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python333 · 8 months

Note

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves?

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep.

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now.

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true.

You’re still staring at the scalpel.

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself.

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough.

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.

The fists your hands have formed become tighter.

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself.

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar.

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.

There’s a knock. Then another.

The door handle twists.

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second.

The door opens.

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?”

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.”

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.”

“... Ye sure?”

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?”

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.”

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.”

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.”

“Ye whit?”

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—”

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.”

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions.

“No.”

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?”

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters.

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive.

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s.

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.”

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].”

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings.

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit.

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.”

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you.

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left.

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit.

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more.

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?”

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.”

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself.

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters.

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?”

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.”

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.”

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?”

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?”

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.”

“Us ‘four’ being… ?”

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.

Your words affect them more than you thought they would.

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?”

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.”

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.”

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz.

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price.

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.”

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?”

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.”

“I do.”

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—”

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.”

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.”

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.”

“But you just said that I was strong.”

“I did.”

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks.

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.”

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.”

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.”

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

454 notes · View notes

neonovember · 1 year

Note

Hello, uhm, so this MAY be an uncomfortable thing to request I’m not too sure. It’s totally totally okay if it is absolutely feel free to ignore this, but the way you write Carmen is so so comforting. I have this neighbor that lives downstairs from me, I’ve lived in my apartment for two years but the past 4 months with this guy has been hell. I live in the U.K. and the people that own the building and the police don’t view my situation as anything dangerous or serious, despite the fact I have made numerous complaints and even the other neighbors in my building have complained about him. But he targets me the most and bangs on my door at ungodly hours and threatens the most horrible stuff because I’m a woman living alone. I’m honestly terrified but unless he physically does something there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry for the sob story but usually I always try and just picture Carmy as something comforting to help through this until I can be safe, would it be okay to request something like Carmen finding out about his gf losing sleep and constantly being terrified and deciding to take matters into his own hands, and demanding she moves in with him and helps pack her stuff because he will NOT stand for that shit (again totally 100% okay if you don’t feel comfortable responding)

oh my god anon, I'm so deeply sorry that you have to deal with such a shitty situation, and the fact that you have to wait to be physically attacked before the police can do anything? Fuck the justice system and fuck law enforcement. Don't every feel scared to send a request to make your day or week or fucking month better, it's why I'm here, and the fact that my writing can make you feel even a little better is the greatest gift i could ever ask for. God I just hope you're able to remain safe, call a friend or family to keep them posted in case anything happens, I'm so very sorry honey :(

Broken bones and soup

carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: misogyny, violence, feral!carmen makes an appearence, angst, horrible neighbours, angst, teeth rotting fluff, carmy feeding you

w/c: 5.3k

a/n: this was hard to write, i really wanted to do it right by you anon, and when have i ever written carmen without him breaking someones face?

The falling sun encapsulated the cerulean sky, exploding against the horizon in heated shades of orange, crimson and pink. The trail back to your apartment complex wasn’t long, but it gave enough time to bask in the warmth of evenings bathed in sunlight. It also conveniently enabled you to tell yourself you had gotten your sun for the day, rather than having to swallow pills you hated to swallow.

It was muscle memory however, your legs moved with the familiar comfort of the sidewalk, forgetting the stomach turning realisation of what had awaited you back at your apartment.

It had been a couple months, four maybe 5, you didn’t really want to count the days having a violent neighbour moved in directly down your apartment. The other tenants who you've grown to know collectively bristled with the annoyance of a 30 something year old filling the usual peaceful nights with crashes and yells of broken plates and incoherent obscenities.

When you had raised the issue to the landlord and even to the police, you had been shut down with a shrug of the shoulders.

‘We can notice him with a noise complaint, but if he aint hurting anyone we can’t do much’.

That had made you laugh a little then, before you had been close to bawling your eyes out and ripping out your hair. Sure he was loud, your neighbours from the other side of the apartment complex could attest to that, but it was so much more than loud fucking music, and somehow, you had bared the brunt of his violence. It was targeted, you knew it, and your legs began to shuffle at the thought of coming home to another violent outbursts at your door.

You hadn't gotten any proper sleep for the past 4 months, waking up to loud banging at your door, and declarations of brutality he whispered through your keyhole. It was all empty threats, those men in clad uniform had told you when you woke up shaking with fear as he screamed taunts of murder from below, you had run out in your pyjamas and bunny slippers and they had told you they couldn't help you.

There were not empty threats, and this wasn’t the hundreds of true crime shows you had binged, you felt it in your bones, you were a woman living with yourself for god sake, he was going to break down your door one day and hurt you, and you couldn't do anything about it. You felt paralysed by the helplessness of it, forcing yourself to stay up past 12, the burn of your tired eyes forced open by the blue light of your phone, in case he tried breaking in. You had begun to keep a bat near your bed, a knife in the drawer of your bedside, and you felt fucking insane. Noone had made a major problem out of it, and yet you felt like he was one bad day from a murderous rampage.

Carmen could tell something had been wearing on your shoulders, the way your eyes blinked slowly, and the syrup slow movements of your limbs when you had visited the Beef not long ago. You couldn't bear to tell him, your past relationships had taught you enough not to unload all your problems onto another person, but it had gotten bad. You had started getting notices of concern from your boss, asking if you were alright, telling you how your performance had been declining.

You had quickly shut down any looks of concern thrown at you, this was something you had to deal with yourself, you didn’t want anyone, especially another woman to be faced with the brunt of his violence. You guzzled caffeine and energy drinks like it was water, and your limbs jittered with the rush of adrenaline until the peak had dropped and you felt like your stomach was ripping itself apart.

You braced yourself as you turned the corner into your apartment complex, keeping your head down, and going through the carpack to avoid the hallway that was right next to his door. You felt your stomach drop, your keys pressed between your knuckles and you flickered your eyes up to the door of his apartment. You watched it like a hawk, ready to flee at any sign of opening, and when you had finally made it to the elevator, you breathed a sigh of relief like no other. The air suddenly fills your lungs once again.

Your phone buzzed in your jean pocket, and you reached out to grab it, the screen illuminated by Carmen’s text. You felt a tingle of glee shoot through you, biting back a smile at the thought of seeing him today.

“You still coming today for the family dinner?”

The beef had begun a sort of tradition, every last Friday of the month, they would close early and hold a sort of family dinner right out back near the tables and chairs. Everyone of the crew’s family and friends were invited to join, some bringing a plate or a drink or two. It was the highlight of the month, and you hadn't missed a Friday ever since Carmen and you had become something more than close friends.

You typed out a quick reply with a tongue in your cheek, as the elevator doors opened, you didn't look up right away, walking with your head down as you tucked your phone back into your pocket. It was a fault on your end, you should have looked up, at least then you could have braced yourself as your neighbour stood stationed near your door with a cheshire smile stretching ominously across his face.

You wondered if you could run back into the elevator, but the doors had closed well before and you feared turning your back to him was an even worse fate. You walked towards him, plastering on a smile that didn't look even a little believable.

“Something I can do for you?” You ask, your voice heightened by a mix of fear and false confidence

“Hear you've been complaining about me” The man replies with a smile, his hair slicked back, the shadow of a badly shaven skin spiking up. His shirt reeks of sweat and stains of spilt takeaway and you have to take a tentative step back to escape the stench radiating off of him.

“Yeah, you might not realise it, but you have been a bit- uh loud, and the loud banging on my walls?” You prouch him, and his eyebrows rise in surprise, shaking his head with a laugh that horrified you.

“Am I scaring you?” The man replies

You swallow as your eyes flicker to his burnt hazel ones, they stare down from above, almost mocking in the way they forced you to answer.

“Uh, uhm- well, a lot of us got work in the morning, and I can’t wake up if you're making a lot of noise during the night”

“Oh, is that right?” The man asks, scratching a hand across his jaw

“Well no one's been the one complaining but you” The man replies

“I don't think so many of us-”

“You saying I’m a liar??” The man suddenly shouts, and you can help yourself stepping back a distance quickly

The man watches the way you distance yourself away from him, his eyes flicker to the keys poking out from between your fingers and he bites back a laugh.

“So you are scared of me, liar.” The man spits out with venom, before stepping towards you, caging you to the wall as he whispers near your ear

“You think fucking keys are going to stop me? A little lady like you living here all by yourself?” The man digs his fingers into your sides, until you howl out and retch yourself away from him, you reach for your right side, holding the skin above your rib cage that had begun to swell and bruise.

“See how easy that was? A fucking pretzel in my hand” The man calls out with a smile, before walking back around the hallway corner with such ease and comfort that told you he knew the police wouldnt do shit.

Your hand shakes as you shove your key into your door, you have to hold your own hand to put it in, before shouldering your way through your door with wince, and dropping your bag and belongings to the floor.

You rush into your bathroom, undressing before your eyes flicker to your mirror, seeing the red rash of irritation and the start of a purple imprint of his claws shoved into the skin below your ribcage. You wince as you try to soothe it, the salty tears breaking down your waterline, you can't stop, the wretched sobs of your helplessness echoing off the bathroom walls.

You climb into the shower, sliding down to the bottom as the tears shake through you, you hug your knees to your chest, letting the warm water combine with your salty tears, so they become one, and you know longer now how terrified you are. You stay in the shower like this for a bit, letting the warmth and steam wiggle your body from its stone encapsulation.

You can hear the familiar jingle of your phone ringing from where you had haphazardly left it, and the memory of today's dinner comes rushing in. You had nearly forgotten, and whilst you were terrified to leave your home and go back into the hallway where it had happened, you couldn't let Carmen down.

