#something shifted there okay at least consciously for him

[allbark-no-bite]

Ignorance is Bliss || Coriolanus Snow x reader

summary: there’s something to love about the simplicity of boyhood. or in which there’s still good in Coriolanus and you love him

warnings: none really. this is just self-indulgent fluff. maybe slight mention of smut

word count: 1.3k

authors note: okay first of all ik everyone here spells it Coryo, but i much prefer Corio. the Hunger Games was the first ever fandom that i wrote for nearly 8 years ago (please don’t read my wattpad) and i’m so excited to have an up to date fic posted on here! the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes revived my love for the series and i hope you all enjoy :)

The sky shifts from a faint blue to yellow with the approaching evening light. In just a few minutes the swarms of awakening insects will be almost too much to bear. He swallows, and the combination of his dry mouth and the lack of humidity makes it feel as though his throat sticks together with the action. Being so deep in the forest, away from the rest of civilization, the air out here is so fresh that just breathing it is dizzying.

By now he's so used to the polluted air of District 12 that this sort of clarity is a startling but welcomed reprieve. In the Capitol, he'd grown up hearing stories of the miners in 12 who would eventually succumb to the horrific fate of suffocation, their lungs black from years of inhaling coal dust. Even after just a few months of being assigned as a peacekeeper to the district, the undersides of his fingernails had turned permanently black with the dust.

The games are far from his mind these days—at least most of the time they are. He has done his best to put those horrors in the past. He is no longer a Capitol student, fighting to prove that he belongs there in his hand me down shoes and shirts with buttons made of bathroom tile. Those days now seem like an entirely different lifetime.

His heart rate slows to the point that his chest hardly rises, and his only sign of consciousness is the occasional flicker of his eyes as he fights to keep from dozing off. He lies there watching the sky and counts the hours until the sun is swallowed by the horizon.

It's considerably quiet save for the breeze moving through the leaves of the trees overhead and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot of a forest animal. Five more minutes and he'll get up.

Movement at his side makes him grunt. It's not much, just a shifting of weight, but it still forces a puff of air out of him. Underneath the cream undershirt of his uniform is a mess of slowly healing, raw pink flesh. His body still hurts from weeks ago.

The district boy's spear had stabbed straight through  the muscle of his shoulder and was rapidly on the mend thanks to Dr. Gaul. The burns on his back were healing on their own accord, albeit slower than he would have liked. All things considering, his wounds had been relatively insignificant.

He had seen tributes sustain much worse things in the games before. He'd take a couple of burns over a severed head any day.

This time the weight lifts almost completely from crevice of his side and his attention shifts to the body beside him. You'd been curled up, asleep at his side the the better part of an hour.

"Where are you—" His question is cut off as your weight returns, this time into the pit of his stomach, curling up against the curve of his lean body. It half knocks the breath out of him. You have the tendency to do that to him.

With your cheek pressed into his gut, your hand reaches out for his own and he willingly complies, linking his slender fingers with your own. Perhaps you don't realize it but this is the same way he first touched you, hand in hand back in the zoo, and it will always mean more than anything to him. It is this thought that causes him to bring your wrist to his mouth and press his lips against it.

His mouth is warm against your skin, and even if you don't know exactly where the gesture of affection came from, you reciprocate it with the same tenderness.

"What are you thinking about?" You finally ask, breaking a long hour of comfortable silence.

You.

Rather than answering, Coriolanus hums in acknowledgment of your question. "Corio—" At the same time, he swings his leg over your hip, switching positions so that his body is hovering above your own.

"Hi."

You grin, fingers grabbing hold of the cool metal of his dog tags that hang down from his neck.

"Hi."

Looking pleased with himself, he dips his head down, capturing your lips with his own. You were his, and he was constantly refiguring that out.

The kiss is sweet, tamer than what you're used to from him. Not that he's ever been unpleasant, you adored Coriolanus and just about everything about him. But he was a man. A boy growing into a man and that came it, its own boyish tendencies. Regardless, rarely ever did you discourage his wandering hands.

You can't help but smile at the feel of his lean, brawny body pressed against yours. He'd been thin with hunger back at the Capitol. His time in District 12 training as a peacekeeper had done him well. Not only had he become sturdier with muscle, but somehow taller too. One of his legs is wedged between your own, and through his trousers you can feel him, half hard with interest.

Coriolanus pulls away from the kiss at the feel of your lips pulled into a smile. His brows furrow together in confusion, but your smile is infectious and soon enough his own frown is tilted upwards. "What? What are you smiling about?"

You attempt to subdue your grin at his inquiry, but it's to little avail, and that only drives his insistence. "(Y/n). What've I done?"

"Nothing," you laugh, a palm coming up to cup the side of his jaw so that your thumb can smooth over the sharp protrusion of his cheekbone. Normally the action would be enough to distract him, but he's persistent.

"(Y/n)."

“Really, it's nothing," you insist. "I just... I love you." That is what you settle on. I love you.

You love the naivety in which he is able to love. Pure and untainted by heartbreak. Too young to know much at all. Even too inexperienced to realize that there were more ways to satisfy his desire for you than just kissing. His body wanted you in the way that a man wanted a woman, and while he surely felt the effects of that attraction, his pure intentions had yet to stray.

Coriolanus' clear blue eyes narrow in slight skepticism but he doesn't press you any further. "I love you too," he says, lifting his hand to slip his fingers into your hair and massage at the base of your scalp. At the same time, his thumb presses up into your jaw, tilting your chin upwards so that he can kiss you again.

This time you indulge him further and kiss him back a bit more forcefully than before. Your hand finds the short crop of his blonde hair, and like a cat preening under the attention, his body reacts in tandem. He half snorts in amusement at your reciprocation but doesn't comment, too pleased to pull away long enough to taunt you.

Coriolanus takes it upon himself to deepen the kiss, the force of his lips upon yours not yet bruising but certainly heading there. His tongue slips past your lips, exploring the taste of your mouth. At the same time, one of his slender hands slides down your side, his fingers grasping at the curve of your hip.

The day will come that his desires get the best of him, and he’ll want more of you. Frivolous things such as the wrestling and the making out that the two of you do now won’t satisfy him later. And while the thought doesn’t bother you, it’s nice what you have with him now. It’s so simple and so easy to love him and his still boyish self now. The time will come eventually, and that’s okay. You’ve got a lifetime together after all.

[hipstergecko]

Okay people! DP X DC idea time!

This hit me like a trainwreck and I must release it into the wild. Will I write this properly one day?

Anyway!

Let's think about sensory deprivation tanks. Danny phantom. What if the thermos acted like one? It was only meant for short term storage. What if the Fenton's built a coffin like one meant for long term? 

And they caught Danny first?

—---

The Fenton's newest invention "ghost in a box" had caught him. It was a dumber bigger heavier version of the thermos and somehow they managed to catch him right as he was falling to earth after a nasty hit to the jaw from the latest ghost of the week.

He propped himself up on his elbows and hissed through his teeth. Better to get out of this box quickly. His parents probably couldn't handle this guy. Using the bright glow of his eyes, he examined the inside of his new holding cell. It was fairly big. Big enough for him to roll about and prop himself up on his elbows. There was 10 inches or so of watery ectoplasm sloshing around him as he moved and shifted. Surprisingly comfy too. At least compared to the cramped space of the thermos.

Without the glow of his eyes it was dark. Completely dark. The kind of dark that makes you wonder if you really had that hand on front of your face. And it was quiet. The only sounds were the faint sloshing of the ectoplasm and his own breathing. 

He saw the faint line of the lid and tried with all his might to push it open. His ghostly strength didn't seem to do much. He was panting by the time he decided to try to phase through it instead. He ended up with a sore head for his efforts. Airtight, watertight and ghost proof. 

There was no way out. 

He tried his phone which had luckily enough survived the fight.

No service.

Danny sighed heavily and lay back in the water, staring at his phone with a tired frown. So much for luck. Hopefully, Tucker, Sam, or Jazz would break him out before school tomorrow.

The silence was so strange. He'd never been somewhere this quiet before. Even the ghost zone at its most peaceful had the sounds of flowing ectoplasmic winds. He felt his eyelids fall shut as he slipped into a doze. He was frankly exhausted from everything that had happened that day and needed a nap. So he took one as he waited for someone to open the box.

But Nobody did. Nobody could. Apart from his friends and sister, nobody cared to.

You see, immediately upon his capture, the elder Fentons rushed the box back to the lab for testing. After several hours they had declared the invention a success. As long as no one opened the box, the ghost couldn't escape. 

Meanwhile Tucker, Sam, and Jazz were consumed with worry. They hadn't seen Danny get captured, but after Jack and Maddie proclaimed Phantom was caught the next day on the news, they feared the worst.

Jazz confronted her parents about Phantom in the box, but she was kindly and lovingly dismissed. You see, they had given it some thought and finally agreed with their daughter that ghosts too dangerous to be studied should just be caught and dealt with humanely. A compromise. Sure they couldn't do all the tests they wanted, but they would rather have their town and family safe.

The "Ghost in a box" was equipped with noise canceling movement dampening ecto-sustaining technology. In essence a sensory deprivation tank. The ghost would be kept safe until they were docile enough to be released for study or simply turned back into base ectoplasm to be recycled for something else.

But they didn't know about cores.

And they didn't know about Danny.

Cores would not dissipate like regular formless ectoplasm. They would remain even as the physical form of the ghost melted away as their consciousness faded into everything and nothing within the box.

But Danny wouldn't. Jazz knew that Danny couldn't.

A core wasn't made to house a human. A ghost, who was the personification of a person's emotions the moment they died, a being made of obsession, could be condensed and made dormant inside the fragile safety of a core. But a human flesh and bone body? A heartbeat? He would always be there. Able to be sucked in a thermos, yes. Ghost in a box, yes. His ghostly abilities made him pliable enough. But into his core? Never going to happen.

His heart and core were very different, but worked together in harmony. Neither could exist without the other. Neither could be taken out without issue. (The ghost catcher notwithstanding. Freaky duplication personality splitting weirdness) Should his heart vanish into the core, it would die. Hearts do not take compression and dormancy well. Should his heart be removed, the core would have no filter and overtake the body, burning it into pure ectoplasmic fire.

Danny was the perfect balance. His heart strengthened his core and his core energized his heart. He could not be easily shattered or dissipated. But this meant he also could not retreat into his core when his mind or body failed him. 

He had to remain fully formed. Fully in ghost form. The ectoplasm that was being cycled through the box made sure he was stable, but he would suffocate and starve if he became human.

He was well and truly stuck.

Jazz begged and pleaded with them to let him go. The psychological damage would be so severe if he stayed in longer than a few hours. But their success had blinded them to the point of pride. Instead they praised her for her empathy and willingness to study the obsessions ghosts were known for.

They only really started listening to her after Danny had been missing for an entire week. And even then it was just a call to the police and a search to hunt "they ghost who took our baby boy".

(Did Jazz ever break down and tell her parents the truth? Who knows.)

Perhaps the worst part was that his loved ones couldn't even get to the box. It had been locked up in some government facility almost immediately after the Fenton's announced their success. The patent was sold to the government for a truly amazing amount of money.

Danny was out of reach.

It was only after months of petitioning and rallying and absolutely threatening Vlad with ruining his political reputation, Sam was able to gain access to the box to "see for herself if they were truly as humane as the Fenton's claimed". She had 20 minutes with the box and she and Tucker did everything they could to open it. 

Nothing worked. No hacking or code they tried could open it. They had no power tools or weapons to try attacking it with. For 20 minutes they tried.

For 20 minutes they failed.

There was nothing they could do. They were escorted from the premises kicking and screaming.

Meanwhile the product went viral. Some opposed it, some praised it. The Fentons became famous for the "ghost in a box". Soon they were available widespread. Ghosts were being caught left and right and safely contained. most of whom were peacefully living out their afterlives in their chosen haunt.

Many ghosts were caught actively seeking Phantom. Skulker, Ember, some invisible ghost kid, a great hairy looking wolf man, and more. Ghosts were being caught all over the country. None of them could escape once they were put in the box. And none of the other ghosts knew what was truly happening to their kind. They only knew that if you went into the human realm, you didn't come back. 

Surprisingly enough, Vlad was eventually the one to put a stop to it. By forcibly closing the portals. The Fentons were too busy with their manic search for their son to rebuild their own portal. (And even if they tried after jazz told them the truth, would it have even worked?) His own portal was hardly ever used anymore. Mostly because alongside the "ghost in a box", the Fenton finder and ectoplasmic tracker were also extremely popular tools for ghost catching. It was too risky to activate his personal portal. If he was caught, he was as good as dead. 

But he too was eventually caught.

Somebody had finally looked into his shady dealings. Suspicious of him, and not wanting to rule out anything ghostly, they opened a box on him during a packers game.

He never saw it coming.

Eventually almost every ghost people across the world knew of were caught. The U.S. government paid for the boxes and had them categorized and stored deep underground in a ghost proof facility that slowly faded from history.

But what about Danny?

Let's ask a different question. Do you know what happens when a human stays too long without sensory input?

The hallucinations started when his phone battery gave out.

—————

The justice league had been an entity for quite some time now. Long enough that they felt secure in digging down into the underbelly of various world governments to root out world ending threats at the source. Especially after what had been going on with CADMUS and their government sanctioned cloning operation.

Someone (the flash? Batman? TBD) finds old records of a bunker buried deep under the earth full of something called "ectoplasmic" radiation. For the safety of the nearby town of Amity Park, they felt the need to dig it up and clean it out.

Upon entering the bunker in full OSHA approved hazmat, they find strange looking boxes. Boxes upon boxes stretching for at least a mile, maybe more if there are sublevels. Each box is labeled with a number. The first one they find is marked 3278 (or some other arbitrary number). All the boxes are sealed tight with no known way to open/dispose of them.

Most of the heroes agree just to let the bunker be. It was sealed and doing no visible harm to anyone or the environment.

But Batman (or other super? Dealer's choice) decides to do a bit more looking.

He stalks through the boxes, noting the numbers, the lights saying 'occupied' and 'dissolved'. Many of the boxes are buried deep. He can really only observe the ones close to the walkways.

He walks all the way to the very bottom. The very end of the bunker. Where there is a solitary box set on a raised platform. It is labeled number 1. The lights flash 'occupied'.

'Corporeal'.

He takes it back to the watchtower for analysis.

——————

The justice league cannot safely open the box. Any attempt to break it open could compromise whatever is inside. Scans do not indicate what could be inside.

More research is done into these boxes. Nothing digital is found. Eventually someone looked through some old offices stationed outside the bunker and finds patents for the boxes. Dr.s Fenton describe in detail what the box does and how to use it. It was meant to never be opened by anyone without the proper DNA match.

Apparently Jack Fenton, understanding that ghosts can possess people (read overshadow) coded the box to reject anything that had human DNA in it. He had to manually override the security to open the boxes. Which included several (read 100) security questions and passwords pertaining to Jack directly.

So only someone completely non human and non ectoplasmic could open the box.

Good thing they had aliens on payroll.

—————

Superman pressed his thumb to the scanner. There was a light beep and a sudden rush of pressurized air. A cheery voice rattled out of a small speaker embedded in the box's control panel.

"Wow! I don't know how you found an alien, but well done! Please enjoy your docile ghost or ectoplasmic goo! Thank you for using the Fenton GHOST IN A BOX! Patent pending please don't sue."

Superman, startled by the sudden voice, took a step back. The lid of the box opened slowly the inside dark. Toxic looking green mist sluggishly broiled out of the box. It spread almost like fog across the floor.

A black hand with abnormally long and skeletal fingers stretched slowly rose out of the mist, rising to grip the side of the box.

All the superheroes were immediately on edge. Hands flying to weapons and dropping into fighting stances. Superman himself jumped back to guard against whatever was coming out of the box.

What emerged was frankly horrifying to look at. A black mass of bulbous limbs and... Tentacles? Were those tentacles? Claws and teeth scrabbled at the edges of the box until the entire bulk of the thing fell from the edge, squelching with whatever liquid had been inside. It hit the floor of the watchtower with a wet sounding thud.

There was an immediate reaction among the heroes.

"Oh gross!"

"That... What IS that?!"

"Eugh..."

"It's not human, that's for sure!"

"Someone find a member of JLD!!"

"Get Constantine up here!"

Amidst the noise the thing on the floor writhed about. All over it's amorphous body, eyes opened. Countless eyes appearing all over it's form. They were the same toxic green color as the mist, but brighter.

The eyes rolled about and winced. The thing shuddered as if in pain and the eyes squeezed shut back into the void. Instead, teeth appeared, countless mouths inside mouths and razor sharp teeth upon teeth. It scrabbled on the floor and opened it's countless mouths.

And screamed.

Heroes threw their hands over their ears in an attempt to stop the sound. Those with enhanced hearing took it the worst. Superman himself was forced to kneel, hands pressing to the sides of his head desperately. It sounded like the screams of the damned. Of someone dying. Of thousands suffering. He couldn't move, couldn't react. It was going to drive him mad if it didn't stop.

It came almost in waves, battering against the triple reinforced windows protecting the inhabitants from space. Lights above their heads popped and broke as sound crashed about the room. Coffee mugs shattered, fuses blew, and the watchtower was plunged into darkness.

With the darkness came a panic. The screaming was unending, debilitating. Some curled into fetal positions, uncaring of their peers. Others tried to run, but with the power gone, doors wouldn't open.

Not many paid attention to the thing on the floor.

It is important to note that in attendance that day alongside batman were a few of his brood. Namely Red Robin and Black Bat. It is also important to note that Black Bat is a hero who is hearing impaired.

So of the heroes in the watchtower that day, Black Bat was the only one to focus on the amorphous thing despite the noise.

She watched the Eldritch horror even as the watchtower fell to darkness. It had too many mouths. Too many eyes. It's form was barely recognizable in the darkness, but as she watched she could see the makings of something humanoid.

It had a discernable head.

She watched it try to open its eyes various times only to see it shriek louder and shut them swiftly. It was in pain? Even though the lights had gone out? She looked at batman and the other heroes. They were screaming and yelling and trying to figure out a course of action.

She looked back at the thing. The sound beat at her ears in waves. Growing ever louder as those around her screamed in pain.

In that moment, Cass had an epiphany.

She lunged across the room, reaching Red Robin almost instantly. She allowed the sound to reach her ears as her hands left them to dig around in Tim's utility belt. She knew he had them, she'd seen him wear them often enough.

Ahah! She triumphantly pulled the headphones from a side pouch. Dick and Jason teased Tim about the headphones when he first got them for working on casefiles. They were the big chunky kind. Designed to fit over the entire ear.

Designed to be noise cancelling

She turned and sprinted towards the thing on the floor with her prize. The closer she got the worse the sound was. It beat on her brain painfully, she could feel a nosebleed trickle down her lip. Still she darted forward. She leapt ito the air, flipping upsidedown as she did. She aimed to the beings... Head? What could've been it's head... And deftly slipped the headphones onto it.

There was a flailing of... Limbs?... In her direction as she sailed through the air. She landed a bit ungracefully as the sound crashed over her again. She covered her ears with her hands and retreated, turning to face the entity as she backed away.

There were hands... Or hand like things... Clutching the headphones. Slowly the screaming dwindled. Soon it was quiet save for the cursing and crying and relief voiced by the heroes.

"Oh thank god!"

"It's over!"

"Ugh my head..."

"Is everyone okay?"

"I understand why they had that thing locked away now."

"Black Bat." Cass turned to see Batman holding his head in one hand. "What did you do?"

Cass mimed putting the headphones on. "Overstimulation." She said simply.

"What do you mean?" Batman looked to the entity. His eyes narrowed at the way it clung to the headphones. His gaze swiveled to the inky darkness of the box. An idea swirled in his brain and he nodded. "Extreme sensory deprivation."

Cass nodded, pleased.

"Batman! What happened? Are you alright?" Superman approached the pair. His voice was raised slightly. Blood dripped from his ears.

"I'm fine Superman." Batman faced him fully, moving his mouth in exaggerated syllables. "But you're not."

Superman smiled sheepishly. "I see you noticed. I can't hear anything right now." He turned towards the entity. "What do we do now? It's clearly too dangerous to simply let free." He turned back to Batman. "With the watchtower out of power the best option we have is to put it back into the box."

"Hnn..." Batman frowned. "I don't think that would work well. Based on how it reacted to light and sound, we can assume that the box was some sort of sensory deprivation tank."

"Sensory deprivation tank?"

"It's a box that cuts off all stimuli from the outside." Red Robin pulled himself off the floor with a groan. "It's a form of extreme isolation. Do you think that's why it was screaming?"

"What?"

Batman ignored Superman. "I believe so. Black Bat was the first to notice."

Red Robin squinted. "Are those my headphones?"

Cass grinned at him. "Useful."

He huffed and passed her a handkerchief from his belt. "You owe me new ones." She giggled silently and took the handkerchief, wiping away the nosebleed.

Batman grunted, gaze shifting back to the writhing mass of black in the darkness. "We'll have to quarantine this room. I don't believe trying to handle the entity would be wise."

"No kidding." Superman winced, putting a hand to his head. "But we won't be able to do much until Cyborg restores power. He was in the control room when the screaming started, right?"

Not a moment after Superman had finished speaking the backup lights came on.

And the shrieking started anew.

Heroes were once again forced to their knees as the sound hit them. Cass wasted no time and ran towards the entity. It was no longer a roiling bulbous mass, but rather had a partial humanoid form. A clear and present head and shoulders, thin long arms with hands clasped around the headphones.

