hi, do you still writing for mouse series? i really like them and i wonder if you would like to write where mouse is get injured when she's not attending max's race and then she cries alone on her bed because she misses max so much but can't break the news and gets max worried about her because maybe he'll drop anything else if he heard the news. if you can't write for mouse series i'll be glad if you take my request and pair it with any other drivers. thank you so much 🌷🌷
Rescue & Recovery (Mouse series) - Max Verstappen
Special guest Mr Nyck de Vries will be featuring into today's fic ;) Might be a bit melodramatic of how she injures herself but this actually happened to a friend of mine irl.
Y/n doesn't know how she managed it. She was just chopping up fruit after Max had text her saying his flight from Nice was taking off so he'd speak to her once he landed. Then she'd sliced her palm open with the knife and in a rush of movement, she then slipped on a few drops of blood and the amount of pain from landing on the tiled kitchen floor. She was sure she couldn't breathe.
So after taking probably the better part of half an hour to finally get herself off the ground and managing to not only clean up her hand but the mess of blood that is smeared on the floor.
Then ditching the blood covered fruit, she dumps the knife and chopping board in the sink and shuffles to the bedroom.
She knows she's done damage to her tail bone (because it's not the first time she's feel and felt this exact pain) and the cut on her palm wasn't exactly only skin deep. Probably would be wise to go get stitches but the idea of trying to deal with doctors and nurses fussing over her and asking her a million questions about everything.
Crying to herself while lying in bed and hugging Max's pillow does feel completely safe there. But maybe a little pathetic.
In the haze of tears and slowly dulling pain, she ends up falling asleep. Unintentionally ignoring calls and messages from Max.
Now most people would assume Max has no reason to panic or get upset, but y/n never misses a call if she knows to expect one from him. Especially when it's a one of him landing because actually she is the one who likes the reassurance that he's ok.
"She's not picking up." Max grumbles then huffing. "Nyck's in Monaco right now isn't he?"
He doesn't wait for theorised confirmation. Instead just calling his friend who y/n has actually spoken a few words to since Max and Nyck have a long-standing friendship even outside of F1.
-
Nyck ended up getting into Max's apartment and sighs looking around trying to figure out where y/n might be. Since the apartment seems completely empty of life. Even the cats are gone.
Maybe one of them is injured?
"Y/n?! Are you home?!" Nyck calls out figuring making himself known is better than potentially scaring the very timid woman by seemingly appearing from thin air.
There's rustling and shifting, followed by a meow making him move to the open bedroom door and find y/n lying with one of the cats while the other one remains next to her, almost as if on guard.
"Y/n? Are you ok? Max called saying he couldn't get hold of you." Nyck frowns, hesitant to walk in while she blinks at him with tears gathering in her eyes. "Do you want me to call him?"
"I hurt myself." Y/n finally hiccups clearly humiliated by her admission but Nyck only smiles knowing that getting those three words out of her was probably a battle of her nature vs not wanting to panic Nyck nor Max.
"How did you hurt yourself?"
Now he's pushing it. A while explanation isn't going to be quick. So she shows her questionably bandaged hand which has somewhat bled through.
"I think I bruised my tail bone because I slipped." Y/n whispers still sniffling and she's quiet enough that Nyck tries to dip his head closer.
"Ok. Well, I'm going to call Max and let him know we're getting you to a doctor and then if you're ok to travel. I think he's refusing to get in the car until he knows you're ok. Are you alright for me to call him then we get you to the hospital to just make sure you haven't broken your tail bone?"
Nyck is the sweetest, and sure maybe he's talking to her a bit like you would a child. But it's completely out of care and wanting to be respectful and not make her uncomfortable since he's currently the only form of help that she has.
After some suggested instructions for her to get changes into something she might be more comfortable travelling to the hospital in.
"Hey, mate. I found her, she was asleep. but um I think she's managed to hurt herself pretty bad, she started crying as soon as she saw me." Nyck explains calling Max as he leaves y/n to get up.
"Hurt herself how?"
"Uh, well she cut her hand and said she slipped? I didn't want to push her for more. She was getting pretty upset. But I figured you might want to see her, so I can fly out with her. You're only over in Italy." Nyck states earning a sigh. "It's not a long flight, I think so long as her tailbone is ok. She should be fine to travel and I think she'd rather be with you."
"Is she there? Can I speak to her?" Max asks making Nyck hum hoping for y/n to appear in the next couple seconds.
"She's getting changed-Y/n, it's Max. He just wanted to speak to you."
Y/n mumbles a polite thank you before taking the phone and beginning to tear up since she hates knowing she's almost certain made Max panic.
"Mouse, are you ok?" Max asks softly not wanting her to pick up on his upset that she's got hurt.
"Yes."
"Are you going to come see me once you're done at the hospital?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I always want you here. I only didn't push you to come because I don't want you to get overwhelmed." Max states hating that if he had've brought her then she wouldn't have managed to hurt herself. "I'll be waiting to hear from you ok?"
"Ok."
"I love you. You're going to be ok. Nyck is the first person I'd ever trust to take care of you."
"I love you too...and I know. He's not the worst." Y/n smiles lightly catching Nyck's attention. "Bye."
"Buh-bye."
-
After getting stitches on her hand and an x-ray to confirm her tailbone isn't broken. Nyck and y/n are finally allowed to leave, though y/n is given some pretty heavy painkillers to make sure that she's not too uncomfortable.
They get on the flight and Nyck continues to prove to be a friend that Max should never lose as he updated Max through the entire time they were at the hospital and the last thing before take off is a message to Max telling him when they should be arriving.
"Thank you." Y/n murmurs, slightly less shy thanks to the painkillers while Nyck smiles.
"You're my friend and so is Max. Plus I don't want to know a world if Max loses you. Especially if they let him out on track, the rest of the drivers would have to fear for their lives. Might even withdraw from the race." Nyck jokes earning a lazy smile from the young woman.
"I love him."
-
Y/n walks alongside Nyck who greets and talks to many of the drivers who seem sympathetic still when they see him.
But eventually y/n spots her boyfriend and while she doesn't run, she does pick up the pace and get to him. Showing the most affection towards him that she's ever publicly displayed. Not only has she latched onto him in a tight hug, but she's even latched herself with her legs up around his waist.
She's locked around him as he shoots a thank you to Nyck before moving to get out of such public view. Not that he cares so much but clearly there's something that's happening there.
"What's wrong, mouse?" Max asks as he gets into his driver's room. He can feel her tears on his neck, he's familiar with the feel for a number of reasons. Certainly not all of them are bad.
"I'm sorry I ignored you, I just didn't want you to know there was something wrong because what sort of idiot cuts their hand then slips on their own blood?"
Max tries to contain a smile purely because her distress is always something to tug on his heart strings. But she's actually the cutest person and this might be the loudest he's heard her voice outside the bedroom (and that took a lot encouragement).
"Alright mouse." Max smiles gently kissing her as his hand moves to pick up her bandaged hand since they did cover it after giving her stitches then breaking the kiss. "You know usually I feel the urge to go after someone who hurts you, but you make it hard when you manage to be the one to hurt themselves."
Y/n finally laughs a little and hiccups, sniffling as she watches him sigh and smile at her.
"I'm glad you're here, I hate races without you being here." Max playfully pouts as he speaks then sighing. "How's your tailbone?"
"Better after they gave me the painkillers."
Suddenly everything clicks into place. Her talking so freely and without a squeak of nerves breaking up her words or sentences.
"Well make sure you keep taking them. How was Nyck on the way over?"
"He was nice, like he always is...too nice for everyone." Y/n murmurs earning a small nod before she shifts on the spot her placed her. "I love you so much."
"I love you too. More than you realise, I think." Max admits making it her turn to pout. "Do you want to come sit in the garage for a bit?"
"Yeah." Y/n nods before he kisses her softly and helps her down.
Max gets her to the garage where not even the painkillers are giving her the confidence to keep up her volume and chatter. Instead, she sits in her usual corner and just watches everything going on around her.
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okok I've had this idea brewing in my filthy mind for a few days so imagine sanji discovering camgirl! Strawhat reader and becomes kinda obsessed?? Maybe one day she wears something of his(maybe a ring or his shirt) live and he goes absolutely feral and has his way with her??😵😵💫
I took out the camgirl aspect because I just wasn't sure how to incorporate it into the universe?? (I'm still new to it, so trying to figure out the dos and don'ts haha.) but I hope it's still good.
masterlist | inbox - requests open
reminder that reblogs and comments are the best way to support writers on Tumblr
warning: 18+ content. MDNI. simp sanji. masturbation. suggestive language and actions. light biting.
Laundry Day.
'Can someone remind me again whose brilliant idea it was to fight the giant squid?' You looked down at yourself, stiff as a board, as you felt every inch of your body to be sticky with black ink.
When you looked up again, the rest of the crew had all found a sudden interest in the most mundane parts of the ship, not daring to meet your deadly glare.
'Thought so,' you mumbled. 'I'm gonna go change.' Awkwardly, you made your way downstairs to the bathroom to try and wash off the black goo the sea monster had spewed onto you. You scrubbed for what felt like an hour, with the stains just never seeming to seize. The water poured down your body, slowly turning from a black abyss into a drabby grey until it finally recovered to its natural clear state, and the smell of fish was exchanged for your hair conditioner and body scrub.
stupid. fucking. squid. You kicked around your thoughts as you got out of the shower, nearly falling over in the process.
Too tired to cross the ship to your room, you instead walked to the small laundry cabin that was next to the bathroom and picked up the first pair of shorts you found and a button-up shirt to throw on.
You had thought it was one of yours, always being fond of having some larger piece of attire to throw over a short sleeve, but you soon realised your mistake when you entered the kitchen.
Sanji was in the middle of setting some water to boil, glancing up at you from his work with a soft smile. That smile then quickly froze in what you could only describe as a shock.
'I know I look like a mess,' you sighed, reaching over to the cupboard where the crew kept their hardest liquor. The day just called for a shot. Or three.
'Not the words I would use.' Sanji said, the clicking of the gas stove intercepting him, 'Is that- is that my shirt?'
You glanced down, noticing the blue striped pattern on the material and the actual tailoring of the shirt as opposed to the ones you were used to wearing.
You cursed under your breath. 'Sorry. I'll go change.' You began unrolling the sleeves, already seeing how they started to crease.
'No,' Sanji coughed out. 'It's fine. Honestly.'
'You sure?' You looked up at him apprehensively, but he just shrugged and continued on cooking.
You poured yourself a drink and made yourself comfortable opposite Sanji, enjoying the show that was his meal prep.
'Where's everyone else?' you asked as he began chopping up vegetables.
'Uhm, probably sleeping off the squid,' he chuckled, focused on the ingredients. As he kept going, you realised his answers kept getting shorter and shorter with each question. What usually would be full of quips and flirtatious remarks was cut down, blunt, like the edge of a dull knife.
And at first you had brushed it aside as him concentrating on his craft, but the longer he cooked, the more noticeable it was how he avoided your gaze. Even when talking, he didn't dare look up.
'Are you really ok with me wearing this?' You asked eventually when he was done and washing his hands in the sink.
'Of course, darlin',' he wiped his hands on a towel. He was about to turn around, but you saw the moment as your chance and swiftly slithered by his side. He stumbled back slightly in surprise.
'So why have you been ignoring me for the past hour?'
'I haven't,' he slipped by you elegantly and got to packing up the prepared food into storage boxes.
'But you have-- you didn't even look at me until now.'
'Sorry, sweetheart. I was working.' Usually, his saying something like that would make you think things were back to normal, but he seemed nervous, and before you could say anything else, he excused himself to his cabin.
Confused and a bit flustered at the sudden departure, you stood in the kitchen for a moment. You had planned on going upstairs, to get some fresh air, when Luffy stormed into the room.
'Ah!' he exclaimed, 'glad to see you're back to your ink-free self.'
'Yeah, thanks, Luf.' You took another shot quickly and watched as the captain raided all the cupboards. 'Watcha looking for there?'
'The tangerine cookies that Sanji made yesterday. There should still be some here.' He stretched his arm out to pat around the back of the highest drawer.
'You sure you didn't eat them yet?'
'Nooo,' Luffy looked at you sternly. 'Because I put them there specifically so I wouldn't eat them earlier.'
'Right,' you nodded. 'Well, Sanji had been busy around here, prepping lunch for tomorrow; maybe he moved some things around,' you suggested. 'You could go and ask him.'
'Aaah, I could,' Luffy wavered, 'but I was hoping to do this without Sanji's help.'
'Did he ban you from the kitchen again?' After the last incident of Lufft stuffing himself full of snacks right before dinner, the cook had given him strict orders not to eat an hour before meals. Looking at the clock, you could see it was closing in on dinner time.
Luffy scoffed, which only confirmed your assumptions. With a sigh, you got up. 'Fine, I'll ask him. But he might be asleep, you know.'
'Thanks. You're the best.' Luffy said, arm the length of the room as he opened cupboard after cupboard. You just rolled your eyes and made your way to Sanji's cabin.
'Hey, Sanji,' you knocked softly, unsure if he had maybe decided to take a nap. With no response from the other side of the door, you tried again. You thought to just let it go and leave him be, but then you heard the clashing of the pans in the kitchen, followed by a Luffy 'I'm ok!' and knew that you needed an answer for your captain. These were desperate times.
'Hey, Sanji,' you opened the door. The only thing you had really seen was the shape of his body splayed out on the bed, and it was more of an instinct or a gut reaction that told you that you should not look any further. So, quickly apologising, you shut the door again as Sanji cursed out in shock at the door opening.
'Sorry!' You shouted through the door, simultaneously trying to comprehend the blurs of your vision and trying to forget anything you might have seen. He wasn't... no, that wasn't... no.
There was some stumbling coming from his room, followed by a few more curse words. You didn't know why you were still standing beside his door, but he certainly didn't expect you to have stayed there, and so, when he entered the corridor, your bodies practically collided.
'I didn't see anything!' You blurted out before Sanji could say anything. Both your faces were wide in horror. 'I swear- I just,' you made the mistake of taking his appearance in. His shirt was untucked from his trousers, belt unbuckled and hanging at his sides. Oh god. 'I just... I was wondering where the tangerine cookies were. The ones you made yesterday.'
He was still hard. Most of it was hidden by the layers of clothing, but there was no denying it. You did your best to keep your eyes on his face as he listened to you blurt out words like a maniac, but it sure was difficult as all the puzzle pieces came together.
'They should be in the left cabinet, bottom shelf. Behind the baking ingredients. I hid them so Luffy wouldn't eat them before dinner.'
'Good thinking,' you laughed, probably a bit too loud for the situation, but the nerves were getting worse by the second. 'Well, bye then.' And with that, you ran off to the kitchen, leaving Sanji in all his unspeakable glory behind.
In the kitchen, you were met with Luffy picking up the pans he had dropped and Nami looking at him with what could only be described as disappointment. Without acknowledging them, you walked over to the left cabinet, opened the bottom half of it and searched the bottom shelf for the box of leftover cookies, slamming them onto the counter. Luffy immediately lunged forward to them, oblivious to your shocked state, but the navigator was a bit more perceptive.
'What happened to you?' she asked, declining the offer of a cookie from the captain, who already had two in his mouth.
'Nothing,' you shook your head.
'You look like you've seen a ghost.'
'I didn't! I didn't see anything!' Nope, nothing at all. You definitely did not see that. Or how big it was... or how his hand looked wrapped around it... or his face when he- NO.
'Hey, is that Sanji's shirt?' Now, Luffy decided to be observant. You looked down at your shirt as if you had only now noticed what you were wearing.
'Oh, I guess it is.'
'He must be having a field day with that,' Nami snickered, to which you looked at her confused. She, in turn, rolled her eyes 'Like you haven't seen the way he looks at you on a regular day.'
'I- no?' you blinked, trying to grapple with what she was talking about.
Nami just shrugged before grabbing the last cookie from Luffy's hand and walking out of the room. If you thought he would be aware of anything that you had just talked about, you would have asked the captain if he knew what Nami meant by her comments but instead just contemplated on it all by yourself.
Against all your survival instincts, you walked back in the direction of Sanji's door and knocked again. This time loud and clear. There was shuffling coming from the other side, and a second later, the door opened to reveal Sanji. His lips were pulled in a tight line of a smile as he looked down at you.
'Hey, can I come in?' you asked softly.
'What?' Sanji asked before the initial question properly connected in his mind. 'Uhh, I don't think that's a great idea.'
'Sanj, we should talk about what happened earlier.'
'Do we, though?' His voice raised in pitch nervously, but you just glared up at him, unimpressed.
'Sanji, please just let me come inisde.' You pushed out any thought that just burst through your mind that did not have to do with the current situation, but it was hard to see the images of what you saw in his room before were still very much playing over and over in your head.
In the end, Sanji gave in and opened the door for you. As you walked in, he stayed behind you, hand running nervously through his hair, as he spoke: 'Listen, I'm really sorry about... everything that happened today, really.'
'You have nothing to be sorry for.' You turned to face him. 'I'm the one that stole your shirt and stormed into your room unannounced.' It was his room. He had the right to do whatever he pleased in it.
Sanji laughed awkwardly, looking away to the far side of the room, but even then, you caught how his eyes glanced and slightly lingered over your body. The blue-striped shirt still hanging over it.
You, in the meantime, fought the urge to look at his body, combined with the memory of what you had caught him doing.
Maybe it was the few shots you had taken earlier to forget about the giant squid attack that instead did nothing you had hoped for but only made you bolder as you asked: 'were you thinking about me?'
'What?'
'You know, earlier. When I walked in. Were you... thinking of me?'
'Shit, don't make me say it.' He combed his fingers through his hair. You walked over to him, closing the gap between you lightly.
'Why not?'
'Because I don't want to make things weird between us.' His jaw clenched as you came towards him, and you couldn't help but laugh at what he had to say.
'Oh, it's definitely too late for that now. Things are already weird.'
'Super weird, aren't they?' he asked softly, strangely intensely.
And so, when you responded, your agreeing words were only as hushed as he had been, too focused on each other's proximity. The two of you stood there, frozen between actions, taking each other's bodies in at the new lack of distance until Sanji took the final step over the edge, kissing you with his hands on cupping your cheeks.
You stumbled back at the force, steadying yourself when you caught onto the shirt he was wearing. One of his hands moved down to your waist, guiding you to his bed until the back of your knees hit the wood, and you lightly fell back.
Sanji placed himself over you, and as his weight pressed over you, you could feel his hard-on through his trousers. A curse fell from his lips when you reached for it and your fingertips moved over the material.
'You've been drivin' me insane the whole day, walkin' around in that shirt.' He said as he began leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.
'Figured,' you couldn't but be a bit smug about it, which he did not seem to appreciate given the pinch of his teeth you felt on your sensitive skin.
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him even closer to you, trying to get some, friction out of the movement as he pressed himself against you.
'Cocky are we?' He smiled into his kisses, and at this point, all you could do was nod in agreement.
Sanji kept himself up over you with one hand as he used the other to unzip your shorts. One-handed and without a clear view, taking them off turned out to be a bit more of a challenge, far more awkward than expected when you tried to shuffle out of them, but his touch on your skin made up for it by tenfold.
You were about to make a start on unbuttoning the shirt you were wearing when Sanji stopped you. 'No, keep it on.' and kissed you before you could make any other snarky remark on his behalf. But when he pulled away again, though slightly dazed by the passion, you still managed to comment.
'If this is the treatment I receive for stealing your clothes, I might just do it more often.'
To this, Sanji groaned through his teeth. 'You're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart, I swear.
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Not That Kind of Guy
Part Seven: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series
Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]
Info: Anakin is perfect boyfriend material. He’s also insane, but that’s okay. He’s thinkin’ some thoughts [diary entries from Ani AND you] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+
Diary Entry: July 14th
You’d better be so fucking glad that I’m not insane.
I offered you my weapon and you didn’t take it. You have zero self preservation skills, your fight or flight response is so low that it concerns me. You’re worse than a opossum, instead of playing dead you play pretend that it’s normal to have a home intruder with a knife in your bedroom.
You didn’t even attempt to get up and run, not that you could’ve. You wouldn’t have made it more than two steps without collapsing. You could hardly speak, slurring your words like a drunken fool.
You didn’t even call anyone after I left. Didn’t text anyone. Didn’t get out of bed until 1:00pm this morning. If I didn’t have the audio on full blast all night I would’ve busted back in and made sure you were still breathing.
Honestly I’m alittle jealous.
Stupid I know, to be jealous of myself. But you didn’t know it was me. Yet you still let me sit there, you let me talk to you, you let me scratch your head like a good little girl.
Did you really believe it was all a dream?
Do you remember it today?
Can you feel my hands on your skin? Can you taste my cum on your lips?
Did you know it was me?
Date
July 14th
You woke up groggy, way, way past the normal time your internal alarm clock jolts you awake. Disoriented wouldn’t even begin to describe how you felt right now. This was a feeling like nothing you’d ever experienced before.
Unlike last night when your mind was refusing to kick off the blanket of sleep while your body could scarcely react… now your mind was wide awake and running rapidly while your body was aching and not properly calibrated.
You’d been so utterly relaxed during your deep sleep that your muscles got the rest they’d been searching so desperately for your entire life. You felt loose, rested and smooth while also feeling as though you’d been stomped to a pulp by a stampede of angry cattle.
Your head felt swimmy, your lungs felt like they’d been working too hard. Your eyes still couldn’t fully focus either, so it was no surprise that you stumbled clumsily to the kitchen and spilled coffee grounds all over the counter.
You rested your forehead against your folded arms on the counter top, needed a moment to rest your eyes from the harsh lighting. The pounding in your head traveled from one side to the other, keeping a continuous presence behind your sensitive eyes. The moment of silence, well, it gave you time to think.
You had wanted so badly to believe last night was nothing but a weird ass dream, it wouldn’t have been the first time.
But your hopes were squashed when you woke up and saw your diary on the edge of your bed. Even the air felt disturbed, like your room itself was letting you know that it wasn’t all in your head.
He had said he wouldn’t hurt you and you believed him.
He didn’t hurt you.
But if not… why drug you? Was he planning on it and you’d interrupted his plans? Though being a kind, caring, crazy person he backed off instead of forcing you to endure whatever he decided for you while you were awake?
Or had you caught him after the deed had been done?
That ache. That horrible longing in your gut that just refused to go away… was gone. Not dulled, not in hibernation. You felt satisfied and sated.
He said he didn’t hurt you… maybe he just...
You shoved your thoughts into a corner and taped the box shut. That was absolutely sick, you cannot think that way. You can’t. What the hell is wrong with you? You shouldn’t be okay with that.
You should cry. You should scream and wail and cry and throw up.
But how could you be disgusted by a man that had taken away the yearning that had been so deeply rooted within you for so long? Maybe… maybe he didn’t even touch you like that.
Maybe whatever drug he’d given you had somehow flipped the reset switch.
“Sure.” You whispered to yourself, leaning against the countertop. “Sure, that’s all it is. Just that.”
“I have no reason to doubt him. If he wanted to hurt me he would’ve done it. I caught him, if he was truly a terrible person he probably would’ve killed me.” You reasoned with yourself.
“He just came to say hello.” You put your face in your hands, breathing deeply. “Yep. Yep. Yep. That’s all.”
You chose to ignore that fact that your panties were glued to your cunt that morning.
Conveniently over looked the obvious hickey on your left breast.
Pretended not to notice the taste of something salty in the corner of your mouth.
That’s all in your head. He didn’t do that, you didn’t feel sore. You would feel that wouldn’t you? You would’ve woken up right?
‘Right. I would’ve felt it. I would’ve woken up. So it was a dream. Yes.’ You nodded resolutely in agreement with your inner voices.
Some guy dressed as Ghostface was not in your bedroom.
You got out your diary to write about your night at the bar and how wonderful it was, and you fell asleep before you could put your pen to the paper.
Someone slipped something in your drink and it made you sleep very soundly. Someone who didn’t get the chance to take advantage because your two best friends walked you home.
Your subconscious knew that’s what happened and it made all that other stuff up. It’s time to reevaluate your bookshelf. No more dark romance. It’s turned your brain to mush.
Anakin. You should go ask Anakin to review the footage from the bar security cameras. Put your mind at ease that no one had even attempted to follow you home. Maybe you’ll see that no one even drugged you in the first place and you just have one hell of a hangover and an overactive imagination.
First things first though, scoop up those spilled coffee grounds and dump them into the filter. The water gets hot enough, it’ll be fine.
Absentmindedly grabbing your new hello kitty mug, you failed to notice the slip of paper inside until you almost poured creamer over it.
You quickly snatched it up and unfolded it.
‘Sleep well?’
——————————————————————————
“Anakin!” You banged on his front door and he answered relatively quickly.