So you had gotten up, in the same way you had fallen down, and tried to scrub away the smell of his day-old cigarettes and sweat until your skin burned, poking your head through a clean shirt and a skirt that hid the painful purple splotch that had begun to spread across your side.

Entering your quaint kitchen, you can’t stop your arm as it reaches for the brown liquid stored in that old glass bottle Sugar had told you was a century old. You didn't have a little liquid courage to make it past your goddamn threshold.

You downed it in a gulp, reaching for your bag and a pocket knife, just in case. The reality of that decision broke you a little, when did you start needing to armour yourself?

Your phone buzzed from its position edged between the living room couch, it was Carmen, again, telling you he was outside. Carmen had begun to ceremoniously show up to your apartment as the autumn had begun to bleed into the winter nights, and the sunlight had stretched until darkness hit by 5 in the afternoon. Any other time you would have chastised him till the point where he would stop, but now, with the reality of your neighbour, you felt a relief wash through your body at the thought of being close to him. You also don’t doubt he would have shown up anyway, ignoring your requests in the way he does when he thinks it's his responsibility.

You wouldnt say you had a lot of experience in relationships under your belt, but something spoke to you from within, carmen was something special, this was special, sacred in the way destiny was, and you shooke with the relentless fear of fucking it up. And scaring him away with your problems seemed to be on the very top of that list

You shake the thought from your head as you shut the door quietly, take a brisk pace as you walk but kind of run to the elevator. A neighbour you knew well stood near the doors, his dark auburn hair falling in front of his eyes, he nodded to you with a silent smile. He kept to himself most of the time, and you didn't know much about him, just that he always was tugging a sleeve down his left arm, but he always went out of his way to give you some sort of greeting.

The air between you was silent, as you were waiting for the ping of the elevator to drop to your door, and you heard a shuffling near you, your eyes watching the way he coughed and stared at you from the corner of your peripheral vision.

“Heard something out in the hallway, it wasn’t him again was it?” The man replied, concerned about lacing his features as his eyes seemed to be fixated on the way you leaned on one side of your body a little.

“Uh no, it’s- it’s alright, I guess it was my dues you know? Dealing with a shitty neighbour at least once” You reply with a tight smile, trying to poke fun at the very depressing thought.

The man nodded with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, your neighbours had known that he was loud, knew that you had dealt the worst of it being right above him, but they were clueless to his taunts and threats that he said into your door at night. You think the man next to you had an idea though, the way his eyes scanned anything like he was always assessing, always calculating the world around him.

It was also because your neighbour was nowhere to be found whenever he was around, you whispered a prayer of thanks that he was taking the elevator down with you, with his sweatpants and top, it was like he knew, a silent nod of protection.

Before you could open your mouth to whisper a thanks, the doors of the elevator had opened, a tired mom and her two energetic kids passed between you both. It was funny, you could see yourself in her, the drag of dark circles and the hunch of her shoulders mirroring your own.

You knew the very shakily painted on makeup did little to hide the exhaustion on your face and you rushed to enter the elevator to escape the thought. The motion of the elevator moving down nauseated you a little, churning your stomach in the way it always did with motion, but your apartment wasn’t big and soon enough the music of the elevator turned to a halt as the doors opened up to the ground floor.

You could see the headlights of Carmen's car through the automatic doors of your complex, and you gave your neighbour a smile before rushing to jump into the comfort of Carmen and his very, very warm car.

-- -

The car ride to the beef has been silent, just the syrupy beat of jazz from the car speakers and the burn of Carmen’s gaze searing a hole through you, you feared if you caught his eyes and the look in them the entire interaction today would tumble from your tongue.

You couldn’t ruin today, it was tradition, you had just begun to become folded into it. The joy of Tina calling your name for a hug, the talks about the new pastry ideas with Marcus, Sydney’s laughter, it soothes you like a balm, and you were sure the nausea crawling through your stomach would dissipate the second you entered.

But it didn’t, the beautiful lantern lights from outside the Beef glittered against the Chicago moonlight and the smell of Italian meatballs engulfed your senses and you still felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside.

You had said your hellos to everyone, biting back a yelp as Tina’s hand pressed against the bruise on your side, and nodding to Richie’s rambles whilst you felt outside of your own skin.

Your mind kept replaying the scene of him lunging st you, bristling your skin till goosebumps spread through, until your mind was exhausted from fear and well, fucking exhaustion and Carmen had to call your name too many times to rip you from your thoughts.

“Hey, you alright?” Carmen asks with that soft honey tone he keeps for you.

You nod with a smile, and Carmen’s eyes shift towards your plate untouched. It was your favourite, a twist on Osso Buco and yet it laid un moving, Carmen knew it, you did too, and you held back tears as Carmen simply nodded, not sure if he was overstepping his boundaries.

It was the first lick of the start of something, the both of you, the bloom of a companionship Carmen felt was destined, like it was seared into the sand years before you both had even come into existence. And Carmen was new to this, and that opened up a whole can of worms, he didn’t want to fuck it up, he didn’t want to think about fucking it up, but god did he always seem to fuck it up.

You reached across the table to grab the jar of water, your shirt riding up without you noticing. Tina’s eyes widen at the peek of a purple imprint from under your shirt and she has nearly drops her fucking fork

“Baby? What happened to your side?” Tina replies with concern, her voice is quiet but the tables loud boisterous conversations begin to slow down.

You tug your shirt down, and you burn with guilt like you had been caught with this big secret. Carmen immediately looks towards your side, his eyes scanning the way you since a little as your finger brushes against it.

“Nothing, uh um I fell” You don't even believe yourself

“That looks more than something you get tripping over your feet darling, did something happen?”

“What? What’s she saying honey? What did you see Tina?” Tina’s gaze flutters to Carmen, and there’s a pause like she’s assessing whether it was Carmen’s doing before the reality of who he is hits her. It was ingrained in every woman, and Carmen wouldn’t be an exception. Even for a second.

“Looks like someone’s goddam fist imprinted into her skin”

The restaurant is completely quiet now, and your head falls to your uneaten plate of veal, they look towards you in concern hearing the end of Tina’s words.

Carmen lifts your shirt, and you don’t stop him, the reality of your attack is shown right there in front of him, the imprint of a large hand bruising purple and blue.

Carmen’s eyes burn into the skin, his fists shaking as he remains silent, the rest of the family look on in horror, whispers of “holy fuck?” and eyes seeing the way Carmen practically vibrates, like he’s a second away from exploding.

“..Who did this?”

“It was my fault- I”

“Who did this baby? Who hurt you?” Carmen replies with an exhaled murmur.

“I’m, uh, Uhm- he- oh Carmen” You can’t get the words out, they’re stuck in your throat and you can’t get them out. You feel trapped, your body is sweating like you’re caged, like you're wading through a current and you're losing yourself to the weight of it, your breakdown on display for the whole world to see.

You blink back tears as Carmen tilts your chin to face him, and the look on his face, the look of distraught and fear that blossoms across his features un tetheres the tightly wrapped self control you had formed.

And Carmen scoops you up into his arms so that the entire family doesn’t have to see you break into his shoulder.

His soothing words are like a balm to your distress and he walks you, bridal style to the first aid cabinet, sitting you down on the counter, wiping away your tears as his fingers shake and his throat bobs with a tight swallow. He hastily tugs your shirt, kissing back the howls of pain as he whispers “I know, I know baby girl, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.”

His soft fingers press gently against the bruise as he rubs a heating ointment across it, he wraps a warm compress around it as bandage and his eyes are avoiding your own as he focuses his fingers on your skin.

“Carmen?” You whisper, the hiccups of tears resounding from your throat, Carmen reaches for a painkiller, placing it in your palm with a whisper of affirmation, he gently tips your head back as he pours water into your mouth, and you swallow it quickly, before looking back at him.

“Carmen? Please” You reply, had you done it, had you ruined everything?

“I can’t look at you because I fear I might break, and- and I can’t right now okay darling? I have to find, I have to find who did this, and I need to make it right, hm? I need to make sure your safe because god my heart is outside of my chest and I can’t feel anything but fear” Carmen replies with a tight low voice, his fists shake as he pressed them into the counter beside your thighs, but he looks up to meet your gaze anyway, and he smiles tightly as the tears stream down.

“Oh Carmen, this isn't on you, you couldn't have possibly known” You reply, wiping a hand across his cheeks.

“How can you say that? I am your, I am meant to protect you, and you, you come limping in without me noticing, fucking Tina saw it before I could, and i hate myself for it” Carmen replies, his cerulean blues shining bright against the shine of tears.

“Who did this, someone at work? A guy on the street?” Carmen replies and you flick away from his gaze, hand falling to your lap as your tongue burns with the desire to just say it all.

“You've got to tell me baby girl, you have to know I've got to make it right, I won’t sleep till I do. '' Carmen replies with a pained cry, like his heart is breaking from the thought of letting this go un avenged. And it's the tortured look on his face, it's the shake of his limbs like he wants to destroy and burn the entire world around him till he finds whoever has done this that uncurls your tongue and lets everything out in the open.

“What? This has been going on for months? Why didn’t you tell me?” Carmen replies, his thumb rubbing soft circles across your thigh.

“Didn’t want to scare you away Carmen, i love-i I like you a lot, more than I have anyone and I didn't want to fuck it up and unload all my problems onto you like a dumpster” You reply, and it sounds stupid when you say it out loud, and when Carmen looks up at you in disbelieved confusion.

