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scoonsalicious · 14 days

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Unsatisfied, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: Following the epilogue to Unwanted, you and Bucky finally have your first night together in your new apartment. You haven't had sex with him in an entire year. You are feeling... unsatisfied.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, mentions of past trauma, Pocket has a panic attack, she is not as okay as I thought, Cards Against Humanity, Bucky making dirty promises I fully intend for him to keep.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: My goal tonight was to work on WFLT. I had good intentions, I swear. But, I can't get Bucky and Pocket out of my mind. THEN, this was supposed to be smut. Pure, filthy smut. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!

You loved your found family, you really did. Or, at least that’s what you kept reminding yourself as you actively tried to convince yourself not to kill them right this second.

You made eye contact with Bucky from where he sat on the loveseat across the living room from you, looking about as sexually frustrated as you felt. You ran a finger delicately along your collarbone as you watched him adjust himself in his seat, and as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, you–

“Hey, Kiddo,” Tony Stark called your attention to where he sat to the left of you. “Pick a Black Card. It’s your turn.”

Reluctantly, you drew your eyes away from your ridiculously attractive boyfriend and up to your psuedo-brother, former boss, who thought it had been a fantastic idea to have your entire team show up with pizzas to your brand new apartment, on your very first night there with Bucky, in order to play fucking Cards Against Humanity as a “morale-boosting exercise.”

Cock-blocking exercise was more like it.

You shot Tony a glare and reached across the coffee table to draw a card. Looking at it, you rolled your eyes in frustration before placing it face-up in front of you. “What gets me wet?” you read aloud from the card.

You were met with a room full of snickering as your teammates thumbed through their hands, searching for the best card to give to you. Bucky threw down a card almost immediately, catching your eye as he did so and winking at you. God, you needed everyone to leave so you could climb that man like a tree.

One by one, your team deposited their White Cards into a pile in front of you, and once everyone had played their hand, you picked them up, shuffling them around so you wouldn’t know who had put down what card.

You turned each over and read it aloud, asking each time: “What gets me wet?”

“Being a mother fucking sorcerer; Vehicular manslaughter; German Dungeon Porn; My fuckslave, Regianald; Auschwitz– ew; come on guys, really?-- My vagina– okay, actually factual– Dick Fingers; A juicy little booty that goes poot poot pooty; The Biggest, Blackest Dick– hilarious, Sam…”

“What?! You can’t know that’s mine, Baby Girl!” You shot Sam a knowing look. “Yeah, okay, it’s mine, but come on– it’s a good one!” he said with a laugh.

And then, there it was, the winner. You looked up and locked eyes with Bucky, who was smirking back at you with a wicked glint in his eye, and you knew instantly it was his card you were holding in your hand.

Flipping the card over, you read out loud with a giant smile on your face: “What gets me wet? Genetically engineered super soldiers.” Everyone around the coffee table groaned, knowing that there was no way any of their cards would have topped that. Not for you, anyway.

With a grin, Bucky reached over and took the Black Card, adding it to the pile of his wins in front of him.

“Ugh, no fair!” Nat pouted, gently tossing her hand of cards on the top of the coffee table.

“You gotta play to your audience, Nat,” Bucky said, spreading his legs as he leaned back on the love seat. “Can’t help it if I know what my girl likes.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’re cheating,” Sam said. His words were meant to be playful, a sore-loser’s teasing lament, but you couldn’t help the rush of heartache those little syllables sent through your system, and your body froze.

It had been almost a year, you thought to yourself as you tried to breathe through your increasing anxiety without attracting unnecessary attention. A year of therapy and rebuilding trust. You were meant to be over this.

But clearly you weren’t.

“Excuse me,” you blurted out as you stood up, not bothering to offer an excuse for your rudeness or sudden departure. Trying to keep your breathing steady, you nearly sprinted out of the room and up the stairs until you were shutting the door of the ensuite bath in yours and Bucky’s master bedroom. The room you hadn’t even shared together yet, and now, on your first night in your new home, when you should be celebrating, becoming reacquainted with one another’s bodies, it would be permeated with thoughts of her.

You slid down the door to the cold tile floor, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to shake the memories from your mind’s eye. But they, and your tears, began to fall in earnest. Despite what you knew to be true– that Bucky loved you, had only ever loved you, your mind kept bringing you back to the events of last year– of all the times he abandoned you for her, left you alone when she needed him. The things he had said to you while he was inside of you because she had told him she liked it. The sight of her riding his dick in a derelict safehouse in Russia. Your bones snapping and a bullet ripping through your flesh.

You couldn’t breathe. God, why couldn’t you breathe?

You shoved your fist into your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your sobs. You were supposed to be over this, you kept reminding yourself. You were supposed to have forgiven him. But the memories brought about a visceral reaction you hadn’t experienced in months. Today had been meant to be a new beginning for the both of you, a fresh start. Something better, you had promised each other.

Why did it still hurt so much?

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. You could have been hyperventilating on the bathroom floor for minutes or hours; you couldn’t tell, when a soft knock reverberated through the surface of the door.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice was muffled through the wood. “Doll, I can hear you crying. Let me in.” His words were soft, understanding, sorrowful. He knew.

You couldn’t move. You wanted to open the door, to lose yourself in his embrace so badly, but you couldn’t control your body enough to coordinate movement. All you could do was hug yourself as you sobbed.

“Pocket,” you heard Bucky murmur through the door. “Baby, I need you to breathe for me, ok? Your gonna make yourself pass out. Just… just unlock the door, alright? That’s all you have to do for me, sweets. Just unlock the door.”

Unlock the door. You could do that. One, simple motion. You slowly lifted a trembling hand above your head, connecting with the doorknob by sense of touch, alone. With shaking fingers, you managed to disengage the lock.

At the sound of the click, you heard Bucky exhale in relief. “Okay. Good girl. I’m gonna come in now, okay, sweets?” You knew you should move– you were still curled up in front of the door, but you couldn’t get your body to cooperate. You tried to speak, but the only sound that came from your throat was another agonizing sob.

You heard the knob turn and the door begin to press against you. With gentle but steady pressure, Bucky opened the door, sliding your body across the bathroom tile in the process, but you barely noticed. He would always be a force that had the ability to move you at his will.

When there was enough space for him to fit his body through the door frame, Bucky squeezed himself in and turned to look behind the door, searching for you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, dropping down to his knees to join you on the tile. In an instant, he had you in his arms, picking you up and cradling you to his chest.

“I-I-I’m…” you stuttered, trying to form words through your sobs, “s–s–so s-s-sorry.”

Bucky tutted as he stroked your hair. “No, sweets, no. I’m the one who’s sorry.” He kissed the top of your head, and you found that your breathing began to steady in his presence. “My actions keep causing you pain.”

You shook your head vehemently, clutching to the fabric of his shirt as if your very life depended on it. “No,” you whispered. “It’s not… It’s not you.” You closed your eyes, trying to mold your jumbled emotions into a cohesive thought. “This place is supposed to be safe,” you told him, hoping he would follow what you were trying to say. “Ours. And then… when Sam said… that… it was… it was like her ghost walked right in the door. She’s still haunting me, Buck.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Sweetheart,” he murmured into your hair, “what do you need? What can I do?”

You wiped at your eyes and looked up at him with a tear-streaked face. “Tell me you love me, Bucky.”

His piercing blue gaze was honest and sincere as he looked down at you. “I love you, Pocket. I have only, ever, loved you.” No questions, no ridiculing your request for reassurance– just pure understanding that this was what you needed from him

You felt yourself exhale, the tension that had been wracking through you ebbing away as you looked into his eyes. “I love you, Buck,” you whispered back. “I’m sorry– I thought… I thought I was better.”

His face was soft as he looked at you. “Doll, you are getting better. It’s a process. We’re a process. And we work on us, together.”

You snorted in spite of yourself as you wiped your nose. “How the fuck did you get so goddamn wise?” you asked him. “It’s mildly annoying.”

“Ah, there’s that dirty mouth I love so much,” he smirked at you. “Come on.” With a gracefulness that belied his massive size, he lifted you up and carried you back into the bedroom, gently placing you on your new bed.

“Oh, shit!” you said, trying to stand up. “Everyone’s still downstairs–”

“I kicked them out as soon as you left the living room,” he told you, coming to kneel before you as he pulled you back down. “Serves them right for interrupting our first night living together when we haven’t touched each other in eight thousand, seven hundred and forty three hours.”

You widened your eyes. “Not that your counting, or anything,” you said with a giggle, and were rewarded when Bucky smirked up at you.

“There’s my girl,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I know we had big plans for tonight,” he said as he rested his vibranium hand on your knee. “And trust me when I tell you, there is nothing I want more than to strip you naked and take you apart on every single surface of this apartment until you can’t remember your own name.” You gulped at that. “But,” he continued, “all that can wait. Tonight, I’m gonna go back into that bathroom, light some candles, and run us a bubble bath. Then, you and I are going to get in that tub and I’m just gonna hold you, okay?” You found yourself nodding dumbly at the sensual promise.

Bucky leaned in close to you, tucking a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear. “Tonight,” he reiterated, “I just want us to be close. And then tomorrow?” He leaned in to whisper seductively into your ear. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Does fae!König get upset that Ghost and Love grew the baby that could have been his and liebling's? Does Love tell Liebling that Little Cabbage came from the thrown out seed? Canon or not, the baby is cute

I was already thinking about this. This is Liebling's nightmare scenario. Which means it's her POV.

You don't think you've ever seen Ghost enter the shop not looking like he's here for your immortal soul. Similarly you've never seen Love look so put together. You have also, and this is the most important part, never seen that baby before.

The little one asleep in the carrier strapped to Ghost's chest, a little pink scrunchy hat and hello kitty sunglasses on its tiny head as it snoozes. You're almost too distracted by the fact Ghost has the baby to notice Love's shirt proudly proclaiming in hot pink, "Baby Thief." Ghost grabs the back of her shirt collar before she can launch herself at you.

"Behave," He tells her in a firm voice, letting her go when she drops her arms from their grabbing position. "I'm going to talk to König, ask your question nicely."

"I'm always nice." Love tells him, Ghost hums like he doesn't believe her and wanders off further into the store. Love turns the full force of her attention on you.

"Who's baby?" You ask, eyeing her shirt.

"Mine." Somehow you don't believe her.

"You weren't pregnant. You would've told me." You remind her, gently as you can. She hums in the same tone Ghost did, nodding her head slightly.

"Funny story. You remember that weird seed you said you'd never plant in a million years because it could Audrey two your ass?" You nod, half listening as you watch König bend down to wiggle his fingers at the baby on Ghost's chest. You can see Ghost's mask moving, he must be saying something, his large hands holding up the baby's to point towards Love. "Well I figured I'd plant it since you didn't want it," No, not pointing at Love, at you, "and it grew a baby."

König's head snaps to look at you so fast you don't have time to process what Love just said before all your blood drains out through your feet. His eyes bore holes through you, cold fury radiating off of him almost visible in the way shadows seem to collect around his form. His limbs are all wrong, body wrong, eyes so red you think they might have invented to color. His teeth bare through his obscura. He takes a step towards you and you shove your hand in the small bowl of Iron rings on the counter faster than you can think. Unable to move and break his gaze, but at least able to make him think twice about coming after you right this second.

Ghost grabs König's arm, his grip as unflinching as the metal you slide onto your fingers, holding König steadfast as he speaks. Your breathing feels far too quick and uneven as you boyfriend takes a careful step back into his previous conversation(into his human form) and breaks your gaze. Love's grip on your arm comes into focus over the ringing in your ears, the tight warmth of her hand, you pull your attention back to her. The look of concern on her face is one you haven't seen before.

"I'm fine," You shrug off her hand. Your body too hot and too cold, darkness fuzzing the edges of your vision.

"Sit down," You sit heavy on your stool behind the counter, you hate when she does that, and shake off the tether she burned, "looked like you were about to faint. Listen I didn't come to give the kid back, she's-" Love looks over her shoulder at Ghost and the baby, you've never seen that look either, she shakes her head and looks back at you, "I came because I wanted to ask if you'd be her godmother."

"Is Ghost asking König to be godfather?" You ask, trying to process whatever the hell is happening in your life before you have a panic attack.

"God no," Love snorts, "Soap's the godfather." You have no idea who that is. "No, Simon's just showing off."

You both watch the specter of death lift the baby from her harness and snuggle her against the crook of his arm so König can see her. For all the softness, you can tell how watchful Ghost's eyes are, how closely Love watches as well. Almost on edge when König's fingers shake the baby's tiny hand. It makes you uneasy. What do they think he'll do? What were you afraid he'd do?

"Why are you asking me to be godmother?" You try to quiet your anxiety, bring Love's attention back to you. It works well enough.

"Because you're my friend?" She really only knows how to raise more questions in your life. You stare at her.

"We're friends?"

"Bitch." She snorts, you blink, not sure what's funny. She pulls out her phone and taps a few things with a shake of her head. When she turns it to face you it's your text conversation. "We text all the time every day, I come to hang out with you at least once a week, the fact that I can steal shit out of your house? Come on."

You're not sure what her sticky fingers have to do with your friendship, but she raises some valid points besides that.

"As long as you're not trying to give it back."

"Not on your life." Love grins, you do your best to smile back.

"Then sure, I'd love to be godmother." Well, maybe love is a strong word, but you're flattered and she's right you don't think you have a closer friend.

A tiny wail bounces through the store, Love's gaze snaps to Ghost where he's bouncing the baby. König has his hands up like he's afraid to touch it, or is attempting to maintain his innocence in the new tears. Ghost waves him off and makes his way back over to you and Love. Handing the fussy bundle to Love's waiting arms.

"Pourquoi pleures-tu mon petit chou?" She coos down at the baby, tucking it against her shoulder to bounce gently. You gotta admit it's a pretty cute little thing, still you're glad it's not yours. You grip your fist tightly, feeling the dig of metal against your palm as König hovers nearby.

"Wir werden später reden," He promises, low and dangerous, just for you to hear. You can feel his desire to touch you, held just at bay by the iron jewelry.

"I didn't know you spoke French," You smile at Love, anything to keep her around longer and delay the inevitable.

