#wr phone call

[caracello]

ttwirls my hair. hiii

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 8: The Thing About Ghost

Summary: You should have expected something bad would happen. You just didn't expect this. Perhaps something good could come of it after all.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, slight Gaz x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, PTSD, nightmares, violence, medical stuff

A/N: I started this chapter this morning. It just came spilling forth and thus you're getting a bonus update this week. I'm honestly so glad to have this one done. Now I can finally say something more than "you'll see" when you ask about Ghost.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You reach a hand out from under the mountain of blankets, fumbling blindly across your nightstand until you reach your vibrating phone. You pull it under the blankets, blinking blearily at the name on the screen. 

Kyle. 

“Hello?” You mumble sleepily, your eyes already drooping again. 

“Oh, so you can hear your phone vibrating but not me knocking at your door for fifteen minutes?” 

You let out a quiet groan, burrowing back under the covers. “Comfy.” 

“I’m sure you are, but it’s breakfast time, love.” 

You let out a quiet groan, still not moving. “Not hungry.” 

“You need to eat, love. You’ll be grumpy all morning if you don’t.” 

He’s right. If you skip breakfast, you’ll get snippy and hangry. Yet, the comfort of your bed is calling, threatening to lull you back to sleep again. 

“Don’t go falling asleep on me again.”

You startle back awake, groaning. “I wasn’t.” 

“Come on, love. I don’t want to have to get Soap to kick in your door.” 

You let out a loud, dramatic groan before grumbling acquiescence. You slide out from under your covers until you’re sitting on the floor, rubbing your eyes. You don’t bother hanging up as you set your phone on the nightstand before crawling over to the door, just close enough that you can reach up and unlock it. 

You sit back on the floor, hair mussed and still in your pajamas. The door slowly swings open, Gaz leaning against the doorframe. He smiles softly down at you as you yawn, blinking up at him sleepily. 

“That’s cute, but if we don’t get to breakfast, Price might send the cavalry searching.” He says. 

You grumble, pushing yourself up to stand before you grab a sweatshirt and shoes, running your fingers through your hair to make it at least semi-presentable. 

You lean against Gaz as you walk to the mess, resting your head against his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. It’s quieter in the mess than normal, Gaz leading you through the line to get food, making your tray for you before you shuffle over to the table where the others are. You sit down next to Price, letting out a yawn as you stare sleepily down at your tray. 

“Was starting tae get worried about ye.” Soap grins at you. 

“Yeah, heard her phone vibrating but not me knocking for fifteen minutes.” Gaz says, taking the seat next to you. 

“I was comfy.” You shrug, picking up your fork. 

“Guess I don’t have to bother asking how you slept.” Price says, grinning fondly down at you. 

“Like a rock.” You say, before taking a bite of sausage. 

“Good.” He says, almost beaming with pride that your little shopping spree yesterday worked, and that the added comfort in your room helped. 

Your face warms under his gaze, practically able to feel him preening with pride. It makes something twist in your stomach, knowing that you made him feel that way. 

The moment is broken as Ghost sighs, standing from the table to dump his tray and leave the mess. 

Soap shakes his head as you watch him go, a frown pulling at your brows. “Don’ mind him. He could do with some soft blankets and more pillows of his own.” 

The image of Ghost curled up with fluffy blankets and a stuffed strawberry of his own has you laughing loudly, not even bothered by the looks you get from the tables around you. 

You lounge against Gaz’s chest, his arm wrapped around your chest. Your back vibrates every so often as he chuckles at something that happens on the TV. You’re focused on your book, content with a lazy Sunday afternoon. 

“Don’ you two look cozy,” Soap says entering the rec room. “Don’ mind me.” He kneels on the couch next to your feet before flattening himself out between your legs until his head lands in your lap. 

Your cheeks warm as he sighs out a breath, making himself comfortable. You set your book aside, electing to run your fingers through his mohawk. You wonder if you can put him to sleep that way like you almost achieved with Gaz. He lets out a content hum as your nails scratch at his scalp, running your fingers over the short cropped sides of his head. 

You let yourself relax further against Gaz, absentmindedly massaging Soap’s scalp. Your gaze is on the TV but you’re not really watching, too caught up in the bliss of the moment to really care. 

The moment is ruined as Soap’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He lets out a groan, shuffling around to fish it out, lifting his head to stare at the screen. 

“Have to take this.” He murmurs, pushing himself up off of your lap.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips before leaning over your shoulder, kissing Gaz. Your eyes widen as he leaves the room, your heart starting to race. Of course they kiss each other. It’s probably the most natural thing in the world to them. You’ve just never seen it. 

Much less be stuck in the middle of it. 

The images begin to flood your mind, your face getting warmer and warmer. The mental imagine of being sandwiched between them while they kiss over your shoulder, hands everywhere, skin against skin. 

“Enjoyed that, did you?” Gaz’s voice is husky in your ear, his lips brushing the delicate skin. 

Of course he can smell the hike of sweetness in your scent. His hand drops from where it had been wrapped across your chest, his hand trailing down until it rests against your stomach. His lips press against the sensitive skin beneath your ear, tongue darting out to taste. 

“Soon.” He murmurs, before leaning back, resting against the couch once more. 

Your face is burning hot, heart thumping in your chest. A shiver runs down your spine at the idea, your body relaxing further back against Gaz’s, your stomach fluttering as the warmth of his hand seeps through your shirt. 

You’re ready when he knocks, standing in front of your door again. You open it before he’s finished knocking, his hand falling back to his side. He stares at you for a breath before he turns on his heel, making his way from the barracks. 

You scramble after him as usual, following him into the gym and into the private room. You follow his lead of removing your shoes and jacket, falling into what’s become a routine for the two of you. 

“We’ll work on combos again.” He says, wrapping your hands for you, before his own. 

You go back through what you had done last time, all the combos you’d learned. Well, he told you. You’ve forgotten most of them after the exhaustion and a couple days off. You can tell he’s agitated already as he walks you through the combos, correcting your punches and stance. 

“Move your feet when you punch.” He says, kicking your back leg out from under you, dropping you onto your knee. “Otherwise you’ll hurt yourself.” 

“You’re going to hurt me doing shit like that.” You murmur, fixing your stance again. 

He grabs punch mitts, moving to stand in front of you. He calls out numbers, working through combos and punches. You miss a lot, still trying to memorize which punch belongs to which number and which order to swing your fists in. Part of you wants to drive your fist straight up the middle and into his face. 

A sudden hit to your shoulder sends you sprawling to the mat. You lay there for a second before looking up at him in shock.

“What was that?” You say, getting back to your feet. 

“Dodge or block, just like I taught you.” He says, swinging at you again with the mitt, forcing you back a step. “Your opponent won’t be standing still. You have to know how to throw punches and avoid the ones coming at you.” 

You huff out a breath, trying to stay aware and throw the right punch. You don’t manage to block or dodge every one, your shoulders getting sore as he hits you. He’s not pulling his punches by much, and you can imagine the bruises you’ll sport later. You’re getting tired fast, the combination of the physical effort and the brain power growing to be too much at this intensity so soon. 

A solid hit to the center of your chest as you sprawling out on the mat on your back, the air leaving your lungs with a horrible wheezing sound. For a moment you think he might have actually injured you, fear in your eyes as he looms over you. 

“Get up.” He says, shoulders squared like he’s the one in a fight. 

“Give me a second.” You say, still trying to catch your breath. “I need a break.” 

“There are no breaks in a fight.” He says. 

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to think maybe I should just give up and die if I ever get in a fight.” You snap. 

Something flashes through his gaze, the mitts hitting the floor with a thud. He grabs the front of your tank top, lifting you to your feet. He holds you in front of him, leaning down until you’re eye to eye. 

“You think it’s that easy to die? When the time comes you can just lay down and let it happen?” He growls, emotions flickering like flames in his eyes. 

“If this is what it’s going to take to live, then yeah.” You say, not backing down despite the prickling feeling at the back of your neck. 

“You have no idea what it’s like, when death is looming over you. The fear, the regret, the overwhelming push to fight to survive.” He’s close enough that if he wasn’t wearing a mask, you could have felt his breath on your face. 

“I don’t know because I’m not like you. I’m not a fighter, I’m not trained like you. When I asked you to teach me to defend myself, this is not what I meant.” You say, shoving against his chest. 

It takes him by surprise enough that he stumbles back a step. He catches himself easily, hands closing into fists at his sides. He’s ready to fight, you can see it. You’ve unlocked the alpha, angered the beast within him. 

His scent bowls over you, sending you scrambling back out of instinct. The prickling at the back of your neck intensifies and you try to clear your head, preparing you for this fight. You don’t stand a chance, you know that. Going off instinct alone, he could overpower you easily. 

Despite everything in your brain telling you to run away, you do the opposite, racing towards him. He catches you before you can hit him, your feet leaving the ground as he slams you into the mat. You kick and claw at him, catching him in the ribs but it doesn’t even seem to phase him. 

“What was your plan?” He growls, pressing harder against your chest as he keeps you pinned. “Try to take me off my feet? I’m bigger and stronger than you. That’s never going to work.” 

“Then stop being such a dick!” You yell, landing a kick against his hip. “You’re just a bully. A big bully. You’re just like my dad!” 

Both of you freeze at your words, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. His hand closes around the neck of your tanktop and for half a moment you’re scared he might sink his hand in and pull your spine right out through your chest. Instead he releases you, pushing himself up with a growl and making for his shoes. 

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he slips them on, grabbing his things before leaving out the door. 

You stare at the door wide eyed as it slams closed. You’re still laying there, chest heaving. You stare at it, half expecting it to open back up, for him to come back. He wouldn’t leave you alone, would he? He’s not supposed to. You’re supposed to have one of them with you at all times. 

You push yourself up onto shaky legs, slowly approaching the door, half expecting it to fly back open. Maybe he’s just standing right outside, maybe he’s just taking a breath and clearing his head. The handle is cold against your heated skin as you pull it open, sticking your head out. 

The hallway is empty. 

You quickly duck back inside, closing the door. He wouldn’t leave you. He wouldn’t leave you. Maybe he went to the bathroom. Maybe he just needed a moment to clear his head. Maybe he’s coming back. 

You sink onto the bench, trying to control your breathing as it starts to get heavy. You can feel that buzzing sensation in your head, your fingers and toes starting to go numb with panic. The one time you leave your phone behind, it’s the one time you need it. Maybe he’s coming back. 

You continue to sit there, waiting, fingers trembling as you put your shoes back on. Someone has to notice your absence eventually. Someone will notice you’re not in your room and you’re not answering your phone. Someone will come looking. 

Or is this a test? 

You’re panicking now, breaths coming in short gasps. You can’t just walk out of here using the front door. There’s alphas and betas crawling all over the gym and there could be a hundred between you and the barracks now. Someone will stop you. Someone will make a scene. 

You can’t reach the windows. Even then, they don’t open and it would be a straight drop to the ground on the other side. You can’t go out the front, but there’s an emergency exit just a few feet down the hallway the other direction. The medical center is the closest building to the gym. Even if Dr. Keller isn’t in her office this early, any of them would be the most likely to help you, to alert Price to your abandoned state. 

You have to get out of the gym. Your scent will reach the others in the building eventually, and someone will take notice. Someone will be bold enough to come after the lone omega. You’re panicking, your entire body trembling. Just out the door to the left and through the emergency exit. Then it’s just a few hundred yards to the medical center and then down the hall to Dr. Keller’s office. 

You can make it. You spent three months running with the CIA. Speed has always been your strength. Get out the door before anyone notices. You have to get out before someone notices and blocks your exit. 

Your mind goes blank as you throw open the door, feet slipping as you race around the corner and down to the emergency door. You don’t even feel the ache in your shoulder as you jam yourself against the door, not caring if it sets off an alarm as you shove your way out to the cool morning air. Your feet move without your brain needing to tell you as you sprint towards the medical building. There’s no one outside, no one milling in the area. No one sees you as you race through the doors, the automatic sliding doors almost catching you as you speed through them and down the hall. Your shoes squeak on the laminate floor, squealing as you slide to a stop in front of Dr. Keller’s office. 

You don’t even check if the light is on before you’re frantically knocking. Your breaths are coming in shallow gasps, black dots dancing in your vision as you fight to get air into your lungs. You need to be somewhere safe, you need somewhere safe before you pass out. You can’t pass out in the hallway. It’s not safe. 

You nearly fall as the door swings open, stumbling into the office. Dr. Keller says your name but you barely hear it, your legs giving out. She catches you before you fall, easing you into a chair. You sink into the plushness, shaking violently as you stare at her with wide, panicked eyes. 

“What is it?” She asks. “What happened?” 

“He...he left me!” You sob, your body starting to curl in on itself. “He...he just left me!” 

Dr. Keller’s voice sounds far away as she speaks, your vision starting to tunnel. You barely register the blanket being draped around your shoulders, the soft fabric tickling your cheeks. 

You don’t hear Dr. Keller on the phone, far too gone in your distress to hear the urgency in her normally calm and composed tone. 

Dr. Keller opens the door almost as soon as the knock sounds. Price is slightly out of breath, having reached the office faster than she had expected him to. 

“She’s in distress.” Dr. Keller explains as she lets Price into the office, shutting and locking the door behind him. “I need you to be clear headed.” She tells the alpha. “We can worry about why later, right now we need to get her calmed down, understood?” 

“Yes, Doctor” He nods, fighting the urge to recoil at the sharp bitter tang of omega distress heavy in the air. 

He’s angry, beyond angry but he knows he can’t let that take over right now. 

“You’ll need to hold her.” Dr. Keller says, approaching where you’re sitting on the chair. You’re hunched over, arms clutched to your chest as you gasp and wheeze, almost hyperventilating.  “It might be easiest on the floor.” 

It’s like moving a stone statue as he takes you into his arms, muscles tense and joints locked as your body attempts to protect itself. He sinks to the floor with you in his lap, wrapping his arms around you to support you.

“Slow deep breaths.” Dr. Keller pushes your head against his chest. “Get her to copy you. If her blood pressure gets too high, or she passes out we might risk losing her to her omega, and that will be dangerous for all of us.” 

“I know.” Price says as he puts a hand on your head, keeping you against his chest. “I’ve seen it happen.” He presses his cheek against the top of your head, taking slow, even breaths. “Come on, sweetheart. Alpha’s got you. Need you to breathe for me.” 

Dr. Keller slips a blood pressure monitor around your arm, fighting the stiffness of your limbs as she sticks a pulse monitor to your chest. Price continues to speak to you, trying to get you to relax.

Slowly as the minutes pass, your breathing begins to slow. Dr. Keller monitors your blood pressure and heart rate, watching it slowly begin to come down as the presence of your alpha soothes your distressing omega. 

“There we go.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing your arm gently. 

Your breathing slows, but your breaths are still heavy and shaky as you slowly begin to sink into Price’s hold, your muscles slowly relaxing from their tense state. You let out a high-pitched whine as the discomfort begins to set in, tears leaking from your eyes. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller says gently. “You’re doing so good.” 

You begin to shake uncontrollably again, Price tightening his hold around you. His hand moves to the back of your neck instinctively, gently massaging the tense muscles. 

“It’s just the adrenaline.” Dr. Keller explains, moving to the closet and pulling out a stuffed bear. She kneels back down, working your arms away from your chest just enough that she can slip the bear into your arms. “Squeeze that for me.” She says, pushing on your arms until you take over, squeezing the bear to your chest. 

You’re still crying as the shaking slowly begins to subside, another whine leaving your lips. You continue to squeeze the bear to your chest, brows pulling into a frown. 

“Don’ feel good.” You slur, taking a deep breath in. 

“I know, honey, I know.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing your leg. “You did really good, coming down from that. Just keep breathing and relaxing for me.” 

You continue to follow Price’s breathing, trying to will your muscles to relax in your exhausted state. Price continues stroking the back of your neck, his heart thumping steadily beneath your ear. 

“One more squeeze on your arm and then I can take the monitor off.” Dr. Keller says, taking your blood pressure one more time. “It’s normal if she’s a bit achy and sore for a couple days.” She explains to Price. “She might be a bit disoriented later too. The best thing she can do is rest and someone should stay with her at all times just in case.” 

Price leans his chin against your head, fighting the anger building within him. Something happened to cause this, and he has an inkling as to what it was. He tightens his hold around you as you sink into him even more, the shaking starting to subside. 

“You don’t sedate for distress?” He asks as Dr. Keller removes the heart monitor and the blood pressure cuff from you. 

Dr. Keller shakes her head. “Sedation can make distress worse in some cases. It’s jarring and disorienting and in some cases the omega might wake up and continue distressing. It’s only useful in cases of an actual medical emergency, or if there’s no alpha to provide a sense of safety and the omega starts to take over. Then they become a danger to everyone around them and themselves.” 

“I know how devastating that can be.” He says, staring down at you. “The worst people in the world like to use omegas as shields and bait. Sometimes there’s no other way...they get caught in the middle of bullets flying and explosions. The scent of blood and fear around them.” He shakes his head. “Even if they survive that, even if you save them, it’s too much and you just lose them to the omega.” 

“It makes me sick.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “They’re human beings just like you and me and they get treated like chattel. They’re seen as nothing but property and valued only by what they can be used for. Omegas are incredible beings. In ancient cultures they were revered, worshiped. Some cultures believed they were closest to the gods, and some thought they were gods sent to earth to bless those that deserved it. How far humanity has fallen.” 

