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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after.

On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before.

Hell, you wished you were drunk.

“Sergeant.”

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop.

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles.

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function.

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars.

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out.

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…”

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe.

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony.

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day.

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood.

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did.

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away.

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present.

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out.

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before.

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished.

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen.

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest.

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team.

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well.

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.”

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry.

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost.

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver.

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks.

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day.

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets.

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred.

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone.

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest.

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later.

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend.

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade.

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart.

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on.

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight.

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment.

You on the other hand.

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.”

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.”

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness.

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils.

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself.

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.”

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells.

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain.

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life.

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed.

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment.

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!”

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one.

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat.

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely.

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple.

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.”

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?”

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds.

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth.

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp.

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart.

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.”

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs.

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.”

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.”

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.”

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house.

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise.

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form.

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine.

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.”

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter.

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?”

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.”

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured.

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb.

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body.

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention.

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.”

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body.

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back.

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you.

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to.

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.”

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.”

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles.

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him.

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward.

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward.

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head.

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.”

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread.

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide.

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue.

“I think that was a challenge.”

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can.

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

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lyjen · 4 months

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Duty calls

Summary: A sergeant and Evan keep on running in to each other but their conversation always gets cut off.

A/N: English is not my first language so don’t hate on me lmfao. Also just thought this was a cute story ish. Enjoy!

Part 2

Part 3

…………………………………………………………………………….

Just as (Y/n) steps out of the door with her usual coffee order, a car smashed into the side of an other car. The collision happened right in front of her eyes. She immediately drops her coffee to the ground, and she runs on to the scene. “Dispatch this is 442-L23, I need an RA unit on the corner of West 9th street and south olive street. I have a two car collision.” (Y/n) speaks into her walkie.

(Y/n) gets to the car of the person who crashed into the other car. The window of the car was opened when it crashed. “Sir are you okay?” The man stares forward, and after a few seconds he turns towards (Y/n). The man was clearly in shock. “Are you in any pain?” She asks while she quickly inspects the man. The man shakes his head as a sign for “no”. But if the man was really in shock, then he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain. “Sir I need you to sit still, and stay where you are. The fire department is on their way, they will assist you getting out of the car.”

Due to the crash, the door of the drivers side got an impact which made the door unable to open without heavy equipment. She pointed to a bystander, watching from the sidewalk. “You. Come here, and keep this man talking.” she needed to get to the other victim in the other car, but needed the driver to stay conscious. And the best way to do that, was keep him talking. The man fastened towards the car and nodded as an answer to her order she gave him. While the man kept standing at the window with the driver.

Y/n hurries to the second car, which was in much badder shape. (Y/n) saw that the driver of the second car was a young woman. Due to the impact of the crash a large piece of glass had gotten itself free of the window and landed in the neck of the woman.

“Ma’am are you alright?” (Y/n) asks while she tries to get to the window of the woman. The woman touches her neck. “I have to get to my mom” she says, starting to panic. “Ma’am do not tou-“ before (Y/n) could finish her sentence, the woman pulled out the large piece of glass and a wave of blood came out of the wound. The woman screamed out an ear deafening scream.

“Shit, shit, shit!!” (Y/n) hurried to the passenger door, opens it and gets in the car next to the woman. While getting in the car, she feels a few pieces of glass lightly scraping her hand. But she didn’t care, all she cared about was helping the woman who was basically bleeding to death in front of her.

She puts her knee as support on the passenger seat, “okay ma’am I’m not gonna lie. This is gonna hurt like hell.” And with that said she pushes both of her hands on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, the woman screams out but gets used to the amount of pressure (Y/n) put on the wound.

“What’s your name?” (Y/n) asked, trying to take slow breaths to keep herself calm. (Y/n) knew she had to keep the woman conscious, so she asked the most simple question she could think of. “Liv” the woman the woman spoke softly between the sobs. “Okay Liv, my name is (Y/n), help is on the way. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep breathing.” She tried to calm the young woman down. Tears kept streaming down the woman’s face. “So you were on your way to see your mom?” she asked. Liv tried to nod, “We were supposed to go shopping.” She says through her sobs.

In the distance (Y/n) could hear the fire truck sirens and ambulance. Just trying to keep Liv conscious, (Y/n) asked “where were you planning on going shopping?” “We were going to the mall, shopping for some decorations for my dorm room.” She told her, gasping for breaths. (Y/n) also noticed the woman had trouble with keeping her eyes open.

(Y/n) was so focused on the woman, that she didn’t noticed the LAFD were already on scene. One of the firefighters got in the back of the car, so they could give Liv the help they needed. (Y/n) kept pressure on the wound like she did from the first second.

“Woman around 20 years old, name is Liv. A piece of glass from the window broke off and got stuck in her neck. And I think because of the shock, she pulled it out. It started bleeding like crazy.” (Y/n) spoke to the firefighter in the backseat. “Sounds like the glass hit her artery. How long have you been putting pressure on the wound?” The female firefighter asked while she went through the medic bag beside her. “About like three minutes I guess.” (Y/n) answered.

“Ma’am I’m Hen, I’m with the LAFD.” She said to Liv, the victim who was still conscious but could go out any second. Liv hummed a small okay. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Keep pressure on the wound, on the count of three you let go, and I will take over from you. Then you get out of the car and one of my colleagues will assist me further.” Hen said. (Y/n) nodded. “One.. two.. three..” (Y/n) let go of the wound and not even after a half a second Hen’s hands were putting pressure on the wound. (Y/n) got out of the car as fast as possible. She wouldn’t want to be the one to hold them up doing their job. As (Y/n) stepped aside, an other firefighter took (Y/n)’s position in front of the car while they worked on Liv.

(Y/n) walked a few meters away from the car. Leaning her back against the wall, to come to her senses. She sighed, and took a few deep breaths. “Hey, are you okay?” A voice asked. She looked to her left to see a firefighter walking towards her. Slowly. She nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine… just a little bit of blood.” (Y/n) said softly. Her trembling hands were covered in blood from the woman, with a few other cuts she didn’t noticed before. That must have happened when she entered the car in such a hurry. “Can I take a look at that?” He asked carefully, while he pointed at her hands. (Y/n)’s face was doubtful, she wanted to say no, because there are people out there who might need the care more than she did herself. That was typically (Y/n), always putting other’s needs first. “I’m specialised at scratches.” He continued, trying to convince her. She sighed, and nodded.

The firefighter put the medic bag he had hung over his shoulder on the ground. He started to get some gauze out and a bottle with a little spray head. As he stood up, he smiled at her and he started carefully to clean the wounds on her hand. “I don’t know how I didn’t noticed I’ve cut my own damn’ hand.” (Y/n)’s voice speaks, while she hissed at the staining feeling she got while the firefighter was cleaning the wound. He grinned, “There was so much going on… you were alone, in the moment and full of adrenaline. Of course it can happen that something slipped your mind.“ The guy says with a worried look spread on his face. (Y/n) was looking at the scene, the other firefighters of the team were trying to get Liv free. “But right now, all that matters is that you’ve saved that woman’s life with these two hands.” He continued, while pointing at Liv, the girl who was finally getting pulled out of the car. (Y/n) smiled slightly at his comment, and stayed silent.

“You know, i don’t think we’ve ever met before.” He says after a few moments of silence. He looked at (Y/n) with a small smile, trying to wrap up the hand with the few cuts. (Y/n) didn’t know what to say, “No… I don’t think so…” she says, unsure what to say. “I’m Evan, but people call me Buck.” he says to her with a reassuring smile, while he finished wrapping up her hand. “(Y/n)”.

“Buck come on let’s go!” A voice roared over the scene. “That’s my cue to leave.” The firefighter says, while he closes the medic bag. “Well.. Evan… thank you for the pep talk. And this.” (Y/n)’s voice speaks while motioning with her hands. A smile spreads across Buck’s face while he swings the medic bag over his shoulder. “Please, call me Buck. And no problem, us first responders should be there for each other.. right?” Evan says.

“Buck! Let’s go!” An impatient voice yelled now, while the horn of the fire truck sounded through the streets. Probably to get Evan’s attention. “Coming!” He yelled back slightly irritated. He turned his head back to (Y/n). “I’m sorry. Duty calls.” He says. And he jogged towards the fire truck, while halfway he turns towards (Y/n) so he was basically jogging backwards. “It’s was nice to meet you sergeant” He yelled, trying to get above the sounds of the LA streets. She wanted to say that it was nice to meet him too. But before she could do that, he was already climbing into the rig. All she could do was smile, and get back to her work.

…………………………………………………………………………….

A few days later, (Y/n) stepped through the doors of the hospital to go to the emergency room. There was a robber who got shot in the chest by a store owner. She was here to make up a police report and to make sure the man didn’t make a run for it.

As she walks towards the desk where one of the nurses was sitting down. She greeted the nurse and told her for who she was coming for. The nurse nodded and told her to wait for a few moments, she had to check with someone else of the status from that patient.

As (Y/n) waited and watched a few people walk in and out of the emergency room. As she hears the sliding doors of the ER open again, with lots of people walking through it. She turns her head, and sees a few paramedics and firefighters enter through the doors. A loud voice filled the room with the voice of a man “Unknown male, around 50 years old, BP is…-“ the words, along with the medical terms the paramedic was calling out seem to fade. When her eyes meet his.

