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peachesofteal · 6 months

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Simple Math / Part Two

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, blood and injury, nurse!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, feelings of fear, anxiety. Panic attack. Implied past abuse. Implied stalking. Deep breath.

There is blood in Johnny's eyes.

He comes to with a start, Price’s voice barking out an order, pressure and flame and blood all washing over him, pain erupting across every receptor in his brain like he’s being shredded alive.

“Bloody hell, hold him steady.”

It’s still Price, roaring over the chop-chop-chop of the helicopter blades, bloodied hands trying to keep pressure on the hole in his stomach, his side.

It burns. Everything burns, his body feels like it’s on fire, bones turning to ash inside his skin, chest being torn apart by some invisible force. He can’t get enough air. There is something shoved inside his ribs, something heavy that’s weighing his lungs down, keeping him underwater, cinderblocks tied to his feet.

He tries to move, but he can’t.

Gaz is strapping him down to a stretcher, he thinks, and when he ratchets a strap across his legs, Johnny screams in agony.

“’m sorry mate, I’m sorry.”

Where is Simon? There are faces here, but none of them are the one he needs. His LT. “W-where is Si?” He slurs, and Price frowns, leaning back over his face, calling his name.

“Johnny, Johnny. Hold still. You’re on a medevac. We’re lifting you to base.”

“Si-“

“Simon isn’t here, remember? Johnny, oi. Keep your eyes open, Sergeant.” Remember? Does he remember? He tries. Tries to place his partner’s face amongst the rubble, the blast, the screaming.

Where is Simon?

Your coffee maker sputters to life in the silence of your apartment, churning out the dark, thick, life-giving liquid, and you can’t beat back the glare that fixes your face upwards towards your neighbors, the ones who are running a marathon in their apartment at three in the afternoon.

Seriously. Is there a herd of elephants up there?

You can’t be too disappointed in them, you know. It is normal working hours. Normal daytime hours. You don’t expect your neighbors to accommodate or understand your schedule. Still, it would be nice if they were just a bit more considerate.

It’s not the end of the world, regardless. You're up now, already started your day, crawled out of bed and opened the blackout curtains to stand in the afternoon sunlight that streams through your studio apartment. You flick open your laptop as sip your morning coffee, logging into your banking app with quick efficiency, eyes roving over lists of numbers, figures adding and subtracting in your head. You’re so close to being able to move forward with the plan, the light at the end of the tunnel growing stronger and stronger, glowing bright with hope, something that once felt so impossible, so far away. You're going to make it.

It’s a hike to the train.

You’re fortunate that you only have to take one, no longer having to change once, or twice, in the middle of your commute like you used to, but now you’re walking at least twelve blocks to get there, each way.

It makes you feel very exposed.

You keep your headphones in, hood of your jacket over your head, and move within throngs of people during the trek, keeping your eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead, posture tilted just enough that you can watch the ground but still see in your peripheral. You don’t relax until you make it onto the platform, and even then, your head is on a swivel as you wait for the train to arrive, and you can melt into the mix of others. Seen, but not noticed.

Old habits die hard.

You swipe your card to proceed through the turnstile, cool metal sliding against your hands when you push forward onto the platform, settling against a pylon as you wait, flicking through the news with half interest.

The hair on the back of your neck rises.

Someone is watching you.

Your skin goes cold, ice beneath your jacket, and your lungs stutter with short breaths. Logically, you know you’re wrong. The faces that wait alongside you are not focused on anything but themselves, too busy staring at their own devices, tablets, readers, phones. A woman fidgets with a stroller, a man wearing headphones spits some corporate nonsense out loud, obnoxiously. You’ve already looked them over, too many times. He’s not here.

You lean against the tile, rocking your back into the grimy wall, fingers clutching against the edge of your phone. He’s not here. You’re safe. The dark of the tunnel mocks you, laughs with his voice, its circular opening growing teeth like his, ready to devour you, drag you back to hell, swallow you whole and keep you there.

He's not here. You’re safe. He doesn’t know where you are. Deep breath.

You breathe the words deep, counting the time of your inhales and exhales until the brakes of the train are squeaking and squealing to a stop, doors opening with a hiss. Everyone moves in tandem, an amoeba inching towards the same goal, get off, get on, and you go with it, pressing inside and shuffling towards the back, angling your body outwards, molded into a corner so tight your shoulders touch the walls of the train.

Deep breath.

“Hey, you’re early!” The nurse you’re relieving smiles brightly at you, blonde hair pulled high in a scrunchie, stickers all over her badge and ID.

“Yeah, wanted to get caught up on some admin stuff but I’ve got it, if you want to…” you motion with your head, the universal signal of ‘if you want to leave’ without saying it out loud, lest you jinx it, and the place goes to chaos in the next five minutes. She nods eagerly, launching into a run-down of your beds, who’s stable, who’s sedated, who’s still on a vent. “-and two sixty-eight is about to come down from the PACU.” Your stomach clenches with anxiety, and you check your watch.

“They took him when I left this morning…”

“Yeah, I guess there was a complication. Had to re-open his chest, put in a new tube. Poor guy, he’s battered all to shit. Did you see the scans of his femur? It’s literally in pieces.” She sighs. “His partner is in the surgical waiting room, told him the next shift nurse would come find him when he could come back to the room.” Your anxiety heightens, and an alarm bell goes off in the back of your mind as you think about Simon, pacing back and forth upstairs, and Johnny, alone in the PACU, probably coming out sedation, terrified. What is wrong with you?

“I hear those guys are like black ops or something.” Nia, the nurse who’s worked the last three rotations with you, comments over your shoulder as she drops her bag in the pit. You raise an eyebrow skeptically. Black ops? You shiver. “They air-lifted him from a military base that’s doesn’t even exist on a map. Cass and I checked.”

“Really?” The dayshifter perks up, interested, and you hold your hands out in caution.

“Okay, okay. Let’s not speculate.” You tap your number into the tablet, reading through charts and noting updates. A little green circle with an arrow through it blinks next to Johnny’s, signifying that he’s about to be moved. “Besides, he’s been through hell. Clearly. Let’s have a little, ya know. Respect?” They all cluck, rolling their eyes and groaning, but they shut up, and Nia gives you a little grin. You might not be the charge nurse, but you were the perma-night shifter on this floor, and the one with the most seniority in this moment.

“Alright, well. You got this?” Dayshift asks, and you wave her off.

“Goodnight.”

“You’re the best. Bye ladies!”

Simon is easy to find. He’s wearing the exact same clothes from yesterday, black cloth mask still covering half his face, hoodie pulled up over his head. He looks less exhausted, but no less anxious, dark circles still present under his eyes, body language tense. He looks… scared.

He spots you just as easily, shooting to his feet when he sees you coming, hands clenched together in anticipation, and you motion to the chair, placing yourself next to him, turning slightly to ensure you’re giving him your undivided attention.

He shifts in the seat, legs spreading out against the stiff frame, and his knee bumps yours, warmth radiating beneath denim bleeding into your scrubs. If he notices or cares about the contact, he doesn't say anything, only blinks at you in anticipation. His head tilts before you start speaking, and your skin heats when you realize he’s looking you over, eyes tracing you from head to toe before pinning you in place with a focused scrutiny.

“Has anyone come to speak with you?” You ask, silently hoping that the surgeon actually did the last part of his job, and didn’t neglect the family member in waiting room, the one who’s holding their breath as every second ticks by.

Simon nods. “They said there was a complication with his lungs?”

“They had to plate his ribs. It will give the bleed in his chest a better chance at healing, help keep him stable. They also replaced his chest tube.” His brow furrows, and you pause. Maybe visualization will help. “Do you want to see?” You tap on the tablet, bringing up Johnny’s last imaging, scrolling through the pictures to show Simon what it looks like, pointing out the before and after CT of his chest, explaining the white vs grey spaces on the image. Simon studies it, taking the tablet in his hand, fingers tracing over the screen reverently, carefully, like he's touching Johnny himself. An ocean’s worth of emotions reflects in his gaze, despair, sadness, grief- all sitting just on the edge, nearly ready to spill over. Your heart skips a beat.

“Can I see him?”

“He’s coming down from the post-surgery unit now. I’ll have to get him resettled in his room, but I promise as soon as I can, I’ll come get you.” He twitches in the chair, rubbing the back of his neck before he huffs out something that sounds like ‘okay’, and you give him one more small smile with your ‘see you soon’.

Johnny is conscious when he comes up from the PACU, barely. His vitals look good, temperature, blood pressure, heart rate all in target ranges, and he’s due for another round of pain medication.

"Hey, Johnny." You smile down at him, sliding the lock on his bed in place and reattaching his leads carefully, gentle enough so you don't jostle him too much.

"Hi, pretty girl." He slurs, and you chuckle, instinctively rolling your eyes before patting his good hand.

“Came out of sedation fine, but he’s been a bit emotional.” The PACU nurse warns you, eyes soft with sympathy when she glances at him in the bed. “He’s asking for his partner, I think. Simon?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” You scan the post op notes, hitting all the important things, logging his last vitals check so you can administer his meds. The incision in his chest has been reopened, and then closed, and his lower body is completely immobilized in the bed, his hip pinned, femur delicately pieced back together with a plethora of plates and screws, so many you think it’s probably more metal than bone now. “How are you feeling?" You ask, heart tugging a bit at the hopelessness in his eyes. “Ready to get some more sleep?” He groans a response, words jumbled together and cracking into a sob that has tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Si..”

“He’s not back yet.” You try to explain gently, grabbing an extra blanket to put over the scaffolding around his leg. “Once I get you settled, we’ll bring him up, okay?”

“H-hurts.” He cries, vibrant blue eyes finding yours, scared, and desperate. “It h-hurts.” He’s openly crying now, shoulders starting to shake, and the monitor chimes at you, registering an increase in heart rate and blood pressure.

“I know. I know it does.” You clean his port, tracking the uptick in numbers on the screen. “Hey, hey. Shhh, it’s okay.” You try to calm him as you flush the line, pushing the saline from the side of the bed. “You’re alright. We’re almost,” You administer the medication easily, counting in your head, replacing it with another saline before reattaching his fluids line, all of the motions so second nature that it allows you keep your focus on him. “there.”

You expect him to calm down. Most patients do, but his heart rate continues to tick upwards, and his respirations don’t decrease, lungs heaving against the fresh sutures in his chest. His hand, the good one, skates across your elbow and down your forearm to grab a hold of you, fingers gripped onto yours tightly, like he’s afraid you might let go.

“It’s alright, Johnny. You’re okay.” His eyes don’t leave your face, his own jaw slack, pain meds coursing through his system. He's frightened, big blue eyes wide and anxious, and you squeeze his hand, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. “Deep breath.” You see patients upset, in pain, all the time. It’s an everyday part of your job. Even the hand holding is a necessary, frequent part of your profession.

But with Johnny, something feels different.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, just try to relax. Take some long breaths- good. That’s good.” You soothe him, rubbing soft touches into his skin. His head is turned to where you’re standing next to the bed, chest still heaving, and he winces with each exhale. “It’s just the last of the sedation, it can make you a little out of sorts. The pain meds are going to kick in real soon.” You reach over, and press the call button, twice. You can feel the pressure, the burn of his attention, his unwillingness to look away from you, and you hum out the softest words you can find, encouraging him to take calm, deep breaths.

When Nia appears, she frowns. “Everything alright?”

“Hey, yes. Could you do us a favor and go up to the surgical waiting room? Johnny’s partner Simon, is waiting to be told he can come down.” She looks from you to him, reading the situation just as you would if the roles were reversed.

“Got it.” She makes her exit, fast, and Johnny gulps, still staring up at you with bright, wet, blue eyes.

“See? She’s going to get him. Everything’s alright.” He nods, barely, starting to succumb to the medication, and you exhale, letting out some of the tension from the last few minutes.

Simon comes through the door in a whirlwind, and you immediately raise your free hand, palm out, to slow his hurried panic.

“He’s okay.” You point to where Johnny is still clutching onto you. “He was still in a fair amount of pain when he came down, and coming out of sedation can be disorientating. I think he panicked a little when he realized you weren’t here.” He nods silently, taking his place bedside, towering over both you and Johnny, leaning past you to brush his lips against Johnny's forehead in a sweet, smooth kiss.

"I'm here, sweet boy." He murmurs, voice so low you barely catch it. You step back, pulling your grasp from Johnny's, but he tightens his fingers, grip stronger than you anticipated, and you stop mid step, glancing to his partner. “I got him.” Simon reaches for where the two of you are connected, sliding his own hand overtop yours, replacing the contact before holding Johnny's hand whole. He’s so careful, lowering himself into the chair, carefully holding onto Johnny until he’s seated, bringing his palm to his mask covered lips. “I’ve got you.”

“Si.”

“I’m here Johnny. Rest.”

“Ye weren’t there.” He croaks, and Simon’s eyes shutter with a long inhale.

“I know.”

“Ah needed-“ He loses the words, dazed in a swirl of semi-consciousness. “was scared.” Simon strokes some of the hair that’s in disarray away from his forehead, smoothing his thumb back and forth above his eyebrow.

“Shhh, everything’s alright now. I’m here.”

The chair in supply closet 2b knows you well. It’s an old thing, something pulled from a patient room once it was deemed too squeaky, and too uncomfortable, shoved in here to be discarded at some point in the future.

That was months ago.

Now, it sits in a dark little corner, plastic packages of disposable PPE and gowns littered on top of it in a heap, excess supply with no place to live. Everyone takes turns in it, shifting whatever it happens to be holding that day onto the ground and settling in for what some could call a break, brief moments that could last seconds or minutes, quick opportunities to get off your feet and most importantly, not have to speak or be spoken to, for an indeterminate amount of time.

This is usually where you hide when you need a second. When there’s a lull, and the pit is full of nurses, techs, students or whoever else may have downtime, talking and laughing together, building relationships, getting to know one another. Making friends. It's a small luxury at work, to have that time, those friendships.

Luxuries someone who wants to be seen, but not noticed, not known, does not have.

You close your eyes, head tipped back against the chair.

It’s okay to be alone. You can do this. Deep breath.

Your mind floats to two sixty-eight, to Simon and Johnny. What is it like, to be loved like that? To be so fiercely cared for? Johnny’s teary, blue eyes and Simon’s soft, loving regard for him makes your stomach flip. You didn’t even know love like that was real. The only taste of love you’ve ever had left ash in your mouth, poison in your veins, and deep, deep scars across your body and soul that you’ll never be free of.

Deep breath.

Your work phone and the tablet both start to beep, a shrill noise that makes you wince, muscle memory of what it indicates making you leap from the chair.

The screen shows a red flashing symbol next to room two sixty-eight.

Johnny.

“He’s tachycardic.” You tell the tech who’s fumbling with the phone, firing off a rapid text message to the on-call for this floor. You hold Johnny’s forehead still with the heel of your hand, using a finger to flick open his eyelids one by one, flashing the pen light across his pupils. “Pupils are dilated, BP is elevated- no call him- call him right now. Do what I said, I don’t care what he told you.” You bark, glancing up at where Simon is frozen across the bed from you, grip so tight against the rail that you think it might break.

“Simon-“ He cuts you off, but you’re half paying attention to him, too busy checking the site of Johnny’s chest tube, and then moving onto the dressing on his lower abdomen, ensuring it doesn’t feel scalding to the touch.

“He was fine. He was just… sleepin' and then-“ You move around the bed, pulling the oxygen tube longer, replacing the cannula with a mask.

“Simon, I need you to step out.” You press two buttons on the machine, ensuring it’s on high flow, door sliding open with Nia’s arrival.

“No.” His refusal is steadfast.

“Simon, hey.” He lurches closer to Johnny, and on instinct, you reach out and grab his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes are wild, bleak with anguish, and his chest heaves heavily, panic radiating from his massive form. “Listen to me, listen. I’m here. I’ve got him, alright? But there are about to be five other people in this room, and we can’t work if you’re in the way.” You speak firmly, clearly, trying to get your point across as the door opens again, and the on-call attending is standing on the other side. Simon glances from him, back to you, and you nod reassuringly, swallowing the lump in your throat that forms when he latches onto your own arm, squeezing it tight. “He’s in good hands.” You tell him, nodding to the tech that’s waiting to usher him towards the hallway.

He keeps his eyes trained on Johnny, before they flick over to where you’re lowering the bed completely flat, free hand on his bicep, thumb rubbing a small semi-circle into his skin, just like you watched Simon do last night, and earlier today. He swallows, endless depths of desperation welling in his eyes, and you take a deep breath, imbuing your voice with all the strength you have.

“I’ve got him. I promise.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x soap #ghoap x reader #ghoap #simon riley #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #female reader #ghost x reader x soap #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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lumibuns-blog · 6 months

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Omggg i saw the new episode of jjk and it gave me such a big idea i think you'd love. Imagine one day sukuna finds his wife that he married thousands of years ago and due to their marriage his wife was granted immortality. And just like she never cheated or kissed another man just waiting for her husband to return and when they reunite (even if he doesnt say it) he is over the moon and just wants to never leave his wifes side ever again. Just much fluff and romance ahhhh

OMG THIS. THIS IS SO CUTE

Sakuna x reader fluff

Sukuna scoffed to himself, the boy had finally allowed him to take control after all this time. Even in this deep underground it felt good to feel the air on his face and not through that brat. He continued forward. Thousands of year of stored power and he had been reduced to a fraction of it, despite the immense power he held he couldn't help but miss the time when he ruled over the landscape, unchallenged.

He had a partner even, the one human who he couldn't bring himself to kill, the one he realized he couldn't live without. You had married him, been granted immortality by his hand, and still he had lost you. His last memory before being split and exorcised, was you running to him, crying his name. He was happy that was his last memory.

Sukuna tore himself from his own thoughts, they so often drifted to you but right now he wanted to use the small amount of freedom he was granted.

He moved his hand foreword, fire erupting from his fist as he threw the heat forward, it crashed through a wall, tunneling through the train station. He heard peoples screams like music to his ears, he walked foreword through the rubble. People ran, screaming, away from him. Fire cast from all around him, bursting every human in his sight into flames, he hummed contently to himself.

"S-Sukuna?" A feeble voice trembled from beside him

He knew that voice, he knew that voice, he slowly turned, a truly befuddled expression on his face, his lip curled as he dare not get his hood up but...

There you were, you looked exactly as gorgeous as the last moment he saw you, nothing changed, your clothes were more modern of course but there was no mistaking it, you were here.

"I knew it was you!" you cried, tears streaming down your face. You threw yourself into his arms.

He was too stunned to speak, his arms unmoving, all he could he process was the blood running down your leg, he moved his arms to gently put you down,

"Sakuna-"

"Did I do this to you?" He asked, his hand moving down to your leg, activating he reverse curse technique to heal the gash. He just couldn't believe that he had hurt you, it had been 1000 years and the first thing he did was hurt you

"Oh my love don't worry about that now" you smiled gently, you had always forgiven him no matter what he did

You moved a hand to his face to gently tip his head to look at you.

"I thought you would have found someone else by now, had a family moved on, I mean I'm sure you have" his voice grumbled low in his throat

"I would never" you leaned your forehead against his "I haven't touched a single souls since I lost you, I-I knew you would come back just like you promised"

Sakuna remembered the promise he had made to you that dim moonlit night, on the engawa of the palace you shared, that he would never leave you, even if the world fell apart he would always find you.