“You have a lot of respect for omegas.” Price says. 

“Respect, love, care. Someone in this world has to. That’s why I became a specialist.” Dr. Keller smiles. “Didn’t think I’d end up here, but if I can help even just one omega, that’s more than enough for me.” She pushes herself up to stand. “Let’s get her back to the barracks. She’ll be more comfortable in a familiar atmosphere.” 

Price pushes himself to stand, keeping you close to his chest. Dr. Keller locks her office behind her before following Price as he carries you from the medical center. 

“She needs to eat.” Dr. Keller says. “She won’t feel like it, but she needs the calories after that. She might be emotional and resistant for a bit, but once she’s fully awake she’ll be alright. Well...that might be a bad way to describe it. If anything happens, or she starts getting worse. Call me.” 

“I will.” Price tightens his grip for a moment, pushing down the anger. He can’t let it take over yet. He still has you to take care of. He still has his omega to look after. 

Dr. Keller opens the door to the barracks for him, watching him walk down the hallway for a moment before turning and leaving. 

Price opens your door, carrying you into your room. He lays you on your bed, making sure you’re comfortable before he steps back out the door. The scent of distress is heavy on him still, as is his building anger. 

“MacTavish! Garrick!” He shouts, both of the beta’s doors opening almost immediately. “Have either of you seen Lieutenant Riley this morning?” 

Johnny frowns, both of them approaching the obviously agitated alpha. “Naw, I havenae seen him all mornin’.” 

“I thought he was training this morning.” Kyle says, a frown pulling at his brows too. “Did something happen?” 

He steps back into your room, the two betas following. Kyle sucks in a breath as he stares at you laying there, seemingly peacefully but the quickly suffocating scent tells him otherwise. He moves to your side, sinking down on the edge of the bed next to you. 

“Wha’ happened?” Johnny asks, a subtle tremble to his voice. 

“There was an incident this morning.” Price says, digging into the very depths of his training to keep his head on straight. “Sent her into distress.” 

“That bastard.” Johnny growls. “When I find him-” 

“Easy.” Price says, putting a hand on the beta’s chest to stop him from his rampage. “You and I are going to get some food and then come back here. Garrick, you stay with our girl. If anything starts to go wrong, you call Dr. Keller first, then me. Then, I’ve got ghost hunting to do.” 

“Ye sure we’re alright, bein’ in her nest like this?” 

“It’s not much of a nest. Besides, our girl needs us.” 

“‘S cozy, that’s for sure.” 

“Could get used to it.” 

You have no control over the whine that’s pulled from your chest as you’re thrust into consciousness. You feel a bit like you’ve been hit by a truck, tossed from an airplane with no parachute, and like you just ran a marathon with no training, all at once. 

“Easy, love.” 

Hands smooth over your face, calluses rough on your burning skin. You feel hot, yet not warm enough at the same time. Your skin is prickling, needing freedom but to be held tighter than you already are. Someone is in front of you, their hand the one on your face. Someone else is behind you, wrapped around your back, arms keeping you held tightly against them. 

“Can ye open yer eyes for me, pretty girl?” 

Your eyelids feel like they’re made of lead. You don’t want to. You want to keep your eyes closed and sink back into oblivion where nothing hurts and you’re not confused. You let out another quiet whine before you force your eyes open, staring up at the blurry shape above you. 

“That’s it, lovely.” Soap says, his fingers still stroking your face. “That’s a good girl.” 

“Soap?” You whine, your voice cracking. 

He shushes you, tucking your face against his neck, letting you inhale his scent. “We've got ye, lamb.”

Another hand trails down your arm, gently squeezing. You're sore, even your breaths make your body ache. 

“You remember what happened, love?” Gaz says quietly, his hand the one gently stroking your arm. 

You inhale sharply, trying to clear the fog in your mind. “Ghost...” You breathe, the images coming to your mind but the words are lost. “Left me.” 

“Aye.” Soap says, sounding hurt and disappointed. “He was being a right bastard and left ye in the gym alone. Ye ran for the med center. Found the doctor.” 

“I...” You take a shaky breath, remembering the panic, the feeling of getting further and further from your body. “I was distressing.”

Gaz hums, wrapping his arms around you. “You distressed, love. Dr. Keller got Price in there in time, worked you through it.”

You let out a shaky breath, letting yourself go limp between them. It makes sense why you feel so awful, why your head is swimming. “What time is it?”

“Just after lunch.” Gaz says. 

“Gave us hell tryin’ tae feed ye.” Soap says. “Half fightin’ us, half out of it.” 

“Ghost?” You ask, almost afraid to find out the answer. 

“Got quite the verbal lashing from Cap'n Price.” Soap says. “Was gone for an hour yellin’ at him.”

It doesn't feel like enough, but you won't admit that out loud. You lean back against Gaz, letting both of their scents wash over you. 

“How do you feel, love?” Gaz asks. 

“Hurts.” You murmur, wrapping an arm around Soap. 

“I know. I'm sorry you had to go through this.” Gaz says pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “Just relax, love. We've got you.” 

You let your eyes slip closed again, relaxing between the two betas. You don't care that they're in your room, squished together in your bed with you. You need them and their support. 

You'd prefer having Price too, but you won’t dare say that out loud.

You fade in and out of sleep, letting them help you up a couple times as they move around, and move you around, helping you stretch to ease the ache in your joints and muscles. You wind up laying on Soap as Gaz goes to get dinner, his arms wrapped around your middle as you rest on his chest. 

“I am sorry about Simon.” He says quietly, lips brushing your forehead. 

“Don’t apologize for him.” You murmur. “It was partially my fault. I was egging him on.” 

“He shouldnae done tha’ though.” Soap says. “Leavin’ ye like that. ‘S dangerous, and not just for you.” 

“I did good. I got out without running into anyone.” You say, trying to reassure yourself before you lose it again. 

“You did perfectly.” A voice says, making you jump. 

Soap gently rubs your back as you blink up at Price. He’s standing in the doorway, holding two trays of food. You hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“Go on and eat in the mess, Johnny.” Price says, setting the trays on your desk. “I’ve got her for now.” 

Soap gently eases you off of him, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving you alone with Price. He carries over a tray, setting it on your nightstand before kneeling down in front of you. He turns on your lamp, illuminating the room more than it was with your nightlight and the fading light outside. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, taking your hand in his. 

“Sore.” You say, squeezing his fingers. “But less than I was earlier. Moving around helped.” You sniffle, wiping the tear that escapes. “A bit weepy too.” 

Price smiles softly at you. “That’s expected. I’d be more worried if you weren’t.” He cups your face. “You did the right thing, taking the back exit and going for Dr. Keller’s office.” 

“Was closer.” You murmur. “Less risk of running into someone.” 

Price nods. “I doubt anyone would have stopped you, but that is still a risk.” He grabs the tray from the nightstand. “Eat up. I know you don’t feel like it, but you need it.” 

It’s almost like he read your mind. He moves to your desk, sitting in the chair. The food looks less appetizing than usual, but you know he’s right. Omegas expend a lot of energy while in distress. You’ll feel better if you eat. From the sounds of it, Gaz and Soap had attempted to feed you while you were still out of it, though you’re not sure how successful they were. 

You eat mostly in silence, but you don’t mind. You don’t have the brain power to think enough for a conversation, and you’re more than happy to just bask in Price’s calming presence. 

Gaz and Soap return after dinner, Price taking his leave again. You’re sure he’s busy, especially after this incident, but you can’t help but feel the sting of it just a bit. He had helped you through your distress, calming you down. You want him to lay next to you, to hold the back of your neck and remind you that he’s here, that he’s got you. 

That he’ll never leave you like that. 

Instead you curl up between Soap and Gaz, letting the calming present of betas relax you back to sleep. 

You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up. Soap is gone, but Gaz is still pressed against your back, breathing evenly. You grab one of the phones off the nightstand, glancing at the time. It’s just past one a.m. You’re feeling thirsty again, and like you need to stretch your legs. Gaz is coiled around you, and you’re not sure how to get out without waking him up. You don’t want to disturb him, and you want a second to breathe and clear your head without the influence of his scent. 

You carefully roll away enough to grab the strawberry pillow off the floor from where it likely rolled after Soap left. You slowly ease it between your bodies until he’s wrapped around the pillow, settling with a sigh. You let out a quiet breath, rising from the bed slowly and padding quietly to the door. Your eyes are on him as you unlock it, slipping out quickly. You leave it cracked open before sneaking down the hallway towards the rec room. 

It’s quiet in the barracks, almost eerily so as you slip into the empty room, heading for the fridge. You stand there, half debating on a beer instead of water. Perhaps a little alcohol might numb at least some of the ache in your joins, or at least clear your mind a bit. You hate the taste of beer, though, and Gaz would know immediately. 

You sigh, grabbing a water, the back of your neck prickling as you stand up. You close the fridge door, whirling around, a scream caught in your throat. 

“Are you going to scream?” Ghost’s voice rumbles from behind his mask. He’s standing just inside the rec room, blocking the doorway. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” You ask, flattening yourself against the fridge. 

“Why would I do that?” He has the gaul to sound almost confused. 

“You seemed pretty eager to this morning.” You say, clutching the water bottle to your chest. “You abandoned me.” 

“I didn’t. I was right behind you the whole time, until you went into the med center.” He explains, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” You snap, getting agitated by the alpha and how he’s treated you thus far. “You just up and left me by myself in a vulnerable place. How was I supposed to know you were still there? For all I knew you were halfway back to the barracks. Was I just supposed to blindly trust that you would be there, that you would follow me if I decided to brave walking past a bunch of worked up alphas? I can’t trust that. I can’t trust you like that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you haven’t given me a reason to!” You almost shout it, just managing to keep control over your volume so you don’t accidentally wake the others. “You don’t like me, you keep treating me like shit. Just going off of that, I wouldn’t put it past you to just up and leave me to fend for myself.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

“But you did! You did today! You put me in danger! I distressed because of you! I haven’t distressed since-” You cut yourself off, deflating a bit at your near slip of words. You’re not sure you want to open that can of worms, allow for that kind of vulnerability with the alpha that had nearly killed you earlier. But, maybe you do need that kind of vulnerability. Maybe he needs it. “Since I was taken to the institute.” You finish, feeling yourself deflating a bit. 

Tears prick at your eyes, his own figure visibly deflating a bit. That scent is back, the one from a couple nights ago when you had run into him in a similar situation. You want out of here, you want back to the safety of doors around you, doors that could be opened and Ghost pulled from you easily if needed. 

“Move.” You say, bravely squaring up to the alpha blocking you in. 

He says your name like a warning, not budging an inch. 

“Move!” You shout, going for his middle with your shoulder, but he’s faster, catching you before you can hit him. 

“Calm down.” He growls, trying to hold your squirming form. 

One scream. One scream and the others would be on you. How quickly could Ghost act, though? How quickly could his hand close around your throat and squeeze, or maybe even twist? 

“Calm down!” He growls again, forcing you backwards. 

Your feet slip on the tile, sending you back onto your back. You wince at the jolt to your already sore body, the air leaving your lungs in a harsh gasp. Ghost sinks down to the floor next to the couch, leaning against the side of it like he can’t bear to hold himself up anymore. 

“It was a long time ago.” He starts, the tiredness evident in his voice. His eyes are on the floor in front of you, not even looking up as you push yourself up onto your elbows. “Back when I was a newly made Sergeant. My first deployment, first mission. We were hunting a man, real scum of the earth, chasing him through the jungle.” 

You almost want to stop him, unsure if he can even be telling you this, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. 

“Things got complicated when he swept through a village, picked up all the local omegas. He was using them as human shields. We cornered him in some run down shack. Him, his men, and the poor omegas. The commanding officer in charge of the mission started hostage negotiations, tried to get him to let the omegas go. He knew he’d lost, he’d never get out of there without being captured or killed.” Ghost shakes his head, letting out a heavy breath. “So he agreed. The commanding officer had to have known. We all should have known.” 

He goes silent, the quiet of the barracks and the world outside almost eerie. You’re sitting up now, almost holding your breath in anticipation. You’re not sure he’s ever spoken this much to you at once before, much less something that’s obviously so vulnerable, and potentially confidential. 

“He sent the omegas out in all directions, running straight at us. We were ordered to stay where we were. We couldn’t run out there, we couldn’t help them.” His hands close into fists, his scent souring. “They started firing at the omegas. There was one running straight at me. I still remember her, the look on her face. The fear in her eyes as she raced towards me.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I remember how the blood felt splattering on my face. The bullet shot right past my ear. She fell close enough I could have reached out and touched her. Clean shot right through the back of her head.” 

He shakes his head, finally looking at you. Tears have gathered in your eyes as you stare at him. His scent is sour, tinged with the tanginess that you had smelled a couple nights ago when he ran into you coming back from the rec room.

Fear. 

That scent is fear. 

“I still think about it. What if I had disobeyed orders? What if I had just reached out to help her? Would she have made it? Could we have brought at least one omega back to that village? Would the bullet have hit me instead?” He lets out a long breath. “I still have nightmares about it. See it clear as day, that look on her face seconds before her life ended.” 

You’re moving, crawling closer to him. He doesn’t move, not even a blink or a flinch as you get closer and closer until you’re in front of him, close enough to see the light blonde color of his lashes. He still won’t look at you, his gaze on the floor as you sit in front of him. 

“You saw me.” You say softly, not needing him to explain further. “Instead of some omega, it was me in your dream. You’re afraid. That’s why you treat me the way you do. You’re scared if you get close to me, if you allow me into the pack, allow me into this life, that something like that will happen to me. That’s why you were afraid that night, when I went to the rec room to grab water. You woke up from a nightmare about me.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but you don’t need him to. You’re beginning to understand him now. One moment of vulnerability and the complex specter that is Ghost is beginning to become clearer and clearer to you. He’s beginning to take shape, forming out of the mists of confusion and aggression that have plagued you since your arrival in his life. 

“That doesn’t make what you did okay.” You say, breaking the eerie silence again. “It doesn’t make the way you treat me okay, but I guess...I guess I can understand why now. Why you’re so hard on me, why you resist my mere existence here. You don’t have to like me, I’d just like you to be nice to me a little bit. You’re never going to convince Soap not to pursue anything, so, you’re just going to have to get used to me being around.” 

The corners of his eyes crease. It’s a half a second of movement, but you manage to catch it. He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, eyes emotionless as they usually are when they look at you. 

“I still don’t forgive you for what you did.” You say, staring up at him. “And I don’t trust you,” You pull your knees up to your chest. “But I suppose I was also a bit at fault, saying those things to you.” 

“I deserved it.” He says. “I was being a dick.” 

Your brows raise as you stare at him. “Are you...apologizing?” 

“Don’t rub it in.” He says, the warning clear in his tone. 

“Well, I guess it’s a start.” You say. “I should probably get back to bed before Gaz notices I’m gone.” 

Ghost lets out a huff. “I’m surprised you escaped without him noticing.” 

You shrug, pushing yourself up to stand slowly. “He’s snuggling a stuffed strawberry right now, so...that probably says a lot about one of us and I’m not sure which is worse.” 

“Come on.” Ghost motions with his head. “Last thing we need is another panic at 2 am.” 

“Another panic?” You ask, dropping your voice to a whisper as you leave the rec room. 

Ghost chuckles. “You’ll have to ask Johnny about that one.” 

You stare at him for a moment as you stand in front of your cracked door. “Goodnight, Ghost.” 

He nods to you before you slip in, closing and locking the door. He stands there, listening to the bed shift as you crawl back into Kyle’s hold. He can picture the way the beta’s limbs coil around you like a snake. Would you lie facing him and cling to him like a koala? Or would you prefer facing away from him, letting him envelop you in a feeling of security and protection? 

Ghost shakes his head, inhaling the faint whiff of your scent still in the air before he turns, staring at his door for a moment before moving back down the hall, slipping into Johnny’s room instead. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

[charmedreincarnation]

MAYA, I MANIFESTED MY DREAM LIFE!!!!

Okay, I don't know if you remember me, but I participated in a lot of your challenges and the Pink’s challenge, and I found some success! I shifted to my wr and manifested some things, but I could never do it consistently, and it was really fucking annoying.

So, I took three months off and worked hard, using subliminals every day and going on affirmation rampages. I was doing lucid dreaming methods, SATs, meditations, yoga nidra, reading spiritual books literally my whole summer was dedicated to shifting and the void state. I was eat sleeping and breathing it because I could not continue to live the way I was even I can even consider that living …

So What did I do

I just followed your challenge because college was starting, and I couldn't go back to school without my dream life for the fourth time, fearing I might actually harm myself. So played the fields with this rampage (together in two different tabs).

During the Day

https://youtu.be/aLsn6ZK4RZ8?si=Dt_j7ChLjNsQ6tpV

https://youtu.be/gBD4Owz1GC0?si=icOkN1DoFsqP-adT

During the day, I would live in the end. I created albums for my desired realities, re-read my scripts, revised my void list because I genuinely believed I was going to succeed, watched supercell shifting videos on YouTube, and stared at my vision board, realizing it was going to be my life the next day, and more!

