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vikkirosko · 18 days

Note

Can I ask for headcanons for Angel Dust, Alastor, Niffty, Charlie, Husk, Vaggie and Cherry of what a friendship with them would be like? The reader is feminine if possible and she has a very protective personality with her friends, but she is very kind and loves to give hugs and handmade details for them.

Platonic headcanons Friendship

🌈 Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader 🎶

Charlie has been sincere and friendly since childhood. She wanted to see the bright side in others and was sure that sinners deserved a chance at redemption. When she met you, she was glad that she had a new friend. You became friends pretty quickly and started spending a lot of time together

You were kind and caring towards others, and Charlie really liked that trait of yours. You often helped at the hotel, making her job easier. You knew how hard she worked, so you tried to do something to help your friend

You saw how Charlie worked and harassed herself, so you tried to help her and take care of her. When it was hard for her and she felt tired, you hugged her, gently stroked her back and said words of support. Charlie was grateful to you for that. She knew that you would always be there to help and support her

For the princess, you were a dear friend whom she was always glad to see. She tried to make sure that you had as many reasons to smile as possible. Charlie wanted her friends to be happy, including you

❌ Vaggie x fem!Reader 🎀

Vaggie had a hard time trusting sinners. She trusted Charlie, but she hardly trusted others. She didn't start trusting you right away either, despite your kind disposition. However, you were able to find an approach to her. She saw how kind you were not only to her, but also to others. You were sincere, honest and caring, and you really managed to win her over with your kindness

She watched you help Charlie at the hotel, how you supported your friends and gave them various small handmade gifts. You saw how often Vaggie was stressed, so you took care of her. You made her delicious tea, helped her with her chores and went shopping with her. She was grateful for your support, knowing that you were there for her

Vaggie knew that you were a kind and non-confrontational person, so she protected you from the dangers you might face in Hell. When they tried to attack you, she protected you even if it was necessary to fight. If she was injured, then you and Charlie treated her wounds and you always thanked her for standing up for you

She didn't talk about it often, but Vaggie was glad she had a friend like you. Charlie and you were the ones who helped her feel alive again. You saved her from the despair she felt when she was thrown into Hell and she was willing to go to great lengths for you

🕷 Angel Dust x fem!Reader 💖

Angel didn't have many people he could call his friends, much less kind people who genuinely cared about him and others. However, he had you. You were the friend who was there for him when he needed support. You didn't judge him for his life and tried to help him no matter what

You brought him water when he was hungover, you made him a snack and you were ready to listen to him when he was having a hard time. He knew that you wouldn't tell anyone his secrets and you wouldn't judge him. You always stayed by his side, no matter how lousy he was

Sometimes Angel would keep you company when you went grocery shopping for the hotel. If there was any unforeseen situation, he was there and ready to protect you. He knew that you were kind and that you didn't like to fight, so he became your protector, not allowing sinners to hurt you

Angel was glad that he had a friend like you. Sometimes you reminded him of his sister, whom he missed. Sometimes it hurt him, as if he saw her instead of you, but in his mind he understood that you were not his sister. You were his friend, who made him feel better at least a little bit

📻 Alastor x fem!Reader 🎙

Alastor called people his friends, but few of them he really considered as such. He could call Rosie his friend, but he could rather call most of the people with whom he communicated people from whom he benefited. However, he didn't know which category he could put you in. You were unusually kind and caring for a man who was in Hell, and you clearly considered him your friend

You were one of the kindest people he met in Hell. You genuinely cared about him, you made him delicious tea, you always asked him how his next walk around the city went or asked him about music. You were genuinely interested in his life, while trying not to violate his personal boundaries

Alastor looked out for you sometimes. He convinced himself that the reason for this was that you were part of the hotel, which meant he had to make sure that you would be safe. Alastor did not admit that the reason for this was that he was getting used to you and would not want to lose his new friend

Alastor was not someone who would directly call a person a friend. He showed it by his actions, looking out for you, even though it was not so easy to notice. He knew that you understood without words that he saw you as a friend

🧹 Niffty x fem!Reader ❤

You and Niffty met at the hotel, where you helped out by running small errands. You often began to work together and thanks to this you were able to quickly become friends. Niffty thought you were too kind, so she often spent time with you and made sure that others didn't take advantage of your kindness

You did the cleaning at the hotel together and you often took care of her. You brought lemonade and snacks when you worked too long, you chatted a lot and you listened to her. Niffty told you a lot, although some of the things she said made you feel a little uneasy

Niffty directly told you that you were too kind and you should have been more strict with others so that they would not take advantage of your kindness. At such moments, you would tell her with a soft smile that if everyone was harsh and cruel, there would be no hope left. Niffty snorted every time and said that then she would be harsh instead of you

Despite the fact that sometimes Niffty could scare, you were still friends. You cherished her and your friendship. You took care of each other and Niffty knew she could trust you. You were one of the closest people to her and she was glad that she had a friend like you

🃏 Husk x fem!Reader 🥃

Husk was not the friendliest person. He was rude, said what he thought and didn't seem like someone who had friends. You saw it perfectly well, but you still tried to communicate with him and called him your friend, to which Husk usually snorted irritably or rolled his eyes

You often sat at the bar with him. Husk didn't send you away. He watched you make small handmade gifts, including for him. You always tried to do something for others, you were caring and kind, even too kind for someone who lived in Hell

Husk denied that you were friends, but he looked out for you. He knew that Hell was full of those who wanted to take advantage of your kindness, so he didn't let those who wanted to trick you do it. You knew about it, but you didn't tell him so as not to embarrass him

You knew that Husk was kind deep down and responded to him with kindness. You cherished him and your friendship and tried to take care of him as much as he allowed you to. You didn't want to violate his boundaries. You took care of each other as much as you could

💣 Cherri Bomb x fem!Reader 🍒

Cherri often got into fights and adventures. But when she needed peace, she came to you. You were friends, even though you were very different. You were kind, caring, and you tried your best to help others. Including friend, in the person of Cherri

You often treated her wounds, helped her when she was hungover, and the doors of your house were always open for her. Cherri appreciated your friendship and helped you as much as she could. When she found out that someone was trying to harm you, she protected you. Cherri wasn't going to let anyone hurt her friend

When Cherri found out that Angel started living in a hotel, she suggested that you start living there too, because you would be safe in a hotel. At least it's safer than outside the hotel. Cherri wasn't going to force you, but if you had stayed at the hotel, she would have been less worried about whether you were okay

You and Cherri took care of each other, you trusted each other with secrets and knew that you had each other. Your friendship was strong despite all the difficulties that Hell arranged for you and you were sure that together you could cope with any difficulty

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel headcanons #Charlie Morningstar #Charlie Morningstar x Reader #Vaggie #Vaggie x Reader #Angel Dust #Angel Dust x Reader #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Niffty #Niffty x Reader #Husk #Husk x Reader #Cherri Bomb #Cherri Bomb x Reader

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cacoetheswriting · 10 months

Text

a mutually assured attachment

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 3.9k summary: crossing the thin line between friendship and something more, but not before a few set backs.

warnings: set before tfatws, therapy positive, emotional hurt / comfort, mutual pinning, adult dialogue, use of pet names (sweets, darlin') mentions of food and alcohol consumption, a little bit of jealousy, friends to lovers, a conclusion to a lovely little slow burn

a/n: technically part of a mini-series, but can 100% be read as a standalone. also, unsure if anyone is still following this story, but i wanted to wrap it up ‘cause i really enjoyed starting this series all those months (years eek) ago. plus if anyone stumbles across it in the future, it will be complete! thank you for reading and for your support <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

Bucky Barnes did not think of himself as the jealous type.

Yes, he envied his fair share of individuals he encountered throughout his long life: the people who made life appear easy, those who seemed to have everything figured out, and everyone who took “mundane” for granted.

The regular Joe’s with their nine-to-five jobs, a random group of friends, and not a care past anything other than their stack of overdue bills or their fantasy football league (whatever the hell that was…). The average Jane’s who often reminded Bucky of his own mother, hoping to grow and nurture happy homes, full of sweetness and a load of laughter, desperately trying to shield everyone around them from pain and misery.

Envy, yes. Bucky was familiar with the feeling. Jealousy however… Well, jealousy was different.

Jealousy was usually a side effect of romance. It called for a connection stronger than Bucky allowed himself to form with the people he met ever since he became himself again. It involved trekking on dangerous territory and putting other people at risk, therefore no, James Buchanan Barnes was not the jealous type.

That is until he met you.

He’s learned to admit that you entered his life at a time he did not even realise he needed you most, turning it completely upside down (for the better) and providing him with a glimmer of hope that there was still good in this post-blip world.

He’s grown attached to you, opening up in more ways than one and sharing thoughts he hasn’t spoken about with anyone since Steve. Over time, you have easily grown to be his favourite person.

And now Bucky was sitting at the bar, picking at the label of the beer bottle in his grip while watching you toss your head back in laughter at something this random suit-wearing jerk was saying.

You disappeared for five minutes to go to the bathroom. Bucky thought nothing of it, even ordered you another drink while you were gone. But when you didn’t come back to your seat, stopping instead for a chat with a stranger, you unknowingly caused an unnerving feeling to rush through the brunette sergeant.

This wasn’t the first time someone tried hitting on you while you were out with Bucky, (and considering how jaw droppingly beautiful you were, he was actually quite surprised it didn’t happen more often). However, this was the first time you engaged back in the flirtatious interaction, which was more than unsettling to your blue-eyed neighbour.

He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smirk off of the dude's face. Quite frankly, the only thing stopping him from doing so was the reason he wished to do it in the first place: you.

Fuck, Bucky cursed himself, this was jealousy.

Shifting in his seat so he wouldn’t have to witness you with that dunce, Bucky brought the beer bottle to his lips and, in one sip, finished what was left of his drink. He then paid the tab and was about to stand when a hand gently squeezed his shoulder, grabbing his attention.

“Sorry about that,” you said and he forced a smile.

“No need, darlin’,” Bucky reassured, hoping the tone of his voice didn’t betray him, although, judging by the elated look on your face, he had nothing to worry about. Your thoughts were focused entirely on something… else.

“I was actually just about to leave,” he added and got to his feet. “Didn’t wanna disturb your conversation.”

You furrowed your brows. “What? No, don’t go,” you implored, sliding your hand from his shoulder down his leather covered arm until your fingers reached the hem of his jacket.

Bucky held his breath as you gripped the material, the softness of your skin just barely brushing against him.

“He gave me his number so I’ll call him later if I feel like it.”

“You stay,” he demanded, “I’ll go. There is something I gotta take care of anyway and I don’t wanna ruin your evening.”

Pursing your lips together, you eyed him suspiciously, scanning every inch of his face for any tale of dishonesty. See, during the time the two of you have spent in each other's company, you have gotten quite good at reading your brooding neighbour, despite his closed off demeanour. Which is how you could clearly see there was something bothering him.

However, you have also come to learn when to stop pushing him and give him space.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky repeated and shooting you one last congenial smile, he walked towards the exit.

You watched him leave, his figure disappearing in the shadows of the rainy New York night. Inhaling a quick breath, you returned to the guy you were chatting with just moments prior, and four drinks later, you stopped thinking about Bucky.

Albeit just for the night.

The next morning you wound up at his door, as usual. When he didn’t immediately answer, you retreated back into your own apartment without giving it a second thought because it was definitely like Bucky to ignore you from time to time.

That afternoon you knocked on his door again, and you repeated the action after returning from work over the next four days — still no Bucky. And because he was also not answering his phone when you called or replied to any of your texts, the worry suddenly spread through your veins making you nauseous.

Feeling conflicted about what to do next (since it wasn’t like you knew anyone else in his life you could reach out to) you decided to distract yourself any way you knew how, hoping one day the grumpy brunette would simply show up at your door as if nothing happened.

Unfortunately for you, keeping your mind from wandering about your blue-eyed neighbour proved harder than you wanted it to be and it wasn’t until a few weeks after you last saw Bucky, the perfect distraction finally made an appearance.

You often debated adopting a pet but your landlord didn’t allow any animals which seemed like reason enough. Now, you were standing face to face with what was perhaps the most beautiful cat you had ever seen, and as you cautiously approached it, the white feline inclined towards you, allowing you to gently run your fingers through its fur and eventually pick it up.

While carrying the cat to your apartment, you researched vet clinics in the area and promptly made an appointment for that same afternoon. Turns out your new furry friend was a she and the epitome of health, making you think there was someone out there missing her immensely.

While at work, you printed out flyers with a picture you took of her and your phone number at the bottom, before dropping them around town during lunch.

For about a week, you waited. Waited for your cell to buzz but no one ever called.

“Alone together, huh…” you murmured, gently running your fingers through her soft fur, “Guess I should give you a name then. Can’t keep calling you cat, you deserve better, don’t you think?”

She purred in response, as if she understood every word you just said, and you couldn’t help but smile.

The next couple of days were spent brainstorming potential names although nothing you came up with seemed to stick because either you didn’t entirely like it or she didn’t respond to it — mostly the latter.

“You’re so stubborn,” you tittered, watching her lick her paw, “I should call you ‘Bucky’.” The name escaped your lips and you immediately froze, your mood dampening.

That night you didn’t sleep. Tossing and turning all night, thinking about the blue-eyed man for the first time since the cat has entered your life.

Stirring sugar into your coffee the following morning, Bucky still occupied your thoughts.

There was something about him you couldn’t quite shake. Despite the majority of the people in your life being there longer than your super soldier neighbour, the connection you two shared, well you couldn’t really explain it. Bucky just made you feel… different.

Frankly, you hated yourself for becoming so codependent on another human. Sure you had a good group of friends and even enjoyed the company of a couple of your colleagues, but no one meant as much to you as James Barnes.

The cat snuggled into your leg, purring softly. You tilted your head down to look at her, her blue eyes reminiscent of Bucky’s, and a defeated sigh escaped your lips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered and she blinked. For a moment you wondered if she sensed the growing sadness in your heart. You remember reading how pets can detect human emotion, which is why they provide so much comfort, but you had a hard time believing it, until now.

The corner of your mouth twitched upwards, shifting your expression into a half-smile. You were about to say something when a distinct jingle of keys drew your attention.

It couldn’t be, you thought and hastily dropped the teaspoon into the sink before heading for your front door.

At first you were almost certain you were seeing a ghost, pale and dishevelled. Then, for a brief second, you didn’t really know who you were looking at. An intruder or someone new moving in perhaps? (A lot of possibilities although you only wanted one to be true.)

It wasn’t until the person turned around, eyes meeting yours instantly, you realised it really was him.

Bucky was back. Unexpectedly. The exact same way he disappeared.

“Hey,” he greeted sheepishly.

Your first instinct was to get angry, but the longer you stared at him, heart thumping, the more you knew that wasn’t the rational thing to do. Anger wouldn’t solve anything, it wouldn’t answer any questions. And you had a lot of questions.

The next thought that ran through your mind was to throw your arms around his neck and nuzzle yourself into his embrace because you missed him goddamnit.

“I-I…”

While you debated exactly how to react and what to say to him, your furry friend squeezed between your legs. The quiet meows grabbed your attention momentarily along with the attention of the brunette man.

With a shaky hand, you lifted the cat up before meeting Bucky’s gaze once again.

“I-I got a pet,” you blurted out, immediately regretting it because what a lame thing to say to someone you genuinely thought you would never see again.

He cleared his throat and responded, “I can see that.” Pause. “What’s um, what’s his name?”

“Her name,” you corrected, “And to be honest she still doesn’t really have one. I’ve just been calling her random things to see what would suit.”

Biting on the inside of his cheek, Bucky fought back a smirk.

“That’s definitely unique,” he commented.

“Don’t tease me, James.”