"I've missed you" he whispered moving his lips to kiss yours, he moved back to take in your entire person

"Your as beautiful as the day I lost you" he breathed

You smiled sweetly

"What the hell is going on?!?-" the onlooker was silenced as his head burst into flames

You continued to smile as if it was nothing

He picked you up bridal style, "we'll go find the house we used to share" he smirked to you

"I'd like that" you giggle

'Hey what the hell is going on' the brat who's body he had been forced to posses voice rang out in his head

Sukuna slapped his face "just shut it would ya" he growled to himself

"What was that?" you questioned from his arms

"I have a lot to explain" he breathed out

#jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk x oc #jjk imagines #jjk sakuna #sakuna ryomen #sakunaru #sakuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x oc #sukuna fluff

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bunji-enthusiast · 2 months

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Only Man (Your own love kills)

Note || jealousy scenario rahhh, it’s kinda one? Or isn’t? Idk I went down the hills. Also some context, some humans actually survived the hour of joy, so there is a few mentions of camp stuffs.

WC || 896

Sypnosis || In a world of comfort, seems he can’t begin to fathom the reality of emotions settling within him.

Have you ever been in love?

If he was being honest, life was fuzzy, even more so temperamental that he was from human to dusk and dawn. But he wouldn’t have traded it for anything if it meant he would see you in his non-life or life over and over again.

That is one thing so entirely unique to the quality of dogs, they are loyal and strong with you to the end.

In the sense of irony, he never would’ve expected to be DogDay. But he had long since lived with the idea that he lived this way, to be a leader and a friend to all those he held dear. He never would’ve become anything else, not if he had anything to do with it.

DogDay doesn’t mind sacrificing his own life and body to protect others, to mean if they live. Sure, he may not live to see that aspect he was wholeheartedly himself, that was how he knew he wasn’t completely off the dark end as DogDay.

It was his name and his alone, to be frank; madness, torment and the ripping away of the happiness once had was abnormally flippant to the reality he once knew and loved. DogDay had lived with it, it became the norm for him to live so strongly, trying to be a light those can vy for and not lose themselves in the process.

Love was one remaining factor to his stillborn life, DogDay wasn’t anchoring toward anything. Always having to down his head in order for those alive and their with him meant he could live with that, strong willed humans and toys alike holding their heads up high, that meant he had to stand still and straight so they could see how far they had come.

Hush little baby don’t you cry.

That tune was familiar, was he here? Beyond the specific residence of his permeance, no, he was alive and here. Everyone was okay, camp to be sure, but you too were there. DogDay was content, he didn’t even need words, actions were more than enough.

Everything’s gonna be alright.

You were singing such a wonderful tune, yet a wrenching pit in the gut of his fabricated stomach caused him to think otherwise from the place of his peace. A human male was getting a little too close to you for his liking, trying to stray away from employee regulations no doubt. DogDay wasn’t gonna let that slide, he wasn’t going to allow him to tarnish your personal boundaries and sure as hell was gonna make sure that he knew that.

Stiffen that upper lip, little lady..

DogDay stood up from where he had sat, back being rubbed against the rubble stone wall, for a moment it almost hurt. Yet the pain faded away just as quickly as it came, he began walking, calming himself as your melodic tunes remained ever as wavering to his ears.

All was okay and well between the people in the encampment, strained suffice to say with the amount of space people were left with – but they all had each other to lean and rely on. Not akin to the likes of the Prototype and the rest of his brainwashed lackeys.

‘Oh CatNap, I wish you could’ve come with us. Why turn to his side?’

DogDay perked up at the whisper shouting his down-trodded ears were picking up, seeing the easel of jealousy churning in his gut. You were trying to turn away the exact guy still with you from which he saw earlier, he turned around from where his body had been hidden from view.

You and the man were greeted by the sight of a very large DogDay.

You set down your guitar, smiling at seeing him. “Hi DogDay! What’s up?” He waved for a moment, then turned to sit down with you and the man. Who seemed to be clearly quivering in half-sighted fear, sensing the intentions of DogDay.

“Nothing to be worried about Angel,” He began, voice still roughed up from previous events. “But is this gentleman bothering you?” DogDay asked, motioning to the man who began inching away from the both of you, seeing as he made (a very clear) mistake.

You waved DogDay off, “Oh this guy? He ain’t bothering me.” Head turning before you had spoke with a hint of finality.

“You were leaving, right?” The man nodded, the look of fear very evident on his poor face. Then he finally walked off with a stride that clearly spoke, ‘Don’t kill me please.’

In hindsight, DogDay was going to shield you from him. It seemed that was all it took to get you away from his very slimy presence, he sighed internally, as he wasn’t one to want to cause altercations.

He was a more methodical man – toy? Person? – then that anyway, DogDay then looked up, gaining eye contact with you. With a small wave of his paw in return, “Weren’t you singing? I’d love to hear more of it, Angel.” You smile at him with a scoff escaping you, picking up the guitar to re-adjust your position that you had set your fingers upon the lines originally.

DogDay was glad to be up close to hear your beautiful singing.

Compared to that icky emotion he felt earlier, that was rather confusing as he thought about it.

This was much better.

#dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader #poppy playtime dogday #dogday #dogday x reader

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theonewiththefanfics · 5 months

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Seal It With a Kiss (one-shot)

Synopsys: After a looting session goes wrong, Astarion and Reader have to face the music and confront their feelings. Whatever they might be.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, but nothing explicit

Word count: 3234

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

The light was too bright. And the ground was too hard. And the pillow too tough and lumpy. And why did Y/N feel so hot when it was literally snowing? And, actually, when had it started snowing? From bright blue skies, might she add?

Slowly, haziness dissipated from her eyes, and the world around came into sharp, painful focus. The light was too bright because half of her surroundings were on literal fire. The ground was too hard because she was half on rubble that once was a palace roof, and the tough, lumpy pillow was a rock her head had smashed against, while the snow was ashes flowing down, covering everything, including her, in a grey layer of soot, the sky peeking in from the hole above.

Although her sight was clearing, a sharp ringing pierced her ears. Or was it shouting?

A shadow crossed the sky, and above her, she could see their resident vampiric elf’s mouth moving.

“ – were you thinking?!” Finally, her ears started to clear as well. “You absolute imbecile! Why would you do that?!”

Y/N just groaned in response, as her memories came back in quick flashes. Everyone was arguing about where they should look for another magical artefact, Astarion shooting down what Gale had proposed, Wyll trying to make a sensible plan while Lae’Zel interrupted Shadowheart at any given moment. A deep rumble from the depths of the abandoned palace they were in silenced them all, Karlach throwing them a worried expression. And then the whole building exploded.

On instinct, Y/N had pushed Astarion as far away as she could before the ceiling came crashing down on top of her. It was nothing short of a miracle, she had managed to survive. Bruised, battered, no doubt with broken bones, but alive nonetheless. Maybe she’d have to thank a goddess or two. That was if Astarion didn’t rip her to pieces beforehand with how furious he looked.

Slowly Y/N tried to lift herself onto her forearms, and for all his admonishments, Astarion was quick to crouch down and help her, putting his arms under her pits and letting her rest against his chest.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled, noticing a large bannister lying across her leg. “That’s not good.”

“Not good?!” Astarion practically shrieked, his hands tightening around her ribs. “How hard did you hit your fucking head? This is so beyond not good I can’t even think of a level!”

Y/N winced at his tone. “Can you stop shouting, please? Gods, my head is splitting.”

“Oh, is it now? It would be quite the fucking miracle if it wasn’t, seeing as a whole fucking palace just toppled on you!”

“Quit being so dramatic and help get that thing off me! Where’re the rest?”

“Frankly, I don’t fucking care right now!” Astarion gently laid Y/N back down and went to the large boulder.

His arms strained as he lifted the piece of the pillar, her eyes widening at the display of strength.

She sometimes forgot how strong Astarion actually was, how easily he could snap her neck with just a twist of his hands if he so wished while Y/N allowed him to drink from her. But he was always gentle instead, with how he held her nape, fingers soothingly pressing into her scalp and knuckles brushing against her collarbones once he was done in a sweet gesture of thanks.

As quickly as she could, Y/N scooted from under the rubble, Astarion dropping the boulder back unceremoniously, and he was back by her side in a second, an arm wrapping around her waist, so she could lean on him.

“We have to find the others,” Y/N hissed as she stood. Her whole body screamed in pain, but they had to get out of the now-ruined palace, lest another explosion happen.

“They can find their own way out,” Astarion grunted, as he led them towards the exit.

“Astarion!”

“No!” He snapped his head to look at Y/N, and his scarlet eyes held such a desperate gaze in them, that she pinched her lips shut. “I will knock you out if I have to. I am not letting you get hurt again.”

“Astarion, they’re our friends,” Y/N’s voice was gentle. “We have to help them if we can.”

For a moment, Astarion truly looked like he might just throw her over his shoulder and march out of the place. But then he sighed, hanging his head in defeat before looking at her with pain distorting his features. “Why do you always have to be so good?”

Something tugged at her heart. That expression on his face, as if it physically put him in agony to lead them around the ruined palace in search of their companions, as he flinched and tightened his hold on her whenever something crackled, ready to throw his own body atop hers, in case something happened. It wasn’t selfishness, not one bit. Something deeper lay beneath Astarion’s reluctance.

It took them a while to find their party, but luckily no one was injured, and Y/N was the worst one off. Shadowheart was by her side in an instant, giving her a healing potion.

“Should keep you set until we get back to camp.” She patted her shoulder. “I’ll heal you fully once we’re out of immediate danger.”

“Thank you.” Y/N smiled at the cleric.

She was just about to ask Astarion whether he was alright, but the vampire had already detached himself and was glaring at the ground, arms crossed over his chest ten feet away from her.

Y/N couldn’t deny – it stung. He’d been so worried just a few moments ago, yet now he couldn’t even look at her?

Her feet worked on their own accord, moving in his direction, but the way he turned his back to her, told her all she needed to know – he didn’t want to talk.

Pain shot through her heart, and it was definitely not because of the explosion, but Y/N respected his privacy, so she didn’t approach him any further, even though they always, always, walked next to one another.

“We should head back,” she spoke up, eyes remaining on Astarion’s taut back. “Maybe get some rest as well. We still have tomorrow anyway to search this place.”

When Astarion left the palace without even waiting to see if anyone was following, Y/N could do nothing but sigh and depart as well.

The walk to where they’d set up their camp was uncharacteristically quiet, especially from the pale elf’s side. He’d usually fill their travels with mindless talk and sarcastic quips, but this time around, he hung towards the back of their group and was as mum as a grave. He didn’t even comment on whatever Gale was saying, which made Y/N all the more uneasy.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around why he’d become so distant all of a sudden. What’d happened at the palace was nothing unusual. They risked their lives on the daily, saving others and themselves, so why in the world was Astarion so pissed about this, she had no clue.

Karlach leaned to the side, watching as the vampire entered his tent, closing the laces immediately. “Fangs is quite in a bad mood. Anything we should know about, soldier?”

Y/N huffed. “Probably broke a nail or something. In any case – nothing important enough to be acting the way he is.”

“Maybe I should go and – “

She put a palm on Karlach’s shoulder, stopping her, and giving her friend a wry smile. “I’ll talk to him. Better he’s angry at me and only me, not someone else as well. Apparently, I’ve pissed him off as is.”

“You sure?” the tiefling asked.

“Yeah.” Y/N nodded. “I think we need to have a talk anyway.”

With a “good luck” from Karlach, she sighed and steeled herself against whatever the vampire would throw her way. She unlaced the ties and lifted the flap to the side. With crossed arms, she entered Astarion’s tent, only to be greeted by his back as he stubbornly kept looking at a book in his hands, not even acknowledging her.

“Are you seriously pouting right now?” Y/N asked after a minute of silence.

“I’m not pouting, I’m brooding. There’s a difference.”

“Well, does brooding involve giving the silent treatment, or can we talk?”

Astarion threw a withering gaze over his shoulder. “What is there you want to talk about? Unless it’s an apology, I don’t want to hear it.”

Y/N let out an exasperated huff. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I won’t apologise for saving your life.”

“By putting your own life in danger?!” Astarion spun around, throwing the tome he’d been holding onto his bedroll.

“Comes with the territory.” She shrugged. “You should know how it is.”

“Letting a whole building collapse on top of you is very different to knocking a blade out of the way!”

“Why are you so angry with me?” Y/N raised her voice, matching Astarion’s furious tone. “I saved your life!

“I didn’t ask for you to!”

She let out a disbelieving scoff. “Well, sucks to be you then! Because I was not just going to let you get crushed underneath all that rubble! Your life is just as important as everyone else’s!”

“Not to me! Not when it comes to you!”

Now that shut her up completely, her lips pinched in a thin line, eyes wide in shock. She and Astarion were friends, at least Y/N would've liked to think so. She most definitely had developed deeper feelings than that, but would only admit to it over her own dead body. The thought of Astarion’s rejection made her want to crumple into a small heap, but his reaction put thoughts in her head that maybe, just maybe, her feelings weren’t one-sided.

“What do you suppose I would do if you – if – if,” he stumbled on his words. “If I had to go on without you? If you were no longer with us… with me…”

“Astarion��”

“Do you understand how it felt to see you go down?” He sighed, hanging his head. “When I saw the roof caving in and then felt you push me away before you vanished beneath rubble and dust and ash… I’ve never been more terrified in all of my life, two hundred years of which were spent under the rule of an absolute sadist, where horrors awaited around every corner.”

His eyes bore nothing but pain and despair he’d felt in that moment. “I heard everyone else screaming - Shadowheart calling out, Wyll and Karlach making sure Gale and Lae’Zel were alright but nothing… not a single whisper from your voice. You tell me I’m pouting, but all I can see when I close my eyes is you… how you would look… dead. Your eyes closed forever, your blood spilling out of your body and I… I have to stand and watch as I am unable to save you.

“But I’m alright.” Y/N stepped up to him, taking one of his palms in hers, and squeezing it. “Astarion, I’m alive, and I’m fine.”

“But you almost weren’t!” he hissed, pulling her closer, bringing their clasped hands to rest against his chest. “And all I would have been left to do was wait for the dust to settle and dig out your broken body. You would have condemned me to eternity without you… I just almost lost the person I love... and that fear is something I never wish to experience again.”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat at such an honest confession. “I umm I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” Friendship was one thing, but love? That threw her completely off balance.

“Feel? Felt? What does it matter anymore? Clearly, it’s not like it’s reciprocated.” He scoffed, back the mask of bravado and not caring, but Y/N wasn’t having any of it.

“It matters to me.” Her brows furrowed. “It matters a great deal to me. Why do you think I did what I did, exactly? Because it’s fun? Because I enjoy blocks of buildings dropping down on me? Because it’s such an absolute delight to realise - if I don’t push you out of the way, you will be in direct line of fire, and I might lose you?”

Astarion’s mouth opened and closed. “I didn’t – I –“

“No!” Y/N pointed an accusatory finger at him. Now she was angry. “You don’t get to play the "I'm in love with you" card and be angry with me. Not if you dare tell me how I feel without asking first!”

“You...” He shook his head, a crease to his brow. “You never indicated you held anything more than… friendly affections towards me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Yes, because I let everyone in this party use me as their personal snack each night. I’d say that should’ve been your first clue.”

“I’d say you’re a full-course meal, my darling, but I understand the sentiment.” And though back was his usual air of sarcasm, a deep vulnerability could be seen shining in his crimson eyes as he weaved a gentle hand to wrap around the small of her waist, brushing underneath her sleep tunic to rest against her skin.

Cold met warm, and Y/N gasped as a shiver ran down her spine. His slender fingers dug into her back as he pulled Y/N closer, their breaths mingling, and if they only moved just a couple of centimetres, lips would touch.

“I just – I cannot stand and watch you throw your life away for someone like me. The thought of your brightness being extinguished because of it… I couldn’t bear it.”

Y/N tilted her head to the side. “Someone like who exactly? Someone who I’ve grown to look at as my dearest confidant? Someone who I know will always tell me the truth and be there if I cannot handle it? Or someone who so deftly has stolen my heart, he cannot even comprehend it’s been his the whole time? Besides, even if it wasn’t reciprocated...” She played with the string of his shirt, “you can’t tell me to be more careful, to not save you when you do the exact same thing.”

“How can I not?” Astarion’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, and for once, he seemed to want the moment to reflect what truly lay in his soul. “You make my heart beat on its own. If I had to give up walking in the sun for the rest of my life, I would. As long as it meant you were safe and happy. I’d even gladly go back to Cazador if you were on the line. Without a second to spare.”

“Don’t you dare fucking say that!"

“But it’s true.”

“Not if I can help it,” Y/N grumbled, tightening her hold on his shirt by his hips, pulling him closer like she had to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. “He’s not ever going to get near you. I’ll level the whole of Baldur’s Gate if I have to.”

“And I am being honest when I say, if I had to choose between you being unhurt or me being imprisoned, being used as I was, I would always put you first.”

Y/N was on the verge of tears. “You listen to me you pompous blood-sucking elf – you will do no such thing. Whatever comes, we both will get through it. And Cazador will have his head ripped from his shoulders, but not before I gouge his eyes out, and do every single vile thing he did to you back onto him. I will skin him alive and then throw him in a tomb with nothing but cockroaches. Let him drink his own blood and see how he likes it.” She shuddered, taking in a deep breath. “Your life is not worth less than mine. Don’t you ever dare think that way.”

A watery chuckle escaped Astarion, and his eyes brimmed with silvery tears. “Can I kiss you?” He didn’t dare lift his gaze, focusing on their intertwined fingers, resting against where his heart no doubt would have been rattling a crazy rhythm if it still beat.

“If you want to.” Y/N’s reply was as quiet as his question had been, but there was no teasing in her tone.

His eyes flashed for a second, but she didn’t get a full grasp on what it was she saw. Maybe surprise. Maybe gratitude? She couldn’t tell really, all she knew was that the emotion caused a pang to ring to her very core. She’d kill Cazador with her own bloody hands.

“I want it.” He nodded. “More than anything.”

“More than my blood? That first night you almost drained me dry,” Y/N’s words, though true, held no malice, only gentle teasing.

“And how do you know that first time I wasn’t trying to wake up the sleeping princess with a magical true love’s kiss? The feeding just ended up being a bonus.” He brushed her nose with his, and couldn’t help the way his own lips turned up as Y/N smiled.

“Well, this sleeping princess would’ve punched you in the nose, had you awoken her for such silly things. Besides, you did miss my lips.”

Astarion chuckled, relishing the way her body pressed against his. “But I am allowed to awaken you to drink from you?”

“Well...” She nudged his nose with hers now. “Seeing as you become absolutely unbearable when hungry, I think for my own peace and everyone else’s, that does count as a vital reason to rouse me."

Gentle hands cupped her cheeks. “Allow me to demonstrate then how vital a kiss can be to one’s survival.”

And then their lips met.

She’d never admit it out loud, for his ego would surely grow larger than it already was, but it did feel like a magical kiss of life. Her whole body sang as his fingers slid against the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, almost like Astarion was afraid she’d pull back, but she could never. Not when he slipped his tongue past her lips, and her knees almost crumbled.

Y/N had to tighten her hold on his waist to not completely lose it, and she could feel the smirk growing on the vampire’s face, as he realised just how incapacitated his kiss had made her. He nipped at the bottom of her lip and relished in the small whimper he got to devour.

After what felt like ages, they pulled back, panting, but not going too far as Astarion rested his forehead against hers.

Y/N smiled. “True love’s kiss you say?”

“It feels like it,” he mumbled, allowing himself to indulge in the tender touch of her fingers skimming up and down his back. “Though I don’t know much about… love… I’d like to experience it with you. All of it. The good and the bad that might come with it.”