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blindmagdalena · 8 months

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Homelander at Yankee Candle having a full on panic attack because it’s too many smelly smells 😞 but his s/o is like omg I need to get the Pumpkin Spice 5000 Mecha Godzilla Candle 😭 this may be based on real life

HAHA imagine him being suspiciously quiet the entire time you're shopping. he just smiles and nods when you hold up candles to his nose that you like. gives the occasional thumbs up.

but eventually you catch on and ask, "Are you... holding your breath?"

he makes a face and gestures to himself like whaaat? meee? and then waves his hand dismissively. you laugh and smack him in the chest.

"You haven't smelled a single one! You've just been placating me!"

to which he looks innocently upwards, wanders away with his arms held behind his back.

at least you know where to take him if you want to hog the conversation stick.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #homelander headcanons

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

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Be prepared for what I’m bout to tell you 👀 , ok one where the MC gets kidnapped and tortured for MONTHS like when m6 see MC again they are blind in one eye and have scars literally everywhere and that spark that they had is long gone and at first when the M6 found out MC was kidnapped let’s just say those months were like hell on earth for them . And MC didn’t change like at all they are still the same loving and caring person the m6 knows but something bout them Changed. ( you can add anything if you want,)

The Arcana HCs: What happens when MC takes down Valdemar but gets captured in the process

~ so apparently at least one person wants me to write more angst? I'll do my best but I can't make any promises. enjoy your pain, anon, and sorry in advance to anyone hoping for my usual fluff ~

(CW for mentions of torture, nightmares, flashbacks, panic attacks, medical horror, scarring, injuries, and your loved ones getting secondhand trauma from you)

It began as a quick errand to your gateway. You weren't going to be longer than a few minutes, you just wanted to test a theory about how having the Fool's body affected your impact in the magical realms. You didn't take anybody with you, and that was how you found yourself sucked into what used to be Death's domain before Valdemar took over.

Unfortunately for you, they had survived the Devil's demise and had become fascinated with your "back from the dead" situation. It was a week before you were able to get any communication back to your friends through one of their familiars, and another five of strategizing and secret messages before you were able to join forces and get rid of Valdemar for good. For that month and a half, you were kept half-alive on a gurney by day and spent your nights healing and plotting and missing your loved one and preparing to do it all over again in the morning.

Nobody had time to comment on your state when you reunited, you were too busy fighting a full-blown battle against Vesuvia's founding demon, and when you finally made it back home you were able to fall back into a sense of normalcy fairly quickly (you've been dead before, resiliency is one of your strong suits). But as well-developed as your coping skills are, the physical and psychological scars you carry aren't going to magically disappear.

Julian

The first day you were gone, he just figured you had found something exciting and were taking your time exploring it

By the third day, he wasn't nervous, not at all, he knows you love him and wouldn't leave him

By the fifth day, he's worried. Nobody else has heard from you, it's like you've just dropped off the planet

When Malak appears on the seventh day with a message from you in his beak he nearly cries with relief, until he reads what you've written to him

He's immediately assembling everyone he knows who cares about you, he knows he's not an expert when it comes to magic and he needs all the help he can get

He doesn't know what you're going through. Malak doesn't have the means to communicate that clearly with him and you never mention it in your letters

When the dust has settled and Asra's whisked you all back to Vesuvia he gets his first good look at you and feels like he's going to be sick

It's not the scars or the signs of malnutrition and fatigue that turn his stomach, it's that he knows Valdemar's work better than anyone else

Every scar his eye lands on, he's seeing horrific visions of exactly how it was made and he knows exactly what its effects were

All he wants to do is drink you in, and yet he can't bear to look at you

Once he gets you home, he's pulling out his extensive medical kits and dressing and wrapping the wounds that haven't healed fully yet

This is why he traded his memories for the gift to heal anyone he touches, and this is one of the few moments he's wondering if it's a bargain worth striking again

He knows, having been a doctor during the plague, that there are things about him that might remind you of Valdemar

He gets rid of any plague doctor gear he has left, he gets a discreet bag for his surgical tools and keeps it under lock and key, he even switches his big leather gloves out for smaller cotton ones so his touch can stay safe for you. He rarely puts on his double-breasted jacket

He sees and admires your resilience, but he knows what your nightmares are made of

He's already an insomniac, but now he barely sleeps at all and wakes up at the slightest motion to check on you

He's more in love with you than he ever was before, because after you suffered under and then defeated the creature he could never conquer on his own, you came home to him and trusted him to hold you together when it was time to fall apart

Asra

They knew something was wrong as soon as you were taken, they're remarkably in tune with the magical realms

At first he was worried about you, but confident in your abilities to take on any beast. He just wished he was next to you to help

But soon they noticed the bargain mark glowing intermittently on their chest and realized that something was actively threatening the life in your body, and that's when they stopped sleeping

He was calling every contact he had, asking Nadia to use her sight, asking Julian and Portia to write every sailor they knew, calling Muriel to cast stone after stone to get a read on your condition

By night they traveled every corner of the magical realms, seeking an audience with every major Arcana they could find

Until one week in, when he reached the border of Death's realm and found he couldn't cross

They sent Faust in by herself, where she found you slowly recuperating in your holding cell

When Asra saw you through his familiar's eyes his steady magician's hands began to shake

You were able to have a brief conversation with them that night, telling them not to come yet, telling them to go back to Vesuvia and gather as much force as they could until you had a plan, telling them that there wasn't a fighting chance otherwise

He was able to do as you requested, because he knew he wouldn't be able to save you if he burst in now, but every step away from you sent ice through his chest

Now that they knew where you were, they were able to establish a link with you through your shared heart for further planning

Against your warnings, he tried contacting you during the daytime the second week in, and found himself experiencing every physical sensation that you were

Muriel found them in your bed after Faust sent Inanna a frantic SOS, writhing in agony with tears streaming down their face, wailing through clenched teeth and refusing to let go of your connection until they blacked out because as long as they held on they could take it in your place

Every day for the next four weeks, you would get a few hours of sudden blissful numbness, knowing with a sinking heart that realms away he was buried in pillow pile where no one could hear his screams

The first weeks after your return, Nadia kept you both under close supervision in the palace for intensive physical and psychological care. She wasn't stupid and she has the ability to see magic, she had an idea of what had been happening

She only let you two leave once you had been fully healed of all your physical injuries and your mental states were stabilizing

Asra immediately took you out to their sanctuary in Nopal, where you spent the next nine months taking one day at a time

You did have weekly check in visits with his parents and Nazali, who has treated their fair share of POWs, and you were eventually able to move back to the shop and resume a normal life

As grateful as Death is to you for returning their realm to them, neither of you can touch their card without wincing and you never visit your gates or another realm without each other again

Nadia

She has plenty of regrets in life, but one thing she will never be able to forgive herself for is how long it took to notice that you were missing

You had asked her at dinner if you could use her contemplation tower to make a quick research trip into the magical realms, and she had freely given you permission

And the life of a Countess is so demanding, she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she never checked if you came back that night

When she woke up and you weren't there she assumed you were taking an early start, and then didn't get back around to meeting up with you until dinner

Which is when she sat, and waited, watching the food grow cold and refusing to eat without you, deaf to the servants' whispers as she finally listened to the part of her intuition which had been telling her something was wrong all day

That night she went up to her tower to look for you and then immediately visited the High Priestess's realm

When the High Priestess told her that she saw you passing through your gate, and hadn't seen you return since, Nadia began her realm-wide manhunt for you

She had every one of her sisters keeping watch for you, partnering with Muriel to keep eyes on less populated areas, getting Julian and Portia to spread queries for you, asking Asra to search for you across the realms, offering a large reward to anyone who could tell her anything about you

When Chandra reached her with a message from you in her talons, it had been six days of endless searching

You were in Death's realm, the one place Asra hadn't been able to reach, and you had a plan to overthrow Valdemar for good

This was progress, the end was in sight

Until Chandra shared what she saw of you in a dream with her that night, and she woke up in a cold sweat, tempted to return to her Red Plague state of isolation and apathy

But her pain had a direction, and in the following five weeks every person who knew her name learned of the pure willpower the Countess of Vesuvia possessed

She already had arrangements made for the month after you returned to take you to the seaside for recovery, and you had all of half an hour to thank your friends and catch your breath with them before she bundled you onto her yacht

With the immediate post-trauma care you received, you got a boost to your recovery and were ready to begin trying out a normal life again when you returned to the palace

The one symptom you won't shake for a long time is the nightmares

Nadia never lets you go to sleep without her right there to enter your dreams with you. She wasn't there when your world fell apart, but there is no way she's ever leaving you to fight your demons alone again

Muriel

You had been chattering about your theories to him for weeks, so when he heard you were planning on traveling to your gate, he took you to his casting spot to do it

He stood in front of you as you faded from view, expecting to see you reappear with your trademark grin in a few minutes

And then an hour passed, so he sat down

And then a day passed, so he began to cast

And soon three days had passed, and he knew that you had been taken somewhere, but he was frozen in place because this is where he was going to meet you when you got back

Inanna took things in her own paws and went in search of Faust, who spoke to Asra, who found their way to where Muriel had been keeping watch for someone who still hadn't returned

Once Muriel had someone to shake him out of his stupor he rallied his courage and moved without stopping

He reappeared in town, head high and jaw set, knowing that if he ever wanted to let you do the talking for him again he'd have to find you first

Word spread through Vesuvia like wildfire, one of the heroes of the city had gone missing, and the other one would not stop his search until they were found

He headed deep into the ancient forest to the south to find answers, sending Inanna to patrol with Asra and sending daily correspondence through Chandra

Inanna separated from Asra one week in to find you as you lay in your cell, and that was the only time you ever heard her whimper

She lay next to you the whole night, trying to share her body heat with you and licking your wounds while you whispered the beginnings of a plan to her

The next morning Muriel woke up to his familiar in front of him, covered in blood that wasn't hers, with sharp eyes full of hurt and and an answer to where you were

Every evening for the next five weeks Inanna would come to keep you warm through the night, bringing letter after letter and herbs to soothe the pain

And every morning Muriel would watch for her to appear, covered in blood that wasn't her own, and take a shaky breath of relief when he saw the paper in her mouth that meant you were still alive and planning a way out

When you returned to him, he looked at you and saw himself, fresh from a prison reeking of death and covered in scars

Every evening, he lines your bed with the softest furs and keeps you warm through the night, a burly arm curled around you and the smoothest silk covering the marks that the gurney's leather straps left on your wrists and ankles

And every morning, he'll press feather light kisses across your face in hopes that living in your body will one day be as pleasant again for you as you have made it for him

Portia

You were on Vesuvia's ambassador ship together when you left to do your research

You had been teaching her magic for a while now, and she was becoming better and better at it

So that evening, as you hung your hammocks side by side, she asked to come with you. Show her your gate, show her your world, let her join you on your grand adventures

And you, tired and wanting to sleep but needing to get your questions settled, told her next time

Next time, once you're back in Vesuvia, and Asra and Muriel and Nadia are available in case anything goes wrong, and Pepi can help act as an anchor now that Portia recognizes her as her familiar

She gets where you're coming from, but she's still a little miffed, so after you disappear she rolls over and falls asleep in a sulk, expecting you to join her with a sleepy apology when you return

And now she's waking up like clockwork with the sunrise in her eyes, you aren't in her hammock, and you aren't in your hammock, and she wonders if she was too pushy

And then she wanders the ship, and you've vanished

In her opinion, you're the greatest magician to ever live, but she knows there's no way you could leave a ship in the middle of the ocean, and deeper down, she knows that unlike her brother you would never leave her like this

So she's ordering the ship back to Vesuvia at full speed, sending messenger pigeons ahead of her, and by the time she arrives a week later the manhunt is in full swing

As soon as she's back in the cottage, at the center of the garden where she grows her magic, all caught up with Pepi and fast asleep, her familiar finally has the means to reach you

Portia wakes up in the middle of the night to a frantic Pepi clawing at her arm in a desperate bid for attention, a message tied to her collar

Now she's running through Vesuvia at night, bursting through the door to the shop in tears, because she shouldn't have let you go alone, she should have been strong enough to join you and now you're past death's door at the mercy of the same creature that nearly cost her her brother's life

When all is said and done and you're back in her cottage, soaking up the sun's rays in her garden and regaining your strength with every dish she bakes you, she's still pushing herself to learn magic better than ever before

Because she's still waiting for that spark to return to your eyes, she's still hearing you wake in the night with a hoarse shout, she still sees you flinch every time the cutlery clinks when she sets the table for dinner

And she's not expecting you to live like it never happened, but she needs you to know that next time, she'll be strong enough to fight and bleed and love and suffer next to you

Lucio

He's down in his homeland with you finishing up a job when he loses you

You'd achieved your goal, you were on your second day of the journey back to where you received your commission, and you were passing by his old village

You two had shacked up together in his mother's old crumbling hut and you had laughed at all his crass jokes about it before telling him you'd be right back, you were just doing a quick research trip

So he built you a fire and he laid out your sleeping rolls and he fed the dogs, and you still hadn't returned

So he sat in the ghostly ruins of the tribe he lead to their deaths, and the sun came up, and you didn't return

It took Mercedes and Melchior's obnoxious barking to rouse him from his lost daze, and for one brief moment their familiar bond worked

As soon as he knew you were trapped in the Arcanas' realms, he was on his feet and heading dead north, hoping to find someone, anyone, who could tell him how to bring you back

He makes camp one week into his search near the Kokhuri's burial ground, careful to avoid the graves and praying for enough mercy in the magic-rich place to maintain the strength to continue

That night, he doesn't know how, one of the dogs makes it across and doesn't come back

And the next morning, a sense of dread he doesn't understand forces him from the site, as it is not the place for him to find rest

For the next five weeks Melchior stays in your cell, somehow invisible even to Valdemar, keeping watch while you sleep and relaying messages to Mercedes

Lucio knows that Mercedes knows something, and he knows that Melchior is wherever you are, and he knows he needs someone who can speak to them better than he can

So he shows back up in Vesuvia three weeks into your disappearance, begging for help

Mercedes is most familiar with Chandra, who in turn has practice speaking to Faust, who tells Asra who tells everyone gathered that you're trapped in the Devil's realm at Valdemar's mercy

For once nobody is blaming him, but deep down he's carrying that fact that the creature toying with your life is the same one he handed so much power to

When you make it back and it's clear you'll need time to recover, he leaves the wandering life behind and places himself under Nadia's command to train the palace guards with his years of battle experience so you can rest

He sleeps in the afternoons now, so he can keep watch during the nights and wake you up when you're hit with the phantom pains he's all-too familiar with

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blacklegsanjiii · 2 months

Note

I’m rolling around in my head that loved!Sanji post of yours where it’s the vinsmoke grandpa messing with everything and not judge … so very hard

Mostly thinking about how Sanji would end up feeling about everything at the end of the day. His family comes back into his life after him being away from them for all of his teenage and adult years, and his brothers are different. They feel. They’re, somehow, excited to see him. That’s a good thing, no? They’re no longer unfeeling weapons.