Just as the two of you returned to your usual banter, silence surrounded once again when his name escaped your lips. An apologetic look spread across Bucky’s features and he took a step in your direction.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky decided quite early on into his friendship with you that he would do anything to keep you out of harm's way. When his feelings towards you transformed from general fondness into something much stronger, he decided the best way to keep the promise he made to himself would be to distance himself, (at least until said feelings faded).

He never planned on leaving. He simply wanted to make himself unavailable some evenings or weekends, come up with lame excuses as to why he couldn’t hang out. But the night Bucky left you at the bar, returning to his sad apartment alone, he switched on the TV. Suddenly, he needed to visit Sam. He figured you would understand. He never planned being away for so long. He never planned on leaving you behind without so much as an “I’ll be back”.

Looking at you now however, bottom lip quivering and tears in your eyes, he fucked up. He should have at least answered your calls and texts.

You sniffled. The cat, which was now half-resting on your shoulder, alerted immediately to the gentle sound of your undeniable sadness and rubbed its paw against your face.

“Uhm…” you cleared your throat, “I-I should go feed her.”

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded. He didn’t want you to leave yet, there was so much he had to say, a lot to explain.

“Right, of course,” he uttered almost sheepishly, “Maybe later if you have some time we can—”

“Maybe,” you cut him off and did a u-turn back into your apartment, “Welcome back, James.”

The next couple of weeks passed uneventfully.

And no, you weren’t avoiding Bucky. Not entirely. It just so happened that every time you had to leave, you did so via the fire escape as opposed to your front door, and every time you heard him out in the hallway, you switched everything off and held your breath, pretending you weren’t home.

You rationalised your behaviour as necessary. It wasn’t avoidance. It was… self preservation. He hurt your feelings when he left. You couldn’t just let him waltz back into your life as if nothing happened, opening yourself up for pain yet again.

Bucky was understanding of your unspoken request to be left the fuck alone. He knew he screwed up but he wasn’t sure how to make things better. All he wanted was to see you smile, and be the reason for it. How could the two of you get to that point when the couple of times you bumped into one another it was awkward?

Was it going to be like this forever?

Luckily, you had your cat to keep you distracted.

Despite not being named yet, she brightened your mornings and had a calming effect in the evenings. She sat at your feet while you were baking and purred into your chest when you were taking a nap. She followed you around the apartment like a trusted companion, even sitting on the bathroom floor while you showered.

So it was strange when one morning she wasn’t in your bed and it was even stranger when you didn’t hear her tapper around the apartment while you were getting ready. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of your stomach when you called her for breakfast by the various names you’ve so far come up with — no response.

By the time you had searched around your whole apartment, you were already late for work. At that point you were thinking you couldn’t go in anyway, your fucking cat was missing. One quick “I think I have food poisoning.” call later, you unlock your laptop in search for the flyers you made when you found her. Tears formed in your eyes while adjusting the title from ‘IS THIS YOUR CAT?’ to ‘HAVE YOU SEEN MY CAT?.

That’s when you knew you couldn’t do this alone.

A short two minutes later, your knuckles are pressed against the wooden door of your neighbours apartment. One, two, three gentle knocks later, and Bucky is standing in front of you.

“I need your help,” is all you managed to blurt out. It’s all you needed to say, really. Bucky doesn’t need any further explanation when it comes to you. He grabbed his jacket and followed you without question.

When you showed him the poster on your laptop screen, he reassured you in a calm tone. One that almost makes you believe him. One that almost makes you forget that he’s left you all alone, without a word. Almost.

“When did you last see her?” Bucky asked.

When you shrugged your shoulders in a defeated manner, he sighed softly and without really thinking about where your friendship currently stood, wrapped his strong arms around you. The second his frame closed around yours, you burst into tears, face pressed against his chest as he held you close, consoling you.

The world seems to come to a stand still at that moment.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stood there. Seconds, minutes. He did, however, manage to calm you down, bringing the waterfall to barely a trickle as you sniffled against his t-shirt.

When Bucky eventually dropped his arms, you avoided his gaze. Scared to admit out loud how good that felt and how glad you were he was here for you, since he’s hurt you once when you became too attached, and you weren’t going to let him do it again.

“How about you stay here, in case she comes back, and I’ll go search for her outside?” Bucky suggested, dipping his head to try and meet your teary eyes. His hand is on your shoulder, barely holding on as if he was afraid you would suddenly flinch and pull away — which he most definitely was.

All you did was nod, and as he headed out the door, a quiet “thank you” escaped your lips.

“Anything for you, darlin’.” Is what you think you heard, but the tone of Bucky’s voice is so quiet, you rationalised that you heard wrong.

The day was spent wandering aimlessly around your apartment, checking your phone every two minutes to see if Bucky had had any updates on the whereabouts of your little pet. He had not.

By the time the sky turned dusky dark, you had lost all hope. She’d never be found. It was as if the universe only meant for you to be together while Bucky was away. You couldn’t have both. That would be too good, too lucky.

But just as you were about to start crying again, a glass of cheap wine in hand, the doorknob rattled and seconds later, in walked Bucky, holding your precious feline friend in his metal arm.

“Oh my god,” you exhaled as relief took over your entire body.

You ambled forward, reaching for the cat in Bucky’s grasp as she meowed uncontrollably, seemingly happy to see you. And Bucky smiled as he watched you snuggle into the white creature, heartbeat growing tenfold with every tick of the clock.

“She uh,” he began as you moved across your apartment, settling down on the couch, “She’s quite the climber, that one. After a day of searching half of Brooklyn, I eventually found her on the rooftop of this very building.”

“Thank you,” you said without averting your gaze from your furry white friend.

What he wanted to say is, “Just glad I could be here for you,” but what he uttered instead was, “Don’t mention it, darlin’.”

For a moment, Bucky hovered in your entryway, unsure whether you wanted him to leave now or if he could stay, just like he did many times before. He decided to not push it. Decided it’s best for the longevity of your friendship to not force anything with you, especially since the strong feelings he had for you before he left have only increased in the time apart — complete opposite of what he wanted to happen.

So he turned on his heel, but just as he was about to say goodnight, you turned your attention to where he stood and waved him over.

“Stay,” you requested, “The least I can do as a thank you is order us some takeout.”

“You don’t have to do that, darlin’.”

“I want to,” you said honestly, hoping he can detect your sincerity, “Stay, please. I-I let you walk away once before and ended up not seeing you for months.”

He swallowed, but didn’t say anything.

“Please stay. I want you to stay, James.”

The morning light trickled in through your half-opened curtains, causing your eyes to open slightly and take in your usual surroundings. Except these weren’t entirely your usual surroundings. There was one thing different this Saturday morning as compared to others.

Bucky was still asleep, covered loosely by one of your many blankets. His chest heaved softly, quiet breathes escaping through his parted lips. He looked so peaceful sleeping in your bed, sleeping next to you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight before you.

You shifted to your side and slowly trailed your gaze along his pretty perfect features, focusing on the details you’ve honestly never noticed before. The scruff perfectly angling his jawline, the little crinkles in the corner of his eyes showcasing how he’s aged over the years, barely noticeable but still present.

Then the cat made an appearance, jumping on the bed, settling between you and the super soldier. Before you got a chance to shush it, not wanting to wake Bucky up, she purred against his shoulder.

A smile crept up on his features at the contact. Seconds later, he opened his eyes before slowly tilting his head to first look at the pet, then at you.

“Good mornin’.”

“Hey.”

There’s a moment of silence during which you two simply stare at one another. Time seemed to have come to a standstill. The blue of his eyes piercing, searching your gaze for what, neither of you were really sure. All you both knew was the longer you remained this way, the more your hearts swelled.

Bucky was suddenly feeling nervous, as were you.

“Thank you for staying,” you eventually whispered.

“Thank you for asking me to stay,” he replied.

Another second of silence.

There was so much Bucky wanted to tell you, but the words were stuck in his throat because how can someone go from avoiding, leaving without a word, to admitting that they cannot live without the other person. And that’s exactly how he was feeling. He’s come to terms with it now. He couldn’t live without you.

Would you even feel the same? He wouldn’t expect you to. In fact, he would think you’d want to remain a little distant given everything that’s happened. But then again, if that’s how you felt, then why would you ask him to stay?

Maybe you just needed the extra push, same as him.

“Think you should name her Alpine,” Bucky suggested, one hand rubbing the cat that was now sitting on his chest, while the other reached for your fingers. Slow, but not hesitant.

“Alpine,” you tested the name on your lips. “I like that.”

You take his hand then, intertwining your fingers together without commenting on the fact. He squeezed gently, testing the waters further, and you squeezed back — again, both of you choosing not to say anything about the physical interaction.

“Did you have any plans for today?” Bucky asked and you shook your head. “So, would you eh, would you wanna go somewhere?”

The smile on your lips widened.

“We do have a lot of catching up to do, neighbour.” A modest tease. One you hope won’t ruin the moment, or the day ahead.

He just chuckled, mimicking your expression and making any worries disappear just as fast as they threatened to break through.

“That we do, darlin’.” Pause. “I’m sorry for messing it all up. I promise to make it up to you, starting today.”

Taking his apology in, you let go of his hand, instantly missing his touch. Bucky was too, but he didn't get to completely register just how much because you shuffled closer to where he lay, closing the gap between you.

One arm extended towards his chest, resting gently as your fingers brushed a now sleeping Alpine, and also grazed against Bucky’s own in the process. The thudding of your heart inside your chest was most likely loud enough for him to hear — it was. He focused on it, the beating, and it calmed him entirely.

Your aura calmed him. It has since day one and he hoped it would until the end of his days on this Earth.

Yes, Bucky was more than attached to you.

Luckily, the feeling was mutual.

Sealed with a soft kiss.

as always, thank you so so much for reading, and please reblog to tell me what you think! <3

main masterlist

#phew— this was a LONG time coming jesus #happy reading <3 #a mutually assured attachment #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #neighbor!bucky #neighbor!bucky barnes x reader

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thetriumphantpanda · 8 months

Text

he doesn't look a thing like Jesus, but he talks like a gentleman

In The Woods Somewhere | Chapter Two

Chapter Summary | Taking safety in a cabin, you struggle to come to terms with the loss of Edward. You think back to how you got here in the first place, and finally start to open up to Joel.

Chapter Warnings | Allusions to the death of a child, canon-typical violence, mentions of religious activity and a cult, mentions of blood, consumption of food, allusions to suicide, allusions to smut but nothing explicit, soft!Joel, PTSD.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.7K

Authors Note | Truly having a whale of a time writing this one - there are definitely some darker elements to this which have actually been really exciting to try and put together. Bit of a cliffhanger at the end so I'd love to know what you guys think! If you enjoyed then please consider leaving comments, reblogging or popping into my ask box with your thoughts! And if you enjoyed, please consider supporting me with a tip through my Ko-Fi.

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Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel doesn’t sleep, despite his assurances to you. He spends the night on his back, willing his body and his brain to be quiet enough to let him rest, but it doesn’t come. All he can do is replay the way your cries sounded, the way the boy sounded as he died, and how similar it was to how Sarah had sounded, when she’d died in his arms all those years ago. He’d been as useless then as he had been now. There was nothing he could do this time apart from crowd his body around the other children so they could see as little of what was happening as possible. He can’t help but think that if his hearing had been better, his reflexes quicker, this could have been avoided.

His chest starts to tighten again, in that way it always does when he thinks about Sarah, about how he failed her, how it was his fault she died. He takes a palm and tries to smooth it over his chest, taking deep breathes to try and calm himself. The last thing he needs right now is one of his episodes. You and the children might be sleeping soundly, but he thinks that you've not really travelled far enough to be out of danger yet. Anyone could stumble upon those bodies he left behind and come searching for revenge. He needs to stay focused. He needs to keep you safe.

He gives up on getting anymore rest when the sky starts to lighten outside. He quietly moves through the cabin, opening the cupboard he’d investigated when he was here before, pulling out two tins of peach pie filling that had been gathering dust since the end of the world. It wouldn’t be the most nutritious meal anyone would eat, but it would be enough to stave off the hunger pains until he could get out and find some meat from somewhere. He’s emptying the cans into a saucepan, ready to heat them up over a fire he’s yet to build when he’s drawn from his job by the creaking sound of the door.

You’re standing, a sheepish look on your face, clearly still tired from the way you rub at your eyes. The dress you wore yesterday is clutched in your grip, stained with dry blood. You’ve changed into another dress, this one is dark brown, a little shorter than the one before, falling at the middle of your calves, the sleeves just above your elbows. He wonders for a moment why you choose to dress the way you do, when mostly everyone else he’s ever encountered in the years that followed the outbreak went for outfits that were more practical, but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes it. Like he can almost convince himself that you’re from before, that this horrible world hasn’t touched you, that you didn’t just clutch a child to your chest as he died.

“I n-need to g-get these stains o-out.” Joel can tell now that he’s looking at your face that you’ve been crying, can tell by your voice that you're still crying. Understandable he thinks, he’d been the same in those days and weeks after Sarah.

Joel gives you a small, sympathetic smile as he abandons the tins of food for his backpack. He roots around in one of the side pockets, bringing out a packet of pills, which he offers out to you. You step forward tentatively, taking the packet, with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s aspirin,” Joel speaks, “If you crush a few of those and mix in some water, it makes a paste that can get those stains out.”

You nod and Joel watches as you head outside, stopping only to pick up a glass and a spoon. He’d noticed a bucket of water, which he assumes you’ve also noticed. He watches you from the window as you kneel on the porch, spreading the dress on the floor as you make the paste just as he instructed. He’s enthralled with the way you work, rubbing the paste onto the stains, rubbing until he thinks you’ll make your hands sore, before you dip it into the bucket to clean it.

When you’re done, you hang it over the railing. The blood isn’t completely gone, it’s just a little faded, but he thinks that it’ll do until he can get you back to Jackson and trade for something new. He catches himself in his thoughts, because he’s still not convinced you’ll actually follow him. He also doesn’t know why he’s so desperate for you to do so. Maybe it’s your beautiful face, the way all he’s wanted to do since you stepped out this morning was to cup your cheek and tell you everything would be okay. Maybe it’s the way you’re clearly a capable girl, you’ve kept your children alive for this long, he’s certain if it hadn’t been for him, you’d still have all four of them, you’d be an asset to the community if you were to follow him. He tries not to be selfish in his thoughts, it's for the community he thinks, and nothing to do with the way he's intrigued by you. Wants to peel back your layers, find out who hurt you, who caused the burn mark around your throat. Then, when he knows, he wants to trail his lips across it and tell you he won't let anyone hurt you again. He softly shakes his head as you return inside, shaking away the ideas of what might be if you follow him.

“I’ll go and wake them,” You speak softly, sniffing as you do, trying to cover your tears, “They’ve never had peaches,” You muse, nodding your head to the pan he’s currently heating, “So this might be interesting.”

Joel has so many questions he wants to ask. He wants to know where the hell you’ve been that the children haven’t eaten peaches from a can. Where they just follow blindly. He’s certain that wherever you’ve been, it’s got something to do with the scars that pepper the parts of your body he can see. Someone had hurt you, clearly, and though he knows little about you apart from your name, he doesn’t understand why anyone would lay a hand on you, the sweet girl you’re proving yourself to be.

You rouse the children, letting them come out into the lounge area in their sleep clothes, something forbidden where you’d come from. It was these small things, the things you’d had in the few years growing up in a normal world, like eating breakfast in your pyjamas, that you wanted to give them.

Joel sets a small bowl of warmed peaches in front of each of them, and a larger bowl for you and him. You sit opposite him at the end of the table, the three children sitting together. They clasp their hands together and say their prayer. Joel looks at you with a raised eyebrow as if to ask, ‘what the hell are they doing?’ but you shake you head. You can’t explain it to him, to someone you don’t know.

You bring one of the warmed peach slices to your mouth, chewing it slowly. It’s so sweet and juicy but just like last night’s meal, it sits in your stomach like lead. You can’t help but focus on the chair that’s not filled. Edward is gone. He would have loved peaches, is all you can think, as your eyes fill with tears again and threaten to spill over. You set your spoon down in your bowl and fit the heels of your palms into your eyes to try and stop them, pass the tears off as some kind of allergy or ailment.

