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starcurtain · 21 days

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2.1 Penacony Spoilers!

I know the scene after Ratio's "betrayal" can be read a lot of ways but I am shocked I haven't seen more people interpret it as Ratio being so worried about Aventurine that he couldn't stay away even though he was supposed to.

We know:

1) Ratio absolutely knew Aventurine's plan from start to finish, both his gamble to create "death" in the dream and with the three cornerstones. (Wish people would stop underselling Ratio in their analyses; "Three chips are enough" is a direct enough clue that, genius as he is, Ratio would never miss.)

2) In his own words, Ratio was acting according to Aventurine's instructions while in Dewlight Pavilion and with Sunday and felt that he did a good job not giving them away.

I think most people are on the same page up to there, but then I've seen a lot of people interpreting this scene after Aventurine leaves Sunday's mansion as Aventurine being genuinely angry at Ratio (possibly after having gaslit himself into thinking Ratio was actually betraying him).

But this doesn't make much sense to me because:

1) Ratio actually has nothing to gain by selling Aventurine out to Sunday. They're on the same side in this mission. Information about a Stelleron on Penacony wouldn't be news anyone with a brain like Ratio's and why would he need someone else's research on Stellerons when he already has ties to the Genius Society through Screwllum and Herta, as well as the Astral Express where the Trailblazer is actively housing a Stelleron?

2) One of Aventurine's most notable lines of dialogue is how it's perfectly fine and expected for "friends" to use each other and backstab. This is his default understanding of partners--why would he suddenly be mad about something he expected from the start?

3) If the betrayal wasn't already planned and was just a possibility based on Aventurine's understanding of Ratio, why would he ever have revealed there were "three chips" (aka three cornerstones) in play? If even the betrayal over Topaz's stone wasn't planned, just assumed, why would Aventurine reveal the existence of the third stone? He would gain nothing from doing so.

Instead, I think it makes a lot more sense to interpret Aventurine's frustration with Ratio in this later scene as annoyance over Ratio taking an "unnecessary" risk:

1) As far as Sunday knows, Ratio had just very seriously betrayed Aventurine, completely selling him out and essentially sending him to his execution.

2) In the scene afterward, Aventurine is out in public in the middle of Penacony where The Family's eyes are always watching, yet Ratio walks right up to him to check on him. Why would someone who just sold you out come up to you immediately afterward to check on your health?!

3) It's only natural that Aventurine would pump the brakes and go "Wow, didn't think you'd show yourself after you just betrayed me, remember?" Because that's the act they are supposed to be keeping up! They're still being monitored; it's not safe to break character!

But Ratio is a genius, right, so why would he break character here? From the standpoint of the ploy itself, revealing to the Family that he and Aventurine were still on the same side would only jeopardize the plan, not help it.

The logical explanation, then, is that Ratio went to Aventurine here because he felt like he had to.

He had to check in and make sure the situation was still under Aventurine's control.

(In fact, the entire exchange through the middle of this scene is Aventurine and Ratio confirming the rest of their plot in a veiled manner: Ratio brings up the plan and mentions what's concealed in the gift money bag, Aventurine confirms the cornerstone is good to go; Ratio asks what his next step will be; Aventurine says he's going to do the insane thing of handing out cash while looking pathetic [aka fishing for Sparkle]. Ratio essentially asks if he's crazy enough to take the final gamble with his own life, which Aventurine confirms, and then Ratio sets them up for the finale by gifting him the doctor's note.)

Ratio was willing to risk ruining their entire plan--something Aventurine does seem to be frustrated about at first--just to ensure Aventurine still felt all right about the situation.

He needed to deliver his note demanding Aventurine stay alive.

He needed to tell Aventurine to come to him if the situation got too painful to bear.

In short, Ratio was worried enough that he could not stay away even though, for the sake of their plot, it would have made significantly more sense for him not to appear. The gain of breaking character was worth more to him than the risk of being caught.

You honestly don't even have to take this in a shipping context. The real point here is that Ratio is an incredibly good person who wasn't okay with Aventurine's self-sacrificial plan and who felt morally compelled to check on a person in pain. He's a healer through and through, and ignoring Aventurine in this condition--ignoring someone who was taking so much risk on themselves--simply wasn't possible for him, no matter the danger it posed to the plan.

But for those who do ship Ratio and Aventurine... I hope more people will come to see this scene as another example of Ratio's genuine concern for his mission partner! He did not have to appear here at all; it would have made much more sense for him to leave Aventurine to his own devices to uphold the illusion of their "betrayal." He showed up in this scene--very likely against Aventurine's expectations--because he was concerned for Aventurine's situation and wanted to ensure Aventurine knew he could fall back on Ratio's support at any time if the plan went awry.

tl;dr: I wish people would stop interpreting this scene as the aftermath of a betrayal. Aventurine wasn't ticked off with Ratio in this scene because he felt like he'd genuinely been backstabbed; he was ticked off because Ratio was literally breaking their pre-established "betrayer" character just to be fussy over Aventurine's safety and well-being. (Okay, and to double check on the plan, but let's be real, the first part was definitely more important. 👌)

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skullamity · 2 months

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PSA for trans men and trans mascs on T who are afraid of/concerned about or experiencing male pattern baldness: Talk to your endocrinologist who monitors your T about hair loss before you talk to anyone else, you have options!

When the hair in the top of my head started to thin, I talked to my regular GP. She told me it should be fine to use Rogaine topically. There were no other options, either because she was somehow not aware OR was under the impression that alternatives might interfere with HRT. If this was the case, she did not relay this info to me, and if she had, I would have made an early appointment with my endocrinologist, who specialises in HRT for trans people specifically, and asked her about my options.

But, since I only have appointments once a year with my endo now because my levels are generally super consistent, I decided to try Rogaine. I lasted about a month, because it basically meant I had to wear a lined hat at all times to make sure I wasn't getting any on my pillow/cats/child. You need to apply it two to three times a day and leave it on your scalp for a couple of hours for the best results, every day, forever, and if you stop using it, your hair goes back to whatever it was up to before that made you concerned in the first place. I quit after a month and resigned myself to eventually going bald.

I finally had a phone appointment with my endo last week (was supposed to be in person but she had an emergency and was working remotely for the day), and when I brought this up and that I had tried Rogaine but couldn't deal with all of the above + my scalp was not reacting well to the alcohol in the foam so I quit, she was like ????? what? why didn't your GP just prescribe you finasteride???

I am now on finasteride! It is a dirt cheap, tiny ass pill. I only need to take a quarter of a pill once a day (my endo also helpfully explained to me that pill cutters exist and are also dirt cheap, so perfectly cutting a pill into quarters takes about 5 seconds and I got it for a whopping $8). Just like Rogaine, I WILL need to take it every day, forever, but it's not going to get all over my pillow and make my cats sick or cause my kid to grow a beard or whatever. It isn't going to dry my scalp out, and it also the cost comparison is a joke. I take it every morning at the same time I take my adhd meds, so it's easy to remember.

I have seen so, so many trans men and mascs online lately worried about this, probably because I've seen so many conservatives and the kind of detrans people that conservatives like to parade around put a lot of emphasis about how T will make you UGLY and make all of your hair fall out. I do feel sorry for any detrans women who are dealing with wonky hairlines or male pattern baldness, but also it sure is convenient that none of them see fit to mention that if you are experiencing those things, you can literally just talk to your endocrinologist about what your options are and then take a quarter of a pill every day to fix it. Almost like making you aware of that might move you away from their end goal, which is getting you to detransition.

#trans man #trans guy #transmasc #hair loss #transmasculine #endocrinology #finasteride

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itstheghostofmypast · 2 months

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01.53

Kim Hongjoong x (f)Reader

Summary: She was his feisty kitten, his Princess, his girl who followed the three G's- gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss- but most importantly she was his princess with a severe migraine issue.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word count : 1k

Est. Read Time: 5 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels

Rating: SFW

A/N: @edenesth this one's for you (I really need to finish my due work)

Banner by: @cafekitsune

She sat up swiftly, almost falling off in the process, blinking at the sight of the unfamiliar yet familiar wall in front of her. Taking a bit longer to buffer as she looked around, squinting at the darkness until her eyes landed on the black tuft of an idiot she called hers. The light of the computer created a silhouette of his figure- why were all the lights off?

"Joong?" her voice hoarse and scratchy making her wince, though it was enough to catch his attention. Swirling around to her he smiled at her, 'Baby, did I wake you up?' he whispered, trying not to be too loud, making sure his princess wasn't hurting because of him.

Shaking her head she slowly moved, her feet meeting the carpeted ground as her back pressed against the cool leather, eying her boyfriend lazily, "Why am I here- why are the lights off?"

"Because you were having migraines...did you forget, my feisty kitten?" raising an eyebrow he smirked, " I turned them off so you could sleep." sitting there he eyed her form, dressed in one of his shirts, the blanket pooling around her waist, her hair a mess, though he regretted it wasn't his doing that had turned her hair wild like that.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Manspreading. You're gross Hongjoong"

"I love you too, baby."

"You're disgusting," she whined, kicking the blanket off as she got up, deciding to go home. The sudden mood swing had confused him, he thought they were only joking, though his body went on auto mode when she stood up, knowing fully well she was not well enough to do so, jumping off his seat to grab her when she tripped.

She didn't know if it was because of the migraines or the fatigue, but as soon as she took the first step towards the door her world blurred, tilting in slow motion, shit. Before she could hit the ground she collided with a warmer, softer surface, a more familiar one. Sighing she inhaled his scent, his cologne and the mists of the aftershave he'd use. Resting her pulsating head against his chest she whined, as if asking him to do something about it.

Shaking his head in disbelief he let out a chuckle, "Princess, don't go scaring me like that." Slowly leading her back to the couch he helped her up, placing a pillow behind her head, after fluffy it up, "Sit up straight, I'll get you some aspirin." tucking her in, even though she was sitting he pecked her cheek, trying to not glance at her pouting lips, inviting him for something more intimate, but her health was what was more important right now.

"Are you...done with your work?' she asked, watching him walk around the small studio, opening a few drawers, her eyes flickering to the bright computer screen, squinting at it, the brightness annoying her.

Turning around with the bottle of pill he looked at her, watching her clear her throat and put up a brave face, as if nothing was wrong. Shaking his head he went over to press the power button of his monitor, turning it off, "You realise pretending it doesn't hurt will only make it worse?" handing her the bottle he grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewing it for her, wanting to help her drink it, though his 'independent ', 'strong', 'immortal' lover took it from him, swallowing the pills and chugging down most of the water.

"Thirsty kitty." smiling at her he sat at the edge of the table in front of her, looking at her, "And to answer your question, I finished my work as soon as you came in, but when you dozed off I let you sleep because I knew waking you up would just worsen your condition."

"Oh." was all she said before putting the bottle aside and tossing off the blanket, "Time to go home them, shorty." throwing in the nickname she glanced at him, earning a glare from him, "I don't think someone who can't take care of themselves should have the right to be mean"

With that he got up, leaning closer, tilting his head, and stopping mere centimetres away from her. Her breath hitched at the proximity, waiting for him, fingers gripping the fluffy blanket in anticipation. His breath fanning across her face, he glanced at her through his long pretty lashes, watching her move her face, trying to make sure there was some form of physical exchange, "Too bad, I don't kiss mean girls." His face was smug and so smackable as he pulled back, smirking down at her as he stood their arms crossed over his chest, watching her shocked features morph into disgust, "So, sorry, princess. I need to pack up so we can go home," making his way to his spread out things, humming to himself like nothing had happened.

He was almost done clearing his desk when something smacked against his head, his hand instinctively pressing against the back of his head as he whipped around to glare at her.

"YAH! DID YOU JUST THROW THE BOTTLE AT ME?"

She sat there all doe-eyed and innocent, pulling the blanket higher to cover her torso as well, resting it on her shoulders, smirking at him- sure her head was still killing her, but who was he to tease her and deny her of the affection she oh so greatly deserved. Even if he had been showing nothing but small gestures filled to the brim with his enormous amount of love for her, perhaps she was needy tonight, perhaps she wanted more than just the usual Hongjoong' non-physical ways of affection, which reminded her of why she had stumbled into the studio at the first place. As soon as she was done with work her headaches had worsened, which is why she had come here, demanding to cuddle to which he had asked her to wait for just an hour- must have dozed off during the waiting session. What a manipulative bastard- he's lucky she loves him, otherwise she would've...well she would've whined and complained louder and harder.

"EXPLAIN YOURSELF?!"

"Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss."

Taglist: @edenesth @mlysalt @spooo00oky @cereal-simp @yessa-vie

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bon2bonn · 3 months

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Boooo! , the grid's chilling adventure .....

22!F1 grid X female!driver!reader

Words count : 3.3k?

The grid's local crack-heads are up for a haunting adventure!

*warnings : grammar, cursing, ghosts and creepy clowns, haunted places, (haunters : scare actors), a short change in pov where the cameras malfunctioned .

The camera was pointing slightly to the side framing some of the drivers as they stood before what looks like a deserted two storey building, some of the windows were missing, some were covered with cardboard slaps and the rest were creaking with the wind .

The working crew were going back and forth , sitting cameras and adjusting the drivers monitors as they were preparing for the intro of the video , it was a bit blurry but the sound was clear due to their already working mics as it caught them mid conversation .

Y/N's voice called " I'm just saying, if we got caught , I'm ditching you guys and saving my ass " lando could be heard sassing back " you have to have one to begin with " a smack sounded followed by lando Groaning in pain , Y/N retorts back " I hope Annabelle gets you first " . Max could be heard next as he complains " why am I here again? " Charles answered him " you , are lucky enough to hang out with us " Carlos asked incredulously " in a haunted building!? , I'd rather do more sim hours " Max agrees with a humm but Daniel cuts him " just admit that you're both cowards " Max called him out " says you ! , you screamed about ten octaves higher than an ambulance siren the last time Y/N scared you , lando did too " lando protested at the bashing " I didn't say anything! " Max shrugged " you were about to " lando looked away refusing to deny the accusation , Y/N looked at the building behind them before turning back to her friends " I have to give to them this time , this place creeps me out " they agreed as Charles nods pulling his sleeves over his hands " why is it so cold around here!? " lando replied in an ominous voice getting their attention as they all turned to listen " they said this place was built over an old boarding school , they shut it down after students starts to go missing and they couldn't find anything of them but their shoes, all found in the main dining hall , they say the other students would hear their steps going around the corridors at night looking for their missing shoes and whoever dares to go out would meet the same fate " everyone was looking at him in silence untill they all burst in laughter dismissing his attempt , Carlos clapped his shoulder " yeah , nice one" , Charles agreed " I almost believed it " the crew called for their attention as they stood in line facing the camera , the director gave them the ok after she counted down .

••••••••••••

The camera cuts off to them greeting in one voice " hello! " each introduced themselves and their team , Y/N carried on after everyone was done as she explained " tonight we are doing something a little bit different as you could see " she pointed to the building behind them " our teams couldn't get rid of us legally so they've all decided to sacrifice us to the dark side and hope for the best " lando looked at her in question " wait , what !?" , but Daniel nods as he carries on " yeah , today we're doing a haunted night in a building challenge , we'll be divided into teams of two each team will take a different entrance, each have the task of collecting clues that leads to the way out " Charles piped in an exited voice " the winners gets a three days weekend getaway in a place of their choice " Max spoke next " aaaaaand, the bragging rights of being the bravest in the paddock " Carlos gave a thoughtful nod " not bad " .

The director told them their teams already been set but they protest with Y/N reasoning with " but where's the fun in that !? , come on losers rock , paper , scissor, the winner of each round teams up with the winner of the next round , incase of two winners in one round ,they play one round together and the loser gets back to play with the others " the first winner was lando who paired up with Charles, followed by Max who got Carlos , and that left Y/N to team up with Daniel , the director asked " so , what do you think about your line up ? " , Carlos nods " I think we have a pretty good team " max agreed as he looked to the other teams " I think we have more chances than the others to win this " laughing as the rest booed at him , Danny scoffed " you won't be saying that when we beat your asses " , lando shrugged " not gonna happen with your team mate , I mean you'll be lucky if you could get out " Y/N didn't hesitate to call back " speak of yourself, Charles is the definition of clumsy and you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached to your body " they went on arguing about who'd win and who's going to lose .

The director had enough and called out " alright enough with the shit talk! " And chimed in before they could start heading in " before you go , there's one more thing to know . Whoever get caught earn their team a penalty point , which requires a side task to do in order to move on with your task of collecting clues, in the end the team with less penalty points win and the one with the most lose automatically " Charles looked at lando laughing " now we're definitely doomed" lando nod back laughing as well but both moved on to their door as the rest did the same , all waiting for the count to go down to one before they got in .

The cameras inside showed each team and followed them as they ventured through the three separate hallways , each holding a flashlight and a head mounted camera for more coverage , they crept slowly looking for clues and trying to avoid getting the attention of wandering haunters who roamed in and out of the rooms , even turning their flashlights off when they hear someone close by .

•••••••••••••••

Things with Charles and lando were going surprisingly well as they proceed to look for their second clue , they end up in a storage room at the back of the first floor the both went damaging through boxes and looking through shelves not noticing the figure standing by the door and when they found it they read the instructions " seek and you shall see , which way it might be , where one turns to 100 and where voids are filled with noise " Charles made a face as he reread the clue over again trying to think of something to connect to theses words . (( the clue leads to the copy/printing room 🖨️ on the other side of the floor)) .

