#I CAN’T FEEL SAFE IN ANY PLACE OF THE HOUSE BESIDES THE WALL IN THE KITCHEN BESIDES THE FRIDGE NEXT TO THE BACK DOOR | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

Text

our little secret

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets all of his answers- and then some. Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: injury mention, pet death mention, child mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part three.

Soap has been in his fair share of safe houses.

He knows what to expect when he hears the words: a sparsely furnished studio stocked with the bare essentials. It’s not a problem for him. Safe houses aren’t meant to feel like houses; they’re there to do their job– to keep their inhabitants safe.

So his confusion is valid when Ghost mumbles something about a “safe house” nearby, only to lead him through the dense woods of the mountains they’re stuck in to the coziest-looking cottage Soap has ever seen.

Soap’s frozen, unable to stop staring at the two-story stone house with dark ivy creeping up the grey stonework and an actual babbling brook winding around the right side of the house where it runs into a small pond in the front yard. He doesn’t know where Ghost, of all people, found the one safe house to come straight out of a fairytale.

“Fuckin’ hell Johnny, stop staring like you’ve never seen a house before.” Ghost’s hand harshly shoves into Soap’s shoulder, and Soap stumbles forward, turning back swiftly to glare at Ghost.

The Lieutenant had been particularly testy for this mission, seeming almost reluctant to take part in any aspect of it; regret had oozed out of every inch of Ghost from the moment he and Soap had touched down here, and Soap can’t figure out, for the life of him, why. It wasn’t like they were forced to be here; Soap was in the room when Price asked for volunteers for this mission. He remembers with exceptional clarity how Ghost perked up– as much a man like him could– and how the masked man was on his feet the second Price asked for volunteers.

If he was so eager for this mission, why did he seem so resistant to everything about it?

Tired and impatient with Soap’s lack of action, Ghost starts up the dirt path toward the cottage. It’s not hard to notice how he drags his steps, leaving small trails behind his boots. Soap follows hesitantly, keeping his head on a swivel as they approach the front door. Ghost tries the doorknob only to find it locked; his eyes slide shut, hand tightening around the doorknob before he lets his hand slide from the brass.

“Maybe we can–” Soap doesn’t get to finish as Ghost steps back to turn his gaze to the black iron sconce hanging next to the door. He pops one of the glass panes out with practiced ease, reaching in where Soap’s only now noticing there’s no lightbulb to grab a small golden key. He pops the glass back into place, sliding the key into the lock and turning.

The door swings open, allowing them into the pitch black of the house. For such a quaint-looking home, the endless void that greets Soap when he walks in is something lifted from a horror movie. Ghost shuts the door behind him, leaving Soap standing in the entryway that’s illuminated only by the misty grey of what little of the sun’s setting light is able to reach through the thick cover of the towering pines and low, looming clouds outside to shine through the small squares of glass on the front door.

“Take your shoes off,” Ghost mutters behind him.

“What?” Soap turns around– ready to ask why he should bother with etiquette for a safe house– but finds Ghost already hunched over, one hand on the wall beside him for balance as he unlaces his boots.

Soap copies him, unsure and so so confused. Ghost is as unbothered as ever, disappearing into the darkness of the house while Soap toes out of his boots. He places them next to Ghost’s, standing up right as the house illuminates in a soft amber glow.

It’s just as cozy inside as it is outside, and Soap is stupefied. His mind can’t comprehend the shadowy figure of death and destruction that is his Lieutenant among the picturesque interior of wooden countertops and decorative plants.

Ghost is none the wiser to Soap’s internal crisis, heading to a large armoire composed of deep brown wood that stands against the cream-colored wall next to the entryway. He pauses, leaning back to look at Soap over the edge of the lacquered door. “Weapons go in here.”

Soap joins him as Ghost unloads his weapons into the cabinet. The outside is unassuming— a normal, if a little taller than usual, armoire— which is why the interior catches Soap so off guard. A second set of doors— grated black metal with a keypad in the center— hang open to give them access to an impressive weapons rack that’s already half-stocked. Soap can’t help but gawk as Ghost works on hanging his knives— arranging them by handle color, then length. It’s done so casually, so routine, as if Ghost has done this a million times.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t know where to start. What the hell’s up with this “safe house”? How did Ghost find it? Did he set it up? It was hard enough picturing the masked giant in everyday civilian life, let alone browsing for the perfect rustic armoire or a faux fur rug fluffier than a cloud.

Ghost walks away, heading towards the kitchen with an unusual hesitance to his steps– like he’s trying to lighten his footsteps against the hardwood floor. Soap quickly stores his weapons, trailing behind Ghost with less caution.

The kitchen is just as immaculately decorated as the rest of the house– all creams and beiges, a large window above the sink with a collection of herbs growing on its sill, and little pops of color from the neatly organized pots, pans, and baskets sitting on the shelves.

Ghost rifles through the pantry with his back to Soap, and Soap can’t help himself.

“What’s-”

“Keep your voice down,” Ghost snaps, hushed and threatening.

“Why?” Soap huffs, gesturing to the empty space around them. “It’s not like there’s anyone else here!”

Ghost turns to face Soap with a swiftness that surprises the Sergeant, his shadowed eyes narrowed into a glare so fierce it sends an immediate shock of fight or flight through Soap.

“Simon?”

Your voice is soft and raspy and startles Soap so badly he swears his heart skips a beat. He whirls around to see you standing across the living room, one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. Dressed only in a hoodie that’s obviously too big for you— and the perfect size for a certain Lieutenant— and a set of fluffy pajama shorts, you rub your eye with the heel of your hand, clearly having just woken up.

Ghost groans behind him, and everything in Soap’s head suddenly clicks together: Ghost’s reason for volunteering for this mission so quickly, his expectation of working on it alone, why he dragged his feet to bring Soap here. All of the puzzle pieces floating around in his mind slide into place as he watches you stumble into the living room, still half-asleep.

After your rescue, you’d been confined to the infirmary for weeks. The team had come to see you, sometimes lucky to catch you for the few minutes you could stay conscious long enough to entertain small conversations. You were put on immediate leave once you were well enough, and in the three months since then, no one has heard from you.

Soap’s glad to see you despite his mild guilt for disturbing you.

You look much better than when you left— less like you’d been repeatedly hit by a bus— and well on your way to recovery. There’s still gauze wrapped around your right thigh, and a few of the worst bruises are still present on your skin, in the process of fading. The only lasting injury Soap can see is the deep scar that trails along the left edge of your jaw from your chin to your ear; you’d had trouble talking while in the infirmary, pain buzzing through your jaw anytime you moved your mouth, but now you’re yawning widely without a single care.

You make it halfway to the kitchen when your eyes land on Soap; you freeze, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Soap?”

“Doc.”

“What’re you….” You trail off, spotting Ghost behind him. Soap watches how you take in their clothes, the dirt and dried blood stained into the fabric, and how your eyes glance over to the open weapons cabinet near the front door. The shift to Doctor Mode is instant; you straighten up, already looking them over for any possible injuries as you hasten your way to the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Doc,” Soap smiles, seeing some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Lt. got a little roughed up, though.” Your head snaps to Ghost, and Soap steps aside, setting a gentle hand on your back to guide you and your concern toward Ghost. The Lieutenant glares at him over your head, but this time Soap smiles back, a knowing grin plastered on his face as you fret.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Ghost sighs, pulling his angry gaze away from Soap to stare down at you. He’s trying to seem stern, frustrated that you’re up and about, but you pay him no mind. It’s almost sweet, the way his gaze softens the moment he looks at you; he’s concerned for you as much as you are for him.

“‘m fine,” you mumble stubbornly. Ghost rolls his eyes as he lets you look over him. His eyes briefly flick up from your face to Soap before back down to you. Soap’s known Ghost for a long time; he’s learned how to read the subtle changes in those dark eyes, and he can see the way Ghost fights with himself before letting his eyes slide shut in resigned conclusion.

“You need to rest,” he sighs again, faint and gentle, as he lightly grabs your wandering hands and eases them off him. He glances up at Soap again, but Soap avoids his gaze, finding interest in the earthy green toaster and not even trying to hide his grin.

“I will, I will,” you huff. You step back from Ghost, pulling your hands from his to cross your arms over your chest. “Mission go okay?”

You’re talking to him now; Soap realizes when Ghost doesn’t answer. He turns to you with an easy, if a little cocky, smile and a half-shrug.

“Thought they could try and ambush us, but they were no match for us. Right, Lt.?” There’s a quiet, exasperated fuckin’ hell from Ghost, but you’re laughing— your smile not as wide on your left side— and Soap realizes how much he’s missed you.

“We needed a place to lie low for the night-” Ghost starts.

“And this was close by, I get it.” You maintain your smile, nudging Ghost’s arm with your elbow. “Surprised you got here before the storm started.”

“What? That poor excuse for cloud coverage outside? Hardly call that a storm,” Soap scoffs. You shrug, meandering to the cabinet that holds the cups and mugs.

“If that’s what you want to think,” you tease, but Soap is too busy watching Ghost as he watches you. “All I’m saying is-” The moment you reach up to grab a glass, there’s a hand on your waist and a sturdy body pressed against your back. “-Simon, I can reach just fine-”

He doesn’t listen, grabbing a glass and setting it in your hands while you pout up at him. You roll your eyes, stepping out from in front of him and smiling at Soap like nothing happened.

“All I’m saying is, I��ve lived here for a while; I think I can tell the difference between a little fog and a soon-to-be torrential downpour.” You fill your glass with water as you talk, batting Ghost away when he tries to take the full glass from you the minute you’ve filled it up.

“And since someone-” you send Ghost a pointed glare “-is in such a helpful mood, he can set you up in the guest room for tonight while I go back to sleep.” You saunter past Soap— as well as one can while healing— glass of water in hand.

“Good to see you again, Doc,” Soap laughs as you pass him. You send him a sly wink, playfully bumping his shoulder before heading upstairs.

A tense quiet looms over the kitchen as Soap and Ghost are left alone. Ghost is staring at him, and he’s staring back, neither one knowing how to break the awkward silence that surrounds them.

Until—

“So,” Soap starts, smug grin crawling across his face and vindication thrumming through his veins. “You and the Doc, eh?”

“Don’t fuckin’ start.”

With that, Ghost marches past him, heading for the stairs and, Soap decides this is going to be one of the top three missions of his life.

It’s 5:03 in the morning when Soap is awoken by the loudest clap of thunder he’s heard in his life.

It shocks him awake, shooting straight up from the bed, heart hammering and mind alert. It takes him a minute to realize there’s no immediate danger and that his biggest threat is the blue duvet tangled around his legs. Soap pauses, staring down at the soft blue blanket in confusion.

Why is he-

Oh.

Right.

Soap takes in the room— cozy just like the rest of the house— taking this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see if he can spot any clues, any slight hints that’ll give him insight on you and Ghost. The two of you are frustratingly thorough, as the only unusual thing he finds is the heavy blanket of rain pouring down the window.

Thunder rumbles above.

A door opens and shuts somewhere in the house.

Soap is of a curious mind— perhaps too curious for his own good— but that same intense inquisitiveness is what gave him enough of a glimpse to discover his Lieutenant’s secret marriage, so who is he to fight it?

He gets out of bed, ignoring the instant chill that comes with leaving the warm covers, and changes into the spare shirt and sweatpants you had Ghost give to him. As quietly as he can, he leaves the room, heading straight down the hall and toward the stairs.

The roll of thunder echoes above once more.

Something metal clatters downstairs.

Soap tiptoes down the steps, peering into the living room when he reaches the bottom step. The lights are off, save for the kitchen, where you sit at the small circular table, and Ghost stands at the counter near the sink, pouring boiling water from an old kettle into a black mug.

You’re still in your suspiciously oversized hoodie but have changed out of your fluffy shorts, trading them in for long pajama pants decorated with those colorful ghosts from pac-man. Ghost is dressed down significantly, only wearing a thin black t-shirt and matching sweatpants.

Soap should be surprised to see the balaclava still on, but he isn’t.

Ghost sets the mug on the table in front of you before he slides a chair over and sits down next to you. You sit up— almost dragging yourself into an upright position— looking far more exhausted than you had yesterday.

He watches you— attentive and alert in an almost too-intense way— shifting slightly with your every move. You either don’t notice or don’t care, messing with the tea bag and sipping from your cup. You wince when you swallow, and Ghost is leaning toward you, gloveless hand coming to rest just under your jaw. His thumb gently trails along the scar on your jawline, quiet murmurs exchanged and lost on Soap’s ears.

He should go back upstairs; it’s still early, and this seems like a moment he shouldn’t intrude on.

Soap takes one step backward, the woods beneath his foot whining under his weight and settling with a pop.

Your attention turns to the stairs, and Soap makes a snap decision. He stands up straight, heading down the stairs and into the living room, doing his best to seem casual and not like he was just spying on you.

Ghost pulls away from you, sitting back in his chair as you smile tiredly at Soap. Your voice is rough, more so than the tired rasp of someone who’s just woken up. “Mornin’, Soap.”

“Mornin’.”

“The storm wake you up?” you ask, setting your elbow on the table to set your chin in your hand. Soap shrugs, taking a seat across from you.

“I was already up,” he lies. You raise a brow, an amused smile that says you don’t believe him, but you don’t say anything. You lean back, grasping your mug with both hands and letting the warmth soak into your fingers.

He notices the mug first, streaks of the cartoon ghost with a crooked smile peering at him through your fingers. Then his gaze moves to your fingers, where he spots a solid black ring sitting comfortably on your left hand.

“You gonna ask about it?” you ask, grinning at him over the steam as you sip your tea. Soap coughs, rubbing his neck with enough sense to look sheepish. He chances a glance at Ghost, but the man’s eyes stay firmly on you. “It’s fine, Soap. I’m sure you have questions.”

He’ll probably never get this chance again.

Fuck it.

“I have a list,” Soap says, a little too eager, leaning forward on his elbows.

“You get three.” Ghost’s voice is flat and unamused– a stark contrast to your welcoming demeanor.

“Only three?”

“That’s one. You got two left.”

You scoff, reaching over to pinch Ghost’s arm. He grunts– more in annoyance than pain– giving you a half-hearted glare. It’s not ideal, but Soap will take what he can get. Sorting through the mental list of questions he’s been compiling since he first took notice of this little relationship, Soap tries to pick out the most important ones.

The group sits in silence while he thinks; you slowly work your way through your tea, grimacing around every swallow as the storm looms overhead. Thick raindrops assault the kitchen window, a steady waterfall pouring down the glass. Thunder booms overhead, less severe than before but startling all the same.

“Does Price know about…this?” he asks, gesturing to your ring.

“That’s your question?” Ghost scoffs.

It’s a question that’s confused him for months, so yes it is.

“He does,” you answer honestly. “So does my old Captain. They helped get all the legal stuff sorted out.”

“Legal stuff?”

“‘s a little difficult getting a marriage license for a dead man. Some strings had to be pulled.” You speak so casually as if that’s a normal thing to say. They’re around each other so often, Soap sometimes forgets that Ghost’s callsign is more than just a nickname; he’s a literal dead man walking, the living phantom of Simon Riley.

“Does anyone else know? Your old team? Laswell?” A cold chill shoots up his spine, “Did Shepherd know?”

“No,” Ghost sighs.

“My maiden name’s on all the paperwork. Price and Owens were thorough,” you explain. “No one knows but them…and now you, of course.”

Soap nods, fully understanding the weight of this secret he now bears, but he has to wonder-

“Would you've said anything? Eventually?”

You and Ghost share a look before you shrug, staring down into your half-empty mug.

“We talked about it.”

“After Las Almas,” Ghost adds. “Got too used to keepin’ it a secret and ended up never bringing it up.”