You spend a good ten minutes pushing the rest of the measly portion of peaches around the bowl. Everyone else is long finished, and you’re about to offer the rest of yours to Joel when he speaks.

“Don’t even think about it,” He warns, but it doesn’t feel dangerous, especially when you meet his eyes and they’re full of concern, “You didn’t eat last night,” He points out, “So you’re not leaving the table until you’ve finished.”

It should annoy you, the way he’s infantilizing you, but it strangely doesn’t. Perhaps all those years of having it done to you before, under the guise of it being because someone cared about you, makes it feel normal. You know he’s only doing it because he cares. Why, you can’t figure out. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like caring for your children if you were drop down dead of starvation. That must be it. So, you force yourself to eat the few slices in the bowl, no matter how much you want to throw up.

When you finally force yourself to swallow the last mouthful, Joel stands, chair scraping as he leans over to take your bowl. The children sit still as he takes theirs too, putting them into the sink to deal with later. The children are looking to you as to what to do. That’s their job, cleaning up once you’ve eaten. It always has been. They’ve never, until this moment, seen a man do anything to lift a finger to help, only to hurt. You hold up a hand to tell them not to worry, in time for Joel to turn around.

“You gonna be alright here?” He asks, “Gonna head out and see if I can find somethin’ for dinner.”

“We’ll be fine,” You assure him, “We’ve been okay before.”

He nods, “Any trouble, you use your gun, okay?” He instructs, pointing to your shotgun near the door, “I won’t go far, so I’ll hear if you shoot.”

You nod wordlessly and within a few moments, he’s gone, rifle slung over his shoulder, on the hunt. You spend the rest of the morning getting the children ready, sitting with them, attempting to try and carry on the lessons they’d always had with you, trying to keep things normal. You start with math, as you always do, and when they become restless you sit them down to read for them. Isabel has a nap in the early afternoon, Clara and Thomas opt to sit on the couch and read from one of the books you’ve already finished with them.

It's quiet, the air outside is still, so you leave them all where they are and go outside. The mound of earth where Edward’s body is buried calling to you. You sit down, knees pulled to your chest, just to the side. You put your hand on the earth, where you think his shoulder might be under all the dirt, let the earth fit between your fingers.

“I’m sorry.” You say again, just like you had yesterday, hoping that if there is a fucking God out there anywhere, that this will act as some kind of atonement, although you know there’s truly no way to atone for everything you’ve done to get here.

You stay there, rooted to the ground for what feels like hours, until you feel raindrops. You shake yourself from your daze long enough to register that you need to move, heading inside where Clara and Thomas have fallen asleep, her head rested on his shoulder. You check the bedroom; Isabel is also still fast asleep. If you were thinking about it, you probably should have woken them, knowing bedtime would be more of a challenge if they’d slept too long, but you just leave them as they are, at least if they’re asleep, they can’t look at you with sad eyes, begging to know why Edward isn’t here, why you didn’t do more, and why you’ve put your trust in a man you don’t know.

You were ten when the world imploded. You don’t remember much about it if you’re honest. You remember your father dying as he tried to get you and your mother to safety. Barreling you into his car as a rabid woman pinned him to the closed door and ripped his throat out. If you concentrate carefully, you can still hear the gurgle as he choked on his own blood, can still watch his body twitch as the life drains from him, only to be replaced with the new life of whatever those things were.

To her credit, your mother, through her tears and confusion, had stepped up, driven the car as far as she could until you ran out of gas. She was a completely different woman in those first few weeks. You didn’t really think about it until after, but she’d always been the meek kind of woman to just follow. Do as she was told. Look nice at dinner parties. That kind of woman. She’d stepped up though, gotten you both safely to the QZ in Salt Lake City, gotten you through the gates and into a home, worked as much as she could to get you as many ration cards as she could.

The glimpse of that strong woman was fleeting though. By the time you were fifteen, old enough to earn your keep alongside her, it was like a switch flicked inside her. She went back to the meek, mild-mannered woman you actually knew. When a particularly handsy FEDRA guard offered you extra ration cards to show him your tits, right in front of her, at fifteen years old, she’d shrugged it off, didn’t want to breach the peace. When the same FEDRA guard had punched you in the face a week later for refusing him again, she’d pressed a wet cloth into your hand, told you to hold it where it hurt, and said that you should give men what they wanted because it was easier, it would hurt less. Besides, it wasn’t like he wanted to fuck you, is what she’d said.

Five years later, when you were twenty, the QZ collapsed. The Fireflies took over, although seemed to only be interested in the area surrounding the hospital. The rest fell into disrepair, infected broke through unmaintained fences, and you’d had no choice but to flee. Everything you owned shoved into a single backpack. This time, it had been all you. With your mother trailing behind you, the map in your hand, you’d made it across the border into Wyoming just as winter started to take hold. You were the one who found the abandoned cabin, who had picked weapons and ammunition up on the way. You were the one who’d learnt to hunt on her own, kept you both fed. Learnt how to chop wood, set a fire, to keep you both warm.

She was the one that ruined it though. When the snows melted, and that man had come through. She’d greeted him on the porch like he was an old friend. You’d glared at him, pistol gripped in your hand in case he tried anything. He was old, or he seemed it, with his grey hair and his long grey beard. You’d thought that if he’d worn red he’d look like Father Christmas, but he was dressed in a long black coat, a white button up underneath it. He didn’t look like someone fit for survival who was just passing through, he looked like a religious man who was coming to knock on your door and tell you that The Lord would save you.

“Are you out here all alone, ladies?” He’d asked, stood at the bottom of the porch steps, entirely too close for your comfort.

You stand and speak first, because you don’t trust your mother, “We’re not alone.” She looks at you, asking through her eyes why you’re lying.

“Sure looks like you’re alone,” He comments with a smile, you know your mother will find it endearing, you just find it threatening, “Done awfully well to keep yourselves alive if you are.” Like he thinks his praise will help you trust him.

“What’s it to you?” You ask, a hand squeezing around your mother’s wrist to keep her quiet.

“Just out walking,” He shrugs, “We’ve got a little settlement, maybe two miles from here, it’s safe, like a family, we take care of each other, pool together to survive, would be a much better place for the two of you than being out here on your own.”

“We’re not on our own.” You say again.

He snorts, but smiles, you decide you already hate him, “I don’t expect you to trust me,” He speaks simply, “But at least think about it, I’ll come by in a week, give you chance to mull it over.”

Then, he’s leaving with a wave of his hand and a disgusting wink sent your mother’s way. She hadn’t spoken to him apart from to greet him, but he already knows she’s the weak one. Can sense she spent her entire life pleasing another man, doing what he said, trying not to rock the boat.

Later that night, when you’ve eaten and you’re warming yourselves in front of the fire, she finally opens her mouth to speak.

“I think we should go with him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” You scoff, “We’re not going with him.”

“He said it was safe.”

“And if he asked you to follow him into a burning building, would you do it?” You snap, “We know nothing about him, we’re not going.”

But of course, you do, in the end. The first time he comes back, you once again tell him to get lost. The second time he’s there when you come back from hunting, talking to your mother on the porch. You suspect he’s been watching you, waiting for you to leave so he can strike at the weaker person. He mutters something to you about not needing to do that anymore if you follow him, they set traps, but it doesn’t make it any more enticing to you. The third time, your mother stands with you after and says she’s leaving when he comes back, whether you go with her or not.

So you do. You do go with her. Follow steps behind her and the man who finally introduces himself as John when you decide to go back with him. To this day, you wish you’d told her to go on her own. Wish you’d saved yourself the years of suffering just to follow behind a woman you thought loved you. Because she didn’t, there’s no way she loved you with what she let happen.

You’ve been sat on the couch, staring into the fire, for what feels like hours now. Children long to bed, everything cleaned up from dinner, sat in silence, almost listening to the way those flames call to you. You want to fling yourself into them, atone for what you’ve done, what you failed to do, it’s the only way to make the ache in your chest feel better. All day you’ve avoided looking at the raised earth of Edward’s grave, but all day you’ve been reminded of his loss.

When you read to the children, there were no questions about what would happen next, no-one to gently chastise for being impatient and tell that they just need to sit and listen to find out. The lack of his rambunctious laughter when you let them play outside, chasing each other around. They’d been subdued as well, missing their friend, their brother.

Joel sits at the other end of the couch, thumbing aimlessly through the book you’d been reading from earlier. You don’t think he’s interested at all, but it’s something to do for him you suppose.

“They’re good kids,” He sighs, trying to make conversation with you, “Never really known kids so well behaved.”

“They were raised that way.” You reply simply, quietly.

“They related?” He asks, you only nod in response, he sighs again, “It get’s easier, losing them.”

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, you shake your head to try and get rid of them, but it only helps in working them from your eyes and down your cheeks. How can this get easier? Feeling like someone had cleaved your heart in two, how does that get easier?

“Maybe easier isn’t the right word,” Joel corrects himself, “But life gets easier, it takes time, and they’ll always be with you, but one day it won’t hurt at much.”

“You know a lot about it?” You almost spit at him, not really sure why you’re directing your anger to him when all he’s done is help, but he’s the only person here so he has to take the brunt of it.

“I lost my daughter,” He speaks quietly, staring into the flames just like you are, “On outbreak day, some FEDRA guard had orders to shoot on sight, we were just trying to get to safety, and he fired, shot right into her stomach and she bled out in my arms.”

The similarities between her death and Edward’s are not lost on you, can’t imagine the memories it must have dredged up for him as you screamed at Edward to stay with you, rocked his dead body in your arms whilst it covered you in blood. It makes you soften, just a little.

“I’m sorry.” You squeak, wiping at your cheeks.

“I’m sorry too,” He tries to reach out for your hand, resting on the empty couch cushion between you, but you pull your hand away into your lap before he can touch you, you can’t accept his comfort, not yet, because you know what that means, “I know it don’t make it any better, but there’s nothin’ we could have done.”

Suddenly, a sob racks through your body, shoulders shaking as you really cry this time, because he’s right. Even if you could have lifted Edward, got him back to the house, you’re not a nurse, whatever happened to him what going to happen anyway. You doubt whoever did the shooting was aiming at him anyway, an unfortunate accident, and maybe, in some sick way, you’re glad. You think of the alternative – they were aiming at you and didn’t miss and you died instead – the children, left with a man they don’t know – what would he have done? Or they were aiming at Joel – if he’d died then you’d surely have been taken, right? You and your children killed too, or forced into some kind of life of servitude, not unlike the one you’d had before. It’s sick, but maybe what happened was for the best, or at least that’s what you try and tell yourself as you try and calm the rampant sobbing from your body.

This time, when Joel tries to comfort you, dropping to his knees in front of you, you don’t stop him. He puts wide palms on your knees and squeezes to let you know he’s there whilst you try and control your breathing. You don’t want to wake the children up. It’s no use though, no matter what you do, you can’t calm yourself down – not even Joel’s warm touch, stranger though he is, can help.

“H-He…” You try and choke out, maybe the truth will help ease the pain, maybe this man in front of you can fix you if he knows the truth, “He w-was…” Another sob, another squeeze of Joel’s hands on your knees, “He was m-mine,” You cry out, “Edward w-was my b-baby.”

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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

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vi. would you give the devil this dance

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: blood, wounds, violence mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: a smaller chapter before we start really getting into the relationship-y bits! prev | next

You don’t sleep.

You try, force your eyes shut and block out the rattling of your motel’s partially broken a/c to no avail. After hours of tossing and turning and endless frustration, you almost feel it, eyes slipping shut just enough to let your body finally relax.

A bloody and beaten man groans in the chair he’s tied to.

Blue eyes burning with anger and authority and unmistakable desire stare directly into your own.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

Your eyes snap open as you cover your face with your spare pillow, letting out a scream of frustration into the pillowcase.

You don’t know what happened after that, what became of the man who had touched you.

(Unable to move, Price’s eyes staring so intensely into yours, you stood frozen in the doorway. He broke away first, releasing the beaten man’s hair. The man’s head drops to his chest as Price turns his back, casually flicking the blood from his hands.

The moment gone, you hurriedly stepped back from the door, rushing towards the front of the club with no other thoughts than to escape. You had all but burst out of the club, gulping down breaths of the crisp night air. Alejandro hadn’t questioned you but stuck close by as he walked you to your car. You thanked him, quiet and distracted, before getting in your car.

You barely remember the drive back to your motel, barely remember getting ready for bed, your mind swirling with the same thought.

Blood and blue eyes.)

You’ve been plagued the entire night, unable to sort your feelings for what you’ve seen.

This shouldn’t surprise you—it doesn’t surprise you. You know what kind of place the club is, what kind of people run it. You know what kind of man your boss is; you’ve heard enough stories to know better than to think he and those who work for him aren’t dangerous.

It’s harder to remember when you’re laughing with Soap and Alex.

Or singing with Farah.

…Or flirting with Price.

Men like that think everything belongs to them, your father once spat.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

Fear and desire swirl through your body, heart hammering against your chest.

The pillow sails across the room as you hurl it with a frustrated yell.

You should’ve learned this lesson already. Because of that lesson, you’re stuck in this shitty motel room, lying on a shitty mattress, staring up at a shitty ceiling.

But this is a different situation…isn’t it?

Yes, Price is dangerous—the entire 141 is dangerous—but you’ve been surrounded by dangerous people your whole life. Why should you be more cautious with them than you had been with anyone else? They’ve been kind, if understandably wary, to you, never once prying or trying to smother you with overly-friendly gestures.

They’ve been far more honest about how they feel about you than—

You sit up, drawing your knees up to your chest.

You’ve always been guarded—a trait your father would constantly remind you was one of the few that would help you survive in this kind of life. You understood why, kept a healthy skepticism when interacting with those around you, but deep down, you feared ending up as alone and paranoid as he was.

You couldn’t help it, needing more than yourself toward the end of his years, and you let that guard down just enough to build yourself a support network of people you thought you could trust.

For a time, things seemed to work.

Until they didn’t.

Your father’s voice echoed in your head for so many years after his passing: I told you so. I told you so. I told you so.

You had let your guard down, and here you are, reaping the consequences.

Now, you know better.

But you think back to Kyle’s bright smile, Roach’s endless excitement, Valeria’s smug protectiveness.

Price’s blue eyes.

Despite every instinct, you trust them. Maybe not with your life—not yet—but far more than anyone else you’ve known. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have stayed here as long as you have.

You wouldn’t have considered staying longer.

You don’t have to pour your heart out, but…they didn’t deserve to be judged based on someone else’s actions.

Maybe—

Light hits your eyes, and you squeeze them shut, flopping back on your bed. You blink, trying to let them adjust as you see the soft rays of the sun’s morning light slowly creeping into the room.

“Not like I needed the sleep anyways,” you sigh, more sadness than sarcasm.

You let yourself lie there for another half hour, not trying to sleep but not letting your mind wander anymore.

When the alarm on your phone goes off, you shut it off within seconds, heading straight for the shower with no second thoughts.

You take your time getting ready, heading to your car a little later than usual. The drive is quick, but you spend a few extra minutes in your car after you’ve parked. You stare into the rearview mirror, eyes glued to the reflection of the duffle bag sitting in your backseat.

One day.

You tuck the duffle bag down onto the floorboards before locking your car—twice, and then a third time—and heading inside.

“Alex, you think I can get a hot tea this earl—” You freeze as soon as you reach the bar, staring blankly at the man, who is definitely not Alex standing behind the bar.

“What kind do you like?” Price smirks.

Your breath catches, heart nearly skipping a beat.

Cold, blue eyes.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

A shiver runs down your spine and settles dangerously low in the pit of your belly.

“You’re not Alex,” your mouth says before your brain can catch up. Price laughs, an actual, slightly surprised, laugh.