“Huh? Oh sweet girl, I’m meant to help you bear it all, that’s why I'm here, and the idea of you thinking I'll love you any less, that I won't help you because of something like this haunts me. I’m meant to protect you yeah? That’s my fucking job, and I’ve failed it” Carmen replies with a grunt.

“No one has said anything like that to me” You say, eyes looking up to him, you weren't shocked, but you weren't, were not shocked, never had you experienced this, this burning adoration for another person, this soft warmth that burst through you at the sound of Carmen's voice promising his devotion, promising his unyielding protection. It armoured you more than a pocket knife ever could.

Carmen presses a soft kiss to your head, before shuffling around the kitchen, walking back into the dining tables, hushing out replies of ‘she's okay’ before coming back in with your things under his arm.

“What are you doing?” You reply in question, as he slowly picks you up with an arm, and gently places you back down. His eyes are constantly flickering to your side, like he’s torturing himself with the image of the first time he saw the horrific bruise across your side.

He had never felt true fear until then, the shatter of his heart beneath his breast as he realises you had gotten hurt and he didn't even fucking realise. Nothing had mattered but your safety and he scared himself with how much his body shook with a desire to destroy the person responsible.

“I’m driving back to your apartment, where you're going to grab your necessities, whilst I pay a visit to your little neighbour downstairs. You’re staying with me, for however long,” Carmen replies with a sneer, walking you through the back door, which you were all too thankful for, you couldn't bear to see the look on the crew’s faces if you had to walk back in.

“Carmen you can’t” You reply rushed, as Carmen slid you into the passenger seat, before clicking on your seat belt for you. He cocks his head, before raising his eyebrows

“Oh, I can’t? Honey, the police don’t do their job and my baby get’s fucking hurt. Nah, that doesn't work for me” Carmen replies, before rushing to enter the driver's seat, shifting the gear into drive before speeding down the city streets.

His focused on the road, his face unblinking and he grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white, you can’t stop looking at him, his gorgeous under the moonlight of the skies, his cheeks crimson from his tears, his cerulean blues calling to you like the sea, and the curl of his blonde hair falling like waves.

The view of your apartment complex comes into your vision as Carmen turns into the carpark in one swift move, you can’t stop the shake of your fingers and Carmen wants to slam his first into the steering wheel when he notices.

“You alright?” Carmen replies “You can stay here, I’ll grab whatever you need”

You want to stay, want to remain in the safety of his sleek tinted windows, but you want to face it too, and somehow that need is more important, he doesn’t get to win, no fucking way.

You unclip your seat belt, opening the door as you turn to him “You going to show me how you protect me or what?”

Carmen bites back a smile, god he was so fucking proud. He could tell you were scared shit less, and yet you fought through that fear, and god you mesmerised him. You were stronger than he could ever be, and he wanted to take that burden from you, carry it himself so you didn't have to.

Carmen jogs to the back of the car, reaching into the boot before the clunk of wood on gravel meets your ears. Carmen nods towards you, as he grips a bat under his arm

“He puts a bruise on you and i break all his fucking bones” Carmen replies, and you can’t stop the joy that image brings you

Carmen walks you to your apartment, waiting outside like a hawk, his bat tight against his grip as he watches the hallways, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, you feel infinitly and utterly safe.

You throw your toiletries into a bag, grabbing a few nights of clothes and your work shoes. You eyes flicker around your apartment, it had been home to you for the past 4 years, and yet it felt so foreign to you now, you had grown to attest this place, this place you had filled with so much of yourself, and you hate him so much at that moment, for making you feel this way about a place you had once loved.

You leave your apartment with the door shut closed.

Carmen carries your bag and places them back into the back seat of the car, and as he begins to walk towards the apartment of your neighbour you reach a hand out to stop him.

“Honey, I’ve got to-” Carmen begins before you shut him quickly

“I want to watch” You reply quietly, and Carmen’s eyes flicker, before lacing his fingers into yours, as you both knock on his door.

There's a grumble before the clank of a chain slides open, and his face appears as the door opens to him, you can see the illuminated light of his TV glaring, the floor covered with pizza boxes and beer cans. You see in real time, how his face morphs from anger into fear, his eyes dropping as he sees the way Carmen practically shakes, and the man isn’t able to let out a word, a protest or wail of a plea before the crack of Carmen's wooden bat swings through the air.

-- -

“Are you sure he isn't dead?” You reply, as you dip a washcloth into warm water, wiping away the blood across Carmen’s neck

“He isn’t going to die if I wasn’t the one causing it, besides, if he does, that’s God finishing off the rest of it”. Carmen replies, raising his face so that you cleaned the last of the streaks of blood splattered across his jaw.

Carmen reaches for your hands, pressing a kiss to the top of them as he looks at you in that way like he yearns for you to be closer.

“You need sleep, but first you need to eat, yeah?” Carmen replies, shushing your protests and he carries you to his room in his arms, after he notices the exhaustion in your limbs. It’s dark, illuminated only by the wall to ceiling windows that look into the busy city streets and light up sky scrapers.

The sheets are strewn across the bed, haphazard like Carmen had rushed to get them off of him in the early mornings. Carmen slides you into them, tucking you within the soft pillowy blanket, sitting on the edge as he caresses your cheek softly.

He leaves for a moment, rushing to make you something to eat, his skin crawling with a need to feel you against him, nearly tripping over himself as he walks back into his room with a bowl of soup and a bottle of water.

Carmen sits next to you again, pressing spoonfuls of soup into your mouth and wiping the edges ceremoniously as you rest against the headboard half asleep.

You don’t notice the way he looks at you, like he's trying to memorise every dip and curve of your face, his fingers clutching the spoon tight like he’s going to break if he doesn't hold you against him.

“Honey?” Carmen replies hushed

“Hmh?” You reply, your eyes heavy as the comfort of Carmen's warmth spreads through you.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, you tell me everything okay? Everything” Carmen replies pained, like the events that transpired somehow still were not resolved, like breaking the man's legs wasn't enough for him.

“Okay” You reply, and Carmen places the dishes onto the bedside table, leaving it to the morning because he can't keep you away from him any longer.

Carmen joins you in the bed, the left side of his bed finally taken by somebody for the first time in a long time. Tugging you against him, Carmen curls your body to lay against his chest, his fingers softly gracing your back, soft circles that had begun to lull you to a sleep you hadn’t felt in months, years even.

The beat of Carmen's heart joins with yours, together and entwined like how it was always meant to be, why had Carmen waited so long? Why had he let time pass without you tucked under him, safe within his arms and away from all the horrors of the world.

It’s only when Carmen notices the shift in your breathing, falling into a soft exhale before he even lets the whispers of sleep grip him within its grasps, his shoulders finally release from its tensed state once he knows you've finally fallen into a sleep that had been kept from you.

“You don’t know how much I love you baby girl, it fucking scares me, but I’ll keep reminding you until infinity if I have to, until you know it deep down like I do” Carmen mumbles out, his eyes falling heavy and you grips you against his chest.

You don’t really know how, but even between the state of sleep and consciousness, you hear him, and you whisper between the space in your bodies, that you already do.

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yourheart-inmyhands · 7 months

Note

Hii, just call me Skull anon. I've been very curious about how different yanderes would do so I'm asking for a request.

How would Xiao, Albedo, and Wriothesley deal with a Drug addict reader who was already in an unstable state, struggling to survive with rent and had bad trauma? The trauma could be anything you'd like.

Of course, you can deny this request if it makes you uncomfortable. No pressure or anything.

so i was a little hesitant to do this because I wasn't sure how well I could properly portray this, but going sort of off my own experience with certain things and trying to remain calm i wrote this. i can't really explain what compelled me to, but i do hope you enjoy this and please, read the warnings for this one :] <3

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, implied being held against will, manipulation tactics, mentions of substance abuse and recovery from it, obsessive behaviors, and other potential topics. Please Read At Your Own Risk!

Yandere!Xiao would be concerned internally but look indifferent externally. He’s conflicted, because he knows you’re struggling and that humans are a lot weaker, that you need help, but he doesn’t know how to help, he’s never had to be in this position before. He consults many people, fellow adepti, Zhongli, even the Traveler, none of whom he gives the full picture to but instead dances around the main ideas and works off vague descriptions.

Xiao’s first step in helping you was moving you in to the Wangshu Inn with him, where he could watch over you better. He has a reserved room there, though he never really uses it. Sleep is beyond his needs so he rarely rests, but you need rest so he allows you to have the room. This comes with him barging in on you whenever he sees fit though, day to night at any moment he could pop in without you even knowing. He had a strange way of doing that, a lot. He isn’t sure how to help with trauma or substance abuse, those aren’t the evils he usually fights, but he knows people he can ask about that. Xiao didn’t like admitting that he didn’t know what to do, but grumbling and giving Baizhu some vague descriptions of the situation helped him get a better idea of what to do. Xiao decides to take the soft approach of slowly weening you off the awful stuff, not wanting you to be left with more problems from quitting cold turkey. It’s a long road and Xiao was sorta kinda prepared to help you through it. He likes having you this close though, this dependent on him and his help.

Yandere!Albedo struggles with his feelings. His lack of humanity means he really only experiences feelings that are typically in abundance, meaning he doesn’t feel unless the feeling is so strong it cannot be ignored. His research is all he really knows so he takes the opportunity to offer ‘assistance.’ In exchange for staying with him and allowing him to study your responses and reactions, he would help you with your addiction.

