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velvetures · 10 months

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Doesn't Crease

A/N: Thanks to everyone supporting this new blog I've started working on. I'm really happy to see so many new people and get the chance to write some more. <3 Summary: You're just trying to keep Ghost from losing his eyesight from being purposefully ignorant. T/W: none :)

Looking out for the guys of the 141 typically meant doing things for them that most regular people wouldn’t even think twice about doing on a normal day. They often took care of weapons and missions far better than themselves, and it often resulted in you finding out that they appropriated objects or products for uses that had not a damn thing to do with what they used them for. And the most frustrating of all of them came from how you came to learn about Ghost’s eye paint, and how it stayed on so well for days on end.

You’d been in the Middle East for nearing five days and after being holed up in a cave just on the outskirts of a little town, a safe house was cleared for your use until the end of the mission. It was so damn good to have a shower and put on some clean clothes that you couldn’t have been in better spirits as you walked out of the bathroom into the living area and noticed Ghost sitting in a change of clothes and a much less dirty mask with his face half-painted in that unidentified stuff he used. You watched with an admitted interest as he dipped a couple fingers into a small plastic container that held the substance before smearing more over the bridge of his nose towards the uncovered left side of his face.

“Quit starin’.” he muttered lowly, still very focused on the task at hand and getting the stuff smeared over his eyelid and up to the waterline of his eye.

You didn’t particularly care to listen and just sat down across from him and pulled your bare feet up into the chair and watched just as raptly. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him do this for sure, yet every time filled you with a sense of… excitement. Like you were watching the man under the mask slowly transform himself into The Ghost right in front of you. Certainly a childish kind of thrill, yet you never missed the chance to watch Ghost do anything, really. Curiosity always got the better of you when it came to the mysterious Lieutenant, and that black stuff he smeared on his face wasn’t exempt from your silent questioning.

“Will you leave me the fuck alone?” He growled, steely eyes darting right to you with a harsh edge to his posture.

Ghost always had a prickly attitude about everything, good or bad. Fuck, you could tell him that he’d won a million dollars and he’s just grumble about how paying taxes on it would be a bitch. Never seeing any bright side of a situation. But that also didn’t come as much of a shock. The Lieutenant always put you in mind of this black shadow just floating around wherever he pleased or was needed for the time being.

You’d made jokes to Gaz and Soap about his sandpaper-like disposition and shitty attitude before, oftentimes enjoying a short moment before sleeping -without Ghost present of course- where you mimicked him for entertainment. It always got you a bunch of laughs considering the stark contrast between your own character and the Lieutenant’s. You didn’t mean anything negative by it, Ghost just made it too easy to poke quiet fun at him every so often.

“If you answer a question, I’ll leave.” You bargain quickly, already knowing exactly what you wanted to ask about. Ghost just growled in frustration, leaning his forearms on his massive thighs and looked pointedly at you, silently demanding you got on with your foolishness so that you could go off somewhere else and be a pain in the ass for someone else.

“What is that?” You nod to the small container holding his eye paint.

“I mean… the stuff you put on your face?” Unconsciously the question comes out of your mouth a tad bit nervously and hesitant. Not that you had the slightest fear of Ghost being upset with you in a dangerous way, but more so that you were prying into something that he felt was too personal to discuss. That kind of assumption wouldn’t have typically been far off with how private he liked to keep things.

Contrary to his typical behavior Ghost gave a small huff of something close to laughter. Apparently amused and puts the lid on the small jar to toss it across the room for you to get a better look at it. Unscrewing the lid of the small plastic travel-jar, you were met with a very familiar smell. And it wasn’t the kind of cosmetic fragrance you were expecting it come from it.

“Gun grease,” Ghost answered quite offhandedly, acting as if that wasn’t a totally ridiculous idea. Speechless and naively shocked, you look up at the Lieutenant with wide eyes and your mouth a little agape. The look on your face only amuses Ghost that much more and a little flash of it shows in his dark eyes.

“You put slide action lubricant on your face!?” You almost hiss the words out, disbelieving and in total awe of how Ghost hadn’t lost his eyesight, got chemical burns, or some other type of injury from doing something so unheard of.

Ghost shrugs noncommittally. “I prefer Hoppes. Theirs lasts the longest.” He said standing up and stretching his neck side to side.

“You have a fucking brand preference?” Your mouth really does drop open now.

“Brand and color.” He replies smugly, striding over towards you and grabbing the small container and opening it back up to dab more over his eyebrow which hadn’t been fully covered earlier.

“Hoppes…” You repeat the word, thinking for a moment. “You mean that kind that comes in the syringe?” The image of the component and how it hangs in a little package in the gun care and cleaning aisle at every store. you’ve ever been to.

“One and the same.”

Your eyes roll skyward and you can’t help but groan out. “Good god…”

For weeks after that conversation, your mind revisits the thought of Ghost using a ten-dollar tube of gun grease not only as weapon maintenance but also as a skincare product. Surely he’s not stupid enough to think that it’s not harmful to his skin right? He’s got to know that when it gets into his eyes it can cause damage? It comes to a breaking point when you go into a local drugstore for a prescription painkiller for a recent on-mission injury and notice an End Cap display showing a new line of gel eyeliners that have come out boasting 48hr smudge resistance and an almost instant, comfortable dry-down.

You stop dead in your tracks, almost totally forgetting about needing to pick up the week-supply of pills for yourself as you gather up every single one of them in the color black and shove them at the woman working behind the register. The look she gives you is one of masked concern, but you just hand over the cash for it and your prescription before heading back out to your car with a sense of hopefulness that your Lieutenant won’t lose his eyesight prematurely if you can help it.

The following day you’re to report in to HQ for a meeting with the team for a pre-op report review, and have the chance to give Ghost your… gift of sorts. You’re walking out of the meeting, purposefully walking beside of him instead of talking to Soap or asking Price some lingering questions you have so your opportunity doesn’t slip by you.

“Hey, uh do you have a minute?” You nudge his arm with your elbow, looking up at him out of the corner of your eye. Ghost’s eyebrows raise, and he silently gives a stiff nod, not caring to elaborate any further.

Instead of peeling off towards his office down the corridor to your left, he keeps following you silently until you get out to your vehicle parked outside. Although he doesn’t say anything about it, you can feel his questioning look burning into your back as you unlock the doors and reach into your passenger seat for a small black bag that rattles with the sound of thick glass knocking up against each other inside. Even when handing it to him, he’s reluctant to uncross his arms and accept the bag from you because he’s much more comfortable just staring at you coldly. No doubt expecting you to do what you’re best at and waste his time for something inconsequential.

“Here… I really don’t want you going blind anytime soon.” You give him a half smile, dropping the gift bag in his hand. With that, you give a small goodbye and go around to the other side of your vehicle, and drive off before the Lieutenant can open the bag or question you about what the fuck you’d just given him thirty small jars of.

Once home you go about getting some clothes washed for the upcoming mission and take some time to make a call to your neighbor to ask if she can look in on your home and plants while you’re away and pay the water and electric bill since you’ll be out of town when the bills will be mailed. You’re halfway through telling the older woman that you’ll go ahead and write a couple of checks that she can take to the bank with her own bills when you feel your phone vibrate against your ear.

Your elderly neighbor gives her happy acceptance of helping out and gets off the phone so she doesn’t miss her nightly show while you check the notification you’ve received. It’s from a number not saved, but it’s not spam text or one of those random kinds of messages you get when someone uses the wrong number. It’s short, sweet, and to the point. The verbiage and almost awkward tone give you all the information you need to know that the Lieutenant had not only opened his gift but asked someone for your private cell so that he could give his… thoughts.

-Dries down a lot quicker. I like that it doesn’t crease.-

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated <3

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures

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dfortrafalgar · 22 days

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Hi, saw that your request were open so I was thinking on asking you for Law X fem reader where law has a crush on reader and starts hanging out and sees that one of reader’s guy friends is being way too touchy and starts touching her butt, he is also being mean to her and at one point even hits her in the head.

How would he react, I was thinking of a fluff ending.

thank you so much for your request anon!!! i really loved this one, it was super fun to write! it was definitely a bit of a struggle though, as much as i enjoy writing heavier topics, physical abuse is tricky for me to deal with, but i hope the fluff at the end delivered some resolutions <3

also, i actually really really like Bellamy as a character. i think he's super cool, but i couldnt think of anyone else who could really fit in the role he's playing in this fic LOL

Rectify

Law x Fem Reader

Law’s feelings for you are forced to clash with a loathsome person in your life.

Warnings: descriptions of brief physical abuse, implications of past abuse, very mild suggestive language, modern setting, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending

By the time Law realized his crush on you had surpassed its normal, healthy limit, it was far too late for him. It certainly didn’t help to see you sitting next to Bellamy, tossing joking remarks back and forth. All of you were in the same friend group, so it was truly impossible to avoid your interactions with the much larger, stronger, arguably more handsome man. And the thought began to make Law’s blood boil.

Because Bellamy was everything Law wasn’t.

You and Law had been friends since childhood, growing up in the same neighborhood and running with the same crowd. You were familiar with his best friends and his dad, just as Law was familiar with your closest peers. Law liked to think that, as the years went on, the two of you grew closer and closer. You were always far nicer to Law during his awkward teenage years, and there were a few times where the raven-haired boy grew hopeful that you might one day return his budding feelings for you, but that day never came. And then you started college… and then you met Bellamy.

On the contrary to the black-haired medical student, the blonde was known around the entire campus as ‘The Hyena,’ and for good reason. He was ruthless in every sport he played, a malicious, sadistic grin constantly pulling at his thin lips striking fear into the hearts of his opponents. He was strong, freakishly so, with muscles that could rival that of an Olympic weightlifter. His blonde hair was a hit with the ladies, and partnered with his darker skin tone and his assortment of badass tattoos, it seemed like a no brainer that women would be falling all over him.

Law just internally hated that one of those women seemed to be you.

Despite you having confirmed on multiple occasions that you and Bellamy were simply friends that you met in one of your classes, and that you truly had no interest in men like him, Law couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest.

Bellamy certainly seemed to like you. A lot.

Law watched from across the room, a plastic cup still completely full of an unidentified cocktail in his tattooed hand and the large group of friends you shared laughing and chattering around you in the living room of the house party, as one of Bellamy’s large, strong hands began to circle around your waist, gripping the soft flesh of your ass through your pants. The sensation made you jump, trying to scurry away from him with a nervous smile on your soft lips as you awkwardly laughed at the feeling, but Bellamy tried to pull you in closer. The couch cushions sunk under his weight, creating a deep divot that made it hard to stand up.

You lightly shoved Bellamy’s chest, mumbling something about standing to get another drink, before you were finally able to haul yourself up from the warm sofa and make your way toward the kitchen in the back of the house. Law stood from his metal folding chair, abandoning his cup on a random end table. He followed you diligently into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he muttered.

“Oh, hey, Law!” you returned his greeting, mild surprise filling your eyes. “I didn’t hear you behind me!”

The man shrugged, leaning against the counter. You awkwardly fiddled with a glass bottle of beer, using the edge of the counter to pop open the metal cap. Law eyed you suspiciously.

“You don’t drink beer,” he stated, watching as you simply held the chilled bottle in your hands without making a move to drink it.

You smiled in response, but the gesture didn’t reach your eyes like it normally did. “I know… I just needed to get some air away from the living room for a little bit.”

Law couldn’t hold back the question fighting on his tongue. “Is Bellamy bothering you?”

Pointed stares were shared between the two of you before you finally, lightly, shook your head. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Something told him you were lying to his face.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you groaned. “Law… I know you don’t like him… but he’s really not that bad.”

“You didn’t seem to like it when he touched your ass,” the med student grumbled.

“Law, I don’t want to fight,” you retorted, firmly. “I don’t like it when Bellamy touches me, anywhere. I know he’s into me but I’m not into him, but I don’t want to cause a scene at a party I was graciously invited to.”

You had a point. Liquor was running as free as tap water within the stale, stuffy walls of the house, and saying or doing something that could potentially cause a fight wouldn’t be ideal. Especially since the police had already been called multiple times to a house just a few steps down the sidewalk from this one.

Law wished he could open his mouth and just tell you, tell you everything that had been on his mind, how he realized just recently (and yet somehow far too late for his liking) that he’s madly in love with you, how he doesn’t want to see you be treated poorly by someone who you call a friend, how he wished so desperately that you would see him in the same way, how he longed for your touch. But instead, he stayed silent, watching as you anxiously eyed the brown glass of the untouched beer bottle you still gripped in your hand, as if the bottle was the only thing keeping you glued to reality.

“I’m fine, Law,” you blurted. He hadn’t said anything more. With your eyes cast down to the floor, you left your beer bottle sitting open on the countertop before retreating back into the thick of the party.

The raven-haired student waited a few moments before returning as well, his metal folding chair unfortunately having been taken by two sweaty economics students locked in a very passionate, very inappropriate, makeout session. He pushed his way through the mingling crowd back toward the couch where he spotted you perched on the arm of the sofa this time, Bellamy practically flush against your body on the end cushion, his palm on your ass, fingers squeezing intermittently. The blonde was locked in an intense conversation with the man in front of him, and the look on your face screamed uncomfortable. Law felt his stomach flip over. Your eyes caught him again, and you frowned. A frown so deep that it left shadows under the creases of your lips. You looked… aged. Stressed. Afraid.

But Law kept his distance.

You didn’t want a scene to break out. You could handle yourself on your own.

Bellamy’s hand trailed from your ass down your thigh, your skin still protected by the rough denim of your jeans, but that didn’t stop his fingers from crawling around the front of your body and dipping between your thighs. The feeling of his intense hand trying to pull you apart in front of another man, without your consent, made you visibly tense up and pull away from him. Your motions finally made the blonde’s attention snap to you, his dark eyes narrowing and somehow becoming even more villainous.

“Don’t run off,” he snapped. “You’re sitting right here with me, all pretty like that.”

You steeled yourself. “Then I don’t want you touching me like that. We’re not an item, Bellamy.”

“I don’t care,” he huffed back. “I’ll touch you however I want.”

The music of the party, the chattering voices slurred with alcohol, faded completely around Law as he watched the argument unfold before his eyes. The only sounds entering his ear drums were the disgusting words leaving Bellamy’s mouth, the demands, the insults. The dim lights of the living room did very little to hide the way your face contorted in discomfort, trying to pull away from the blonde athlete even more.

“Bellamy, I said no,” you snapped.

No one seemed to be paying any attention to what was happening, all eyes everywhere but where they should have been. When you were being closed in on by a man much larger than you, no one was looking. You were alone.

And Law was somehow so far away.

“I don’t remember ever needing to listen to you,” the hyena chortled, his voice gravelly and nasally. “You should be lucky that you have a guy like me who’s into you. You’ll never be able to do better than me.”

You opened your mouth once more to shout a retort, but you were cut short. Bellamy’s clenched fist connected with your lower jaw, swiftly knocking you to the ground in a stunned shock. You fell like a lead brick, hitting the ground with a force that Law somehow felt through the soles of his shoes, rattling his bones and making his head spin. Your hands blindly scraped against the floor searching for your bearings, completely disoriented from the blow that had just met your bone. You brought one of your hands to your mouth, cupping your palm over your lips as your eyes closed, trying to block out every overwhelming color and sound filling your brain with a nuclear buzz.

And yet. No one. Noticed.

Law cleared the floor in an instant, just as Bellamy was yelling something about your worth being determined by your partnership with him. The fist inked with DEATH clocked the blonde in the temple, the short, stubbly blonde hairs leaving phantom singing pain on Law’s fingers. The hyena stumbled backward, catching himself on the arm of the sofa you were previously sitting on.

For a brief moment, the med student was gloatingly proud of himself. His father was a retired marine after all. Law knew a thing or two about a good punch. His thoughts were quickly retired, however, as he crossed the crowded floor to your side, quickly helping you to your feet and pushing through the crowd with you hunched over in his arms, tripping over your heels as he rapidly escorted you to the door.

Don’t cause a scene.

Bellamy didn’t follow, and Law counted his blessings. “Hey, your apartment’s on this street, right?”

With a hand still cupped over your mouth, you nodded. Your eyes were barely keeping themselves open, what was visible of your face contorted in a muted agony.

If Law was any less collected, he would’ve stomped that hyena’s face in with the heel of his boot.

The two of you were barely getting anywhere with your afflicted state. Law scooped you into his embrace, your legs wrapping around his hips and free hand clenching the soft fabric of his shirt as he carried you back to your apartment with one of his arms carefully supporting your rump. Thank goodness you lived so close, in a converted townhouse on the corner of the same street. Law still lived in on-campus housing across town, which was less than ideal for his tastes. He helped you fish your key from the pocket of your pants, keeping you in his grasp while he pushed the door open and entered the narrow entryway of your home. Your roommate was gone for the week visiting family on the other side of the country, so your place was completely dark and quiet.

Law flipped the light switch on just in time to watch you scurry to the first floor bathroom as soon as your feet touched the hard wooden floor, leaving the door open as the light in the smaller space flicked on as well. He quickly followed, standing in the doorway as you finally pulled your hand away from your mouth.