But that doesn’t really change what they did to him at all. They’re still the people that beat and abused him at every possible opportunity, that put him into some of the worst states he’s ever been in. That doesn’t suddenly go away now that they’ve been fixed by their father and given a normal emotional range. That alone isn’t a resolution.

I can’t help but feel he’d end up quite conflicted about it, at least at first. Thoughts?

You're not wrong. Sanji, who Ichiji kidnapped, being held and scolded by Ichiji. Not like when they were kids because it is so full of kindness and worry it makes Sanji reel. Yonji who uses his hands to wrench Sanji to him and hold him and excitedly tell him all the rebuilding Germa has been doing to the world, changing from a conquering kingdom to a kind one. Reiju chastising them and apologizing to Sanji for them as Niji takes his turn hugging Sanji.

Sanji has to have a complete meltdown over it, in front of them and Judge. Just gripping his hair and screaming with his legs on fire. How much they hurt him, how he was just ripped away from his crew. If they think everything is suddenly fixed they're wrong. Sanji has a full blown panic attack and Judge has to ground him and console his son like he used to.

Maybe that makes his siblings realize how fucked they made. The death grip he has on his hair, how much smaller than everyone else he is because they helped starve him. Imagine if a bug lands on him and the absolute horror on his face. Just everything they've done and they all apologize to him individually. Take their time and truly mean it. Sanji is trying to understand they've changed, he is trying but fuck how much they hurt him when they were little.

Luffy absolutely punches Ichiji for stealing Sanji and then Luffy sees how Sanji is doing and is all over him with Nami and the rescue team. Luffy demands to know why they took his cook and Yonji says he's their brother and they haven't seen him and they got too wound up over him coming home. Luffy is like 'his home is the Sunny, not whatever this is!' and Sanji is trying to calm Luffy down and Nami yells at him for his self sacrificial tendencies and leaving his boyfriend like that.

The Vinsmokes dealing with that as Judge nods and says Luffy is right, they had no right to bring Sanji to Germa, this hasn't been his home since he was a child and even then it hardly was. They send them off as Big Mom starts attacking, saying Germa will deal with the brunt of it. What's important is Sanji is with his family as and he is given the canister. Sanji may never view his siblings as family again and that's his right. Reconciliation can take years and he knows his father loves him, that has never changed and never will.

#black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #the vinsmokes #vinsmoke judge #vinsmoke family #vinsmoke niji #vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke reiju #vinsmoke yonji #loved!sanji #monkey d. luffy #straw hat luffy #lusan #sanlu #answers

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silvervioletvalentine · 1 year

Text

❣️! Strange love !❣️

Pairing : max verstappen X femOC (Cherrie)

Word count : 6.1k

Warnings: pure fluff / Cherrie being a menace. Max permanently being exasperated. That’s it I think xoxo

As Max stepped out from their bedroom in confusion after a while of not hearing his girlfriends loud voice bellowing out the lyrics to the songs that were blaring from the radio in the kitchen , he could only hesitantly poke his head around the corner with trepidation .

Because when his girlfriend went quiet , it was not a good sign.

The only time she ever shut her big mouth up was either when she was sleeping or doing something that she knew he wouldn't agree with.

Which was a lot . Because the love of his life apparently liked to keep him on his toes and was determined to give him Grey hair as soon as possible.

He spent about fifty percent of his time worrying about racing and the other fifty percent worrying about what the hell Cherrie was going to do next.

She was an absolute nutcase who didn't seem to ever think twice . She just did whatever strange idea popped into her head without even considering the consequences.

It was often Max that was left to deal with them. Rushing to fix whatever mess she had made and apologise to anybody that she had brought into her chaos as well.

He got asked a lot about why he was with her if he spent half the time scolding her or dragging her away from bad decisions.

She wasn't exactly the type of girl that people pictured him with.

She wasn't serious . She wasn't level headed or competitive . She wasn't like him at all.

Instead she was loud , obscene and careless. And barely ever did she take anything seriously .

He could remember the time that he had crashed a few months ago and instead of his girlfriend fretting over him and being in tears with worry, he had returned back to his trailer to find her waiting for him with some hello kitty plasters in her hands and a mischievous smile on her pretty face .

He hadn't been in the best of moods so he had huffed in annoyance at her .

"You can't be serious!" Yet he had stood still and let her plaster one on his cheek where there was the smallest of scratches from where he had pulled off his helmet too roughly.

She had merely laughed and patted him on the shoulder with a shrug . "That looked insane on tv. What did you do that for? Made my heart jump!" She had exclaimed as she hurried back over to the couch to continue watching the rest of the race that was playing out.

Max had gaped at her , hands pressed firmly on his hips in disbelief at what he was hearing.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" He had exclaimed looking at his girlfriend with a small pout when she had started to cheer on Charles in front of the tv instead of coddling him like he had stupidly expected.

Huffing to himself as he pulled off the rest of his suit and flung it aside , not caring where it landed.

He was too busy side eyeing Cherrie moodily , wanting her to make a fuss over him .

Having at least expected more than a little pat on the shoulder! But he should have known that his adrenaline junkie , uncaring , so fucking strange wonder of a girlfriend would act like this.

He had once watched her get stung by two jellyfishes and laugh about it. Forcing him to take a picture of her painful leg while he nearly had a full blown panic attack , hurriedly Googling if you could die from jelly fish stings.

So him crashing into the wall and getting out completely unharmed probably didn't even make her flinch.

She was a nutcase!

"I can't believe you're cheering on another man after I've just lost like that! Don't you have any pity for me Cher?" He couldn't help but wine as he threw himself down on-top of her so that she had no Choice but to pay him attention.

She had just smiled and ran her fingers through his hair , still not taking her eyes away from the screen not matter how hard he huffed and puffed.

"You haven't lost . You'll win the next race and then the next one after that .." she simply replied. Letting out a small cheer as Charles overtook Lewis around the corner bend.

Ignoring the way that Max was scowling up at her from her lap as she did so. Instead she just gently patted his cheek and even gave it a little pinch.

Realising that she wasn't going to give in, he let out a loud sigh of defeat. Snuggling his face into her thigh as he wrapped his arm around her leg and got more comfortable .

"You think I'll win?" His voice was quiet and unsure, needing reassurance after that little disaster of his.

There was no hesitation in her voice as she answered him "every time you get into that car I believe that you can win Max. I wouldn't be dating you if I thought you were a loser!" She joked .

Referring to the comments that had been made about her being after his money and only dating him for the fame. Cherrie thought they were funny because she hadn't even been that interested in him at first .

And max had spent the whole summer stubbornly following her around until she agreed to go on a date with him.

And well, the rest was history.

He was stuck with her annoying ass now.

But he had wanted her annoying ass first , so it was all his own fault really .

He had known how odd she was from the beginning. The first time that he had saw her while on holiday , she had been stood in front of a board with a smile on her pretty face while a blindfolded man threw knives around her head.

Watching the way she had giggled after it was done and asked the man if she could try doing that to him as well , and well, he had been hooked since then.

And true, she stressed him the fuck out sometimes but she also gave him some of the best , funniest and most insane memories of his life .

Everyday was an adventure with Cherrie by his side , she would drag him along to all this crazy shit that he would have never even had known existed if it wasn't for her.

So when people wondered why he was so firm in his belief that she was the one , he merely smiled and told them the same thing.

It was the way she made him feel.

She made him feel normal, she made him feel alive.

Since the moment he had met her butterfly's had become a permanent residence in his chest, no matter how much time passed between them, he still looked at her smile and felt the love right through his whole fucking being.

'But she makes you worry!' They would frown in confusion as to why he was willing to put up with a woman who permanently did stupid shit and had him on the edge of his seat.

I love her . He would simply reply. And when you loved someone you constantly worried about them. It was normal.

Perhaps his girlfriend wasn't exactly a hundred percent normal but the feeling he got whenever she did something stupid was.

But mostly it was because she loved him too. And she liked him.

She liked being around him no matter what mood he was in.

A lot of people didn't like to be around him because they thought that he was too brash and blunt , too boring and serious .

But not Cherrie.

She loved him and she liked him.

She had told him that she loved hearing him rant to her about the troubles with his car and crew even though she hardly understood the terms he was saying.

It's your passion. She had whispered to him one night after he was finished telling her about how he wasn't satisfied with the new engine that had been fitted and tested that day. Any other woman would have bored out of her mind but not her.

Never her.

Instead she had a pretty smile on her face as she rested her chin on his bare chest and looked up at him with a soft sigh. Contentness a heavy blanket around them.

You mean everything that you say. I can feel it.

And he loved her and liked her too.

He loved being by her side in the morning while she sat up in bed and tried out some brightly coloured eyeshadow that would start out on her eyes and then spread down to her Cheeks.

Getting Glitter everywhere as she drew art on her face without a care in the world while he silently laid back in bed and took pictures other without her even knowing .

He loved watching her try new foods after he had spent all night convincing her to do so. The way that she would scrunch up her nose and let out a little hum as she tasted it. Although she would never admit that he was right . Instead she would just swap their plates around and give him a apologetic kiss.

He loved the way that he was the one that she ran to when she had news or even just to tell him stupid shit that meant absolutely nothing.

He liked that he was always the one that she wanted to know about it first .

He liked the way that she would take the lead in a busy crowd and reach back for his hand without even saying a word. He would let her pull him to whatever destination she had in mind, knowing that no matter what they did she would make him happy.

He liked the way that she wasn't afraid to stick up for him either. Having picked up on some of his own bluntness and curses , she wouldn't hesitate to go up to someone that had wronged him and call them out. Refusing to budge until she had forced that person to apologise to him face to face , sincerely.

Max thought it was funny that his five foot four girlfriend was such a wildcard. It always was the short ones that were the craziest after all.

What she lacked in height she made up for in impulsiveness .

His friends often liked to tease him about how he looked like a concerned father with a naughty child that was acting out . He supposed they weren't that wrong to think so.

He knew that he was the mature one in their relationship, that wasn't a secret .

So with her lack of loudness making him uneasy , he walked into the kitchen with worry and then paused by the doorway at the sight in front of him.

Making direct eye contact with his girlfriend who was sat cross legged on their dining table with only her lace knickers on, with scissors held up to her head as she tried to cut herself some bangs. A heap of hair already covering her lap .

He could see that she had also hacked at the ends of her hair too. It now rested to the middle of her waist instead of the bottom of her back like it had an hour ago.

He sighed loudly , not at all surprised.

“We have dinner in half an hour Cher." He stated matter of factly as he glanced down at his watch with worry.

"Was now really the right time for a new look?" He asked her as he walked over to her and gently took the scissors from her hands before she could do any more damage to her pretty hair.

She just smiled and laughed a little at the look on his face . Smoothing her hand over his smart dress shirt with a appreciative hum.

"You look handsome." She told him as she leant up to kiss him. Momentarily forgetting about the mess of hair she was dealing with.

Max didn't. He let her kiss him for a moment longer before pulling away and looking sternly down at her.

Patting down her new bangs so he could see how uneven she had cut them, shaking his head at her in exasperation.

"You look insane. Couldn't you have waited baby? Keep still a minute while I fix it.." he told her firmly as he began to fix her bangs for her.

Lifting up the scissors to her hair and Cutting off the longer pieces till they were all even , grabbing the brush from beside her and brushing through them to make sure that it was right.

Missing the way that Cherrie was gazing at him fondly as he focused on cutting her hair. Sectioning the rest of her her hair into two parts and pulling them to the front of her chest so he could see what he was working with.

"My dress is low on the back so I wanted my hair to rest at the end of the fabric so it covers it." She simply informed him of her brilliant idea.

He rolled his eyes in amusement as he started cutting the end of her hair straight.

Typical. He thought with a smirk .

“why the bangs then? What does that cover?" He murmured with a small smile, one that he just couldn't help but let out whenever she was near.

Cherrie just hummed "absolutely nothing. I just thought they'd look cute. Don't you agree?" She pressed when he was finally done. Shaking out her hair and shooting him a pleased grin , her dimples showing.

Max wiped down the hair from her skin the best he could , trying to ignore the fact that the love of his life was sat in front of him with just a thong on.

They had a important dinner to get to. He reminded himself firmly as he tore his eyes away from her pierced tits and back up to her glimmering eyes instead .

"Don't play cute with me. You know I think you look good in anything." He warned her playfully as he helped her get down off the table.

"We're going to be late. You can be the one to tell them why this time! I'm not covering for you again!" He told her seriously. Fed up with her constant lateness.

Having been the one to take the blame the last time she had made them late because she wanted to finish watching the football match first. Even though max had told her that they could simply record it on their tv so she could rewatch it when they got back instead.

You would have though he had told her to kill one of the players with the disgraced look she had shot him at his rational suggestion.

“It’s not the same! I want to see it as it happens! That’s like messi being in our house and instead of seeing him we just get someone else to take a video so we can watch it when he’s gone! Don’t be ridiculous Max!” She had yelled at him dramatically before shoving a football jersey over his head and grabbing the beers, shoving one into his hand with a grin as the game started.

So Max had been forced to yet again lie to his friends.

'I couldn't find the car keys. Sorry guys .'He had told their friends with a grimace as he held out the seat for his girlfriend who was already tipsy from downing beer after beer during the match , once they finally arrived an hour later .

Cherrie absolutely buzzing from her teams win. She hasn’t stopped beaming since he managed to finally drag her out of their home and into the car.