It seemed like a good deal at first, Albedo would provide adequate housing, a quaint apartment in the heart of Mondstat, in exchange for being allowed to study you as he helped you over your drug problem. It would kill two birds with one stone no? What he didn’t tell you though was that he planned to have you quit cold turkey, wanting to watch how your body would respond to the sudden withdrawals. Of course, if anything started to border on the edge of life-threatening, he’d take preventative measures to ensure you lived, but otherwise, you were not permitted to leave or take any addictive substances. Albedo oversees all your care, meaning that for the entire recovery process, you are confined to a bedroom with him hovering over you, notepad and pencil in hand and large, unblinking eyes boring holes into you. It was unsettling, and even when you were on the upswing, finally getting to where the grass was greener, he still refused to allow you out or allow others in, saying that it could compromise the research. In reality, he just didn’t want anyone else near you, he had loved having you all to himself and didn’t want to share you ever again.

Yandere!Wriothesley is surprisingly educated on what to do. Not only had a few people in similar conditions come through the prison, but it was his job to make sure that he knew everything about everyone who passed into this place. With the help of some staff at the Fortress of Meropide, he moves you into a room in the staff wing, assigning you a set of personalized staff to help with your addictions. There were only two conditions, he would check in on you every day to ensure you were sticking to your recovery and that when you were finally okay, you would work as his assistant to pay off your debt.

Wriothesley wasn’t worried about the money that was put towards your recovery, it was nothing to someone with the title of Duke. He was more concerned with you being alive than momentary pleasures like wealth, but he used the excuse of you needing to pay him back to keep you around longer. He checks in with you every day, typically around dinner time, he’ll take a break to eat with you and talk about your day, building a relationship and establishing a connection, but sometimes he takes short breaks to check in on you. Wriothesley also speaks with the assigned group of nurses and staff that were there specifically for you every day, getting word from them on your progress and how things are looking. He enjoys seeing you slowly getting better day by day, his hope for the future strong as he dreams of the day you become officially his. He had no intention of ever letting you leave the Fortress of Meropide, at least not without him, arm wrapped protectively around you as he escorts you around, as a partner should.

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keeksandgigz · 6 months

Note

thinking of eddie helping you braid your hair when you’re getting ready to spend the night

made this about eddie and witchy because i cannot stop thinking about them- this is also for the anon who said they can't stop reading it (thank u hehehe)

fluffy fluff below the cut, witchy being jealous and thinking of hexing his exes <3

He had to drag you into his apartment.

In a hilarious turn of events, due to some kind of San Francisco strike, all metro routes were suspended and there was no way you were going to walk in heeled boots all the way to Twin Peaks.

"Why call an Uber, baby? You can literally come upstairs at mine" Eddie says, watching you huff as you read over the e-mail about the strike.

"No Eddie you don't understand. I need to be home. I have a whole ritual! And silk pillowcases! Why can't you just drive me?" you whine, hoping he'll fold to your requests like he always does.

He grabs you by the shoulders, giving you a tender look.

"Because, my lovely witchy, metro routes being down means there will be absolute pandemonium in the streets. And I'm not trying to stay fifteen minutes stuck in downhill traffic" he laughs as you follow him around the store.

He's still working, you got off an hour before and after walking around the vintage stores for an hour there wasn't much else to do. It's just him in the record shop, working the closing shift. You follow him around trying to convince him to drive you back as he puts back the vinyls in the milk crates, folds band t- shirts, and rearranges patches in the display case.

"C'mon, witchy, just go up. I have Chinese takeout from last night or spaghetti if you wanna cook, I'll stop by the hair place across the block to get you a silk pillowcase. Promise" he says, leaning over the counter to kiss your forehead he opens up the cash till.

"But Ed-" you whine, you've never slept outside of your apartment before.

"No buts, I'm sorry witchy. Now get your cute butt out of here, I've got money out" he says, puckering his lips, ready for a kiss.

You lean over the counter and give him a quick kiss before he hands you the keys to his apartment.

"Don't forget to call Lorraine to get her to feed Circe!" he exclaims before you're out the door. You roll your eyes, of course you'll call Lorraine, your neighbor, if Lorraine existed.

But he doesn't have to know you can feed Circe with a snap of your finger whenever you forget to leave food out in the morning.

So you groan and you go through the backdoor of the store to reach the small, dingy courtyard of his apartment. Second floor, apartment 5C.

This building is so old it doesn't even have an elevator. You reach the door and open it, the rattle of keys falling over the counter is the only sound that can be heard, along with the clack of the short heels of your boots.

You take your shoes off and go through his fridge. Day- old Chinese takeout, a carton of eggs and milk. Three cans of Sierra Nevada, a half- drunk bottle of Coke Zero. You open his freezer.

Honey walnut shrimp and fried rice from Trader Joe's, a bottle of vodka, and a tub of ice cream from the last time you were craving it.

You roll your eyes and pick up the phone.

"Hey Ed, you have jack shit in your fridge. Can you stop by the Greek place down the block? I’ll have a gyro with chicken and falafel on the side” you request, hearing his groan at another chore he has to do post closing.

“Baby the Chinese food in the fridge is pretty good, it’s from the place we always go to” he’s not very convincing, but he’s tired and now lost count of the cash he was counting.

“‘kay i’ll put an online order for it so you just have to go pick it up, sound good?” you ignore him.

“Ugh fine but I better get, like, the biggest kiss in return.“ he groans, but it’s true. He is a weak, weak man when it comes to you. “Get me the pita wrap with lamb and fries, and lemme also get seasoned fries on the side. Thank you witchy, love you gotta go” he says, hanging up the phone.

So you order the food and then sneak in Eddie's bedroom to change into something comfortable. Getting rid of that fine line when clothes felt too much like clothes, the stitching pressing into your skin, the cuffs of your sweater feeling a bit too tight against your wrists, your jeans too tight on your legs.

So you venture in his closet and steal a pair of sweats and a ratty black t- shirt. One of his many. You go to the bathroom and notice there's no mirror. This dude.

So you tie your hair away from your face and use the nice face wash you got him- which you're sure he rarely uses- and wipe the makeup off your face. You go look for a clean towel, 'cause God knows you will not be wiping your face with the hand towel sitting on the rod on the wall.

After your face is clean you plop yourself on the couch and watch TV to pass the time.

Thirty- odd minutes later a rattling of keys startles you. Eddie walks through the door with his arms full of plastic bags. He places them on the counter.

"Hey witchy, I see you've made yourself at home?" he says, as you walk towards him and bury yourself in his arms. At least he smelled nice.

"Hmmm missed you, Ed" you mutter against the fabric of his t- shirt.

"You missed me?" you give a little nod, followed by a hum. His heart beats a bit faster, it's nice knowing you think of him when he's away.

"Aw, witchy. I missed you too, are you hungry?" he says, giving you a sweet kiss on the head as he detaches from your grip and reaches for the bag with the food, taking out the boxes.

"Also stopped by the hair place, got you that silk pillowcase and some shampoo and conditioner to keep here. Doubt you'll wanna use my three in one shit" he snickers, and you blush timidly. He's not sweet in the way that he'll kiss you in the middle of the street, but he is for sure sweet in the way he thinks about you an embarrassing amount of times a day.

"Thanks Ed, you didn't have to do that" you say, and he blushes, the boy tinges himself pink because you appreciate him.

"Y'know, anything for you" he says, giving you a kiss on the forehead as he brings the takeout boxes to the coffee table.

You follow him and plop down on the couch "I was watching 'Sex and the City' while you were gone" you explain, biting into your gyro.

"Was Samantha being her usual crazy self?" he doesn't even know who Samantha is, but he thinks it's funny to ask you every time. You giggle as he puts on a random show for you to watch.

After an episode Eddie stands up and stretches.

"I'm beat, I think it's time for bed" he says "c'mon, witchy"

You rise from the couch and follow him into the master bathroom.

“I have a toothbrush here for you, I kinda uh-“ from his tone you can tell he’s embarrassed “I got one for here the first time you came over, in case you ever, y’know, wanted to sleep over” he says sheepishly, while you wrap your arms around him.

He offers it to you, it’s pink. Your favorite color.

“Aw, Ed. You’re so sweet, thank you” you say and you swear you can see him blush as you place a delicate kiss on his warming cheek.

This slice of domesticity taken away from the mystic vibe of your apartment really makes you wonder. It makes you think about a normal life, with him.

The way he washes his face like a madman (without face wash), letting the water wet his bangs instead of pulling his hair back, the way he ties his hair up before brushing his teeth.

You take the toothbrush out of your mouth "Ah shtill don' undestand why you don' have a mirrah" you sputter, mouth full as you spit the toothpaste in the sink.

"Why I don't have a mirror? Previous tenant broke it and my asshole landlord still won't fix it" he says, taking off his shirt. Your eyes linger on the lines of his back a little too long, bordering the line between looking and staring.

So you turn around and you try to braid your hair without a mirror, but to no avail, every strand seems to be three different sizes.

You groan in frustration as Eddie approaches you.

"Lemme help, witchy" he says, standing behind you and tending an arm out for a hair tie.

He divides the hair into three strands. Your hair is so soft between his fingers.

He wishes he could stall so that he could caress it for longer, but an impatient yawn escapes your mouth as his hands deftly get to work. Over, under, over, under-

"Where did you learn to braid hair?" you ask, feeling the way he softly holds each strand, making sure he's not pulling at your scalp. You don't see him, but a smile forms around his tongue, peeking out of his lips in concentration. Over, under.

"I had girlfriends before you, witchy. They taught me to braid my own hair" he chuckles, as you try to tune out the word girlfriends. Under, over, under.