“No, I’m not. Though, this wouldn’t be the first time someone’s confused us for one another.” He winks at you, and you curse the sudden weakness in your knees.

You climb the stairs, watching him as he returns to what he’d been doing before you arrived: piling ice cubes onto a dishrag. You hold your questions, taking a seat on the barstool right in front of him as he wraps the rag around the ice, tightly tying it closed.

Don’t stare at his hands. Don’t stare at his hands. Don’t stare at his strong, warm—

“You know you own the club, right? You don’t have to steal ice.”

Good. Deflect with humor.

“Is it stealing if I already own it?” Price counters with a small quirk of his brow. You shrug, but before you can answer, he holds up his right hand to show you the absolutely battered state of his knuckles.

Swollen and red, a few split open and scabbed, you grimace at the sight.

“Trying to get the swelling down,” Price explains with a sigh, setting his hand flat on the bar top and placing the makeshift icepack onto his knuckles with a soft hiss.

“You didn’t have Rudy take a look?” you ask, forcing down any nerves and keeping your eyes trained on the icepack.

“I will when he comes in.”

“How long will that be?” You chance a glance up at his face, raising a brow toward him. It’s his turn to avoid your gaze as the silence that stretches gives you your answer.

You don’t have to pour your heart out.

But you can start with the little things.

“Alex keeps a first-aid kit back there somewhere,” you sigh, standing so you can lean over the bar and look behind it. “It should be in one of those cabinets.” You nod your head toward one of the cabinets under the shelf of clean glasses.

“And?” Price watches you curiously, head tilted in confusion.

“And I can’t help you with…that—” you gesture to his hand, “—if you don’t get it.”

He doesn’t move, staring down at you with his brows knitted together as you stare right back. A beat of silence passes before he huffs a laugh and heads for the cabinet.

You settle back onto your seat as he returns, sliding the kit across the bar to you. You pull what you need, making a mental note to text Alex—or Man of Steel as Soap’s renamed him in your phone—and let him know you’ve used his stuff.

“Let me see your hand,” you say firmly, not commanding but leaving no room for argument. Price obeys, leaning forward against the bar and holding his hand out in front of you. You take his hand in yours, carefully pulling it closer so you can get a better look.

How is he so warm?

You push back that annoying little voice, focusing on your task instead. You let go of him—your hand suddenly so much colder—tearing open an alcohol pad and unfolding it.

“This might sting,” you warn, grabbing his hand again.

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

You give a quiet hum and start with the worst-looking knuckle. You can feel him tense, fingers twitching ever-so-slightly against your wrist, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make a single sound, simply watches you work to clean his wounds. Eventually, the pain melds into numbness and his fingers settle against the skin of his wrists, resting gently over your pulse.

You try to finish before he can feel how quickly your heart is beating. You pull away as soon as you’re done, but his hand stays in place; his fingertips trailing from your wrist to your palm. You try not to think about it or the way he’s just staring at you as you unravel a roll of gauze.

You barely start wrapping his hand when he finally speaks, “You’re not going to ask how it happened?”

Your hand stutters briefly as you wind the gauze around him.

The man’s head lolls, nose crooked beyond repair, blood spilling endlessly from his mouth.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

You look up at him, those blue eyes no longer cold but something kind and curious. You turn your gaze down, back to his hand, and with your voice barely above a whisper, you answer, “I know how it happened.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

You don’t elaborate and he doesn’t press.

“Do I scare you?”

“No,” you answer honestly. You pause your bandaging, leaning back to look him square in the eyes. “Should I be scared?”

His face softens into something you only have distant memories of. Something gentle and long gone that makes your heart clench with a dangerous fondness.

“No,” he says, hand settling into yours as his fingers carefully and slowly wrap around your wrist. You nod, waiting a moment before pulling your hand out of his grasp. He lets you go without objection, and you return to wrapping his hand.

Neither of you speaks as you finish your bandaging. You pack up the first-aid kit while he flexes and wiggles his fingers, letting out a satisfied hum.

“What did you do with him?” you ask softly. “After, I mean.”

Price glances over to you, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You don’t think I killed him?”

He's joking now, but you wouldn't put it past him.

“Did you?”

“No,” he chuckles, leaning on his elbows and clasping his hands together. “Nik dropped him off near another club, and the police received an anonymous tip about a man who’d been mugged.”

“You don’t think he’ll tell them who did it?”

“Not if his parents want to stay in business,” Price says with a casual shrug.

“Did you…” You take a moment to consider your words. “Do you know him? Do you know his family?”

“I know everyone.”

Of course, he does.

“Should’ve kept him overnight. Doubt his parents would’ve minded,” Price mutters, the disdain clear in his voice.

“Why?” you ask, leaning on your elbow and setting your chin in your palm.

Price tilts his head, brow raised at you, “Why keep him?”

“Why do it at all?” you explain. “König and Ghost seemed to have it handled.”

Price considers for a minute, thumb absentmindedly picking at the fresh bandages on his other hand. When he seemingly has his answer, he meets your eyes, that same softness in his face laced with something much more dangerous.

He leans forward, leaving only a few inches of space between you. “Think you already know the answer to that, love.”

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

You let the statement sink in, taking in his rich scent and the ocean blue of his eyes. You don’t know if what you feel is anything more than want and desire, but would that be so bad? Why deny yourself this chance for fun or the opportunity for something more?

You can’t let yourself be haunted by your past forever, and, unsure as you are, you know one thing to be true:

You’ve never felt safer than you do around him.

You smile, somewhat genuine and mostly teasing, leaning in just a bit closer.

“Maybe I do,” you purr, watching his eyes drop to your lips. You linger for a second before pulling back entirely. “Or maybe I don’t. I wouldn’t mind an extra clue or two.”

You wink at him, watching the soft fondness in his face turn to a heated gaze as he watches you stand from the barstool. He gives you a slow once-over and rasps, “Could give you one right now.”

“Maybe another time,” you laugh, heat flooding your cheeks and sliding down to pool in your lower belly. “Some of us have work to do.”

“Later then?” he calls as you begin making your way down the steps, “Wish you luck before your show tonight.”

You laugh, throwing a playful wink over your shoulder, “Why don’t you surprise me?”

“Whatever the lady wants.”

Oh, does she want.

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush,@aerangi, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @warners-wife, @xx4rcticxx, @mundane-frogola, @marytvirgin, @nyooom, @gogh-with-the-flow, @arctic-writes, @thriving-n-jiving, @deadpoetsandhoney, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @blurpleuni-squid, @dead-noodles, @urfavsunkissedleo, @tapioca-marzipan, @averyyreads, @sourire-acide

#captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes

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aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 4 months

Text

Family in hell | Dad!Chishiya x Mom!Reader + Platonic!Son

Warnings: AU - Dad!Chishiya - Mom!Reader - Mentions of pregnancy - Canon typical violence - MDI - +18

Chishiya would blame god if he ever believed in one to start with. He really saw no reason for his family to be in a place like this.

He on other hand...well he knew he was not perfect and had lots of problems when it came down to emotions and being social with others, not caring for the rest was his way of living.

"Dad?"

Till his son came to the world.

Truly, he was an accident. Chishiya never planned to get you pregnant and your relationship had started as only a sexual one. But later he found himself falling harder for you.

And since he sucked at showing feelings his way was to have even more sex with you. So maybe that did the trick and ended with you pregnant of him.

In that moment he was happy, for the first time in years he was so happy to have a family, even if it came at some of the worse times possible with him still in college.

Oh, If only he had know these were not going to be the worse times.

This place, whatever it was, this was the worse.

It was hell.

Chishiya had decided he would use anyone and everything to keep both of you safe.

"Sasaki, he is sleeping love, the day was long, why dont we go get him some food?" You gentle voice could be hear in the dak room.

It had been a hard day indeed. Chishiya almost lost his son because of a stupid player and then you got a nasty burn protecting him.

He had took you back to the beach and making sure your wound was not severe. He had to calm his crying son, Sasaki was young and intelligent but he was still a kid who loved his parents, crying was not something he would not do.

Completly different from Chishiya.

When the hard truth of this place has hit him, Chishiya explained to his young kid how the "games" needed to be winned no matter what.

"But cant we all win?"

These were his words at first, he had got your kind nature.

"Not here. Do you remember Hajime?" His kid nodded at the mention of his school bully "He was always mean right? And wanted to win everytime, well now I need you to do the same"

"You only have to do this for a short time, your dad and I will be taking care of the rest" You added ruffling his hair.

The memory faded away as he hear the door Open and only one pair of steps.

"Where is he?" Chishiya asked turning around to see you with some fruits.

"He is fine and safe, Kuina took him to the small pool and she will make sure no one comes close to him"

Chishiya nodded, taking the appel you had brought back.

"We need to leave this place, I dont trust it will support itself much longer"

"Chishiya, Hatter knows what he is doing" You said taking a seat besides him.

"Does he? Do I need to remind you we had to specially ask that he would let the three of us go together? He is giving this people fake hope, and thats dangerous"

His words were true, part of you did not want to believe it. The beach was a safe heaven at first, having a bed to come after the games, food...but it was too good to be true. The place has its dark side and you knew they could use your son to get Chishiya.

"I know, but we need to be carefull. You need to tell me your plan"

"No. You and Sasaki Will have to act as if you two never had any type of information. If someone goes down it wont you or him, and trust me it wont be me either" Chishiya assured you kissing the top of your head. "Today I almost lost him and you, I wont let that happen again, I promise"

The door opened again a nervous Kuina appearing and your son running into the room with the biggest smile.

"Mom! Dad! Look" Sasaki said pointing at one animal made by balloons "A guy made me this!! And he asked if you two would go to the bar but I dont know what that is, oh!! And then I-"

"Sorry" Kuina whispers to you "the guy was Tatta, he is good. But I tought it would be better if he is with his parents"

"Thank you Kuina" you responded smiling then looking at how Chishiya was nodding as your kid told him about this animal and its name. It was the most sincere smile he has ever made.

"I will go now, if you two want some...alone time let me know, I love taking care of him" Kuina said giving you a wink then leaving.

"Dad, will we go back to the Real world?" Sasaki asked making Chishiya freez.

"I dont know Son, but what I do know its that your mom and you are the most important things to me and nothing Will change it"

"And I love you and mom too!! I Will fight for you Dad, mom will be safe"

You had to turn your face to not let him see your tears. He was so inoccent and sweet, truly not made for here.

Chishiya pulled you and your kid for a family hug, with how things had been and how things could get he had learn this was the best moment he could have.

And he swears, more times like this one will come. Because no one matters besides his family.

#aib imagine #aib imagines #alice in borderland x reader #chishiya x reader

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

Note

I know i request alot but i love your writing smmm

Do u mind if u r comie with writing law’s reaction if he thought his girlfriend was cheating on him?like his reaction and if he confronts or not

Emphasize on thought (she didn't cheat he misunderstood)

Stay safe aurhor chan 🖤

Hiya bb, no worries!! I'm glad that you like my writing!! And you stay safe too!! But I also hope this is to your liking!!

[Heads up!: mention of hypothetical infidelity but isn't really abt that, Law is just an anxious babe, insecurity, a lil angst, afab!reader]

"Are you excited about going home?"

You shrug, trying to play off the rise of nervouse excitement that swells in your chest as you answer Penguin. "A little, it's been ages so I'm not sure anyone's going to remember me."

"I'm sure they will," Penguin reassures you and you beam, though it dims a little as you're abruptly reminded of someone who had not shared your enthusiasm about stopping for supplies at your home island.

Law is never particularly enthusiastic about anything, but the soft smile he'd worn at the start of your excited ramble about where Bepo said you were heading had disappeared at a record rate. By the time you were done, his answers had gone to a measure of about two words if you were lucky, and you'd finally given up, heart sinking.

You don't know what the problem is. It's not as though you're planning on leaving the Heart Pirates, planning on leaving him ㅡ you would never. Though you've missed the comforts that always come with the thoughts of home, you're not about to abandon the home that you have now.

ㅡ

Law is afraid that you'll leave.

He doesn't know where the fear has come from given that it's baseless, but the enthusiasm and soft-expressioned way you describe your home island only furthers that creeping feeling until he's trying hard not to think about.

And truth be told, he wouldn't blame you if you did. Being a pirate is dangerous, especially when the bounty only continues to grow ㅡ and though he absolutely tries, he knows he can't promise your safety all the time.

You deserve stability and safety, a future that you can look to and find strong foundation in. You deserve more than what he can give you.

And though it hurts to think about the idea of losing you, Law tells himself that he'll support your decision, no matter what it may be.

ㅡ

To your surprise, there's more than a few people who recognize you, waving and offering greetings.

"Look at you, a genuine pirate now!"

"Staying out of trouble, right? Don't wanna see that pretty face on a Wanted poster!"

Law watches the way you interact with them and chastises himself for getting too into his worries of you wanting to stay here. It's clear that you miss it, but you never stray far from the small group that you've lead to gather supplies.

That is until there's a call of your name and Law looks over to find it to be an unfamilar man, perhaps a year or two younger than himself. He opens his arms, and jealousy rears its ugly green head in Law's chest when you dart forward to throw yourself into him.

He spins you, earning a shriek of delight from you before he sets you down. What he says next is inaudible, but he talks for several moments before your expression shifts to an unreadable one.

"Hey guys," you call, "canㅡcan you finish up without me? I'll meet you in a little bit, I just need to go do something."

There's varying murmurs of agreement, but something ugly blossoms in Law's stomach at the way your hand curls around the newcomer's.

ㅡ

When sunset rolls around and you still haven't come back to the Polar Tang, the ugly thing has curled claws deep into him and sewn its seeds of dissent.

Law knows you would never cheat on him, he knows ㅡ but the familiarity with which you'd treated the other man makes him wonder if you'd be happier with him rather than Law.

Again, if you'd be happier here.

Staring out at the town, it takes him a minute to register that the form growing closer is you, heart giving an uneasy lurch when he sees you lift an arm to your face. Had that other man hurt you?

A quiet "shambles" has him just a few feet from you now and you jolt, startled. "Law?"

"You've been crying," Law points out instead, the tear tracks that glisten on your cheeks. "Did that guyㅡ"

"He didn't do anything," you say, sweeping a hand over both your eyes to rid yourself of remnants. "He went with me to see my parents' graves. He's pretty much been my big brother since I was little, so he said he told everyone else that he wanted to be the one to tell me they'd passed."

Oh.

Law feels awful. He'd been worrying about you cheating on him, leaving him ㅡ and you hadn't been doing either. How could he think so little of you?

He steps closer, tugging you into his arms, heart aching at the muffled hiccup. He doesn't need to ask if you're okay when you're clearly not ㅡ and he feels even worse for the brief flare of satisfaction that you cling to him, fingers curled into his jacket.

"Sorry for worrying you," you mumble softly, "Should've come back sooner."

"Don't apologize." He pauses. "...it's me who should be doing that." When you pull away to look up at him, he looks away. "...I was worried you'd want to stay here. It's safer here, and you could find someone to give you what you deserve. Things I don't know if I can."

You stare blankly as you register his words, and he absolutely loathes the renewed shine of tears in your eyes. "Leave the Heart Pirates? The Polar Tang? You? Trafalgar Law, I would never."

He flinches at the usage of his full name, watching as you sniffle. "You owe me for making me cry again, idiot."

The uneasy tension in his chest starts to let up. "I do," he says. "I'll do anything you want me to."

You take the half-step needed to press your face back into his chest, your voice mumbled. "Can you shambles us back onto the ship? I'm tired and I wanna go home. My real home."

Relief floods his veins at your reassurance that you aren't going anywhere anytime soon, that he has nothing to worry about. That you're his as much as he's yours.

"Yeah," he answers. "Let's go home."

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #ㅡanswered.#–ml: law.