He supposed the face paint with her favourite players number on her cheeks really hadn't helped to sell his lie either.

But Cherrie refused to be the one to take the blame despite everybody knowing that the reason he was always late was 99.9% always her fault.

Cherrie just huffed at him as she pulled her dress over her head , wiggling her body from side to side as she tried to adjust it. Leaving Max to stare at the low neck and cut out sides and back with an open mouth.

Swallowing Thickly as he looked at her in awe. Feeling like he was going to have a stroke as he tugged at the collar of his shirt , his skin flushing just from the sight of her.

He didn’t think that there would ever be a day where her beauty didn’t make him breathless.

"Please baby! They're already pissy with me for making us late to your birthday party a few weeks ago!" She whined as she leant down to slide her feet into some high heels. Placing her hand on his shoulder to keep her balance .

Max snorted as he ran his fingers through her newly cut hair to help it frame her face like he knew she liked it.

"Once again. That was your fault. Because only you could make me late to my own surprise party." He mused beyond amused at the reminder of that day .

His friends had spent two hours in a darkened room waiting for him to come through the door so that they could jump out and surprise him.

Only Cherrie had taken him one look at him wearing the new tight shirt and even tighter jeans that she had bought him before dragging him to the backseat of his car .

It was only after the third orgasm that she had came back up for air with a shocked gasp , eyes wide as she blurted out 'your party!' Before quickly pulling her dress back down and dragging him out of the car while he hurried to button up his jeans again.

His friends had taken on look at his lipstick covered face and neck , as well as her swollen lips and messy hair before rolling their eyes and scolding her for not being able to keep her hands off him while max just helped himself to his cake while laughing hysterically .

Cherrie looked up at him pleadingly as he ushered her out the door while muttering about how late they were. Again.

"Please max! Just tell them that you had stomach troubles or something! I don't want them to know it's my fault again!" She pleaded to him.

Max merely shot her a unimpressed glance as he shoved her into the passenger seat of his car with a huff.

"Absolutely not. I'm not taking the blame this time! Forget it! You’re on your own with this one!”

Max gave their friends a apologetic smile as they finally arrived at the table, everyone looking up at them exasperatedly .

He glanced between their unimpressed expressions and his girlfriends pretty face with her newly cut hair and sighed in deafest.

"Sorry we're late ..I had some stomach troubles." He blurted out .

Shooting cherrie a look as she tried not to giggle from beside him.

Having already known that he wouldn't let her take the blame no matter how much he wanted to throw her under the bus.

He loved her too much to actually do it.

Charles looked over at him with a concerned frown "like food poisoning or something? I hope there's not a bug going around." He questioned him worriedly.

Max grimaced as he pulled out a chair for Cherrie and carefully tucked her into the table before sitting down beside her. Placing his hand on her thigh.

"Maybe. I'm fine now though. Don't worry." He muttered not looking at him in the eye in case the lie was written all across his face.

Then he ended up catching eyes with Daniel who was already grinning between them, his cheek in his hand as he eyed Max’s girlfriend in amusement.

"New hair?" He asked making max frown at him in bewilderment as he wondered how the hell he had noticed so quickly .

“You didn't have bangs this morning Cherrie ." He said knowingly.

Then max remembered that Cherrie always met up at the cafe with Daniel after her morning work out and fought back a annoyed groan.

Turning his head to squint his eyes in disbelief at his sheepish girlfriend who had seemed to forgotten that little detail .

"Did you cut them while max had the shits?" Daniel joked. Already guessing what had happened but ribbing him for it.

"Max has the shits?" Pierre called down the table , only catching the end of what he said.

It seemed to set a chain reaction as everybody started questioning him about his bowel movements .

Max's Face went bright red as he glared at his giggling girlfriend who he had lied for. Shaking his head with a annoyed huff as he pinched her thigh in retaliation.

"No I don't have the shits!" He exclaimed a little louder than he meant to. Making a few peoples heads turn towards their table.

He wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in it. He was going to take Cherrie with him too for putting him in this awkward position!

Their was a pause before Cherrie snorted and muttered "try telling that to our toilet."

Max smacked the back of her head .

"That's it! No wine for you!" He yanked the glass from her hands with a scowl. Sliding the bottle away from her as well in punishment .

That was the last time he covered for her. He lied to himself . No more!

He ended up telling his health coach that he had injured his wrists from his gloves being too tight when he asked him why his wrists were red.

Too mortified to admit that it was because Cherrie had the idea to tie him up and make him see god an hour before he had to get to the paddock.

Just another normal Wednesday.

As Max stood by the side of the track that overlooked a lake, looking over the barrier down at his girlfriend who has thrown herself in after stripping naked , he couldn't help but sigh.

Hands on his hips like a concerned parent as he watched her splash around , frown deepening even further as Daniel also threw himself in as well.

He had just won p1 and Cherrie had decided to skinny dip to celebrate . He mightn't have been so annoyed if it wasn't for the hundreds of cameras that were following them around all day.

He really didn't want his girlfriend's naked body to be seen by anybody but him.

Feeling his blood pressure rise as he watched Daniel splash at her as the both of them laughed loudly , playing Around like little kids.

"Not so close Daniel!" He snapped down to his also naked friend in exasperation and worry as he saw how close the both were to each other . He did not want any part of Daniel's body to be touching hers.

Daniel just laughed and grinned up at him cheekily .

"Who's going to keep her warm then?! Just get in! It's nice!" He called up to him , Cherrie shouting her agreements as she leant her arm against his shoulder and beamed up at him happily .

Seemingly not giving too shits that everybody could see her tits as she waved up at him happily.

It was times like this that max often wondered if she did drugs when he wasn't looking.

It would make a lot of sense. It really would.

"Absolutely not! All of you need to get out and put your clothes back on! Especially you baby!" He shouted at them sternly as he took the towels from his assistants hands that he had asked her to run for.

Daniel cooed at him "aww he's nicknamed me baby how sweet! I knew you'd come around to our love Max!" He teased him. Deliberately putting his arm around cherries bare shoulder just to wind him up some more .

Max hated it when the two of them were together because all Daniel ever did was encourage his girlfriend to do crazy shit and instead of talking her down from the ledge , he jumped off it with her!

"Shut up! Watch your hands Daniel! I'm serious!"

Cherrie just laughed at his furious expression, not caring at all.

"I'm so proud of you by the way! Watching you get soaked with champagne was really hot!" She shouted up at him honestly.

Eyeing his sticky racing suit with a raise of her brow "are you sure you doing want to jump in and wash it off?" She double checked.

Max just deadpanned at her. Shaking his head with a exasperated groan. Giving up.

"You're very lucky that I love you Cherrie because you're getting on my nerves." He informed her bluntly before pulling out his phone and pressing a familiar contact.

He then looked at her in the eye smugly as he brought his phone up to his ear.

"But If you won't listen to me then I guess I'll just have to call your father-" he threatened her. Pulling out the last card in the pack, the one that he knew would work without any hesitation.

Grinning slyly when she let out a sharp gasp and quickly pushed herself away from Daniel who was calling him a party pooper as they both pulled themselves out of the water.

"Don't ring him! You bastard!" She ran over to him completely naked . Making him pocket his phone in amusement . She then Let him wrap her up in the towel till she was swaddled in it like a big baby.

Chuckling to himself as he wrapped one around her hair too, rubbing at the fabric to dry her quicker .

Daniel side eyed them as he wrapped himself in his own towel . "Are you sure you're not her daddy max? You're always telling her off like one!" He joked while laughing.

Max couldn't stop the smirk that pulled at his lips , eyes twinkling as Cherrie placed a kiss on his neck and whispered in his ear about how she was going to personally congratulate him for winning when they got home.

"I'm just a concerned boyfriend who doesn't want the whole world to see his girlfriends boobs." He said as he then wrapped her in a dressing gown as well. Flipping the hood up to keep her warm.

Daniel just smirked "too late mate." He then turned to look at Cherrie with a friendly smile .

“They’re very nice. Lovely and round." He told her casually as though he was complimenting some fruit .

Cherrie beamed back at him happily. "thank you! Grew them myself!" She joked . The both of them ignoring Max's eyes glaring daggers at them.

Shaking his head with a disbelieving huff as he decided that he had enough of the two of them being around each other .

He hauled his girlfriend away before they decided to do some more stupid shit together that would make his blood pressure rise rapidly.

"Love you." Cherrie muttered to him quietly as they made their way back to his trailer . Tucked underneath his arm where she belonged .

Max softened , any annoyance he felt quickly fading at the honesty in her voice .

He just sighed fondly and gave the side of her head a gently kiss .

"I love you." He simply replied. So utterly in love that it overwhelmed him.

Because If be didn't love her like he did , he would have ran away screaming from her years ago.

She was an absolute pain in his ass.

It was a clear fact that was further proven to him when she tried to breakup with him one night after they had been arguing over why he thought it was a bad idea to get a dog.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing when she first told him that she wanted a pug.

He had looked at her in disbelief , feeling the need to remind her the obvious.

“You're allergic to dogs." It was said bluntly and in bewilderment as he wondered what the hell she was going on about.

They couldn't get a dog when she was allergic to them! Had she gone mad?

Cherrie had frowned at him like what he told her was a lie . As though she didn't start sneezing and coughing up a lung whenever she touched one.

"I can take medicine to help. I want one Max. It's too lonely when you're not here with me !" She had exclaimed , upset with him as she threw herself up off the bed .

Flicking on the lamp as she glared down at him unhappily .

It was three o'clock in the morning and max couldn't believe that she had woken him up for this shit.

Rubbing at his eyes tiredly as he squinted up at her from the bed. Judgement across his face. He found it hard to have patience with her when it was this early in the fucking morning!

He had just been nodding off too!

"Don't be daft! You'll make yourself ill! And how can you be lonely when you constantly have those hippies around here when I'm gone? Don't think I can't smell the lavender oil that they leave behind!" He warned her. Huffing in annoyance.

Cherrie just wouldn't let it go. Tired and emotional herself and max had known that it was a bad idea for them to watch a heartbreak chick flick film before bed.

But he had still let her put it on anyways .

And now he was paying the price because his girlfriend was a melodramatic drama queen who had watched a film about a man who didn't love his girlfriend anymore , who had also refused to let them get a dog in the film as well.

Clearly she had gotten it into her head that they were doomed to be like the characters too. Having tested him all night long with utter bullshit.

"They say a man is falling out of love when he spends more time on his phone when his partner is right beside him to talk to." She had muttered with a scowl when he had been replying to some work emails on his phone before bed.

Knowing that she had heard it from that stupid movie , he had merely glanced up at her in amusement .

"Do you like your diamond jewellery and expensive clothes?" He had returned to her . Their huge closet filled with her shit already giving him the answer .

She had just frowned harder. Not answering him.

He smirked triumphantly "these emails I'm answering about promotions will get you more of those things . So shut your trap and get back into bed." He scolded her.

Only perhaps he should have settled her mind further than that before they went to sleep.

Maybe then she wouldn't have been trying to break up with him because he wouldn't let her get a dog.

"We need to break up max . This isn't going to work. You obviously don't understand my needs anymore-"

Max Couldn’t have scoffed any louder if he tried. Finally Sitting up in the bed with a loud, annoyed groan as he eyed her in disbelief .

"Your need to annoy me you mean?" He yawned, casually leaning back against the pillow with a small amused smile playing on his lips .

The look on his face only seemed to piss her off even more but he couldn't help it.

She was being completely ridiculous!

She then sniffled loudly, dialling up her drama.

"why are you smiling? Are you happy that I'm not your girlfriend anymore?" She almost cried . Glaring back at him tearfully.

Max just snorted , rolling his eyes at her .

“We're not breaking up stupid. Now Get back into the bed!" He snapped at her tiredly .

Pointing sternly to the space beside him, impatiently patting it to further get his point across when she made no love to do as he said.

"No! You obviously don’t want me to be happy!"

"Because I don't want you to get a pet that's going to make you never breathe properly again?!"

"You're being dramatic! I'll just take the medicine for my allergies!"

Max groaned loudly , covering his face with his hands as he tried not to lose his shit at her.

"Me? You're being crazy." He ground out "I never said we couldn't get a pet. Just not a dog that you’re allergic to !"

There was a long pause before Cherrie blinked away her tears and cautiously approached the bed again.

"A cat?" She murmured hopefully. Already crawling back into the bed and sliding underneath the covers now that her hysterics were over. Knowing that she was about to get her own way again.

Perhaps also opening that bottle of wine during the movie was a bad idea too.

Max had forgotten how emotional she got after drinking it. It was like she went through five stages of grief when she drank red wine.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders with his eyes already closed, kissing the side of her head with a little laugh.

"Fine but you're changing the litter tray." He warned her. Feeling her smile brightly against his chest.

"I will! I promise! You won't have to do anything!" She had promised him gleefully . Giving him a kiss before promptly falling back to sleep now that she had gotten her own way.

Leaving max to sigh to himself as he tried to go back to sleep. Having a feeling that she wouldn’t be that helpful at all.

It just wasn’t in cherries nature to pick up cat poo.

Yet another lie of here that was proven as two weeks later he was knelt down with a grimace as he cleaned out the litter box for the fluffy ginger cat that was nudging him against his leg.

Glaring up at his girlfriend who was dancing around the kitchen while singing to the radio , without a care in the world.

Instead she was too busy rambling on about how she was going to get herself some pole dancing lessons, jumping from one subject to another. Filled with endless ideas ths never seemed to stop.

Sighing to himself as he finished cleaning it up and set out some food for the fur ball as well .

Then he got to his feet and pursed his lips as he eyed the love of his life with a feeling of acceptance.

This was going to be the rest of his life.

Pretending that he wore the trousers in their relationship and acting like he wasn't ready to do anything he could to make her happy .

Even if it meant cleaning up cat poo so that she didn’t have to.

So with that thought in mind, how he must be crazy to love her even more than he did yesterday despite how much she drove him up the wall.

He knew it was time.

He walked over to her and gently grabbed her hand , making her look over at him with a curious

smile on her pretty face.

"What's up handsome?" She had chirped obliviously at him. Leaning forward to give him a quick kiss.