“I’ll be here,” Y/N promised. “As long as you want me to, I’m not going anywhere.”

“And if I ask for forever?”

She let out an over-exaggerated, dramatic sigh. “Forever’s quite a long time, don’t you think?”

“Not long enough,” Astarion replied, a smile tugging up his lips. “It’d never be long enough with you.”

Y/N quirked a brow. “Is that a challenge?”

He chuckled at that. “I’d say it’s more of a promise, if anything.”

“Seal it with a kiss?”

“Deal, my love.”

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird

A/N: my tags are always open, so just drop a message if you want to be tagged :)

P.S. do not plagiarise my work or repost it on other platforms!!!

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lxkeee · 2 months

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IT'S BEEN SO LONG

-PART THREE

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Adopted! Fem angel! Reader [platonic!]

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

genre: fluff and cute

notes: a little bit short but meh

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR ❘ NAVIGATION

“Now... Where's that body...?” [y/n] muttered, looking at the golden holographic map that was coming out of her wrist watch, a blinking dot flickers on the holographic screen. She scrunched up her nose as the scent of smoke, dust, and blood fills her nostrils. I do hope my father is living somewhere far better than the streets of hell, this place is nasty. She thought before shaking her head.

She looked up ahead to see the hotel by the cliff, looking back at the hologram—it seems the body is somewhere by the hotel.

“You have got to be kidding me.” [y/n] muttered underneath her breath. She looked around—no one in sight, with a snap of her fingers, her angel wings disappeared along with her halo that transformed into a golden Laurel wreath that is on her head. Her usual white and gold dress transformed into a plain black one.

“There, I think this is a good camouflage.” she murmured to herself, adjusting her sling back before eventually beginning to trek the cliff towards the hotel.

Finally arriving, she got a good look at the name of the hotel—Hazbin Hotel, very witty, she thought.

“Isn't this the hotel Charlotte Morningstar made? If she's Lucifer's daughter, then does that mean she's my younger step sister?” she wondered before shrugging. Deciding not to knock on the hotel doors and go straight to where Adam's supposed dead body is—which is buried underneath a pile of rubble somewhere a few meters away from the hotel. Truly sad to see but the man got it coming—he was an asshole, to think he was the first man and the first soul to go to heaven but died in hell.

Why do we need to bring him back up again? Oh right... God's favorite.

[Y/n] sighs loudly, moving her hand over the hologram and a keyboard appears. Her fingers danced across the screen as she requested some angel workers to retrieve it.

She sighs, turning back to look at the hotel behind her. Now to get a report on what exactly happened, she thought. I wonder if dad is there? She wondered to herself, she really wanted to see him and hug him, she truly missed her father after all.

Her heels clicked the cement pavement as she walked back to the front of the hotel, climbing up the few steps of stairs till she finally reached the tinted glass front doors.

Maybe I should wear my halo? To let them know I'm from heaven?

She thought and hummed before nodding to herself, snapping her fingers and her halo was once more on top of her head, glowing in angelic pride and power.

She took a deep breath, I can do this. She thought before curling her fingers into her knuckles, bringing it up and then knocking on the glass doors.

Knock, knock, knock.

Charlie stopped talking to Vaggie and Alastor when they heard a knock from the front door, Charlie's eyes sparkled excitedly. A visitor or perhaps a guest?!

“My~ it seems we have a guest, dear.” Alastor grins, leaning against his microphone, “Perhaps after the extermination, it gave hope to these hopeless sinners.” he added, his smirk widening.

Charlie grinned, she too hoped that would be the case.

Vaggie placed a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, giving Charlie a reassuring smile, “You got this, babe.” she says and Charlie nodded, adjusting her clothes to look presentable.

With a deep breath she walked towards the door, trying to calm her excited heart.

Charlie finally held the handle of the door, opened it and.... A woman slightly taller than her is standing outside, a smile on her face and wait a minute, is that a halo?!

Charlie's eyes widened, she can practically feel the woman's power radiating off her, dare she say it's stronger than Adam's.

She's nervous, almost scared even. What is an angel doing here?

“A pleasant evening, are you perhaps Charlotte Morningstar?” the woman asked, her voice gentle and smooth to the ear, it calms Charlie down. Making the princess of hell lower her guard a bit before she shakes her head. I need to be on guard, I don't know what she wants and I need to be ready.

Charlie took a deep breath before giving the angel a smile, “Yes, that is me! Is there something you need from me? I didn't know heaven would be sending someone today.” she says and the angelic woman chuckled.

“It was so sudden that we couldn't send an advance notice.” The angel chuckled softly and Charlie just looked at her in confusion.

“But to make things easier, I am here to collect Adam's body and also collect data to file a report of what exactly happened during the recent extermination.” The angel says, sighing and slumping her shoulders. Charlie could tell that the woman was annoyed by the situation.

Charlie looked at the woman with slight hesitancy, “Is that all...?” she asked, nervously and the angel nodded.

“Certainly,” She smiles before her eyes widened and she gives Charlie a small and short bow, “How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. I am [Y/n], one of heaven's messengers. It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Morningstar.” [Y/n] says with a smile, offering her hand for a handshake in which Charlie returned. Charlie shivered slightly as she felt how cold the angel's hands were.

The name certainly rings a bell to Charlie, she swore she heard that name before then her eyes widened, don't tell me..? The name, the very cold hands... Is this the girl her dad was talking about?

“Are you... My dad's adopted daughter...?” Charlie questioned, her voice almost a whisper and [Y/n]'s eyes softened.

So he does remember me. [Y/n] thought, a smile on her face.

“Yes, that is indeed me, so dad talked about me huh?” she answered and asked and Charlie's smile widened, her big sister is here!

Charlie chuckled, “Yeah, he told me about you recently.” she says with a shrug and [Y/n] giggles, “Well, at least he didn't forget about me.”

Charlie smiled, moving away from the door so [Y/n] can enter, “Of course, he didn't. Oh, please do come in.”

[Y/n] nodded with a smile, “Thank you.” she says and enters the hotel.

“Do you want me to tell him that you're here? Do you want to see him?” Charlie asked, guiding the angel through the hotel's hallway that leads to the lobby where the bar is.

[Y/n] smiled, “Please do, it's been ages since I've last seen him.” she says, almost pleading and Charlie smiled, whipping out her phone to text her dad before returning it back to her pocket. Her dad is back at the palace as he had some things to get from his room.

“I am sure he misses you too, how about we finish that report while we wait?” Charlie suggested and [Y/n] nodded, “That's a good idea.”

Lucifer was in his room, arranging some things into a box. He heard his phone beep and opened it to see a text from his daughter.

Come back to the hotel as soon as possible, someone wants to see you and it is someone important.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, wondering who could possibly be looking for him. He shrugs, they can wait.

He returned his phone back to his pocket and continued on putting the rubber ducks inside the boxes.

Another beep was heard and he sighed, opening to see another text from Charlie.

If you're wondering who could possibly be looking for you, their name is [Y/n];)

Lucifer never teleported so fast in his entire life.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @avitute @lbcreations-blog @dreamzaremyrealityy @des-deswain5621 @snoozewritezz @uiquz @randomuser-89 @flowerboy4eva @apollobeans @des-deswain5621 @sirenetheblogger @astitikeslay

#lxkeee updates #hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar x female reader #lucifer morningstar x you #Lucifer morningstar x reader platonic #lxkeee writes

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roosterr · 3 months

Text

i've known war

john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader wc: 9.3k (whoops) summary: you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. warnings: established relationship, angst and sadness and depression, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, graphic description of injury, mentions of torture, eventual happy ending, military and medical inaccuracies, pls ignore any plot holes i beg

requested here! follow up to love you from afar, but can be read as a standalone. im so sorry this took me so long to write lmao.

it always feels like the first time when you kiss him. even now, years down the line, the sparks, the warmth, the daze that you leave him in; he truly believes it will never get old.

the way you look, standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, it makes his head feel so fuzzy he almost forgets why you're all here in the first place.

it's the sweet sound of his name passing your lips that pulls him back to the present, your voice sending his stomach fluttering.

"earth to johnny," you chuckle, turning to face him and resting your weight against one side of the open door, "what're you thinking so hard about?"

he can't help the smile that breaks out at the sound of your laughter. "just you." johnny replies, closing the small distance between you and snaking an arm around your waist. you smile as he leans in closer, murmuring low in your ear, "and, how i cannae wait to get ye home."

you laugh again, placing a hand on his chest but not quite pushing him back. "we've got a job to do first."

he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. "then we'd better get a move on, eh?"

"i'll race you," you grin at him, haloed by the light of the sun so beautifully he has to snap himself out of his reverence to respond.

"oh, you're on."

perhaps it was slightly irresponsible the way he was rushing the others along for his own gain, but within a matter of minutes they're breaching the facility and well on their way to being done with this.

it's only when he's stalking along a dimly lit corridor that he slows down. something was bothering him, an off feeling in the back of his mind that he just can't ignore.

before he can think about it any further, a boom shakes the walls, filling the air with dust and obscuring his vision even more. it was close enough to start a faint ringing in his ears, coming from back the way he came; where he'd split up with ghost and, more importantly, you.

he should stay on target, continue with what they're here to do, his job – but what if you were in trouble? if there's a chance you need his help, he couldn't risk it. it takes less than a second for him to turn back, making the decision to check on what caused the explosion before continuing.

quietly stalking back down the corridor, it takes him slightly longer to register the fact that he hasn't heard anything over the radio; no updates, no clever remarks from ghost, nothing. they worked not fifteen minutes ago, just after you'd split up and checked them. surely nothing could've happened in such a short space of time?

he does his best to push through the sinking feeling that tries to drag him down, but it's stubborn, creeping in from the corners of his mind.

he reaches where he left you in half the time it took him to walk away, the intersection of two corridors just as empty as the rest of the halls. he points his flashlight in the direction you went, and the feeling in his gut gets worse.

something glinting in the light catches his attention. the end of the corridor is collapsed, when it definitely hadn't been before, but it's what lies in front of the rubble that he zeroes in on. partially obscured by the layer of filth and blood coating it, there's no mistaking it when he kneels down, dropping his rifle to the ground beside him, and carefully takes the metal in his trembling hand.

it's a pair of id tags.

he numbly calls your name. it bounces off the walls and echoes back to him. the blood runs through the creases of his hand, staining the flesh. the letters of your name are clear through the dirt.

no. you can't be gone.

he looks up to the rubble, shrouded in darkness, back down to your tags, back up to the rubble, and there's a hand just visible under the concrete that looks sickeningly like yours and–

he tears his gaze away, back down to your tags. the chain is snapped, like it had been ripped off in a hurry, as if you'd known you were going to die and wanted to make sure he would find them–

no, no no. you're not dead. you can't be. he just saw you fifteen minutes ago, he bumped his helmet against yours in lieu of a kiss like he always did before you parted ways. you were fine and you were smiling at him. it was only fifteen minutes, you were right here, he can still hear your voice taunting him about the race between you, it was only fifteen minutes–

a heavy hand comes down on johnny's shoulder, startling him out of his panicked daze and instinctively he jumps up and swings his arm at whoever stuck up on him.

ghost catches his forearm easily, his eyes moving between your tags clutched in johnny's fist to the wreckage behind him. when he meets johnny's watery eyes again, the coldness in his gaze seems to soften as he arrives at the same conclusion.

the ringing in johnny's ears hasn't left. in fact, it's gotten worse.

"we– we gotta find 'em," johnny's breath comes out shallow and ragged, the panic slowly rising in his chest through the initial numbness. "fucks sake, they cannae– we– we–"

"johnny." ghost interrupts his sputtering short, bracing both hands on his biceps and giving him a gentle, grounding shake. "...come on."

"no! simon we–" his breath catches in his throat, heart constricting painfully beneath his sternum as he grips the front of ghost's vest in desperation. why was ghost giving up so easily? didn't he care? didn't he want to find you?

ghost lowers his gaze, tearing away from the distraught expression on the sergeant's face. "they're gone, soap."

"shut the fuck up!" johnny growls, despair seeping into his voice with every second that passes without you. he tries to shake ghost's hands off, but he doesn't budge. "ye dinnae ken that! they're still here somewhere, we cannae leave without 'em!"

he's gripping your tags like a lifeline, the metal searing against his palm and heavier than anything else he'd ever carried. he shouldn't have them, they shouldn't be in his hand, they should be around your neck, you should be here, with him, and not…

it's too much. his knees give out from under him and, despite ghost's firm grip on his shoulders, he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

"simon, fuck– please…" it's a whisper, under his breath, but he knows ghost heard from how he crouches down beside him, laying an arm over his heaving shoulders as he steadily begins to sob.

it's not real. it can't be real. he wants this to be a nightmare so fucking badly, but the pain in his chest is far too real, his tears burning tracks down his face, the weight of your absence pressing down on him and crushing him under the pressure.

he barely notices when price and gaz appear in the hall ahead of them, just about registering the sound of the debris crunching under their boots as they approach. the pair don't say anything as they take in the scene, looking down with furrowed brows at where johnny and ghost are crouched on the floor.

the captain opens his mouth to ask, but ghost cuts him of with a solemn shake of his head.

words are exchanged, but johnny doesn't hear them. his head feels impossibly light, an expanding pressure beneath his temples that makes it hard to think. the ringing keeps getting worse.

the sound of gunfire makes it through the fog. gaz and ghost each take one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and essentially dragging him after the captain as they make their way back out of the building. he can't bring himself to fight them. he blinks, and finds himself strapped into his seat, the one next to him hauntingly empty.

price is talking into the radio, to laswell he assumes, but johnny doesn't register anything he says – anything except the last two words:

"...one k.i.a."

the air is thick with a kind of tension he's never felt before, a shroud of numbness that he can't seem to shake. when they land it follows them, seeping into the air on base and pushing down on whoever crosses their path. none of them have to ask to understand what happened.

johnny keeps your tags, clutches them close to his heart, and practically bites the head off of anyone who tries to take them from his white-knuckled grip, even as he gets checked out in the medical wing. his quietness puts the medics on edge, he can tell. something about the way he doesn't even flinch when they cleanse his wounds, the polar opposite to his his usual talkative nature, it tells them there's no use trying to console him. they try to convince him to let the tags go, but he doesn't acknowledge their words.

the broken chain stays firmly wrapped around his palm until he's staring down his own hollow face in the bathroom mirror. he'd turned the sink on fifteen minutes ago to wash the blood away, the water so hot it fogs up his reflection, but he can't bring himself to put his hands under the stream.

because it's your blood, not just the usual grime from missions. if he washes it off, he's washing you off, and he doesn't want to do that, no matter how disgusting it is.

there's a knock at the door, and only then does he realise how long he's been staring at the red that decorates his hands. he still makes no effort to move.

despite his lack of response, gaz opens the door and meets his eyes in the mirror. there's a pause as he waits for johnny to say something, but when he only lets the silence go on, he takes it upon himself to approach.

"soap…" he utters, brows tilting in concern watching his friend continue to stare absently into the mirror. with a deep sigh, kyle takes his empty fist and pries his fingers from his palm. johnny's eyes gravitate to the fresh blood that wells up in the crescent indents. watching the red droplets fall, disappearing into the running water, the pain finally registering in his mind when kyle presses a cloth to his hand.

the sting of the hot water is there, a distant feeling as johnny allows him to wash the blood away, never saying a word as he watches kyle's efforts, like an observer of his own form, right there but looking in from the outside.

kyle reaches for your tags, but his fingers barely brush the metal before johnny is shoving him back with a rush of anger that happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process his own reaction.

with a thud, kyle's back hits the wall and for a moment neither of them dare move. they watch each other in silence, wide-eyed shock mirrored in both their expressions.

"i…" i'm sorry. the words catch in his chest, falling into the void there and never escaping for gaz to hear. he can't let him touch your tags. it's the only part of you he has left. "...don't touch 'em."

kyle squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch them." his tone is low and careful as he steps closer again, hands open so johnny can see them. he feels like a feral animal, being coaxed to let kyle approach. "but you need to rest, mate."

the weeks blend together after that day. some days johnny feels like the shock will never wear off, like he's living on autopilot. others, it all comes crashing down on him and even dragging himself out of bed becomes a challenge.

his dreams are plagued with images of you, lifeless and cold. it stops him from sleeping most nights, but others are filled with memories of your life together playing on loop, a constant reminder of what he can never have again.

the room you used to share is always filled with flowers; gardenias, gladioli, forget-me-nots, and anything else he sees that he thinks you'd like. when they wilt, and eventually die, he presses the petals in the pages of his sketchbook, keeping them in a box next to the very first flowers he ever got you, the memories preserved forever under your – his bed.

that same sketchbook that's filled with page after page of your image, some from the multitude of pictures he keeps of you, and when he inevitably runs out of references, he draws you from memory. it gets to the point where he can't pick up a pencil without your face haunting him; you always did love his art, even if he didn't think it was any good.

he knows he's not the only one taking it hard. the others are different too; gaz is quieter, something more serious in his eyes now. the captain doesn't appear moved on the surface, and neither does ghost, but when they look at the empty seat where you used to sit, the memory of you is evident in the way their shoulders deflate ever so slightly.

once word spreads about what exactly happened, the never-ending condolences and pitying looks from the people around base gets old very quickly. they tell him how they're so sorry for his loss and what happened to you was so tragic, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up in his chest when they talk about you.

he doesn't want to hear it, and every time he has to listen to their pitying comments it only makes him resent them more. they didn't know you, they didn’t care, they probably didn't even know who you were before you died. they could never hope to understand what you meant to him, to the taskforce, the gap in their team that you left behind.

it's when someone suggests moving on from you that it all finally bubbles over.

six months later, a long time since that day but somehow no time at all. he'd gone out for drinks for the first time in a while, after some gentle coercion from simon, along with another group of soldiers staying on base.

he didn't even want to go, not really, but something in him knew he couldn't carry on like he had been. he needed some form of normalcy, one night where he can pretend everything is fine and you're just waiting for him back home, to just forget.

it didn't take him long to realise going out with them was a mistake. almost immediately he was dragged into a conversation with a few guys from another unit, and despite his many attempts they just wouldn't leave him be.

somehow, after about an hour of mindless chatter, they land on the topic of their love lives and recent conquests, and johnny immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. he wanted to slip away, avoid what he knew was coming at any cost, but he couldn't get away fast enough.

one of them brings up your name, they all look to him with a sort of curiosity that makes his skin crawl. they ask him if he's planning on staying hung up on you forever. johnny says it's only been six months. one of them laughs and tells him it's just sad, and from the looks of it you weren't anything special.

johnny smashes a glass over his head. price benches him for a few weeks after that.

it's hell, being left behind, alone, while the others went on like usual, and truthfully he starts to resent them all, bit by bit from the first time he's left on the tarmac. it felt like they didn't care, that johnny's heart, his life, his soul has changed but they carried on without looking back once. he isolates and shuts them out in a fit of misplaced anger, building the walls around his heart higher and higher and letting that resentment fester.

the day of your funeral brings it all crashing down. after all those months of waiting, johnny didn't even make it more than five lines into the speech he'd prepared before he's breaking down and stumbling out the side door in a hyperventilating mess. simon follows behind like his shadow, sitting down with him when he slides down the wall with a hand clutching his chest. he cries into simon's shoulder for rest of the service, releasing all the pent up anguish he'd been trying to keep inside in a catharsis he didn't realise he needed.

when they get back to base the next morning, johnny’s practically begging to be allowed back in the field. he found himself missing the chaos, the unpredictability of the battlefield was where he was in his element. this job was how you met, how you got together, how you lived. he never felt closer to you than when he was out in the field with adrenaline pumping through his veins.

it takes some convincing, but price gives in and everything feels like it's back to normal. missions are quieter than they'd ever been, but johnny finds it doesn't bother him anymore. he feels your presence by his side like the sun on his back, always with him, like his guardian angel.

it's six more months before anything changes.

in the back of the helicopter, a few minutes out from the landing site, an oddly comforting sense of déjà vu washes over him. the bright blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of the sun on his skin, he almost feels that if he turned to his left, he'd see you sitting there with that same smile lighting up your face.

his fingers tighten around your tags.