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paintingwhiteceilings · 9 months

Text

❃Seventeen’s chances of surviving a zombie apocalypse❃

a/n: soooo I wrote this for EXO and thought, well, why not do the same for svt. Anyway, enjoy!

Scoups/Seungcheol: 8/10

❀ The fists are up and he is ready to fight anyone or anything that gets too close. His physical strength will definitely get him far. At the same time, this man is also a bit, just a bit, of a scaredy-cat when it comes to horror stuff (remember him and DK in the haunted house?). In this case, it might actually help him out, keeping him on his toes constantly.

❀ He is super competitive too. If anyone lets it slip that he might not survive the apocalypse, he will make it his sole goal in life to out-apocalypse everyone around him.

❀ Then again, as the members like to remind him, he is not the youngest and perhaps doesn’t have the best endurance any more. He needs to sit down every now and then, leaving him prone to zombies.

❀ He will definitely be complaining the entire time. Somehow, he manages to make his situation sound much worse than it really is.

Jeonghan: 9/10

❀ Nothing really phases him, I feel like Jeonghan has maxed out all his stats and has, consequently, become unstoppable. He is an absolute ace and makes everyone wonder whether he was born to be in a zombie apocalypse.

❀ The only reason I am docking a point is due to this man’s constant exhaustion and love for sleep. His main motto is “Better be lazy than tired” so I wouldn’t be surprised at Jeonghan trying to find ways to shortcut the most basic of tasks. There is a slight, very tiny, chance for his master-mind plans to go awry.

❀ Once he finds himself in a dangerous situation or on the brink of being eaten, he will simply give up. Maybe life is truly easier as a zombie. At least he won’t have to constantly be on the run.

❀ Still, Jeonghan will be going through this apocalypse in the most efficient way possible, trying to find any loopholes to make his life easier and preserving his energy for those moments when he truly needs it.

Joshua 5/10

❀ Honestly, Joshua is such a wild card. He would definitely try to employ the “they can’t predict what I am doing if I don’t know what I am doing” tactic. Joshua becomes the definition of “can’t let them know your next move.”

❀ It would work half of the time. Either the zombies get so confused that he catches them off guard, or all he did was inconvenience himself further.

❀ Like, what if, instead of running away from the zombies, he would run towards them? The zombies would definitely not be expecting it but it would make it easier for them to, you know, kill him.

❀ His ideas are borderline insane, and nobody can really tell whether it is due to the apocalypse or because he is Joshua, having always been slightly out of his mind. He will definitely get someone else accidentally killed by suggesting a crazy plan. My money is on Hoshi.

Jun 4/10

❀ The reason this man has any chance of survival is because Seventeen treats him like a maknae. I am pretty sure they would sacrifice anyone and anything to keep him alive, and he kind of needs it.

❀ Jun isn’t particularly known for his amazing talent at sports. He always gets picked last in any GoSe episode containing physical games which makes his odds of surviving not too great. Like yeah, sure, he is ripped and probably has amazing endurance, but ask him to throw anything and he will miss.

❀ He is also unpredictable and doesn’t really listen to the others. They will tell him not to touch the zombies and he will see it as a challenge, “I can touch a zombie if I want to!”

❀ 10000000% the type to try and communicate with the zombies. He is convinced that if he can learn Korean, he can also learn zombie and ask them if they can become friends.

❀ (Maybe slightly unrelated, but he would be an amazing person to have around for emotional support. He would be great at comforting those feeling pessimistic, scared or upset.)

Hoshi/Soonyoung: -100000/10 or 100000/10

❀ It can go two ways with Hoshi. Either he hides somewhere and vanishes from the universe until the apocalypse has ended or he gets himself killed within the first day.

❀ Hoshi has proven that if he doesn’t want to be found, you won’t find him. Somehow, this energetic mess of a Gemini is able to turn invisible when he wants to. Depending on how bored he gets, he might be able to stick it out until the apocalypse has ended.

❀ If he doesn’t hide, he is as good as dead. He has the dangerous combination of not being scared of zombies and zero impulse control. He will be trying something stupid without a second thought and would get himself killed.

❀ He growls at the zombies because surely, they would be intimidated by him. He is a tiger, after all.

❀ His members are seriously considering putting a leash on him so that he can’t constantly run off doing god knows what. He just really hates sitting still, let him go risk his life getting provisions.

❀ Honestly, the main reason why Hoshi won’t survive for long is because he would do another impression of Seungkwan, resulting in Seungkwan ‘accidentally’ kicking him into a hoard of zombies.

Wonwoo: 10/10

❀ He has played enough games and watched enough Netflix to know what to do in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Wonwoo is prepared, well-read and ready to go. He will be the smart one that tries to find out what makes the zombies tick, taking notes on their behaviours and potential weaknesses.

❀ Wonwoo is, furthermore, so incredibly athletic. He can outrun the zombies with ease, not even breaking a sweat when he does.

❀ He also seems to possess brain cells compared to some of the members and a dose of common sense. I know that there is no normal one in Seventeen but he seems to put a lot of thought in his decision-making and seems less inclined to listen to his intrusive thoughts.

❀ Wonwoo could survive on his own, his introverted side ensuring that he doesn’t really feel the need to seek out others and depend on them. The only reason he sticks around the other members is for the drama. He loves watching the others bicker for hours, eating his popcorn as he lurks in the nearby shadows.

Woozi/Jihoon: ∞/10

❀ He has no idea that there is a zombie apocalypse going on because he hasn’t really gone outside since it started. Yeah sure, the gym he frequents has been really quiet as of late, but that is an absolute win in his book and he is not to going to jinx it by mentioning it.

❀ The world could literally be ending on the other side of his window, and this man would think that the sirens would make for an awesome sample for his song. What do you mean, sirens mean that something is going on outside?

❀ It doesn’t even matter if the other members come to check up on him or try to convince him to leave the studio, informing him the world is ending. “What do you mean it is dangerous outside, it always is dangerous outside.”

❀ He will simply survive the entire apocalypse because he had no awareness of it and it had no awareness of him. Woozi is on another level entirely.

DK/Seokmin: -1000/10

❀ An absolute mess. Somewhere laying on the ground in the feudal position up for grabs.

❀ He has been screaming since it started. The joke is on him, though. His screaming is precisely what alerts the zombies to his location and he is completely unaware of it. He finds himself in a vicious cycle where he sees a zombie, screams, more zombies appear, screams more, etc.

❀ He is ruled by his fear, trying his hardest not to be scared, but is in dire need of a hug. He needs the other members to comfort him and take the initiative because he is too scared to really do anything. He will definitely get someone else to go first; what do you mean you want him to go into that dark alleyway???

❀ He would not be able to respond well to finding himself cornered by zombies. Rather than fighting back or trying to come up with a plan, DK would most definitely just scream at them to get back and freeze.

Mingyu 1/10

❀ Technically, Mingyu should be able to survive. He is an excellent cook and can whip up any dish as long as you give him some ingredients. Also, as we have all seen, this man is mostly muscle. He should be able to hold his own in a physical fight.

❀ Not to mention that Mingyu is ridiculously smart. He can come up with a decent plan and have it work out.

❀ But his downfall is, well, literally, him falling down. He is clumsy; he will either accidentally drop something that is important to their survival and break it, or run into a tree as he is trying to make his escape.

❀ He is also not the best when it comes to the scary stuff (though I feel like he did pretty well in GoSe Ego). What do you mean he has to jump down from that ledge in order to escape the zombies? No thank you. Go into that abandoned supermarket, potentially running into zombies because he has run out of food? He would rather starve.

❀ They kind of need to keep him alive to keep Seungkwan from murdering half of the group.

The8/Minghao: 10000/10

❀ He is not scared of the zombies, the zombies are scared of him. They have interrupted his meditation sessions and are now regretting awakening his anger issues. He hasn’t been chill since the apocalypse started, and is now on a path of vengeance against those who disrupted his meditation.

❀ I know that Vicious Mockery is a D&D spell and, you know, magic, but he would be the one to make it a reality. He is able to emotionally damage the zombies, giving him the ability to attack from afar. As an added bonus, they would become more and more reluctant to get close, afraid to get roasted.

❀ Considering that he is great at martial art, Minghao can beat them up physically if they make the poor decision to get up in his personal space. So yeah, the zombies have learned to avoid him at all costs.

❀ The only thing that could potentially stop his destruction of zombies is the ethics and morals of beating them up. He might get into a debate with Vernon about whether their remaining humanity makes it unethical to hurt them, and ultimately decides that it is bad for his karma to continue his act of wrath.

Seungkwan: 5/10

❀ Initially, Seungkwan is so scared of them, he won’t get close enough to get killed. He is constantly nagging the zombies from a safe distance, warning them to stay away. All it does is make the zombies more determined to kill him. He keeps asking them to stop, but apparently, the tone he uses is important or something because they keep getting offended.

❀ Honestly, without Seungkwan’s constant nagging, half of the group would be acting on their insane and idiotic ideas. Then again, he would also be the one to ‘accidentally’ sacrifice some of the members when they inevitably get on his nerves.

❀ He would be ready to throw hands if you get him mad enough, forgetting he was scared in the first place. However, where Minghao’s anger issues result in a skilled display of violence, Seungkwan is ready to attack without much thought, considering the consequences later, hence disregarding his own safety in a fight.

❀ Regardless, Seungkwan will go out in a fire of rage, taking an absurd amount of zombies with him as he goes. It is glorious and cinema worthy.

Vernon: ?/10

❀ He is a npc so he can’t die. That is definitely how that works. Vernon is simply a part of the environment, don’t mind him. The zombies don’t recognize him as someone they can eat because they somehow believe him to be a non-interactable object straight out of a game.

❀ That being said, similarly to Jun, he hasn’t been particularly blessed with amazing motoric skills. I don’t think I have ever seen Vernon properly run, I feel like rather than running he would try to out-speed walk the zombies. Do not expect him to fight, he will try the bare minimum, and even that is too much to ask.

❀ Then again, he has consumed so many films and tv shows that he does have a massive mental archive of everything that has been produced about zombies from which he can draw whenever he finds himself in a pickle. Is fiction reality? No. Is it useful regardless? Yes.

❀ Considering he is Seventeen’s other favourite child, they will try their best to keep him alive. He has them all wrapped around his finger. One little whine and they will bend over backwards to help him with whatever he needs/wants.

Dino/Chan: -1000000000/10

❀ He is trying his best. If it wasn’t for the others, he would have a decent chance at making it out alive. He is fit, motivated and confident about his own capabilities without being overconfident. On his own, he would be determined to see the apocalypse through.

❀ Pair him up with Wonwoo and nothing can get him killed. Wonwoo will keep his Dino alive even if it costs him his own life.

❀ That being said, the members would get him 1000% killed. They won’t let him breathe for a second and he has to constantly watch his back. They love him, sure, but they also think his shrieks of panic as they ‘accidentally’ lock him in a room with a zombie are hilarious.

❀ Against all of them, he truly doesn’t stand a chance. They don’t really want to get him killed but they make staying alive arguably much more difficult for him than it needs to be.

❀ At this point, he might simply give up and switch teams. He can get revenge on them by turning into a zombie, finally having the last laugh as he munches on their brains.

masterlist

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queenwille · 20 days

Note

are you pro-israel/anti-palestine?

hi, first, i appreciate you asking very politely and not assuming things.

i’ll say i’m a zionist, which isn’t an offensive word. i believe in the right of the jewish people for self determination in the form of a jewish state in the land of israel, the promised land of the jewish people.

i find calling israel, the only jewish state in a sea of muslim/christian states, an “ethostate” and mocking the jews for feeling the need in one, as very antisemitic rude and offensive. that goes without mentioning how ignorant and rude it is to claim all jews are white europeans. literally cancelling the whole rich history of the jewish people in the arab countries (which they were mostly chased out of as well).

the need to live within your given or chosen community is such a natural thing, even animals do it. for some reason, when it comes to israel and the jews, it’s wrong. before anyone starts, please let me remind you that within this very large jewish community, there are 2.5 million arabs (mostly muslim, some christian). they share equal rights, a citizenship and an israeli ID/passport. yes, even the sister of the top hamas man (who was arrested this week for having documents and money linked to hamas, a terror organization).

that being said, i am in no shape or form, nor never was i, anti palestine. i think it’s just not as simple as some people who joined the hot trend across the world see it. the state of palestine was never established for many reasons that don’t involve the jewish people. i do mean this when i say i do wish the palestinian people a safe and established land, but it’s simply not that easy. it really isn’t no israel=yes palestine. they have so many other needs other than demolishing the land of israel. their inner conflicts are very much alive to this day (google fatah/hamas conflict), their lack of actual support from neighboring countries and other reasons they have there. they’re really not at a good starting point, but no one ever talks of that. it’s just easier to masturbate to the idea that protesting in favor of demolishing israel and sending +-7,000,000 jews to fuck knows where will be enough.

let me make it clear, the fact that civilians are being killed and hurt breaks my heart. i say this knowing fully well that many took part in the oct7 massacre. generations, on both sides, being brought up with nothing but hate and fear of each other boiled up to this disaster. which is why i find the whole western pro pal movement, spreading fake news and hate and deepening the conflict, as not just offensive, but also very dangerous. for both sides (+diaspora jews). calling hamas freedom fighters and not the terror organization that they are is as dangerous to the palestinians as as it is dangerous to israelis/jews. they are given actual legitimacy for actions that are considered extremist and terror on an international level. yes, they do hide in UN protected facilities, using inocentes as human shields. and when we say the west is next, it’s not just a spicy slogan, it’s not really about the jews, but the western culture.

i am very angry of the way the hostages are being ignored or bluntly canceled (ripping off their posters everywhere). it’s hypocritical and very upsetting. i will also mention that i seriously don’t appreciate using the jewish holocaust and appropriating it’s terms and the well known generational jewish trauma and mocking it.

lastly, i would like to mention that a lot of what’s happening right now around the world just proves the need in a jewish state. being close with an army that’s main goal is protecting its people literally feels safer for jews even under missiles and terror attacks. let me inform you that the main reason that israeli casualties are lower, is the invention of the Iron Dome, operated by the IDF. It has saved thousands of civilian lives since it’s first use. no, it wasn’t hamas’ more humane ways or idk what i read. israel literally spends every last dime to keep it’s people safe, while hamas won’t even let the palestinian people have a safe hospital. instead of mocking our worries and constant feeling of being persecuted and in danger, to the point that a jewish state feels like a life or death matter, maybe try to think what you can do to change that. saying we’re delusional or closing mouths when we claim for antisemitism isn’t helping, and it sure isn’t what’s currently happening in the world and social media.

again, thanks for asking. i have so much more to say and that’s before actually going into current antisemitism or even into october 7th, i just think i’ll stop here for now. i hope this somewhat answers your question.

#ask #anon #israel #also treating many commonly used hebrew words linked to jewish culture #as sweat words or in a mocking way #DONT GET ME STARTED #jumblr #*swear lol

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valaruakars · 1 year

Text

Let's Get Physical (Part 7)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6.3k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW

Bitches hate you for your overzealous approach to supporting your friends and deeply anxious behavior. Viktor is not bitches.

A/N: Omg. We're here. We're back on our bullshit. Thank you to everyone who beta'd and/or provided me free therapy about this for that past um... seven months. Oops. Thank you to everyone who reached out over the (unintentional) hiatus with encouraging comments and asks. I hope you'll understand why I took so long to handle this with care and unpack some of my own issues. Very cathartic. Would recommend.

Part 1 → Part 2 → Part 3 → Part 4 → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6 → Part 7 (Ao3 Link)

Before you know it, two weeks and a day have passed. They make no palpable difference.

Except maybe in your quadriceps.

The same weights you’ve been using feel almost effortless, too easy. You don’t fatigue as quickly into heavy breathing and the urge to cheat yourself a rep or two—not lunging with the dumbbell gripped at one of its wide ends, not squatting while it’s clutched close to your chest. It’s suddenly not enough.