Lando turned around to look once more around the room for more insight but froze once he came to see the masked figure standing in a torn dusty suit with a baseball bat in hand , he poked Charles shoulder but he kept repeating their clue unaware of their current dilemma , so he ended up smacking him hard earning a shout of surprise out of him as he face lando " what was that for !? " Only for his partner to point at the figure , all Charles could say is a small " Oh " lando grimaced at him with a " oh indeed! " Charles ignored his tone whispering back " I'll go left " lando nods as he whispered back " and I'll head right , on three " Charles braced himself as he waited for the count but was left in shock as lando screamed " three ! " And made a run for the door , leaving a flabbergasted Charles back as he sprinted down the hall , the masked figure turned to Charles raising his bat and swinging it around as he stepped in , making Charles let a high pitched scream that startled everyone in earshot range and resonated through the whole floor .

•••••••••••••••••

Max and Carlos both looked at eachother at the sudden scream, both laughing as the thought the same thing " Charles got caught" , before going back to making their way to look for their third clue in one of the conference/meeting rooms on the second floor, both dodging as a clown walked by the door holding a long iron rod , skipping down the hall in a creepy dance/walk , a creepy giggle leaving him as he turned the corner . Carlos turned to Max with a shudder " that'll fuel my nightmares for two months ahead" Max gave him a teasing smile " I just figured out what I'd wear for Halloween this year " Carlos groan at him " you're insufferable!" His friend laughed " it's better me than N/N " both shuddering at the memories of being scared shitless by said driver .

••••••••••••••••••

Thing were going relatively good with the last team , collecting clues efficiently , their last clue lead them to an archive unit of sort , the kept looking around before they spotted their next clue peeking out from a file holder on the top shelf far from their reach , they ended up with Y/N on Danny's shoulders with him standing on a chair to finally reach it " imagine if i accidentally dropped you ?" She gave him a sticky eye " bitch! , if I fell down you bet your ass you're going down with me " he snorted " it's my glorious arse , you should be honoured to be in the same capacity " she rolled her eyes at him , yanking at his ear from her place still on his shoulders " yeah, me and the vengeful ghosts are truly blessed " he feigned confidence as he claimed while looking up at her " Casper and his friends can kiss my arse , I'm not scared " she pat his shoulder after she got down safely " mmhm , of course you're not " ignoring him in favour of reading their clue " look twice before you flee , one step , two steps and you may see , for it's your only way out , or it may be " both hummed in thought as they head out and down the hallway , she smacked the side of her head " I swear I'm losing brain cells with every clue ! " Daniel turned around looking for something to connect with their clue but couldn't find anything, after a while they head out , looking through the other room down the Hallway , and as expected they didn't find anything useful to aide them .

They creeped out of the hallway reaching what looked like a break room, and to their luck they found one of the haunters looking around, Y/N crouch down signaling for Danny to follow her , he gave her one look and knew exactly what she was about to do, shaking his face in a grimace he yell in a whisper " but why!?" She shrugged with a wicked smile " why not!? " , she then stomped her foot loudly getting the haunter's attention as he walked back into the hallway unaware of the crouching driver , and just as neared the corner she sprung out with a shout , scaring the wits out of him , causing him to stumble back before falling into the floor, he looked at her with wide eyes as she cackled at his stunned face , but she quickly backtracked with giggles as she kept apologizing as he got hold of himself and got back up with a hammer in hand . Daniel grabbed her hand as he turned to make a run for it .

••••••••••••••

They bot ran away with the poor figure chasing after them hammer held high and face full of vengeance , all three unaware of the stunned Max and Carlos who stood on the side of the hallway eyes wide at the scene that passed by them , both frozen until the three turned a corner and disappeared out of sight .

she let out a scream as she stumbled " I can't run! My legs are killing me!! " Danny scowled at her with a shout of his own " and who's fault is that !? " She answered not missing a beat " it's God's fault for giving me short legs " , he rolled his eyes as he found a cracked door and he was quick to shove her in getting behind her and shove the door to leave it cracked a bit , leaving enough space so they could see what's going on outside, both held their breath as he stood right before their door , he looked around with his back facing them , both driver's eyes widened when they caught their final clue , but much to their luck it was stuck on the back of the haunter's jack , the same haunter who's now looking for them , Daniel looked at his partner with a glare , she gave him a cheeky grin as she whispered " I have no regrets" he rolled his eyes again shoving her head lightly " of course you don't" she snickered before looking out only to find the figure walking away , so she turned to look around room they were hiding in, she found thin blocks of wood and an old ax thrown aside , Daniel shook his head at her " No we're not doing that , I won't trust you with an ax ! " She huffed and picked the wooden log instead, " ok , now what? " , Daniel thought for a moment as he came up with an idea.

••••••••••••••••••

Max and Carlos were seen again in another hallway, both frozen as a loud ruckus was heard down the hallway followed by a bang and footsteps running , another pair of feet were heard before they appeared, now with the haunter running away followed by Danny who was carrying a Y/N on his back and she have a long wooden stick shouting " coward !, get back here !! " They screamed as they rushed at them but didn't stop as they once again passed by them in a sprint , Carlos looked at his partner who shook his head " I for once don't wanna know " he nods in agreement " some things are better left unknown" , they turned and moved on . But stopped once the came face to face with a tall much scarier version of Annabelle, red hair falling all over her face with her hair ties tangled up on the sides , the bottom of her dress is covered in mud and the sleeves are torn with some parts seems to be burnt , they turned slowly to the way they came from and tried to run but got cornered by the clown from earlier, Carlos groaned " come on, not the clown!! ".

••••••••••••••••••

After a long chase they finally got their clue , leaving behind a traumatized haunter that they managed to corner in one of the storage rooms . now they made their way to the exit as the clue turned to be an instructions leading to the way out through the main lobby, both done with their tasks along with the penalty for technically getting caught ( they're the ones who caught/cornered to haunter but they did it anyway ) , Daniel was dressed in a bright pink tutu along with a yellow feather boa and Y/N with matching green boa and a big mustache drawn over her lips with a marker that Danny forgot to mention that is permanent ink .

On their way they came across Charles wearing a balding wig paired with thick glasses as a penalty with lando nowhere to be seen , he shrugged " he ditched me, and I ditched him back " both nods , agreeing with his logic but they stopped as they say lando rounding the corner, wearing A very fluffy clowns wig and a red nose to go with the look , he gave Charles the finger as he approached them , Charles gave him one back " you did the same thing " lando kept his scowl " yeah yeah , whatever, still , fuck you ! " . The camera glitches for a moment before it turned off along with the mics which gave a loud screach before they stop working all at once .

••••••••••••••••

(Third POV):

They all were about to head out but stopped as light foot steps were heard down the hall , they waited as the steps got closer Charles thought aloud " maybe it's max and Carlos" Daniel agreed but they were greeted with a little boy not older than 12 walked out of the dark , his face bale with dark circles framing his blank eyes contrasting his complection, the eerie thing beside his old fashioned and dirty school uniform was the way he walked, his bare feet dragging on the dirty floor and a pair of old worn out dress shoe is held tightly in his small hands , he suddenly came to a stop as he tilted his head looking directly at them causing the drivers to scoot back discreetly . He opened his mouth and asked in a hauntingly innocent voice " have you seen my shoe ? " They grabbed Y/N who was crazy enough to take a step towards the boy all three giving disbelieving looks as she made a protesting sound Daniel shook her shoulders " where in hell do you think you're going!? " She casually pointed at the standing boy " to look for his shoe ? " Lando shook his head " hell no! " Charles hid behind Daniel as he shouted at her " have you lost your mind !?" She shrugged as they turned back to the boy who was standing there looking at them waiting for an answer, lando shook his head as he answered " no we haven't seen any shoe " the boy stood still for a while but eventually gave a creepy smile as he said " okay " turning to leave, walking through the wall and out of sight, but his steps echoing down the hall before they disappear .

The drivers eyes widened in shock , their minds trying to comprehend what they just saw , Charles pointed at where the boy stood looking around unable to voice his thoughts, lando nods , he was looking like he saw a ghost, well he did see one moments ago, Daniel didn't waste time as Y/n tried to step back in to see where the kid go , so he scooped her up turned around and made a run for the door , making the other two follow his lead as he made it out in no time .

(End of POV)

••••••••••••••••

The video ends with them now lined up once again to announce the winners , lando readjust his wig " before any announcement I have one thing to say, It's rigged!" Charles shoved him , scratching beneath his balding wig " if you didn't ditch me we could've won " the director called the results " it's a technical draw between two teams with one penalty each , and the third team with 4 penalties " Carlos asked in confusion as his glittering hight top hat tilted to the side "what does that means " the director answered with " it's a technical draw between the teams because Y/N and Daniel weren't supposed to be penalized but they did serve the penalty so it's counted......" Danny called out in shock " we could've won !? " Y/N gave him a glare " I told you we should've ditch it !!!" They eventually agreed to compromise and share the prize with the other two .

Daniel made a pose while throwing his boa around his neck dramatically giving the losing team a smug look " eat dust , losers!" His partner doing the same as she throws an exaggerated kiss their way. But lando didn't let that faze him as he said pointing at her fake moustache " laugh all you want , but that's a permanent marker" she snapped her head towards Daniel who backed away " I didn't know!" Running away as she charged at him " get back here ! I'll stuff these feathers down you throat you piece of...... Get back here !" .

Max ignored them pressing on his attachable moustache and pushed back his relatively too big cowboy hat, tilting his head back a little to look at the camera as he finished the video " that's it for this time , I hope you enjoy it as much as we did" the three remaining drivers made faces of disagreement shaking their heads but he ignored it as he waved them off " tune in next time for more challenges and haunted establishments to rent , if you're interested call the F1 haunted hotline for more informations , bye " the rest waved as well minus Carlos who was rubbing Charles balding wig as he laughed " this would be us in the next three years " , Y/N and Daniel joined them eventually waving at the camera as the video ended .

#weathering your storm #wys #f1 x driver!reader #f1 x female driver #f1 x female!reader #charles leclerc x driver!reader #max verstappen x driver!reader #daniel ricciardo x driver!reader #lando norris x driver!reader #carlos sainz x driver!reader #22!f1 grid x reader #f1 grid x reader #2022! f1 grid #f1 x female reader #female!driver #driver!reader #f1 x reader #female!driver!reader

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munson-blurbs · 6 months

Text

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 001: I Wouldn't Remember Me, Either

Summary: A new patient arrives at the lab unable to recall his past. With a parallel universe seeping into the real world, you've been assigned to pull his memories to the surface, but what you remember threatens everything.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction

WC: 3k

Divider credit to @saradika

He awakens with a jolt, heart pounding in his chest. The room is bathed in a fluorescent haze that pinches his retinas and has him squinting as he adjusts to the light after days spent asleep.

“Wh-Where…” His throat is raw, and he coughs up blood, spattering his chin and the top of the hospital gown he’s tied into. He tries to wipe it off, but metal digs into his wrists as he realizes he’s cuffed down. He gives another yank, one handcuff clanging against the gurney’s rail. Pain rips through his torso at his sudden movement, so fierce and intense that his vision blurs. He swallows the bile inching up his esophagus and lays back down in defeat.

A group of men in head-to-toe white surround his bedside within thirty seconds of him waking up, clipboards and charts clutched tightly in their hands. They jot down his vitals that pulse on the nearby monitor, and murmur amongst themselves. One of them must have just come in from a smoke break; the scent of tobacco wafts past 086’s nose and elicits a craving for a pull from a cigarette.

He shakes it off and musters up all of the energy he can to try and make his voice heard. “What’s going on?”

Only one of the men acknowledges his words, turning to him with a blank, stoic expression. “Patient 086,” he addresses him, the heels of his Oxfords clicking against the hard tile, “we are…pleased to have you here with us.” He lets out a singular heh, a pathetic excuse for what passes as laughter.

086’s stomach twists at this; he takes a deep breath that heightens the ache radiating behind his torn flesh.

“Why am I…handcuffed?” he grunts out, teeth digging into his lower lip in a grimace.

The man ignores his question yet again. “You will answer a series of questions before we can determine where to place you.” He glances down at his checklist, pen perched atop the paper, ready to write. “Question one: what is your name?”

A grin appears on 086’s lips, cracking where the thin skin is chapped. “My name? It’s…” He trails off, smile faltering as quickly as it came. “It’s…” No. I have to know it; it’s my goddamn name. He wracks his brain, a throb pulsing against his temples as he struggles to remember the most basic detail about himself.

“Date of birth?”

Days, months, years fly through his head. Maybe April; that seems right. Or is it August? He mouths the word, rolling it over his tongue to see if it brings back a familiar feeling, but it doesn’t sway him in either direction. “I don’t know.”

He can only offer the same response to the questions about his hometown, his parents, his school. Each missed answer draws an amused expression from the man in white, his eyebrows nearly reaching his salt-and-pepper hair when the patient before him fails to recall his own life history.

086 watches as the man nods at one of his colleagues, a short man with a crew cut, who promptly pulls a small key from his pocket. In one swift motion, he unlocks the cuffs, still standing guard in case 086 tries to lash out and attack.

And though 086 feels the urge to fight, to demand answers he should already know, all he can do is bring his left hand to his right wrist. He massages where the handcuff has indented his pale skin, taking note of the three digits etched just below his palm.

086

“Is this…did I…” On the same arm is a small collection of bats; recognition burns in his brain, but he can’t bring forward the memory of why the tattoos are there.

“You already had a host of markings before coming into our care,” Salt-and-Pepper remarks brusquely, “but the numeric identifier is our way of keeping track of patient whereabouts and achievements.”

Confusion furrows 086’s brows and creases his forehead. “My…achievements?”

“Your achievements,” Salt-and-Pepper confirms, his mouth pressed into a straight line. “Once you are healed enough to participate in lessons, we can begin determining what assets you bring to our project.”

“Project?” he repeats dumbly, disorientation morphing into ire at the lack of answers. His fists clench instinctively; the older man’s eyeline flickers towards the slight movement, but he doesn’t order him to be re-cuffed.

The already frigid air chills even more as the man offers a horrible smile. “You have an awful lot of questions, don’t you?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth with another unnerving laugh. “An inquisitive one. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to provide those answers.” He nods at the colleague holding the keys, who promptly slides the handcuff around the patient’s wrist once again, his brief moment of freedom slipping away as quickly as it came.

“After I help with the project…then I can go home?” The patient looks at the men before him, scanning their faces for some inkling of a response. “When can I go home?” he asks more forcefully, body aches be damned.

Salt-and-Pepper crosses his arms over his broad chest. “And where is home, 086?” His voice is soft, but his eyes are steely with malice. “Tell you what: give us your address and we’ll take you there right now.” He waits a beat, smirking with the knowledge that his patient won’t be able to remember. “That’s what I thought.”

He pivots on his heel and walks out the door. The group of men follow him without another word, their footsteps disappearing down the hall.

086 lays back down and breathes a terse exhale of frustration. Tears sting at his eyes as the realization of his state of utter helplessness sinks in. He wants to call out for someone, anyone, to save him, but he can’t think of a single person.

This is Hell, he thinks. Numbness overtakes his body as he begins accepting his defeat. I’ve done something to royally piss off God, and now I’m in Hell.

Fingers from his unchained hand reflexively fly to his scalp, a nervous habit that penetrates the fuzziness coating his sense of self. He’s met with no resistance, no tangles, no snags; his hair had been buzzed down while he was unconscious.

A neuron fires: this isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but something is very wrong. It’s the final straw that sends him hurtling over the edge.

“Goddammit! Let me go! LET ME GO!” He thrashes against the restraints, ignoring the pain ripping through him. A stitch on his abdomen pops with a ping, fresh blood seeping through the thin hospital gown.

Three of the white-clad men rush into the room. One holds down his free hand while another pins his head to the stiff cotton masquerading as a pillow. 086 leans over and bites the nearest man’s wrist until he can taste metal on his tongue, spitting red. The bleeding man holds strong, almost unfazed; it’s clearly not his first time having teeth sunk into his skin.

The third man is Salt-and-Pepper. He stands to 086’s left and plunges a needle into his neck without a moment of hesitation. The syringe’s serum leaves him warm and tingly, eyelids weighed down. “Good night,” the man whispers in sing-song, his malicious chuckle warped as the patient floats into a sedated slumber.

The last thing 086 registers before sleep pulls him back into its embrace is the voice of the man with the now-empty syringe.

“He’ll learn.” A pause. “C’mon, Snell. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Snell. The man who I bit is called Snell.

And then he’s out.

270 days. You’ve been here for 270 days, each one identical to the last. Wake up, attend hours upon hours of training, sleep, repeat. Every morning brings the sinking realization that escape is impossible and freedom is a far-off dream; your new destiny is that of a lab rat. Even the hands of the wall clock have stopped ticking by, their batteries petering out some months ago at exactly 2:17.

If only you’d ignored the phone when it rang that evening. If only you’d run the other way. If only you hadn’t quite literally bumped into Dr. Snell as you’d bolted through the woods, desperate to avoid the evil looming over your ill-fated town. If only–

“055.”

Your head snaps up from your worn copy of Of Mice and Men when Dr. Moseley calls out your identifier—you refuse to consider it your name—from the doorway. He offers a half-smile that has you shriveling inward. Ever since Dr. Brenner’s untimely passing days earlier, Dr. Moseley has been increasing your training, trying to make you the secret weapon that would allow him to step into the late scientist’s shoes.

“Yes, Dr. Moseley.” You force a chipper tone, swallowing your fear and dog-earing your page. You’ve read this book so many times that you could rewrite it from memory, but it serves as your only source of entertainment. It’s rumored that the scientists have access to a small television set, but none of the patients have ever seen it.

He crooks a finger, gnarled with arthritis, to beckon you over. You stand up from your cot while his eyes bore into you, smoothing the nonexistent creases in your hospital gown. The tile floor is frigid against your feet; you have no socks to serve as barriers against it. Every square inch of this place is always cold.