A few droplets of blood were dotting your palm, but when you opened your mouth, a worryingly large glob of bright crimson exited past your lips and splattered in the white porcelain of the sink. Law’s stomach lurched as he watched you try in vain to spit out the metallic liquid, your entire face scrunching up as the nauseating sensation and taste. Your shoulders shuddered with the feeling of your gag reflex bobbing in the back of your throat, forcing your stomach to hold its contents as you released drops of bright red into the white porcelain of the wash basin.

The med student’s first thought was that one or more of your teeth had been knocked loose or even came out permanently, but nothing solid landed in the sink. As you began to calm down from your spitting into the basin, your eyes began to well with overwhelmed tears. You gazed at Law in the mirror, his golden eyes locked on yours as a small dribble of blood and spit slid down the skin of your chin.

Wordlessly, your friend stepped into the bathroom with you, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and wetting it with warm water from the tap, wiping away the bloody drool that left your lips.

“I know it hurts, but I need you to open for me,” he muttered, gently holding your cheek in his hand as the other one balled up the toilet paper and discarded it into the open toilet bowl.

When you opened, Law reached into the back pocket of his speckled jeans and procured his phone, clicking on the flashlight without looking at his screen. He shined the light into your mouth and, to his relief, didn’t see any chipped, broken, or missing teeth. He did, however, see a substantial gash on the side of your tongue. You must have clamped down hard on the muscle with your teeth thanks to the force of the punch. The thought made a silent rage build in Law’s gut. He turned you around and closed the toilet lid, sitting you down and proceeding to rummage through your medicine cabinet.

He handed you two pieces of gauze wrap from below your sink. “I need you to hold these against the cut on your tongue, okay? Don’t remove them until I say so.”

You diligently followed his orders, taking the dry cloth from him and inserting it painfully into your mouth to rest on the stinging wound that cut your muscle. You watched as he continued to rummage through your supplies, pushing aside boxes of tampons and toilet cleaning chemicals and finally finding what he was hoping he would see- a brown plastic bottle. He stood from his crouching position, the bottle in his firm grasp. He spun the item around to gaze at its expiration date and hummed approvingly under his breath. He quickly exited the bathroom, leaving you alone for a few fleeting moments.

While he was gone, you were able to take a better look at your face. While one of your cheeks was puffed up slightly with the clump of gauze against your tongue, you could still make out the swelling of your skin on the same side. A large, black and blue bruise was quickly blooming along your jaw and up your cheek, your fractured capillaries leaking into your epidermis.

Law finally returned, a very small cup in his right hand and a bottle of diluted bleach in his left from the kitchen. You watched as he poured a small amount of clear liquid from the brown bottle into the small cup before running the sink tap and filling it the rest of the way with plain water. He handed the cup to you with no instructions before lightly spritzing the porcelain basin with the diluted chemical, running the tap once more and washing your blood away, making sure to scrub the entire bowl. He finally turned around to face you.

“I need you to swish that in your mouth for a few seconds, and then spit it out in the sink,” he directed. “It might taste kind of bitter.”

You carefully pulled the gauze out of your mouth, wincing as some of the light fibers pulled against your wounded muscle, but followed his directions and tossed the contents of the small cup back into your mouth, swishing with your cheeks puffed, trying to focus the liquid onto your wound. Just as Law warned, the taste was bitter, vaguely salty, but definitely not pleasant. Law finally stepped aside from the sink after a long 30 seconds and let you spit. Both the gauze and the clear solution you rinsed your mouth with were lacking blood, meaning your wound was already on the clotting and healing path.

After sputtering for a few moments, the faint smell of diluted bleach filling your nose from the sink, you placed the cup down on the counter and gazed at Law, who watched you with a keen eye. “What was that?”

“Hydrogen peroxide and water,” he uttered. “To disinfect your tongue. Luckily, peoples’ mouths tend to heal much faster than other body parts, so after a day or two of discomfort, you should be back to normal.”

Cleaned and disinfected, you finally started to let your mind sink on the gravity of the situation, your heart rate increasing and your eyes once again growing heavy and blurry with impending tears. You watched as Law, avoiding your gaze with a deep frown on his lips, grabbed your rinse cup from the counter and turned to head back to your kitchen. You quickly grabbed the fabric of his shirt sleeve to stop him in his tracks, the fuzziness of your vision causing the colors of his form in front of you to waver and warp, but that didn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his lean torso in a hug, the warm wetness from your eyes soaking the cotton of his clothing.

“Please don’t leave,” you uttered into his chest, your body trembling. With the adrenaline finally subsiding, the pain radiating from your jaw grew more and more noticeable. Every movement seemed to irritate your bruised bone, and talking felt like trying to articulate with a lead weight attached to your mandible.

With your face smushed into his clothing, you didn’t see when Law placed the cup back down on your counter, only hearing the soft tap of the plastic against the linoleum surface. His arms carefully, as if to not shatter you where you stood, wrapped around your waist, one hand coming to rest comfortably in between your shoulder blades, his fingers sprawling out over your spine before retracting and collecting some of the fabric from your own shirt into his inked fingers. It felt like his hand was made specifically to bring you comfort.

—

It took some time for you to calm yourself down enough to relocate from the bathroom doorway to the small living space you typically shared with your roommate when she was home. You listened with your head resting on a soft pillow and an ice pack nursing your jaw as Law busied himself between your bathroom and kitchen, washing the cup, cleaning off the bathroom counter and sink for a second time, and disposing of the small garbage bag where your bloody gauze had ended up. Your living room was dark, with the only light coming from the kitchen, just enough to catch glimpses of Law’s shadow moving about the space. Your face ached from the force of crying against your bruised jaw bone, your eyelids uncomfortably sliding over your corneas, dry and fragile after expelling what was easily the rest of the water in your body.

After what felt like an eternity, Law finally emerged from the kitchen, carefully approaching your laid out form on the couch. He kneeled in front of you and adjusted the ice pack against your cheek slightly, the tenderness of his fingers ghosting over your own. Your heart galloped in your chest.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess,” you groaned, forcing your dry eyes closed to avoid Law’s pensive stare.

“You didn’t drag me into anything. I acted on my own,” he replied stoically, his hand remaining within close proximity to your own. His tattooed fingers flexed a few times, eager to take your hand in his, but he eventually relented and let his limb fall back to his side.

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, curling your legs up toward your chest. “But you could’ve gotten hurt.”

Law bit the inside of his cheek at your words, his own chest clenching in disdain, not for you, but for the hyena that had left you feeling such a way. “I don’t care if I get hurt if it means you stay safe.”

When your eyes opened, they were small. Weak. Like you had been fighting some unknown battle in your skull for as long as you could remember. You truly looked tired and ragged, and Law wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms until all your life’s woes flushed away like the aftermath of a rainstorm.

“Law…” you began, your mouth opening and closing a few times, at a loss for what to continue with. “I never really liked Bellamy.”

The man stayed quiet, his lips pulled in a taut line.

“But sometimes, when you get really uncomfortable, all you can do is laugh and smile. Because you hope that acting friendly and cordial and cute will keep you safe from danger.” Your voice was so fragile, your words mumbled as you continued to cradle your jaw with the thawing ice pack against your skin. “I never wanted to hang out with Bellamy, but he scared me so much and I just… didn’t know how to say no. I didn’t want to get hurt.”

Again.

Law’s own jaw clenched, suppressing a bubbling rage as he relived the blonde’s actions from a few hours prior. A deep-rooted maniacal side of the medical student wished he could gut the D-1 athlete in his sleep, but what good would that do? It certainly wouldn’t help you in the way you needed it. And the fact that your attempts to protect yourself had only led you to getting attacked in the first place made his blood boil in his veins. But he needed to stay calm for you. Anger solves no issues. He learned that from Cora, his best friends, and now you.

A bout of anger got you out of the situation you were stuck in, and now you needed comfort.

“What…” he began, stumbling. “What do you want from me? To help you?”

After a few brief moments of silence, the only sound cutting through the darkness being the faint wrrr of your air conditioning unit, you finally spoke up. “Can you spend the night with me?”

Law blinked once, then twice. “Here?”

“Yeah. In my room.”

He gazed at you through the darkness, his golden eyes widened. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

You emitted a small gust of air through your nose. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Fair enough. “Do you have anywhere you want me to sleep?” he asked, helping you sit up against the couch cushions and carefully easing the ice back off of your jaw. The swelling had gone down substantially, but it would still take a week or two for the bruise to fully heal.

One of your hands remained planted against his shoulder, gripping the cotton of his shirt. “In my bed. I feel safe with you, Law. It’s really okay.”

After receiving your words of affirmation, Law stood from his crouched position and guided you to stand through the darkness, his hand in yours and the other clutched around the ice pack. He discarded the item on your kitchen counter to be dealt with in the morning, keen on getting you comfortable under your secure blankets. You gladly followed him, stepping carefully through the dark home into your bedroom where you blindly navigated to your bedside lamp, pulling down on the cord to activate the light. The warm orange glow flooded the room, making the two of you squint your eyes.

Law could finally see just how bad your bruise really was. A large, black and blue swollen welt tinged with red the exact size of a harshly clenched fist was carved across your skin. The sight of the impact was much more swollen compared to the other side. You had taken a hit most street thugs hadn’t ever dealt with.

“It’s really bad, isn’t it,” you asked, voice still paper-thin and anxious.

“It’s… definitely a decent injury,” Law responded bluntly, inwardly cursing himself at his awkward language.

You didn’t hold it against him, however. Instead, you stripped off your clothes, crawling into bed and leaving the other side open for Law.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asked, one more time.

You nodded. “Yes.”

Law followed your initial lead, taking off his jeans, followed by his shirt and socks, leaving only his boxers covering him. He carefully crawled into the space in your blankets you had left open for him, laying on his back like a plank with his hands awkwardly draped over his abdomen. You pulled down on the cord to your lamp once more and flooded the room with darkness.

The med student felt the mattress dip as you moved closer to him, effortlessly draping yourself over his body, as if you were made to fit into the crevice of his neck. His hands found their position around your back and waist yet again, surrounding you in the comfort you had been longing for all night. You nestled your face into the soft skin of his neck, slow, deep breaths setting a hypnotic, drowsy pace for the both of you to fall into slumber.

No words had to be exchanged, not until the morning at least. Your legs tangled together and your hearts beating in sync did all the talking for now.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #request fics

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myosotisa · 4 months

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deep end - s.h.

Steve Harrington x Reader

‖ summary: You and the gang have a pool day and some bad memories come up.

‖ tags: angst, hurt with very little comfort, post season 4, everyone lives (but that don't mean they ain't got trauma lmao), no y/n, no pronouns, reader is referred to as "honey". depictions of PTSD, anxiety/panic attacks. tw for fear of drowning. past tense? present tense? the fic is tense, that's for sure.

‖ word count: 2k

Today, May 6th, 1986, was a good day.

Up until very recently, most of the days had not been good at all. Spring break had done a number on all of you – nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks. Some worse than others.

But today was a good day.

At least, until it wasn't.

Summer sun had invaded Hawkins and left everyone sweating and seeking shade after even a few minutes outside. AC blasted indoors and opened windows begged for a breeze to come through and bring some solace from the heat. The community pool was packed shoulder to shoulder and nearly impossible to get into – but that was fine.

Because Steve Harrington had his own pool.

Eddie, Lucas, Dustin, and Max were all already in the suburban backyard by the time you showed up with Robin. Steve had joined the other boys in the shallow end to start up a game of chicken – Dustin on Steve’s shoulders and Lucas on Eddie’s. Max sat on the pool’s edge with the water up to her shins, not able to get in further with the cast still on her right arm, and rolled her eyes as her friends tumbled over and into the water just to get back up again.

Robin went to go and sit by Max while you let yourself into the Harrington home, a container of drinks destined for the fridge just inside. By the time you had them chilling and pushed back out into the oppressive heat, Steve had pulled himself out of my pool to wait for you.

“Hi honey,” he said with a sticky sweet smile, ducking in to press a kiss to your cheek and dripping water on your cover-up.

“Hey handsome,” was your easy reply, Steve's smile lighting up further at the compliment. You called him handsome all the time and he still reacted like he'd never heard it before.

“Harrington, come on!”

His smile fell slightly as he rolled his eyes, shrugging at you before jogging back over to the pool.

You were just about to pull out your book and set up on one of the deck chairs when Nancy and Mike pushed through the fence gate.

More happy greetings, a hug from Nancy, and some chatting about the things she'd brought with her. Mike stripped off his shirt and shoes before walking over to the pool steps beside Max, submerging to his chest as he watched the others continue their game.

Robin came over and helped you and Nancy blow up the 3 inner tubes she had brought – Robin having to rescue you both with her superior musicians lungs. She quickly claimed the green dinosaur float, falling into it in the water as Dustin and Mike started to squabble over what kind of dinosaur it was supposed to be.

While you had originally grabbed the unicorn float, with it's pink hair and blue horn, you were quick to notice the longing glances from Nancy and offered a trade. She never would've ended up asking for it – she thought it was too childish to actually want the unicorn float – but you didn't miss the giddy grin on her face as she traded with you and settled into the pool a lot more gracefully than Robin.

So, with your strawberry frosted donut float and book in hand, you laid out on the sticky plastic and began to roast beneath the summer sun.

You and Nancy both had paperbacks cracked open while Robin seemed content to attempt a nap beneath her shades. Max busied herself by using a foot to gently push your floats around like a slow and lazy game of bumper cars. Mike finally succumbed to peer pressure and joined in with the boys playing with a volleyball toward the deep end and everything was good.

Everyone was smiling and laughing. Warm and lazy with the heat of a good, summer day.

Focused on a particularly intense chapter, you hardly noticed someone approaching your float until a wet chin draped itself over your arm.

Steve was looking at you with that lovesick smile again, his hair wet and pushed back as his tan skin glowed beneath the golden rays. “Enjoying your book?”

“I am, thank you very much.” But still, you placed it down on your stomach and turned your attention to your pretty boyfriend. “Are you having a good day?”

“Might have a couple bruises tomorrow, but not a big deal.” He hooks a wet arm over the side of your float, anchoring himself to you, and the skin along your thigh breaks out in goosebumps from the sudden brush of water.

“Steve, that's cold!”

He barely conceals a laugh, grin growing wider, before he tilts further toward you. “What, this?”

Was the only warning you got before he shook his head out like a dog, water flying from the ends of his hair and sprinkling all over you.

You nearly squealed, shoving him off and shouting about him getting your book wet, even though the smile on your face betrayed you.

After a few minutes of insisting it was funny as you fake pouted, and then Steve giving you some pathetic puppy dog eyes, you accepted his half hearted apology and settled again – one hand intertwined with Steve's as he held onto your float.

“Nance seems fine,” he said quietly, bringing your attention to the brunette. You had told him earlier you were worried about today, about bringing her back to the pool she spent two years barely able to look at, but she seemed perfectly at ease on her unicorn float. Just slowly turning page after page as she continued through the fantasy romance novel you’d lent her last week.

“Yeah,” you agreed, exhaling a relieved sigh, “I'm glad. She deserves it, y'know? We all do.”

Steve's hand squeezed yours, bringing your attention back to him on your other side. “You're the best, you know that, right?”

Not expecting the compliment, you got slightly flustered with the praise. “No, that's you,” you joked with a light flick to the tip of his nose.

He released your hand in mock offense, pushing your float slightly away as he put on a dramatic frown. He inhaled to reply, mouth parting, before he suddenly disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

The next few moments played out in slow motion.

In reality, Lucas and Eddie dove under the water to sneak up behind Steve – each of them grabbing an ankle and tugging him under as a practical joke.

To Steve, his heart stopped.

His chest constricted as his heart rate doubled, eyes squeezing shut as the panic gripped him tight and he waited to be pulled through the gate and thrown out on the other side.

Water filled his mouth from his half completed inhale as he was dragged under – his eyes widening and immediately beginning to burn from the chlorine.

But he wasn't in the pool anymore. It was dark; so, so dark and cold. He couldn't see anything through the murky water as he sunk lower and lower. The vice around his ankle held tight as he gave a kick, continuing to pull him back down to hell again.

To you, the world flipped on its side.

The last thing you saw before Steve went under was a flash of panic in his wide, brown eyes. Just like that night, on the boat. When he got dragged down and didn't come back up again.

“Steve?!” Your call is shrill, very quickly panicked as your adrenaline surged and your body tensed for a fight. It gets the attention of the rest of the group but you don't notice – eyes hyper focused on the spot he was before he disappeared.

In reality, you could glance down and see him in the clear water, just barely a foot below the surface. But you're not there in the Harrington’s pool. You're on a boat at Lover’s Lake and the man of your dreams just disappeared into the murky depths below.

“Steve?!” You scream again, rolling off your float and into the cool water, just like you had that night. I have to go after him, I have to get to him.

You vaguely register someone calling your name but you’re diving under, eyes burning instantly as you continue to look at Steve.

Eddie and Lucas have let him go now after sensing some sort of commotion from above, but Steve isn't moving. He isn't trying to swim up, though he is slowly ascending toward the surface. He's completely frozen there in the water, curled in on himself defensively.

You grab him and he grabs you in response, his nails digging into your bicep painfully as his eyes shoot open again. He doesn't even seem to realize its you before the two of you break the surface again.