Nobody’s around to see it, but progress is progress. Turns out, you’ve finally graduated to heavier weights on this lonely leg day you’ve committed to.

That’s a bit of a misnomer, though. The day is mostly past you now. It’s evening—crisp and wispy, sky like striated fire outside the garage—and as the sun sets, you’re reminded of the late start you’re up against. All because you forgot something.

A good attitude is optional. A scrunchie you can live without. But your shoes? Leave them forgettably kicked off in two different directions on your bedroom floor and you’re fucked. It’s a small miracle you’re here, dragging around weight plates, setting up a barbell. There was a very real danger of tripping and falling into bed—totally by accident, never to get up again—when you drove home and stomped upstairs to grab them.

But whether or not he knows it, likely the latter, Viktor keeps you accountable when no one else can. It’s because the only running you truly love is the risk of seeing him, which still requires proper footwear. And for you to leave the house.

Though by the time you whipped into the driveway and thrust the gear shift into park, it’s empty. He’d left already; you didn’t get to see him off on his reluctant shuffle through the garage. But lucky you—he tends to come straight home after physical therapy. Call it friendly concern that you’re paying attention.

It’s probably an odd way to think about a friend. You need to work on that.

Your phone vibrates dully on the padded bench beside you. Nearly knocking your water over in the process, you grab it to find a text from Jayce—the usual culprit. You slide it open, accidentally brushing the top of the screen with shaky fingers. It catapults you to the beginning of your most recent messages before you can read the new one.

Mon, Oct 10

[Jayce Talis, 5:56am]: Did you leave the back door unlocked last night? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: And the pool lights on? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: Was Viktor in the pool?

[7:32am]: Holy shit. Good morning. [7:33am]: No, no, and why do you think I know these things??

[Jayce Talis, 7:45am]: Sorry, it’s all good. He’s alive.

[7:46am]: ???????

[Jayce Talis, 7:49am]: You guys didn’t hang out after I left?

[7:57am]: Idk if you would consider it that. [8:02am]: But has anyone invited him to cards on Saturday??

[Jayce Talis, 8:17am]: He already said no. [Jayce Talis, 8:18am]: Although… [Jayce Talis, 8:19am]: You could try telling him it’s strip poker. Haha :)

[8:20am]: Blocked. Reported. Banned. NOT DOING THAT.

[Jayce Talis, 8:21am]: No wait! I was kidding. He’s not a creep :(

Tue, Oct 11

[Jayce Talis, 3:38pm]: Wait did you actually block me?

[3:50pm]: Yes.

Sun, Oct 16

[Tayce Jalis, 8:00am]: Can I have my t-shirt back today?

[8:31am]: Oh the really old anime one? I left it with some stuff to be washed, ask Viktor. [8:32am]: Maybe the dryer did you a favor and ate it.

[Tayce Jalis, 8:34am]: Hey! Naruto is timeless.

Today

Tayce Jalis unsent a message

Not fast enough to scroll back down, caught revisiting those unremarkable little messages, and now you’ll never know what Jayce’s butt managed to text you this time. Oh well. Keep your secrets.

You toss your phone down behind you with a leathery slap. Back to working on the whole stop pining after Viktor thing.

Right, and your legs.

The barbell bites into your hips as you roll it into your lap and adjust it, the bench presses into your shoulder blades. It’s heavier and harder to manage, but you do, driving down into your heels to get your ass off the ground, hefting yourself into a nice, solid bridge. From there it’s as easy as dipping your hips, which isn’t quite easy at all. No, it’s brutal.

It burns from your core down to your thighs; has you clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth with the strain. Even your biceps are active, lifting some of the steel-hard pressure off your hip bones.

You’re so zoned in—no thoughts, head empty except for the number six over and over until it’s seven—that you only hear the hiss of your breath in and out, the hammering rush of blood behind your ears. You don’t hear Viktor come home.

Not until he’s standing above you.

He had the heinous metal on metal sound in his old beige car fixed—that grinding, grating death knell in its engine. One of several potentially life threatening reasons the check engine light was always on—maybe still is. And though you much prefer him living, it’s harder to hear him coming over the steady music without paying attention.

Bad timing for Miss Carly Rae Jepsen on your Upbeat Workout Jams playlist, considering you do really, really, really like him. Him and how he stands at the end of the bench, staring down; how he fixes you with that sliver thin smile, a manila folder tucked under the arm of his long cardigan.

You seize with embarrassment, frozen on the upswing of your hips. “Hi,” whispers out on the end of an exhale, caught ragged in your throat.

You can’t do pelvic thrusts in front of him.

You just can’t.

It’s bad enough that you’re sweaty in every skin to skin crevice and certainly flushed, t-shirt sticky and legs trembling as they hold your awkward position, but then there’s him.

He wears that same look much better. On him, it’s healthy color across the cut lines of his cheeks; it’s still-damp curls at the nape of his neck and the jump of his lean throat when he swallows, dry when he must’ve forgotten a water bottle again. It’s suggestive. It’s hot.

And it’s the endorphins that make you feel that way, surely, more than any affinity for men in gray sweatpants that are far more revealing than they must realize.

You clear your throat, finding your own parched voice. “Watch your feet,” you warn, on the side of caution, dropping butt and barbell to the ground with a metallic thud. You let your head drop back against the bench pad, staring up at him with the dazed satisfaction of calling it quits. Only for the moment, of course, as you blindly feel around for your phone to turn the music down.

And good fucking god is what you see unholy. Viktor shifts his weight before you can look away, and the ache in your core redoubles—different, deeper than any lactic acid buildup. Did his pants shrink in the wash or is it really that m—?

Nope! Absolutely not!

You can tread no further with that thought because, really, there’s no such thing as having a platonic appreciation for your friend’s dick. Not when the friend is Viktor.

“You’re not finished yet?” he asks. Innocent. Oblivious to your mental struggle out of the gutter.

Typically you would be by now. Equipment racked, the citrus scent of disinfectant on your hands, picking at innocuous conversation while you walk inside together. How was your day? Did you hear they’re demolishing the old physics building? There’s a guest lecture next month that might interest you.

“About another thirty minutes,” you breathe, “and then I’ll be done. I’m running behind.”

“Ah, interesting. That looks to me more like sitting,” he says, which is terrible enough to earn an eye roll, and snarky enough that your lips wobble and break into an insurmountable smile.

“It’s called resting, thanks. This would go faster if you stopped distracting me,” you huff, muscles loose, lips looser.

The little spark of mirth in his eyes, so bright and awake, makes your stomach clench vice tight. “Mm. There’s no rush,” he shrugs, “but… Rio might enjoy a visit.”

Your smile is skeptical as he pulls the file folder from beneath his arm. “Oh really?” It widens as he starts to fan you from above—chilly in the garage, but you’re still sweating buckets. It’s futile, although he’s sweet to try and help.

He nods, gravely serious, “She told me herself.”

You crane your neck unconsciously to let it cool the sweat that lingers there, sighing as little wisps of loose hair billow feather light and tickle your feverish skin.

He isn’t holding it right, though. His grip is too loose on the edge.

At once, a flurry of white comes raining down on you. It’s instinct that your eyes clamp shut against the onslaught.

“No, no, no,” he hisses as if begging could stop gravity.

It doesn’t, of course.

His papers flutter and scrape across the floor. An unlucky one sticks to the sweat on your scrunched up cheek. He’s quick to dip forward and snatch it back first, the easiest to reach.

You blink off the surprise and snicker, “Oh, how the tables have turned. Who’s the clumsy one now?” Rolling the barbell away over your outstretched legs, there’s nothing in its path to be crumpled beneath the weight.

But Viktor doesn’t answer with a crooked smile or a quiet laugh, no dry wit to be found. His dark, heavy brows furrow and he insists, “No, just—just let me,” while he crouches to the ground, distributing his weight between his cane and the end of the bench.

“It’s okay,” you insist, reaching to gather what’s scattered between you, “I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“To you,” he mutters, snatching two away before you can turn them over. Makes him lose balance. He narrowly catches himself before he can veer face first into your spandex lap,, blunt, bony fingers digging into your thigh at the hem of those skin tight biker shorts. It crushes the papers all the same.

“Top secret nuclear codes?” you tease, drowning his muttered apologies. It sounds stupid and obvious that you’re trying to distract from the fumbling tension when his hand stays put for moments too long. Yours, too, on his shoulder to brace him.

Just until he’s able to sit himself solidly on the ground beside you.

He purses his lips, “My work is with reactor cores, not weapons.”

It’s only been a week since you got an impromptu lecture about nuclear fusion in the kitchen. It’s not like you’d forget so quickly. “I know—”

Impatient, Viktor reaches over your lap, too close for comfort. Whatever you were about to say is struck from your train of thought.

His cardigan drags soft and pilled with wear across your beat up knees. Beneath it, his sweat smells sharp and strangely appealing. It’s fascinating, that draw to something so base and human. It’s unsettling, the way your heart responds like it beats between your legs.

You follow his hand, unabashedly curious, and watch him pick up another overturned paper. Below it, the next sheet is stuck face up to the floor with what you cringe to assume is a drop of your sweat, bleeding the ink of a diagram. Multiple diagrams, actually.

Of stretches.

The familiarity sparks excitement.

By the time he peels up the corner of the page with his fingernail, you’re sure of what you’re looking at. It’s common ground, of a sort; the excuse to end all excuses.

“These are from the physical therapist?”

He sighs, sitting back in an awkward fold of spindly legs. Looks wearier, now, with his shoulders collapsed like the exhaustion of going has finally caught up. “Yes,” he admits, because you’re smart and he’s smart, and any other answer would be an obvious lie.

You’re doing it again—digging your fingers into a soft spot that feels as ripe as it does intrusive. We do not talk about it much, he once said, but it’s hard to stop once you’ve started. You just have to know: “Do you do them?”

His eyes cut down to the papers in his hands. “When time permits.”

“How often does it permit?”

“Occasionally,” says Viktor, which might mean somewhere between rarely and never.

Early mornings, late nights; classes to teach, lab hours to log, projects, papers, and a dissertation that looks done to you, but he laughs bitterly when you suggest it. Still has to find time to eat and shower and sleep, but his eyes are always restless purple and there are wrappers from meal replacement bars scattered around the house, too high calorie for Jayce to be the culprit.

You wonder what will happen when it all catches up with him. Worse, you worry.

Beseechingly, you reach out. Your grip is gentle as you take hold of the printouts at their edge. “Can I see?” you ask, not grabbing or pulling or taking, just there and ready.

His lips form a tight, considering line. “If that is the last of your questions,” he slowly replies. Prickly, but relenting, he lets go before you can ever agree.

So you don’t.

His eyes are on you as you flip through the stack—you can feel it as a strange, shy tension like bated breath, watching and waiting.

Page by page, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Some you’ve even done yourself, but with simple modifications. Hell, bridges are just hip thrusts performed flat on the floor, without the weight. Nothing he’d need help with, which is ideal when you’re not qualified to do anything but make space for him; to emphasize that he’s welcome and wanted, maybe offer up a sweaty-palmed high five if you’re feeling spunky.

You peel your legs off the floor and resituate, tucking them as your turn to face him, direct in every sense. “You could come do these with us on Sunday mornings after we run, before you get started on work. It would make Jayce happy, and Vi has a really funny way of being encouraging—”

He pulls a face—a nose scrunched up, barely concealed, abso-fucking-loutely not sort of scowl.

“Or…” you’re quick to try, “Just with me, when I’m here. It’ll take, what—fifteen? Twenty minutes?”

“It’s a poor use of time,” he says. It’s as avoidant as it is clumsy, with a dismissive edge still dull enough to bruise.

And that’s because: “You stop and talk to me for longer than that sometimes,” you remind him flatly.

He sighs sharply, toying absently with the cane laid across his lap. “That is different.” He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s frustrating that you don’t know how obvious it is.

“Well, what if we could do both at the same time?” you propose. After all, he’s got such a hard-on for efficiency, if that’s what’s stopping him. “I know you’re a good multitasker…”

His jaw works, trapping his thoughts behind imperfect teeth.

“And we probably keep this floor cleaner than the carpet…” you prod, because the silence of a man who can and has talked your ear off is disquieting; because you don’t always know when to stop; because this feels like a negotiation.

“My bedroom suits my purposes just fine,” he says, eventually.

But you never said which carpet. The thought of him sequestered in there, even for this, is fucking depressing. Arguably disgusting when you’ve walked across that rug and felt the grit of dirt, crumbs, and debris that the pattern hides through your socks. And worse: It’s a choice, so why is he making it?

Abruptly, the rubber tipped end of his cane meets like against the rubber tiled floor. He pulls himself up on it with difficulty you can’t ignore, but shakes his head when you move to help. The only thing you do is hand him up the battered stack of papers, tucked back into the folder from which they came, when he stands up fully. You won’t hold them hostage, even if part of you wants to. It wouldn’t keep him from leaving, his back to you such a familiar sight.

You just want to understand, though, if nothing else. To crack him like a cipher.

Softer, you try: “I wouldn’t judge you.” It’s the last, desperate little thing you can think of. They’re like magic words to you.

But the problem is: They don’t work on everyone.

To his credit, his tone isn’t harsh. It’s indifferent, like stating a sterile fact. “This has nothing to do with you,” he says. “I haven’t skipped an appointment recently, and that should be enough.”

Indigence might suit you in those moments you grow a seedling backbone, but it doesn’t suit this. You can’t help it though. His frustration has bled into you, caught like kindling. “Is it?”

“You and I do not share the same sense of priorities,” he replies, but it’s not an answer. Not really.

The urge to turn him upside down and shake him until something definitive comes out is overwhelming—so straightforward until he just… isn’t. “If you’re not going to say yes or no, can’t you just lie and say you’ll think about it?”

He looks you over inscrutably, sitting there in his shadow. “Why would you assume it’s a lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you huff. But you do. Experience and a certain friend who actually bothers to text you back have given you the answer. “Jayce says you’re stubborn and I’m starting to think he’s right.”

Viktor nods conclusively, but doesn’t care to share what’s going through his head. As evasive as ever when he cares to be, just murmurs,“You should finish this.”

And then, for a reason that is simply beyond you, says: “I will see you later.”

But for once, you’re not sure if you want to.

—

You rap your knuckles against his open door.

Seriously—who were you kidding, thinking for even a second that you wouldn’t be here, doing this?

Yes, it’s well after eight now and you’re pitifully hungry, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave without saying anything. In writing a note or sending a text, you’d simply be spelling out, ‘I’m a coward!’ in far more words. It’s best, you decide, to be polite and mature and just say goodnight despite the awkward taste in your mouth that is very reminiscent of your own foot.

And you get to say it to his back, which should be easy.

But then there’s Rio on his desk like a pissed off paperweight, swimming the foggy side of her holding tank—sorry, prison—without any hope of escape. They’re the angriest, most pathetic wiggles you’ve ever seen. Habitual, given how tongue-smudged and abraded the plastic has become.

“You see?” he says, gesturing to the sound of her scrabbling in his bright rubber kitchen gloves. “It’s just as I said.”

“I think it’s more about you ignoring her.” Rio pauses, slipping down the side. Her little face conveys it perfectly: “Father is cruel? Father is… unyielding? Father hates Rio?”

“No, no… Although, eh, yes, I suppose she does sound like that…” he muses, nodding. “I think she must wonder those things about you, actually.”

Your shoulder hits the door frame, shrugging against it where you lean. “I probably don’t matter much to her.”

There’s a heavy pause, enough for him to breathe in and hold it. Breathe out, softly: “You do.”

And suddenly, you can’t find it in you to leave. Did you ever truly have the will?

The truth is there on your feet—those perpetually mismatched socks. You’d hoped for this, secretly, else you wouldn’t have left your shoes off at the door.

