Sonia, don’t touch me—“

“…”

“…I want my mom. I don’t remember the last time I wanted my mom. I don’t even… remember my mom, anymore.”

“…Patient 5, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko. We plan to wake him from his induced medical coma today, following complications from his enucleation operation directly after awakening from pod sleep. There was an infection at the area of operation and I deemed it too dangerous to continue until it was cleared. Naegi had some objections, but his background is not medical, and does not always need to be taken into account. Patient 4 will simply have to wait.”

“He still has the damn thing.”

“…they all do.”

“Alter Ego, end recording.” Hajime slumped back against his chair, bringing a hand up to push his hair back. It was a newly acquired habit, one always accompanied by the feeling of missing something, like there wasn’t enough hair to run through his fingers. He hated it. Hated thinking that it wasn’t newly acquired at all, that whoever he was in the past few years did it all the time. 

That hadn’t gone nearly as well as he’d liked. These voice diaries were supposed to be records so they could explain things easier to the others once they all woke up, something to jog their memories. Privately, he was sure that Makoto had asked him to make them more for his own sake, as if they’d help somehow with all of the different thoughts running through his brain all of the time. If he spoke them out loud, then somehow they’d disappear. It was the compromise they’d settled on after Hajime had refused to attend Future Foundation-provided therapy. Most of the time they turned out exactly like this, not suitable for anyone’s ears except his own. 

Makoto was an idiot. Talking about it wasn’t going to stop the constant streams of thought in his brain, analyzing every thing and every action around him, picking apart the movements of his friends and their slight changes in tone, detecting every potential threat and every potential weapon for killing someone—fuck.

He was so tired of dreaming up all the ways people could die. His rare moments of sleep were already haunted by spears and giant Tetris blocks, by fire and poison and terrified faces. He didn’t need more deaths on his mind, constant echoes of terrors of his own creation. 

Sitting up properly, he stretched his arms out before standing up to examine his half of the room. At least two people kept watch in the pod room at all times, waiting for anyone to wake up next and making sure nobody died. It reminded him of the hospital in the simulation, someone always watching over Akane and Ibuki and—

An alarm beeped and Sonia, on the other end of the room, startled awake in her own chair. She had stayed on that side after Hajime shoved her away earlier, eventually drifting to sleep by Gundham’s pod. It was the one she stared at the most, blue eyes alight with grief and fury, even if she wouldn’t admit it. She was better off than Hajime, at least. One of his eyes stayed empty. Makoto had warned him that she shouldn’t be allowed to spend so much time with Gundham, but he could never bring himself to pull her away. Clearing his throat, he waited for the former princess to look up towards him. 

“Shift change. You should go sleep in an actual bed, I can wait for Kazuichi and Makoto if you want to go on ahead.” She shook her head, fingers trailing over the glass coffin holding the Ultimate Breeder. 

“No, that’s alright. You’ve been here long enough, you need to rest before Fuyuhiko. It’s only a few more hours away. Besides, I…” Sonia trailed off, gaze shifting to the pod next to Gundham’s, covered with a sheet. Everyone had to be checked on, but there was just one person Hajime couldn’t stand to see. The only person in the room that caused his dead eye to come to life. 

He couldn’t identify the emotion, but it had to be hate. It had to be, right?

At least he knew he wouldn’t be judged for it. Everyone had someone they couldn’t look at in this room, couldn’t face directly. Hajime was just the only one weak enough to require a sheet covering the pod. The only one who couldn’t be controlled if he had a fit of anger, or worse—one of despair. 

Swallowing back bile, he nodded, making a quick exit from the room to the quarters right next door. A large room had been set up with beds and necessities for them, the six that were here and constantly switching out. Kyoko had suggested separate rooms, but after multiple nights of Kazuichi sneaking into his room or Sonia screaming in her sleep from across the hall, Hajime had fought for them to all be together. Makoto, almost with a child-like excitement, had insisted that he, Kyoko, and Aoi stay there too. 

The lucky student in question had been sitting on the floor cross-legged when he walked in, laptop resting on a knee while he glared down at the screen. A glare from Makoto wasn’t usually all that effective, but whatever he was seeing seemed to be genuinely pissing him off. If Hajime had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have bothered disturbing the younger. Still, someone had to go fill in for him with Sonia until Kazuichi took over for her. The mechanic was nowhere to be seen—probably sitting at Akane’s bedside, as usual. Tapping Makoto gently on the shoulder, Hajime waited for him to look up from the email he had been so focused on. 