He appeared in a pair of flannel checkered pajama pants and a short sleeved white shirt, socked feet and messy hair.
“I’m not picking my nose I swear, I’m changing my nose ring.” He grinned, one finger in his left nostril while he screwed on the ball to a new black steel ring, replacing the previous plain stainless steel one.
“M’sorry I didn’t mean to-“
“No worries baby, what’s up?” He asked, running a hand through his hair before shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Can you do me a favor please?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Of course, what’d you need princess?” He asked, his face full of sympathy. “Wanna come in? We can chat.”
He didn’t wait for you to answer, he simply stepped aside and held the door open, lifting that arm slightly so he could usher you underneath his arm and into his apartment.
“Need a drink or anything?” He asked, thumbing toward the fridge.
When you shook your head he gently grasped one of your elbows and brought you to the couch, he kneeled on one knee and held both your hands with his. He looked up at you like he was studying the most delicate piece of artwork on earth.
“What’s going on doll?” He whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Your eyes flashed at his lips quickly, and widened slightly, but you shook your head.
‘If only you knew.’ You thought, your inner voice giving a mirthless laugh.
“N-no.” You sighed. “Is there anyway you can convince your boss to let me look through the security footage from the bar last night?”
“Yeah sure, I doubt he’d care.” Anakin shrugged. “Why? Did you lose something?”
“Um no.” You said, contemplating on telling him your story, no matter how stupid it might make you look.
“You can tell me anything sweetheart.” Anakin cooed.
“It’s just… I think maybe someone slipped something in my drink last night.”
“You think someone drugged you?” He repeated, his hands tightening around yours.
“Well I don’t know for sure!” You said quickly. “I just woke up feeling weird and dizzy… n’ well I don’t know it doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll make sure we get that footage okay?” He promised, pulling you into his chest and smoothing your hair down your back.
You didn’t speak, you just let him pet you for a moment. The thought of telling him what had actually happened scared you. It made your stomach flip, twist into knots and yank your guts so tightly that you thought you’d never be able to eat again.
He’d think you’re nuts. He’d think you’re a liar. He’d think you wrote that note yourself. He… what would he do? If he believed you? Would he call the cops? Get angry at you for not doing it yourself?
You were vaguely aware of Anakin speaking to you and once he realized you weren’t comprehending a single word, he stopped. He leaned back to look at your face where it rested against his chest.
“Babydoll?” He said worriedly, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention. “What’s got you all tore up?” He asked in a whisper.
You shook your head, hoping to scramble your thoughts back into order.
“It’s nothing, I just…” You breathed deeply, realizing only now that you’d started to cry.
The safety you felt with Anakin had allowed you to feel these confused feelings in a closed and controlled environment. You chided yourself for thinking he’d react offensively, you may as well just tell him. At least part of it… right?
“Hey, princess.” He said, his voice tinged with a worried kind of uncertainty. “You’re kinda scaring me, I need you to talk to me baby.” He whispered softly.
“I think someone broke into my house last night.” You blurred out suddenly, your words surprising yourself. The moment they left your lips the words caused you to shudder, eyes watering, staring at Anakin like a poor hopeless little kitten on an ASPCA commercial.
“What do you mean someone broke into your house?” He asked sternly, his hands firm on your shoulders.
“I don’t know. Maybe I imagined it.” You said embarrassedly.
“I checked all over the apartment this morning and can’t seem to find out how they got in. I just remember someone being there.” You added, biting your lip as you picked at the skin on your fingers.
“Do you want me to go look?” He asked softly. “You can stay right here, I’ll go look if you want.”
“Really?” You sniffled. “Will you?”
“Of course.” He soothed, cupping your face with both hands and wiping the remnants of your tears away. “You stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Anakin grabbed a thick Sherpa blanket…
Sherpa blanket? He has a Sherpa blanket? Hot. A man with good taste in throw blankets is a man worth pursuing.
He covered you up and patted your head, his fingers stalling momentarily as he gave you a wide-eyed, quizzical look as though he might ask you something or maybe had an odd thought. But, you could see him internally shaking whatever it was that crossed his mind away.
“I’ll be back in a sec okay?” He said, walking to his front door and shutting it with a click behind him.
Anakin walked into your apartment and idly stood in the kitchen, thinking to himself and wondering just how much you remembered. Boogie purred and looped around at his feet so he scooped her up and held her like a baby while pacing the room.
“What should I do? Hmm?” He asked, scratching beneath her chin.
“You have great advice usually.” He muttered. “C’mon… I- fuck.” He groaned.
“I can’t just ask her can I?” He huffed. “No, I can’t.”
“I’ll just… offer to put up some cameras,” he chuckled to himself. “Easy. It’ll make her feel better huh?”
“Thanks… good kitty.” He said giving her a peck on the head before sitting her on the kitchen counter and walking back to his apartment.
He popped his head around the corner to see you still sitting exactly where he left you.
“Good news is: there isn’t anyone there now.” He said with a sympathetic smile. “I can’t find any evidence of a break-in…”
“I know!” You said, exasperatedly throwing your hands up.
“Hush.” He said sternly. “Just because I didn’t find anything, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen okay?”
He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe that your space had been invaded, that your sanctuary had been tainted. But, he believes that you believe it was. And that’s enough of a reason for him to play along for your peace of mind. Within reason of course. He’s not confirming your fears, he’s leaving it open ended but putting up a gate to keep it in check. He’s protecting you from yourself and your own anxiety.
Too bad he’s wrong. Although it’s real sweet that he’s trying.
“Okay.” You blushed at his change in tone, like he was speaking to a child having a tantrum.
You didn’t fully understand why, but every time he did that, it made your stomach flip- in a good way. It was… strangely comforting? Maybe? Or maybe it was just hot, either way you weren’t complaining in the slightest.
“Do you want me to set up a security system for you? Some cameras or?” He offered, sitting next to you and opening his arms which you quickly leaned into.
“Cameras?” You echoed, why hadn’t you thought to put those in when you moved in? You’re a girl, living alone, in a less-safe area of town.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Would that make you feel better?”
“I don’t know… maybe just those window and door alarms?” You suggested. “You know the ones that make that horrible screeching sound when they’re armed and someone tries to open the door?”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“I had one on the back garden gate at my moms house.” He said, smoothing out your hair.
“Really? Why?” You asked.
“Cause she thought I was sneaking out.” He chuckled.
“Were you?”
“Yes.” He laughed. “I just wanted to go smoke with my friend who lived in the same subdivision as us. Apparently she’d been hearing the gate open and shut.”
“She was never one for confrontation, so I guess scaring the shit out of me was her way of telling me to stop sneaking out to smoke pot.” He smirked. “I screamed, like a real actual scream. Sounded like a little girl.”
“Oh poor you.” You laughed, looking up at him as you giggled. “My parents never found out I snuck out.” You said teasingly.
“Oh really? What were your methods?” He snorted.
“Well, we didn’t have a fence first of all.” You said. “Second, I was on the ground floor and my bedroom window didn’t have a screen in it.”
“Mmm.” He nodded, his chest rising and falling methodically. “Smart.”
“Yep.” You smiled. “So how bad did you get in trouble?”
“Trouble? None.” He chuckled, leaning back to look at you. “I was momma’s pride and joy, I could do no wrong. She just gave me a warning, unspoken. But still very, very loud.”
“Oh so what you’re saying is she let you get away with it huh?” You laughed.
“Pretty much.” He smiled, pausing for a moment. “So is that what you want then?”
“Yeah… I think I’d rather have those. Maybe it’ll scare ‘em off and make ‘em scream like a little bitch, like you.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh baby, you wound me.” He sighed. “Guess you’ll have to find someone else to install them for you, huh?”
“What?” You sat up and furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.
“What?” He said mockingly. “You really want a little bitch installing your security system? My little girly hands just won’t get the job done.” He teased.
Little girly hands? Little girly hands?
Those hands were anything but little, everything masculine. Strong and firm. Long fingers that would lace perfectly in yours, those same fingers would feel at home between your…
“Fine, I take it back.” You said quickly, pulling yourself from your dirty thoughts. You couldn’t seriously be drooling over those veined hands while discussing your potential house invasion.
“Good girl.” He grinned. “I’ll order them for you okay?” He said, brushing his knuckle against your cheek.
“Thank you.” You sighed in relief, ignoring the shiver his touch sent through you.
“No problem princess.” He said softly.
Diary Entry: July 14th
God I feel so… conflicted.
I never feel conflicted when it comes to you. It’s so strange, this feeing. It’s like I’m being pulled in two directions.
I love you. So much baby.
I love the way you felt in my arms today. I loved the way you let me hold you, comfort you. We have such a good connection. Such a normal, real, blossoming relationship.
But I’ve went and made things complicated haven’t I?
I should’ve waited. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve sucked it up and just watched through the cameras and kept my hands to myself. I have patience, I should’ve used it.
It’s just… you’re so tempting.
You love it. Whether you know it or not, I know it. I see it, hear it, taste it. You need me. Conscious and consenting or unconscious and oblivious. Either way, you need me.
So it’s really not my fault. I might’ve thrown the snowball that’s triggered the avalanche, but you’re not running from it. You’re letting it drag you under and doing it with a blush and blissful smile.
Ghostface has thrown an unexpected but possibly very interesting wrench in my plans. You reacted so strangely. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s eating me alive inside, the way you just… accepted it. It’s amazing.
Truly, it’s astonishing. This side of yourself that you’ve kept locked away and hidden from view, maybe even hidden from yourself until now. Do you have a Pit too? Did that surprising reaction crawl out of the depths of your enigmatic mind?
It’s a mystery to me. One I will never crack, it drives me nuts. Knowing that there’s a truly unsolvable puzzle in front of me, I can pick and pick and pick, but I’ll never find all the pieces. You’re too smart, too clever, too perfect. Why would your mind maze be any different?
What have you got hidden in there? In that one place I can’t break into? The one part of yourself you can hide from me?
I’ve gotten a taste, a small one. Lightly salted, hardly seasoned thoughts sprawled on the pages of your diary. No one, not even me, writes everything down. There are things that will stay locked away in my mind, never to be spoken or written. I’m sure you have those things too. Probably not anywhere near as… depraved as mine. But strange and unusual enough that you’d never willingly allow anyone to learn.
As much as I hate that I can’t read your mind, I love it too. That hidden side of yourself that is only for you. It’s something I’m not sure that you would ever show me, not even when you’ve finally fallen in love with me. Not even when we’re too old to care about anything but our happiness… I don’t think you’d share it then either.
That’s a shame. It really is.
But you might share that side of yourself with Ghostface.
I know you.
I know you well enough to realize that the fawn who timidly, but let their curiosity guide them to speak with Ghostface is not the same doe that blinks up at Anakin with adoration.
You. Are. So. Much. Like. Me.
Anakin looks at you with a sense of love, pure and unfiltered. He wants the best for you because he cares so deeply. He wants to keep you safe and warm and forever happy. Because that’s his duty as a loving and caring partner. Your protector and provider.
Ghostface looks at you with love yes, but also obsession and deeply rooted perversion. An infatuation so strong that he’d shed gallons of blood just to get to you. He wants the best for you, in his own way. He wants to keep you safe while giving you the danger he knows that you crave. He wants to keep you warm by feeding the flame of your own twisted little fantasies. The ones so dark you won’t even write them in your diary. He wants to keep you forever happy too, just not in the traditional sense.
And if he gets to have his own fun along the way… well, we both know I’m a fan of killing two birds with one stone. Of course Ghostface would have some mutually beneficial, selfishly planned ideas too, right? He’s unafraid to be what Anakin tries to keep hidden.
Maybe we can have both? Separately… at least for a little while.
You can have us both.
We can have the fawn and doe.
That could be fun. I think I’d like that. You’re just perfect, you’re so perfect. I never would’ve imagined I would be lucky enough to find someone who was as fucked in the head as me. The theory is of course untested, but I have a feeling that I’m right. I think you’ll love Ghostface just as much as you love Anakin.
Because I love the fawn just as much as I love the doe.
The doe that blinks up at me like it’s been caught in the high beams of a truck. The doe that is clever enough to carry on a good banter with me. Sweet and kind and gentle. That’s the recipe for the perfect little deer, they’re such a gentle animal. Soft.
Just like you. They bed down in the softest grass, nest themselves up in a way that keeps them hidden and safe. You do the same, all those stuffed animals and the ridiculously thick and fluffy comforter you sleep under.
They’re smart. They can be sneaky and quiet if they need to be. They have hard and dangerous hooves if they truly need to use them. So do you, but you’ve proven that just like a doe, you’d rather return to the safety of your nest instead of bucking up to kick your problems square in the chest.
Even though they’re smart enough to know they’re prey, they’re too sweet, too pure to believe anyone could have bad intentions. That’s why the bucks have antlers. Sharp and precise, ready to clash into whatever threatens his doe, head first.
Sound familiar?
Then there’s the fawn. The you I’ve only just begun to know. Tiny, meek, fragile. A bleat so small and unsure that it’s comical, like the way you spoke to Ghostface.
They cower, hide. Walk on unsteady legs that cause them to flounder when they’re nervous. They get overconfident; leaping and running on those lanky limbs and regretting it when they fall to their knees, legs folded beneath them and calling out for their protector.
They have those innocent doe eyes all the time, not just when caught off guard. Like the you that Ghostface met. So curious and wrongfully trusting. They don’t realize danger until it’s too late, they’re just exploring the world around them and suddenly they’re gone.
That’s why it’s important that you stay within arms reach of me. That’s why I watch you so closely. That’s why you need me.
They’re so easily taken advantage of; the purity, the innocence, it’s a recipe for disaster if it’s left to develop on its own. But when it’s nurtured? Well cared for? Allowed to roam within reason? In the safety of the net it’s protector has spread out for them?
Well, they’ll blossom. Just like you. You’re so eager to learn and soak up all the knowledge you’ve been so curious about, but too afraid to seek out on your own.
Ghostface can help with that. He’ll keep you safe while giving you the room to explore. He’ll allow you to think that you’re independently experiencing a new world, even though he’s the one who’s crafting it for you.
What a surprise it’ll be when we tell you we’re the same guy. It’ll be your dream come true huh? Sweet and tender boyfriend material, bring home to momma, respectful and gentle Anakin. With a side of… well controlled obsession motivated lunacy.
See? I’m self aware. Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. I’m not a psycho, I’m. Not. That. Kind. Of. Guy.
But Ghostface is.
I love you. You love me. We can just merge the four of us together. Fours a crowd but twos a party or some shit like that.
Date
July 19th
Anakin waltzed into your apartment and locked the door behind him. In his break and enter self imposed uniform. No mask though, he just had it tucked under his arm just incase. He liked to be prepared, especially after you’d surprised him by waking up when he’d so carefully planned for you to do the opposite.
He scooped up Boogie for company, went to your bedroom and locked the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and climbed into your bed, staying standing to adjust the camera above your bed. He needed to uncover that lens. No reason to suffer with just the audio anymore, not when he had a perfectly good excuse that you were semi aware of now.
With task one complete he propped up his phone against one of your many stuffies to have the background noise of one of the shows he’s finally getting around to watching: Narcos. He can understand the hype around it when it was first released now and kind of wishes he’d sucked it up and jumped on the bandwagon to watch it with everyone else in the world back then.
With his work area set up he reached under your mattress with one long arm and pulled out your diary. He’d been impatiently waiting for you to formulate some questions and he’d hear you speaking to yourself about it the night before.
So he cracked open the little pink book and pulled out the red ink pen he’d brought along.
It just wouldn’t be as fun to use one of your cutesy little gel pens or just a plain old black one. But it would be fun to add just a dash more intimidation into the scenario.
It’s a proven fact that red is an uneasy color for humans. It’s one of those things that never fully went away when people developed past the primitive brain. Most people don’t even realize it, but studies show that red ink really does affect the brain. It’s very subtle but it’s still there. The mind is a strange place.
Red bad, blood red, scary.
That’s why all good horror movies have the killers write in red ink… or just straight up blood. It’s unsettling.
Anakin leaned back and got comfortable, flipping through the pages to read the few entries that he hadn’t yet, before moving on to the main course, a page titled: Answer Me
——————————————————————————
Your Diary Entry: Answer Me
Do I know you? If I don’t then who are you?
We’ve met.
Nice try, you’re not getting that out of me yet. Bold of you to ask though, I like that.
Just call me Ghost.
I’m sure that I know you, why else would you hide your voice?
Clever girl.
What do you look like?
You saw me. I didn’t realize you needed glasses.
Do appearances mean that much to you? Well, here’s what I look like under the mask:
Funny, huh?
Why me?
I don’t have enough room in this book to answer this question sweetheart.
So I’ll shorten it: you’re perfect, precious… and I love you because of it.
How did we meet?
You’re really confident that you’ve met me. It would’ve been embarrassing if you were wrong.
:)
I saw you, you saw me. That’s how most people meet isn’t it?
Will you come back?
I’d have to be dead to be kept from you, even then you’d never be without me.
The afterlife is just a step behind the living.
It’d be fun to try out that poltergeist stuff anyway, don’t you think?
How did you get in? I checked and had a friend check… no sign of forced entry.
I know. I saw you both.
Not too long ago, you left your window unlocked. My main goal is to keep you safe and happy, you can’t be safe with an open window easily accessible by a fire escape. So I climbed in and closed it for you.
Have you looked for your spare key lately? I know where it is. It’s in my pocket. On my keychain.
How long have you been watching me?
I like the way you asked this. Not ‘how long have you been doing this’, not ‘how many times have you broken in’.
I’ve been watching you for quite a while now. Long enough that you should’ve definitely noticed by now. Just another reason you need me to protect you. You’ve been completely oblivious.
Go to the next page for the rest of this. I have more to say; you need a lecture.
Hello again, let’s continue shall we?
You’re utterly hopeless in the way of self awareness and keeping watch of your surroundings.
I walk you to and from work nearly everyday.
I sat on your fire escape every night for weeks, to watch you fall asleep on the couch, watching your little shows.
I’ve been to your sisters house, I’ve been to the library to see who is in your book club, I’ve even been to the gym with you.
You never noticed. That’s… forgivable. I’ve been very good at keeping myself hidden, ie. all the times I laid on top of the roof next door to watch you sleep through your bedroom window. But that was before I started visiting your home.
(Have you noticed that those curtains stay closed now? I always shut them for you because you’re forgetful.)
But you know what isn’t forgivable? Everything I’ve done inside your home that you’ve never noticed.
Sweetheart, I love you. I really do. But god you’d probably die without someone around to hold your hand. Haven’t you noticed that certain things seem to be growing into less of a chore and more of a manageable task?
I know that you have, but you thought it was all you, all on your own.
I’ve been making sure your favorite mugs are washed. I’ve been vacuuming because you never do it enough. I’ve been taking out the bathroom trash on the off occasion because I know you hate doing it.
I replace things for you. This one really gives me a giggle.
You’ve been using the same bottle of Persil laundry detergent for almost two months. Ever wondered why it stays half full? No?
Your favorite cereal never runs out either.
You’re adorable, so clueless.
It’s all helpful things sweetheart. No worries, I’m not just some weirdo creep. I do actually care about you and your well-being too. I love you.
You haven’t missed a single birth-control pill since I’ve been setting it out for you.
You’ve been sleeping so much better, in your own bed where you should be, because of that yummy SleepyTime tea. It’s nice to wake up feeling rested isn’t it?
I did my research, remember when you felt real down a while back? That’s when I started setting out your medicine and giving you that tea. I read that it was probably a hormone imbalance because you’re too forgetful to take your pill consistently.
I like to help, I want to help. It makes life easier for you and that’s what’s most important. That’s what a man should do, take care of the one he loves, keep her happy, safe and loved. I’m dedicated to you. I want you to know that.
Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked and you have more questions to be answered my curious girl.
If you didn’t plan on hurting me, why did you drug me, why did you bring a knife?
Valid question.
Am I being watched ALL the time?
No, I’m not a psycho. You deserve privacy, I’ve never peeked in on you in the bathroom in any capacity. I don’t always watch you in your bedroom. But I do listen. I like to hear you snore, it’s like ASMR.
I’ve never accidentally seen you naked if that what you’re asking. It’s always on purpose.
Why haven’t you made yourself known? Why no weird calls or notes or anything? Isn’t that a thing stalkers do?
No. It’s not. At least not for me.
I don’t want to freak you out. Leaving weird calls and notes would scare you. That’s the last thing I want.
I’ll start, let you get the full experience lol.
(Not creepy shit though I promise.)
What do you get out of watching me sleep? Have you touched me?
You’re beautiful, peaceful, angelic. It’s just nice to be in your presence. It’s calming in a way. Like how grandmas knit to wind down in the afternoon. Kinda like that I guess.
Maybe.
Are there cameras here?
Yes. But not everywhere, like I said, you deserve privacy.
They’re here for security reasons, but also because it sucks to sit in the rain on a fire escape. My ass would get frozen to the metal grate when it was cold.
I don’t use them for what you think though.
Will you ever tell me who you are?
Would you be able to cope with knowing my identity? I mean, there’s a reason I wear the gloves and mask, change my voice. Like I said, you know me in the real world. I won’t ever show you my face if it means losing you there.
I’d stop coming here like this though. If you wanted. But I don’t think you do. Do you?
You’ve obviously read my diary. Is that why you chose Ghostface?
What do you think? :)
There. Questions answered.
Don’t expect me in person for a bit, you should take some time to process. I know it’s a lot.
I’ll still be there for you though, I wouldn’t leave you completely. Never.
I have a feeling you won’t tell anyone. But I do of course have to ask: please, don’t tell anyone okay? It’d make me sad :(
Not even Lukey or Anakin okay?
I’ll warn you before I make an appearance next time.
Date
July 28th
The bell above the door at the Bluebird chimed and your head perk up immediately. There he was, right on time.
Anakin had been much, much closer to you since your meeting with Ghost. You still hadn’t told him. Probably never would.
Who would believe something so insane anyway? Anakin had handled the whole ‘home intruder and I’ve been drugged’ situation extremely well. He was very supportive, your certain that if you did ever share the information on Ghost with him, he would do his best to validate you, but he’d definitely make you go to therapy.
“My princess.” He grinned, walking up to the counter and sitting on a barstool, both hands palm up on the countertop for you to place yours in.
“Hey Ani.” You smiled softly, you loved this.
You loved what this had bloomed into. You never thought you’d fall for a traditional guy, but here you are, with Anakin.
“Whatcha got left? Almost done?” He queried, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs while he gazed at you with those dreamy blue eyes.
“I’ll be ready to leave as soon as Sara clocks in.” You peered back into the kitchen, hoping to see her walk in the back door any moment.
“Good, we’ve got places to be.” Anakin teased.
“Do I have to go in my work clothes?” You whined. “I smell like french fries!”
“Mmm my favorite perfume of yours.” He snickered. “No, you don’t baby. I brought you a change of clothes. Dress or pants?”
“Oh? You brought options?” You asked in surprise.
“Of course I brought options. I’m not a mind reader.” He smirked.
“No, but you might as well be.” You laughed.
“Mmhmm.” He looked down at your hands and laced his fingers with yours. “Pants?”
“Yes please.” You nodded with a laugh. “See? Mind reader.”
“I wish.” He rolled his eyes. “Just know my girl well that’s all.” He smiled, one hand leaving yours to cup your cheek.
“Sara’s here.” He nodded to the back door as it was opening.
“Oh good!” You said, patting his hand on your cheek and spinning around to clock out.
Once Anakin had led you out to his car he opened the back passenger door and handed you one of your small backpacks with clothes in it.
“Change inside?” He asked, nodding toward the restaurant.
“Ew no.” You scoffed. “I’ll just change in the backseat.” You shrugged.
“Sure thing baby.” He laughed, gesturing for you to get in.
He stood outside with his back resting against the side of the car, ever respectful of you and your boundaries. Soon enough you knocked on the window and he moved out of the way to open the door for you and help you into the front of the car.
“Lookin’ good princess.” He let out a low whistle that had you blushing.
“Thanks.” You squeaked, despite being so comfortable with him, you couldn’t help but be bashful sometimes.
He was never not confident in the things he said to you. If he wanted to tell you something, he did. With his full chest.
Tonight was your first real, official date. Anakin had planned it all for you, you weren’t privy to his choices but you assumed it would be casual considering the clothes he’d offered you. He’d said ‘men should plan the dates and their girls should just enjoy them’.
Fuck feminism. Anakin made you forget you had the right to vote, he made you forget what it was like to do things on your own, he made you forget the horrors of being a girl left alone.
With him around you never had to lift a finger.
So it was no surprise that when you arrived at the restaurant he walked around, opened your door and offered you his arm. Not unexpected that he would order your food for you, somehow he always knew what you wanted, you didn’t even bother picking up the menu anymore.