"you watchin', bonnie?" he presses his lips to the cool metal, feeling your name under his skin as he mumbles to himself. his gaze finds the roof of the helicopter, and even without looking he knows the others are watching him, that familiar solemn look on their faces.

they were doing this for you. everything johnny did was for you. he puts your tags safely away in the pocket if his vest closest to his heart.

the helicopter jolts as it lands, and with no more than a second's hesitation he's shooting up from his seat, a renewed energy flooding his body to the tips of his fingers. they step out into the biting air, a chill than not even the afternoon sun could stave off, and quickly begin their march into the small facility.

"you two, take that side. gaz, with me." price commands, and with a sharp nod from the three of them, they split up and begin their canvassing. they were here for intel, but there was no guarantee they were alone, despite the emptiness of the halls they move through.

their footsteps echo off the walls, only the distant howling of the wind outside to accompany them. the hairs on the back of johnny's neck were on end, an unease setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind following behind ghost.

the déjà vu from earlier isn't comforting anymore. he doesn't feel you watching over him, and the feeling only gets stronger as they approach a doorway ahead, bathed in a red light.

ghost pauses in the entrance, looking back at johnny and waiting for his affirming nod before pushing forward. the room is empty, the same as the rest of the building, save for the table sitting against the far wall.

there's something else there, he notices as he creeps closer to get a better look. a frown darkens his expression. it's a laptop, untouched and central on the table, a strange contrast to the almost methodical emptiness around it.

"oi, check this." johnny calls, turning around as ghost stalks over with a similar confusion on his face.

"that what we're here for?" he asks, examining the laptop with a deep frown casting shadow over his eyes.

"looks like it." johnny replies, slowly and carefully picking it up as his frown deepens. he was half expecting it to somehow blow up, but when he lifts the screen it lights up to the desktop with no issue. "that's convenient."

"very convenient..." ghost grunts, jerking his head in the direction of the door and speaking into the radio as he walks ahead of johnny. "price, we've got it. headin' to exfil now."

back on base a few hours later, the four of them with the addition of laswell sit around the table in a meeting room with the doors firmly shut, eyes locked onto the laptop with rapt tension as gaz opens the only file they could recover from the device.

the video starts abruptly with 'the mask' – the pretentious alias of man that heads the organisation they've been steadily eliminating all this time – in front of the camera, the dingy room behind him barely lit, the walls splattered with what johnny could only assume was blood.

"i trust that my message has found you well, task force one-four-one." his voice comes through the speakers, crackly and distorted by the low quality recording. "you have been relentless in your pursuit of us, and i applaud you for your efforts, but it's time to put an end to this."

johnny looks back at price, watching as his expression hardens and his fingers dig into his arms where they're crossed over his chest. it's obvious they've been set up, but it's too late to be concerned with that now. the problem now is how they're going to continue knowing the enemy has information on them that they shouldn't have.

the sound of something being dragged brings his attention back to the video, facing the screen again to see another masked man dumping a person with a bag over their head onto a chair in the centre of the room.

"i have something i believe you will be interested in." the chuckle is audible in his voice even beneath the mask and through the screen.

their wrists and ankles are tied together, and if it weren't for the laboured rise and fall of their chest, johnny wouldn't be sure if they were even alive.

"fuck– a hostage?" price spits, and even without looking he knows laswell is already working on finding a location, if the sound of her rapidly typing is any indication.

"something very… precious to you."

the figure moves to stand behind the person in the chair and yanks the bag from their head. he grabs their jaw and forces them to look up, a sickening laugh meeting johnny's ears as they make eye contact with the camera.

it's…

it's you.

you're beaten and bruised and covered head to toe in blood, but it's undoubtedly you when the faceless man yanks your head up.

johnny's sure his heart stops.

you're alive. you've been alive all this time. in the hands of a terrorist, and within an inch of your life, but…

you're alive.

"drop your investigation of us, and i will let them live." the masked man stalks back around to your side, still holding your jaw in a vice grip. the way you cower, as much as you can with that man's filthy hands on you, it breaks something in johnny. how long have you been in their hands, how long have you been abused by them?

how long have you been waiting for him?

he feels sick to his stomach, but he can't tear his eyes away. the lacerations on your face, the endless bruises littering your skin – when he spots the ones around your neck, he has to swallow down the bile – and how you just seem so tired, barely even fighting to keep your eyes open.

the masked man looks down to you again, pausing as he directs you to look at him through what seems like a black eye. the five of them watch, frozen by shock or anger or both, as the man rears his hand back and slaps you across the face so hard your head whips in the other direction. a pained, defeated sound escapes you, and johnny’s sure a knife to the chest would hurt less.

"do not disappoint me, captain price, or your sergeant will regret it."

the video cuts to black.

the sight of your face is burned into johnny's retinas, every time he blinks your features are there, dripping in your own blood, the only thing he can see.

"kate, tell me you can find this." price growls behind him, his words sounding distant to johnny's ears.

she hums distractedly. "working on it."

their conversation doesn't register, floating in one ear and straight out the other. you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. it's like his prayers have been answered for once in his life, and it may be some cruel trick from god to find you like this but johnny finds himself praying his thanks anyway.

"johnny…?" simon lays a hand on his shoulder, turning him in his chair to make worried eye contact with his shell-shocked expression. it jolts him out of his thoughts, the energy of the room a controlled kind of frantic as he comes back down to earth.

"that's– it's them, they're–" johnny sputters, gripping ghost's forearm with an absent desperation in his glassy eyes, "simon, they're alive."

he can't stop thinking about how empty your expression looked, the way you didn't have any fight left, and the gravity of what's been happening to you since the moment he lost you slowly creeps up on him.

have you given up hope of them finding you?

"we'll get 'em back, soap, listen to me," price drops a heavy, grounding hand on his other shoulder, halting his spiralling train of thought, "they're comin' home." his voice is resolute, no room for argument where he speaks it almost like a command.

johnny can only nod.

his head is still light as more rushed conversation happens around him. simon's hand is still on his shoulder, and that might be the only reason he hasn't completely fallen apart yet, but the thread is pulling taught enough to snap. his nails carve dents into his palms but he doesn't have the mind to unfurl them.

"sir, we've got a hit." gaz speaks up from where he's leaned over kate's shoulder, a determined glint in his eye when he meets the captain's gaze. johnny’s head snaps in his direction, his pulse quickening with every word that sparks new hope in his chest. "two hundred klicks northeast of where we found the laptop."

"good work, you two," price is pacing back and forth, scratching his beard with a calculating look on his face. they watch him for a moment, waiting for his command on what their next move will be, but johnny finds his patience wearing incredibly thin.

"the fuck we waitin' for? let's get out there'n go after the wee bastards!" he growls, his narrowed gaze darting between price and the others as he steadily grows more and more restless.

simon shakes his head from beside him, "hold your horses."

"this is delicate, we have to do this one right." price pauses, his eyes losing their hardness as he meets johnny's desperate face. "i know how much this means to you, but you're too close to this, soap."

the pause that follows that is so thick with tension it makes it hard to breath. a boiling type of rage bubbles up in his chest, extending to every trembling limb and turning his vision red. there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be there for you every step of the way when – not if – they rescued you.

"ye can get yersel' right tae fuck!" he spits, his face contorted with anger as he shoots up from his chair and points an accusatory finger at the captain. "that's too far, price, ye cannae keep me outta this!"

"johnny, sit down." simon warns, using the hand still on his shoulder to put some space between him and price, but johnny doesn't budge; this was far too important.

"yer aff yer heid, both of ye's! if ye won't let me come, i'll go mysel', ye fuckin' hear?" he growls, shaking free of simon's hand. his glare travels between him and price, hands wound into fists at his sides.

the air turns heavy as they stare each other down. if price thinks he'll back down on this, johnny would love nothing more than to prove him wrong.

he's moments away from meeting his fist to price's face when gaz stands up and gets between them. "that's his other half, sir. respectfully, he deserves to be part of this." he reasons, giving price a firm look and a small nod to johnny. "you'd be the same in his position."

the tension is palpable. he watches over gaz's shoulder as the captain deliberates, clearly having an internal battle over the decision, but eventually he sighs and fixes johnny with a stern look.

price closes the distance between them, patting gaz on the arm as he passes. "screw your head on, mactavish. we only get one shot at this, i need to know i can trust you not to fuck it up."

a spark of hope makes johnny's heart race, and he gives price a single resolute nod of confirmation. "i won't, sir."

laswell stands and walks around the table to stand beside price, a similarly firm expression. "we have to play this carefully. they wanted us to find that laptop, i have no doubt they wanted us to find where they are too."

"so what's our angle?" gaz asks.

laswell and price share a look.

"this has to be off the books, there's no way we'll get clearance for this." laswell answers, her expression turning noticeably darker, looking over to price as she continues, "if we want them back alive, we'll have to act fast. that means we're on our own."

the captain nods with no hesitation. "we are getting my sergeant back. i don't care how we have to do it."

they're loading into the back of a helo not even an hour later. the five of them, along with two field medics and the pilot, with the strict instructions in johnny's head to bring you home or to not come back at all.

there's only one coherent thought racing through his mind for the entire; you. getting you back, taking you home, finding the man that took you away from him – and hurt you – and making him pay.

he fishes your tags out of his pocket and presses them to his lips in a lingering kiss, just like he always does. soon, he thinks, it would be you he'd be kissing, not just a remnant of you.

the flight passes by so quickly it's almost as if he'd blinked and they were landing again.

the air is glacial as they ready themselves, preparing for the mask to put up a fight that they fully intend to win. the plan was decided on during the journey; kate and ghost would provide support from a distance while price, gaz, and johnny would confront the bastard head on. his focus is razor sharp, marching through the trees and underbrush, blood rushing in his ears and jaw clenched painfully tight.

the sky is just as strikingly blue as the day he lost you.

bring you home, or don't come back.

they reach a break in the trees, surrounding the small facility they tracked the video to that looked more like a derelict warehouse than a base. either way, the dark figure of their target is visible against the brick wall, surrounded by a number of his own soldiers – johnny counts six as he, price, and gaz make themselves known coming through the treeline. they share a quick look; they know how this will end.

"well met, captain," the mask calls, slowing to a stop and leaving a few metres of space between himself and the three of them, "will you make the right choice, or will your sergeant suffer for your pride, i wond–"

his monologue is cut short by a shot from the darkness of the treeline and lodging mercilessly into the base of his throat. his deadweight hits the ground with a thud that echoes, and in less than a second bullets are flying.

soap tightens his grip on his gun, raising it to glare down the sights and firing at the soldier nearest to him and dropping him with one well placed bullet to the leg and another to the face once he was on the floor.

another shot from the treeline drops one more; four left.

gaz and price take out another two between them in a similar fashion to soap, leaving two still standing – one of whom was advancing fast with the barrel of his gun pointed at soap while the other backed away.

one more shot rings out from the trees and one more body falls, but the last hostile was far too close for comfort now, johnny had no choice but to tackle him to the ground, narrowly avoiding being shot himself on the way down.

a few seconds pass as they wrestle on the ground, both trying desperately to gain the upper hand but falling just short because of the other. from his peripheral soap can see price running to his aid, but his momentary distraction allowed his assailant to take the upper hand and roll on top of him.

hands constrict around his neck, cutting off his airflow, but a well timed shot from price sends him falling over sideways, sputtering blood from the wound in his side.

soap heaves and cough, pulling air back into his lungs and glaring at the body of the man who almost got the better of him. this only meant they were one step closer to getting you back; he was one step closer to having you in his arms again. it didn't matter if he got hurt in the process.

price's outstretched hand suddenly appears in his vision, "get up soap, we've got a job to do."

his daze melts away and he takes the captain's hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright with an affirming nod shared between them.

"good aim, ma'am." gaz calls over the radio, looking down his nose at the steadily declining state of the mask; his infamous facade now cracked and broken, revealing the agonised face beneath.

"bring 'em home, boys." kate replies, and though he can't see her face johnny can imagine the commanding look she's undoubtedly wearing.

gaz backs away as johnny crosses the mess of crimson and dirt to where the mask lays, sprawled out and immobilised by his injuries but still very much alive, giving the fellow sergeant a respectful nod as he goes. "he's all yours, mate."

johnny stands over his fading form, watching with a detached look in his eye as the blood spills from the gaping wound in his neck with every struggled breath, his disjointed intake of air and the pathetic sputters as he inhales his own viscera. there's not a shred of mercy in him as he gazes down at the man, every bit of agony was completely deserved for what he did to you. the death that claws at him would be a blessing.

he gurgles to johnny, raising a weak arm to brush the hem of his trousers as he attempts to expel the words, "pl–ea– plea-se–"

johnny scoffs, dry and venomous. he has half a mind to leave him to suffer until the life finally bleeds from him, but the pure rage he feels listening to this bastard plead for help after putting you through hell for a year is far too strong for him to restrain.

it's unconscious, the way johnny's arm raises to point the barrel of his pistol squarely at the centre of his forehead. he pauses for a moment, if only to see the fear creep into the bastard's expression before his fingers squeeze the trigger and the light is gone from his eyes.

his chest stops heaving and his hand drops back to the mud, leaving nothing but a few bloody fingerprints in his wake.

johnny pulls the trigger again.

and again, and again, and again, until his face is nothing more than a cavity of gore and lead and the ringing in his ears blocks out everything else around him.

a firm hand comes down on his shoulder and it’s only then does he notice the tension in his muscles and the fierce sneer pulling at his features. his eyes snap to the dark figure in the corner of his vision, meeting the bone white of simon's mask and the frown underneath.

"that'll do, johnny." simon murmurs, his own darkened eyes glaring down at the mangled corpse laying at their feet. he nods, somewhat absently, and turns away from the offending body.

there were more important things he needed to keep his head on straight for.

neither him or simon spare the remains of the mask another glance as they leave him behind. price and gaz are waiting by the entrance for them, and as soon as they're close enough they head together into the dark corridors of the building.

as the creep through the abandoned building, now deep in the cold basement, weapons poised and on high alert, there's a new sense of dread that forms in the back of his mind; what if you're not here after all? what if the mask was bluffing and you're already dead?

johnny grits his teeth and shakes his head to rid himself of that damning train of thought. he couldn't afford to think like that, he wouldn't, but another corridor of empty rooms has his heart sinking like an anchor to his stomach. he's trying to stay hopeful, but every dead end only makes him feel worse.

price grips his shoulder, firm and comforting, with a look in his eye to match as he catches johnny's gaze. "we'll find 'em, soap."

"i know." he replies, but there's a waver in his voice despite the certainty of his words. price doesn't release his gaze or his shoulder until he moves to follow the others.

he doesn't say much else as the search continues. the ringing in his ears is back, amplified by the eerie silence of the halls. he can feel the air getting colder after each empty room the clear.

the time passes arbitrarily, until there's one last room to check. johnny watches gaz and ghost pry it open, the sound of the lock breaking only just reaching him through the fog over his senses.

gaz pauses once the door swings open, his eyes locked onto something in the room as they widen dramatically. he still doesn't tear his gaze away as his jaw falls open, something frantic in the way he yells, "soap!"

a spark of hope strikes his heart and travels to the very ends of his limbs, a new burst of energy filling him as he shoves past his teammates to stand in the doorway and look into the room himself.

it's you.

curled into yourself in the corner of the damp cell, shivering with your face buried in your knees with your hands clamped over your ears. it's almost uncanny, how small you look. the tremble in your limbs, the fear in your quickened breaths, it was the exact opposite of how you should be, but despite it all…

it's really you.

johnny feels his heart swell painfully with relief, and without another second of hesitation he's skidding to his knees beside you and gripping the cold skin of your wrists. you let out a muffled sob at the contact, and johnny feels his blood turn cold when it meets his ears.

"don't!" you cry, weak and desperate. johnny's caught off guard with how you try to rip yourself away from him, the shakes that wrack your body only increasing when he keeps his hold on you. "get off! please– please don't!"

his heart cracks anew at the distress in your hoarse voice. he feels his eyes well up with hot tears that he has to fight to keep from falling.

"hey, it's me! it's johnny, it's your johnny! look at me, sweetheart, i'm here!" he tries to calm you with his words, keeping his voice low between you both, but you keep your eyes screwed tightly shut.

johnny lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hands instead, gently turning your head towards him and using his thumbs to stroke soft shapes into your cheeks. the gesture makes your breath hitch audibly, and your eyes slowly open to meet his. "that's it, I'm here, i got ye, yer alright."

"don't– i don't– i can't…" whatever you're trying to say is broken up by the effort it takes you to keep breathing through your sobs. you still try to lean away from his touch, but johnny doesn't let you move far. he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own breakdown.

"no-one's gonna hurt you again, darlin', i promise ye." he murmurs, searching your glassy eyes while he continues to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your face, wet with your tears. "c'mere, i've got ye…"

with little more resistance from you, johnny gathers you into his arms and presses you close to his chest, they way he'd been dreaming off all the time you'd been apart. he pays no mind to the way the hard ground digs into his knees, and instead focuses on feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage against his own, your heartbeat under his fingertips, and the very real sound of your voice.

"you– j-johnny…" you stutter, your hiccuping sobs gradually fading away as you grip the bulk of his vest like a lifeline. "are you… real?"

"i'm real, darlin'," his voice cracks despite his efforts to stay strong for you. he presses his lips to the tip of your head in a lingering kiss, partly so you won't see the glossy tears in his eyes as he tries to stamp them down. "i'm here. i swear, i'm never lettin' you out of my sight again."

the simple feeling of your weight leaning against him is so overwhelming he's worried he might faint. he lets you calm down, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arms and back and wherever he can reach, even when the position becomes uncomfortable and the dampness from the floor has seeped into his bones.

eventually though, he does pull back, softly shush you when you protest in the thought that he's leaving you, and cups your head in his warm hands.