Overnight

https://youtu.be/JwV297pP9aw?si=Sxx-xlhE_owInoxH

https://youtu.be/DKB5I9y8SEg?si=PI-UaNw2m_VUWYy1

What I Manifested

- Master shifting abilities

- Master void state abilities

- Having my WR to be a perfect heaven

- Making this current reality a dream: desired looks, desired body, never gaining weight, revised wealth and family, dream friend group, a social media following, being worshipped and respected, being so beautiful by my own standards, dream home (I have a mountain range that goes through my backyard and a farm on my land, it’s enormous), revised city, only attracting wealthy, tall, attractive men, pretty privilege, 145 IQ, going to an Ivy League, getting rid of my anxiety and depression, getting rid of my health issues, no toxic family, so much money, and revised my name to Bella because I love Bella Hadid (my old name was Audrey), and so much more.

I know it sounds nothing too crazy compared to other people who manifest powers and trillions of dollars, but I can shift anytime I want. I’m going to my singing desired reality and high school musical Dr soon and I am so excited I have hundreds of places to explore. My life here finally has stability, and I’m so happy. Not waking up with stress, nausea, and diarrhea is a blessing. My house is clean, my family members aren’t fighting and calling me names, my siblings and I are close. I audibly gasp anytime I see myself in the mirror. My phone is always blowing up with people asking me for plans when it used to be dry as hell, and people forgot I even existed. Everywhere I go, people tell me I should model, want to pay for what I’m buying, are so kind, open doors for me, want to help me for no reason, give me discounts, ask me on dates… I’m so happy and confused. I don’t know how to feel. I am genuinely so loved and respected, and on top of that, I get to explore the universe of my favorite shows and movies.

I’m so glad I never gave up, even though these three months were hard and my life had gotten worse, I am finally free, my hard work paid off, and I hope everyone else will do the same. We truly are God! I was afraid this community was some big joke and big bloggers were creative writers or just laughing at delusional people like me, but I can confirm it’s very, very real.

My love I am so proud of you ! And yes I vaguely remember you and your first shift you messaged me about :)!

I am happy your hard work paid off as well. I remember when everything seemed so meaningless and delusional as well and I also thought shifting was some big joke to target mentally ill teens, but the reality is we truly are all god and no amount of doubt and struggle will ever change that truth. I hope you enjoy your dream life, and I am happy I could help 💖

[incidentallysunny]

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

-

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

[rahuratna]

Thirst Trap

Genre: Fluff, humour, crack.

Characters: Nanami, Yuuji, Ino.

Summary: Ino and Yuuji unwittingly make Nanami IG-famous through a social media post. As the internet's thirst ramps up, Nanami remedies the situation by roping in the two young sorcerers once again.

CW: language.

"Now that's what I call ... "

"A good run!"

"Oh, hell yeah. You're not half bad, Itadori! Just stick close to me, and you'll learn plenty more!"

A warehouse stained with the remnants of dispatched cursed spirits, clothes rumpled and stained with the evidence of hard work and a new student brimming with the desire to prove himself. Now this was Ino's definition of a day well spent. The last, and most proudly worn feather in his cap was the fact that their successful team-up had been overseen by none other than Nanami Kento himself, the man who breathed inspiration into all of his endeavours as a sorcerer.

Speaking of which ...

"Hey, Nanami, what did you think of our work today?"

Striding along at a steady pace behind the two youngsters, the tall, ever-composed sorcerer looked up and adjusted his glasses.

"Hmm. You're both well-coordinated, considering that you've never been teamed up before. You've got good instinctual prediction of each other's movements and I'm quite certain that you may come up with even more effective techniques if you work together in the future."

Ino nudged Yuuji and mouthed the words "Here it comes."

"Having said that, Itadori, some points to consider."

The cheerful boy glanced back at Nanami and gulped.

"Err, yes, Nanamin?"

"Your instincts are important, but you can't always rely on them. Instincts are based on your physical senses and your ability to analyse cursed energy. It takes a great deal of focus to maintain a good hold on both these threads. If a curse user is able to fool your senses, then such instincts can be your downfall rather than your strength."

Yuuji mulled those words over, humming to himself. Ino clapped him on the back.

"You listen to Nanami and you won't go wr- "

"Funny you should say that, Ino. Because I'm pretty sure I taught you to practice caution at all times instead of throwing yourself head-first into a situation because your underclassman is watching you."

Ino winced and rubbed the back of his head, laughing sheepishly.

"Okay, okay. I admit it. Got a bit carried away 'cos Itadori was watching me. Won't happen again."

Nanami grunted in reply and the two younger sorcerers glanced at each other and grinned slightly. Yuuji's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly in protest of its emptiness.

"Whoa, whoa. Can't have that. Hey, Nanami, what do you say we grab something to eat?"

"I suppose that would be acceptable. What do you propose?"

Ino turned excitedly to Yuuji.

"Since you're the newbie here, you get to choose! Only for today, though!"

"Seriously? Cool! I wanna eat ... hot pot on a day like this. That warehouse was kinda chilly."

Nanami nodded before consulting his phone.

"There's a good place not far from here. Let's go."

The place Nanami chose was somewhat off the beaten track. They left the main thoroughfare at some point, wandering through a maze of backstreets, food sizzling on outdoor grills, murky puddles and cosily lit bars. The restaurant they ended up at had no proper signage announcing the name of the establishment or any indication of their menu.

The food was, of course, incredible. Yuuji's eyes positively glowed with excitement as the steaming hot pot was laid out before them, the perfectly prepared ingredients on the side.

"Ooh, this is amazing! Nanamin, how'd you find this place?"

"I often come across good places to eat when I'm on missions in the area."

Ino shook his head fondly.

"Oi, Itadori, Nanami here is a massive foodie, you know that? You name any part of Tokyo and he'll tell you the best places to eat there. He even knows regional specialties in other areas that are pretty out there!"

Yuuji was now regarding his mentor with new reverence. Nanami coughed and re-directed their attention to the food.

"This is going to get cold. Shall we begin?"

"Oh! Hold on. Gotta record some of this."

Ino pulled out his phone, getting a few snaps and videos of the steaming hot pot from various angles. Now accustomed to his junior's need to record everything, Nanami sighed and began to add ingredients to the steaming soup base, softly reprimanding Yuuji who didn't want too many vegetables.

"It's winter and these are good for you. Make sure to eat the cabbage. It has roughage and the shungiku and carrots have a lot of vitamins. They also reduce inflammation of the muscles after a long day."

While the pot bubbled merrily, Nanami prepped their sauces in small porcelain dishes, mixing a little grated radish into the ponzu and adding some green onion to the sesame. He added ingredients to the main pot in a methodical sequence, placing the thicker parts of the vegetables first, followed by the assortment of mushrooms and the tofu.

Lastly, with Yuuji's mouth now practically watering, he handed over the thinly sliced beef for them to take, each dipping their portion for a few seconds until cooked, his deep murmur guiding them on correct timing. Ino had now set his phone aside and was just as hungry, digging in with relish.

When the meal was over, two stuffed and slightly drowsy youngsters followed Nanami out of the restaurant, the warmth of the food in their system buffering against the cold wind that caught at their clothes.

By the time Yuuji had been dropped back at Jujutsu Tech, he was ready to hit the bath and sleep for a solid ten hours. Loping towards the student dorms, he briefly checked his phone, shooting a quick text at Megumi.

Back from my mission. All good.

The reply came within seconds.

Did I ask?

I met Takuma!

Oh. He's cool.

Very cool. We had supper at a hot pot place.

With Nanami?

Yup. Apparently he's big on food.

I'm going to sleep now.

Check this out. Takuma sent it to me. He kinda forgot he was recording after a while.

Attachment: 1.

Shit, you're making me hungry dumbass.

Lol. Looks good, huh?

Yeah, whatever. Post it on your IG or something.

Humming thoughtfully, Yuuji entered his room and began gathering together some of his bath supplies. He paused at the foot of his bed, head bobbing to some unheard lyrics, fingers tapping against the phone screen that lit up his face in the darkened room.

After a few moments, he dropped the phone face down on his bed, exiting the room with a yawn, the basket of toiletries tucked under one arm. He promptly forgot about his casual IG post, right up until the next morning when he roused from sleep, eyes still slightly gummed together, fingers fumbling until they unlocked the screen so he could check the time ... and he shot upright in confused alarm, spying the flood of notifications that had come in overnight.

Now it has to be said, at this point, that being the easy-going, friendly type, Yuuji had made a lot of connections with others over time. Whether during his years at middle school, his sporting club days, or more recently, his time out and about in Tokyo on various missions, he'd managed to accrue a fair following on social media. While many of those who friended him and sent him the occasional inbox wouldn't be considered close to him by any means, his posts were often noticed and popular amongst them. Such was the nature of his personality.

And so, the video of Nanami with the hot pot, normally something that would fly under the radar if posted by anyone else, became an overnight sensation simply because it reached a much wider audience.

And what was the appeal of such a simple video, you may ask?

Imagine, if you will, a short video with simple tags, such as 'shabu shabu heaven', 'sooo good', 'too many veggies' and 'still so yummy, tho'.

Upon idly playing the clip (because it's a cold evening, and you might be craving some shabu shabu yourself) you're met with quite the sight.

First, a pair of hands come into view. Large, elegant digits, broad palms, perfect and neatly trimmed nails. The strong fingers handle the chopsticks with deft precision, stirring the steaming broth in the pot briefly.

Well now. Those hands would definitely be intriguing enough, but the effect is magnified as you witness the camera shift angle a little. The view pans up to the arms and body those hands are attached to, the subtle ripple of muscle in the broad shoulders that taper down to a slim waist, all wrapped in an expensive looking blue shirt, visible over the polished wood of the table. The man's face isn't visible, adding an element of mystery.

He begins adding vegetables to the pot, and now he really has your attention, because he has begun speaking.

And oh my. That voice.

The soft, smoky suggestion of reprimand as he softly lists the benefits of the food, the crisp enunciation of a man well-spoken, the low baritone that flows with marvellous richness across the riverbed of acoustic static from the bubbling of the pot.

You're captivated now, bringing your phone closer to your ear as you strain to hear more of those quiet, compelling, slightly authoritative tones. And then, the crowning moment of glory, the little gesture that takes this video from a solid nine to an eleven out of ten.

He rolls up his sleeves.

Setting down the chopsticks, those exquisite fingers unbutton the cuffs of his shirt with a practiced motion, rolling up the perfectly pressed fabric and folding it neatly just beneath the elbow on each side. The motion reveals perfectly sculpted forearms, the powerful flex of sinew beneath skin, veins tracing beneath the surface under the dusting of golden hair in the lamplight of the restaurant.

He continues his muted litany of instructions to whoever he is talking to, but at this point, the man could be reciting the Encyclopaedia Britannica entry on tortoises, on repeat, and you'd lap it up like the thirsty little tart you are ...

Ahem. Where was I?

Right. The video, which at that moment, was being watched by you (the imagined viewer) and Reiko from the sales department, and Haruka who you had lunch with just the other day, and Sara who loves to look up cooking videos on a Sunday afternoon, and Sukuna, who sometimes watched videos from inside Yuuji's mind with mild interest, and who momentarily thought "What a fine voice for a mortal worm", and ... you get the idea, don't you?

Ino received a panicked call from Yuuji that same morning. He'd been puttering about in his small apartment, popping some slices of bread into the toaster and frying up an egg for a quick breakfast, when the call had come through.

"Uh, Takuma-senpai? Hi, it's me, Itadori."

"Oh, hey! What's up? Did they team us up again? Sheesh. Didn't take 'em long."

"No, it's ... not a mission. It's about that video you sent me yesterday. The one from the restaurant."

"Hmm ... oh that one! Yeah?"

"See ... uhhh ... oh damn. How do I - So, look. I posted it on my IG."

"Oh, okay. And then?"

"So ... it kind of ... became popular?"

"People like hot pot that much?" Ino chuckled. "But I mean, what's the problem?"

"It's not the hot pot, Takuma-senpai! It's Nanamin!"

Having finally come to the crux of the issue, Yuuji's words were leaving him in a veritable torrent.

"They all saw him in the video and I didn't know! How was I to know? I didn't think they'd... and now there're all these ladies and girls and stuff and they're all ... it's a mess! And I don't know what to do and he's gonna kill me and - "

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, man. I can't make sense of what you're saying. One thing at a time."

"They think he's hot! They're all talking about Hot Pot Honey Muffin! That's what they're calling him!"

Ino promptly spat out his coffee in a fine brown mist.

"Hot Pot Honey what now?"

"Honey Muffin! I can't - Dude. Please, you've got to help me. If Nanamin finds out - "

"Okay. Okay. This is fine. This is ... Listen. Let me go check the video and the comments and we'll handle this. It can't be that bad. And even if that's the case, Nanami wouldn't be bothered by it. His face is not even in the video. Nobody can recognise him. He doesn't even go out that much."

"Oh God, I'm just ... okay. Go check it out. I'll send you a link to the post. Let me know."

After Yuuji had rung off, Ino took a breath and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. It was just a harmless little video! He'd posted some of these before himself, and there'd never been an issue. So how bad could it be?

It was bad.

The comment section was ... interesting to say the least.

Who is that man? Anyone?

I'd let him stir my pot. Just saying.

That voice. Hnmnnghhh. Smack me on the wrist and call me nawty.

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry -

Sir. One chance. Please sir.

Awjejdbavzbzbahsb pls ur bunny hash been a bad bad gurl

Unf, bouta make that ahegoa face rite now

And, rising above the cloud of steaming, churning, thirsty commentary, that rare peak of social media strata, the dreaded moniker that had found its place from the comment of one of the many new fans that Nanami had found for himself, Hot Pot Honey Muffin.

Ino, in spite of the chill that went up his spine and the momentary panic, knew what had to be done immediately. They had to show Nanami. Keeping something like this a secret would only make things worse with time.

True, Nanami wasn't the kind of man who drew attention to himself, but with the video now as popular as it was, it was entirely possible that someone in a shop, restaurant or one of his other frequent haunts in the local area might just recognise him. He would have to be warned, and even though Yuuji had long since taken the video down, it had been re-posted and there needed to be some kind of technical damage control.

Wracking his brain, Ino hit upon a great idea. Ijichi was known to have connections who could scour the internet for traces of curse activity that might be caught on camera and erase such evidence. Surely something similar could be done about this? If he phrased his request as something urgent, something that could affect Nanami's ability to do his job, then surely they'd take it into account?

With this new burst of inspiration, Ino threw on his jacket and headed out the door to Jujutsu Tech.

"And so ... yeah. That's ... how the matter stands. We're worried about someone recognising you because of how popular this became."

This was worse than he thought. Admitting to a mistake was always difficult when it was Nanami who was hearing you out. Standing in front of him in the staff lounge like two contrite five-year-olds caught with their hands in the cookie jar, Ino battled the instinct to hide behind Yuuji.

He was the older one here, and the one who had recorded the video in the first place. He had to bear the full responsibility for what had happened and be man enough to tell Nanami. How else would he earn his (eventual) respect and admiration?

The sorcerer seated before them heard them out in terrifyingly passive silence before sighing and removing his shades, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just when I think nothing can surprise me any more ... "

"I'm so sorry, Nanamin!" Yuuji blurted out. "I ... I didn't know ... I mean ... "

"Well, what's done is done. May I see this video, if you please?"

Ino nudged Yuuji  who stepped forward and handed his phone over reluctantly. Their discomfort grew as Nanami watched, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. The video ended and he looked up at them, frowning.

"All right. I can see why you didn't think anything of posting this, Itadori. The video itself is ... ordinary enough. It's simply showing a portion of me and the hot pot. So, why the attention?"

"Uhh ... "

The younger sorcerers glanced at each other. Ino cleared his throat.

"Well ... see, the thing is ... in the video, you kinda come across as ... I dunno ... kinda hot? At least, that's what the viewers seem to think."

"Me?"

Nanami looked incredulous and Yuuji gestured meekly to the phone.

"Just ... read the comments, Nanamin. I took the video down, but people re-posted it, so ... You'll see."

And Nanami began to read. Ino winced as he remembered the top comment, the one that would probably be first on the long list.

Roses are red, violets are blue, Your voice gets me wet Just like shabu shabu

Nanami's eyebrows were rising as steadily as the steam that emanated from the tea pot at his elbow, long forgotten. He eventually handed the phone back to Yuuji, clearing his throat.

"Well."

"Yeah."

"So ... "

"Hmmm."

"Right?"

"Yes."

Yuuji waved his hands desperately.

"But ... we're gonna handle this, right Takuma-senpai?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. I was thinking, you see. Ijichi might be able to use his network to find and remove the content from all media platforms. He's been able to do it before. I can make a request."

Nanami folded his arms and thought for a moment.

"I see. Yes, that would be possible. However, I'm against the idea of using Jujutsu Tech resources and manpower for a request such as this. That same time and processing power could be poured into much more vital concerns. Who knows how many lives could be placed at stake while we use the tools we have for something like this? No. I think another solution must be found."

Ino's shoulders sank under the weight of the knowledge that Nanami was right, as usual. But that left few avenues for removing the video. How else would they prevent this from blowing up further?

"I get it. What you're saying makes sense. What are we gonna do, though?"

"Ah. About that." Nanami lifted a prim finger. "I have an idea."

Yuuji stared at him, dumbfounded.

"You do?"

"Yes. But we will require some help. And some ... expertise on putting together a video."