“Oh, you’re back! Has it been six hours already? I didn’t even notice.” It wasn’t a long time to spend watching the pods, but Aoi had insisted. They had three pairs switching out, and she didn’t want anyone spending more time in the pod room than they did outside of it, in the fresh air and the real world—or so she said. Hajime was sure it had more to do with her growing concern for the five of them, Kyoko and Makoto included. While they hadn’t been in the program nearly as long, they still seemed just a bit too pale to her. As for himself, Sonia, and Kazuichi… Aoi had never known them before, but worried nonetheless about irreparable damage. 

“Yes, I’m back. Will you find Kazuichi and tag Sonia out? She’s just finishing check-ups.” The shorter nodded, shutting his laptop and standing from his seat on the floor. “Everything alright?”

“It’s just Byakuya, he’s facing some problems bringing the medical equipment we need over to the island. The Future Foundation doesn’t see the need to care for some of the pre-existing conditions your class has, they’re just barely allotting enough supplies for taking care of the… last bits of Junko. It’s like you aren’t even humans to them, they just have no empathy!” Makoto rubbed his temples, forcing a weak smile onto his face. It hadn’t escaped Hajime that the bright-eyed boy that they had met in the final trial and the tired man before him right now seemed so far apart from each other. Because of us—because of me. 

“We aren’t human to them.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. “But we are to you. You’re the best of them, Makoto. I know you’ll work things out.” The younger’s smile twisted, not exactly happy, and he nodded in response. 

“Right. The Ultimate Hope, that’s me. I have to be able to fix this.” Hajime raised an eyebrow, not meaning that at all, but Makoto was already walking out of the room to take over watch duties. That had gone… stunningly bad. Whatever part of his soul had been able to produce hope for the others in the Neo World Program had been hiding, his mind and body too used to the actions and words of another. Another who had no idea how to give someone hope for the future, much less comfort someone just the slightest bit. All Hajime seemed to be good at these days was making things worse. 

A warmth squeezed around his hand, like someone urging him to stop thinking, and he yanked it away from—from nothing. There was nobody there. He just needed to get some rest before Fuyuhiko’s surgery today. 

Two beds remained empty, waiting for their last members. Akane was awake, but still too weak to leave her hospital bed, and Fuyuhiko would join them today. Hopefully. Sitting on his own perfectly made bed, he wondered if all of the remnants would end up sharing a room for the rest of time. The three of them awake so far had their nightmares, some worse than others, and it was impossible to imagine the rest being able to sleep easy after all that had happened. It was too easy to imagine everyone around the room, as if their spaces were already there waiting for them. Glancing around, Hajime could imagine each and every one of them smiling at him, if he could just bring them all back, if he could just wake them up. 

A flash of pink and white hair danced at the corner of his eyes, a gentle smile and a false one, and he slammed his head down on the bed, covering his vision with a pillow. Sleep now, hypotheticals later. Hypotheticals that could never, ever be reality anyways. It was dangerous to get lost in thoughts of a happy ending. 

He didn’t deserve an ending just yet. There was too much to fix. 

#me and my fucking em dashes #anyways i'm just sharing this to see if it's?? interesting?? #i've been writing hella fanfic but i'm always very hesitant to put it on the internet #but i've had soOoOOo many worms lately thinking about facing trauma and healing relationships and how that process is just so bumpy #i have a whole lot more that isn't hajime pov but this is all i'm sharing ATM #i just really want to put these folks in therapy. and that begins at the beginning! #moon babbles #danganronpa #i GUESS #cw surgery #cw medical #just in case #hajime hinata #sonia nevermind #makoto naegi #dr2 #moon writings

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Seeing as Scream 7 is going to end up being cancelled because who even wants to watch it anymore, what would you personally have done with the plot and storyline?

Also Happy New Year!!!!!

This ask. Oh my GOD! This ask yes! Okay, okay, let's get into it.

I want some serious stakes, some real blood, hear me out. I want shit to be serious. So.