It’s warm when you walk in. A space heater that’s been running too long glows electric orange on the floor near his desk. Makes the smell of churned earth and vinegar cleaner that much stronger. And while the clutter is clearly endemic, it seems the fuzzy, stagnant mugs are not. They’re all gone from his desk and the bedside table, replaced by sticky notes, pill bottles, and an avalanche of papers.

You come up and give Rio’s tiny, clawed foot a high-five through the plastic. “Has she been doing this all night?” you ask, looking over.

Knee on the desk chair for leverage, he’s elbows deep in her tank, rooting those waxen, fake plants back into the substrate with unnatural posture. It’s that stiffness you’ve always noticed—ramrod straight from the mid-spine up. It’s easier to see in profile, in a thin shirt that clings to his back, that there’s nothing visibly forcing it.

“On and off. She tires quickly now,” he says, arranging a broad-leafed plant near her favorite rocky shelter—scrubbed clean, still damp. “When she was younger, it would go on much longer while I did this.”

“How old is she exactly?”

His sigh is almost lost beneath the hum of the space heater. He answers, “Fifteen,” in the soft, subdued way of someone who hates to be reminded.

There’s many things you’re too afraid to ask him. Such hits as: Why did you dig yourself a hole this deep, does Jayce text everyone about you, and would I even stand a chance if things were different? But right now, most of all, it’s how long do geckos live?

You don’t think you’re going to like the answer.

Viktor clears his throat. “She’s very, eh… spritely for her age,” he adds, fondly this time.

You hum a soft sound in agreement, too shaky through the legs to squat down to eye level with her. When you bend your knees to try, you realize you’ll probably never get up again.

He glances over as you straighten up. “You can sit,” he offers without really saying where. It’s obvious, though. The only option—his rumpled bed, never made, with all its mismatched pillows. One has definitely been stolen from the couch, three are yellowed and missing pillowcases which is… ew.

But you’re not going to refuse. You’d like to hold Rio, after all.

You swallow hesitation and tuck yourself onto the end of his mattress, balancing on the firm edge. At least the intrusive thoughts are fleeting. Only briefly do you wonder what he thinks about at night. What he does. What he wants for.

Not you. That’s for sure.

Your elbows lock out where you grip the ridged edge of the bed. The weight of things gone unsaid, of things left unresolved bears down; it prickles warm at the back of your neck and you can’t stand the waiting silence.

“So…” you drawl, letting your voice fill the void.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to hand her to me now, or…?”

“Ah, no, I’m finished,” he says over his shoulder. “She needs to go back in the tank.”

“Then why am I sitting here?”

“Because I have something to ask you.”

Straightforward. Right. You forgot just how terrifying that can be.

“That sounds just as bad as saying we need to talk,” you mutter, heart twisting into a suffocating, arterial knot.

“We do, though,” he says, too literal, too preoccupied with placing Rio back in her clean terrarium to notice your soul leave your body—preemptively abandoning ship.

But he’s merciful, at least. He doesn’t keep you in suspense.

“I just want to understand at what point you developed such a vested interest in, eh… fixing me, I suppose,” he asks, like wondering what the weather will be tomorrow or what the dining hall might serve for lunch. Conversationally. “Did Jayce put you up to this?”

Your eyes narrow in thought. “No…?” you reply. It comes out too shifty as you toy with the serged edge of his blanket. Jayce put you up to something alright, though that hardly matters anymore. But, in a way, does this count? Would Viktor think that this counts?

“A sure answer, please.”

Fuck.

“It’s just that I would lump that in as part of being friends with you—except I’d call it, y’know, caring?” You draw your leg up onto the bed, closer, tucking your foot beneath your thigh. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Viktor flips the grate down with a finality that lights your nerves like a beacon to flee. “So he asked you to do what, exactly?”

“Nothing,” you squirm.

He pivots, solidly on two feet. Doesn’t sit down in the desk chair quite yet. “It wouldn’t be the first time for this behavior, and, with you, I’m sure it was not the last. Do you know that he once provided Caitlyn with a written list of topics not to bring up to me?”

You shrug, “He’s a good friend...”

Now you’re staring down the barrel of being just the opposite—of throwing Jayce under the bus.

“What did he ask?” Viktor presses.

And you break. Made brittle by your desire to put him first, of course you do.

“All he wanted was for me to give you a chance, which was pretty reasonable after you called me annoying—” that word comes out with a bite to it you didn’t intend; sensitive, sore, “—but I never told him about that. He’s just… worried about you in his own way, I guess.”

Viktor quietly raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to snap you into fours next. It practically falls out of your mouth: “He keeps texting me to make sure you’re still alive. Sometimes I think he’s joking, but then one time he told me he had a nightmare that you drowned in the pool, so part of me actually thinks he’s being serious.”

“He is.”

“Wait, really—?”

“Is that why you come so often now?”

Wednesday. Friday. Sunday. Monday too, sometimes, if the day before hasn’t left you sufficiently sore enough. The pain means progress. It must.

“Well, no,” you blink, “that’s mainly because I have a lot to work on.”

“Do you?”

You gesture to yourself. All of you. The way your stomach folds and rolls and fucking exists unappealingly beneath your sweatshirt when you slouch—it could be better. The way your thighs pancake out, smushed against the bed—not getting better, but discipline and toning might shape them into something near desirable. “Yeah, obviously.”

He treads lightly. “I… would not say it’s obvious.” But his eyes are cast down as he carefully removes his rubber gloves and discards them in a bucket of cleaning supplies. He’s not rude enough to agree, but you worry, in all those moments you can feel him looking at you, that he’s thinking it. After all, he’s willowy, sharp and elegant in a way you’ll never be. Soft and fleshy. Never quite right.

“And that’s because you’re, what, zero percent body fat?” you sigh, gesturing to him incredulously. “I’m not implying that’s healthy or ideal—honestly, I’d share some if I could—but…” Your hands curl to your chest, clasped tightly in one another when there is no one else to hold them through the indignity of admitting, “I’m the one that needs fixing. Not you.”

He was right, though, when he said it earlier. This isn’t about you. “Where did you come up with that, anyways?” you ask.

The lines on his face, those deep, concerned creases between his brows, spell out what the fuck. You don’t understand what’s so hard about that question—what he can’t figure out, why the confusion lingers in his eyes. “This… This is the second time you’ve offered to help me.”

“I was trying to be supportive. Encouraging, even—that’s also a good word for it.”

“It all feels the same,” he tells you, taking his turn to sigh. “Which is to say patronizing, sometimes.”

And that was not what you intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a saint or anything. That’s not entirely it.” You fight the turtle-like urge to retract into your sweatshirt, which would arguably be more stupidly embarrassing than admitting: “I was just looking for… common ground, I guess. Ways to hang out without dragging you out with us.”

“Are we not doing that right now?”

“Sure, but I feel bad about it.” There’s the silvery peek of his computer, buried on the desk. “I’m keeping you from more important things.”

“You’re not,” he says—no, placates, but the disbelieving press of your lips makes him reconsider. “Well, eh, perhaps, but I can manage. I’ve dealt with Heimerdinger’s high expectations and, mm, sadistic deadlines for years. The weekends work well to make up for lost time, and there is all night after this too.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t. Not well.”

You give a creaky little bounce—not much of one, no spring to it—to demonstrate: “Maybe because your mattress feels about as hard as sleeping on the ground.”

“One problem of many, yes.”

You count yourself among them, in one way or another. You’ve been leaking these awful insecurities all night.

Is it any wonder that another slips?

“It’s just—the last thing I want is to bother you. Everyone, really, but especially you.”

“Is that because of me?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I said?”

Oh, you’ve carried this around since day one. Let it color his tone and his words and his actions. Let it haunt you trying to reach for others, the freshest nick in a line of scars that was never stitched properly. That’s what you get for letting all those little anxieties run wild with knives in their hands. That’s what you get for forgiving him before he ever asked for it, as if that would make things easier. For you. For him. For everyone.

It hasn’t.

Viktor crosses the three steps between you on bare, nobby feet. His weight dips the bed beside you ever slightly, like he’s hardly there. But he is, by the way his leg bumps your knee, and you scoot over to give him space.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping at some distant thread. They’re as awkward as he is in saying, “I can’t recall what I meant at the time, but it… it wasn’t that. It would’ve been fine if you thought less of me for it, but not of yourself.”

You shake your head. “It’s—don’t worry, it’s not all you,” you say, softening his guilt, perhaps at your own expense. “I have a lot of anxiety, and that’s a long running thing, okay? It’s mostly… me.”

“That’s… good to know. About you, I mean. Not that it’s—it’s good. Just, eh, helpful to know.”

“I guess that’s generally the benefit of being upfront about things,” you shrug as if it comes easy.

“I would prefer that, I think.”

It doesn’t, but the light, fizzy feeling of relief makes you want to try, if only to have more of it. Maybe more of his shy little smiles too. This time with more intention, and less leaky word vomit.

“Okay…” You shift to face him fully, mirroring his posture in leaning back on your hand for support. “Then in no uncertain terms, I want you to know that I’m not trying to fix you.” Been there, done that, got the shitty dunce hat. People don’t change unless they want to. You know that. “I just wish you were kinder to yourself, but that’s on you. So if you ever decide you want better, whatever that means, I’ll be there. Only if you want me to and only on your own terms—no physical activity required.”

“I might want to consider it, you know…” His voice lowers, softer and softer with hesitation, to the point that you find yourself leaning in. Noticing, as he seems to have noticed, that your hands are a hair’s breadth apart. “As a future prospect, if anything. But you have to understand, I don’t enjoy being watched.”

“I get that.”

“Mm, no, I imagine people stare at you for very different reasons,” he mutters. “Not pity. Envy, perhaps.”

“I promise, most people don’t want these thunder thighs,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap them like a used car salesman. These babies can fit so much soul-crushing insecurity, which is a terrible pitch, really. The occasional bouts of self-loathing are not your strongest selling point.

He lets out the strangest bark of a laugh, so dry it’s almost ugly, as if he can read your mind.

But you didn’t mean to derail. “Sorry, continue.”

“Right…” Viktor draws in a long breath, quiet for a moment before he figures out how to word it. “It’s as simple as that I would rather go unseen. It’s very, ah, personal. And painful, sometimes.”

You think of the age old adage: If it hurts, don’t do it. “Um, not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be?”

“So they say,” he nods pensively, eyes ticking over some distant thought, maybe a memory. “It wasn’t like this before. The discomfort wasn’t… serious. That’s how I was able to ignore it for so long.”

“Ignore what?”

Not the brutal slam of the garage door across the house, for one thing. The pictures on the wall must be hanging crooked now.

Viktor sits straighter—if that’s even possible—and calls out: “Jayce?”

Footsteps—softer, distant.

His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been a week since he’s come home,” he tells you in a quick whisper. “Mm, well, in the evening. He’s here in the morning—”

“To work out at the ass crack of dawn? I know.”

“You were invited?”

“He knows better than to think I’ll get up that early. I saw on his Instagram.”

Footsteps—louder now.

Viktor nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the stories. By my count, he has written, eh, ‘rise and grind’ forty three times since the first of the year.”

“That’s…” Your math isn’t great but, “More than once a week,” you whisper back, on the cusp of giggles as Viktor nods. And then, it hits you. “Wait—”

But the footsteps have stopped.

And instead, there’s Jayce’s stoop-shouldered figure braced in the doorway. He sniffles loudly.

He’s still dressed in the khakis and blue button down he wears to work—rumpled, sleeve cuffs smeared darker. His eyes have that red, raw, burning swell of someone who's tried very hard not to cry, and failed spectacularly.

Viktor finds the words you’re looking for with immediate precision. “Has something happened?” he asks, voice tight, hand tighter on your shoulder as he leans around you to look his roommate over. “Jayce?”

They spend a lot of time apart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re best friends too.

He swipes at his nose as it runs into the raw little divot above his lip. Beyond sadness, there’s a guilty cast to his dark, hazel eyes, turned down to the floorboards, but you can’t find your voice to tell him that this isn’t what it looks like.

“Are you… injured?” Viktor tries again.

Jayce shakes his head. No.

“Is your mother alright?”

“She’s fine,” he rasps. “Um… Can I just—?” he asks, gesturing weakly to the two of you.

Which you think must translate to: “You want to come sit?”

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s of course comes without apprehension, without judgment. Only with the apparent surprise that he even needed to ask.

But Jayce, in several long legged strides, doesn’t come sit. No, he collapses face first onto the bed behind you, all broad, shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles seeping out from behind his arms. They hide his face and nothing else. Hands curling, clenching into his shirtsleeve, there’s the thick band of a tan line striped across his middle finger.

You turn yourself around, scooching closer, folding up cross-legged to face him.

You’ve never seen him like this—laid so low. A sweat stain blooms dark at the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades, but sweat is sweat and Jayce is Jayce. You reach out to rub his back despite it. “It’s alright…” you whisper. Feels like putting band-aids on a bleeding heart, but it’s all you have.

Soft cotton weave catches the peeling skin of old blisters as you soothe your hand in circles. His shirt leaches the vetiver smell of cologne, but somewhere beneath it, there’s an elegant, cloying perfume still lingers. It’s no secret where he spends most of his time these days.

You meet Viktor’s searching eyes and mouth: Mel.

He nods gravely as if to say he drew the same conclusion.

Say something—that’s your next silent suggestion, canting your head toward Jayce.

But instead, Jayce takes a deep, wet, shuddering breath and asks, muffled into the mattress, “Can… Can we go to Taco Bell?”

“Sure…” you murmur. He could’ve asked you to drive him two states over to bury a body and you would’ve agreed just as thoughtlessly. Anything he needs. “We’ll take you.”

He doesn’t move. Just sniffles at a prompting little scritch to the nape of his neck, where his hair fades out to shadowy, peach-flesh fuzz.

So you ask, “Do you want to go change, and then I can drive us?”

“Can I just have a minute? Please?”

“Why?” demands a perplexed Viktor, still soft spoken. Desperate for an answer that isn’t made of cobbled assumptions; blunt in its pursuit.

And worried. You can tell that he’s worried.

As if you’d been the one to ask, the personification of wet, doleful misery lifts his head and looks up at you. His face is a ruin of dark, clumpy lashes and tear-tracked skin. His lip wobbles, the pressure of withholding little sobs building, building, building. But speaking it aloud makes it real. Speaking it aloud breaks the levee.

“I think we just broke up,” he finally whispers.

And cries face-down for another hour after that.

#arcane #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader insert #arcane x reader #my writing #literally beating tumblr with a stick i've been formatting this for fOURTY FUCKING MINUTES #GOD.#negl crying like a little bitch from the relief of finally posting this #pour one out for heraldeez who has to listen to me #just like jayce fr fr

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w1ldthoughts · 2 months

Text

All of My Tomorrows

Synopsis: Aftermath of Dangerous Delusions.

A/n: Last part of the series! Thank you all for reading as always, you all mean everything to me.

Series Masterlist

“Literally what were you thinking not telling anyone? Did you really think this was all just magically going to disappear?” Her best friend lays into her over the phone. She can tell by the huffing and puffing that Mani is probably raging at her while getting her morning Pilates in. The worst part is, she’s right. Everyone was right. She’d fucked up…majorly. “You are so lucky Jack has you on house arrest until this situation is sorted because if not, I would fly to Kentucky myself and beat you up for being so dumb.”

“I know,” she sighs, pulling out her laptop to distract herself with work. “What I did was stupid. I should’ve told him and realize that. I heard you the first time. And the second. And the third but definitely the fourth.”

Mani laughs, mentally reminding herself not to continue her rant, even if she really wants to call her out again. “I love you, so much. I want you to be safe and when you feel unsafe I want you to speak the hell up. No more suffering in silence.”

Four days had come and gone since the incident. Four days of Zoey sleeping alone, replaying everything that happened before things went south. The smile on his face when she practically tackled him. How warm and cozy he felt when he hugged her back. She missed him so badly there was almost a physical ache in her bones. After finishing up her nightly routine, she laid her head on the pillow, trying to will herself to close her eyes and enter a true REM cycle.