He can see a pout form on your lips, he smiles.

"Why'd you need to braid your hair?" you huff, thinking of going on a spiraling rampage and hexing every one of his exes. Over.

"Well" he begins "one time, an ex braided my hair and it came out super curly, so I wanted to try it myself. Turns out it needs to stay in the braid for a while for that to happen" he shrugs.

Under, over, tie.

"All done," he announces, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Thanks, Ed" you examine the braid, flinging it over your shoulder "looks really nice" you say, and give him a small kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He gets himself into bed. His bed is oddly comfortable and his sheets smell of laundry detergent.

"I might have been washing my sheets every other day in case you wanted to sleep over" he confesses, blushing, as he lifts his arm, opening the warmth of his chest to you.

"You" you give him a kiss "are literally" another kiss "the sweetest guy" another kiss "in the history of always" last kiss.

He gets flustered when you call him sweet, because under the hardening exterior of black chains and shirts with exploding heads and hooded skeletal figures, there's just a sweet guy who loves you and wants you to like him for being himself.

"Just want you to, you know, have a good experience with me" he says, caressing your head.

"You get an 11/10 Yelp rating, can't recommend to anyone, though. You seem to be preoccupied with a really cool girl, and it seems it's going to go on forever" you giggle, as he smiles and gives you a kiss.

"Go to sleep, cool girl. Goodnight, love you" he says, before turning off his lights.

"Goodnight, Ed" you say, turning over so he can spoon you.

"You have to say it back" he whispers in the quiet of the dark room.

"Right, sorry. I love you too, Ed" you correct yourself and close your eyes, falling into one of the best sleeps you've ever had in your life.

The morning after, Eddie wakes up to his landlord bringing in a new mirror, his hair extra curled and all his exes blocked on his social media. But he doesn't have to know about that last one.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x witchy!reader #modern!eddie x witchy!reader #modern!eddie munson #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #eddie munson au #eddie munson blurb

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gotham-daydreams · 8 months

Note

Well that took a dark turn-

ANYWAYS what if reader escapes their first kidnapped Attemp from batfam and just dissappears, like go into hiding, and they can't be tracked down for a few weeks, what will batfam do?? Do you think the reader will be able to do that? 👀 👀 (I love this series and the ideas anons are giving ıts amazing<33)

What can I say? With yanderes there are only dark corners that progressively get darker the further you go.

(Also I'm glad! And I agree!! The ideas the anons are giving are amazing and I love them to bits!)

As for your question, in the series I don't believe that the reader will be able to fully achieve that. Since with what actually happens- well, it's kind of complicated, though they could try!

In a hypothetical scenario (that, once again, doesn't involve what'll happen in the series), the Batfam, in short, would freak the fuck out all over again.

Granted, they do have more information about the reader this time around, compared to when they first started looking for them. However, that doesn't seem to help, as they aren't able to locate the reader anywhere. Having even more trouble than the first night they tried looking for them, which is kind of saying something.

As you've said, it takes them a few weeks. Though by the first week they're already on the brink of insanity.

The Batfam finally had a taste of what life could've been with the reader in it. Of what life is like with the reader in it. Only for that to get taken away from them... and maybe it is deserved. Maybe that's just karma finally biting back, and showing the Batfam the one good thing that's ever happened to them, only to take it away. Only to steal it away again, to pour more pounds of salt on their aching wounds. Maybe it's what they deserve for ignoring the reader, and neglecting them for so long.

But they don't care.

They had the reader. They finally managed to bring them back home- and this happens? The reader ends up disappearing all over again? They leave again? But why? Didn't they want this too? Didn't they want to be a part of the family? What happened to that? Why can't they have it anymore? Why does the reader keep running away?

Y'know how I said in that one post where an anon asked "what would happen if the reader moved to a different country, instead of staying in Gotham?" (Or something around those lines-), that the Batfam would not only lose their minds, but be on the very brink the moment they find the reader, and thus, don't even have to think before kidnapping them? Well, this is very similar to that, except during those few weeks, at least a few of them absolutely tip over.

The moment they find the reader they don't even wait. No more slow approaches or mind games, they need the reader- now.

Nothing is going to change that. Nothing is going to get in the way of that. Not anymore. Not ever.

The reader wouldn't even get a chance to react or even make the smallest sound. All they know is that they were just suddenly minding their own buisness, albeit very paranoid and trying to be the most cautious they could, and then they saw black. By the time they wake up? They're back in their room in the manor. Maybe with a few... things missing if you catch my drift.

Since, now, well-

The Batfam will prioritize having the reader with them over any song or tune they'll ever hear them play.

The reader is what matters most to them, and they're never letting go. Never.

Even if it means taking away thing that'll limit them further. The Batfam is always there to help, so surely there isn't a problem, right? If anything, this just unlocks new bonding opportunities! Isn't that great! Are you happy?

Now the reader nees them more than ever, and they wouldn't have it any other way. :]

Regardless, when I do finally manage to get part 3 out and also part 4 (whenever that'll be-), maybe why I think that the reader in the "Not [ ]" series won't be able to fully accomplish this will be more clear! Since it is a little intense what happens, and will screw the reader over enough. Though it also may further encourage to escape somehow, we'll see!

Anyway, I hope this answered your questions!!

#talking daydreams #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x gn reader #platonic yandere #neglected reader #gn reader #sibling reader

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earthtooz · 1 year

Note

hello!! still new to tumblr so I have to idea how long ago that post was but I saw your requests were open!! can you please please please please pretty please do something do something fluffy with rin from blue lock??? i need to cure my craving for this man and your fics are like a pond of water in the middle of the desert 🙏

say no more fam, i gotchu. and thank you anon 😫😫 you are so kind to me for praise i do not deserve, but ask and i shall deliver!

cw: fluff! food, swearing, bad writing, unrealistic scenario but like fuck that give me the fluff.

"the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

itoshi rin turns around rather nonchalantly, seemingly unalarmed by the fact that you caught him in your kitchen, in your apartment, a place he wasn't supposed to be.

"i'm baking something," he replies simply, not even blinking once at your dumbfounded expression.

upon entering your house, you were ready for a relaxing thursday night so you could prepare to repeat the same day again. what you weren't ready for was the sight of foreign slacks- that clearly weren't yours, at the getabako by the genkan, and you see that your household slippers had also disappeared from their usual spot.

then you hear noises from the kitchen.

a little alarmed, you don't know whether to call the police or not, then, before your concerns could be answered, you see itoshi rin's familiar face peak out from the kitchen.

what the fuck. why was he wearing your slippers?

"oh, welcome home y/n," he says very casually before disappearing again.

what the fuck?

now that you've returned to your senses just a little and finally registered the intruder-slash-athlete in your kitchen, you walk up to stand beside him, peering down at his work.

"what are you making?" you ask.

"jam sugar cookies."

"that sounds good."

he's already formed a dough at this point, kneading it on a floured surface with quite a bit of skill.

noting his talent in the craft of baking, you can't help but wonder why he decided to do it in your kitchen.

"y'know when i gave you my spare key, it was for emergency purposes and because i trust you not to do dumb shit, unlike everyone else on the team," you point out with a sigh.

the dark-haired only shrugs, now breaking the dough into smaller balls.

"why my kitchen?"

"i don't know, i wanted to spend time with you. i thought you would be back from work since practice ended ages ago."

you ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "couldn't have done that over coffee? and i was working overtime today."

once again, he doesn't answer. itoshi rin is a great conversationalist, what a riveting exchange you're having right now.

you don't see the way his face flushes from his shyness, embarrassed to be caught in this situation.

"can i at least help?"

"sure," agrees rin, moving away. "break the dough into 12 even sized pieces."

you oblige as he goes over to wash his hands, swiftly cleaning up the mess around you whilst you work in silence, pretending like your heart wasn't racing because the itoshi rin was in your apartment with you, alone. the effect a man could have on you was unnerving.

"i think i'm done," you finally announce and the soccer player looks over your shoulder with a satisfied hum, a noise that you can feel in your upper spine. why was he standing so close? you can practically feel him hovering behind you.

"i can take over from here," he says.

"you sure?"

"yeah- actually, i made a pot of fresh strawberry jam on the stove, can you bring it here?"

he made jam? is there another man more perfect than him?

listening to his instructions, you carefully set the now-cooled pot on the marble counter. "i didn't strike you as a baker," you mutter, going over to the sink to wash your hands.

"it's fun. i like it."

"you like sweets?"

"i don't mind them. my favourite are ones that aren't too sweet, but i indulge in sugary ones too."

you hum in acknowledgement, watching him for a few moments longer before the urge to change into more comfortable clothes appears again like an itch you can't scratch. "you sure you don't need my help? i need to go take a shower."

"go."

"wow, okay. i know where i'm not needed."

he doesn't say anything in response, not that you were expecting him to when you made your way out of the kitchen.

twenty minutes and a refreshing shower later, you emerge feeling a lot cleaner and rejuvenated. rin was still in the kitchen, now on his phone as he leans against the counter, waiting for the cookies to bake. when he notices you, he puts his device away and greets you properly.

"would you like to stay for dinner?" you ask, ignoring the way his eyes dip to your exposed collarbones and how the water from your shower drips down them.

if you paid too much attention to it you might explode.

"it won't be a bother right?" he asks, meeting your gaze once more. when you shake your head, he agrees. "then what's for dinner?"

"i was planning on katsu curry, that okay?"

"more than."

thank goodness you bought fresh vegetables yesterday. "how are the cookies?"