He smiles and walks towards (Y/n), while he for a second looks at the ground and back at her. His face was covered in ashes. He has his florescent jacket in his right hand. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” were the first words to leave Evan’s mouth. She laughs, while fidgeting with her fingers. “I’m only here to write a report.” is the only thing she can seem to bring out with words. A small laugh left Evan’s lips.

He pointed at her hands, “How are your hands?” He asked, trying to change the subject. It was a weird question to ask, especially if people didn’t knew the context of it.

She smiled and put her hands up, so she could show him. “Like you said, you are specialised in scratches.” He smiled. “Oh they look great!” He says as he grabbed one of her hands and pulled it a little closer so he could get a good look. (Y/n) was a little surprised by the touch of the firefighter.

“And how was your call?” She asks him this time. He wasn’t at the hospital by coincidence. He was here for a reason, because a few moments earlier they wheeled a patient in.

He took his eyes of (Y/n)’s hand. But kept his hand cupped underneath hers, with her palm up. “Just a house fire” he smiled at her, like it was nothing new. While his other hand fingers wandered over the scratches of her hand. And she just nodded. Unsure what to answer to that.

“Ma’am?” The nurse called her. “The gun shot wound patient is in bay 14” she continued as (Y/n) looked at her. She nodded “Thank you”.

“Well, duty calls.” (Y/n) spoke, as she was slowly backing up entering the ER. But still facing Evan. “Guess we’re even now! Last time it was me, now it’s you.”

All she could do was smile and roll her eyes.

“See you later?” Was the only thing he said with an hopeful smile.

“Yeah, see you later.” (Y/n) gave him a small smile, and turned around. And walked away.

Evan felt his smile grow wider and a spark of warmth go through his body.

A hand landed on his shoulder, as he turned his face to the right he could see Eddie smiling and shaking his head.

“What?” Evan spoke, stating that he didn’t do anything.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Sitting on a chair at the bar, (Y/n) leaned with her right elbow on the bar. Fidgeting with the empty glass in her hands.

After a day on the job, you always need a place where you can come to yourself. She was here all alone. Because that’s what she needed. But she wouldn’t want to be alone at home. It was hard to explain.

She can see in the corner of her eye, that someone took place on her right side. “You couldn’t stay away from me, couldn’t you?” A familiar voice asked.

Still fidgeting with the glass in her hand on the bar, she smiled and feels her cheeks flushing. “Technically, you’re the one who keeps coming to me.” (Y/n) says, while her eyes remained on the glass she was touching.

“I was the first in that collision scene, and the first at the hospital when you wheeled that patient in. And I also think that you were the one who came sitting next to me just a second ago.” She continued. She smiled as she looked to her right. Evan held his hands up in defence. “Okay you got me there sergeant” he says. And he smiled. While he looked her in the eyes. Those beautiful sparkling eyes.

“But why are you in a firefighter bar then?” He smirked. Yeah. How was she going to explain that.

Her eyes drew the attention of a man who was closely walking past people and reaching out next to them. The guy was stealing money. “What the fuck” she whispered. Evan’s face got to a confused look. (Y/n) got up from her chair. “Hold that thought” (Y/n) said and she walked towards the guy.

Just as the guy tries to put out his hand and to steal from another person, (Y/n)’s hand touches the man’s shoulder. “You’re under arrest.” Is the only thing she says. The man reaches his arm out to hit her, but she ducked. She locks the man’s arm, put it behind his back and pushes him down on the table with all her strength.

A crowd starts to form around her, while she puts the man in handcuffs. She sees Evan staring in disbelief. She gave Evan a glance.

“Duty calls” she said.

Why is it always that, when they have a conversation duty calls.

#evanbuckley #eddiediaz #911 fox #buck x reader #evan buckley x reader #imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley imagine #buck imagine #911

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augustinescruelsummer · 10 months

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MEMORIES | CP10

IN which you and Christian exchange heartfelt memories from your relationship while watching the stars, surrounded by a warm night fire.

fem!reader x cp10

content: fluff. teeth rotting fluff. reminiscing. she cleans a wound of his. the World Cup injury. christian’s a lovesick softie !!!

AN: this is so sweet like my teeth are rotting after writing this wtf. I actually have no idea where this came from it feels like the deep hell pits of my brain but I lowkey really like it LMFAO. Also this GIF? MY GOD. LORD. I am FINE.

WC: 2.7k

"REMEMBER that time you went flying into the goalkeeper at the World Cup?" You ask Christian while he nurses a beer, the fire pit providing a warm haze to the domestic night. The sky was crystal clear, minus the smoke your fire provided the air, and it was a perfect night to gaze at the stars. He chuckles softly at the random comment while running a finger down your hair, "How could I forget?"

You didn't know why you made the comment, suddenly overwhelmed with a collection of nostalgic memories while gazing into the fire between you two. Maybe it was the domesticity of the scene, the sun just setting over the horizon on a cold night, the two of them cuddled under her favorite blanket pointing out stars.

"What made y'think about that?" He prompts further, readjusting his arm to allow her more space to come closer. A soft smile falls over her lips as she fully recalls the memory.

THE MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

A sound of horror falls from your lips as Christian goes to kick the crucial goal, flying into the goalkeeper. You watch intently as a blur of trainers come sprinting over to him as he holds his groin in pain, people repping the American flag around you craning for a look at the scene. He had been down for a couple of minutes, partly in pain and appreciating the goal he had just scored. You had felt nauseous, partly due to the fact you'd never seen Christian be intensely injured on the field. He attempts to stand on his own and walk towards the medical facility, but his face contorts with pain as his weight collapses almost instantly on a nearby trainer. His teammates look on despondently at the American boy and his abrupt exit, congratulating him on the phenomenal goal.

"I was so embarrassed," he recalls looking down at you, pulling you out of the trip down memory lane. Your eyebrows furrow at the comment, never knowing he felt like that.

"Why in God's name would you be embarrassed about an injury, Chris?"

He shrugs in an attempt to dodge the question, leaning forward with a long stick to probe the firewood around.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," you push as he spends longer than necessary on a piece of wood that didn't need adjustment.

"I honestly don't know. The whole time I was in my own head thinking about how not-badass the debacle was, and at the end of the day I knew I was never going to live it down. Interviewers asking me if we could still have children because of it and the picture from my story getting leaked. I was playing for the damn United States and was going to have an early exit because of a groin injury. It brought the team publicity at the end of the day, but I was still mortified."

You lean back to look at his expression while he reveals his thoughts, comfortable in confiding. "It felt like I was 14 years old getting punched in the balls at recess," he adds with a soft chuckle, turning the neck of the bottle around nervously.

"I thought it was quite the badass exit," you told him confidently, "You went viral on social media for being attractive and diving into a goalkeeper for your country. You were labelled Captain America. That is nothing to be embarrassed about."

A grin creeps over his bashful expression and your heart warms at the sight of it.

"I was worried about you in the moment," you told him earnestly as more of the memory unfolded in your mind.

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

Qatar. A country you knew next to nothing about when it came to locations of hospitals. Your hands were shaking at the whispers Christian was being sent to the hospital. There was no crash course on what to do when your husband gets injured in the World Cup. You flip your phone over in your hands, making the decision to exit your place in the stands. The match had continued and you considered staying, knowing Christian wouldn't want you to worry, but that was inevitable.

"I was researching hospitals left and right, wondering where they would take you," You recalled, not missing the feeling of dread that overcame over not knowing where Christian was being sent.

"Still can't believe you took a fucking Uber in a foreign country to come and find me," he said with a snort. Christian's heart heated at the thought of it, his wife doing anything she could to come and find him. Even though he was delirious due to the pain meds, Christian had still found time to text you where they were taking him. You were in the next Uber to him the second the text hit your inbox.

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

You gazed into his room, a nurse patiently attempting to take his vitals as he held a thumbs up and snapped a picture of him laying on the bed. The match was on the TV still, Americans rallying to celebrate the valiant efforts of the team. A grin was plastered on his face watching his friends embrace each other. "It's called soccer!" Musah screams at the camera lingering by him, the saying a play at Christian's viral photoshopped meme. You revel in Christian's laugh before bursting through the door, the nurse just finishing his vitals.

"Hi baby!" He greets when you appear in front of him, the excitement of seeing you after a major win outweighing any logic as to how you got here. Sickeningly, he would do the whole thing a million times over just to be babied by you.

The memory is snapped when Christian once again returns you to the present moment.

"God, I don't think I've ever seen someone so proud of me," he said while laying a chaste kiss on your cheek. "I thought you might be upset or embarrassed about the whole situation, but I was incredibly wrong. My girl took pride in the fact her husband put their kids on the line for America."

"Hell yeah!" You chanted, pumping your first in the air. You laughed at the recollection of social media going wild after the event was over, fans wondering if their favorite football couple would still be able to have children. Talk about patriotic.

The fire crackled as a comfortable silence enveloped the couple once again, both of them in their own world thinking about heartfelt memories.

Christian, thinking about when he tied for the 17th International Goal Record in qualifying against Mexico, pulling up his jersey to display his celebration. "MAN IN THE MIRROR," his undershirt read in haphazardly written Sharpie, a true display of his poor penmanship. The moment froze in time, though, when he looked up from his shirt into the boxes and made eye contact with you in the crowd. He swore his heart stalled.

Along with the rest of the American crowd, you were screaming his name out for all the field to hear. His name, an action that had him transfixed watching the stands. You stared at him, shouting the three syllables of his surname, which were heavily enunciated so he knew what was being chanted.