The doctor fixes his posture and peers downward, an assertion of dominance that does not go unnoticed. “Your…expertise is needed.” His nose twitches slightly. “Come.”

You and he both know that he doesn’t even have to tell you to follow him; obedience has been ingrained in you well before you’d been brought to the lab. Before it was the doctors, it was your friends. Before your friends, it was your parents.

A semblance of a smile flutters across his face as you comply with his order. “We have a new patient,” he explains, keeping his volume to a minimum as the two of you make your way down a dimly-lit corridor. “Like you, he was raised on the outside, but there are two major differences between you and him. Number one, he’s not a good listener.” Dr. Moseley chuckles, clammy thumb and forefinger gently perched underneath your chin in a display of affection that leaves you wanting to retch. “I had to sedate him earlier today after an…outburst. And, number two, he cannot recall a thing about his past. Not even his name. That’s where you come in, my dear.”

Another unnecessary statement; besides subservience, your only real use is memory pulling. It’s what you’ve been training for since arriving here last summer.

“We need to know why he was in The Nether, what he did, and anything he may have altered,” he continues. “It’s also highly unlikely that he was alone, and we need to know who else was with him. We can’t have people with this knowledge going unmonitored.” He pauses and makes unwanted, harsh eye contact. “You will find out this information for us so we can ensure everyone’s safety.”

“Of course,” you murmur, nodding your head and casting aside the doubt you harbor over the truthfulness of his words.

Dr. Moseley pushes open the door to the new patient’s room, where Drs. Snell and Cavendish are already awaiting your entrance. You note the beige bandage wrapped around Dr. Snell’s forearm but refrain from asking questions.

“This is 086,” Dr. Moseley reports, gesturing to the gurney where the young man lay sleeping on his side, arm crossed over his face in a makeshift shield. Bits of dried blood still stick to his exposed cheek despite the attempts to clean him up. His chest rises and falls rhythmically; if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was in the midst of a peaceful slumber. But there is no peace here. There never has been.

“Is there anything we do know about him?” The more information you have, the easier it will be to access his memories.

Dr. Cavendish clears his throat. “I was part of the team that rescued him from The Nether,” he ventures hesitantly. “I can allow you into the memory so you will know what to look for.”

You nod, but Dr. Moseley puts out a hand to stop you before you can even begin. “If she does that, will she have the stamina to access 086?” His voice is clipped, not wanting to waste more precious time.

“It’ll just be a moment,” you reassure him. Memory retrieval is much easier when the person brings it to the forefront of their brain; the challenge occurs when memories are tucked away as though being stored for safekeeping.

When Dr. Moseley says nothing, you take a step towards Dr. Cavendish. “Tell me to stop if it hurts at all,” you say, taking his hand in yours. Your eyes meet his steeled blue ones as you pull the ribbon that unravels his thoughts.

The night isn’t pitch-black, but is submerged in a bluish gray that permeates the atmosphere. Thick, tentacle-esque vines snake along the ground, and you—Dr. Cavendish, rather, since you’ve wormed into his perspective and don his skin—carefully avoids stepping on them with Hazmat suited feet.

“I’ve got one!” An urgent voice calls from a distance. “But if he isn’t dead yet, he will be soon.”

Dr. Cavendish spins to face where his colleague stands, striding over to the crumpled body lamely laying in the dirt, surrounded by a flock of dead creatures. The victim is covered in blood; it’s smeared across his face and oozing from punctures along his abdomen. It mats his frizzy hair, tints the ground maroon, and fills the air with the smell of iron.

“I’ll get his legs, you get under his arms.” Dr. Cavendish commands, already bending at the knees and bracing his back to lift the young man. “On the count of three. One, two—”

“That’s enough.”

Two words from Dr. Moseley drag you back to reality. You swipe at the blood that’s gathered under your right nostril and sniff, steadying yourself on the gurney rail. In front of you, Dr. Cavendish massages the bridge of his nose to quell the inevitable headache that follows memory accession.

Your journey was brief, but you’ve gathered sufficient information to delve into 086’s history.

“Okay,” you breathe, grabbing 086’s cuffed hand. This is a much different set-up than you’re accustomed to. For one, there’s no way to make eye contact, not while 086 is asleep. Everything prior to this has just been practice with scientists with the goal of eventually infiltrating the minds of Russian nemeses.

A tattoo peeks out from the patient’s drooping collar, an insect’s spindly legs emerging from a soft tuft of chest hair and fresh scars. There’s a familiarity to the faded ink, but Dr. Moseley does not afford you the luxury of uncovering it.

“055.” His voice is stern. “Please begin.”

Your open eyes find 086’s closed ones as you try to ignore your nagging conscience. This is a person; someone who, as far as anyone knows, has only committed the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything within you screams no, that this is a violation, but another brusque throat-clearing catapults you into compliance.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood. You grasp onto the image from Cavendish and let yourself into 086’s mind.

You wade through darkness for a bit, hyper focused on finding a resembling memory. Your temples throb as you concentrate on your search. Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood.

Nothing.

Squeezing his hand a bit tighter, you will the wave of remembrance to crash over you. You’re pouring out every ounce of energy you possess, a draining battery, as you stand alone in utter darkness.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood.

You latch onto something and pull yourself into it. The visual is hazy, likely because of 086’s own inability to recall it naturally, but you can hear it all.

Unidentifiable screeching objects–possibly the bat-esque monsters you’d seen in Dr. Cavendish’s memory–shriek and thwack against metal in rapid succession just as a scream roars over the clatter. It’s not one of terror, but of vengeance, and you feel your physical self tense up with a rage you didn’t know you held.

“Come on!” bellows 086, the challenge rising up from his diaphragm and rattling his whole body.

The next sounds happen almost simultaneously: fabric tearing, fangs hungrily sinking into flesh, and an unmistakable cry of pain.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand to listen to this man wail in torment as he’s ripped apart, teetering on the brink of death. The cry becomes strangled as though his throat is being compressed, and it allows you to hear a far-away shout, a boy’s voice thick with anguish.

“EDDIE!”

At this one word, you stumble out of the memory and nearly fall to the tile floor. Your breathing becomes shallow as the present infiltrates your psyche, too distraught to keep your nosebleed from snaking down your lips. You’ll be reprimanded for not remaining in the memory longer to identify the mystery boy, but you can’t bring yourself to find it again.

Dr. Moseley catches you by the crook of your elbow, keeping you upright long enough for you to get a better look at 086. His hair is shaved down to the scalp, patchy in places where his curls were particularly knotted and hard to remove. He’s added a few more tattoos to his collection since you’d last seen him almost one year ago, including a swarm of bats trailing up his arm. His fingers are naked without his signature rings; the base of his knuckles are tinged green from the costume jewelry. But it’s him; it’s definitely him.

Patient 086 is Eddie Munson, and for good reason, he absolutely despises you.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #086

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the-californicationist · 6 months

Text

he finds a safe house

You and your captain have lost communication with the rest of the team in a terrible blizzard. When you stumble upon a ghost town, you take refuge in a safe house...and each other.

TW: scars, one bed (ish)

AO3 Link

“Ghost! How copy? Riley, come in!” Price shouted into his headset.

You were sending cover fire over the fallen tree that you and your captain were hiding behind. Unfortunately, you’d been separated from the rest of your team. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were on the other side of the large, icy ravine, and they had done a good job drawing the enemy away from the target zone. Price kept trying to connect, but there was too much snow cover. A nasty blizzard was rolling in, and you needed to find better hiding spot, quickly.

“Captain! Enemy has been eliminated. We need to find shelter,” you tried to pull him up off of the ground.

He looked up at you, frustrated,

“Aye, Corporal, but they’ll be back. We need to find a way to warn the boys.”

“Look,” you showed him the map on your datapad, “Laswell said there’s an old town…I think she called it Khabnoye? It’s been abandoned for years, about two klicks away. There might be some old technology, radios, whatever. We can reach them on some long-range.”

“Alright, let’s move.”

It was a short distance, but the terrain was brutal due to the snow. You made it there by nightfall, and carefully approached the outskirts of the town, following Price’s lead to scope out possible enemy combatants. There was no one in sight. It truly was a ghost town, and you were justifiably creeped the hell out.

A small house was mostly intact near the very edge of the town, plenty of empty space around its edges, and only one broken window. You began to sweep the rooms, of which there were only three, noting that its prior occupants had left in quite a hurry sometime in the late 80s. You were fighting a nameless, secret war inside of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, so most of the towns you came across were similarly abandoned.

You stood in the kitchen with Price, catching your breath and unpacking your bag. He was starting up the small, convective space heater checking for high levels of radiation in the room, making sure it was sustainable for the night.

“Alright, let’s go dark. No lights, no comms until we get a better idea about what happened,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes, sir. I did get a notification from Soap, but the message is unreadable,” you showed him the datapad before you powered it down.

He sighed,

“At least we know he’s alive and stable enough to send comms. We’ll work on connecting when this storm blows through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drop the formality, Sparrow. Not spending the whole night listening to your sirs.”

He was upset. The operation was ruined, and he had no idea where his team was or if they were even alive anymore. You said nothing, letting him unpack two MREs and prep the bags for you. You checked the other rooms. There was a tiny, filthy bathroom without running water, and a bedroom with a dingy full mattress without sheets. You set to work arming the windows with night vision motion cameras - much good may it do you with all this snow - and rigged the front door.

“No use,” Price muttered, digging into his chili and beans MRE, starving.

“Why? You think we’re safe here?”

“No tracks in or out. No trash younger than me, and no pings for ten miles,” he showed you his passive EMP monitor, “Our tracks are covered by now with the storm. They’ll assume we rendezvoused back at the base. It was closer and easier to access.”

“Closer? Why’d you come here then?”

“Base might be compromised,” he shrugged, “Couldn’t reach McTavish, so we can’t assume anything at this point. Might as well get comfortable and wait til morning. This’ll clear once the sun comes out, and we’ll send an AM ping.”

You sighed a breath of pure relief,

“I know I’ve only been with you guys for a few months, but honestly, I don’t know what’s more impressive, your technology or your level-headedness under insane fire. Feeling very much like the amateur I am, Captain.”

“You handled yourself well out there, little bird. I’m impressed,” his praise rushed through you like adrenaline, and you basked in it.

“Thanks, Cap,” you smiled, drinking the broth of your soup and packing up your MRE trash into its bag.

“You smoke cigars, love?”

It was midnight before you even considered going to bed. You and Price had stayed up in the kitchen, smoking and chatting in the dark, only illuminated by the glow of your ashes. The snow fluttered down outside, layering itself on the ground like a pile of white sheets. There’d be at least two feet of it at the door tomorrow morning.

“...and I got this one in Amsterdam, chasing some smugglers out of the wharf. Motherfucker stabbed me right through the arm. Missed the bones, thank Christ. But, that’s not the bad one.”

You were telling each other stories about your scars, and you were in all states of dress. It was warm with the space heater, and you were comfortable around each other. Aside from admiring the mountainous swell of his shoulders and chest, you tried not to think much of it. He was hot, but he wasn’t interested. You just had a small crush. It would pass.

Okay, maybe a big crush. But, you had some self-control.

Some.

“Oh,” he leaned across the table to get closer and look at your arm, “What was the bad one?”

You blushed, not that he could see it in the darkness,

“It’s in a certain spot. Not sure you want to - ”

“Don’t make me beg, little bird,” he smirked, rolling his eyes at your modesty.

He was right, of course. You weren’t sure why you were shy.

Liar. You were shy because you had an enormous, filthy crush on your commanding officer.

You tucked your elbow beneath your shirt and pulled it up over your chest, showing him your sternum,

“This one. It’s a - ”

“Flare burn,” he whispered, his demeanor changing from jovial to serious very quickly.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

He was silent for a long time. You watched as Price too a big mouthful of cigar smoke before letting it billow around him, looking like a big, brooding dragon in the quiet room.

“How’d you get it?” He asked, avoiding your question.

“Enemy trap. They rigged the door to blow a flare. My vest, all my plate, none of it mattered. The flare burned so hot that it cut right through the gear like butter. If it wasn’t for our medic knowing that he needed to knock it out, I would’ve died. Three weeks in the med bay. It was bad.”

Price reached out slowly, almost as if not to scare you, and touched the circular wound. It wasn’t sexual, but that didn’t stop you from immediately feeling aroused by having his hands on you. You shuddered involuntarily, and he jerked his hand back. The silence in the room was suffocating.

“Sorry, little bird,” he whispered his apology, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you chuckled, taking a drag of his cigar for yourself, trying to calm down, “Uh, no.”

“What?” He prodded, not realizing what truth he was asking you for.

“It’s nothing, sir,” you stood up from the table, trying to escape, and forgetting you were in a 200 square foot house.

He stood with you, reaching out to touch your shoulder. You sighed into his contact against your will, feeling the stress of the day melt away as he did.

“It just…” You tried to throw him a hint, “Feels good, you know. To be touched. Been a long time… sorry, sir.”

“Told you to swallow those sirs, little bird,” he whispered in a low rumble, putting his other hand on your other shoulder, grabbing you gently.

There was very little space between your bodies now that you were away from the table, standing in the no-man’s-land between the bed and the kitchenette. It smelled like sweat and tobacco and 1987 in there, and you were breathing hard, nervous and desperate for him to do something to you that he couldn’t take back.

“Sorry,” you said under your breath, not knowing what else to tell him.

Price lifted your chin up to meet his eyes, grabbing your jaw firmly, but gently. In the blackness of the night, the moon reflected only a little of his icy blue eyes, and the glow from his cigar made his face appear sharp and saurian. You didn’t expect for his touch to be so light. Just hours ago, he’d snapped a man’s neck with these same hands, and now he was passing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip like you were the petal of an orchid, careful not to bruise you.

“I’m trying,” his breath was ragged as he confessed, “I promise, I’m trying to let it go, little bird.”

“Let what go?” You put your hands on his hips, trying to steady yourself, feeling dizzy with lust and fear.

“My desire,” he put his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, struggling, “Turn me away. Please, little bird. End my fucking torment. I’ll never mention it again. I swear it.”

You kissed him, pressing your lips into his chastely but firmly, enjoying the heat and the smoothness of his skin, the smell and the feel of his beard, coated in tobacco smoke and his own sweat. The comforting spice of the chili lingering on his mouth. He breathed in like you’d pressed a hot iron brand into him, blissful pain radiating through his body, pulling you in close to his chest. He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth against yours, moving your skull with his powerful jaws, leading you, commanding and strong in his desire.

“Love, don’t…don’t do this. Not unless you mean it. I’m bloody beggin’ you.”

You smiled, resting your nose alongside his, kissing him again slowly and carefully before answering him,

“I mean it, John. I mean it.”

#captain john price #captain price #john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #cod

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cleolinda · 7 months

Text

My sister noticed

Previously on: I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice: So I told you a story about how a Count Chocula used to creep behind me at night when I was a child, and I described my very weird childhood home to you. I told you how my sister had Something Dark living in her bedroom, and I told you about the time she and I compared notes and realized that we also had the ghost of a young woman in the house. Maybe.

I asked my sister to read over the draft for me, maybe gather up the fortitude to fill in some details, and she texted back, "Oh, I'll tell you anything you want. But that’s not how it happened."

I am willing to believe her version for two reasons:

1) My memory has been shit after having covid umpteen thousand times.

2) I actually remember her version of the conversation we had, now that it's in front of me.

I also remember my version, is the thing—the one where I told her about Rebecca when we were younger. And that raises some questions about how independent, how uncompromised, our experiences were. But I think those questions are themselves the story. Can I trust my memory at all? I had such bad brain fog the first time I had covid that I could not remember how to scramble eggs. A lot of things are just mist to me now. There's what I remember and there's what actually happened, but what do I even remember? And that's before you even get into the idea that we're talking about ghosts we "felt" in the house. We saw no apparitions, no shadows, no odd movements.

This is not a story where I'm asking you to believe me.

There are things you experience, and things that happen. An example from the winter of 2016:

What I experienced was standing out on our deck one night and looking up at the stars. They were moving in a slight swirl motion, not unlike the painting Starry Night. I turned to my mom and said, "Well, the stars are moving, so if the world ends or something any time soon, here's our first sign." She stared at me.

What happened was, our upstairs heating unit had a leak, and I sustained mild carbon monoxide poisoning. (I like rooms to be cool, so I had used the heater less than most people would, at least.) This was only discovered during a routine furnace check, after my vision had been a little weird and I had been deeply fatigued for two or three months. I have had a CO monitor upstairs ever since.

Did I see the stars swirling? Yes. Were they? No. That's the distinction I want you to make while I tell you all this. Did my sister and I experience things? Yes. Do I know what happened? No.

So what I agree happened was, we were having Grownup Sunday Family Dinner a few years back, maybe 2019 or so. I had been really into Buzzfeed Unsolved, which later evolved into Watcher Entertainment, but my sister was refusing to watch any of it. She's a big fan now, but she only started watching the guys last year. Yesterday, we tried to piece this back together via text.

My sister ["MS" from here on out]: Like I feel like off and on for years you mentioned [Shane and Ryan's shows] and I refused

MS: And one day my argument was to talk about our own house

Me [let's go with Cleolinda Jones, "CJ"]: You said you felt like fake ghost shows were disrespectful to people who actually experienced [hauntings].

MS: YES I FEEL LIKE THAT WAS THE CONVO

I love paranormal investigation shows, whether they're patently fake or not, as long as I enjoy the people investigating, so I couldn't understand why they personally offended her. Pulling at this thread back in 2019 is how the the whole ghost story started coming out.

CJ: And I was like, okay, but here’s one show where they get, like, nothing, but I can promise you that it's real

(Because the Unsolved/Watcher shows pair a believer with an actual skeptic who still, lo these many years later, does not believe in any of it. I truly believe Shane and Ryan would not stage "evidence," for that reason. Shane makes fun of ghosts and people who believe in them, but he's honest about it, and my sister likes that.)