"let's get you home, eh?" he smiles. your uncertain eyes dart between his for a moment, searching, before you nod. it's weak and hesitant, but the gesture makes his grin stretch a little wider all the same. "c'mon then, think ye can walk?"

johnny sighs when you shake your head, looking down and seeming almost embarrassed by your frail condition as if any of this was your fault. if he could kill that bastard again, he wouldn't even hesitate.

it's no bother to him to haul you up with him, holding you carefully against his chest with an arm under your knees and the other around your back. you still gingerly grip the top of his vest, your free arm looping itself around his neck and pulling yourself as close to him as you can muster. he gives a concise nod to the others, crowded in the doorway, and they begin the trek back to the helo.

the sunlight causes you to bury your face in the crook of johnny's neck, shielding your eyes from the blindingly bright rays. he allows himself a moment of distraction as they cross the clearing to revel in the feeling. he'd feel the sun on his face again, but he'd never again take for granted a single moment he spends with you.

they're almost to the edge of the clearing, almost departed from that haunted place with a graveyard of mangled bodies in their wake, but he doesn't quite make it to the treeline.

a single gunshot echoes through the clearing and before any of them can react, the shell has found its mark in johnny's leg. the force and shock of it sends him tumbling to the floor, scrambling through the blossoming pain to brace his fall on his arms so he won't land on top of you.

there's yelling, returning fire, but johnny can only focus on covering your body with his own, shielding you from any harm that might find you. even through the agony travelling up his thigh, even when the air is still again, and even when his own eyes are threatening to follow yours in falling shut and succumbing to the weakness that drags him down.

when did you shut your eyes? johnny slips his hand under your hand, grunting in his chest as his weight shifts, and to his horror his fingers come back red.

no, no no. he only just got you back, he cannot lose you again.

he doesn't even register that he's shouting – for help, a medic, something – until his weight is being heaved over ghost's shoulder and you're being taken by price, the cracks in his stony expression only fuel the sick dread making its way up johnny's throat.

back in the helo, in no time but he doesn't remember the journey, he tries to push the medic away who starts working on his leg, slurring for them to help you first. they ignore him, obviously, and if he had any energy left he would've berated them for not listening. ghost holds him down as they secure the tourniquet, and as his vision finally begins to fade, he turns his head to the side so you can be the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness.

for once, he doesn't dream of you.

there are no images of your body, laying motionless under the rubble. he sleeps in blissful oblivion, his head completely silent, and wakes a day and a half later feeling more rested than he ever has despite the wound in his leg.

simon is by his bedside when he finally opens his eyes. it's late, the room dark apart from the fluorescent light bleeding in from the gap under the door and simon's phone highlighting his balaclava. he notices the moment johnny turns his head to watch him, because of course he does, and reaches over to turn on the lamp on the side table without a word.

"mornin', lt…" johnny mumbles, voice hoarse and eyes heavy as he pushes through the tiredness clinging to his senses to sit up in his bed. the light is abrasive to his eyes, but he blinks through the sting and manages a lazy smile towards simon.

"evenin', more like." he replies, a trace of humour in the way his eyes lift at the corners. "been asleep nearly thirty-eight hours."

johnny baulks at that, suddenly feeling a lot more awake from the cold shock that passes through him. "thirty–? jesus wept, i need'ta–" he sputters, wide-eyed as he throws the blankets from his legs and starts to get up, "i need'ta see 'em, how–"

before he can get his feet on the ground however, he's pushed back by simon's hand on his chest, forcing him to sit back and acknowledge the pain radiating from his thigh.

"they're fine, johnny." simon tells him, punctuated with a roll of his eyes before he continues, "been in and out of consciousness, but they're stable."

johnny sighs deeply, relief flooding through his body as he slumps back against his pillows. you're okay, you're alive, you're here, and you're home and safe. his thoughts have already begun racing and despite how much his wounds are aching, he's already set his mind to how he's going to see you as soon as possible.

as if sensing his plotting, simon leans forward to catch his gaze and even through the mask johnny can see the look he's sending him.

"i'm goin' back to bed, so don't do anythin' stupid." simon begins, pushing himself to stand using the arms of his chair and narrowing his eyes as he leans even closer. "if you rip these stitches, i'll put 'em back in myself, clear?"

"crystal, lt." johnny nods, and simon holds his stare as one last warning before he turns to leave – but not without giving him a firm pat just below his bandages that makes him wince, feeling the silent threat behind the gesture as he watches simon exit silently out into the hall.

johnny swings his legs over the side of the bed the second the door swings shut again, a sharp intake of breath following the movement as his weight shifts. surely he could get to where you are without making his wound any worse, he hard could it be?

he makes it two doors down before he realises that this might've been a bad idea. the muscles of his thigh burn and his breath comes out in heavy, stuttered huffs, but despite the strain on his injured body he refuses to give up before he's seen that you're okay with his own two eyes.

the fourth door he peeks through is where he finds you, the sight of your sleeping form instantly overpowering the pain in his leg. he shoulders open the door and beelines in a limp to your bedside, his gaze never once leaving your face until he's close enough to grasp your hand in a slow, featherlight touch like you'd disappear if he made a wrong move. you don't react as he strokes your knuckles, but johnny is more than content to just sit with you, perched on the edge of your bed and taking in the way your breath fills your lungs, the gentle thrum of your pulse under his fingertips on your wrist.

time passes easily like this, until the minutes have gone by and he can find the strength to lift himself into the bed beside you, snaking his arm around your neck and shoulder to hold you close as he settles in, careful not to agitate any of your own injuries.

"i missed you, my love," johnny whispers, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "i missed you so much…"

your fingers twitch in his hold, the steady rhythm of your breathing hitching as a shaky sigh leaves you. johnny freezes, his hand stilling on your bicep and his eyes growing wide.

"john–" the sound of his name passing your lips pulls him out of his shock, and he pulls back to watch your eyes twitch and flutter open. your voice is raspy and still weak, but not even an angel choir could sound sweeter to him. "johnny…?"

"i'm here–" his voice breaks, but he continues anyway, "i'm here, i got ye." he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low despite how much he wants to cry from joy. "how ye feelin'? you comfy, sweetheart? any pain?" he asks, shifting the both of you to sit against the pillows and keep you nestled against his side.

"i'm okay–" your hoarse response is interrupted by a cough that devolves into wet hiccups, your hands curling tightly into his shirt as you look up at him, "it– am i– it's–"

"shushsh, i'm here darlin', i've got ye." he coos, his eyes welling up to match yours, resuming his soothing touch over your arm. you stay like that, for minutes that could've been hours, gazing into each other's eyes while you softly cry and johnny comforts you.

it aches him to see you cry, but he can't help but awe at how beautiful you still manage to be, with cuts and bruises and tears littering your face. his heart swells in his chest with the love he holds for you.

your hand finds its place on johnny's cheek, your staggered breaths calming down at last. he covers it with his own to feel more of your skin on his. a wince crosses your expression as you try to lean up towards him, but he stops you before you hurt yourself any further and leans his forehead against yours.

you pull his face even closer, digging your fingertips into his cheek in an almost uncomfortable sensation, before brushing your lips against his in something like disbelief. "am i dreaming?"

"no, my love," he utters against your skin, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, nudging your cheek with his nose, "this is real."

your breath hitches again when he closes the little space left between you and presses his lips to yours, encapsulating you in a kiss that holds every ounce of desperation he's been holding on to. it's passionate, all-encompassing, and it reminds him of the first time he kissed you all those years ago. your free hand travels up to his hair, tangling the longer strands around your fingers and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

he's reluctant to let you when you pull away for air, tasting the salt from your last stray tears as he chases your lips.

"say it again…?" you ask in a murmur, your eyes fluttering open again. the look you give him, one of pure hope that you won't suddenly wake up alone, it makes johnny's heart miss a beat.

he squeezes your hand, turning slightly to leave a kiss on your palm. "it's real, bonnie. i'll die before i ever let you go again."

your mouth opens to say something, but you stop yourself just before you can choke the words out, fresh tears building in your eyes again. johnny gives you an encouraging nod, holding your gaze while you muster the courage to voice what you're thinking.

"i–" you begin, your words catching on a lump in your throat, "i watched you leave without me, i had to watch the helicopter disappear and, and you…" your voice fades, eyes darting between his while they gloss with unshed tears once again.

"sweetheart…" he frowns, his heart breaking anew from the anguish that he never wants to hear in your voice.

you swallow thickly, your hold on his hair tightening ever so slightly. "i thought– i didn't think you'd ever find me…"

"i'd always find you." johnny replies, his resolute tone leaving no room for argument. he touches his forehead to yours again and lowers his voice to continue, "even if i had to go tae the ends of the earth, i'd never stop lookin' fer you."

his words release the fresh tears you've been holding back, and with a quiet sob you drop your face to the crook of his neck, gripping his hair and face tighter still. johnny softly shushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth as much as he can with you held close in his arms.

"you're staying with me tonight…" your voice is muffled, spoken into his neck and sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. a comforting nostalgia follows your words, one he can't help but chuckle at.

"would'nae have it any other way, darlin'."

#soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #mw2 x reader #mw3 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #roosterr writes

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heartpascal · 1 year

Text

lock it when you leave

▹ — joel miller x platonic!f!reader + tommy miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: part three of if the door wasn’t shut — tensions rise in jackson, leaving you scrambling to find your place.

▹ — a/n: guys i’m not all that happy with this part!!! it feels kinda … filler-y. but we are getting somewhere!!! i have ideas for part 4 :’) let me know what you guys think!! (if you guys wanna be tagged in future parts let me know)

▹ — warnings: angst, guns, fire, murder, there’s a baby in this one, blood, arguments, infected + raiders, father figure miller bros

▹ — tags: @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @pedropascalsrealgf @faceache111 @livvy256 @dizzyforyou @hiphopdancer101universe @aphrcdites @axionn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @coolchick333 @hufflepuffriver @kobenio @dorothleah @moonygremlin @tomorrowseverything @martinsmomo @teenagetragediesforeveryone @dksjskx @inkiqayo @fariylixie0915 @jbcalway @ipadkidsworld @coldwcter @rhyanna6012 @gimalo135 @kimpineeeeeeee @jerseygirllll @dreamerglassesgirl @g0bble @firsttimewriter92 @coldheartedmar @cheneyq @dilfsaremyfavourite @sakurarukas @brilliantopposite187 @ilovemydinoboi @chiogarza @lockleywife @famoussuitcasepiebagel-blog @doctorliamsr @dustyroper28 @daffodil0darling @marchstrilogy @cappucinolia @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @ithoughtthiswastwitterbutfr @slut4timotheechalamet

masterlist | PART ONE | PART TWO

howl’s song association!

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Four months ago, when the wound was still fresh, you never would’ve thought that you’d be here. Stood comfortably in the Miller’s home, stirring food over the stove as Tommy and Maria fussed over the newborn of the household in their living room.

In fact, you would’ve bet against this exact scenario, certain that you’d never let yourself get close to another Miller ever again. It was the only logical thing for you to do — after all, that wound had been angry and sore, the blood still wet.

You wouldn’t say it had healed, not even close, really. It still throbbed, white hot to the touch, especially when you thought of Joel and Ellie, but you were managing. Coping. It helped, having Tommy and Maria around, far more than you had ever expected. They were kind, softened from years of sanctuary, and you hated to admit it, but you cared about them.

The feeling had snuck up on you, which was ridiculous, considering that was exactly how it had happened before. Though, perhaps you had been less apprehensive the first time around, considering the way you flinched away from their care in the beginning. You should’ve expected it, should’ve fought against it with everything in you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

This was the reminder of just how human you were. Despite all the pain, the suffering and anger and scars against your skin, you craved connection. You wanted people to care about you, wanted your life to have meaning, even though it seemed to only end in your own heartbreak.

You just hoped this would be different.

A childish thing, to hope, in a world like this one, but that’s what you were, right? You were allowed to be childish, to let that hope build back up until it was inevitably knocked down, reduced to rubble. People seemed to appear from the strangest of places, coming to help you scavenge through the debris for something to rebuild the foundations with.

That’s what Tommy and Maria had been to you — fitting, really, considering what Tommy had done in the time before cordyceps. They had spent time with you, helping you build up that hope for something better, something kinder.

You hated to do it, hated to lean back into relationships, but you trusted the two of them more than you were willing to admit to anyone — even to yourself. With their own child now in the world, you just hoped that you wouldn’t get in the way.

Maria’s drawn out sigh shook you from such thoughts, and you raised an eyebrow at her where she stood beside you, her back resting against the kitchen counter. “What’s up with you?” You ask her, turning your gaze from her slight smirk back to the food, where you started to fish on to plates. It was a good job she’d caught your attention — much longer and the three of you would’ve been eating charred scraps.

“Oh, nothing.” She responded, and looked sharply to you when you scoffed a slight laugh. “What?” She asked, grinning.

“That was the biggest sigh I’ve ever heard, and I’ve known Joel for about as long as I can remember.” You told her, almost absentmindedly, not thinking too much on the joking comment until after you’d already spoken it.

Maria’s smile got small, and she took over the garnishing part of dishing out dinner, the part that you still didn’t understand. Why put it on there if it didn’t need to be? And when Tommy was definitely going to pick it off?

“Don’t judge me,” Maria told you, saying your name in what was almost a scolding voice, “Tommy’s just putting the baby to bed, he’ll be in in one sec.” She said, after you had moved to pick up his plate, too. You raised a hand, grabbing her plate and leaving her to bring the cutlery, rolling your eyes when she scolded you.

“Calm down, Maria, it’s only been a week. Let me help.” You said to her, when she continued to lecture you on just how capable she was, despite the way she held onto the walls and doorframes with one hand as she walked, the other holding onto her now slightly flatter stomach.

“She giving you a tough time?” Tommy asked, having settled the baby, and hearing Maria’s rants.

“Isn’t she always?” The two of you shared an amused look when Maria immediately jumped on the defence, only relenting with a roll of her eyes when Tommy leant down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Hey, don’t forget who just got you all your new clay, kid!” Maria told you, as Tommy left to grab his own plate from the kitchen, and grinned when your shoulders sagged in defeat. “How’re the mugs coming?”

You shrugged idly, scraping food onto your fork.

“You talked my ear off about those damn mugs, and now you’re quiet?” Tommy questioned as he dropped down with a huff on the couch, stretching back slightly.

“That was just to annoy you.” You told him, fighting a grin when he sat up with something close to an incredulous expression on his face. You wouldn’t lie, though, it warmed your chest slightly that Maria was asking about such things when you knew how exhausted she was. Painfully, you realised that she reminded you more and more of Tess. “They’re… good. Kinda. Improving.” You said to Maria after a brief pause, before shoving your food into your mouth.

“Well, we could do with some more. Only got the two, and you’ll need one. Plus some for guests.” Maria said between bites of food, ignoring the look Tommy shot at her for the guests comment. You weren’t stupid — you knew that she was talking about Joel and Ellie. They didn’t really have other guests, after all. Any other socialising was done in town, even town-related meetings, usually going down early in the morning in the hall.

“I’ll see what I can do.” You responded, feeling something shiver down your spine bitterly as you thought of Joel and Ellie coming here.

Usually, you pretended they didn’t. You liked to think that Tommy and Maria’s house was untouchable, impervious to anyone who wasn’t you, them, or their new baby. You saw the remnants of their other guests, of course, like when you’d come in the morning, and there would be four plates in the sink. Or when Ellie’s coat still rested on the coat hooks. But the couple’s presence felt comforting, and you weren’t willing to give it up. Not right now, at least.

You refused to let Joel take anything else away from you. He didn’t have the right — he never did. It wasn’t like he was your father! Joel had made that much clear from the start, back when it had just been you, him and Tess.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“She doesn’t have anyone, Joel, what else was I meant to do?” Tess asked, her words biting as she yelled them toward her partner.

“The last thing we need is a kid to take care of. Send her to FEDRA.” Joel responded, his voice loud, but not quite a shout. He was trying to be the voice of reason here, not the asshole. Looking after some child they didn’t ask for, it could only end badly.

What if somebody came looking for you? Somebody with a vengeance? What if you turned out to be some asshole kid who killed them both? What if they couldn’t get the rations to feed you? What if—

“What? So she can get shot in the street in a few years? Joel, she should get a choice.” Tess bargained, unsure herself as to why she felt the need to defend you so much.

She knew Joel was right — knew that it wasn’t practical or realistic to keep you in their shitty apartment, but some part of her just knew. You needed the two of them, and in the middle of the apocalypse, was it really too difficult to do one good thing? Tess wasn’t saying it to be a hero — but god knows that too many kids had died already. She wasn’t trying to give Joel somebody else to look after, she was just trying to help.

Tess wanted to be able to look you in the face, and tell you that this was your chance. They didn’t turn up often in the apocalypse, and she wanted to urge you to take it. Was that too much to offer? Just an opportunity to live a bit longer, to survive in a world that strived for your death?

“Tess…” Joel sighed heavily, turning his head to look where you were sat back against their couch cushions, knees drawn to your chest as you ducked your head, clearly pretending that you hadn’t been listening the whole time. “Okay, fine. Let the kid stay.”

Tess nodded at him, the two of them moving apart as she headed towards where you were sat, something heavy and daunting resting on her shoulders as she looked at you, foolishly hoping she wouldn’t live to regret this.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Things were getting tense in Jackson.

You knew that things had been growing restless for a while, but it had gotten worse, somehow beginning to feel tangible in the very air you breathed.

Two separate raiding attacks had come in the past three weeks, which was definitely cause for concern. The first hadn’t gotten far enough to reach you where you had slept in your shop, and it was only the morning after as the dead were buried that you found out it happened.

The second was not so easy — waking you up in the middle of the night, which was an easy task, considering how light your sleep had become at the reminder that the walls around Jackson weren’t impenetrable. You woke up to the sounds of yelling, the roaring of flames, which sounded far too close to comfort. It was only when you rushed outside of your shop, clay carving tool clutched in your hand, that you knew for certain it was raiders.

They’d gotten deep into the town, which was a shock to the system, making it feel like cold water was running down your back. People were running on the street, gunfire sounding from further out, by the wall. The raiders seemed to be multiplying, but you knew they couldn’t be more than a party of twenty. No way would any of the guards miss a group bigger than that, right?

“Get back inside!” One of them yelled towards you, a rifle sitting stiffly in his hand, and a helmet resting on his head. He didn’t have a very commanding voice. You stayed where you were, frozen.

He approached, fingers tightening on his gun, and you could’ve sworn that your heart was beating so fast in might explode. The blood was rushing in your ears, and you felt sick for a moment, before the cold wash of reality came over you, in the form of the raider yelling so harshly in your face that you could smell his breath.

You blinked harshly at him, and swallowed down the bile in your throat as he moved to raise his gun toward your head. It felt like something had snapped in you, and you were launching yourself at him in less than a second, reminiscent of a barely-there memory back before Ellie was around.

Your clay tool hadn’t been very sharp, so it had taken force to push it into his neck when he fell down under your sudden weight. You tried not to think about the pressure you’d forced on it as you shoved his head down into the pavement when he tried to lift it in some form of defence, likely trying to smack his helmet into your face. His hands reached up, pushing you away with a burst of strength — what you hoped was the final burst of adrenaline.

Loose stones on the ground scraped up against your arm, drawing the tiniest bits of blood as you skidded across the floor where he had shoved you. When he turned his gaze to you, you bared your teeth, snatching his gun and holding it firmly away from you when he reached for it, pulling the trigger.

Glass shattered behind you, and you tugged the gun until it came away from his grasp, and he reached up, pulling the tool from where it stuck out of his neck.

The gun was firmly in your hands, aimed at him, before he could even raise the tool towards you, the sudden rush of blood from his body only rendering him weaker.

Your name had been called a second later, and you scrambled away from the raider as gunshots slowly faded out, leaving behind scared shouts and the blaze of the still-burning fire. You looked up to see Tommy, rushing towards you and tugging you up from the ground the moment he reached you.

“Shit,” He muttered, holding your arms tightly as he let his gun hang limply at his side. “Are you okay? You hurt?”

You shook your head, still grasping onto the stolen gun, and watched him sigh in something close to relief, before he turned his gaze to the shattered front of your shop.

“Come on.” Tommy urged then, nodding his head and only releasing you when you made to follow him, and he grasped onto his own gun as you began the trek to his and Maria’s home.

When you got there, Tommy shoved you inside and quickly shut the door behind him, taking the gun from your hands and resting it against the wall by the coatrack. He did the same with his own gun, a moment later.