This is probably the first time where she’s really had to face her demons. On several occasions she was the master communicator when Jack fell short, she was the shoulder he could lean on for support after he apologized and promised to be better. Now that the shoe was on the other foot she had to do the same. He had every right to be upset maybe that’s why this was so hard. She knew she acted irrationally, but she needed to come to terms with why.

At 2am, she looked at her phone and rolled her eyes, hoping that she’d gotten more than two hours of sleep and was sadly mistaken. She tiptoed down the hallway and down the stairs to grab a bottle of water. Jack was sitting on the couch, holding the remote. But the tv wasn’t on.

“It’s um—it’s hard to sleep without you, knowing that you’re down the hall.” His voice sounds rough, like he’s been screaming but she doesn’t push it. She nods instead, taking a seat next to him but keeping a little distance. Zoey felt like she needed to earn the right to be in his space again and that required some real honesty. He hands her his water, assuming that’s what she came downstairs for. Jack was usually the one to remember to stay hydrated and kept water in the room. But she forgot.

She thanks him, taking a few sips, the cool liquid quenching her thirst but did nothing to calm her nerves. “I had a nightmare,” she whispers looking straight ahead at the black tv screen. “I was back in the parking garage but I was alone. And I��just stood there, by myself. It felt so…cold and dark. But then I woke up and I remembered that I wasn’t alone. I’m not alone and I don’t have to do by myself. But Jack,” she pauses, a small sob escaping her, “I was so scared. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that in my life.”

There it was. The wall that he’d built around himself the last few days handling this mess came shattering down as soon as he saw her cry. Nothing in this world mattered anymore, not his feelings, not his ego or pride. He scooted over to hold her close, shedding a few tears of his own, telling her to take her time and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

She was crying so hard her voice was hoarse when she found her words again, a simple fact that almost brought him to his knees. “I didn’t tell you not only because I was scared and didn’t want you to worry,” she sniffles, wiping a few tears as he keeps her in his arms. Zoey looks into his soft blue eyes, a much more tender look than the ones she’s been getting lately. “Jack I was being selfish. Our time together is so limited and I want it to be about us. About peace and love and this just tainted this fantasy and bliss that I was living in and I wasn’t ready to let it go. So I acted like it wasn’t happening and hoped it would go away…until it wouldn’t and I called Mike for help.”

“I should have come to you, but I wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge that this was actually happening.”

He sits in silence for a few moments, letting out deep breaths. “Zo, baby I get it. I fucking hate long distance. I hate being away from you. And when I see you or get to talk to you I want it to be only good things too. But that’s just not real life. I want you to come to me not just for the lovey dovey ‘everything is perfect stuff.’ I want you to come to me with the bad stuff too, the scary things, the uncomfortable things, all the things. Because I want to hear whatever you have to say for a very very long time. And I want to be the first person you go to because you are mine.”

“Whenever anything happens to me, you’re the first thing on my mind. You’re my first call. And it really hurt that you didn’t feel the same but I get it now. I just want you to know that you don’t have to do any of this alone. There is no amount of distance that is enough to keep me from taking care of you, believe that.”

“I do. I do believe that,” she squeezes him tighter, taking in the warmth that she’s been missing. “I will work on being more open and honest with you, cause you’re my person too, I wanna tell you everything. Promise.”

She yawns and he runs his hand down her back, telling her they should head back to bed. He walks behind her up the stares and she tries to bite back a smile when he walks into the master bedroom behind her. Jack crawls into bed on his side, opening his arms to let Zoey in.

“Don’t even think you’re off the hook yet, I’m just tired and I sleep better when you’re next to me,” he whispers with a straight face. “Get some sleep.”

She reaches up to kiss his jaw, sending chills down his spine. “I love you Jack Jack.”

“I love you too,” he kisses the crown of her head.

It’s over. Two simple words that he’d been waiting to hear for almost a week. Every single day he sat by the phone, scribbling out words on a notepad, trying to get work done but his mind just went back to it. Back to her and her safety. Hearing Mike say those two little words over the phone was like getting a semi truck lifted off of his chest. It allowed him to finally let out a deep breath, and the tears followed. There was a relief like nothing he’d ever felt before and he’s finally starting to realize what they mean when they say that love is painful sometimes. There’s been this constant nagging pain that he couldn’t pinpoint but it was as if all of the pain he’d been feeling stemmed from being worried. The sheer horror at the thought of someone intending to hurt Zoey had actually been causing him physical pain.

And now it was over.

Jack sighed again and wiped his tears, exiting his office. Zoey took one look at his face and knew what it was immediately. She practically leaped into his arms and held on tight, thanking him.

“You don’t have to thank me. Baby you are my life, I will die before I ever let anything happen to you. I mean that.”

His light chuckle brings her immense peace and she gives him a kiss, his lips feeling so familiar, feeling like home. This is what love is, holding your person ever so tightly after a fight, the feeling of security even at the most vulnerable and scary moments. It’s about admitting when you’re wrong and having the courage and trust in the other person to let you know you’re wrong so the next time things will be done differently. All of these moments, these painful but necessary life lessons are what brought her to this moment with her person. And there’s no one else in the world that she’d ever do this with.

She pulls away from the kiss to just take it all in. “I love you so fucking much. Even though I almost gave you a heart attack, I—I love you and I want everything with you.” Jack swipes his thumb under her eye to catch a stray tear. “It was so wrong of me to even doubt that we couldn’t handle this together and I will never ever keep anything from you again. I am so sorry.”

He gives her a soft smile and another tender kiss on the lips before speaking. “I love you like…so fucking bad. Been waiting my whole life for you. I’ve manifested a lot of things in my life but I thought I was asking for too much, so I never thought I’d actually find the perfect partner. And then here you come, everything I could’ve wanted and all the things I had no idea I needed, all wrapped up in the most beautiful person to ever walk this earth. And you think I’m just letting all that go? You are crazy.”

“I say all that to say…I forgive you.” His hands settle on her hips pulling her in even closer just to look at her like he’s memorizing every detail of her face…and she’s memorizing his.

“Do you wanna go finish that moon puzzle?” Zoey asks him, breaking the silence.

“You want me to get down on one knee and propose to you right now don’t you?”

This love is physical, full of desire. It is practical in a functional sense where it has a healthy dose of ups and downs. It is playful, fun, joyful and full of laughter. It’s a love that is going to last. And most importantly? It’s a love that Jack and Zoey intend to keep…as long as humanly possible.

#jack Harlow #jack Harlow imagine #jack harlow x oc #jack x zoey #jack Harlow fanfic #jackman thomas harlow

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izvmimi · 1 year

Text

cw: a repost. fluff.

It’s a little too cold for early fall, you think.

It’s windy too, and you wish you weren’t out here. Fan-meetings in general seem silly to you, especially in any weather aside from sunny and dry, and especially because Izuku is not an idol. He is simply one of the friendlier Heroes, and somehow his kind demeanor and his good looks have made him a little too popular for your liking. His PR team insisted it would be good for his image however, and thus here you are, hiding in the back with the support crew as devoted fans, young and old, queue up for autographs and pictures.

Sometimes you wonder if the reason Izuku insists you come with him is to see what you look like when you’re jealous and tease you about it later, or just to subtly remind you that his work is as rewarding and impactful as it is dangerous. Either way you’ve come to enjoy watching how his eyes crinkle in the corners with a smile as he carefully signs a little boy’s backpack, holds a baby, and does a dated victory sign with a sweet-hunched over old lady.

Hero work is rewarding even if it is dangerous. He does do good.

Point taken. Perhaps you’ll bring snacks to hand out next time and perhaps some warm drinks as well. You hold yourself tightly and rub the sides of your arms.

The words, “it’s freezing,” barely come out over the sound of your teeth chattering. Even though you are not speaking to him - or anyone in particular really - your partner manages to overhear through the queue of fans still waiting for their turn and gives you a quick once-over.

You can see the look from afar and immediately drop your arms to your side. You are standing next to his personal assistant, who previously had been scribbling on a notebook, and is now giving you a semi-harsh look.

“Tell him not to come here!” she hisses.

Too late.

“Do you need to leave? Is it too cold?”

Izuku has left his post, now fussing over you, soft clouds from the cold air forming from his warm breath as he rubs your shoulders.

“I’m fine!” you insist. He frowns, and reaches for your hands and holds them in his. They’re cold in his warm ones and he pulls them to his lips to blow on them. His assistant groans as she thinks of the PR nightmare she’ll have to deal with and the blood drains from your face.

You can hear the cameras behind him flash.

“Just a little while more and we can cuddle at home, I promise.” he whispers, kissing the back of your hand.

The cameras are relentless as is the chatter in the background. The assistant rolls her eyes and leaves, shaking her head. Your relationship is supposed to be a secret. Warm embarrassment shoots through your skin from head to toe as you anticipate the tabloids for the next week.

At least he fixed your problem in some way. You’re not cold anymore.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku fluff #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: izuku #mimi's notes

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ashwhowrites · 1 year

Note

Hey!! I’ve been binging on your oneshots and I am OBSESSED!!! They hurt SO GOOD!!! Can I please get more angsty oneshots?? I saw this one that I really loved where Eddie comes back from the upside down and everyone knows but nobody told his girlfriend who was depressed since he died and when she finds out she’s pissed and refuses to speak to Eddie or any one of her friends. Can you write something like that? If you can’t I understand <3 ilyyy

Hey! I know we talked about this but I want to put a disclaimer for anyone else reading:

I am aware this type of plot has been written so I am going to try to twist it in my own way to make sure the original writer's work has not been copied :)

I love you too babes ❤️ thanks for the support

Y/N and Eddie fell in love back in freshman year. Best friends all throughout middle school. Connected at the hip. He lived for her and she lived for him.

What was she supposed to do now when he wasn't breathing anymore?

She doesn't think she could ever forget it. The feeling of her heart physically stops, and hasn't been beating since Dustin told her Eddie was dead. She didn't believe him at first, refusing to accept her fiance was dead in the upside down. They were planning a wedding, they were going to be a family, and they were planning their future together.

She screamed at Dustin, pleading for him to tell her it was all a joke. A horrible sick joke. Steve caught her when she collapsed to the floor. She felt like she was losing grip on her life.

He was gone. She was alone.

She doesn't know how long he's been gone, still slowly accepting it.

She's learning how to sleep alone.

She's learning to only make dinner for one.

She's learning to stop buying his favorite brownies.

Some things she refused to unlearn.

She still keeps his rings by the sink.

She still keeps his shampoo, and admits she uses it time to time.

She refuses to make their bed. His body imprint is still dented in the sheets. Before she sleeps she traces the outline.

Steve offered to clean her sheets and the room and she practically screamed her head off.

The group quickly understood she needed the reminder of Eddie in every room. It was the only way the house felt like her home.

And she refused to take off the ring.

Eddie has been locked up in a cabin for around two months.

When he woke up in the upside down, gasping for air. He didn't understand what was going on. He fucking died and now he's breathing?

It felt like it took him hours to get up, slowly crawling to his old trailer. The rope hung down from where the group must have left through.

He had no strength but seeing the frames of Y/N and him on Wayne's walls gave him strength. He needed to make it back to her, and for her.

He landed in what was left of the trailer. Everything was shattered and broken. His heart broke for Wayne, his home was destroyed.

He prayed with everything in him Wayne and Y/N were safe.

Which led him to this cabin. Steve found Eddie wandering around the streets. He practically slammed on his breaks and ran to him. He was frantically shoving him in his car.

Steve explained everyone thought he was dead and to keep him safe until the group found a way to clear his name and for him to somehow be alive, he had to stay hidden.

Eddie begged to let him go home with Y/N. He promised he wouldn't leave the house. But Steve said it was too dangerous for her to know.

She needed to believe he was dead.

Everyday he missed her. He made it out alive because of her and he couldn't even be with her.

The second Nancy announced he could return home, he packed within seconds. He was going home to his girl, and he couldn't wait.

Y/N wasn't surprised by the knock on her door. The group stopped by daily to make sure she was still moving around inside.

She opened the door with a sigh, " yes I'm alive. Goodbye " before she closed the door she heard it.

She heard the voice. Eddie's voice. Her dead fiance's voice.

"baby."

She felt like her feet were glued to the floor. Her eyes bulging out as he stepped from the back to the front. Standing in front of Steve and Nancy, who were crying since they pulled up.

She didn't believe it. He was somehow here?

He reached out to her. His touch felt the same, it felt alive. She had to be dreaming or something.

She quickly stepped back, hurt flashed across his face.

"no you're dead. What is this? What is going on? " She was freaking out. Tears escaping her eyes at a rapid pace.

Eddie's heart was tugged as each tear fell. He was choked up he couldn't speak.

"He made it out alive somehow, Steve found him and it was too dangerous for him to come back into town. People thought he was a murder and dead. We needed to clear his name first." Nancy tried to explain.

All Y/N felt was anger and betrayal.

" you all knew he was alive and never thought to tell me? How long has he been alive?"

The group flinched at her tone.

Robin muttered, "two months."

A choked sob released from Y/N throat. For two months she has been in her own hell, learning to accept the love of her life is dead. And now they are telling her she was suffering for nothing?

Her anger was getting the best of her. She was blowing up

"that's why you didn't let me go see his body. Or plan his funeral. Because there was no body to see! No body to be buried. I was mourning over a body that was still god damn breathing. And you all watched me."

Eddie didn't think he could have his heart broken more. He could just imagine her begging to have a peace of mind. She wanted to give him a proper burial. She wanted to give him a funeral, while the town thought he was a murder. He hated thinking about her crying every night, wishing for him to be alive. All of that not knowing he was breathing just miles away.

"Baby. I totally understand why you are upset but they were trying to do the best thing for everyone."

Her eyes snapped to him.

"best thing for everyone? What about me huh? I never got to say goodbye Eddie! Do you know how bad that fucking hurt? How that kept me awake for the past two months? That I didn't get to tell you I loved you for the last time? That shit fucks with your head Eddie. I thought the man I was planning a wedding with fucking died! And no one would give me answers. No one would let me say goodbye to his goddamn body. No one allowed me to do anything. I was just supposed to move on? I don't even want to speak or look at any of you. Get the fuck out of my house."

She blew up and she didn't regret it. She has been holding that for months. She didn't even allow herself to feel relief that the fact Eddie was alive. She slammed her bedroom door and jumped on her bed. Hugging Eddie's pillow, the same one she's been sleeping with for two months.

Eddie apologized and shut the door behind the group. With a deep breath he headed up the stairs. He noticed nothing in the house changed. The clothes he left in the corner of the hallway, still laid untouched. The dishes he made the morning of sat in the sink. Every thing he touched or left that day was in the same exact spot. He felt tears in his eyes. Thinking of her hurting too much to even move anything. She needed some reassurance his presence was around and that killed him.

He turned the knob softly to see her crying into a pillow. He took sight of the room. Their bed was a mess, which was odd she always made the bed.

"Decided to change up the decoration?" He tried to joke as he gestured to the bed.

She rolled her eyes at his attempt. Her voice was dry and cracked, "no. Your body left a dent in the mattress and I couldn't get rid of it. It somehow felt like you were here."

He hung his head, sobs were slowly making their way out. Once the first sob made it out he ran to her. He didn't care that she was mad at him. He needed to feel her. He sat and yanked her in his lap. Cradling her as they cried.

And they cried for hours. Holding each other in silence once everything was out.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I can't imagine how horrible that was." He spoke softly into her ear. Her body was finally calming down. Their tears were dried on their face.

"let's not talk about it. Just kiss me and hold me."

So he did. He kissed her with every ounce of love he had for her. Every night he had to sleep without her. Every night she had to sleep with his pillow.

They'd pull apart to breath just to kiss again. It was salty because of their tears but they didn't care. Being in each other's arms was all they needed.

She could feel his heartbeat and that was all she needed to sleep that night.