She didn't know where it's eyes were supposed to be, but she didn't bother taking the time to figure it out. She ripped her cape from her shoulders and flung it over top of the entity. There was an immediate flailing of limbs and tentacles as it tried to get the offending object off.

Cass worked quickly. Pulling a blindfold from her belt, she wrapped it swiftly around the "head" of the thing in front of her. The knot was tied equally as fast, but before she could pull away, her hands were caught.

Long, impossibly long fingers held her hands in a vice grip. They were icy. So cold that it felt like her skin was burning.

But the screaming stopped.

"Black Bat!"

Cass ignored Red Robin's cry and Batman's frantic run towards her.

The entity had stilled.

It's limbs shrunk instantly, leaving almost normally proportioned arms and legs. The tentacles shrank away to nothing. The claws and fangs receding with them. The grip on her hands turned gentle, the fingers shrinking to a normal, proportional size.

Cass's eyes darted to Batman, stopping him just before he reached her. She shook her head minutely. This thing was not hostile.

It was scared.

Cass turned her gaze back to the thing and watched, tense as the fingers slowly ran up and down her hand. It felt her wrist, palm and fingers.

Slowly, the blackness faded into color. Blinding white hair fluttered with an unseen breeze. Skin tan underneath the headphones and blindfold. A tattered jumpsuit in black and white stained green.

A nose peeked out from under the blindfold. A pair of lips, thin and chapped. Freckles dotted what she could see of the cheeks.

It looked young. A young humanoid. It probably wasn't human at all but, the similarities were there. It looked like a boy. Younger than Tim, but older than Damien.

He looked thin. She traced the line of his ribs with her eyes. She would see where his hip bones jutted out. He was emaciated. Or very nearly. He looked as of he'd been starving.

She head Batman shift as he knelt beside her. She knew he'd seen it too. This boy had been tortured in extreme isolation. What had happened to him?

He didn't speak. She didn't really expect him to. He searched her hands for a moment more, before his hands stilled. Then, slowly, carefully, his fingers intertwined with hers. He gave a gentle squeeze.

She squeezed back.

The blindfold covering his eyes grew wet. The wetness seeped down the blindfold and dripped to the floor.

The boy was crying.

"You're real." Came a raspy whisper.

There was a flash of bright white light and suddenly a very starved human boy was collapsing into Cass's arms.

—————

(Cass looked up at Bruce with wide eyes, cradling the boy to herself. He now had pale skin, tattered blue jeans and a worn T-shirt. His tousled black hair was grimy with filth. Dark circles shadowed long dark eyelashes and hollowed cheeks.

Cass was suddenly sure. Whatever he was, he was hers now.

"New baby brother."

Batman sighed heavily.)

————-—

Aaaaaand I have more? Maybe? Like the idea that he has gone crazy and lost his senses for a time really appealed to me. Cue rehabilitation and him trying to free the other ghosts/Vlad and get them back to the ghost zone. Maybe try to go back in time to stop it all from happening? Idk.

I felt the need to post this before I dedicated too much time to it and wrote a multi chapter fic but never actually post it anywhere. 🫠

Tell me what you thiiiiink.

[freak-accident419]

Good Looking Boy

Billy (Burn 2019) x GN!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 Summary: You go to a gas station and notice something peculiar. Immediately after, you wake up and acknowledge your current situation: in a chair, tied up to a stranger with your backs to each other, with restraints promising no way out. While you two figure out a plan to escape, you bond in the process.

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: fluff (?), gender-neutral reader (no pronouns used), kidnapping, swearing, mentions of death

(A/n: title was taken from Suki Waterhouse’s song because I find it funny how she was in this movie. Also jhutch is very good looking. Inspo from the interrogation scene in Stranger Things 3.)

-

You pulled up into a gas station, filling up your vehicle, and then going inside the store for any extra snacks or cigarettes. You had just finished up your evening shift at work, and in the process of driving home, decided to make a pit stop.

The gas station employee named Melinda, evident by the embroidered name on her uniform, scanned your items as you waited patiently, looking around the store and through the window. Then, your eyes trailed to the large security footage screen, showing the several different views of the property in a grid. However, one square caught your attention as you saw…

Was that a man? Tied up in a chair?

“What the hell?” You say out loud, peering closer at the footage of the struggling man in a secluded room. Were your eyes lying to you, or was this really happening?

You look back at Melinda, and pointed at the security footage with your thumb in hostility and confusion. “Hey, Melinda, what the fuck is thi—”

***

Your head was throbbing and your vision spinning. You slowly began to fully open your eyes, attempting to rub them with your fingers, except…

You realized your hands were restrained. You were restrained.

You were gradually gaining awareness of what had happened, piecing everything together in your head. The last thing you felt before your vision went black was trauma to your head, a short pain before losing consciousness. And now, you were in a room, in which its details matched the exact one you saw through the surveillance cameras with the tied up man.

And it only took you seconds later to finally realize that you were in a chair, restrained to him back-to-back. Your wrists were zip tied behind you to the chair with his, and bright orange duct tape restrained the both of you. And not only that, but your legs were duct taped to the chair legs as well. You could barely move.

“What the fuck…” you muttered to yourself in disbelief. There was no sign of Melinda in the room, however. She must have left you here while she would be preoccupied with working the store.

“Hey.”

His voice surprised you, only because it was a bit unexpected. He sounded tired and frustrated, which made you wonder even more what she had done to him and why, even.

It felt a bit weird and awkward to not be able to see his face if you’d begin to talk with him. This whole situation was weird. Having to be restrained to a man. Well, being restrained in the first place.

“Hey,” you replied softly.

There was an awkward silence. You felt like you should’ve been more afraid because you were practically kidnapped, but really, you were just more confused.

“Okay, what… what the fuck is this?” You asked before he could speak again. “Like, why were you here and tied up in the first place? And why am I here now? What the hell is this? Some kind of prank, or—”

“No, for fuck’s sake, it’s obviously not a fucking prank,” he said, which caught you off guard, because you didn’t expect him to be so hostile and vulgar after first hearing a small ‘hey’ from him. “Turns out, Melinda over there is a fucking psychopath who, first of all, burnt me with fucking coffee, then tied me up in this fucking stupid chair,” he explained with frustration and dismay. Well, at least now you knew what his favorite swear was. “Now, I have no idea why she would tie you up too, but otherwise, it probably was for a stupid reason as well.”

You pondered for a bit, actually trying to think of a legitimate reason why that woman would keep you captive here too, while simultaneously being slightly intimidated by this man due to his excessive swearing. But then again, you thought it was an understandable reaction to being held captive.

“Well… I seriously didn’t do anything at all. I just went up to the counter with my stuff and… and then I saw you on the security camera screen. And I was about to bring it up, but then… Oh…” You put the pieces together and found that Melinda would have held you captive as well because you’ve already witnessed what she had done—tie up and lock the man in a room. She definitely turned off the cameras after her encounter with you, ensuring nobody else would see them.

“Right,” he sighed. You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking of what to say.

“Hey, so… What about you, then? Was there a… specific reason why she stuck you in here, or is she entirely and wholeheartedly insane?” You urge, while wanting to know more of what kind of situation you were in.

“Yes, but… If I tell you, don’t be like… alarmed, or anything, or… I don’t know, hate me, I guess,” he says with a tone of exhaustion and fatigue.

That was definitely a questionable thing for him to say, but you figured that as long as you were both tied up together, for now you were both on the same team. “Alright. Yeah, just… Just help me understand our situation more,” you implore.

He took a short breath, then finally let it out. “Okay, so… I was robbing the place.” Alright, you definitely weren’t expecting that. “And before you say anything, it was for a good reason, okay? It wasn’t personal, I just needed the money to pay off debt from these stupid fucking bikers. But that’s all. I swear.”

It was kind of weird to you, how much you sort of tolerated this—tolerated him.

“Hm. So, you’re telling me… She tied you up here because you were a threat?” You asked, which seemed like a pretty valid reason why—like a survival instinct. But you figured that since you were also tied up as well, there were probably more layers to her as a person.

“Well, yes… and no. I don’t know. She… She wanted to go with me after I’d pay the bikers. Like, get out of here with me. Which was really weird to me, because, like, why the fuck would you want to go with someone who robbed you with a gun, you know?” He said, making you now think more about him and what he had done—how he got himself in this situation in the first place. “Look, she didn’t even call the damn cops. That’s how… weird this shit is. I don’t know what she wants. I guess she feels, like… shit—alone and neglected? She was saying how… how everyone paid more attention to her co-worker instead of her. But now she’s dragged you into this goddamn mess, and all of this just feels so unnecessary. I seriously don’t know what her motives are now.”

You nodded as you heard this. You could agree with that. This gas station employee was definitely unhinged at some extent. You just hoped you would be able to live after all this.

“Hey, so,” you began with slight hesitation, feeling more curious about this man. “What’s your name?”

You could swear you heard a light snicker escape his lips, probably from how unusually compliant and calm you two were to each other. It could’ve been the adrenaline, or something. “I’m Billy,” he answers very smoothly.

“Hm,” you hum shortly as you raise an eyebrow, looking at the same, light blue wall you had been facing ever since you woke up. “Well, I’m Y/n,” you tell him.

“Y/n,” he repeats softly to himself, letting out another chuckle. “That’s a hell of a nice name.”

You scoff from amusement and smile to yourself. “Thanks,” you reply, not really expecting that comment, appreciating it, however. “Looks like we’re gonna be here for a while,” you remark.

“Yup,” he said, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Don’t know when that fucking psycho chick is coming back, but we should use this time to make an escape plan, or something.”

“Right.” You observed your surroundings, seeing just a bunch of random junk, shelves, and a desk, gradually feeling a bit of claustrophobia. At least you were able to infer that the room you two were trapped in was the employee’s only room or office. However, something finally caught your eye, making your heart race.

“Hey, um, Billy?” You say as you try to clear your vision, squinting at the object you think you see.

“Yeah?” He answered.

“I think… I think I see a pair of scissors… over there.” Your vision had completely cleared up as you saw grey scissors sitting on top of a wooden desk.

“Holy shit, really?” You heard surprise and hope in his voice, which sort of lifted you up as well.

“Yeah,” you smile to yourself. “It’s like, on a table in the corner, I could probably find a way to get it in my hands..” You didn’t notice or acknowledged it before, but you finally realized that since your wrists were tied with his, the backs of your hands were touching the whole time. You also noted that you could feel a thin metal against your index finger—he was wearing a ring. However, the slight warmness and softness of his hand strangely brought you mere comfort.

You shook it out of your mindset though, as you focused rather on escaping. “Hey, so,” you began, looking down at your shoes, then up at the scissors. “It’s a pretty good distance away. I’m not sure how we can reach it.”

“Well, um, maybe we can try to, like, scoot at the same time to get closer to it. Like I could probably scoot back while you scoot forward.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, good idea,” you reply. You look down at your shoes again, in which they were barely touching the ground due to the way they were taped. “Fuck, this is gonna be difficult,” you scowl.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Billy reassures. “We can just try to scoot our whole bodies. Like, hop or something, anything.” You listened to him, preparing to obey his plan. “Okay, on the count of three, we scoot towards that desk, alright?” You hum in agreement. “Okay, right. One, two, three…”

With the two of you scooting at the same time, you moved yourself and the chairs about an inch forward. The scissors were still pretty far, but you figured it wouldn’t take too long to continue scooting.

“Okay, good,” he praises, impressed by the progression. “Okay, again. One, two, three…”

You two did the same movement again, which brought you even closer to the desk, but still not close enough. You grinned as you sought the possibility of escaping and leaving after this, to immediately go to the authorities and detain Melinda.

“Yes! We’re-we’re almost there, just a couple more,” you observe with enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay, okay,” the way he spoke made you just know he had a big grin on his lips. “One… two… three…”

“Fuck!” You blurted as you felt a sharp pain after falling onto the floor with him, the chairs losing balance and collapsing ever since you tried to scoot forward once more.

“Goddamnit! Fuck!” He exclaimed in frustration as the two of you were now on the floor on your sides, still very much secured to your chairs. You hear him mumble a few swears, hissing from slight pain, until he heard your reaction to this, face contorting as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are… Are you fucking laughing?”

Indeed you were. You were sort of cackling on the floor, so very amused by all of this, but you didn’t really know why. But then again, humor was one of your instinctive reactions to life-threatening situations, so it would make sense for your mind to manipulate the dire reality of the circumstance. “I’m sorry,” your laugh transitioned into soft, dispersed giggles as your eyes face the wall once more. “Sorry. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t laugh,” you say as you were still grinning. “I just… cannot believe that I am… tied up to a stranger in a goddamn gas station. At the hands of a… an apparently lonely gas station worker who took things too far? It’s bullshit, man! People are fucking crazy!”

Billy scoffed from impatience. “Y/n, I get that, but this is fucking serious, okay? I know that this seems like there’ll be an easy way out of this, but Melinda is a fucking psycho. Shot and killed her co-worker, burnt my—”

“Wait, what?” You interrupted as you thought you didn’t hear it right. “She killed her co-worker?”

“Yeah, well… Technically, okay? I wasn’t actually going to shoot her, but then Melinda spilled fucking hot coffee on me which made me instinctively pull the goddamn trigger,” he explained, now making you question everything. You don’t know this man, why trust him as well? Was he the bad guy all along? Then it looked like he knew what you were thinking, because he added, “Look, if Melinda wasn’t crazy, then you wouldn’t be fucking tied up to me as well, alright?”

You sighed. That was true. “Right.” It was a bit of alarming news to you, the fact that someone died here tonight at the hands of the man tied up behind you, but also at the hands of the woman who tied you up. You didn’t really want to think about that and your possible demise, so you shifted the subject. “Hey, so… Why a gas station?”

You heard Billy scoff. He seemed to do that a lot, you presume. “Well, I figured there’d be a lot of money here. You know, gas is one of the most expensive fucking things in the world.”

“Well, true, but nobody pays with cash anymore, man. Tell me, how much did you get from the registers?” You chuckle.

“Like… less than a hundred dollars—”

“Pftt. See, y—”

“But I got into the safe. Well, technically Melinda did. There was, like, at least thousands,” he says.

“And you said you needed to pay off, like… bikers?” You asked.

“Yes. And those stupid clown assholes know I’m robbing this place, so they’ll kill me if I don’t have their fucking money.”

“Damn, dude! What exactly did you do to piss them off?” You laughed softly.

“Debt and my anger issues,” he answered. “That’s sort of what got me here in the first place. I could’ve left with the money already, but Sheila kept fucking with me.”

“Sheila?”

“The co-worker,” he clarified. Oh, right.

“Hey, maybe once this is all over, I’ll get you an anger management book in time for Christmas, alright?” You joke sweetly, hearing soft laughter from the both of you.

“Honestly, I definitely need one of those. Like, I swear I’m working on myself, but clearly—”

“Clearly, your actions have shown—” you began to add.

“That I still have a lot to work on, yes,” he chuckled. He seemed to do that a lot, too. And, if you were going to be truly honest with yourself, you thought it was charming—that he was charming.

To think, that you’d be charmed by a gas station robber who just happened to be tied up to you. Right. That didn’t sound right. It was probably some shared trauma thing that made you have these weird feelings. So they had to be fake. Right?

But you were smiling way too much. And he wasn’t even able to see your face, so why would you be smiling—other than the fact that he could be truly captivated by him?

“Y/n?”

You slightly flinched as you were brought back to the present, realizing he had been speaking to you while you were reflecting to yourself.

“Uh-yeah?”

“What was it?” He asked.

“What was what?”

“Were you even listening to me?”

“Spaced out. Sorry,” you briefly answered.

He let out a soft, amused chuckle. Despite the fact that his face had been burned, with the biker gang on their way to kill him, and the way he was tied up by a crazy lady, he sort of enjoyed this with you. You were entertaining and patient with him. It felt refreshing. And he admired that.

“I asked you what brought you to Paradise Pumps tonight,” he repeated for you.

“Oh. Yeah, um…” You thought about how your day went today. “Just finished my evening shift and when I was driving home, I realized the fuel level was pretty low, so I stopped by.”

He hums in response. Then asks, “Evening shift? What’s your work?”

“Retail,” you answer, chuckling to yourself. “I know it’s not as interesting as gas station robber, but—“

“Hey. I don’t normally fucking do this. In fact, like, this was my first time robbing a place. I needed the money that bad. I’m not, like, some criminal,” he says with urge. You could tell he was a bit sensitive about that.

There was a sort of comfortable silence for a while as you thought about it. “Tell me about yourself, then.” You ask gently. “Like, other than your… shit with the bikers and robbing gas stations.”

Billy shrugged as he tried to think of how to answer you. “Umm… I was born and raised in Kentucky,” he began.

“Go Wildcats,” you softly add, smiling to yourself.

He slightly giggled, and there was a smile on Billy’s face as well, but with your circumstances, you couldn’t see. In fact, you never really knew what he looked like, and he didn’t know what you looked like. You tried to remember from seeing the surveillance camera, but it was too quick of a memory to have a clear picture of him in your head.

“And… I don’t know. What do you wanna know?” He questioned.

You hum. “Just convince me you’re not really a bad guy.”

You heard a sigh leave his lips. “I… I told you… I’m… I’m not a bad guy. I’m not some… evil criminal guy and I’m not a killer. I’m just… currently involved in very complicated circumstances.”

You decided to hear him out, dropping it completely. “So, what were you going to do after you paid the bikers then?” You wondered.

“I was just gonna… I don’t know… get the hell out of this place. Like leave far away, probably. Get a fresh start,” he answered, which you responded with sympathy. There was another short, comfortable silence before you interrogate him again.

“You caused this much trouble here? ‘Specially with the bikers?”

“Yeah… I don’t know… I just want a second chance in life,” he admitted softly.

You sensed that he was becoming more and more vulnerable. More truthful. You wish you were able to look him in the eye. But instead, you were back to back, on the floor, tied to a stupid chair.

You didn’t know how to feel towards this man. He was robbing the place, but only because he would’ve been killed if he didn’t have the money, and he had no intention of harming anyone. Maybe there was some type of goodness in him.

“Yeah… I understand that,” you reckon. “I believe that people deserve second chances. Especially people like you.”

“‘People like me,’ what do you mean by that?” You heard a bit of defense in his voice.

“No, I meant… You seem to… You seem really unlucky as of recently… In debt with guys who could kill you, gas station robbery gone wrong and now you’re, like… practically kidnapped alongside a stranger,” you elaborate tenderly.

You could hear a warm chuckle before he says, “Well… being stuck with you isn’t really what I’d consider unlucky.” He was smiling, looking at the white tiles of the floor. “If anything, you’re just keeping any possible insanity at bay. You’re… You’re actually very kind, which is making this… ‘experience’ less shitty than it was intended to be.”

You smile to yourself, not sure if you were feeling a bit flustered as a reaction. You were glad to know he appreciated you. “Well, yeah… I can’t imagine being alone in this situation. I think I would’ve been more disoriented without you,” you add.

He hums in agreement. “Well… we’re not alone. We have each other, and we can figure out a way to get out of this alive,” he says comfortingly. “I’m sorry that if anyone were to be restrained to you, it ended up being a lousy gas station robber, but—”

“No, it’s…” you laugh under your breath. “It’s okay. And… you’re more than that. You even said it yourself. I really hope you get your fresh start after this, Billy.”

You were a comfort to him. You were understanding and patient and kind. You even made him forget he had major anger issues. “Me too…” he says quietly.

Time passed fairly smoothly as you two had continued to laugh and converse, learning more and more about each other. Each smile and laugh you two expressed made each of your hearts flutter in such an unsuspected way. And soon enough, none of you ever brought up or reacted to the fact that, for a while now, your pinky fingers were linked together in one hand.

[lunartadpole]

Eddie learned about two months into dating him that Steve is an active sleeper.

He was always a bit hurt when Steve wouldn't stay the night at the trailer park; dreaded watching Steve's car drive away after a night in. At first, Eddie thought it was a hit and run situation, a one night stand that spans more than one night. And yeah, it makes sense; King Steve probably just wants a new way to get his dick wet, got tired of all the babes and such. Of course this thing they have - whatever that is - isn't serious. It makes sense and still, Eddie's hurt.

But then he starts noticing things. Like Steve's reluctance to leave but his refusal to fall asleep no matter how late it is. And it's not just with Eddie either. He's noticed that Steve always seems to clock out early at any overnight event their little group have - DnD nights in Wheelers basements, Dustin's sleepovers, hell, even Buckley's movie nights. Steve is always first to arrive and first to leave.

Eddie just can't figure out why.

He goes as far as to ask Robin. Because if anyone can give any insight into the mysterious life of Dethroned King Steve Harrington, it's Buckley. But even she has no idea. She says she hadn't even noticed.

He gets his answer a week later.

They're in Eddie's trailer. Steve drove around after his shift, they're lounging in his room, Steve sitting up again the headboard, Eddie practicing his guitar, and it's midnight, bordering on Steve's usual check out time. But Harrington's been complaining about a rough day at work - something about being swamped and Buckley ditching her shift for boobies, Munson! She ditched me for boobies - and Eddie can see his eyes fluttering and his head lolling before quickly shooting up again. Rinse and repeat. Until Steve finally begins to bustle up and leave.