“Old habits,” you laugh softly. There’s a swell in Soap’s chest at the thought of you two trusting him enough to tell him about your marriage, even if it never actually happened. There were times when he wasn’t sure if Ghost even liked him, but after Mexico…there was a bond there that he’s realized wasn’t as one-sided as he may have assumed.

Your laugh dissolves into a hoarse cough, and Ghost is instantly on his feet.

“Back to bed, let’s go,” he orders, no room for negotiation. You roll your eyes, standing up slowly and favoring your right side.

“Make yourself at home, Soap,” you say in your gravelly voice, glancing out to the endless rain. “It looks like you might be stuck here a while.”

The storm doesn’t lessen for the rest of the morning and only worsens the following day; it’s clear he and Ghost will be here longer than initially intended.

Soap doesn’t mind, though.

He’s been given almost completely free rein of the house, presented with the rare opportunity to snoop without worrying about getting caught.

He notices the pictures on the third day as he’s coming down the stairs. There’s a tall, thin bookshelf on the wall opposite the bottom step filled to the brim with a vast collection of novels and a few picture frames.

He checks the top picture first, carefully pulling it from the top shelf of the bookcase. It’s a picture of Ghost standing in full gear, sunglasses on over his balaclava, holding a fully grown German Shephard over his right shoulder. The dog is looking to the side where you’re standing in matching gear, hands scratching behind its ears as you make a silly face with your lips pursed.

“Aw, I miss that dog.”

Soap jumps, nearly dropping the picture frame as you appear next to him, looking over his shoulder at the photo.

“Christ, you need a bell or something,” he mutters, setting the frame back on the shelf.

“Maybe you shouldn’t let yourself get so distracted,” you tease. You turn to the bookcase, a fond sigh as you look over the various photos. You let yourself sit in nostalgia for only a minute before glancing at Soap with a slight grin.

“You wanna see more?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You gather the pictures in your arms, leading Soap to the living room. You set the photos down on the coffee table and gesture for Soap to make himself comfortable on the sofa while you disappear into the hallway next to the kitchen. Soap sorts through the pictures. There’s one of Ghost sitting uncomfortably rigid in the back of a helicopter as you and Trip sleep on either side of him with your heads resting on Ghost’s shoulders. Another shows you with your old team, everyone dressed in civvies and sat around a bar table covered in empty glasses. The third is a duplicate of the one Soap had found in your desk in pristine condition.

“I have this if you want to look through it,” you say as you return a large black book in your hands. You hand it to Soap, and he flips it open while you make yourself comfortable next to him.

It’s a photo album.

An entire photo album of you and Ghost– and sometimes the dog and your old team, but that’s not important.

Soap flips through it in wonder and awe. “Who took all these?”

“My old Captain, mostly. Some were me or one of the others. I think there’s a couple Simon took in there, too.”

“What did I take?” Ghost wanders down the steps, stopping when he sees the album in Soap’s hands. “For fuck’s sake, why does he have that?”

“Don’t mind him,” you huff. You lean over a peer into the photo album, pointing at one in the bottom left corner. “That’s one of my favorites!”

It’s a picture of Ghost passed out on a tattered sofa, exhausted, with the German Shephard curled around his head as he uses it for a pillow.

“Riley was such a good dog,” you sigh wistfully. Soap snorts, glancing over to Ghost.

“Riley?”

“Wasn't my idea,” Ghost grumbles, looking directly at you.

“Didn’t think you worked on a team before, Lt.,” Soap says, handing the album over to you so you can flip through the pictures, pulling out ones you want to show Soap.

“It happened on occasion,” Ghost shrugs, thick arms folded across his chest. “Worked with Owens once before, and she was impressed enough to ask for me on certain missions.”

“And because he had a crush on the doctor,” you mumble, laughing to yourself as you slide another picture out. Ghost seems less than amused, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You were a doctor back then?” Soap questions. That doesn’t sound right. He’s seen you in the field with the 141, your uniform completely different from what you’re wearing in those pictures.

You hesitate, pausing in your picture collecting to knit your fingers together and pick at your nails.

“Of sorts.” Is all you say.

“It was a specialized position,” Ghost cuts in, walking around the back of the sofa to set his hands on your shoulders. “Interrogation Specialist.”

“So, you questioned people?”

“I tortured people.” You look up from the photos, meeting Soap’s eyes with a distant gaze he’s seen many times on Ghost.

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Is that why they called you Hornet?” Is what comes out of his mouth. It’s absurd enough to shock you out of whatever memory you were stuck in, tilting your head in confusion.

“No? Who told you that?”

“Grizzly. He said something about you being like a hornet in a beehive.”

You have to bite into your cheek to keep from laughing, and even then, a few giggles escape you. You relax into the couch, craning your head up to look at Ghost, “I mean, I guess that works.”

“If that’s not it, then why-”

“We didn't have a medic, so I had to stitch everyone up a lot. And most of the time, we didn’t have any kind of anesthesia, and I didn’t give any warning before I started poking with the sewing needle. Grizzly complained that I was like an aggressive bee, Trip told him those were called hornets, and that was that. Not as cool, right?” Soap wants to reassure you, but your attention is back to the book in your lap.

You gasp, pulling out a photo to hold it up to Ghost, “Remember this?”

Ghost’s answer is immediate, “Don’t show him that.”

Well, now Soap has to know.

You laugh, sliding the picture back into its place, but briefly look over to Soap, mouthing later with a wink.

Over the next few days, Soap learns more about your relationship with Ghost.

He learns that you met during a black-ops mission, where Ghost was meant to help escort your team– and more specifically, you– to a remote base to question some high-profile prisoner.

He learns that the two of you worked so well together for that first mission that Captain Owens made Ghost her go-to for any outside help if the team ever needed it.

He learns you spent years working together before the thought of becoming a couple even entered your minds.

And he learns that after that first time together, you and Ghost developed a specific set of rules for your relationship that’s only grown since.

You’ve told him a couple: no obvious affection in public, don’t compromise a mission for the other’s safety, respect each other’s space and the occasional need to spend time apart, no letters or phone calls unless it’s an absolute emergency.

Most were proposed by Ghost, but you agreed that it was for the safety of both of you.

He puts together clues about some of the other– possibly unspoken– rules when he watches the two of you interact. Ghost takes your health very seriously, and sometimes his tone borders on commanding when he tries to get you to rest or take medicine or drink tea without anything added to it. You sass him and roll your eyes, but do whatever he says every time. It’s the same when you ask him to get you something or try to get him to be a little nicer to Soap when he asks about some aspect of your marriage: Ghost will groan or roll his eyes but always bends to your will.

You don’t ask about each other’s missions, either. Soap watches you reorganize the weapon cabinet one day, noticing the blood on a few of Ghost’s knives. You ask if it’s his or Soap’s and if either of them needs to be looked at, but when they assure you they’re fine, you drop the subject.

The biggest question for him, though: the rings.

Ghost’s has found its way onto his finger– the first time Soap has seen it there, while you switch between wearing yours on your finger and on that thin chain around your neck.

It’s on your finger this morning, and Soap is fixated on watching you twirl it around your finger absentmindedly while you stare over the back of the couch at Ghost’s back as he makes breakfast.

(That’s another thing– Ghost has done most, if not all, of the cooking since they got here.)

“It’s weird to see him with a ring on,” Soap quietly laughs. You turn to him, pulled out of your husband-watching trance.

“Yeah, it’s not often we get to actually wear them.”

“One of his rules?”

“One of mine,” you sigh, gaze drifting back to Ghost. You fidget with your ring again, picking at its smooth, rounded edges with your nails.

“No wearing them where anyone can see ‘em, if one of us leaves for a mission then whoever’s staying behind keeps both of them, and if we both have to leave, the rings go in a small safe in my office.”

“That sounds-” Exhausting. “-thorough.”

“You’d be surprised how many captives forget about jewelry. It’s a whole lot easier to get information out of someone the minute you realize they might have someone they want to protect from you.”

There’s an edge to your voice, some kind of mix of nostalgia and resentment and regret.

But Ghost finishes breakfast and Soap decides it’s better not to ask.

Day six of waiting out this seemingly never-ending storm and the three of you are sitting in the living room cleaning your array of guns.

You’re wearing your own clothes for once, a dark cotton tank top and black sweatpants that lets Soap see the full extent of bruising and bandages around your arms. A long bruise stretches across your neck, still purple and blue, and Soap suddenly understands the uneven hoarseness of your voice.

Your hair is up, pulled out of your face so you can focus on your work. Soap can see the scar from the humvee on the side of your head as it disappears behind your ear.

The ear that hides your tattoo.

It’s a quiet afternoon; it’d be a shame to break the peace.

“When did you get the tattoo?” he asks anyway. You don’t answer until you look up and find him staring back at you.

“What tattoo?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“The little ghost behind your ear.”

Ghost freezes, head slowly turning to look at you. “What ghost?”

“Oh, that. I got it after Russia,” you shrug. “Whole mission was a total shitshow, but it reminded me how easily you can lose someone, so, after, I found the nearest shop and got it done.”

You return to your guns, but Ghost’s eyes are trained on you. Soap can see the gears in his head turning, and he briefly worries that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Thought we agreed: no marks, symbols, or tattoos.”

A sharp laugh escapes your mouth, eyes flicking up to Ghost in disbelief. “So if I check out that chaotic sleeve of yours, you’re telling me I won’t find a little hornet hidden somewhere in there?”

A beat of silence.

Ghost grunts and returns to his guns and you grin victoriously at Soap.

The power goes out on day nine.

Ghost is messing around with the fuse box. At the same time, you and Soap have decided to follow “sleepover law”, lighting the house up with candles, moving the sofa and coffee table to build a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the lit fireplace, and piling a collection of snacks nearby.

He can hear the two of you laughing in the living room, you exchanging old mission tales for stories about Soap’s nieces and nephews. Ghost sighs, his fourth and last idea to get the power back on failing miserably. He’s frustrated and annoyed and can feel that itch just under his skin that tells him to isolate.

To do that, he’d have to go upstairs.

And to get upstairs, he’d have to go through the living room and pass by-

Your laugh echoes down the hallway, and Ghost can feel some of the tension ease from his bones. The itch is still there– the immediate need to run and hide to deal with any sort of negative emotion by himself– but it lessens when he remembers you’re nearby.

He shuts the fuse box, deciding he’s not going to get anything fixed right now. Instead, he wanders down the hall, stopping just before he reaches the living room to lean against the wall and listen to you and Soap.

“I have to ask-” Soap starts, mischief laced in his voice, “-the mask. Does he ever take it off?”

“If he wants to,” you reply through gentle laughter.

“Really? So what if he doesn’t want to? Does he sleep with it on?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about when you two…”

There’s a brief pause before you snort and answer in a quiet purr, “Sometimes.”

“Nah, yer bum’s oot the windae!”

“...I don’t know what that means, but you asked!”

“You’re not serious!”

“Totally am! I mean…I wouldn’t’ve married him if I wasn’t into it.”

Ghost loves you more than anything in the world, but there’s nothing more he wants right now than for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole.

It’s late, almost reaching into the early morning hours, and Soap cannot sleep. He doesn’t know what’s keeping him awake; he just knows that no matter what he tries, he can’t fall asleep.

After the third hour of tossing and turning and grumbling, he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. He does his best to keep quiet, all his stealth training kicking in.

He’s halfway across the living room when–

“Watch your step.”

It takes everything in him not to scream as your voice travels up from the floor. Soap looks down to find you lying on your back on the fluffy brown rug, your legs outstretched and resting atop the coffee table.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus! What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Came down here for some floor time.”

“Floor time?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You raise your brows at him, reaching out to pat the empty spot next to you.

He stares down at you, but you meet his gaze, eyes wide and unblinking to the point it almost freaks him out. Soap relents, bending down to lay next to you. You clap your hands in victory, scooting over to give him more room.

Soap gets himself comfortable, crossing his feet on top of the coffee table next to yours. You two lay in silence, staring up at the ceiling in the quiet dark.

It is kind of calming, he has to admit.

“I used to do this with Riley,” you speak softly, barely above a whisper. “I’d lay down, and then he’d lay on me. At first, I thought he just wanted to use me as a pillow, but I think it was more of a grounding thing…he was a smart one, that dog.”

“What…happened to him?”

“He got old. K9 unit retired him, and Simon and I took care of him until…Simon was devastated when we had him put down. He refused to come back here for months after. Said the house was ‘too quiet’.”

“Could always have a kid or two,” Soap jokes. “House wouldn’t be quiet for a long while.”

“No,” you snap.

He sits up, propping himself on his elbows so he can face you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s not…you’re fine, Soap.” You release a long sigh, pulling your feet off the coffee table and sitting up straight. You stretch, back popping painfully from too much time on the ground.

“We’ve talked about kids,” you mumble, fingers moving to fidget with your ring. You look back at him– grey moonlight reflecting off your watery eyes. “Maybe in another life.”

Soap pushes himself to sit up completely, reaching out to settle a comforting hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact– relaxing when you realize you’re alright– and Soap pulls his hand away with an apologetic smile.

“Another dog, then? Or a cat? Ghost seems like a cat person.”

You make a sound, some sort of half-scoff, half-laugh that’s muddled by the knot in your throat.

“How 'bout a fish?”

“A fish it is, then.” Soap hears your watery laugh as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You scoot back to sit next to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll name him Soap, just for you.”

"Thanks, Doc."

It’s a whole two weeks later from the day they arrived when the water has eased enough outside for Ghost and Soap to go out and check the roads.

You sit on the porch, tucked into a dry chair and another one of Ghost’s hoodies with a hot mug of tea warming your hands. Initially, you wanted to go with them, but Ghost refused swiftly and sternly. You argued that you needed the fresh air, and the compromise was made that you could settle on the porch and keep an eye out while they walked down the road.

Everything looked good, no mudslides, no floods, no fallen trees, so he and Ghost decided to head back and get ready to leave.

Soap spots you as they near the house, staring off towards the brook near the house. You look so calm, so serene that he almost hates to disturb you. But Ghost has no qualms about interrupting your peace as he marches straight up to the house. You don’t seem to mind, judging by the way your face lights up at the sight of him.

He’s had almost every question answered, Soap realizes as he watches Ghost offer you a hand to help you out of your chair, and you use the momentum to pull yourself up and kiss him on the cheek.

There’s only question left-

“Hey, Ghost?” he asks, once the three of you are back inside.

Ghost pauses his cooking, looking back at him over his right shoulder.

“How did you propose?”

“What?”

Soap expected that, but he hadn’t expected you to start snickering from where you’re perched on the counter next to Ghost with your head resting on his left shoulder.

“It’s just…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And there’s no engagement pictures in that photo album so-”

“I didn’t.”

“You…what?”

“I didn’t propose,” Ghost sighs.

Oh…

Oh!

Soap turns to you and your triumphant– if a bit smug– grin. “I beat him to it.”

“By two days,” Ghost huffs, turning back to the food on the stove. “Patience is a virtue, but not one of yours.” You giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder over his shirt. Ghost nudges you away with a grunt. You lean back for a few seconds before setting your chin on his shoulder so you can stare lovingly at the side of his face. Ghost sighs, letting it happen and turning briefly to lightly tap his head against yours.

“How did you know?”

The question spills from Soap’s lips the moment he catches that little interaction.

“Know what?” you ask, turning to lay your head down, smushing your cheek on Ghost’s shoulder.

“That you wanted to propose. How’d you know you were the ones for each other?”

You sit up, eyes never leaving Ghost, who’s gone unusually still. An uncomfortable tension fills the air, swelling like a balloon ready to burst.