Not a shock at all that when he got you home you didn’t have to do anything but lay back and be loved.
Part Eight
Just realized that probably not everyone knows what a butterfly knife is, so here’s a gif (I’ll put one in the previous post too) like you’re telling me this isn’t Anakin’s weapon of choice??? Show off.
Tag-List:
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THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.
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"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [8/...]
— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader
"My love is mine, all mine. I love, my, my, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love,"
— Mitski, "My Love Mine All Mine"
Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader
Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.
Buggy, desperate for your attention, can't help but think about what led to this situation.
Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, depiction of blood and wounds, DIY suturing, slight alcoholic indulgence, Buggy realizing he's fucked up big time
Buggy recalls the first time he caught your smile.
It had been several months since the Captain introduced you to the crew. Despite the sorry state you were in at the time of your debut, your eyes were so bright even back then, as though illuminated by something internal.
He’s heard about fish glowing in the dark even when in the deep depths of the ocean, thousands of miles out of the light, and they require nothing but themselves to keep the light on.
He wondered if you’re like that. You didn’t look like a fish, nor did you remind him of any fish people he had encountered; too pretty and earthbound but glowing all the same.
Glowing, but dull. A knife that's not been polished for long, but still being used as intended.
Everything about you, how you walked and moved, all the way down to how you blinked, felt placid and stale from his perspective. He himself was an expressive man, never denying himself the capacity to show how he felt, so to witness it from you felt like a foreign sight.
You didn’t smile, nor show much of anything really. No sadness, anger, or joy. Just a blank canvas without any colors.
He compared you to a doll; a mannequin having come to life from behind a display case, breathing and blinking and moving, yet maintaining its lifeless nature all the same. You were strong, exceedingly so, and you followed orders without question or complaint. Like a machine working on auto.
He wondered whether you had been a slave or some kind of child soldier before Rogers found you. You must have been because no one becomes this … this … cold of their own volition.
He found that your apparent incapacity to live annoyed him, and so he set out to change it. He didn’t know why, but he just had to.
Quite frankly, he didn’t know what he said or did. Maybe he told some silly joke, the kind his crew mates usually smacked him in the back of the head for due to its cheesiness, but you smiled.
The image of that remains stuck in his head like a stain that won’t wash off. He remembers everything about that moment. The way you wore your hair, with a singular braid on the right side of your face. Asymmetrical and messy, yet you made it look just right.
He remembers the way the gray sky parted just in time for a ray of sunlight to shine across the deck, further illuminating your face. It was like the heavens above decided to put a spotlight on you.
He recalls the way your eyes glistened in the sun.
He remembers it all.
Maybe that’s when it first began? This … thing that’s been gnawing at him for so long? This feeling that won’t leave him in peace, even in his sleep. It tugs at his chest, pinches his stomach, itches his skin, and warms his face.
This feeling that’s been clawing at him in the twenty years you were parted.
The source of that feeling that’s currently looking at him from across the room.
His eyes light up like fireworks upon seeing you enter the kitchen area. “Hey! Look who it ...—!" The moment he sees the state you're in, whatever words were about to exit subsequently fall dead on his tongue. "— ... is."
You look like shit, mildly put. He's never seen you look as terrible before save for the time you first joined Rogers’ crew, and it feels like he’s back there again.
Back to sitting on the sidelines as the Captain procured you from under his oversized coat; a kid who looked smaller than she really was, now with a fresh bruise in development across your cheek, sunken eyes, and a pale complexion to your skin that wasn't there before.
You're leaning onto Rubber Boy like he's your only lifeline from falling headfirst into the floor, and upon squinting his eyes, Buggy notices the edge of a bandage peeking out from under your shirt, with a drop of blood staining the material.
In all the time Buggy's known you, he's only seen you bleed maybe once or twice. It was a rare occurrence; no blade could pierce your skin, nor daggers or swords. Your hide was impenetrable, like molten armor in the flesh. Arlong really did a number on you. He couldn't see much during the time he was stuck in that God-awful bag, but by the sounds of it, it was not a fight you were winning. He always held onto the notion that you were unbeatable; unbroken. Nothing could hope to harm you.
However, this diluted image of you he’s presented with confirms the opposite. You’re not invincible. You’re human. Faster, stronger, indefinitely more dangerous than the rest if your track record is anything to go by, but still bitterly human to the core.
When he led Arlong to Baratie, he thought you'd be able to finish the fucker off without a struggle. He'd watch the spectacle from the front rows, popcorn in his metaphorical hands while cheering you on from the sidelines.
Now, seeing you like this, like you've just walked through hell and back, he can't help but acknowledge the fact that he did this to you. He led Arlong to you.
He swallows the lump in his throat and stores the guilt away for another day.
Your eyes finally meet, for the first time since Orange Town, and he can see the confusion in your eyes. The hesitation that gradually morphs into the anger that he's become acquainted with as of late. You promptly yank yourself free from Luffy, stomp over to the table with uneven and unsteady steps that threaten to topple you over, and finally slam both of your hands on each side of Buggy's head.
The table cracks lightly under your grip, sending several splinters flying in every direction. Buggy gulps nervously.
"H-Heya, doll," he tries, but the darkness over your eyes leaves no room for sugarcoated words. They never did.
"Luffy," you say calmly while never taking your eyes away from the clown's, unbridled rage simmering in their depths despite your compromised state. "Why is he here?"
"About that ..." Luffy sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "He's the only one who knows the way to Arlong Park."
"To Arlong P— … " Your nails leave crescent-shaped holes in the soft tablecloth, and you glance at Luffy from over your shoulder, looking far more tired after seeing Buggy for ten seconds than you did beforehand. "And you're sure there'sno other way of getting there?"
"Nope!" Buggy interjects with a prominent pop!, hoping to catch your attention again. "He was real secretive about where his little fish-mancave's located. Lucky for you, I memorized the way back to my body!"
He's disappointed that you won't turn to even acknowledge his contributions to the conversation. You won't look at him again, and he discovers that he can't bear it.
Please look at me!
But you don't.
The silence is suffocating until you push yourself from your table, and he notices the way you cradle the side of your stomach while doing so. A silent hiss leaves your lips that he would've been unable to catch onto had he not been so focused on your reactions.
You look at Luffy, your back turned to Buggy, and limp over to the pathetic captain. Buggy predicts you’re about to shout at him, tell him the stupidity of this decision, and maybe even smack him across the face for emphasis. He hopes you will; the kid needs to have his ass kicked a few times to compensate for the humiliation the clown suffered at his hands.
To his bitter disappointment, you don’t commit yourself to any of the aforementioned. Really, not even a smack? Instead, all you do is heave an exhausted sigh before you prepare to exit the kitchens. "It's your decision," you say, and that's all you say before Buggy has to suffer your absence again.
———
It's the bounty hunter's turn to keep watch over him tonight, and Buggy, for one, would rather prefer to get tossed into the ocean than suffer like this.
He finds that this asshole is the worst one among the bunch to be keeping an eye on him. While the waiter and the long-nosed idiot would rather ignore him and leave him be, Moss-hairs over there seems like he has it out for him the most. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he almost killed him, but hey, all is fair in piracy?
"YAH!" Buggy shrieks when the asshole yanks him by the scruff of his hair with an iron grip, pulling out several blue hair strands while doing so. "CAREFUL WITH THE HAIR, SHITHEAD!"
"Shut up."
He can only hang when Zoro takes him inside to the kitchens, where the pretty-boy with the blonde hair is already cooking something up. Even before they entered the threshold to the kitchen, Buggy could hear your voice. You were talking to the blonde, and judging by the lightness in your tone, you were at ease enough not to be spiteful.
Buggy feels himself become annoyed, and not even the smell of food can tame it regardless of how hungry he is.
"Also, you should stitch up that wound soon," says the blonde, his voice growing more audible the closer they get to the kitchen. "Wouldn't want it to get infected."
"I'll handle it," you say in turn. "Wouldn't be the first time I've had to do something like this."
"You know, if you want to, I can lend you my hands. I'm told I have quite dexterous fingers, molded for delicate work."
"I'll pass, thank you."
"As you wish, but my offer is still on the table should you have a change of heart."
Buggy doesn't even know the guy, and he already wants to drown him. Whatever hunger occupied his stomach miles away with the rest of his body gets promptly replaced with something far sharper. Far uglier. It has teeth long enough to bite through flesh, claws that can tear open flesh, and it’s starving.
They finally enter the kitchen area, and whatever conversation previously took place shifts into silence upon their entrance.Buggy grins as he meets your eyes. "What's tonight’s specials?" he asks, hoping you'll actually respond with something this time, regardless of how sardonic it is.
He wouldn’t mind it if it’s something along the lines of “Fuck you” or “Eat shit” or “I hope you die, asshole.” It only has to be something, but it seems that even that is too high of a criterion for you to bother with.
You merely get up to your feet, unsteadiness painting your steps, and try to excuse yourself from the room without as much as a look his way.
For the duration of his uncomfortable stay with these shitty nobodies, Buggy's main priority aside from navigating this useless crew and getting his body back is your attention.
However, whenever someone — whether it be that shitty cook or the bounty hunter or the slingshot — brings him someplace where you coincidentally happen to be, you excuse yourself from their company and go someplace else.
He finds it more torturous than the bounty hunter's hold on him. It's been like this for the past two days. You won’t talk to him, won’t look at him, you won’t even acknowledge him even when he’s being the loudest head in the room.
Sure, he can piss off the rest of the bunch without even trying, but no matter how much he tries to catch your ire, you don’t take the bite.
The string that’s been dangling him above the water is just about ready to snap at this point.
"Hold up," Zoro says and proceeds to hold up Buggy's head for you, ignoring the string of curses that flow from his lips. "I want to eat my dinner in peace, so you take him."
Your face, while blank, cannot disguise the irritation laced in your words. "Give him to Ussop."
"He's on watch duty tonight,"
"Sanji?"
"My fine lady, as much as I'd desire to ease your woes, I'm currently preoccupied with preparing the meals." The blonde raises his pan for emphasis. "I would have lent you my aid, do not doubt that."
You’re not convinced. "… Right." Your eyes finally settle down to Buggy, and with great reluctance on your part, you slowly raise your hands up to take him.
Zoro smirks and deposits the clown into your hands. The absence of pressure at the top of his head is a welcomed reprieve. Your hold — while firmer around his cheeks than he'd prefer — is not uncomfortable per se. At least, not in comparison to your other crew mates.
He considers this a win. It's been far too long since he's been granted your touch, the last time being when you bid him a bitter goodbye back in Orange Town.
"Also," you say to Zoro. "I need a bottle of rum and a rag."
The swordsman tilts his head skeptically to the side. "Haven't you had enough to drink?"
"I need it to sterilize the sewing equipment."
Realization dawns on his face and Zoro relents. He hands you a bottle of rum from the kitchen cabinet, and after thanking him, you make your way to your cabins with the bottle in one hand whereas Buggy rests in the crook of your other elbow.
The walk is excruciatingly quiet, only the sound of your feet making any noise. It's deafening, and he can't stand it. He needs noise, preferably from you, but he doesn’t mind being the instigator.
"... So," he begins. "You know how to stitch yourself?"
You don't answer, and when he peeks up at you, your eyes are solely aimed at the path ahead.
"You gotta have the right technique," he continues, a little more energized. "Or it'll become an ugly scar. I can help you with it, I'm a pretty good seamster if I do say so myself."
Again, you don't dignify him with a response. He bites his cheek. Fuck, this is getting tiresome.
He looks up at you again, and he notices just how different you've become from when you were younger. Your eyes were bright, but your smile was even brighter. You'd happily chat with him for hours and hours on end without ever growing bored of the conversation. You'd joke, you'd playfully hit him (though your definition of 'playful' usually had him stumbling in his steps), and you'd smile.
Now, your eyes are dark, and sunken, and there are several wrinkles in development; not from age alone, but simple exhaustion. The years have truly changed you, and the itch nagging him at the back of his head reminds him that it's partially his fault.
He decides to shut up until you reach your cabin.
Your place, he discovers, is vaguely minimalistic at best. You have the basics: a hammock in the far corner, a chair with a small table next to it, a barrel serving as both a nightstand as well as what he assumes to be a storage space of sorts, and a lantern on the top that's already been lit.
You close the door behind you and head for the table. He expects you to all but pummel him down on it, like your crew mates, maybe even drop him altogether for the heck of it. He braces himself for impact and shuts his eyes when you raise your hands.
To his surprise, you simply put him down on top of it without any unnecessary pressure or force. He feels the wooden surface under his neck without any discomfort, and he can't help but notice that you've deliberately positioned his face towards the window.
He tries to plop around, like a fish out of water, but your hands - a little tighter around him this time - retract his movement. "Hey, what gives?!”
He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to ask, already knowing that you're probably not going to answer.
To his surprise, you actually do this time.
"Don't look." Despite the sharp enunciation of your voice, the one he's been aching to hear for the past two days, it sounds hushed.
Not wanting to piss you off in case you decide to completely ignore him again, now that he's regained a smidgen of your notice, Buggy complies and elects to stare out of the window in spite of the desperate need to remain focused on you.
However, Buggy's never been one to completely follow the rules, so he decides to bend them. The window provides him a half-measured view of you in its reflection, with the dark waves serving as an addition to your image. A beautiful addition at that.
How sad is it that this is the only way he can look at you now?
He listens and watches as you put the liquor bottle on the table inches away from him, and then you proceed to retrieve a box of something hidden under the wood. It's not until you put it down next to the bottle and open it that he discovers that it's some kind of sewing kit.
You take a small mirror and put it on the edge of the window frame at a very specific angle.
Eyes sharp and focused on the task at hand, you withdraw a needle of adequate size from the box, carefully pull a thread through the pinhole, and douse them both with booze. Shortly after taking a generous gulp of the liquor yourself, you put them both to the side to draw up the side of your shirt.
Buggy pales slightly when he sees the bloodied bandages hidden under the fabric. If the semi-transparent reflection of it is enough to make him nauseous, he can't imagine what the real deal is like.
The three marks that stretch across your ribs look ugly. Scratch that, they look grotesque. Old blood rests dried and cracked along the edges, and the fresh flesh between your severed skin looks even worse. Like an animal maimed you and left you to rot on the ground. He’s seen his fair share of shitty shit in his life as a captain, but this is something he considers almost too much for him. It doesn’t make sense, he’s seen someone amputate on themselves due to a canon blast, but he only considered it a nuisance at best.
Maybe it’s because it’s you this time?
“God,” he whispers more to himself than anyone else. When snap your eyes to him, having heard him speak, he is quick to deflect. “I- Erhm, I never noticed how shitty the weather is tonight.”
He can’t tell if you buy it or not, but if you do, you don’t voice it and continue with your makeshift patchwork. With the rag you procured, you pour some of the alcohol over and press it tightly against your open wound with no delay. Buggy winces at the same time you do. He's had to disinfect wounds similarly before, and it hurts like hell. Fucking hell. He doubts you disagree with the notion.
You grit your teeth tightly, face contorting and your lips wobbling as a quiet "Fuck" leaves you. One second becomes two, two become four, four become eight until finally, you withdraw the now stained rag. He notices your hand shaking, your breath hitching, and the way you're all but forcing yourself to stay calm.
Since when did you limit yourself like this? Deny yourself the capacity to feel? Fucking scream, he wants to yell at you. Feel something. Say something! Show him that you still feel anything. Don't pretend like you don’t.
If that pot ain't calling the kettle black, he doesn’t know what is.
He looks at your reflection, watches as you pick up the needle and inching it towards your severed ski—
“DON’T!”
You abruptly stop and snap your eyes over to him, and he realizes he’s efficiently blown his cover. While still selectively mute, all the anger and irritation you need to convey is done so through your glare alone. Scorching. Sizzling.
He licks his lips. “If you do it like that, it’ll scar real fucking bad and won’t hold the skin together.”
At first, you only stare, and he thinks you’re going to ignore him again. However, like some miracle, you answer. “I know how to patch myself.”
“Sure as shit don’t look like it,” he retorts snidely. “With an angle like that, you’re lucky if—”
“I didn’t ask for your input.”
“Fucking looks like you need it.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
You all but throw the needle into the nearby wall, which just happens to be the same one he‘s positioned next to. The needle lodges itself right into the wood, sticking out with the thread still dangling from the eye.
Buggy stops breathing, and a drop of sweat trickles down his forehead. He expects you to throw the bottle at him next, just for good measure.
But you don’t. You don’t do anything.
He spends a minute deliberating whether it’s appropriate to continue the flow of conversation. “Look,—” He turns his head around to face you directly. “I’ve been around the block; I know what is best suited for your kind of scratch.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Between the two of us, who do you reckon has the most experience with having their asses kicked? The walking-talking tank who can launch people twice her size in the opposite direction, or the clown?”
“Thought you couldn’t be cut.”
“Correction; I can’t be sliced. There’s a difference,”
The look you give him is a culmination of everything ranging from indifference, irritation, boredom, and subtle agreement towards the statement. In lieu of an answer, Buggy prevails, "If you move the needle in a wavelength through the skin, it keeps it together better and is easier to remove. I know your name would make crossed stitches better fitted, but it sucks by comparison. Trust me."
You don't. Buggy knows that already, but if only for a second, your eyes shift to something other than the four aforementioned. Maybe it's contemplation, perhaps a softer edge around your crow's feet, but it's indecipherable from where he's perched. If he got closer, he might have a better chance at figuring it out.
To his surprise, you actually follow his word on it ... after retrieving the needle that's been embedded into the wooden wall with at least two-thirds of its length.
He corrects you here and there, and provides you pointers while weighing his words. He's just now got your attention, he's not about to risk losing it. "- Not too deep, remember? God, what are you trying to do, give yourself another scarring? Keep it tight!"
... Well, he weighed his words, but maaaan, is he bad at measurements.
After a few more glares from your side and some non-verbal threats of bodily harm, you finally manage to stitch the skin together. Your hands, while precise and experienced in the art that is self-suturing, didn't get to do it perfectly. He knows it hurts like a bitch, he winces every time he sees the needle protrude through your flesh, and while you show no facial reaction, he knows it hurts you as well.
If he'd had his own hands at disposal, he would've made it perfect. So perfect that you'd not even have a scar at all. That, and he’d finally be able to touch you.
But this is as appropriate a substitute as anything, and all in all, it's not too bad. It's you, of course, so nothing you do can be too bad. He keeps that thought to himself as he watches you wrap up your midsection and put away the equipment.
"So, how did I do as an instructor? Pretty damn flashy, am I right?" He says with a low chuckle, only for it to disappear once he's discovered that you're not talking or looking at him anymore. "What? Back to the silent treatment?"
Evidently, yes.
He chews on the inside of his cheek and comes up with another approach to get your eyes on him again. It’s a risky one; might get him your attention, or it might land him into the opposite wall, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. "I heard what you said, you know? To Rubber-Boy."
He observes no palpable reaction, so he tries again. "Shanks seriously never told you what happened that day it all went down?"
There it is. The fish on the line. Bull’s eye. He sees you stiffen just slightly, and he gets his wish. A shiver runs down his spine when your eyes fall on him again; he can feel it, even from miles and miles away.
No distance can hope to expel the feelings your gaze bestows him with.
You speak one word. Just one. So low, yet so clear all the same.
"No."
... Buggy the Clown wants to vomit.
He's not sure if his current disproportionated state can manage it, not to mention it's been days since he last had a scrap of food, but it does not ease the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him.
Fuck.
When he first heard you tell Luffy this, he thought you were ... lying, somehow. It was stupid; you're not the kind to lie, always telling things as they are without skipping a beat. But he could not see your face, could not see the face you were making, and so he took it with a grain of salt. Or a bucket-load of it.
There was no way you didn’t know, no way Shanks didn’t tell you… Right? Buggy used to come up with excuses for his own righteousness, telling himself that this thing that happened was never his fault.
Now, he knows for certain. He knows you're telling the truth, he sees it, and he feels a bile rise in his throat.
One conclusion is made in the messy pile that is his brain.
He fucked up.
He fucked up BIG TIME.
It's a fuck-up that'll go down in history as the biggest fucking fuck-up ever to cross the seven seas in all fucking time. He fucked up so bad, in fact, that it cost him more than he'll ever be able to pay for.
The sound his throat makes is pathetic.
"Oh."
BANG!
A good-sized piece of the wooden table snaps under the pressure of your fist and descends to the floor with a plat. Buggy imagines if that was him instead, getting crushed to the floor like a maggot crawling in the dirty as an unsuspecting hiker walks across..
With the shove of your chair, you get to your feet. "I'm getting Zoro."
"NONONONO! WAIT! PLEASE, ANYONE BUT HIM!"
You don't care. You're already halfway across the room when he, in his desperation, shouts two words he's never said before.
"WAIT! I'M SORRY!"
… You stop.
He takes the moment right out of fate's hands.
"I didn't know, alright! I didn't know that you didn't know, and I thought you knew." He hopps his head a little closer to the edge of the table, right where the cracked piece currently on the floor once was. "I thought you knew, and then went with that fucking red-haired asshole! How was I supposed to know that you didn't know?!"
Wrong words. Very wrong words. He finds out soon enough just how wrong they were.
You're inches away before he can even blink, hands clenched on the table counter with one at each side of his head. Your noses almost touching, and he can feel the fire in your throat threaten to scorch him alive like a pig above the pyre.
"You could've asked." You say, softly at first, but bit by bit, your voice opens up to the deep-rooted anger that's laid dormant for years. "You could've asked me."
Craaaaack, and another splinter pops off the table and lands in his hair.
"You could've talked to me."
The entire table shakes now, and Buggy struggles not to slip from it. He thinks you're about to tear the whole damn thing to shreds with the way you're clenched around it. It's on-brand by now for you, comes with the name and everything.
"Cross-Hairs. Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the Beast of the East, and Breaker of Tables and Faces and Bones and Jaws and Clown Noses."
He expects the additional titles to apply to him any moment now. He'll have to jump around the ship in search of his misplaced jaw next time, and probably the nose too. The crew of nobodies will have something to laugh about in years to come, and he'll never live the shame down.
But like with Orange Town, instead of the hand that will bring about his demise, all he feels is a breeze across his cheek. So light, and so brief, yet there lingers a warmth he wants nothing more than to grasp it. A thirsty man searching for his oasis.
You remove your hands from the table. "I would've traveled across the seas with you if only you'd asked it of me."
... What?
He feels his head freeze for the umpteenth time as your words circle in his head, garnering a storm of long-forgotten memories and feelings and hurt and betrayal.
You would?
You really would?
You would have gone with him all those years ago, if only he'd asked it of you?
He looks at your hands; the cracked knuckles and bruised skin, adjusted fights and blood and the impact of bones. The same ones currently threaten his safety as a dislocated head. He looks right into your eyes despite the risks it warrants.
You refuse to look at him, more now than ever, like there’s a rope wrapped around your neck that’s forcing you to face down. Like you're afraid that he might see something you'd prefer to keep in the dark. And yet he sees something wet and salty gathering in the corners of your eyes, and he sees the ways your body scrunches like a child wanting nothing more than to curl up to the floor and cry.
When was the last time he saw you even come close to crying? You never cried, for as long as he’d known you. If there ever was a time, it was the day he left you behind on that dock so long ago, and he had already turned his back before he had a chance to see the waterworks leak.
He finds it strange how some things seem to change whereas others don't. When Rogers first brought you onto the crew, disheveled and thin as you were, you never made a sound or showed any emotions. Being a man who wore his feelings and thoughts on display, he found it fucking weird. You were weird. You are weird, now more than ever.
Now, seeing you like this, knowing he's the one who brought it out, he doesn't know whether he's the detonator or the executioner. Maybe a bit of both?
His general nature is to deny accountability and put the blame on something or someone else to save face. It's always been like that; a habit by now. Call it cowardice, but he calls it a way of life. A bank getting robbed after the employees got knocked out by Muggy Balls? Not him. The white lion having a stomachache after eating old slabs left for too long in the cooler until it developed an ecosystem of its own? Not his fault.
But you crying?
You being hurt.
You hurting.
His fault. All his.
You, the strongest person he knows of; the same person who laughed at his jokes, worried about him, kicked ass seven days 'til Sunday, and shone so brightly in the moonlight by the docks, crying ...
His fault.
You're the strongest person he knows. Hell, you're probably one of the strongest people in all of East-Blue, yet still, he's the one who managed to make you cry. A beast rendered to a tearful child, still so small even after all this time, all because of him.
What does that make him? The strongest person in the East Blue? Or the worst? He's never minded being the worst at what he does, but he realizes in that moment, perched on the tabletop, that he can stand anyone's tears but yours.