Eddie begs him to stay, half because he wants him to and half because there's no way it's safe to drive home when you're two fleeting seconds away from dropping comatose. They argue back and forth, Steve typically reluctant and a bit…nervous? Scared? Eddie doesn't know. And it doesn't matter because he wears Steve down and soon enough Steve is wearing Eddie's pajamas and the two of them are cuddled up in bed together.

Using Steve as his own personal Teddy bear, Eddie sleeps soundly that night.

At least, until about three in the morning.

Ever since Vecna, Eddie hasn't been the heaviest of sleepers. So when he hears banging in the kitchen rattling through the thin membrane walls, he's upandatem pretty quickly, abruptly women up to the fact that his boyfriend isn't beside him in the bed anymore. Another bang comes from the kitchen.

Okay, he's panicking.

Armed with the old tire iron he keeps by his bed for just an occasion like this, Eddie creeps towards the kitchen, mind racing. Who the fuck is here? Did someone break in? Something? From another dimension? Images play in head like worn film, images of Chrissy Cunningham floating in his living room, the sound of her bones snapping eerily similar to the banging now.

What he is met with in the kitchen is nowhere near as scary, but ten times more weird.

Because Steve 'The Hair' Harrington is in the middle of his kitchen surrounded by what little pans and pots the Munson's own.

"Uhm…Stevie?" he calls, ever so softly. And then louder when he doesn't get a response. "Steve?"

Steve stands like a ghost in the shadows. Eddie can't help but stare at his face, so relaxed unlike anything he's ever seen before.

Then. He speaks.

"I swear I left it here…" Steve mumbles, to himself or maybe to the dark shadows surrounding. The words come out slow and monotone. Hushed, slurred together in a broken string of consciousness. It does nothing to ease Eddie's worry.

"Left what here?" he asks, looking around at the mess for some item of Steve's he might've lost. All the while Harington just stands there, dazed.

Then. "Flowers. Told Eddie I'd get him flowers."

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, pushing forward into his boyfriend's space and thoughtlessly cups his face in his hands, making him look at him. Steve's eyes are just barely open, and they're glazed over with this lost, far off look. He doesn't look at Eddie, rather through him.

And somehow, Eddie catches up, a scoff of disbelief leaving his lips. Who would've thought?

"Okay, alright sweetheart," the grin is prominent in his voice, dripping with fondness. "You're still asleep, huh?" Something inside him surges and he finds himself grazing his other hand faintly across Steve's forehead to brush his bed hair out of his face. His eyes are all the more clouded over in sweet nonsense as Eddie pushes his hair into something that doesn't resemble a sad brown mop.

"I can't…remember where…" Steve mumbles, trying to break free from Eddie's hold but ultimately failing. He lets his head drop against Eddie's neck.

"Okay, let's get you back to bed, alright?" Because that's what you're supposed to do with people who sleepwalk right? Never wake a sleepwalker, that's what they say isn't it? "Hold my hand, it's OK Stevie." Pressed up close against him, Eddie breathed in the smell of Farrah Faucet spray and citrus shampoo and led Steve back into his bedroom, hand in hand.

"How about you try to stay in bed now," he says, leading Steve as he leans against him, skin warm and citrus and weary against his own, feeling a little too much like something Eddie wants to keep holding onto.

"Got somewhere to be,"

"Not right now, cmon," Eddie gently eases Steve down onto the bed, and surprisingly, Steve lets him. Not long after, Eddie is beside him, holding onto him tight once more.

In the morning, Steve wakes up confused, like he's surprised he managed to stay in one spot all night, but doesn't mention anything about sleepwalking. He does ask Eddie, "Did you sleep well? I didn't wake you, did I?" and Eddie just kisses him, tells him, "Best sleep I've ever had. You should stay around more often."

And when Steve agrees, Eddie decides not to bring it up.

It happens a few more times after that. Not all the time but more often than not Steve will stay over Eddie will wake up to him wandering about the house. The majority of the time it's stupid stuff; Steve sluggishly pacing around the room, Steve mumbling sweet nonsense to himself, Steve trying to take a shower in the hallway. Pretty harmless stuff.

Except for the time it isn't.

That time, they're in Steve's house, big and empty. That time, Eddie wakes up at 4am and just barely catches sight of Steve's fleeting figure down the stairs. Like most times before, Eddie is quick to follow him down the stairs towards the living room, staring blankly out the window. A metallic glint flickers across Eddie's eyes. His eyes widen with concern when he realises it's a kitchen knife. Steve doesn't move, but he's breathing real heavy, like he's just waiting for something to happen.

"Steve, darling." He begins, hating how his voice is cracking. "Will you come back to bed? Please?"

This time, Steve shakes his head. Frantic. Paranoid. Eddie watches his grip on the knife tighten.

"Can't." Comes the raspy, hoarse reply. "The lights. It's out there. Swear I saw it. I swear-!"

Softly, Eddie shushes him before he can get more worked up. He stays put a good six feet away, entirely out of self preservation. Harrington's deadly with a weapon in his consciousness and Eddie wouldn't like to find out what he does in his sleep, thank you very much.

"Saw what, love?"

"I heard a thud. It's so cold."

Oh. Oh shit okay.

Eddie isn't unfamiliar with nightmares. God, after what he saw it'd be weird if he didn't have them. After Mike's apparently real psychic ex-girlfriend cut ties with The Upside Down, Eddie was a mess. He couldn't sleep, plagued with visions of terror bat's tearing away at his flesh bit by agonising bit. He can't count the number of times he called Steve in the late hours of the night in need of reassurance. To tell him that it is over now.

Steve was a rock for him. Eddie almost envied him, with how easily he managed to readjust back into normality. Never did it cross his mind it might've all been a facade.

"Steve," Eddie begins, firmly and unwavering. Slowly, he begins to etch more into Steve's space. "Listen to me. The gate is closed. Vecna and the rest of his little hell beasts are gone."

In front of him, Steve doesn't move. He doesn't even appear to have heard Eddie at all.

Eddie swallows, trying to push the thought that maybe, after so near death encounters, Steve's finally gone mad, come undone at the seams, and this is what his mental state has come too: armed with a scarily sharp knife, ready to fight any sudden movement.

"Do you think you could put down the knife, dear?" Eddie suggests lightly, gently touching the outside of his hand incase Steve needs some sort of anchor to come back to. Underneath the edges of his fingertips, Steve's touch is warm, his pulse comfortingly steady, and Eddie holds onto it, selfishly, a little longer than he should have, that tightness he is becoming so acquainted with returning to his chest. He then slips his hand further within Steve's own, carefully taking the knife from Steve's grip and interlocking their fingers as if it were the most natural thing ever. As if it had always been that easy.

"There we go," Eddie praises as he places the blade down on the coffee table. "See? All better now."

"Better…"

"You're safe, Steve. I'm safe. Everyone is safe. Those things can't hurt you anymore."

"But- the lights-"

"Are fine." Steadily, Eddie begins to back out of the room, gently pulling Steve along with him. "Now let's get you back to bed, yeah? You still gotta get your full twelve hours of beauty sleep don't you?"

A dopey smile ghosts across Steve's lips as he huffs a laugh. It's barely anything. But it's enough for Eddie.

"Yeah you do," he teases. They're in the bedroom now. Eddie guides Steve underneath the duvet. As soon as he hits the soft cushions, he curls around himself like a child, protecting himself from the intangible cold or phantom nightmares, while refusing to loosen his grip on his boyfriend's hand. Eddie feels his throat close.

He has questions. How long has Steve been having these nightmares? How many of them result in sleepwalking? How many of them are violent enough to grab a fucking kitchen knife? Why didn't Steve tell him sooner?

But they can wait until morning.

[brooooswriting]

Hi. I really love your writing. I would like to request a natasha x female reader shot. They have been dating for a long time, which started only two months after y/n joins the team. They are a very happy couple. One day, y/n had a mission with clint and he ended up getting injured. Natasha blames y/n as he is her best friend and they met long before nat started dating y/n. Even when y/n said that she did try to protect clint, nat did not believe her. They had a huge argument and nat says something that hurts y/n. After the fight, y/n try to patch up her relationship with natasha. Even when nat keeps hurting and ignoring y/n, she never gives up. Two weeks after the fight, they have a mission together with Yelena. Nat stays on the quinjet and yelena and y/n enter the base. They were then ambushed. Even though y/n is already injured, she just thinks about keeping yelena safe as she is afraid that nat will get even more angry at her if yelena is injured. Yelena get out unscathed but y/n is seriously injured. Before she pass out on the quinjet, she says " i hope you are no longer angry at me. i saved your sister." at natasha. Either y/n survives or not i will leave that up to you. Please keep it long and as angsty as possible. Sorry for the long request. I just really love your story. Happy writing.

Your fault

Natasha Romanoff x reader (romantic), Maria hill x reader (platonic), avengers x reader (platonic)

Becoming a part of the avengers was the best thing that has ever happened to you. You finally felt like you did something for the society, you used your time right and you met some of the greatest people ever. Including Natasha, the love of your life. Only two months after joining she asked you out and the rest has been history. That was now three years ago and you two were the happiest and best couple anybody knew, you were communicative and understanding. Every argument you ever had was solved in a matter of hours.

Until one particular mission.

You were out with Clint and everything went wrong. Every. Damn. Thing. It started with some wrong coordinates from a newbie you’d definitely get fired once you were out of this. You ended up somewhere completely different, making you way later than you were supposed to be.

But at that time, you and Clint thought it was going to be okay. After all the building was supposed to be empty, two to three agents at max. So you went inside with barely any equipment or weapons. The only thing you were supposed to do was clear the hardware, something the two of you had done countless times. Out of nowhere a couple of dozen agents started to appear, forming around you. It was a hard fight and you both barely got out, once you got out of the building you saw an agent aim at Clint. You immediately tried to push him away into safety, or at least out id the bullets way, but he did the same to you and in that moment he was stronger than you.

Three shots later, Clint was bleeding and slowly loosing consciousness making you carry most of him back to the jet. “You can’t die buddy. Cmon you got family” you mumbled over and over as you put the compounds coordinates into the jet before running back to put pressure on to his wounds. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. Alarms Cho, Bruce and Tony. Clint needs to go into the OR immediately” Clint was shifting in and out of consciousness. “You shouldn’t have jumped in the way you idiot” you grumbled as tears formed in your eyes.

Twenty minutes later you arrived. Clint was unconscious and the moment the jet touched the ground doctors streamed in and got Clint out. One doctor and Maria hill walking towards you, you had some scratches, some bruises and one deeper wound on your stomach but nothing against Clint. You saw Nat running alongside Clint, it hurt you a little that she didn’t even look for you but you got it. She knew him for such a long time and after all he was the one who saved her. “Are you alright?” Maria asked as she saw the blood seeping through your uniform.

“Yeah, I’m good” you told her with a smile that was way less convincing once you stood up and nearly fell over. The S.H.I.E.L.D agent was quick to catch you with her arms around your waist and helped you into the hospital wing of the compound.

“What the hell y/n” Natasha said as she stormed towards you, an angry look on her face as Maria helped you sit down on a stretcher. Before you could even open your mouth she started to scream. “How could you let this happen?! He has a family and now he’s bleeding out in the OR” she was heaving and her eyes were squinting at you.

“I’m sorry Nat, he-“ she didn’t even let you finish before she started to scream at you again. Alerting everyone in the wing.

“You’re sorry? Do you think that is going to fix anything? No, it isn’t! You should have done something! You should have thought this through. But no, of course you didn’t. Why didn’t you do anything? Why weren’t you more cautious?”

“I tried to do something, I tried to push him away but he did the same to me Nat. Do you think I wanted this? Don’t you think I know that he has a family?” You asked, your voice still calm as you didn’t wanna fight. You were scared for Clint and everything hurt, the last thing you needed was Natasha screaming at you and giving you the fault for things that you already knew were your fault.

“You tried? You tried to push him away? How can you fail at something so easy?! God, you’re useless. He has people that love him and value him, not like you. It should have been you y/n, you should be laying in that OR fighting for your life. Because your death wouldn’t even impact half as many people as his does. You don’t deserve to sit here with a small wound crying, you should be in there dy-“ before she could finish Maria jumped in, all of the other avengers standing around you too shocked about what just happened.

“That’s enough Agent. Leave the room right now” she ordered making the redhead scoff but leave, everybody else still standing around your bed. You tried to keep your tears in as best as possible as you didn’t want the team to see you cry. “Everybody out, right now” nobody dared to argue with her so they quickly left the room, Wanda shooting you a soothing smile.

The moment the room was empty you cried into Maria’s arms. “Do you wanna sleep over tonight?” She asked carefully, understanding if you didn’t wanna see Natasha tonight. But before you could answer one doctor spoke up.

“She’s sleeping here tonight. It seems like hydra experimented with some substances that makes them heal slower and it makes everything more painful, so we wanna keep an eye on that” he explained before leaving.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No, it’s alright. I guess you got a lot of paper work to do now” she chuckled slightly at you. “But for real, it’s okay. It’s just one night but thank you” not long after she left, but not before bringing you a book and some tea.

Three hours later Tony came into your room, shawarma in his hand and your phone and headphones. “I thought you could use something to eat and an update about Clint. Turns out the bullets were infused with something that thins out his blood which is why he lost consciousness so quickly, but the bullets hit nothing vital. We could get the bullets out and stitch him up without any problems. He’s connected to some blood and should be up in an hour” he explained as he gave you the food, a small smile on his lips.

“Thanks tons, but I’m not hungry and I’m happy to hear that Clint is alright. When he’s awake can you tell him that I am deeply sorry?” You asked, looking at your hands instead of Tony. There was a moment of silence, and you knew he was contemplating wether to say something or not but he decided against it and only gave you an okay before leaving.

Two hours later the door opened again and Wanda entered. While you were happy to see the witch you had hoped that it would be Natasha. “Hey” she mumbled as she sat on the chair next to your bed, two teas in her hand and a book under her arm.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You asked as you took the tea and thanked her.

“Well, everybody is camping next to Clint’s bed and I could hear your thoughts scream. So I thought you could use the company” she explained, placing a hand on yours in a comforting manner.

There was a moment of silence after she told you that Clint was doing well. “What Natasha said was out of line y/n, you don’t deserve that and there are a lot of people who would have missed you” she said as she looked up from her book.

“She was right, he has family and so many people that love him. The only person that loves me, or well loved, just told me that she actually doesn’t. But I promise I tried to protect him Wanda. I really did” the witch took your hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“I know y/n, the memory keeps replaying in your head and it is so loud that I can’t blend it out. But you know, when Pietro died sacrificing himself for Clint and that child I was devastated and so mad at Clint. It took me a while to realize that there was nothing that Clint could have done to stop him, and that I had no reason to be mad at him. But it took me some time you know?” Her voice was so soothing that nearly all the weight of the terrible day fell off of you.

The next day you were finally let out of the hospital but you weren’t really allowed to do anything. After a long discussion with the doc you could finally convince him to keep quiet about your condition, if he would talk about it it would just steer up certain arguments again.

The first thing you did was visit Clint, or rather you tried to but before you could Natasha appeared in front of the door. “Where do you think you’re going?” She asked in her Black widow voice, not her normal soft voice that she had with you.

“In there, I wanna talk to Clint. See how he’s doing you know, say how sorry I am for what happened” you explained, fiddling with your fingers.

“You’re not going anywhere near him. You don’t deserve to say that you’re sorry. You don’t get the relieve of having the opportunity to apologize” she hissed making you take a step back.

“Nat, come on. Can we talk about this?” Your voice was small and timid but she didn’t care. She turned and walked away as if you were nothing to her, as if you hadn’t been in a relationship for over three years.

You noticed how tired she looked so you decided to make her and Clint some coffee, hoping that that would lift her spirit. So you made each coffee to their liking before putting it on to a tray with a small note that read ‘you looked tired. Hope it makes you feel better. Love, your girlfriend’. You put it down in front of Clint’s room and knocked before turning and walking away. Hoping that you were giving her the space she needed.

When Natasha opened the door she couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she saw the tray, immediately knowing who had left it there. She still picked it up and carried it inside, both her and Clint could use the coffee. “Oh, that looks like y/n coffee. How is she holding up?” He asked as he grabbed one of them weakly, a small smile on his face at the thought of a hurt you still making them coffee.

“She’s good” Natasha only mumbled as she stared into the mug, avoiding eye contact with her best friend.

“What is going on between you two?” He asked her but she was quick to brush him off. It was suspicious and he was 95% sure that she did something stupid but he was too weak and too tired to solve it right there right now, especially if she didn’t wanna talk about it.

Later that day you sat in your shared bedroom with Natasha, staring at the door hoping that she’d come but no luck. When it was around 11:45 p.m. you decided to go to bed, the pain killers were slowly wearing off and everything started to hurt again, so you laid in bed and hoped for her to come and hold you.

She did come, at around 1 a.m. but she laid as far from you as she could. She made a point of not touching you as if you were contagious. It broke your heart even more but you just pretended to be asleep.

The next morning you woke up before her to bring her breakfast in bed which turned out to be a very stupid idea. When you arrived with the breakfast on a tray the redhead was already awake checking her phone. “Hi, I made you breakfast” you mumbled as you put the tray down on her nightstand.

“No thank you” was the only answer you got, she didn’t even look up.

“But-“

“Do you think that everything is just forgotten? Or that some lousy breakfast is going to undo everything?! The only reason I came back here yesterday is because Hill got my old room and Clint told me to go sleep in a real bed” she hissed making your eyes tear again.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave” you told her as you grabbed the tray and disappeared into Hills room. The brunette sat on her table working on some paperwork when you came in. “Want some breakfast?” You asked her with a small smile.

“Oh, thank y- what happened hun?” She asked when she saw your red eyes, she had been your first friend here, she was the person who recruited you.

“It’s alright, can I just lay here for a bit and watch you work?” You asked carefully and immediately received a nod, so you settled into her bed and watched as she tipped and scribbled and did whatever she had to do.

The next days were exactly the same, you tried to fix whatever you and Natasha had while she destroyed all your attempts. You cooked for her? She threw it away in front of your eyes. You bought her something? She gave it away. You entered a room? She left. You tried to talk to Clint? She wouldn’t let you. You tried to talk to her? She’d say something rude. You could deal with the being rude but what really broke you was the ignoring and neglecting you, it was as if you hadn’t spend three years together.

The whole team could see that it broke you, Hill and fury too. It got to the point where you were sleeping at either Maria’s or Wanda’s, too scared of Natasha’s anger to sleep next to her. Everybody tried to keep Clint out of it as he still wasn’t as fit as he was supposed to be but after 12 days of this they just couldn’t anymore so Steve decided to talk to him and explain the situation.

“She’s been ignoring her for 12 days because I got hurt?” Steve nodded at him, his lips pressed into a thin line. “But she tried to save me, I just refused to let her. Didn’t she say that?” Clint asked and Steve sighed explaining that you tried to but Natasha didn’t leave you a chance.

That was the same day that fury informed you if your mission. You, Yelena and Natasha, and while you normally loved missions like that this one was a complete horror. “Fury, please. Send anybody else” you begged him but he refused, nobody had the skill set you three had. It got even worse when he explained that you and Yelena had to go inside while Natasha stayed in the Clint jet.

The ride to the location was terrible, Yelena was on a vacation with Kate and didn’t know what happened which was why she was very confused why Nat didn’t talk to you. You sat at the far end of the jet with your headphones on, painkillers in your hand for when you were going down. Natasha flying the jet, having a light conversation with her sister unless she asked about you.

“What happened?” She asked as she saw your eyes closed and head leaning against the wall. It was weird to see you like this, normally you were upfront, singing with them and laughing.

“She nearly killed Clint, she’s… just forget it. We are there in 2, wake her up” with that Yelena made her way towards you, carefully shaking your shoulder.

“2 minutes then we arrive” you nodded and got everything, already putting your parachute on your bag and getting a water for the painkillers.

“Alright we are here. Remember, get inside unnoticed, there shouldn’t be anyone really, get the hardware and then outside again. Is that clear?” You and Yelena nodded as you opened the bottle.

“Don’t kill my sister” was the last thing Nat said to you before turning to her sister. You were quick to take the painkillers and put the bottle away, only Yelena noticing it. You already knew that the fall was going to hurt your stomach.

When Yelena gave you the go the two of you jumped, carefully landing a couple of feet away from the facility. “What did you swallow before we jumped?” She asked forgetting to switch to a channel where the redhead couldn’t listen. You closed your eyes with a sigh before shaking your head at her and pointing towards the jet making her mouth a sorry as you walked towards the building.

“What?! What did you swallow y/l/n?!” Natasha kept on nagging until you finally snapped.

“I took some painkillers alright?!” After that you just tuned her out, she was distracting you and that was the last thing you needed. “You keep watching, I get the hardware alright?” You asked Yelena who stood at the door and gave you a nod as you started. “Nearly done” you mumbled after a minute, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

Suddenly there was an explosion in the room next door making you jump. You quickly got everything you needed before pulling Yelena towards the exit. Your way was suddenly interrupted by an agent pointing a gun at you. “Natasha, we are being ambushed” Yelena said into her intercom while you tried to figure out a way out. You quickly shot the agent before pushing Yelena into a room on your left side.

“Get into the vents” you told her, already getting rid of the covering. “You will follow that vent until you get to the roof. We will meet up there alright? The moment Nat is there you get onto that damn jet” you helped her up, while she protested of course. “See ya” you told her as you pushed the cover back up and exited the room, Yelena seeing how you were immediately circled by agents. In the minute she watched she saw you nearly getting shot two times and some blood forming on your lower abdomen.