“It was after Sweden,” Ghost mumbles minutes later. He puts the stove on low heat and turns to you, your eyes meeting as he steadily holds your gaze. “We were clearing out that abandoned building, and you found this kid, couldn’t have been more than five…maybe six? They were so scared, but you managed to get them to calm down and come with us. We cleared the place but got ambushed as we were leaving. You gave me the kid and shoved me out of the back exit and-”

“Took a bullet meant for you,” you finish softly. Your hand comes up to graze just below your stomach, absentmindedly clenching the fabric over the spot.

The face you made when he’d brought up children flashes through Soap’s mind.

Maybe in another life.

“Didn’t realize how scared I was of losing you until that moment. You always seemed so sure, so indestructible, like there wasn’t anything that could kill you, like you’d always be there. And then you weren’t, and I thought that was the end until you finally got out of surgery. Wasn’t gonna let you get away after that.”

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. You try your best to wipe them away, a smile of a million different emotions directed at Ghost. Ghost reaches out, sets a hand on your knee, and you meet his eyes before glancing over and realizing Soap is still there– grinning like an idiot.

“Well, I knew the day we met,” you laugh through your tears. Ghost scoffs, playfully squeezing your knee before returning his attention to the food. “It’s true; you can ask Firefly. Moment you started training with us and flipped Grizzly on his ass, I told her, ‘I’m gonna marry that man’.”

“Fuck off.”

They’re packed and ready to leave the next morning.

Soap’s tugging on his boots while Ghost locks up the weapons cabinet, and you stand off to the side, watching. You haven’t said a word all morning, just leaning against the wall with your eyes fixated on Ghost.

Ghost shuts the cabinet with a sigh as Soap finishes lacing up his boots. Ghost glances at him, different this time– a silent ask for a moment alone with his wife.

Soap gets the message, loud and clear.

“Don’t worry, Doc. You’ll be back in your infirmary treating our stab wounds soon enough.” You huff in amusement, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, Soap.” He nods at you and turns to head out the door.

He leans against the wall just outside the front door, staring at the clear brook water that washes over smooth stones until he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and realizes he can see straight through the glass of the door where you and Ghost stand, feet apart from each other.

He should look away, get a head start down the road.

But when has he ever done that?

Instead, he watches Ghost slide the mask from his face, giving you a single nod before you launch forward and attach yourself to him. He holds you close like he’s trying to absorb you into his body, keeping you as close as physically possible. You pull back from him– only slightly– and Ghost wipes away the tears falling down your face. He reaches behind your neck, messing with the clasp of your necklace before his ring slides down the silver metal to meet yours at the bottom.

Your hands wind their way around the collar of his jacket, pulling him forward into a kiss he eagerly accepts. There’s no such thing as a goodbye kiss in the Riley household; goodbyes imply never seeing each other again, and that is a future neither you will accept. Instead, it’s a promise.

A promise to stay alive, to come back.

A promise either of you has yet to break.

You pull away, murmuring something against his lips. Soap’s never been a great lip reader, but it’s not hard to tell what you’re saying.

You better come back to me, Simon Riley.

Always.

Another kiss, and the mask is back on, slid into place by your steady hands. Ghost sets his forehead against yours, one last moment together before the inevitable separation.

Soap turns away when Ghost steps back from you, focusing his gaze on a small leaf on the ground until Ghost walks out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Let’s go, Sergeant.”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes #private

4K notes · View notes

mathanlin · 9 months

Text

Witch AU where village kid catshifter!Tommy starts developing magic.

It’s terrifying, sure. But he’s friends with the SBI coven, and they’ll surely take him in — though they don’t know he’s a shifter, they’re still kind.

So Tommy’s stunned when Phil flat-out rejects him.

“They’ll notice if a kid goes missing.”

*Not me,* Tommy almost says. That’s part of the problem. He’s barely able to stay in the village now — let alone if they discover he’s a witch.

But he still can’t bear to tell Phil, with his new magic so weak it’s only a liability.

“Phil, I can’t— I need a place to stay,” Tommy says, bordering on fearful frustration. “I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t— friends.”

*I thought we were,* he thinks. After all the times he’d played with the twins as a kid, Phil smiling & watching over them.

He must've been wrong.

“No, Tommy.” Phil’s voice is soaked with frustration, too. “I can’t take care of you. Not if—”

He cuts off. Tommy still hears it.

*Not if it endangers my real sons.”

And, filled with a broken rage, Tommy snaps.

“If you send me back, I’ll tell them where you live.”

It’s an empty threat.

That must be clear, with how Tommy’s shaking, on the verge of tears. But he must’ve underestimated how much Phil loves his sons.

And how much he *doesn’t* love Tommy.

Because, voice humming with magic, Phil utters, “You won’t say *anything.*”

Tommy opens his mouth.

To apologize, to beg, to tell Phil the truth. *I love you. You make me feel safe.*

But of course, nothing comes out.

Just like Phil wanted.

The worst part is, there’s only relief in Phil’s expression. No regret.

Not until Tommy stumbles back, shaking as he tries to form apology after apology, clutching uselessly at his throat.

And even then, there’s only regret in Phil’s expression when Tommy turns and bolts.

(“He’ll be safe.”

That’s how Phil consoles his sons, comforting them with the idea of Tommy back at the village, warm, fed, and protected.

They don’t notice the cat huddled beside their house, pressed desperately against the wall.

Not until it sits silently on their doorstep.

And Tommy… Tommy’s okay with this.

At least he’s with them. Even if he can’t speak, can’t risk shifting back, can’t even purr when they hold him close — closer than they ever did when he was a filthy, skinny kid. Even if he’s still terrified of Phil.

It’s still worth it.)

It’s… not that hard for Phil to find out.

How that tiny, scrawny cat only curls up with Techno & Wil. How he hisses at Phil, no sound coming out, trembling violently.

How, when any danger arises, the cat that reminds him far too much of Tommy is willing to die for them.

But there’s still a final straw.

Tommy’s reckless. He’s not a normal cat, sure, but it’s still easy to accidentally knock bottles from counters. But unlike a cat, he doesn’t wait for Techno’s precious work to fall and shatter.

He shifts into a human, barely catching it.

He should’ve been alone.

Should’ve.

But when he pulls himself back up, bottle in one shaking hand, Phil is staring at him.

“Tommy—”

Tommy runs.

Phil had made it *painfully* clear.

Tommy’s a danger to his sons. So much of a danger that he’d rather shut Tommy up than risk any chance of hurting them.

And Tommy almost can’t blame him. Because, desperate for a place to live, he goes right back to the village.

But he should’ve known what would happen.

Kids that go missing for months? They don’t come back right. Especially kids like Tommy who were already on thin ice, sneaking into the woods at night where witches lived.

So all Tommy gets is a crossbow bolt right through the shoulder.

He’s done.

There’s no way to survive this. At least he was able to hide from the villagers, the curse keeping every pained cry inside his chest. But now he’s bleeding out on the forest floor. Alone.

But not for long.

“Tommy?”

Techno. Then, Wilbur, falling next to him.

And asking questions he can’t answer. “Oh god, what happened? Where were you? Why— fuck, Techno, why is he— why’s he quiet?”

Funny. If Tommy could speak, he knows what his last words would’ve been. Not an answer.

Just, *I love you.*

But they’re not his last words. He wakes, swaddled in blankets and bandages, back in the cottage he’s wanted to call home for years.

And the first thing he sees is Phil, sitting at his bedside.

“I’m so sorry.”

If Tommy could speak, that would’ve shut him up.

But he can’t speak. And so he thrashes, desperately trying to sit up. To run, maybe? To flee before Phil— before he—

And then Techno appears in the doorway, utterly pale.

“Dad, he’s… he’s been cursed.”

Silence.

“Cursed,” Phil repeats slowly. Like— like he’s not the one who did it.

And that lie just keeps going. As Techno & Wil tend to Tommy’s wounds, gathering ingredients for a spell to heal him.

As they, as a coven, break that curse.

The spell works.

It does. Tommy can feel his voice, tucked back from where it’d been torn out. He can feel the coven’s eyes on him — Techno & Wil’s, hopeful, and Phil’s… unreadable.

So he’s still too terrified to speak.

“Tommy?” Wilbur leans in, taking Tommy’s hand, on the verge of tears. “Oh, Toms, can you— did it work? Can you—”

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy keeps his eyes on Phil, even as the man… shudders?

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out again, voice choked and ugly as every bit of grief pours out. “I never would’ve— would’ve— told them. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, please, I want to stay—”

Phil climbs to his feet, fast — and for once, Tommy can let out a panicked noise.

Even as the man stumbles away, face torn with grief.

And disappears.

(But Techno & Wil stay.

And in their embraces, Tommy crumbles. Every truth that was locked behind his lips comes rushing out.

*Every* truth. From, “I love you,” to, “It was— it was Phil.”

And Phil… Phil doesn’t know what to do.

But he knows he’s *willing* to do anything. To make up for that horrible, brutal mistake, to take care of the kid he’s always loved like his own — even if it was hard to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, that’ll be enough to atone.)

#mcyt #dsmp #dsmp au #sbi #sbi au #threadfic #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza

298 notes · View notes

kelsstars · 2 years

Text

Now Or Never - Carl Grimes x Y/N (gender-neutral)

Warnings: SLOW BURN, smut (18+), receiving!y/n, receiving!carl, fingering, protected sex, loosing first times, angst (miscommunication), finding comfort, slight jealous!carl, slight jealous!y/n, swearing. All teenage characters are set to be 18-19, so a bit different than the original timeline.

Summary of the prologue: You and Carl have known each other since kindergarten. Yet after the whole world fell down in front of your eyes, the chances of meeting again would be slim to nothing. After 10~11 years of looking for a stable group of survivors, you found and now live comfortably in a place called Alexandria, with your friends Ron, Mikey and Enid. Until one day, when you sneak out, you come across two strangers from a group near your home and you happen to recognize a familiar face.

A/N: This will be one of my first fanfics that contains a first perspective Y/N gender neutral reader as I want to satisfy everyone with this! Feel free to send requests. :))

Words: idk but it’s beyond long. 😞

“Fuck..” You say as you look down at your leg. You were just ambushed by a zombie, barely getting away but luck is on your side today, as the walker got caught up on a trap you had previously placed some days before. Though, it did managed to rip your jeans a little, your breath quickens as you search for any scratch or bites. You were safe, but you never knew when you couldn’t.

‘I can’t do this, I need to get back inside. What if Ron finds out I went out?!’ You mentally told yourself.

Your friends in Alexandria were rather nice most of the times, but Ron had.. problems. His dad wasn’t the Dad Of The Year, nor would he be close to that title, so you believed it rubbed on Ron as years went on. You and Ron had always multiple fights about getting to explore outside the safety of the walls. Not only would he always bring up your traumatic upbringing up until Alexandria to make you stay inside, he would also comment that you would use it as an excuse to smoke cigarettes. Well, he wasn’t far off from the second argument, but you never actually smoke. Near the ‘safe zone’ of Alexandria, you would always light up a cigarette and leave it to burn on a empty tombstone. You don’t remember how long you had done it for, but you knew exactly why you did it. It was the grave of what you once were.

You reminisced of times when you went to school and you had to sit by your only friend that your memory refused to block. Carl Grimes. He was the sweetest boy since kindergarten until you were about 8 and he was 7, right before shit went down. You always wondered in the dead of night if he had lived as far as you did, and if he was dead, where was he buried. You wanted to be buried a long beside him, he was your first love after all, you two were inseparable, reading comic books every moment you had got in break, made friendships bracelets that you had eventually lost after 3 days because y’know how kids are, but your favorite time of all, making sleepovers at each others houses so you could stay up and watch the stars from his yard. It wasn’t his interest to begin with, you had always loved the stars and wanted to grow up as an astronaut, and when Carl had heard about such, he started to like them too because of you. You thought it was adorable and that was probably when you started to like him, but the day you were about to invite to your place for another sleepover, you saw him leaving school with his mom and another man, who you don’t remember well his face nor name, but you know that after he took Carl into his car, you never saw him again.

After the apocalypse started, you came running home as chaos was running right behind you. Cars crashing, people screaming and being eaten right in front of you, of course that can change someone for the worse. You arrived home with your dad immediately handing you a baggage with your stuff, food and water and you never looked back.

It would be nice to continue your inner dialogue and how you had lost your dad and future people as you watch the cigarette burn on the empty grave. But you hear voices not far from where you stood.

“Dad, where are you going? Wasn’t Alexandria that way?” A calm yet a slight raspy voice questions their parental figure, you figure he’s around Ron’s age since you have heard the teenagers in Alexandria voices change and go through changes.

‘Sigh’ - You hear. - “You have no idea, WE have NO idea these people are. They could be murderers for all I know, and my main mission is to keep everyone in the group at bay and in a safe place.” A much more deeper and scratchy voice coming behind you. You rushed to hide inside an open tree near the grave but the fallen leaves crunch under your steps, giving away your presence.

“That doesn’t answer my ques- Wait. Did you hear that?” You hear as the supposedly younger male clocks his gun. Welp, you fucked up this time.

You start praying to every god you can remember, even when you have never believed in such things, it’s not like you had the time to focus on religion after everything that has happened to you. But this was different, this is one the few times you had stumbled upon danger and unfortunately, you saw no way out unless a miracle happens.

“Carl, how many do you think there are hidden here?” Carl?! Huh. Ironic how you were thinking about your childhood friend and now you were getting hunted down by the person with the same name.

“I heard few footsteps, so I’d say a walker, I can handle it. Don’t worry.” The older figure, whose presumably his dad, gives a quick okay and you hear as he walks away and this supposed ‘Carl’ slowly approaches your hiding spot. You held your hands up to your mouth, hoping no breath or sound came out of your body.

“Pst pst psst..” You hear ‘Carl’ call out to you. How dare he?! But then again, he thinks you’re a walker and not a person, so being cat called should be least of your proble-

You look up to see a gun pointed right at your face outside the tree hole. For a few moments you can’t tell if you’re about to cry, scream or do anything. You’re just shocked.

“Who are you?” The male asks, obviously not in a friendly mood. It takes a few minutes to indulge and zone back into reality as you observe his body up and down. He has long brown hair, with a fringe that covers his right patched eye. Speaking of it, it seems he only had one baby blue eye, as his eyebrows furrowed, slight veins appear on his hands and he looks pretty wearing a sheriff’s hat. He had sweet little freckles that reminded you of someone you once loved and knew. Wait. You could not believe your own vision as you slowly piece together who the person in front of you might be.

“Carl?” You pause. “C-Carl Grimes?”

You watch as Carl’s eyes widen not breaking eye-contact, his face goes from shocked to an aggressive look once more, yet his voice sounds confused.

“How do you know my name?” His grasp on the gun seems to tighten.

“It’s me, Carl, Y/N (Y/L/N)! Remember us in school? We used to watch stars together before everything went to shit, do you not remember-“ You suddenly stay quiet.

The boy immediately lowers his gun, even tugging it back in his gun holder. You could tell he was about to cry because he stood there biting his lip with watery eyes. You hurriedly get up from your tree spot and hug him. Neither of you could not wrap your head around that either of you were alive.

Oh, how you wish you could kiss him and just break down on his sweet warms arms.

You break out of your thoughts as your hear Carl’s dad, Rick. It was nice to see a familiar face that reminded you of your old life, of course Rick was skeptical as to why you two were hugging, since he could not recognize you with everything that happened, but after a walk to Alexandria, where Rick’s group had already arrived, Rick seemed to have recognized you. There were many new people. You recognized a lot of their names, but for personal reasons. It made Carl amused to know you were involved in his life once again. And so were you! Having Carl communicate with your friends and his group bounding well with everyone in the community. Yet you have noticed that Enid seemed to get closer and closer to Carl, which set you off.