Never yours.
You’re fighting those tears the same way you fight everything else; putting every ounce of strength your body has to offer, clawing at it, gripping it, doing everything in your power to keep the tears from spilling and potentially revealing something more.
Still, it doesn’t matter how strong you are. You could’ve lifted the world and held it in the palm of your hands, and the tears still would’ve proved the biggest challenge you'd face yet.
If he had his hands, he’d cradle your chin, hold you close, and promise to never let go ever again. You’d fight him all the same, kick his ass, claw at him, break all the bones in his body, and he’d let you.
He’d endure your strength, dance across the blazing charcoal that is your wrath, but nothing you’d do would make him let go, even if you were to separate every atom in his body one by one.
He'd hold on, and when he gets his body back, that’s what he’ll do.
“I’m sorry …” he whispers, the apology tasting like bitter peppercorns on the tip of his tongue. “I … Shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have” Fuck, he sounds pathetic. “… I’m so … so fucking sorry.”
For all of it.
He’s never once apologized in his life, not to anyone, but for you, he’d apologize a thousand times over. He’d learn “I’m sorry” in every language known to man, recite every prayer, suffer every penalty in the book.
This could all have been avoided if he’d just fucking talked to you that day instead of running. As if divinity decided to deliver punishments, he was haunted by that thing he ran from for twenty years; torturing him, driving him mad with longing.
Twenty years of bullshit in your absence … all of it avoidable had he not been the fuck-up he acknowledges he’s been.
He’d dive head-first into the ocean if it meant he could take back what he said that day. He’d take on the Marines too if he had to. He’d find the One Piece and give it to you, forgo his own dreams. He’d do anything, just to take back what he did.
Just to have you look at him with something other than scorn. Just to have you look at him the same way you used to.
A few drops of salt land on the table right in front of him, and save for the occasional sniffs and heavy inhales, you remain stubbornly quiet. This time, he keeps his mouth shut and awaits your judgment. The likelihood of you refusing to forgive him is the most probable one, and he can’t fault you for that as much as he’d hate it. The chance of you forgiving him just like that … is less.
A minute of silence becomes two minutes, and two become three, and five, and ten.
You raise your head to peer down at him, your eyes reddened and heavy, but you finally do look at him. He holds his breath in anticipation and wonders what’s working behind them.
What are you thinking?
What are you feeling?
Is it rage? Is it vengeance?
Will you wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze until there’s nothing left but an ashy head? He doesn’t know if asphyxiation will have the intended effect given his condition, but there’s only one way to find out.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and imagines that it will be his last.
The door slams and the room rattles, throwing him off in surprise.
Buggy opens his eyes and sees that you’re not here anymore.
You’re gone, again.
He releases the breath he’s been withholding, not knowing what to make of this. Will you come back, or will you leave him here by himself: put him through the same state as he left you in?
His head burns thinking about it.
Not even a minute later, you return to the room, and the scent of something delicious fills the atmosphere.
You’re holding something in your hand, a plate. It takes him a while to realize what it is, and as he’s about to open his mouth to ask, you wordlessly put the plate down in front of him.
Buggy drools like a dog. It’s food. Actual fucking food. Some kind of dish (fish?) with boiled potatoes and cabbage on the side, with sauce distributed evenly over it. He usually hates cabbage, but as hungry as he is now, he thinks it looks like the most delicious thing of all. Even better, the food is still hot, and it’s been cut so that it’ll be easier for him to take in.
He looks up at you expectantly and watches as you sit down, cross your legs, and put a glass of water with a bendy straw next to the plate. Did you bring him a bendy straw? Holy fuck, you brought him fucking bendy straw! He can’t help but stare at you like you put the sun in the sky because, how could he not? You brought him food, you brought him a drink, YOU BROUGHT HIM A FUCKING BENDY STRAW!
Bored eyes turn to him as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. “It’ll get cold,” you state matter-of-factly, which he interprets as Hurry up and eat, asshole.
Buggy doesn’t have to be told twice, and he digs in like an animal. Decorum was never his thing anyway.
Maybe this isn’t forgiveness, and maybe you’re still rightfully pissed, but that’s alright. This gesture implies that, at the very least, there’s a bridge now. It’s made of rusty nails and unsteady planks and runs over a shitty river, but it’s a milestone from his point of view.
He’ll wait for as long as he’ll have to, even if it’s takes another twenty years to make up for it, even if it takes a hundred. He'll wait and he'll work for as fucking long as he have to, just to see your smile again.
He knows your dream.
He knows you care; you protected him, after all. You held him close, put yourself in harm’s way just to keep him safe.
That means, even after all this time, you still consider him yours.
All that remains is for you to finally find our for yourself.
-----
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Dove (part three)
Leon Kennedy x female reader
Part one. Part two.
Warnings: Things get a bit gory in a flashback, description of panic attack.
“Anything will be great. We’ll take it slow. You ready?”
You’re not, but you doubt you ever will be.
“Ready.”
Leon taps twice on the laptop’s trackpad and it emits a beep, signaling the recording has begun, before he leans back, places his hands on his thighs and smiles. He has a nice smile, it’s reaching his eyes and you try and focus on that and not the sick feeling that’s growing in your stomach.
“So, let’s go from the top. Yesterday morning…” You feel yourself inhale sharply. “..alarm goes off, or are you a natural riser?”
You weren’t expecting that to be the first question.
“I… I have an alarm.”
“What time did it go off?”
“I set it for 0630. And I got out of bed right away, otherwise I linger and then I’m late.” If only you knew what was to come you would’ve stayed in bed all day - covers pulled up and over your head.
“Then what did you do?”
“I had a shower, then I got dressed – in what you saw me in.” You hesitate - does he need that much detail, or was that too obvious and waste his time? You wait another beat, in case he wants to say anything, dismiss it from the record, but Leon just sits there there, hands resting on his thighs, looking at you, encouragingly, to continue. You press your nails into the palm of your hand, trying to concentrate. “Then I made a coffee to take with me on the walk to the office. I… I like to get there for 0745.”
“No breakfast?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Sorry. I made a slice of toast, ate it while I was waiting for the coffee to brew.” You remember leaning up against your kitchen counter to eat it – you hadn’t even got a plate out the cupboard, just buttered it on the chopping board, left the knife in the sink to wash up later… Is there going to be a later?
You dig your nails into palm again, hard enough to leave indents. “Sometimes I’ll get a bagel from this cart near work, if that matters.” It probably doesn’t, but you want to stop thinking about home.
“And do you walk to the office every day?”
“No – weather dependent. I mean, there’s a bus I can take. There’s just a lot of traffic and so many stops that I found it takes the same amount of time to ride that as walk, so I get that if it’s too cold or wet. Listen to music, usually.”
“Okay, good.” He’s laying on the praise a little thick, but you accept it gratefully all the same, along with his smile. “Doing really good. So, you walked to work. Anything unusual you remember from on the way there?”
“No. Just the same walk, really. I’m pretty good at the whole awareness of my surroundings cos of the job, so…”
“Of course,” he nods. “And you got in the office at 0745?”
“Erm… Probably not precisely 0745.” You scan in through a turnstile, don’t wanna say you got in at a specific time in case it comes back to haunt you. “And I don’t need to be clocked on until 0800, but I had time to made another coffee in the breakroom before I logged on to my terminal, so probably between 0745 and 0800.”
“And are there turnstiles or a security check when you enter?” Had he read your mind? No, he probably has it noted down to cross-check your story.
“Yeah – bag searched, walk through the metal detector, then there’s a turnstile I have to scan in at.” Like any of those protocols had stopped whatever or whoever it was who had got inside.
“Okay, good. Headed to the breakroom, then from there to your terminal, and no other stops, no colleague interruptions?”
“Er… Yeah, one.” You swallow, her face flashing across your mind. “Am I allowed to use their name?”
Leon nods.
“Clara was in the breakroom when I got there, making a coffee. She had a date the night before – I asked her how it went.”
“Okay. Do you know what the date’s name was?”
“No. She’d just mentioned it the day before, though. We were leaving at the same time and she was excited about it, so I thought I’d ask. He’d been really dull at dinner apparently. She didn’t think she’d bother seeing him again.”
And no-one will be seeing her ever again either, your brain so helpfully reminds you.
“Okay. So, you’ve made it to the office, made your coffee, spoke to Clara, sat down at the terminal… What’s that, exactly?”
“It’s a computer, basically. All linked in to the main server, sit in like half cubicles. The screens have these hoods on, so no-one can see what you’re looking at unless they’re in the seat. They’re called terminals on all the internal documents.”
“Right, got you. What’s a usual work day for you? Did yesterday’s seem any different?”
“Do you know much about the surveillance department?”
Leon shakes his head. “I know you’re an intel source.”
“Yeah, that’s about it. Individuals get marked for surveillance from email scans or phone calls, travel plans, receipts, CCTV – it can be just be a word that flags them up or someone makes a tip-off, then we conduct investigations to see whether they’re involved in bioterrorism. So, I log on and open my assigned cases. We rotate every day and there’s always a few you can dismiss immediately because it’s flagged up erroneously. Some, there’s already previous analysis done, so you go through the notes and then check if there’s been any activity or correspondence logged overnight. If there hasn’t been on those cases, I open up a new case – rinse and repeat. It’ll give me a notification on the system if there’s activity on any of my pre-allocated cases, so I switch between as activity starts and stops.”
“Huh,” he muses. “How do you pick up a new case – just see what takes your fancy?”
“No,” you shake your head. “They’re random. You click a button and the system assigns you one. They change the code every week of how it does it.”
“Why’s it random?”
“Er, in case anyone is… trying to protect someone, I guess? Or being blackmailed into, like, closing a case.”
“I see. And nothing out of the ordinary all morning?”
“No. I… I had one case that had had a lot of email activity overnight, so I went through that. Then I submitted a couple of reports advising three… or maybe four cases be closed - I can’t remember exactly - but it’s not unusual to advise closing cases as people get flagged up all the time.”
“Yeah, all make sense. Did you get a break?”
“Yeah, I had a break at 1300 to 1330. I brought in a boxed lunch…” You didn’t mention that earlier, did you? “I made it the night before – not in the morning. I grabbed it out of the fridge before I left my apartment.”
“It’s all right, Dove.” Leon soothes. “I’m not expecting you to remember every finite detail – you’re doing really well.”
You nod, a little shakily. “I ate it in the breakroom. A couple of my colleagues popped in and out, but no-one sat with me that day. I made a coffee and went back to my terminal.”
“Okay.” He nods, leaning forward then and squinting a little at something on the laptop screen. “So, 1442 is when the power was cut to the building. Where were you when that happened?”
“I had an active call that I was listening in on, it hadn’t been going on very long. And then…” You fix your stare on the coffee table then – you don’t want to look at Leon’s face anymore, those sympathetic blue eyes. “..everything went dark. There was about 15 seconds before the emergency lighting came on, or it should’ve been. We have drills every so often, and it’s meant to be quick, but only enough to light the path to the fire exits, you know? But it looked like the back-up generator was coming on too, because I’m sure I saw the terminal screen reboot a second.”
“And you didn’t hear anyone say anything?”
“I think it was quiet, I don’t know if anyone said anything, but there wasn’t an alarm to evacuate. I had my headphones on still as I thought when the terminal reboots, I’ll just get straight back into the call if it was still going after I logged in because they’ll be annoyed if we all left unnecessarily, you know?”
Your eyes are still fixed on the coffee table, so you don’t know if he nods or not.
“But then…” You wonder if your nails will pierce through the skin of your palm this time with how hard you're pressing. “Then I heard this scream and… And…”
You let out a shuddering breath, hearing the scream echoing around in your mind.
“It’s all right, Dove,” Leon reaches out a hand but stops himself, leaving it hovering awkwardly over your knee. “Here,” he leans forward instead, picks up the glass. “Have some water, okay?”
You take the glass, not even able to say thank you, and put it up to your lips, but it clinks against your teeth, feels too cold sliding down your throat and into your stomach.
He takes the glass back from you as you lower it from your lips, placing it down on the table gently, and waits.
He doesn’t press, he doesn’t smile, just waits.
You exhale, close your eyes – you’re not sure if it makes it worse.
“I… I took my headphones off and I… I couldn’t work out what it was. It didn’t sound human – something guttural. I think I heard someone swear, and more screams, but those were human. I-I got up from my chair, stepped out and looked down the hall and… there was this thing, like…” You search for the words, but not for too long. “Sorry, I don’t how to describe it.”
“That’s all right. We’ve got them on the CCTV.”
“But it had... someone in its mouth. And I should know who it was, because I’ve worked with these people for so long, but it h-had their head in its mouth. How could I not know?” Your voice breaks.
“Dove,” Leon starts, gently, “I think we should take a break.”
You shake your head, determined to get it over with. “It shook its head, like a dog shakes a toy, but it bit down and… I don’t know if I blacked it out because I don’t remember how I got there, but I was on the ground, like something had knocked me down and… someone was on top of me.”
“I am so sorry.”
“There were more and more screams and sounds I can’t describe - from all around – and everywhere I looked there just seemed another one of those things, clambering over cubicles with these awful, long tongues, snapping around limbs and, like, ricocheting people back. I got up and ran but there was blood in my eyes and I don’t know if it was mine or someone else’s, but I didn’t get far because this horrible wet thing wrapped around my arm and I got thrown into the wall or something else hard. My arm went limp – I think that’s when it dislocated my shoulder and maybe that confused it because it let go? I don’t know why it would let go when it didn’t for anyone else and… I… The stairs…”
And that’s it, your resolve has cracked and sobs erupt from deep within your chest, your whole body shaking, your vision obscured with hot tears and you can’t breathe with the grief.
There’s a beep – Leon’s frantically stopped the laptop recording, and then he’s sat right next to you, taking your good hand in his and squeezing it.
“I need you to breathe, okay? It’s going to seem hard, but I know you can do it, Dove. We’re going to breathe in through the nose for four, hold that breath in our lungs for another four, and then we’re going to exhale through our mouths for four. Okay? I’m gonna keep count with a squeeze of your hand, close your eyes if you want, I just really need you to breathe.”
You nod, sobs instead of breaths, and it feels impossible as Leon begins squeezing your hand in rounds of four. It’s poor at best, not inhaling enough, breaths still cut short as you cry, but he persists, round after round until, finally, you feel the air is finally reaching the bottom of your lungs, crying reduced to sniffles – feeling exhausted.
“I should’ve stopped you – realized you needed a break.” He stops squeezing your hand but he doesn’t let go.
“No,” your voice still feels tight. “I wanted it over with. Is that selfish?”
“Not at all.” Leon replies quickly, firmly, before his tone softens. “I know this a dumb question before I even ask, but is there anything I can do for you right now, or get you?”
“Can I have a hug?” You ask, quietly - a fleeting thought of that surely would be against protocol, but you need something grounding.
“Of course.” His arms wrap around you – strong, solid, warm arms, mindful of your shoulder, pressing you into his chest and the scent of the strawberry bodywash. You can hear his heartbeat as you press your face into him.
Leon doesn’t speak, doesn’t move either, just keeps holding you close. Hell, he needed a hug after Raccoon City, he’d just never got the guts to ask Claire for one. Not in front of Sherry anyway, and no-one was gonna hug him when he got sent off to military training.
He doesn’t know how long you’ve sat like that, but he is aware as you grow limp against his chest, falling into an emotionally exhausted sleep. He knows it’s not proper for him to be doing this with you, the DSO asset he’s meant to be protecting, but from past experience, he knows you won’t be asleep long and what the DSO doesn’t know can’t hurt them.
Speaking of, he thinks, leaning against the back of the sofa and tilting you gently down with him, he slips a hand into his pocket for his phone and types a quick message.
Interview concluded. Will have timeline of incident and report sent by 2000. Summary - experiencing survivor's guilt, not a suspect.
--
Part four.
Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi
Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!
PS: I'm sorry if this was extremely boring but hopefully some nice fluff in there for you at the end x
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like a wrecking ball
pairing: frank castle x fem!reader
summary: frank finished a job earlier than anticipated, and he's finally coming home to you.
warnings: cursing, frank being a bit of a softie (my heart needed this warning lmao), explicit sexual content (minors dni)
word count: 4.7k
a/n: this fic was inspired by the song like a wrecking ball by eric church. it came on one of my spotify mixes a while back and it instantly made me think of frankie and put this idea in my head. idk what it is about frankie, like he makes me such a whore but also so soft so...here's a combo of both. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!
I, I been gone, I been gone too long
Singin' my songs on the road
Another town, one more show
And I'm comin' home
Frank hated being away from you. He hated the thought of you at home by yourself, sleeping alone every night, if you did sleep at all when your anxiety wasn’t gnawing at your stomach about his safety. He hated that he was constantly running off to protect other people when the only person he really gave a shit about protecting was you. Frank knew you weren’t defenseless by any means. He saw to that personally. You knew where every gun and knife was stashed, and he had taught you how to use them until he was satisfied with your skill. He taught you self defense, how and where to hit, quickest exit points in the house. There were plenty of cameras and silent alarms around the perimeter of the house so he could check on you from wherever he was, but it did nothing to dull his paranoia, and it would have him driving seventeen hours straight just to make it back home to you.
Frank hated sleeping without you. He detested the motel beds and their scratchy sheets, worn springs of the mattress digging into his tired body, the scent of stale cigarettes and residual dust. There was a time when he hardly noticed shit like that. A room was a room, and a bed was a bed. Hell, it was better than sleeping in the van. But that was before you. Now he missed the feeling of you curled up into his side or using his chest as a pillow, your hands grabbing onto him like a lifeline every night, your silk skin and green apple scented shampoo keeping his nightmares at bay. He hated that he was missing out on all the little moments he looked forward to, and wasn’t there to hear you talk about your day, or watch you dance around the kitchen as you cooked. God, he missed your cooking. He missed you. He made a promise to call once a day, but hearing your voice only on the other end of the phone wasn’t nearly enough to soothe the ache and guilt he felt in his chest.
Frank hated the look on your face everytime he had to leave. You never complained, or said anything about how you truly felt. You always told him you understood, that this is who he was, and you accepted it. The only thing you ever asked of him was to make it home to you. But he could see the truth in your eyes as you tried to hide the glimmer of longing building up on your waterline. He could feel the desperation as you clung to him a little tighter, kissed him that much deeper, and let your fingers linger in his palm until he finally reluctantly let go. But he also hated the look on your face when he did come home sometimes after particularly bad runs. Sometimes he would come home a day or two late, just to give his wounds some borrowed time to heal before he had to face you. He would intentionally come home when it was dark, keep the lights off, and take you from behind slowly so you couldn’t see him, but could feel him and that he was home. He couldn’t hide from you forever, he knew that. But he just needed a couple of hours before he had to see that broken look on your face at the aftermath of his choices.
But this time hadn’t been so bad. Frank had finished the job quicker than anticipated, and relatively uninjured, and he was coming home to you.
Don't give a damn what these keys are for
I'm gonna knock down that front door and,
I'm gonna find out what that house is made of
It's been too many nights since it's felt us make love
It had been Frank’s personal mission to christen every square inch of the house when you moved in. Not that you two hadn’t broken in certain rooms and spots before, but that was different. That was before you had turned Frank’s house into a real home, one that you now shared together. That was before when he would come home to silence that echoed against the barren walls and climb into bed only to be greeted by cold sheets. That was before when he hadn’t even bothered to buy a dining table because he only ever cooked for one. That was before when the house was just brick and sheetrock, because there wasn’t anything inside that made it more.
Until you.
Frank still remembers how goddamn nervous he was to ask you to move in. You hadn’t even been dating a year, and he was worried you’d freak out that he was moving too fast. He loved the nights you spent with him, always coaxing you for another. Always just one more night.
Just stay one more night, darlin’. Promise I’ll wake ya up in time to change before work.
You always stayed. You even started bringing an overnight bag with more than one extra change of clothes, just in case. Frank wouldn’t have minded spending just as many nights at your place, but you always told him that you enjoyed his house more given that it was far more spacious than your little one bedroom apartment, and you were “absolutely in love with his kitchen”.
That right? Feel free to use it anytime then, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna stop ya.
You had been complaining about running out of space in your apartment, specifically space for your bookshelves. You had two large ones already that were overflowing, and you were ranting to Frank about how your tiny apartment was causing you to be financially responsible in limiting how many more books you could buy. Frank listened with an amused grin on his lips. He thought you looked adorable with the little pout on your lips, brows furrowed and nose crinkled up, clearly distraught by your predicament. He loved how much you loved to read. He loved it even more when he was able to persuade you to read to him.
There was an empty room he wasn’t using that he decided right then would be yours. He went out and got some ash gray wood to match the color of your current bookshelves, dropped by your place with coffee and a guise of “I was in the neighborhood”, but really was trying to get a gauge on just how much work he had cut out for him. You had always told him you wanted your own library room when you finally moved into a house of your own, and Frank was determined to give you one. He spent an entire weekend building out a few large bookshelves, testing the shelves strength with different weights, making sure every edge was sanded and smoothed to perfection, and secured them all into the walls so they couldn’t topple over. He even got you a little step stool that he tucked beside one of the bookcases so that you could reach the top shelves if he wasn’t around.
Frank had invited you over for dinner the following Monday night, casually announcing he had something he wanted to show you afterwards. His heart pounded in his chest the entire walk down the hallway and his palms had begun to sweat as he twisted the knob and opened the door. The nerves he felt in that moment were immensely stronger than any he had ever felt before, almost as debilitating as the ones he felt from the ambush in Kandahar. He was perplexed by the puzzled look on your face when he flicked on the light, stepping aside to allow you to move past him. He watched you carefully as you traced your fingertips along one of the shelves before turning to face him with a playful smile.
I don’t think you have enough books for these, Frank.
No, but you do.
You…got these for me?
I built ‘em for you, sweetheart. Said you were runnin’ out of space and all that. Thought you could use some more.
Your lips had been on his before he could get another word out, not that he minded. Frank had guided you back against one of the bookshelves, his hands tightly gripped onto your waist as you poured all of your gratitude into his mouth. His hands had slipped down slowly to grab the backs of your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly to pin you between his hips and the bookshelf. You broke the kiss momentarily to giggle incredulously against his full lips.
I can’t believe you built me a library at your house. How am I ever supposed to wanna go home now?
Well, that’s just the thing darlin’. I was thinkin’ this could be your home now.
That was the first room in the house that Frank made love to you in after you agreed to move in with him, but that certainly wasn’t the only one that night.
I wanna rock some sheetrock
Knock some pictures off the wall
Love you baby like a wrecking ball
Frank was antsy the entire drive home, continuously glancing down at his phone as if that would make the distance shorter and the time pass faster. He missed you. He needed you. It had barely been a week since he’d had you, but something about this time felt different. His desire was a lot stronger than he could remember it being any other time he had been gone. Frank needed to touch you like he needed to breathe. He needed to feel your supple skin in his rough palms, your needy hands tugging at his grown out hair, his hips nestled between your own. He needed to feel that you were his and you were safe.
The only time Frank ever truly felt at ease was when he was with you. He wasn’t quite as hypervigilant, unless you were out in public and then he couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t an omnipresent weight bearing down on his shoulders. That daunting thing inside him wasn’t clawing him apart begging to be let out. He felt lighter, definitely happier. He felt things he never thought he would feel again. Things he didn’t think he deserved to feel again. At first it terrified him. He didn’t want to get used to that tenderness, only to have it ripped away again. He didn’t know if he would be able to survive that a second time. But the harder he tried to fight it, the stronger his craving grew, and eventually he gave in and chased it like a nomad following the North Star.
Frank loved being around you. But when he was inside of you? God, that felt like heaven. Probably the closest he thought a man like him would ever get, but fuck if he didn’t care as long as he got to visit every single day. Sometimes several times a day when he just couldn’t get enough. He was insatiable when it came to you. Burying himself to the hilt in the warmth of your walls was where he always found pure peace. Everything else melted away when his hips collided with yours, and he heard your breathy repetition of his name sweetly echoing in his ears. Frank could stay inside you for hours. Sometimes he would keep going, even when you were both far past your point of exhaustion and overstimulation, even when it almost hurt.
Just one more, sweetheart. Just need one more, that’s it.
Frank needed you, and the stronger his desire grew, the harder his foot pressed against the gas.
You, look at you
Send me one more shot
Sittin’ on the bathroom sink
Damn you really turn me on
Paintin’ your toenails pink
Frank had gone from having not a single photo on his phone to his entire camera roll being full of pictures of you, and plenty of the two of you together. He had gotten in a habit of sneaking photos of you when you weren’t looking, or when you were doing simple things around the house or while the two of you were out. He loved to look at those when he was gone. It made him feel like you were there with him sometimes, especially the ones he had caught of you sleeping when he had woken up before you. That was the last thing he looked at every night when he was away before he fell asleep.