Steve gasps for air – choking slightly on the water that was still in his mouth – and then starts to cough as he grabs tightly to you with both hands.

Your heart is pounding against your ribs like a hummingbird as your eyes rapidly scan him for the battered bruising across his throat, the blood coming from his mouth. “Steve? Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

Robin is by your side an instant later, her head and shoulders still dry as she comes around the side to place a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder while he coughs out chlorinated water.

Steve gives a stuttered nod as the coughing stops and he's able to take another deep breath in, his grip on you loosening to not be so painful as he closes his eyes. His inhales are coming through quickly, his eyebrows drawn together tight like he's in pain.

Your tunnel vision begins to scope out and you catch sight of Lucas and Eddie looking pained and apologetic in your periphery. They're both treading water in the deep end as you turn on them, anxiety and panic filtering out quickly into rage.

“What the fuck is your problem, huh?!” You snap, causing both of them to jump. Lucas's eyes are wide as saucers and Eddie looks like he's half tempted to book it just from the look on your face. “What the fuck kind of trick was that?! Maybe I should pull a gun on you, Lucas, just for fun. Or maybe, Eddie, I'll loop a rope around your neck for a few minutes and see how the fuck you like being reminded of almost dying!”

Both of them wince, drawing back from your outrage, which only makes you want to advance.

“H-honey,” Steve stutters beside you, half scolding and half terrified as he tries to put on a brave face. “It was just a joke.”

You turn your wild eyes back on him, body still reeling in fight or flight mode, as you realize his hands are trembling and the wetness to his eyes isn't from the pool at all. While you could easily continue to scream at them (which, when you're in a rational headspace again, you will feel guilty for), you focus in on Steve.

“Come on, let's go get you dried off, okay?” You offer much quieter, hovering close to him to try to keep you both grounded. He gives another shaky nod and lets you lead him over to the steps and out of the pool.

No one in the group says a word as you wrap him in a towel and then drape one over your own shoulders before sitting both of you down on one of the deck chairs. He continues to tremble slightly beside you as you tuck yourself tightly to his side, resting your head on his shoulder as you try to comfort him (and yourself).

We’re safe here. We’re okay. We’re going to be fine.

Everyone else watches silently as your paperback continues to collect water until it sinks down to the bottom of the deep end.

It was a good day. Until it wasn't.

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #myos ideas #myo4harrington

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pinkslaystation · 2 months

Text

[Part 2] Unimpressive yet Impressed.

König and gn!Reader

Part 2 to Impressive yet unimpressed! In which König attempts to reconcile with you after his attack. TOOK 4EVER but part 2 is here teehee fuck midterms Word count: 4.3k; translations in purple, shout out google translate.

König sat on the cold plastic chair beside your hospital bed in the infirmary, for what felt like months. 2 to be exact.

The room was empty at 2 A.M on a grey Sunday. Of course it was, it was 6 hours past visiting hours ended, but König couldn't help but enter through the infirmary's window, tiptoe past all the injured, asleep soldiers, and rest on the chair, watching your chest painfully heave up and down, with ragged breathes.

His first sane thought was to break into the respected infirmary, where he remembers laying after broken bones, with you besides him. It makes sense for him to return the favour.

I mean...he's the reason you're in a coma in the first place...

After attempting to check up on you, he'd overheard the doctors' order: You see a poorly dressed mammoth of a man, you tell security immediately. The poor girl's distressed enough, mentioned the Colonel's name and her heart rates quicken to an alarming rate.

That broke his heart. He loved having such an affect on you, yes! But in a 'cutesy-butterflies-in-my-stomach' way, not a 'panic-attack-about-to-die-omfg-scary-man-alert' way!

So he sits here, patiently waiting for the sun to rise, so he can exit the infirmary as quietly as possible, and sneak into, yet again, another room. Yours. Where he lays in your bed. Using your expensive floral soaps. Ate your food. Anything to feel like you were with him again.

He swears he sees your fingers shift, closed eyes twitching ever so gently, but according to your files (which he stole), stated that you 'were in a worse state that before, slowly recovering although there's limited hope,' and ah 'one of the worst non-mission on-base injuries seen'.

His actions caused great harm, I mean look at you. But one would say his plan worked.

News spread like wildfire, with almost everyone talking about the combat room incident. Soldiers murmured everywhere he walked.

König means King you know, bro lives up to the name.

He's a fucking beast, beating her up like that, mans got no emotion i swear.

Heard he's getting promoted for that stunt he pulled...

And indeed he was getting more recognised. His once slow forgotten image was roaring in popularity, with his higher-ups signing him up for more missions than one should be given.

"It's a great opportunity Colonel. I mean you've improved this month! Like you're on steroids or sum'" König finds himself being cornered in the hallway of the barracks by his superior, cheeks wet and reddening under this mask, after sneaking out of your room one morning.

His superior's eyes glisten cunningly, "And uh...those moves, yeah. Impressive." His head nods, gesturing towards your room.

König squints his eyes, glaring so hard in pure shame, he swear he feels his eyeballs vibrate. But instead he walks off, vowing to abstain himself from anymore violence. He's learnt his lesson.

'Unimpressive...' he mumbles, physically shivering as his mind is forced to recall that fateful day again.

Minutes feel like days and days feel like months, and all those hospital visits from your teammates gradually decrease, some unable to see you resting corpse-like with jagged scars painting your skin, some purposely avoiding the whole situation, with paperwork as their main excuse.

But König finds solace staring at your almost dead but resting state. Yes, he cringes at the slightly bent nose, the busted lip, and the countless stitches on your scalp, but overall he notes you seem peaceful on the bed.

Not like that fearful expression you pulled before he...you remember.

Though he'd rejected the numerous proposals to lead missions, he finds himself persuaded into changing into his musky, unwashed uniform, adjusting his mask whilst attempting to silence his growing headache. One more König, one more mission. Think about who you're doing this for. Think about your future. Think about that cottage. Think about that Austrian countryside.

So he gears up, attempting to push you away from his thoughts, though he can't. He curses himself for using your floral scented soaps, his senses being heightened and hyper-focusing on it the entire ride in that aircraft. It smells like you. Not like that dreaded dull stench of the hospital.

His train of thoughts halt as his superior yells strings of commands towards his team, and his priority shifts to stays alive for you.

After exiting the aircraft he takes a good look of his surrounding, as his team gather round in group, and his face drops. It looks like just Alpbach, the countryside he wanted to settle down in with you.

His eyes catch the small row of houses and buildings kilometres away.

That was meant to be the cottage you two grow old in...

"König! Where's your mind at?"

His eyes clench.

No time for mistakes.

2000 kilometres away, lay you. Eyes indeed twitching rapidly. You were most definitely not conscious yesterday, but the memory of a German bedtime story being read to you early morning comes to you frequently, must be deja vu.

Today though, you open your eyes, lazily making eye-contact with the medical intern who'd been studying you for research purposes.

"Hey, hope you don't mind m- OH MY GOD. UM- OH. MY GOD. ¿QUÉ DEMONIOS ESTÁ PASANDO? EH, ¿POR QUÉ ESTÁ DESPIERTA? VUELVE A DORMIR." What the fuck is happening. Um, why is she awake, go back to sleep!

And a week passes by, and your movements are restricted to sitting up and switching the TV channel. But you're better. Your closest 2 teammates visit you daily now, adorning you with gifts, like your luxurious chocolates.

But no one dares mention his name. Not even you. You don't care about the lack of flowers or medals by your bed like your last hospital visit.

"But you should have seen her face-" One of your teammates chokes on his laugh, caught up on a story you'd missed, "bitch tried to tackle me-" he stifles a laugh, "ever seen a mouse try to fight a lion-"

"How are you still on that, it was 2 weeks ago!"

You turn to your other friend, stationed at the other side of your bed.

"Wow, sounds like I'm stronger than you, and I'm in hospital." You tease her, cheeks aching from smiling too hard, a painful feeling you've missed.

"Dude, I tried to tackle him, König styl- I mean. I- um. Sorry-"

Oh.

Your face flashes a pained look, before your eyebrows furrow in anger, fixating on your clenched fingers.

"She, um, she didn't mean that. It's just-" your friend tries to defend her.

"So what's that fucker up to, huh?" You ask, though it comes out more like a command than a question.

"Um...he's on a mission, like in Austria or something, I don't know.-"

You scoff, "Good, hope that asshole dies there."

Another month and another successful mission from König's team go by, and your higher ups have talked you into being stuck at an office desk, buried in paperwork. It's long and monotonous, and although you want to be focus on improving your overall physical ability, your grateful you don't see as many soldiers on the base as usual, given the amount of pitied looks you've gotten after being discharged.

But hey! The good news in that you're not doing it all on your own. You occupy a small office with a lower ranked soldier, and though you both work under different positions, you both share a similarity. Both victims of König. The soldier you'd seen on the floor, who'd looked like he'd left bleeding to death, also recovered moderately well, and he sits across your desk, cheeks always looking flushed. As if he's still sick.

"You have another pen? Um, this one's ran out."

He's got a gentle voice, like König, but his don't make you pause in fear. He's definitely not as bulky as König rather, he's on the other end of the spectrum. Shorter, leaner, less muscular. But his differences to König make you appreciate him more.

"Huh- yeah, here." You toss a pen towards him and he clumsily misses it, apologising before crouching to pick it up, and you don't fail to catch his bruised knuckles and wrists.

"Thanks..." he mumbles shyly, pulling his sleeves down after realising what your gaze on.

You both haven't discussed it, but have mentally agreed not to talk about that night in the combat room.

"Team's coming back from an assignment today. Or so I heard." He strikes up a conversation, blushing and still avoiding eye contact.

You smile at him, humming as your fingers type away at the keyboard, "Hmm, when do they get back?"

"Couple of hours from now...it's been a month I think."

You nod in response, "They wish they were doing paperwork right now."

He snorts, before coughing it away from embarrassment, but you smirk at his reaction.

"Adorable." You mumble.

"What?" His eyebrows raise.

"Huh?" You mock teasingly.

The evening of paperwork and back and forth banter goes by, and you find yourself with him - who you've now nicknamed 'Paperwork' - at the canteen, sitting and eating alone, isolating yourselves from the obvious glances and murmurs from the other soldiers, yet neither of you want to mention the obvious unspoken tension.

"All my soap's gone, Paperwork!" You look at the obvious peaking black eye that he failed to cover fully with the wrong shade of foundation.

He looks at you curiously, amused at the new found nickname.

"Like, it's gone, and my bed's all messy." There's a cut on his plump lips.

He nods awkwardly.

"Food's nice." You state, receiving a hum from him, but you focus on his swollen wrists, gently reaching to touch them.

He flinches, dropping the steel cutlery on the floor, earning more stares than before, if that was possible, squeaking an apology and continuing to eat like nothing happened.

He's cute. You smile. He's nothing like him.

You continue munching on your food, unaware of the stares you receive. Of the stare you receive.

The 6'10 colonel stands metres away from you at the entrance of the canteen, your back turned to him, as his fists clench and squeeze at the first bouquet of hand-picked Austrian flowers out of envy, as he studies your new found friendship. Considering it's the evening, he's happy he's standing in the dimly lit corridor by the mess hall doors, so he's aware that you cannot see him.

But König can see you.

Most importantly, König can see you, with him.

Was zum Teufel macht er mit ihr? He curses. What the fuck is he doing with her?

"The food's shit mate-" He's interrupted by lower ranked soldiers, and he skillfully moves out of the way to hide behind the door, as they enter the mess hall, and he swears you turn back to look at him.

He wants to walk up to you. He wants to look at you straight in the face and apologise, but he deep down knows that no matter what he says to you, what he gifts you, what he promises you- you will never forgive you for his abuse. For the way he neglected you and your feelings, for putting his greed before you.

And he knows deep down, you'd be happier with...with him. That puny guy. Aren't soldiers meant to be strong and muscular? This guys looks the same weight as König's left calf, no wonder he beat him up to a pulp.

He scoffs, ignoring the sinking feeling in his heart, hearing your laugh at whatever this guy says to you. Deep down he knows he lost you. Deep down he knows he's no longer yours.

"Hey, I'm gonna get my phone, I think I left it in my room, see you in a bit?" You ask the soldier, and after he nods, you find yourself walking towards the entrance of the mess hall.

König watches as you walk towards the door and he swears his mind pauses.

You're walking towards him? Right now? What is he meant to say to you? Are the flowers okay? Would you like them? Would you even talk to him?

He finds his anxiety catching up to him all of a sudden, head feeling light and palms beginning to sweat. Though he feels a rise of panic, he doesn't find the strength to move, not even a muscle. He wishes you were by his side, stroking his biceps.

But you're not by his side. Yet, that is.

You open the semi-transparent door, yawning inaudibly, closing your eyes in the process.

And you walk straight into a brick wall-

"Holy shit, you scared me..." You look up at him, halting immediately after you realise who you bumped into.

König looks down at you, and like his brain, his heart stops and skips a beat.

"Liebling- what- who- why are you talking to him? Are you over me that quickly?" darling-

You glare up and him angrily. Over 2 months without König and no apology? And instead he dares question your relationships with other soldiers.

"Listen mein baby, I'm tired, can we just go back to our room-" my baby

"Our room?" The first words you've uttered to König before the incident.

"Our. Room?"

König looks away in embarrassment. "Liebling, can we talk in our-your room, I don't feel comfortable being here-"

"You don't feel comfortable? You don't feel comfortable? Oh what, now I'm supposed to care about YOUR feelings like you care about MINE? Are you fucking kidding me right now?" You point your finger at his chest as you feel your emotions pouring out.

"I-"

"You don't get the fucking right to tell me what I fucking do, you insolent freak. Yeah no wonder you were abused as kid, maybe domestic violence runs in your fucking blood." König widens his eyes at that last dig, knowing you said it only to hurt him, which it did.

He watches you walk away angrily, stomping down the dark corridor, slowing fading out of his vision and into the dark.

He knows he lost you.

He knows, but he'll try again.

The next 2 weeks you receive letter upon letter, all written in various languages, some in English, some in German, some in your mother-tongue, which were definitely google translated.

And every single one, you burnt. You wake up with them under the door of your room, and every single time you take your lighter and burn the bottom right corner without even bothering to read the entire letter. König could write a fucking novel for you, but nothing would fix the evident hatred you felt for the Colonel.

"And he just sends so many damn letter, like enough Shakespeare." You groan to your paperwork partner.

Over the weeks you've definitely bonded with him more, eating together more often, roaming the grounds more often, hell, one night he even slept on the couch in your room! You're grateful to have him by your side, if he weren't there, you would be spiraling down a hole of indefinite depression. Though, you question whether you could say the same to him, and you swear he ever so silently shifts away from you.

"You shouldn't get back with him." He warns you.

You smirk, "Paperwork, you jealous?" and he coughs aggressively in response.

Your smile thins, "But for real, I would never. What he did to me, what he did to you- it's unforgivable. I promise."

He nods wincing at the thought of seeing you with König, a smile ever so gently etching on his flushed face.

"You wanna go take a walk around?"

So you both tour around the base, past the barracks, past the canteen, past that damn combat room, through the gardens, until you find yourselves sitting on the benches by the empty concrete grounds, a comfortable silence filling the air.

The sunny yet cold weather breezes past you, your pony-tailed hair gently swaying towards the direction of the wind as you stare at both your shadows in front of you.

"Weather's nic- are you fucking for real?!" You grip the bench, gritting your teeth as you see a taller third shadow rising beside the original two shadows. Paperwork, looking behind him, jumps out of the bench after realising it was his superior.

"Colonel, sir", he salutes towards König, "sir- I-."

You interrupt him instantly, "Paperwork, I love you, but shut the fuck up."

"2 weeks and we're confessing our feelings already huh?" König stares down at the two of you.

"The only person that should be confessing their feelings should be you, Colonel. To a fucking therapist." You scoff.

"Schatz, listen-"

"Nothing you say will change my mind König. I don't want to see you anymore. Can't you get that through your thick skull or is that shitty cloth on your big head getting in the way?"

König feels his eyes shut involuntarily, being bombarded with all these insults, "Can I not apologise? Did you not read my letters?"

You laugh sarcastically, "König, you're a better clown than a Colonel, cos you're a fucking joke. Now leave me the hell alone." You brisk-walk away, yanking Paperwork behind you, who shoots an apologetic look towards König.

"Scheisse...." König mumbles. Shit....

König's relentless attempts of begging for your forgiveness were all fruitless. He attempting breaking into your room to leave flowers on your bed, but he didn't realise that he'd see you and Paperwork hanging out in the living room.

"Didn't realise there was a fucking rat infestation in this fucking building." You groaned, before slamming the window shut on König's fingers, as he jumped at the pain before falling 2 stories down onto the hard ground.

And there was a time he even had the audacity to sit next to Paperwork, across from you on the dinner table in the canteen.

"Hallo-" But he was rudely ignored by you throwing your scorching hot coffee straight onto his uncovered forearms.