“Maria!” You called, your voice scratchy as it left your throat. The baby was crying, you could hear it the moment you stepped inside, and you moved straight into the kitchen, finding Maria stood there, holding onto the baby and shushing, as she paced back and forth.

“Oh, thank god, you’re both okay.” She sighed out, approaching her husband and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. The worry lines on her forehead were visible, showing how stressed and anxious she truly was. “You hurt?” She asked the two of you, raising her voice to be heard over the crying baby she rocked in her arms.

“No, we’re alright.” Tommy answered, his words sounding close to relief despite the way his muscles remained tight, tense.

“Shit, Tommy,” Maria swore, looking at a gash that was trickling blood down his arm. “We gotta get you patched up. Would you mind?” She directed the last question to you, lifting her arms slightly to show off the crying baby held in them.

“Uh— sure.” You agreed, anxiously, because despite the fact it had been a few weeks since the baby was born, you had continued to keep your distance. You followed Maria into the living room, where she sat you down on the couch and placed him in your arms, as you tried to mirror the shape of her own.

He was loud, and heavier than you had expected, but you let him rest heavily in your left arm, with your right just resting gently against his side, finger running over the pyjamas he was dressed in.

“You two gonna be alright?” Tommy asked, nodding when you did, and following Maria to the upstairs bathroom, where their personal first aid kit was kept.

You rocked your arms the slightest bit, trying not to release the sigh of relief when the baby finally began to settle down, the loud sounds fading and leaving behind a tense silence over Jackson. When all the loud noises faded, you were left with a slight ring to your ears, likely from where that raider had fired his gun right beside them, aimed at your shop.

You couldn’t imagine how Maria had felt — she was a protector, and it must’ve killed her to stay behind with the baby whilst her husband left to help out the town. She was still recovering from giving birth, the event taking its toll, especially in the apocalypse, where the painkillers she’d had during her first birth weren’t available. Medical professionals were hard to come by, with only two residing in Jackson, neither specialising in things such as pregnancy or labour.

Luckily, they knew more than enough about it to give Maria the best chance at survival she could get. You don’t know how Tommy might’ve reacted if she hadn’t gotten through the birth. You didn’t want to think about it.

“Tommy? Maria?” A voice yelled, the front door banging open and causing the baby to begin his wailing once again. “Shit, sorry—” Ellie cut herself off as she entered the room, shock evident on her face when she saw you sat in there.

“They’re upstairs.” You answered stiffly, referring to her earlier yells, and you began rocking the baby boy once again, trying to settle his cries. You ran a gentle finger down his forehead, to the tip of his nose, shooting Ellie a nasty look when she just continued to stare at you.

“Joel went to find you.” She said, after a few moments, lowering her voice as you finally got the baby to begin settling, your arms tense as you tried to keep him as still as possible. You looked up at that, eyebrows creasing as you regarded her, saw the way her fingers fiddled together, pulling at the zip of her jacket.

“Why?” You questioned, confused for a moment. After all, Joel hadn’t cared much about leaving you behind when the two do them left Jackson, so why would he care about your whereabouts while you were here? “I can take care of myself.” You said, when she didn’t respond to your question, and you felt your jaw tighten when Ellie just rolled her eyes.

“Joel did what he did to take care of you. Why can’t you see that?” Ellie asked, voice hardening as she looked at you, lounged against the couch, holding Joel’s nephew in your arms, whilst he was on there searching for you.

You sat up slightly, a deep crease forming between your brows at the fire in Ellie’s words. It made somerhing uncomfortable stir in your chest, tightening and getting hotter as you looked at her expression.

“I didn’t ask him to do that. I wanted to come with you both. He took that from me, Ellie, he left me behind.” You said, feeling like you were turning in circles, beginning to feel dizzy and not getting anywhere. You strained to keep your arms somewhat relaxed, to keep your hands still where they wanted to clench into fists.

Her next words were quieter, and you struggled to hear them over the ringing still in your ears, drowning out the blazing world around you. She spoke again, her eyebrows furrowing to match your own, “You’re being unfair, you said you didn’t want to carry on!”

“I said I wanted to go home!” You said, voice raising for a moment, before you quietened your tone, only for the sake of the baby you held, who had already been disturbed enough tonight. “And in case you didn’t notice, Ellie, that was impossible. I lost everyone, don’t you get that?”

She shook her head, her cheeks going red as she grit her teeth, “Of course I fucking get that! You’re not the only one who lost people.”

“That’s not what I said!” You responded, feeling increasingly heated the longer the conversation went on, “But that trip cost me everything. So yeah, maybe I didn’t want to carry on. But I would’ve. I would’ve followed you two anywhere.”

“You got to stay here, in this actual fucking town, with actual fucking people and food and— and water!”

“People who are strangers! I was stuck here, in a town with things I don’t understand, people I don’t recognise, and the only ones I trusted left me here.” You spat back at her, wishing she could just understand what it had been like — didn’t she know how it felt to have your choice taken away from you? Why should they get to decide things for you? What happened to that control that Joel and Tess knew you valued so much?

Ellie opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and you swallowed down the anger that felt lodged in your throat, focusing on the baby who was fussing in your arms, saving his hands in the air until he caught onto one of your fingers, and held it tightly.

“Sh— There you are.” Joel’s voice came from the doorway, a heavy sigh forcing itself from his chest, and he entered the living room, his face crumpled in something like fear and relief. He opened and closed his mouth more than once, like he wanted to say something, before he finally settled on, “Tommy okay?”

“Maria’s patching him up.” You said flatly, turning your head away from where he stood beside Ellie, and keeping your gaze on the baby and where he was slowly beginning to dig his blunt nails into the skin of your finger.

Joel stared at you, his chest feeling close to hollow, and he could just remember the fear that had swallowed him whole when he saw the raider lay dead outside of the shop, the shop windows shattered against the ground. He had shoved the door open faster than he could think, his boots crunching against shattered glass loudly as he rushed to the door in the back, his heart pounding so hard he thought he might have a heart attack as his eyes scanned the ground.

When he had finally gotten the door open, a breath had left him as he realised you weren’t here, and he felt the pressure that had been pushing against his spine loosen the slightest bit, and he hurried to make his way back to Rancher Street, hoping with everything he had that you were at Tommy’s.

And now, here you were, as safe as you could possibly be, but Joel still didn’t feel relieved.

He felt dread, all consuming, and it reminded him painfully of that time, all those many months ago. Had it been a year?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel’s hand had been frozen, finger hovering over the trigger of his pistol, and he felt the air in his lungs struggling to get out. It was suffocating, making his body ache as he stared at you, where you held your breath, pressed as tightly to the wall as you could get.

Your eyes had closed, and he could see the muscles in your face twitch as you tried not to flinch away. One wrong move, wrong breath, wrong sound, and you’d be dead in a second — or worse, and Joel didn’t want to think about worse.

Tess was on the floor below, the three of you slowly making your way up, clearing the building as you went, aiming to get to the fifth floor, where the supplies were meant to be. Joel knew she wouldn’t be coming up any time soon, with the way the clicking echoed all throughout the room, likely travelling down the staircase.

It was right by your face — you could feel the breath against your cheek as it gargled and clicked, looking for you, getting so close that the shards of fungus that cracked its skull into pieces were almost brushing against your hair.

He didn’t know what to do — if he aimed wrong, he could hit you, or miss entirely, and just alert it to both yours and his own presence. He could try to kill it with the axe that rested against the nearby cabinet, one that he recognised from glass boxes labelled in case of fire, in the time before.

There was a glass bottle beside his foot, and with the slowest movements he could muster, Joel crouched low to the floor, gripping it in tense fingers, and threw it as far away from you as he could get it. He held his breath as it shattered, and the clicker let out a screech in your face, whirling away just as you had to exhale the breath you’d been holding. It hobbled away, unsteady on its feet, and you picked up the axe as you moved away from the wall.

Joel ushered you out of the room, back into the stairway, and grit his teeth as the clicker turned back at the sound of your hurried footsteps. He just about had time to slam the metal door shut, putting the deadbolt at the top back up into the concrete ceiling.

You breathed a sigh of relief, cradling your shaking hand to your chest, while the other gripped onto the axe tightly, ready to swing at a moments notice.

“Skip that floor?” You asked him, in a slightly joking way, and he nodded, face set in a dangerous expression as he glared at the door that shook slightly with the Infected clawing at it from the other side. With shaky legs, you climbed up to the next floor, waiting by the door as Tess poked her head up, hurrying up the steps to the floor you had just been on.

“Everything okay?” She asked, hands out towards Joel as if he was a feral animal, and he hadn’t quite realised just how thunderous his expression had become.

He nodded to the door, hearing the muffled bangs and scraped coming from the other side, the screech of fungal outrage. Tess placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding understandingly at him.

As they ascended the stairs to meet you where you waited for them, Joel could only grit his teeth as dread built tightly into his chest, squeezing his lungs and heart as he looked at your trembling fingers. You were fine, he knew, that Infected hadn’t even managed to touch you, but Joel couldn’t help the way that dread and fear began piling upon him, weighing his chest down so much that it became hard to inhale another breath.

You held the axe up, the thing slightly too heavy for you to carry it comfortably, but you managed, gripping tightly as you waited for Tess to open the door.

Joel exhaled through his nose, swallowing down the heavy feeling that was trying to crawl up his throat, and he swore you wouldn’t get that close to danger again. He didn’t want to lose you.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The council meeting hadn’t gone well — you could see it on Maria’s face, the moment she stepped through the door to your shop. The tense air in Jackson had only gotten worse, feeling thicker every time you walked past the old jewellery shop down the street, now reduced to charred remains.

“What happened?” You asked, slightly reluctantly. Clearly, this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation. Part of you was worried about what she was going to answer with, too. Could they disband the town?

“Well, nobody’s got answers for how twenty-four guys got past our lookouts. And conveniently, whoever was on lookout when they got past, seems to have been rubbed off of the rota.” Maria grumbled, looking just as miserable as she felt. You felt bad for her — she should’ve been at home, feeling happy about the new member of her family, not having to deal with a town crisis.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, letting Maria press her hands against the wooden table in your shop, and watching as she leant her chin against her chest, a deep sigh leaving her.

“They agreed on fixing up the wall yet?” You asked, feeling bad about doing so when Maria’s shoulders immediately dropped some more.

“No,” She muttered, frustration inking at the corners of her words, “Said somethin’ about conserving resources.”

“But… Jackson’s exposed with that massive hole in the wall.” You replied, eyebrows furrowed in your confusion.

“I know,” Maria replied, your name falling from her lips in a slightly disheartened tone. “That’s the trouble with politics. People lose their common sense. We got another meeting tomorrow, I’m gonna convince them, don’t worry. Got a patrol in two hours, though. You alright with Tommy cooking?”

You nodded at her, frowning when she sighed again, exhausted down to her very bones. With slight hesitation, you followed along behind her as she made her way back to her house to see her son and husband before patrol.

When you arrived, Tommy was holding the baby to his chest, shaking his head as he spoke to the kid in a baby voice. You suppressed a snicker.

Maria cooed, reaching out for the baby, and grinning tiredly when he was finally placed in her arms. With a sympathetic expression, Tommy pressed a kiss to the top of her head, before you caught his eye, nodding your head toward the kitchen.

“Everythin’ alright, kiddo?” Tommy questioned, eyebrows furrowed in concern as you paced the length of his kitchen, before stopping and turning to him, looking nervous.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” You started, your expression just about stopping Tommy from making a stupid joke, “I wanna start going on patrols.”

He stopped suddenly, his whole body going still, and you looked at him with nervous eyes. It wasn’t that you were nervous about going — though you were, a little bit — it was that you were nervous he would say no.

Despite everything that had happened with Joel and Ellie, the slight meltdown back at that cabin before Jackson, it wasn’t about being out there. It wasn’t the Infected that lingered behind corners that scared you, and it wasn’t raiders that made fear settle in your bones, it was Joel and Ellie.

They had been all that you had — everybody else had been lost to the world, and you had longed for a time before all that loss, for the home you had with Joel and Tess, where danger lingered, sure, but not in the same way. They could avoid danger back at Boston QZ, could hide out in their apartment and settle with doing shitty FEDRA-issued jobs for a while if things got too hot.

Out in the world, there was no sense of control, no sense of safety, no matter where you went. You didn’t want to watch Joel and Ellie die like you had with Tess. Didn’t want to close your eyes and still see it, see flames climbing up the building that held one of the only people you cared for. You weren’t sure you could’ve handled losing anybody else, but Joel had forced that upon you, in the end.

By removing you from the outside world, placing you behind walls once again, he had just made your very worst fears come true. You had lost them.

So when you asked to go on patrols, you didn’t feel very scared. After all, you knew the world as well as anybody else, maybe even better than some of the people in Jackson. You knew how to shoot, how to stay quiet, how to spot things that often went unnoticed.

Before losing Tess, you had been good. Despite a few slip-ups here and there, you had been allowed on their rare smuggling trips for a reason. You’d known how to shoot a gun before you had known how to read, and it came naturally to you.

“Absolutely not.” Tommy answered, after a moment, his expression hardening and turning to stone, and you frowned at him.

“‘M only asking you because I was hoping to take on some of Maria’s patrols. She’s exhausted, she needs sleep, and she’s got a meeting tomorrow. She doesn’t need to be goin’ on some patrol right now.” You responded, feeling the usual fondness that came with speaking to him fall away, leaving your voice cold, as your expression went flat at his refusal.

He stayed silent for a few moments, gritting his teeth in a way that was far too reminiscent of his older brother, and he sighed. “No, we’ll find somebody else. You’re just a kid.”

“I’m better than half of the guys you usually take out.” You argued, still trying to keep your voice down, to prevent Maria from coming in and halting any conversation on the topic. “I can handle myself, Tommy.”

“Can you?”

“Yes! Who do you think handled that raider?” You countered immediately, feeling the heat of your anger push against your chest.

“That was different.” Tommy tried, holding his hands out toward you, getting increasingly frustrated as you stepped away from him.

“How was it different?” You snapped, “It wasn’t different. Stop trying to protect me, I’m not some dumb kid, Tommy. You are just as bad as Joel.”

Your words struck hard, and Tommy’s face hardened immediately after you spoke, his frustration growing into something closer to anger.

“Why, because I’m trying to keep you safe? Just like Joel did? It’s not a crime to want you to be okay! You gotta stop treatin’ us like we’re doin’ something wrong for protecting you!” Tommy argued back, and your expression fell when he grouped himself in with Joel.

“That— That was different.” You said, repeating his words back to him, and feeling something nervous press against your neck, your hands wringing together as you stood in front of the Miller, who suddenly resembled his older brother too much.

Maria entered the kitchen then, holding the baby tightly to her chest, and frowning as she looked at where you and Tommy stood at opposite sides of the room.

“What’s going on?” She asked, almost hesitantly.

“Nothin’,” Tommy answered, still looking at you with hard eyes, nothing changing on his expression. You grit your teeth together, feeling frustration cling to the back of your throat. “Right?”

You scoffed, and made your way past him, going straight to the front door and pulling it open roughly. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you stepped out, ignoring Tommy calling your name as you slammed the door shut behind you.

When you hurried away, shoes scuffing against the pathways of Jackson, you ignored how you saw Joel sat on his porch, and just hoped he’d mind his own business.

Two hours later, when there was a knock at your shop door, your eyebrows had furrowed immediately.

You weren’t sure who could be visiting you — Maria should’ve been on patrol already, and Tommy should’ve been back at home, looking after his son. You didn’t get any other visitors, at least, ones that were welcome.

When you opened the door, you saw Joel standing there, looking nervous. Your expression immediately flattened, eyebrows creasing further, and he stopped you before you could even open your mouth. “Wait,” Joel almost pleaded, and seemed close to relieved when you grit your teeth, staying quiet. “Maria asked me to bring this over, said somethin’ about Tommy covering a patrol.”

He held out a box, looking far too nervous for such a simple request, though you could understand. With your eyebrows relaxing slightly, you reached forward and plucked the box from his waiting hands, tilting it to the side to look through the transparent sides of the box at its contents.

When you noticed Joel still stood, unmoving, your eyebrows began to crease once again. “Well, thanks for bringing this over.” You said stiffly, hating how part of you wanted to let go of all of your anger, to pretend nothing ever happened, to just hug him.

You reminded yourself that he did this, that you were allowed to be angry. You had every right to be. You were allowed to scream and cry and shout, to hold on to that anger, to that feeling of being left behind.

It felt like a betrayal to yourself, to still want to be around him, and it hurt even more that he still made you feel safe.

“No problem.” He said, hesitantly, like he wanted to say something else, to continue, to broach the subject of the elephant in the room, but he held himself back. You weren’t sure what was worse, what you preferred more. Him acting like a stranger, or him acting too familiar.

You were so conflicted, over everything. You felt fractured into hundreds of tiny pieces, each individually feeling something different, shouting for their own way. Parts of you wanted to cry and let him comfort you, whilst others screamed for you to yell at him some more, for you to beg and plead for him to feel that hollowness that you had felt when he’d left you. Part of you wanted answers, wanted an explanation that would be enough, that would justify it, but you knew Joel didn’t have one.

For him, he knew it had been the right decision. He felt some peace of mind, knowing you would be safe within the walls, at his brother’s side. But it still pained him, the way you had fractured away from him, and he had let you slip through his fingers. It left a kind of emptiness in him, knowing that you believed he had abandoned you. You believed he had failed you. Joel was scared that you might be right.

“Well,” He cleared his throat, shoving his now empty hands deep into his pockets, and he nodded at you, the action paining him. “I’ll, uh, head off, then.”

You nodded, watching him step back and turn to go before you closed the shop door, missing the way he turned back to say something, only to be faced with a closed door. He heard the lock turn.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It had taken three days for Tommy to crack.

He didn’t like the silence between the two of you, it made his neck feel itchy, his heart race uncomfortably. He worried about you, more than he had even realised himself.

So when you looked at him, eyebrows raised expectantly, he couldn’t help but relent. You were stubborn, even now, and you really did remind him of Joel with that expression on your face. Tommy wondered if you knew just how many mannerisms you’d picked up from his older brother, but thought better than to mention it.

“Okay, fine.” He gritted, his gaze steely even as he watched your face light up in victory, “But—”

“But?” You echoed, incredulously.

“But you’re only going on a patrol if one of us is on it, too.” Tommy continued, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at your interruption. When he saw your annoyance, he fixed his statement slightly, “At least to start with. We’ll get you some trainin’, on the horses and guns, then we’ll see where we are.”

You smiled, and as much as Tommy hated to let you get your way in this, he was just glad to see you smiling at him again. “Thanks, Tommy.” You said, letting him reach over and pay your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grumbled.

“Hey, I made you something.” You told him suddenly, face seemingly lighting up further as you thought of whatever it was. Tommy raised his eyebrows suspiciously, tapping his fingers against the wooden table in the middle of your shop. “I know how much you loved hearing about them, so.”

You held up a box, filled with five mugs, some slightly misshapen, but holding the vague shape of a regular old mug. The handles were difficult, he recalled you telling him, and he could see it reflected in your work, the handles wonky, or curved into a strange shape. He smiled nonetheless, unable to help the laugh that escaped him.

“Well, I never.” He said, amused, and picked up one of the mugs, with a sloppily painted bear on the front. “You figured out the glaze, then?”

“Kinda. Thought it was gonna be blue.” You replied, pointing at the mug with an orangey brown owl painted on. “But I like it.”