She stood on the roof for five minutes before Natasha arrived but she refused to go up, she needed to see you alive. “Yelena Belova! Get up here right now” her sister screamed into the intercom but she refused.

“Not until she’s here, she was bleeding” the blonde said shortly before the door to the roof opened, a bloody you exiting.

“What the… Belova, get up there right now” you screamed over the distance but she shook her head.

“No! You’ll need help up, so come on” she was right, you could barely move, your hands were pressing against your lower abdomen as your stitches ripped open and getting up that ladder was going to be a fight but you couldn’t care less right now.

Suddenly you became suspicious, it was too empty and quiet. So you looked around, focusing on every detail until you saw it; two snipers, their guns showing your and Yelenas way. “Fuck, move Yelena” you screamed but she was too focused on you to notice so you took of. You pushed her out of the way and made her stumble, she held onto the ladder giving you the opportunity to completely save her. So before the bullets his you you called out to the redhead. “Pull up Natasha”

And she did with Yelena holding onto the ladder. The blonde could see the two bullets penetrating you, you falling to the ground and suddenly agents storming on to the roof. There was a puddle of blood forming around you. “I hope you’re no longer angry at me Natasha. I saved your sister” you weakly mumbled into the intercom before it went silent.

“What are we gonna do Nat?” Yelena panicked as she climbed up the ladder. Her sister immediately standing up and checking her over.

“Are you alright?! Do you have any wounds?” She asked her, tears pooling in her eyes.

“No, the moment it got dangerous y/n pushed me into a vent and made me go to safety. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let her do that. We gotta get her Natasha” the redhead shook her head, the tears now streaming down her face.

“It’s my fault. Not yours. I’ll figure something out” she mumbled as she kept checking Yelena for injuries.

“No, you’re gonna come back here and we will figure something out together Agents” Fury’s voice sounded over the coms making Yelena flinch for a second.

“No, we can’t leave her here” yelenas protest was immediately shut down by her sister and fury. There was nothing she could do for you at the moment.

“What happened?” She suddenly asked after a longer while of silence, turning towards Natasha.

“What?”

“You heard me. What happened during my vacation? You ignore your own girlfriend, you neglect her, you leave her to die. So I’m asking you again, what happened?”

“She nearly killed Barton”

“What?! I saw him today, he was hurt but fine Natasha. What are you talking about?”

“They were on a mission and she came back slightly hurt while he nearly died in the OR, because she couldn’t protect him. He has family Yelena” Natasha told her, a harsh glare on her face.

“So you are leaving her to die because she couldn’t protect a grown man who is doing that job longer than she does?! Unbelievable” we’re Yelenas last words before they touched ground, she was immediately of the jet.

“Romanoff. Clint needs you in the hospital wing” Steve said, making the redhead run. She nearly crashed into dozen of people, ignored everyone who tried to talk to her and finally crashed through the door.

“Finally. Took you long enough” Clint said as he sat on a chair in his hospital room, book discarded on to the table.

“What the hell?! You are fine. I thought you were dying” she said accusingly, plopping down on the chair in front of him, her breath slightly heaving.

“No, but I’m gonna be the reason you’re dying soon if you don’t get your shit together” he was dead serious making Natasha furrow her brows when she looked at him.

“What do you mean with that?” Her tone was slightly shocked.

“I mean that you have been ignoring your girlfriend for like what? 2 weeks? Because I got hurt? How stupid can you be? It wasn’t her fault Nat, she did what she could but I didn’t let her. So you’re gonna get your ass up and into your room and you’re gonna apologize to that girl until she’s not mad at you anymore. Because god forbid you two break up, my kids really like her” he finished his monologue and just stared at her. “Oh no, what are you not telling me?” He asked once he realized that something was wrong.

“We lost y/n, her and Yelena were ambushed. She did everything she could to get Yelena out unharmed, she was shot and we had to leave her” now that the adrenaline was going down she realized what just happened. Or rather realized what has been happening over the last two weeks.

“Romanoff. Burton. We need a plan to rescue y/l/n” Tony said as he and the team entered. “We have only hours until we loose the last trade of her” he added as they sat down around the table.

“I’m sorry, are you speaking about y/n y/l/n, the one who came here with a lower abdomen wound?” The doctor who has been in Clint’s room spoke up making everybody turn to him. Maria nodding her head.

“She wasn’t allowed to go on a mission, her wound hasn’t even nearly healed. The substance she came into contact with at the mission slowed her healing process immensely” he explained before going away, leaving the team to do their stuff.

“Why didn’t you know that Natasha?” Bucky asked, overwhelmed with the situation.

“Because she decided to ignore y/n because of a mistake that wasn’t even really hers” Wanda said, glaring at the redhead. Suddenly a whole argument started to develop, until Bucky, Yelena, Wanda and Maria just stood up.

“Where are you three going?” Sam asked breaking the argument.

“We are gonna go find y/n” one of them answered.

“Wait, I’m coming along” Natasha said as she also jumped up. Her last words to you couldn’t be “don’t kill my sister”. She was met with a scoff from one of the girls but still decided to follow. The rest stayed and tried to work out a plan.

Two hours later the five arrived at the station, something in these two hours happened to Nat. They didn’t know what it was but it was definitely needed for the mission, she was laser focused and a war machine. Nobody hit as many targets as she did, she was cruel as if she really cared about you again.

“We will go different ways, hoping that we can find her faster. Yelena, wanda you stay down here, Bucky Natasha and I will go through the rooms upstairs. Say something the moment you got her, we wanna get out of here as fast as we can” the brunette commanded before walking her team up the stairs.

“Bucky, left side. Natasha, around the corner. I will take the right side” and they did, the redhead disappeared behind a corner. Kicking down each door, praying that you’re behind it, sitting on a chair with a small smile, just waiting for them to save you. But she was so so wrong when she heard Bucky gasp though the intercoms.

“I got here, third room left side” he said alerting you all. In a matter of seconds Natasha sprinted past him to kneel next to your lifeless body. She fell to her knees, her hand hovering over you unsure of touching you.

Yelena came sprinting inside too, falling to your other side. Her hands immediately went to check your pulse, “there’s none” she mumbled making everybody stop in their tracks. Suddenly Natasha’s body rocked in sobs, Bucky stared straight ahead, Yelena let her tears fall silently, Wanda tried to feel a pulse herself while Maria left the room to cry.

After a minute she came back inside. “Bucky, can you pick her up and carry her to the jet? We can’t leave her here, she deserves a real funeral” the brunet said.

“I’ll do it” the redhead mumbled and picked you up, she had already wrapped the jacket she took with her around your abdomen. Even if you were already dead. She pressed you tightly to herself, breathing in your scent what would be the last time. She couldn’t believe it, her last words to you were “don’t kill my sister” and that was the reason why you died.

Everybody sat in the jet, there was an absolute silence as Yelena flew them all back down. Your corpse laying on the bed not far. “She can’t be dead, I can still feel her. She just can’t be” Wanda mumbled as she looked at your body, her tears streaming down her face.

The whole compound was devastated when the jet landed, you were brought into the hospital wing again where they classified you as dead. “I’m sorry but there is nothing I can do for her. She’s dead” the doctor told the team after checking you and closing your abdomen wound. “If you want to we can already order a coffin and get somebody to plan the funeral” he added with a ‘comforting’ smile.

“No, she can’t be dead. On the jet Wanda said that she can still feel her so that means that she can’t be dead” Natasha cried out as she watched your bloody body. “She can’t be. This can’t be the last thing she heard from me and the last thing she remembered from me. She can’t be dead” it broke all their hearts to watch her cry like that, they had never seen her cry. Some tears? Yeah but full on crying? Never.

Clint and Steve tried to calm her down but she only pushed them away, her body hunched over yours. “Let’s give her some times. She needs more time to say goodbye to her than we do” Tony said and gathered everyone out of the room, except the redhead.

“I’m so sorry love. I was so terrified of having to tell Laura that Clint died that I just, I fucked up and I didn’t realize. You can’t believe how much I hate myself and I hate myself even more when I think about the fact that I can never tell you how much I love you and how sorry I am” she whispered as she cleaned your arms with a sponge. “Even though I know that you’d never forgive me, I really wish you were here right now. Screaming at me for being an idiot” Tony stood at the door and watched her talk to you.

“I can’t believe I didn’t appreciate the last time I saw your eyes” she cried into your shoulder, one arm carefully wrapped around your stomach as if she could hurt you. Tony decided to leave the two of you a bit longer, even though she treated you like shit he couldn’t imagine how much it must hurt her to never be able to fix it.

“We should give her an hour more” he said as he came back to the others, everybody was looking for comfort in each other. Even Fury coming back from wherever he was to say his last goodbye to you. Wanda struggled the most though, something was just not right.

“If she’s dead, why can I still feel her?” She cried out, everybody looking at the ground. Not knowing how to answer her.

“Let’s go, we have to say our goodbyes” Fury said and stood up to lead the group to your hospital room. By now Natasha fell asleep in the position, making even Fury’s eyes water.

“Wait, Natasha” Tony called out, carefully waking the redhead up. “Did you wrap her arm around you?” He asked when he noticed your position changed. She shook her head not realizing what he meant. “Get up Nat, Bruce give me the stethoscope” the spy jumped up and Bruce quickly gave him the stethoscope. “Wait- I can hear something” he told them once he pushed it to your chest.

“Y/n?” Natasha called out as she pushed past Bruce back to your side. “Her hands are warmer” she realized as she grabbed your hand again.

“Let me try something” Wanda mumbled, her hand glowing red in front of your forehead. “I can feel her stronger now, she’s dreaming” a small content smile build on Wanda’s face, the first one since you went on that mission.

With small help from Wanda you woke up, your eyes fluttering as your face was filled with color and your heartbeat strengthened. “Yelena?” Was the first thing you got out shocking everybody. They were guessing that you’d call for Nat or Maria since she’s your best friend but Yelena? Sure, you were friends but still.

“Yeah?” She asked as she pushed her way through to you, pushing past sobbing Maria and Natasha. Her hand carefully found yours as your eyes looked into hers.

“You alright right?” You asked a small smile on your lips as you saw her smile and shake her head.

“Yes, I am. Thanks to you” both of you chuckled before Maria and Wanda threw themselves at you, hugging you closely just to hear you breath and feel your heartbeat.

“What happened?” Steve asked into the room, the question was directed towards you but also towards Tony. You were dead, no questions asked.

“They gave me a shot, muttering something about me dying slowly and painfully. It definitely was both of that, except for the fact that I didn’t really die I guess” you explained, still confused about… well everything.

“I’ll send the scans and blood work to my lab. Bruce, let’s go” Tony said before hugging you quickly. He hoped to figure out what happened to you.

Tony seemed to have set an example as everybody else hugged you before ‘giving you some time’ which was meant to be a code for ‘talk to Romanoff’. She kept back while everyone was there, silently crying in the corner of the room. She didn’t know what to say to you, there was nothing she could say that would make her behavior right. Never.

Once everybody was out you started to slightly shake and spoke up. “It hurts Nat, it hurts so bad” you mumbled as you tried to hug yourself to give some comfort.

“I’m sorry, give me a sec I’ll hook you up on an IV and some painkiller” Natasha told you and quickly worked around you, carefully inserting the needle into your arm. “There, it should get better now” she said, one hand instinctively coming to your cheek.

“We should probably talk about what happened huh?” You said, your body still shaking but the pain going down. Nat nodded timidly unsure of what to say and where to start.

“I- I am so so so sorry for what I said, it was completely out of line. And don’t even let me get started about my behavior. I was so scared of having to tell Laura that Clint died that I just snapped, which was stupid because everything I said was so so wrong. Fury, Nick Fury, leader of S.H.I.E.L.D came here today because you died, you know what kind of honor that is? There are so so many people who would have missed you if you were dead. Including me, I deserved to lay in that OR dying for what I said, not you. You had done everything you could” she told you, her eyes red from the constant crying and her voice small and unsteady, which was new for her.

“You hurt me so bad that I thought I deserved to die Natasha” was the only thing you said, you could see her flinch at the usage of her name. You almost felt sorry but in the end was she the one who has started it.

“I know, and I hate myself for it. And I would get If you wouldn’t wanna give me a second chance but if you, by any means, feel like giving me the opportunity to fix what I destroyed I’d happily take it and I wouldn’t disappoint you”

You thought for a moment but the fact that you were here, still alive after you were dead makes you believe that maybe this was your guys second chance. “I’m not saying that it’s okay, because it definitely isn’t but I appreciate that you apologized and you have the opportunity to make it right” you told her, proud of yourself for standing up for yourself and not just backing down.

“Thank you” she mumbled over and over again as she pressed kisses all over your faces causing a giggle to erupt from you.

Who knows if Natasha can really completely fix what she broke but she’d try for the rest of her life if that’s what it took for you to forgive her.

A/n: not the biggest fan of this but I hope you like it anon :)

[writeforfandoms]

Let the Sparks Fly

Find my Ghost masterlist

For @glitterypirateduck 1-4-1 challenge! I used thunderstorm/rain, power outage, neighbors, and forced proximity!

You meet one of your neighbors in the elevator, and a storm knocks out the power at the worst possible time. At least your neighbor is nice.

Warnings: Power outage, total darkness, brief moment of panic, swearing, soft Simon, brief jumpscare.

Simon Riley x f!reader

Word count: 2k

The rain had chosen the worst possible moment to come, getting you before you could get inside. Your groceries were undoubtedly wet as well now. But you were almost to your building, walking as close to buildings as possible in hopes that they’d help block some of the rain. 

Someone ahead of you turned and opened the door to your building, and your foot caught the door before it could close. He paused, glancing back at you over one massive shoulder. You didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t exactly unusual. 

You’d only moved in a couple months ago, you hardly knew all your neighbors. 

Offering him a shy smile, you shuffled inside with your groceries, shoes squeaking slightly against the floor. You eyed the stairs for a moment and then shook your head. Nope. No way. You were taking the lift. 

The man got to the lift before you, stepping in and moving aside. He was big, taking up a good portion of the space, but you still stepped in next to him. 

The button for your floor was already pushed.

Your heart clenched. Okay. No big deal. He just lived on the same floor. That was perfectly reasonable, really. Trying to be sneaky, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

Tall, broad. Black face mask, black beanie. Plain gray shirt and jeans. Seemingly paying you no attention at all, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

The lift shuddered to a stop, and you tensed, hands gripping your bags tightly. You had just enough time to wonder if the lift had died (again).

The lights went out.

You froze. You’d never been overly scared of the dark. Cautious, yes. You’d suffered enough stubbed toes and barked shins to be aware of where you put your feet. But not usually scared.

This, though. This made you scared. Between the small space, the sudden darkness, and the stranger, you were scared.

Sudden light made you flinch, nails digging into your skin. But it was just the man’s phone, flashlight function on and pointed consciously down at the floor. 

Oh. Of course. You didn’t have to stand here in the dark. Well, now you just felt foolish.

“You alright?” Dark eyes focused on you over the mask, though he kept his body half angled away from you, keeping the light from pointing directly at you.

“Yeah,” you agreed quickly, shifting your weight and rolling your shoulders. “Think the lift died?” 

He grunted softly, looking back down at his phone. A few moments of silence, then he shook his head. “Power’s down,” he murmured. 

“Great,” you muttered with as much sarcasm as you could muster. Well. Might as well put your groceries down. No telling how long this would take. You set the bags against one wall, stretching out your fingers. “Suppose if worse comes to worst, I can always eat the ice cream.”

A soft huff of amusement caught your attention, and you looked at your quiet companion. He glanced at you before looking back down at his phone, big fingers nimble as he typed something. Even in the relatively tight confines of the lift, he kept to his own space, conscious in a way so few men were. 

“How long do you think this will take?” You couldn’t help asking. You knew he had no idea, same as you. You just… had to ask. Had to do something with the almost-jittery feeling. You weren’t claustrophobic, never had been, but this situation still grated at your nerves. 

His gaze lifted to you again, dark eyes assessing, before he shrugged one shoulder. (One rather giant shoulder, you realized. He truly was massive, which made his self-containment all the more impressive.) “Got somewhere you need to be?” His voice was low, a little rough. Pleasant. 

You blew out a breath, letting it puff out your cheeks along the way. “Just laundry,” you admitted dryly. “Very exciting, you know.” 

He chuffed, not quite laughter but something close to it. “Only if you spot rats.”

“In this basement? There’s more than one kind of rodent down there.” You made a face. 

He raised one eyebrow at you, wordlessly inviting you to go on. 

“There’s this guy that lives on the third floor,” you started, leaning back against the nearest wall. “He’s kind of a rat. Fortunately I don’t see him often.” 

He nodded once, seemingly amused. “I’ll keep an eye out for him,” he agreed, glancing back down at his phone. “Battery’s getting low.” The way his gaze flicked to you made you blink.

He was telling you specifically. So you had warning.

“Let me turn mine on.” You scrambled for a moment, fishing your phone out and flipping the flashlight on. His turned off a moment later. With a soft sigh, you gave up and sat on the floor. “Somehow all the stories about getting stuck places forget the sheer boredom aspect.”

He puffed out another not-quite laugh, crouching slowly across from you. Still careful to give you your space. “Lotta hurry up and wait,” he agreed blandly. 

With a sigh, you gave up and started playing on your phone. There was nothing else to do, after all. The two of you were trapped until the power came back. 

“How long have you lived here?” You chanced a glance up at him to find he’d sat down properly, back against the wall. 

He shrugged, dark eyes once again focused on you, surgical mask obscuring most of his expression. “Why?”

“Haven’t seen you around before. Not that I know all the neighbors, or even everyone on our floor, I’m just curious.” You wrinkled your nose at yourself. Great conversational skills, there. 

But he surprised you. “Not around often,” he offered, in lieu of an answer, apparently. 

“Got it.” You forced yourself to straighten your back and shoulders, knowing from experience that you’d be sore later if you stayed slumped over. It had been nearly half an hour already, so you twisted a little to grab your groceries and check them.

The ice cream was definitely melting, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. Actually, now that you thought about it, you were cold too. Still damp from the rain, stuck holding still in this enclosed space… Damn. You were gonna catch a cold from this. 

“Melting?” 

You blinked, jolting back to yourself at the question, and nodded with a wry smile. “Seems that way,” you agreed, looking at the carton regretfully. “You want some?”

He shook his head. “Keep it,” he urged you softly. 

You poked the carton once more and huffed, giving up on it. You’d have to get more ice cream later. The shiver caught you by surprise, making you huff again. 

“Alright?” The question was careful.

“Just cold,” you admitted wryly. “I’m fine. Not dying of boredom yet.”

He snorted softly, head tipping away from you again. 

Time passed slowly, dripping by, interspersed with your shivering and very quiet swearing as you distracted yourself. Your ice cream was definitely never going to be the same after this. Fortunately everything else should be fine. 

Unless you died of boredom first. 

Your head jerked up suddenly, eyes wide as you fixed your gaze on your neighbor. He looked back at you, alert, almost wary. 

“So I just realized how rude I’ve been,” you said, embarrassment creeping through your chest and up your neck. “Haven’t even introduced myself yet.” You gave him your name, fingers tapping anxiously against your phone. 

He was silent for a long moment, still looking at you. Then he nodded, just once. “Simon.” 

You nodded to him and looked back at your phone. The battery was getting low, and you didn’t want to run it down entirely, just in case. So you sighed softly, resigning yourself to suffering in the dark for a while. 

“Have to turn off my light,” you warned him, waiting for the nod of acknowledgement to actually do it. 

The darkness was total, almost heavy with how instant it was. You couldn’t see a single thing. You blinked rapidly, knowing it wouldn’t help, but still needing to anyway. Right. This was fine. No problem. No big deal. You closed your eyes, since you couldn’t see anyway, and focused on breathing. Though muffled, you could still hear the rain very faintly, the constant patter soothing. 

Now if only you weren’t so damn cold. 

Time was weird and slippery as you sat there in the dark, huddled into yourself. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed without checking your phone, which you tried not to do. It wouldn’t help or change anything. 

“Doin’ alright?”

The soft question nearly made you jump. Your head turned a little towards him, though you couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”

He paused, and something made you think he was weighing his words, rather than simply going silent. “Can practically hear you shivering, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, well.” You clenched your jaw against another shiver, harder than before. “Not exactly warm in here.” 

He huffed softly. Sudden light from him checking his phone made you blink, the light extra bright now. “Still working on getting power back,” he reported. “Going back up around the city, so it’s only a matter of time.” 

You blew out a slow breath, oddly touched. Had he checked that just for you? “Right. Thanks.” 

Silence and darkness fell between the two of you again, and you curled tighter in on yourself. You were tired and cold and you really just wanted to be in your flat by now. Even if the power was still off, at least you could change into dry clothes and wrap yourself in blankets. 

The lights in the elevator flickered a few times before turning on properly. “Finally,” you muttered, pushing quickly up to your feet, leaving your groceries on the floor for the moment. You’d grab them when the elevator started moving again. You noticed Simon getting to his feet as well, a little more slowly. 

The elevator groaned, an odd noise you’d never heard it make before. You tensed, eyes going wide, darting to Simon for some reason. He was just as still as you.

The elevator dropped. Just a few inches. 

But it was enough to make you shriek, curling in on yourself. A moment later arms curled around you, helping steady you even as the elevator car jolted, and then stilled. 