"NEIN, MEINE ARME, ICH WERDE STERBEN, MAMA, HILFE!" NOOOO MY ARMS I'M GONNA DIE MAMA HELP

His useless attempts to woo you remained ... well, useless. You'd never spare a second for him, unless you inflicted pain onto him, like when you knocked down the weights at the gym on top of his feet, or when you 'accidentally' kicked his crotch as he snuck up from behind you. Although you found it funny, going back to your dorm to tell Paperwork about the new event, you just couldn't scratch the burning feeling in your chest. Like you only hit him, burnt him, kicked him out of spite, out of anger, out of revenge from that pain he caused onto you. You may be angry at him for his actions, but you knew hurting him just wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to be the bigger person, and cut him out of your life once and for all.

If only he got the hint.

When you found yourself forcing yourself to knock on his door, cringing at the awkward silence, you had learned from Paperwork that König had be assigned for another mission, which was listed for 2 months.

Ahhhh, 2 months without König. What a dream.

But oh how quickly those months have gone by. One month in, and you and Paperwork were back on the field. The doctor gave you both the signal that physical activity was okay, if done carefully, so now your evenings before dinner, you two would be found dead lifting at the gym.

And damn, did Paperwork look good in a black compression shirt.

"3, come on, 2 let's go Paperboy, 1 more 1 more come on, okaayyy and you're done, well done!" You patted him on his back.

"You're getting better, boy!" You toss him your water bottle, which he takes graciously.

Out of breath but smiling, he nods contently, sitting down on the mat, gesturing you to sit beside him.

"I need to tell you something." He starts, and you look at him narrowing your eyes.

"Don't tell me you have a wife and 3 kids and home..." You snort at him, quickly silencing yourself after he doesn't return a laugh.

"Listen, I was thinking..." He looks away from you.

"This isn't for me anymore-"

You furrow your eyebrows, "This friendship, did I make you uncomfortable, did König tell you I like you?" You ramble on.

"You like me?" He tilts his head, ignoring everything else you've said.

"Huh?"

"hUh? No! No. No, I've been thinking about my career in the army, and I've done it for like 2 years now, which you know, isn't a lot, but the paperwork we did together...it changed me."

You're the confused one now.

"Maybe I'm destined for an office job, maybe this, this just isn't me..." He trails off, finally meeting your eyes, looking for an answer.

You nod, and this time you look away, "No, that makes sense."

There's a pause in the conversation, and for a while, the both of you just stare at the other gym-goers in the vicinity.

You sigh, "I've been doing some of my own thinking you know..."

"You have?"

"Yeah, I talked to the boss and I asked for a tr-"

Suddenly the door, bursts open, and your friends run towards you, huffing, "König-" huff, "He's-" huff, "oh my days, I am so out of breath, I've come to the right place, the gym!"

"Get to the damn point, woman! König in the hospital, he's been shot-"

That was enough to get you up and running.

A 4 hour surgery later, and you and Paperwork sat outside of the hospital door, the same one where you were admitted to, and the same one König lay behind. Paperwork swears he felt his eyes strain, watching you walk up and down the corridor, and he questions whether there was still some unspoken, remaining feelings you had for his superior.

The doctors, leave the room, with a solemn look to their faces, greeted with you running up to you immediately.

"So? Is he finally dead?"

"Ma'am, what- no. He's good, he's recovering rapidly. He's also asking for you." A doctor states, pointing towards, leading both you and Paperwork towards the room.

The hospital rooms still sends shivers down your back, memories of the previous few months rushing back to you all of a sudden, but you're calmed down by the soft rub on the small of your back by Paperwork, who's already looking at you with a soft smile.

You walk towards the bed, with Paperwork standing behind you.

"König. And you're still here."

You look down at you and you wince.

There König lie, bloodied and bruised worse than ever. If your state when you were admitted was described as the worse, you wondered what the doctors were to say when they saw him.

"Schnucki...bist du das?" Sweetie-pie...is that you?

"König honey, what happened?" You gently rub the tears of his swollen face.

"Feind…habe es nicht gesehen…es tut mir alles leid..." Enemy…didn't see…i'm sorry for everything

You hum stroking his bare face, and you look back to Paperwork, knowing it's probably his first time seeing the Colonel maskless.

"Papierkram, es tut mir alles leid...Ich bin ein beschissener Mann mit noch beschisseneren Taten, aber du kannst es in dir finden, mir zu vergeben...." Paperwork, i'm sorry for everything. I'm a shitty man with shittier actions, but you can find it in yourself to forgive me.

Paperwork smiles, nodding as he understood what the fuck the Colonel just said to him in the foreign language, "Sì, non preoccuparti, amico." yeah dont you worry mate (italian)

"Glaubt dieser Idiot, dass ich Italiener bin?" Does this idiot think I'm italian, König warily asks looking at you.

Stroking your cheek, you giggle.

"König, listen. What you did, was...unforgivable."

König sits up slowly with your help, listening intently.

"But as much as I want to strangle you and throw you as you did to me...it's not going to solve any issues."

König tears up.

"I'll never forgive the memories we made together König. I really did love you. But-"

"But?" he squeaks.

"But we're done. I want to be someone's priority always. And König, let's be real, you need to talk to someone about all these pent up emotions."

König nods, tears now streaming down his face.

You wipe his tears, "Hey, hey, don't cry okay, listen. I know it's hard, but it's for the best. We both need to heal and grow separately. Maybe someday we can be friends again, but we need space."

König nods again, sniffling as he tries to compose himself. "I understand. I'll seek help, I promise."

You smile softly, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. "That's all I ask. Take care of yourself, König."

He nods once more, and you lean in to give him a gentle hug before standing up. As you start to stand up, you hear him whisper, "Danke für alles." Thank you, for everything.

Paperwork walks towards you, his arm wrapped your waist.

"Pass auf sie auf, ja?" Look after her, will you?

Paperwork nods, "Sì, signore, lo farò." Yes sir i will. (italian)

"Boy if you don't- listen. I wanted to tell you both something.

The two men look at you intensely.

"What I wanted to say at the gym...and to you König...I've been thinking, for a few months now."

The two men look at each other.

"I've talked to the superiors about this, but I requested a transfer. To England. And...it was approved this morning." You mutter.

König and Paperwork widen their eyes.

"Liebling, that's amazing! I mean I'm sad to see you go as a friend and a team mate, offensichtlich, but I'm happy. Truly impressed soldier." Darling, offensichtlich - obviously.

Paperwork smiles by your side, squeezing your arm gently, "England here I come," and you chuckle to the thought with him by your side.

"Where are you being transferred to you?" König asks.

"Oh, um, Task Force One-Four-One."

Why choose between Paperwork and König when you can have both, YALL GET ME?! Also this should've have taken me so long, my God, but i'm glad it's done fr, sorry for the wait :D also not proofread, so if you see any mistakes, treat it like a middle child and ignore it <3 I have a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

#call of duty #cod #konig angst #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader #cod konig #konig mw2 #call of duty modern warfare

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slushiepizza · 18 days

Text

Lazy Bones

Relationship : Guy & Guy's Dad, Guy & his parents

Tags : Father-Son Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues, Angst, Hurt-no-Comfort, Executive Dysfunction, Guy is more similar to his dad than he thought much to his dismay, and he has to grit his teeth and move on Toxic Family Dynamic

Word Count : 1,772

ao3 notes: something something he's gonna make it through this year if it kills him /j; both guy and his father are hinted to have mental health issues that i didn't specify for fear of ruining the immersion, but i do have a specific condition in mind when i wrote them this way

Guy knew what sort of day it was as soon as he woke up that afternoon.

His small dorm room was a vacuum, where time moved both like molasses and the speed of light. The dollar-store curtains did little to keep the afternoon sun away from the room. The AC slowly hummed. He could hear laughter outside- probably people coming back from class. His bones were stationary, and the defeated sort of embrace of the blanket welcomed him like a home.

He mentally started counting down from ten and forced himself to move. He slowly made his way to the bathroom in the muted darkness, wincing when he accidentally kicked something plastic and sent it skidding across the floor. He’ll get it later.

Guy found himself in front of the bathroom mirror and recognized what was in his eyes as something pathetic. The look on his face was familiar, and he’d seen that look a million times before.

He hated what he saw.

—

Small hands slowly nudged a weary shoulder that early June. Everything was hazy in the heat of summer. A talk show- no, a sports program, was playing in the background from the CRT screen.

“Dad. Daaad. Play with me,” he whined at the fresh age of five. “I’ll be the fire truck, ‘an you’ll be the train.”

His Dad, a mountain of a man impossible to climb, laid himself against his chair. In that house, everyone shared everything except for that chair in the corner of the living room. That chair was his, and over the years, it’d soon mold itself into the shape of his body and its fabric would be stained with his beer.

“Why don’t ‘cha bother your mom, instead, huh?” he grunted, unmoving.

“She’s at the store,” Guy replied.

“Go outside, or something. Y’know when I grew up, we used to just go to the woods and just. Played with sticks. You young’uns are soft, always need coddlin’ and buggerin’. Can’t even sit still for a second.”

He looked up at his father’s stubbled, rugged face. Marred by the heat of the sun. “I can do that?!”

“Sure, son,” the man looked at him with an almost sad sort of look. His labored arm, wiry and thick from long hours at the auto shop, reached out to muss up his hair. “Your Pa’s… tired.”

Guy was hunting for bugs in the backyard when his mother came back home from the store and yelled at her husband for letting him get dirty. And for sitting there all day, never doing anything useful. And that she wished that she never married someone who’d give up so easily as him.

He remembered that his father was tired a lot.

—

Guy did the least he could do. He brushed his teeth and had a single slice of bread for breakfast. Anything is better than nothing, a dear friend told him. He guessed it was right because, on days when he felt like he wanted to let the mattress mold itself to the shape of his body, the only way he could survive was by keeping the ball rolling. A routine- or some form of it. What he did barely counted as one, but it was better than letting himself fall into the trap of falling back asleep.

He opened the laptop, checked the calendar, and mentally kicked himself.

The deadline was today.

Guy liked to believe that he was a capable, competent person. But as soon as he opened the word document to write the last act of his script- a task that he’d put off from days before- his mind was full of noise.

He craved mind-numbing comfort, so he sought it. He sunk into his chair and scrolled on his phone. In the back of his mind, he felt angry.

Business was rough for the auto shop, and it later closed when Guy was sixteen. His dad never looked for another job- and he soon took his role as a stay-at-home father.

The arguments soon died down, maybe because his parents had already worn each other out by that point. They barely saw each other anyway- his mother’s job at the hospital as a residential nurse kept it that way.

His father was itching for control- and home was the only thing close enough to that.

He was neurotic about where things were supposed to be. The chairs were supposed to be aligned with the floorboards, and Guy has had to sweep the floors multiple times. If a strand of his hair was found- it’d send his father into ballistics.

Hair was another issue.

“Isn’t it time for a haircut?” his dad asked as he vacuumed, without ever meeting Guy in the eyes.

"I like it this way,” he replied.

“Makes you look like a chick.”

—

The videos on his phone flashed colors and various soundbites. It felt incomprehensible to him, and his mind fell into the space between awareness and daydream- a thick fog.

He didn’t feel like catching the deadline. Maybe he should just give up and not do it. He could lie down and not do anything at all.

“This is how I stayed productive even on days when I was exhausted and didn’t have any motivation. The Eisenhower matrix can help you manage your time-” the YouTube video droned and Guy felt himself slip away.

He probably was just lazy. He needed one day to get himself together and he could train himself to have discipline and not rely on motivation, or start time blocking, or start writing bullet journals and get his life together.

—

Guy grew to realize that he hated his father. Hated the way he seemed to always park himself in front of the TV and not shower for days. Disgusting and good-for-nothing. The way he would only get up to go around the house and make sure that everything was in pristine condition. Unused, untouched. Guy hadn’t eaten in his dining room for ages.

His father could’ve tried if he wanted to. He could’ve applied for other jobs, could’ve cared more about him. But he wallowed in the unknown frustrating corners of his mind and let days pass him by.

He could see the weight sagging his mother’s shoulders-the exhaustion in her eyes as she picked him up from school before going to her night shift.

Guy’s biggest fantasy when he was growing up was for his parents to get a divorce. It never came, and in a sick and twisted way, they did need each other to survive. She needed the illusion of a family, and he needed the money.

“Why can’t you do it for me!” he yelled in a particularly heated fight.

“I’m doing this for you! What do you even want?! For this family to be torn apart and to become the talk of the town?”

“I don’t need you to stay together when all you do is yell at each other,” he pleaded.

“You don’t understand,” she said and ended their discussion there.

—

Before he knew it, it was dark outside and he hadn’t written a single word for his script. The deadline was in five hours, and he was sure that he’d be dropped from the project if he didn’t manage to make it.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A mix of voices rang in his skull: ‘The deadline is in five hours. You’ve done nothing, stupid.’ And ‘maybe you should eat something. You’re hungry, and you’ve only had bread.’ with ‘you should try starting now. You can still fight for this gig. It’s not over yet.’

Guy stood up and approached the pile of laundry on the corner of his bed. He mechanically folded them and arranged them in his drawer of clothes. It gave him the feeling that he had his life together. He hated the fact that he had to do such an ordeal just to do basic tasks. Double the effort for half the result.

Everything felt like a hill he had to climb. Strategies, timers, to-do lists, tricks. It was frustrating, the fact that he was so damaged that he couldn’t straightforwardly do anything.

Tears started to cloud his vision and all he could do was blink them away in anger. Anger at himself for being affected by people who do not care for him in the slightest (A lie, he will soon realize. They did care- but it was the only sort of care that they understood.) He hated that he was a carbon copy of his father despite having tried so desperately to be different.

He studied hard in school, and he worked double, and triple shifts at Max’s to support himself. But he couldn’t escape from what he was. This… sickness, the willingness to give up so easily was passed down from his father like a curse. It was in his blood, written in his bones. At the end of the day, he was still his father’s son.

—

The thing is, his dad did try. Between the narcissist, and the mid-life crisis-ridden man, there were glimpses of what he was underneath it all. What he could’ve been.

He remembered when it stormed all morning before he had to turn in a science project for freshman year in high school. He’d woken up late, and by the time he was at the bus stop, lugging poster board and styrofoam diagrams in a wheelbarrow behind him, it’d left.

His father had run to catch up with him with an umbrella.

“I’ll walk ‘ya to school. Don’t want ‘em to get wet when you’d barely sleep making them.”

It’d been embarrassing. For someone his age to be walked to school by his dad. But all he noticed was the fact that his father had leaned the umbrella completely over him and the wheelbarrow. He was drenched, and he’d never been too fond of the cold.

“I can wear my jacket,” he mumbled. “Just tilt it your way. You’re getting wet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” his dad replied. “The only thing that matters is for you to get to school okay. Get good grades so you don’t become a loser.”

—

Guy wiped his tears and sat himself back down in front of the laptop. He let the all-encompassing, overwhelming mix of anger and sadness run through him. He wasn’t going to fuck it up. He wouldn’t let anything get in the way of the work that he loved doing. He gritted his teeth and did it even when every part of him protested.

Despite his father, despite his restless mind.

Despite it all, he’ll die fighting, bruised.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted guy #redactedverse #slushiewrites #redacted fanfic

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Text

RoadSide

Immortal Yan + G.N Reader Blurb/Intro

Summary: A car accident leads to a bigger crash

Warning: Violence/injury, light gore

Bile sits in your throat, held back by the seatbelt pinning you to your seat.

Your body is heavy- the leather digging into your skin adding weight to your imbalanced skull. Your windshield is cracked, the white fractures and spray of blood making it hard to see from it while the blinking headlights make up for the range you couldn't see. What you refused to see.

A body lays ten feet away from your car. Motionless and surrounded by a halo of red that trickles back to the hood. The collected mass of blood and saliva in your mouth pours free as the body twitches. This.. wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. You were heading home from work when it happened. Same road, same speed - only one difference. He came out of nowhere. You saw it. The pressure behind your eyes disfigured your judgment, but you swore as your car came into contact with his fragile body - fear was the last thing present in his eyes.

Air rushes into your withered lungs as you unhook your seatbelt and crawl out of the car. You had to make sure he was okay. Everything burned, but you were far better off than him. You sure the front of your car as a crutch as you round to the front, smearing his cold blood all over your hand. You shutter as it stains your clothes, but you don't have the pleasure of expressing your fear. Choking back a sob, you drag yourself over to his side.

Blood bloomed from the left side of his shirt where he was hit, blossoming beneath the tire marks decaled on his white tee like some twisted joke. The cruel irony makes you gag. His leg was bent at an odd angle and face obscured by his fair, holes thorn through body and clothes from being used like a skipping stone by his chair. One hand hides within his jacket while the other clutches his phone. It's surprisingly not damaged. Taking a closer look at his opposite arm you can see what looks like a plastic bag filled with cushion.

"s....."

You thought you were hearing things, but his lips slowly form the words his broken jaw struggle to expel. His body trembles, knuckles rapping the road to gain your attention. You lean in.

"le...."

He coughs up a sea of red, exposed ribs heaving.

"I can't hear you..."

You lean in close.

"Smile wide."

In range, the thought to be corpse lunges out and drags you to the floor as he sits up. Too weak to struggle despite the drastic degrees of your injuries, you claw at his arm as he wraps it around your neck. The smily muscle of his torn cheek glides up against your tear riddled face as he pulls you in. A blinding light assaults your weary eyes as he presses the red button on the screen. You scramble as soon as he let's go.