Not even noticing the way he pulled something out of his Jean pocket and slid it smoothly onto her finger , his eyes locked with hers as he let out a small laugh at how oblivious she was.

"I'm gonna be your husband." He decided to tell her bluntly .

Because he had no doubt in his mind that if he decided to plan a fancy proposal that she would somehow find a way to ruin in.

Not on purpose but that was just the way she was.

So instead he settled on simply letting her know instead.

Cherrie looked at him with wide eyes before finally noticing the diamond ring on her finger.

Then she did the most her thing possible and laughed loudly in response .

Casually shrugging her shoulders as she wrappped her arms around his neck and gave him a soft kiss.

"Okay. Sounds fun." She simply said once they pulled away to breathe again .

"Yeah?" He grinned . Looking between her eyes to be sure. His heart squeezing in his chest, so full of love for his little pain in the ass.

She just beamed back at him happily. As in love with him as he was her .

"yeah. I'm gonna be your wife."

Then she tilted her head cheekily "can we get married in Vegas after you win the race there?" The pure confidence that she had that he would win that race made him grin like a lovesick idiot.

Squeezing her hips and blinking back happy tears from his eyes as he kissed her again and again and again.

They could get married in the basement for all he cared. As long as she was officially his to worry about for the rest of his life , he didn't care.

She may have been a little strange but she was his wildcard . Nobody else's.

He wouldn't change her for anyone.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #f1 fic

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kateeorg · 1 year

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"Your son misses you"

You know what, it's annoying me that some people are reading Dottie's line as a toxic guilt trip for Ted. That they think it's coming from this shortsighted, passive-aggressive place, because they want Ted to stay in Richmond so badly. It's a valid reading, I'll grant you. There's evidence for it.

But I have another reading I'd like to offer that I haven't seen yet. See, when I hear those words, I can't help but think:

How often did Dottie think these same words about her late husband?

How many times did she want to scream at him: Your son misses you! I miss you! How could you leave him?! And me?!

She sees her son, who has always put others before himself (not unlike herself, not unlike her husband), go through this divorce, hears about his panic attacks from the news, sees her son pulling away, sees her grandson traveling back and forth between continents just to see his father -- what picture does that paint for her? She probably doesn't even know the full story of the divorce the way we, the audience, do.

So, what is she left with?

A son who may or may not be going down the same route as his dad. Or at the very least, who is distancing himself in ways perhaps similar to what Papa Lasso did before his death.

So, after traveling across the ocean, staying with Austrailians, getting to know Ted's Richmond friends, ages of beating around the bush (because that is the way they've always done thing and she doesn't know another way), and getting cursed at by her son for her failure to be direct with her feelings, she tells Ted the thing she came to say, the thing wishes she could tell his dad:

Your son misses you.

Because maybe, she thinks, if she'd been able to tell her husband that, if he had truly understood how much he was valued and needed, he wouldn't have done what he did. He wouldn't have kept them at a distance and struggled and bottled everything up until it exploded. And her son wouldn't have come home to find him dead.

#ted lasso #tl meta #tl spoilers #dottie lasso #papa lasso #henry lasso #tw suicide

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whumping-valentine · 2 months

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🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 8 🦌

"Fawn's Punishment"

Content: Restraints, belts, intended non-sexual spanking, defiant whumpee, unearthed childhood trauma, slight nsfw warning (or full nsfw warning idk where y'all would draw that line. Basically whumpee accidentally finds out they have a kink. This is the only time the series will get nsfw.)

1,600 words

Hey, part 8! Who's ready for our little Fawn to finally get put in their place? I know I am! :)

Sorry for my absence recently. A few weeks ago my brother and his friend dragged me out to chaperone a concert 2 hours away when I was starting to feel sick, and I'm disabled and couldn't sit the entire time unless it was on the floor, then I got the full on FLU, then while sick I started my period, and I haven't been able to do anything for over a week. I couldn't focus and was angry and depressed about it and how sick I felt but whatever. In all honesty it was awful. And then my pet turtle died and my brother got into a car accident (he's fine).

It's been stressful, though now I'm finally ready to get back in the swing of things. I'm not too happy with this part but I blame the aforementioned reasons for it. It feels choppy and weird but whatever. I'm just gonna hit post and get it done with.

Anyways, yeah, hope you like it!! 💕

Fawn was once again tied to the bed upstairs. Though rather than being able to lay on it, their hands were bound behind their back, tied to the bedpost as they sat on their knees. They’d spent hours trying to desperately break free, though it was all for naught. All that they were left with were sore, bruised wrists, embedded with rope marks. Not to mention how bad their knees hurt, unable to switch positions.

They were so sick and tired of everything. Of being angry, scared, fatigued, and hurt. Constantly fighting between their beating, anxiety-ridden heart and their uncaring anger. They were more mad at Hunter than anything, but their stupid disorder fought against them. It made them afraid. Afraid when they didn't want to be. If they didn't have anxiety, life would be so much easier.

No being fearful of anything unnecessary. No feeling like you're running a marathon while sitting at home in bed. No nausea or sensation of vomiting. No aches and pains and panic attacks. No fear.

Yet here they were, feeling like they were about to have a heart attack, hands shaking, almost a sensation like they were being set on fire. Like they could feel the blood surging down their arms to their hands. Fear and anger were their least favorite emotions, yet they were the only ones they could feel. They weren't normally so feisty and vulgar. Though despite how much of it they threw at Hunter, they saw right through them.

They saw how soft they really were. How small, fragile, and pathetic. They hated all of it. Being perceived as both mean and feeble. Their fighting was their coping mechanism, the swears, the kicks, the biting back. They hated being perceived as weak.

Soft, yes. But that doesn't mean weak.

Most people don't get that.

Though now, they were tired of being strong. In this moment, they were weak. They loathed it. They wanted to fight back, and cry, but nothing ever changes when they do because to Hunter it means nothing. Now here they were, on their knees in a dark cold room waiting for Hunter to do God knows what to them.

Fawn was a lot like Hunter in the sense that they just wanted to be left alone. Fawn wanted to go back to their new old home, back to the animal shelter, back to working a simple daylight job at the gas station. Keeping to themself, nature, and animals. Not being perceived at all.

Unfortunately, that was merely just a wish. The door to a room creaked open, light entering from the hall as Hunter stood in the doorway. Fawn refused to look at them. A tense moment was held in the air as neither made a sound, Hunter just standing there while Fawn kept their head down. After a while, Hunter stepped into the room.

“So,” they said, “you think you can rummage through my things and destroy them? Tear them to shreds?”

“They weren’t your things. They were missing posters.” Fawn grumbled in discontent, still keeping their head down. Hunter grabbed their hair and forced them to look up, smacking them harshly across the face with their other hand.

“You are in no place to be talking black to me, especially not right now! You wanna destroy my fucking things? Then I’ll destroy you right back.” They said, a growl to their tone. They untied the rope from the bed post and yanked them to their feet, grabbing onto their arms.

"Grrr, let go of me!" Fawn yelled and kicked as Hunter tightened the grip on their fragile arms, pushing them out of the room as they hopelessly fought.

“No, you need to be taught a lesson.”

"No! No I don't! Fuck you!"

“Yeah, yeah. Keep yelling. That’ll help.”

Hunter dragged them to a chair, roughly throwing them down on it, almost knocking it backwards from the force.

"Every other time I've hurt you, it's because I've needed to help you out of something you caused. You stepped into my trap, so I took you into my home and fixed your leg. You break my window, so I pick out the pisces and give you stitches. You get sick because you’re a weak little baby, so I take care of you out of the kindness of my heart.” They said semi-sarcastically, “But now I'm afraid it's time for you to face some true consequences."

“Oh yeah, like fucking what?” Fawn growled, “Do your fucking worst, I don’t care. Fucking shoot me. Kill me like hunters are supposed to do with their prey. Fucking end me, you coward.”

“Oh, darling little fawn, we’re in far too deep for me to do that now. No, I’ve grown to quite like you. It gets lonely all the way out here, and I find you to be entertaining. You aren't going anywhere, I’m afraid. But you are going to listen to me. My cabin, my rules.”

Hunter took off their belt, folding it, the leather wearing and peeling off of it. Fawn glared at them, their eyes slowly widening.

"Hm, what's going through that pretty little head of yours? Relax, if I wanted to do that to you, I would've done it already." Hunter said, approaching them, proceeding to slap them across the face with it. "Besides, I wouldn't want to fuck something that acts like a bratty child."

"If being a bratty child is the only thing keeping your creepy hands off me, I'll gladly keep it up." Fawn said, not even reacting to the slap.

“Keep my hands off you, yes. But not my belt.” They hit them again.

“You know what I meant.” Fawn grumbled, then kicked them in the legs. “Get away from me.”

“You’re in no position to be making demands at me.”

“Or fucking what? You’ll smack me with the belt again? Yeah, yeah. Been there, done that a thousand times. You’re supposed to be some serial killer, aren’t you? You're really fucking shitty at it.”

Hunter pulled their hair, "You wanna act like a brat? Then you can get punished like a brat. Is that the game you want to play? You wanna play that game? Because I can.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, spank me like a child, why don’t you. That’ll teach me a lesson.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Yeah well I don’t appreciate being tied up and held hostage by some strange feral person in the middle of the woods, so I guess we’re even.”

Hunter yanked them up on their feet and threw them over the table so fast and unexpectedly that Fawn yelped. Just as quickly as that happened, they felt their pants get yanked down, and a belt roughly lashed against their bare skin.

"Ah! What— what are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing? Act like a child and I'll spank you like one." They brought the belt down again.

Fawn's face blushed red in embarrassment. This was humiliating. It wasn't a sexual spanking, rather they were being spanked like they were a misbehaving kid. It felt like their childhood all over again. Being hit and spanked by their parents for the most trivial of things.

They'd just finally gotten away from it.

Now they were right back where they ran away from.

“What’s the matter? I thought you said this would be like nothing, didn’t you?” Hunter taunted.

“Y-you— you can’t just spank another adult and have it not be weird!”

“Hey, you’re the only one making it weird. Why? Do you like being spanked?” Hunter teased, and brought the belt down harder. Fawn jerked and let out a surprised squeal. Hunter chuckled darkly. "I think you do."

"Shut the hell up." Fawn nearly cried. The tone was cracked and scared, not angry. "Stop it. Stop it! I'm not a child, stop it, I'm not— you shouldn't— you can't punish me!"

"Then stop acting like one. That's the point. Because you're a child. It's not my fault you're a freak who likes being hit."

"I do not like it!"

"Yeah, sure. Maybe not by me, but you do. You're clearly humiliated though, which was the goal. So it works."

Fawn shut their mouth and stayed quiet as Hunter talked and hit them. As if they couldn't make their embarrassment any worse, their brain, throat, and tongue plotted against them, as they involuntarily pleaded, "Mom, stop."

"Aww, am I reminding you of mommy? Were you spanked as a kid? How sad." They condescended, hitting them harder. “Childhood traumas that turn into adulthood kinks, how unfortunate for you.”

“No… you... you don’t remind me of my mother.” Fawn said sadly, “You’re far too nice for that.”

Hunter was about to bring the belt down again, but the statement surprised them, causing them to hesitate, bringing it down in a light tap, rather than a spank.

Hunter grumbled to themself under their breath, then said, "Fine. You're done. For now." They untied their hands and threw them onto the floor, "Now pull up your pants and get out of my sight. I think you should spend some time alone, be sure to think of me in the process, though."

"Fuck you. Pervert." Fawn spat, and Hunter left.

They were so mad at themself. How that turned them on. They knew it wasn't their fault, it was just a bodily reaction, but still. They were being spanked by their captor, just like their mother used to do. That shouldn't turn them on!

They were frustrated in more ways than one, and wanted to rip their hair out. It wasn't supposed to be sexual. Yet here they were, feeling assaulted and ashamed.

This was not their fucking fault. This was not the consequences of their actions. They wouldn't let Hunter manipulate them with their bullshit. Won’t let them groom them into thinking they’re some kind of authority figure.

They’d sooner wish for the apocalypse then to be subservient to them.

You're all gonna see a turning point for Hunter the next few chapters, so I hope you're ready for some focus on them. Also this part wasn't originally supposed to get a bit sexual, but that's just where it ended up when I wrote it. Hope it's okay, it's my first time ever putting out anything nsfw so I'm a little bit nervous 😅

Taglist: @parasitebunny @whumpy-wyrms

Lmk in the comments if you want added or removed !

Thank you for reading ! 💕🦌

#fawn and hunter #whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing

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haunted-xander · 1 year

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The encounter with Mahiru was draining, both physically and emotionally. She felt a little bad leaving her cuffed like that, but with how hostile Mahiru was there was no other option. Calling Future Foundation for help would be far too risky. Not one to give up easily, Chiaki went ahead to the Main Course building to search for the other reported Remnant. Even if she can't save them now, she wants to at least see them.

As she approached the tightly locked doors, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. It's been so long since I've been here... And to think that right now there's... ...I hope they get out soon. The feeling of helplessness isn't new, but just as unpleasant. Snapping herself out of it, she resolutely began searching around for any sign of the Remnant. She had no idea who it was, and as the school was important to all of them, it could really be anyone. ...At least I know it's not Koizumi-san...

Suddenly, she heard several footsteps all running around her, but before she could open her backpack and grab her pole a gunshot went off. It narrowly missed her cheek and had her on full alert, her eyes searching for the perpetrator. A woman wearing a Monokuma head cackled madly as she aimed her gun at Chiaki. The woman was about to fire again, but Chiaki had already grabbed her pole and smashed it into her stomach, making the woman stumble backwards and drop the gun. All the tension let loose as the entire mob charged towards Chiaki, each and every one getting struck by the pole as soon as they where within reach. Good thing I played all those VR games, huh... Swinging a real pole isn't so much different from a virtual one, just heavier...

The woman from earlier got back up and screamed as she launched herself at Chiaki. On reflex, Chiaki smashed the pole into her head and heard a nasty crack. Watching as the woman fell down with blood pouring out from her Monokuma helmet, Chiaki suddenly got a cold feeling. ...No, I didn't... did I? She's... still alive, right? I wouldn't... I didn't... There's no way... Not given the time to panic, the previously knocked out attackers slowly got back up and continued their assault. Fueled by panic and adrenaline, she showed no mercy. Her pole hit hard and she heard their bones break until they couldn't be broken any more.