It was then that Ino felt an even greater chill settle into his very bones as he witnessed something truly rare and unprecedented, something that did not bode well for him and Yuuji at all.

Nanami smiled.

It was Nobara's skill with outfits and make-up, and Inumaki's talent for setting up a scene, that had led to their current predicament. Yuuji's hair had been dyed black, his eyebrows darkened. Nobara's contouring prowess had rendered his face rounder and younger-looking, eyes magnified behind very large, thick lenses. He wore a red t-shirt with a skimpily dressed anime girl printed on it and an oversized purple jacket that disguised his lean, athletic form.

Ino had also undergone a drastic transformation. His dark hair had been shaved at the sides, the top styled into extreme spikes, tinted acid green at the ends. He had been provided with a fake eyebrow piercing and an artfully applied temporary tattoo that curved up the side of his neck, appallingly visible by the standards of society.

They sat at one of the countertops in the student dorms, the background serving as an adequate stand-in for a kitchen in someone's home. Nanami was standing opposite them, wearing his usual blue shirt and tan trousers, his sleeves remaining unfolded this time around.

Inumaki gave one final check to the camera before giving them a thumbs up.

"Salmon roe."

And the recording began.

On the counter, various dishes had been set up, all prepared in advance. They looked delicious, but you wouldn't think so, judging from the expressions of the two young men seated in plain view.

Ino grunted irritably, giving the camera a thousand-yard stare that looked very incongruous on his normally cheery face.

"Do we have to do this shit?"

Yuuji stared gormlessly into space, before laughing obnoxiously and picking his nose.

"Yeah, cos Dad said if we did we could go to that one restaurant where the waitress looked like Hatsune Kiku."

Ino's scowl deepened.

"Tch. Typical. Shit for brains here is on about that dumbass idol again."

"Now, now, boys." Nanami's voice came from across the counter, deep, polished, and a huge contrast to the two choice morsels of hellspawn sitting opposite him.

"Eat your dinner. If you're both good, we'll go to that show next week."

Yuuji's face brightened immediately.

"You mean the one where they dress up in bikinis and wrestle in the mud?"

"No, not that one."

Ino smirked.

"Ha. In your face, rat-breath."

"Be nice to your brother."

"Whatever. What are you feeding us now, old man?"

"I made katsudon. And some vegetables on the side."

"But I wanna eat omurice," Yuuji whined, thumping his fists on the table.

Nanami chuckled. "Ah, you remind me so much of myself at your age, son."

Ino rolled his eyes before tugging a steaming bowl towards himself.

"Seriously? You were this much of a loser?"

"I meant that I liked omurice too."

"Daaaaddd, please can we have omurice."

"Eat what's in front of you. Come on."

Ino stuck his chopsticks into the bowl, churning the beautifully prepared meal into an unappetizing mush.

"Huh. It tastes okay. Now give me a nice hot barbecue and I'd be really stuck in, ya know?"

"Oh, Hatsune Kiku likes barbecue, but she says, in her interview with Doki Doki magazine, Issue five hundred and three, that she can't eat too much of it, 'cos it gives her gas and - "

"Can you shut the hell up about that green haired freak for like, two seconds?"

"Kiku is not a freak!"

"Are you two eating?"

This earned a blessed silence for a few seconds, while the two 'sons' masticated in a manner that was singularly unappealing. When they were done, Nanami produced two bowls of caramel pudding and slid them across the counter, allowing his hands and arms in their blue sleeves to be briefly caught on camera.

"Well, here's dessert."

"Oohhh, pudding." Yuuji grabbed the bowl and moved it around slightly, watching the pudding jiggle. "Hehehehe. It bounces just like Kiku's - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you creepy - "

"Language, boys."

"Urgh. I hope I'm getting paid for this. Hanging out with this loser is taking years off my life."

"He's your brother. You two have to look after each other when I'm gone."

"Like fuck I will. He's gonna become a NEET however you see it."

"Then it's up to you to set a good example for him."

"Ha. Me? The second you're in the ground, I'm gonna take the money and buy myself that sweet, sweet little Kawasaki Ninja, then I'm gonna hit the road."

"You'll see things differently with time. Look at me. I was the splitting image of you back then. I settled down nicely."

"Ugh, whatever. I ain't gonna settle down. Now where's my cash?"

"Finish your pudding first, son."

The video, released from a burner account set up by Inumaki, spread as quickly as the first one had. In the days that followed, gossip spread in social media circles about 'Hot Pot Honey Muffin' and his two god-awful sons. The rhetoric around him changed drastically. It turned out that having children, like the boys played so charmingly by Ino and Yuuji, was a huge turn-off to most people.

The two young sorcerers certainly served their time when it came to punishment. It took ages for the tint to grow out of Yuuji's hair and he cringed every time he saw Hatsune Kiku on TV. Ino developed a very strong aversion to bikes for a while and found it hard to stomach pudding. They both decided to deactivate their IG accounts for a while.

Nanami read some of the new video's comments shown to him by Inumaki with some satisfaction.

Can you believe those are his kids?

How the heck is he raising them?

And the younger one. EWWWWWWW.

The older one looks like he microwaves pigeons for fun.

Roses are dead, Violets are a lie, I saw your children, And my pussy is dry.

Nanami adjusted his shades before looking up at Inumaki and nodding gravely.

Success.

[ssahotchnerr]

I need a 'you came' - 'you called' moment with our beloved Aaron. Either if he shows up for the reader or the reader shows up for him.

aftershocks

cw; bau!reader, takes place after 4x1 mayhem, descriptions of violence

you couldn't sleep.

you've been tossing and turning for hours, frustrations growing inside you as the clock hit one, two, three am.

you had returned to quantico from new york yesterday, and the adrenaline that had been racing through you the past few days had still yet to lessen. as if your mind and body still believed something horrible was about to happen; you felt as if you were buzzing- with anticipation, uneasiness, fear.

every time you closed your eyes, it replayed. so vividly as if it were happening right before you again.

the franticness the city had fallen into, trying to get ahold of your team and failing, finding out that one of your government issued vehicles had exploded. aaron and kate's vehicle. aaron.

kate hadn't made it. but aaron had.

your mind kept coming back to the what ifs; the idea of sam waiting a few more seconds before initiating the explosion. if they had been any closer...

or, what if aaron and kate had entered the car? they would've been right above where the device had been planted. on the driver's side.

aaron always drove.

you currently choked back a sob at that one.

however, you had managed to keep it together through the case's entirety. how you did so, you still had no idea. and as much as you wished you could've been by aaron's side, at the scene of the explosion, you were selfishly grateful it had been derek, and not you. seeing aaron in that state, covered in blood in a scenario where he could've easily not made it, it would ruin you.

and now, in the comfort of your apartment, alone with your thoughts, it was too much. too much to handle alone.

and only one person could ease your mind. he may not know it, but he meant everything to you.

"hotchner."

just the sound of his sleep-filled voice through the phone brought you to tears. he's alive.

he's alive.

"hi, it's me." you held back another sob, hoping your voice maintained some normalcy.

it hadn't, and within less than a second aaron was wide awake. "what's wr-"

"i just needed to hear your voice." you interrupted, clutching onto your phone with a shaky hand. "i know it's late, i'm so sorry, but-"

"no, please don't apologize." he cut you off this time. his voice was soft- comforting. "what is it?"

"i just wanted to make sure you were okay." your voice cracked in the middle of your sentence, and you exhaled a breath in attempt to calm your nerves.

"i'm okay." he whispered softly, repeating again to give you the confirmation he knew you needed. "i'm okay."

"i was... am, so scared." you admitted, biting down onto your lip hard. "i'm so scared to lose you. in new york, you were so close, too close. you could've..." you couldn't finish your statement, as if it would your somehow change the outcome. make it real.

"i'm here." aaron insisted, his tone firm but exceedingly gentle. "i'm right here."

"i know. i just..."

"do you want me to come over?"

you immediately froze at his question. yes. "no, you don't have to. it's late, and you have jack. so it's fine. don't worry about m- it, please."

"but he's at-"

"i'll just see you at the bau. only in a few hours, right?" you forced a laugh, a single tear falling from your eye. "goodnight."

he started to say something else, but you had already hung up.

after hearing his voice, you felt somewhat better. your heart rate had slowed, but an empty feeling in your chest was still present- as if some unknown force was still going to take aaron from you unannounced. you simply stared at the ceiling, accepting your inevitable fate of doing so until the sun came up, until there was a soft knock on your door.

your heart did a leap as you pushed back your comforter, quickly heading to your front door. as it was nearly four in the morning, the most logical thing to do was check through the peephole to see who the culprit was.

but you didn't. you knew in your heart who it was.

you opened your door to reveal aaron. his hair was still disheveled from sleep, he was still in his pajamas. it was strange seeing him in such casual attire- flannel pants and a grey crewneck- rather that his usual suit, or even just a simple button-up or sweater. it was more personal, vulnerable even.

"you came?" your words left you in a breath as you looked at him in disbelief, your bottom lip already trembling.

there was something in aaron's eyes you couldn't quite place, and you could've sworn you've never heard his voice so gentle. "you called."

just as the other way around, he would do anything for you.

the sob you had been holding in for nearly two days finally broke through your chest, and aaron didn't hesitate to gather you into his arms.

"i'm here." he mumbled into your hair, cries shaking through you. "i'll always be here."

[wintersoldiersoul]

Reader comes back from a mission with Natasha really sick. Bucky steps up and takes care of the reader. They don’t want to get Bucky sick, but he’s literally not worried about it because, ya know, super soldier. So he’s able to take care of them and stay with them and cuddle.

Bucky was sat on the couch with a book, trying to pass the time until you got home. You had been gone for 4 days on a mission with Natasha and while it was pretty low stakes, he was still holding his breath until you got home. He missed you terribly, especially since he didn’t have any missions or any real work to do while you were gone. He just tried to fill each day as best as he could until his doll returned home safe and sound. 

He smiled when he heard his phone ring, expecting it to be you for your daily phone call that you made whenever you got a minute. But it wasn’t you. It was Natasha. 

“Nat?” He asked, answering. “Is everything okay?” 

He heard the redhead sigh on the other end. “Yeah, we’re okay. We’re gonna be home in an hour or so, but just wanted to give you a heads up, Y/N is pretty sick.” He went on alert. Whenever you were sick, even if it was just a small cold, Bucky went into full nurse mode, waiting on you hand and foot. He hated seeing you in any sort of pain or discomfort even if it was just an inevitable part of being a human. “Is she okay?”

“Um,” she hesitated. In the background, Bucky could hear you groaning. “She will be. I may need some help when we get here, though.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready.”

Bucky spent the next hour preparing things for you. He made a big pot of soup, put on the tea kettle, changed the sheets on the bed so that they were fresh and clean for you. He laid out clothes and gathered every type of medicine he could find. When he heard the roar of the jet, he headed up to the roof ready to do whatever he had to help you.

Natasha stepped off the jet, greeting him with a smile. “She’s still in there,” she explained. “I don’t know if she can walk on her own.” 

Bucky nodded and headed into the jet. You were curled up with your eyes closed. Your face was flushed and you were shivering. Bucky approached you like you were a small, scared animal. “Baby?” he whispered, sitting down next to you and stroking your hair.

“Hmmm,” you mumbled. He could tell you had a fever and you were definitely out of it.

“Can I take you inside? Get you to bed?”

You opened your eyes. “N-no,” you said through chattering teeth. “D-don’t wanna get you s-sick.” 

Bucky smiled gently. “Honey, I can’t get sick, remember?” Usually whenever you were sick, you didn’t worry about passing it on to Bucky. You knew his supersoldier immune system prevented him from catching anything you had. The fact that you didn’t remember that right now told Bucky just how out of it you were.

“Oh.”

“Come here, baby,” Bucky said, scooping you into his arms as gently as possible. You were like dead weight, barely able to keep your head up. “Thanks, Nat,” he said once he’d gotten you off the jet. “I got it from here.”

He set you down on the bed, trying to keep you from falling asleep. He knew you needed to rest but you were still in your uniform, covered in dirt and grime from the mission. “What hurts, darlin’?”

You groaned, letting your head fall on his shoulder. “Everything. Head, throat, stomach. My whole body aches. Feel dizzy.”

“Can I run a bath for you? You’ll feel a little better if you’re clean.” Your only response was another groan and Bucky laughed. “Alright, stay here. I’m gonna run you a bath, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

You fell asleep in the span of time between Bucky running the bath and coming to get you. He hated to wake you up but he had to get you clean of the mission that was clinging to your skin. He shook your shoulder gently, once again scooping you up and carrying you to the bathroom. He sat you down on the toilet and helped you get undressed before doing so himself. He had to remember to thank Stark for the giant bathtub. 

He got you into the bath and wrapped his arms around you so that your back was leaning against his chest. Lovingly, he ran his hands up and down your arms. “Baby how long have you been feeling sick for?”

“I dunno,” you mumbled. “Couple days?” 

His eyes widened. “What? Why didn’t you come home? You know any of us could have stepped in on this one and taken your place.”

“Didn’t wanna be a disappointment,” you murmured. Bucky’s heart broke for you. You were such an overachiever, such a people pleaser. You constantly put the needs and wants of everyone else in front of your own. You never wanted to let anyone down, even if it was at the cost of your own health. “M sorry,” you continued.

“Shhh, it's okay. I just worry about you. You’re gonna kill yourself one day trying to keep everyone happy.”

“Can’t help it,” you said with your eyes closed.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay? Let’s just get you clean and into bed right now.” He spent the next 20 minutes washing your body and hair, taking his time to massage your scalp the way you loved. He spread the conditioner over your ends, letting it sit for a few minutes the way you taught him. By the time he was done, you had fallen asleep. 

Bucky picked you up and got you dressed in one of his sweatshirts and your favorite pair of sweatpants. Your eyes fluttered open as he set you down in the bed. “Bucky, no. You’re gonna get sick!” You repeated your concern from earlier, worrying him by just how out of it you truly were.

“No, I’m not, honey,” he said, moving your hair out of your face. “Can you open your mouth for me, sweetie? I’m just gonna take your temperature.” 

He looked at the thermometer with concern after it beeped. “You’ve definitely got a bad fever, babe. Your temp is 103.7.” He put his metal hand on the back of your neck, knowing the cold would feel good on your burning skin. 

You hummed at the feeling, the vibranium sending waves of relief over your skin. “Wanna sleep.”

Bucky smiled at you. “You can sleep, baby. Can I hold you?”

“No, you’ll get sick!” You repeated for the third time. 

“Baby, I won’t get sick. That I can guarantee, okay? Can you do me a favor and remember that I won’t get sick?”

You nodded and curled up against him, resting your head on his chest. His strong arms wrapped around you, stroking your shoulder gently. “I love you, Princess. Get some rest, okay?” 

“Love you,” you said into his neck before drifting off into a deep sleep.

[reallyromealone]

Title: miscommunication

Fandom: Scott Pilgrim vs the world

Characters: Julie, Wallace, Scott, ramona

Fic type: story hurt to comfort

Pairings: Wallace x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, miscommunication

Notes:

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

(name) sat quietly in the train, staring at the passing city lights as the C.N tower could be seen in the distance, glowing red tonight...

But that didn't matter.

None of it mattered.

He felt his eyes water as the GO train robot spoke "Next stop, Union station" he was just so tired as he got off and walked through the platform to Old Union.

His eyes were watery as he walked through the old station hall to Bayview and took a deep breath of the fall air that overtook Toronto, freezing the tears of heartbreak that threatened to fall down his cheeks.

He was just so tired of Wallace Wells.

The two just had another fight, (name) wanted to take their relationship forward but Wallace said he liked living on his own... The two arguing and now here he was...

Walking to his lonesome apartment.

His apartment was six city blocks from the station, but he didn't care as he walked down the streets with clouded thoughts rushing through his head, was he not good enough? He didn't mean to push he just wanted to know... Hell, he hadn't even been to his own boyfriend's apartment.

When he got home, he slid against his apartment door and sobbed, the sound of the city muddling his sobs.

Why wasn't he good enough?

(Name) Was sluggish as he made coffee after coffee, Julie watched in the corner but didn't comment as she was already well aware of what happened from the texts from Wallace, the black-haired man worried sick after (name) ran off during a fight, the spectacled woman ripping into him for his cowardice and to just be honest with (name).

"Julie... I'm going on break..." (Name) Whispered as he went to the back area, between storage and boxes was the break area and he sat down on one of the small plastic folding chairs and just stared off... "Oi! This Friday, I have a party and I better see your ass there!" Julie smacked the back of (name) 's head and the other huffed but knew she worried, the two close friends and he knew she had his back.

(Name) Stood in the corner of the party with a sigh, normally he would be with Wallace and their friends but there was no sign of his boyfriend anywhere, and (name) just took a sip and stared "You good?" A voice spoke out and (name) glanced up to see a pink-haired girl "Oh, you're Julia's friend right? Romina?" (Name) Said softly to the other "Yeah, what's your deal?"

"... It's kind of heavy" (name) mumbled and Ramona dragged him to a couch "I got time to kill," she said simply and (name) chuckled and explained how he wanted to move in with his boyfriend and how hurt that he was being shut out without even a bit of conversation "it's like he doesn't even want to be in a relationship with me..." (Name) Whispered and Ramona sighed "Call him on his shit," she said simply and (name) furrowed his eyebrows "Go to his place tomorrow and call him on it"

"Yeah... I think I'll try that" (name) said calmly as he looked at the other "Thanks"

"No problem " She smiled softly and watched as (name) walked off.