“‘S alright,” Simon murmured, quiet and soothing, though he didn’t let go of you. Your shaking wasn’t entirely from cold. 

You breathed in raggedly, fingers curling into his shirt, still shaking. “What…?” You couldn’t even finish your question. 

“You’re okay,” he repeated, still soft, still gentle. He didn’t release you, his body heat bleeding into you, the security of his arms lending you courage. The elevator had stopped again, the lights weak but on. You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. 

The elevator started again, moving up, and you jumped. Simon didn’t say a word, just held you a little tighter. Normally, someone getting this close that you didn’t know would be alarming. 

But it wasn’t. He wasn’t. You just felt… safe. And finally less cold. 

“D’you want a cuppa tea?” you offered. Well. Blurted, more like. When he looked down at you, one eyebrow raised, embarrassment flushed hot up your chest and face. “Just tea! Really! I mean, I just got a new box, and you’ve been so nice, and I might still be a little bit freaked out right now and I’m rambling please tell me to stop–” You cut yourself off at his soft huff of laughter. This close, you could see the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. 

“You need to warm up first,” he said, only releasing you when the doors opened. He scooped up your bags before you could and stepped out, you trailing in his wake. 

“Right,” you muttered, chagrined. Of course he didn’t want to come hang out in your apartment. He hadn’t known you for long. Wow. Way to go, self. 

“Which one’s yours?” He looked back at you, pausing in the hallway. 

You considered him for a moment before you stepped in front of him, going to your door and unlocking it before you held out a hand for your groceries. “Thanks.” 

He considered you for a long moment, not relinquishing your bags. Then he nodded once. “Give me ten minutes,” was all he said, bags changing hands before he strode down the hall. 

You blinked after him. Ten minutes? Why…? 

Oh. Oh. 

He was saying yes!

…Shit you had to clean. 

[heich0e]

"Shhh.... shhh...."

The baby in your arms doesn't calm, even as you gently bounce him in time with your soft shushing. He's fussing, letting out shrill little cries of complaint and the occasional sob, his chubby cheeks flushed a harsh red and his round blue eyes welling with the glimmer of tears.

"Oh, poor baby," you whisper, running your fingertips through the dark, downy hair at your son's temple. He sniffles weakly, grabbing a fistful of your shirt and clutching it with all his might in his teeny tiny hand, another pained little whimper slipping out of his pursed lips.

You glance over to the other side of the nursery where Tobio stands, watching you with a concerned pinch to his expression, his hands unconsciously gripping the material of his sweatshirt over his diaphragm. His eyes—swimming with a palpable, but unspoken worry—are on the baby in your arms, and they don't waver.

Tobio hasn't calmed since he woke you frantically an hour prior.

"Hey..." his voice had called for you, crackling unmistakably with panic. You could feel the mattress dipping as he kneeled at the edge of your bed, an urging hand on your back to rouse you. "Please wake up."

Your son's cry was the next thing you registered—the piercing sound of your baby shrieking from a few rooms away. Tobio's frightened face met you when your eyes finally snapped open

"What is it?" you asked, sitting up suddenly in bed. Your voice was still thick with sleep, but you felt terribly, horribly awake in that moment—your husband's expression enough to startle you into the firm grip of consciousness, the prick of panic's gnarled claws spearing through you.

"There's something wrong with the baby," he had rasped next, and if you'd not immediately stumbled out of bed towards the nursery you might have caught the sight of tears beading on his lash line.

There isn't anything wrong with the baby, at least not anything serious, in spite of Tobio's initial panic. He is teething, though—rather intensely if the fierce red flush to his cheeks and his his tears are anything to go by—and nothing seems to be working to calm him down.

"It's okay, Tobio," you say softly to your husband, assuring him at the same time as you soothe your wailing 7-month-old with those continued gentle bouncing motions.

"He's so upset," Tobio replies quietly, swallowing hard. "I tried to calm him down but I didn't know what was wrong, and he—nothing I—he just—"

"Hey," you cross the nursery towards him, keeping baby tucked up against your shoulder and rocking him gently. "You didn't know. It's okay."

Regardless of your assurances, Tobio looks defeated.

"Tobi, why don't you go get one of his teething toys?" you suggest, shifting your son so you can get a better look at his distraught little face—rubbing your thumb against his chubby cheek to clear away some of his tears. He squirms in your arms in protest.

"Okay," the man beside you replies immediately, his head bobbing in a nod. He heads hastily towards the door.

"Maybe grab a cool compress for his cheeks too."

He nods again, dashing away.

"Poor little one," you sigh, cradling your baby to your chest as you tote him over to the chair in the far corner of his bedroom. "It must be so hard to be this small, huh?"

Tobio comes racing back into the room a few moments later, a variety of different teething toys and a baby-sized washcloth dampened with cool water in his hand.

"What's all this?" you ask him, watching as he drops his hoard of items on top of the dresser next to you.

"I wasn't sure which one he'd want," he says, looking down at the wide assortment of teething toys. He glances over at you sheepishly from the corner of his eye.

"Why don't you pick one out and see if he likes it," you say with a soft smile. Tobio nods resolutely, a determination in the set of his jaw. He looks down at the multitude of options he'd grabbed and considers them for a moment.

You watch as he reaches for one—a firm rubber toy shaped like a giraffe, designed for babies to chew on to soothe the ache of cutting teeth. You remember the day Tobio had picked it out, a look on his face not dissimilar to this one—intensely focused on the task—when your son still just a little bump, a fervent hope, hidden away under a Schweiden Adlers sweatshirt. You remember thinking the giraffe reminds you of the character on the milk he used to drink at lunch in high school, all those years ago.

He holds the toy up for you to see.

"I think that's a great one," you agree.

Hesitantly, Tobio approaches you and your baby in the chair, kneeling on the ground beside it. He slowly offers the little giraffe up to your son, whose eyes are heavy with the sleep that can't come to him through the pain of teething. The infant in your arms stops fussing momentarily, contemplating the toy held before his face with round, curious eyes.

He looks so much like Tobio.

You've thought it since the day he was born, but the fact becomes more true with every passing day. Sometimes you see a bit of yourself in his little face, an expression, or maybe something in the shape of his nose, but for the most part he's a carbon copy of his father.

But you don't really mind that.

Tobio watches with identically round blue eyes as your son pulls the slobbery little hand he'd been gnawing on from his mouth and uses it to reach for the toy. Both of you hold your breath.

He pops the giraffe immediately into his gummy mouth, head first.

It's too soon to breathe any real sigh of relief. You're both all too familiar with how quickly the tides of a baby's temperament can change—discontent flooding back violently just when you least expect it. But there's a palpable ease in both of you. A bit of the stress of the situation receding from the shore.

Tobio's eyes are still on your son, resting on your chest as he gums the toy his papa picked out for him. He's fussing less now, and when Tobio reaches up and gently pats the cool compress against his chubby, ruddy cheeks, the baby's eyes begin to slowly but surely flutter closed.

It's quiet in the nursery. Just the occasional gurgle, or slobbery little noise from the teething toy to be heard.

"He's so little," Tobio breathes, lifting the compress off baby's cheek now that it's mostly warmed through. He says it like he almost can't wrap his head around it, or that it's news to him, even though it's a remark he makes to you at least once a day—and has since the day your son was born.

"He is," you agree.

"I can't believe he won't always be this small," your husband goes on to add, and part of you wonders if this is the exhaustion talking. You stifle a laugh, letting your head loll against the back of the nursing chair to peer over at him.

"We'll miss this someday, y'know," you remark quietly, your tone a bit wry. And you mean it. All of it. Even the late nights and the loud crying and the panic.

The corner of Tobio's lips turn down ever so slightly, and you watch as he rubs at his chest, like it pains him.

"I feel like I already do sometimes," Tobio admits. "Like I miss him even though he's right there."

Your son's breathing has begun to slow to a normal, even pace, and his eyes have properly shut. You rub a little circle into his back with your thumb, your hand wide enough to span its width if you splay your fingers out.

Tobio looks at you with beseeching eyes. "Is that normal?"

You laugh lightly, reaching out to cup his cheek with the hand not holding your baby to your chest. He leans into your touch instinctively, his nose brushing against the heel of your palm as his eyes seek yours.

"I don't know," you admit to him quietly. After all, you're still new to this too. "Maybe."

Tobio nods a little with his face still cradled in your hand, his eyes fluttering down to your son once more.

And as you watch your husband carefully pry your sleeping son up from your chest and into his own arms; watch how he holds him in his big, big hands like there's nothing more precious in the world; watch how tenderly he sets him back into his crib, making sure the little giraffe is still safe in his little grip, a flash of pride behind his eyes at how attached the little boy is to the toy he chose for him; there's a warm, achy feeling that blooms underneath your ribs.

And you can't help but think that even if it isn't normal, you understand exactly what he means all the same.

[dancingtotuyo]

Overtime

Joel Miller x F!reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: You and Joel fight over the remote as adults do.

Warnings/Tags: language, established relationship, handjob (M receiving), some restraint, insinuated that Joel is larger than reader (he can move you around), implied sex, football references, Joel and reader being menaces to eachother

Words: 1165

Notes: Let’s try this again! Tumblr flagged the first one (tumblr you prude!) written for @iamasaddie’s moodboard game! I had so much fun writing this! And seeing everyone else’s creative genius with their moodboards! Huge shoutout to my love and fellow sportsball enthusiast, Angela @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, for letting me talk through stuff and beta reading! And last but not least, @saradika for the divider!

Joel is used to lazy Sunday afternoons on the couch. Typically committing Saturdays for errands and projects, he’s tried to use Sundays as a day to spend time with Sarah, but she’s out of town with her best friend until this evening. Which is how Joel finds himself spread out on the couch, the warm sun pulling through your window on the other side of town.

The tv hums with the voices of the sportscasters over the Cowboys’ game. He can hear you bustling around in your bedroom, two threads keeping him tied to consciousness.

There’s the distinct sound of your footsteps and the channel switching as the broadcaster’s voices change. They’re leading into the late game.

“I was watching that,” Joel says, gruffly.

“You’re sleeping.”

“Am not.” Joel runs a hand over his face, slowly blinking his eyes open. “Just resting my eyes.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “Okay, Dad.”

He eyes your backside as you’re engrossed in the pregame commentary. Dressed in the familiar light blue of your well worn Houston Oilers shirt, a smile spreads across his face. “Is that really what you want to call me?”

You flip him off.

Joel bites back a laugh. He reaches out, pinching your bottom firmly between two fingers. You squeal, spinning to face him. “Joel Miller,” you say, crossing your arms.

“C’mon, Sweetheart. The Oilers left Texas years ago. They ain’t even the Oilers anymore,” he prods, knowing he’ll get a rise out of you. “Turn the Cowboys game back on. It’s almost over.”

“My aligiance is not dependent on the location of my team.” You stick your tongue out. “The cowgirls should’ve put the Giants away by now. Not that you would have noticed.”

“Rude.” He scowls.

“My house, my rules, Miller.”

He lets out a sound that reminds you of a growl and before you have time to tease him about it, his arms are around you, pulling you down to the couch with him. You laugh as his lips press to your neck right where you like it.

Your laughter quickly turns into a soft moan as your head dips against his shoulder. His fingers skirt under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft flesh of your stomach. “You like that baby?”

You nod your head as soft whimpers fall from your lips. Joel chuckles again. His arm slips around your waist, tugging you flush against him.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs in your ear, fingertips trailing down your wrist.

If you thought you couldn’t melt anymore, you’re wrong. Something akin to a whine escapes your lips as you turn your head to kiss him. You’re so close to his lips when his slow chuckle turns to a laugh and the tv remote slips from your grasp.

He flips the station back just as the Cowboys are kicking off for overtime. Before you can react, he tosses it across the room, holding you against him.

“You jackass!” You strain against him, trying to break free.

“I’m just trying to finish my game.”

“You barely started it before you passed out.”

“Wasn’t sleepin.” Joel’s voice is still gruff in your ear.

You try to wiggle free, but it’s useless. He knows from more than enough experience how to keep you in one spot.

You get more anxious as the minutes tick by, shifting as you can between his legs.

“They’re about to kick off,” you fuss at him.

“Overtime will be done soon.” He pats your thigh placatingly. “We’ll turn on your Oilers’ game then, or whatever they’re calling themselves now.”

You roll your eyes.“The Titians?” You shift again.

“I know my teams, Sweetheart.” Joel nips at your earlobe, eyes trained ahead. “And quit shiftin.”

You furrow your brow, until it hits you, literally. His cock presses into your back as a slow smirk spreads across your face. “Why? Is this affecting you?”

You rub against him more intentionally this time. His breath grows ragged in your ear. His hands move to your hips, desperate to stop your motions. He’s not going to let you win the game.

Try as he might, he doesn't have the sheer strength to keep you immobile. Your hands drop to his thighs, fingers trailing the inner seam of his jeans.

You glance behind you. Joel refuses to look at you, a slight twitch in his set jaw. You’re not sure he’s actually absorbing the game anymore.

Your hand creeps up, landing between the two of you as you palm his erection.

He lets out a low groan, gripping your wrist. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

You smirk. “Who said I couldn’t?”

He groans, back hitting the couch, but keeps a hold of your non-dominant hand, tethering you to him.

You pop open the button of his jeans and his cock springs free. You raise an eyebrow at him. “This is a new development.”

“Had to make things easier for you.” He winks.

You scoff, tracing a vein with your finger tips. “Such a pretty little cock.”

“Little?” He teases. “Ain’t nothing little here, Sweetheart.”

You spit in your free hand before gripping him. You run a finger over his tip, spreading out the precum that’s begun to leak. Joel’s head hits the couch with a low groan.

Using your tongue and hands, you waste no time working him to the edge. You’re far enough into your relationship to know how to get Joel off with quick efficiency.

His hips thrust up. “Fuck, Just like that, Sweetheart. You know how I like it.”

His eyes are closed, chest heaving with desire. He’s all but forgotten about the heated overtime match playing on the TV.

You could finish him off right here. Two quick moves and you know he’d make a mess right here, but his grip on your wrist loosens just enough for you to slip free.

The moment your warmth is gone, Joel’s eyes open. He’s dazed, looking blissed out on your couch. He makes eye contact with you, and you shoot him a wink before flipping the station once again to your football game.

Joel groans, rising to his feet. Laughter settles in your bones. He’s trying to look menacing, but his features are still clouded in lust and desire.

“That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Neither was turning off my game in my house.”

He rips the remote from your hands, tossing it to the couch. He grabs your hips, spinning you toward the wall.

Your hands spread out against the dry wall with a thud, breath catching in your throat as heat floods your body. “Suppose I need to teach you a lesson now, Sweetheart.” He drags out the nickname as if there’s nothing sweet about you.

Shivers rush down your spine. You’re not sure how much of a lesson he teaches you, but it’s worth missing the first quarter.

Joel doesn’t know how his game ends until the halftime report and quite frankly, he doesn’t care.

[theorphicangel]

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Tags: enemies to lovers, college au, smut, 18+, slow burn,

synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.

Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.

(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

taglist: @oharasfilipinawife @palesatan @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @amelialysm @crimin4llyins4ne @strawberryjuice9 @beezusvreeland @faretheeoscar @lunablackcosplay @t4naiis @peachey-pie @mcmiracles @hardlystrictlystarwars @migueloharastruelove @fruityfucker @kingtwhiddleston

series

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Chapter 5: Crime and Punishment

Miguel would be lying if he said that he’s been able to sleep well lately.

He’s been lucky to get any sleep at all.

He’s managed to fit into the college lifestyle pretty decently. He’s set up a routine that he follows religiously: Wake up, work out, coffee, read up on pre-lecture notes, lectures, eat, work shift, lab work, eat, study, read up on his post-lecture notes, sleep and repeat.

That's all he can do here. Ever since he’s arrived onto campus he’s been successful in maintaining a bubble away from…all of that shit going on at home. It’s been a pretty useful distraction.

But…something that he can’t consciously admit to himself, is that being in a bubble means leaving everything that’s going on at home on a backburner.

Miguel stares up at his ceiling from his bed, his hands behind his head, resting on his pillow. If he stares for long enough then he can just about match up patterns from the wall paint and if he stares for even longer than that, then they start to slowly move. He’s been awake for a few hours now, only managing to make it to around 3am before waking up or rather jolting awake. But he’s used to early mornings. Always was.

Unexpectedly, his phone begins to vibrate on his bedside table. He frowns, his alarm isn’t due to go off for five more minutes. Leaning onto his side, he peers over at whomever is calling him at this hour. His screen brightens up with the caller ID.

‘Gabriel is calling….’

Miguel stares at the phone for what seems like forever until it stops ringing.

A minute later, just when he thought he was in the clear, text messages began to come through. One right after the other.

Gabriel: (sent 6:56am)

- I know you’re awake mig’

- Look, if you’re not going to answer, fair enough, but you’re going have to face it and communicate with us one day.

(sent 6:57am)

- Just talk to mamá por favor. If not now then it’ll be worse at thanksgiving.

- Trust me.

Miguel places the phone down after reading the messages from his home screen. He chews on his bottom lip, a mix of emotions beginning to grow in his gut. He’s not sure what they are exactly but they seem to make up the familiar combination of anxiety, guilt and fear. He curses to himself under his breath, rubbing his hands across his face.

‘Por dios, you’re so pathetic. Tonto, what are you doing?’ [fool]

He can’t help but reflect on his avoidant behavior, he knows what he’s doing but he just can’t seem to muster up the courage to face his problems. He knows that going to college is essentially him avoiding his problems and he knows that he’s in the wrong for leaving his brother to try and pick up the pieces despite Miguel supposing to be the older sibling.

Falling back into his avoidant behavior Miguel pushes his thoughts away with a sigh and forcefully drags his limbs out of bed.

He’s about to head to the bathroom to brush his teeth when another text comes through from Gabriel.

And this one is impossible to ignore.

Gabriel: (sent 6:01am)

- ‘Also…why is your car for sale on Craigslist?’

- ‘For 69 bucks?’

Miguel: (sent 6:01am)

-What?’

/

“Girl, are you okay?”

MJ’s voice snaps you back out from reality and you stumble over your words in giving a reply.

“What? Oh, uh– yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

It was an obvious lie, but MJ doesn’t get paid enough to deep dive into your problems and judging by your body language you’d rather she not say anything at all anyways.

Telling your mother – or rather — lying to your mother that you had a boyfriend has to be one of the stupidest things that you have ever done. And trust me, you have done many stupid things.

But where the fuck were you going to get a boyfriend? And most importantly, who?

Lyla had suggested Peter at first and you had too but that was before you realized that he had an ever-growing crush on MJ. And like I said, you don’t get paid enough to care but you’re pretty sure that she likes him back. Now more than ever, you’ve been noticing them together, often third wheel to their awkward but cute interactions together. He’s nervous and chatty but she’s a good listener and you figure that they balance each other out.

Now only if you could find someone like that. Someone that your mom would believe that you’re dating. Maybe you should ask Peter if he has any friends who are available. Maybe you could–

Your thoughts are disrupted by the sound of MJ calling your name. You glance over to the counter to where she’s serving a customer and by the looks of it…it’s a very well-known customer.

“Someone wants to see you.”

As she tells you so, you can’t help but notice her tone indicating a tone of flirtation between you and this particular customer but once you see the look on his face, you know that it will never get to that point.

Miguel is the one standing by the counter and a chill runs down your spine when you meet his eyes. He’s staring at you, unblinking, with his jaw forcibly clenched.

Shit, you think, he definitely knows by now.

“Uh, sure.” You say, putting down the towel that you were currently wringing with your hands. As you make your way around the counter you try your best not to look nervous as you approach him.

“Outside.” He murmurs, his tone and face grave.

You follow him without a single word, a hole of anxiety opening up in the pit of your stomach.

The two of you make it outside, the bitter October air nipping at your bare arms. Wrong day to wear a short sleeved shirt, you think to yourself, attempting to distract your mind from the tension of the conversation that you’re about to have. You can feel your cheeks begin to go cold and you cross your arms in a failed attempt to maintain your warmth.

“What the fuck is this?” Miguel shows you his phone screen.

You could tell he was seething, despite him seeming to maintain his calm externally. His phone screen is open on a website browser illustrating an advert for a car and you recognise that it’s his car.

It was your advert.

You squint your eyes, pretending like you’ve never seen it before. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Don’t keep up the bullshit. I know it was you. Who else would do this shit to me for revenge?”

You shug, attempting to seem nonchalant. “Maybe you have a lot of enemies out there Miguel, especially with the way that you treat people.”

Miguel frowns, a crease appearing between his brows. He opens his mouth to speak yet you manage to beat him to it.

“How’d you even know that was me? It’s not nice to throw accusations around y’know?”

Miguel snorts. “And you know what else is not fucking nice? Selling other people’s cars!”

At the sound of his raised voice, you look around to see if there was anyone approaching. It was early morning, the morning lecture coffee rush awaited you in just fifteen minutes. By then you had to get rid of Miguel.

You were infuriating him by the second, it was beginning to grow clear that your innocent trick was not working. That deep pit of anxiety in your stomach began to grow larger and larger, your palms getting sweaty in the process.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have done it if you were a little nicer to people and if you hadn’t posted that review.”

“Oh, so it was you?”

Shit.

Miguel continues on. “It’s illegal to sell other people’s property without permission, you know that right?”

“Of course I do.” you lied. You stammer for a few seconds, searching for an excuse. “You nearly made me lose my job for fuck’s sake.”

“You didn’t lose it.”