Presumably, from your calculations of days, 4 months had passed and your relationship with Carl had, unfortunately, rapidly declined. You would always have a quiet time every time you were paired up together in scavenger hunts, or even when the teenagers all met up to play games together. It broke your heart to know that for the first two weeks with him being back, you had catch up on everything you lived through all these years. And then it stopped. Or well, Carl stopped. He started to become more rude to you, every time you would show up, he would ignore you or lock himself up on his room. Him, Rick and Michonne had decided that the house you were staying at more comfortable for Carl’s young sister, Judith. You were happy at first but now it was hell to live through. As weeks went by, since Carl had stopped talking to you, it was the same routine of him running quickly to his room every single time he saw you.

It pissed you off.

Not only because your childhood friend and crush was avoiding you, but he still hung out with your other friends. Especially, Enid. You would always catch them reading comic books next to each other and even, listening to loud music right in Carl’s room, which happened to be right next to yours. You still liked Enid, she was your friend after all, but you never thought she would like Carl back because she would always talk about Ron to you. The day you confronted her about it around a month ago, and she admitted that she liked Carl and no longer shared feelings with Ron. If that wasn’t the tipping point of your jealousy, you don’t know what was.

In ‘revenge’, you started to hang out with Ron a lot more. But in reality, you didn’t even realize how much closer you had gotten, especially since you had a rocky friendship in the past. You were still a bit skeptical of his behavior but this was until one day you were playing checkers on your bed with Ron.

“Hey, Y/N, mind passing me that small butter knife over there?” Ron looked up from the game, clearly he must have been bored of not playing other games in your house because you had given most to Carl when he first settled in.

“Yeah, sure.” You lean over to reach your bed side table to grab the pen. “Is there a reason why?”

“Yeah, let’s write each others names on the big tree outside where you always hide away!” Ron seemed a bit too excited over this idea. He even turned his face away, from embarrassment of how enthusiastic he must have sounded to you.

You laugh at the idea. “Is this not what Michonne and Rick said they did so their love could live through forever?” You remembered when Daryl found out their initials on the tree they had carved their names on. You were always a fan of Daryl’s comments on Michonne and Rick’s relationship. In fact, he was not against it, but he still seemed against the idea of romantic affection being shown in front of him.

“Well, of course not. Pfft! We’re just friends…, right?” Ron sounded hopeful at the end. Too hopeful for your response to say contrary. You noted to yourself that his face seemed to turn red and redder the more you took to answer.

“Oh Ron, of course! You and your family first welcomed me with open arms and you have been one of my closest friends here.” You stopped as his face was giving the ‘continue’ look. “But-”

His face immediately went serious, but he started to put the checkers aside and slowly approach you as your back hit the headboard of you bed.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’ve noticed how you’ve been approaching me and I can’t let you go. I’ve waited for this moment for years. These feelings didn’t disappear even when I was into Enid! Please, Y/N. Give me a chance to make you feel alright.” Ron says it so confidently, not even you have the words to say anything.

A brief silence occurs.

“I see the way you looked at Carl when you first arrived. I guessed immediately, he was the first love you talked about so much for the first few years you were here.” Your eyes widen. Shit, is this really the time to bring up your past right now?

“Ron, look. I’m sorry I can’t reciprocate your feelings, but is this the time to talk about him? You know more than anyone even I get disgusted by that nam-“

“LIES!” Ron suddenly screams at you. You flinched a little, it has been awhile since you had a fight so you forgot what he sounded like angry. “I SEE THE WAY YOU LOOK AT HIM! DON’T TRY TO TRICK ME.” He threw away the butter knife under your bed.

He had a point. Your head filled with butterflies whenever you saw him smile or having fun. Especially when you were out on your runs, where he would do a little smile whenever he killed a zombie cleanly.

“Y/N! One. Chance.” Ron looked up at you, cooping your cheeks with his hands. He was going to kiss you. Your first kiss was going to be Ron. Just the thought of that happening made your stomach twist, never have you thought of Ron in a romantic way, and it surely wouldn’t change now!

The door burst opens mid inner dialogue and Ron leaning to kiss you. It was.. Carl?

If you didn’t remember seeing Carl that upset, you sure would remember now. He seemed more hungry for murder as he looked at you when he first found you in the tree, a while back. He immediately pounces on top of Ron, preparing to get into a physical fight with him. But why was Carl this mad?

“WHAT THE FUCK, GRIMES?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” Ron tries to push Carl off of him but to no avail.

“NO ANDERSON, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! DON’T YOU HAVE ENID OR A DEAD WALKER OUTSIDE TO BE SMOOCHING?” Carl basically barks back at Ron, both holding each other by the collar.

“OH, YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT ENID? YOU BASICALLY COME HERE, STEAL MY EX AND THEN BREAK MY CRUSH’S HEART? YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE!”

“DON’T CONFUSE ME FOR YOUR STUPID FUCKING DAD. HE’S THE ASSHOLE, NOT ME.”

“YEAH? WELL, WHY DO YOU KEEP AVOIDING Y/N, HUH! YOU ACTED SO CARING AND THEN YOU JUST STOPPED. YOU BROKE THEIR HEART, BASICALLY PLAYING WITH THEIR FEELINGS. BUT THEN ACTING ALL SWEET TO MY GIR-“ Carl cuts him off before he continues spouting his thoughts.

“YOUR GIRL? YOU BROKE UP WITH HER! AND YOU KNOW DAMN WELL, WHY I AVOID Y/N, IT WAS YOU WHO TOLD ME IT WOULD MY WEIRD FEELINGS GO AWAY. THEY GOT STRONGER.” Carl and Ron kept going back and forth and-

Weird feelings? Wait.

“What?” You spoke out loud your own thoughts, the boys turn to look at you. Carl’s face turns slightly red as he realized what he just confessed. Ron looks confused and embarrassed.

“I… I need to talk to Carl. Now.” Your demeanor turns serious. This was it, you had your shot to talk through everything with Carl.

Now or never.

“But-“ You cut off Ron before he could finish.

“But nothing, Ron. Please, see your way out, and Carl, sit by me, this instant.”

Ron takes defeat as he walks out of the room, leaving with a death glare to Carl. Carl takes a minute to finally have the courage to sit by you. Finally, you can talk, face to face.

“Carl… Why have you been avoiding me? Be honest.” Your voice cracks mid sentence, you try to hide your tears from your so beloved who finally stood next to you.

“You want the full story?” You nod. “Alright.” He sighs before continuing.

“Ever since we started living together, it has been great, I got new friends, I got all my family from the outside and now all have their own houses and live comfortably. And especially-“ he carefully approached his hands near to yours. “I got to see and live in the same household as you.”

“I missed you so so much. And that day, it was one of the only days I have cried ever since this ordeal has begun. I cried when people died, but seeing that something from my old past life before this happened, gave me hope that there is good in this world, if you were still alive.” He scooted a little close to you, as he maintained eye contact. “I had realized as the small time we updated our lives and I got to know you again, that I fell for you. Once again.”

Your face feels itself warming up to his words, but you still had questions to ask.

“But why were you ignoring me, if you fell for me?”

“I…” His whole appearance changes. He starts twitching and crossing his legs. “I started feeling something weird happening to me. Like, I felt butterflies in my stomach when I saw you but, it was something else.”

“What was it?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t.. say.” He looks away from you for the first time. “I went to Ron and Mickey about it, they said, I was ‘horny or excited’. I started having perverted thoughts about you and.. I felt bad because they both said that girls feel creeped out by guys who think that way.” You can see his ears turning red, he was blushing just from saying out his feelings. “They said that if I had hung out with Enid, since I didn’t like her nor does she like me, I could look at you normally, but it failed.”

It ticked you off that THAT was the reason he kept avoiding you. He got boners and thoughts from seeing you. It.. made sense, actually. He always left dinner as soon as he was done and going to his room right after. How did this not cross your mind?! He also did not know of Enid’s feelings and you were going to stay quiet about it.

“You know that, those are completely normal feelings, right?” You comment, and laugh right afterwards. It was cute to see him all bothered up because of you. “That is called feeling sexual attraction, it comes along when you first get romantic feelings. You can always NOT have sexual attraction even when you like someone, that’s valid but, it seems that isn’t your case.” You look up at him as he stares at you back, biting his lip.

“Does that mean that.. you don’t hate me for thinking of you in dirty ways?” He pauses as he tries to hide the fact that he is looking you up and down.

“Well, I’d be lying if I say I didn’t think of you the same way some times..” You also turn away from Carl, as you feel your face warm up.

You’re two touch-deprived and in need of each other’s love and affection teenagers. It seems that neither of your feelings left even when everything you knew turned upside down. Yet it made you feel happy that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. Actually no. You NEEDED him, and he desperately NEEDED you back.

“Hey, Y/N… Do you mind if.. I kiss you?” He makes brief pauses in the middle catching his breath. Which makes you wonder what could possibly be making his breath so unsteady, and then you look down at his pants. Ah, understandable. His dick was about as ready to burst, he was probably gonna come to your touch as soon as you started making out.

And that’s exactly what you did. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he put his hand carefully around your waist. You could tell you both had waited for this moment for a long time. To be honest, you had actually predicted this moment, which made you get some condoms from Daryl on his last run. He definitely looked at you weirdly when you handed him the paper of stuff you needed.

Carl starts moving from your sloppy make out down to your neck, leaving marks all over. You were loving it. You asked if you should both take off your clothes, and he wasted no time. Carl basically rushed to take off your shirt ad you took off his. Once it was done, he was looking directly at your revealed chest and you looking at his. He didn’t a have a six pack, and thank the heavens for that. He was just the perfect amount of slight shown abs and it matched him so swell. His smile grew a bit bigger as he observed your chest and he started sucking and softly biting around your nipples.

Where the fuck did he learn that from?!

You scratch his back, deepening your nails on his pale skin. You wanted to make sure your mark stayed on his body forever. He made you lay down on your bed and Carl began kissing your torso until where his lips and your pants met. He looked up for approval to take them off. God, his pretty eyes staring with desire at only you, made you go crazy. You gave a nod of approval, and he wasted no time taking them off and throwing them away on the floor, along with your underwear. He observed your hole, and began to explore it by playing around with his fingers. You noticed that he still didn’t take off that grin off his face, you weren’t complaining, in fact, made you as horny as him probably.

“Y/N, do you mind if I enter my fin-“

“Just do it, please!” You didn’t even let him finish the sentence. You were so desperate for his touch, it was driving you mad.

His smile only got bigger to know that you were in need of him, and he inserted his fingers. You gasp, as his long slender fingers explored inside you. You felt your breath getting heavier and heavier as he inserted two more fingers. If you couldn’t handle his fingers, how would you handle whatever monster was hiding in his pants. He suddenly took them out, making you look at him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I want to do it so bad.” Before you could ask what was it he was talking about, he put his tongue inside you. You twitch in excitement and can’t help but let moans escape your mouth. He is making out with your hole and both parties are enjoying it, he is more than happy to just know that you’re his first and he is yours. Carl stops for a moment, that thought just made him even more trouble than ever. His dick was about to rip through his pants. As he begins to take his pants to revealing a hungry red/pinkish colored dick, basically pulsating to enter you, you remember of your condom.

“Wait, wait!” Carl looks confused at you. “I have a condom! We can’t get another Judith just yet!” You both giggle and he managed to open the condom. He rolls it over his cock , as you take a moment to indulge in the mystery in Carl’s pants. It looked perfect for you, a match made in hell. You gave a slight slime at Carl as he looks up at you, daringly.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?” Carl question as he positions his tip to your entrance.

“We’ll make it fit, Carl, we both desire it.” You gave a reassuring statement. It was enough to make Carl loose his control.

Carl thrust into you, and as you are prepared to moan, he starts making out with you to keep the noise down. He just wanted to keep the monas to himself. He lets you adjusts and when you have calmed down, he starts moving again. With every thrust, you feel both your bodies connecting more and more.

“Carl, f-faster!” You start begging.

“Fuck, Y/N… You’re about to crush me with your walls. Are you sure you can handle me?” You nod and he grabs your hips. “Alright then, you asked for it.”

His speed rapidly increased and so did the intensity of every thrust. His hands felt gentle on your skin, moving along with your body structure. You can feel his dick inside you, twitching and you hear him whimper your name, the faster he goes.

“I think I’m gonna c-“

“Me too, baby, me too…” You can tell he’s out of breath, but he still makes effort to make you feel good. You feel as one of his hands travels to where your entrance is and starts playing with it. You started whimpering and moaning Carl’s name, louder and louder. He is enjoying seeing you so vulnerable to him.

With few last thrusts, you came at the same time, luckily, the condom didn’t rip inside you, but when taking it out, it made a mess on Carl’s cock. He was still hard somehow, and he was embarrassed at it. As he was about to get up from your bed to not make a mess, you approach your head near his dick.

“Y/N, what are you doin- Nghh!” He quickly stops his sentence as you start licking and sucking his dripping cum out of his dick. He calmly places a hand on your head, and starts bopping up and down. You can tell he’s getting close with the way he pits his head back. Your speed gradually gets higher and when he’s about to to come in your mouth, Carl pushes your head down as deep in your throat as possible. You swallow what ‘surprise’ he left you, as he lays next to your body, catching his breath after your intense first time.

After cleaning up, he tucks you in your bed as he cuddles with you under your cozy blankets.

“So… Does this mean we get to finally be together?” Carl breaks your comfortable silent.

“Well of course, I don’t want anyone to ever take yours kisses or take your attention away from me!” You pretended to be actually upset over that matter, as you snuggled your head onto his chest.

He laughs and pulls you in closer. “I’ll never let that happen. Not Ron, not Mickey, definitely not Enid.”

“Not now or ever.” He kisses your forehead as you both drift off to sleep.

#carl grimes #twd fanfiction #carl grimes smut #carl grimes twd #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead carl #smut #fanfiction #help me god #twd daryl #twd rick #rick grimes #alexandria #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x reader

984 notes · View notes

whumpinthepot · 9 months

Text

Hamster Interactive Story

Chapter 9. Eyes

Prev - Masterlist

Content: CYOA format, poll options, Female cast, being spied on, hidden cameras, overstimulation/ overwhelmed, fear, pet trope, giant/tiny, cages, dubious handling/ dressing, doll house play, selective mutism, poor vision, (let me know if I missed any?)

Pov: Hamster, then switched to Ashley for the poll.

Poll winners: Take her to bed with you to sleep, and set up a nanny cam.

ART, WRITING, and POLLS UNDER THE CUT

—

Ashley takes you into another room to look for something, and you can feel her reaching around in a drawer with her spare arm. She’s pressing you against her chest in a protective hold, and for a second you feel safer from the tiny man. She finds the little black box, and carries it beside you. Close enough that you can make out the incognito lens on it. You have no idea what it is, and brush off the confusion with the fact that you simply do not care about what she’s doing. She places it on top of the fridge, and fiddles on her phone for what feels like forever.

Finally she spouts a small, “Aha, got it set up!!” Then takes you to the bathroom to do her nightly routine. She tries to put you down again and when you cling to her finger she tuts, “Hon, I’m right here. Don't worry, I'm not leaving you. I can’t keep holding you, you have to let go.” Her voice is soft, and you have no choice but to trust her.

You let go and feel a cushioning underneath you. The walls of your enclosure are made out of wicker. You’re in a picnic basket. Alone. Your breathing quickens until you hear Ashley’s voice still close to you with running water in the background.

Eventually Ashley lifts up the whole basket and takes you to her bed. “Don’t worry my girl, I’m right here. Did a mouse try to get into your cage or something? Or was it just a bug that scared you? Are you scared of falling again…?”