(Name) Didn't wait till tomorrow, having taken three shots of vodka and stood in front of his boyfriend's apartment and knocked on the door, swaying slightly as the door opened to reveal "Who are you?" (Name) Grumbled as he looked behind to see the single bed "I'm Scott, I love it here?" Scott said confused and (name) squinted "And you live with Wallace... And share a bed?" He felt his heart break a bit more as the other nodded "Uh, yeah... Do you see another bed?"

"He's cheating on me?" (Name) Whispered and Scott looked confused as (name) turned around pulled out his phone and drunkenly dumped Wallace.

'wr don hv fun witgkfk spot' was what Wallace got as he arrived at the party in a hot outfit and an apology ready for (name) who was supposed to be there as his world shattered around him.

When he got back to his apartment, Scott looked confused "Someone came here, he was looking for you, real angry" Scott said as Wallace looked over "said something about cheating"

Oh no.

Wallace needed to find (name).

(Name) Sobbed as he sat on a bench in a high park, drunk and sad as he thought about the events that took place.

Was this why he was so avoidant of living with him?

His phone kept going off but (name) ignored it as he looked around, he remembered coming here with Wallace after their first date and... More tears fell out of his eyes as he sobbed uncontrollably.

It was sheer luck that Wallace found (name) in the massive city, seeing him curled up and crying "(name), shit..." Wallace was always so cool and passive but now he was panicking as (name) drunkenly pulled away from him "Go be with Spot!" He drunkenly yelled and on another day Wallace would have found (name)s incorrect name of his parasite of a roommate funny but he just wanted his boyfriend to not be crying and angry "Baby I'm not fucking or doing anything with Scott, I would never do that to you" he said to (name) who drunkenly shook his head "you sleep with him! He was wearing your shirt!"

"Because he just showed up at my place and won't leave!"

"You don't wanna live with me because you have that twink..." (Name) Wobbled "Why don't you want me? I-I want you all the time and I don't get it!" Wallace always avoided answering this when they argued and now it was the make or break of this relationship "I'm terrified" Wallace admitted "If we lived together you would realize I'm not so cool and stuff as you think and you will hate me"

"You're fucking stupid... You know how many times I cried because you made me feel like this!" (Name) Let Wallace hold him close as he cried again over his stupid boyfriend "You're not cheating?" (Name) Wobbly asked and Wallace kissed his head "I would rather die than date Scott Pilgrim, he's that fucker dating the 17-year-old" Wallace explained and (name) sobered a bit as he cuddled Wallace's side '"will you at least think about moving together? I promise I won't get bored of you or anything... I just wanna wake up to you"

Wallace smiled and kissed his boyfriend, the taste of beer and vodka on his lips "I will now let's go home, you are fucking shit fa-- and you threw up in the bushes, I'm calling a cab"

[ptq3000]

Hey I was wondering if you were doing requests?

If you are, I've had this itch in my brain of a person with like a spiderman type quirk who is in the bakusquad and one day they're talking to someone and is so focused on whatever they're talking about that they just start walking up a wall and they don't even realize until they're in the middle of the ceiling.

This idea has just been bouncing in my brain and I would love if you could do something with it! I love your bakusquad works, you do amazing! 💜

hey hun, thanks so much,..first ask so im nervous :'))

bakusquad with reader that has a spiderman quirk!! ngl, ive also been itching about a reader with a spiderman quirk too.,soherewegohoney

—

you and bakusquad were chilling in the common room when denki decided to break the silence.

"hey guys.." he started out. "yeah?" mina questioned, looking away from her phone to look at denki.

"how is bubble wrap made if you have to wrap bubbles into the bubble wrap? and how do the bubbles stay in the bubble wrap..." he finished.

"that is the most stup-" bakugo was starting his insult but before he could finish, you had stood up and started to pace the room, interrupting him.

"denki, the plastic sheet of bubble wrap is made of different materials which are melted into a thin film. this is then-"

"y/n?" kirishima tried to get your attention.

"-flattened, which is put into rollers-"

"y/n?" mina called your name. "that insert vacuumed-"

"oi, idiot!" bakugo had also tried. "-air into the sheet to create the air bubbles in the bubble wr-" "y/n!" jirou cut you off. "yeah?"

you had turned to look at her when you realized everything was..upside down. and you were on the middle of the ceiling..again.

"i think you're on the ce-" "i can see im on the ceiling." you deadpan. it was silent in the common room before you started to burst out laughing, still on the ceiling. mina chuckled at you and denki joined you in your fit of giggles.

once you finally caught your breath, you dropped down from the ceiling to the floor in your spider pose. everyone went back to their business and you went back on your phone, forgetting about what had just happened.

until denki broke the silence again.

"hey y/n..?"

"hm?"

"you never told me how the bubbles stay in the bubble wrap.."

—

a/n: and then you shot a web on denki's face. ok, but sorry it took so long honey

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Can you do a Duke Thomas/reader? Like brother’s best friend type of stuff. Or it could be friend of a friend type of romance. I’m sorry of that’s not a lot of info 😅

Lucky

Duke Thomas x Reader

wc: 2.6 K summary: Your brother's best friend likes you, but won't dare to actually do anything. warnings: none, fluff a/n: Don't worry about it, it was just enough info to get my brain working and I am very glad you requested such a nice idea! Hope you enjoy it!!

You've known Duke since the first day your brother invited him over to your house when you were just little kids. He was pretty nice back then, but had more smart-ass comments back then. That led you two to having a sort of bickering relationship. Not in a bad way, no. He was funny and just liked to tease you often. Not that you minded.

It was pretty fun, you found yourself looking forward to when he will visit you for dinner again, so you can play a bit with him. He usually dreaded playing with your barbie dolls, but still did, having felt too bad to decline.

Now, of course a lot of years have gone by. You're both grown, but still two years younger than him. You've seen him just last week, when he dropped something off for your brother and stayed for a while to chat with your mother over a cup of tea. And now you find yourself missing him while hanging out with friends. You shouldn't feel so bored during a birthday, right? And yet you find yourself staring at his number in your phone while thinking of some excuses to leave the social gathering.

A small sigh leaves your lips and you tell one of your friends that you need to leave, resulting for them to groan and try to make you stay a little longer. Finally, you got out of the cafe and walk down the street to make a peaceful phone call. Your brother works at this time of day, basically leaving no choice but to call his best firend, now hoping that Duke will at least pick up the phone.

He surprisingly picks up just after the second ring, his smooth voice going through the speaker.

»What's up?«

»Are you busy right now?« You ask back and he just now realises it's you who calls him, his mind searching for an answer.

»Uh, no? No, why? Something happened?« He eventually answers back and continues to drive through the busy streets of Gotham on his bike, parking at a small alleyway and killing his engine.

»No, just got bored during a hangout... and they really drained me, to be honest. Anyway, can you pick me up?« He doesn't hesitate and nods, even though you can't see it through the phone call.

»Sure, where are you? I'll be there in no time.« Duke answers back while taking his gloves off, looking around before he changes out of his suit and back into his civilian clothes. He can take a small break during his patrol. No one will mind, since he is still helping someone out, right?

You see him approach after some minutes, having been scrolling through various stuff on your phone while waiting for him. He waves to you with a smile and is quick to be by your side.

»Being a grumpy cat again? You never last more than two hours with friends, I'm starting to think you need better friends at this point.« He nudges you gently as he starts walking you back to your home. You try to tease him back and just nudge him back with more force, making him chuckle.

»Careful, you are the last person I'm not constantly annoyed with.« You say back to him which makes him roll his eyes. You're currently walking through a park on the way home, the sun still being up but not as hot as earlier. It's actually the best weather to have a walk.

moew

Did you hear that right? You turn your head towards the small sound, gasping once you spot two cats sunbathing on the free field of grass. They look so cute, it makes you have cuteness aggression while slowing down your steps. You are not the only one who noticed the cats, Duke watching your expression and reaction beside him.

»Do you see them? I want to steal them.« He almost chokes on air at your words and wraps his arms loosely around your shoulders to gently move you away from the cats who look peaceful at the moment.

»Nope. Let them be, you have enough cats of your own.« He guides you away from them, even when the cats are far away enough that you'd need to walk a bit to actually reach them.

»Wait, let me at least get a picture of them.«

He reluctantly stops and lets you snap a picture of the two cats, smiling widely some more as they move around and lick at each others furr, seemingly relaxed and having a good time.

After having made about ten or more photos, he drags you back the way to your home, having to lead you as you're looking through the photos as you trust him enough to bring you home safely this way. Eventually, he got you to your apartment and gets a hug in return for being so nice to waste his time to walk you home. Even when he wouldn't call it a waste of time. He will most likely think about it for the rest of the day.

Making his way back to his bike to change back into his suit, Duke makes it quick and continues to patrol until the evening. Getting back to the Manor, he didn't pay much mind to the chaos going on and just looked down at his phone while making his way to his room.

»Wait, Duke! I saw you with a girl today, who was it? Who is the lucky one?«

They've got to be kidding him...

He tucks his phone away and turns to face Dick, really not wanting for him to misunderstand anything.

»It was just Justin's little sister. She asked me to walk her home and I did.« He shrugs as nonchalantly as possible and hopes his brother will let go of the subject. »Are you sure? Why did you have your arm around her the whole time then, huh?« Duke has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at his eldest brother, not wanting to come off as defensive but also explain it to him somehow.

»Can't I have friends of the opposite sex? It's really not that hard to be friends with a girl, Dick.« Dick scoffs, putting his hand on his shoulder to drag him towards the couch in the livinng room.

»No, sure... you just looked at her in a specific way.« »I didn't! Okay, what is this about?«

Duke halts in his movements and crosses his arms, looking very bemused by the antics of his brother. »Relax! I was just trying to give you some advice, but you don't want it, I guess...«

Of course he plays the wounded card on him now. This is really unnerving for him, especially when his brother is trying to play matchmaker in a weird way. At the silence of Duke, Dick decides to go on and give him some advice of his own.

»Just ask her if she wants to see a movie or get coffee or something. Worst thing she can say is no. It's not that bad.«

Duke finally rolls his eyes and mumbles, »She doesn't even like coffee...«, before he forced Dick to let go of him and enter his own room.

»Well, does she have a favourite movie?« Dick's voice sounds through the Manor, but Duke his already in his room, ignoring whatever advice he wants to give him. ----

A family gathering isn't a family gathering without Duke. Not only is he the best friend of your brother, but also gets along really good with the rest. Today was nothing new, sitting at the dining table at your Mum's house, having also your grandma and your aunt with his husband at the table.

Duke has even brought you a small gift, saying it would be rude to visit with empty hands. When your brother complained about getting nothing, he just brushed him off, claiming he is way to stupid to get gifts.

You're halfway through the gathering, and no one has asked these typical, annoying questions yet. It's then, when Duke has a mouthful of food in his mouth, that your grandma decides to drop some rather typical questions.

»You should be more like Duke, he brought a gift for a pretty lady. Why aren't you such a gentleman like him? That's probably why you don't have a girlfriend yet.«

Justin, your brother, feels a little embarrassed from your grandma's words, rubbing the back of his neck and looks across the table to her. Meanwhile, Duke almost chokes on his food, quickly swallowing it down before speaking up. »I think you're wrong ma'am. Why should he bring a gift for his sister for a normal gathering?«

He argues lightly, gesturing to Justin beside him who nods along. »I'm just saying he should take an example on you! You are so well-behaved and nice, it shouldn't be hard to at least be more charming like you.« Your grandma reasons as a matter of fact, looking to his grandson who seems slightly uncomfortable but not ashamed by this. It's mostly amusing.

The dinner goes by after sharing some more words and eating all together, eventually being able to retreat to your old childhood rooms. And it's finally time to see what he bought you! You don't know why, but you've always been giddy when he got you presents out of nowhere. Was he spoiling you in that way? Maybe. But you don't complain.

Opening it up, you are surprised to see a new, gorgeous-looking notebook. He knows you like to journal and just keep track of things with taking notes, being very pleaased with how stunning the smaller notebook is binded. It must've cost like... a lot? But then again, he never told you about the prices of the presents. Meaning, if you would ask him about it, he would down-right ignore you.

Things like this happen more often though. He regularly brings you some small gifts or giftcards to your favourite cafe whenever he meets up with a group of friends and you, or when you have another small gathering back at your mum's house. And you aren't the first to notice. Especially your brother keeps making fun of him, finding it a little weird and mostly unusual from his best friend to subtly hit on his sister like that. But Duke just brushes it off, always wearing a smug smirk while countering back with jokes.

»Can't help it. Your fault for having such a sweet sister.«

By now, he always swims around in your brain and his small gifts stand around in your room. You don't know if he just has too much money or genuinely wants to say something with that. Neither way, you won't complain and have thought about paying him back in some way. »I think you added too much sugar.« Your friend of probably a decade remarks while she watches you make a batch of brownies, while sitting by the kitchen counter. She came right into your apartment after calling for some company on baking sweets for Duke.

At first she teased you unecassery about it, already calling him your 'secret boyfriend' or something. Now she has the audacity to judge your brownies.

»Listen, he'll eat it any way. He never turned down any of the food I offered to him, and he has a sweet tooth, so...« Mixing up the batter was a hard task, but you finally got it mixed together well enough to fill it into the form. »Oh God, you even know if he has a thing for sweets or not...« She groans and rolls her head back dramatically, pretending to be very disgusted over this.

You finally get the brownies ready, having had about five meltdown's and three "I can't do this anymore", but you got finished. You really hope he will like them, because you aren't really sure if your friend was right about the amount of sugar. ----

You both settled to meet up at your place, finding it easier to just hang out while eating some sweets. Of course, he came in with a small gift once more, a handwritten letter from him. He specifically told you to read it when he is gone, probably so he won't cringe at himself for what he wrote down.

Finally, you settle down on your couch with a plate of freshly baked brownies and a tv series you both decided to binge today. How could it get any better. Duke compliments your homemade brownies through and through, even liking his fingertips to show you how much he enjoys them. Maybe he is a little overjoyed at this, but you enjoy the satisfied and genuinely happy smile across his face.

As the series marathon continues, you make yourself more comfortable beside him, getting a blanket out to share. He wraps his arm around you casually, keeping you close under the comfort of the blanket while the light of the TV illuminates your features gently. The evening goes on and you lean against him more the longer you watch the first season of the series. You can't help, he is just so comfortable. And he doesn't seem to mind at all as well and just stays close.

However, you weren't exactly paying any attention to the characters on the screen, but silently dozing off against his shoulder. He hasn't noticed yet and just watches the show, until he feels how limp and silent you've been for the last few minutes. Duke shares a small glance towards your sleeping form, his heart melting at the sight. It means a lot for you to feel comfortable enough to fall asleep against him. He tries not to praise himself too much for it, focussing back on the TV screen.

It's been one more episode, you seem to be dead asleep by now. He actually has no idea what to do now. What is he suppposed to do? Is there something he is supposed to do right now? It feels like when a cat falls asleep on your lap and makes you unable to move until it wakes up again. What would Dick do in this situation? Okay, he hates himself for thinking that. All his advice has been bullcrap over the last few weeks.

He decides on carefully shifting you enough so that you're both laying down on the couch, making sure you won't fall off from it while he holds you close. After turning down the volume of the TV, he settles down eventually and falls asleep right beside you. ----

You squeeze your pillow tighter to yourself, sighing out lightly once you're comfortable again and continue to lay in the soft cushion with closed eyes. That is until a hand pats your shoulder lightly, gasping surprised at the unfamiliar touch. You sit up suddenly and look down to Duke. Duke? Since when is he here?

He grumbles in response to your sudden movement, squinting his eyes at you. »Geez, am I this ugly?« You scoff at his light joke, finally remembering and getting why you were cuddled up with him on your couch. The evening ended with you falling asleep against him against your will. Which lead to this... you can't say you are complaining at the moment, but you don't want to come off as a desperate person.

»Just confused you for my pillow.« You mumble back finally and settle back beside him with a small sigh, relaxing again. He smiles amused in return and rolls onto his back next to you. The room falls into silence briefly before the rustling of a blanket fills it in, currently snuggling up to him once more.

Duke can't help but feel his heart race, sneaking his arm around you to keep you close to his side. You can hear the faint beat of his heart against your ear as you stay snuggled to him, finding it both amusing and sweet how his body betrays him for his nonchalant attitude at the moment.

a/n: there's no part two, boohoo. But don't worry, there's anothe rbig fanfiction waiting for you, I'm just currently trying to take care of everything at once, soo..... it will take a while. But I hope you enjoyed this request! Thanks again!!

[ughgoaway]

you're just a stranger I know everything about.

Content warnings; sadness lol, confrontation, crying, a few Taylor references because I am unbearable, swearing, shouting, and just general angst. (no happy ending either oops)

a/n; day 1 of the matty 35 celebration! and what better way to start it than with some teacher au angst?? I know my birthdays always have an air of melancholy, so I feel like this is appropriate. I fear this is rushed and SO bad, but eh, too late now!! anyway, enjoy! maybe? if you can?

word count; 3.5k ish

(this fic is an extension from the "don't you think of me?" universe, which you can read here.)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The text sits on your phone. Every time the screen starts to dim, you tap it to keep it illuminated, yet you don't reply. You can't. Every muscle in your body feels frozen except that one finger. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You watched the phone dim, but the name of the contact seemed to stay just as bright, even when the light is as low as it can be, “Matty. DO NOT TEXT.” glows on your screen. The warning was added against your will after a few too many drunk almost-phone calls. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

It’s an hour later when the phone dies. You knew it was coming, watching the percentage of charge drop slowly. You got the 15% warning. Then the 5%. But still, you did the same thing until the screen finally went black.