At this point, we go back to the first version of the story that I posted: my sister had told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her when she was a preteen/early teenager. It felt very dark, very bad, and she had not told anyone else about it until that dinner. The way I relayed it to you, Dear Reader, was that she hadn't wanted to go into detail, and I wasn't sure what it looked like, or if it "lived" in the little witch closet, or what. That night at dinner, I had gone on to tell her that, you know, now that you mention it, I did feel like something used to follow me up there at night. And this was when "My sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears" had come in.

1. Something Dark

CJ: So you were telling me about our house being haunted. Something in your room. How would you describe it?

MS: I think it more lived in the attic

(our pal the dark fucked-up attic room)

MS: but would roam the entire floor so I felt it in the peach room [my (Cleo's) old bedroom and then later, my sister's] but more so in [the Four Closets Bedroom] as it was closer to the attic

MS: The best way I can describe it is just never feeling like I was alone. Feeling like something was always behind me. But I refused to turn around to look. It felt like a darkness that almost oozed behind you in a way that was almost suffocating.

CJ: What I find interesting is that we both describe it as Just Feelings, and never feeling alone.

My sister texted me at this point that she used to sense Something upstairs whether it was day or night; "even in the day, it didn't feel safe." But night was worse.

MS: There was one night in 3rd grade when I was reading and had like my first panic attack because I was newer to living upstairs and I felt it come in the room at night for the first time

MS: I also used to feel compelled to keep the AC running all night like it was never cold enough.

Here's the weird thing: when we moved to the house where I currently live and our rooms were on the same floor, we always fought over the thermostat. My sister hated her bedroom being too cool, whereas I get hot. I remember one night, we were arguing over it, and she was weirdly on the verge of tears: "Why do you have to have it so cold?" In 2023, my sister texted me at this point that she didn't want our childhood home to be cold; it was like the thing wanted that temperature, even if she hated it.

You often hear that ghosts make rooms cold, that's a big ghost hunter show thing—but whatever was up there couldn't lower the temperature on its own?

CJ: "If you can’t make it cold yourself, storebought is fine"

CJ: And you don’t have a visual impression of it, I’m not just blowing past that?

MS: I refused. REFUSED to look. Ever. For any reason.

CJ: I did too, so that’s interesting

CJ: I describe it as a Count Chocula, which should tell you how much it didn’t bother me. Which I find weird

(Truly, there is a reason I titled that post "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice.")

MS: I can’t tell if it was truly terrifying. Or if the amount of data I was getting from it was just so overwhelming that that alone was terrifying to a child. I wish I could answer that now.

CJ: Yeah, in some way I think we’re saying the same thing. I was seven years old and I couldn’t comprehend what it was, either, so I just imagined a silly vampire

CJ: like I can’t overstate how cartoonish it seemed to me at the time, while still being very DON’T LOOK BACK

Part of the problem, she added, was that she felt compelled to go turn down the air conditioning... and the thermostat was next to the (carpeted. shag carpeted) bathroom. And then she had to race back to her bedroom... the same way I used to, as quick as she could.

MS: I also felt like I could NOT run. Like the way you shouldn’t run away from a mountain lion. It would create the need for it to chase me.

MS: What is so strange is that [learning about paranormal investigation] has not changed my perception of my experience in the slightest. Whether that’s the reality or not. It is still something I find dark and terrifying.

CJ: I think you would answer this differently now than you did then: what do you think it was?

We discussed this by text for a while. I mentioned being intrigued that Something Dark wanted to be cold (but apparently was not able to make the room cold). My sister—having agreed to be quoted here—said, "I kinda hope to avoid someone being like 'you had a demon in your house,'" as she doesn't really feel like that's what it was. Her gut feeling (and, bear in mind, we are working off nothing but feelings here) is that it was a spirit or ghost: something formerly human. We agree that it seemed male in some way (again: a Chocula).

And you're probably thinking, This is total bullshit. And it probably is! I'm not claiming any of this to be real evidence! I just find it interesting that we somehow came up with the same bullshit.

CJ: It just fascinates me that I did not experience 90% of this, and yet I got a strong enough whiff of it that I’m like, yeah, I can see it

But what about the female presence, the one I went off to color with in the middle of the night?

2. Rebecca

MS: I didn’t find out you had done the ouija board until we were adults. You didn’t tell me when we were kids

MS: That’s why I was SO shocked when we talked at the dinner table.

See, I was convinced that I had told her about my ouija adventures when I was a teenager, and "What about Rebecca??" flowed really well in the first post. That conversation was already a bit fictionalized in order to condense it from what I remembered—that's how memoirs work, really, unless you have actual transcripts of your life and room to include them. You're telling a story. I thought I was telling a condensed version of a true story. And yet, I do remember how shocked my sister was at dinner that night. And she would have only been seven or eight when I was messing around with that shit. Those two things do support the idea that I wouldn't have told her.

MS: You did tell me skeletons lived in my closet tho

I told you I was kind of a shit.

CJ: when I told you about Rebecca, what was your reaction?

MS: That’s when I went white. Bc I realized we had had a similar experience and I wasn’t just crazy

CJ: The thing is, I WOULD HAVE SWORN I had told you about Rebecca when we were younger

MS: If you did you didn’t name her and that’s why it was nuts when I realized 2 decades later we pulled the same name and we both remembered it.

We did it again, too—I posted briefly about putting this whole saga together, and how my sister asked me to give the ghost a pseudonym (ghosts deserve privacy too). And in trying to think of a good replacement, we both came up with "Rebecca."

CJ: so how did you know the [original] name?

MS: Ouija board with [best friend, redacted] in the playroom when I was like 13. She cried the whole time. We both thought the other was moving [the planchette].

You'll remember the weird, windowless, sky-blue playroom with the scary door from the previous post.

MS: But she was crying so she wouldn’t have been. And I would have never pulled out the name [Not Actually Rebecca]

MS: There was part of me that wonders if I did it but I would have NEVER chosen Rebecca

CJ: So did I bring Rebecca up first in this conversation [at dinner in 2019], or did you? I did?

MS: You said it first. I would have never [told you first] cuz I would have thought you were placating me. Like I’d never really know if you weren’t just agreeing with me

And that's when my sister had "stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone 'go white' until that moment." And I had told her about getting up at midnight and going to color in the weird playroom, and someone else being in there with me, no big deal.

After all this discussion, we do think that Rebecca was briefly my "imaginary friend," but our mom told me to stop talking about that. Not because our mom was spooked, but because she felt like it was rude for me to talk about someone I was presumably making up in front of company. So that stopped. Thinking back on it, I just felt like someone was sitting next to me on the couch. I didn't feel anyone next to me; when I looked, I felt like I could see where... someone was not? The space that someone invisible was taking up? It felt like something reasonably friendly. "Chill" is the word I keep using. Not super eager or possessive, just like a girl who was a bit older, maybe a teenager, a babysitter age, who liked me well enough. There was some dark shit in the attic, apparently—it did feel very oppressive in there—but I would get a sense that a metaphorical desk lamp had been turned on. A presence that stayed back, relaxed, but emanated "hey, I'm here."

What my sister and I agreed on was that we remembered how these "feelings" were both vague and memorable. I can't remember events or chronology accurately, but I remember the actual sensations and presences very, very clearly. They resist reinterpretation. I can't sit here and say, "Oh, Rebecca was totally a guardian angel, I see that now." The Something Dark sounds functionally demonic, but my sister doesn't feel like that's accurate. (If anything, she gets a sense that this could have been a malicious uncle—not father—of some kind to Rebecca, if the two beings were related: particular in their vagueness.) These two presences just... were. My sister says she primarily sensed Rebecca outdoors in our backyard, when we were pretending (were we?) to play with fairies. I didn't sense Rebecca there—but then, I wasn't aware that what I sensed was a someone, not for another thirty years or so. My oblivious ass was up at midnight filling in my She-Ra coloring book with a ghost like, "Yeah, I'm alone in the dark for no reason, this is normal." It's only in retrospect that I recognize atmospheric feelings as things that actually took up space, and I don't know how I didn't see it at the time. I can't explain that, and I can't ask you to believe it. All I know is that my sister still feels very traumatized by her experience of it—and I can't explain why I don't.

I think one of the reasons paranormal investigation shows don't scare me a whole lot is because so much of the "evidence" is random knocks and creaks and movements and vibes, and I'm like, yeah, I've lived in two houses now like that. The door of my current bedroom opens and closes on its own all the time. It's probably a draft from the ventilation system (which does not have CO leaks anymore) (probably). I've seen something at this house that a lot of people might call a shadow person, but I was probably imagining it. So many of these ghost shows just have things that I grew up with and didn't even think a whole lot of at the time; I seem to be protected by a +3 Sphere of Sure, That's Fine. Is my current house also haunted? I honestly don't know. Would I notice if it was?

#part two of two #story time with cleo #long post #the haunting of jones house #spooky season #halloween everyday #me for some reason #first look on patreon

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

Can’t Help Falling in Love (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You wake up in a hospital room surrounded by unfamiliar faces, unable to remember much besides your own name. Elvis, your husband, is devastated at how close he came to losing you and at your amnesia as a result of the car crash you survived. The road to recovery is long, but he stays by your side as the two of you fall in love all over again.

Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a woman, but no other descriptors are used. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope everyone enjoys it (I feel like there’s a lot of crying in it, though. Which I guess tracks considering the plot). I’m not a medical professional so don’t take what I wrote in this as medical advice or expect a ton of accuracy. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: Depictions of amnesia and physical injuries as a result of a car accident. Do not interact if you are under 18.

The day you woke up from your three day coma was bright and sunny, but you couldn’t tell because the curtains had been drawn in the room that was crowded with people you didn’t recognize, expressing varying degrees of concern and surprise when you began blinking and shifted a bit in the bed. Your eyes moved from person to person until you had no choice but to focus on a man who had practically thrown himself into your lap, crying uncontrollably. Another man rushed out of the room, shouting for a nurse.

You had no idea who the dark-haired man sobbing into your hospital gown was, but you obviously meant a lot to him if you elicited this kind of reaction. He looked up at you, eyes red from crying, and lack of sleep as you’d later find out, heartbreak written across his handsome face at the realization that you didn’t recognize him.

He was mumbling incoherently, his voice muffled, but you felt the urge to comfort him. Slowly, you reached over and stroked his hair. He looked up at you, kissing your palm as he continued to weep. Still confused as to what was going on, you tried to give him a sympathetic smile.

The other man from before returned to the room with a nurse and a doctor. The nurse immediately began checking your vitals, rattling numbers off to the doctor who made note of them on the clipboard he was holding. You were acutely aware of the various tubes hooked up to you, presumably what had been keeping you alive for however long you’d been out for.

“Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered.

The crying man squeezed your hand gently, sniffling.

The doctor nodded, writing something on his clipboard before looking at you again. “Do you know your birthday?”

You answered that to his satisfaction. When he asked if you knew what day it was, you didn’t have an answer. He continued asking you similar questions and taking notes, but you felt distressed at being the only person who had no idea what was going on.

“I’m sorry, why am I in the hospital?” you asked. “What happened?”

“You were in a car accident. Neither driver was at fault, just one of those freak things,” the nurse sighed. “You’re lucky you didn’t suffer more damage than you did.”

“Yes, we can’t discharge you just yet, we want to observe you for a few more days—get you started on physical therapy and see what level of occupational therapy you may need,” the doctor said. “You’re also showing symptoms of amnesia, and we’ll need to monitor that as well.”

“How do you know I have amnesia?” you asked.

“When I asked you your name, you responded with your maiden surname, not your married one. I assume you have no idea who the man next to you is.”

You looked at him, an apologetic smile on your face. “No, I’m sorry.”

“You might be the only person in the world who doesn’t,” the nurse quipped.

“It’s me, darlin’. Elvis, your husband,” he said, voice shaky.

“Elvis,” you repeated, seeing if that would jog your memory at all. “Elvis. My husband’s name is Elvis.”

The doctor and nurse spoke among themselves, while Elvis introduced you to the other people in the room, explaining they were friends the two of you had known for a long time. You didn’t recognize any of them, but they all expressed how glad they were that you were awake. It felt a bit overwhelming, and your head started to ache.

“Do you mind if I speak with Y/N alone?” the doctor asked.

“Not at all, doctor,” Elvis said before turning to you. “I’ll be right outside, baby.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

After everyone left the room, the doctor explained your condition to you. While you hadn’t been comatose for too long, your memory had obviously been affected, and he recommended occupational therapy, as he expected you’d have to relearn how to do various day-to-day tasks. It’d take at least six months to a year of physical therapy to get you back to your full range of motion, but he couldn’t give any definite timeline as to when or if your amnesia would go away. Your leg broke in the car crash, and even after the cast came off, he figured you’d still be on crutches as you built up your strength again. Some of your ribs had also cracked, but the doctor didn’t expect any complications with physical healing.

In the hallway, Elvis paced back and forth as he spoke to Jerry and Red, his eyes glancing at the door every few seconds. He hardly had any rest since he arrived at the hospital, but despite the fact that he should surely be exhausted, your waking up sent a rush of adrenaline through him.

“Tell the Colonel to cancel it all—shows, concerts, records. I’m not doin’ a thing until Y/N is better,” Elvis insisted.

Jerry nodded. “He’s gonna be pissed, but I’m with you EP. Y/N needs you.”

“That sack of shit can do whatever he wants. My wife—” he choked up, taking a moment before he could continue, “my wife is in there, and she don’t even know who I am. I almost lost her. I can lose everything, but I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t EP. We got this,” Red assured him. “Sonny’s back at Graceland, so you say the word and he’s on it.”

“You guys head back to Graceland, get some rest. I’m gonna stay here with Y/N,” Elvis said.

“You sure? You’ve barely slept the past few days. You should be getting some rest too,” Jerry said.

“I’ll manage,” he said. “Hey, when you get back to Graceland, will you have someone make Y/N’s favorite and drive it over? Maybe it’ll—I don’t know, do somethin’.”

The doctor walked out of your hospital room, his clipboard at his side. A different nurse from before went into the room. Elvis waved off Jerry and Red to go as he worriedly approached the doctor, who gave him the same rundown you’d gotten.

“I’ve got my people on it,” Elvis assured him. “Whatever she needs, it’s done.”

“Yes, your wife has more resources at her disposal than most. I’m optimistic about her recovery, but money can’t buy time, Mr. Presley, and that’s what she needs most of.”

Elvis considered the doctor’s words, thanking him before returning to your room. The nurse had already left, but she put the TV on for you. You smiled at Elvis, but there was little recognition behind your expression. It made his heart ache, you were everything to him, his best friend, but now he was a stranger to you.

He took his seat next to your bed, and you reached out for his hand. The two of you sat in silence as you watched TV, some comedy show on that made you laugh, but you winced when your ribs ached. Elvis hurriedly changed the channel, looking helpless as he didn’t know how to comfort you. Just then, the phone in your room rang, and you reached over for it.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, Y/N. How’re you feeling?” Jerry asked.

“Hi Jerry, I’m okay,” you said.

“That’s good. You’ll get through this, we’re all here to help. Can you put Elvis on?”

“Sure,” you said, handing the phone to your husband. “Jerry wants to talk to you.”

“Thank you, darlin’,” Elvis said before getting on the phone with Jerry.

You didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, instead studying the hospital room that was previously filled with people. There were flower arrangements, gift baskets, and balloons shoved into corners and on top of shelves and even medical equipment. Were you really that important?

“I gotta run out real quick, darlin’. I got a surprise to bring up to you,” Elvis said, snapping you out of your daze.

You nodded, and he gave you a forehead kiss before leaving the room. Grabbing the TV remote, you flipped channels until landing on a news station, hoping some current event they’d mention may jog your memory. You caught the last half of the weather forecast, warm and sunny through the weekend. The station cut to a news anchor behind a desk, a large photo of you and Elvis next to her head.

“Good news from Graceland,” the woman said, “Y/N Presley, wife of rock n’ roll icon Elvis Presley, is awake after being in a coma for nearly four days following a car crash in Memphis less than a week ago. Elvis has announced an unprecedented career hiatus to support his wife’s recovery. The two met on the set of his 1961 movie musical ‘Blue Hawaii’ and their wedding in 1966 was one of the highest viewed live television events in history. We wish Mrs. Presley all the best. In other news—“

Your furrowed your eyebrows. Getting married on TV seemed kind of tacky, but maybe it was what you wanted at the time. From what the anchor said, though, you’d known Elvis for over ten years, yet you couldn’t remember a thing about the man who was such a major part of your life. You were frustrated, tears welling up in your eyes as you figured you could at least remember your wedding day, but it all came up blank.

“Y/N, darlin’, what’s wrong?” Elvis asked as he returned with the container of food.

“Why can’t I remember you? The lady on TV said we’ve been married for six years.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “I love you no matter what, no matter how long it takes you to remember, or even if you never do.”

“Thank you,” you said with a weak smile.

“Here,” he said, handing the container of food to you. “It’s your favorite. I had it made special for you.”

As soon as you took a bite, your face lit up and his did too. While it didn’t bring on any old memories, it at least tasted familiar and delicious.

“What’s Graceland?” you asked through a mouthful of food.

“It’s our home. You’ll be goin’ back there real soon,” he said. “The doctor says that with your amnesia, it’d be good for you to have your physical therapy there, since it might be familiar to you.”

“Yeah, he said even after the cast is off, I’ll be on crutches for a while.”

He nodded. “I’m gettin’ that all taken care of, got a bedroom on the first floor made up for us until your leg is better.”