"Shiiit. That's fucking hot, babes. You look so fucking good covered in my blood and it looks like my eye's about to pop right out! I was getting cloder feet because I thought you weren't going to come by tonight. Unfortunately, this lazy bitch has to go back in if I'm not sleeping in a ditch tonight."

You look away as he jams his finger in his eyes, grunting as he forces it into the socket. "What's... going on. With those injuries you should be able to move like that. Is this some kind of sick prank?"

"'fraid not, sweetheart. My guts are absolutely soup right now. Name's Devlin. Your new boyfriend, husband, bitch, pet - whatever you want to call me. Doesn't really matter, since we're gonna be together for the rest of our lives... unless you want these pictures to get out."

He scrolls through the many pictures taken of the accident. Your bloody car and license plate, his mangled limbs, a picture of him holding a thumb up, and the final one taken minutes ago.

"Obviously a few of those are between us, but if you reject me I can change face and send these photos in. Things would look mighty suspicious with no body - right?"

"I.... I guess."

"Good." He sighs, a fresh growth of blood developing over his shirt. "I knew you were the one when you ran me over the first time. Not a brick in the road now, am I? Anywho, your car still work? We can get it to a mechanic and then we can go have some fun... or head home. Not like we'll ever be apart again so I don't have any preference."

#Devlin my oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere blurb #yandere insert #male yandere #Immortal yandere #Yandere zombie #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n

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icycoldninja · 3 months

Note

Heyy

How would Dante, Vergil and V react if their s/o got diagnosed with aspd?

I can actually relate to this, believe it or not. Enjoy. 💜

Sparda Boys + V x Reader with ASPD (antisocial personality disorder) headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-He noticed you were very avoiding of people and initially assumed you to be introverted and shy--until he brought you along on a job where you saw some suffering people and smiled. It was then when he began to wonder if this was more than just introversion.

-After your diagnosis came in, Dante wasn't all to surprised to learn you had antisocial personality disorder, seeing as he kinda suspected all along, but started to fear how your relationship would change because of this. If you didn't like people, did that mean you wouldn't like him?

-He was a little bothered by it, but quickly got over it and decided that if you won't take the initiative to socialize, then he will.

-He tries to engage in conversation with you as much as possible, yet is mindful of your boundaries. If you start to visibly get uncomfortable or anxious, he'll pipe down, press a kiss to your cheek, tell you it's OK and leave the room.

-If you want him to stay, he will. He'll sit next to you or across from you and flip through his magazine, just basking in your presence.

-However, if you are interested in going out there and attempting to get over your aspd (good for you!) Then Dante will put his extroverted ass to work and bring you to parties/gatherings/whatever so you can mingle. As stated before, he respects your boundaries, and will make sure everyone else respects them too.

-If you have manipulative tendencies, Dante can and will resist them. Such behavior is unhealthy and he will not allow it to continue.

□ Vergil □

-Vergil didn't think much about your antisocial tendancies; if anything, he found it to be something the two of you had in common.

-Once he learned of your official diagnosis, he nearly fainted. No, it wasn't because he was afraid your relationship would take a turn for the worse, it was because he was ecstatic to finally have someone he could relate to.

-He doesn't care that you can be a little insensitive sometimes, because he is too. You guys don't fight often, and if you do, things either blow over within a few days, or someone forces you two to talk things out.

-You two are best friends now--no, more than that--soulmates. You hang out together all the time, never really speaking a word to each other, just chilling. Literally chilling.

-Sometimes you sit in matching plastic chairs outside, sipping drinks and silently, casually, judging everyone who walks by.

-Loves to read with you, too. It may seem uncomfortable to passerbys, as you're just quietly sitting together, your noses buried in books, but you two are actually more comfortable than you've ever been in your lives.

-Vergil will never push you to socialize with others, nor will he try to take that initiative himself. He's all you need and you're all he needs.

○ Nero ○

-Nero noticed you despised socializing and generally being around people, so he decided to talk to you about it. After a long, long chat, he arranged for you to visit a specialist, who diagnosed you with antisocial personality disorder.

-He was a little worried on the inside, as he genuinely cares about you, but decided to not say anything and just support you in any way he could.

-He encourages you to go out and do things, but also doesn't mind spending a quiet night in, just cuddling and watching movies.

-He will protect you from Dante and Nico annoying extroverts and help you get out of uncomfortable conversations if such a situation arises.

-He understands you can be a little insensitive and does his best to not take it personally.

-He loves you, all of you, even if you are a little cold sometimes.

• V •

-After receiving news of your diagnosis, V decides to embark on an educational journey. He reads tome after tome after tome and scours Wikipedia for information on your condition.

-He understands that manipulative, sadistic tendencies are common in patients with ASPD, and that that kind of behavior can lead to unhealthy relationships. Therefore, he decides he will support you however you need him to, from correcting your behavior to helping you initiate conversations.

-Griffon is a huge help here; his loud mouth cracks a lot of funny jokes you can't help but reply to.

-Shadow is also great for emotional support, should you need it; the big ol fluffy cat is perfect for cuddles.

-He won't pressure you into interacting with other people because secretly, he loves being the only person (not counting his familiars) you ever really talk to.

-Most days, V will read to you and may even write poems for you, which he will then read aloud. Then he'll just wander around the house doing stuff, preferably with you.

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morningberriesao3 · 10 months

Text

MWMD - Wake Me Up

Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie's too sore to bathe himself. Good thing Steve has decided to be his caregiver.

Word Count: 2.8K

Chapter: 1 of 6 CHAPTER LIST

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use.

Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

March 31st, 1986

Eddie wakes up in the hospital. He hurts everywhere. His legs, his abdomen, his neck, his lungs. An ache so deep that when he first regains consciousness his first instinct is to moan in pain. Let a tear escape his eye, and another one, and another one.

His second instinct is to run.

Eddie’s eyes fly open and his pained moans turn into gasps of fear.

What happened to me?

Where am I?

Am I still there – in Hell?

But as his frantic eyes whip around the room – the white, clean room – he realizes that he’s not in that rancid place anymore. He’s no longer in the place that tried to kill him.

At least, not the one filled with real-life monsters.

This one is filled with people like Jason Carver and his cronies – ones wielded with metaphorical pitchforks and torches – ready to set his home ablaze and send Eddie to the other Hell – permanently.

Jokes on them because Eddie isn’t a satanist. He isn’t an anything. When he dies, it’s the cold, hard ground waiting for him. And that thought is almost as terrifying as eternal fire.

He’s not safe anywhere. And that makes him cry out once more.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, man. Hey – calm down.”

The voice comes from beside him. A voice he recognizes at Steve Harrington. The man he’s had a crush on since junior year. The man who’d barely spoken a word to him until recently and – somehow – has become someone Eddie considers a friend.

Fighting interdimensional monsters together has a way of bonding people, he supposes.

“Steve?” he asks, even though he knows, yes, Steve.

“Good morning,” Steve says, and Eddie turns himself towards his voice. Steve is sitting beside him on a beige plastic chair with thin metal legs. Despite his puffy, dark under-eyes and unkempt hair, he’s smiling. He’s handsome.

Eddie doubts Steve could ever not be handsome.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, because it doesn’t make any sense to him. Waking up in a hospital and Steve Harrington being the first person he sees by his side? No way, man. Friends or not, Steve Harrington has better things to do. More important people to tend to. Eddie might be, like, twelfth on the list of important people to tend to, if he’s lucky.

Steve says, “I haven’t left your side since you got here, man,” like that’s the most normal sentence to ever leave his mouth. Tacks on, “I’m so glad you’re awake. I was worried sick,” for good measure.

“What the fuck?” Eddie huffs. Because what the fuck? What the fuck for so many reasons. He can’t wrap his head around any one of them. He doesn’t even try to.

“Dustin is gonna be so fucking happy, dude,” Steve gushes like they’re old pals. He squeezes Eddie’s hand, and that’s when Eddie notices that Harrington is holding his hand. One that is bound by handcuffs to the bedpost. Two more what the fucks to add to the pile.

Honestly, the handcuffs make more sense than the hand holding. He is still a wanted man, after all.

He and Steve talk for at least an hour that day. The next they talk for two. The next – Steve stays with Eddie from lunch until dinner. And so on and so forth until Steve makes a home at the hospital. Until he has as many things stored there as Eddie does – pyjamas and a toothbrush and Farrah Fawcett hairspray. The only time he leaves is for his shifts at Family Video and to sleep. Sometimes even then he slumps over in that plastic chair and nods off for a few hours before heading home to finish his rest in his own bed.

Five days after Eddie wakes up, a middle-aged man in a white coat walks in with two police officers. One of them is Jim Hopper – who as far as Eddie knows ‘died in a mall fire’ (was killed by evil Russians in a military base below that very mall), but here he is, living and breathing and removing the cuffs that bind Eddie to the bed.

“You’re a free man,” says the man in the white coat – Owens, he introduces himself as. “Jason Carver, who tragically died in the earthquake – was found guilty of the murders of Chrissy Cunningham, Patrick McKinney, and Fred Benson, and the attempted murder of Maxine Mayfield. There were several witnesses who contest to it, including Mayfield herself.”

Eddie cries tears of relief. He won’t be heading to prison when he’s healed. His name is cleared. He’s regular old Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and can live his life in torment in his shitty, homey trailer.

Steve spends the day with Eddie, as always, while Owens makes him sign a stack of papers thicker than his dick is long. Which is, like, above average, but not ginormous. Steve tells Eddie about Hopper – how he’d been in a Russian prison all this time. That El – the little girl with the superpowers – has her dad back. Eddie can’t help but feel happiness even though he was never fond of Jim Hopper (after being escorted home one too many times in his cruiser) and even though he doesn’t personally know El.

It all relates back to that damn Upside Down bond.

Eddie leaves the hospital not even two weeks later.

He gets discharged early because he insists (begs) that he can take care of himself. But his sides burn when he stands, they ache in places so deep that Eddie thinks he might be missing the muscles that feel like they’re on fire. Still Steve drives him back to his trailer. Helps him slide himself onto his shitty mattress. Makes him a can of tomato soup and toasts him some bread and butter.

Eddie should have stayed at the hospital longer, he thinks, but he couldn’t fork the hospital bill.

That changes when Owens covers it and cuts Eddie a large cheque telling him to keep his fucking mouth shut. Not in so many words, but that was the gist.

Eddie gives half of it to Wayne, who asks a million and one questions about where all that money came from. Of course he can’t tell him the truth, so he blurts some bullshit lie about defamation of his name blah blah blah Jason Carver was rich so Eddie got paid by his family as a sorry for dragging him through Hell. It doesn’t seem like a great lie to Eddie, but Wayne nods his head and grumbles something akin to “whatever you say”. Wayne takes the money and puts it in a bank account. He goes back to work even though now he could afford to take a day or two off. Or a year or two. Or even retire.

Eddie also hoards his half. He knows what he’s going to spend his money on, and none of it belongs in Hawkins, Indiana.

He just needs to heal, and he’ll be out of there faster than a bat out of Hell. Or an Eddie out of the Upside Down.

When Eddie tells Steve that Wayne is back to working his nightshifts, it takes him about five seconds to make himself comfortable in Eddie’s trailer as his new roommate.

“No way are you gonna be alone, man,” Steve says, shucking off his shoes and opening the cupboard that he now knows contains the coffee. “What if your stitches pop? What if you fall? You need somebody around, Munson, and it’s going to be me.”

“Fuck off, Steve.” Eddie rolls his eyes. Mostly to hide how red his face is going from the thought of Steve Harrington staying in his home, using his shower, sleeping… where exactly? “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

But Eddie knows it’s a lost cause arguing because Steve is already hands on hips, eyebrows raised, shaking his head like a chastising mother.

“No? How long had it been since you last showered, dude?” Steve asks, trailing his eyes over Eddie’s body like he already knows his answer.

It’s not that Eddie hasn’t gotten under a stream of water, but he can’t move his arms enough to actually clean himself or wash his hair. He didn’t think it was that bad, but obviously he was wrong.

“I’m not sure I’m loving your tone, Harrington.” He pretends not to be as embarrassed as he feels. Out of anyone in the world to point out that he looks dirty, why does it have to be Steve?

“C’mon, man.” Steve grabs Eddie’s arm as gently as he can muster. He starts dragging him towards the bathroom in the trailer. The one that’s so small that barely one person can maneuver within its walls, let alone two.

“You trying to get me naked, Steve?” Eddie asks, heart in throat because he has a creeping suspicion that Steve is actually about to get him naked. He suddenly wishes it hasn’t been months since he last trimmed his pubes, because it’s already been a week since his last proper washing at the hospital. No, it couldn’t just be one or the other.

What a dumpster fire.

“You bet your ass,” says Steve, closing the door to the bathroom behind him even though it’s just him and Eddie inside the trailer. Out of habit, Eddie guesses. “You gonna strip for me, or do you want me to undress you?”

Eddie’s dick chubs up in his sweats.

The bad news is, he doesn’t have time to get it under control before Steve is stepping towards him to peel off his Iron Maiden t-shirt. In fact, it adds fuel to the fire, and Eddie’s dick is now almost at full attention.

There is no good news.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Eddie’s voice breaks through his protests and he barks out a nervous laugh. His hands fly down to cover his crotch because, fuck. How embarrassing. He doesn’t know if it’s worse that Steve got him hard or that he did it by one half-flirted sentence and barely touching the hem of his shirt.

Or maybe the worst part is that he just drew attention to his boner and Steve is looking down to his hands that can’t quite reach to cover it all.

“Calm down, dude,” Steve says nonchalantly. But even through his casual words, Eddie notices his cheeks flushing with his own embarrassment. And that makes Eddie wish he literally died in the Upside Down instead of having to be here, in this moment. “It’s, uh, all cool, right? It’s natural –”

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie cries. He covers his face with his hands, because at least he can pretend that hides all of him. “Please tell me you did not just say that.”

“I mean, I popped a boner one time when Mrs. Turner made me answer a question at the front of the class.”

“That’s literally nothing like this,” Eddie protests.

“That was in front of a teacher and the whole class, dude! How is this worse?”

“Because I’m not contained inside a pair of painted-on Levi’s, Harrington.”

“I won’t look,” Steve promises. It doesn’t make Eddie feel any better about his predicament, but all of the arguing has already made him start deflating.

Eddie focuses on his embarrassment, and the pain pulling at his stitches, and his sharp intake of breath as Steve helps him out of his shirt. He tells Steve he can get his own pants, and he only struggles a little to pull them over his hips and off of his ankles. Steve keeps his back turned as Eddie steps into the hot water.

He kind of wishes it was cold.

His dick is mostly soft when he tells Steve it’s okay to turn around. But still, he faces the shower wall. Steve doesn’t say anything before pressing the pads of his fingers into Eddie’s hair. The suds from the shampoo gathers around Eddie’s shoulders and fall to the floor of the tub.

He moans at the feeling (it’s so much fucking better than those stupid sponge baths at the hospital, okay?), and Steve’s fingers still for a second before starting up again.

For a while, Eddie thinks he’s going to make it through the whole shower experience without getting hard again. But of course when he turns around for the first time to face Steve, sees how his shirt is soaked from the water running down his arms, as Steve lathers a washcloth and starts rubbing down the unscarred portion Eddie’s chest, it happens again.

His traitorous cock fills and fills as Steve washes him.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Eddie,” Steve says. “Seriously. It’s fine, dude.”

Still, Eddie feels he needs to justify himself.

“It’s just ‘cause it’s been so long since I’ve – you know.” Now that he thinks of it, he isn’t sure continuing down this path of conversation is a great idea. In fact, it’s not making the situation better at all, but it’s too late now. So he keeps babbling. “I mean, try going for this long without being able to touch your dick, man –”

“Eddie, I get it.”

“It’s like I’m constantly edging myself –”

“Eddie.”

“And a pair of warm hands all over my body is noooottt helping the situation –”

Steve fumbles with the bar of soap, dropping it on the floor of the small tub. Out of reflex, he bends forward to try to grab it as it skates around the slopes of porcelain beneath Eddie’s feet. Which brings his head dangerously close to Eddie’s crotch. So close, in fact, that he can feel the stands of Steve’s hair tickle his erection.

“Ah – fuck,” he says before he’s able to stop himself, because even if it hasn’t been weeks since he’s been able to get himself off, he’d never be able to stop himself from having a reaction to Steve touching him there. Even if it was purely by accident. Even if it was feather light.

“Sorry! Sorry, dude,” Steve pulls away, leaves the soap on the shower floor. He holds his hands in front of him like he’s saying, ‘I won’t touch you again,’ and, well, since Eddie’s already in such a demeaning situation and there’s no going back, he just can’t have that. Might as well prolong Steve’s fingers on him for as long as possible, right?

“Don’t – just –” he sighs. “Can we start over and pretend this isn’t as awkward as I’ve just made it, Harrington?”

Steve nods.

“Good. Good.” Eddie grins, pretending he’s a lot more comfortable with the situation than he really is. “Now suds me up, big boy.”