He rose his pointer finger up at you, a sly wink in your direction catching the eye of the camera man. He followed the receiving end of the wink, and there, on the jumbo tron, was you turned around pointing at the proud PULISIC plastered on your back while he motioned towards you.

He took a swig from the bottle beside him to distract his mind from going down every single memory his heart held with you. It was a tempting offer. Christian watched you adjust so your head was in his lap, folding the blanket over both your bodies to fit. You scrolled through the Barnes and Noble app searching for a new book to read as Christian watched the stars twinkle in the night sky.

"Whatcha thinking about, Chris?" You pat his knee a couple moments later to catch his attention, noticing the dazed look in his eyes.

"You."

Your heart sped up at the word, confident it was now a puddle on the lawn. He continued his thought without being prompted,

"Thinkin' about that time when I scored my first ever goal in the pros and you blew me a kiss, and I knew right then that I was gonna marry you." He grinned wickedly down at you, "Thinkin' about that time I scored and the screens caught you with audio screaming I was your 'Captain America'. Hearing my own wife use the nickname was the only thing left needed to die peacefully." He gazes down at you lovingly, capturing your lips to secure the sentiment and sweetness of the moment shared.

"Those two moments you just described," you told him suddenly flipping to where you lie on your back, gazing up at his face. "Are some of my favorite moments too. I was so proud of you I thought my heart would burst, and I was wondering how much jail time I would serve for jumping the fence."

"Jail time?" He asked inquisitively with a laugh, "I don't know what'd I would do if security tried to manhandle you off the pitch for jumping. I wouldn't have enough time to stop laughing to help."

You both giggled at the thought of it. "Y'know after I called you Captain America on the 'tron, I sat back down and went on Amazon to get you a lego set of his shield. It didn't come in the mail until three weeks later because it had to be custom made."

He splits into a smile thinking about the gift, it sitting on the trophy case in the bedroom. It hadn't been moved since he placed it, being featured in personal interviews in zoom calls during lockdown. He took anytime to talk about it when given the opportunity, being his favorite gift ever. It was a fairly large shield, custom made and built with a "Pulisic" engraved in an arch into the middle.

He remembered when he unwrapped and squealed like a little girl, holding it in his hands like a newborn. "Baby, this is the best gift I've ever gotten! It's not even near my birthday!" You had come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist fondly.

"I got it 'cause I love you and I'm proud of you," you told him, leaving a sweet kiss in between his shoulder blades. He blushed under the praise. "Can I frame it?" He asks, gently setting it down on the kitchen counter. "Do whatever your heart desires, baby," you told him with a joyous expression.

"Y'wanna hear my memory, Chris?" You ask him while staring at the stubble beginning to grown in on his face. You take notice of an ingrown hair that needs to be removed before he starts itching and complains at the burn. He hums an affirmation, finishing off his beer.

"My memory is when you got that nasty turf burn after a Chelsea match, and instead of going to have the trainer clean it, you brought it home for me to deal with."

He laughs wholeheartedly, "What can I say? There's nothing better than being babied by your wife." You roll your eyes at him, appreciating his full honesty. Christian has no shame in his love for his wife.

You had freaked out when he walked through the threshold of your old shared apartment, his shoes squeaking on the freshly cleaned carpet.

"Christian!" You had chastised from the couch without looking up, "Take your dirty shoes off, were you raised in a barn!?" He doesn't respond, causing you to look up with a frustrated demeanor, before taking notice of his bloody knee.

"Christ, baby, I thought you would've gotten that looked at before you left the field," you said, beckoning him closer. Christian tries to not let the joy he's feeling show at the thought of you having to take care of him, knowing it's about to occur. He's a softie, what can he say?

"I needed my favorite doctor to look at it?" He tells you with a charming grin, phrasing it like a question in an effort to avoid a lecture.

You don't put up a fight, guiding him to sit in one of the dining chairs while you disappeared into the bathroom to get antiseptic and Advil. You pour him a cup of water, double checking to make sure you were giving him the right amount Advil. You always had an irrational fear of your star boyfriend overdose on it because of a misread by you. Satisfied with the information the bottle had given you the previous ten times you had read it, you reentered the battlefield, aka Christian's knee.

Meanwhile, Christian had been smiling like a fool at the TV running post-match highlights of his game. It was such a small thing for you to turn the matches on while working from home, but it meant the world to him. He knew you had probably sat on the couch with your feet tucked under you, the work iPad you lugged around resting in your lap as you worked. The TV was probably set to a low volume, not loud enough to distract you, but quiet enough so you could still listen for your husband's name. You wore an oversized Chelsea T-Shirt, his name adorning the back per usual.

"This is gonna sting," you told him drily, holding no sympathy for your husband at the moment. He had to know you were not qualified in any sort to be cleaning up a pro soccer player's wounds, but yet here you were at 11:30 on a Monday night.

"I have work tomorrow," you stated as you stared at the alarmingly late numbers on the oven clock, which motivated you to harshly rub the antiseptic onto the burn.

"Jesus, baby! Is it really necessary to do it this rough?" He asked you, biting his lip. You didn't respond, outstretching your free hand for him to squeeze which he took gratefully.

"You know, if the team trainer had done this it probably would've hurt less," you said through gritted teeth, taking one last swipe down the wound.

"Ok, ow! Fuck!" He whined at the contact and you rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to call him a big baby. You were not particularly inclined to be dealing with his antics this late, even though you loved Christian more than anything. You slapped a bandage onto the burn, placing a kiss to it, making the classic smile return to his face at the tradition.

"I'll make you breakfast tomorrow morning to make up for the fact I kept you up," he told you while sliding off the chair. You smiled at his words, always a giver.

"Baby, it's fine. You can if you want to, but I tend to your wounds and shit because I love you and want to take care of you." You gave him a kiss on the lips before handing him his water and Advil. "I put you out some sleep clothes after the game ended, I figured you'd be tired," you said while filling up your own water bottle at the fridge. Christian smiled like a fool, wrapping you into his arms for a proper hug once you were done at the fridge.

"God, I love you. Thank you," he said, placing a kiss on the top of your head before making his way to the shower.

One of your favorite things was reminiscing on moments like these with Christian, moments where the health of your relationship shown through. There were so many you could laugh about with him. Christian stood up after another stretch of comfortable silence, attempting to put the fire out to the best of his abilities. You folded the blanket up and placed his bottle in the trash facing away from him. You heard the whoosh of the flames going out, and then felt a tattooed arm wrap around you, scooping you up. He carried you into your house bridal style, a delirious grin on his face the whole way up the stairs, drunk on the joyous memories.

#christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic #christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x you #football x y/n #footballer x reader

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analogwriting · 3 months

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Star-Crossed

Chapter 12: Sartse

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!reader word count: 3.6k a/n: i want y'all to know that for a couple of doffy's lines, i pulled it straight from the manga so i had to read THAT scene again and i ugly cried once more. had to step away from the computer and everything lmfao next

The speed in which you were flying into town could’ve instantly killed anyone who stepped into your path; hell you probably could’ve killed someone if they pulled out in front of you in a wholeass car. You made it into town in record time, a time that shouldn’t even be possible for the distance you had traversed. No cops seemed to be out and about to stop you either, which honestly checked out. They were worthless.

Whatever, it came in handy for you at this moment.

Something that no one except Marco knew, was that you had a secret entrance to the hospital that led right into your office - actually, it led to several different places. As someone of your social standing, you had to have a secret entrance/exit. It was important to be able to have a way out and a way in - specifically for situations like this. You had just hoped that you’d never have to use it.

As you were flying down the road, you looked at the security footage through your phone. Again, no one had this access except you and Marco. Sure, you had a security room with someone always monitoring things, but no one had remote access besides the two of you.

You pulled up the footage, trying to see exactly how much damage was being done. It seemed that the front of the hospital was fine; business as usual. It was the secret wing that was mostly taken over aside from a few of their men being posted in scrubs everywhere else. You knew all your employees by name and face, so of course you’d be able to tell who did and who didn’t belong. It looked like they had already let go of all of your underground staff. At least you didn’t have to worry about them.

You looked through the footage as you also kept an eye on the road, trying to find where everyone was being held. There wasn’t really anywhere in the hospital that you couldn’t see, so you knew you’d find them eventually.

And you did.

They were currently being held in a conference room in the secret wing; everyone being Corazon, Law, Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi. You nearly crashed as you saw Corazon laying there in his blood soaked shirt, not moving. Were you too late? You felt that creeping numbness starting to crawl into your very being. You set your phone down, leaving it open.

“How long do you think it’s going to take for them to get here? I’m tired of waiting,” Doflamingo complained, folding his arms and sulking as he perched on the table. Oh, you were glad you had cameras with sound - the extra money was worth it.

“Please, let me tend to Corazon’s wounds,” you heard Law plead. The sheer emotion in his voice made you press on the gas pedal even harder, sending you faster.

“Absolutely not. This is what he gets for betraying me. His life is in y/n’s hands now since he wanted to be with them so bad.” He huffed, shaking his head. “How can someone of your stature fall for someone so weak.” He scoffed.

You clenched your jaw, pressing a button on the visor of your car as you entered an alleyway. A garage opened up and you flew inside.

“He’ll die at this rate!”

“Let him then! It’s the consequences of his own actions.”

Your head was spinning. How could someone be so cold to the very people they were supposed to love and protect? You would’ve never guessed that…Anthony was just like him. That they ended up being cut from the same cloth.

“How could you do that to your own family?”