About a week later, after some physical therapy sessions and brain pattern monitoring, the doctor cleared you to go home. Elvis had informed him that he arranged for physical and occupational therapists to come by a few days a week to follow the plan the doctor had laid out for your recovery.

A car drove you and Elvis to Graceland from the hospital, and as it approached the mansion, you knew your eyes were practically bulging out of your head. Hundreds of people were crowded outside the gates with signs of well wishes for you and Elvis, some of them crying as they banged on the car windows and shouting incoherently. You knew by then Elvis was famous, but you had underestimated how much.

Though you didn’t remember Graceland, it felt like home. From the furniture to the decor, it was familiar enough for you to feel comfortable there. Some of the people from the hospital were already inside, waiting with even more flowers and gifts than were in your hospital room. Again, everyone was glad to see you. You hung around the living room with everyone before getting tired, and Elvis announced the two of you were going to bed for the evening.

“I’ll wait out here while you get changed,” he said, letting you into the bedroom.

“Okay,” you said.

When he closed the door, you picked up the sleepwear that had been laid out for you, a nightgown that was easy to slip in and out of so as not to strain your muscles. You could tell it was a guest room by the lack of personal decor, and found yourself observing the small details of the room before being startled by a knock at the door.

“You alright in there, baby?” Elvis asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said. “You can come in.”

He opened the door, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I could have waited in the bathroom, but I didn’t want you to feel—well, I don’t know. It’s just nice to have you home, darlin’.”

“When I watched the news the other day, the lady said we met on a movie set. Was I an actress?” you asked.

“No, you did hair and makeup. I found every excuse to sit in that chair and talk to you,” he laughed. “One day you caught me messin’ up my hair before I went over to talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

He grinned. “That’s exactly what you asked back then.”

“Guess it all worked out, huh?” you smiled.

“It sure did.”

He gave you a kiss on your temple. You were thankful you were at least going through all of this with a husband who seemed to really care about you. Being around Elvis put you at ease, and it was easy to have conversations with him and the whirlwind of people who were in and out of Graceland.

When you weren’t busy with physical therapy or doctor’s visits, you and Elvis would spend a lot of time listening to music or watching old home movies together. The music seemed to jog your memory a bit, but there were no significant breakthroughs. The home movies were bittersweet; you and Elvis looked so happy together in all of them, carefree and in love, but you couldn’t remember any of it.

For a few weeks, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d sneak out of bed and watch the home movies in hopes of recognizing something. Every time Elvis found you like that, he would get upset, not at you, but toward the situation the two of you had ended up in because it just wasn’t fair. Eventually you stopped, not wanting to see him so distraught.

About two months went by with major progress in physical and occupational therapy, but your memory was hazy at best. Still, even if you couldn’t remember all your relationship with Elvis, you knew you loved him, becoming more affectionate and trusting with each day. As you built your strength back up, the two of you would spend more time outside, walking around Graceland and even talking to the fans who seemed to keep vigil outside of the place night and day.

You and Elvis had developed a routine of sitting on the lawn to watch the stars at night, weather permitting. He’d bring a blanket and a radio, and the two of you would talk until someone started yawning, usually, it was you.

“Well, it is about nine, don’t wanna keep you up past your bedtime,” he said one night, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You stepped out of the hair and makeup trailer to see Blue Hawaii’s star running his hand through his styled hair, pushing it any which way so that it was wildly out of place.

“Now what are you undoing all of my hard work for?” you asked, a smile on your face as Elvis looked at you like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Guess I gotta find a new excuse to talk to you,” he said.

“Or you could just talk to me.”

“How about tonight?” he asked. “The beaches are real pretty at night, the way the moon reflects off the ocean. Not as pretty as you, though.”

“Don’t lay it on too thick, Presley.”

He laughed. “Alright, I was askin’ for that. Just meet me on the beach later, please?”

“What time?”

“Nine.”

“That’s past my bedtime.”

“Y/N, you’re killin’ me.”

“Elvis! They need you back on set!” a production assistant yelled.

You walked over to Elvis, using the comb in your hand to get his hair looking decent enough for filming, as if he needed to try anyway. “See you at nine,” you smiled.

“Im’a hold you to that,” he said before running off to redo whatever scene he had been shooting that day.

“I said that to you on the set of Blue Hawaii,” you said excitedly.

He laughed. “I can’t believe out of all the things, you remember me makin’ a fool of myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too.

“I think I fell in love with you that night,” he said. “By the end of filming, I had you workin’ on all my movies. The Colonel said you were a distraction, but I didn’t care.”

The Colonel. A name you’d only heard referenced with tones of disgust by those around you. You couldn’t remember anything about Elvis’ manager, but from what Jerry had told you, when you begged him to clue you in on what everyone else seemed to know, you were glad you didn’t. After all, it was his idea for you and Elvis to get married on TV, a decision that the two of you detested, according to Jerry.

“How many movies did you make?”

“A lot,” he said, “so we spent plenty of time together, believe me.”

“Good, I like spending time with you.”

“I’d hope so.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him playfully. The two of you went to bed for the night not long after that, and as the next few months went by, bits and pieces of your memories would come back, mostly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it was progress. After several appointments with your doctor, you and Elvis had come to terms with the fact that your memory may never fully recover. Despite that, your relationship was strong, and when you told him you loved him for the first time since you woke up from the coma, he cried so hard he almost couldn’t say it back.

The next day, he bought you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, almost an apology of sorts, even though he had nothing to be sorry for, you thought his reaction was sweet. He was always around, but it never felt suffocating, and your physical therapist even commended him for how well he helped you on the days she wasn’t there and you practiced the exercises on your own.

Your occupational therapist was similarly pleased with your progress and began encouraging you to do Elvis’ hair and makeup again in your free time to work on your fine motor skills. The first time you did so, your hands were shaky, and you stayed the hell away from doing any eye makeup, but you found styling his hair relaxing. As you built up your confidence in your skills again, you carefully applied the eyeliner to his eyelids. The result wasn’t perfect, but as you practiced more and more it was like your muscle memory began to kick in again. If only your brain could do the same, you lamented to yourself as you dabbed eyeshadow to Elvis’ eyelids, a look you found he had mostly kept early on in his career, but you liked it.

“When are they gonna let you make the movies you wanna make? You’re Elvis Presley for crying out loud,” you said, applying makeup to your boyfriend of going on three years. His latest movie, Girl Happy, was yet another movie musical, when he’d been wanting to star in more serious dramas for years.

“People don’t wanna see movies where I don’t sing,” Elvis shrugged.

You sighed. “Maybe you could make something with one of those independent directors. They’re doing really amazing things in New York. I mean, that one director–”

“C’mon, baby, what’s this about.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy,” he said.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

You liked to watch when Elvis filmed his movies. You didn’t think he was a bad actor by any means, but you wished he got to work with serious directors on more dramatic roles like he wanted to. Still, he had a knack for comedy and his natural charm made his chemistry with his co-stars stand out. You never felt jealous or insecure; you figured if he wanted to try something, he wouldn’t bring you along to every movie set with him.

After filming was over for the day, he asked you to walk on the beach with him. This time, being in Los Angeles, meant most of the Memphis Mafia had to tag along to make sure you two got some privacy without fans hounding him. Most of the time, he didn’t mind, but tonight was different. He was fidgety, and you knew something was on his mind.

“You alright?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just thought it’d be a lot easier to do this.”

“Do what?”

He took a deep breath, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. When he got down on one knee and opened it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring, your hands flew to your mouth.

“Y/N, I always thought soulmates were real, and meeting you only made me sure of that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you choked out, practically tackling him in the sand as you threw your arms around him. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

You dropped the makeup brush you were using, to Elvis’ concern.

“You feelin’ okay, darlin’?” he asked. “Should I call the doctor?”

“Yeah, I just remembered something is all,” you answered quietly.

“What was it?”

You smiled. “When you proposed to me.”

His smile matched yours. “I had the ring for weeks. I was waiting for the right moment, and that was it. Just like that first date in Hawaii.”

It was nice, finally remembering some of the more significant aspects of yours and Elvis’ relationship. As the months passed, you were almost completely physically recovered from the car crash, and you didn’t need to do physical therapy nearly as often as you did when you first got back to Graceland. Still, Elvis was overly cautious, not that you could blame him, but sometimes you needed to remind him that you weren’t made of glass.

The two of you started going out more too, mostly to different restaurants in Memphis or to see shows, but you felt almost normal. Maybe you would never be the exact same person you were before the car accident, but you were happy with the progress you’d made and especially that you’d woken up to a husband who didn’t hesitate to drop everything for you. You felt a bit guilty that he was putting his career on hold for you, but it didn’t seem to concern him or anyone else very much. In fact, it seemed like everyone was enjoying the ‘time off’. Well, almost everyone.

Jerry rolled his eyes as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. The Colonel had been a pain in the ass the previous few weeks about Elvis getting back to performing, insisting enough time had passed for you to be fine on your own at Graceland. As much as Jerry tried to stall the Colonel and make up excuses for why Elvis couldn’t come to the phone, it got to the point where the man wouldn’t stop calling.

Finally, Elvis answered, fuming at the Colonel’s audacity. “What? What do you want?”

“It’s been eight months since you’ve performed a show or recorded a new song. You’ve had your time with Y/N, but you have a job to do,” the Colonel said.

“It can wait until she’s better,” Elvis said. “Hell, people still show up every day with their signs and flowers for her.”

“My boy, I understand your sentimentality toward Y/N—”

“Sentimentality? Like Y/N is some girl I keep around and not my damn wife? I knew you were low, but this is somethin’ else,” Elvis raged.

“You’re at risk of violating your agreement with the International Hotel. Need I remind you the debt you owe Jamboree Entertainment. I’m not above taking legal action to get what’s owed to me.”

“How’s it gonna look, some lyin’ old bastard tryin’ to put a man takin’ care of his sick wife out on the street? Do what you want, you’re out. For good this time,” Elvis spat, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders as he hung up on the Colonel.

“‘Bout time, EP,” Jerry said with a grin.

“You’re damn right, Jerry,” Elvis agreed.

For what felt like the millionth time, you found yourself flipping through your wedding album on your own. It was beautifully made, and the photos were just what you’d expect from one of the most widely covered weddings at the time. There were dozens of them, but a photo of you and Elvis at the altar particularly caught your eye, and you pulled it from the album to get a closer look.

Your wedding day was a fairytale. Everything exactly to your taste as you married the love of your life. It was also, however, nothing short of a public spectacle due to the insistence of the Colonel that if Elvis was going to break millions of hearts across the country by getting married, he may as well make money off of it. You felt like it cheapened the whole thing, and you knew Elvis did too, but for some reason he never wanted to push back against the Colonel. It was the biggest source of tension in your relationship, especially as the wedding got closer.

The day of, though, you weren’t going to let anyone ruin your day. The whole world could watch if they wanted to, but the wedding was for you and Elvis, let them cry into their cake at home. As soon as you got to the altar, you and Elvis broke into tears upon seeing each other, and he pulled you in for a hug that you welcomed.

‘I wish there were no cameras, nobody else here but us,’ Elvis whispered, kissing your cheek. ‘The honeymoon is gonna be completely private. I promise.’

‘It better be,’ you sniffled. “I want you all to myself.”

“You got me, baby. Always.”

You dropped the photo, feeling all of the emotions of that day flooding into you. It was almost overwhelming, the love you felt for him. You didn’t even notice him walking in to find you sobbing over the book.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, you don’t have to remember,” he assured you.

“I do remember. Oh my god, it was beautiful. Even with those stupid cameras, it was the best day of my life,” you cried.

“Mine too,” he said. “The reception was great. You remember how Charlie was cuttin’ it up on the dancefloor?”

“I don’t know if I want to,” you laughed.

It’d been a little over a year since the accident, and while your memory wasn’t completely back to where it had been, you remembered enough, especially how much you loved Elvis and he loved you. It was the push he needed to reevaluate his life. He began considering his career again, touring in a way that wasn’t as physically demanding as his previous schedules had been, and he sure as hell would never step foot in the International again.

The most important part of it all, however, was you. Music was his passion, and he wanted to get on stage again and connect with his fans, who’d been unbelievably supportive of him and you through his career hiatus, but he’d only do it if you were on board. He was a bit apprehensive when he sat you down to share his idea, but you were encouraging, reminding him that he could tell you anything.

“Now, this is just an idea, and it completely depends on you, but I was thinkin’ of tourin’ again,” he said, a smile spreading across his face at your excitement. “I’m not goin’ without you, though, so whenever you’re clear with the doctor, we’ll start plannin’.”

“That sounds great,” you agreed. “I’d absolutely love that.”

“Before we do that, though, I was wonderin’—I know our wedding wasn’t exactly what either of us had in mind. I was thinkin’ maybe we could go to Hawaii, just us, back to where it all started and renew our vows,” he said, almost as if he was nervous, that for some reason you’d answer anything but yes. “Whattya say? Finally have the wedding we both wanted?”

You couldn’t help the tears that began streaming down your face as you nodded, throwing your arms around him to give him a sweet and tender kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing you again.

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @kittenlittle24 @crash-and-cure @im-lame-irl @loudwombatmugkid @rxsesss @roseymary04 @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora @positivitylane112 @moonknightswif3 @holy-minseok @datsavageavenger @21bruhs @luckyevansstan @djsjs13949 @butlerslut @ash-omalley @powerofelvis @sad-bisexual-bitch

#elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis #elvis 2022

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loveshotzz · 29 days

Note

pretend i wrote this when you were sick - pretend it's also not this long. also sorry if it looks like there are parts missing.

He's on his third call while he waits at the door in the early spring breeze, unbottoned work shirt billowing with him -- silently chastising himself for not throwing on a sweater since you told him to do it before he left. He presses the bell again, hearing it go off in the house for the second time, anxiety brewing in his chest. He'd never seen you so sick, and even though the doctor said it was just a bad flu, seeing you in bed like this made his heart pound. He wasn't sleeping, had been working from home the past few days. He'd set up shop right outside the hall of the bedroom, ignoring his office so he could hear if you called out to him -- Bandit dutifully keeping watch over you at the end of the bed. It was something he wasn't expecting to affect him like this, his thoughts getting clouded with the sound of hospital monitors and oxygen machines.

You did your best to understand and assure him you're okay -- you're just kind of a baby about being sick. Lucky for Steve, he's been loving a chance to get to baby you - despite the ache it causes to see you like this.

But the babying would start even quicker if the front door of the house he was in front of would open.

"Honey, am I gonna have to file a report? You can't just be showing up to my house -- I got a wife at home," the tease comes from a familiar smoky voice, "Do you really want her to find out about us?"

"I called three times," Steve huffs, "I said I'd only be gone for ten minutes."

"Do you really think she's counting? She's probably asleep. Plus, you're a minute man," Eddie winks, beckoning him into the house, "And if she calls you can run right home, you're around the fuck--effing corner."

"Yeah, you're around the effing corner, Big Guy," Gwen's tiny voice repeats from the island in the kitchen.

"Gwendolyn," Eddie warns. "Sorry," she whispers back, "I won' say id again."

"Thank you, doll," he smiles, "Can you ask mommy to bring the soup and meds we packed up for your aunt so we can give it to Steve?" She patters away with her light up sneakers glinting pink and purple with every step, disappearing into the house only to run back winded a few minutes later. "Mommy said you have two hands that work just fine so you can get it," she smiles, not fully understanding what she means, "And then she said to say please after. Please!"

Steve snorts, "Yeah, loser, go grab my shi--stuff."

Eddie rolls his eyes, "Whatever."

As her father leaves, Gwen climbs back up on the bar stool and looks up at Steve curiously, "So when does she get to come back over?"

"When she feels better, angel," he smiles, "Why?"

She shrugs, "I dunno, I like when she comes over 'cause then it's not just you."

His mouth gapes with a smile, "What do you mean? Am I not enough for you?"

Gwen shrugs in the way four year olds shrug when they're feeling sneaky, "She's juss funner, Big Guy." "Do you hear this?!" Steve gasps as Eddie re-enters, "She doesn't think I'm as fun."

"You haven't been playing 'Cool Barbies' with her, lately," Eddie shrugs, popping the two tote bags filled with sick day amenities on the table, "Ow, ow Lu, don't pull daddy's hair, please." "It's okay Luce, you can do whatever you want," Steve coos to the baby on Eddie's hip, grabbing the bags and putting them over his shoulder. He leans forward to kiss her only for Eddie to step away.

"Dude, not with your potential flu germs -- they're picking up enough sh--stuff at daycare," Eddie says, taking the baby's pudgy hand and waving, "Say byyyyeee Big Guy." "Bah," Lucy gurgles in her post nap haze, head resting heavily on Eddie's shoulder. "Bye, Big Guy," Gwen smiles, hugging him at the knees, "Tell Auntie-I-said-hi-and-I-miss-her-and-love-her-and-that-she-is-so-pretty-and-that-I-have-new-Barbies."

"I will tell her, thank you for the message," Steve nods, chest hammering again at the thought of you sick and bed without him. He flicks his head up at Eddie, "Tell Peach I said hi."

"Yeah, I'll tell her somethin' alright," he half grumbles, hoisting Lucy higher up on his hip. Steve blows Gwen a kiss before making it back to you in the quick trip is takes to get back to your place. He knocks softly before stepping in, hearing your soft 'hm?' that sets his whole body a buzz with affection. "I have..." he starts, opening the bags, "Two quarts of Peach's famous 'sick soup', a shit ton of orange juice, 800mg motrin, a card from Gwen, a drawing from Gwen, three new pairs of fuzzy socks, a toy for Bandit? Okay..." He lists off the rest of the care package before looking at you with a smirk, "And absolutely nothing for me." "I can gib you someding," you murmur out with a stuffed nose, "I can gib you a kiss." "Ooh, how about I give you a kiss tough girl?" he asks, chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he leans down to kiss your forehead. His lips are warms against your clammy skin, enough to soothe you back into a cozy half sleep under the covers, "How're you feelin'?" "Dired," you admit, "Bud I could really use thad soup." "Okay," he nods, "I'll heat it up for you." He gets back to the door looking back with a soft gaze on you, thinking of Lucy's face and how it looks when you hold her on your hip, how you look when you play Barbies with Gwen. How it would look when there's a baby that's the perfect blend of the two of you bouncing on your lap, when there's a baby monitor in the bedroom, when you're both complaining about germs at daycare. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it before going downstairs. Right now, babying you is just enough.