 Tap. Tap. Tap.

You don't need the phone to be lit up to remember what the message said anyway. You’d read it a thousand times over already. You’d analysed it, broken it down, performed autopsies on every single word, each letter was scorched into your brain. 

“Hey y/n, long time no talk. 

I hope you got my letter, if you didn't read it, that's okay. You already know everything I said. You always knew me better than I did. 

Anyway, I know this is a long shot, but it's my birthday party next week, and I just can't imagine celebrating without you there. All I can think about is my last birthday, me and you in Hawaii. I don't expect it to be like that, but I would love it if you came. Even if you just had one drink, we don't have to talk. You can wave at me across the room and stay far, far away. Treat me like I've got the plague for all I care, but just come, please. 

Give an old man his birthday wish?

See you there, maybe. I hope so, anyway.

Matty x” 

You want to do the same to the text that you did to his letter, burn it to a crisp. But that doesn't exactly seem feasible, considering your phone was £500, and probably not flammable. plus, you had blisters on your fingers for weeks after the letter, and you dont know if it's worth it again.

But you can't deny that the blisters were oddly comforting. Reminding you what you did every time something brushed your digits, that he was gone, and you had the power. The ball was in your court, and you intended it to stay there.

And it was there for months. But Matty ruined that by sending that message, he got the power back whether he intended to or not. And it was made even worse by him telling Charli, and her endless phone calls begging you to come.

You’re so good at telling her its not going to happpen, and every message that comes in gets a firm “no.” or just gets point-blank ignored. She begs, saying that she needs a friend there and that she'll even let you choose a few songs for George’s DJ playlist. But you stay strong, shaking your head and sighing, insisting you've moved on, that chapter of your life is closed, and you'd like to keep it that way.

So you can't help but wonder how you ended up dressed up on a Saturday night standing outside of Matty’s house, bottle of wine gripped in your shaking hands and the distinct noise of your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk towards the house you've done everything you can to forget. 

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

As soon as you walk in, you can tell the house is different from how you left it. Obviously, the strobe lights and birthday balloons were new, but even ignoring those, the whole space felt wrong. Even more unforgiving and cold, which was impressive considering every inch was covered with people, dancing and chatting. Still, a lifeless air hung around. 

Your eyes darted around, finding the places that you used to occupy. The painting you bought Matty no longer hangs on the wall, replaced by yet another award. You can't help but feel bitter when you see the poster celebrating the album full of songs about you. The spot where your mug used to sit on the counter was empty, but the dark stained ring of coffee remained, forcing you to fight a small smile. maybe he hadn't completely erased you, even if he tried.

People recognise you immediately, and they don't hide their shock well. They might think that they do, smoothly recovering from their initial surprise, but they don't. You see their wide eyes and disbelieving glances, each person acting like you're a ghost haunting the house you once lived in.

You play pretend along with them, smiling as best you can and answering all their questions.

"How's work?"

"How have you been?"

"you seen any good films lately?"

but, you both know you're dancing around the one question they really want to be answered.

why the fuck were you here?

Eventually, the people stop coming, and Charli finds you, plying you with drinks and half-slurred thanks as she begs you to stay for just 5 more minutes. You agree, only because you have yet to catch a glimpse of the birthday boy, and that made everything just bearable.

You quickly regret that decision when you see him not even a minute later, standing by George in the DJ booth smoking a cigarette and laughing in that contagious way he always did. High pitched giggles and his head thrown back.

But he doesn't see you, so it's still okay. You can hang on a few seconds more. Your chest might be tightening with every moment, but you're not suffocating yet.

However, when a tall blonde girl walks over and starts making out with him, it suddenly starts to feel like the room is on fire, and you’re choking on the invisible smoke. The burn of the flames starts to feel all too real when he pulls away from her, though, and his eyes find yours as if they're magnetised together. 

The realisation falls over his face immediately, dropping his hand from around her waist and trying desperately to weave through the crowd surrounding him. You don't stay to see if he breaks through the sea of people, already rushing out as fast as you can, forcing your cup into a stranger's hand and moving as fast as your legs can take you.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

“y/n, stop.” You hear Matty’s voice behind you as you storm out his front door, but you don't turn. It sounds muffled, like you're being pulled underwater, and someone is screaming at you to get up. But the waves keep on pulling you deeper, and his voice becomes more faint with every step you take.

Yet, as soon as the cold air fills your lungs and his skin finally touches yours, you're pulled out. You spin around as soon as his fingers graze your shoulder, acting like even his touch is painful as you wrench away.

It was finally here, the time you were dreading. The time when it was just you, him, and everything that remained unsaid.

His eyes held yours as the silence of the night surrounded you, and you couldn't help but study him like you always did. He looked different. Not better or worse, just different. The colourful lights in the house had been hiding his features. 

He had more lines on his face, deeper ones on his forehead, but the ones around his mouth had lightened, his smile lines fading. You could still tell even when it was slicked back with heavy gel that more grey streaks danced through his curls.

His eyes were the same, though. Always so telling, so revealing. If you wanted to know exactly what Matty Healy was thinking, look in his eyes. They spoke more than he did. Which sounds absurd if you’d ever had a conversation with him, but you'd bet your life on it.

You almost start to soften at the sight of him, old memories flooding back. Flashes of warm sun and hot kisses, filthy sex followed by soft breakfasts in bed. But then he speaks. Why do men always do that? Just as you're thinking about saying something and trying defusing the situation, they open their stupid mouth.

“Where are you going?” he asks softly, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in oxygen, his lungs fighting to catch up.

“Home, Matty. I shouldn't have come. I don't even know why you invited me.” You try to spin and walk away, to finally move on. But of course, Matty’s voice drags you back under once again, and the same water fills your lungs.

“stay, please. i dont know why i invited you either, but I did. I didn't expect you to come. I just-” Matty stutters as he speaks as if his brain can't catch up with his mouth, things pour out that he doesn't mean. And he knows it. It's crystal clear as soon as his wide eyes shoot open, processing what he had really just said. 

He didn't expect you to come? He put you through all this and didn't think you'd show up? What was the point then? Was it just to hurt you? Did he just want to see if he could? to see if his name popping up would have the same effect it always did, make you come running to him?

Your body moves without thinking, turning to face Matty with fires burning in your eyes, "You didn't think I would come? Then why the fuck did you even invite me, Matty?! to flaunt your new girlfriend? to try and "win" the breakup? Well congratulations, you've fucking won. I'm sure that model hanging off your arm is just perfect for you.” sarcasm drips from your every word, burning Matty like acid rain.

“No! It's not like that. I don't know. I think- I think I was just scared we’d never be in the same place again. That I would love you for the rest of my life, but I’d never see you again.” his voice softens as he speaks, and you almost want to give in, to crumble at his gentle tone and warm eyes. But he can't still love you, it seems impossible when you go back and see the destruction he left behind.

“That's what a breakup is, Matty. And did you ever think about me? About what I want? I can't help but think that maybe that would've been better. If being in the same room as you means feeling like this, I don't ever want to see you again.” You spit back angrily.

Matty's nostrils flare before he speaks, and you can see the anger building inside him. It takes a lot to get Matty to shout, but you can tell with every second you're making him inch closer. And you don't know why that makes you feel so good, but if you're honest, you don't want to know.

You want to keep going, keep pushing. You want him to act like he did that night. You needed to see it again. You needed to know he couldn't ever forget the night you're forced to remember. 

“y/n, I don't- I just don't know what to say to you. What do you want from me? Do you want me to say that saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do? That it ripped my heart out of my chest? That it fucking destroyed me? It did. Of course it did, you always made me feel everything. Losing you was no different.” You heard the way Matty’s voice cracked the more he spoke, but you ignored it. If he wanted to pull the dagger out of your heart, it was his job to deal with the bleeding.

“It didn't feel that hard when you stopped coming home at night. Or when you were fucking screaming at me. Or even that night when you walked out the door, you made it look pretty fucking easy that night. Because that's how it was Matty, you left. So don't come to me bitching and whining that it destroyed you. It's your fault. All of this is your fault.” you feel your voice wavering, but you suck in another breath, refusing to let him see you weaken, to see that wall you built start to break down. 

“I deserved a better goodbye, Matty. If the goodbye you gave me hurt, the one I deserved would have fucking killed you.” You poke Matty in the chest harshly, pushing him back on his unsteady feet. 

Streetlights flicker above you, the severe light dancing across Matty’s features. As long as you can remember, this light was busted, flicking on and off at will. It used to annoy you, distract you at night when the light poured through the curtains of Matty's bedroom.

Tonight, however, you loved it. No one could hide what they were really feeling under the harsh yellow glow. It seemed to pull every emotion to the surface of your face, illuminating even the darkest parts you wanted to hide.

So it was easy to spot when anger reared its ugly head in Matty. This time, he doesn't push it back. He physically can't.

He needs you to know that it did kill him to say goodbye, and that you can see that. he needs to understand how you can’t you see that he's the shell of the man he once was as he stands here?

“I apologised to you. I know you got my letter. Thanks for the response, by the way, a great way for us to get closure for whatever the fuck this was.” venom drips from every word that falls from his lips, and you have to fight to hide the smirk brewing on your face. 

Finally. Finally, he was angry. He was pissed off. This is what you needed. You need the big fight, the final breakdown. Just one more time, you tell yourself, just one more screaming match, and you can move on.

A scoff involuntarily is ripped from your chest, as if you can't believe the utter bullshit coming from the man across from you. “I'm sorry, you think you deserve a response? What would I say in it, “Oh Matty, I'm so sorry! You're so right. Please let me come over so we can fuck all night!!” I know I'm not your usual airhead type, but you have to think more of me than that”

Your voice is high and piercing as you speak, and you know it. It always was when you started to get riled up. However, in this moment, you didn't care. You just needed something to happen, for him to get just as annoyed as you've been for fucking months.

“You don't think I deserved anything, though? Not even an acknowledgement?” his incredulous eyes met yours, begging you to take everything back and say you're sorry too, that it wasn't just his fault, even if he knew that wasn't true.

“Why should I? You never acknowledged my feelings. I don't think you asked me how I felt in the last month of our relationship.” Wet tears start brewing at your lashline. You want to fight them falling. But you can't, your resolve weakening with every second he stands in front of you.

“you know, that night we broke up, I realised something. you hadn't said you loved me in weeks. I said it every morning. But you'd hum back, or nod, or hug me. But you never actually said it.” Matty tries to cut in, and you already know what he wants to say. But you don't let him, powering through his half started words and desperate eyes.

After a few shaky breaths, your words start pouring again, “You treated saying “I love you” just like how you treated saying sorry. Like it would kill you to even think it. You've still never properly apologised for how you treated me, never said it to my face. But when we were together, I found myself saying sorry thousands of times over for feeling anything. I felt guilty for being pissed off at you, like I was doing something wrong. But I had every right to be! You had become a man I didn't even recognise, and for some reason, I still loved you, even when I shouldn't have. But at the time, I didn't see that. All I saw was you hurting. And because all I do is care, I wanted to stay. To stay for you, for us. Our family.”

Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes. The harsh wind blowing between you whistling through the street. Your eyes can't be dragged away from Matty’s, tears falling freely between the two of you.

And suddenly, you don't want him to be angry any more, you don't want this all to happen. You wish you could go back, never come here. But time doesn't work like that, so you’re stuck with tears pouring down your face as you stare at the man you once thought was the love of your life.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Matty whispers, and you could see the desperation on his face, wet eyes tracing your every feature.

In that moment, he didn't know what he wanted your answer to be.

If you said no, it would kill him. Every ember of hope smouldering inside him would be burnt out, never to be relit.

But if you said yes, he doesn't know if he can let go. If you say you still feel anything for him, he knows he’ll be looking for you in every universe until he finds the one where you stay.

“I won't ever not love you, Matty. No matter how many times I tell myself I've moved on or that my life is better without you in it. I will always love you, and that's fucking agonising.” you sniffle as you speak, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How did you go from screaming at each other to professing your everlasting love?

Matty wants nothing more in that moment than to start begging you to come back, telling you how you can make it work, to talk about what he would do to get you back. But he knows he shouldn't, so he doesn't.

“Annie still thinks about you all the time you know,” Matty says, and your chest hurts from the whiplash of this conversation, jumping between memories of your old life so fast its almost unbearable. But you knew Matty. He needed to jump around to stay sane, so you jumped with him.

“I know, I remember you saying in the letter that she stopped asking when I was coming back. Is that true?” your voice drops again, as if you were sharing secrets at a sleepover.

“I thought it would be easier when she stopped asking, maybe then I'd not spend every waking hour thinking of you. But when the day came, it wasn't easier. It was like watching you leave right in front of me all over again. It brought me back to walking into the house for the first time after you left, looking at the empty space and trying to figure out how to fill it. Annie was filling it by asking about you, but suddenly she wasn't, and that glaring hole in my life was back." Matty's voice breaks as he speaks, but he clears his throat and tries to ignore it.

"I realised then that I'll never not think about you. Even if no one talks about you. Even if I never see you again, I'll still think of you.” Matty sucks in a shaky breath as soon as the words stop pouring out of him. His lungs seemed like they were sticking together with every word he said, and it felt like death. But he couldn't stop the rush of words, so he let the death surround him.

“Tell her I said hi” you reply meekly, not sure what to say in response to Matty’s outpour.

“I won't” matty says, forcing a half smile and chuckle that you half-heartedly return. 

Once again, the blanket of silence surrounds the two of you, enveloping you in a way that feels all too familiar. So you break it, not letting yourself fall back into old patterns.

"i just dont understand how it all happened so quickly. how did you go from a stranger to the love of my life, only then to become someone I wish was a stranger all over again?" You whisper, your shaking hands coming to cup Matty's wet cheeks as you step closer. His hands wrap around your waist instantly, pulling you in and holding you so tight it almost hurts. 

Silence hangs between the two of you. But its no longer painful or awkward, stilted or angry. It was a silence of acceptance, an acknowledgement that this had to be the final goodbye. There was no erasing the past, the demons that followed the two of you couldn't be ignored. So you were done, this was it.

Eventually, you pull away, and your face hovers in front of Matty’s for a few beats too long. You want to give him a final kiss, a proper goodbye. and you swear you can almost feel his lips against yours, taste the salty tears that would fall from your eyes. You don't, though. Your hands drop from his wet cheeks, and you walk away.

Every fibre inside you wants to turn around and go back to him. It feels impossible to face the future with the person you planned to spend it with standing 10 steps behind. But you do, moving forward and trying not to mourn the life you know you can never get back.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

forever ago you mentioned in an ask post that you have a story in your head about college-aged Matt saving Frank’s kids and in return the Castle family forcibly enfolds him into their tribe. There is literal kidnapping involved, and every word in your little summary was fucking hilarious. I want you to know that that scenario has lived in my head rent free ever since—I am astounded by your brain and that concept makes me want to eat dirt (in the best way)(that is a compliment of the highest degree)

anyways! Please don’t think this is me asking “when will you write that” bc i get it, some plot bunnies are just bunnies, and time/real world is a bitch, BUT—if you ever have any little ramblings about it, I’d love to hear them :) the Castle family is Insane and I love them dearly and I am forever entranced by your characterizations of Matt and Frank

Have a good one!!

Christmas with the Castles my beloved. I love this one so much that I typed out an outline of the fic entirely. It is long. Please, take my ramblings if you want them:

It's Christmas at Columbia, hohoho, peace and goodwill to all mankind. The dorms are closed over winter break to replace the pipes and Matt's out on his ass for the holidays, so get fucked, blind little orphan with no surviving family, and God bless us everyone.

Normally the Nelson clan would have taken him in but Foggy's bitch of a Great Aunt Bertha insists on holding the entire family hostage for the holidays with the will as collateral, and she sucks in many respects but even more in the sense that she doesn't want any blind orphans schlepping around her holiday table. But the Nelson clan will risk it all for Matt, who they think is neat. They'll put the whole fucking will on the line, buddy.

Matt assures them that he's got it all under control and has a place to stay. Yes, with a person. Yes, a real one. An old friend of his dad's. No, he's not going to be homeless. Stop asking questions.

This is a lie.

His plan is to simply be homeless. Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

Except Foggy knows when Matt's on his bullshit and insists on speaking to the guy he's staying with, which means he needs to get Fogwell to lie for him. Except Fogwell knows when Matt's on his bullshit and won't let him off the fucking hook until he knows Matt won't be homeless for the holidays.

Matt unequivocally refuses to come home with him. Stop asking. He'll find someone else to do the phone call.

They compromise with Matt staying in the fucking boiler room of the gym. Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

Except Matt sort of makes Fogwell think that he only needs to crash for a few days, and Foggy's family is going to take him in for the rest. This is also a lie. He is fucking off to be homeless for the rest of the holiday season.

Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

He's swallowing his misgivings and putting up with staying in the boiler room of the gym for a few days so Fogwell won't freak out. Which he now regrets. Because it puts him right in the earshot of an active hostage situation. Are those kids? Those are fucking kids.

Anyway he tries to call the police anonymously like ten times but this just tips off the hostage takers, who apparently have a mole in the police, surprising no one. Now they're going to kill the fucking kids.

Matt can't listen to this.

Peace and fucking goodwill to all mankind.

Okay. Fuck. He's doing this now.

Fuck.

THE CASTLE'S HOLIDAY SEASON, THUS FAR:

The kids got kidnapped.

like

fuck.

that happened.

The thing is that some random NSA guy got into contact with Frank and in this AU he actually blew the whistle on the the CIA's bullshit. His family was in protective custody, until his best friend and pseudo brother stabbed him in the fucking back and sold them out. Now they have his kids.

He then kills a lot of people.

Like a lot.

But he can't find his kids. They have his kids.

They're going to kill his kids.

MATT'S NIGHT, THUS FAR:

He's an asshole in sweatpants with a t-shirt wrapped around the top part of his face and no fucking plan, and there are so many assholes with guns in there. Like. So many.

But fuck it. He's doing this now.

fuck.

He fights a lot of guys. He gets super shot. Some guy tries to shoot him with arrows. Like, what the fuck even is this, Robin Hood? Honestly, fuck this night.

Anyway, he saves the kids. Wheee.

It's sort of nice? They bond, when the crying stops. The kids like him a lot. He calls their parents. Sets up a place for them to get picked up. The boy gives him the sweatshirt he's wearing under his jacket, which is kind of him, because it's fuck-off cold and Matt's about ten minutes from going into shock. Anyway, he drops them off at the spot and fucks off into the night before their oddly bloodstained dad can stop him like the world's shittiest off-brand batman.

He then goes to exercise the right of any God-fearing American citizen, which is to bleed out in the basement of his childhood church.

Fogwell's never gonna be okay again if he finds Matt's blood-soaked body in the gym. Matt figures he can just break into that basement no one uses, steal a med kit, make a solid confession about breaking into and stealing from a church if he lives long enough, and hopefully no one will even notice he was there.

This does not pan out.

A really angry nun finds him and narcs him out to Father Lanthom and they bitch him out for "dying" and "not seeking life-saving medical attention" and drag his ass to to the hospital.

NOW THE CASTLE FAMILY, REUNITED AT LAST:

The kids' will be in therapy forever but the danger is gone, because frank killed them all very dead.

He then received a presidential pardon for All The Murder.

Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

Anyway he's testified about the CIA corruption, the government is occupying itself with the coverup to end all coverups, and his only remaining concerns is (1) taking care of his family and (2) making sure the bleeding dipshit who saved his kids lives doesn't die in the streets. He's gotta find that dumb asshole.

Then he gets a phone call from a very concerned nurse at Metro General about the bleeding dipshit that got brought in with his kid's sweatshirt. They're calling because he keeps trying to goddamn leave while very fucking shot and he had a jacket with Frankie's information written on it in magic marker. Do they know him? Can they please come pick him up? They think he's going to die in the streets if someone does not pick him up.

And Yeah. Yeah, Frank Can Do That.

Matt.

Yeah.

The magic marker, he didn't.

Didn't

Didn't see that part.

Fuck.

Anyway, Matt's On His Way Out To Be Homeless For The Holiday Season, Peace And Goodwill To All Mankind, As Soon As The Goddamn Nurses Stop Hiding The Leave Against Medical Advice Forms. He lied and said he got jumped by a lot of guys, no, he didn't see who did it, because, you know. Blind. Just a regular ol' blind guy here. Poor fucking blind orphan alone and shot for the holiday season. Just give him the goddamn form.

And then that fucking guy shows up in his hospital room. The suspiciously bloody father of the kids he just got shot over. He's here, he's insisting that Matt's one of his family's closest friends and they're paying all of Matt's medical bills, and he's not commenting on the blind bit, but Matt can literally smell his curiosity. Matt's insisting that some random guy gave him the jacket, no, he didn't see his face, because, you know. Blind. He's not the guy Frank thinks he is. Nope. Please fuck off now.

They do not fuck off. Maria Castle blows through the hospital room like a hurricane, hugs him very genuinely, cries a little, and tells him that the Castle family pays their debts, and they've never had a greater one. Then the kids show up, and they fucking recognize him. Fuck.

Matt: imindanger.exe

Matt keeps feigning ignorance. Then, he waits until they leave the room and he fucking books it.

Anyway the Castle family minivan catches up to him when he's legging it a block away. They keep pace with him, and ask to just take him where he's going, and they swear they're not going to hurt him. They just want to help him out. He saved their kids.

And he can hear that they're telling the truth.

And it's so goddamn cold.

And he can hear his own internal bleeding.

And he's so, so tired.

So he tells them that no one would ever believe them. And he gets in the car. and he gives them Fogwell's address. And he tells himself he'll crash there for a day or two and fuck off to be homeless in the streets, peace and good-fucking-will to all mankind.

WHAT THE CASTLE FAMILY DID NOT SCHEDULE FOR THE DAY:

A kidnapping.

WHAT THE CASTLE FAMILY DOES:

It's. It's a kidnapping. They do a kidnapping.

Look. Look. they pay their debts. They pay their fucking debts. It's what they do. And they get to Fogwell's boiler room and rapidly fucking realize that the guy who they owe their everything to is a terminally stupid 20-something and living in the rundown boiler room of an empty gym. And they simply cannot have that.

Frank? Frank, show Matthew back to the car, will he? Maria's going to pack up his things for him.

Matt: what.exe

WHAT MATT DID NOT SCHEDULE FOR THE DAY:

it's.

It's the kidnapping.

it's that.

This fic is fundamentally founded in my premise that the entire Castle family is simply fucking insane. They're just all like that. Frank is not an outlier.

For the Castles, they're being perfectly reasonable. It's obvious that no one's taking care of this lovely young man who saved their kids, so no one will mind if they do it instead. He definitely needs it. So they sit their kids down and explain that sometimes Stockholm Syndrome is for someone's own good, which sounds perfectly reasonable to them. They then proceed to treat this like when you somewhat impulsively get a sick puppy from a Home Depot parking lot, and, well, he's a bit poorly behaved, and he keeps trying to run away, but the kids had wanted it so badly and eventually he's going to settle into his new home and then maybe you can stick felt reindeer antlers on him for the Christmas card, so you keep shoving his meds in peanut butter and forcing them down his throat and keeping the door blocked so the puppy can't slip out into the freezing new york night.

Matt treats this for what it is, which is a fucking kidnapping.

He is now fucking handcuffed to these crazy assholes' guest bed in their suburban home. It's by definition a kidnapping. they're acting like he's the unreasonable one for pointing this out. Except every time he wriggles out of his handcuffs, Frank just lugs his ass back to bed and chains him back up while they scold him. As if he's the unreasonable one for trying to escape his own kidnapping. They make him take his meds and eat three meals a day and the kids watch fucking Christmas movies with him while narrating the screen, as if this wasn't a kidnapping. This is insane. They're all insane.

Which is what he eventually tells them, out loud and to their faces.

And then Maria cries.

Stop.

Stop that.

That thing she's doing with her face. Stop that thing.

And Maria's like. Maybe they were over enthusiastic. But, being a mother, she just wants to take care of the nice young man who saved her little angels. And if that makes her a criminal, then she guesses she's a criminal. Because she cares.

Matt: shoving me into a van and handcuffing me to a bed against my will makes you by definition a criminal

maria: *cries harder*

Matt: stop

And Matt's like. Fine. Fine. He'll give into their crazy fucking kidnapping. Saves him the trouble of being homeless. Just. It's only until Christmas, and then he's gone.

maria, tearfully: and new years too?

Matt: don't push your luck

So fuck it. He's doing this now. But he's not going to like it. And he gets to come and go when he wants.

Frank: no.

matt: seriously fuck you

Except Matt's got shit they didn't pack at Fogwells. Shit they didn't realize belonged to him. His dad's shit. And he's absolutely desperate to get his dad's shit before some well-meaning janitor tosses it. So he very reluctantly agrees to let Frank go in his stead. Just. Just don't talk to people. And don't tell anyone he kidnapped matt. matt does not want to deal with that fucking court case.

Fogwell, immediately catching Frank gathering Matt's stuff for him, when he finds out that Matt sent him: are you a Nelson?

Frank, not a Nelson: Guilty.

And Fogs is just. Thrilled. So fucking thrilled that Matt has the Nelsons. Matt needs people like that, you know? People that'll welcome him home.

He's a good kid. And he hasn't had a home in a good long time. And Fogs--he's so fucking sorry that he couldn't give Matt that. And he. He.

Just tell him Merry Christmas from him? He understands why Matt didn't want to spend it with him.

Just tell him ol' Fogs was thinking of him. Tell him he really, really cares and hopes his holidays are good.

Fuck. Tell him he loves him. Just. Just tell him that. Fogs should have done it a long time ago.

What follows from there is a lot of wholesome, family-friendly Christmas activities, like:

making gingerbread houses

ice-skating

having a total mental breakdown when you get the message passed along from your pseudo-grandfather that he wishes he could have given him a home.

drinking cocoa

getting shit-faced drunk out on the town with the somewhat insane mother of those kids you saved, only to both be lugged home by a very exasperated Frank Castle.

watching Christmas movies

Visiting the grave of your dead father whose loss you've never recovered from

drinking eggnog

Confessing about your superpowers to the crazy fuckers who may or may not have given you stockholm syndrome, as well as your lasting trauma around the fact that you were child-soldierified and your soul-crushing terror that it will happen again

Making paper snowflakes

(Matt may not have meant to do all those things.)

I really like having backstories in communication with each other across my fics taking place in the same fandom? And Fogs is a great example of that. He tends to show up in all of my Daredevil fics, and he usually does something that brings Matt in from the cold in his backstory.

But in this world, that Fogs didn't do it.

In this one, he had the chance, and he failed.

Matt came to him. He ran away from the foster care system when he was a teen, and he went to Fogs as a desperate, last ditch effort. He begged Fogs to still love him the way he did when he was a kid. He begged Fogs to take him in the way he once took in Jack Murdock. He'd help Fogs around the gym. He'd do anything Fogs asked. He just wants to go home.

All he's wanted for years was to just go home.

And Fogs hugged him. He held him. He let him sleep on the couch.

And he called the police.

He wanted to do it the right away around, this time. He didn't want Matt to be hiding from the system for the rest of his youth the way his daddy once did. He wanted him to still get to go to school. He wanted him to be a kid. He wanted to adopt him proper, and didn't think of the fact that no one was gonna let him do it.

And he didn't account for how Matt would never trust him again.

He didn't account for Matt ending up on the streets, and he didn't account for matt refusing to come for him for help again, and he didn't account for Matt refusing to have anything to do with him until he hit law school and barely tolerated hanging around the gym at night again, and he didn't account for Matt not being able to stand the idea of spending the holidays with him.

There's a lot Fogs won't ever forgive himself for.

Anyway, Matt's stockholm syndrome was a great success. They fucking did it. They now have a crazy motherfucker with superpowers who's occupying this space as a the kid's new pseudo uncle. Unmitigated success. God, what an addition to the family. He's just as crazy as them.

Except Matt gets a call. From a very upset Foggy Nelson. Who says that they decided to burn the defunct bridge that was their relationship with their torrid bitch of a great aunt after she said something homophobic to Foggy's sister, and they went to go surprise Matt for the holidays, only to find out that he was already supposed to be with them. Matthew.

The thing is, foggy knows who Matt is as a person. He knows who Matt is as a person. There is such a very real chance that his blind best friend has been living under an overpass in subzero weather for the past few weeks and not telling him. He's having a heart attack and needs to come pick him up immediately before Matt starts selling his body or something.

And like, good news is that Matt was kidnapped by a lovely suburban family who have been keeping him warm and fed and dry, and they're going to be baking gingerbread today. The bad news is that Matt will literally have a heart attack if he has to explain to foggy how he got here so he just. Panics.

And hangs up the phone.

And matts panicking about how he hung up the phone, because foggy will absolutely call the police and report him as a missing person, holy shit will he call the police on him, Matt was literally kidnapped but he likes his kidnappers now and doesn't want them to be arrested, they're making gingerbread you see and that would be inconvenient to the gingerbread making. So Maria and Frank and the kids are watching this weird feral law student they forcibly adopted go through every single stage of grief in a two minute span, wonder how he made it through life so far on his own, and Maria wrangles the phone from him and calls Foggy back and politely tells him that this is Maria Castle, matts basically a part of their family and has been staying with them through the holidays, they've heard so much about foggy, won't he come visit? How about tomorrow at two? They're making gingerbread today.

Matt: MARIA

Matt is panicking. Foggy knows he doesn't have a family. Foggy is his family. Foggy has unlocked his tragic backstory. Foggy is going to wonder how he acquired a family in like a two and a half week span.

Foggy is panicking. He knows Matt doesn't have a family. He has unlocked matts tragic backstory. Matt was in their fucking Christmas cards because he has no family's Christmas cards to be in.

Maria is not panicking. They're taking a step back and making gingerbread now. Take deep breaths, Matthew.

FOGGY NELSON'S THEORIES ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH HIS BEST FRIEND (ABRIDGED):

Matt has started a polycule with a suburban couple and is raising their children with them now.

Matt was switched at birth and that's his newly discovered real family and he just never told Foggy.

Matt has been kidnapped by a family in the suburbs and they've enslaved him to make gingerbread with their children.

Which is true, weirdly enough.

Matt is having a spiraling panic attack because while he's like, not on deaths door anymore, he's still healing and clearly beat to shit and foggys going to think the castles did it and freak out and he doesn't have a lie for this prepped. And the castles are like "okay okay but, quick point, you've even prattling on about this kid for like, a minimum of four hours per day, you are more likely than not in love with him, have you considered the truth"

And Matt doesn't know what to do with that, is the thing.

Foggy comes by. He is four hours early. He arrived immediately after he got the address. Maria is lovely and kind and welcoming. Frank pumps his arm firmly and is built like a brickshit house and sort of intimidating.

Matt is absolutely beat to shit.

Matt is absolutely beat to shit.

Foggy: AHAHAHA HEY BUDDY IMMA GIVE YOU A HUG BECAUSE I MISSED YOU AND LOVE YOU SO MUCH IN THIS THE SEASON OF GOODWILL AMONG MEN. did they do this to you cough twice for yes

Matt: oh for the love of god.

And the problem is. For a family that commits felonies. They're weirdly open about that fact.

Foggy: how did Matt end up staying with you

Lisa: oh we gave him Stockholm syndrome after kidnapping him

matt: ahahaha kids say the darndest things

Frankie: no really dad kept having to drag him off the windowsill when he tried to climb out and we had to be extra welcoming to him so he'd stop trying to escape

Matt: AHAHAHA KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS

Foggy told his cop friend Brett to be on standby before he came here and now he's rapidly wondering if he needs to actualize that.

There's a good deal bit more after that, but this is getting long. There's emotional honesty. There's homosexuality. There's confessions about superpowers that Matt may or may not have. There's discussing trauma.

There's the fucking shadow government showing up to recruit Matt.

The thing is that Frank Castle is one of the best military operatives, like. Ever. And SHIELD was interested in recruiting that. And they thought, hey, saving his kids may do that. And they sent Hawkeye to infiltrate the mercenaries that had taken them.

Except they were fuck-off guns there and while he could take them all out if it was just him, he'd have to be 90% crazier of motherfucker than he actually is to try that shit with two kids in the line of fire.

And then an absolutely crazy motherfucker showed up and did exactly that. Caught his arrow mid-backflip. Kicked his ass too. It was sort of sick as hell. He hasn't met anyone so good at hand to hand since black widow.

They couldn't not recruit that guy.

And like. They found him. They found him really easily. The castle family kidnapped him. It was kind of obvious.

So Clint and Coulson roll up with the recruitment pitch and Clints like "hey, haha, I'm Clint, you stabbed me, wow you're like, completely insane, I mean that literally and in a figurative impressiveness sense, want to be best friends" and matts a fucking centimeter from launching himself out the window and starting a new life in Mexico.

And coulson's good at what he does. He can tell that matts not at all buying what he's selling, is more than a little freaked out at the idea of being identified as enhanced, and is almost definitely a former child soldier if their background was accurate about who took him from his orphanage for a few months. He also knows that Matt's abilities are too unique and too useful to just walk away from them. Nothing can be hidden from him. And if a fucking nuke is missing and they need someone to sniff it out, they need to be able to set Matt loose on a city for it. So he makes the pitch of "what if I keep you out of all databases, tell no one your name, and have you as a strictly as needed member of the roster," to which Matt replies with something along the line of "you can go and get fucked with you fascist shadow agency bullshit, you fucking totalitarian nightmare freaks, you try and drag me off to your freak show org to be a fucking dog on a leash for your illegal agency and I'll bite your goddamn face off, the world would have to end for me to come within a hundred godforsaken feet of you," which is… a coarse but technically affirmative answer that Coulson takes to mean as "Yes, if the world is ending, I will come to your agency." He honestly tells him that he'll keep matts secret and leaves. And Matt is still considering the Mexico plan but decides that he has a family to keep him here now in foggy and the castles and decides to risk staying. And that's that.