You shake your head slightly, and Ashley gets understandably more concerned. As she should be! She assures you again that you are safe and that the basket is to keep you even more safe so she doesn’t crush you or have you fall off the bed.

All the reassurance seeps into your skin and finally your nerves calm enough to drift off into a restless sleep.

The next day Ashley dresses you up into a frilly lolita dress with fabrics that fall over one shoulder to cover your cast. “We’re going to get you a gift today, Love,” she says while pushing you into your carrier travel case. It straps around her shoulder, and she takes you into town in it. The case is transparent but you can only see blurs of light, and hear the overwhelming sounds of busy city life. People can definitely see you however, and you’re complimented on how cute you are over a million times by strangers.

Ashley goes into an office of sorts, and takes you out to hold you, showing you off to another person. The two talk for a long time about glasses, fittings, and other things you drown out from the conversation. Until finally you’re being placed on the counter to do a few vision tests. After that Ashley pulls a pair of goggle type glasses over your eyes, and you close them while she adjusts it around your head. She takes a picture of you for her blog as soon as you open your eyes, and holds the phone out to you.

You can see it… You can see clearly. You can see everything! It’s like magic!

You can see the screen, the picture of yourself looking bewildered with your new glasses. You can see Ashley’s blog for once with all of the photos of you on it. Without hesitating you push your whole hand against her screen to make the pictures scroll quickly, seeing all of the model work you have done for her over the past few months. You’re beautiful… It causes your cheeks to flush and you smile for the first time in days. Giddiness rises in your chest.

“That's you!” Ashley chimes and pockets her phone. “My sweet angel, we’ll have to thank your fans later for helping me out. Maybe a cute photoshoot with your new glasses-“ She rattles on while she plucks you off the counter. Now that you can see her, you notice the star shaped stickers on her face, along with scabbed up blemishes that aren’t covered. When she talks her front teeth show, and her eyelashes are longer than your arm, you’re sure of it. You gaze at her face for as long as you can before being placed back into the carrier.

The ride home is too overwhelming with your new vision, plus the sounds, and jolts of the carrier bouncing off Ashley’s hip, so you close your eyes tightly until you get back home to be let out. You’ve almost forgotten about that scary boy, and go into your cage without a fuss. A yawn escapes you as you look down at the fluff surrounding you. It looks soft, and comfortable. Perfect to curl up in now.

You startle when Ashley gasps, and to your surprise you can actually see her from across the room for once. She’s staring at her phone in disbelief. On the screen is an image of the dark haired boy who threatened you before.

He’s been found out… He’s really going to kill you now.

—

And what should you do with Hamster for the next few days?

LINK TO POLL OPTION TWO!

—

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @dramat1ques @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @whither-wander-whump @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @copperyote @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @sunshiline-writes @whump-in-the-closet @coyotehusk

#tiny whump #whump writing #lady whump #pet whump #cyoa whump #interactive whump #whump art #hamster interactive story #long post #breezys art #breezys post

44 notes · View notes

colossal-red · 7 months

Text

Crafty Fox

TW: A smidgen of fear, overall tame I believe

WC: 670-ish maybe

—————————————————————

Day #1

Date: November 16th

Charlie told me before leaving the last house that making something called a ‘Journal’ might be a good distraction for me as I move onto my next house… personally I don’t see the appeal but I don’t have much else to do in between staying alive. He gave me this leather-bound book that had some pretty good craftsmanship, never would have expected that of the joker.

Anyway... today was a new day, for a new start.

After a treacherous journey of stowing away in a human car, as they call it, I eventually found myself in a new house… it seems simple enough, one bedroom, kitchen, living room, two bathrooms, and an attic that didn’t seem very lived in… perhaps this human had moved in recently, it doesn’t matter to me…

I need to be careful this time… if I’m seen I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it too a new home. I’ve been working on something that might allow me to traverse the house with ease… but that’s a pretty big might hehe…

I’d stick around and write more, imaginary audience… but I really need to get a layout of the house.

Til later, I guess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shit shit shit shit.

The human came back suddenly, they’d left the house earlier presumably to do some shopping and now they’re here… I’ve huddled down in a cabinet… but I haven’t a clue how long this hiding spot will last…

He seems to be busy thankfully… not checking this cabinet… sadly there wasn’t anything good in this place. Only a strangely sugary cube thing… it’s soft and squishy, maybe it’d make a good pillow of some kind… if it doesn’t get too sticky…

Fuck it got a sticky mess in my fur, great.

Update once I think it’s safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright I’ve settled down again.

I’m back in the attic, these vents are surprisingly easy to navigate through… I’ve found myself a nice cardboard box I could set up in, and have taken the sticky cube back up… I’ve seen a few of these before but they’re hard to get, they don’t exactly get left out.

Anyway, the kitchen… it’s a basic kitchen, a fridge set up next to three counters with an Island in the middle; Not to mention the microwave resting on the counter farthest from the fridge and the stove beside that on the other wall.

Below I’ll draw a picture for… myself, jeez you’d think I was going crazy with thinking anyone other than myself would read this.

Tomorrow I’m going to check out the humans bedroom… I don’t think I’ll be spending that much time there but it’s still important. Maybe I can borrow some of the fabric from that sweater of his to make a blanket… I get the feeling this winter is going to be cold as fuck.

Besides with how bright that yellow is he kinda deserves to get a hole in it y’know?

It’s hard to keep my eyes open… so I’m going to end this off with a checklist for tomorrow, good night Fundy.

P.S. oddly comforting to read my own name being spoken good night too… anyway.

———————————————————————

Authors Note: Andddd Cut!

Heya everyone!

Colossal-Red here, it’s… been a while to say the least XD

I’m sorry for having been on hiatus recently, and I know y’all have probably been wanting new content for my au’s…

Sadly I still don’t have all that much time to write, I really really really wanted to write something though so I mustered up the time to write this short journal entry :3

However with the lil amount of time I might have to continue this series… I won’t be able to complete or continue any of the other au’s, such as SRBF, TinyHunt, Tubbee, The Mark, Etc…

I do hope to return to those au’s at some point… but as of now it’d be impossible.

So… I can only hope this post will satisfy y’all’s hunger for some of my writing if anyone missed me xd

Until tomorrow… maybe.

Also- @kayla-crazy-stuffs @poprockpanda @brick-a-doodle-do tell the rest of the family like Squishy as well cuz I can’t find their @ xd

#tiny!fundy #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #giant!unknown #the return #crafty fox au #tiny!slimecicle #technically #this is really shit #but y’know what *posts it anyway*

16 notes · View notes

dangerously-human · 7 months

Text

@lightthewaybackhome tagged me to do one of those "share 9 lines, tag 9 people" things (thank you!). Tagging nine whole people is perhaps ambitious. Seeing as it's writing night and I'm trying to bribe myself into productivity, may I offer nine lines from two different fics?

First, from the Catholic Lockwood/hands fic:

Another memory surfaces: his sister's hands guiding his in a familiar pattern, the cool touch of beads sliding between their fingers. Squirming until Jessica reached out with a sigh to pull him into her lap. Her gentle prompting: It’s Friday, Anthony, which mysteries today? Mumbled words he'd mispronounced as often as he even remembered to recite all of them. Jessica's voice catching as she named their dead. There’s a painting that once hung on the walls of this very bedroom: a man kneeling, one hand held out. Even in the haze of his exhausted mind’s eye, he can’t help but latch onto the outstretched palm, scarred. Desperation mingles with the weight of grief enough tonight to push aside any question of what it might mean if he lets himself reopen that box again: the one that he shut tightly somewhere inside the moment he shoved a rapier through a ghost and his dead sister’s bedroom wall. The rosaries are packed away somewhere with all the other things his stained hands have no business touching.

(If you haven't yet read Sanctum Rosarium, you need to! I'm barely touching on these ideas in this fic, but that's definitely where the wheels started turning.)

To make up for the angst, I trade you a second round from the bonus chapter of the ring fic, which veered far further into fluff than I expected for a fic composed mostly of angst otherwise. Context from Woke Up in a Safe House Singing is possibly a plus but not necessary:

Besides, an engagement ring would have the bonus effect of advertising loud and clear that Lucy Carlyle was quite taken, thank you very much. He didn’t much care for the optimistic confidence he’d seen on a few faces these last two years after surreptitious left hand checks. Lucy herself rarely seemed to notice, but Lockwood had spent more than one night out grinding his teeth until he could swoop in with a pointedly placed hand on her forearm or lower back, or pull out her chair or cure her shivers with his suit jacket, or whatever other stereotypical move Lucy would allow that broadcast his intention to make her Lucy Lockwood the moment there was any hope of her agreeing. Lucy’s birthday came and went a few months ago. In the following weeks, periodically she squinted at him, trying to divine his plans, but now, it seems she’s given up. Oh, he’d considered - heavily - dropping to one knee as the clock hit midnight. But that wouldn’t have been much of a surprise, would it? That, and Lucy had spent the first few hours of her eighteenth year in a derelict grocery store, lobbing salt bombs and hollering at him, Kipps, and George to duck as they dodged tins and tangerines flung at them by a Poltergeist. If he’s managed to wait this long, he keeps reminding himself, he can be patient for the perfect moment. That said, if the perfect moment doesn’t present itself soon, there’s every chance he may actually start biting people.

Okay, okay, I know I’m going to change that last line eventually, but it’s making me laugh too hard to get rid of yet! What can I say, I adore the "she fell first, he fell harder" trope, and the going-feral-immediately-upon-realizing-feelings bit is full of entirely too much potential as applied to Locklyle.

Tagging @womaninwinter (obviously), @paranorahjones, @ioannemos, @misscrazyfangirl321, @clawedandcute, and @fairytale-lights, with no pressure!

#personal #writer probs: fanfic edition #lockwood & co

10 notes · View notes

grizzy-ly · 6 months

Text

Comfort (Yandere!Krueger x Reader Short)

Krueger offers you some comfort as you have some adjustment difficulties to your new living situation.

I will singlehandedly flood the Yandere!Krueger tag.

I hc that Krueger would simply move himself into your house because there is no way this guy owns a house, he is a wanted fugitive x2. He probably just lives in a barracks or something provided for him by Chimera. Well, now he lives with you I guess! In this scenario reader doesn't have a roommate or anything and lives alone, most unrealistic part tbh.

CW: Yandere and yandere shenanigans, Krueger moved himself into your home without your consent

Word Count: 467

“Would you like a hug?”

Krueger leans against the door frame leading into your room. He looks comfortable. You can’t get over how casual he is about the whole situation. He acts like he wasn’t a home invader strutting around like he owns the place— though, in a way, he does since he took over all the expenses related to your home when he decided he… lived with you now.

You stare at him, then at the wall not even bothering to respond.

He wouldn’t force you to hug him, you know that much.

It’s comical, almost.

He forced his way into your house, but he claims to respect your boundaries since he won’t force you to do anything– besides force you to live with him, cloistered in your home. The familiarity of your surroundings just adds to your distress. The walls of your home were meant to keep you safe, the door meant to keep out the dangers of the world. Now they only keep you trapped.

It’s shocking how quickly a place that was supposed to be a refuge can become a prison when a warden decides to move in.

“You can’t stay mad forever.” Krueger sighs as he crosses the threshold to your room, crossing yet another boundary– but no. Hugging you would be too much.

Who cares that he’s put a stop to you having any interaction with anyone but him? It doesn't matter if he has you locked away in your own home! No, no, it’s hugging you that would be too much.

Maybe it is just comical, maybe laughing would make you feel better.

“You’ll have to forgive me eventually, ja? Why not do it now?” You feel your mattress dip as Krueger sits on your bed.

He stares at you expectantly and cracks a smile as he opens his arms up.

“Just a hug. No strings attached,” he says, “What’s the harm?”

Indulging him. Indulging in his fantasies would be the harm.

Even if you’re desperate for another person to give you anything, you know you shouldn’t humor him. You know it. You know better.

“You need it,” he says, “Let me help.”

There’s a long pause as he sits, still waiting for the hug.

You slowly shift and go over to him. You feel awkward and tense as he holds you in his arms.

He runs one of his hands up and down your back as you begin crying, too overwhelmed by the whole situation to keep it together. It feels wrong to be cuddling up to your captor, especially when it’s so comforting.

The comfort you got from him is almost worse than the grief of powerlessness.

As he cradles you in his arms it feels less like he’s the warden and more like he’s the cell itself.

#Yandere!Krueger #Yandere!Sebastian Krueger #Yandere!Krueger x Reader

10 notes · View notes

nicolewoo · 3 months

Text

Cub: short story

I was already wearing a t shirt, thermal underwear, a sweatshirt, a hoodie, three layers of pants and 2 pairs of socks. Movement was getting difficult. I thought it was all a bit excessive, but Roman wasn’t taking any chances, since I was still adjusting to my wolf senses.

“And you’re gonna get more layers before I’m done.” He thought. There was no use fighting him. By the time he was done, I felt like a marshmallow.

“Can we finally go?” I asked as he put a knit hat on my head.

“Almost done.” He said as he grabbed a ski mask and goggles. “These too.” He handed me ear plugs. Once I had them firmly in place, he put 3 layers of gloves on me. “There!” He said as he put on his coat and a hat. “That’s not too bad, is it?” I felt like a balloon ready to pop.

“Let’s go already.” I quipped as I walked out the door.

Good grief! A wall of frigid air almost knocked me over. Maybe all these layers were a smart idea after all. “Mmhmmm” he answered. “Told ya it’s cold.”

“Ok you were right.” I admitted, and I could see his smug smirk despite the googles and ski mask he had just put on.

He straddled the snowmobile, starting the engine before grabbing me and putting me on the seat behind him. “Just hold onto me. If your hands get too cold….” He said, and I realized he’d put some heated hand warmers in my coat pocket.

He started the machine slowly, weaving through snow covered trees in the gorgeous winter landscape. I couldn’t help thinking that our cabin was already in the perfect spot, looking over the river with giant snow covered mountains in the distance. I absolutely loved it.

“Trust me!” Roman thought through our link.

As soon as I was used to the snowmobile, Roman hit the gas; picking up so much speed, I was getting scared. “Trust me.” Roman said again. Even though we were going much faster than I thought was safe, Roman’s wolf abilities gave him the ability to make crazy turns and swerves.

We rode fora good 15 minutes around the lake. We ended up on the other end; far enough away that in the summer, we wouldn’t be able to see our cabin, but I could see a bit of it through the barren winter trees.

Stopping suddenly, Roman’s first thought was if I was ok. He scanned my mind; looking for any signs I was in pain. “I’m fine!” I yelled over the engine just before he turned it off. I reached for my goggles, but he stopped me.

“Close your eyes.” I could feel his excitement. Just over the ridge was where Roman wanted to build our dream house. My brothers, Renee and Becky were all in love with the site too. It was up to me.

“I’m gonna love it.” I thought. He loved it, so of course I would too. Besides, where our house sat didn’t matter as long as I had my mate and my pack.

“Hope so.” He thought. “Ready?” He pulled the goggles off my face. “Ok.”

I opened my eyes, and fell immediately in love. In front of me was our lake, clear, blue and beautiful. Mountains towered in the background. It was a gorgeous site, similar to the cabin’s view.

“I love it!” I said.

“Hold on.” He slowly started turning me, so I could see more of the view. To the right, a hill led down to a wide open field where a moose was grazing. Trees framed the view, making a picturesque tableau, but as he continued to turn me, my mouth fell open.