CAROL!!!! Stop 😩 I physically cannot handle this amount of yearning. What have you done to me?!? I’m still sick (it won’t go away) so this was still perfect. Of course he’s imagining getting me pregnant while taking care of me, ILL GIVE THAT OLD MAN ANYTHING HE WANTS!!

Also shout out to the number one couple here and that’s ocs!eddie and airwiy!steve. I love that the little glimpse we get of them living close to each other now and the little growth of the munson family 🥺

#asks #WE’RE GWEN’S FAVORITE OVER STEVE #that’s what I thought #my heart is full #carol 💅🏻#all i really want is you #orange colored sky #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #older!steve harrington

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astrophileous · 7 months

Note

Love Bugs was sooo good!!! Do you think they’d let Penelope plan a baby shower with the entire team? Maybe even a sex reveal and Penelope truly trying her best to not reveal it early, the others on Garcia duty to make sure she doesn’t let anything slip LOL

WAIT HOLD ON THAT IS SUCH A CUTE CONCEPT???

and I hope you don't mind me putting my own twist to this, but you literally just reminded me of this insta reel I saw a while back of a couple who was doing a sex reveal privately on the beach with a cake, and then the wife, very innocently pulled out the candle so that the husband could cut it, not realizing the cream sticking on the candle would prematurely reveal the sex to them 😭 now I just can't stop imagining Penelope accidentally doing the same thing KAJJSJEJ IT WOULD BE HILARIOUS

btw thank you so much for reading love bugs, I'm soooo happy you liked it <3333

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

You couldn't have been less inclined towards the idea the first time Penelope had brought it to your attention.

The next time she did, Penelope knew better than to come empty-handed. Thankfully for her, JJ and Emily both seemed to be partial towards Penelope's brilliant suggestion.

"I think it'll be great, (Y/N)," JJ had said. "I never did one for Henry, but I helped a girlfriend host hers once. It was fun."

"And I, personally, am always down for a party." Emily grinned.

"But a gender reveal party, guys? Seriously?"

"It'll be great, Beets. Trust me," Penelope swore. "Plus, you don't need to worry your pretty little head with anything. You just sit back, relax, and let us three do the heavy liftings."

Eventually, with the right doses of persuasion and incessant pleading, you agreed to let them throw a sex reveal party for the baby; with one condition: you wanted to keep the whole thing small and simple.

But small and simple weren't exactly Penelope's forte.

JJ and Emily tried their best to keep the tech analyst in check during the entire planning process. It was bad enough that the two of them had to take turns monitoring Penelope to make sure she wasn't stepping out of any line, but when they finally received the envelope from your doctor containing the sex of the baby, Penelope grew even worse.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Penelope yelped when Emily's voice suddenly appeared beside her. The blonde scrambled to click a few buttons on her computer screen to close the page she was looking at before Emily could see what she was doing, but it was too late.

"Wasn't that the archive of the hospital (Y/N) goes to?"

"What? No. Of course not. Why? Did you think I hacked it? That's ridiculous, why would I ever hack--"

"Garcia," Emily's stern voice cut her off. "Did you seriously just hack a hospital's records to find out the sex of (Y/N)'s baby?"

Penelope's silence was all the confirmation that Emily needed.

"It won't happen again," the tech analyst murmured shamefully.

But it did, in fact, happen again.

"Pen?" JJ's eyebrows creased when, just a few days later, she spotted Penelope sitting behind the desk in her office.

"Yes? Oh, hi! Hey, how are ya? Nothing to see here!"

Penelope offered JJ a sheepish smile, one that was intended to conceal trouble but instead spoke of one. JJ's eyes squinted.

"What's that in your hand?"

"Oh, this?" Penelope raised her right hand, showing JJ the figurine of a duck dressed as Superman that she, for some reason, was holding. "It's my new buddy. I got him at a flea market last week. Isn't he cute?"

"I meant your other hand, Pen."

JJ raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Soon enough, Penelope surrendered to JJ's stare of death--the one that she had perfected since becoming a mother--and handed the envelop into JJ's awaiting palm.

"I'm sorry," Penelope said meekly, like a child being scolded after being caught with her hand in the candy jar.

A week before the party was supposed to be held, JJ had safely dropped the cake order at the bakery, along with the sacred envelope that you had entrusted in her care. In hindsight, it looked as though everything was finally going according to plan.

Until the D-day rolled around.

As Emily held down the fort back at Derek's and your shared place, JJ and Penelope resorted to cake duty. JJ let Penelope go into the bakery to grab the cake while she stayed in the car for a quick phone call. When Penelope didn't yet reappear after five minutes, JJ decided to follow her inside to see what was holding her up.

"Hey, Pen?" JJ called to Penelope, who was standing like a deer caught in headlights in the middle of the room. In front of her, the baker was holding the box of cake with visible confusion on his face. "What's wrong?"

"She's just been standing there like that. Frozen. Like she saw a ghost," the baker informed.

"Pen?"

"The apron," Penelope whispered.

"What?"

"The apron."

"What ap--oh no."

JJ's eyes widened almost comically when she finally registered what had Penelope looking so stunned.

"Sir," JJ began, "you didn't happen to be working on this cake before we came in, did you?"

"Yeah, I did. I was just finishing it up. Filling in the buttercream and adding some final touches."

JJ sighed. "So, you're saying that the buttercream on your apron is the buttercream you used to fill in the cake?"

JJ's question prompted the baker to look down at the apron he was wearing.

More specifically, at the colored buttercream that spoiled the sex of your baby.

"We've got a situation," JJ said to Emily as soon as she and Penelope found her in your kitchen half an hour later.

"What is it?"

"Me and Pen accidentally found out about the sex."

"You what?!"

"I found out about the sex. I know the sex," Penelope murmured from where she was standing behind JJ. "I know what it is. I know what--hey, you two!"

The three women swiveled their heads towards the doorway, seeing you standing there with Derek practically gluing himself to your back.

"Hi, girls. Everything alright in here?"

"Everything is fine! Why wouldn't it be?" Penelope chuckled nervously.

A frown appeared between Derek's eyebrows. "Babygirl, you okay?"

Penelope waved him off. "I'm fanta... bulous."

"Fantabulous?" Emily whispered.

"Pretty sure it's a combination of fantastic and fabulous." JJ whispered back.

You stared at Penelope in concern. "You sure you're okay, Pen?"

"I'm fine, Beets! Splendid, even! I'm just so happy to see the three of you! God, look at that. You're all so perfect together. My Beets, Chocolate Thunder, and your beautiful baby--"

"Okay!" JJ exclaimed, cutting Penelope off before she could spill the main surprise. "We've still got a lot of work to do here, so... go, both of you."

As soon as you and Derek were out of earshot, JJ said to Penelope, "Pen, you gotta calm down."

"I can't. Oh my God, I can't calm down. It's the knowing. I hate knowing secrets, I'm not good with them."

"It's only for one more hour," Emily reasoned. "You can do this. Just... take a deep breath."

JJ and Emily somehow managed to keep Penelope from spiraling any further, long enough for them to finally commemorate the main event of the night. Your living room was crowded with beloved and very familiar faces: members of the BAU and a few friends of yours and Derek's. The speakers were blasting "September" by Earth, Wind & Fire, and you stood in front of the guests with Derek to your side when Emily and Penelope finally brought out the cake.

"Ladies and gents, we're about to witness a very important moment in history," JJ announced to the room. "In a few minutes, we'll finally find out the sex of the newest member of the (Y/L/N)-Morgan's household!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. You felt Derek give your hip a squeeze.

"Does anyone care to share their guesses?" JJ asked.

Shouts of "boy" and "girl", and a very vague shriek of "twins", all piled on top of one another. JJ quickly gestured with her hands for the crowd to calm back down.

"Without further ado, I present to you, Derek Morgan and (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!"

As your guests exploded in a synchronized ovation, Derek pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "You ready, Bug?"

"As long as you are, Mr. Morgan."

You and Derek each grabbed a knife from the table, but before the blades could touch the cake, Penelope's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Wait, let me remove those candles for you."

"No, Penelope!"

Emily's warning came too late.

The entire room held their breaths at the sight of the candles in Penelope's hand. The tech analyst darted her eyes in confusion before she realized what she had done.

"Oh no."

"Is that--" Derek's voice sounded lost in awe.

"Yes, it is," you breathed out.

"The cream, it's--"

"I know." A humorous chuckle escaped your chest as a lone tear fell down your cheek. "It's a blue buttercream. We're having a boy."

Derek didn't waste any second before gathering you in his arms. Around you, your crowds of friends celebrated along in a sequence of hoorays and applause. But even in the midst of that ruckus, you felt like there were no other people left on this world with you other than Derek and your baby.

Your son.

"Hey, Little Man," Derek whispered as his hand landed on your belly. "I can't wait to meet you."

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altheasmeadow · 11 months

Text

Meeting The Exes

Word count: 1.1 K

Summary: In which maybe having her boyfriends as emergency contacts was a bad idea. especially when she forgets to change them after the breakup.

warnings: Mentions of passing out, hospitals, Abandonment, exes ofc.

Pairing: Sunghoon x reader

“Stop the beeping!” She groaned as she grabbed her pillow to try and cover her face.

“Seriously? You almost die and you’re worried at the beeping?” Ni-Ki asked from next to her, with his brows furrowed.

“Just be happy it’s still beeping dummy.” Jungwon grinned, nudging her leg with his knuckles.

“Why am I in the hospital?” She asked, trying to remember what happened.

“You passed out.”The nurse piped up from looking at the monitor in the corner, the girl in the bed simply sending a sheepish expression towards her friends. “We called your emergency contacts, your boyfriend is here.” The nurse informed, making her head snap up in a panic.

“Hey honey!” Jake chimed as he popped up into the room with a wide grin, the nurse dismissing herself while the other two in the room looked like they were gonna combust in laughter.

“Jake, you came all the way from Australia?”

“Oh no I was in town for some filming, guess it was the right place, right time.”

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry I never changed my emergency contacts.”

“Why was he your emergency contact anyway?” Jungwon wondered, still trying to stifle his laughter as his older friend was grinning awkwardly at the girl in the bed.

“I use boyfriends to avoid lectures from my parents, I don't want to wake up in a prison with them telling me what a mistake I am.”

“I’m just glad I could be here.” Jake shrugged, grabbing her hand gently, until the door burst open and a frantic Jay came rushing in.

“I came as soon as I heard, are you okay?” Jay asked, grabbing her face to examine her for injuries as the nurse peaked into the door looking confused.

“Uh you guys should know I’m seeing someone.” She said, looking at Jay weirdly, not understanding his affection. But at the statement the two men shared a look before cheering.

“Oh we are too, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care about you. You’re still oour girl, just platonically now.” The two exes grinned, swooping in to place teasing pecks on her cheeks. Another man walked in with a bunch of flowers in his hand and a wide grin.

“Hey darling.” The man cooed, reaching to hug her as the two exes looked at her curiously.

“No not him, he’s another ex.” She sighed, grabbing the flowers gently as Heeseung laughed a bit at the comment.

“This is funny, so who was first?” Heeseung asked, looking at the two behind him.

“Uh Jay was first then me and then you.” Jake explained with an amused face.

“Uh you should know I’m seeing someone, I didn’t want to tell you, in case you know, you were dying, but seeing as you look fine. You should probably remove me as your emergency contact.” Heeseung smiled guiltily as she rolled her eyes in response with a fond smile.

“Don’t worry, that’s the first thing on my to- do list.”

“So who’s the lucky guy?” Jay asked with a grin, making the girl tense.

“Well it’s a bit complicated.”

“How so?”

“Uh Ms. This man also says he’s your boyfriend.” The nurse sighed, leading in Sunghoon, walking away with a quiet, “what am I doing wrong in life.”

“Hey are you okay? I was so worried when you left.” He cooed, placing his hand on her head before turning and looking at the three behind him, “Uh who are they?”

“I’m the guy before you, and he’s the guy before me and he’s the guy before him.” Heeseung grinned amused.

“Uh anyway,” He said with narrowed eyes before turning to face his girl, “We have to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? You don’t agree with my life choices.”

“That’s not what I said and you know it!”

“You said I shouldn’t continue figure skating because it’ll cause me health issues.”

“And it did!” he yelled, shocking everyone in the room at his outburst, “Why do you think you’re here? You passed out from exhaustion and from your diet, you think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t been eating? I have. You think I don’t notice you practicing so long? I do. I love you, okay? You could succeed in figure skating under proper management, but your manager is praying for your downfall, okay?She has you practicing ridiculous hours, on unhealthy rations. And It’s not okay.”

The girl simply looked down shyly at the outburst while Sunghoon’s chest heaved from the yelling he had done.

“Uh Hey how long have you been together?” Jake wondered, making Sunghoon look at him oddly.

“8 months.”

“Ah it’s that phase.” Jay said with a nod now understanding what’s happening.

“What phase?” Sunghoon wondered, looking around confused while everyone else looked sympathetically at him.

“It’s the time in the relationship where she pushes you away because her feelings are getting more intense and it scares her.” Heeseung explained, pointing his finger casually at the man, “We’ve all been through it.”

“What?’

“She has abandonment issues, her birth parents weren’t the best. So when she feels intense emotions her first instinct is to run so it doesn’t get taken from her.” A voice spoke up from the door, everyone turning to see Sunoo, who was leaning on the door casually.

“Okay who’s he?” Sunghoon asked, exasperated now.

“His family took me in, he’s my brother.” She spoke meakly, making Sunghoon snap his attention to her with soft eyes.

“Tell him how you feel, you’ll feel better.” Jake cooed, trying to coax her into addressing the feelings she felt for the tall boy man.

“Sunoo is right,” She sighed earning a scoff from her brother figure as if to say he’s always right, “ I was trying to push you away, you were too good to be true and the first out I saw I took, I didn’t want to fall and then you get taken away.”

“I’m not going anyway Babe, ever. Trust me I’ve seen you ugly sob in the shower with snot dripping down your nose, you couldn’t drive me away with the hardest forces you have.”

“Actually the hardest force she has is Ni-Ki and believe me if he wanted to he’d send you away.” Jungwon spoke up with a grin as he pointed to the younger boy who smiled menacingly at the four men who all shivered at the sight.

“Say it.” Sunoo changed the subject, ignoring his sister figure’s pouting.

“I love you Park Sunghoon.”

“I love you too, and I’m sorry I don’t express it as well as I cou-” He was silenced as his lover pulled him down by his collar and pressing their lips together ignoring the “Ews” resonating around the room.

278 notes · View notes

into-the-hellaverse · 2 months

Text

Spoiled

Proofread and co-written with my lovely mutual, @razzle-n-dazzle

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Vox groaned as his monitor vibrated and beeped, sounding off his alarm to get up. He started to sit up, before getting smacked in the face by Valentino, who was still deep in dreamland and had no intention of getting up at the ever-so early hour of 8 AM.

Vox growled, now fully awake. He tossed Val's arm off, sitting up and stretching as he turned off the alarm. He looked to his side, noticing how his boyfriend took up half of his large bed. And that their girlfriend was missing. It was usual for her to be the first one out of bed, so Vox thought nothing was wrong.

When the Vees started their throuple, they developed unspoken rules or agreements, things they would do for each other. One of those things, food. Velvette took care of breakfast, since she was usually an early riser. She was usually up at 4 or 5 in the morning, so why not put together something quick for her boys? Vox would take care of lunch for the three of them, usually just ordering something from a nearby restaurant and having it delivered. He wasn't the best in the kitchen. And, by order of elimination, Valentino would make them dinner. He was fairly skilled and everything he made was good, so they had no complaints.

Vox stretched and yawned loudly as he walked to the kitchen. There was no sound of sizzling bacon, or the smell of fresh pancakes, or the beeping of the Keruig finishing their coffee. It was a little odd. That when he noticed the note written on the whiteboard on the fridge.

Busy schedule. Every demon for themselves. Love you, lazy fuckers.♡♡♡

Velvette

Vox smiled gently, starting the Keruig as he looked for something easy to make for him and Valentino. It didn't happen often, but they were used to the times when one of them had to skip their meal. Sometimes work just got in the way and there wasn't much you could do.

He found a box of pancake/waffle mix and followed the instructions on the back of the box, hoping that he wouldn't find a way to burn them this time. He turned and looked over his shoulder as best as he could when he heard foot steps coming towards the kitchen. A familiar groan and sigh filled the air as Vox felt two pairs of arms wrap around his torso. "Coffeeeeeee..." Valentino whined, pressing his forehead against the back of his monitor.

"Made it fresh," Vox said with a little smile, reaching up and grabbing Valentino's ridiculously large coffee mug.

"Where's Vettie?" Val asked with a yawn, taking his mug and filling it to the brim with black coffee.

"She had a busy schedule. Her note is on the fridge," he said, gesturing over to it as he finished up the last waffle.

"So you decided to burn breakfast?"

Vox glared at him. "One more comment like that and I'm breaking your dick. She'll probably get things sorted out in a couple days."

▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎

One month. Velvette had been busy for one whole month. The longest time any of them had fend for themselves for a meal was two weeks, when Valentino had to work late for some porno he just had to finish. Velvette would leave before Vox or Val had gotten up and come back long after they were in bed. The couple of times they stayed up to wait on her, to try and get some explanation, she worked 50+ hours straight and passed out in her studio. If they tried to visit, all they got was "she's busy and not taking visitors", and her assistants wouldn't take any excuse or threat they gave. If they texted her, she would ignore it for hours and only give a response like "srry I was bsuy" and not give any other explanation. It was started to get really fucking sick. And they missed her cooking. You can only have so many almost-burnt waffles and half-cooked pancakes before you will willingly starve yourself until lunch.

Today at lunch, Vox ordered from Velvette's favorite restaurant and brought the food up to her studio. He ignored the interns trying to sheepishly explain why he couldn't go in, and he just barged in through the doors.

The studio looked terrible. It was like a hurricane came through and wrecked the place. Clothes, fabric, and various accessories laid strewn across the floor, and every surface was covered in similar messes. And the only sound echoing throughout was Velvette screaming some jumbled mess at her underlings.

Vox could finally see how badly this past month had affected her. Velvette always put thought and effort into her appearance. She wanted to keep up with the trends and look fabulous. But this look... It was disgusting, to say the least. Her red hair was thrown up into a messy bun. Not an aesthetically pleasing messy bun, an actual messy bun. Her hair was unwashed and unbrushed, just thrown up into a ball on top of her head and held together with a couple of hair ties. Hair was falling out of the "bun" and falling on her face, making her look almost deranged.

Vox got a better look at her face as she whipped around to yell at someone else. She wasn't wearing any makeup, which never happened with Velvette. Without any makeup, you could finally see all the stress on her face, the bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep, and what looked like the start of crows feet.

Her outfit looked so out of style, as well. She would put thought and dedication into each outfit she wore, making sure to stay up on the latest trends and wearing what was in style. But this? It was like she just grabbed a random outfit and changed as she was walking to her studio. And Vox was about 50% sure that her clothes were on backwards. Velvette looked like a mess. Vox knew he had to do somethi-

"WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK DO YOU WANT?!" Velvette screamed, finally noticing his presence. "GET THE FUCK OUT!!!"

"Yes ma'am." Vox put the food on the nearest table and practically ran out of the studio. As he walked back to his control room with a heavy sigh, he called Valentino.

"Hello, my darling~" Val said, making no big deal of throwing in the background. "How was our little princesa?~"

"Terrible, to put it bluntly," Vox said. "We seriously need to get her home tonight."

"Understood. Are we-"

"We're gonna have to. Cut your shoot early."

"Yes, sir~"

"Now is not the time, Val! Just cut the shoot and meet me outside in ten minutes."

▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎

"Are you sure you don't want me to start cooking yet?" Valentino asked. Him and Vox had spent the whole afternoon shopping around, getting wine and ingredients and various gifts for Velvette to have a relaxing night in.

"Yeah. You'll have enough time when she gets back," Vox said as he paced by the bar. "She'll probably come storming in and rant for a while, at least 15 minutes but definitely close to 30. And then she's gonna take a shower-"

"And that will take close to an hour because she needs to clean at least a week of dirt and grime off her body," Valentino cut in, heading over to the bar.

"Yeah, probably closer to a month of dirt. I swear, she looked like walking shit...." Vox commented. "I can't imagine how stressful this month has been for her... Don't touch that!" Vox smacked Val's hand away from the full decanter of wine. "All of that is for Velvette. She's gonna need it. Get your own bottle."

Val rolled his eyes and grabbed another bottle. "You know she's going to drink half of it and throw it at the wall."

"And you know that she learned that maneuver from you," Vox said accusingly. "Just head into the kitchen when you hear a slamming door and work your magic, ok? This is for Velvette."

"I know, I know." Valentino sighed and chugged his glass, pouring a glass for Vox as well. "She's never pushed herself this hard. I just wish we knew what was going on..."

Vox took the glass and kissed Valentino's hand, gently rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. "We'll figure out tonight. It's gonna be ok..."

Valentino gave him a gentle smile, staring lovingly into his eyes. "You always know what to say..."

"That's why I'm the forefront of the fastest growing tech company in the city, possibly all of hell," Vox said cockily, taking sip while Val let out a laugh. He was about to let out another smart quip, when the front door slammed open and a certain someone stormed in.

"HOLY FUCKING HELL, I AM GOING TO KILL SOMEONE!!!" Velvette yelled, storming into the living room. Valentino turned tail and went to the kitchen as quick as possible, while Vox started pouring one of many glasses of wine for Velvette.

Velvette snatched the glass out of Vox's hand and drank it all before throwing the glass at the wall, just like Valentino said she would. She pulled at her hair and screamed at the top of her lungs while Vox poured another glass.

"Bad day?" He asked simply.

"Bad day?!" Velvette said with a murderous grin. "BAD DAY?! IT'S BEEN A BAD MONTH!" And off she went, yelling and screaming about everything that went wrong. Incompetent staff, late shipments, and worst of all, Claire. Fucking Claire. She was the worst model Velvette had. She was more demanding than Velvette herself, somehow! She had gotten the job because she was friends with another overlord, some hoity-toity bitch ass from a club in the entertainment district. Sophia or Sarah or whatever the fuck her name was.

"Anytime I try to fire her, she runs to that stupid little club with her stupid little friend and they come parading in the next day, demanding I put her in the next fucking show or on the cover of the next fucking catalog," Velvette said, finally slamming the wine glass on the bar rather than throwing it against a hard surface. Vox simply took the glass and refilled for her to pick up the next time she passed.

"And you know what?! There may not be another fucking catalog because that bastard Geoffrey CAN'T SEND A SIMPLE FABRIC SHIPMENT TO SAVE HIS SOUL!!!!!!" Velvette yelled, chugging the glass again. She stood in the living room, surrounded by little piles of glass while she panted. She finally looked at Vox, copying his blank stare. "Well?"

Vox was silent for a moment, trying to pick something to comment on. "Claire sounds like a bitch."

"Trust me, she is a nightmare." She approached the car and sat down, sighing and laying her head down on the counter. "I swear you would think it's Lucifer himself in disguise. I would think so too if I didn't know he staying at that...Hackshot Hostel with his daughter or whatever..."

"Hazbin Hotel," Vox said, pouring another glass for her.

Velvette shot her head up and glared at him. "Don't correct me."

"Yes ma'am."

Velvette gave another heavy sigh and took a little sip from the glass this time. "I'm just so tired..."

"I know, Vettie. Why don't you get cleaned up?" Vox said gently. "We got you some of that sugar scrub you like to use, and your favorite face cream." He went around the bar and helped her up, guiding her around the piles of glass to the bathroom.

"The one with the charcoal and brimstone mix?" Velvette asked with a smile.

"Mhm. And when you get done pampering yourself, I'll help you tame that rat's nest your hair has become."

Velvette covered her mouth and giggled. "Honestly, it's not that bad. It's certainly better than that hair catastrophe of '06."

"All I remember was you became a sobbing mess because you were going to have to shave your head," Vox commented. He stopped outside the bathroom and gave her a little push in. "Get yourself cleaned up, honey. Val should finish dinner soon after you get out."

Velvette smiled brighter. "Santa Fe Chicken with seasoned rice-"

"And garlic seared potatoes, yes," Vox finished for her. He smiled, watching her cheer to herself before shutting the door. He went back to the living room, watching as Val swept up the glass piles.

"I was gonna get them, Val," Vox said, taking the broom for him to finish sweeping up.

"I know," Val said. "I'm still waiting for that damn chicken to thaw, so I wanted to help. How's Vels?"

"She's doing better. She definitely needed to rant to someone." Vox took the dust pan, sweeping up the last couple of piles and throwing it all away. "She's in the shower now, if you wanna check on her."

"I won't interrupt her. She probably needs some along time." Val stood there, starting to stare into space while silence filled the room.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Vox asked, going back behind the bar to make them both a drink.

"How easy do you think it would be to get Claire to sell her soul to me?" Val asked, looking over at him.

Vox let out a laugh, pouring some alchohol and mixers into a shaker. "It won't be easy. If she's friends with Sophia, then she might have already made a deal or something. But...she could be accidentally caught in the crossfire of a turf war. Or accidentally get pushed off the roof."

"Or accidentally get shot 20 times," Valentino growled.

"Now, now, we can't shoot her. That's too obvious," Vox chastised, shaking up the drink and pouring it in one of the few glasses they had left. "Drink that and go back to the kitchen."

Val sighed gently and kissed his monitor, taking the glass and walking back to the kitchen.

And now, Vox was alone. He sighed as a comfortable silence filled the air. He searched the rows of bottles for something to drink, and pulled down a clear rectangular glass bottle, a little shorter and wider than most, that seemed to be delicately crafted; With smoothed out rigids and designs that capsulated the bottle. It smoothed out by the top and closed in to create a vase-like-opening, and sitting on top was the lid, square and designed to match the bottle. Vox smiled to himself and poured himself some of the amber liquor.

Velvette had gotten it for him a few years ago, when they first got together. She wasn't the best with words at the time, so she often expressed her love or gratitude with gifts. She said it was an "infinity bottle", and you would "sacrifice" the last two or three drinks of every bottle of whiskey or bourbon or whatever you drank, and you pour it into the bottle. Over time as you slowly fill the bottle with these "sacrificed" drinks, it would develop a unique flavor profile, built by memories and nights of drunken laughter.

Vox drank the small glass, and he couldn't help the smile that slowly appeared. He put the bottle back on the shelf and started to clean up to keep himself busy. He tidied up the bar area (and made a mental note to order more glasses), swept up any remnant pieces of glass, and cleaned up a few tiny messes in the living room. He got Val to help him move the coffee table as well before gathering up Velvette's hair care products and setting them on the side table in the living room. When there was nothing else for him to do, he finally got changed into some pajamas and sat on the couch, waiting for Velvette to come out.

Soft footsteps sounded through the living room, causing Vox to look over his shoulder. He smiled, seeing Velvette wrapped up in the new silk pajama set they had gotten her. It was a solid lavender color, with dark purple pentagrams sprinkled throughout. She wrapped herself up in the matching silk robe, with a black bonnet in hand and her hair in a towel wrap.

Velvette gave him a gentle smile. "You really went all out, didn't you?"

"Of course. You've worked so hard," Vox explained. "You deserve to be pampered, Vettie."

Velvette walked around the couch, plopping down on a pillow on the floor in front of Vox. "I think you two spoil me more than pamper me."

"Vettie, we don't spoil you enough." He took the towel off her hair, letting the tangled mess fall free of its cotton confines. He grabbed the paddle brush and some detangling spray, starting on a small section of the mess while Velvette searched the channels for something mildly interesting. She became enamored with some fashion competition, leaving her quiet and compliant while Vox slowly worked his way through the tangles.

After what felt like an eternity, Vox was finally able to pull the brush through her hair without snagging on a knot, and Velvette was criticizing the outfits the models were wearing. Well, she was criticizing the models more than their outfits.

"Blimp, elephant, fatass, skinny-ass, no ass, and.... Well, she just looks fugly," Velvette commented, drying some of the product out of her hair.

"Nah, she looks hot!" Valentino said as he brought in a couple plates of food.

"Hey! You should only have eyes for me, limp dick!" Velvette chastised. "She's not even that cute! Roadkill looks cuter than her!"

"She's hot because she looks like you," Val said with a smirk.

"Oh. Well, I guess I do see some resemblance," she said with a little blush.

Vox just laughed, helping Velvette get her hair in the silk bonnet. "But no demon in hell compares to you, my love."

"I know! You boys are fucking lucky you bagged me before some Sin did!" Velvette stood up and took her plate from Val, simply smirking at their laughter.

"Really? You think you're good enough for a Sin?"

"I'm good enough for Lucifer himself!" Velvette sat on the couch and got comfy, while Vox and Val cackled with laughter.

"Glad to have you back to your old self, Vettie," Val said as he calmed down.

"Well, when I get spoiled, I act spoiled." She smiled and leaned forward, giving Vox a kiss on his monitor. "Thank you. Seriously."

"It's no big deal, Vels. You deserve it."

"I cooked. Don't I get something?" Val complained.

Velvette rolled her eyes. "I'll suck your dick later."

"YES!"

And with that, they fell into a comfortable silence. Velvette made an occasional comment about some terrible tailoring, and the boys would agree, but not much else was said for the next few hours. After they ate, Val slowly migrated to the couch, sitting between his lovers and pulling them close. Velvette nuzzled up to his chest, and Vox did his best to lean his head on Val's shoulder. Having a tv head did make some problems when it came to cuddling.

Vox felt himself slowly falling in and out of sleep, hours passing in what felt like minutes. Late in the night, Val gently shook him awake and pointed to the girlfriend. The boys smiled, watching her mumbled about shoulder puffs and cravats in her sleep.

"Do you want her arms or legs?" Vox asked softly as he stood up.

"I'll take the arms this time." Val wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her up. Vox grabbed her ankles and they carried her to the bedroom, gently placing her in her rightful spot in the middle of the bed.

Vox laid beside her, holding her close as his monitor darkened. Val joined soon after, throwing two of his four arms over them like he was trying to protect them, or trap them in the bed. It was probably him trapping them in bed.

▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎

Vox groaned as his monitor vibrated and beeped, sounding off his alarm to get up. He held up a hand, catching Valentino's arm that was about to smack his monitor. He shoved the arm away and sat up, turning off his alarm as he yawned and stretched.

Vox looked beside him, noticing the absence of their girlfriend from the large bed once again. His heart sank slightly. Did Velvette run out again? He quickly got out of bed and practically ran to the kitchen. A smile came to his face when he saw Velvette at the stove, still in her pajamas as she made breakfast.

"Are you gonna keep standing there or are you gonna say hello?" Velvette said, breaking the silence.

"Just taking in this rare and beautiful sight," Vox said. He hugged her from behind and kissed the top of her head. "Morning, darling..."

"Good morning, my love." Velvette patted the side of his monitor. "I do have to head in to the studio, but it's just for a few hours. I'll be done by lunch and then I'm all yours."

"Good. You need a whole week off after that whole shit show," Vox pulled away, grabbing some mugs to make each of their coffees.

"Agreed," Velvette said with a sigh. "I just hope I can take care of Claire once and for all..."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Vettie. Me and Val have it handled," Vox said with an evil smirk.

Velvette turned and smiled at him. "I swear, you boys spoil me..."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel the vees #hazbin hotel vees #the vees #hazbin vees #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin velvette #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #poly vees #polyamorous vees

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eriexplosion · 1 month

Text

Here's How Shrimp Trooper Theory Can Still Win

This is as fringe as it gets folks.

I've done my very serious Tech lives essay now it's time for my actual wild theory. Plus @katara-stan-club wanted the shrimp trooper essay and I will take any opportunity to yammer. Please don't take this extremely seriously as it is just something that I'm spinning up for entertainment and is almost certainly not true. (Unless!)

So the opening to Confined is... Odd to me. I've mentioned this in a post before but just to recap, it is definitely the odd man out of the three season starters.

Season one of course we intro with Caleb, who then leads us directly to meet the batch and get our first character appearances, along with convenient introductions. A fun, action packed little scene before things immediately go to hell.

Season two we intro with the batch in the middle of a job, which gives us another fun action scene that shows us how much Omega has grown, as well as the current status of the batch itself.

Season three though? Season three starts us off with a ship going down in a lightning storm and all the stormtroopers inside assumed to be eaten by the giant monsters that lurk in Tantiss' jungles. (Going by Omega's tally marks later in the episode, we're about 20 days post plan 99.) Nothing to do with the batch at all, though we do get a glance at what's in the jungle, and a tiny bit more of Hemlock being a bastard of course.

Now, seemingly, this scene is the set up for episode three, when they make their escape and head for the downed ship.

Except it's completely unnecessary. When they get to the ship, it turns on but it's incapable of flight and the comms are still down and non functioning. The ship they end up taking and using to escape is the ship that came in pursuit of them. The plot would have gone down exactly the same if they had just picked a direction and fled without the downed ship. It's a complete red herring for how they ultimately end up escaping.

So why is it important enough to open the season on if the ship essentially functions as nothing more than a destination point?

Enter Shrimp Trooper Theory.

Going back to the stormtroopers. We have four of them inside the ship, the pilot and three others. We're going to be focusing on our boy on the far right of the second picture.

The pilot speaks before the ship goes down so we can confirm he's a rando. Our fellow in the middle speaks next, identifying himself as TK-343, another rando. The one on the far left talks about wild beasts proving himself, you guessed it, a third rando. But our boy on the far right doesn't talk at all through this whole scene, leaving his identity up in the air.

So we'll take a closer look at him and brighten the scene up a bit.

Now, seeing this guy hobble his way out of the ship, I thought that he looked somewhat familiar. Specifically.

That shitty ass posture. (Forgive the sloppiness of the edit I did this comparison once before and I am not remaking it)

We do not actually see the troopers all get eaten, we cut to the interior of Tantiss before it happens. Theoretically there is nothing stopping this shrimp shaped man from being Tech.

The timeline of shrimp trooper theory:

Tech falls from the rail car and manages to survive the landing but he's severely injured. He crawls away/gets scraped off the ground by Saw.

Roughly 3 weeks pass in which he is recovering and healing yet unable to comm out as, per episode 4 of season 3, Imperial planets monitor long range communications. But, he is able to gather information from the flights going in and out of Eriadu to determine which ones are being assigned to Hemlock's secretive lab. Once he is able to confirm this, he steals some stormtrooper armor and boards.

Ship goes down because gravity hates him in particular and he is almost eaten by a Beast.

Now stranded in the jungle on Tantiss, Tech finds his infiltration plan foiled by the fact that he is being continually hounded by even more Beasts.