"good. they're almost done."

"can i try some after?"

"no."

the audacity. he uses your kitchen and won't spare you any? what ever happened to taxes?

whilst you're cutting the potatoes and carrots, the oven timer calls out to let you know that the cookies are finished. rin swiftly takes them out, hums in approval and lets the batch chill.

you ask him if he can prepare the rice and other ingredients whilst you prepare the pot and the sauce. it's a perfect dance of teamwork, and despite your kitchen being not the biggest, you and rin work perfectly together. sometimes in silence, sometimes speaking about mundane things that don't truly matter.

the domesticity of it all makes you sick, and of course, increases your unescapable yearning for rin. you're so infatuated with him it's annoying.

once dinner is plated, you both eat in the comfort of your kitchen bench, under the warm lighting of your home.

you didn't think you'd be ending your day like this but the complaints die in your mind before they can even be manifested. chatter is exchanged as if you don't see each other during the day, and even when both your bowls are scraped empty, neither make the move to clean up and break out of this little, precious bubble you've created.

the sun has fully set now. rin should be going back home instead of answering some 'would you rather' question you suddenly created, and although you ridicule him for his choice, the best he cracks is a small smile in amusement.

when you first met itoshi rin on your first day on the job, you didn't think you'd get along with him as well as the rest of the team but, you were proven wrong very quickly. on team dinners, nights out, coffee runs, rin always joined them despite having seeming like the most antisocial man ever, and it just became easy to spend time with him.

from then on marked your downfall.

chats in your office became a regularity, his tendency to stay late for extra practice and your tendency to stay late to finish outstanding work made you both excellent commute partners, and his punctuality and assertiveness made him an excellent team captain to rely on.

somewhere between the carpools, mundane conversations on green fields, and water filler station visits, you fell for him.

you just hope rin will let you down easily.

when the clock strikes 10:30 and you let out your first yawn, rin takes it as his sign to leave. productive in cleaning up and wishing you a goodnights rest, he's gone with a soft smile and an even softer gaze.

as your front door shuts, you feel a little empty at the silence that follows his absence.

the next morning when you arrive at work, there's a little more pep in your step due to the delightful night before. when you walk into your office after greeting the members of the team who were already there, you stop short at the sight of something unfamiliar on top of your desk.

rounding the table, your heart skips a beat in a nauseating combination of nervousness, yearning, and flattery.

a box of sugar cookies with jam pressed in the shape of a heart, sit pretty on your desk; next to a note.

go on a date with me? ─ itoshi rin

#SO ooc for rin BUT IDGAF #rin being a baker kind of makes sense. he's like... a virgo... earth signs find comfort in food + he'd be into the perfectionism of it #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #rin fluff #itoshi rin drabble

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masn-mount · 11 months

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hiii what about a fic where Jude and you have broken up, him being the one to do it and one night he comes to you to talk or something and he sees you all dressed up ready to go out and you can take it from there. xx

thank you for your request anon! the ending is a little rushed because I wanted to post it before a trip I'm going on! I hope you like it and please let me know what you guys think. xx

warnings: swearing, a lil bit of angst, fluff,

words: 3,4k

The back and forth pacing wasn’t doing Jude any favor.

It was making him more nervous and the longer he looked at the few stairs leading to your front door the more his head was telling him to turn around and leave.

You had ignored his calls and left his texts on read.

It upset Jude even if he didn't have any reason to think you would want to talk to him. He was the one who ended your relationship and left you heartbroken.

Six months ago you had travelled to Germany to visit him and when the weekend came to an end you were sat on his bed listening to him tell you that he ‘couldn’t do this anymore’, he had way too much on his mind and his new career decision was making it difficult for him to focus on anything else.

You were left speechless.

There had been no fight or any clues telling you that he no longer wanted to be with you. He hadn’t been distant or pulled away from you physically or emotionally so you tried telling him that if he truly loved you as much as he told you he did earlier that day then you could make it work but nothing you were saying was getting through to him.

That night you collected your things scattered around his apartment before leaving early the next morning and you didn’t cry until you got into your taxi and ‘someone like you’ by Adele started playing through the speakers.

It was like the universe was playing a prank on you.

Jude wasn’t sure when he had collected himself but after taking a few deep breaths and thinking back to the pep talk his brother had given him he walked up the stairs and pressed his knuckles to the door. He knocked three times before taking a small step back and like a coward he hoped you weren’t home even if he could see the light in the hall and your bedroom on. “Hi, I’m just going t-, Jude?”

You stood before him with your mouth slightly agape, unsure of what to say and all Jude wanted to do was leave because the last thing he expected to see was you standing before him in a black dress that hugged your figure so perfectly. Your lips were coated in a red lipstick and you were in the process of putting on a pair of gold hoop earrings when he had interrupted you. "What are you doing here?"

"Want t-, need to talk to you and you weren't answering my calls or texts so I just came here." He looked shy and embarrassed as he stood before you in a simple white shirt and grey joggers and all you could think about was how good he looked. He was undeniably the most attractive boy you had ever seen and somehow he had managed to get even more handsome in the few months you hadn’t seen him.

“You came here from Spain?”

“I went to visit family too but yeah, pretty much.” Jude knew you were getting ready for a date. The perfume you were wearing gave you away because it was the one you always wore on date night's. It was selfish of him to feel jealous and slightly angry at the thought of someone else taking you out, making you smile and possibly taking you home after but he couldn’t shake the feeling away. “You’re going on a date.” It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement.

You shrug before nodding, “yeah, just a guy I met at the gym. I guess he thought I looked pretty all sweaty and wanted to take me out,” you were trying to lighten up the mood a little because the way Jude was looking at you was making you nervous and you hated how he still had that affect on you. “It’s really casual still.”

“I didn’t want to know.” Jude regretted snapping, it wasn’t like him and he never wanted to talk to you that way but the whole situation was doing his head in.

You purse your lips, dropping your hands to your sides after finally putting your earrings on. “Right, so why are you here?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” You felt a little guilty about the whole situation even if you had no reason to. You had every right to go out and see other people after sulking for months but if the roles were reversed you know you'd feel upset too.

Your friends had tried to set you up with their friends and coworkers for months but you always said no until three days ago when Alex asked you out for dinner. You had seen him at the gym many times. He was nice and you shared some good conversations so when he asked you out for dinner you said yes because you couldn't sit around and wait for your feelings for Jude to just go away one day because you knew they wouldn't.

You look up at Jude, frown on your face to see him avoiding looking at you, his own brown eyes set on the wall where a picture of the two of you used to sit. “Yeah, that wasn’t fair.”

“I haven’t even looked at another girl yet.” It was a cheap shot and he’s not sure why he said it but it was true. Just like your friends, his own had tried to set him up with different girls but he always said no.

When he finally looked at you he could tell you were trying to keep your composure, trying to not go off on him even if it was exactly what he deserved for you to do.

"What you do is no longer my concern just like what I do isn't yours." You take a deep breath before looking at him, "you are the one who broke up with me out of nowhere and completely blindsided me." It was difficult for you to keep it together, to not cry but you wanted him to understand even if he was shaking his head the entire time you spoke. "You made it clear that you don't love me so I can't just sit around and wait for you, Jude."

“I never said I don’t love you.”

"You didn't have to." You awkwardly cough when Jude doesn't speak, repedetly blinking so you'd keep the tears you knew were approaching at bay. "My date's going to be here any moment."

"Bab-, y/n, don't go, please." His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. "I just want to talk, please stay and let's do that, yeah?"

"I can't do that, you know I can't," and just when Jude is about to tell you that he never stopped loving you for even a second he hears a cough behind him and he doesn't need to turn around to know that it's your date.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Alex walks past Jude like he's not even there and leans in to kiss your cheek before standing up straight and giving the boy in front of him a once over. A little laugh escapes his mouth before he speaks. "If it isn't Jude Bellingham! I'm a huge fan, mate." You're standing biting your lip and Jude wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or punch the smug bastard in the face but in the moment he settles for shaking Alex's outstretched hand and without another word he turns around and walks away because fuck, that had not gone how he had hoped.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re awake or in a dream when you hear knocks against your front door.

You bury your head under your covers as you try to ignore the sound coming from downstairs but when another knock is heard you groan before getting out of bed and in your half sleepy state you make it down the stairs and to your front door. A quick look into the peep hole confirms your suspicions that Jude was the one disturbing your much needed sleep.

“Need to tell that twat from earlier that I’m not his mate.”

“Jude!" You shriek when he walks past you.

He stumbles a little before sitting down on the ground when you ask him to take off his shoes before he steps on your carpet. "Have you completely gone and lost your mind? You can't just show up here at almost three in the morning!"

“You didn't answer your phone, you never do."

“I was sleeping!” Your eyes are bewildered and when Jude finally properly looks at you he can't focus on a single word you're saying or how angry you look as your arms move around you with every word you speak because all he can focus on is the black and yellow Dortmund shirt you're wearing. The fact that you had kept it made him happy and knowing that you wore it to bed made him feel all warm inside before it hit him that he wouldn't get to see you proudly wear his new teams jersey.

"My shirt?"

You shake your head before a tiny smile tugs at your lips, "no, I got it from Gio." You didn't realize just how much you had missed hearing him laugh until that moment. "I'm being serious tho, Jude, you can't just show up here this late." You help him up and to your livingroom before hurrying to your kitchen so you can fill up a glass of water for him.

"Please, drink this." He does as you ask and after putting the glass on the table he leans forward and rests his head on your chest, telling you that he just needs a cuddle and when you don't push him away you feel him smile against your neck.