“If you keep talking, kid, you’ll end up with a bullet wound next.”

You slammed on your brakes next to a door, throwing your car in park and running up the stairs. You had an elevator, but it was going to take too long for you to use it. The staircase grew more and more narrow as you reached the top, ending in a small hallway that broke off into different parts of the hospital.

You navigated the small tunnel before slowly opening a door. It opened silently, the bookcase in your office in the secret wing opening. You snuck through, sticking low to the ground with a gun in hand. You were silent, listening.

You could hear Crocodile somewhere near the entrance to the secret wing talking with whatever cronies he had with him. He was in the opposite direction as Doflamingo, so you should be just fine. You’d have plenty of time before he’d get to the conference room should any problems arise. You took off down the hallway, your footsteps silent - just as you were trained.

When you reached the conference room, you dropped down again, below the window. You glanced inside, seeing that things have escalated. Doflamingo was pointing his gun at Corazon once more, the man now sat up. Instant relief washed over you as you saw him sitting there - alive. You had been so scared that you were too late.

Though, if you didn’t act fast - he wouldn’t be much longer.

“Why did you come back just to mess with me, Corazon?” Doflamingo demanded. “Why must I be forced to kill my family not once, but twice?” Forced? What the hell did he mean by that? He absolutely isn’t being forced to do anything. Is that what your father also thought? That he was being forced to do the things he did? A stupid lie to tell yourself to justify such terrible actions.

You heard him cock his gun, standing up immediately and taking aim. You shot through the window, shattering the glass. The bullet hit Doflamingo in the hand, making him curse and drop his gun as he cradled his hand. You kept your gun trained on him. “Don’t even think about moving,” you said as he started for his own gun. He stopped, glaring at you through his sunglasses.

The others looked at you with surprise, staring at you with wide eyes. You heard a chorus of voices cheer for your name, but you were focused on Doflamingo. “Step away from them.” He scowled at you, but stepped away. A grin spread across his face and you opened your mouth to say something when you heard a click of someone loading their gun behind you. You felt the barrel press against your skull.

“Drop it.” This time it was you that scowled, letting your gun clatter to the ground. Dammit, you didn’t think he’d get here so quickly. Or so quietly.

“Let me dress Corazon’s wounds,” you ground out. “Then I’ll sign your stupid papers.”

“Y/n, don’t worry abou-”

“I appreciate your concern, but I have this under control, okay?” You looked at him through the shattered window, smiling warmly at him. He just stared at you with an expression you couldn’t quite discern but you could also tell he was struggling to stay conscious.

“Sign the papers first.”

“Absolutely not.” You felt him press the gun harder against you and you cursed at him. “Fucking-”

You whipped around so fast that he didn’t have time to react, hitting his elbow from the outside and pushing his hand up. Not enough to break it, but just enough to make him let go. You disassembled his gun and threw it to the ground. The same thing you did to Corazon a little over a month ago. “I’m not asking.”

You weren’t stupid. You knew you were outnumbered, so you weren’t going to try and take the both of them out now. You weren’t going to start a fight - that’s not what you came here for. Saving the hostages, that’s what you were here for. You looked back, seeing Doflamingo pointing his gun at you, only it wasn’t with his dominant hand, so you knew he wouldn’t be able to hit you correctly. You could just tell with the way it sat uncomfortably in his hand.

“That’s why you should train shooting with both hands. Cause as soon as you fire that gun in your hand, the kickback is going to be too much and you’re not going to hit me.” The pure rage in Doflamingo’s face was honestly comical.

You walked through the door, heading over to the blond man that was currently bleeding out on the ground. He wasn’t sitting up anymore and he looked like he was barely awake. “Just hang in there,” you said softly, pulling out a first aid kit from under the conference table. You had one in every room.

You felt the gun still being trained on you, hearing Crocodile putting the other one back together and picking yours off the ground before pointing it at you. “I’m not going to try anything stupid, you two. So you can get your panties out of a bunch,” you said.

You fumbled around in your fanny pack, grabbing out your small suture kit. You opened up Corazon’s shirt, assessing the damage. You hissed softly through your teeth. He’d been shot in the abdomen, losing a good amount of blood, but you were sure he’d end up being just fine- you could do this.

He spoke as you started applying disinfectant to a rag. “Do you just…carry this stuff-” He was cut off as you began to sanitize his wounds but you paused for a moment. That’s exactly what he had said the second time you had caught him from falling. He let out a weak laugh and it took everything in you not to start crying. Damn it all.

“Don’t talk, Ros. You need your strength.”

“I think I’ll be just fine with you here now, doc,” he mused softly. You felt heat creeping up your neck. Really? At a time like this? You finished cleaning his wound, clenching your jaw as you were able to really see the damage. It seemed that Doflamingo was close enough when he shot him that it went through him cleanly, so you didn’t need to try and dig the bullet out of him - you were able to immediately start stitching him up.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep it together. “How is everyone else?” You looked to the boys, who seemed fine aside from looking absolutely scared out of their wits. Marco wasn’t here, so you imagined that they were watching him while he kept an eye on the front side. You didn’t know why they had to bring the boys into this at all. They absolutely had no ties to any of this. They were just adding to their ‘leverage’ at this point. Not only would they be able to control you, but also Corazon. He did use to be in the business, after all. So, he’d be able to fight his way out of this, throw the boys in and he was just like you - compliant.

“We’re fine,” Law said with a nod. “The only one who was hurt was Corazon.” You could see the genuine concern in his eyes, hear the pain in his voice. This was the man’s father essentially, of course he was worried.

“He’s going to be just fine, Law, I promise.” As you were speaking to him, you were still working.

“Where’s the paperwork?” you asked, looking at the two men who were currently pointing guns at you. They just looked at each other and you sighed. “You wanted me here to sign paperwork so one of you go fucking get it.” You sighed harshly.

“You shouldn’t sign it, y/n.” You looked at Corazon, finishing up his front stitches.

“Turn around,” you said and he obeyed, slowly turning for you as you started to work on his exit wound. “I know what I’m doing,” your voice was low. “I’m going to get the lot of you out of here safely. I promise.”

“But you worked so hard-”

“Rosinante, please,” you said softly, feeling your own voice crack. You paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing your work. You already made the decision and came to terms with the fact that you were going to lose your hospital. You could go somewhere else and work. Though, none of the hospitals around here would probably take you. You had snapped at them at that meeting and now none of them want anything to do with you.

Not that you really blamed them, but dammit, now you were going to have to move. It was also the best option. With you out of the picture, everyone would be able to resume their lives as normal. Your last actions with this will be making sure that Corazon and everyone out are able to get out of here safely. You were going to make sure that they’re able to escape the eyes of the families. Just as you did with everyone else. They will be the last ones you are going to be able to help, but at least they’ll be able to get out of here.

You finished patching up the man before you, sighing. “Finished.” Corazon turned to look at you, but you were already standing. You just…couldn’t stand it - all of this was your fault.

You looked at Doflamingo, who still had a gun trained on you. “One more thing. They all get out of here safely. Away from you. They are not to be followed or tailed. If I find out that they are, the deal is off. Once they’re safe then-”

“Y/n! You can’t-” You ignored Corazon’s pleas, looking at the man before you. “Once they’re safe, then I will sign over the hospital.”

“That’s a large ask,” the man before you said, a shit eating grin spreading across his face. “You already were able to patch up Corazon here before, now you want their safe passage?”

“I think you forget that this hospital is my life’s work. I think that I’m not asking for much, all things considered. This place is a place that even cops won’t look, I think a handful of people who aren’t even involved in things like this to be let go isn’t asking much, right?”

He opened his mouth to retort when you heard Crocodile’s voice. “Deal. But you will sit here while they leave, got it?” You nodded. “Deal. Also, make sure Marco is provided safe passage as well.” Crocodile nodded. At least he seemed to be willing to work with you.

“Don’t you think you’re giving them too much, Croc?” Doflamingo grimaced and the other shook his head.

“We’re going to get their entire hospital. It’s like they said, a few people who aren’t even involved in things like this is just fine. I know he’s your brother, Doflamingo, but you did just shoot him.”

“Let’s go then,” Crocodile said, looking at Corazon and co. “We don’t have all day. We’ll untie you when we get to the exit.” Everyone slowly stood up. You crouched in front of Corazon, taking his face in your hands. “Please take care of yourself, okay?”

He sputtered for a moment, his face turning red as you held his face. “Are you sure about all of this? We’ll be-”

“Trust me, okay? You guys will be able to get out of here. You’ll be free.”

“Well, what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me - I’ll be fine.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, resting your forehead on his. "Please don't do this," he whispered, but you ignored his words as much as they stung your heart. “Take it easy and heal up, okay? Then make sure you take good care of the boys.” You pulled away from him, looking over at Bepo. “Bepo, since you’re the tallest behind Corazon, will you help him?”

“Yes, doctor!” Bepo nodded, heading over as you helped Corazon stand. You glanced at Crocodile, gesturing at the man’s restraints and he sighed before nodding. You untied Bepo’s hands and he wrapped an arm around the injured man’s waist.

You looked at Law. “Make sure he takes it easy, okay? I expect you to take care of him while he heals.” The doctor in training nodded, looking like he wanted to say something. It took him a moment, but he found his words. “Please be careful, doctor. Make sure you look after yourself too.” He paused, realizing what he said.