Steve continues to clean him. A lot more thoroughly than Eddie expects, swiping over his skin with sure movements and a confidence that Eddie has always lacked when it came to touching someone else. Not that he's done much of that.

Steve's fingers are deft. Warm. Smooth, unlike Eddie's own from years of playing guitar. They tease over his skin, tickling. And if they happen to graze his crotch once or twice, Eddie isn't going to be the one to say anything about it, and obviously Steve isn't, either.

Eventually the shower ends, Steve's hands leave Eddie's body, which he's really thankful for. Because he was nearing the point of no return for a while there. It's Hell - literal agony - to not be able to touch himself once he's shrouded in the darkness and comfort of his own room, a sleeping Steve only feet away on the living room couch. Despite the pain shooting in his abs, his arms, even his neck, he tries.

He tries, and he tries again until he gives up altogether, moaning a sound of discouragement to himself, bringing his hands up to his face to rub it. But even that hurts too much, so he lets them go limp next to his over-eager body.

It wouldn't have been all that bad to endure just the once, but it becomes somewhat of a routine. Steve insisting he bathe Eddie. Eddie allowing it, his body reacting to Steve's hands, wet and soapy, his face, serious and handsome and covered in stubble that he shaves in the evenings rather than the mornings. He always gets excited, and eventually he stops apologizing. Steve starts to expect it.

They continue like that for the following weeks - fueling Eddie with enough spank-bank material to last at least a year - as he slowly but surely, starts to heal.

NEXT CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

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manicplank · 3 months

Note

ok but hear me out

what would be the reactions of the pizza tower crew on being sent to the backrooms (i am being cringe on purpose)

Good question. This should be an interesting one.

Some of the links wouldn't work, so they're at the bottom.

Backrooms ඞ

Peppino: He would be absolutely TERRIFIED. He suddenly woke up in the middle of... Not nowhere, but somewhere... It looks like the restaurant, but something feels off. He can't help but shake the feeling that he's being watched... He's almost frozen with fear.

Gustavo: He's tired and confused. He's been walking down this hallway for what seems like forever. He hasn't seen any other rooms or doors yet. He's starting to get really nervous. There's a chair there, but he's afraid to sit in it. He keeps feeling like he's being chased, but nothing is there.

Mr. Stick: He's been trying to get to work, but his office door is locked, and his keys aren't working. He doesn't want to ruin his record of always being on time! He finally gets the door open and... Did someone change out the lights? It seems kind of different. Suddenly, he feels uneasy. He goes to leave, but the door is gone.

Pepperman: He wandered down a hidden staircase in an art museum. They told him they didn't have room for his artwork, but he saw the stairs and said, "How about down here?" He went down to find some very vague statues. Minimal art, nothing compared to his. He tried to go up the stairs, but they had suddenly turned to a painting.

The Vigilante: He doesn't know where he is. It's dark, and he's scared. He wandered off too far into the field at night, and now he can't find his way back.** He's been out there for hours, he's getting really tired. He's tried calling out for help, but his voice doesn't even echo. Somehow, he doesn't feel alone...

The Noise: Yay, a play place! It seemed super fun at first, but he's getting tired and can't seem to find a way out. His phone isn't working. He tried using the phone there, but that wasn't working either. He's starting to get scared and kind of sad. He feels lonely all of a sudden.

Noisette: She woke up in the morning in a room that was similar to the one she had as a kid. While it was similar, it wasn't her room. She was immediately scared. Where's Theodore?? Where is she? And why does it feel like all the Hello Kitty toys are staring at her?

Pillar John: It's not secret that John is a pillar and that there are iterations of him all of the tower supporting the structure. But oh, how he'd love to be a pillar anywhere else. Well, maybe not everywhere else. He seems to have found himself holding up support in an abandoned building. It's so lonely, and he doesn't know where Gerome is anymore.

Fake Peppino: Ooo, a pool! A big pool with (fake) lillypads! He enjoys swimming in the water and perching on the pads. He doesn't seem to realize he's in a reality between time and space. He could live here forever! But he's getting kind of hungry, and all the things in here taste like yucky plastic. Wait a minute... How come there's no one around?

Pizzahead: He stumbled in a room that looks like an arcade. How excited he was! At least, at first. But none of the games are working, and some of the ones that do have power only have a glitched out screen. Come to think of it, when did this room get in the tower? Wait, is he even still in the tower? Suddenly, the arcade has turned into a maze. He just wants to get out and go home...

Gerome: Sometimes, he wanders off into the abandoned rooms of the tower out of curiosity of why they were left. He walked into one that was almost empty with nothing but a pile of chairs that touched the roof. He turned around and left, almost as if he knew he wouldn't be able to leave if he stayed too long.

***

Vigi's room

Pizzahead's room

#pizza tower #noise #the noise #headcanon #noisette #pizzahead #peppino #peppino spaghetti #fake peppino #pillar john #pepperman #the vigilante #pizza tower gustavo #pizza tower gerome #mr. stick #backrooms

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roe-and-memory · 1 month

Text

for a little while after he comes to radiator springs, lightning definitely is in a constant state of fight or flight (mostly flight)

it comes with the trauma of being neglected and rejected repeatedly, hes terrified the the town will do the same thing to him that his parents did — or they’ll be just like the people he wanted to desperately to be friends with — so on, and so forth.

it also comes with the unmasking process — getting insanely overstimulated insanely quickly because being tied down feels Crowding . and having this many people care about you, to the point it ends in almost constant conversation with someone, can start to feel suffocating. and the fact he cant prepare himself for the day anymore because its such an out of wack routine doesnt help one bit.

so, he needs an escape.

its dumb, kind of, and sometimes his little adventures around the desert suffice enough, but it starts becoming more of an issue and he starts needing somewhere repetitive to go.

the cow fields just on the county line, the gravel road that leads to a deserted farmhouse, its age showing in each plank of wood that hangs off its nails, rotting from the rain and weather, grains of sand embed in each crack — lightning finds comfort in one of those empty fields.

first, its leaving to go sit in the long grass, pulling little bits and pieces of it out of the dirt and taking interest in how, somehow, after years of abandonment, it seems to thrive - how the cows keep living, being fed occasionally by mater, but for the most part just surviving off of the grass in their pen. he wonders why they stay. - he would find himself watching the sun disappear behind the mountains and cliffs of cadillac range, taking deep breaths, basking in the sound of the wind whistling and crickets chirping.

when his fears start getting worse, he steals one of the plastic lawn chairs out of docs shed and leaves it out there, sometimes stealing a beer out of the fridge despite how much he hates them. he rarely drinks them anyways, maybe a few sips or so for enough of a buzz to get rid of the anxiety in his bones, but otherwise he always gets home with a bottle still half full, going to waste down the drain.

doc never worries about this. its a part of the process of teaching someone that Some People in the world arent out to get them — sometimes people genuinely mean it with their care — so he can understand that these mini getaways are just his kid taking time to calm down, rationalize, and figure stuff out.

as the months pass, he becomes less terrified, he doesnt need to really disappear anymore, he starts taking sally out there with him. he lays a blanket in the grass and they stare at the sky together in silence.

the longer he stays out there in that field, the more he realizes hes here to stay. he doesnt need to come out here to calm down, instead he can sit in his bedroom and breathe.

eventually, that plastic lawn chair is deserted in that field, the smooth, white surface becoming scratchy and dirty with rain and wind. no one goes out to clean it, because no one needs it anymore.

#cars 2006 #cars fandom #lightning mcqueen #pixar cars #cars headcanons #memory’s headcanons #doc hudson #sally carrera #lightning is autistic #he also has abandonment issues #hes so terrified that his found family is gonna leave him just like the real ones did #he has no idea how much they love him #and it breaks my HEART #get this boy therapy pls #or a comfort item #whichever one works best (probably an item)#i adore him

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thecuriousquest · 8 months

Note

Hello! I love your writing so much 😭

Can I please request a part 2 of the Levi arranged marriage fic, maybe a time skip to 1-2 months later? Like what her life looks like from now on, how she is adjusting, things she goes through, stuff like that. It could be SFW or NSFW I don't mind either.

Thank you!

The Captain and the Duchess Part Two

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs

Warnings: Yandere themes, abusive relationship, reader is trapped in a loveless marriage, injured reader, kind of NSFW at the end

The Captain and the Duchess here.

Checkout my Master List here.

—————————————————————————

You find yourself needing to constantly be preoccupied with something, anything because when that front door opens and shuts…And God forbid he sees you doing nothing.

“What? You’re sulking now like a child?” he had reprimanded you the last time he caught you staring into the fireplace.

It rips you to pieces. You can’t even be reading when he gets home. He says that’s not a “wifely chore”. It propels you into a dimension of anxiety as your heart beat grows rapid in your chest.

So, you sweep all of the downstairs and upstairs before hearing the closing of the door and footsteps making their way around the house. You forget to release the pent up breath in your lungs as you step out of the room.

“Husband?” Thankfully, you didn’t stutter his title this time.

“Yes, Wife? Do you need something?”

Husband…Wife…yet you use these words without affection. The terms are supposed to be endearing, yet they feel like plastic in your mouth.

“No, I was just coming down to greet you.”

You force your feet to move down the steps and towards the revered captain. You set the broom aside and regard him momentarily before speaking.

“How was your day?”

He pulls out a chair. “Make me some tea. My day was filled with paperwork and training a bunch of brats. I don’t think any of them will make a good soldier. They’ll probably be eaten by the end of the first mission.”

“How tragic,” you interject mindlessly as you ready his tea.

A scream comes from the kettle of boiling water, and you fumble with it to prepare the relaxing drink. Giving the cup to him, you sit down at the far end of the table.

“Why do you always sit there? You never sit close to me,” Levi voices his concerns. “As my wife, you should be sitting by my side.”

You didn’t want to make him mad. That’s never your intention. How could you have fucked up already? What do you say to calm him?

“I just…like this spot. I can see the garden from here.” It’s a lie, but you hope he will believe it.

He tsks at you, turning his head to look at your newest project in the backyard where a large patch of dirt covers up seeds of an unknown flower to him.

“You can see the garden from here too, so get up and sit next to me.”

You make haste, and with trembling fingers, you pull out the wooden chair and sit down so that you’re next to him and facing the window.

“There, see? You have a nice view of the garden and your husband.”

Silence stretches between the two of you as he takes a sip of his tea while you worry your bottom lip.

“Husband, Levi, please, can we stop this pretense for a moment? I need to say something to you.”

He eyes you wearily and sighs, gesturing with his hand for you to speak.

“I’d like to live in another house. We can still stay married, but I feel so trapped here. I feel like all I do is walk on eggshells around you.”

Turning to you, he puts a hand over yours. “My love, MY wife, you’re simply learning your place. Right now, you fear me, which is a good thing.”

His hand around yours tightens, and you wince in pain as you stifle a sharp breath.

“Fearing your husband is good. Say it.”

He squeezes your hand even harder.

“Fearing your husband is good! Husband, please, stop it! You’re hurting me!”

“When you fear your husband, you begin to understand your place as a wife. If you didn’t, you’d say anything you wanted to, you’d do anything you wanted to. No, I have to discipline you to make sure you understand who runs things around here.”

His grip becomes crushing. You can feel the bones shifting in your hand as he clutches the tendons. You grab his wrist, attempting to pry him off of you, but he’s not giving any leeway for you.

“Your question just proved to me that you’re lacking in certain areas of domesticity.”

You hear a crunch beneath the weight of Levi’s hand, and with a heart wrenching sob, you pull your limb out of Levi’s grip and cradle your broken hand against your chest. He leans back against his chair, looking at you with curiosity as he sips his tea like nothing just happened.

You never imagined this would be your life. You’re always scared, trapped in a loveless marriage, even in fear of having children because you don’t want them to be subject to the same abuse as you. Crying out desperately, you look at Levi with bewilderment and glassy eyes.

“I should get a doctor to come and take a look at that so that it heals right. I wouldn’t want to have to look at your shitty hand for the rest of my life.”

The pain is so strong that you feel your stomach bounce with agony. How could he do this to me?! How could he be such a monster?

And then you’re taken back to your wedding night. You know exactly how much of a monster he can be. To you, this isn’t even the worst you’ve seen from the vile soldier.

The captain takes your jaw between his fingers. “Stop saying ridiculous things unless you want to wash the floors with two broken hands tomorrow, Wife.”

You nod and wipe your tears with the back of your non-mangled hand. “I’m so sorry, Husband. I won’t say anything about it anymore. Please, please, it hurts! I need a doctor!”

You feel so pathetic begging for anything from him, but you are at his mercy. He has you in the palm of his hand, and while you’re crying and begging, he feels something sinister stirring the depths of his core.

He strokes your hair with calloused hands, petting you as if one would do to a dog they cherish. “Shhh, shhh, now, my loving wife. Your question put me in a really bad mood after an already stressful day. I’ll consider calling a doctor if you can make it up to me.”

Your sob hitches, becoming trapped in your throat. You know exactly what he wants, and while you don’t want to, you know you have to if you want the pain to go away.

With your good hand, you reach out and undo the button and zipper on his pants swiftly before tugging his length free from the white fabric.

Levi closes his eyes and leans his head back. You both know he has won this round just as he has won many in your time here, but you’ll be damned if you give up.

#triggering content #triggering themes #yandere themes #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #attack on titan #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman aot #yandere levi ackerman #captain levi

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goomens · 10 months

Note

I've had an idea but I won't get around to writing it think.. I imagine Crowley being drunk on wine, taking to Nina after *the event* and just word vomiting, telling her everything about who he is. And then Nina ist like "so when you said 'angel' you actually meant..." maybe you can do something with that? 😂

such a cute idea!!! fic under the cut <3

It’s nine in the morning and Nina is jolted from her sleepy reverie by the violent tinkle of the front door bell; a figure in black slithering into a nearby seat and thunking his head down onto the table. Crowley, she thinks, watching him carefully from behind the counter. Without Mr. Fell in tow, tense around the shoulders, and creating quite a sad display, she feels a pang of something like pity inside her chest.

“Gretel,” Nina calls quietly to one of her newer baristas after a moment of consideration, “Take over for a bit, please?” And she makes her way over to Crowley, not bothering to say hello as she pulls out the other chair and sits down in it. He doesn’t lift his head. By all means, he seems lifeless. Completely still. Eerie, like he isn’t breathing. Her heart stutters in fear for a second, thinking he’s just up and died in her coffee shop, but—

“Oh, calm down.” Crowley retracts his forehead from the cold plastic table with a grunt and glares at Nina—she thinks, at least—through the impenetrable black lenses of his sunglasses. “I would like a mug of coffee with four measures of vodka, please and thank you.”

“It’s not even half nine yet, you know,” She scolds him, not really meaning it, but not willing to serve him alcohol so early either. He’s a bit of an odd fella (or, whatever) but Nina draws the line at serving a customer four units before noon. “No boozy breakfasts here. You’ll have to wait ‘til later—on Saturdays we have a boozy brunch. There’ll be cocktails.”

Crowley doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, “Pity.” He sighs. Snaps his fingers for some reason. He reaches into his blazer, pulling out an entire litre bottle of ABSOLUT and uncapping it. Nina opens her mouth, ready to tell him off, but he holds a finger up and guzzles down half of it before she can get the words out. When he sets the bottle down, she raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Thirsty?”

He ignores her, choosing to scowl instead, and looks off out the window of the shop looking a bit lost. “Your advice was shit. You and that—that vinyl seller. Thought you should know. Don’t go trying to influence anyone else’s ‘love’ lives, eh?” His words are full of forced humour, but his voice shatters a bit at the end, and suddenly Nina feels like some kind of villain. She looks at Crowley and sees someone in mourning. He’s grieving. He’s heartbroken.

“Fuck,” She says with feeling, and motions for Gretel to bring over two mugs.

Hours later—in the midst of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death’s boozy brunch—Crowley is drunkenly taking Nina step-by-step through his and Aziraphale’s extremely long history. They go back much, much further than she ever thought. Than she ever thought possible, actually. It’s all quite strange. And sweet, and sad, the way he talks about Aziraphale. “He’s so smart,” He says. “He’s good. He’s lovely. He’s the one I love. He’s only gone and returned to Heaven and left me on my own.” He also says, “I’m a Demon, I know I don’t deserve him,” and “He’s an Angel, he doesn’t want me. He could never want me.” And Nina is suddenly putting the pieces together, making sense of it all, her stomach—full of the buttered bagel she’d had for breakfast, half a bottle of vodka, and not much else—turns and swoops, threatening to expel its contents.

Crowley watches her then bursts into a startling laugh. It’s low and surprised. “There’s no way—no way—you’re just now realising what I am. What he is.” She just blinks and stares, and his laugh dies down but the lines of amusement remain etched on his face. “Oh, brilliant. You humans are brilliant. So bloody obtuse.”

“Oi!” She protests, reaching out to push at his shoulder. But she misses on account of being a bit more tipsy than she thought, and he laughs at her again. “I am not obtuse! ‘M quite clever, actually.”