By the time she was done the mob had become an indistinguishable mass of corpses. The adrenaline wore off and Chiaki was faced with the reality of what she's done. Holding her pole in an iron grip, she staggered backwards and broke out into a run, wanting to get away from her unfortunate victims. After a short while she fell down to her knees and stared blankly at the floor.

Soft footsteps could be heard approaching her, but Chiaki couldn't muster the energy to care. If it was another attacker she'd simply accept her fate. After what she did, she might as well deserve it. The footsteps stopped in front of her. The stranger knelt down and gently took her head in their hands and tilted her head up to look at them. Distantly, she recognized the serene yet off-putting smile, but didn't have the presence of mind to put a name to it.

"Oh my, look at you. What a despairing state you've entered, dear Nanami-san. Do you recognize me? It's fine if you don't of course. Trash like me isn't worth remembering. Ah, but you've always been so kind and considerate, haven't you? You always remembered me, Nanami-san." A soft yet breathy voice spoke quietly to her, slowly dragging her back into reality. "...Ko...mae...da...kun..." She was happy to see him, really. But the guilt from her previous actions drowned out any other emotion. "I'm... so so...rry... I couldn't... And now I... They're all..." She wanted to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come. Speaking became difficult as she could barely breathe over the sharp feeling in her chest.

"Oh you poor thing. I'm sure it hurts now, but don't worry! This deep despair you're feeling right now will surely blossom into a beautiful ray of shining hope! So don't worry... All this pain will be worth it. Besides... You don't survive the apocalypse by being kind. You'll have to kill eventually. There's no such thing as an innocent survivor. Don't worry, Nanami-san. I promise it gets easier over time."

"...Komaeda...kun. I'm... happy to see you... I mi...ss y...ou......." All the fighting and traveling of the day has completely worn her out, and she fell unconscious in Nagito's arms.

"...Don't worry, Nanami-san... I won't let you die. You'll become the hope that everyone needs... Someone worthy of the title of 'Ultimate Hope'... Ahaha... I look forward to seeing where your journey takes you next... But I suppose I should let you get some proper rest first, no?"

"Don't you think so too, Kamukura-sama?"

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caffeinatedopossum · 2 months

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Very long post/ positive life update (tw mentions of suicide/self harm)

I can't believe I'm doing so well on these new meds. It's genuinely unreal.

Just a couple months ago, I was severely suicidal every day. I was hurting myself nearly every day, crying nearly every day. I would cry until my eyes hurt, until my head hurt, even until I passed out from dehydration a few times. I wasn't talking to my friends. I was barely talking to anyone. I would stay in my room alone so long that *my roommates* would remark in surprise when they saw me out, saying they hadn't seen me in a while and asking how I was.

I was too depressed to even play video games. I couldn't focus on anything. I would sometimes just sit and stare at walls blankly because I genuinely could not *do* anything. I was having severe panic attacks at least once a day, every night, where I was literally convinced I was dying and that if I let myself fall asleep, I would die. I would keep myself up for hours, just laying there in terror.

This depression has been with me since I was only 13 years old. I tried to kill myself 3 different times, and for the first time in nearly 9 years, I'm glad I wasn't successful. When I was 13, I also developed anorexia. By now, I've been in recovery for just over 2 years. I thought that illness would kill me, I couldn't imagine living without it. I didn't *want* to live without it. I thought full recovery would always be impossible, even until recently, because the desire to relapse had been so strong. But... here I am. It's crazy.

Today, I went with my roommates (who are like family to me) to see the solar eclipse. I laid in the sun for hours - comfortable, happy. I can't recall ever feeling okay like this before. I complimented a stranger like it was easy. I talk to my friends every day now - we play video games and watch tv together or just talk. And I've made new friends. I haven't cried in over a month. I have a new dog- a little basset hound puppy- and I love him with my whole heart. I'm actually able to help my gf care for him too. I joined an asexual community discord server and have been participating in events like movie nights and writing club. I've even made some friends from the server.

My roommate bought me something I liked at the eclipse event- it was really expensive. And as I was thinking guiltily "I don't deserve this", I realized that feeling used to be a lot stronger. It used to be more frequent. I ate a cream puff today. I wasn't thinking about the calories in it. It was really good, it was nonchalant. It was normal. This gets to be normal for me now...? It's too good to be true. If I were a happy crier, I'd have broken my month long tear-free streak for sure

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apprenticestanheight · 7 months

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Photos- Chainshipping

Okay!! My requests are currently open for just about every single saw character or apprentice (with the exception being Logan--I haven't watched either Jigsaw or Spiral just yet and thus, don't really know much about him besides his name) so if anyone has any ideas, feel free to shoot them into my inbox--I do character x character but also love me a bit of reader insert so whatever ideas you have, I'll be happy to take a look!

fic type- this fic jumps everywhere, but the primary genres are fluff--there's angst and angsty undertones in this as well though

warnings-Adam has PTSD (though he doesn't get diagnosed) and the symptoms he exhibits are as follows: avoidance, anxiety, fears of things that relate to his time in the trap (it's never stated, more depicted, but he's afraid of the dark) and anxiety whenever something triggers the memories of the trap. He does go through an episode in relation to his PTSD post trap and the episode manifests as a panic attack kind of ordeal. There are also potential SAW X spoilers (I haven't seen the movie so please don't spoil it for me--I mention offhandedly that another attack had shown up in the news in the same place where SAW X is set, which is the extent of the spoilers for the film) this has been edited but it was edited in about an hour and fifteen minutes so it's not perfect. It's also a long fic and caps at 8.2k words

When Adam next wakes, he finds himself in a hospital room. He wakes in time to see an investigative officer enter his room, quiet on the assumption that he's still sleeping.

He scrutinizes the detective in the moments before they realize he's awake, his throat dry and his shoulder burning with the ache of a bullet that had been removed but was still left in his shoulder too long.

The detective appears to be a guy--probably taller than him but not by much, only a bit of thinning hair left to speak for what was once probably a full head. He looks, from the get-go, a little irritated, and his outfitting is a basic button down, a black tie and black pants.

For a second, Adam wonders how legal it is for detectives to intrude upon the hospital rooms of Jigsaw survivors, his gaze passing over the detectives frame once more, but he realizes that, if the detective does care, he doesn't care all that much.

Who is Adam to judge, anyway? While his work as a PI was done in the name of making enough to get the rent on his shitty apartment paid in time, he still did it. He still stalked people, watched them meet up with their secretaries to cheat on their soon-to-be-ex-wives in the middle of their divorce proceedings.

He still learned the comings and goings of innocents and allowed that to be turned against them, so even if he wants to, he can't judge the detective on the basis of legal versus illegal. He can't judge the detective for doing something that feels shady when Adam has done a number of shady things himself.

Finally, the detective looks at him, startled to find he hasn't removed his gaze from him since he first heard the hospital door creak open.

"Hello, Adam," the detective greets. "My name is Detective Eric Matthews. You escaped a trap that you were put into by the Jigsaw killer. Can you tell me how?"

Adam blinks--he can barely recall what his own name is. He doesn't know the time or the date. Why would a detective expect him to be able to explain something like that so soon?

"Uh," Adam says. "I'd rather do this at a police station or precinct. I can't remember shit, Detective, and I need at least a day to make sure my head is clear."

The detective nods dejectedly, face falling like he's disappointed in Adams response.

"All right," he says. "If there's anything I can do or anyone I can call, let me know now. I'm sure your family is worried sick."

Adam feels like it's a jab, almost, but ignores that feeling. He thinks of his mother for a second, then his father. He wonders how they're both doing before realizing he's not talked to Scott in weeks. The last person his mind lands on is Lawrence--how is he doing? Is he the reason that Adam escaped?

"No," Adam says. "I've got nobody. If I had anyone, they would've called by now, I think. Thank you for offering, though."

Eric nods, and Adam watches him go.

Very quickly, Adam realizes he's been left alone again, and when he looks to his right, out the hospital window, he finds that he's woken up in time to catch the sunset.

Adam has never found much of a point in watching the sunset alone, though, so he sighs. He turns his head so that it faces a white painted wall, gives in to the morphine-induced exhaustion and closes his eyes, falling asleep with the sunset to paint a picture perfect background.

Days pass, and in each one of them, Lawrence consumes the whole of Adams thoughts for at least two hours. Typically whenever a nurse walks in to change his IVs or renew the morphine drip that has been steadily keeping the worst of the pain from the bullet wound at bay, though sometimes when someone comes around to bring him food.

Any entrance into his hospital room can be thought to be Lawrence for a minimum of three seconds, Adam finds. He looks up, realizes it isn't Lawrence and while one part of him deflates with some sense of sadness, the other feels relieved.

It's an odd split--despite how much Adam thinks of him, he doesn't know what would make him happier; would seeing Lawrence and being assured he's fine be better? Would it be better than never seeing Lawrence again, leaving him and his mind to wonder whatever happened to the oncologist?

Detective Eric Matthews doesn't swing by his hospital room again, but the day following his first visit, a nurse came in to tell Adam that he was wanted at the police station to deliver a statement as soon as he felt ready to do so.

On his final morning in the hospital, Adam is given several written prescriptions after being honest about the pain in his shoulder--days of recovery and the pain is still there, which has lead his doctor to believe it could be chronic.

He's sent on his merry way and gets into a cab to go back to his apartment, idly wondering just how worth it it would be to call his parents.

Getting to his apartment is a trip and a half--he realizes he doesn't have his keys on him but finds them poking out from under the door, and the first thing he does after unlocking his door is turn on the light in the entryway.

He proceeds with growing anxiety through the darkness in his hallways to get to his room. When he's there, he promptly turns the light on and goes about getting himself acceptable outfitting--he's due in to make a statement at the station, and it's half past ten in the morning. Better to get it out of the way and deal with the press that's coming out of the woodwork sooner than later.

He grabs a towel and turns his bedroom light off, proceeding to his bathroom. When he turns on the water, its cold and reminiscent of the water he'd woken up in in the bathroom with Lawrence.

When he notices it and to the detriment of his neighbor who won't have access to the hot water for thirty minutes once Adam is done, he turns the knob so that the water is almost scalding.

He hates it--the way that a bit of cold water cascading from his head to his shoulders and down his torso has reminded him so easily of the bathroom. He tries to shake it but almost can't, so he moves through the movements of the shower as quickly as he can without just skipping through the entire ordeal.

He dries himself, gets dressed into a decent pair of jeans, a baggy black shirt and a dark gray flannel, and walks to the station like he used to when he was taking photos for a detective who worked there.

The route is so familiar that it's eerie, and he half wonders who it was who stalked him while was doing the stalking. He wishes he knew which one of Jigsaws accomplices it was who was making sure that they had everything set to go for his game, but then he thinks better of it.

He doesn't want to know that sort of thing, and trying to figure it out could have him in a trap worse than the one that Jigsaw had put him in in the first place.

When Adam gets to the station, he tells the secretary he's there to make a statement. At this, the secretary makes a call and a woman comes out of an office--a detective who looks all business but in the tired kind of way, with her exhausted looking partner on her heels.

"My name is Special Agent Lindsey Perez," the woman greets. "This my partner, Peter Strahm. We're with the FBI and while we've agreed that Erics approach was not the way to go about acquainting you with the police force at all, we're both glad you could come in today. We'll get you sorted in an interrogation room with some water and a cigarette. It'll only be a few minutes, Mr. Stanheight, and if there's anything else you need feel free to let us know."

Adam has nothing to say so he just shakes his head and lets Perez and Strahm lead him off. When entering the room, Perez notes that she'll bring a blanket back and some coffee--the interrogation room is exceedingly cold--which Adam finds himself thankful for. It's early November but it feels like he's found himself in the middle of a New Jersey winter with how cold the room is.

The interrogation room is cold, the seats metal, and the walls a bland and basic navy-blue-ish black color. Adam wishes he'd stayed home but realizes it's too late for that.

He knows he'll have to spend the next several hours dredging up the memories that had come back in bits and pieces during the hospital stay, the memories he'd half been trying to forget and half been trying to process.

Perez comes back after a few minutes, draping a blanket over Adams shoulders and setting a cup of coffee in front of him while he smokes the cigarette that had been left for him to smoke.

"All of this is going to be on record," Perez says. "Do you know why John Kramer chose to test you?"

"I work as a PI on occasion," Adam admits, guilt swallowing him bit by bit. "I was one piece in Lawrences game because I was hired by a detective who knows his wife and suspected cheating. Hiding in the shadows, taking photos of the unknowing, it's not exactly a redeemable quality in the eyes of a serial killer like him."

"Why did you do it?"

"I have a camera," Adam says, shrugging. "I needed to make the rent and get some cigarette money. I did what I had to, like everyone else does in Jersey."

Perez nods. "Do you have any recollection of how you escaped?"

Adam tightens the blanket around himself. His escape is one of the memories he's tried not to think about because he remembers it in excruciating detail until the distinct point where he collapses, and it's not fun to think about at all.

"A girl came in after a day or two. Tried to kill me," Adam says. "I managed to survive that somehow. A couple of days later, some guy opens the door. Drops a key by my hand and leaves the door open. I test the key on the chain, it works, I get up and I run while starving and dehydrated. Make it outside, promptly collapse, all the fun stuff."

"And do you remember how you got to the hospital?"

"No," Adam admits. It's the one blank spot in his memory that he hasn't been able to dredge anything up from. "I wish I did, but I don't. I've kind of assumed that someone saw me, called 911, exercised the rare gift of basic human decency."

Perez nods. She looks at Adam like he's broken and he kind of hates it, but then his mind snaps to Lawrence, the smell of coffee the gun in the bullet and the act of having to think about the bathroom being the thing that pulls the trigger.

"Uh," Adam starts, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Do you know anything--anything at all--about Lawrence Gordon? He was in the trap with me and I haven't stopped thinking about him since I woke up in the hospital."

Perez smiles, tired and sad. "I'll see what we can find, but last I heard he was in a private wing. His wife called the other day to ask us if we'd heard from you? Lawrence has apparently been asking after you, too."