“I don’t want to deal with a moping Cora if anything happens to you.” He was trying to cover his sentiment, but it was clear. You stood there, stunned for a moment. That was probably the nicest thing you’ve heard him say to anyone ever. Sure, it was covered with a joke, but the sentiment was there. Your face softened and you ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about me, just take care of your dad for me, yeah?”

“You talk like we’re never gonna see you again.” He grumbled and you tensed for a moment. They just stared at you. “Y/n, what are you-”

“Let’s get going, I don’t have all day!” Crocodile’s voice interrupted.

You stepped away from them, smiling. “Take care of each other and be careful.” Shachi and Penguin looked at you with teary eyes. “We’re gonna miss you, doc,” one said. “Make sure you be careful,” the other chimed. You nodded, shuffling them all towards the door.

“Now, move along before they change their minds.” You were able to finally get them out of the conference room, heading out. You watched as they left with Crocodile, other cronies showing up to assist in the transfer.

You saw Corazon look back at you one more time before they turned the corner out of your sight. Your heart lurched as you saw the concern and yearning in his face. You just hoped that they’d take the opportunity to get out of here. You’d be just fine. Destroyed, but fine.

“Alright, now sign the papers.” You glared over at Doflamingo. “Not yet. They’re not out of here just yet.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what you see in him anyway. He’s weak. Though, I suppose it matches with you. I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to inherit the power your father possesses. He might be my rival, but I know a man with power when I see it.”

“Not everything is about power and the sooner you realize that - the better.”

Doflamingo laughed and you flinched as it bounced off the walls. He was so loud - and for what? “Power is what took over your hospital, doctor. Power gets you whatever you want. Money, fame, you name it.”

You shook your head. “I don’t expect a shallow man like you to understand,” you said with a small sigh. He was too drunk with power, money hungry, and dense.

He grimaced, shaking his head. “Well, I’m not the one losing everything I’ve worked so hard for, now am I?” he mused, grinning. You felt your eye twitch, but you weren’t about to let him see that he was getting to you.

You just ignored him, folding your arms as you waited with a gun pointed to your head.

Crocodile eventually returned, looking at you. “They’re out. They’re safe. No one is tailing them.”

“You better be telling the fucking truth. So help me if I find out you’re lying-”

“Cool your jets. I never fuck with a deal.”

You just narrowed your eyes at him before pulling a pen out of your pocket, signing the papers. You slid them towards the man, glaring at the two of them. Doflamingo uncocked his gun, tucking it away. He grinned. “Fucking finally.”

“Can I go now? I have shit I need to do.” You folded your hands across your chest.

“You’re not staying?”

“This is no longer my hospital, why would I?”

“Suit yourself.”

Crocodile looked over the paper in his hands and nodded. “It all checks out. I guess, yeah. You can skedaddle.” You made a face at his word choice, but didn’t do much else except leave the room. They had the hospital, everyone was safe. You didn’t have to worry anymore.

Honestly, none of this felt real. You headed out the way you came, careful that no one saw you. Just because you signed over your hospital, doesn’t mean they got to know everything about it. If they found it out on their own, good for them. Maybe one day you’d figure out a way to get everything back.

You headed down the stairs, feeling like you were floating. You weren’t in your body. Everything felt fake - like a bad dream. Only, you wished you would wake up from this nightmare. You just lost everything. Your family, your livelihood, all of it. Everything was gone.

You stopped as you reached your car, seeing Marco perched on the hood. He looked over at you, standing up. The expression on his face was that of sympathy and worry. Everything hit you all at once and tears started to free fall down your face. The stress finally hit you at the same time that your body finally gave out as adrenaline left. Your knees gave out and Marco caught you in the process, holding you as you ugly cried into him. Your body shook as you sobbed, clutching onto Marco as if he would disappear at any moment as well.

#alright now to die for work for the next three to four days lmfao #finna work 50 hours in three days #anyway yeah i ugly cried - got a headache and everything from it #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #donquixote rosinante x reader #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #corazon x you #rosinante corazon #corazon x reader #corazon #rosinante x reader #rosinante #am fics #sc

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oxygen-stealer · 11 months

Text

Scriddler fic recommendations!!!

Stay (2017) by iammemyself

Rating: General

49,873 words, 11/11 chapters (discontinued)

Arkhamverse

After Arkham Knight, Jonathan and Edward move to Canada together, where the full weight of Edward's grief crashes down on the both of them.

This fic is fucking miserable in the best way possible. It feels so grey and depressing like almost the entire time even with its ups and downs. Things get better, but it's fucking hard. Legit among my favorite fics. Also Jon's so obscenely old here I love it lmfao. (There's also a Stay (2016) I haven't actually looked at, might be a prequel or smthn idk)

I'm With You by nonbinaryspock

Rating: Mature

50,684 words, 35/35 chapters

Jonathan and Edward rekindle their somewhat messy relationship from their college years. Things are still a bit messy but they've at least got some hindsight.

Hella angsty, they're both so horribly dysfunctional <3 (specifically Jonathan will just say/think the absolute wildest shit and then just go on like that's normal). I really just love how visceral their emotions can be.

Runs In The Family by ChaoticMimzy

Rating: Mature

8,703 words, 5/5 chapters

Edward's father dies and he goes to his funeral (solely to be there for his sister, mind you) where he grapples with past trauma and catholic guilt.

Very very rogues podcast coded (highest compliment). It's mostly Edward-centric and doesn't focus on the scriddler too much but it's still worth a read. Edward's rage towards his childhood circumstances is so potent and agonizing I love it so much. He should get to kill god a little bit imo

(More below)

Let me play you a song on my violin by batmanforeverlol

Rating: Teen

7,206 words, 1/1 chapters

Ghost AU. Edward is a retired criminal turned private investigator who finds himself running through a cemetery, where he meets a man playing a violin.

Ngl I cried super hard reading this but it's also one of my absolute favorites. Why would you write this? Why would you hurt me in this way? (It's really sweet but also really fucking sad, you should read it. Share my pain)

Terminal by iammemyself, promethea (Aerosol)

Rating: General

7,073 words, 1/1 chapters

Edward gets brain cancer again, this time the Lazarus pits aren't gonna help him.

As you could imagine, this fic is just sad from start to finish. I cried so fucking much reading it its not even funny.

He Just Likes The Rush by Human_Resourccs

Rating: General

16,072 words, 9/9 chapters

Jonathan's thrill-seeking brings him some interesting company. (Or, as I know it: the fic where a fucking spider lives in Jonathan's hair for months and Edward still lets him touch him. If that's not love I don't know what is)

Sapiophile by XavIniesta685

Rating: Mature

17,529 words, 3/3 chapters

The Moon Is Not Made Of Cheese by Stry_Shttu

Jonathan has given up in every sense and is about to leave Gotham until a series of events change his mind. A lot of "falling in love within a day" fics can feel kinda forced but this one flows really naturally.

Rating: Teen

7,820 words, 1/1 chapters

Arkhamverse

Edward is lonely, Jonathan goes to see him while also being Jason Todd's really lame dad. A good mix of sweet and silly.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by 30PacketsofKetchup

Rating: Teen

21,542 words, 8/? chapters (this fic hasn't been updated in like 5 years so be ready for that specific brand of agony)

Teenager AU. Jonathan meets the mildly annoying new boy in town and they bond.

I looove this fic so much I'm absolutely heartbroken that it wasn't ever finished. Idk the vibes are nice and I love how flustered young Jon gets when he's got a crush.

South of Hell by nonbinaryspock

Rating: Teen

14,194 words, 35/35 chapters

Teenager AU. No one in their awful little town likes Edward or Jonathan, but they've at least got eachother. Very southern gothic.

Exit Wounds by nonbinaryspock

Rating: Teen

18,066 words, 38/38 chapters

Demon/supernatural AU. Edward is a private investor and his demon ex-boyfriend suddenly shows up after 5 years in need of a place to stay. Edward is thoroughly unimpressed.

I'm in love with this AU big time, it's got some pretty neat world building. I also love how distinctive the characterizations here are. BAH I'm not great at describing but it's very angsty and good.

Frighteningly Unprofessional by bookynerdgoblin

Rating: Mature

28,412 words, 11/11 chapters

One of Jonathan's students knows about his unethical experiments, however instead of reporting him, he offers to help in exchange for his partnership. Things spiral from there. Edward is purposefully being super obvious and Jonathan talks to his cat like a person.

Words by scarecrowv

Rating: General

4,651 words, 1/1 chapters

Edward's daughter keeps calling Jon "mama" and he has no idea how to handle it, aka psychology professor Dr Jonathan Crane talks to a 2 year old like an adult.

A Case Study in Step-Parenting by Ifthinkerwrites

Rating: General

16,053 words, 5/5 chapters

Another lil scriddler family fic, Jonathan navigates step-parenthood :)

Sitzfleisch by SproxGrail

Rating: Mature

1,205 words, 1/? chapters

Jonathan is living in Edward's walls and talks about him like a little freak. I need this fic to update again please please please it's so creepy I'm in love with it

Some series to look at as well!

Memoryverse by Enigmatic_Robin

Rating: General

15,393 words, 11 works

A bit more of a psychological horror/thriller than a romance. Jonathan is manipulating Edward into complete dependency. It seems easy while Edward is in love with him, but he'd better watch out for when that veil slips.

Scriddler Family AU by Enigmatic_Robin

Rating: General

17,722 words, 9 works

Scarecrow and Riddler end up raising Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake. And all the shenanigans that come with that.

Love Me Dead by lymongrab

Rating: Explicit

25,624 words, 6 works

Kinda just a nice progression in Jonathan and Edward's relationship with some added spice here and there. Mostly pretty sweet.