There’s a smile on his—the Demon’s—face now, which is nice, much better than the frown he sported earlier, but when he gestures to his face and grins fiendeshly, she only stares confused for a second before realising that, ah, maybe she is a bit obtuse. His eyes are bright and a little bit playful, without the sunglasses. Big and yellow and snake-like, and oh, that’s what the Eden story had been about. It hadn’t been a metaphor or a weird figure of speech, but the truth. She’d been so busy listening to him she hadn’t noticed the moment he’d pocketed his sunglasses.

Instead of crippling fear or mortal terror, Nina just laughs and laughs. She orders them both a creamy coffee and some malt biscuits, even at his weak protests, and she lets him tell her all about the planets and the stars, Mesopotamia, the crucifixion, the Seven hills of ancient Rome, the burning of witches in the fifteenth century, the Armageddon-That-Wasn’t…

#hope this is cool i just typed it out in my notes app #thanks for the prompt cause like. i needed it lol #no inspiration to be FOUND #asks #good omens #go2 spoilers #crowley #aziraphale #goodomens #nina #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #fic #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #ficlet #short

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finniestoncrane · 1 year

Note

Okay hear me out: new goon/right hand interview, with AK Scarecrow. I read your chapter two of "Your One True Nemesis" (a superb story btw) and couldn't help but get curious about how you would portray the interview process with Crane instead of Edward (he's living in my head rent free, I'm so sorry ;_;)

But please don't feel pressured - if you don't feel like it, you absolutely don't have to write it. Your well-being comes first! ^///^🧡🧡

Competency Based

Arkham!Scarecrow x GN!Reader, word count: 2.1k losing my mind a little bit over this 💀 i'm so sorry this is longer than expected lmao but i just... where i knew i would be angry at eddie and his fast-paced bullshit, i knew it'd be a slow, psychological torture with a calm and collected jonathan. also i named it after my nightmare, competency based interviews, because they are what i fear the most. seemed appropriate 🧡🎃 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: interrogation vibes, threats, weird flirting from an old man, discussion of phobias/fears, smoking, sorry there's no smut but i find this intensely fucking erotic so warning for that i guess

A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling flooded the beige room with a dim and sickening yellow light. It would have perhaps felt sterile, clinical, at one point, before the pervading scent of black mould, the source of which outlined the cracked tiles on the floor. Walls which were stained with almost artistic formations of dripping, torn wallpaper so precisely reminiscent of some forgotten, horror B-movie that it might well have been staged. The desk, chipped on the edges, the plastic veneer giving way to the rotting chipboard underneath, scratched and etched on top, sticky underneath. One chair, empty. Metal, rusted at the joints, the screws threatening to turn to dust with a single touch, the other chair, in a similar condition of disrepair and notably uneven on the floor, occupied by you.

And there you sat, nervously twiddling your thumbs, sweat forming on your palms, a metallic taste plaguing your tongue as your heart refused to calm down, to stop thumping in your ears to allow you at least the safety of being able to hear him coming. You were nervous though, and noticeably so. Despite the week you had spent preparing, staring at images of Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, from newspaper clippings, screenshots from the news, on the websites, pro and against his particular brand of psychology based morals and ethics. Yet you knew, deep down, nothing could prepare you for sitting across from him, staring at him.

There was nowhere else to turn. Bridges were burned. Doors were closed. And Scarecrow’s power, his gauntlet encased grip on Gotham growing tighter every day. You needed this job. Better the devil you know, and everyone knew Scarecrow.

So deep in thought were you, that you hadn’t heard the door open, and you’d mistaken the subtle creak of the leg brace he wore for the movements of your own chair under your uneasy jittering. The buzzing of the light covered his breath, the drip, unplaceable, covered his steps, and not until he was passing your peripheral vision like a nightmare on the edges of your reality were you fully able to comprehend that he existed, in reality, your reality, in an enclosed and possibly inescapable room.

Without speaking to you, Jonathan sat in the chair opposite, the legs scraping along the tiles, your blood chilling in your veins at the sound. Clearly, and without even realising it, you had made a face, disgust or distaste, perhaps discomfort, at the noise. When you opened your eyes, having plunged yourself into darkness to satisfy the need to expunge the curdling sensation from your body, you caught Jonathan’s eyes. As you opened your mouth, willing an apology out, he spoke first.

“My apologies.”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, trying to suppress the shuddering exhale.

Impress him. Without letting him know how much you need this, how much it means to you. You are strong-willed. Brave. Stoic in the face of stress and even fear. You are perfect for him.

Your affirmations calmed you down, but only slightly, and only for a few moments before Crane spoke again.

“Thank you for attending. Your interest in the position, in any position, is greatly valued. I’m familiar with your previous work. It’s… a pleasure… to have you here.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t necessarily surprising that he would be aware of you, of your notoriety. You’d worked for them all, a valuable asset, trustworthy and skilled at what you did. Realistically, it was only a matter of time until your paths crossed. And still, you felt a flutter in your stomach, recognition from Jonathan Crane himself flushing your cheeks a, hopefully, dull pink.

Reaching across the table to initiate the introductions formally, you offered your hand. Your right hand. Only noticing this first mistake, likely to be the first of many, as he flexed his own right hand, the needles on the edge of the gauntlet twitching as the almost luminous orange liquid was jostled around in the vials.

“Perhaps we can leave the formalities for now.”

Offering a weak, polite smile, you put your hands in your lap under the table, nervously wringing them, hoping the motion wasn’t visible in your upper arms. You paused to wonder why he had chosen to wear the gauntlet to the interview, but he interrupted your internal panic.

“Why are you scared?”

“W-why am I… now?”

He nodded, silently, drumming his fingers on the table, the threat of the unholy screech of metal against metal as the needles, rusted and overused, traced over it, light enough that they remained as silent as Jonathan did.

“I’m… b-be… it’s…”

Raising his left hand, holding his palm flat to you, he mercifully let you stop stammering for the right words.

“Please. I only ask because in your time, you’ve come across larger men. Stronger men. Men with tempers far less balanced as mine. Sionis, Dent, Nigma. Each of them with something more dangerous than I have. But…”

He spread his hands apart, displaying himself, open to you.

“…here we are. Shall we get to know each other better?”

“I already know you pretty well.”

“Quite. And while I know of you, I don’t know what’s inside. What lies within you. What could be stirring within the mind of someone so strong, strong enough to associate with men like me, but not strong enough to answer a simple question.”

As you looked at him, eyebrow raising as though pulled by a string attached to his own sense of curiosity, he asked you again.

“Why are you scared?”

Swallowing your fear, suppressing it, the need for protection and stability in employment usurping it’s position at the forefront of your mind, you took a breath and licked at your lips, noticing that Crane leaned in lightly as your tongue flitted out and quickly back in.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. But that doesn’t answer the question.”

“Maybe you exude fear. Maybe you’re surrounded by a cloud of toxin, enough to have anyone in a state of lingering, but barely effective, terror.”

“An interesting theory, but not the right answer.”

“You can’t know that.”

You jumped at the sound of his leg brace creaking, a squeak and a loud crack from the hinge.

“Not if you don’t tell me the truth. I can’t really know anything in that event.”

“I need this. Fear born of necessity. Dread that I might make a mistake.”

The corners of his mouth, albeit stitched together and crooked, turned up into a slight smile.

“I like that answer.”

“I’m glad.”

“It serves its purpose, to an extent. Feeds the ego. Unfortunately for you, it is the id that I am intent on reaching, of digging my fingers into. Should you let me, of course.”

“And if I don’t?”

Jonathan’s clouded eyes focused on yours, his dulled pupils seeming to sharpen as he honed in on you, a glint of something beyond them that you couldn’t quite place, or didn’t have the confidence to admit to.

“What else frightens you?”

“Like… in general?”

He nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, boot clad foot tapping in the air.

“Heights, failure, the dark. Nothing… nothing abnormal.”

He shook his head and you laughed a little at the way he seemed to disapprove of your answer.

“Honestly! Nothing really scares me all that much.”

“Lies.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“I… what? No, of course not. But… around the toxin… it’s ok?”

He struck a match, holding it against the slightly crushed cigarette he now held to his mangled lips.

“Maybe… it’s more exciting that way though, don’t you think?”

“And you need my permission?”

He leaned into the table, elbows hard against the surface, and exhaled, a plume of acrid smoke floating towards you, clouding your own vision as you imagined his was.

“It’s only polite.”

You watched him, the way he held the cigarette between his slender fingers, chipped nails stained yellow, knuckles darker, calloused. You studied them so thoroughly you could almost feel them on you. Grazing over your neck, romantic, dangerous. Implied eroticism through the sheer terror of him. Clearing your throat, you refocused just as he resumed his questioning.

“Have you ever felt the effects of my toxin?”

“Never.”

“Would you like to?”

“Out of curiosity… probably yes.”

Crane smiled, blowing the remaining smoke upwards, his cigarette all but a stub.

“Your preferred method?”

“There’s choices?”

Jonathan stood up, suddenly but not quickly, a small movement of his knee to loosen it before he walked to the wall, putting the cigarette out against it and letting it fall to the floor, beginning to walk towards you languidly, until he was behind you, pacing back and forth, a surround sound effect as the heavy steps of his boots echoed around you.

“There’s always a choice.”

He spoke from behind you, but you remained still in your seat, staring forward at the wall, focusing your attention on the burn mark on the wall, your eyes boring the hole further into the wood beyond the charred paper.

“What would yours be?”

“I…”

You had no idea how to respond. There was every chance that your selection was going to lead to a violent nightmare within the four disgusting walls of the room you were in, those same walls seeming to get closer to you, creeping inwards, threatening to swallow you. But you couldn’t stay quiet.

“What would you recommend, Doctor Crane.”

“You’re asking for a prescription?”

“I’m asking for your valued opinion.”

He laughed, a sweet sound, almost. Higher in tone that his speaking voice, warm in a way that made you feel safer, reassured. An effective placating tool.

“Well, there’s the gas. A traditional method, if not slightly more ominous given the connotations. But that’s not always a bad thing.”

The boots, heavy on the ground, seemed to scuff more the longer he paced, only on his left leg though, as though it were growing more and more difficult to keep up with the movement. But you doubted he was the kind of man who would be willing to accept his constraints.

“Dust, pills, tabs, all previous transgressions I have experimented with, which I would be happy to synthesise again if you so choose.”

Considering the implications, you could feel the sweat forming on your palms again, your brow hot, cheeks flushed, chest heaving as your heart beat rapidly within the walls of your ribcage.

“But, for me, I’ve found the most effective method is my preferred in fact. The one I would recommend…”

Standing directly behind you, a position you could feel, instincts buried within your primordial brain causing the hairs on your neck and arms to rise, he leaned in, body against the chair you sat in. As the metal of his brace scraped against the leg of the chair, your breath hitched when you felt the almost imperceptible cold tingling of metal against your skin.

Out the corner of your eye, you could make out his arm, the gauntlet, orange, black, browns, flesh, the scent of oiled metal and leather, the pressure of the tips of the needles against you. Becoming still, solid, though your breath quivered as it escaped you in hushed, slow exhales.

“…it’ll always be the needles. Intravenous, muscular. My toxin coursing through your body, bringing forth what you’re truly afraid of.”

Leaning in further, the needles creating light scratches on your skin, but not far enough into the flesh to cause any immediate effects, he whispered into your ear.

“Why are you scared?”

As your eyes began to water from the stillness with which you held your body, you urged your mouth open, letting the words fall out clumsily, but honestly.

“I’m not.”

A soft, crackling laugh hit your ear along with the heat of his breath. As quick as he had appeared by your side, he was gone, the threat of the needles removed from your person, and you slouched in your chair momentarily before straightening up and clasping your hands on the table top.

Jonathan made his way back around the table, sitting back down in the chair, stretching his left hand out onto the table.

Smiling at the gesture, almost an inside joke between the two of you, you took it in yours. Warm, dry, his grip pleasant and civil until you felt his fingers tense around you.

“You will be though.”

Tighter, until you felt a dull pain begin to throb in your knuckles as they pressed into each other.

“After all, that’s the business I’m in. That we are in.”

#also thank you ;-;#your one true nemesis is so dear to me ;-;#finnie writes #batman #fanfic #scarecrow #jonathan crane #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #rogues gallery #batman rogues #scarecrow x you

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dispatchvampire · 4 months

Text

Accidentally In Love (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 2600-ish.

Summary:

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 2

Blinking, Echo arrived back on the current plain of consciousness in a very bright room that smelled vaguely of antiseptic and orange slices. Blinking, she groaned a little as she took in her varying pains that hadn’t been evident before, including the stiffness in the elbow where her IV was installed.

“There she is.”

She turned her head toward a voice she recognized very well. Lindsey Messer, Danny’s wife and her friend from the job and her building, sat at her bedside holding her hand. In her pants suit and fuschia blouse, wearing her work badge, it was clear the tiny blonde had come straight from the crime lab. “Hey Linds. I hope Danny didn’t make you worry. I’m fine. My head’s too hard for any lasting damage.”

The blonde snorted and slid a plastic cup with a straw in it over to her. “That’s what I told them.”

It was good to know her friend had her back. “What am I doing here?”

“They said you had a concussion and lost consciousness at the scene. Apparently you hit your head when you went into the stream by the bridge. Plus you got some stitches in your nose and chin and have a hairline fracture in your wrist.”

“Oh.” It was so much worse than she feared. Looking down at her wrist she saw the bandage and closed her eyes on a sigh. “Well, this sucks.”

“It does,” Lindsey agreed. “It seems you have some interesting friends, though.”

Echo sipped her cup of water as she mulled over the strange transition. “We have the same friends, Linds.” Working in law enforcement made for a large extended, and occasionally dysfunctional, family, and since they hung out together, the majority of the people in their lives were shared friends and acquaintances.

“Funny, because I don't remember you bringing those two superheroes you crashed into on the bike path today out for drinks with us.” She leaned back in the chair, looking nonchalant as she pulled a bottle of water from her purse to sip.

Superheroes? What? “What are you talking about?” Shifting to sit up further in bed, she found herself tired and reclining back on the pillows behind her. She had one thing she wanted to make clear, though. “And I didn't crash into anyone. I ditched out so I wouldn't crash into anyone.”

Lindsay smiled slyly. “You’re too nice, that’s why you crashed.”

Looking around to make sure there were no little ears to overhear she snarked at her friend, “Vaffanculo,” complete with the associated hand gesture.

Of course that's the moment when Danny decided to come into the room carrying a bottle of water and some white daisies he laid on the table next to her drink. “Ay, yo! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asked with his ever present grin. He’d clearly cleaned up and changed into one of his signature tight t-shirts and jeans. He made hipster chic look good with his wire-rim glasses and skinny jeans.

Rolling her eyes hurt but she did it anyway. “Whatever, Danny. When do I get outta here?”

The thin man winced and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, see that's the problem. Both the girls have ear infections, and they’re with my mom right now, but there's nobody to look after them for us, so we can look after you. And well unfortunately, between us and Flack, Donnie is going outta town with Trish for the weekend. So the docs wanna keep you overnight.”

“But…” she whined pitifully. The idea of spending the night alone in the hospital sounded as appealing as shaving her legs with a dull razor and lemonade shaving cream.

Lindsey’s lips twitched. “You know we have toddlers, right? We’re immune to such things,” she laughed.

Lower lip in full pout, she replied, “And that's just unfair.” Echo reached onto the table and then rummaged around in the sheets over her before reaching into her bloodstained bra and the pockets of her bike shorts. “Where's my phone?” Surely she could find someone to look after her at her place so she didn’t have to stay in the hospital.

Danny cringed as he grabbed the other visitor’s seat in the room. “Yeah, about that... your phone’s out getting fixed right now. Unfortunately it and your sunglasses met the creek bed and experienced a similar fate as you.”

“Oh no.” She winced and reached up to touch the bridge of her nose involuntarily as her hopes for escape dwindled in front of her. “This is bad.”

He nodded, conceding her point. “Yeah, yeah it is, kiddo.”

“So, I have to stay.” It was a statement of resignation more than anything and she was beyond displeased, but knew two things: first, this wasn’t her friends’ fault, and second, she couldn’t do anything about this.

“Unfortunately.” Messer nodded again. Seeing her dejected expression, he rushed to assure her, “Just for tonight though. They’ll let you go in the morning. Hopefully your phone will be back here by then, good as new.”

“Wait…” Her mind was still a little fuzzy, but Echo was pretty clear that phone insurance wasn’t nearly that prompt. “Who's got my phone?”

Lindsay looked at Danny with a pointy glare. “You didn't tell her?”

“She just woke up! You were here!” Danny held out a hand hoping to show that he was unarmed and not one to take her fire. He pulled the chair over to the bed to be closer to Echo. “Do you remember the two guys you crashed into?”

“I didn't crash,” she corrected, rolling her eyes coming much easier this time.

“Your face and bike would disagree,” he supplied diplomatically, with only the barest hint of a grin.

“Whatever.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, assessing. “You really don’t remember?”

Shaking her head hurt, but she tried anyway. “Help me out here, Messer. I got nothin’.” She had vague recollections of the two hot guys from the path, but considering she saw them daily, those were not memories she trusted. “Were those the ones you and Flack had your guns on?”

Lindsay's eyes grew very large and she pinned Danny down with a very pointed glare. “You had your gun on Captain America and Sergeant Barnes?”