The mountain dropped steeply on this side, the cliff like drop revealing another alpine lake; this one smaller, but a beautiful cloudy teal colored. Layers of Mountains as far as the eye could see rose around it on every side and My wolf immediately wanted to run the whole scene. I wanted to dip my paw in the water, skid my way down the cliff, drink from the waterfall on the other side of the pasture.

I could feel his joy. He’d found the perfect place for our house.

“I can’t wait to spend our lives here.” I thought.

“Yeah, but first we have a very important job. We have to pick which direction you want your studio to face.”

I was stunned. “I already have a studio.” I said.

“That’s just temporary until our house is built. Then we will give the condos back to the tribe for other doctors to use.”

That made sense. I wondered where North was, and Roman quickly pointed. “Sunrise over this lake (the small teal lake) or sunset over this lake (the lake that the cabin was on). I didn’t know. “I think I need to see sunrise and sunset before I decide.” I thought.

His happiness made me even happier. He was proud that he’d provided the perfect spot for our pack’s house. “We’ll come back for sunset tonight and then again for sunrise tomorrow then.” I nodded. “Let’s get back then.”

I took one last panoramic look at the beautiful scenery. He’d been right all along. The cabin had a beautiful view, but this location was perfect.

#roman reigns

5 notes · View notes

perceivedregret · 1 year

Text

can't believe there's more lore

here's pt 3 of so it goes, my steddie focused (we'll get there, i stg) supernatural creatures au that, as of right now, features vampire!steve, werewolf!nancy, witch!robin, and last but not least, werewolf!max. can be found on my ao3, user is the same over there. [tumblr links for part 1 & part 2]

murder will out

If this were a cartoon, Steve probably would have worn the rug down to the wood floors with all his pacing. Robin says as much under her breath and he waves her off, his focus on Hopper.

"I don’t understand, why can’t we just go back to my place? We were doing fine before, just let us go back.”

Hopper sighs, sinking as far into the couch as it allows, eyes trained on the fan whirling overhead. “I’ve already explained this– you guys were seen . I wouldn't call that doing just fine . Ms Driscoll called the station nearly in tears. The poor woman thought she was losing her mind to early dementia because she saw some dead kids hanging out by the pool of the Harrington house.”

Steve scoffs, runs his fingers through his hair, hand settling on the back of his neck. “ So ? We fixed it aleady, I did the mind compulsive–"

" Compulsion ," Dustin coughs in correction.

"– that , and she, like, forgot that she saw us. We’ll be more careful this time around! We won’t step out of the house, we don’t have to flee the state over this. I don’t, fuck, I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“The big deal?” Hopper’s head snaps forward. “Harrington, for one, you can’t scramble the entire town with your mind thing, it’s not practical. You're damn lucky I was the one to respond to the call last week. We also don’t know the true extent of your power. Other than Carver and Holloway who've gone AWOL with Henry and the rest of them, you're the first vampire this town has come across. If it's a common thing amongst your kind, the Suits aren't sharing that information with us. We're lucky they even shared how to somewhat keep this town safe after their own screw up that allowed all of this to happen in the first place."

'You mean the reason it's been almost impossible to feed the last few months? There’s only so many blood bags they supply at the hospital and I feel like a dick having to steal it. What if they run out and someone needs it?”

Dustin hums, brows pulling tightly together. “Wait. Steve, have you been going without feeding?" When Steve rolls his eyes Dustin tosses a half eaten pringle at him, but it clatters against the wall. "Don't be an idiot, you know you can always get a drink from–”

“Shut up, no, I wouldn’t ever do that to you Henderson, for one. I know you and Miss America like to say the four of us have bled together or whatever, and thanks for the offer, but no, absolutely not. Robs isn't even allowed to think it. Besides, even if I wanted to, that shit’s already in your system. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for some of us to even shower ?”

“It’s a protective measure. It’s no different than when we added fluoride to the water,” Hopper sighs.

Max scoffs. “Right well, do us all a favor, yea, and tell them to shove their Hawthorne and Wolfbanes up their–"

“ That’s the weird taste in water? I thought I was going crazy,” Dustin mutters, falling into the couch between Hopper and Max. His eyes glaze over for a moment, turning to face her, sniffing the air. “Wait, you guys can’t shower?” Max huffs, hiding behind her comic.

Hopper groans in annoyance, shuffling to the side to provide space between them, but it isn't much. "I know you didn’t ask for this life, but we have to keep this town safe from the supernatural. Unfortunately, that included keeping them safe from you. All of you.”

A breeze whips through, nipping at the end of Nancy’s skirt, flowing across the room and brushing through Steve’s hair. “ Seriously ,” Robin hisses, having reached out instinctively. Hopper’s gaze bounces between the two. Nancy doesn’t respond to his comment, the grip on her knees turning her knuckles white. Steve only pinches the bridge of his nose, the rug still in danger of being worn down.

“I’m not judging any of you for your past, no one’s perfect, but let’s be honest with ourselves here. Your kind, both kinds, can be… well you guys already know. Besides all that, what if someone catches one of you and they call the station and it's not me responding to it? Hm, what if it gets out that this town is infested with vampires and werewolves? Or witches? And on top of that, we still don't know why Heather turned you or why Carol bit Nancy. Billy biting Max, we can only guess. We don’t know anything that really goddamn matters here."

"I fucking know why Billy did this to me,” Max grumbles, the red only Steve and Nancy have the ability to catch flashing across her eyes once again. She flips the page of her comic, a tear of a page ringing throughout the room, making Dustin wince.

“Regardless. I know this shit has been your life for only the last couple of years, but try twelve years of it. El had already been bounced around between four other families before she got to me. Five years old and so full of power she had no control over. All those other families chalked it up to bad behavior but after reading up on her file with Joyce, we could see around it, around the bullshit. Speaking of–

“ You .” He points to Robin and she shrinks in on herself, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. “You made yourself into a witch. You weren’t born into it the way my girl was. I know you think you’re capable of anything, but saying a few words in Latin in the correct order every once in a while isn’t enough. You were able to make those fancy rings and bracelets for everyone here to survive out in the sun or curb some of the effects of the full moon but that's child's play compared to what you tried to do."

"That shit was so not easy. I had to fill in my eyebrows and stack layers of mascara for weeks," Robin mutters, fingers brushing faintly over the faded electrical burn scars that trace along the back of her hands towards her wrist, branching away from where they originate from her nail beds. “Surprised I only lost two nails.”

" Regardless . You needed way more time, more practice. You don’t know what you’re capable of, not yet, but those four months that you had before the attack wasn’t enough time to learn what you needed to break Henry's sire control. And you were all –” he waves his finger at everyone, “–stupid for thinking you could. Especially alone.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Six months later, now he wants to lecture us? Sure, bucko.”

Hopper shakes his head, eyes falling closed before he continues. “Harrington, as for the house, your father is in the process of selling the property. Alright, he apparently listed it a week after that night and he finally has a buyer ready to negotiate. Considering what a fuckin’ shit show this towns become ever since Henry and the rest of them blew through town, I don’t think he’s gonna get a very good deal."

At that Steve finally stops his pacing. He shuffles over to the recliner Robin occupies and falls heavily on the floor in the space in front of her, head falling back against her knees. "I knew this was coming, I don't even know why I'm surprised. He said I was as good as dead since I turned. Being officially dead gives him no reason to stay in Hawkins… he’s got no one." Hopper gives Steve’s sneaker a tap with his own boot, the sorry kid translating well enough.

The blows keep coming.

"Then there’s the goddamn Suits. After this whole thing with Ms Driscoll they’ve decided it’s best to get you all out of town. And, quite frankly, especially after today's news? I agree. Agent Stinson has stated they have no intentions of helping supply you three with new identities or a place to stay unless you guys leave.”

“New identities?” Robin scoffs, fingers freezing in Steve's hair. "They could have left us with ours! If they didn’t declare us dead there wouldn’t be a need for new identities, did those dipshits ever think of that?” Robin crosses her arms, hands balling into fists. A bulb from above bursts, but barely anyone flinches except for Dustin.

Hopper only exhales forcefully from his nose, already used to outbursts turning into broken objects. Over so many talks , El’s broken her fair share of bulbs, plates– even the living room’s coffee table. There's a reason this cabin is so unfurnished.

He lifts his hand, like a reluctant student in class. “I'm the one who suggested we pronounce you all dead, Buckley. Not them."

"Why?"

Everyone's eyes fall on Nancy as she utters the first words since Hopper arrived. If their full undivided attention bothers her, she doesn't show it. Hopper meets her gaze, and suddenly he's years older. Exhausted.

"The Byers kid had a vision."

"Wait, he has powers? Since when? Was it big Byers or little Byers?" Steve interrupts, brows low. Hopper's eyes narrow, but he doesn’t continue, just keeps his focus on Nancy. Steve turns his attention to her, eyebrows shooting up. “You knew about this?”

"It wasn't for any of us to tell," Nancy says between her teeth. She mirrors Hop, gaze unwavering and her lips form a tight line. He only raises a brow.

"Jon can’t see into the future,” she finally supplies, arms crossing over her chest. “He can only catch glimpses from the past. He says they’re like snapshots. Moments in time that he can see, and sometimes he can step into it and explore, but it gets blurry after a while. He can't look into someone's past without a personal belonging or picture of the person he's trying to see.

"Will is the one who can see into the future, except it’s never clear. Jonathan explained it’s like looking through a kaleidoscope for him. If he tries to look too long he ends up with a migraine. It’s why he’s always painting– it’s his way of trying to decipher his visions.”

“It’s the reason Joyce was so helpful when El came into my life. Eventually our lives.” Hopper's face softens for the first time since he sat down and started delivering bad news. It’s short lived because he’s looking around the room with his signature death stare, finger raised in warning. “Stinson and the rest of them don’t know anything about our kids and we’d like to keep it that way. What was just shared about them, that doesn't leave this room.”

"Am I really the only one without powers now that Max has chompers? What the hell man, that's so unfair," Dustin groans, throwing his head back with an annoyed grumble that sounds gargled in his position. "Mike has his empathy thing–"

"Little Wheeler's got what? " Steve and Robin say in unison. It feels like he just got slapped in the face because how the hell have they not said anything these last few months, no, years ? Nancy buries her face in her hand.

“Mike can sense emotions and sometimes change them, it's been a thing. Except– he can't feel love, or something. He can feel it in himself, he just can't sense it from others or force it on them. Keep up, Steve." He turns to Max. "Lucas still hasn't shown symptoms from the bite, has he?”

“My boyfriend is still nice and human, just a scar, thanks for asking.” Her smile immediately melts. “But if I ever see Billy again, I'm going to run him over with his own stupid car for what he tried to do to him, I swear to god."

“Just us then,” Dustin beems, shoving two stacks of pringles into his mouth, the pieces flipped onto each other so it forms an open beak.

Max tilts her head, considering him. "I don’t know… I think being super annoying could be your thing. I just don't know if we can count it." She pats his shoulder, lips pouting in mock sorrow. "Hate to break it to you, but I think you’re just going to have to settle for being a lame dork."

"Would you two please ," Robin mutters, flicking a finger out into the open air in her lap, forcing Max and Dustin into a seated upright position. The sudden movement sends the can of chips rolling across the floor, their hands clasped in their laps and suddenly stiff as boards. "I don't know who's worse together; you and him, or him and Erica."

"Everybody, shut. The hell . Up." Nancy's voice is nearly a growl. "Because our beloved Sheriff Jim Hopper here has yet to tell us–" She leans forward, elbows on her knees, "–what the hell Will saw. Because, quite honestly, I can’t think of a single thing that he could have possibly seen for you to think it was a good idea to declare us dead.”

Hopper takes a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he finally says it.

“Will saw you three die.”

A beat.

And then they're all speaking over each other.

-------

there's more to this part, so catch the rest of it on my ao3

#steddie fic #< tagging just in case #stranger things fic #vampire!steve #werewolf!nancy #witch!robin #werewolf!max #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic soulmates stobin #nancy wheeler #max mayfield #dustin henderson #jim hopper #stranger things au #supernatural creatures au #fic continuation #so it goes #my*stuff

13 notes · View notes

mcyt-peach · 2 years

Note

Hello! Can we please get a Drabble of c!Wilbur(any Wilbur is okay) ignoring a fem!reader because of something(idk u can decide) and she gets his attention by pressing her chest against him and he gets flustered? Ik u don’t write nsfw so I didn’t have any intention of this seeming like a nsfw request, so if you feel this is too much pls ignore it! ❤️❤️

chain of command

·˚ * summary: wilbur’s been ignoring you ever since you risked your life in the war for L’Manburg’s independence, but you’ve got the perfect plan to get his attention

·˚ * pairing: c!wilbur x fem!reader

·˚ * warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns, slightly suggestive material, non-explicit description of reader's chest

·˚ * word count: 674

·˚ * genre: fluff, romantic, slightly suggestive

·˚ * note: hi love! thank you for the request and don't worry I still kept it sfw so it didn't break my boundaries but thank you for being so thoughtful anyway, hope you like it <3

Yes, the cannon hurt. It’s not hard to admit. It’s a weapon of mass destruction, not to mention one that’s meant to be operated by two people. So yes, it hurt when the recoil slammed back into your shoulder during your desperate attempt to hold it in place. Which is why your commanding officer is totally overreacting.

“Wil says he might put you on probation.”

Tommy sits with you in the small barracks of the safe house. He’s got a fresh set of bandages and a small ration of mushroom stew, no doubt stolen from the kitchen.

“Oh, come on! A little fracture in my clavicle and a slightly dislocated shoulder? Please, he’s done way worse than me before.” And it’s true. You can’t count the number of times Wilbur’s thrown himself at death for this country, for the future he wants to create.

But the way he’d been during the aftermath of the battle left you more shellshocked than the scorched terrain you fought on. The force behind the canon left you dazed on the ground, only able to see where Dream’s safehold was crumbling from your well placed projectile.

The throbbing in your shoulder brought you to eventually. Heavy lids lifting to reveal Wilbur, the haze of gunpowder circling around his curls like a halo. His words were far less angelic.

“What the hell is wrong with you! You could’ve been killed!” You almost wish you had with the way his voice splits through your ears. For the way he has with words you sometimes wish he used less of them.

Two days later and it seems like your wish was granted. Wilbur’s yet to talk to you and it doesn’t look like he’s coming around anytime soon. You’ve all but made a full recovery since the battle, what with the steady supply of healing potions from Niki.

Finally released from bedrest, you were back to scheming how to get Wilbur to notice you so you could clear the air, i.e. get him to realize he’s being ridiculous. His heavy footsteps passing by your door are the perfect opportunity.

“Yoohoo! Captain! Where are you running off too?” He barely pauses at the sound of your voice, continuing down the cramped hallway as you run to catch up to him.

He won’t even look at you as you follow beside him, though the plan you came up with was sure to get his attention.

“Listen, I know you said I’m suspended or whatever, but I saw the new uniform order and I need one.” The getup you currently sported was the same you wore during the battle, looking beyond worse for wear.

“You’re not getting a new one. You’re not an active soldier.” The first thing he’s said since the fight ended and he’s scolding you once again. Luckily for you, while Wilbur can act tough, he’s way too transparent when it comes to his emotions.

Stepping in front of him, causing him to stop, you frown at his words. Walking him back against a wall, surprisingly easy as Wilbur seems to be avoiding the whole interaction. “You really want me walking around post in this?” You press yourself against him to draw his attention.

Your uniform, if you can still call it that, is in total disarray. The seams that connect the front piece to the shoulder have been ripped open by the impact of the canon. The cravat that would cover your chest was too singed by the ignition to salvage, leaving you more exposed than appropriate for an officer such as yourself.

He barely tries to hide the way his face burns as he gulps and awkwardly tries to shuffle away. Clearing his throat, he manages to sidestep you. “Fine, you’ll get a new uniform.” He looks at you for a second before glancing away, clearly embarrassed for staring once again.