Arkhamverse by iammemyself

Rating: General

354,608 words, 28 works

In which Edward and Jonathan's relationship is a bit complicated, but Edward is also a robot dad!!

(Everything from here is nsfw centric)

This section would be longer but i actually found out the person who wrote some nsfw fics i really liked was actually a proshipper weirdo so I'm not including those. Why can't people be normal

Kiss The Go-Goat by korereapers

Rating: Explicit

5,203 words, 1/1 chapters

Demon AU. Edward summons a demon and gets a little carried away

Shout out to this fic for getting me into Ghost, the only band I ever listen to now lmfao. Anyway I'm a big sucker for anything involving monster/demon/creature!Jon

Connected by korereapers

Rating: Explicit

6,458 words, 1/1 chapters

A hookup gets wayyy more emotional than expected. But, y'know, they're not in love or anything. Right?

Comfort by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)

Rating: Explicit

4,866 words, 1/1 chapters

Mad Max AU. Edward is traversing the wasteland, where he finds and helps a desperate escapee.

I've found that Mad Max AUs are always so sad no matter what even though the movie itself is kinda silly lmfao.

worldly pleasures by leetheshark

Rating: Explicit

3,227 words, 1/1 chapters

Arkhamverse

Jonathan doesn't really know how to handle any sensation that isn't painful.

#so many of these are super sad im sorry #but they're GOOD #you should read all of these #i'm too nervous to tag people but idk if any of these authors see this hello you're cool #scriddler #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #fic rec #oxy talks-y

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ivymarquis · 11 months

Text

AhhhHHHHHH my brain gave me a new idea this is cursed lmao it’s also sad so Imma put it under a cut. CW Character death (implied? 👀👀👀) + miscarriage

Today’s mood is sad as hell lmao

Price is wounded. Evac isn’t going to be able to get to him in time, and he’s separated from the rest of the 141 + anyone who would be able to help him. He is certain that he is about to die.

Even though it breaks all sorts of regulations, he calls his girlfriend. He knows he’s a bastard for doing this, he’s selfish and he’s going to traumatize her but he just wants to talk to her one last time.

His girlfriend is not having a good day. Been sick the last few weeks, goes to the doctor to see what’s going on. The lab results come back and she was pregnant but a drop in some of her hormone levels indicate that she is in the middle of miscarrying.

While trying to deal with the whirlwind of emotions of processing losing a child she didn’t even know she was having, and what the hell she’s going to tell John (does she even tell him?), she gets the phone call.

He’s apologetic and they’re both sobbing the entire time. He tells her there’s a ring for her in his sock drawer and he wants her to know he had it and was going to give it to her when he got back. He tells her about his proposal and how he was going go do it, and apologizes for the fact that he’s going to be leaving her all alone.

She panics and lies by omission. He’s bleeding to death hundreds of miles away. She tells him she’s pregnant (still technically true), that he’s not leaving her alone. That she loves him and it’s okay. She knows he did his best.

She stays on the line with him until he doesn’t answer anymore, and stays on the line still. She can’t bring herself to end the call.

And this is too fucking sad most likely there’d be a dues ex machina type shit where he survives by the skin of his teeth and then the fallout resulting from that because GOOD GOD this is heavy even for me lmfao

#help its sad bitch hours I need fluff #john price x reader #cod mwf2 #cod x reader #a concept #my writing #miscarriage #character death #john price

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the-ninja-legacy-whip · 7 months

Note

So I adore your worldbuilding and how you've mixed the worlds of the show and movie-

That being said, I'm curious how a three-way crossover between the legacyverse, the show, and the movie would go. Into the Ninjaverse, if you will

I'm not even gonna lie, I daydream about this all the time—

Show!Kai is Legacy!Kai but much more aggressive, while Movie!Kai is Legacy!Kai but more passive. They spend most of their time trying to puzzle out how they all wound up so different despite leading similar lives. Movie!Kai does have a conniption over Legacy!Kai once being friends with Chad (and not Show!Kai asking Legacy!Kai for dating tips gfdsgfd)

Show!Jay = Bastard!Jay and Movie!Jay= Uwu!Jay.......so, both are immensely jealous of Legacy!Jay who somehow gets the best of both worlds, on top of being able to teleport and fly consistently (but Legacy!Jay is the one that nearly loses an eye, so who's really losing here) (also, since Movie!Jay is actually single, Sunni starts rubbing her hands together like "my chance at LAST")

Legacy!Cole is vastly unimpressed with the other Coles (to him, one cares way too much while the other doesn't care nearly enough) and struggle to find common ground with each other since, unlike the Kais, their upbringings all turned out way, way different from each other (but of course all of them do unite in their passion for music/dancing)

Legacy!Zane learning that he has no mother (!!!) and that his father dies twice instead (!!!!!!) in Showverse, along with discovering just how robotic he is Movieverse, even without turning titanium. Multiple mental crises ensue.

All three versions of Nya are just chilling, although Show!Nya has some reservations about the other two "surrendering their independence" to be ninja, while Movie!Nya can't even fathom ever not wanting to be a ninja. Legacy!Nya sympathizes with both sides and thus is torn about her own decisions.

The only real sources of shock for the Lloyds are Legacy!Lloyd's op abilities and their age differences. Show!Lloyd is like 10 (if this is during the first half of S2), Legacy!Lloyd just turned 14, and Movie!Lloyd just turned 16, so their levels of life experience are quite different. They are, however, unified in the distress over their dad of course (and Show!Lloyd is a little envious of the other two getting to have their mom in their lives). Show and Movie agree that Legacy is probably the most terrifying out of the three of them, for reasons they can't quite explain why.

Jesse reveling in there being three Coles lmao, but then subsequently freaking out because he simply does not exist in Showverse (or worse, he's just that Fuchsia Ninja from Crystalized lmfao) and is basically useless in Movieverse. Legacy!Cole assures him that he is glad he gets to love have him in their universe tho.

Legacy!Olivia in outrage that there is no Shark Army in Showverse, and horrified at what does go down in the Movieverse. She is, however, a little distressed that her father (who is not her counterpart's father) is alive in Movieverse...but it's her alter-self that winds up getting killed. Whoa, man.

Legacy!Harumi getting real concerned when she can't find her Movie!counterpart, on top of how much worse Show!Harumi's life is than hers, against the odds. She starts dreading what *she's* gonna be in for, if her life can't seem to find peace in any universe–

Legacy!Antonia can't find her counterparts (as she believes they just haven't met their ninja yet, which technically isn't wrong) and thus has way more fun riling up everyone else and documenting all their difference. She also tends to play mediator for everyone else when things get out of hand

Harleigh, meanwhile: WHERE THE HELL AM I?!?!?! Show!Ronin: ...I think I just felt a disturbance in the forces that be

#INTO THE NINJAVERSE #ninjago #legacyverse #the ninja legacy whip #content tag

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berryzawati · 9 months

Text

Rambling about wolnpc....

One of the reasons why I'm so deep into multishipping hell with my wol is that I love genuinely love exploring dynamics with different npcs. FFXIV throws so many awesome npcs at me, how can I just stick with one or two?

Ok, there's also the fact that she fell in love twice and the first time her lover died and the second time, the guy was already dead BUT...

As far as canon goes Layla had a whirlwind romance with Haurchefant. They fell in love fast and the romance ended just as fast at the Vault. It was a very cliched romance, Haurchefant swept Layla off her feet. Often literally. He was very affectionate with her and often times Layla was a bit shy, especially when they are in public. But she loved him just as much.

Her love for Ardbert was doomed due to the fact that he was already dead and not from the Source. Ardbert fell in love with Layla during Shadowbringers too but denied his feelings for her until the very end.

Layla felt like Ardbert was truly her soulmate and often wonders if she would feel similar about the other Azem shards. By then, Layla overcame her timidly and often persued Ardbert romantically and Ardbert was often unsure how to react to her advances - all the while he slowly fell for her. Also I constantly think of newlywed AUs for them lmfao

Layla and Leofard are friends with benefits but on a non-sexual level, they enjoy each other's company a lot. Leofard understands that Layla comes from a very different background and starts to banter with her accordingly. I call their dynamics charming rogue x graceful, courtly fighter.

Layla may act as if Leofard's teasing bothered her a little but deep down she appreciates him as a dear, dear companion. Someone who understands that the world is vast and that there is still so much for them to discover...

When it comes to non-canon ships, I'm afraid this is where my brainrot truly shines. I ship my wol with so many npcs, I sometimes even forget which minor msq/general npc I ship my wol with. It do be like that. Though these days I often think of job/role quest npcs.

As someone who ADORES job quest npcs, I was extremely sad that the stopped doing them in Shadowbringers.

Some of my favorites include:

Gransonwol. They're both tanks and they both lost a loved one. In my mind, Layla and Granson lick each other's wounds and get closer in the progress. Their personalities don't clash at all and they go well together.

But Granson is from the First and Layla is from the Source. Not only are they griefing but it is hard to deal with physical distance. This often leads to conflicts between them. Will they be able to overcome this? Who knows...

Oborowol. The first thing I think when I think of Layla and Oboro was how when she became a ninja, Oboro asked her to teach him about the culture of Eorzea. But Layla is not a native of Eorzea either! I think this may have lead to funny moments to them, Layla loves helping people, so she often answered all the question.