“Me too, kiddo, me too. Say, Maria’s gonna be thrilled.” Tommy grinned, putting the mug he was holding back into the box before taking it off of your hands, rolling his eyes when you cautioned him.

“Well, let me know, yeah?” You asked, despite knowing that she was going to love them no matter what they looked like, simply because you made them. You had noticed that about her. You could probably hand her a chunk of clay, which barely resembled anything other than what it was, and she’d thank you for it.

“I will do. You’re comin’ for dinner later, right?” He questioned, gripping onto the box tighter with one hand, so he could free up his other one to place his hand on the door.

“Think I’ll just eat at the hall, tonight. You guys should come, too. Maria does far too much cooking.” You suggested, shrugging his shoulders when he looked offended, as if he should cook more. “Please, do not even go in the kitchen. The baby’s too young to be subjected to the smell of your cooking.” You joked, laughing when he huffed, exiting the house while yelling about not letting you come around anymore.

You shook your head, grabbing a chunk of clay you had cut off from the slab earlier, and dumping it on the wheel.

These people would be the death of you, you were sure, as your chest warmed from the interaction.

PART FOUR

#joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x you #tlou one shot #pedro pascal angst #tlou imagines #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #joel miller father figure #joel miller fic #joel miller imagines #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal imagines #tlou imagine #tommy miller angst #tommy miller fluff #heartpascal writes

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traveler-at-heart · 3 months

Text

Love Language

Summary: Natasha and you share a secret language. Just a short drabble!

Russian, English, Chinese, French, German are some of the languages listed on Natasha’s file.

But there was another one, hidden in plain sight, that apparently only you could understand.

It was the little things, the silences, the requests that weren’t verbalized. Only statements about her day, or apparent offerings that hid a need of her own.

Like certain mornings, when you greeted her in the kitchen and asked if she had breakfast yet.

“I’m not hungry”

“That won’t do” you’d answer like clockwork, reciting all the things you could do that you knew she liked. Omelette, sandwich, pancakes.

“Pancakes are fine” she’d shrug her shoulders, but would leave the plate clean. Then, she’d approach you as you did the dishes and muttered a quiet thank you.

An invitation to play games (anything, from chess to cards or Mario Kart) would be followed by a suggestion that since she’d won, the least Natasha could do was take you to dinner.

So you spent the night in one of the restaurants you both liked. Picking a place was easy; you listed the places and Natasha would interrupt you when you got to the one she wanted.

“That one was nice last time”

There are times when you’d sit in the dinning table, while she reads the paper. The entertainment section is conveniently on your side, and you grab it to read the titles of the movies showing in the old cinema downtown.

“Haven’t seen that one yet” she’d comment after you get to the right one.

Movie nights were your thing, and you always paid for the tickets and anything she wanted from the candy store.

“The movie was good” she’d say. “I’ll pick next time”

As if it hadn’t been her choice in the first place.

“Sure, Nat” you always answered, amused.

Back from missions, she always sat next to you on the Quinjet, asking if you could check for injuries she might have missed.

“Now you” she’d say. It was her way of checking that you were ok, without having to seem too concerned. You smiled as she grumbled, displeased when she saw a little bruise or open skin, her hands lingering as she cleaned the wounds.

To anyone else, it may seem frustrating. To you, it was beautiful to experience Natasha’s love language. Asking for help, seeking your company, were signs that she could and wanted to be vulnerable. To you, it was a privilege.

You could have done it forever, in all honesty.

Until one night, when a mission went sideways. Everyone was shooting, blowing up walls and trying to stay alive.

You ran from one room to the next, looking for Pietro as his comms weren’t working.

“Hey, wrap this up, kiddo” you screamed, shooting at the people trying to shoot him.

“Almost done” he grunted. He was slower, and you figured it might have something to do with the wound on his abdomen.

“Come on” you said, taking out the last guard that was behind his back.

No one was watching your back, though. You felt the pain in your chest and leg, falling in the middle of rubble and bodies.

Your eyes remained unfocused, barely listening to the commotion around you. Green eyes, filled with tears brought you back to reality.

“Stay with me” Natasha asked.

For the first time, she asked.

You’d feel overjoyed if it weren’t for the two bullet holes in your body.

She didn’t hide how terrified she was, of the blood flowing and the life leaving your eyes.

“Please don’t leave me” she asked again, and you nodded.

You kept your promise until the Quinjet landed, and everything went dark.

—

“I’m being such a pain in the ass” you say every time you ask for something.

Recovery’s been slow, but you won’t complain because Natasha’s by your side all the time.

“Ask for anything you need”

“How about a kiss?”

And then, she’ll roll her eyes, but lean forward, happy to feel your lips against hers.

Neither needs to ask, nor tell, but you know you love Natasha, and she loves you.

It’s in everything you do for each other.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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grapementos · 11 months

Text

walk away as the door slams

aged up bakugo x reader

cw: heavily! toxic relationships, emotionally abusive (gaslighting, etc.), angst.

pt 2 here.

bakugo isn't the same person he was in high school. he grew into a top five hero and opened his own agency, only to be brutally torn apart by the tabloids.

scandal after scandal, you watched him crack. like glass, he grew more and more fragile each time he was made out to be a monster, an asshole, a douchebag--whatever other name was thrown out there.

each time, you were there to comfort him and stand by his side against every rumor and generalization. still, it scared you as you watched his resolve weaken. it was as if he didn't see the point in being a hero anymore.

then came the headline, the article that had him hanging up his gauntlets in exchange for civilian life. the article had an incriminating photo of him holding up his hand to a child. of course, it was taken out of context; bakugo had merely been guiding the child away from the rubble of the building near them.

however, the media ate it up, and bakugo decided that being a hero wasn't worth the false allegations. he announced his resignation the same day and rid the entire house of hero news.

it broke your heart to see him give up his dream, so you'd tried and failed time and time again to talk him out of it. you even invited midoriya and kirishima to persuade him to become a hero again, but his mind was made.

he'd since picked up a new, low-brow job that kept him out of the public eye. with that, unfortunately, came stress regarding bills, grocery shopping, and necessary budget cuts. it was a huge adjustment, one that led to frequent arguments.

you worked from home, so you were able to keep it clean and cook meals for the most part. you tried so hard to keep your home a place where the two of you could coexist happily, but he always came home with an unfulfilled look in his eyes.

truth be told, you were exhausted, but bringing it up just made bakugo frustrated, so you avoided the subject. instead, you'd ask him about work, only to be brushed off.

it hurt.

"katsuki," you called from your spot at the table, finishing up some work, "what do you want to eat tonight?"

"dunno." he grunted, walking out of your shared bedroom.

"right. so helpful." you sighed, looking at your laptop once more, "do you have a general idea? or do you want to cook?"

"i just got home from an 8-hour shift." he looked at you like you were dumb, eyes narrowed, "can you lay off with the million questions?"

"it's a simple question. i need to know if i have to defrost anything." you shut your laptop a little harder than necessary, "i work too, you know."

he laughed bitterly but didn't say anything.

"what?" you demanded, hands on your hips.

"oh, nothing. just thought it was funny, is all."

"what's so damn funny?"

"you, sitting on a laptop all day. 'working'," he used air-quotes, opening the cupboards.

"really? you wanna go there?" you closed the cupboard he was looking in, cheeks flushed with frustration.

he stared at you, jaw clenched, "can you move?"

"can you stop being so damn mean?"

"god, i'm not being mean." he shook his head and opted for digging through the fridge instead, "y'just being too damn sensitive."

you took in a deep breath, red hot anger beginning to boil up in your gut and through your hands all the way down to your fingers.

"stop digging through the fridge when i'm trying to talk to you, please."

he didn't even spare you a glance, pulling out the last cold water bottle.

"katuski." you demanded, louder.

"my god, what?" he slammed the fridge closed, leaning back on the counter, "as if i don't get nagged enough by my boss."

"i'm not nagging you. i'm," you stammered, trying not to escalate the situation into an argument, "i'm trying to see what you want for dinner. that's all."

"just make whatever. i'm not hungry anyways." he tossed the plastic bottle into the trash, plopping down at the table.

you rubbed your temples, trying so hard to maintain your calm, "okay."

the two of you were sat across each other at the kitchen table. you ate something quick you'd whipped up, finally breaking the silence, "they're considering me for a promotion. it's a pretty significant payraise, and i think i--"

"god, are you fuckin' kidding me?" he interrupted, eyes suddenly aflame.

"what?" you cocked your head, confused at his sudden irritation.

"you just love rubbing that shit in my face, huh? you're always talking about how you get paid more than i do, how work is so great, and now this? great job, breadwinner."

"katsuki, we're partners, we both contribute to this household no matter what. i'm not the... breadwinner." you insisted, pain blooming in your chest, "i thought you'd be happy for me."

"like you were so happy for me to quit that hero gig? so you can get all the glory of supporting us?"

"is that really what you think?" you stood, not able to control the flames of anger licking at your chest, "katsuki, you know damn well i gave my all trying to talk you into staying a hero."

"bullshit. you just wanted it to look that way." he stood too, hands planted firmly on the table, "because that's what you do. you pretend you care, and then just soak up all the glory for it."

you clenched your jaw, "not everyone cares for glory as much as you do. i don't know why you think that, but i know you loved being a hero, and i supported that because i love you."

"do you? or did you only get with me to be the partner of a hero?" he spat, eyes narrow and downright venomous, "poor partner of dynamight, they must go through so much to endure his anger issues. poor fuckin' you, right? poor y/n."

your lower lip quivered, the back of your eyes burning, and he laughed. he laughed.

"what? you're gonna cry, really?" he scoffed, shaking his head, "fine, fuckin' cry. that's all you seem to know how to do."

you inhaled sharply through your nose, eyes trained steadily on him, "fuck you." you whispered, hands balled into fists by your side.

"say it louder." he challenged, "maybe it'll actually do something."

"fuck you, bakugo katsuki." tears fell freely down your cheeks, but you weren't sad. you were pissed.

you walked around the table and jabbed your finger in his chest, "i have done so much for you. so goddamn much. i have stood by you, i have disproved every bad thing the media had to say, i've supported you, and-" your voice wobbled, "it's never fucking enough. nothing is ever enough for you. someone is always after you, someone is always praying on your downfall, because everything's about katsuki, right?"

he was stunned silent, leaning back away from you. his face was conflicted, eyes wide with surprise.

"well news-fucking-flash, the world doesn't revolve around you. and neither do i," you dropped your hand, wiping at your cheeks, "so i'm done. i'm done fighting for us, because you have never once tried for me."

"y/n--"

"y'know, katsuki." you paused on your way to the bedroom, "i think they were right about you. you are a douchebag. an asshole. a monster."

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oddshroom · 10 months

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𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝

𝚂𝚈𝙽𝙾𝙿𝚂𝙸𝚂: You had no regrets as a jujutsu sorcerer, so why should you now?

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂: Unrequited love, pure angst, hurt/no comfort, character death, slight spoilers, Various!JJK x Reader, Gojo Satoru x Reader

𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃: 3,377

“Shoko”, your voice hoarsely called out.

You felt your chest rise and fall as you drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to keep your breathing steady. She looked at your body which had been leaning against the rubbles of broken down buildings, far from where you currently were had been two special grade curses which had burned away. You were just holding on as she did everything she could to prevent you from leaving. Her eyes still hadn’t moved, staring at the ground beneath her feet like she was hypnotized.

You watched her for a few more seconds before calling her name out again.

“Hey, could just sit with me?”, watching as she bit her lip before walking towards you and taking a seat on the firm ground next to you. You knew she needed to get up and do something. But then again, what else could she possibly do? Your mind was just starting to function and become aware of the impact your body had taken, it didn’t matter now. You couldn’t feel anything waist down, Shoko knew that.

“Be here with me in my last moments, yeah?”, the words left your lips in a whisper, but they were loud enough to carry. You smiled slightly at her, knowing she couldn’t bear to look at you. “Don’t say that, you’ll be fine”, she said suddenly, she was clutching onto your hand.

She was lying to herself, she was lying to you. She knew very well the injuries you sustained would kill you, the blood loss was heavy and no one was around to help. Not even her. And neither of you deserved this, nor would those who find out. You weren’t supposed to end up like this, which is what she wanted to say. “Ieiri, it’s okay it isn’t your fault”.

It took her a few minutes before she could muster up some words, her shaking grip became tighter on yours, almost painfully so. “I know...I don’t want to leave you...”. Tears started to form in her eyes, but you knew she wouldn’t cry. You knew that if you cried then you might lose control of yourself too, and neither of you needed that right now. You tried hard not to cry too. Taking in a deep breath, “How are the kids?”, you asked her softly, hoping her mind wouldn’t go to the idea of you eventually passing away. She gave you a shaky smile. “They’re good, they all are safe”. You nodded, smiling a little.

“Instead my shirt is a pocket, it has something in there”, understand that you wanted her to take it out. She carefully undid the front of your shirt, you were wearing another shirt beneath it, looking for what you wanted she reached for the pocket, her fingers felt a photographic film. Pulling it out, she sees that the objects in her hand were two photographs. “I wanted too look at it for the last time”, your smile slightly wavering into a sad one.

The first photo had been from the time of when you all had been in the Jujutsu Highschool, it was a image inside an arcade area at a popular mall on Tokyo. The image depicted Gojo losing to Geto in a fighting game, with Geto high-fiving Shoko while you had comforted Gojo all while trying to hide your laugh. Shoko smiled dryly at the image, she wasn’t the one to reminisce in the past only to talk about it if you or someone else from back then had brought it up.

She heard a snicker beside her, despite the situation you were still laughing. “I still remember when Geto milked out all the money Gojo had for the week”, you said while looking fondly at the photo. Shoko looked at you with her tired eyes, unable to fight the small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, and then Gojo begged us for some money even though he’s rich”. Shoko looked fondly back at the picture, her eyes shining with memories. She shifted her hand so it would be between the both of you.

“Do you still remember when Gojo forgot to cast the veil?”, you ask with a chuckle. “Gojo was doing everything he could to try distract Yaga Sensei from it”, Shoko said thinking back on the memory before laughing. “Especially since we all just pointed at him”. You both couldn’t help but snicker at his misfortune.

“Geto wouldn’t stop teasing him about right after”, you said. “Geto..”, said the brown eyed girl. You glance upwards, “You ever wonder what it would have been like if things didn’t turn out the way they did?”, you said curiously. Half of your face had been covered in blood, you could feel it dripping down from your chin onto your clothes.

There was a long pause, Shoko thought for a moment. “Yeah”, she finally answered. She turned to face you, a faltering smile on her lips. “We all would have been happier, you would have been really happy”.

“Really what makes you think that?”, asking her in genuine tone. “Because you would have finally had what you wanted”.

A cough left your mouth, you knew what she was implying. It was the one thing you didn’t want to think about. “You can’t lie Y/N”, Shoko said. You closed your eyes, sighing. You opened them again, facing her directly. You shook your head, “No”, you admitted. “But, I really hoped to say it one day”, you said looking her dead in the eye, making sure she knew that you meant what you said. “However now, I can never say it personally”. Shoko was confused, what did you mean?

“What?”, urging you to continue you with your words. “In my apartment, when you enter my room go to my desk”, you paused before continuing. “The drawer which needs a key has two albums inside”. “The photographs of our time inside and out of Jujutsu High”.

Quickly taking in a breath, “There’s an envelope in which I confess, give it to him”. You looked at her with pleading eyes. “You kept all the photos?”, Shoko asked wide-eyed. “Of course I did, I thought it would be nice to think back”, you said thinking back to when you first had the idea. “However this picture is the last one I hadn’t put in yet”. Shoko didn’t dare say a word, she couldn’t believe you were going never to be able to confess, only through a little over a decade ago.

“He’ll love it”, she whispered, her throat closing up as she realized what you were planning on doing. “Just promise me one thing”. Shoko looked at you waiting for you to continue. “Tell them I loved all of them”. She could only nod at what you said.

“The second photograph”, you groaned out. Shoko brought forth the second picture putting the first one behind it. This one being of the new first and second years. “I’m glad I got to see these one last time”, you let out short breaths.

Shoko noticed your breaths become regular by the minutes, your chest was falling slightly faster all while your organs were slowly shutting themselves down. Shoko shifts so you could rest your head on her, the blood was now soaking up the white material of her coat, becoming damp in your blood.

“When I first met Yuuji, I felt terrible for the kid being put for execution”, grimacing at the statements the higher ups had made. “He’s bright and still has room to grow”, you smiled. “Nobara, despite her direct and indirect insults she is bright and determined”. “Lastly Megumi, comparing himself with Yuuji although they both are different”. Shoko continued listening to your rants about them all. “They were all like my kids you know”, you expressed fondly. Shoko knew you loved all of them equally and they loved you. You were there to help them, protect them, and keep them safe. “Although Megumi believed I would replace his mom which was his reasoning to avoid me, I always thought he was my son even if he didn’t think so mom or not”, remembering how he would do anything to avoid talking to you or even meeting you.

The dark haired boy had eventually grown to love you months after meeting him. He relied on you for more things then he ever would with Gojo. It felt as if you had made your own family with Gojo and Megumi, Tsumiki eventually came into the family as well. Making the entire family complete. However Gojo just simply thought you both were their guardians and nothing more. It hurt at first, considering that you liked him instead you brushed it off. In your own world inside your mind you all were a family. Delusional.

Shoko sighed, “It’s been a long time since we’ve talked like this, hasn’t it?”. You nodded. “It’s almost impossible not to, especially now that I’m dying”. Shoko stared at you in disbelief. “You’re not dying!”. But you just laughed. “You think I’m immortal? You think I won’t die? What about those Special Grade curses who came here?”. You motioned to the now burned away curses. You were right, at this point you’re beyond the point from making a return. The only way you’d even live is if they had hooked you onto life support to keep you going, but you’d be bedridden your entire life. You wouldn’t want to live like that, you’d only suffer.

“Ieiri”, grabbing Shoko’s attention. “The day when Gojo said that Geto was his best friend, his one and only”

“I want you to know that you’re my best friend, you’re my one and only”. Shoko couldn’t help but cry, the day when those words left Gojo’s mouth it had made her feel as if she was never their friend, yet here you were comforting her when you’re getting closer to kissing death.

You pulled her into a hug, tears streaming down your cheeks too. “I don’t have much time left”. Shoko sniffled and buried herself deeper into your embrace as the words left your mouth. You held her close and kissed her forehead. “I love you”, you said softly. “I love all of you, maybe in another world we all are happy”.

You rested your head against hers, your breaths were becoming shallower and your conscious was slowly leaving. Shoko didn’t know when your hand dropped to your side, the blood staining your shirt now darkening her white coat. She just stayed quiet watching the scene, knowing that you needed your peace and quiet as your breathing steadily slowed soon gone, your body losing strength and all feelings, finally your heart beating slower and harder than ever before before it came down completely with no pulse. You were gone.

Your body had gone limp against her, the warmth leaving your skin and being replaced by the chill of death. Your blood soaked through your clothes, the stench thick in the air. You had died in her arms, she couldn't bring herself to move your body.

The world was silent around you; all she heard was ruffling noises of her settling you on the ground. She wanted to cry, but nothing came. All that remained was grief for your loss of life. The two photographs that had been in her hand, she would make sure were in the albums. Taking the photographs, she put them away in the pockets of her white crimson stained coat.

Her fingers brushed against yours as she did so and a sharp pain shot through her body like an arrow of ice through her heart, freezing her where she stood. The sensation didn't last long however, it disappeared after seconds as the reality of what had just happened hit her. You died, you’re not here anymore.