"I know you hate when I'm drunk."

“I do.”

"Your date," he mumbles against your neck, "was he nice? did he pull out your chair and all that."

You laugh, "it was a shit date." You had nothing in common with Alex and even if he had come across as a nice guy when you had met him he was a total different person at dinner. You didn't mind confidence in a guy but he had been arrogant all night and borderline rude when you had told him you wanted to go home and not back to his place.

Jude can't deny that he feels happy that your date had been bad, happy that you probably wouldn't see Alex again but he also felt a little guilty because maybe the reason why you hadn't enjoyed your night was because he had showed up just before and ruined it for you. "M'sorry."

"You're not," you shake your head with a breathy laugh and when he giggles against your neck you suddenly feel overwhelmed and don't realize that small tears had gathered on your waterline until your blink and a few of them escape and fall down your cheeks. "You can't just show up here like this anymore."

"You've said that already but you won't tell me why," you just shake your head and when he presses his lips against the skin of your neck you just close your eyes because you can't find strength to push him away. "It's so fucking hard to not have you and hearing you say tha-, that you think I don't love you it hurt me and it wasn't fair because I love you so much."

"It wasn't fair making me feel that way either." Your tears are falling freely now and Jude looks up when he feels one land on his knuckles even if the crack in your voice already gave away that you were crying.

"Please, don’t cry, hate seeing you cry.”

"I know."

"I never ended things because I stopped loving you," he was starting to sound like a broken record but he needed you to understand that his feelings for you had never changed. "I know it sounds like the worst excuse ever, 'oh it wasn't you it was me' but it's the truth," a light shiver runs down your back when you feel his hand slip under your shirt, his fingers move across the skin of your back and it's almost like Jude doesn't even notice that he's doing it. "All of these incredible things are happening and when I'm in bed at night all I can think about is how I wish you were there with me and I wish I would have asked you to just pack your bags and come with me but at the time it felt so selfish to ask that of you because I felt like I let you down."

You frown at him followed by a light shake of your head, "you could never let me down."

"I promised you that I was coming back to play in England."

You just give him a sad smile, "plans change and if anything you deciding to challenge yourself again by going to another country only made me feel prouder, not many nineteen year olds have the belief and confidence to do what you've done."

"I just wanted the best for you."

"You gave me everything I wanted, Jude."

“Did I really?”

“Yes!” Your eyebrows are furrowed and lips parted, not quite understanding his reasoning because you had never given him a reason to think you weren't happy or that you needed more from him. The moment he had told you that he had made the decision on his future and that he had picked going to Spain you had been ready to move with him, all you ever needed was for him to ask but he never did.

"What?"

"You would have moved to Spain?"

"I-," you feel your cheeks heat up because you hadn't meant to say those words out loud, "yeah, I would have."

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, you are," you smile a little and he just shakes his head, "I don't want you running around in the streets at this time so you can stay here if you want."

"Here as in?"

"On this perfectly fine sofa."

"I can't sleep here!"

"Sure you can," you laugh a little at how offended he looks.

"It's cold."

"I can bring you an extra blanket."

"Babe, don't be ridiculous."

Your knew you wouldn't be able to sleep by yourself knowing he was in your house but you enjoyed teasing him. "You're actually a child," you stood up, removing yourself from his hold and walk up the stairs with Jude following closely behind and when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, he walks into your room and sits on your bed. He notices that besides your curtains not much had changed in you room. "Okay, just stay on your side of the bed."

"My side, yeah?" You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear before crossing your arms over your chest and all Jude can focus on is how your shirt rides up and exposes even more of your thighs.

"Do you need anything before we sleep?"

"A kiss."

"You're really going to push all my buttons aren't you?"

"Speaking of buttons, can you help me undo mine? they're way too small." You want to tell him no but before you can you're already walking the short distance to where he's sitting. You stand between his legs, foot hitting into his shin when his hands move to the backs of your thighs, he gives you a lazy smile before he pulls his hands away and leans back on them. "I can't help it, you're so fuc-,"

"Don't be cheeky," you're trying to focus on the buttons of his black shirt but they were indeed small and the way he was looking at you was making it difficult for you to even think but after what felt like hours you managed to undo the shirt and with a pat to his now bare chest you walked around him and got under the covers.

You had more of his old shirts in your wardrobe but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing you'd kept more than the one you were wearing.

You could feel the bed moving for a few seconds before Jude got comfortable. You stay still for a few minutes, back against him and you think that maybe he's fallen asleep but just as you're about to turn around you feel him move closer before his arm wraps around your waist, his face so close that you can feel his lips against the top of your head. Your whole body goes stiff before he mumbles for you to just relax against the top of your head and when he places his hand over yours and let's his thumb stroke over your skin you feel yourself melt into him.

"I just want to hold you. I missed you so much, so fucking much." You just nod, "I'll do anything to fix this, if you let me," he pulls you a little closer even if you didn't think it was possible. "I've wanted to come here so many times but I was a coward and called instead because deep down I knew you wouldn't answer so that would mean you wouldn't end the small hope I had that I could have you again." Jude could feel his eyes starting to feel heavy with sleep and he wasn't sure if you were still awake but when you squeeze his hand a little before turning in his arms he feels like his heart might beat out of his chest when you lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

When you pull back the tip of Jude's nose nudges your cheek as his face moves closer to you, you process what he's about to do and you let your head fall on his pillow to avoid his kiss, his lips fall on your cheek instead and you feel him smile against your skin, he let's out a chuckle before his head drops to your shoulder. Your hand moved to his back so you can lightly skratch it with your nails.

"Sorry, just got carried away," Jude felt overwhelmed being so close to you again because it felt so normal, almost like nothing had changed. "Just felt right," he said, you could barely make out what he was saying from how he was speaking against your neck.

"I know," you whisper because you felt the same and by that point you realize that you're completely gone for him, maybe you always were. You thought of him daily and when he would call you wanted to answer but just like him you were afraid that it would lead to that true closure neither of you had and you didn't want that. You never stopped checking up on him through your mutual friends, always asking them how he was and you never missed a single one of his games.

After a minute of silence, Jude speaks, "do you miss us?" He had wrapped his arm around you again, his chin resting on top of your head as he spoke, "do you miss me?"

"All the time," he rests his head against the pillow when you answer his question, eyes directly on you as he brushes his knuckles down your cheek before grabbing your jaw, eyes moving down to where his thumb was running over your lower lips. You know you won't be able to deny him again so instead of waiting for him it's you who leans in, capturing his lips with your own. Jude's fingers continue stroking over your cheeks as he pushes closer to you, trapping your body underneath his own.

His lips are just as soft as you remembered them.

He let's his tongue swipe across your bottom lip before sucking lightly onto it and you can't help but moan at the feeling which makes Jude smile against your lips. He leans his head back for a second, he nudges your nose with his own before leaning back in and it feels like you've kissed for hours when you pull away. Your eyes are closed, head still leaning back on the pillow when you speak, "I was meant to be stronger than this," you giggle. Jude kisses you once more before laying his head on you chest and when your hand moves to the back of his head while the other one moves up and down his back all Jude can think is that he was always meant to be right there, with you.

"M' girl."

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham imagine #football fanfic #football imagine #my writing

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rainba · 19 days

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I'm literally in love with your OCS and I'm honestly a whore for lore sooo can you tell us a bit more bout their past? Or maybe just little snippets of their present day life! I'm so curious about them (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

-🗝 anon

Help… I get so nervous about posting lore for my OCs because my brain’s first reaction is, “who cares?” 😭 Except……. I care…… And I’m really glad you asked! ( ´ ꒳ ` )

I’ll try not to say too much.... Even if it's tempting to ramble.......

Luka has always been more closed off and unemotional– he's been like that since birth. When he was little, he was often bullied by his peers, being called weird and even a bit creepy. His expressions were always unreadable, his eyes devoid of life.

In an attempt to stop being picked on, Luka would constantly practice facial expressions in the mirror late at night. He often wondered if he was broken.

As he grew older, the bullying only grew worse– and it only ever stopped when he finally stood up for himself and fought back, nearly killing another kid. It happened when he was around twelve years old.

Honestly, sending another person to the hospital actually boosted his reputation more than anything. Instead of being just some slightly off-putting, emotionless guy, he became somewhat 'cool.' He was rewarded for his actions.

People suddenly started talking to him; they wanted to know more about him. Luka took it as his chance to finally "fit into society." He participated in sports, learned how to communicate with people, and worked towards mastering the art of manipulation. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

However... Luka has only ever had one person in his life that he’d truly call a “friend.” (¯▿¯)

As for Kairos… He was often nothing more than a shadow. Constantly ignored, always left behind, never spoken to. Kairos often made friends with little bugs that he’d find, and he’d keep his mind occupied by drawing hundreds of little pictures in his notebooks.

Every time he tried to talk to someone, they’d just call him a freak, giving him weird looks before walking away. After a while, he just stopped trying all together, fighting really hard to be content with living a lonely life.

Kairos felt like a shadow even in the comfort of his own home. His parents never acknowledged him- the most he could ever get from them is a glance or a few words. That's it. It'd be rare if he ever got to see them at all. They would often either be at work or going out to places without him. (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Kairos has spent most of his life wondering why he was ever born.

#ask #kairos posting #luka posting #:3 #i tried not to ramble but I rambled anyways....#my apologies........

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objection-u-a-bitch · 8 months

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I seen you post about me hating.

I just like to say that I agree with it partialy.