“Nearly!”

“But you’re still here aren’t you?”

You groan aloud, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. “You’re acting like such a jerk!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t even have proof that it was me. That’s not my email account.”

He clicks his tongue. “Quit the lying, it doesn’t look good on you. Plus, Peter told me you were looking for my car.”

Remember earlier when you said that lying to your mother about having a boyfriend was the stupidest thing that you had done? Yeah, well scratch that.

“You could get criminally charged for this, do you realize that? Attempted theft or whatnot. And then not only would you lose your job but it’d get you suspended from the university too.”

Your face falls. “I wasn’t actually going to sell it–”

“But it seems like you didn’t think about that did you?” His tone was venomous, sharp enough to cause physical pain to you.. You can’t help but feel as if he was getting some sort of pleasure out of this, out of threatening you. “Not so smart are you? I’m almost glad that I caught you, if Peter didn’t tell me–”

“If you’re going to go to the cops then I’ll take full blame.” You interrupt. “Peter had nothing to do with this.”

Miguel raises a brow. “I didn’t think you’d take full responsibility.”

“Yeah, well I don’t like to do bad things to innocent people.” you spat.

“Innocent?” He repeats. “Wow, tienes sentido del humor.” [ ‘you’re quite the comedian’ / you have a sense of humor’]

You bite down on your lip. “I'll take it down but you promise not to drag Peter into this?”

Miguel nods. “You have till the end of the day to take it down.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“You won’t call the cops on me?”

He shrugs. “I can’t promise that I won’t and–” Miguel points a finger at you to stop your interruption. “There’s nothing that you can say that would change my mind if I do.”

Your shoulders defleat. Great. You’ve just somehow managed to make your life a living hell all for the satisfaction of revenge.

“Oh.” He turns around to face you. “And for your information, I deleted the review ages ago.”

It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in.

Oh great.

“You fucking–”

“What? Bastard? Jerk? Go ahead, call me all of the names you want, nena. Don’t you think that you’ve done enough damage for once?”

Ouch. You’re not even sure how to respond to his last comment.

You remain silent as you stand on the curb watching Miguel leave, your fists are curled up by your sides. Your nails dig into your palms until it hurts, trying to distract your mind from the full tsunami of anxiety that paralyzes your body.

What the fuck do you do now?

You don’t think that your life could get any worse than this. Not by a mile. In less than 48 hours you’ve managed to be not only a liar but a criminal.

As you step into the cafe there might as well be a visible gray cloud over your head. MJ knows not to ask any questions as you return back to your station. She gives you a longing look, wordlessly asking if you were okay. Ignoring it, you keep your head down, trying to bite back your tears until the end of the shift.

‘Keep it in until the end of your shift.’ you told yourself. ‘Keep it all in.’

You: still nil*

Miguel: 2

*[point redacted due to illegal activity]

leave a comment to lmk if you would like to join the taglist!

[whumpback-wail]

05 - Divulgence

Trial by Fire (Wriothesley x Reader) - TW/CW in masterlist

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IMPORTANT NOTICE: Reminder that this fanfic contains dark and mature themes. The TW/CW are in the masterlist and are constantly updated as I add each chapter. Please reread the warnings, proceed only after you reread the warnings. If you don't like/can't handle the topics mentioned in the TW/CW, please DO NOT read. This work is 100000% fictional and any similarities to real life people and events are purely coincidental, and none of the characters (especially the villains) are real. Again, please DO NOT read if you are not certain you can handle these topics or are in a bad place mentally. Minors are strictly forbidden. I only create content, and I am not responsible for your personal content preference and moderation.

They say being pregnant means everyday is another day closer to meeting the love of your life. One anticipates meeting the fruit of their love with their spouse, looking forward to the bright sunshine days of taking care of that precious someone.

(y/n) did not understand that feeling. In fact she felt the exact opposite, as she slid down the walls of the bathroom, legs too weak to support her own weight. The pregnancy stick in her hand fell to the floor, bouncing to a stop face up, showing the positive sign. Why does this happen to her? What did she ever do to deserve this?

She has to call nurse Komaki, she will know what to do. The thing was still a cell after all, with no soul not consciousness, it should be perfectly fine. It would be so much more cruel to keep the innocent being and let it be born, only for them to later be neglected and unloved. No child deserves that. Not even one born from being forced into her womb by the person she despised the most.

It was nearing lunch, and she knew her fiancé would be back by then, he always makes time to have lunch with her. She has to tell nurse Komaki fast.

(y/n) took several deep breaths to calm herself, and then slowly got up to her bed again, pressing the call button.

A few moments later, she heard the door open.

"Nurse Komaki, I-" (y/n) turned her head, and came face to face with a different nurse altogether. It was not Komaki.

"I'm sorry, nurse Komaki is away right now, her shift will start later tonight. Is there anything I can help you with, miss (y/n)?"

(y/n) blinked back her tears, "n-no. It's okay, nothing too serious."

The nurse stood there, contemplating. "Are you sure miss?"

(y/n) nodded, racking her brain to think of an excuse or anything to justify calling a nurse to her room for nothing. "oh umm… may I have some water please?"

"Sure. It will be delivered here in a moment. Don't hesitate to call me if there's anything else that you need, okay?"

(y/n) hummed and thanked her. She watched as the nurse exit her room. She wanted Komaki, she's the only nurse (y/n) trusted at this moment, especially with something like this.

It wasn't long until the water is delivered to her room, which arrived at about the same time as Wriothesley.

He greeted her with a smile. It normally made her feel safe and loved, but right now, (y/n)'s heart sank to her stomach

"Hey, how's my sunshine doing?"

He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. Wriothesley knew he should be careful around her, as her therapist had suggested to him, at least until she is less jumpy and can initiate affectionate gestures more. So far she's taking his affections very well, which made him happy about her progress.

"As usual," (y/n) forced a smile, briefly looking into his eyes before quickly averting her gaze back to her hands. She picked at a loose string on her blanket. 

Speak more, he will notice something is off.

"The healers were a great help to my physical injuries. But they kept stopping after a little while, saying I should rest up because the sped up healing is also draining my energy."

Wriothesley nodded, "I was told, yeah. How's your stomach? Got anything you're craving to eat?"

(y/n) froze. "What?" She managed to not stammer, but her voice cracked as her heart was suddenly frozen with fear. Did he find out? How did he know-

"Just wondering how your stomach felt." Wriothesley tilted his head, confused. It was a small quirk she had found endearing.

"The doctors did say you can only eat soft food for a while to avoid refeeding syndrome, but yesterday you were finally allowed to start eating bread and some fowl. Also because you threw up yesterday."

"Oh…" (y/n) felt stupid, "it's alright now, although I don't really feel like eating."

Wriothesley watched her for a moment. He has always been someone perceptive, that's how he knew who to trust and who to avoid in meropide while still serving his sentence, and that's how he could rise through the ranks and become the duke, despite his humble beginnings. At that moment, something is off about his fiancée.

“Darling are you okay?” he took her hand in his, his other hand brushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear, “I feel like you have something weighing your mind. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

For a moment, (y/n) wavered. Is it really okay to tell him about her pregnancy? She knew Wriothesley wouldn’t blame her, after all, what happened was not something she wanted, far from it. So technically it’s not her fault right? But a small nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her to just keep it to herself for now. There were too many what ifs. It’s safer to just keep quiet about it and deal with it under wraps. She’ll tell him, of course she will, but not now.

“I’m fine,” she forced herself to look into his eyes, a small smile on her lips. “Just wondering how much longer I have to stay cooped up in here.”

Lunch went well with Wriothesley, he told her about his day. He went back to the Fortress of Meropide for a while, to keep an eye on how things are going there, before coming over to her for lunch. After this he planned to proceed with investigations, and perhaps wrap things up early so he could spend more time with her after dinner.

(y/n) managed to eat a little more, despite the anxiety induced nausea, at least enough to not make her look suspicious.

Once lunch was over, Wriothesley gave her another peck on the forehead and left to continue with investigations, with promises of taking (y/n) to the gardens near the hospital once the doctors gave her the clear, and perhaps visit Navia and Neuvilette, as the two are also her friend, as much as they are to him. He wanted more than anything to stay with her the whole time she recovered, but seeing how she often flinched if he moved a little too quickly, or how her eyes often went blank as if she was not really there, he knew he had to do something about it. The therapist assigned to her told him that she may need some time to process through the trauma, and that it was natural that she would be jumpy for the time being, and would need some space too, as stifling her would also be bad for her mental wellbeing.

He already discussed all the options, and what’s best for (y/n). Once (y/n) has recovered some more physically, and once she is ready, he would take her home and nurse her back to health. He would appoint someone else as the Duke of Meropide if that was needed to get him more time off. Right now, he has something else to do.

He did not tell her that he would be going back to the facility, specifically the hidden passage they found inside her cell. Chlorinde had done a great job in capturing the man, living up to her title of champion duelist.

The entrance was so well hidden in the room, so much so that they had to get Aether to use his elemental sight to find. They had followed the hidden maze-like pathway in the room (y/n) was kept in, and it had led them to an underground base, perhaps their real base of operations. Several men were captured, including Dougier, they seem to work directly with Arderne who unfortunately was nowhere in sight. They were all taken into custody. Wriothesley tensed as he remembered their findings.

"Wriothesley you might want to see this." He turned his head towards Neuvilette who a moment ago was rummaging through papers on a desk. The Iudex now held out a file towards him, his face grim.

The Duke took the file and opened it. There were more papers, this time it contained more detailed reports of experiments done to the people. He ruffled through the pages, skimming the words for one specific name. He found it.

Experiment Clearance Form

Title: Vision Trial Variation 2

Principal Investigator: Il Dottore

Assistant: Arderne

Subject: 1102 a.k.a. (y/n)

Vision: Pyro

This form acknowledges the approval of the experiment titled "Vision Trial Variation 2" conducted by Arderne. The experiment aims to implement the theory of vision injections on humans, followed by observation to discover the effects.

The experiment poses high risks to participants. Potential risks include memory loss, increased body temperatures, seizures, and the possibility of death. Steps have been taken to mitigate these risks. Subject is physically weakened before the start to lower the chances of the body rejecting the injection, thus increasing the success rate of this experiment. On the occasion that this experiment would fail, the study will move on to Vision Trial Variation 3, and the current subject will be discarded.

Fuck.

“Did we find any traces of Arderne?” Wriothesley’s voice dropped several octaves, Neuvilette knew what this meant.

“There are none so far,” he placed a reassuring hand on Wriothesley, “But we do have Dougier now, and we are taking him and the others to custody. We can get more information out of them-”

Wriothesley shook him off and landed a harsh kick on a table to the side, immediately breaking it. He wanted to murder them all, especially that bastard Dottore. He had heard rumours of him doing crazy experiments, but to think it happened right here in Fontaine, with his fiancee? His breaths were shaky with barely controlled rage.

“Wriothesley, I understand how frustrating this is. (y/n) is also my dear friend.” Neuvilette spoke in the most soothing tone he could muster up. “Trust me, I am just as upset as you are in this, but we have to keep a level head. For (y/n)’s sake and all the victims that were forced into this.”

They were deep underground, had they been up on the surface, they would see heavy rain mixed with snow, and thunderstorms raging outside, the weather mirroring the Iudex’s inner turmoil on the entire situation.

• • •

(y/n) wondered if she was dead or dreaming the moment she saw herself on the familiar bed of her room in the facility. Dr Arderne was standing at the foot of her bed reading through the information on his clipboard, while Dougier was securing her arms and legs with restraints.

She had been too weak to resist, having been starved for days without food, the only nutrition she got was through her IV drip and glasses of suspiciously blue coloured water, which she had no choice but to drink.

"Good morning 1102, ready for the next dose? Arderne readied a syringe. It was filled with shimmery red liquid, the glow seemed to pulse the closer it gets to her.

"F-Fuck you Arderne." (y/n) managed to mumble, making Dougier snicker.

Arderne held (y/n)'s arm and injected the contents of the syringe into her. At first it felt like nothing, but gradually she could feel it start to burn, as if fire was coursing through her veins.

It wasn't long until the burning sensation started to feel unbearable. Hot white pain spreads from the point of injection to all over her body. She bit her tongue, trying not to scream, she will not give them the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. She won't-

(y/n) jolted awake, her breaths heavy and ragged and her heart was pounding in her chest. Fuck.

It was a dream. She was safe. It was just a dream.

The room she was in, despite being a hospital room, it was completely different from the facility, with flowers her friends and fiancé got for her, and the comforting weight of her big blubberbeast plushie that Wriothesley brought from their bed at home. She hugged the plush tightly and pressed her nose to its soft fur. It smelled just like Wriothesley, as he had sprayed his cologne all over it, something she often did even before… all this.

(y/n) tried to remember what her therapist had told her. 

My name is (y/n), I am at the Fontaine hospital, guarded by the Spina di Rosula, Wriothesley stays with me during the night, and stops by for lunch. I am safe, and I am recovering.

Her therapist told her that her dreams would eventually go away as her mind heals, but how long will that take?

Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was still early, too early for Wriothesley to come back from his investigation. He had left a book with her some days ago, which she picked up and started to read, trying to get her mind off things.

As she reached for the book on her night stand, suddenly (y/n) felt the familiar tingle in her hands, running all the way up her arms. It was warm and welcoming, it felt like home. A split second later, the book she was reaching for suddenly burst into flames.

• • •

Wriothesley watched Neuvilette from behind the one way glass as the latter asked Dougier more and more questions. The Iudex had presented all the evidence they found on the table. Laying it all out for Dougier as he asked question after question that Dougier only gave vague answers to, sometimes only responding with chuckles. The scum was a goner, his mind seemingly corrupted by the facility.

He wanted to be the one who personally interrogates the vile man, but Neuvilette had forbidden him from entering, for fear of what Wriothesley would do to the suspect. Still, watching from behind the glass was frustrating, he wished Neuvilette would let them do interrogations in Meropide, where it was outside Fontaine’s jurisdiction, so they could use other means to get information.

“This is going nowhere,” Wriothesley mumbled and pushed open the door leading into the interrogation room. Fuck the consequences, he’ll probably just get an earful from Neuvilette later.

At the sight of Wriothesley, Dougier’s eyes lit up in a nasty way that the Duke did not like at all. “Ah your Grace, here to play the bad cop now?”

“Seeing how you’re going nowhere with Neuvilette, I might as well do.”

Wriothesley grabbed the chair at the corner of the room and dragged it over to sit beside Neuvilette, who was glancing at Wriothesley cautiously.

“So do you feel like talking now Dougier? I thought you were a changed man after you were released.”

Dougier only scoffed, “then I had you fooled. You have no idea what kind of grudge I hold against you, Wriothesley. You ruined the community I built in Meropide.”

“Community? You call that community? You basically started a cult, and no one liked being in there.” Wriothesley scowled.

“Nevertheless,” Dougier continued, “I had my revenge. You should have heard how much (y/n) screamed when Arderne injected her vision into her.”

Wriothesley froze. He knew about what happened but hearing it from Dougier was different from reading it on the files they found.

Dougier, seeing the change in Wriothesley’s demeanour, continued. “She was a brave one, that bitch. Endured hours upon hours of our treatment, sometimes without anaesthesia. And that was after we put her in solitary confinement. We were wrong thinking we broke her spirit already, and yet she’s still fighting.”

"And you did this to all the people in the Vision Trials?" Neuvilette asked, the pen in his hand moving to take notes.

Dougier ignored him, his eyes still glued on Wriothesley's.

"How can we reverse the vision injections?" Wriothesley asked, trying to keep his breathing steady. He knew he couldn't try anything with Neuvilette around.

"You'll have to ask Arderne for that," Dougier leaned back on his chair, "but all I know is while (y/n) is still alive, she's a failure. She had her vision inside her yet it never seemed to work, not even when we prompted her."

"What do you mean prompted her?" Neuvilette asked, and this time, Dougier turned his eyes to him..

"Oh we threatened her, and when it didn't work, beat her, did whatever to make her call on her pyro element and use the vision in her. That never seemed to work."

Wriothesley and Neuvilette were tense, the former had his fists clenched so hard.

"That was when I took her to the basement, the cold weather should prompt the vision to at least keep her warm." Dougier turned to Wriothesley, a deranged look danced in his eyes as he smiled at him.

"I can see why you like 1102. She was so brave. She never once begged or called out for you even with all the beatings, that is, until I put my cock inside her-”

Suddenly Dougier was on the ground. Wriothesley had moved so fast Neuvilette barely registered him vaulting over the table and landing a fist on Dougier's face. He managed to hammer down his fists onto Dougier some more before he felt multiple hands pull him backwards off Dougier, who was unconscious in a bloodied mess.

"GET OFF ME." He yelled at the gardemeks who held him back, but Neuvilette soon stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Dougier who was being tended to by medics.

"Wriothesley," his voice was stern, "the punching can wait until after his sentence. If he is sentenced back to Meropide then it is under your jurisdiction."

Wriothesley was breathing heavily, "he… he also… Archons, (y/n)..."

"I already let you land several hits on him" Neuvilette placed a hand on his shoulder, "but we need him alive for more information on the case, and for his trials."

Wriothesley watched, seething with rage as Dougier was taken away by the medics for further treatment. He wanted the scum to suffer as much as, if not more than (y/n). How could anyone do this to her?

Neuvilette sighed and motioned for the gardemeks to release Wriothesley, "I think it's best if you go visit (y/n) for now. I think you two need to talk."

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(;;;*_*)--c<ノ°益°)ノ _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):_

A/N

…now I'm sad... why do I do this to myself :") wrote this while hugging my blåhaj because I needed that warm shorky embrace.

(Tuna says hi :D and hopes everyone is okay after reading this)

I apologize for the late update, some parts of the chapter had to be rewritten to make more sense, but in the end it became longer than I planned (and I had to cut it here and continue next chapter)

Thanks for sticking around this long, I hope the update hurt you all as much as it did for me to write :"))) please stay safe and take care, and hug your pets/plushies for me 💕

P.s. I’m not sure how to write a proper experiment clearance form TwT I hope that wasn’t too off.

Taglist: @almosteggs @quuela @tempest1art @yamanaka13-blog @arseneumbra @kimmeaahh @cottonfluffs @randomidk-123 @applejayee @keigo-hawks-takami-simp @mechanicalbeat1 @aribae14 @bforbiblio @supernerdycookietrashblrr @furblrwurblr @chifuyus-kitty @bunnibabe @the-real-fandom-person

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

May I request this idea that had been in my mind

What if wanderer remembered hypasia and started telling reader all she had done for him and started comparing reader to hypasia. Reader ignores him until this man gets the fact that reader is jealous and mad because of the comparing so in the end he asks nahida to help him make it up to reader

Ty have a good day/noon/night

Yes ma'am! Sorry for this scenario for taking so long, but here it is! I love you and I hope we can marry our pinky toes together and merge in the woods and then we can die as mermaids together, then go to heaven and find each other in heaven, but then I have to fight all of heaven to get to you in the devil's lava bathtub and then we reunite and destroy all of existence but I'm sorry and I love you. :D

Scaramouche was walking with Nahida, as he was telling her his current issue with you. He was annoyed as he didn’t know what to do to get your attention, more so, for you to "get over it" per say.

"I don’t understand this childish behavior she is doing, she is making a big deal out of nothing, like what was I supposed to do?" He complained and sighed.

Nahida stopped and looked at him. "So, to restate what you have told me, you talked about Hypasia to your lover, and she got upset and stopped talking to you? What were you saying about Hypasia?"

Scaramouche looked to the side with his hand on his chin, he had one arm crossed and shifted his hips. "Well, that she and I had shares a consciousness, and that she was the only one who was well attuned of my past, compared to my lover, she only knows it through my words, or well, she doesn’t know it to the extent as he-"

Nahida interrupted him and chuckled. "If I may, interrupted. Haha, do you perhaps not see that your lover, is perhaps...jealous?"

Scaramouche looked at Nahida confused. "Jealous? Why?"

Nahida looked at him with a smile. "Lets say, your lover had an ex lover, but that ex lover knows her very well, inside and out, compared to you. As this ex lover touched her more than you, and knows her better than you."

"I...I woudn't like that, she could leave me to go back to him..." Scaramouche sighed, exposing his insecurities slightly.

"Exactly. That is what you have did to her." Nahida placed her hand on wanders hand.

"But Hypasia was just a follower, not my past lover." Scaramouche argued, trying to understand his mistake.

"Yes, but you have described her in intimate details, and farther more, you have compared her to your lover, as IF Hypasia was your ex lover. Scaramouche, your lover just feels inadequate, you hurt her with how you have been talking about Hypasia, the best thing to do is at least apologize and give her some space. It shows she loves you and cares, so please go forward with that in mind."

Scaramouche looked at her and sighed. He then looked down with his arms crossed, he had a scowl as her realized this was much more complicated then he realized. A part of him wanted to challenge you, and wanted to be resistant and stubborn. A part of him didn’t want to deal with this or take accountability with this.

But the other part of him misses spending time with you and talking to you. He cares and really wants to make things okay again. Two sides tore at him. He just wished this wasn’t something that the great Wanderer haven’t fallen down to, petty things that he had done to ruin his relationship with you.

Later on, Scaramouche walked into your house. Well, no. He walked into your window, as he never uses your door, he would always somehow gets into your house though any other entrances. He had an anemo vision after all, he utilize the ability to fly around. He entered your home through your window, as he walked to your bedroom door and knocked.