"Thank you," it's the first time Adam has wanted to smile in days.

The questioning continues for a long couple of hours, Adam stating and restating things until his head hurts and all he wants is a bit of decent cheap takeout. He's let go when it's almost the sunset and again chooses to proceed without watching it. Maybe, when he has someone worthwhile, he'll consider watching the sun go down, but what is the point of such when you're doing it alone?

Another long few weeks pass him by. Adam gets himself a job at a Mom and Pop bookstore near the heart of the city, and with the pay raise that'll come once he's worked there six months, he'll be able to afford a decent apartment and still have money left for groceries if he shops at places known for their low costs, like Aldi or Lidl.

He doesn't stop taking photos--he's spurred on when a gallery reaches out, offers to pay him ten thousand if he can take forty photos of a theme of his choosing by the end of the year so that they can display it for five months.

A collection, they'd called it. A collection of photos with one common theme or aspect and a title of Adams choosing. He couldn't say no, even if the idea of ten thousand dollars up front played more of a part in that than he's willing to admit.

He doesn't know what the collection will be called, but as he realizes what kind of photos he's started taking, he has an idea of the theme.

Lawrence, he realizes as he goes on what has turned into one of his daily walks, would probably like that the trauma they endured didn't do anything to falter Adams love for photography.

Lawrence, Adam has also realized, has something of a permanent foothold in his mind. He is always there, always lingering, ever present in the idea of seeking Lawrence out, going searching and hoping to find.

He grins, snaps a photo of a stray cat lounging in the public gardens, when he hears a voice that is so familiar it makes his chest ache with the yearning of three weeks gone.

"Adam?" Lawrence asks. "I didn't know you liked the gardens."

They haven't spoken in weeks. Adam has been trying to figure out what to say to Lawrence for weeks, and still Lawrence gets the opportunity to speak before he does.

"I don't," Adam says, startled as he looks up to the person he likely shares some twisted kind of bond with. "I uh--I take walks now. I owe a gallery forty photos for a display by the end of December, so..."

"You take walks?" Lawrence asks, and Adam notices the cane, the way with which Lawrence leans against it. "I've been taking walks, too. It's part of the regimen I've built for myself. A walk everyday at the same time, the same route."

It's the first time they've spoken in weeks, and the fact that both of them go on walks daily is the first area in which they've found common ground? If Adam weren't so shocked by it, he would laugh at himself and at Larry, too.

"Uh," Adam pauses. "I go wherever my feet take me until I realize I've gotten lost. I work full time at a bookstore now and the long walks aren't a good thing for me, but the fresh air is nice, so I take them anyway."

"Walk with me, then?" Lawrence asks. "I mean--you don't have to walk me to my apartment or anything, but I could use the company and I really have been meaning to reach out to you."

Adam thinks on it for all of two seconds before nodding. "I could use someone to bother about my excitement with the whole gallery thing, anyway," he says. "I could tell my coworkers, but I don't know them very well, so if you're the next best thing then..."

Lawrence laughs, and Adams heart does an annoying little flip that tells him everything he needs to know but will choose to ignore for the time being.

The two of them move through the garden, occasionally stopping so that Adam can take photos of the small lakes and ravines they see because of the way that the light reflects off the water. They do it in relative silence until Adam speaks up.

"Ten thousand up front," he says. "I've never seen that kind of money before. I could get myself a decent place with it, which is the plan."

"Have you decided a theme yet?"

Adam sidesteps a bit while Lawrence keeps walking, not having realized the fact that Adam is falling behind. Adam snaps a photo of Lawrence as he moves and grins to himself.

"I haven't officially decided yet," he says. "However, I think the theme I'm going for is 'things a guy with chronic shoulder pain and a gabapentin prescription that he needs to refill at the end of next month finds beautiful post bathroom trap.'"

Lawrence, at this point, has realized that Adam has fallen back and joins him.

"You are not putting that photo in your display," he says, having realized he's the subject of the photo Adam has just taken. Adam starts walking at a pace acceptable for Lawrence, shrugging as he walks.

"I did say it was things a guy with chronic shoulder pain and a gabapentin prescription finds beautiful. Not things an oncologist who's as stubborn as he is tall finds beautiful, Larry. Had it been things you find beautiful, I don't imagine that this roll of film would have nearly as many stray cats, if any at all."

Lawrence shakes his head. "I'm not stubborn. I just don't like the view of me that exists from behind."

Adam laughs a bit, and a heaviness starts to hang in the air.

"How've you been?" Adam asks, and he almost hates it. It feels like they're past the need for the basic questions--how are you, how've been, are things all right?--but Adam supposes they're not, wonders if they ever will be.

"I've been okay, and you?"

I can't go to the part of town where the trap was, he wants to say. And I have to wait before stepping into the shower for the water to warm up because the water I woke up in was cold, and I can't stand the dark anymore--not like I used to be able to.

"I'm okay," Adam says.

He doesn't even believe himself, and he's typically a very convincing liar.

"Are you?" Lawrence asks.

"Are you?" Adam repeats. At this, they both laugh because they know they aren't okay, and they lied to spare the feelings of the other person, and neither of them are really sure if they'll ever be okay again.

Adam walks Lawrence home in a bit of comfortable lapsing silence, and says "okay," when Lawrence invites him in for coffee.

Lawrences apartment is exactly what one can expect from a recently divorced rich doctor who's just hit his forties. It's beige and brown and the dining room table reeks of quality. A KitchenAid stand mixer sits on the kitchen counter, and Lawrence has an entire espresso machine. Talk about responsible use of finances.

Adam sighs a bit after Lawrence has made him a cup of chamomile tea and everything within him has kind of stilled.

They're sitting on the brown leather couch in his living room, the curtains open to display a sunset that Adam would've paid more attention to in just about any other circumstance. There's no point in watching the sunset alone, but he has Lawrence. If they ever make it to that point, they can watch the sun go down together, Adam figures.

"I feel like I can't really escape it most days," Adam admits after some time. "Like--I was hounded by reporters and true crime junkies pretty frequently up until last week, and I saw Jigsaws name in the news the other day for something that happened in Mexico, of all places. I just don't feel like I'll ever escape Jigsaw or what happened in the bathroom."

"I've been the same way," Lawrence says. "Alison and I are getting a divorce. I haven't seen Diana since I was in the hospital--no matter how many times I've assured them both I'm fine, I can't escape it. I'm being coddled because of my experience with that bathroom. Coddled because I'm a trauma victim now."

"Well--" Adam shrugs. "That's what the bathroom did--it traumatized us, Larry. We're not the same people we used to be."

It's something that Adam hates but loves all the same. He's not the guy who used to stalk people in the name of making the rent.

Lawrence--well, Lawrence lost his foot. Of course he's changed. How can a person not change after losing something so dramatically?

Lawrence nods. Silence lapses. Adam takes a sip of his tea and tries not to tell Lawrence every last bit of the past few weeks--the yearning, the not-sleeping, the apparent fear of the dark and the inability to look at plastic bags the same way because he almost lost his life after someone tried to strangle him using one. The avoidance, the way that certain smells will have Adam back in that bathroom and terrified to the end of his wits.

"We'll get better, won't we?" Lawrence breaks the silence in two with one of the most heartbreaking sentences Adam has ever heard.

"You're the doctor," Adam says. "You tell me, Larry."

Lawrence smiles. Adam smiles back.

"The aftermath of traumatic events sometimes leads to PTSD. Even if we develop it, I think we'll be fine," Lawrence says. "The initial reactions include relief to be alive post trauma, and that can be followed by stress, fear, and anger. We might even find ourselves unable to stop thinking about it, but if we can make it through that, we will be just fine."

Adam realizes Lawrence is saying it for his own benefit--Lawrence needs this, he knows. He needs it a lot more than Adam does.

"Yeah," Adam says, nodding a bit. "Yeah. We'll be okay, Larry. Unless we do something that the motherfucker doesn't like--then we're screwed."

Lawrence laughs, shakes his head. "Those jokes aren't funny."

"Clearly they are," Adam rebuts. "If you genuinely didn't find me funny, you wouldn't be laughing."

Lawrence is still smiling, and Adam still has his camera, so he lifts it and snaps a split-second photo of Lawrence.

Lawrence turns to look at him, annoyance clear on his face. Adam bites gently at his top lip, meeting Lawrences gaze with mischief clear in his eyes.

"Yep," he says. "Into the collection that goes, Larry. One for the ages, I think."

"I really don't like being caught off guard," Lawrence says. Adam shrugs.

"And I really do like finding beauty where one doesn't expect it. I can say that I didn't expect to find your smile beautiful, so I snapped a photo," Adam shrugs. "You're not terrible to look at, Larry. Quite the opposite."

Lawrence snorts. "You flatter and distract," he says accusingly. All that Adam can do is snap another photo before he takes a sip of his tea.

"So it worked, then?" He asks, ignoring the way that his heart gives another funny little flip. "I've flattered you?"

Lawrence laughs. "What?" He asks. "I'm assuming that it means you have another plan attached to your flattery?"

Adam quirks his eyebrows. "One minute, I'm flirting to distract you from the fact that your photo is being taken and the next, you're completely and utterly infatuated with me, Larry. That's my big plan to win you over."

Lawrence shakes his head. Adam takes another sip of his tea. Silence lapses.

Adam doesn't know why, but he wants to stay. Lawrence has had a foothold in his thoughts for weeks, and even if they have a surplus of extended, uncomfortable, lapses in silence, Adam doesn't want to go anywhere.

Adam finishes his tea and gets up, leaving his camera on the couch as he tosses his teabag into the compost bin and rinses his mug.

Lawrence joins him.

"I really did mean to call," Lawrence says. "I just--recovery at the hospital, being given divorce papers, and then giving the police a statement, and then the whole circus that it was trying to deal with the press, I couldn't find the time."

Adam shrugs. "I wanted to call too, but I had to find something to do so that I could still use my phone, so that I could pay the rent. I decided from the get-go I wasn't going to do PI work anymore. Still occasionally get calls from my old contact, though."

"Do you think you could ever do it again?"

"Not a chance," Adam says. "I can't even--the idea of it consumes me with guilt. Plus, a roll of film with a bunch of stray cats is now of more use to me than a roll of film that details the comings and goings of people who go to seedy motels to cheat on their spouses. Yeah, I could make the rent being a PI but who doesn't love a stray cat lounging on the pavement? Who doesn't love working at a Mom and Pop style bookstore with a side of price gouging, honestly?"

Lawrence laughs. Adam sighs, shaking his head because he hates his job and he hates his apartment and he hates the fact that the press wouldn't leave him or Larry alone, but if it all leads to moments like that then it's all worth it.

It feels like all of the time they've spent away from each other ceases to exist. Like they're who they could've been outside the bathroom, a dynamic that nobody really expects to see because of how different their societal statuses are.

Adam looks at Lawrence with a smile. "I'm keeping those photos," he says.

Lawrences face falls, and Adam laughs.

"Not for the collection, of course," Adam feels something romantic bubble within him. He pushes it down and away. "For my own personal admiration. I've got a buddy who I haven't talked to in a while--his name is Scott Tibbs. He'll pay me decent money for photographing his band and I'll be using that to get frames once the photos develop."

"You're going to frame silly photos you took of me?" Lawrence asks. "This is the first time either of us have seen each other or talked in weeks, and this is where we're at?"

"Yeah," Adam nods. "I'm keeping you in my life, Larry, whether you like it or not. Keeping you in my life means I have to develop the photos. It also means I have to frame them and buy a shelf to put them on."

Lawrence scoffs. Adam grins.

"Well," he says. "Before you have the chance to stop me, I should go. I work a morning shift tomorrow, but you'll probably find me in the gardens, playing with the first stray cat I see around five."

"Noted," Lawrence says as Adam proceeds back to the living room. He grabs his camera, slinging it over his shoulder by the strap. "See you around five tomorrow, Adam."

Adam grins as he leaves. "Tomorrow, Larry," he says as he goes.

It seems, in a meeting that occurred by accident, Adam has found himself a new routine. It's something that excites him, though, and the high from that excitement carries him through the long walk home and lasts until he falls asleep.

Before Adam knows it, the end of 2004 has come around. He's taken more than a hundred photos and compiled forty of those photos into a theme that's suitable.

The pain of what he's experienced still kicks around, though, and it really doesn't take Adam that long to realize that the pain doesn't care where he is or what he's doing. The pain will come back around no matter what time of day it is, no matter where he is or what he's doing.

Knowing what'll trigger him is something upon which Adam can typically pride himself. He knows what makes the traumatized part of his mind start ticking and knows how to calm it down, but New Years Eve 2004, he can't figure it out.

He's giving the headliner the name of his collection when it hits--it's a burning pain in his shoulder at first, something he powers through to the best of his capability.

The collection itself is called A Unique Look at Jersey, and it's actually something of which Adam is quite proud, but the burning pain starts in his shoulder and Adam knows what it means right off the bat. Something, he knows, isn't right.

So, after he's explained the way that the photos are meant to be displayed for it to make sense and after he's been paid ten thousand dollars up front, Adam bolts out of the gallery. He rushes to his car and sits in the drivers side, trying to fend off the breakdown before it really hits him.

He glances around the area to see if he recognizes it from that black-out period between when he collapsed to the ground and when he woke in the hospital.

Nothing seems familiar, and that makes Adam want to bash his head through the car windows. He can't figure out what's set him off and it's making him so anxious that his hands are shaking.

Typically, when something sets him off, he knows what it is right out the gate. He knows when a space is too dark and he needs to get somewhere with more light or create that space himself. He knows to step out of the water, to move his hand away from it, when it's as cold as the water in the grimy bathtub was. He intentionally avoids movies wherein guns are fired and wounds are depicted or bloodied clothes are shown because that triggers the memories attached to the last words Lawrence had spoken to him before his escape.

But today, something sets him off and he doesn't know what it is. He wants to find out, though, so he does something risky.

The memory of grimy tiles beneath his feet, stale air going into his lungs, the feeling of a chain clasped to his foot, all nearly overcloud his sight as Adam drives away from the art gallery. He drives closer to the source of the episode, choosing directions based on his anxiety and how terribly it spikes whenever he takes whichever turn.