His favorite was one of you in Central Park in autumn. He had let you drag him along for a little romantic picnic at one of your favorite spots. Of course you didn't actually have to drag him. Frank would’ve followed you fucking anywhere you wanted to go without hesitation or complaint. The leaves had shifted from varying shades of emerald into deep hues of vermillion and gold. A breeze had blown through that had a few of them cascading down like timid raindrops around your head, and you had glanced up to watch them fall with the biggest smile on your face. Frank couldn’t pull his phone out fast enough to capture that moment. Every time he looked down at his phone, he saw that picture, and it made him smile just as big.
Frank loved that you sent him pictures while he was away. You always included him in whatever you were doing, even if he wasn’t physically present. Sometimes you sent him quick little videos when you wanted to ramble about something that was too much to type. He didn’t mind. It meant he got to see you, and hear your voice at the same time. Sometimes you’d send him a picture wearing two different earrings to ask him what looked better, or would paint two different shades of pink on your toes and ask which he preferred, as if he could tell the fucking difference. He’d always give you the same response.
Don’t matter, you make everythin’ look beautiful.
He could practically hear you rolling your eyes through the phone at that, and it always made him laugh. But he loved it. He loved that you asked for his opinion on things, even if you didn’t need it. He loved that you thought about him just as much while he was away as he thought about you.
He really loved when you sent him pictures of you in bed, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Frank absolutely loved when you wore his clothes, and how they smelled like you after. There wouldn’t even hardly be any skin showing in the picture, except your bare thighs, and it was always accompanied by an endearing sleepy smile on your lips, but God did it get him hard as a fucking rock. It always sent his mind into a frenzy with memories of the two of you in bed together. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the soft flesh of your hip in his hand. He could almost smell the dainty floral and citrus of your perfume running underneath his nose. He could almost hear the melodic whimpers and honeyed pleas that seemed to reverberate in his ears. Pictures like that had him eagerly pursuing your memory with his hand down his sweats, sending up silent prayers of your name to anyone that was listening that he could come home soon.
Easy baby before you say,
But if I can make it just one more day
That old house is gonna be shakin’
I hope those bricks and boards can take it
But I won’t be surprised if the whole damn place just falls
I’m gonna rock you baby like a wrecking ball
Two hours. Just two more hours, and Frank would be home. He could make it. He already had eight hours that had felt like an eternity behind him. Two hours was nothing. The closer he got home to you, the more all of his exhaustion from the past few days was quickly evolving into veritable energy. Frank was absolutely wide awake by the one hour mark. He hadn’t told you he was coming home early. He wanted to surprise you. He thought briefly about stopping to get you flowers or something, but that meant stopping and putting even more time between the two of you. He’d get flowers later.
All Frank could think about was you. Fuck, had he missed you. He was struggling to decide on whether he would have the patience to take his time with you, spend all night making up for every second that he was away. He liked to go slow with you. Frank liked to learn your body and memorize it constantly, like reading his favorite book all over again. He loved the way your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when he set a languid pace, ensuring you felt everything. He loved to strum you delicately with his fingers, producing beautiful melodies from your lips as he played his favorite tune between your thighs over and over again. Frank especially loved when you embraced his head against your core as his tongue delved and sought out his favorite treasure. Frank wasn’t a religious man, but he felt reborn every single time your gratification coated his face, reveling in the way your taste washed away and absolved his past sins.
As much as he enjoyed leisurely extending your pleasure, sometimes he couldn’t wait. There were times Frank couldn’t even be bothered to fully rid either of you of your clothing, he just needed enough out of the way to get to where he needed to be. There was at least one occasion where you two hadn’t even made it past the front door. Frank had shamelessly fucked you right there, for any of your neighbors to see or hear, keys long forgotten in the lock, because he couldn’t wait. He hadn’t even bothered to keep quiet. Had anyone been on the other side of that door, they probably would’ve thought S.W.A.T. was in the process of fucking breaking it down. But who was gonna come out and say something to him? Who the fuck would dare get between Frank Castle and his girl?
Never had he been so fucking happy that he had installed a camera on your front door. The amount of times he had replayed that video while he was away was egregious, but Frank didn’t fucking care. Due to that incident, and a few others where you two barely made it past the entryway, all the photos you had hung on those walls were purposefully moved a foot inward. Curtis had inquired once about the weird gap of space between the front door and the half of the hallway that was decorated, but Frank’s mouth had curled upwards in a salacious grin before you had a chance to come up with an excuse.
Better you don’t ask, Curt.
Frank let out a breath of relief he didn’t realize he was holding when he pulled into the driveway and saw your car there. He could see a faint glow through the curtains in the living room, letting him know you were awake. He didn’t bother grabbing his bag out of the back or even locking his truck. All that mattered right now was you.
And that old house is gonna be shakin’
Rafter and rockin’ foundation quaking
Crash out through the front door
Back you up against a wall
You were waiting at the other end of the entryway as soon as Frank stepped through the front door. He nearly groaned at the sight of you in one of his flannels that just reached the middle of your thighs. There was surprise written evidently all over your face. He had told you he wouldn’t be home for another three days. But that initial shock seemed to wear off the second you took in the hungry look in his eyes, your lips curving upwards into a playful smirk.
“Hey, big guy.”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
In an instant, Frank had crossed the distance to you in two short strides, grabbing your face in his large hands to steal your lips in a kiss that had you collapsing into his chest. He wasted no time backing you up against the wall, his tongue swiping the bittersweet remnants of white wine off your lips as your frantic fingers pushed his jacket off his broad shoulders. Frank redirected your hands away from toying with the collar of his henley and guided them down to his belt, silently signaling how much he needed you right now. You moaned softly into the kiss at just how much he was straining against the rough denim.
As you pulled the worn leather from the buckle and worked on undoing his jeans, Frank’s fingers found the waistband of your panties underneath the flannel and shoved them carelessly down your legs. He gave you just a split second to step out of them before lifting you up into his arms and pressing you back roughly into the drywall, his other hand quickly working on freeing his coveted cock. He could feel your heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt on his lower abdomen. He should’ve felt guilty about not prepping you more first, but he was too far gone in clouded lust to hold back, especially with the way you were nibbling on his earlobe and begging diligently.
“Please, Frankie.”
That was all he needed. A guttural groan tore through him when he finally sank the blunt head of his cock into your welcoming heat, continuing to drive further into you until he had nothing left to give. His fingertips dug bruisingly into your hips as he held you there, his eyes falling shut at the way your greedy pussy squeezed around him longingly. Your legs wrapped even tighter around his lower back as he pushed you further against the wall with his hips. Frank couldn’t form a single coherent thought at the moment other than how fucking good you felt. How much he had missed this. How much he had missed you.
The high pitched cry that sounded from your throat snapped him back into focus. He would get lost in you later, but right now he wanted to watch you fall apart. Frank dipped his head to press his forehead against yours, holding you as close to his body as he possibly could and securing his arm around your waist so that you were being knocked back into his embrace with every powerful thrust of his hips. He placed his other hand at the base of your throat, wrapping his fingers around it delicately like ivy and squeezing ever so gently to get you to look at him.
“There’s my pretty girl. Missed you so much, sweetheart. So fuckin’ much. Drove all goddamn day for this. Couldn’t wait to come home and be right here.”
Frank loved looking into your eyes when he fucked you. He could see it all. Every little thing you were feeling, all of the words his hips were knocking out of you, all of the pleas his lips stole from yours. He loved watching the way your pupils dilated when he called you his girl, praised you, or when you were about to come. He tried so hard to get you to keep them open when you finally did, swearing he could see the entire fucking universe in them.
Love you baby,
Take it right there baby
Rock you baby,
Like a wrecking ball
“Missed you so much, Frank…God…please…”
“That’s it baby, atta girl. Take it like I know you can. Promise we’ll take our time later, yeah? Just need to feel you right now. Been too long, sweetheart. Too goddamn long.”
Frank could barely hear the sound of the picture frames rattling against the wall as your conjoined bodies collided into it over and over and over again. All he could hear was your breathless pants and pleas of his name ringing in his ears. You grabbed onto the back of his neck, chasing his lips as he quickened his pace. Exchanges of i love you’s were murmured against each other's mouth, trying to fit all of your shared longing and greed into the growing bubble of pleasure that was about to erupt between the two of you.
This right here, this was home. You were it. Happiness. Heaven. Freedom. Peace. Home. Those were all the things Frank found within you. All of the things he would fight anyone, even the Devil or God himself, to hold onto. No one could help the sorry son of a bitch that ever tried to take away what was his again. Nothing would ever take you away from him. Nothing.
That thought echoing in his mind had Frank pounding you so hard into the wall with such a ferocity it shocked even him. But he couldn’t stop himself, not with you digging your nails into his shoulder blade and pleading for more.
“I love you. You hear me? I fuckin’ love you. Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna keep me from comin’ home to you, sweetheart. Not a goddamn thing.”
Frank didn’t need you to speak. He just needed you to listen. He needed you to know that you were home. He needed you to know that you were his. He needed you to know that he would protect you until he took his last breath, and even then he’d find a way to keep going.
Frank immediately lost it when you finally let go, his hips convulsing against yours as your walls wrung every single drop of elation out of his spent cock. He let his head fall against your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment to catch his breath as he hugged you as tightly as he could to his chest. He had no idea how the fuck he was still standing, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he focused on the sound and feeling of your heart thudding just below his ear.
Your nails gingerly scratched at his scalp and he hummed, wrapped up in content like a blanket with your heart as a pillow. He could’ve passed out right there. Definitely fucking better than a motel bed.
“Frankie?”
He grunted in response, which earned a canorous fit of giggles to vibrate against the side of his face. It only made him snuggle further into your chest, gently smacking his palm against your ass when you wiggled in his relentless grasp.
“Stop movin’.”
“Baby, we can’t stay like this.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because if you pass out, you’re gonna crush me.”
“You callin’ me heavy?”
“Frank, you’re a giant compared to me. Yes, you’re heavy. I’d rather you crush me in a sexy way, not in a permanent way. Now, I believe you promised me a few more rounds, Castle.”
Frank’s ears perked up at that, retracting his head from the crook of your neck just enough that he could see your face. He cocked his head to the side slightly, a sly smirk twisting at the edge of his mouth as he brought his palm back to your ass to give it a rough squeeze.
“Mm, I did, didn’t I? Better get on that then, yeah?”
“I don’t know, you think you can handle it? Looking awfully tired there, big guy.”
Frank’s eyes darkened when you quirked your brow in a challenge, a knowing smirk of your own spreading over your lips. The teasing tone laced in your words didn’t escape him. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t working. You always knew what buttons to press to get what you wanted, and Frank was always more than willing to comply. Hell, most of the time you didn’t even have to try to convince him. All you had to do was give him that smile, and he was a goner.
But if you were gonna play that game, so was he.
“Oh sweetheart, I know you don’t think I drove all day just to fuck you once and call it a night.”
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#73
(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)
tw: blood
The late shift was never particularly kind to the villain. It’s when villains are the most active—and so the heroes are more so too. The cover of night is meant to make crime easier, but the heroes are out in droves at this time and the cover of night turns out to, actually, not cover shit.
Their front door clanks shut behind them, a relieved sigh slipping from their lips. Their eyes trace down the hall—to their bedroom, hell yes—and catch their kitchen door swinging shut.
The evening’s tiredness is evaporated in a second. The villain’s hand is inside their coat on instinct, the feeling of the well-loved knife hilt in their hand a much-needed comfort as they start down the hall.
They push the door open slowly, wishing that they oiled its hinges last week. They peer inside from the safety of the hallway—there’s… nothing in there. It’s just as they left it this afternoon. Except, no, wait—
There’s a handprint on their windowsill. Shiny, still wet, and crimson red.
Invisibility is a habit by now. They glide through the kitchen quietly, their footsteps practised, their coat blending them into the gloom, to glance down at the blood staining the wood. They look outside, back in, across the kitchen. What the– this bitch has been in their fridge.
They open it, letting the light blind them momentarily. Well, there’s a lot of food they’re going to have to throw out now. Specks of blood taint most of this. They glance back, the yellowing light brightening the room and their face, and they hear a very muffled, presumably very unintentional, “shit”.
The fridge slams shut and sinks the room back into darkness. There’s a red trail trickled over the tile floor, leading straight to their pantry.
The villain adjusts their knife in their grasp, creeping towards the little cupboard. They pause outside, heaving a heavy sigh in preparation before tugging the door out and thrusting their blade into the darkness beyond.
“This is no place for a petty thief,” they say whilst their eyes adjust. It’s darker in there without the streetlamps outside invading. “I’m giving you a chance to get out before I cut you to shreds.”
Someone squeaks from inside. “P–Please don’t!” they cry, and the villain squints suspiciously. They can just see the figure of the person pressed into the back of their pantry.
They fumble for the light switch, showering the tiny room in dull light. Of all people the villain expected to rob them, well, they weren’t really expecting to see—
“[Hero]?” they demand incredulously, and the hero winces. They squeak again when the villain gets the mind to shove their knife against their throat. “How the hell do you know where I live?”
“I– I don’t!” the hero cries. “I didn’t know you lived here, I swear!”
The villain narrows their eyes disbelievingly. “So, what? You break into people’s houses now? Doesn’t sound very agency-friendly.”
The hero’s eyes nervously slip to the bloodstained fridge behind them. “I– I’m hiding.”
An admission of weakness. They’re hiding.
Sirens shriek outside. Blue and red dance merrily on the ceiling. “From what?”
“From [Superhero].”
From the superhero. The villain doesn’t doubt that they’re hiding. The hero looks terrified—though they do have a knife slowly drawing blood at their throat, they suppose. But from the superhero?
“Why?”
The hero swallows nervously. They won’t meet the villain’s eye. “I did something wrong,” they say quietly. “Really wrong. [Superhero]’s practically out for my blood now. I can’t be trusted.”
The sound that comes out of the hero is either a laugh or a sob. It’s hard to tell. “So you’re hiding from him,” the villain finishes.
The hero nods before they remember the blade resting on their skin. “Yeah.”
“And so you’re hiding… in my pantry.”
“... Yeah.”
“And you helped yourself to some of my fridge.”
The hero has the decency to flush in embarrassment. “I’ll replace it. I was desperate.”
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now,” the villain says lowly, “or throw you back into the street.”
Clearly the hero didn’t think this far. They lick their lips, their wide-eyed gaze finally meeting the suspicious squint of the villain’s. “I can– I could do something for you?”
“You dying would do me a great favour.”
The hero swallows again, and their stare turns nervously outward again. “I– I don’t know. I don’t have any of my weapons, I’m not dangerous.”
“You get in fist fights.”
“I usually lose those.”
The hero laughs, the sound taut with anxiety. The villain leans away from them slightly, letting their blade sit a little lighter on them. “I have an idea,” they say flatly.
“Yeah,” the hero says instantly.
“I need a maid.” The hero’s face falls slightly at the wording, and the villain grins ecstatically. “I have the clothes. You work on my whim, without snooping, and you can sleep on the sofa.”
“Isn’t there anything less humiliating I could do?” they ask quietly. God no, the villain thinks. The humiliation is part of the fun.
“I could let you stay in my basement,” they offer pointedly, and the hero grimaces, “if you’re so attached to the clothes you’re wearing.”
Sirens whoop outside. The villain glances at the blood trails on the floor. “I’m going to clean this up before your friends inevitably bust the door down,” they say. “We can talk business when I get rid of them. Stay in there. If I so much as hear from you, they can have you. Got it?”
The hero nods numbly. “Yeah.”
And with that, the villain flicks the light off and slams the door on them.
Cleaning is easy enough, though they’ll need to mop later—or the hero will. They turn over a few pieces of furniture, drag a few drawers open, and then they casually let themself out the front door with a giant, full backpack.
The police are exactly where they wanted them. They spot the villain halfway out of the garden.
“Thief!” one of them cries. “Stop in the name of the law!”
The villain turns on their heel and bolts for the back of the house.
This part is easy. Lose the police in the city, wait for them to clear out from their house, loop back home. They’ll never suspect that the villain lives there. God, they’d have some problems if they did.
The next part is the fun one. They have a hero to blackmail—and by god, are they going to use that to their advantage.
Next part
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a stab at it | johnny slaughter x gn!reader
a/n — I had the writing itch and this came to me, started as a vague fic before turning into a Johnny one, so the plot is probably crappy. making up for my April fools fic!!!! (accept this as an apology)
summary — Johnny comes into the diner you work at late at night.
words — 1.4k
warnings — mentions of blood, possibly out of character!Johnny, swearing
~~~
The diner with no name. A pit stop on the way to bigger, brighter places like Austin or Dallas. No one cared about Newt besides the people who lived in it, and the diner was so far out of the way for anyone who lived in between the spaced-out houses for anyone from up that way to come around. It became the sweet spot for foreigners because it was closer to them than it was to where, legally, this place could be held in contempt.
The customers without faces. They stuff everything into little pockets of life that are designed to be unremarkable. Their outlines don't leave a lasting impact. The red, cushioned seating of each booth and stool doesn't leave an indent of their presence, of their scent. It wears off when the next dull-faced person comes in and orders the special to feel special, but in reality, they're like everyone else. The money they pay with is monopoly; kiddish, fast-change for a faster leave. Everyone accepts it but you need to be a special kind of person to work here. Their silhouettes as they leave are untraceable beyond the set of glass doors at the entrance. Vibrant purple lighting casts down on them and is usually diffracted by the soft yellow headlights of rusted and muddied trucks.
Another pulled up, casting light into the tall windows looking out into total darkness. You could've seen him coming from a good mile away—that’s how obvious the light would have been against the night, nothing else around to compete with his headlights—but paid no mind as he pulled into a vacant spot in front of the diner.
His figure was different, the way he walked left dirty bootprints on the floor. Each step seemed to shake off something: dirt, sweat, fleas—if he was rabid. He looked fresh out of a street fight, claw-like scrapes along his arms that were lazily cared for in some areas and ignored in others like he couldn’t even feel it. You couldn’t even imagine what was festering over his soiled handkerchief, the concoction of what you assumed to be blood—probably his, tending to the wounds that drew blood—and dirt and the firm press his strong hands must have had on it while he lathered it in such a dirty blend must have aided in it’s deforming. It hung off his person, but it wasn’t swinging freely. It was stiff and dried and only molded to his stand when he took a seat at one of the red stools. The blood on his white rag wasn’t the vibrant red of the stool, some of the spots were browning—likely a week old—and the newer spots were a darker shade.
“You here all by yourself?” He asked, looking at you. You didn’t realize that the rest of the diner was empty—including the skeleton crew of staff. In fact, it was just you working tonight. The other server on duty left over an hour ago to deal with a family emergency, something about a family member that had gone missing. You couldn’t really say much without looking like an asshole, so here you were: stood on the inside of the U-shaped counter, facing a man whose appearance was unusually cold as he sat on the outside of it.
“No, Bob’s in the kitchen.” You lied, the taste bitter like the bacon you burnt this morning during whatever it is a dying business can experience that is closest to a ‘rush.’ Bob quit weeks ago when the business was slow and the money coming in was slower. “You’re stuck with me up here, sugar.”
It might have been a lie, but you couldn’t care. Whatever made him think he couldn’t get a jump on you. But he seemed unamused, and that’s when you noticed the knife. It was on the other side of his hips, fastened between one of the belt loops on his jeans. The blade of it looked longer as you pushed open the waist-high swinging door to collect the dishes of the last family that ate. It gave you an excuse to look him up and down, and he didn’t have anything hiding under the counter that should make you nervous. He wasn’t even positioned to grab his knife quickly—his shoulder relaxed and his hands resting on top of the pale yellow counter.
After taking the dishes to the back, making a mental note to wash them before you left, you went back to the front. Johnny spoke up as he watched you strut back into the room with unknown purpose, his voice giving it a guide. “Could I… have a menu? You said someone’s still in the kitchen, so it’s open, right?"
“Yeah, sorry about that.” You said, reaching under the counter to get a paper menu for him. You slid it across, keeping your eyes trained on your hand and then his face came into the picture.
“It’s okay.” His voice was meek, softer and lighter than when he asked if you were alone. Was he playing for pity points—trying to get sympathy like it was free to hand out these days? “I just haven’t done this in a while. I don’t get out much.”
“Then why are you here?” It was something about him that made you say that—the rudeness, the imposition his mere presence emitted in a place like this. The way he smelled, the way he sounded. You looked away from him, out the window and into the nothingness only to return to his eyes. They were dark, seeing the hidden horrors of the night but there was something deeper in them that faded at your comment. His eyes went from doe-like to predatorily pouncing on your figure. From the apron tied around your waist, pens and notepads and straws and silverware stuffed in the various pockets of it, to the misshapen yellow cloth covering your upper body and then finally to your face. His voice shifted, too, going from the soft sounds of the wind to being as fiery as his truck’s engine.
“Because I’m not some bitch. I cut up��” he paused, before continuing, “—cattle all the time. It’s nice to eat a meal that isn’t something I have to work my ass off for.”
He continued his tangent, “In fact, I’ll make this easy for you so you quit your bitchin’. I don’t want anything savory, just get me a slice of pie. That should be easy enough for ya, right?”
You nodded and told him that it was coming up. You pushed the door open to the kitchen and pulled his pie out of the fridge. The oven was already heated, so you cut a slice bigger than what you would normally serve for him and put it on a pan and slid it into the oven. He shouted from the front, his accent like and voice losing its projection as he yelled, “Christ, and a cold one too! If you have it…”
Most people probably would’ve left. A diner in the middle of Nowhere, Texas with one person manning the kitchen and dining area is one big red flag for the quality of service. It took almost four minutes to heat up his requested pie—blueberry with crumbles of sugary clumps on top mixed with some crushed graham crackers. You didn’t know if he wanted whipped cream or not, so you kept it to the side when you brought it out to him. But this man was different, he looked like he hadn’t seen real food at all in his lifetime. You set it down in front of him, taking the opportunity to use your position on the inside of the counter to pull silverware from your apron like magic.
Setting the fork down next to his plate on the counter, he seemed to be in a lighter mood. He pulled his knife out, placing it on the opposite side of his plate. “Trade ya?”
“Only if you can’t pay. But this is on the house.”
Not only did he look happy when you said that, but when he took the first bite, his expression changed for the better. A smile formed around the fork, still in his mouth at the first taste of sweetness. His upturned lips crinkled his cheeks, and in turn, wrinkled the scar running down his face. You set yourself down on the counter, holding your face in your hands and letting your elbows rest on the counter. He smiled like a child and you admired him for it. "How is it? Good?"
He nodded. The man with no name, but an irascible personality. Unforgettable and strong. He was different because he liked this diner’s crappy food more than most. He liked the people in it, too. If only it could last that long...
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Inspired by the "buggy gets stabbed with a seastone knife but defeats the assassin" anon and subsequent post.
Buggy really would have had SO MANY SCARS. He's immune to cuts and chops and slices. Not blunt force trauma, burns, bullets, whips, etc. Also he was a pirate apprentice on GOL D. ROGER'S SHIP!! He ate that devil fruit young, sure, but he was still a pirate before then and I highly doubt that that, nor whatever his early life was, would lead to pristine, unblemished skin.
Also - freckles. Give Buggy Freckles 2024.
Anyway, yeah, Buggy would have a MOSAIC of scars and tattoos - many of which have meanings the likes of which are lost to most. Also projection, but Buggy has a medusa tattoo somewhere on his person. Yes the one who did the tattoo for him was on the crew, and still is. Yes they are also the defacto therapist on the island. It's good pay and they get to add Names to the I'll Kill Them One Day list ((it's a whole book. With five volumes. It's on going.))
I have... an angry idea. For Buggy shrugging off seastone wounds and using his own injury as an opening. Roger would have wanted the boys STRONG but happy and safe. He saw so much of himself in Shanks that the attention was perceived as preferential treatment. Shanks was the heavy hitter with potential and skill and charisma -
Buggy was the supporting cast.
Rayleigh, unable to help Roger through the illness, through so many things, projected that onto Buggy ((Very Pearl + Connie, if you know Steven Universe, before Steven stepped in to set that record straight)). Ray would make sure Buggy was strong enough for Shanks. He put that kid through the WRINGER, and it was arguably hell. Buggy came out stronger but also far more terrified - so much so that he struggled to even utilize that strength in any true way. Rayleigh declared it a failure. Apologized to Buggy for 'failing to make him good enough'.
This did a number on him.
One thing that lasted was his frankly unsettling tolerance to water and seastone. He still works on it, and he never quite dropped it. He always has at least one seastone earring in because it's both smth he HAS to do and also it slows down his brain a little, dulling the edge of his normal panic. Like a crystal girlie but far more literal.