Which leads into my semi-crack fic of Matt being in the original Avengers, which I won't subject you to here. but some highlights:

Matt misses the first day of world-saving because he took off the second the SHIELD guy came by to pick him up. He managed to hide for 27 consecutive hours before they dragged his ass to the helicarrier.

He wasn't briefed at all because they ask him if he read the files they gave him and he just tosses them on the table and asks "does this look like fucking Braille to you." He repeatedly threatens to sue them for a lack of ada compliance.

He keeps getting stuck in rooms because this nightmare space ship only uses screens for everything, including door handles.

The hulk: *is the hulk*

Matt, has a stick: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT

Tony: in a few minutes I'll know every secret SHIELD has ever had

Matt, has listened to at least eight top secret HYDRA meetings since being locked into this fucking hell ship: MHMM

They save the day, he's in a mask, the press asks them all whats next for the avengers and he's like "well I have a day job, I'm going home" and just. Walks away.

Three weeks later he starts fighting crime of his own volition and whenever anyone mentions hey is it maybe that avenger fellow he replies to the official inquiries with "oh no you see I have a day job" which should not work but does

Of course, Matt learning about HYDRA leads into my other semi-crack fic involving Matt simply immediately telling Captain America about the fucking Nazi's, and Cap rediscovering his life's passion, which is punching some fucking Nazi's. Except, he really needs Matt to spy on HYDRA for this to work, and Matt's identity is still almost entirely secret even within SHIELD and he doesn't want to endanger that. So they embark on introducing everyone to Matt Murdock, his totally normal, blind attorney boyfriend who is not at all a superpowered ultimate spy who happens to be secretly a very reluctant Avenger. It is now a fake dating AU.

[starsandhughes]

Sissy and Trevor having a pregnancy scare! maybe once he’s already one the ducks so they can be older

( set pre engagement )

“fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck,” you frantically muttered when you heard the keys to the house being unlocked. you tossed the test into the trashcan and opened some pads to roll up and cover it.

you were late, you were freaking out, you couldn’t tell if you feeling sick was from a pregnancy confirmation or anxiety, and you haven’t called Quinn.

you flushed the toilet to make it seem like that’s why you were in the bathroom and splashed some cold water onto your face.

“welcome home, babes!” you faked some cheer as your boyfriend and his best friend walked through the door. you threw your arms around Trevor and kissed him before moving on to Jamie.

“we missed you!” Jamie said.

“i missed you most,” Trevor added in a serious tone, getting a laugh out of you.

“i have no doubt that you did,” you said as you kissed him again.

then, by the good grace of the universe, your ringtone for Quinn started playing, “sorry boys, we don’t have a scheduled call so i gotta take this!”

you ran up the stairs and into your and Trevor’s room and locked the door behind you. you sat on the edge of your bed and took a deep breath, “hey, Quintin, what’s up?”

“is something wrong? i have a feeling something is wrong with you and i’m always right about those,” Quinn said. your guard dropped the second he said that and you burst into tears. “hey, no, shhhh, it’s okay, Sissy. what’s wrong?”

“i think i might be pregnant,” you said through tears. you heard nothing on the phone. no gasp, no sigh, nothing. “don’t be mad, i-“

“y/n, i’m not mad at you about this. you two are grown adults and things happen,” Quinn assured you. “how would you feel if you were?”

“i don’t know,” you said quietly. “we’ve talked about them, but we aren’t married yet! we aren’t even engaged! and we’re both so young and if i’m going to have a baby with him i am planning it so the baby is hopefully born at the end of the season so he can be with us over the summer.”

“none of us would love that baby any less if they were born in december instead of april, Sissy,” Quinn said calmingly. “have you told, Z?”

“not yet,” you mumbled.

“go get him. i can be on the phone with you if you’d like.”

“no,” you sighed. “i need to do this myself.”

“look at you growing up!” Quinn teased you. “whatever happens, it’s going to be okay, alright? i love you. take a few more tests before fully freaking out and know that you got this. whatever happens, i’ll be there, okay?”

“okay. i love you, too, Quinny,” you said with a soft smile creeping on to your face.

you came out of your room to yell for Trevor over the banister to come here. he was a little confused, but came.

“is something wr-“

“i think i might be pregnant,” you blurted out, cutting your boyfriend off.

Trevor let out a big breath in disbelief, “i wasn’t expecting that. wow, okay. wow.”

“yeah…”

“you don’t seem happy,” he said, scooting closer to you and placing a hand on your thigh.

“we aren’t ready. i’m not ready. Jamie certainly isn’t ready,” you laughed at the end.

“is Quinn ready?”

“huh?”

“that’s what he called you for, right? so you told him you might be pregnant. is he ready?”

“yeah. yeah, he is. but i’m not. and he said to take a few more tests to make sure.”

you two agreed that what Quinn said was best, so you once again made a trip to the bathroom. after waiting the ten minutes the box said to wait, you called Trevor into the bathroom.

he grabbed your hand, “ready?”

you nodded and flipped the test over, relief washing over you when it was negative.

“it’s negative!” you said in relief. “it’s negative…”

Trevor wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed your cheek. you looked up and you two looked at each other via the mirror.

“one day, you will become a beautiful mom, and i will become a sexy dad, and we will make the most wonderful child to ever exist. just not yet,” he said softly.

“just not yet,” you smiled at him. “i can work with yet.”

Trevor turned you around to kiss you fully, “me, too.”

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

"There he is, there he issssss ohmigod!! (Co-worker's name) he ... is ... here. How do I look?" You bent your knees down to look at yourself in the small mirror in the back of the coffee shop, straightening your hair that was already perfectly fine for the situation.

"You look fine. You always look fine. Calm down, y/n. He's just a man."

You gasped, "Take ... that ... back. He is my future husband. The father of my unborn children - I mean, if we want to have any. We'll discuss that later. Over dinner. On our anniversary."

"Oh my god, you're insane. You're literally insane. Whatever. You better get out there and make his coffee or you-know-who will take care of it."

"Over my dead body!" You ran out to the front of the cafe and tried to slow your heart. But it was no use.

Kafka was standing in front of you. Cuter than he was yesterday. His spiky hair stuck out from his head and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at you.

"H-hi. What uh, what can I get'cha?" You asked, trying to sound even a little bit confident and failing miserably.

"I dunno. Dunno what I feel like today. What's your favorite thing here?"

You blushed, fighting off the urge to say 'When you come in' to him.

"I like the [your fav. drink]. And you're in luck. I make it better than anyone else here.

He smiled, "That sounds good, I'll take 2."

"Comin' up." You looked calm on the outside - at least you hoped so. Busying yourself with the 2 drinks for him, you tried not to peek over your shoulder to see if anyone was coming in to meet him.

You'd never seen him with a woman here. But that doesn't mean anything. Sighing heavily, you wrapped up making them and wiped down the machine.

"Here you go, 2 [your fav. drink]. Anything else?" You could feel your heart sinking deeper into the recesses of your chest. It felt hollow and it made you want to scream and throw yourself on the floor because someone was going to get that second drink that you made with love. No, not 'love'. Affection, maybe? No, it was definitely made with love. You have never been able to lie to yourself, why start now.

"Thank ya much. But I'll only be needing 1."

You tilted your head, not understanding what the hell he was talking about. "You ... you did say you wanted 2, right? I didn't hear you wrong?"

Kafka laughed, writing something down on one of the cups, "Nooo no no. I did say 2. This one ..." he put the cap back on his pen and held the drink out for you to take back. "...this one ... is for you, darlin'." He blushed and turned his head away from you. No doubt trying to hide the most beautiful shade of pink you've ever seen on a man.

"F-for me? What ... I mean, thanks?"

He looked disappointed for a second. "I uh, I wr-wrote something on the cup. F-for you, I mean."

You frantically turned the cup in your hands and ended up spilling the drink everywhere. "Shit! Oh my ... shit." You tried to read the writing on it but the drink caused the ink bleed and made it illegible. "Great."

Kafka stood there in shock. The amount of strength it took him to build up the nerve to write his phone number down for you was one of the hardest things he's ever done. And it was all washed away in less than 10 seconds.

"I'm so sorry. What did you write down?" Your face was twisted in embarrassment. "Y'know what, my god. Here. Here is my number," you wrote it down on a receipt, "call me. I like you. Ok? I've liked you for about 2 months now.

He smiled and pulled a napkin from the stack on the counter. He took his pen back out and wrote his name and number on it. Putting his hand out for you to take the napkin, "Call me. Anytime. And uh, I like you too." He pulled the napkin back, "Careful! Don't throw this away or something. I'm going to think that we're not meant to be or something, heh."

Tucking the napkin in your pocket, you looked him in the eye, "Don't talk like that! But yeah, I'll try to remember to clean out my pockets before doing laundry."

He smiled and took a sip of his drink. "Oh, this is really good."

You grinned, "I know, right? I told you!"

He looked at you and smiled, "I can't wait to taste you."

"Pardon?" You coughed out.

"I MEAN, I can't wait to taste what other drinks you can make. Jeez."

You narrowed your eyes at him and smirked. "No, no. I heard what you said."

"No you didn't." He tried convincing you ... and himself.

"See you tomorrow," you looked at the napkin, "Kafka?"

"See you tomorrow," he looked at the receipt, "sweetheart."

@supersecretsaga @katkusuo @kazutora-kurokawa

@arlerts-angel @darkstarlight82 @bakubunny

@trevengersprincess @reiners-milkbiddies @viburnt

@southside-otaku

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Epilogue, Part 1 of 2

Previous | Next

[ID: Nineteen digitally sketched panels in black and white. Some panels do not have anti-aliasing, making the lines more pixelated.]

[Panel 1: White text on black background reading, "Call connecting (ellipses)"]

[Panel 2: View from a webcam of Scratch adjusting its angle, with SFX: -fidget-. Scratch has different prosthetics now, including a more robust left arm, a proper left eye, a nose and mouth, and a neck vent with a circular mark on it. He is smiling and looks less tired than before At the bottom of the screen is a name plate like the ones present in video chat programs, reading 'Royce Ellis (he/him).' He wears a Walter Robotics t-shirt reading 'WR']

[Panel 3: No anti-aliasing. A shot of the top of a picnic table. At the bottom of the screen the name plate reads "Riker Szarka (he/him)." Riker says from off panel, "(em-dash) oh! It came through! Can you hear us, Scratch?"]

[Panel 4: Panel is split diagonally. In the top left, Scratch smiles and says out loud, "Video's a little grainy, but I can hear you!" In the bottom right, Riker, in pixelated lines with name plate, says, "Eh, best we can do with rest stop Wi-Fi."]

[Panel 5: Scratch narrates in white text outlined in black: "It's been a few months since the Beciles left town." Scratch in the present sits at his computer desk, hands folded over his stomach. We can see that he now also has a robust prosthetic right lower leg. He says, "I guess that means you finished your contract in Chicago?" Narration continues at the bottom: "They like to check in every other week or so."]

[Panel 6: Riker sits at the picnic table, looking into his phone in his hands. Dee is barely visible sitting on his far side from the viewer. The Skull stands at the end of the table looking at a map. Narration from Scratch says, "Riker's working a little, when he can." Riker says,"Yeah. We would've stayed longer, but we weren't makings ends meet. I got something lined up near Baltimore, though."]

[Panel 7: No anti-aliasing as Riker turns his phone to point at The Skull, who continues looking at the map (labeled 'Map'). Riker's name plate is present. Riker says from off panel, "We're gonna detour toward the Appalachias. The Skull wants to try and jog his memories like Hare and Jack." Scratch asks from off panel, "Is anyone else up?" The Jack says from off panel, "We're all here!"]

[Panel 8: Narration from Scratch: "The Jack gets more confident every time they call." Hare yawns (SFX: all caps -yawn-). No anti-aliasing, Riker's name plate present. The Jack sits smiling, wearing a T-shirt that reads 'cubs' in all caps. Hare has an eye patch riveted over his missing right eye. The Jack says, "Hare and I are just awake for the call. It's The Skull's turn to ride up front."]

[Panel 9: No anti-aliasing, Riker's name plate present. The Skull finally looks up and says, "Plan is for me to drive once we're off the highway. The straight roads through the cornfields are good for practice." Hare smirks and says, "Lord knows you need it, leadfoot. How's that impossible metal stuff treating you, Scratch?"]

[Panel 10: Scratch smiles brightly and says, "It's light! I feel a lot better without so much weight to carry around." The Jack asks from off panel, "Did Mr. Walter retune your elec (ellpises) electro (ellipses)" Scratch says, "Electrolarynx. Yeah! I still mostly sign in person, but it's handy for video calls like this or for phoning in to work."]

[Panel 11: No anti-aliasing. The Skull lowers his brows sternly. Narration from Scratch: "The Skull still worries a lot, but he seems more at ease with himself." The Skull asks, "He's not tying your upgrades to your work, is he? No holding back on maintenance if you don't behave?"]

[Panel 12: Shot of Scratch's new left arm gesturing calmly. He says, "Not at all. Everything is covered by Walter Robotics. We're even discussing a slight pay raise now that I'm past probation!"]

[Panel 13: No anti-aliasing, Riker's name plate present. Narration from Scratch: "Hare has matured… just a little." The Jack says excitedly, "That's great!" Hare grins and says, "If only we'd known remote work was so flush when you lived with us!" Scratch says from off panel, "Well, selling Becile Industries' secrets was a good foot in the door."]

[Panel 14: No anti-aliasing, Riker's name plate present. Dee sits, looking at an e-Reader. Tatters sits on the table top by her hands, wearing a cat harness and leash. Hare says from off panel, "Psst, Dee. Say hello." Dee says flatly, "Hello." Scratch's narration: "Dee is still adjusting. But they're giving her time."]

[Panel 15: Same shot. Tatters looks over at something, her ears and whiskers perking up. Hare says from off panel, "We can't pull her away from that e-reader thingy you sent her. Once she got those library cards on it, it was all over."]

[Panel 16: No anti-aliasing, Riker's name plate present. Hare folds his arms on the table and looks to the side, asking, "(ellipses) Say, uhh. Did Rabbit get my last postcard?"]

[Panel 17: Profile shot of Scratch, looking relaxed. Narration reads: "For all that Locksmith tried to destroy us (ellipses)" Scratch says in the present, "She did. The 'bots were asking after you guys, actually. Could you send me a group photo to show them?"]

[Panel 18: Narration: "I think being forced to let go helped us in the end." No anti-aliasing, Riker's name plate present. Riker looks down at the camera and says, "I should be able to screenshot something here (ellipses) Huddle up, guys!"]

[Panel 19: Tall panel. Narration: "Things might not be easy. Change still hurts. But the shadows are just a little bit lighter." Riker holds up his phone at arms length in front of him, back to the table. Dee looks over; The Skull leans in, slightly smiling; Hare and The Jack stand to get into frame, both grinning, Jack flashing a peace sign. Tatters looks mischievous off to the side. The narration finishes: "And the Becile Bots are doing just fine." End ID]

[kyosshifterbox]

⟢ ˖ ݁ . RAINFOREST GLASS BOX WR

—————

˖ ݁ date : [ november 1st ]

˖ ݁ time : [ 10:00 AM ]

˖ ݁ where : [ in my bed ]

˖ ݁ extra : [ when i arrive in my wr, i'll smell an intense scent of pinetrees and maple and my eyes will automatically open. gwen stacy exists here also as does my comfort plushie and my cr pets ]

⟢ ˖ ݁ . outfitˊ˗

˖ ݁ safe word : [ sixtysix rizz ]

˖ ݁ switch word : [ time for the ol' switcheroo ]

˖ ݁ time ratio : 1 hour WR = 1 minute CR

˖ ݁ visuals : [ the wr consists only of a room made of glass with hardwood floors. it is decorated with a king-sized bed with multiple shelves surrounding it on one side. on the other side is enough room for one to get up. the shelves are decorated with multiples plants, candles, rocks/crystals, and verious other things. at the bottom of the bed are two chairs, a small wooden table, multiple floor pillows, and beds for the animals. ]

⟢ ˖ ݁ . rulebookˊ˗

my house is always clean without me needing to clean it

hot water never runs out

i always have internet

one the shelf on my side of the bed there is a tablet + phone which automatically have my lifa app on it. it can not be deleted and is exactly as i picture it and how it would be pleasing to my subconscious. i can also access all of my cr social medias on them.

on the tablet is an app i call Lifaflix, which has every single show, movie, or short in existence on it, all of which are free.

Nothing goes wrong, everything happens how I expect it to/my subconscious wants, excluding the intrusive thoughts which are always ignored

i can invite anyone i want over and they’ll be my friends

i can manifest ANYTHING/EVERYTHING or change ANYTHING/EVERYTHING with the wave of a hand.

i have lifapedia, which has every single thing related to shifting on it, in a similar manner to wikipedia.

the weather is always dark and rainy, sometimes light drizzle or heavy downpour. no natural disasters are possible and i do not get nervous because of them.

once i arrive, i must stay 1 minute before leaving.

i can see the moon every night

EVERYTHING is free

to get to my DRs, i walk outside and over to a collection of rocks, each rock equaling a different DR. i pick up the rock and hold it for 5 seconds while closing my eyes, standing in the rain and thinking of only the DR i wish to switch to (all intrusive thoughts ignored). i then open my eyes and appear in my DR.

my pets never make a mess.

anything i forgot to add here will automatically be added by my subconscious

template by seeia