He finds himself at a building he vaguely recognizes for a split second before it hits him. The memories he'd thought were a black out--the stuff he couldn't explain to Special Agent Perez, the things he thought he'd forgotten and would never remember.

He recalls, very suddenly, the fact that, once he was in the daylight, he didn't stop running. He ran until he found a storefront, got the clerk to call 911, and then collapsed of dehydration against a window outside.

He recalls just how much it sucks to be the kind of hungry that hits when you haven't eaten in four days, how terrible the pain in his shoulder was and the odd desire to know who exactly it was who'd tried to strangle him.

It comes to a head and Adam presses his forehead against the steering wheel, hand going to find his phone so that he can dial Lawrence.

Lawrence picks up on the third ring.

"Adam?" He asks. Their daily walk is due to start in an hour. It's not like Adam to call Lawrence an hour before they walk together because they'll just be able to talk in the next hour anyway.

"Lawrence," Adam whispers. He gives a relieved sigh. "You left."

"I did," Lawrence says. "I said I'd come back for you, Adam, and I meant to. I was going to, I promise."

Adams breath is completely out of whack. He needs to find a way to make sure it normalizes again.

"All I can think about right now is the--the--" the incident. The bathroom trap. The tape, the photos, the saw that Lawrence used to cut off his own foot. The feeling of gross bathroom tiles beneath his feet and under his hands, the smell of blood and the fact that he hit Zep Hindle until he died and didn't stop once Zep had stopped moving. The fact that the Jigsaw killer was still out there and the fact that Adam was terrified to so much as smoke a cigarette because it could put him back within the killers line of fire. "Lawrence, how do I stop it? How do I stop thinking about it?"

"Where are you?" Lawrence asks, his voice urgent. "I'll meet you there, Adam. Where are you right now?"

"That's not important," Adam says dismissively. "I just don't--I can't--Lawrence, it is so hard to breathe right now."

"Adam," Lawrence whispers. "Adam."

Adam presses the back of his head against the back of his seat. He presses his eyes closed as tightly as he can and he tries to will himself to normalcy, but he can't.

He can't escape the feeling of cold tiles beneath his feet, can't escape the fear he felt waking up in that bathtub. He can't escape the burning pain in his shoulder, the ache in his lungs or the fear in his chest. He can't escape. He can't escape.

For a split second, he's back there, well and truly.

"Lawrence," he whispers. "I'm going to be okay, yeah?"

"Yeah, Adam," Lawrence whispers back.

"How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"

"I wouldn't lie to you," Lawrence says, and despite Adams attempts to stop it, he finally starts crying. He ends the call abruptly and lets himself have a breakdown in the front seat of his car, knowing he'll meet Lawrence at the garden in an hour with his camera slung across his torso as usual.

He knows that he'll pretend everything is fine, he'll wish he could just get the nerve to kiss Lawrence like he's been wanting to for a month, and he'll mention the fact that he photographed a wedding in early last month that let him put down the deposit money for a decent place near the gardens. He'll ask Lawrence how his day was and he'll take a photo that catches Lawrence off guard, and everything will be how Adam is used to it all being.

He knows that it'll go back to the way it was within the next two hours, and as he breaks down for the first time in weeks while sitting in the front seat of his car, he finds he can't wait for the time to pass.

Two hours go by. Lawrence calls Adam to ask if they can postpone the walk by an hour, and Adam uses the time to feed the stray that lives in his apartment between packing what little he owns into boxes.

He made a deal with the realtor when he put the deposit down, so the apartment will be move in ready by the 16th of the month. Adam doesn't really own much so packing hasn't been his biggest concern--his biggest concern has been the stray cat he feeds on a regular basis. He wants to take her with him, but the ten thousand covers rent for fourteen months.

During those fourteen months, however, the money that Adam used to use for rent becomes grocery money. Six hundred and fifty dollars twice a month can get a lot of groceries from Aldi and Lidl, but he wonders for a minute, how much can $100 a month get a person in cat care and maintenance?

He doesn't let the thought linger beyond the lobby of his apartment, where he pets the cat on the head and promises that she'll have a decent life someday, one where most of the enrichment she gets doesn't come from batting away at the roaches whenever they get too close.

Then, camera draped over his torso, he's off. He walks to the gardens and meets Larry at the entrance, an apology on his tongue.

Adam explains that he probably has PTSD but hasn't been seeking out a diagnosis, just accommodating for it whenever possible. He lets Lawrence give him his opinion and the two talk back and forth in a manner that has become familiar.

Eventually, Adam says something and Lawrence laughs and Adams heart does that flip that it's getting more and more impossible to push aside. He grins a bit to himself, snaps a photo of Lawrence despite his protests.

"That is definitely one for the ages," he says, though he knows it's just a blurry photo of Lawrences side profile as he smiles.

"You say that every time," Lawrence says.

"And I'm right," Adam says. "I would have to be right, Larry. You think I would waste precious, expensive camera film taking photos of things I don't think are worthy of such titles? It's one for the ages, and it is absolutely going to be framed and put onto my shelf."

"How many photos of me have you taken in the past two months?" Lawrence asks. "Seriously. You must be running out of shelf space at this point, Adam."

Off the top of his head, the number that Adam comes up with is probably concerning.

He's taken more than a hundred photos since his escape in October. At least forty photos have been of Lawrence.

"Not nearly as many as you think," Adam says with a laugh. "I mean--if you want me to waste an entire roll of film on photos of you, you've gotta buy it. Five dollars a pop for one hundred and thirty six photos, I have rent to pay, groceries to buy and maybe a cat to feed. I love you, Larry, but not enough to waste a roll of film on you when I could take photos of the sunrise or the skyscrapers or cats staring menacingly at me from low rooftops."

Lawrence laughs. Adam resists the random urge to kiss him.

"Speaking of rent," Lawrence says. "Are you still living in the place with the roaches?"

"As long as I have myself moved in by the sixteenth of next month, no," Adam says. "I'm using the ten thousand I got from the gallery showing to guarantee I have a solid spot to live in until March of 2006. I did the math and, tax and amenities included, the ten thousand will get me that far. I'll get a pay raise in April, too, and that will keep me able to afford the rent of the new spot plus groceries."

Lawrence grins. "Ah, decided not to let the roaches keep you company?"

"They get really old really quick," Adam says with a bit of a laugh. "Kill six of them in thirty minutes and you'll start to see what I mean, Larry."

Lawrence laughs. Adams heart gives a flip that Adam ignores.

"Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?" Lawrence asks.

"I was going to smoke weed," Adam says. "Eat the chips I bought with gas money last night, then hit the hay around two in the morning. Do you happen to have a better idea, Larry?"

"I have a two joints from a coworker who insists I need to loosen up," Larry says. "I meant to give them to you for Christmas, but you weren't at your place, so that fell apart."

"I was visiting the 'rents," Adam says somberly. "Went about as well as a reconnection attempt can go when your father is the one who kicked you out on your eighteenth birthday--but, that's not the point. If you want to smoke, we can! I would love to see you stoned."

Lawrence nods. "Sure," he says. "Maybe I do need to unwind. I booked tomorrow off anyway, figuring I'd get drunk on champagne and then have a hangover."

"I can't wait," Adam says. "Oh, seeing you get stoned? That's gonna be amazing."

Lawrence laughs. Adam snaps another photo. They carry on.

It's five to midnight, and neither of them have started smoking despite the presence of the joints and a matchbox. Adam is too wrapped up in the way that Lawrence is speaking, too focused on his lips and the sound of his voice.

"And it's not even like this sort of thing should be a big deal," Lawrence says. "But Alison, even when our divorce has barely been finalized two weeks, is insistent I get back on the horse, so to speak."

Adam laughs. He doesn't know what that's like, not really--Scott would occasionally help him flirt his way into a one night stand, but he's been talking to Scott less and less, only responding when Scott is the one doing the calling.

Scotts company just isn't the kind that's worth keeping--especially not after the stunt he pulled with the home-made Jigsaw trap, which he then bragged to Adam about surviving while they were within a twenty minute radius of the bathroom trap, and in the part of town Adam was consistent in avoiding because of the venue that Scotts band was playing and because Adam needed the money.

"Well, what's stopping you?" Adam asks. "Like, Larry--the dating market loves your type. Guy in his forties wanting to settle down. You're like--you're perfect to a minimum of twenty women within the tristate area."

"I think you're deluded," Lawrence says. "Twenty? Have a little bit more faith."

Adam grabs one of the joints and the matchbox, striking a match and lighting the joint without thought or care.

"Tomorrow night, or next weekend, or whenever I can actually get you to agree with me, we are going to a bar. We are drinking at least a little, and I am going to be your wingman," Adam says, though the idea of setting up the guy who he's consumed with yearning and want for with another person hurts on a whole new level of the feeling.

"No," Lawrence says. Adam inhales the smoke from the joint, passes it to Lawrence. "I don't need a wingman--I don't need a relationship right now, Adam. I have so much on my plate both with the divorce and in the romance department as it were. I don't need to get drunk or flirty with anyone when the one person I want to get drunk and flirty with is about as attracted to me as a bag of rocks."

"Who's the lucky lady?"

"The lucky lady is a photographer who is pushing thirty and has an affinity for stray cats," Lawrence says. "He's also a guy, but I guess that's just me being pedantic."

"A, twenty seven is not pushing thirty," Adam says. "It puts me on the downhill slope to thirty, which is different. B, of all of the people you could've fallen for, you chose a guy who barely has his life together? I can't judge because I find myself attracted to you, but still. All of the people you could've realized you were attracted to and it had to be the guy who you were in a weird bathroom trap with and are now probably bonded to based on our unified experiences."

Lawrence laughs. He takes a puff of the joint before passing it back to Adam, who grins at him.

"And besides, I really--you can do better than me, Larry," Adam says. "I mean--just go to a bar and look around a bit. You'll find a number of people who can't be compared to sewer rats, and I'm sure they'll be more your speed."

Lawrence is grinning, and all that Adam can think is: oh fuck.

And then Lawrence laughs, and all Adam can think is: we might destroy each other, or we might rebuild each other. I can't wait to find out which.

And then Lawrence is asking Adam if he can kiss him and Adam is laughing.

"If you want to kiss me while my lips and mouth probably taste like weed, go ahead," he says. "Yeah--Lawrence, kiss me."

And then Lawrence is kissing him and it's like Adam is on cloud nine, and Adam never wants to leave. He wants to stay in that moment for as long as he can, kissing Lawrence Gordon on his fire escape, cupping his face with one hand while relishing in the way that Lawrences hands feel when they find his hips.

Lawrence pulls away and Adam has to fight everything within him in order to keep himself from chasing his lips. He presses his forehead against Lawrences, breathy laugh falling from his lips.

"Not bad, Larry," he whispers.

Lawrence laughs, deep and throaty and perfect. "I could definitely wake up to that once in a while."

"Once in a while?" Adam asks, bringing the joint to his lips. "Oh, Larry. How you wound me."

Lawrence leans back, and Adam is looking at him.

Both of them have just realized that everything about their dynamic and their relationship has changed.

However, the kiss was so good that neither of them really give a damn.

Adam moves into his new place on the 16th, the gray and white stray cat from his old place under his arm after clearing that it was okay to take her with his previous landlord.

That night, with boxes of his things in their designated rooms, he and Larry decide to name the cat Graycie. Adam is still working out budgeting but Larry offered to foot the vet bills and to get her the beginnings of her necessities--offered meaning that Lawrence simply told him he was doing it and to consider it a late Christmas gift, because he had anticipated Adams resistance and knew that it had a fair shot of shutting him up--so that's not a concern for at least two months with all of the supplies Lawrence brought along.

But there's still the worries of furniture. His couch from the roach-infested place was...well, roach infested. His bed managed to not meet the same fate, though, so Adam is just glad he has a place to sleep.

He has plates, cutlery, cups and mugs so the whole "what will I eat off of?" question has an answer from the get-go, which is a relief, but still. There are questions that have answers and there are questions that don't. It's the questions without answers that have Adams anxiety spiking.

Still, the night that he's moved in and is sitting with Lawrence on his living room floor as Graycie the cat inspects the area by wandering from one room to the next is one of the best nights he's had in weeks.

Maybe, he thinks, it'll get better.

All that he really wants to focus on is the way that it feels to hold Lawrences face as the two of them kiss, Adams back pressed against a wall while bliss takes hold of his every sense, thought, and feeling.

Adam never really thought kissing someone could feel as good as it does to kiss Lawrence. Kissing was always just something he did--kissing a one night stand lead to sex, had the motive of getting to sex, but the way that they're kissing doesn't indicate that in the slightest.

It feels like Adam is kissing Lawrence just to kiss him, like Lawrence is kissing Adam just to kiss him in turn. It's something that Adam and his drunkest nights aren't particularly used to, but something he loves.

When Lawrence pulls away, Adam shamelessly chases his lips and laughs at himself for it, the embarrassment kicking in as Lawrence presses a kiss to the corner of his lips and Adam feels, for a moment, like he's melting.

Everything just feels so...perfect. It's something that Adam loves, something he cherishes.

It is something Adam never would've thought he deserved, but he reconciles he does deserve it. He deserves a happy ending, even if that happy ending is only finding it's beginning in an apartment that is relatively bare of furniture, sitting with his back against the wall and the lips of his fellow Jigsaw trap survivor pressed against his own.

As Graycie the cat approaches, brushing the side of her cheek against Lawrences hand before plopping into Adams lap and purring as loud as a broken car engine, he nods.

"I deserve this," he says. "I deserve to feel as happy as I do right now."

"You do," Lawrence agrees. "Even if you don't have a couch, or a kitchen table, or shelves that can hold the weight of more than two photo frames."

Adam grins, and Lawrences lips are against his again, his hand on Lawrences chest and feeling his heartbeat as it thrums through a high quality dress shirt.

He has a good life, he knows. He deserves it, he knows.

It's Lawrences presence and the sureness of the fact that Graycie the cat relies on him that causes all of his doubt to cease.

Lawrence pulls away, and Adam is grinning.

Lawrence grins, too.

Everything is perfect. It will not always be perfect, but it's perfect in that moment and Adam decides that that's what matters.

#adam stanheight #adam stanheight x lawrence gordon #chainshipping #saw 2004

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