The second thing is:

Oboro's Zadnor field note gave me a lot inspiration. Layla may be experienced in all things romance but she can get pretty bashful and lets her partner lead. Oboro however is not really experienced, so she waits a long time for him to make a move on her. So, here's a rare case of Layla often taking charge in the relationship. Oboro is often thankful but eventually overcomes his own shyness, methinks.

Widargeltwol. Probably the ship that is connected to Layla's lore the most, even more than her canonical ships. Layla is half Ala Mhigan and her Ala Mhigan mother is one of the last surviving monks. This had a huge impact on Layla growing up. Growing up her mother strictly trained her to become a monk but Layla could not open a chakra despite her apititude for fighting and her strong body.

It wasn't until she met Widargelt during the first monk job quest that she opened her first chakra. Widargelt realized her potential and made plans to use her for his revenge against the Garleans (as shown during the ARR MNK job quests). I love this because during A Realm Reborn, Layla felt connected to the Ala Mhigans and started to see herself as an Ala Mhigan more and more.

So, queue in the angst when during the level 50 quest, Widargelt tried to kill her. Layla quickly became fond of Widargelt, so her heart broke after this but during the Heavensward quests they've mended their relationship fast. Even in the canonical timeline in which they don't end up together, Layla sees Widargelt as one of the most precious person she has met during her journey.

It is worth noting that Layla has kept her mother's identity hidden but after the events of the last ARR MNK quests, Layla confessed to Widargelt and Erik that her mother was a monk as well. They were the first people, Layla has told about her mother.

I think out of all my ships, this one is the one I'd label a slowburn. They saw each other as siblings in monkhood first but I also think that their romance is also a very smooth one once they realize their feelings. No need for big words, both know very well that the other has nothing but love in their heart. But first steps are hard...

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dreaming-of-lu · 2 years

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Hi! you are so talented with both writing and your art!! can i request warriors, hyrule, and legend with a s/o that doesnt do well with blood? im queasy as hell so as much as i love these boys just imagining being there while they stab something in a fight... id probably just stand there and be like 🫠👍 "logging off now" lmfao a girl can still dream right? 🤣

A/N: Well, ain’t you just sweet! Thank ya doll for such kind words and for also being patient! Pretty much tellin’ them it’s nap time.

Tw: blood

Warriors

"Shit!" Warriors hissed as he jumped back, cupping his arm tightly. The lizalfos raised its spear again, throwing it wildly around with no precision other than to lay another strike upon him. Warriors growled, twisting himself left and right before going for the opening that left the lizalfos defenseless. It fell with a sharp screech, disappearing in a puff of purple smoke, leaving behind a rupee.

"Finally," Warriors panted, "shoddy bastard." He flung the remaining guts off of the sword, swinging the sword around and placing it back into its scabbard.

"Warriors!" He looked up to see you running toward him, "Are you a-"

His brows furrowed as you came to a halt, staring wide-eyed at something. He snaps his fingers in front of you to garner your attention back onto him; a small nervous chuckle leaves your lips.

"Plot twist," your eyes rolled up to the back of your head, tittering dangerously backward to the ground. Warriors exclaim in worry, quickly grabbing your wrist and slinging his arm around your waist. He hissed as the pressure of your body pressed into his injured arm; he looked down at his arm, and the realization kicked in. His sleeve sliced in half, the wound seeping blood into the green cloth, dying the color into a murky brown.

Ah, that's right.

"Shite."

Hyrule

Hyrule lifted his head from his hand when he heard your pitiful groans; quietly as he could, he wandered over to your bedside, cupping your hand in his.

"W-What happened," you croaked.

Hyrule grimaced,

"Well,"

Hyrule was panicking, pressing against the wound to keep more blood from escaping. He couldn't heal when the group still needed him in this fight. He needed someone quick and willing to aid him with the wound, shifting his eyes around to see who wasn't in a battle. They landed on your form, watching you quickly finish off a bokoblin before shouting your name. You turned around and sprinted toward him, sliding on your knees at the end.

"What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to- WHOA!" Hyrule's hands flung up to catch you, smearing his blood on the sleeves of your undershirt. Panic tenfolds as you conked out in his arms, face pale and void of color.

"Oh no," you moaned, "I passed out at the worst time, and that's so embarrassing! In the middle of a battle? Rulie, quit laughing!"

Hyrule snickered underneath his hands before calming himself,

"It's alright; sometimes we have those types of problems."

Legend

"Please do not pass out," Legend weakly pleaded as he held the side of his head, feeling lightheaded as everything became painful. You stared at him wide-eyed, slack-jawed, watching in terror as the blood trickled down his palm and the side of his face. He winces, feeling the sharp pain wrack through his skull, grunting in agony when the pain becomes sharper.

"Love," he grunts, "go get Hyrule or anyone in the group close by, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Legend," you whimpered,

"Go! Quickly before either of us pass out on each other!" He hissed, clutching his head tighter and closing his eyes. He heard your footsteps lessen, or he might've been imagining it when he opened them again to see he was in a room. He heaves a heavy breath of relief at the sight of the barren walls.

"Oh good! You're up," Legend looks over to see Four standing in front of him, "I'm going to get Hyrule, don't move."

"Where's," Legend trailed off; Four gestures towards the left of him, the sight of you snoring away into the pillow next to him soothed the ache he still felt. Gone was the paleness, the color of your cheeks relieved him.

‘Guess it wasn’t a dream at all,’ Legend thought.

“They passed out as soon as we got here." Four chuckles. Legend huffs through his nose,

"I'll be right back," Legend waves limply at Four, soft eyes never leaving your form.

#linked universe x reader #lu warriors x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu legend x reader #.bea's writing #linked universe #tw: blood

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sieglinde-freud · 9 months

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For the ask game 3, 6, 7, 15 :)

omg hi stedy!! 💙 putting under read more again cuz it got long whos surprised

3. What’s a female character you look up to?

kind of embarrassing but elle woods lmfao. i dont talk too much about myself outside of liking video games but generally speaking i really likes presenting pretty girlish and feminine, and where i live it gets me a lot of grief and people looking down on me. so seeing someone like her who is sooo unabashedly pink and pretty and going to fucking harvard law changed something in me. because i absolutely did have a ‘not like other girls’ phase as a kid but characters like her helped me out of that. realistically as an adult i can see its different for me than her, given shes a rich white woman whos also not real, but still! shes very dear to me. when i was thinking of other characters to put here my other thought was maribelle fire emblem so can you guess i have a type?

6. A female character who got done dirty by the narrative?

celica fire emblem in echoes specifically. i didnt play gaiden because i dont hate myself but i dont know the differences in plot. but in echoes its just like. i love conrad but why is he here? so he can take the spotlight away from celica and solve her problems when she was just fine without him in then original! and then alm has to come save her, and then guess who gets the cool final hit animation at the end of their dual narrative? not her! its like. man. what the hell. i like celica and everything, shes a great character, but intsys does not respect her enough. i will tho. give her to ME.

7. A female character the narrative wound up being much better to than you’d thought it would be?

ivy fire emblem. honestly, like a lot of people, i had a really sour first impression of engage just based on the trailers, and also like a lot of people, i thought ivy was just gonna be camilla 2.0 seductress on a wyvern they’d use strictly for fanservice and cast any interesting traits away. happy to say i was wrong! i loved her character arc with her turning against her father, watching him die, and then fleeing the country everything riding entirely on the hope that the divine dragon can still accept her offerings. and then having to face hortensia and face the fact that ivy left her behind and still get hortensia to come with you its just… ugh. ivy fire emblem. its been a while since i read engages story but her individual character story specifically was just. so fun. i love her very much.

15. Female character you would defend with your life?

lucina fire emblem. same issues as with severa tbh in the sense that in my happy little tumblr bubble i see nothing but complete love an adoration for her, but if i step out and see a twitter/reddit nerd’s opinion on her i lose my mind. “shes boring shes just a forced love interest for male robin her story is poorly written shes shallow” im gonna kill you. god forbid a young woman go through struggles the likes of which none of us will ever know and finds it hard to tell a joke. fucking christ.

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explorersaremadeofhope · 3 months

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What's your favorite Sherlock Holmes story?

oh no this is so hard!! i apologise in advance for how long this will get

in terms of like, craft and a good story and what i'm maybe most likely to pick up for a reread, cliché answer, but probably hound of the baskervilles. i think doyle was an occasionally really good horror writer, i'd happily have read more stories where he combined horror and sherlock holmes. i love the setting and the spooky descriptions of the moor. and it's got some of my favourite things, like watson getting to play a large role and be a hero in his own right (even if holmes does humiliate him a bit halfway through).

study in scarlet also, because it's so wonderfully character-driven and focused on holmes and watson's relationship (and how focused they are on each other), even though i gotta admit i tend to skip the middle flashback section lmao.

when it comes to the short stories they're so uneven. i think some of them are genuinely good, redheaded league is a good mystery plot and also hilarious; milverton and illustrious client are similar but both great (and feature another of my fav things: Holmes And Watson Sneak Around). musgrave ritual too, i love the riddle and the historical background, and the framing device of watson scolding holmes for not tidying up and holmes bringing out a box of old cases (did you see this comic? it's so good). final problem and empty house are kind of shoe-ins just because [gestures at their everything], but i actually especially like empt for how it shows us watson still being involved in cases on his own! solitary cyclist is solid too (and has the incongruously metal exchange 'she's my wife!' 'no -- she's your widow.')