Days have passed since your death, she had your body be brought to her lab while preparing for your funeral. The news of your death spread like wildfire among other jujutsu sorcerers as well as the council. The first years and second years had taken your death the worst, believing you’d come back just as Yuuji did. Denial was something shoko was unfamiliar with, she was usually straightforward when it came to stuff like this. Except this time. What else could she say, you were like a parental figure to them. Who wouldn’t be in denial if they lost someone they loved, especially if they died trying to just protect and keep you away from the very thing that would have killed them. But now she couldn’t lie to them anymore, so she tried her best to comfort them and assure them it would be alright.

It had been a complete mess for everyone, having to get used to you not being there to help them with certain things or training with them. Megumi, the raven haired boy had been in his dorm the entire day reflecting. He wishes he had opened up more to you, he wishes he hadn’t been as cold as he was to you when all you did was trying to take care of him. Here was crying at all the memories he had of you knowing there won’t be any new ones. Yuuji and Nobara hadn’t been as ecstatic, knowing that the one person that treated them like their kid who would treat their injuries wasn’t there anymore. It was hard waking up every day realizing you weren’t going to be there to help them in face of danger. Your funeral was couple days away. They still haven’t talked about you being dead. They don’t think Nobara has spoken in hours. Unusual for the girl since has a lot of things to say. Yuuji didn’t know what to do, he lost a lot of people such Nanami, grandfather, Junpei, and you were added onto that list.

No one knew where Gojo had been, when he did show up he still acted the same as if your death hadn’t taken any toll on him. When asked why he hadn’t shown up earlier or said anything at all he simply replied that he didn’t want to. Not even Megumi believed him. Although his response was infuriating they could only bite their tongues and hold it back.

“How could you just say that?!”, a voice yelled. It was Maki, she looked up to you due to your fighting abilities and had even asked you to train her from time to time. Inumaki and Panda could only look away at the scene. “Listen, jujutsu sorcerers die having to do this, Y/N just met the fate of it”. Before anyone could retaliate he simply warped away with the excuse of needing to meet the council.

The white haired male was deceiving himself with that response. The days he hadn’t been at the school he was helping Shoko plan the funeral and the days he wasn’t planning the funeral he would be thinking for hours about all your time back at the Jujutsu Highschool. The Gojo Satoru grieving for someone that hadn’t been so close to him like Geto Suguru who he himself had killed, it truly had left a scar on everyone. Even if it hurt him physically. He didn’t tell anyone though, he wasn’t ready to talk about the feelings he felt he never would be. He had thought they were long gone but apparently not. He wished you could be here to hear the words coming out of his mouth, the words that would explain everything. He wishes that you both could have at least been in love. Or at least been happy together, that he would have seen that in you sooner.

Now you were gone and he couldn’t change that. There was no way you’d ever come back. He should have listened to Megumi and told you. Maybe things could have turned out differently, you would have been able to call him for help. He hoped so anyway. He just wished that you two would have talked about how you felt, instead of pretending that the feelings weren’t there. Every jujutsu sorcerer has regrets, this just happened to be a major one for him.

It was the day of the funeral, many had been gathered around your body which was neatly placed in a casket. The inside of it had been filled with flowers and red roses. Your attire was completely changed from the previously ripped up one in which you died in. Everyone had said their condolences with faces either filled with smiles feeling nothing but sadness and grief, other which were still in denial. Gojo had simply looked at you with indifference not noticing the way his fist clenched when it had been announced to lower you into the ground. They all watched as the casket had been sealed shut and was slowly being lowered into the ground. Tears were silently streaming down their faces, the now cloudy sky had started to share it’s own grief. The droplets simply pouring onto the casket before dripping down. Heads were hung low refusing to watch as the dirt hit the coffin.

The sound of weeping became deafening, no one dared speak above a whisper. The silence was killing everyone, it was as if the weight of your absence was pressing down on their chest. No one dared to leave, they were terrified, it was too soon to see you buried, it would feel too real. This was a dream that they all wanted to wake up from. The wind picked up and carried the scent of rain and flowers away. People took this as their cue to start dispersing until only Gojo remained near your grave. He had been the last to leave, setting down a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

A day had passed since your funeral, Shoko knew you wouldn’t want them to grieve. She had been inches away from your apartment, opening the door and turning the lights on. She trudged towards your room before finally reaching your desk. She had taken out the two albums going through all the memories you had collected. The first album, being from when you guys were sorcerers the second one being of the new first years mixed with the second years. She realized there had been the same space in both albums to fit the photographs, taking them out she carefully place them in to their rightful spot. Before closing the album first album, an envelope was sticking out.

To Gojo, signed off by your name. She quickly retrieved both the albums and the note before driving off to the dorms calling all first and second years as well as Gojo. They were reluctant until it was mentioned that you wanted them to have something.

They had all surrounded Shoko in anticipation, until she presented the second album to them titled “My Kids”. They took it as they all looked over the photographs you had taken of them through the time you had been with them, it was a parting gift from you to them. They all couldn’t stop the tears which had started streaming down their faces as they all relived their moments with you. The first album Shoko had decided to show Gojo personally as well as handing him the letter you had written which confessed your feelings. Shoko stepped out of the room leaving Gojo by himself.

He decided to go through the album looking at the pictures longer in order to feel as if he was there. One by one he remembered every moment with you and the others. After closing the album, he read the letter which had sitting neatly to his side waiting to be opened almost a decade ago. Mentions about you not wanting to ruin your friendship yet wanting to if it meant you having a chance with him. His hands were creasing the edges of the paper, he only wished you had told him sooner and maybe just maybe he could have loved you before you died. To know what it meant to love. To know that it could be possible to do so, it made him smile sadly to himself.

You hadn’t died with regrets, however it left others with a regret of their own.

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vienssunshine · 3 months

Text

Don’t know how to feel

pairing: Choso x fem-coded!reader nsfw: sub!Choso, oral sex choso receiving word count: 3k description: while attempting to escape the chaos in Shibuya station, you run into a man dressed in a strange Halloween costume

Your friends said Shibuya was the place to be for Halloween, that they would just die if you didn’t join them for the party tonight. You surrendered to their begging, it’s not like you had other plans, and put on a more-slutty-than-tasteful vampire costume to accompany them for the festivities in the square. It should be a good time, you thought, the perfect opportunity to get buzzed and maybe laid. But as the screams got louder and you realized that no, someone hadn’t slipped something into your drink and that yes, the stampede coming towards you was real, your only concern became staying alive.

You’re torn away from your friends, elbows jabbing your sides, hands pushing you to keep moving or be trampled under frenzied feet. When you look to the sky, fighting to stay upright, you see that some kind of boundary has fallen over the surrounding area, keeping you all trapped. Despite this, the crowd still searches for escape, lurching in directionless surges and crushing you with pounds of body weight every time the current turns. So when you get to the edge of the mob, you take the chance to break free and run to the first shelter you can see: Shibuya station. You hurry inside, trying to not let the blood coating the stairs leading underground deter you. If you can’t escape whatever’s going on, you’ll have to hide until it blows over.

The bottom of the stairs is covered in rubble, the gaping hole in the ceiling above it the clear perpetrator. You clamber over the loose rock and steel to land on the tile of the train station. Behind you, strange noises from the world above begin to bellow through the staircase. You don't know what could be causing such unnatural sounds, but it's clear it would be best to put distance between you and their origin.

Your feet hit the ground hard, and you’re panting as you whip your head around, looking for anything to use as cover. You spot a small divot in the wall—maybe there’s a tunnel out of here—but when you approach it, you find it filled with the crouched form of a man. He’s in a Halloween costume too—though you’re not sure what he’s dressed up as—and leaning on the cracked wall, eyes wide in a thousand yard stare. It’s clear he’s not taking the situation at hand well, but if he wants to have any chance of surviving, he can’t stay out in the open like this.

A loud roar and a flurry of screams from the ground above echos through the station.

“Hey,” you whisper-shout, “Come with me.”

Unaffected, he mumbles something.

You try again, the urgency in your voice unhidden, but are interrupted by footsteps rumbling down the steps of the train station—though it doesn't sound like a crowd of humans, rather a parade of zoo animals. You’ve got to go, now. Still, you reach down and grab his forearm, offering the poor man one more chance to come with you and save himself. He must've had a moment of clarity because because he allows you to get him to his feet and drag him behind you.

The stampede is reaching the bottom of the stairs when you turn the corner and pull the man through the first door you see, slamming it behind you. An emergency light overhead casts a dim, yellow haze over what you recognize as a closet, allowing you to spy a tall shelf of cleaning supplies—a janitor's closet.

“Help me move this in front of the door,” you command.

You get behind the shelf and begin pushing, digging your feet into the cement ground and pressing your weight against it. Fuck, it’s too heavy. The weird sounds are getting closer. You push even harder.

The shelf flies forward, causing you to stumble and steady yourself with the wall to your side. Though you wish it had been, it wasn't your strength that moved it.

You turn around to see that the man is right behind you, having joined in the effort to barricade the door, and from his extended arm, had only used one hand to do so.

He drops his arm down by his side and looks down at you. For the first time since you’ve met, he makes eye contact. There’s a horizontal line drawn across his face, just under his eyes, with what you assume is make-up, but you’re only able to study it up close for a second before his expression crumples. He backs up, pressing his back flat against the furthest wall—which doesn’t get him very far in such a cramped closet—while his eyes frantically dart over your tattered costume. Then he looks down, staring at the dirty floor beneath his feet. It doesn’t appear that his mental state has improved since you found him.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask softly, speaking as if you were trying to not spook a stray animal. His hands are gripping the sides of his pants. He must’ve seen something terrible in the commotion above ground.

You try something else. “What’s your name?” you whisper. Hopefully this question is easier to answer and you can work on calming the poor man down.

He doesn’t meet your gaze as he mutters once again.

“What was that?” you say, taking a minuscule step forward.

Thankfully, the movement doesn't startle him, but he stays curled into himself when he answers. “Choso Kamo,” he says.

You introduce yourself, and though he gives you a few quick looks, he can’t keep his eyes on you as you speak. He must be really freaked out. “I know this is a traumatic situation, Choso,” you say, “I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to make you feel better.”

Choso shifts his weight, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. “You’re making me feel weird,” he replies.

You furrow your brow. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the one acting the most normal. “I’m sorry,” you say, folding your arms over your black corset—it's a miracle it stayed up after all that running. “We’ll only have to be here until everything dies down. Then you won’t have to see me again.”

“It’s not like that,” he says, fidgeting with the sleeve of his costume. He glances at you. His pale face is flushed pink. “The feeling feels…good.”

Now you’re puzzled. “…okay?”

“Can I…can I try something?” he asks.

Well, at least he’s talking now. And he seems to have calmed down, making him less likely to do something stupid and get both of you killed. It's a good idea to keep him this way, make sure he stays relaxed and reassured.

So you agree. “Um…sure,” you respond.

The yellow light flickers.

Choso takes a step forward, a step that crosses the entirety of the small closet, and lays a big hand on your shoulder. You lost the cape of your ‘sexy vampire costume’ in the commotion, so your shoulder is bare; it can directly feel the roughness and warmth of his hands.

“It feels good to…touch you,” he breathes. He turns his attention from your shoulder to your eyes, “and look at you, too.”

You shudder; his gaze is heavy. This…isn’t what you expected.

“I thought I was scaring you,” you say, looking down. There's a few bottles of cleaning supplies scattered on the floor.

“A little bit,” he says, working it out as he speaks, “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s so intense.”

That’s when you notice how strong his grip on your shoulder is, not tight enough to bruise, but enough to communicate a possessiveness. A desire for more. You flick your eyes back up to him, evaluating. He is good-looking, and the expression he has on his face as he waits for your response—cheeks flushed and mouth slightly ajar in gentle pants—is stirring up something warm in your stomach.

You place your hand on his chest. Oh, how his heart is pounding. “You really don’t know what’s going on?” you ask.

He looks down at your hand, then back to you. “I-I don’t, just that…your hand feels so warm and nice.”

You smile a little, tilting your head. “It seems that you’re attracted to me.”

“I didn’t know that was possible–for me to be attracted to someone,” Choso responds. You laugh to yourself, is this guy an alien or something? Maybe that’s what his costume is. Alien or not, he’s still cute.

“Congrats on the revelation,” you say, dropping your hand.

Choso takes a moment to ponder, and you watch with amusement. This interaction doesn’t seem real. Well, this whole situation doesn’t seem real. You hope everything will blow over soon. You’re trying not to catastrophize, to think worse case scenario. And this—

“Are you…attracted to me?” Choso asks.

—is a good distraction.

“You’re handsome,” you say. “I don’t know you that well yet, but I think we are getting off to a good start.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, breathless. He’s trying not to, but his gaze is roaming what he can make out of your body in the dim light. There’s probably a lot to see due to how much your vampire costume already reveals and that parts of it were lost in the scramble for safety.

“Do you want me to keep touching you?” you ask, coy. His breath hitches at the idea.

“If…if it feels good for you too,” Choso responds.

“It does,” you say, taking the final step to have your chest pressing against his. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hovering your lips just a millimeter away from a kiss. “It feels really good to me.”

He leans forward, not able to bear another second without, but just before he can get that release, you lean back.

He voices his frustration wordlessly and you giggle. “So desperate, aren’t you?”

“You’re teasing me,” he says, a whine in his voice.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, bringing your lips to the side of his neck. Choso gasps, a sweet sound, and when you open your mouth, licking a stripe on his skin, his fingers squeeze your waist.

“Fuck,” he says, breath shaky. Enjoying his reactions, you begin to suck on his skin, earning another swear and no doubt leaving a mark. You push yourself into him, and his back hits the wall, his chin raised, exposing more of his neck to be kissed.

With your body flat against his, it’s easy to feel the hardness beneath his waist. He's so eager; you only kissed him a few times. You slide your hand past his collarbone, down his chest, slender but strong, down to just above his aching erection.

Choso is caught off guard. “What are you”—you palm it—“ngh…shit, that feels so…”

“You like it?” you ask, proud because you already know the answer. His eyes are pressed shut as he nods.

“Use your words,” you say, squeezing his erection—he winces—“and I’ll make you feel even better.”

You continue to rub your hand over the erection pushing through his robe in slow, circular strokes as he forces himself to speak. “Yes, I—ah—like it—a lot.”

“So good,” you tell him. The simple praise makes his dick twitch against your palm.

Your eyes flick down to his white pants, billowing in fabric. You tug at it, but it doesn’t move.

“It’s–uh–all one thing.” He blushes, the color prominent on his pale cheeks. “Do you want me to take it off?”

You nod, and he clumsily pulls off his purple and white robe. You still haven’t been able to place what he’s dressed up as, but you don’t offer that thought another second when Choso stands in front of you, naked and impatiently waiting for whatever it is you'll do to him next.

You don’t deprive him long, stepping forward and running your fingers over his bare chest. Yes, you were able to feel how strong he was when you had your body pressed against his, but being able to see the defined ridges of his torso makes his strength unquestionable. He shivers under your fingers, needing more, needing you to touch him lower than you are.

“Can you…?” He’s squirming against the wall, looking down at you with needy eyes. “Sorry, it just feels so,” he exhales, the breath uneven, “so good.”

“Yeah?” you say, wrapping your hand around his length. It’s hot and throbbing. “You want me to touch you here?”

“Yes,” he whimpers, “There. Please.”

You begin to move your hand up and down his erection in a loose fist, spreading the precum dripping from his tip down his length, and adding some of your spit to coat it completely. Choso’s head falls back against the wall and he meets your hand with shallow thrusts of his hips.

“You’re so sensitive,” you notice. He’s reacting so sweetly to your every movement, every soft swipe of your thumb over his tip, every kiss you press to his neck as you stroke him. “I like it.”

You like it enough to get on your knees on the cold, hard closet floor, and position his length in front of your mouth, just so you can get even more of a reaction from him.

“What?” Choso gasps, “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good,” you coo, pumping him a few more times—which quickly stops the questions and starts the moans—and then take him into your mouth.

He spasms, hand tangling in your hair, unsure of whether he should pull you away or push you further down on him.

“You’re so warm…and wet,” Choso gets out.

You hum your response, something that only makes him tighten the strong fingers knotted into your hair, and keep going, working your mouth around his dick. You wrap your hands around the backs of his thighs, bracing yourself as you take him in deeper with every bob of your head. He fills your throat significantly, so you take a few breaks, kissing and sucking on his tip as you catch your breath.

Choso doesn’t seem to mind that it’s hard to take his full length, he’s too busy writhing from the sensation of your mouth on him. He's new to all this, not able to process or understand what you're doing and why it feels so fucking good. But explanations don't matter, not when the pretty girl in the outfit that made him hot just from looking at it is on her knees for him, dedicated to blessing him with a pleasure that doesn't belong to this universe.

“Fuck, please–ah–keep going, feels so good.”

Choso's moans are filling the closet and he’s holding onto you for dear life. His thighs are shaking enough to make you worry his legs will give out. “Feel like I’m gonna die,” he murmurs, lost in pleasure.

You’d smile in victory if you weren’t so focused on getting him there, and with the way he’s tensing up, he’s close. It’s funny, how he’s gonna cum already; he must’ve been worked up from the beginning.

You dig your fingers into the thick muscle of his thighs, holding on as he takes over, placing his hands on the side of your head to keep you still, and sloppily slipping his length in and out of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it’s obvious that you’re taking him well because he’s choking on his own moans, incoherent as he slurs his words.

“I can’t–fuck–oh–please–please–”

A final thrust into your mouth and his hot cum is pouring down your throat. It’s salty, but you’re able to swallow it, coughing a little as he pulls himself out of you. Then his strong arms come down under your armpits and lift you to your feet as if you weighed nothing. He pulls you into his body, gasping and shuddering as he recovers from the orgasm. Poor thing.

You press gentle kisses on his collarbone, soothing him. “You’re okay, Choso. You did so good.”

“Really?” Choso responds, his face nuzzled in your shoulder. He presses a small kiss there.

“Mhmm,” you affirm, smoothing his tied-up hair.

A rumble shakes the ground beneath you.

You swear, taking a step back to see the makeshift barricade you set up come crashing to the ground. Someone enters the closet.

You hold Choso’s arm tight. Surely you're dead now. Who the fuck is this dude? He’s in a weird costume too, possibly a movie villain because he has stitches all along his skin, even all over his face.

“Ah, Choso! There you are!” The patch-faced man is indifferent to Choso’s lack of clothing. He regards you, his grin unsettling. “And you have a friend.”

Choso’s face darkens, “She’s mine.”

“So territorial!” The intruder leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I wasn’t gonna do anything…not to a friend of yours.” His words are lined with a playful deceit. “I’ll find someone else to have fun with.”

He turns on his heel, but before he leaves he says, “One more thing! Does this mean you’re out of our little game? Occupied with”—his slimy gaze oozes over you—“something else?”

“You’re not to lay a hand on Yuji Itadori,” Choso states, narrowing his eyes.

“No way! Guess you'll have to stop me then!” the man jeers, grinning like a bratty child as he disappears from the doorframe.

Choso turns to you. “I need to go help my brother…but not before I get you somewhere safe,” he says. Choso dresses quickly as you watch in a dumbfounded silence. What the fuck is going on?

He wraps a heavy arm around you and leads you out of the closet into the destroyed Shibuya station.

“Trust me, I’ll take care of you.”

Unable to make sense of anything that’s going on, you have no choice but to believe him.

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