This isn't his first rodeo with seastone weapons either - he may have been in the East, but he was still a decently renowned criminal with a hefty bounty. He's an old hand at this!
Still hurts like a bitch though.
He'd absolutely make the dumbest puns too. "Don't worry, I'm in STABle condition! :oD"
"You need stitches, you utter buffoon."
"That wasn't very- hnn- knife of you."
"Please pass out from bloodloss."
"You cut me so deep, Hawkyyy- OW?!"
"Seas save me"
Crocodile is fighting between yelling louder, committing three felonies, laughing, and shutting the clown up. Be it by choking him or kissing him is up for debate. The doctor, used to Buggy's antics, just hands him a fidget toy. "Don't touch the wound, my supplies or try to move yet. Solve the rubix cube before you even consider getting up."
"Boring-"
"I'll tell the kitchen to make hotdogs if you do."
Buggy is now very focused on the pretty color cube.
Oh, referring to this post gotcha!
Yeah, Buggy totally would because he’s a chemist, working with all those bombs and the guy looks like he would trip sometimes while working. Buggy has to have burn scars (I’m pretty sure somewhere, someone said that Buggy has star-shaped, firework burns on his hands. Part of the reason he hides his hands away, I like that idea even that means Buggy got hurt) Now it an idea that I got when I was half-asleep, that I read in the morning with confusion… a cannonball… I don’t why my sleepy brain decided that, but now thinking about it would have to be a ricochet cannonball that he survived from (to be honest Buggy seems like a person who would survive a cannonball to the head, like some Monkey family we know) Then with probably the logical route of bullets, whips, etc… are from being hunted by marines and enemies of the Roger Pirates before he somehow blends into the background and people forgot about him.
I would say Buggy would have eaten his devil fruit around nine years old, for the AU I’m trying to writ… Also freckles… HELL FUCK YEAH!!! I love that idea; it would be so cute on him!!! Scattered all around his body, totally seen him connecting them into shapes and patterns when he’s bored and has nothing else to do.
Definably, he’s a pirate, of course he has many scars, and Buggy having at least 10 tattoos ranging from large too small. I don’t think Buggy ever has sat someone down to explain them, or maybe he has and stopped because people not understanding. Ooooooo, I look up what the Medusa tattoo means, I like to think it’s for survival and strength. With my idea for two long tattoos, I think they would be a mixture of different flowers with hidden things between them - like hidden treasure to find, those tattoos have meanings as well as some funny ones around his body as well. Because it’s Buggy, of course, he will at least have one fucking funny one.
I love an idea their defacto therapist, I think I’ve already have a OC for the job and yes, love the book called I'll Kill Them One Day list. Love that it has five volumes, you know some of those names are crossed off and it continues to grow.
This is an angry idea indeed, poor Buggy… as we see that Buggy is not supporting cast, with his followers (they are like cult followers in a way) and his crew. Basically pushed to the side for Shanks to be the one in the spotlight as the “leader” of the two (I definitely doubt that Shanks didn’t look up to Buggy during sometimes when they were cabin boys)
Oh fuck, no wonder why Buggy hasn’t talk to Rayleigh and makes my idea of them meeting as cold and awkward. Like Rayleigh would greet with nicknames from long ago, expecting the same as what he remembered last of Buggy, only to have Buggy to greet him coldy. Either, with Dark King Rayeleigh or Slivers Rayleigh instead of nicknames that he use to call Rayleigh.
Why…why projected his problems onto Buggy! Like of course that did a number on Buggy, ecspeaily after Ray apologized to Buggy for ‘failing to make him good enough’... You can’t say that to a fucking child, you know they will think it’s all their fault! I mean look at Buggy, he already has enough problems with his self-esteem, he doesn’t need anymore!!!
Poor Buggy, going thtough hell because Rayleigh wants him strong like him to keep Shanks safe because he’s being as stupid as Roger. It makes sense that Buggy can’t use his strength because of being afraid and worrying so much (Buggy is definitely a worry-wort)
I agree with Buggy has an high tolerance to water and seastone, I mean Buggy seemed to of been a really good swimmer from how angry he is from Shanks scaring him and making him swallow the Bara Bara fruit (if not, then it’s a headcanon for me that he’s a really good swimmer before he swallowed the devil fruit) You think he would just stop going into the water? I mean I can see Buggy finding those small pools of water on a beach… I forgot what they are called, anyway you think he wouldn’t go in them to feel the sea? I think Buggy would.
Oooooo a seastone earring or some other type of seastone jewelry on his body. That’s interesting, I’ve never thought about it. The seastone helps him corrals his chop chop powers from doing all the time as well. Calming his brain, dulling the edge of his normal panic is a clever way, bro probably found how much seastone he needs to do so. From this post, Buggy has to have some edibles mixed into brownies or some other type of pastry (it’s now a headcanon for me) Dude has to have some drugs to calm down with the stress that Crocodile and Mihawk have put him through.
Yeah, it's definitely not Buggy’s first rodeo with seastone weapons, I can see Buggy being hunted by people during the time after Roger was killed and I see that’s the time where most of his seastone wounds came from. I wonder now if Buggy hordes the seastone weapons that people attacked him with?… I’ve decided yes, Buggy would keep them.
I stand for Buggy making the dumbest and baddest puns when he is hurt, especially when he gets attacked by seastone weapons. It takes his mind off of the pain they give him (Also the banter between Buggy and Mihawk you made is chefs’ kiss)
Both Crocodile and Mihawk just being done with Buggy and quite disturbed by how Buggy handles his pain. Mihawk wants him to shut up and sit still, while Crocodile is fighting between screaming, committing felonies (like he hasn’t committed felonies more than enough), laughing his ass off, then wanting to either choke Buggy or kiss him to shut the clown up. That’s so them, and Buggy is getting a little shit like always.
This doctor is just like the doctor OC; Kuo-Lee, I’ve created to be the Buggy Pirates medic. Really, being done with what Buggy does and uses things to keep him still. This is so right, handing him a fidget toy, saying that if he is good than he’ll tell the kitchens to give their captain is favorite food. Yeah, that will make Buggy sit as still as he can, to be honest, Buggy isn’t one to sit still.
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Nice to be Kneaded
Chapter 6:
Sunflower
Series Masterlist
previous part: Absdoughlutely next part: Beautifully Natured
Word Count: 5,150
Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, anxiety, and domestic abuse.
"Hello!" Your favorite voice bounced off the walls all throughout the quiet and empty bakery after the sound of the bells above the door chimed.
"Hey, honey! I'm in the kitchen!" You called out, a sickeningly delightful smile smeared across your face as you could hear his foot steps quickly approaching.
Since you we're facing away from the doorway, busy peeling and chopping apples on the big stainless steel countertops, you felt him before you saw him.
Steve's big arms engulfed you from behind as he peeped at what you were up to from above your head. "What's cookin' good lookin'?"
You laughed at his question before setting the big, freshly sharpened knife on the cutting board and ripping off your vinyl gloves. "Well for now it's just apples, but hopefully in an hour or two it'll be a whole tray of apple crisp bars ready to go for morning rush."
"Well it already looks delicious" He commented with a lopsided grin as you tossed the gloves into the trash for an opportunity to give him a proper hug.
You wrapped your arms around each other and lingered there for longer than an average hug, but who could blame you when he smelled so nice and held you so close and snug against his built chest. "They're just green apples, Honey"
"I love green apples" He stated as a matter of fact.
"Well today is your lucky day, because we have far too many so eat away" You released Steve from the hug and finally got to admire him.
It seemed as though every t-shirt he owned was one wrong move away from bursting at the seams, all while his legs just went on for miles and miles an-
"Soooooo, how can I help?" He asked, running his hand through his hair to pull it off his face.
"However you want" You smiled knowing that was his favorite answer.
If there was nothing blatantly obvious that needed to be done, he always found tasks that he loved to do. From organizing the cookie cutter bins by category in alphabetical order, to rearranging all the spools of ribbon on the long hanger to be in order of the color wheel, he always did it with a smile on his face.
At first you found it a little unnerving as if he felt pressured into needing to do something rather than just hang out with you, but after a few weeks of insisting, you finally understood he really did enjoy keeping busy any way he could. Anything that could occupy his hands and mind kept him one step closer to sanity.
"Ohh!" He lit up. "Can I finally fix that light in the bake case?"
He's quite literally been begging to fix it ever since he noticed one of the tiny lights in the bake case had been out. It wasn't enough for a customer to notice, nor was it a dire issue so it kept getting pushed to the back burner. It also wasn't as simple as just replacing the bulb, there were screws and wires and some weird metal pieces attached to weird plastic pieces...
"Be my guest, I know that would make you so happy"
"Just think of how beautiful your apple crisps will be in the morning under all of the lights, rather than all of the lights except for that one that's been out for weeks!"
"What would I ever do without you, Stevie?" You giggled as you snapped on a new pair of gloves to continue your apple chopping. "The bake case would be so dull... much as every passing day"
"Ugh, you're so lucky to have me." He joked with a sigh. "Screw driver?"
"Tool box is in the supply closet, very top shelf, back left corner." Your smile prevailed. "Did you lock the door?"
"Yes ma'am, and closed the blinds."
"Wow, at this point you're my best employee."
"And don't you forget it" Steve threw you a casual wink before disappearing into the lobby.
The light was an easy 15 minute fix, well, it would've been about five had he not lost a screw that took 10 minutes to find but he would never admit that. As he was finishing up, he heard what was almost a hissing sound coming from you in the kitchen, followed by clanking as if something had been dropped onto the metal countertops.
The sounds piqued Steve's concern, so he closed the case back up. But as he was walking back to the kitchen, he heard your little voice call out to him.
"Steve?" It was shaky and scared, something he had never heard from you before. Needless to say his walking pace turned into a jog, and when he made it through the doorway he saw you holding your hand in the other.
Your face was white as a ghost and your eyes were spacey, but the closer he got he noticed you were squeezing a bunched up paper towel to your hand and slowly swaying. He looked over to your apples to see a red puddle and the knife where it shouldn't be.
He recognized that glossy facial expression, he had seen it millions of times before on battlefield and training rooms. So he offered you a comforting smile as he approached to keep a hand on you. If you were about to pass out, he would be there to catch you.
"I um..." You started, but you couldn't quite get the words out without your internalized panic becoming very, very external. "Was cutting- then the knife slipped and I...caught it..."
"Are you okay?" He rubbed your arm as all his extensive first aid training from his days as an Avenger came flooding back to him.
"Bleeding" You stated, blinking your eyes as fuzzy darkness started to overtake your vision in invasive swirls. "A lot."
"Feelin' dizzy?" He questioned gently.
"Very." You nodded.
"Alright sweet girl, let's get you sitting down." He encouraged. You took one wobbly step before Steve stopped you in your tracks. There was no way you were going to make it to a chair by the will of your own two feet. "Okay I'm just going to pick you up."
You nodded in agreement and he swooped you into his arms like a rag-doll. You didn't even feel the need to hang on in case he dropped you, you just focused on keeping firm pressure on your hand as he took you to the front and set you down on a padded booth.
"Can I see it?" Steve questioned as he squat down in front of you. Once again you nodded and slowly pulled the paper towel away from your hand to reveal a nice slice right in the cushioned part of your palm beneath your thumb.
He inspected it the best he could but there was too much blood to even see what was going on beneath it, and when you curiously took a peak at your own hand, the black fuzzies invaded more of your vision.
"I think- I think I'm going to pass out." You mumbled.
Steve's eyes met yours in an instant when you admitted that, and he saw your ghostly white complexion had turned into bright pink cheeks and your head barely standing still. He pressed the paper towel back into your palm to block your injury from your eyesight.
"It's okay, lay down. Deep breaths." He reminded you, and assisted you on a slow and careful journey downwards on the booth. He reached over and grabbed a throw pillow from one of the lounge chairs and slipped it under your head. "Where's the first aid kit?"
"B-bathroom." You mumbled.
"Keep putting pressure on this, I'll be right back." He told you, guiding one of your hands to the other so you could firmly press them together.
You tried your best to stay awake even though you had to fight through the tunneled ringing in your ears and you lack of ability to see anything beyond the dizziness. However, you did hear his feet moving quickly around the store and the hand washing sink running.
Less than a minute later he was back and sitting on the floor in front of you, and setting down everything he had grabbed. You looked down to see him snapping on some gloves that barely fit his big hands, along with a whole roll of paper towels and both first aid kits. The calm expression on his face reminded you of exactly who he was, and what he did for most of the years of his life before he even met you.
"Here, take a few sips of water." He instructed you, cracking open a cold plastic bottle he took from the drink fridge. You did as you were told before placing the cold bottle against your hot cheeks as he sandwiched your injured hand between his two. "I'm going to see what I can do with what I have here, okay?"
"Do I need stitches?" You asked.
"I don't know yet, but I'll try my best to avoid that." He grinned before pulling the bloody paper towel off your hand. "Did you wash this already?"
"Ran it under water" You sucked in a breath as you felt gushes of thick warm liquid as he left it uncovered. Having not learned your lesson the first time, you looked again. "Oh my god..."
"Don't look at your hand, look at me." He advised you as he wiped away at the blood. It really wasn't stopping or slowing down at all, so he sandwiched your hand between his again and held it with firm pressure from both sides. "We're just going to hold hands for a while."
His reassuring smile as his eyes met yours made you feel like you could breathe again. "Well this is nice."
"Walk in the park" He agreed. "Does it hurt or can I squeeze harder?"
"Harder is okay" You agreed, so he did. It was just enough to feel your hand throbbing in his hold but not enough to cause more pain than you were already in.
"So, how was your day?" He questioned nonchalantly, trying to pull your mind away from your hand in attempts to calm you down. Plus he knew he needed a good amount of pressure to stay there for a little while.
"It was fine-busy." You answered shortly wanting to cut to the chase. "You're like, medically trained? You can give me stitches?"
"I'm trained enough to stop bullet wounds from bleeding out, and I've given stitches more times than I even remember." He reassured you. "But I have nothing here to work with, and I don't know enough to medically decide what kind of stitches would be best for this. If you need them, the best hands to be in will be a doctor's" He explained.
"Does it hurt?"
You worried eyes were killing him, but setting realistic expectations for what was to come seemed to be the best way you knew how to deal with your own fears, so he was happy to answer. "Another benefit of a doctor is that they'll numb you before. A few little shots around your hand and you'll barely feel a thing. It definitely doesn't hurt more than catching a falling knife."
You nodded with a gulp before an anxious, almost guilty admission slipped past your lips. "I'm really scared of the hospital. I know that probably sounds stupid to you but-"
"That's not stupid." He shook his head. "Most people only find themselves in a hospital when a bad thing happened to them or someone they loved. It's easy to be scared of a place like that."
"I'd rather you sew my hand together with a needle and thread and no pain killers then have a panic attack by myself in the emergency room." You continued to express your fears.
It was apparent to him now that the panic in your voice wasn't necessarily over the injury itself, but the thought of having to seek medical treatment. His first words without much thought would've been 'you won't be alone, I'll go with you', but you were smarter and more thoughtful than him. Stepping into a hospital with cameras around every square inch of the building and high security would be like locking himself in a cell.
You could see his wheels turning, trying desperately to find a solution to ease your mind before he let go of the pressure on your hand to check in on the cut. "It does actually seem to be slowing down a bit, but it looks pretty deep. Even if it closes on its own it's going to keep ripping open." He sighed.
You could tell he was contemplating the most morally correct option. He could do this himself and it would be fine, or he could encourage you to seek medical help and you'd have a not so fun night in the emergency room by yourself.
"Please" You pleaded, tears pooling in your lash line. "Georgia hates me, I have no family here, and I don't feel comfortable going with any of my other friends. We both know you can't step foot into a hospital."
"Can I ask what exactly you're afraid of?" Steve questioned gently, one of his hands still squeezing yours while the other rubbed up and down your arm to try and comfort you.
"I had a lot of really bad nights by myself at Greenwood medical." You started, unsure of how much you actually wanted to confess because you hated the way people looked at you when they found out. But Steve, maybe he would be different. Maybe he wouldn't look at you that way. "My ex-boyfriend he... wasn't very nice. And going there just reminds me of all of those times I was there alone because of him and I just- I can't go there."
His eyes softened, and his eyebrows tried hard to hide his inward emotion but he was still sympathetic. There was not much detail, but he got it now. He was done asking questions until you were ready to tell him more, and he was going to make sure you didn't have to step one single foot anywhere alone tonight.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that." He sympathized, still rubbing your arm. "I have a lot of first aid supplies at home, I think I can make it work. I have a few things we can try before I sew it up, but just in case I do have a sterile needle."
You quickly nodded, accepting his offer to play doctor for you. "I'll just clean up the kitchen really quick-"
"No" He giggled as you started sitting up. "You stay here and keep putting pressure on it , I'll clean up the kitchen then take you to my house."
"I'll be fine" you insisted, but as you fully sat up a whole new wave of dizziness hit you once more.
"Just stay here." He smiled, wrapping your hand up with lots of gauze and tying cotton wrap around it as tightly as he could. "I'll be right back."
He disappeared through the kitchen door way, leaving you to lean your head back against the wall and take in some deep breaths to calm yourself down. You could hear the fridge opening and closing, the three compartment sink running, and the contents of the sanitizer bucket being dumped out before he came back to you.
He handled you with such tenderness and care as he helped get you into the car and back to his place. You didn't really even have a chance to process the new environment you were in as he urgently rushed you up the stairs and sat you on top of the en suite bathroom counter with your hand dripping blood over the sink.
He started rummaging through the cabinet and advising you to look away once more before he snapped on a new pair of gloves and aided the best way he knew he could.
Through the whole ordeal he told you exactly what he was doing before he did it, let you squeeze his hand as he sanitized it as you both knew the stinging was going to hurt like hell, then at the very end he was just as happy as you were that a bit of super glue and some butterfly closure bandages saved you from that sterile needle he told you about.
When all was said and done, it was nearing 10pm and he could just see the emotional and physical exhaustion dripping off of you. So the second the final wrapping was secured on you hand and he knew you were on the road to a smooth recovery, he gently raised the back of it to his mouth and gave it an exaggerated kiss just to make you smile.
"All better?" He asked, your eyes opening to look at him when you felt his mustache tickle your skin.
"Thank you, Doctor Rogers" You softly smiled, not having much energy left. "Your services are greatly appreciated."
"It's easy to be a great doctor when you have a great patient" He admitted. "I'm sorry, I know that hurt. On a scale of one to ten, how much of an asshole do you think I am now?"
"Zero" Your smile stretched beyond what you thought was possible. "Far less painful than the alternative."
"Good, that's all I could've hoped for." He let go of your hand. "Are you okay?"
Though the question was played off as surface level, you knew what he was really asking. Instead of answering the question with a lie, or forcing yourself into the emotional intimacy of telling the truth, you simply stuck your arms out for a hug.
He didn't hesitate to step between your legs and let you lean forward onto him before he protectively wrapped his arms around you.
The two of you stayed there for a while, but he didn't mind one bit. He ate up every second of it considering human contact in the past year of his life was few and far in between before meeting you.
"Why do you have so much first aid?" You questioned with your chin resting on his shoulder, arms happily keeping him close.
"Nat, Wanda, Sam... they all know exactly where I am. If they need a place to hide away I just want to be prepared." He explained. "Just in case something happens."
"You're a good man, Steve." You told him confidently. Somehow, talking about your hard realities felt easier like this. Being so close yet not having to see the worried facial expressions of each other as you talk about it. "Does Tony know?"
"Yeah" his voice broke, almost as if he was whispering. "He knows Bucky is in Wakanda too. He knows I broke everyone out of the raft, and didn't do anything about it when he got the call. Even if he hates me, I think there's a part of him that understands why I had to do what I did."
"How is Bucky doing?" You questioned.
"They cured him" Steve told you. "I got to talk to him yesterday. He's doing good, but even though the winter soldier is gone he has a lot of healing to do."
"Does it make you happy when you get to talk to them?" You asked knowing how much guilt he held onto.
"It does, I get a lot of peace of mind. It seems like everyone is making the time to work on themselves. Do things they've always wanted to do but haven't gotten to yet because avenging got in the way." He explained as he relaxed into you once more.
With each honest answer, you found yourself wanting to be more honest with him too.
"How about you?"
"I'm doing better. I slept through the night last night- anxiety levels are starting to creep down. I feel like I'm starting to accept that Captain America isn't who I am anymore, and that's okay." His answer sounded genuine to you. "So, I ask you again. Are you okay?"
"I wasn't." You confessed. "For a very long time, I was in a very bad place. I thought I was doomed to a lifetime of never being able to move on from how he hurt me. But I got there, and I'm doing a lot better. It's just sometimes things happen that remind me of how bad it really was, and it makes me panic out of fear of feeling how I used to. But I'm okay now."
"Where is he now?" Steve tightened his grip on you, nestling the side of his head into yours.
“Arizona"
"Do you want me to drive to Arizona and cut off his dick?" Steve offered, earning a heavenly laugh from you.
"It's okay, all that drive time isn't worth three inches." You smiled.
He laughed right in your ear before letting out a sigh. "You're right, three inches is more embarrassing than nothing at all."
You slowly let go of him and leaned back against the mirror, though Steve didn't feel ready to stop touching you yet so his hands make their way to the sides of your thighs.
"You're so sleepy" He grinned, being unable to hide how adorable he truly thought it was.
"I've been up since 4 this morning, of course I'm sleepy." You agreed.
"I'm mad at you, by the way." He stated with a sigh, mischievously raising an eyebrow.
"Oh yeah? What'd I do?" You questioned, hyper-aware of his warm hands squeezing your legs.
"You make me enjoy your company so much that no matter how much time we spend together it's never enough." Steve explained. "And when you leave? I miss you. Why did you do that to me?"
"M'sorry." You apologized disingenuously. "What are you going to do about it? Call the police?"
"Mhm, report you for harboring a fugitive." He joked.
"How dare you?" Your eyebrows playfully furrowed and your lips tugged upwards. "Then what would happen to my stupidity handsome fugitive? I'm pretty sure he survives off of chocolate chips and almond croissants. He'd wither away without the bakery"
"He'd have to run far, far away. Find a new bakery in a different town and cry over how lame the almond croissants are compared to yours."
"How do I keep you from dialing 911?" You asked. "How could I possibly spare you from a dull life full of mediocre pastry?"
"It's simple, just stop making me miss you so much." He shrugged.
"I think that's something you'll have to work on within yourself, sweet cheeks."
"Bucky did always say I have quite the knack for becoming far too attached to the people around me." Steve explained. "But this? This was never supposed to happen. Not when I told myself I wouldn't trust anyone until I could figure out how to absolve my criminal status."
"Well told myself I'd never let another man sneak his way into my heart, but here we are." You shrugged, cheeks warming at your own words.
"Is that what's happening?" Steve asked.
"We're either living in a cloudy bubble of naïveté, or maybe we were both supposed to end up right here, right now." You sleepily let your thoughts spew out of your mouth.
You watched the well oiled gears in his brain turn and crank until he deflated. "I really care about you."
"But?" You asked, feeling your heart sink to your stomach.
"I'm going to have to leave one day." He reminded you. "I don't want to hurt you like that."
"I know that." You nodded as you took his hand into your non injured one. "But you've been on the run for almost a year now, Steve. That's a whole year of your life that you'll never get back just because you don't know where you'll have to go or what you'll have to do next. Tell me, how much longer do you think you'll have until you leave Greenwood?"
"I don't know." He whispered, trying to understand your point.
"How long until you're forgiven?"
"I don't know."
"How long until the world needs their Steve Rogers back?"
"I don't know."
"How long has it been since we've been dancing around whatever is going on here just because time is so uncertain?" You laced your fingers with his, and his thumb nervously traced stripes into the back of your hand.
"Since the moment I saw you." He admitted, cheeks glowing pink.
"It's been a long time. A really long time. Months" You reminded him. "Whether we have a whole life time ahead of us, or only five more minutes, I'd rather spend the rest of my time with you being genuinely happy instead of dully dancing around the inevitable."
"Are you going to hate me when I go?" He questioned softly. You could see the concern smeared across his face. The fear flooded his eyes and sunk his eyebrows, he really couldn't handle one more person he loves hating him.
"Nothing could make me hate you." You denied. "I understand that this can't be forever, and that's okay. I just want it for now."
His free hand made its way up to your hair before gently pulling the strands that didn't quite make it into your ponytail away from your face and behind your ear.
Thoughts were firing out of every corner of his mind and ricocheting off every surface they could. It caused a chaotic sea of emotions, and paralyzed him with lack of words as the only outcome he could think of in this moment was closing his eyes and leaning forward hoping you'd meet him halfway.