Nothing, you ignored. You were on your bed, deep in thought. You were overthinking.

About what? Well of course, your performance as a lover compared to Hypasia. You heard the knock, but ignored it. What is the point of being his lover, when he apparently had a better lover in mind? No point. You closed your eyes and sighed.

Scaramouche sighed and placed his forehead on the door. After a few moments. "Listen...I am...I am sorry for the way I compared you to Hypasia, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only had you and a few other people in my life, that is why I ended up comparing, but I never meant to hurt you. It was no...excuse of me. I..I love you. And I am sorry...I'll leave you be and give you space...if you need me...I'll be out dealing with business. I won't be coming back until you want me to..." With that, Scaramouche left and stuck to his word.

You widen your eyes and immediately sat up surprised. Pondering for a few moments, you ran to open the door, however, it was too late. He was gone. You stood there in silence, staring at the window he left from. Your arms and shoulders went limp as you slowly started to blame yourself for your emotions and reacting the way you did to the situation at hand.

[venusbby]

HI VALLLL HOPE UR DOING WELL!! can u do 31 with rin pls :3

🍁 character & prompt: ITOSHI RIN // #31. "your hair is so messy." "oh please, it's because you can't stop touching it."

note: im doing great ai, thanks for asking and i hope you're doing good too! i hope u like this <333 have a nice day/night :) # drabble game prompts here

summary: who knew rin was such a heavy sleeper that he didn't realise how he was partially responsible for his unusually messy hair.

"what. you've been staring at me for so long. is there something on my face?"

you jumped once rin said that. you didn't think he'd notice— but you should've known better.

"it's... it's nothing."

"just tell me. what is it?" rin grumbled, running a hand over his face and through his hair consciously, voice hoarse because of the long nap he had just woke up from. currently, he sat near the kitchen counter while you prepared some tea, your eyes tearing up as you yawned. it was so warm outside that once you and rin got into bed after lunch, with your arms and legs spread across each other's, you guys immediately fell asleep.

or at least, he did. while you just stared at him and gave him gentle head pats until you fell asleep with your hand still buried in his hair. it was uncontrollable. he couldn't just sleep so peacefully, snoring quietly and unconsciously clutching onto your shirt without you running your fingers through his hair. and although he would be annoyed once he found out, you knew something that he didn't.

and that something was; your lovely, sleepy boyfriend had groaned in protest when you stopped messing with his hair, mumbling something muffled, along the lines of 'don't stop.' (actually, you heard it absolutely crystal clear.)

and who were you to not go on after that? ♡

you pursed your lips to refrain from smiling as you poured the tea into two cups. softly padding over to him, you sat on the stool right beside his. your tea was scorching hot. you set the cup down on the counter in front of you and tried your best to avoid eye contact.

a few minutes passed by while rin looked at you skeptically, his fingers still twisting and turning his hair as he tried to figure out what was wrong. it wasn't like he woke up and the first thing he did was stare at himself in the mirror.

it didn't take him long to realise it. but he kept quiet about it, trying to get it out of you.

"i look like an idiot right now, don't i?" he mumbled, carefully picking up the cup to take a sip, blowing on the hot liquid first.

you snorted.

"your hair is so messy." you tried to act as if you weren't the reason why— talking as if you just observed him. "you sleep like a bear."

he couldn't believe that you were trying to blame it on him. rin was not going to lose so easily.

"oh, please," rin huffed finally, glaring at you as he took another sip, the cup covering half of his face, leaving only those icy eyes to bore into yours. "it's because you can't stop touching it."

you stiffened, "what? no."

"such a liar. you know what you did, babe."

"i didn't do anything!"

he nodded. "mhm, i'll get you back one day."

you couldn't stop smiling now. if the secret was out (at least a part of it), then nothing mattered anymore. your hand slowly reached out to touch his hair, only to be smacked away quickly.

"baby, come on." you dragged out, shifting your stool closer to his, grabbing his arm. "i cant help it, your hair is just—"

"so you ruined it?"

"i did not ruin it. you look just as adorable as you were before you slept. maybe even more..."

"no hair touching privileges for a day."

"okay, now that is ridiculous."

"don't care. suffer."

"rin!"

🍄 taglist: @yoimyas @hyomagiri @beanxiv <3 lmk if u want to be added.

[pilot-boi]

Following the NR explanation of the Rusted Knight, could we get Oscar/Ozpins? I feel like most play it off as a joke with Oz saying he 'knew all along' and that's why he let Jaune into Beacon. If you don't mind, of course.

Oscar knows that his time is limited. Every time he uses magic (his own, theirs, Ozpin’s) he can feel the edges of himself and the consciousness in his head blurring.

Is he Oscar or is he Ozma, the farm boy or the wizard? And can he even mark a difference between the two?

For Oscar, feeling too old for his body is an uncomfortable familiarity at this point. He’s gotten far too used to looking in the mirror and feeling surprised to see his own face.

Is his hair supposed to be brown? He could’ve sworn that it was gray, blonde, darker, lighter. Are his eyes supposed to be hazel? Weren’t they brown, gray, blue, silver- And older, so much older than the face they sat in.

At least that part of his face always looks right.

Feeling too old for his bones is a fate he never would’ve wished on anyone. But then his family comes back from the grave- (They used to be friends. Did he only realize he thinks of them as family after they didn’t make it through the portal?) -and his big brother’s eyes are an echo of his own.

His wayward friends tell their tale, a story of quite literally fairytale proportions. Jaune looks surprised at his own voice and his own limbs and Oscar hates how it feels like looking in a funhouse mirror.

In the back of his mind, Ozpin is silent. Even without being able to read the old man’s thoughts, Oscar can tell he’s shocked beyond words. Oscar can’t tell if that’s gratifying or horrifying.

While Jaune talks to his team, Oscar loiters outside the door. It’s probably the last thing Jaune wants to do, but Oscar needs to talk to him, needs to assure him that it gets better. A quiet part of him whispers that he’s truly a like minded soul, lying to Jaune just to make himself feel better.

“You okay?” he murmurs to himself, to the voice in his head.

“I’m just… unused to the metaphorical shoe being on the other foot,” Ozpin responds eventually. 

His voice is deliberately even. His presence has felt locked away ever since Ruby looked him in the eye (looked through his eyes) and asked “What’s your favorite fairy tale?” Oscar doesn’t know why that would make the old wizard shutter himself, but it clearly means something to him.

For his own part, Oscar can’t stop thinking about how he used to dream of living in the Ever After, how the idea of falling into another world sounded amazing. How naive he used to be.

“Out of all the stories in the world, I certainly wasn’t expecting that one to be true,” Ozpin admits, and Oscar can feel how that rankles him. The old man hates not knowing things, almost as much as he hates seeing people hurt on his watch. 

“Yeah…” Oscar leans against the wall beside the door. His hands feel too small, too big. He shoves them in his pockets. “You didn’t know, then?”

“Not at all. If I had, then-”

The door opens and Jaune steps out. Only Jaune. He closes the door behind him and slumps against it, and he looks older than ever, younger than ever. He rubs a hand across his eyes and lets out a shuddering sigh, slumping in on himself even further.

Oscar shifts awkwardly, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding on something private. He’s never seen his big brother so vulnerable, and he’s quite certain that’s the point.

He clears his throat, and Jaune jumps, his sword in his hand and his arm pinning him to the wall before Oscar can react. His eyes are wild as a trapped animal, hard as steel, and looking at Oscar like he’s a threat. He’s Jaune, but he’s not Jaune, teeth bared and hands shaking.

Oscar realizes that Jaune is scared of him. Like his old barn cat, hissing and spitting and making itself look bigger to hide the fear inside.

And then the moment passes. And Jaune looks horrified with himself.

“Oh gods-” He drops his sword with a clatter and stumbles back as if burned. Oscar gasps for air and Ozpin murmurs comforts in the back of his mind. “Oh gods, Oscar. I’m so sorry, shit, I-” Jaune’s hands are up, hovering just in front of Oscar, wanting to touch, to comfort, but too scared of himself to approach.

“It’s okay,” Oscar interrupts. And really, it is. This isn’t the Jaune who slammed him into a wall in anger. (Against Oscar? Against Ozpin? Is there even a difference?) This is a Jaune terrified of what he’s become, and how could Oscar ever hold that against him?

“It’s really not…” Jaune mumbles, miserably. His hands are still shaking. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ozpin asks, and Oscar nearly rolls his eyes at the old man’s mother-henning. 

“I’ve had worse,” he reminds Ozpin, and Jaune winces. It’s been how long for him, and he still feels guilty? “No that wasn’t to you-“

“I know.” 

“Oh.”

Jaune won’t look at him. His hands are shaking, and Oscar can’t help remembering how Jaune immediately started healing him as soon as he and the others found him in the whale. But now, not even a flicker of Aura appears on his brother’s hands. 

Did the people in the Ever After even have Aura? If they got hurt, could Jaune even have healed them? Did he try? Did he fail? How many pieces of himself did he flicker away trying to help people he couldn’t?

How many pieces has Oscar lost the same way?

“Did Ozpin know?” Jaune asks. And he doesn’t sound angry, not like last time, in Mistral. No, Jaune just sounds tired. “Did he know I’m the Rusted Knight?”

“I…” Oscar hesitates, registering the phrasing.

Not that he’d become the Rusted Knight, that he IS the Rusted Knight. Oscar wants to take him by the shoulders and assure him that he isn’t the fairytale character. But Oscar is many things, and a hypocrite is not one of them.

“May I?” The question comes and Oscar relinquishes control without a second thought, retreating to the back of their mind. He sees his posture straighten, his hands fall behind his back. “Hello again, Mr. Arc.” The voice that speaks from his mouth isn’t his own. (But it is, isn’t it?)

“Did you know?” Jaune looks wary, but resigned, like a man being led to the gallows. “Is that…” His hands clench at his sides, and he looks away. “Is that why you let me into Beacon, even though I lied?”

Jaune lied to get into a Huntsman Academy? It seems trivial in the face of immortal witches and the creators of gods, but from the swell of regret and understanding he feels from Ozpin, clearly this is something that weighs heavily on Jaune’s mind.

“No, I did not know,” Ozpin replies. Oscar can feel how hard that is for the old man to admit. “I knew of the fairy tale, of course, but I had no idea that it was true.” He chuckles. “Even by my standards, it’s quite fantastical.” Jaune  nods, but doesn’t laugh, and Ozpin sobers.

“As for your second question, it’s true that I knew you falsified your transcripts. However-” Jaune tenses, bracing for a blow. Ozpin’s expression softens. “However, your drive to make a difference, the lengths you must’ve gone to and the ingenuity needed to acquire those transcripts… Not to mention the way you inspired and led your teammates during initiation.” 

Jaune shrugs. “I mostly just got in their way.”

Ozpin smiles. “That may be so, but those traits are what convinced me to grant you entry to my school, and to make you the leader of your team. Your own bravery and drive. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Jaune nods, slowly. He doesn’t look like he believes him. Jaune starts to speak, and Oscar hates the familiar surprise at the sound of his own voice. "Would you have told me? If you'd known?" he asks, and Oscar can feel Ozpin hesitate.

"On the contrary, if I had known I never would've let you enter Beacon.” Ozpin’s voice is grave, and he meets Jaune’s eye when he looks up, clearly surprised. “I would’ve tried to convince you to spend more time with your family, to live life away from battle.” 

“I have never claimed to be without flaws, but…” Ozpin’s hand rests on the familiar weight of his cane, and Oscar can feel a wellspring of guilt in the old man’s chest. “...if I had known, I would’ve tried to save you from the fate that was forced upon me, upon Oscar.”

Hazel eyes meet blue. Too old, too young, and Oscar hates the understanding that he sees in them. “To live beyond your years is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy,” Ozpin says, “You deserved better than the cards you’ve been dealt, Mr. Arc, and for that I am deeply sorry.”

Blue eyes widen, suddenly bright with tears, Jaune’s breath hitches, and Ozpin retreats, relinquishing control back to Oscar. He rushes forward and then hesitates, remembering Jaune’s initial reaction.

But then his brother meets his eyes, (too young, too old, too familiar) and Oscar closes the distance.

So much has changed and would never be the same again, but Jaune’s hugs are still warm and all-encompassing. Even when he’s shaking with relieved sobs.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it back to you guys,” Jaune chokes out.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Oscar murmurs into his chest, and Jaune sobs. He’s here. He’s here. Oscar’s not sure if he’s convincing himself or his brother.

“How do you deal with it?” And neither of them need clarification of what he’s talking about. Feeling out of time, feeling wrong in your own body, feeling like you’ve lost time you’ll never get back.

Now faced with the reason he hung behind, Oscar doesn’t know what to say. A lie or the truth? Comfort or pain?

“By being with my friends,” Oscar replies, and he wishes it was more reassuring, wishes it was that simple. Lies and platitudes. Like minded souls indeed.

But from how Jaune nods holds him tighter, like a drowning man clutching a rope in a storm, maybe it is. Maybe it is enough.

[kittyball23]

Could you please do a fanfic about Bruce and Brandi? I’ve always been in love with married couples and now I’m just in love with them and no one talks about them! It’s killing me! Maybe how they met or something but it’s okay if you can’t. ☺️

Sure thing! I like this ship, too :)

Meeting You (a Trolls fanfic)

Slowly, but surely, Spruce came back into consciousness.

He hadn’t quite remembered when he had been knocked out, and was still not in the right mindset to remember exactly how, either. His head was fuzzy, throbbing with a dull but persistent aching, and his whole body felt like someone had beaten him senseless. He willed himself to move, but was unable to find the energy to do so just yet. Everything seemed heavy, his muscles burning with soreness and protesting against anything that would require him to shift his position.

Suddenly, somewhere in his mind, he had a dreadful thought. Maybe I'm… dead.

But his conscience was adamant to not believe that. He couldn't be dead! The life he'd had was a short one, barely two decades worth of existence, and it would be unthinkable that it could end so soon. 

Straining to search for any sign that it wasn't true, Spruce honed in on his senses, trying to pick out anything indicative that he was not, perhaps, actually dead yet. It took a second, but soon he heard it - the sound of a voice, worried at that, and a little muffled, coming from nearby. And, as his hearing equalized back to its normal level of sharpness, he came to note that it was, in actuality, coming from right above him.

"Come on... wake up..."

He felt what seemed to be a large hand pressing down on his chest, pumping rhythmically up and down against his sternum.

"Come on," it came again, in a desperate whisper this time. The pumping continued and, with the building of pressure within him, Spruce felt a substance rise in his throat, salty and acidic, and finally a violent cough sputtered out of him. He gasped for air, hacking hard for a few moments before it finally subsided. Then, slowly, he forced open his heavy eyelids. His vision swam for a moment before focusing enough to make out the basic shapes composing a face. A tall, blurry, indistinct figure hovered over him, outlined by a stunning halo glow that, if possible, made him feel even more breathless than he already was. Hoarsely, he managed to find the ability to speak.

"Am... am I in heaven?"

A light, feminine laughter met him. "No... but I guess this place comes as a pretty close second."

This place? Spruce rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times to adjust to the harsh, bright lighting, and  squinted. Now that he could see clearer, he made out the powdery white sand underneath his body, and the thick jungle-like foliage some distance behind him. Blue waves crashed at a shoreline several yards away from where he lay, in the company of whom he presumed to have been his rescuer from whatever the accident was that he'd endured. She was not a Troll, that much was clear, but what creature she was, he couldn't say he had a clue. But, even with the intriguing felt texture of her skin, stringy yarned hair, and puppet-like features that devised her characteristics, there was still something awfully alluring about her.

She was staring down at him with large, dark eyes, her expression filled with concern. "I was worried I'd have to do CPR. Are you okay?" she asked.

Suddenly, even in his withered state, Spruce felt the need to turn up the charm. "Better, now that I'm with you," he purred seductively. Or, as seductively as he could. It was difficult to sound an ounce attractive when his voice sounded like it had been put through a meat grinder. Oh well. At least his abs would fill in where his words couldn't. He turned to lay fully on his back, so that the firm, pectoral muscles were very much visible, and continued. "But just to be sure, I wouldn't mind you performing some of that mouth-to-mouth." He winked and pursed his lips, waiting to see how she'd react.

There seemed to be a sparkling look in her eyes, like one of enchantment, and Spruce believed his captivating spell to be working... until she spoke.

"Hmm. I dunno, you seem pretty fine to me."

He took it in stride. "Oh, I am fine, baby. And so are you." Spruce smiled at her, and gave another quick wink. She laughed softly, rolling her eyes at him with obvious affection, and leaned over to gently pat him on the cheek. Spruce felt his insides flutter, though he remained outwardly cool. He didn't want to appear too eager - there was a certain method to his madness, after all.

A method, it seemed, that she wasn't going to so easily be played by.

"Nice try," she whispered, getting back up on her feet and starting to head off.

Spruce was surprised to see her go so quickly. "Wait! Miss, uhh... um..." He trailed off, not actually knowing what to call her.

"Brandy," she responded.

"Miss Brandy," he repeated smoothly, wondering if her lips tasted as subtly sweet as the drink that was her namesake, "you wouldn't just leave a gorgeous, hunk of man laying in the middle of the wilderness, would you?"

Brandy paused in her steps and turned to look back at him. She tilted her head and smirked. "Maybe," she said coyly, "if he was uninjured and more than capable of walking back to town after a few minutes of rest."

Shoot, Spruce groaned inwardly. While feeling a tad bit bruised from the rough waters that had tossed him in the first place, he sported no major traumas on his body. He'd be more than capable of doing what she'd said without so much as a problem. A tad exasperated that this was not going the way he'd wanted it to, Spruce sighed. "Come on, girl, I'm trying here!"

Brandy chuckled. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to try a little bit harder then, huh?"

Spruce watched her saunter towards the trees, a small grin stretching across his features as he remained mesmerized by the slight sway her hips made with every sashaying step she took. After a few moments, she called over her shoulder.

"You're welcome for saving your life, by the way!"

And with those parting words, she slipped into the treeline, leaving him alone to stammer one meager, lovestruck reply.

"Th-thanks!"

[anomander-dragnipurake]

I'm Plenty Warm

Summary: The Grand Prix's held in winter this time. Bowser doesn't fair well in the cold.

~

The cold seeped into every inch of Bowser’s being, settling deep into his bones. It took every ounce of his self control to keep his shivering to what was hopefully an invisible minimum. Why did the damn Grand Prixhave to be held in winter this year? There was simply no need. Yeah, the Xmas lights were pretty but not exactly the kind of thing one typically thought of for racing.

Of course Mario with his warm blood and fuzzy coat didn’t look the least bit bothered by the cold. Punching him for that would be nice but would get Bowser kicked. He was not going to let all the effort and suffering he’d already put into this damn thing go to waste just because he was annoyed at Mario.

Instead he huffed and looked towards the other racers mingling about, waiting for the call to push their karts onto the track. He shuffled his feet, trying to make it look like impatience instead of the desperate attempt to get some feeling back into his feet that it was. After the race though he was totally going to…

“You okay?”

Bowser almost flinched as he looked the green Mario brother who’d apparently come up to stand next to him. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why are you asking?” It had to be a trap, right? He was looking for weakness.

Greenie shifted, breaking eye contact. “It’s cold and uh, from what I understand you’re cold blooded so the cold is even worse for you. So I figured I’d come over and ask how you were doing.”

As far as Bowser could tell he seemed sincere in his concern but that didn’t mean that he was. He’d learned the hard way early on that sometimes people liked to lie and take advantage of others, especially people in positions of power such as himself. No matter how hard he tried, he’d never gotten good at spotting when someone was trying such a thing and thus made it a rule to never fully trust anyone other than Kamek and the kids. So whatever Greenie was trying here, he wasn’t going to fall for.

“I’m fine.” He put a slight growl in his voice, making Greenie flinch a little. “I breath fire, remember? So I’m plenty warm.” He let out a small puff of it to prove his point. It provided only a small burst of warmth to his face and mouth though as it didn’t ignite anywhere inside him. Measly humans shouldn’t know that though.

“Oh, uh, I guess so, huh? Well, good luck.” Greenie gave him a thumbs up before turning and fleeing. What had he even been trying to get out of Bowser? He was so far down in the rankings, getting Bowser out somehow wouldn’t have helped him much. Maybe it was for Mario’s sake. … Yeah, probably. No way was he genuine.

Bowser shuffled his feet again. The damn race better start soon before he froze solid. Driving with numb hands and feet was going to suck but he’d managed up until now somehow even if just barely keeping himself in the running. All he had to do this race was come in place ahead of Mario and his final score would be higher than Mario’s. Winning the whole tournament – something only possible if he made first this race and the current leader scored low – would be ideal but beating Mario was what mattered most. He could do that at least, no matter how cold it got. He had this in the bag… basically.

~

A hand shook him, pulling him towards consciousness. He could’ve fought it and almost did but a voice accompanied it. The words he didn’t understand, they were in a different language, the voice though, he did. Mario’s brother… Luigi was his name, wasn’t it? Odd that it would come back to him now but such was often the way with remembering forgotten words.

He sounded worried. Why would he sound worried about Bower taking a nap when he was so tired he clearly needed the sleep? Heck why would he sound worried about Bowser at all?

It was odd enough to spur Bowser into clawing the rest of the way awake himself. His eyes fluttered open to see Luigi looking down at him, his frantic expression matching his worried exactly.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re not dead,” he said. “I’d thought for a moment I’d let you go too easy and…” He let out a sigh, cutting himself off.