Several months later, Batcher is released and for some reason goes straight for the wrecked ship. Somehow she survives out here, but we're not sure how - potentially she had help?

Tech IS the mystery clone X that we see but rather than being brainwashed he has finally managed to get inside Tantiss and yet again begins to Steal Clothing from others.

Crosshair and Omega immediately break out without him leaving him stranded in Tantiss where he presumably still is, attempting to avoid detection and continue to gather information that will aid in the eventual liberation of the other clones.

Is this unlikely? Yes! Is it overly complicated? Absolutely! Am I endlessly entertained by it anyway? You bet!

Benefits of Shrimp Trooper Theory include, but are not limited to:

A living, non brainwashed Tech! The most important feature one could have!

An extremely ridiculous Only In Star Wars series of events!

Retroactive explanation for why the ship going down was an important scene to start on.

Hemlock ruining his own life by not sending someone out to recover the team and just assuming they'd totally be taken care of by the wildlife.

More giant monsters than Wrecker could shake a stick at.

The possibility of Tech and Batcher offscreen shenanigans.

Tech thinking he's finally found Crosshair and making plans to retrieve him when, SURPRISE, OMEGA'S HERE TOO AND THEY'RE ESCAPING. RIGHT NOW.

Seriously just imagine the epic sigh Tech would let out as they flew away completely unaware of his presence. His life is a series of difficulties.

He can simply turn up with the coordinates to Tantiss because god knows how else they're going to manage to get them.

This is my conspiracy theory that I'm allowing myself to believe in as a treat. It will almost certainly not be what occurs but the thought of it makes me happy.

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers

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hcsarchive · 3 months

Text

BOXER II

PARTY TWO

* part one *

nct dream (hint of the boyz)

details « fem!reader x boxer!jaemin (ft. boss!haechan)

genre « smut with a plot, fluff?, lil angst +

- after getting cheated on, you get invited to an underground boxing match but you stumble into some dangerous territory and that's where things take a turn.

warnings: explicit language, flirty banter, praise kink, corruption kink, knives, rope bunny, cheating, violence, depression and of mentions food.

"I am still so confused about this. If he wanted to kill her he would've done it already and if he wanted to fuck he would've kicked her out by now. What is his deal? other people have trespassed before”

“Who knows let's get going. I have never seen him like this" Renjun loads his gun on the way out and 8 other men circle around the three of you. You’re now fully clothed and after being tied up. After the fight ended he started to untie everything and told Renjun to bring in extra clothes from the showgirls’ closet for you to wear.

"Start heading home, make sure she remains asleep the whole ride" Jisung picks you up and Renjun lifts up your arm. "You left her all bruised and red. Haechan come on dude" Haechan rolls his eyes.

"She needed to learn her lesson" Haechan smirks and pours a glass of scotch. The duo leave to the car.

"She is very pretty compared to all the other girls who work for us, so maybe he is using this as an excuse and keeping her with us" Jisung says and brushes back a strand of your hair.

"You are getting on my nerves" Renjun parks the car and opens the back door.

The guards drive away and Jisung carries your still sleeping body in.

*One hour later*

"One of you has to investigate and interview her” haechan says.

"I'll interview her," Jaemin says, he only cared about training and winning the championship so everyone looked around at each other then at him.

"Jaemin I don't think you are the right fit for this or even trained enough," Renjun says. They start to argue.

Haechan shushes everyone "Just let her sleep, we'll do it in the morning. Take her to the spare room which has no windows or anything and take turns watching her" Haechan walks away into his room.

"What is his deal," Mark says walking in from the kitchen.

"That's what I've been saying," Jisung says.

"I'll watch her I was sleeping until you guys got here" Mark said and took you to the room. He tucked you in and you were sound asleep. Normally you’re a light sleeper but today drained you.

It was around 4am and Jaemin was about to head back into his room since his sleep schedule is bad. He found mark sleeping on the chair outside, Jaemin shook him but he was still snoring.

“Fucking prick can sleep all day” he opens the door and finds you rolled up in a corner sobbing.

He was about to leave so Mark can deal with this but you turn around before he even reacted. “Can I please get some water, I tried telling the dude in the chair but-“

“I’ll get you some, lay back down” Jaemin goes to the kitchen and gets two water bottles from the fridge. He also grabbed a tissue box from the cabinet.

“Thanks” you say while taking them for him.

“Yup” he leaves before you say anything. Normally you will be freaking out about walking in into a kidnap. Also having no idea why they took you all the way to their personal home but you had no choice and nothing to lose.

You are working horrendous hours and studying really hard but felt like it’ll lead you to nowhere to where you want to be. This on the other hand is confusing, do not know if you’re being killed or sold off. After being cheated on you just want to a break from your life but you miss your friends.

“Jacob” you gasped and someone bursted into the room.

It was mark, he turned the lights on. “Can i have my phone please. my friends are probably looking for me” you say.

“Unfortunately you can’t. You’ll have to be monitored and be held without any contact for at least 48hours” Mark said.

“They would be suspicious though they know my schedule and routine. I disappeared after telling them i went to the bathroom during the fight”

“It is just what we do here I’m sorry” mark scarthes the back of his head.

“Who’s we? I haven’t even gotten told why I am here. This whole situation is stupid. Your boss is-“ you stop what you were about to say because Haechan shows up in the door way.

“What about me?” he gets closer to the bed.

“Haechan don’t start give her some space” Mark grabs his wrist.

“Why? she’s not talking to you with respect and that little mouth of her’s is always whining” Haechan gets as close as Mark let’s him.

“I want to know why I am here. I have work in like 4 hours then class at night. I don’t have time to be involved in your mafia rules and regulations I do not care what you guys even do” you take off the covers and storm off the room but got stopped by Jaemin.

“I’m sorry sweetheart you’re going to be here for a while-“ you hiss in pain after his arms touch your arms to turn you around and let’s go right away.

“Haechan just explain everything to her now” Jaemin says. Haechan already changed his gaze to you and to Jaemin.

“I didn’t train you guys for years for you to be all soft and warm” Haechan goes past the three of you. “Go to the living room and you two get the others” he starts to get mad.

Mark and Jaemin go to wake everyone up and you stare up at haechan once you sit down. He looks back at you “stop the act” you knit your eyebrows together.

“I can always start screaming out the window” you say.

“They all have a security codes to open them. Especially the door so nice try” He sits directly in front of you.

Jeno, Chenle, Renjun, and Jisung all come half asleep. “It’s literally our day off why are we up so early” Chenle complains.

Renjun is slowly walking with his file with his eyes adjusting to the light. “Alright now that everyone is here. Before anything, sign this contract and read everything throughly. You will have to be monitored, watched, and live under our bases for 2 months or until we think it is appropriate to release you. After that you will have to sign an NDA and also be monitored. The reason for all of this is because you trespassed, harassed my crew, and other rules were all stated on your ticket. We also need you to call your university, work, and friends to let them know you’re taking a short break. I also did a even more thorough background check and boy was I amazed” He switches his professionalism off after the last sentence.

“I won’t be killed or sold?” you look at all of them. “Oh no you’re all mine” Haechan smirks.

“Keep it professional Haechan we are still in the process of her signing the contract. This isn’t funny” Renjun says handing you a pen. You sign it because it’s not like you have choice.

“I wasn’t joking” Haechan takes the contract from you and gives you another one. It has your name and your information. “Fill out who you were last with and you’ll be able to call them after you explain everything to us”

You sign the contract and hand it to him. “Do I have to say it in front of everyone” you look around to everyone and everyone looks so intimidating. They’re all with messy hair and deep voices. “Unfortunately you have to. It is just like a board meeting which was originally going to be in our headquarters but Haechan decided to do things differently” your whole body starts to heat up and have flashbacks to what happened. You can’t believe that happened, sunwoo never did that either.

“I-“ haechan was cut off “Y/N hasn’t answered and we do not need your comments” Renjun cut him off.

“So I was with my boyfriend but he suddenly left…again. Then his friends decided to take me to the boxing match since I was upset he left and they had his extra ticket. I wasn’t aware where we were even going. Once we got to our seats and watched more of the match I needed to go to the bathroom. I saw lots of doors from my seat so I figured one of them had to be the restroom. I go through the isles of seats and the random crowd which I believe that is the VIP area now. When I was in that area I was being pushed around alot and I got pushed so hard by this drunk man into this couple making out. And the lovely couple was your show girl and my boyfriend…ex boyfriend but whatever. So I was trying to escape the situation as much as possible and find a peaceful place to cry in but I stumbled into god knows what you guys are and I never got cry” you want to cry but you hold it in.

You look down to your hands and wait for Renjun to finish writing. “The interview is over, you are welcome to call one person since it is technically morning but you’re not allowed to tell them where you went or why. Make up a reasonable lie. To make you more comfortable you can go into the room and call but one of us has to be in the room with you” Renjun hands the phone to you.

“Can you come with” You look at Jisung and he nods yes.

“We’ll be right back” Jisung leads you to the room.

You decided to call Chanhee, “put it on speaker phone and mute yourself when I tap you” Jisung says and you nod.

“Y/N why didnt you come home tonight? are you ok?” the phone doesn’t even ring two times and chanhee picks up right away.

“I’m ok and I won’t be home for a little while. I just need a small break from everything” you respond to him.

“Sunwoo came home angry were you with him after hanging out with the guys?” he asks concerned and his name makes the tears fall down.

“No but I need a break from him, school, and everything else. I wish I can take you with but that’ll be selfish.” you wipe your tears and start sobbing.

“If anything happens or you need someone to talk to, you know the drill. take care my love and don’t forget about me” Chanhee says all sad.

“I will never forget you. You’re literally my favorite person. I’ll keep in touch every chance I get.” Your tears start pouring down even more.

“Bye y/n” chanhee sighs.

“byeee love you” you hang up and start sobbing uncontrollably. Jisung hands you tissues. “I’m sorry to put you through this” he says.

“You’re just doing your job, I don’t blame you” you wipe the last of your tears.

You hear a knock on the door “Jisung I need you start getting ready and go to headquarters in half an hour. I need you, Renjun, and Mark to wrap up this case. Chenle will drop you guys off. Jeno and Jaemin will stay with me.” Haechan says coming into the room.

Jisung whispers bye and steps out of the room. Haechan comes in and you stay silent, you feel embarrassed that he found out everything now. “Jaemin must’ve knocked him too much in the head and turn him dumb for him to cheat on you” you look at him confused.

“He has fought in the rink before?”

“No but our trainers use Jaemin to train them well but he got knocked up real bad last time since he stopped showing up to practice and hanging out with Jia. The guys are taking care of him” you now get worried. “They’re just going through a similar process as how we did with you earlier since he was the actual last person that is connected to you and to us. He doesn’t know what we really are” Haechan sits at the desk chair.

“What are you guys I am still very confused” you scan his face and he turns nervous.

“I swear I am not working with anyone I just want to know who i’ll be living with” his facial expression changes.

“I basically control and own all the illegal boxing rinks, casinos, cartels, and trading events in Korea, Europe, and The United States. We have millions of people working for us and we simply make the decision and sometimes get our hands dirty.” Haechan says.

“Wow and at your age you accomplished all that?” you gasp.

“I won’t take all the credit since my ancestors have been doing this since 1700s but I have broken many records and branched out internationally faster than anyone” he stands up and walks to you slowly. “I would also would like to know more about you. I know I didn’t give you chance earlier” he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and wipe the remaining tears left in your cheeks.

You and Haechan were in complete silence, looking into eachother’s eyes. His expression is more soft and observant than how he was last night. He is even more beautiful with his bareface and unstyled hair.

A dry throat wakes the both of you up, it’s Jaemin in a apron. “I made breakfast for y/n” he comes in with a board.

“Quit it” Haechan mutters to Jaemin under his breath and leaves.

“He’s always like this” he rolls his eyes. “Anyways fyi I kind of looked through your coffee coffin app to see how you like your coffee so sorry in advance”

You smile widely “That’s so sweet thank you” you taste it “ wow it’s way better than the one at coffin’s” you set the cup down.

“If you want to bring your food to the living room and watch tv you could” he says.

“Am I allowed?” you stare out the door.

“I’ll allow it. If Haechan says anything, blame it on me” you follow Jaemin with your food. You set your food down on the coffee table and sit on the floor.

He goes to kitchen to help Jeno finish up. Once they’re all done Jaemin joins you on watching some random episode of the Simpsons silently.

“What is she doing out here” Haechan comes out of his room all dressed up in a suit and gun to his hip. “She’s harmless plus you can’t keep her in there forever” Jaemin says.

“I own her until she is released so you do not get to make those decisions” Haechan grabs Jaemin by his shirt.

“Fine alright. Chill out, I didn’t expect you to react this way” Jaemin gets your food and signals you to go to the room.

You stand up and go up Haechan “If you own me atleast do something. I’m not a throw pillow in the guest bedroom” you walk away and follow Jaemin back into your now new room.

“Thank you for atleast trying” you sit on the bed and take the plate from him.

“I’ll bring in my laptop and we can watch something after he leaves. I would’ve defended you but he was strapped so I didn’t want to deal with that” he smiles and leaves your doorway.

You silently finish your food and stare at the wall. It is now hitting you that you will not be graduating on time, behind on bills, and not see your friends due to all this. Tears start to roll down again. You also no longer have a boyfriend which you loved to death.

He was your everything and one day he just flipped the switch. Sunwoo started calling you crazy and manipulative. He was just pushing you to break things off but you loved him too much to notice what was happening, he clearly didn’t love you enough to be honest and leave you.

You go to close the door but Haechan is standing there. “What did I do wrong this time” you start to sob more. “You look so pretty when you cry” he grabs your face and stares into your eyes. He inches closer to your face, his lips are a breath away from yours. “Tell me why you’re crying” he looks down at your lips and up to your eyes. You are trying to find words but his gaze just has you shock.

“It’s personal” you blink out the rest of your tears to see him more clearly.

“Tell me baby, I can fix anything for you” he stand up straight still holding your face.

“My ex boyfriend and school. But please don’t hurt him, he really wants to become a boxer”

“I won’t hurt him but Jaemin will. He’s a great money maker but it won’t stop me from giving him hell” he lets go of you and you’re left standing there looking stupid.

“Jaemin and Jeno will be here training all day. Do not leave your room, Jeno is in charge since Jaemin decided not to listen” he leaves.

He keeps switching to being an asshole to being warm. Then professional to whatever that was a couple seconds ago. The front door opens and closes and the multiple locks are heard clicking.

A knock at the doorframe was heard and Jaemin comes in as promised “I am not training today” he chuckles and sits on the bed next to you.

“Also is your body ok from yesterday?” he asks holding up your arm.

“I bruise easily so it isn’t too bad but I am a little sore” you look at all the rope marks on your legs and arms “this is so embarrassing” you pull your arm away gently.

“It’s impressive actually. Haechan is very picky from everyone else so it’s hard for someone or something to catch his attention…I can run you a salt bath after a movie, your bathroom has one” Jaemin has a big smile on his face. The most intimidating one turned out to be the sweetest.

“That’ll be lovely. You’re the best” you smile back at him.

After the movie, he opens the bathroom door and shows you how to work the shower and where everything is. “I’ll bring you some of my sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I’ll ask haechan if he can order hair and skin care specifically for you since this is just generic” he says.

“I don’t have money til next week so I’ll work with this” you say looking at the shampoo bottle. “That won’t be a problem sweetheart” Jaemin pour the salt and fills the tub.

“I will pay you guys back” you look down at the water.

“Oh you will” he smirks and you know exactly what he meant. “Check the water” he runs his hands through it and you do as well.

“Ooo it already feels nice. Thank you Jaemin” you side hug him.

“No problem. I’ll leave your clothes by the door. Lock it after I leave” you send a thumbs up.

You lock the door, get undressed and turn the bath lights on and lay on the circular bathtub. The bathroom is probably the same size as the room which shocked you because the one in your house and uni complex is the size of the tub itself.

You are floating in the tub and letting your body relax. After 20 minutes you step out of the tub and drain it. Then run to the shower to actually clean yourself. You grab the huge towel that was in the closet, and grab the clothes that Jaemin left you on the door step.

Jaemin’s sweatpants were comfy and his sweatshirt smelt good. You stepped out of the bathroom brushing your hair with a comb you found in the drawers.

Someone knocks at your door “come in” it’s Jaemin again and you smile at him. “I brought you socks from the convenient store and some fancy lotion that relaxes you” anyone can fall in love with him in seconds. He doesn’t even know you and he is doing all this.

“I cant thank you enough. You really didn’t have to do all this. You’re doing something I would beg my boyfriend to do and didn’t” you start to cry.

“Oh y/n don’t cry over someone who doesn’t deserve you” he opens the socks and lifts up the cover to reveal your feet. He puts them on and pats the cover over you.

“I’m sorry it’s just hitting me right now” you wipe off your tears.

“Let it all out” Jaemin hugs you and picks your body up to lay on him. You cry on his chest and you calm down after a while. The both of you are silent. His heart beat is in your ear and your eyes are slowly falling asleep.

Jaemin pets your head as you’re sleeping on his chest. He starts humming to a song he wrote not too long ago “like we just met”. Jaemin not only boxes but he loves to sing, write, and cook. Obviously this personality isn’t allowed to be seen by the outside world but he wishes to one day he could.

Haechan came home with 20 bags filled with clothes for you but found you and Jaemin sleeping tightly together. “Of course he wins again” the guys look at eachother confused and in shock…

a/n

This is more of a filler, so stay tuned for part three because things are going to escalate. Also! tysm for 200+ likes!! it is way more than i expected. take care everyone :)

[UNEDITED]

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idolatrybarbie · 6 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door.

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.”

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize.

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: lover be sweet

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