“Follow me.” That’s the closest you’ll get to an apology, but you might be able to forgive him with the way his blush dusts the tips of his ears.

36 notes · View notes

another-whump-sideblog · 2 years

Text

Jane’s Pets Pt. 28: What Could Go Wrong?

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

“Mayday, mayday!” | Cave in | Rusty nail

Police sirens wail, and the entire house is lit up in red and blue. It’s possible I underestimated Bunny a little bit.

In my defense, he’s usually extremely stupid. And even this plan has quite a few glaring holes. But it’s still much more than I expected of him.

“Go to your rooms.” I tell Puppy and Kitty. Neither of them even hesitate. They know law enforcement can’t help them.

They don’t even knock, they just break down the door. Is that legal here? God, it’s so hard to remember which places have which laws.

I slip into my void. I’ll just kill them all. Trying to convince them there’s nothing going wrong here could be fun too, but I don’t want to be distracted when Bunny’s 24 hours run out. I’ll need to get right to searching. Besides, knowing how many people ended up dying will make a good punishment for Bunny.

—

A rusty nail. That’s what killed him. A rusty nail.

Asim had survived so much. That’s why I befriended him, I was sure I would get at least a few decades with him. And then he died, and it was just a rusty nail.

Why are mortals so fragile? Why do I have to lose everyone I care about? Why couldn’t I just have a few decades without grieving? It’s so hard to make myself care about people when they could die at any moment from something as small as a rusty nail.

He was going to die anyway. Like all mortals do. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. I shouldn’t have let a mortal have so much influence over me. I won’t let it happen again.

I’m afraid I’m going down a dark path. But… I’m a good person. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Dozens of bodies lie on the ground. There’s blood on the floor and the walls. My clothes are coated with blood and have a few bullet holes.

There are some bullets stuck in my body. I’ll have to dig those out later. I hate it when that happens…

I teleport into Kitty’s room. “We’re moving. Grab anything you’ll want for the car ride and go stand outside. Tell Puppy to do the same.” Kitty’s eyes are wide and terrified. Good. They needed a reminder of what I can do. Maybe they’ll be less of a brat for a while.

I quickly change out of my ruined clothes.

—

Who needs mortals when there are caves?

I can teleport, but where’s the fun in that? It would be cheating, to just teleport as deep as I can go. I squeeze through tight spots and swim for miles in order to get deeper and deeper.

There’s never anyone else down here. I don’t know if mortals could even get this far down. They need so much shit to maintain their bodies and there’s not enough room for backpacks and safety gear. This place is entirely mine.

It’s so dark down here. I love it. It feels safe. It feels like my void, but I can still touch things in the caves.

The caves are quiet in a way nowhere else is. The caves are solid and permanent in a way that nothing else is.

The animals down here are super weird. That’s another way in which this place is only mine. No mortals know about these creatures. The caves are my home.

One day, the ground shakes and rocks fall. The cave collapses on top of me, crushing me in a way that would instantly kill any mortal. I’m jealous. My skull caves in.

There are plenty of other caves. But I realized, lying there, that caves aren’t any more permanent than humans. They will change and die and grow while I stay the same.

It takes a while to get up the motivation to teleport away.

—

Kitty and Puppy wait outside. Puppy holds all six of her stuffed animals in her arms, and Kitty has a couple water bottles and snacks. What good pets they are.

“Back up.” I tell them. I gesture for them to keep moving until their far enough away.

I place my palm against a wall of the house, and teleport the whole thing into my void, including everything still inside. It leaves a huge hole in the ground, which I immediately teleport away from. Kitty drops everything they were holding.

My eyelids feel a bit heavier. It’s been so long since I was last tired! I should teleport big things more often.

I reach into my void and pull out a car I left in it long time ago.

“Road trip! We don’t want to get pulled over because it looks like a twelve year old is driving, so you’re driving, Puppy. Everyone get in.”

Puppy buckles her stuffed animals into the back of the car before getting in the driver’s seat. I sit next to her, and Kitty sits behind me.

“Where I can see you, Kitty.”

Kitty sighs and moves to the seat behind Puppy. I put the address into the GPS.

“Alright! We’ve got 10 more hours before I can go look for Bunny. Let’s see if we can get the house set up somewhere else by then.”

—

“Mayday Mayday Mayday!” I give them the name of the station and the aircraft identification of a random plane. “Engine failure! It’s rainy! I’m trying to land safely!” I list out the other information I’m supposed to give.

I’ve developed a reputation with Air Traffic Control. They’ve been getting a lot of false alarms lately. They’ve finally figured out that the alarms aren’t coming from pilots pulling pranks, but they’re not tech savvy enough to find me or stop me from calling in. They simply can’t compete against someone who’s been there since this technology was first invented and has been learning it ever since.

I wonder if they’ll stop responding to my voice, soon. If they do, I’ll crash a plane just to keep them on their toes.

Befriending mortals is painful, but fucking with them? It’s extremely fun.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else! Does this read as Jane’s perspective cut up by flashbacks, or as a confusing mess? Let me know!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @ghostsinthecloset

11 notes · View notes

rosesutherlandwrites · 2 years

Text

Heads Up Seven Up Tag!

Thank you so much to both @jibrilstevenson and @laurysilvers for tagging me! (I feel like I got tagged by someone else too, but now I can’t find it in my notes for the life of me)

I think this has made the rounds of most of my friends already because I’ve been so slow getting around to it, so if there’s anyone following me who hasn’t got a tag yet who wants to play, please take this as a tag from me and share a snippet from a WIP!

Thanks to @milfbahorel for saying they wanted something from A SWEET STING OF SALT, since it’s changed so much from when they last saw it (the very first draft!) to now (a real live book releasing spring ‘24). For context, this conversation between Jean and her best friend Laurie takes place just after New Year’s 1833. Jean’s been meddling in her neighbours affairs, and the situation has taken a TURN, leading to an argument between her and her mentor Anneke about if it’s safe for Jean to return to her own home outside of town.

“There's no talking you out of this thing, is there?”

Jean caught her breath, pressing her back to the wall beside the kitchen door before she realized it was only Laurie. Anneke must have gone to bed, but her son was still up, sitting alone in the dark parlour, staring into the last orange embers that remained in the fireplace. Their shifting light deepened the lines in his face, turning him haunted and fey. “Can't sleep?”

Jean shook her head. “You either?” She pulled the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders tighter. “I shouldn't have said that, before. About her not being my mother. She's always been as good as.”

“She'll forgive you; you know she will.” Laurie turned to look at her, throwing his face into shadow. “You can't push everybody away, Jean.”

Laurie had only been refusing to talk to anyone about anything real for the best part of two weeks himself. Jean almost said pot calling kettle, but caught herself, thinking better of it. She’d already let her mouth run quite enough for one day. She squinted at the mantle clock, but it was too dark to make out the hands. “What time is it?”

“Late.”

“Don't be an ass.”

Laurie sniffed, and went back to staring sullenly into the fireplace. He didn't say anything else, so Jean went through to the kitchen and poured herself the glass of water she'd come down for from the jug beside the pump. She wasn't going to push Laurie if he didn't want to talk, and he'd have done the same for her.

“G'night, Laur,” she said, starting back up the stairs.

“I'll take you out in the morning.”

Jean stopped.

“I’ll borrow the wagon from Burgoyne's. But I'm coming out there to visit you a couple times a week if you won't let me stay. At least until we know for sure nothing's going to come of this whole mess with Silber and his wife.”

“Laurie—”

“That's my condition, Red. It was bad enough before, you all the way out there on your own where anything could happen and no one'd know for days, Ma’s right about that. But as long as you let me check on things, I'll back you with her.” Laurie shifted in his seat, reaching for the brass poker beside the hearth. “I can tell how important it is to you, being out there for your... for Muirin.”

Jean supposed it might work, him coming out to visit. After all, he'd not been home in ages, and everyone knew they were as good as siblings. It would look a lot less suspect than him setting up permanent camp in her house, at any rate. Hopefully it would settle Anneke's nerves some, too. “All right,” she said. “Thanks, Laurie. I knew you'd understand.”

“Right,” he said, quiet. “Go get some sleep, Red.”

Jean left him sitting in the dark parlour before the fireplace, pushing the last glowing coals about with the poker, like peas on a half empty plate.

#writing tag game #ASSOS #a sweet sting of salt #Jean and Laurie #my writing #rose writes #thanks for the tags!

8 notes · View notes

vampireshmampire · 2 years

Text

The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side Ch 5/8

Guillermo can't remember the last thirteen years of his life. It has something to do with being found beaten half to death on the side of the road three months ago. Although he’s safe now, living with relatives far from New York, the trauma lingers—physically and mentally—and he’s having trouble putting his pieces back together.

Everyone says he just needs to give it time, but he may not have much of that left. The past is catching up, and it’s not going to wait for him to remember it.

AO3

The safe house is on the far side of the city, but this late there’s very little traffic to clog up the road. The car is silent, everyone deep in thoughts of their own. You don’t mind—you’re still buzzing with adrenaline and twitchy from the lurking memories. You keep taking surreptitious glances at the bat, which once again has its head resting on your chest with its eyes closed.

You wonder what he’s thinking.

Alice pulls up to an old factory, a sad brick building with a sagging roof and shattered, gaping windows. She puts the car in park but leaves the engine running. Everyone climbs out, and Uncle Marco gets back in at the driver’s seat.

“I’m going to get some supplies and make a few calls,” he says. “Keep the shutters tight, don’t answer the door—”

“Daaad,” Alice groans. “I know safe house protocol; I’m not twelve.”

“Your cousin doesn’t!” Uncle Marco says. “Look after him, and keep an eye on that vampire.” He glances at you, and says, in Spanish, “You can’t trust him, no matter what he says he was to you.”

You nod, mutely. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

You were wondering how safe the factory could be, looking like it’s about to collapse at any moment, but Alice leads you around the back. There is a small building huddled up against the back wall of the factory, looking only slightly less dilapidated.

On the outside.

On the inside, it’s spotless, the polished wooden floor gleaming in the overhead lights, the walls freshly painted a cheerful light yellow. The windows are tall, but have heavy, iron-bound shutters over them. They would let no light in or out while closed, but if open…you strongly suspect this room faces due east. The furniture is sparse, but comfortable. The whole place smells strongly of sawdust, silver polish, and something floral.

The bat inside your jacket sneezes.

It’s adorable.

You unzip your coat and the bat lets go of you, fluttering off somewhere behind you. The sudden loss of contact makes you feel a brief and painful moment of longing. There is a soft wooshing noise and you can sense the vampire’s presence behind you.

He sneezes again.

Alice gestures for you to follow, and you do, the vampire trailing uncertainly behind you. He’s very close. You wonder if you are imagining that something occasionally brushes against your shoulder.

Alice takes you to the next room over. Whatever it’s original purpose, it’s now a library. You glance at the covers, half-expecting to see something like Abraham Van Helsing’s Guide to Vampire Killing, but it’s just regular books, a mix of fiction and nonfiction.

Alice examines the shelves, frowning.

“Oh, hey, can you grab that book for me? The red leather one. Up a little, yeah there.”

You, unsuspecting, pull the book down.

It comes out about an inch and sticks. A mechanism goes ka-clunk, and you hurriedly let go as the top half of the bookshelf lurches forward and slides down. The bookshelf next to it does the same thing. The one at the far end slides aside entirely, disappearing into a gap in the wall beside it.

It is exactly what you would expect from a vampire hunter’s safehouse. Bundles of stakes, some silver tipped with polished grips, some plain wooden sticks the length of your hand. There’s a whole row of crucifixes of varying sizes. There are crossbows and silver-tipped bolts like the kind that came through your window. There are glass vials of different colored liquids; large opaque jugs labelled holy water.

Once more, you get that breaking-eggshell sensation, the mental equivalent of staring into dark water and seeing the shadow-on-shadow of something very large beginning to stir at the bottom.

You manage to tear your gaze away to look at Alice, who waggles her eyebrows at you, grinning mischievously. You hear your uncle’s voice—we’re the family quartermasters.

The biggest bookshelf was hiding clothing. Alice pulls out what looks like two bullet proof vests and tosses one to you. You miss, pathetically, and it spins through your fingers and onto the floor. You feel your face flush. You’re not sure if it’s worse to have done that in front of your cousin or your vampire.

The vampire.

A vampire.

When you pick up the vest, you find it’s actually quite light. Alice pulls hers on and covers it with a black overshirt that hides the extra padding. You follow her lead, fumbling to take your sweater off, fumbling to get the vest on, fumbling to get your sweater back on again, praying you don’t do something stupid like get caught in the sleeve. It’s a little uncomfortable, like you’re wearing two sweaters.

By the time you have it on, Alice is buckling—holy shit. She’s buckling a sword and scabbard to her belt.

She catches your look and grins.

“Gonna have to teach you how to use one of these,” she says. Abruptly she scowls, but she’s not looking at you. “Like fuck I will. No, I don’t care if you know how to use it or not, I am not arming a vampire. Do I look like an idiot to you?”

“He’s on our side,” you protest. The look Alice gives you is infuriatingly close to pity.

“And how do you know? Does he have any proof? Memo,” she says, and you hate the tone in her voice. Like you’re a child. “Vampires can’t be trusted. All they care about is themselves. Even if this one does like you, you’re not one of them. He’ll leave you out to dry to save himself in a second—”

The hands clamp around your ears so suddenly you jump. You can’t hear what the vampire says exactly, but it’s said in a short, sharp, angry tone that is perfectly clear even through his hands. Alice sneers at him.

The vampire lowers his hands and Alice pulls something else out of the closet—a thick piece of leather with silver clasps at the back. She puts it around her neck and closes the clasps, adjusting it to sit more comfortably. It starts at the base of her neck but stops a few centimeters away from her jaw, leaving her free to move her head easily.

“Come here,” she says. “We need to find one that fits you.”

You cross, eyeing it warily.

“What is it?”

“It’s called a gorget.” She pulls one around your neck and holds it closed with one hand, testing the fit. You hate it instantly. Your throat squeezes against it every time you try and swallow. In a distracted voice, Alice says “Vampires always go for the neck. The leather is too thick for their fangs to get through.”

“But we’re not fighting vampires.”

Her eyes flick to your face and then over your shoulder and you have had enough. You yank the gorget off and glare at her.

“Stop. It.”

“Memo—”

“Don’t. We need to be ready for the real threat, which is the guy who tried to shoot me through my window, and not the guy who came here to help.”

“Guillermo, you have no idea what you’re dealing with—”

“And neither do you! I’m not asking you to roll out the red carpet; I just want you to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

She rubs her forehead and sighs.

Very quietly, you say “He’s not the one who did this to me.”

Alice grimaces, but you have her.

“Fine. But I still don’t trust him.” She looks over her shoulder and frowns. “Hey! Don’t go messing around with that stuff! If he offs himself fucking around, I’m not taking the blame for it.”

You turn, which is a risk, but fortunately the vampire’s face is mostly obscured by his hair. He has, somehow, gotten his hands on a bandolier, and is carefully selecting stakes, sliding them one by one into the holsters. He’s holding them by the tips of his fingers, mostly selecting the ones with metal tips, and occasionally stops to shake his hand out, his fingers slightly red.

“What the hell are you doing?” Alice demands. The vampire turns, and you look away hurriedly. The vampire does not attempt to answer Alice—you wonder if it’s because of you, or if he’s deliberately ignoring her—and crosses the room. You are so very aware of his presence behind you. How is that possible, when there’s no body heat for him to give off?