Trans men are men, and disabeld men are men just like ableld bodied men (this includs trans men). But unlike cis, and ablebodid men, trans men and disabeld men are much more safer for women to be around. Trans men were treated like girls growing up, so they know what it's like, and we don't need to explain how we are viewed socialy. And we don't have to be sceard of disabeld men become they can't really hurt us the same way as able bodied men can. Like a man in a wheelcheir can't kill us with his own hands dou to phisical restriction he has.

And I still be sceard of Jewish, black, asian, ect, men because they are men. Like if I'm alone at night going home from work then I will be sceard of any men regardless of his religion, ethnicity (exept Russian, if you see a Russian no metter the genders they are defenetly up to no good), or race I will be sceard the same way.

And fat men are a mix bag. They are eather sweat guys who strougles with self esteem issues and deservs support, or a raging misogenist who hates on fat women.

I don't know what post I made that you think is about you. The post about needing to unlearn misandry to be an ally that is pinned to my account is directed at everyone in leftist circles, and not because of a singular post I saw anywhere. I made it over two months ago with regards to general frustrations I have with anti-masculinity in the queer community in particular, but also in other leftist circles. It's funny though that you saw that post and thought it was about you. I don't even know who you are. And you clearly aren't telling me, because you're on anon. I'm not going to spend the time telling you why all of your ask is horseshit. It just is. You treat minority groups like a monolith and use it to justify being scared and bigoted towards men of all kinds. You treat all trans and disabled men as nonthreatening, which is infantilising, while saying all Russians are dangerous, which is some McCarthyist Cold War red scare bullshit. You talk about fat men as if only the "good ones" deserve support. Men constitute approximately 50 percent of the world population. To hate, fear, dismiss, avoid, ignore, and insult them is incongruent with leftist ideas of making the world a better place for everyone. Men are as varied and complex as women. They can be as gentle or as aggressive as women can be. They can be as harmless or as dangerous as women can be. They can be as forward-thinking or as close-minded as women can be.

You can't treat men as a monolith, and you also can't divide men into neat little groups that you sort into "good" and "bad". Every person is an individual who can choose to do good or do bad. Some of the white able-bodied cishet men in my life are the most supportive and kind people I know, and I know some fucking vile disabled trans men who need to shut the fuck up.

Taking precautions for your safety at night is reasonable, just like putting your seatbelt on in the car is reasonable, just like putting a smoke and carbon monoxide detector on every floor of your house is reasonable. Treating all men like shit because a few of them could be bad is not.

#anti masculinity #antimasculism #feminism #gender #leftism #ableism #politics #misandry #activism #reading through the spelling mistakes was a fucking chore. i know i shouldnt shit on peoples spelling #but if you come here to argue please at least know how to type “scared”#fatphobia

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elliespassagerprincess · 8 months

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I’d love if you can do window by spill tab she’s so underrated I just love your style so much

Window - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! I didn't even know who she was until you requested it! And you're right she is so underrated???? I've been obsessed with this song for a while now lmao... I hope you enjoy it <3

This story is based off the song Window by spill tab, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading <3

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are always open feel free to leave one and I'll take it from there:)

Warnings: reader being called annoying and pathetic and Ellie being a bitch

Summary: In which Ellie Williams made a big mistake

Authors note: maybe I should start posting twice a day??? Because I have so many requests lmao. Remember you are loved and to always be kind

I get used to ignoring

Closing the door and

Opening yours since

You've been clueless and honest

I wouldn't know the

First thing to say to you when you're here

"I love you" the text you sent Ellie read.

You loved her. You truly did. She was and will always be your one and only truly love.

The day you met Ellie, both of you felt an instant connection.

It started with a "hey" at a party and hours later the two of you were found stargazing and talking about anything and everything.

Your relationship with Ellie moved very quickly. Soon after meeting, you started dating and you practically lived with her.

Ellie always loved having you around, she always loved the way you ask her random questions. The way she'd find your hair all around her apartment after you'd gone home. The way you'd leave small trinkets as decorations.

Ellie loved everything about you.

But soon changed one night.

Ellie remembered coming home from work one night. She was exhausted. All Ellie wanted was some peace and quite but soon as she opened her front door she was met with your smiling face.

"Hi babe!" You said happily.

Ellie flinched as you brought her down for a hug.

Peace and quite.

That's all she wanted.

The rest of the night went down with you talking and asking her questions, and then begging her to cuddle.

Ellie looked down at your sleeping face and she realized just how fucking annoying you were.

You never gave her space.

Wherever she looked you were there. Wherever she breathed, you appeared.

All Ellie wanted was space and to be alone.

Ellie felt bad. She felt bad for finding you annoying when you have always been sweet and loving to her.

Out of all the relationships Ellie has been in, the one with you was the most special to her.

She couldn't leave you because she knew deep down she'll never find someone better than you.

Ellie tried ignoring you. Distancing herself from you. But it never worked. You'd always show up with a smile on your face asking what's wrong.

There were pieces of you everywhere in Ellie's apartment so you were never technically gone.

Ellie let out a sigh as she stared at the message you sent.

How does she reply to this?

You were always so genuine. So honest. You loved her but she doesn't feel anything for you anymore.

Should she lie and say she loved you back?

All Ellie did was reply with a heart emoji, and she switched off her phone.

You were clueless. Clueless that the love of your life didn't love you anymore. Clueless that Ellie hated you with everything within her and it made her sick being around you.

What Ellie is doing to you was sick. Staying in a relationship with someone you don't love was wrong. But Ellie didn't know how to leave.

How do you easily leave a 3 year relationship?

And Ellie didn't want to hurt your feelings.

How would she even start the conversation?

"Hey! I think you're annoying, let's break up!"

No. That would be a dick move.

At a point she couldn't get enough of you, now she couldn't stand looking at you.

I'll push away like I did like when I had you clear

It's the crux of the nature to crave what is not near

(I think I'm done)

Having to hold your hand and keep you over the water

(I think I'm done)

Having to hold your hand and keep you over

Ellie had a bad day.

She ran out of gas halfway to work, she spilled her coffee onto herself so she had to drive all the way home to change. She ended up being 3 hours late to work and she got into trouble. Ellie got yelled at, the printer didn't work, she missed her deadline, and she spilled coffee on herself again.

So yeah she had a shitty day.

Ellie sat in her car, with her head against the steering wheel. She let out a loud sigh.

She was so exhausted from today, that she wasn't sure that she could even get out the car.

She let out a groan when she heard her phone ring. Without checking she picked up her phone, and answered: "hello?" With an irritated tone.

"Ellie?" she heard you whimper from the other side.

She rolled her eyes.

You were fucking crying? Again?

"What happened?" she asked.

"Well I had a bad day" you started.

And Ellie lost it.

"You had a bad day? I had a worse one. You are so fucking overdramatic and annoying! Oh my God every time I hear your voice, I want to stab myself so bad "Oh Ellie I had a bad day"" she mimicked you after her rant.

"Well all of us have bad days so, shut the fuck up and grow up" she yelled.

Ellie was heavily breathing at this point. She was tired of looking after you. She was done holding your hand and being nice to you when you were a grown ass women.

She heard you sniffle on the other side of the phone.

"You can't even say anything" Ellie chuckled. "You're so fucking pathetic"

"You're being mean Els"

"I'm being honest"

A few seconds of silence filled the air before Ellie spoke again.

"Look I think we should break up, please come get your things, I'm so tired of this- of us"

"ok" was all you said before you hanged up.

Ellie felt relived. She felt free. She felt like she could think clearly again without you.

A few days later when Ellie got back from work she saw you in her apartment.

It looked empty without all your things. Her apartment didn't look like home anymore.

Ellie awkwardly, stood at the counter as she watched you pack the last box into your car.

You walked over to Ellie not saying a word, you didn't even make eye contact, as you lowered your set of keys into her hands.

Ellie watched as you turned around and walked to your car, not looking back at her.

"Hey! I'm sorry about how things ended" Ellie spoke.

She watched as you stopped and turned around to look at her. With teary eyes you gave her a smile and said "it's ok" And with that you got into your car and you drove away.

All Ellie did was hope that breaking up with you was the right thing to do.

Open up the window by my bed

Hoping you'll come crawling in like back then

Open up a window in my head

I'm hoping you'll infect me like you did back then

Did back then

I'll push away like I did when I had you clear

It's the crux of my nature to crave what is not near

Ellie opened the window and she let out a sigh as she gazed towards the stars.

She felt defeated. Tired. Angry. She felt regret. She felt empty.

Her apartment once filled with color, once filled with you, was empty.

It felt as empty as her heart did when you drove away that day.

She realized in that moment, the moment she saw the way your eyes teared, the way you said "it's ok" with smile, she knew she made a mistake.

Why would you smile with the women that broke your heart?

Ellie had hoped you'd crawl back to her. She'd hope you'd call her and tell her how much you missed her.

But you didn't.

It's been 6 months and you still had her blocked on everything.

Ellie hoped she'd see you again in public, so that she could run to you and say sorry.

But it was as if you had vanished.

They say you miss something when you've lost it and Ellie finally understands. Now that she has lost you, she realized what she had lost.

She'd never find someone so loving, so caring, so kind as you.

Ellie never hated you. She found you annoying but she soon realized that she took her stress and own problems out on you.

You didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve Ellie. You deserve someone better. Someone who could actually communicate with you.

What the two of you had was gone. And there was no what in hell that you'd be able to rekindle.

All Elle could do was look out her window and pray that maybe just maybe you'll come back.

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