We start off with someone getting ready. We are unable to tell who they are, like gloved handles lacing books, sheathing a knife, all that, like it is not clear who it is. We then see them leave, we keep on their boots as they walk, some cuts, they make it to wherever they are meant to be. We hear rustling in their backpack, and then you see the robe drop, they are in the Ghostface fit. It pans up slowly, phone is out and they are calling someone.

Who do they call for the opening cold call?

Gale Weathers.

We have the opening scene, the back and forth, all that, they've broken in, they get the drop on Gale, I am talking a dirty, nasty thing, like she is tryna come around the corner and just gets a knife in the side of the throat, blade is dragged through and just full throat slit. She is bleeding and choking everywhere. Ghostface doesn't leave until she is dead. Multiple stab wounds. Stays until she is no longer breathing.

It is an uncomfortable shot, long. Ghostface with the mask a little bloody just staring down at her.

Then, they leave. No big dramatic slash to the title. Not this time.

We get into the main people, Tara, and Sam and Chad and Mindy finding out that Gale is fucking dead. Obvi there is concern about what this means.

I think the four of them have been cautious about getting close to other people, but the small relationships that they have allowed are not targeted like they all expect. It's the opposite. Anyone who is causing the core four issues is ending up dead.

Suspicion is thrown on the core four hard. Kirby is involved, she is of course trying to help, when she gets a bit too close she is hurt but not killed, just seriously maimed, to the point of medically incuded coma lets say. Sidney is mentioned briefly, she is staying farrrr away from all of this mess, everyone is glad about that, because man she still deserves that break.

The cops feel very unhelpful and so it's on the four to try and solve this, but it's hard, long, twisting, shit is confusing and not making sense and they are TIRED. The average Scream movie takes place over a few days, this will be longer. Suspicion is weighing heavily on all of them, the murders are piling up, it isn't totally making sense, it's messy, there seems to be no real reason to who is dying. At first.

It comes out over time that these people who are being killed sucked, did morally shady and awful things.

I want this body count high and us caring about the people in my opinion is not important. I want them amount of gore and the uncertainty to be bringing the scares and the heat, I want it oppressive.

And then. Kirby gets out of her medically induced coma.

And guess what she has to share?

She knows who did it. She is on the phone with like Tara and Kirby reveals the killer is Sam.

Not sure the place of the final set piece, but somewhere outdoors is appealing to me, don't ask me why, (also btw we should just set this in winter, blood on snow man, we need it, we need a winter set Scream to finish this series cuz this would be the finale' in my opinion)

Mindy is there for the reveal monologue cuz she deserves that. Sam goes off about how frustrated she is. It's been years since the last Ghostface event. She talks about how good it felt to kill and having some asshole pop up and terrorize them, she got to kill in self-defence, get some of the urges out, there has been no such opportunity in too long. She tried to ignore it, the pressure is building, she is attempting to be good, but then she gets an email from Gale who reaches out, she is trying to be better and do right by her, telling Sam and giving her a heads-up she is going to be writing a new book about the events of EVERYTHING, a full covering of all the Ghostface murders with her years of perspective after everything and Sam is just done.

She decides she is going to get her fix. She is gonna take out Gale and be done. She does it and oh my fucking God she missed this. She cannot stop herself, it becomes a compulsion. So, whenever the opportunity arises, when someone fucks with her family, with the core four, she takes the opportunity. It escalates further, she is seeking out people who she deems deserve this because that makes it okay, right? She is better than those other murders, those previous Ghostface's. She has been through so much, she's earned the right, she is doing it to protect her family. She has just fully snapped under everything.

They, the core four, assume she is gonna take them out. They know too much, she is going to end them.

She doesn't hurt or go after them because she wants them all to be together always. Tries to convince them that this is what is right, this is what should happen, just keep quiet and she will keep everyone safe. Girl is manic and unhinged.

They can't let that happen.

Three against one. They don't kill her but manage to hurt her bad enough to restrain her. The cops are called, she is hauled off, screaming and crying and heartbroken. The core four is no more, but hey, the triangle is the strongest shape in nature, so maybe they can find a way to be okay. Sam is naturally locked up and ngl at this point we also get some serious confirmation Stu IS alive and is ALSO in prison because Sam gets a letter from him. Sam and Stu are prison pen pals, no, you cannot change my mind.

#OKAY #OKAY SO YEAH #SO THIS IS MY THOUGHT PROCESS #BHF writing #BHF opinions #This is what I would want scream 7 to be I don't care