“What happened? And why can’t I feel anything.” Everywhere he wasn’t numb he was so cold he couldn’t feel anything else.

“You crashed into a snow bank. It shouldn’t have hurt you much but you didn’t get up and it collapsed back onto you and you still didn’t move. And then I remembered what I’d worried about earlier before the race and I thought for a second you were freezing to death so I rushed over to…”

“I am,” Bowser interrupted his worried ramblings.

“Huh?”

“Freezing to death.” Prior Grand Prixs had had single tracks in cold places, all of which had sucked and been hard to get through but he was tough and stubborn. Every single race being cold though and there being no real warmth in between them, it compounded into a serious problem for anyone cold blooded. It’s why he was the only one in the race who was. He’d thought he could handle it long enough to get through it but seems Kamek had been right again and he couldn’t. And now not only had he humiliated himself but was going to die for it. Already sleepiness pulled at him again, threatening to pull him under against his will.

“Ah, mamma mia!” Luigi mumbled something else in Italian before standing and shaking himself off. “Okay, okay. I’ll… hook you to the back of my car and pull you out and get you somewhere warm and then…”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be easier to let me die?”

Luigi, already moving back towards his car, gasped but didn’t pause. “That would be wrong.”

“I don’t want to be in your debt.” He’d almost rather die than let someone save him just so they could extract something from him. Only almost though which is why he didn’t try to fight when Luigi returned to him with a chain. It had a hook on the end for towing.

Luigi didn’t respond as he hooked the chain to the inside of Bowser’s shell. His exact expression was still hard to read but he looked more determined than scared now. A new look for him, normally he was a scaredy-cat. Seems he had a backbone after all.

“Can you at least try to take me somewhere where no one will see?” Probably a futile ask but he’d never live it down if Mario saw him almost frozen to death, curled up in his shell as it was dragged behind Luigi’s car.

“I suppose I could. We’ll have to go off road a bit but there’s a cabin not far from here. You could start a fire in the fireplace to warm yourself until you’re no longer immediately in danger. I’ll have to come back for your car but I would’ve anyway.”

Which would put Bowser even further into his debt. Not a good scenario but his fate was already sealed on that and it was better than allowing everyone else to see him like this. So… “Thanks,” he said before pulling as much of himself into his shell as he could. He was still too stiff and frozen to get all the way into it but it should still make getting dragged along by the chain a bit easier to bear.

Perhaps if he were lucky Luigi was sincere in his implied motivation being nothing more than being a good guy. Probably not but it sure would be nice if such was the case.

[muzzlemouths]

"Squeeze my hand." from the prompt list? - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

Moon centric // Wordcount: 4245

You do your best not to wake him.

Getting two hundred pounds of deadweight metal off the ground and into a cart was already hard enough on its own, and doing so without becoming entangled in the mess of exposed wiring was another challenge all together, but you had somehow pulled it off without so much as a twitch from his end. It had been concerning, at first - the thought that Moon wasn’t just out for the count but well and truly broken - and you won’t lie, that had scared you.

But a rude awakening from his emergency startup protocol had told you he was okay - functioning, at least - bleak consciousness that lasted long enough to send him forward a few ‘steps’ before his eyes darkened and gravity dragged him back to the floor. A deep purple was already blossoming where he fell against you.

Not wanting to repeat the process, you quickly got him onto wheels so you could reach Parts and Services while you still had some time left to your shift. You’re painfully careful about it, fast and quiet, you take every shortcut downstairs. If he woke now, you’d never reach within an inch of the place without a fight. And Moon’s fight meant more than accidental bruises.

Ironically, it’s your haste that inevitably wakes him. An unpatched crack in the flooring jolts the entire cart as it’s run over and rocks his body from side to side. It results in another attempt at booting up, this one more successful, because in the next moment he’s sitting up and looking around - albeit not without some trouble. You don’t stop the cart. If you can get there before he realizes where you’re going, you might still have a chance.

He rests his forehead against one hand and curls the other over the edge of the cart for stability, bent forward at the waist, his joints creak with the effort. “What happened?” He groans - then, looking up from his palm to face his surroundings - “Where are we?”

You reach the elevator just in time.

“Morning, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” You make a point of avoiding his questions. He’ll figure it out himself soon enough. It’s better for both your health and his own if you just keep moving. “You’re a little out of sorts, took a bit of an impromptu nap for a while.” The elevator takes you down, down, down, and right as it opens again, Moon realizes.

He moves fast to get out of there - or tries to, anyway. A failed attempt at leaping from the cart has him giving his body a second glance, only now seeing the way his waist has twisted, the metal there grossly dented and his legs contorted backwards. A position that is perfectly normal for him on a good day. But this isn’t a good day. The angle of his limbs is wrong, and his wires have paid the price. You’re sure he figures out the rest immediately after; that they’re as numb as gears can be. That he can’t move from the waist down.

Moon swivels as best he can, hoisting himself into the air with the help of one arm while the other reaches behind him and clasps around a wheel, just barely reaching - the whole cart swivels and then jerks to a stop.

“Dude!” You struggle to keep yourself from faceplanting against it and falling right in with him, “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” He repeats, meeting you with a look of steel.

Your fingers tighten on the cart handle. “Moon,” a sigh escapes, your frustration settling into defeat, you try not to make a big deal out of it in hopes that he won’t, either, “you know where.”

He doesn’t immediately answer you. His expression changes like rapid fire; confusion, fear, if you reached, and then anger. “No,” he spits, “Take me back to the Daycare. I’ll fix it myself.”

You try not to laugh, but a snort escapes you anyway. The cart doesn’t budge when you try again. “Not this time, buddy,” you tell him, “this isn’t something you can just wrench together with your own hands. You need real help. The kind you can only get downstairs.”

“Get me the tools then,” Moon argues, hand glued to the wheel, “You can go and bring them back up, can’t you?”

“Moon,” you try to make your voice stern, but you know your own resolve pales in comparison to his determination to not get any closer to that dreaded metal chair, “I’m not changing my mind. Either you let me take you down to P&S or I’m bringing out the big guns.”

His eyes narrow. “Which is?”

“I turn on the lights.”

Stiffening, now, his expression turns dangerous, “You wouldn’t dare,” he growls, “Sun can’t handle that place any better.”

“It’s not up to me. The Daycare opens in six hours and they’re expecting an attendant who can manage the job, much less use their legs. If you don’t go in, he’ll have to, and it won’t be me carting him down there.” You hated utilizing such a cruel tactic, but your words are honest. They needed fixing and, one way or another, management would ensure it happened - likely with a staff member much less kind or patient than yourself. Moon was often selfish to a fault but, when it came down to it, he prioritized Sun’s safety over his own. Always had. The rest of your night hinged on that remaining true. “So, what’ll it be?”

He simmers something fierce, fitting you with a look that might scare you a hell of a lot more if his legs were in proper working order. As it stands, you would at least have a running start were things to go sour.

But his temper visibly fizzles out into nothing more than an angry bite, shoulders slumping with defeat, and a moment later he releases the wheel.

“Thank you.” You breathe a sigh of relief as he slumps back against the cart, “I promise I’ll get you fixed up as fast as I’m able. It should just be a simple tune-up and a chest piece transplant, maybe some rewiring. You’re in and out within two hours, tops.”

“Mhm.” Is all he has to say in return. You don’t push him for more than that.

The remaining walk to Parts and Services is entirely uneventful. The halls are empty and pin-drop silent, save for the creak and heave of the wheels as they turn several corners. You pause at the entrance to the big bad room itself and ensure it’s as dimly lit as it can be while not hindering your ability to work, then you drag the cart in the rest of the way and stop it just outside of the repair cell.

Moon doesn’t look up from his disfigured lap until you come to pause beside him with arms extended. He squints, attempting to figure out what it is you want from him now, and when he does he responds by hunkering down further inside the cart. “Not helping,” he grunts, “I refuse to be cradled into that chair.”

Your arms fall dejectedly to your sides, groaning, you again roll your eyes at him, “Come on, don’t make me do all the work here. The faster your ass is in that chair, the faster you’ll be done. Don’t you think it would be easier that way - for both of us? Just wrap your arms around my shoulders–”

“No.” his arms cross over his chest, face turning away from you. You have to wonder how much of his refusal stems from stubbornness, and how much of it is just plain embarrassment.

Either way, it’s wasting your time.

“It’ll only be for a second!”

“Not. Happening.”

You inhale sharply, frustrated, balling your hands into fists, you exhale hot air and come to a resolve. “Fine. If you don’t want to help, I’ll do things my way.” You round the corner right as his chin lifts to face you again, a question stirring in his voice box, but before any proper words get out you’re already behind him and reaching in for the hook on his back.

“Wait–”

Your fingers curl around metal and give it a firm tug upward. His limbs move accordingly - going limp like a cat that’s been scruffed - an effect that lasts only long enough to get his upper half out of the cart. His joints move awkwardly as control slowly returns and your hand releases the grip, arms hugging around his waist, instead, successfully hoisting him over the edge from there.

It takes the last of your strength to keep him upright and not simply drop him to the floor once the entirety of his weight is in your arms, but you manage, and half-carry, half-drag him into the cell before haphazardly releasing him onto the chair. He lands with a grunt and a look that could kill.

“Who told you?” Moon hisses.

“No one,” you practically sneer back, “You pick up on a few things when you’ve worked here as long as I have. Sun went stiff last time I accidentally grabbed it, and your body sags for a quick second whenever you use the cord. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.” You leave out the part where Sun had let the information slip. It’ll save you from having to negotiate another argument later on. Luckily, Moon seems to buy your excuse. He doesn’t like the answer either way.

You leave him to his grumbling and find a seat beside the repair monitor. There’s plenty to do and not a lot of time to do it. You can’t waste any more of your shift humoring the little pity party he’s hosting, so instead you get right to work imputing all the necessary information into the system so it’ll register what all needs done. A small machine like a projector lowers as you do so, making him freeze up entirely, and scans him from top to bottom. He is rigid from the very start up until the machine blinks and folds back into the ceiling. He doesn’t ease up any when it’s over.

The results are as you expected; a chest piece transfer - easy enough, if you let the service machine do any necessary welding for you - a manual realignment of his limbs, and finally, rewiring of whatever had become tangled and unplugged that is causing the loss of movement. That would be the hardest part by far. You were a jack of all trades kind of employee, an amateur technician, not a professional by any means. One wrong wire input and it would cost you your life or, at the very least, your job.

Not that you had a handful of options at your disposal. If it took this much convincing for Moon to let you play doctor, you doubted he would allow an actual mechanic anywhere near him. It was you or nothing.

“Hey,” Moon’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, forcing you to look past the monitor where he sits with a body still coiled tight, knees tucked up to his chest. “You never answered my question,” he says, not bothering to look up at you.

“What question?” You stand from the chair and begin to head for the tool cabinet.

He’s fiddling with the dents in his stomach, thumbing at the upturned metal there, “What happened?” His nail scrapes against a particularly gnarly piece, “I didn’t look like this a few hours ago.”

You keep your back turned to him. “Don’t know for sure. You were already out of commission by the time I entered the Daycare. The wire snapped, from what I gathered, and you fell from pretty high up. Landed wrong.” You try not to shudder, brought back to the moment where you found him lifeless in the dark, his wires exposed and splayed out like entrails, “I’m not sure how long you were like that before I found you.”

From the corner of your eye you see him grimace.

“Nothing we can’t fix,” you’re quick to reassure, “I’ll get you back in working order before my shift is over,” squinting into the cabinet, you brush some tools aside with a frown,“…as soon as I find what I need.”

“Off to a great start,” he grunts, “Remind me to get severely wounded with someone more proficient on the clock next time.”

“I can easily find someone else to poke and prod at your body, if you’d prefer.” Silence returns. You take his immediate lack of an answer as you having won that argument. “Oh, here it is!” Your hand grasps around the handle of a specific screwdriver. One that will get you inside his chestplate and on to business. You turn with it in hand and avoid the look in his eyes as you near him with it - if robots could go pale, he would be.

Fortunately for him, it isn’t yet time to put the tool to use. You set it on a small rolling table beside the chair and reach for his legs with your newly freed hands, lifting your chin to meet his gaze, “I’ll need your help with this part. Do you think you can lift your waist for me?” Your expression softens in response to his immediate hesitation to do so, “Please? I need to get you facing the right direction again.”

He isn’t so easily persuaded. It takes you attempting to do it singlehandedly, first, for him to realize you aren’t going to back down. Only then does he rest his palms on either side and lift himself into the air so you can properly get his waist to turn. It does so with an audible screech of metal on metal that makes both of you flinch.

“That’ll be fixed when we replace your chest piece,” you promise. He doesn’t look convinced.

Next came the worst part. You expect him to fight you tooth and nail when you reach for the screwdriver again and angle it against his torso, but instead he reacts in the opposite direction; with listless apathy. His fingernails dig into the seat beside himself with a strength that leaves dents and stands as the only thing giving away how he’s really feeling about this whole situation, beyond that he says nothing - does nothing - and makes no attempts to stop you. The screws fall away one by one.

Soon, the metal plating over his stomach comes undone beneath your fingertips and you pull it away entirely, setting it on the table beside you. The mess it was hiding is ugly and grotesque; wires strewn in every direction, tangled around each other, some knotted, others unplugged entirely, and some, still, that are severed and beyond repair. “Shit, dude,” you cringe outwardly, “it looks like a warzone in here. I’m not even sure where to start–” your hand dips, but pauses just within reach of him.

“Go on,” Moon senses your uncertainty like a bloodhound and suddenly remembers his attitude, and his smirk, “stick your hand in there. I want to see what happens.”

You have half a mind to grab a fistful of wires and give them a hearty tug just to wipe the shit eating grin off his face. You don’t, though. That would spell bad news for both of you. “Don’t be so cheeky,” you warn, “and hold still. I’m not looking to get my hand tangled in all of this.” You stand, again, leaving him propped open while you hunt out a pair of safety gloves. He makes a dissatisfied tsk but remains in place. Thankfully. Returning to your chair, you roll your sleeves up to your elbows and reach above your head for a light, dragging its metal neck down to your level so you can better see the disarray you’re being forced to work with, and look up at him. “Ready?”

Eventually, he goes still, nodding, and you convince yourself to start with the sections that are the least tangled and only need rearranging. Your hand carefully tucks into his wiring with stilted breath and you separate what you can, successfully managing to sort a handful before your knuckles brush against an exposed wire. Even through the gloves you can feel the zap of electricity shoot through your skin. Your hand pulls back as though it were bitten. His head tilts to the side inquisitively, smirk fading.

“What’s wrong?”

“The gloves aren’t enough,” you grimace, “your wires are shorting all over the place. It’s a death trap in there.”

“Get better gloves.” He says.

“Moon,” you pause, looking up at him, “I - I’m going to have to shut you down for this.”

His expression falls entirely. Not a frown, but a gape, this time you don’t have to look far to see the fear. “I can retrieve them myself,” he tells you, “and then you don’t have to–”

“I don’t know what those wires do, or how they could effect you if they’re torn out while you’re still awake.” You stand, and again head for the cabinet, “I’m sorry, there’s no way around it. You’ll be fine, though, I promise. It’ll be like taking a nap.”

“No!” His waist jolts and the metal twists, signs of him willing his legs to work and failing painfully, he sits upright to the point of nearly doubling over, “I won’t do it. The ones that are chopped up just go to my legs, right? They’ll be fine if I pull them out!” and he reaches to, immediately, hand diving in with blind ambition–

“Hey–Hey!” You swivel on your heel and take hold of his wrist just as his fingers wrap around a pair of red and blue wires, one shorted, and the other going strong, “fuck, Moon, what’s gotten into you?”

His chest moves on its own; mechanical breaths that stir with quick movements, up-down, up-down, up-down, eyes blown wide like a wild animal. He doesn’t attempt to pull away from your grip, but he doesn’t loosen his own, either, forcing you into a stalemate. “Let go,” his voice dips with venom, but it’s fickle, shaking, “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Your hand relaxes, slightly, but doesn’t release entirely. Your other hand raises to his faceplate, slow and careful, and you watch him flinch, “Tell me what’s going on,” you try to keep your voice soft, try to keep it from bottoming into pity, “why won’t you let me do this? Is it the thought of going under?”

You can understand that much, at least. It isn’t a nap at all, more like a medically induced coma, but that’s still better than sure death, isn’t it? “It’ll be quick, I promise.” Your thumb gently caresses the line up his cheek, hoping to bring him some kind of comfort, “I’ll power you down nice and easy, get the bad wires out, put some new wires in, and then wake you back up as soon as it’s done.”

“What if you don’t?”

You blink, stunned. Your hand goes still. “What?”

His eyes raise to meet you fully. “I’m not afraid of powering down. I don’t feel anything. I don’t dream. It doesn’t matter. But–” He pauses, and suddenly he doesn’t trust you with his gaze, and it slips just past you, instead, then falls to his lap. He goes silent.

“You’re…afraid I won’t power you on again?” He doesn’t answer. Your hand cradles again at his cheek, forcing him to look at you, “Moon, why wouldn’t I?”

His breath quickens, again. The hand in his stomach loosens, then goes vice, then loosens, the cords straining against their plugs. He holds them hostage like a gun to his head. “It’s stupid,” his voice is barely audible, a whisper so quiet, at first, you aren’t sure it’s there at all, “never mind,” it becomes a whine, like a low whirring fan inside his throat, “never mind, never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, it isn’t stupid. I want to hear it,” you encourage, “you’re safe with me, you know that. You can talk to me.” Then, after a beat, “I promise not to tell anyone. Not even management.”

Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes find you. His fingers sag around the wires.

“There you go,” you further ease your own grip as a show of peace. Your thumb pads along his face and dips beneath the hat, worrying over the crease there, easing away the soreness. “Moon,” you try again, “Why wouldn’t I wake you up?”

He hesitates. Then, slowly but surely, he releases the hold on his wires. You let go of his wrist in turn, and both hands fall into his lap. “It would be easiest that way,” he mumbles, “Wouldn’t it?”

“What would?”

“Getting rid of me.” Moon answers.

Your stomach drops, lungs seizing, the room sways as you try to digest his words. You make a noise in your throat, something guttural and hopeless, lips moving, but no words come out. You make a second attempt at saying something - anything - but Moon is faster.

“I’ve thought it over a thousand times. How easy it would be.” His voice is bitter, but the poison in his words is turned in on itself, fatefully resigned, “Take care of the problem while the problem can’t fight back, you know?” He clears his throat, fingers intertwining in his lap, it strains like an old record.

“Stop that,” your hands find his and separate them, pressing your own palms against them instead, “You know that won’t happen–”

“I wouldn’t know the difference,” he continues, a dry laugh escaping his voice box, “It’s just a nap, after all. That’s what they’d tell me.”

Your breath catches in your chest. You aren’t sure what to say - what can be said to that. How are you meant to reassure someone when you’re just as powerless yourself? If it’s what management wanted, they would make it happen. It’s nothing you could prevent.

But damn it if you wouldn’t at least try.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Moon,” you bring his hands into your own lap and hold them there, hoping he hears you, hoping he takes your words for all their worth, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. That’s a promise.”

His eyes flicker upward for a brief moment, and he almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You can tell he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he wants to - maybe he’s desperate to. But it’s not enough.

“Wait,” you pull one hand away from your lap and use it to bring the table closer, ensuring it had everything on it that you would need, “I have an idea. A way for you to know for sure that I won’t leave you behind.” You pull only one glove away and reach for him again, fingers wrapping fully between his own, intertwining them. “You can lock your joints, right?”

Moon looks at you uncertainly. “I can.”

Your smile is hopeful and genuine, “Squeeze my hand,” you tell him, “Squeeze it and don’t let go.”

He looks at you with a blank expression. His fingers twitch, like he starts to agree, but then he stops. “Won’t that make it hard for you to work?”

“I have one free hand left,” you wave it, flexing your fingers, “I can work just fine with that.”

“But–”

“I won’t be able to pull my hand away from yours while you’re powered down,” you continue, “you can let it go when I wake you back up. But not until then.”

He’s quiet. You can’t read his expression, and he doesn’t give you anything to go off of that might tell you whether or not he thinks your plan is too silly to pursue. A stupid thought. A bad idea. Then, suddenly, you feel his hand squeeze back. “I’d like that,” he croaks, “I’d like that a lot.”

Relief floods your lungs. “I really will be as quick as I can,” you promise him.

He nods. “I trust you,” he mumbles, then, “Let’s do it.”

Your free hand reaches up and past his faceplate, fingers drawing for the latch beneath the hat and behind his head. The panel there pops open once you find it. Carefully, you move, locating the small and innocent button to the bottom left of his panel that will power him down. You feel the bump and pause afterward, finger hovering just above it. “Ready?” You ask him.

You feel his knuckles go rigid, the fingers stilling in place. A short and unsuccessful flex of your own hand proves that it isn’t going anywhere. You smile, and for once, he smiles back.

“Ready.”

His chest continues its rhythm; up-down, up-down, up-down, then it goes still. The light behind his eye fades as your finger comes back from the button, and his hand remains firmly in place.

You get right to work.

The process is harder this way. It takes twice as long, and you’re nearly breaching overtime by the time his wires are properly back in working order, but you don’t mind any of it. Your hand fell asleep an hour ago, but you don’t mind that, either.

When he wakes, it’ll be to new wires, functioning legs, and the promised face of someone who refuses to let him do this alone.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.