“It was a very fluid situation,” he gritted out through his clenched jaw. “It took a minute to get it all untangled.”

“I'm sorry, what?” The headache that had been dancing around the edge of her vision grew to full force causing her to rub her face. “What? That doesn't even make sense.” How in the fried fuck did the fricking Avengers figure into this? “How—? What—? I don’t understand—”

Danny cringed at her questions and pushed to his feet. “Well I think we've done enough damage here. Linds will get the girls and we'll see you tomorrow morning.”

Echo’s eyes popped open as she reached for him when he stepped away to put the chair back. “Wait! No! You don't get to just drop a bomb and leave like that.”

Likely attracted by her beeping monitor, the nurse came in to see her blood pressure spiking. “You have to go now. The patient needs her rest.”

Lindsey and Danny leaned over for quick hugs before heading toward the door. “This will make sense in the morning, E, okay? You’ll be fine,” he assured her.

She whined again, dropping her head into the pillows. “Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you will,” he replied with his trademark toothy grin.

Right before he and Lindsey walked out the door, she asked, “Hey, who has my bike?”

“Hopefully that’ll be here with your phone.”

The way Danny’s smile turned secretive before the nurse closed the door was concerning, but her head hurt too badly to really give it too much thought. Honestly, she was tired again and since it seemed she had nowhere else to be, she figured it was a good moment to take a nap.

“We should have brought the bike up.”

“And put it where, genius? In the hallway where it’d just be in the way? In here? It’s a hospital, not a subway platform.”

“I just think—”

“And that’s your problem right there, Stevie.”

“I just don’t want her to think we took it or anything.”

“Steve. Really. Come down off the cross; we need the wood.”

Echo woke to the sound of grumbled whispers and some sort of mechanical noise. Her dark eyes opened to the overly bright room, only to slam shut again at the vision before her. It was clearly a concussion-generated hallucination, because there, seated at her bedside were the two sexy mofos from the bike trail. A flimsy wisp of a memory danced across her mind of the blond one fetching her from the creek by picking her up, but… that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be; she was too heavy for that. She hadn’t been picked up since childhood, and certainly was not one to invite the casual touch of strangers.

Cracking her eyes open the barest hint, she watched the two men, giants, both of them, arguing back and forth softly beside her. She’d never given thought to their size before beyond their muscles, considering her bike gave her a height advantage, but damn if they weren’t enormous, still dressed in their too-tight t-shirts and jeans that encased their thighs closer than clingwrap.

Her soft whimper at the sight brought their argument to a halt as both of them reached for her hand.

“Hey, beautiful,” the longhaired one greeted her with a soft smile as he delicately touched her fingers. His own fingers were cold, and when she looked to see why, it appeared they were made of some kind of metal. In her mind, she’d always assumed it had been some kind of tattoo when she’d seen him in passing, so the metal was a bit of a shock.

“Howya feelin’, sweetheart?” the blond one asked as he laid his hand over her same wrist.

She closed her eyes for a moment, just absorbing the absurdity of this moment. “Best. Hallucination. Ever.”

Her eyes snapped open at a bark of laughter followed by the mostly silent wheezing giggles that overtook Hotness 2. He threw his head back, shaking out his unbound hair in full chortle, a bubbly infectious sound that made her feel like she’d been infused with sunshine. The way his nose crinkled made her want to hug the hell outta him.

“Babydoll,” he choked out as he brushed away tears from his cheeks before patting her knee with a warm smile. “We’re as real as it gets. I promise.”

Blondie’s grin at his friend was a mix of affection and unruffled resignation. “Ignore Chuckles over there. How are you feelin’?”

“I’d feel better if I knew who you were,” she said softly. It was a strange feeling, a sensation of familiarity and absolutely no idea why she might know them. Not that she didn’t appreciate the attention, but it was disconcerting that they seemed to know her and she had no active memory of them beyond their occasional encounters on the trails and paths in Central Park.

“I’m James and this is Ste—Wait, you really don’t remember us?” The brunet went from amused to stricken in a breath when she shook her head, his free hand—it was a metal hand—scrubbing down his face and pulling his features taut before clapping his hands. “Right then. I’m James—my friends call me Bucky, and this is Steve. I ran into you on the trail yesterday.”

Eyes rolled to the ceiling, the giant blond then directed an annoyed glare at his compatriot before folding her hand in both of his massive paws. “What Buck means is he ran into you on the bike path. By the Glen Span bridge.”

“Oh! Jeez!” Thinking back, all she could see in her mind was the blue shirt and then everything goes kind of hazy until… “Guns? My friends had their guns on you?”

They both held their hands up, shaking their heads. “A misunderstanding. It all got sorted out pretty quickly, despite Smartass over here trying to get us killed,” James grumbled in Steve’s direction, even as a smirk curled around the corners of his mouth.

The blond winced at his friend’s description of the events but didn’t correct him. “Anyway, we wanted to come and apologize for all the upheaval we caused for you.”

“And your stitches and things,” the brunet added as he tucked his long bangs behind his ears. Looking down in his lap, he jerked as he noticed the bag by his feet. It was purple and glittery and had tissue paper sticking out of the top and he pushed it into her hands like it may be virulently contagious. “Here. From us.”

Immediately suspicious, Echo held the bag at arm’s length. “Okay? What is it?”

Steve rolled his eyes with a little huff of impatience. “Telling you ruins the surprise. We went to the trouble of wrapping ‘em—”

“Well, Wanda did,” Buck leaned over to stage-whisper conspiratorially.

“We went to the trouble of having ‘em wrapped,” the blond corrected with an impatient glare at his friend, “so open it.”

A little embarrassed at having their eager eyes track her every move, she dug past the mountain of glittery paper to pull out a shrink-wrapped, brand new Stark Phone in the signature red and gold box which she set on the bed next to her. Everything about this situation was so goddamn weird, it was hard to make all the pieces fit together in her head with any kind of coherence.

“Tony promised me he got all your stuff transferred over,” Steve offered eagerly as he poked the box a little closer to her.

“Pictures and things,” Buck clarified over his friend’s shoulder. They both seemed greatly invested in her taking the gift.

She held the box up in one hand while pawing through the bag with the other. “Okay?” Her fingers brushed against another box, this one textured and obviously expensive cardboard and almost as hefty as her phone box.

Echo’s eyes widened as she pulled out the black box with the distinctive gold writing on it. “Is this…?” she trailed off as she observed the two men closely. Steve nodded encouragingly, so she opened it, almost afraid of what could be inside. Inside was a hard leather case, with gold lettering that matched the exterior box. “You got me Versace sunglasses?” She couldn’t decide if she was happy or mildly horrified.

The blond nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yours were in pieces from where I stepped on them getting out of the water.” His cheeks flushed as he looked more than a little ashamed. “Tony assured me that you’d be okay with the replacement.”

“Stevie’s underselling it. Stark said you’d appreciate the upgrade.”

Upgrade? Shit… she was a city employee and made nowhere near the kind of money that this pair of sunglasses cost. They were likely more expensive than all the clothes in her closet. “I… thank you?”

“Here.” James nodded at the bag next to her. “There’s more in there.”

At the expectant looks on their faces, she set the black box aside and turned her attention to the bright yellow envelope just inside the bag. “‘Sorry we broke your stuff, please accept these replacements with our humblest apologies,’” she read, wary of their hopeful expressions when she finished. “'Replacements?' Plural? There’s more?”

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seal-writes-stuff · 1 year

Text

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: graphic violence, kidnapping, one mention of frequent hospital visits, vague allusions to The Victory Project and everything that comes with it, Trauma

Summary: Alice Warren is a lot of things and you happen to love every single one. After she mysteriously disappears one day, it’s the only thing that keeps your rage and fear laser-focused.

A/N: Dear followers, today I offer you headcanons that nobody requested with a weird poetry vibe. Tomorrow? Who knows. Also I might’ve taken some liberties with how the simulation works, but hey. Hope you enjoy!

Alice is compassionate.

The first time you meet her, you aren’t looking for it – you aren’t looking for anything at all. Weeks after weeks of hospital visits have exhausted you completely, worn you down to the bone. You’re sitting in a cheap plastic chair in a long, bright corridor, not a single thought in your head; all you want is just to curl up in your bed and sleep for fifty years straight. Maybe you’d still wake up tired.

That’s when you hear her sweet, concerned voice, asking you if you’re okay.

You’d assume a surgeon working a long shift wouldn’t be the one to chat, but surprisingly, you’d be wrong. She really wants to know if something’s the matter. People rarely come here for some happy reasons, she tells you. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay.

You cry in her arms for what feels like hours – in the arms of a complete stranger who keeps reassuring you, never once noticing how you stain her work clothes with tears.

Alice is a good friend.

It’s been a few months. You can’t remember the time when she wasn’t your friend, can’t imagine a life that wouldn’t include her. You meet as often as you can, talking about nothing and everything, sharing the things you wouldn’t share with anyone else. It’s like you’re on the same wavelength all the time; you simply get each other.

You keep reminding Alice that she doesn’t have to see you every other day. After all, it’s hard to imagine a job more demanding than hers – you’d understand. And every time Alice tells you that it’s fine. That she loves what she does and she loves spending time with you.

“I’d go crazy sitting at home all day,” she laughs.

Alice is loveable.

You collect the moments you share like you’d collect rare flowers, saving them between the book pages for later. Alice pulling you in a dance in her living room, giggling as you end it with a twirl. Alice showing you her new sundress, asking for your opinion about it with casual intimacy. Alice clinking glasses with you, stars in her eyes.

You think your friend is beautiful. You don’t allow your thoughts to go further than that.

Alice is valuable.

The last time you see her, Alice is venting about her boyfriend – all valid things, you must say, you’d be venting too. Your advice to dump him becomes less and less humorous every time you repeat it. Anyone can fall on hard times - not everyone turns into an entitled leech over that. She tells you it’s okay. Deep down he’s a really good guy, and fights happen. That’s just a part of life.

You think that “deep down” must be quite deep indeed, but you don’t voice it. She clearly loves him, and if she chooses to give him that love then he must deserve it on some level. Either way, it’s not for you to decide.

That night, Alice is wearing her favorite skirt and a big striped sweater. A description burned into your mind as you have to repeat it over and over later.

Alice is gone.

It happens overnight – nobody knows where she went and nobody knows what might’ve happened.

No, she didn’t have any enemies.

No, she wasn’t acting any differently than she normally would.

No. Yes. No. Thank you, that means a lot.

You put up posters with her face every day and cry yourself to sleep every night.

Her boyfriend is standoffish. He’s never liked you and sees no need to pretend otherwise now. You’ve always hated him, didn’t you? You never believed in him. All you wanted is to see them, true star-crossed lovers, apart.

Time and time again, you try to mend that bridge just so you can have the hope of ever finding your friend, but her boyfriend isn’t having any of that. You chalk it up to his wounded pride at first, never denying him the right to resent you. Yet something bothers you about it nevertheless.

Something is off. That’s all you can say and that’s all that you really need

Alice is nearby.

It takes time. It takes effort. It takes an ungodly amount of unimaginably awful podcasts, but you finally get the full picture. It’s terrifying, it’s impossible and it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the only option.

After a few days of rehearsing the whole things in your head, you follow Jack – you’ve finally managed to learn his name – to what used to be his and Alice’s shared apartment. For someone trying to conceal a brand new human right violation, this man is incredibly careless. He’s so assured in his invincibility that he doesn’t even bother with varying his routes.

You know what you’re doing is illegal, but it doesn’t matter at this point. Doubt is a luxury you can’t afford, not anymore. The law has failed Alice and her boyfriend has failed her too; you aren’t about to do the same.

The door has three locks, yet they’re so shitty that you manage to bypass them all with a few tweaks here and there – you’re lucky today. Jack must’ve gotten sloppier with time. Or maybe he never cared in the first place. Who knows.

Doesn’t matter.

You pass through the hallway and enter the bedroom.

Alice

right

there.

It’s a first time you’re seeing the device in action and, for a moment, you forget how to breathe. Gasping, you will yourself to look away from her, from what this despicable stain on humanity has done to her, and stare at Jack instead. He hasn’t entered the simulation yet, but he’s about to do it.

For just a moment, he stares back with fear and confusion in his eyes, and that gives you more than enough time to lunge for his throat.

You fly into a blind rage – one that you’ve never felt before and will never feel after. He tries to fight back, tries to crawl away, tries to plead, cry, scream; you can’t hear any of that. It’s all just noise, buzz in the air. You tear into his flesh with your bare hands, pulling it apart like a rabid animal. His hair is a perfect length to be wrapped around your fist.

You drive him face-first into the floor a few times before his body goes limp. You then do it some more.

You haven’t fought anyone since kindergarten.

You sit up and press your back to the bed frame, gasping for air. Your face burns and you can taste the metal – he must’ve landed some blows. Could be better, could be worse. You’ll live.

Alice.

With the shaking hands, you – gently, ever so gently – you take off her bounds and tie Jack up, just for good measure. It’s okay. They aren’t a part of the device anyway, not really. Those things that keep her eyes open, however, sure are.

What would happen if you just took them off? Would it hurt Alice? Would she survive? Would it cause some type of horrible, irreparable damage to her you can’t even imagine right now? You don’t know. Frank was careful to keep the details away from the general public – the only thing he, unfortunately, was kind of right about. His followers never questioned the inner workings of it all either.

So no way out but through.

Without hesitation, you put the second pair of these nightmarish goggles on, you stare at the changing pattern on the ceiling, you feel your mind go numb. It suddenly occurs to you that, as much as you’ve planned ahead, you really have no idea what you’re doing right now. You aren’t even sure if you’ll keep your memories or come out of this alive.

But there’s no point in wondering. Knowing the answers wouldn’t change anything. You’d try to save her anyway.

“Alice!”

She stands in the middle of a little-too-clean vintage living room, eyes wide, staring at you in numb horror. You realize that you must still be covered in blood – or maybe you aren’t, you’re so agitated that there’s no way to tell. Maybe you look perfectly normal right now. Maybe she’s simply scared of you because you’re a stranger in her perfect house, a stranger who snatched her perfect husband away.

You’ve thought that your tears have dried out completely months ago. For the first time tonight, you’re proven wrong.

“Do you… Remember me?” you ask in a shaking voice, stepping closer carefully. Alice is frozen in place, a weirdly vacant expression on her face. “Do you remember me at all?”

No response. You have no way of knowing what she’s thinking about, but at least she’s there. You’re grasping at straws, trying to come up with something, anything to say. Something that would convince her to let you help.

“Let’s get out of there. Please,” you plead. “If- When we get out of there, you won’t have to speak to me ever again. But please, let’s just-”

You don’t get to finish. Alice wraps you in a tight hug and you start sobbing into the crook her neck.

In a minute you’ll find out that Alice knows a way out – she’s had her own investigation while you had yours. In two minutes you’ll find out that at least one other woman here knows what’s really going on, always did. In five, you’ll leave this awful place behind, chased by a squad of things you aren’t sure are even human.

But right now, this very moment, is just for the two of you.

Alice is safe.

Time crawls at a snail’s pace, but after one day inevitably comes another. Both of you start therapy. Jack gets arrested – for some miraculous reason, you don’t kill him that night after all. The Victory Project comes under investigation; the details are kept under wraps, partly for “the benefit of the survivors’ mental and physical well-being”. You’re sure as hell there isn’t a thing in the world that can damage your mental and physical well-being even further, but there’s nothing left in you to fight this decision. This isn’t even an argument. It’s better to let it go.

You spend every night with Alice and she spends every night with you. You pour your hearts out to each other like never before. In a way, your friendship has changed fundamentally; in a much deeper way, however, it stayed the same. You cook Alice dinner when she comes home after a long day and she lets you sleep in on weekends. For a long time after the whole thing is over, she resents anything resembling housework. You can’t hold it against her.

One night, when you’re watching some endless TV-show - you’ve carefully curated your watchlist to avoid anything 50s-themed - Alice asks you point-blank if you regret it. The violence, the pain, the fear. If you regret hearing about him so much before everything went down, hearing Alice defend him as he was planning to take her life away.

Of course you know the answer. You’ve always known it: no, you don’t regret it at all. You’d go through it all a hundred more times if it meant setting her free. You’d search for months and years and decades if it meant finding her in the end. You’d beat this pathetic excuse of a man again and again, until there was nothing left of him anymore, if it meant letting her choose her own path.

And it’s not her fault that a person she gave all her love to never appreciated it. That’s on him. And Alice deserves none of his shame.

“But what if I left you?” she whispers, some unspoken urgency coloring her tone. “After… Then what?”

You look at Alice and she looks at you, her face illuminated by the TV. There’s a familiar, heartbreaking fear in her eyes that she can’t quite shake; worst of all, a completely understandable fear. You take her hands in yours.

“I’ve meant every word,” you whisper, brushing her knuckles with your thumb. “If we never spoke again, I wouldn’t do anything differently. I mean, I’d live a way sadder life, but that would be my problem.”

Just as the last word leaves your mouth, she kisses you as a promise to stay, to commit to you freely and without force. And you kiss her back, fervently, with endless yearning – as a promise to always find her, to always be there. To love and be loved generously, to love on purpose and to stay by choice.

And after what feels like forever, finally, Alice is home.

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