And you did. His hand traveled along with your movements, caressing the side of your face as your soft lips met his.
The kiss was long, gentle, and sweet. Both of you couldn't remember the last time butterflies filled your stomach that didn't involve cutting it really close in hand to hand combat or just barely escaping a man that wanted to do you harm.
Most people loved to offer unsolicited advice when they learned of the situation with your ex. They all advised you, butterflies aren't some romantic feeling that was meant to sweep you off your feet, it was anxiety warning you to run.
But this, this was different. They were calm, slow flutters that made you feel so warm and relaxed that running wasn't even an option. You were more so melting into his hands like a popsicle on a hot summer day, you felt like the chunks of butter atop a crumble in the oven; slowly melting and turning a good thing even better.
When you mutually pulled away because the unfortunate human need to breathe was just too much, your foreheads and noses stayed pressed together.
"I think you're braver than me." Steve admitted, thou could hear the sadness in his voice.
"Why is that?"
"You've already accepted that this can't be forever, yet I already miss you even when you're right in front of me." His throat felt like it was closing, and his heart was slowly being ripped apart in his chest.
You kissed his lips once more, then again, and again. "I'll miss you too, but we shouldn't keep wasting such a good thing while it's right in front of us. Our time together is so precious, we have a chance right now to make the most out of it." He kissed you this time, then you continued. "Sunflowers still grow when the moon is out."
"I don't know if I would still be surviving this without you." The confessions wouldn't stop flowing passed his lips at this point. "I guess that makes you my sunflower in the dark."
"You'll make it home one day." You pulled your forehead off of his. "You'll be forgiven, you'll get your family back, and when it happens I'll still be cheering you on."
"I'll tell them all about Greenwood, and how I risked everything for a sweet little baker that catches falling knifes and hides away criminals." His sadness started to dissolve when he saw how yours never arrived.
It did, but you did a good job hiding it for the sake of his own mind.
"I'm not hiding away a criminal, I'm hiding away my best friend. Big difference."
His smile stretched impossibly wide. "They'll never believe me, by the way. All of them will make jokes about it until I find my way back to you and they see it with their own eyes."
"If that's the case, you'll need to fill me in on what kind of desserts Avengers like to eat because I'll have to win them over somehow." A yawn took over the end of your words.
"Do you want me to walk you home?" Steve questioned.
You shook your head. "Don't want to miss you that much."
"Okay, then how does Cars 2 and some real cuddles this time sound?"
"Like a dream come true." You smiled before taking another opportunity to steal a kiss.
"Come on, let's get you cozy." He offered you a hand to help you off the counter.
You both changed into some cozier clothes after he found you a shirt and some sweatpants of his that might've had a fighting chance at staying on your body. It earned a good laugh when you had to roll up the waistband a few times and tie the drawstring tight, but your efforts to still look a little cute in a super soldiers clothes were diminished when his shirt swallowed you whole.
Although Steve's clothes looked much better on him, you couldn't even begin to deny how comfortable you were as you slipped into his bed in his surprisingly well decorated bedroom and found yourself wrapped up in him once more.
"Tomorrow I'll help you change the bandages on your hand and drive you to work." He exclaimed while running his fingers through your hair that was now out of its ponytail and flowing freely.
"That's some real princess treatment." You drowsily mumbled, soaking in his body heat.
"I'm pretty sure that's the bare minimum of human decency." Steve challenged.
"I told the girls that I got injured at work and that I'll be going in late." You informed. "We can sleep in."
"Good, you deserve more than 12 hours between workdays."
"Nobody in the entire world would be able to wake me up before the sun if this is what I'm falling asleep to." You smiled as your eyelids were forcing you to keep them shut.
"I'm happy to have you here" Steve kissed the top of your head.
"I'm so happy to be here." You reaffirmed. "Goodnight, honey."
"Sweet dreams, Sunflower."
Next Part: Beautifully Natured
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Yet another The bear headcanon rattling around my scrambled brain
If Sydney noticed a shift in the air after the night of friends and family, when she later found out Carmy had broken up with his girl friend through a fridge door, she did not dwell on it. Seeing Claire that night, witnessing him step out, losing his attention all over again - it scraped against her like a dull knife. But she was being pulled in a hundred million directions at once, struggling to keep her head above water, so it was easier to push down. The way he'd looked at her under the table. The texts he hadn't replied to. How she sometimes felt like she had lost her grip on reality when the intensity in his eyes told her one thing, but his actions were a shrill scream in her ears.
In the quiet of the kitchen, late at night, it's harder to push down. The only other sounds besides the scraping of her rag against the tiles is the muffled voices of Nat and Carmy, possibly arguing about something in the front. It's harder and harder to stay professional and detached when she gets nothing but attention from Carmy these days, who's quiet and steady and always at her side - pushing her, listening to her suggestions, being there way earlier than everyone else and walking out last. She knows it is all for the good of the restaurant, for the sake of not crashing and burning, but the attention gets so blurry that it hurts. Did he really need to spend all their free days with her in his crowded kitchen? Were all the touches necessary , passing her by or leading her into a room? She had no idea where his guilty conscience began and where them ended. She had caught him observing her often, like he was studying for a difficult test, and struggled to find a rational explanation for it. She mused over this, spacing out until she'd heard him call her name, softly, and she'd scrambled to get up and hide how red her cheeks had become.
"Yes, chef?"
His expression changed for just a second, before he cleared his throat and started fidgeting with some cutlery that had been laid out neatly. " Uh, great job today. You can head home. "
She didn't know what she expected, but her chest filled with sickly disappointment. For an instance, his eyes there -
Syd nodded, started to gather her things, cursed herself for wanting more all the damned time. She went to pass him, wanting to say goodnight to Nat, when she felt her hand being softly gripped by his, the momentum forcing them to lock eyes. Her breath hitched, stuck in her throat.
" Actually, I wanted to tell you something, Syd." He sounded nervous - more than usual, and he was avoiding her eyes now, but their calloused hands still held one another. In the small space between them, Sydney felt like she would combust at any minute. Like the lines were blurred again, pulverizing into mist. "But I've been way too fucking scared of it, and afraid I'd fuck things up between us again when I know , I know I can't afford to. Because I can't do this without you."
" The restaurant?"
Carmy scoffed, incredulous. "Yeah, that too."
" I'm also not the best person to be around - to rely on, and you deserve better. But I feel like I'm going crazy, well, crazier than usual, Syd, I want -"
In the quiet, she could hear her pulse banging in her chest, feel her skin burn where he was touching her, so softly it was almost like he wasn't there. Her voice dropped to a whisper, afraid of startling him.
" What do you want, Carmy?"
"Syd!"
Nat's voice crashed into their little bubble, and she jumped from where she stood, just inches away from him, struggling to adjust her voice back to something casual. "Yeah?"
" I'll be in the car if you still want a ride home. Make sure you two lock up."
She loved Nat, but that was one of the rare moments that Syd wanted to strangle her. Carmy had gone back to his guarded stance, a few more steps between them, but the burning in the surface of her skin hadn't dulled. She knew he would pretend nothing had happened but that she would lose sleep over it. They quietly moved around, flickering the lights off, putting on their coats. In the sharp coldness of the outside air, he walked behind her, stopping in front of Nat's car. " Let me cook for you, okay? Next time we have a day off."
When she turned around, there was a shy smile hidden around a lit cigarette. It felt dumb and childish, but she felt the need to ask, "Like, to try out a new recipe for the menu, or?"
He smiled again, this time real and bright and blinding, no bluriness in his voice. "No, just for you, chef."
She nodded, biting her lip in order to not break out into a goofy grin. She'd have no choice but to think about the blue of his eyes all the way home, struggling not to text him that she wanted him, too.
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ED ANGST
(GLADLY, he's my favorite to torture, actually. Aside from Nevin! It's my love language ❤️)
Pain, burning piercing pain in his stomach. It hurt... it hurt really fucking bad. It was so bad that he couldn't hold in the pained cry that the force of the blade drew out of him. His gaze slowly drifted down to stare at the blade embedded deeply into his stomach before it shot back up to the perpetrator of said action. "James..." he choked out. The boy looked mortified, in as much shock as Ed was. They'd been arguing again in the midst of yet another supernatural mishap in the kitchen of the home ec room when James had angrily drawn a knife. Ed had assumed it was a bluff as James had never dared to get physically violent with him. He'd threatened, sure, but it had only ever been just that, a threat. So when James had gotten angrier and angrier and approached closer and closer with said weapon, Edward had not been afraid. Why would he be scared of his friend? Perhaps he should have been...
As James seemed to finally register the depth of what he'd just done, he panicked. Yanking the blade back out of his 'boss', which resulted in another pained noise and Ed's legs giving out on him as he pressed his hands to the wound to try and slow the bleeding. "james.." he wheezed again. "I didn't..boss.. I didn't mean.. I-" His long stammering session was quickly interrupted by a horrified shout. "ED!?" Dez, Cody and Isaac, they'd gotten separated during the commotion, and the trio had finally managed to find them again, only to stumble upon quite the scene. James turned to face them, dropping the bloody knife in his hands as he stumbled back. "holy...shit.." Isaac whispered before they were all surrounding him. He was still processing what was happening as Dez gently pushed him back to lean back against the counter behind him. "Shit shit shit.. oh god..." Dez stuttered out as she brushed Ed's hands away to put pressure on the wound.
"I'm okay.." he croaked out, and the glare Isaac shot at him made him shrink a little. "You are literally bleeding out." he hissed, though Edward was pretty sure it was because he was worried and stressed. Isaac got pissy when he was stressed, so he chose not to take it personally. He coughed a bit. He was starting to feel really tired and woozy. Figures, they always seemed to need Drew anytime he wasn't with them. His senses felt dulled, his vision was blurry, and his head felt heavy and fuzzy. He knew he was losing blood pretty fast and partially registered the sound of Dez frantically chattering with someone on her phone, her hand reaching out to squeeze his in an attempt to keep him present. He didn't understand. He'd been so certain James wouldn't hurt him. Where was he anyway? Ed couldn't see him anywhere nearby, nor hear his rambling anymore either. He started to sink into his thoughts more and more until those thoughts started to fizzle out halfway through. His eye lids started to get heavy as he began to feel a bit chilly, shivering as he let his head fall back fully against the counter wall behind him.
"Hey, look at me." Isaac's voice drew him out of his dazed half thoughts. He forced himself to look up at the blonde hovering beside him. "Mn lookin.." he mumbled, Isaac's form looked hazy in his blurry vision, but he could still make out the boy's worry. Isaac tended to always look annoyed. He had an awful case of resting bitch face. But Edward had always found that to be an odd concept because he personally didn't think anyone looked very friendly when their expressions were blank. But maybe it was just him, Ed tended to think differently than everyone else, it seemed. "Ed..." A harsh grip on his arm startled him back to reality yet again. He'd hardly noticed his eyes starting to drift shut as his mind spiraled. "Mn here." he croaked out, his voice didn't sound like him... at least he didn't think so. It sounded weak, barely there. He'd have been embarrassed if he wasn't so out of it. Isaac looked somewhat panicked like he was scrambling for the answer to a question. He could hear Dez still talking and registered that at some point, Isaac's Flannel had been taken and tied against his wound to hold stop the bleeding. It didn't look to be working well, but neither were hands... Speaking of hands... Isaac had one on his face now, drawing his attention back to him as his own blood was subsequently wiped across his cheek. "Hey..uh.. uhm.. Stars!" he blurted out, and Ed couldn't help but wheeze out a laugh at the randomness of it. Laughter hurt, and his head hurt really bad, too. "Stars?"
"Yeah, stars.. tell me about them." he insisted like talking about stars was the most important thing ever. And in that moment, it was. God, as long as Ed kept talking, it was. Isaac had never ever thought he'd be praying for Edward Quinton to keep talking, but here he was... Ed winced as a shiver and a cough racked through him again, before speaking finally. "Well...There are about 9,096 stars visible to the naked eye in the entire sky... and.." he trailed off for a second. "The color of... stars can range from red to white to blue. But... I... know the colors are usually the... the opposite... but... Red is actually the coldest, and Blue is the ...the hottest." He continued on, and when he'd start to trail off between words or slur them around a little too much, He'd feel Isaac's grip tighten and try with all his might to will himself to keep talking. He talked.. and talked... until talking started to get really hard. His head was practically resting against Isaac at this point. He wasn't sure when he'd ended up like that. He could feel hands in his hair, too. "Ed.. cmon... you're almost there... stars?" he whispered, he sounded.. strained? Kind of... But his head was too foggy to piece together why. "Stars ...a..re..." he tried, but his eyes were nearly shut by this point, and staying awake sounded like such a pain. His head felt like it was full of static, and he couldn't move anymore. He just wanted to go to sleep. He knew Isaac was talking to him, telling him to stay awake. He could faintly register the sound of sirens.. and the hands on his face again, but that was it as he blacked out, finally.
The next thing he heard was the slow and steady beeping of a heart monitor. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and everything still felt kind of hazy. Not quite the same as before, though. He squinted, trying to take in his surroundings in the dim room. It took a moment for him to register he in a hospital room. And even longer to register, there was a hand holding his. His eyes trailed over to find Isaac. Resting against the bed holding his hand as he slept. Dez was across the room and passed out in an armchair. They both looked like wrecks, and Edward felt a pang of guilt as he realized it was because of him...His shifting seemed to wake Isaac. "Hey.." his voice sounded so soft it almost felt wrong coming from him. Not that Edward disliked it... "You gave us a real scare, Asshole." he grumbled, and that sounded a lot more like Isaac. He frowned, wincing in guilt and glancing away. "I'm... sorry.." he whispered. "How long.. have I been out?" He added after a short pause of silence. "About a day... everyone's been to visit. Your brother and Janet went for food. They'll be back soon..." he hadn't let go of his hand. Their fingers still laced together. "Fuck... haha.. guess I'm gonna get quite a few lectures huh?" He wheezed out a laugh. He smiled but was definitely not looking forward to that. "I don't think they'll be super hard on you..." Isaac assured quietly, which was followed by another long pause.
"... Have you been here this whole time?" He asked. Noting that Isaac's clothes hadn't changed at all. "...for the most part.. I've left to get food a couple of times." he admitted. Edward felt the urge to scold him for it bubble up in his chest, but he felt currently he had no right to lecture on self-preservation at the moment, considering where he was. "Dez needed someone to swap watching over you with, and I didn't have anything better to do." he insisted using the age-old excuse of boredom. "Isaac..." he sighed. "What?" The blonde huffed back indignantly. "Thank you." He hummed, letting his eyes fall shut and weakly squeezing the smaller teens' hand. Isaac's expression faltered, and he let his head sink back down to rest against the bed. "... Yeah..."
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To My Taste
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
Part 5: Cornered Animal
Masterlist
⚠️Warnings⚠️ Talk of childhood abuse, mention of death, a bit of gore, and gaslighting.
"Your hand is bleeding, did you cut it on something?" Hannibal asked as he picked up my hand. I must have bit too far down on a few of them. My nail beds looked like they lost a fight with a weed wacker.
"No, I was biting the skin." I say as I try to pull my hand back but he keeps it in his grasp.
"I have a first aid kit, one moment." He says as he lets go of my hand finally and goes to the kitchen. He returned shortly after with the kit.
"This isn't necessary, I just picked the skin too much. It happens." I say as I keep my hands closed in a fist. Hannibal readys some cotton balls with some kind of antiseptic solution. Once he was ready he kneeled down in front of me and took my hand.
"The mouth can be a very nasty place, biting at your cuticles like this is just inviting infections. This shouldn't sting." He said as he rubbed the cotton balls gently over my small wounds. I winced a bit and tried to curl my fingers inwards. He laid my hand on my knee, palm down so my fingers couldn't escape him.
I didn't have the highest pain tolerance and the dull stinging almost made me whimper. Hannibal's eyes flick up towards me. It was embarrassing to think I was squirming so much from a little antiseptic solution. He blew gently on my fingers once he was done applying the solution. His breath seemed to take the sting away. "How long have you experienced Dermatophagia?"
"What? Oh is that skin biting? I don't know. I sucked my thumb till I was 13. I guess this is what replaced it. I don't normally do it anymore."
"Only when stressed?" He questioned as he put Band-Aids on three of the worst fingers.
"Yeah. I thought I kicked it." I say finally pulling my hands away from him.
"Do you have an oral fixation?" He asked in all earnest. Even after all I had been through today I was tempted to make a dirty joke but I was worried it might embarrass him.
"That's awfully Freudian of you, Dr. Lecter" I say with a smirk to make sure he knows I was just teasing. He lets out a soft chuckle.
"I suppose you are right but a broken clock is right at least twice a day." He says with a small smile.
"Maybe I do, I'm not really sure." I had a few ex-boyfriends who'd say I did but I couldn't really say that to Hannibal now could I?
"Are you hungry? You must be, you haven't eaten since last night." Hannibal says as he stands up.
"No, not really."
"Humor me and have some carrot slices with me." He says as he heads towards the kitchen. I sigh as I get up to follow him.
He got some long carrots from his fridge and grabbed a long sharp knife to cut them in slivers.
"Have any ranch?" I ask as I sit up at the bar.
"I do not but I have some leftover hummus I made."
"Oh that sounds good." I say as I crunch down on a carrot. He smiles and gets the small tub of hummus.
"I was thinking about it and you have an appointment tomorrow with me. I can't promise Will will give us anytime alone tomorrow. It might be easier to have it tonight. I have a home office we can use." It made sense and I did have a lot on my mind.
"That works for me. So you noticed Will's clinginess too?" I ask feeling a little embarrassed for some reason. Hannibal nods as he takes a bite of carrot. He looked like he was trying to choose his next words very carefully.
"He is very fond of his friends. He doesn't bond with people easily. I think that only exacerbates how passionate he can be about the ones he cares for. It didn't make you uncomfortable did it?"
"No, of course not. I love cuddling as much as the next girl. It was just unexpected from him."
"He enjoys your company a fair bit. The job requires him to get too close to monsters such as the one who attacked you. Perhaps the lines blurred for him a bit. This killer has become obsessed with you or rather killing you, and Will must empathize with him to catch him."
"You don't think he'd try to hurt me? Will gets pretty invested in the minds of these killers but he doesn't become them."
"I don't think Will would hurt you intentionally but his recent behavior towards you might be a side effect of his empathizing with your attacker but how different are love and obsession truly?"
The question seemed so odd coming from Hannibal. It was an insane notion to make. Could he really think that or was he just playing devil's advocate for an argument no one had made.
We finished our snack of carrots and he took me to his office. He had me sit down in the chair in front of his desk. The lights in here were dim making the office feel cozy and relaxing. He sat down at his desk and pulled out a notepad and pen.
"Speaking of Sigmund Freud, tell me more about your mother." He said gently but there was no hint of a joke. I laughed a little unsure if he was serious.
"Well now that you mention it I am attracted to older women."
"I am asking genuinely. Tell me about her. You must know her well, it just being you two." I was surprised he actually wanted to hear about her. I did all I could to try and not to think about her that much in all honesty. His phrasing bothered me. It just being you two.
"Well honestly it wasn't just us for part of my childhood. I had a little sister just two years younger." I grin remembering her little face lit up by the sun in the summer. Hannibal's eyes softened a bit.
"You had a little sister? No longer?" He asked, his tone was different somehow I couldn't place it.
"She had an accident when we were kids… I rather not talk about Madeline. It was ages ago, feels like a different life." I look up at Hannibal letting him see the tears threatening to fall down my face.
"I understand more than you know. My apologies, please tell me about your mother. What was her name, her job?" He pushed the tissue box closer to me but I was determined not to need them. I take a second to force the tears back down then I speak.
"There isn't too much to tell. Her name is Sarah, she's 47 years old. And she is a librarian."
"47 is very young to have a daughter your age."
"Yeah, that's the abstinence only rule for you. She was a teen mom. She was 16 when she had me."
"Lydia, can I be candid with you? It is a practice of mine to do background checks on my patients. Your last name had some interesting results. What I'm saying is I know what your mother actually did as a profession. It's nothing to be ashamed of." He spoke carefully and clearly. I felt a knot in my stomach when he explained. If he saw police reports then he knew what happened to Madeline.
"That is incredibly invasive and just plain creepy! Why the fuck would you need to do a background check on me! I had many done before I could join the FBI. You knew I didn't have a criminal record or any outstanding parking tickets, you were just snooping!" I wanted to stand up and walk away but where would I walk to? It was his house after all.
He leaned on his desk folding his hands together and nodded as I scrutinized him.
"You may call it snooping if you wish but it is a practice of mine. I did it for Will and I'll do it for any other patients I may have in the future. It is for my safety but also I find it useful to know if a patient is being truthful with me. I am telling you this so I can let you know you shouldn't be ashamed." He spoke softly but firmly as he stared at me from across his table.
I squirmed a bit in my seat feeling uncomfortable about the invasion of privacy I felt.
"What am I supposed to say? My mom was and still is an alcoholic prostitute? That's not a pretty picture to paint of my own mother. I didn't lie because I'm ashamed of her, I lied to protect her reputation. She always loved to read so I tell people she is a librarian." I was so mad at him, if I hadn't just had the second worst day of my life I would have probably chewed him out.
"I don't care what your mother did for a profession. I care how she treated you. Prostitution is a perfectly valid form of employment. Your anger is understandable though. What was she like as a mother? Be honest with me, imagine your mother is not your own. How would you describe her parenting methods?" I was pissed but there was something freeing about the thought of being able to say what I have been feeling my whole life.
"She had no parenting method. She was hardly a parent. She was a child taking care of a child. She did her best but her mother's trauma became her's and thus it became mine. Before Madeline's death she was okay, a little flighty but we always had food and the house was clean enough but after… Well she took Maddie's death pretty hard." I absent-mindedly brought my finger up to my lips to chew at the gnarled skin. Hannibal stiffened up in his seat and cleared his throat. The taste of the antiseptic on my fingers lingered in my mouth reminding me not to chew.
"Lydia what happened to Madeline?" He asked as he clicked his pen and wrote something down. I scoffed when he asked.
"You did a background check on my family, you saw the death certificate. Fill in the blanks."
"This is true, I know it was deemed an accidental death but I'd like to hear it from you. Please share this with me." The audacity of him to ask me to share my pain with him when he already knows the story.
"Why should I? What do you get out of this Hannibal? Do you get off to sob stories or something? Do you get hard seeing people cry?" It was rude, harsh, down right malicious but I was mad, hurt and frankly scared to relive that day again. He didn't seem to bat an eye at my accusations. He loosened his tie just a bit and leaned back in his chair.
"I had a young sister whose name was Mischa. She passed when we were very young. I understand your pain to a degree, the loss of a younger sibling can make the older sibling feel responsible. No matter what happened that day it wasn't your fault Lydia."
"Shut up Hannibal. You don't know anything. It was my fault." I was careful not to raise my voice at him. I was scared if I started to scream I wouldn't stop. "Fuck…" I licked my lips and began to pick at my nails. He was just trying to help even if I didn't understand how talking about it would be beneficial. "I'm sorry Hannibal, it's still so fresh. And I'm sorry to hear about your sister. She would have been proud of you." Hannibal nodded solemnly.
"Thank you, I appreciate that Lydia." He says looking at me with a melancholy filled expression.
"Do you really want to know?" I ask, looking away from him.
"I want you to feel safe enough to want to share this with me." He said as he closed his notepad.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, I was afraid if I looked at his somber face I wouldn't be able to stop myself from crying.
"It was pouring that day, as you can imagine with our mom's line of work Madeline and I would play outside, often raining or not. I loved playing tag, of course I did, I always won because Maddie was so much shorter than me. She was only 8, in hindsight tag was really unfair. She wanted to play house. I should have just played house with her. she was such a good little sister and would play tag with me no matter how much she hated it." With my eyes closed I could see her cherub-like face staring at me.
I opened my eyes quickly and kept them on the floor as I continued. "Mom always told us not to run on that fucking hill but it was so much fun to play on when it was dry. It was covered in trees enough to make it a pretty well wooded area. If you ever lost your footing there was always a tree to stop your fall." The tears came quickly as I realized the irony of that statement.
"I told her that mom wouldn't care if we played tag up there. I said I'd be it first so she didn't have to be. I gave her a head start once. I started to chase her, That's when it happened. Her little foot slipped off some exposed rock. She fell so fast I wasn't even sure what happened. I just heard a scream and she was gone." I began to sob remembering the sound of her shrill cries. "I don't know what tree did it, she hit so many on the way down but one almost knocked her head clean off. By the time I got down to her she wasn't moving. I kept screaming her name but she wouldn't respond." Hannibal stood up and kneeled down in front of me. I moved my eyes again so I wouldn't have to look at him.