He lifts the bandolier up over your head and slides it down over your shoulders. Your hands come up of their own accord and adjust it. It feels…right.

The look on Alice’s face says that she thinks it looks kind of pathetic, which, fuck you Alice, but the vampire pats your shoulder in a way you think is meant to be reassuring.

You all end up in the kitchen. Alice stands at the counter, several books spread out before her, keeping a wary eye on you and the vampire, who sit on opposite sides of the little table. The vampire sits with his back to you, the notebook in his hand.

You have so many questions, but how many of them can he answer? How many of those answers will you be able to hear? You want to ask things like who do we live with and how did I become your bodyguard and what is a familiar.

You want so desperately to know his name.

“Uncle Marco said you found…” A warehouse full of blood. “…the place it happened. And then you asked the witches to find me. Why did you wait this long to come get me?”

It took us this long to find you. We tried other things before we went to the witches, but they were all to find bodies. We were very sure you were dead.

And under that, in slightly smaller letters squished together—maybe the written equivalent of a mutter:

I am glad you are not dead.

“When exactly did you find me?”

Last week.

“…you spent three months looking for just my body?”

The vampire nods.

“Why?”

The vampire starts to turn around and stops. He makes a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat and scribbles furiously on the notebook. And keeps scribbling. He practically tosses the notebook over his shoulder when he’s done and sits rigid in his seat.

His handwriting is less loopy this time.

Was I supposed to just leave your body desecrated by your enemies, in some shallow grave, or at the bottom of a river? Or left out for the dogs, like you are some nameless criminal? I could not save you but I could give you the burial you deserved, the burial of a great warrior, who died defending

It stops midsentence. The pencil had dug so deeply into the paper the letters are practically engraved.

You swallow hard, blink hard.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice soft enough that Alice might not pay attention to the words. “I thought—I thought nobody came forward because nobody cared. But you do care. You really—”

The vampire made grumbling noise and waved his hand dismissively. You don’t really notice.

“I matter to you.”

The vampire hunches his shoulders, and you realize he’s squirming in his seat like he might cut and run. You clear your throat and slide the notebook back over.

“If you found me last week, why did you only show up today?”

We were afraid it might be a mistake but I recognized your handwriting on the note.

You go very still. You stare at the back of the vampire’s head.

Alice is busy reading her book, but you lean forward and whisper “You sent that?”

The vampire makes a slightly confused noise and nods. He starts to write, and—unable to help yourself—you stand up and peer over the vampire’s shoulder as he writes.

Who else would it be?

You bite back the “uh, the people who kidnapped and tortured and stalked me to my apartment, maybe?” A sneaking suspicion creeps up—no, it couldn’t—that would be—if someone wanted to tell someone else that they were their friend and had located them and wanted to come see them—that’s not how anyone sane would phrase it—

You glance at Alice—still preoccupied--and lean in very close and whisper in his ear “Did you make the phone call?”

You are too distracted to overthink the little shiver that rushes through the vampire. The pencil nearly slides out of his fingers. Hurriedly, he writes: we made the new familiar talk, because his voice would not hurt you, but we told him what to say.

You jerk back and stare at the back of his head again. When you don’t respond, the vampire turns to a new page and writes his own question.

Why did you hang up?

“Because I thought I was being threatened!”

“What?” says Alice sharply, but you wave her away. The vampire has gone indignant again.

It was not a threat! We said we knew where you were and we were coming to get you!

“And I did not know who ‘you’ were!”

What does that have to

The vampire stops writing midsentence and makes a noise that sounds like a swallowed “oops”. You had been so afraid, and all because these idiots didn’t know how to make a vague phone call sound reassuring instead of like they were going to peel you and wear your skin.

You laugh.

It squeezes out of your throat like it’s pushing through a gate half rusted shut, but then it flows freely. It feels good. It sounds good. It loosens your shoulders and your spine and you wonder how long it’s been since you heard it.

“What is it?” Alice demands. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you say, sitting down again. You cup your chin in your hand and smile. You are starting to suspect that the feeling you have is that this is not out of character for the vampire, and you find it more amusing than enraging.

They want you to know that they found you. They know where you are, and they’re coming for you. And this time, there is no one who can take you away from them.

You wonder how much of your job was keeping him safe from other vampires, and how much was keeping him safe from himself.

So it hadn’t been your kidnappers, this “Order of Rhodes” or whatever. Just a bunch of idiot vampires—you assume the others are also vampires—doing their best and making an absolute mess of it.

“What was your plan?” you ask, in an amused voice. “You were going to show up in my apartment, knowing I couldn’t remember you or even look at your face, no way to tell me who you were, and do what? If Uncle Marco hadn’t been there—”

You sit up abruptly.

“Hey—wait, hang on, why was Uncle Marco in my apartment in the first place?”

“We’ve been watching your apartment since you got here,” Alice says, distracted, turning a page in the book. “Dad saw the vampire getting one of your neighbors to let him into your apartment building. I came to provide backup, and that’s when I saw the other guys watching your apartment.”

Which meant they had shown up after the vampire.

Something nags at the back of your brain, something you can’t quite place.

“How did you know it was the Rhodes guys?”

“I’ve seen them around. A group of them showed up in Denver, poking their noses around for vampires. We told them to butt out of our territory, but—” Her head jerks up and she freezes in place, like a deer hearing a twig snap in the forest.

You don’t do anything as stupid as ask “what is it?” You know what she thinks it could be.

The vampire stands very slowly. He gestures to his chest and then lifts his hand, thumb and little finger tucked in.

Three heartbeats.

Alice reaches down and lifts up the crossbow that was leaning next to her. She steps quickly but quietly around the counter and presses the car keys into your hand.

“Go to the office,” she whispers, her eyes fixed in the direction of the front door. “Past the library, on the left. Under the coat of arms, there’s a metal door. It opens one way, into the factory. I fight silent—if I shout anything, you run. Get to the car, get back to the office, tell Dad what happened.”

You do not say “what about you” or “under the what”.

You grab her hand and you squeeze it tightly. She glances at you and catches the look on your face.

“Fuck off, Memo. You’re family. This is what family does.” She rolls her shoulders. “I’ll be okay. They’re good, but I’m better. Now go.”

You go.

The office is like the rest of the house, warmly lit and inviting. It is dominated by a coat of arms silk screened onto a tapestry, a bolt of rich blue fabric that takes up a third of the far wall. You hesitate before pulling it aside. You’ve never seen this before, anywhere, in any of your relatives’ homes.

The shield is guarded on either side by a bear raised on its hind legs. The shield itself is divided into two; one side has a cluster of stakes, the other a puffy purple flower too round to be a thistle. At the bottom, two crossed swords.

You wonder at it, this symbol of a side of your family you never knew about. For the last three months you’d been gnawed at the guilt about how many secrets you must have been hiding from your family over those thirteen years. Now it seems you all had secrets.

From the front room, a splintering crash, the snap of a crossbow firing (and how do you know what that sounds like?), a choked grunt. A shout that is not Alice, the crash of metal against metal. Your whole body is tense, ready, waiting. The bandolier on your chest feels heavy and you press your hands to it, testing how to slide the stakes free. Your fingers are clumsy, but not as clumsy as you would have expected.

“You motherfuckers, I’ll kill you!”

You shove the door open and you run.

#wwdits #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #what we blog in the shadows #fic: the mirror crack'd

11 notes · View notes

backtothestart02 · 1 year

Text

In the End, There Was Us - 5/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Updated!

...

Chapter 5 -

Iris woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. Her mind was racing, her heart beating fast, goosebumps spreading fast across her skin beneath the covers. And yet, for all of that, Eddie lay sound asleep beside her in bed.

She didn’t know how he managed it. Barry had always been hyper aware of when she got up for whatever reason when they slept together in bed. But she knew now was neither the time nor the place to be comparing the two men.

It’d just be nice if I didn’t have to wake Eddie up in order to get some help calming down, she thought, mildly annoyed.

Pulling back the covers, she climbed out of bed and padded out into the living room, turning on the TV. Sure enough, it hadn’t been a dream. That same news story blared across the late night news. Another earthquake, but this one had caused a crack in the earth’s crust. According to scientists, it descended several hundred feet when it broke through the floor at their local grocery store.

Miraculously, no one had fallen through the gaping chasm beneath their feet. When the shaking had stopped, there was just enough room in the aisle on either side for both Eddie and herself to sneak around the edges and make it to the safe part of the store. The crack stopped mid-parking lot, so they were able to join up again easily. Their car hadn’t fallen through the chasm either.

Running high on adrenaline, Iris had driven them both home without any groceries. They found some food in the back of the fridge that wasn’t expired and made sandwiches before taking separate showers and going straight to bed.

Iris had plunged straight into a nightmare after that. Turned out it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real, and all she could think about was her babies so far away from her. It no longer mattered that this might be the only bonding experience they’d get with their father for some time – based on the wonky schedule Barry kept. All that mattered was that she could see and touch them, hold them, even if they were likely perfectly safe where they were now.

She needed to see them.

The sound of a toilet flushing from down the hall pulled her from her thoughts. Maybe Eddie would come out to see her now.

Maybe he’d…

“Can’t sleep?”

Iris looked up to see Barry leaning against the wall, watching her. She winced, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Can you blame me?”

He didn’t say a word, just wandered over to her and sat beside her on the couch, gathering her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin.

“I’m sure they’re having a wonderful time.”

“It’s their first sleepover,” she complained. “They didn’t even cry when I dropped them off, and there was no call asking to be picked up.”

“They’re at your dad’s, Iris.” He stroked her arm soothingly. “And it’s not the first time. Give it a few years. Wait until they’re overnight at a friend’s house, not the place they spend half their days at when we’re both working.”

She groaned. “I guess.”

He smiled, continuing to soothingly rub her arm until she’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he then carried her to bed.

A toilet flushing down the hall pulled Iris from the bittersweet memory. She waited for Eddie to appear and ask what was wrong, if something happened since they got home, if there was anything he could do. But when five minutes passed, she knew that wouldn’t be happening. Eddie had gone straight back to bed.

She didn’t know how he could be so calm, act so normal, after what had happened to the two of them, and with her kids so far from home.

But then, how could she expect him to? He didn’t have any kids of his own. As much as he’d bonded with Nora and Bart, they were more like little friends to him than children he took responsibility for. He was like the fun uncle almost…that sometimes kissed their mom in front of them.

She sighed and drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch.

She should just go back to bed. She could feel herself getting mad at Eddie, and she didn’t want to be. If she went back to bed now, she could force a cuddle out of him, and that would give her more comfort than what she was getting now. Even if it wouldn’t be the same as…

She shook her said. She wouldn’t say his name. Wouldn’t even think it. They were divorced, and it had been years since that beautiful memory she’d recalled not too long ago. He was not that same person anymore. Or at least he hadn’t been when she’d finally made up her mind to leave him with their kids.

She missed the guy he used to be. She’d never say it aloud. But she missed the man she’d married fresh out of college. He’d been the love of her life. She’d thought they’d last forever.

“Iris?”

There it was. Finally.

Iris turned off the TV and pushed herself off the couch. Then she headed back into her shared bedroom with Eddie and smiled faintly at him where he sat tucked neatly in bed.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he returned, sounding concerned. “Everything alright?”

She shook her head sadly, and he padded the spot next to him, her spot.

She dragged her feet across the floor until she was tucked in beside him too, her head falling onto his shoulder. He held her hand between them and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Nightmare?” he asked.

She nodded.

“About tonight?”

She nodded again.

“I miss my babies,” she admitted. “I wanted to call Barry and ask him to bring them back tonight, but I know that’s not…”

“I’m sure they’re okay, honey,” he attempted to soothe. “Probably sleeping or restlessly scratching at mosquito bites because Allen forgot to buy bug spray.” He chuckled.

She tensed, annoyed once more at his tendency to dig at her ex.

“Sorry,” he butt in, just as she was about to defend said ex. “You can call in the morning. Call Nora maybe to see if she’s okay, other than just taking his word for it.”

Irritation welled up in her again, but she didn’t move to say anything against it this time. Eddie had a point. Barry had a tendency to sugarcoat things, and if she heard her daughter’s voice she would know for sure.

“And until then?” she asked, feeling lost and hopeless.

“You sleep with me.”

She lifted her head and looked up into his eyes, saw the reassurance there and let herself succumb to it. Eddie was a great guy, and she felt safe with him. And he had come through for her, even if not as quickly.

“Okay.”

They adjusted on the bed, and within minutes Eddie was snoring. It took Iris longer, not just because of the noise, but because…

She shut that wandering thought down, as well as all other racing thoughts. There was nothing she could do about her children until morning, and nothing she could do about the other…ever. Probably.

She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

…

As Barry should’ve expected and would no doubt be berated over until the end of the time, his son and daughter woke up riddled with mosquito bites. Bart’s were worse than Nora’s because he’d slept with his arms outside his sleeping bag, and also more noticeable because he couldn’t stop scratching.

After a makeshift breakfast, Barry decided to take them to the tiny convenience ‘shack’ store they’d passed on their way into the park. It didn’t take long for the kids to race inside, Barry at their heels. Nora wandered around the store at leisure. Bart went straight to the counter, scratching his arms madly.

“Do you have anything for mosquito bites?” Barry asked, like a fool because – duh, it’s a shack inside the park. But he asked anyway.

“Before or after?” the redheaded teen behind the counter covered in freckles asked as she languidly chewed her gum.

Barry glanced at his son who was still scratching madly, despite his light scolding to tell him to stop, and then at the clerk.

“I’d get before and after,” she said, turning behind her to find the necessary products.

Meanwhile, Nora had resurfaced at the front of the shop at the same time Bart lit up when he saw a familiar face on the TV hanging from the ceiling.

“Hey, look, it’s my teacher! Miss Park!”

Barry looked up at the TV and saw the familiar face – familiar because she was an old friend of Iris’, not because he’d actually met her at his kids’ school. What really got his attention though was the footage of a massive crack in the ground that appeared to have completely separated the grocery store in half by several feet.

“Hello?” Nora answered her phone that Barry had reluctantly given back that morning. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

That got Barry’s attention too, and he zeroed in on his daughter who seconds later locked her eyes on his.

“She wants us to come home.”

Barry extended his hand for the phone, and Nora gave it up.

“Iris, what’s going on?” he spoke into the phone. “The kids and I were having such a great…” He spotted the eye roll from his daughter and the continued scratching from his son. “…time.”

“I was in the supermarket during the earthquake, Barry,” she said, her voice shaky. It alarmed him so much that he turned away from his children, so they couldn’t see how scared he was on his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“I’m fine,” she said, but he knew she wasn’t. How could she be? Eddie didn’t know her like he did. He didn’t know the depth she needed to be consoled after traumatic events. He knew not to push it yet.

“I just want my children with me where they’re safe and I can see them,” she continued, still sounding as fierce as ever but a little less shook up.

He thought about arguing that they were safer with him away from the earthquakes, but he knew in her state that was about the stupidest thing he could do.

“Alright, alright, we probably won’t get there till tomorrow, but-”

“It’s fine. Can I talk to Bart?”

“Yeah. You’re sure you’re alright though?”

“Yes, Barry,” her voice softened. “Eddie’s been with me. We’re both alright.”

His jaw clenched. He could care less about Eddie. He muttered a reply, then turned around and lowered the phone to his son.

“It’s your mom.”

“Obviously,” Nora muttered, eyeing some gum on a lower shelf in front of the counter.

Barry turned to the clerk.

“Just the after,” he told her. “Looks like we won’t be sticking around.”

“$5.99.”

He paid up, grimacing when he overheard his son’s end of the conversation with his mother.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Mom. Just itchy.”

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #in the end there was us #chapter 5

4 notes · View notes