"I don't know what made me think this but I just kept thinking if I could get her back to the patio, which was home base, she'd be okay. I carried her back home. Mom must have heard the screams because she ran out to meet us. She kept screaming at me, she kept asking what happened to her baby. She took her from my arms and I never saw her again."
He tried to hand me tissues but must have realized I wasn't going to take them so he started to dry my tears for me.
"She treated you like it was your fault?" He asked as he sat on the arm of the chair and rubbed my back. I nodded trying to compose myself.
"She still hates me for it. She wouldn't let me say her name for years. She said I didn't have a right to. I'd cry for her to comfort me. That's all I ever wanted from her was comfort, to feel safe. She would never give that to me after Maddie died. Her way of punishing me I guess."
"You were a ten year old little girl. She was wrong for blaming you. She should have cared more for her living daughter. I'm sorry she didn't. You didn't deserve that." He spoke softly, letting me gather myself.
"Is that enough? Can I stop now please?" I choke out as I lean against him.
"Yes thank you for sharing something so personal with me." He stroked my hair slowly. In any other situation I would have pulled away, but right now I would take any reassurance I could get. After a few moments like this I evened out and regained what little dignity I walked into the office with.
"Can I take a shower or something? I'm sweating more than Will." I say with a chuckle.
"Yes, that's a good idea. I'll wash your clothes for you and find you something to sleep in." Normally I'd argue about having someone else do my laundry but I was too tired to argue about anything.
I took the longest shower of my life even after the water ran cold I stayed in. After almost an hour I came out feeling like a new woman. My freshly washed clothes and a shirt of Hannibal's was waiting for me on the sink. I got around and came out.
Hannibal had prepared dinner in the meantime as well. It was some kind of salad.
"Hannibal this is too much. I don't know how I can ever repay you. I can't help but feel like a burden." I say as I sit down at the table with him.
"Stop that, you have been through quite the ordeal today. I'm happy to do what I can to relieve even the smallest amount of stress I can for you." He was having some kind of red meat I couldn't identify but it looked good.
We ate our food and chatted a bit until there was a thud in the basement yet again. I acted like I didn't hear it. I could see from the corner of my eye Hannibal was looking at me. Like he was waiting to see if I acknowledged it.
"Are you scared that man will come here?" I ask, picking at my colorful salad. Hannibal wipes his mouth with a napkin and clears his throat.
"I am worried he may try. I have no doubt it would be a grizzly encounter for you or him." He leans back in his seat as he looks at me. I snicker a little at his blind confidence in my ability to fight this man off a second time.
"Me? Oh no if I see him again I'm high tailing it. I got away once I don't need a round two."
"You maimed him which is no small feat, you are a fighter. I have no doubt you will do anything to ensure your next breath. An animal is at its most dangerous when cornered." His tone was strange. If I didn't know him I'd think he was excited by the thought.
"Is that what I am? A cornered animal?"
"You are a survivor." It was a grim conversation and he seemed to realize that but made no attempts to change the subject. "If he comes here we will lock ourselves in a room and wait for law enforcement." He says as he stands up to take his plate. "Are you finished?" He asked as he held his hand out to take my plate.
"Yeah, let me come with you." I say with a smile as I get up with my plate in tow. We went to the kitchen and cleaned off our plates. He looked down at his watch.
"Do you think you will be able to sleep tonight?" He asked, sticking the plates In the sink. A laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.
"Probably not but I have my phone. I'll just do some reading or watch something." Hannibal didn't seem satisfied with my answer.
"I could give you something to help you sleep. A legal prescription of course."
"Oh no it sounds bad but at least if I'm awake I'll know if something is wrong. I can run or lock myself in or something."
"I have an alarm system, I also should be up late tonight. I have some work I have been neglecting. I worry that sleep deprivation will only worsen your anxiety. My professional opinion would be to take something, my personal opinion just happens to match. I have a guest bedroom with no windows, you could lock yourself in. He won't be able to reach you." Some sleep like last night's did sound nice. I was worried after the wings I wouldn't have another good night's sleep for a while.
"If you think it's best then I guess it's alright." I say still a bit unsure. He smiled and led me to this windowless room he talked about. It seemed like an interior room but I wasn't sure what rooms were around it.
"Lay down, I'll go get the medication, I should have some samples left." He left the room and I got into bed. It was impressive how every bed in this house was more comfortable than the last.
Hannibal returned with two small pills and a glass of water. He handed them to me. I looked at them for a second. Even if I asked what they were that really wouldn't tell me much, I'm not a pharmacist. I just popped them in my mouth and took a sip of water. Hannibal took the glass from me and helped me get settled in.
"Would you like the TV on?" He asked as he picked up a remote. I just nod looking up at him. The medicine seemed to be very fast acting. I felt light and sleepy already. He switched on the TV to some talk show. The volume was so low I couldn't hear it.
"Will you stay a minute?" I asked, my eyelids threatened to close while I spoke.
"Of course." He pulled an armchair over to the side of the bed. He sat with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly on his knee. He watched me as my eyes closed slowly. He spoke again but I wasn't sure what he said. I just nodded in response. It wasn't long before I drifted to sleep.
I woke up in a much darker room. The only light came from the TV he had left on. The chair still sat next to my side of the bed. I wasn't sure what time it was and had no way of telling from inside this room. I was going to go back to sleep when I heard a mechanic whirling, some kind of power tool. It reminded me of an electric saw. The sound continued for a few more minutes before turning off.
My head was still fuzzy and my limbs felt weak but I was dying to know what that sound was. Could it be Will back? What would he be doing with power tools?
Using the armchair I helped myself up and slowly walked to the door. I jiggled the knob and fumbled with it before realizing Hannibal locked the door behind himself when he left. Feeling embarrassed I didn't figure that out sooner I turned the lock and opened the door.
I couldn't remember where this room was in his house so I carefully wandered the halls looking for the source of the sound. I found the familiar hall Will and I had slept in last night. Just before I was able to enter it I saw Hannibal coming out from his basement again. He had a phone pressed against his ear. My eyes were having problems focusing but I could have sworn he was in some kind of clear raincoat that looked to have some kind of red splattering.
"How is it going?" He asked the person on the phone. I ducked back around the corner when he turned to face my direction. "She is sleeping soundly. I am just preparing for a dinner party I have next week." He continued speaking as he walked right past me. I pressed myself against the wall to try and blend in. I was now thankful for the darkness of this part of the house.
With his back to me as he walked away I held my breath. His raincoat now in a better light I could see the red splatters had to be from blood. I needed to see what was in that basement. It all must be some kind of misunderstanding.
Once Hannibal was out of sight I creeped my way to the basement door. He hadn't locked it back. I open the door quickly and keep the light off as I walk down the stairs painstakingly slow.
It was an invasion of privacy for me to be snooping around his basement but he started it when he ran a background check on me. I was kicking myself for not bringing my phone to use as a light.
There was a soft yellow light from some kind of machine in the corner of this dank room. It was freezing down here. My bare legs had goosebumps and I was starting to shiver.
Next to the machine was a light switch. I took a chance and flipped it. An overhead fixture flooded the room with light. The machine was some kind of table saw. It was covered in what I can only assume was blood. My eyes widened. I was still under the effects of the sleeping pills so my movements were slow and I was having a hard time trusting my eyes.
I backed away and bumped into a chest freezer. Without thinking I threw the lid open and saw perfectly wrapped sections of meat. It was starting to make sense. Hannibal was just packing his own meat down here. He was probably scared I'd be disgusted if I saw all the blood and meat. Next to this freezer was an identical one. I smirked to myself and figured he'd just have more meat in this one so I opened it.
I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from screaming. There was a packaged torso of a man. It almost looked like a Halloween decoration. There were more parts under this torso. I dared to reach in. It was so cold I felt my fingertips burn when I picked up what looked like a calf. On it was a tattoo of a tiger. All the blood seemed to be drained from the parts. I dropped it quickly and closed the lids. I wasn't sure what was going on but I wasn't going to stick around to find out. I turned the light off and crawled up the stairs to ensure I didn't fall. I opened the door slowly but made the mistake of not looking behind it.
As soon as I closed the door I was grabbed from behind. They grabbed me around my waist and tried to lift me off my feet. I dropped my weight and swung an elbow back at the person. We both fell backwards onto the ground, I rolled off them quickly. It was Hannibal. I must have gotten him in the nose, it was bleeding all over his nice white shirt.
He didn't look angry, or like he even wanted to hurt me. He seemed so calm it made me pause until he tried to grab my leg. I screamed and used a doorknob to pull myself and stumbled down the hall. He followed close behind, clearly he didn't feel like he needed to rush.
"Lydia just calm down." I didn't bother responding. I wasn't sure where I was even trying to run to. I turned back around to see how close he was and he was gone. It didn't make any sense none of it. I dragged myself to a random bedroom. It must have been Hannibal's because it looked like a master bedroom complete with an ensuite bathroom. This was probably the furthest place from the front or back door.
I was screwed. I survived one killer only to be eaten by my therapist. I closed the bedroom door and looked for a spot to hide. If only Will was here. What if he knew about this?
For such a big room there weren't many places to hide. In desperation I got on the floor and hid under his bed.
No less than a minute after I found my hiding spot I saw the door open slowly. Hannibal's socked feet slowly passed the bed and opened the closet. I could see some kind of syringe in his hand. It was terrifying how little noise he made as he moved.
I covered my mouth scared he might hear me breathe. This had to be a nightmare. Maybe I was still sleeping. How could my polite, kind friend be a murder, not only a murder but a cannibal too.
Tears rolled down my face as he silently checked his room. The door was left half opened. If I was quiet and quick I might be able to slip out.
My attention was on the possible escape route when I realized Hannibal was standing right next to the bed. He slowly got down on his hands and knees and looked me right in the eye. I screamed as he grabbed my arm and pulled me from the underside of the bed. He rolled me on my back as I squirmed and kicked at him. We struggled for a moment together but he was so much stronger then he looked. He pressed his knee into my hip and held my shoulder down with one hand as he pulled the cap off of the syringe with his mouth.
"Just relax." He said before jamming the needle into my neck. I screamed out and tried to buck him off me but my mad thrashing only made his knee press harder against me. I tried to grab at the needle in my neck but he pulled it out as soon as I pushed the plunger down.
"Don't kill me Hannibal! Please!" I screamed at him as he removed his knee. I tried to get up but the world was spinning around me.
"There is nothing you can do, just lay still so you don't hurt yourself." His voice sounded so far away. He didn't look like broke a sweat fighting with me. He wasn't human he couldn't be. No human could be so calm after doing something like this.
He picked me up in his arms and leaned me against him as he rubbed with two fingers, the spot he stuck the needle in.
I could feel whatever it was he stuck me with start to make its way into my veins much quicker than before, my body was completely paralyzed. My face stuck in his shoulder I couldn't see anything and I couldn't move. My arms were folded in between us and my legs dangled, my toes brushed against the floor as he moved my face to see if I was still awake. He made a disapproving sound as he realized my eyes were still opened and I still seemed to be alert enough to look afraid. "It will be over soon, I am sorry my friend."
I could feel myself slipping slowly, my eyes softened and I could no longer feel my limp body at all. My eyes closed and I passed out.
I felt someone brush the hair from my face. I tried to open my eyes but I didn't seem to be able to yet.
"Explain it to me again. She hit you?" It was Will's voice, was it Will touching me right now?
"Yes I think she was hallucinating, perhaps it was a negative reaction to the medication I gave her. She didn't seem lucid." Hannibal said as his voice grew closer. I tried to open my mouth to scream but couldn't. Will must have noticed my twitching.
"Lydia? Are you awake?" He asked. Slowly my eyes opened. Whatever he injected me with was strong. I could hardly move. I looked around and realized I was still in Hannibal's room. Why did this psychopath put me in his bed? I whimpered out to Will as Hannibal loomed over his shoulder. He had a big bruise across his nose.
I wiggled my toes trying to get movement back. Will looked so worried and as he should there was a cannibal right behind him. I tried to speak but just a small squeak passed my lips. My head was still swimming but I wasn't going to give up. Hannibal leaned past Will and put his fingers to my neck and checked his watch.
"She's coming around, her pulse is picking up." Hannibal said. I tried to pin his fingers against my neck using my head but he just slipped his hand away. I felt like I wanted to explode. I have never experienced anything more frustrating.
"Take it slow. Hannibal had to give you some major sedatives."
"No!" I choked out as I stared daggers at Hannibal. I was getting my functions back. He was done for. I'd get Will to check his basement and he'd see for himself. "Basement, Will." I said slowly, still staring down Hannibal who looked as calm as always. Will shook his head.
"It's alright Hannibal already told me what happened, do you remember?" Will asked, I shook my head up and down.
"He's not mad at you, it's okay." I looked at Will quickly realizing Will didn't understand. I tried to push myself up on my elbows.
"He eats… people, Will. Look… at basement." I panted out. Will chuckled a little bit and nodded.
"Of course he does. Why don't you rest a bit more than we can talk." He said as he tried to push me back down to lay flat. He thought I was still delirious.
"I think I understand what happened here." Hannibal said as he sat down on the other side of his bed. "She must have gotten down in my basement. I was cutting up some venison earlier." Hannibal looked down at me and pulled the covers up around me more. Will sighs and nods.
"No, there… was a human body, a torso, a-and… more um parts. Take me to the basement… I'll show you." I was getting riled up. Thankfully I was starting to come around more. It became less hard to think of the right words I needed to use. Will looked at Hannibal who didn't seem worried.
"She will have to be carried, I'm afraid it's a bit of a mess down there but I'm willing to endure any embarrassment to prove my innocence, agents. " He says with a slight air of a joke.
Will carried me down the stairs. The basement looked just as I left it. Hannibal had to be crazy he was so close to being caught by two federal agents and he didn't seem to care.
"There, the one closest to the wall." I said pointing to the freezer. Will nodded and tried to set me on my feet so he could check. Hannibal tried to reach over to steady me but I felt safer leaning against the table saw.
Will opened the freezer and reached in to pull out some wrapped meat.
"This is definitely just deer Lydia." He said as dug to the bottom and pulled out more of the same looking meat.
"Show her the other one, so she isn't frightened of me. It should be pork. Perhaps that is what you saw, Lydia. Hannibal said as he moved a bit closer to me. I used the machine to keep upright while I made my way to the wall to lean against.
Will opened the other freezer and pulled out just what Hannibal had said. Pig and lots of it. These were full parts of legs with hooves and even a pig head. All sealed in airtight plastic wrap.
"No no he did something. He moved the body. There was a tattoo I saw it!" I yelled. My hand slipped from the wall, Hannibal grabbed me before I could fall. "Get off me!" I screamed as he used his body to hold me up. I was still so dizzy and weak. I was having a hard time keeping track of stuff. Will pulled out a package that seemed to hold a hind leg of a pig. On it was a serial number of some kind. I froze looking at it.
"Was this the tattoo you saw?" Will asked as he brought it over so I could get a better look. I started to feel embarrassed, could I have really made such a big mistake. I looked up at Hannibal and his poor nose. Maybe something was wrong with me.
"Hannibal I- it seemed so-"
"It's okay Lydia, this was my fault. I shouldn't have given you medication you had never taken before. I believe you had a bad reaction to it." Hannibal said, still holding onto me. I felt like I was going crazy.
"Hannibal your nose…" I whimper out feeling horrible I hit him so hard.
"No, this was my fault as well. I shouldn't have tried to restrain you. Now let's get you out of this basement."
This time Hannibal picked me up to carry me up the stairs. I think even Will was surprised by his strength. I laid my chin on his shoulder and looked back at Will. He didn't seem to notice my staring. He looked almost guilty, he looked down right remorseful. What could he be feeling so guilty over?
Hannibal took me back to his room and laid me down. I look around and realize the bedroom itself seemed a little different. Furniture moved around and the walls even looked to be a different shade.
"Is this your room?" I ask as he tucked me in. Will sat down on the edge of the bed. He was never more than a few feet away.
"Yes I was worried about moving you too much, you had such a bad reaction to the sleeping pill I didn't want to risk moving you to another room while sedated."
"I'm feeling much better now, you can have your bed back. I don't know if I can sleep anyhow." I say as I try to take the blankets off myself. I really was feeling much stronger just from the time we left the basement.
"No, please stay there. The medication likely has not left your system and we don't need you wondering the hall confused again. I am going to your house to retrieve some clothes. Will is going to stay with you. Is there anything from your house you want?" Hannibal said as he and Will both pulled the covers back on me.
"No not that I can think of but can you ask Zeller if they are done with that iron pan? It belongs to my landlady. She's going to be asking for it back, oh and can you stop by and tell her I'm okay?" Will fussed around me for a second as he messed with the pillows and lamps on the bedside tables.
"I will talk to her." Hannibal said as he pulled a jacket out from his closet. He really was too good to me. He lets me stay at his house and feeds me and I repay with an elbow to the nose. I don't know if I will ever not feel bad about that.
Hannibal left and Will took off his shoes and glasses after making sure all the windows in the room were locked.
"I wasn't lying, I really don't think I can sleep, Will." He gets on the other side of the bed and scoots close to me.
"Well I haven't slept all night and could use a few hours. I think Hannibal would actually kill and cook us both if I let you wander the house so please just try and sleep."
"Will, it's not funny. I really thought he was a killer cannibal. It was terrifying. Not to mention I hurt him." I say as I turn on my side to face him. He gave me a half hearted smile.
"I know, I'm really sorry." He says as his smile leaves. Something about it struck me as odd. I knew something wasn't right. The guilty look on his face, the way he just apologized, it was too sincere sounding for an apology for a dumb joke.
I wanted to talk to him more but he was out like a light, softly snoring next to me. I made sure he was covered up before I let myself try and sleep again. It took some time but eventually his soft breathing lulled me to sleep.
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I wrote a fun little scenario featuring @thatwritingho ‘s Olive, Robin, and the boys. You can read it under the cut it was fun to do <3
This was weird.
The four of them are just hanging out in Robin's living quarters, shooting the shit as the manager chops away at some seriously large onions. It was rare to be invited into the scarily neat flat. Alabaster walls, marble floors, sleek black furniture.
It wasn't exactly inviting but Olive assumed that was exactly the blond's intention.
With that thought in her head it was even weirder watching her almost seem relaxed, especially with Pickles and Skwisgaar around. Olive held a smug sense of pride in being part of the selective few Robin didn't hate from the get go. She found herself watching mindlessly as the three joked around, a snicker escaping her watching Pickles almost fall off the barstool as Robin tossed something his way. She didn't snap out of it until realizing her attention was being demanded by the drummer.
“You good?” He asked, pierce brow raised and green eyes soft with concern. She sat up straighter on her stool and attempted to catch up on the current topic of discussion.
Which had apparently become knives.
“It seems like it sharps.” Skwisgaar stated, clearly confused by something.
“It's sharp, just not sharp enough.” Robin explains. She lifts the cutting board and sweeps the onions into a pan, sizzling as they hit the hot metal.
“But in the movies-”
“Skwisgaar, those are movies.” Robin is still holding the large kitchen knife as she puts a fist on her hip. Only the petite blonde could exclude that kind of intimidating energy in a pink apron and her fine hair in pigtails. “I'm not saying you couldn't fuck a dude up I'm just saying you'd need a good amount of force behind it.” Olive gets a kick out of the soft pout the guitarist gives feeling scolded.
“I feel like that hurt worse, ya know?” Pickles adds, looking to Olive for confirmation.
“Oh fuck yeah.” She exclaims, leaning onto the island counter. “Think about it like this. If a blade is sharp enough you might not even notice you've been sliced but a dull blade?” She grins at the morbid mental image she's begun to paint in her friends minds. “You gotta really hate the fucker to put them through that.”
“Brutal.” Skwisgaar says simply, Pickles nods in agreement before taking a swig of his beer. Weird as the whole situation is, it's kind of comfortable? It's nice to see Robin as relaxed as she can manage and the boys are always fun to be around. “How do yous even know dats?” Skwisgaar asks as Robin moves around him.
“Robbi would be into knife play.” Olive jokes before bursting into laughter at the guitarist's fearful expression and the way Pickles chokes on his own laughter.
“She's definitely got the rage fer it.” Pickles muses after clearing his throat with the aid of Olive patting his back firmly. She doesn't remove it from its place even with the drummer's airway cleared. The two of them snicker at Skwisgaar's visible concern.
“Ams you hearing dis?” He asks, He jumps feeling small hands on his waist before shoving him slightly.
“I said you could be in my space if you were useful.” Robin scolds. Olive wonders if she had even heard the discussion before seeing a rare glint in her dark eyes. “Why? You wanna find out?” She teases, lifting the edge of the knife towards him. Skwisgaar swallows hard before pushing her wrist down with a glare.
“That's not an answer, ya know?”
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Damn Them
(I struggled so hard to get a chapter written (life is beating my ass right now) but it is here!)
When Sidekick woke up, the first thing that he felt was confusion.
He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but he felt…something, around his leg, and things felt different and smelled different and sounded different and-
The memories of the day before hit him like a pallet of bricks.
His stomach turns at the thought of Hero, oh god, what was he going to do?
Sitting up, he braces for the pain, but it’s…not bad. Not as bad as it should be. Whatever she had given him must have been good, because he really wasn’t feeling much at all.
Pain, fear, all were muted and dull, there but not at the forefront.
He swings his broken leg down out of bed, trying to be as quiet as possible while straining his ears to see if he could hear Villain or Assistant.
Nothing.
He tests his weight on his good leg, and stands. Villain had said not to walk on the cast but it seemed fine and it wasn’t like they were actually going to give him crutches.
He steps carefully over to the door, and presses his ear against it.
Now he heard something.
Muffled voices, Assistant and Villain, but no distinct words.
He sighs, pushing his hair back out of his face and looks at the door.
It just looked like a regular door, like the regular kitchen. He knew it would be locked but still, he tried the handle anyway.
It turned.
His heart leapt into his throat as he carefully eased the door open less than a crack. It opened outwards, and he didn’t know where Assistant or Villain were, for all he knew they could be watching the door like hawks.
But it was open a sliver, and now he could vaguely hear them.
“Killing Hero isn’t just going to be a walk in the park, it’s a lot more complicated than that. What about Lover?”
Sick was all he felt, like the whole world was tumbling out from under him. Without Hero and Lover, where would he go? They were all the family he had now, and to hear Assistant talking about killing them like it was just an errand to run made his blood cold.
“We would have to figure out her first, see where she stands. But after that, Hero won’t be easy but he won’t have Sidekick as a human shield either.”
They were going to pick Lover off first, then Hero. He wasn’t there to protect him, they did this on purpose!
All warmth that he had formed towards Villain had dissipated, replaced only by rage. He eased the door open further, looking for a phone, a knife, a door, any way out or way to warn Hero or Lover.
“And that still leaves Sidekick… What happens to him?”
He paused, listening again.
Villain seemed to pause, and he heard a sigh before anything else. “I don’t know yet. For now, he’ll stay here, and we’ll play it as we get more information. All I know for now is that I’m not going to let that bastard that pretends to be a hero lay another finger on him, through whatever means necessary. He’ll be here and he’ll be safe.”
Villain was…protecting him? From Hero?
Now, he wished he had just stayed in bed. Confusion replaced rage and left him unsteady.
Literally.
He had been leaning on the door for support, but it too gave way, slamming open with a bang and leaving him to fall hard.
He was caught and he knew it. He couldn’t even get up, all he could do was lay in a graceless heap as running feet approached.
Both Villain and his emotions caught up to him far too quickly, and he found himself sobbing weakly against the cold floor, cringing away from Villains helping hand.
“I just want to go home… Please just let me go home…”
He couldn’t hear what Villain said as he helped him up, only that it wasn’t scolding.
“I want to go home…please…I want to go home…”
But Villain just guided him back to bed, and Assistant appeared beside him with a capped needle.
He didn’t resist when she positioned his arm and administered whatever was in the syringe. It didn’t matter anyway.
He was stuck here, and he was useless, and they were going to kill Hero to protect him. And he hated himself for the sliver of him that liked that idea.
The last thing he saw before drifting off again was Assistant picking the blanket up off the floor and draping it over him again while Villain helped prop his leg up on the abandoned pillow.
Damn them. Damn them both.
Tag list:
@bleeding-letters @jadeocean46910 @summer1359 @hurtmebeautifully @haro-whumps @circus-of-pain @harri-007 @cupcakes-and-pain @blancasin @dont-touch-my-soup @celiacprincess @whumpitywhumpwhump @annablogsposts @epiclamer @aethernorwood @wolfeyedwitch @siren-of-agony @whumpy-butterflies @lettucecabbage-kun @suspicious-whumping-egg @pigeonwhumps @a-star-with-human-name @monochrome-episode
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