but SH is a bit like star trek tos for me - some of the plots are thin as hell, but they have good character moments! so e.g. 3 garridebs is just redheaded league recycled, but it has the infamous 'worth the wound' moment which is incredible. blanched soldier and lion's mane are very mid (okay, lion is just bad lmfao) as mysteries go, but they have holmes being extremely dramatique about how watson has Abandoned Him. reigate squires isn't a favourite case of mine but shows holmes having had a literal breakdown and watson looking after him... i'll stop there because this is way too long but tldr, Many of them are Good for Different Reasons

#im sorry about this wall of text lmao #asks #thank you for the question though!! even if you got a bit more than you probably wanted sjhsd #sherlock holmes #*#even now there's stuff i've forgotten. them breaking into ppl's houses is an eternal fav. holmes threatening to whip dudes also.#any story that features the turkish baths #but if we get into the late victorian queercoding in SH we'll be here all night

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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fourth-quartet · 6 months

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20 questions writer meme

Tagged by @killerandhealerqueen thanks dear <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Oh, god, currently? Across 7 accounts? Probably around 80, give or take?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

Probably around 500k? I can't be bothered to log into all of my accounts.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

You can primarily find my fics for The Devil Judge and Strangers From Hell, but I do also write for Vincenzo, Dimension20, Critical Role, Hannibal, RPF stuff, and Harry Potter.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(again, only on the main account because I'm too lazy to log into other stuff)

envious of the musical sounds of my name from your tongue, whispered in the folds of being

imagining the integration of our images

a place to be

owed grief and promised IOUs

in the wounds we gave each other I find forgiveness

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, because I know people like replies. I struggle with replying to them though and tend to only reply after letting it pile up to 50+ comments.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

All of them? LMFAO, there was one way back in the day where a character stopped taking his meds because he thought love was going to solve all of his problems, and the implications... weren't fun. I also just like killing characters.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably any TDJ fic currently published, because y'all are weird about not liking angsty fics.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't in a hot minute.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have written it before but I'm not super comfortable/confident in writing it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do not.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, thankfully.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! wish I loved you (better) was translated into Spanish here

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

So so many. My ex and I used to co-write everything, probably a good 20+ fics.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

... Tom Riddle/Harry Potter.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

LOL most of my TDJ fics? Specifically before, after, and the void in between. Also and soon we will fly (like birds in the night)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue for SURE.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Subplot, foreshadowing, world-building

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Depends on the language, whether or not I speak it, the relevance to the plot.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Things that will Disappear are so Beautiful

Tagging @stars-after-dark and @thedeviljudges as well as anyone else who wants to do this.

#tagged took #fic stuffs

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gummygowon · 2 years

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chat noir | choi san

word count: less than 1k

genre: black cat familiar! san x witch!reader, sort of of angst?, suggestive, overprotective san

warnings: drunk man harasses reader, implied smut, blood (nothing super gorey)

a/n: this is the most spiciest thing ive ever written and it’s not even that hot lmfao also pls lmk if i missed any warnings!

the moon shone brightly in the starry night sky as you wiped off blood from your familiar's face in your old pick up truck.

"san, how many times have i told you to not get into fights for me?" you scold as you dab an alcohol pad on his face.

a hiss erupted from your familiar, "too many times."

"then why do you still do it?" one of your hands holds san's chin between your fingers as you tilt his head to examine for more cuts.

"he kept touching you, miss." he answered, the same firey glint in his eyes still there. "he would've kept doing that to other women or you, if i didn't come in."

"i had the situation under control san."

you opened another band aid to place on his cheek, your mind drifting back to what happened a few moments ago.

you were back at the local grocery store trying to find some ingredient for tonight's dinner. while browsing the few isles of fresh produce, a drunk man stumbled into the store from the bar nearby and threw himself on you.

"hey baby, whatcha doin' out here slone?" his words slurred together with his breath reeking of cheap alcohol.

"i'm shopping." you answered bluntly while prying the stranger off you.

"awww, let me join you baby. ya needs help with thatt?" he sloppily pointed to the basket of goods hanging from your arm.

"no i don't." you ripped your arm from his grasp once more and sped down the nearest aisle and rushed to pay the cashier. sure, being a witch meant that you had magical powers but to use them so openly and risk outing yourself was even worse. the town you lived in were afraid of the witches and monsters that had supposedly lived near them despite "the monsters" protecting them daily from supernatural creatures that were out for blood.

as you scurried to your car, you hoped that your familiar, choi san, a devilishly handsome and mischievous black cat wouldn't dare to get involved in this. he was certainly a troublemaker when it came to protecting you even when you didn't need it anymore.

an accident had happened a long time ago resulting in you getting severely hurt while san couldn't come to your rescue sooner and since then he had regretted himself for it and sworn that he would do everything to protect his miss.

you pulled into the driveway, expecting san's cat form to greet you on the porch only to be met with your dark lit cottage.

"fuck." you groaned as you noted the absurd absence of your familiar. "you better be in the house, you sneaky shit."

shoving the bag of groceries in one hand you slammed your car door and rushed into the house. "san! i'm home, where are you?"

you were only met with silence with the exception of the cauldron in the kitchen that was bubbling with your latest potion.

"godamnt san." you cursed, as you grabbed the medkit out of one the cabinets and drove back into town.

now here you were sitting in your pick up truck, cleaning san's face while you scold him for hurting a human.

"bloody hell san, what the fuck happened?" you moved onto cleaning his knuckles that were still oozing blood.

" you should've seen the other guy." he answered, completely ignoring your question as you rolled up his shirt to look for other injuries. thankfully, they were none. "mmm feeling eager tonight are we?"

you roll his eyes at his comment, "can you scoot your chair back? i need to disinfect the wound on your right shoulder."

"why do that when you can sit on my lap?" he asks with a smirk, pulling you into his lap before you could say anything.

“you’re such an ass, san.”

“and you love me for it.” he answers with a grin which is quickly wiped away as the alcohol pad stings his cut.

“fucking hell.” he grits, hands flying to your waist to grab onto something which you don’t mind. you’re used to san’s physical touches.

“i’m almost done.” you mumble as place a band aid on the cut, gently smoothing it out before giving his shoulder a nice pat. “good boy.”

you don’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the nickname and his hands grip your waist once more. “anymore cuts?”

“no, but we got another problem now.” he quips as his eyes flicker to his lap.

you eyes trail his as you feel something poking your thigh. looking back at san, you wrap your arms around his neck, “you’re lucky i’m not punishing you for today.”

the familiar looks at you with lust in his dark eyes and a lazy smirk, “who said you can’t punish me still?”

#ateez oneshots #ateez oneshot #san oneshots #san oneshot #san imagines #choi san smut #ateez choi san #choi san x reader #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez suggestive #ateez suggestive oneshot #choi san suggestive oneshot

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slutsofren · 2 years

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Ahhh!! The latest chapter!! Freaking FINALLY reader admits at least to herself, her feelings for Rhys. Just wait though!! There’s still Azriel and Cassian ohohohohohoho! I look forward to the next one! Would it be possible to get a director’s cut of Rhys waiting for Reader to show up after she and Tarquin got the book of breathings? And how he has had to sit and wait for HOURS listening to Tarquin ask for her? Thank you so much! I love your work ❤️❤️❤️

teehee yes!! if im being very honest, i really cannot wait for like The Talk as we're all dubbing it. like... c'mon you KNOW cass and az (especially az) is losing their shit the longer this goes on. at this point i haven't outlined the whole Talk because i want it to flow naturally but i am cooking up one hell of an idea for how it's gonna go so i hope ya'll like it!!

director's cut under the... well cut lol

reminder this is reader x Cass/Az/Rhys polyamory & FMMM

content warnings: a hint of jealousy

notes: lmfao this was fun to write! i also liked that i could delve into a bit of rhy's mind when it comes to him thinking about the bond and how he views his own trauma, so thank you for this directors cut!!

word count; 1,301

read on ao3 / high lady masterlist

Rhysand is, for all intents and purposes, annoyed. Well, if he was being honest with himself, he would admit it was more than annoyance that coated his vision when, really, it was a low simmering rage. He was awake all night after hearing you scream. A sound he could go the rest of his existence without hearing again.

Then you ran from him, yelling at him to not touch you, only for him to send Azriel to keep watch on you. He knew, better than most, how these night terrors could plague a mind, how Amarantha could nestle her claws into one’s mind for months. He knew, he still had those nights, just as he knew you did.

A whisk of black smoke hailed in the corner of the room just as Azriel stepped out. “Tarquin sensed me.”

Frustrated, he wanted to throw something. Instead he settled for running his hands through his hair. “Tell me everything.”

“He knows she has his power, manipulating water. She was leaking darkness all over the palace,” Azriel reported in a shockingly still voice. Rhysand had half expected him to be just as panicked as he felt but Azriel had always been reserved, always keeping his emotions close to his chest. “He threatened to oust us all for spying on him under false pretenses if I didn’t leave. I wasn’t going to but then she told me to go, and Rhsyand,” he said, his voice growing pained. “She looked defeated.”

“Fuck,” he cursed. “A part of me doesn’t even want to bother with the damned Book at this rate, just take our mate and go home but-,” Rhysand cut himself off and sighed, then looked at Azriel. Azriel, his brother in arms, his best friend, his spymaster, his fellow mate in the eyes of the Mother. “Tarquin has somehow managed to pull smiles from Feyre in ways none of us have seen. Had she not had a nightmare tonight, this entire mission would have been worth it for that alone. She’s eating more here, even pushing against us like she did earlier, she hasn’t done that since she was human.”

Since before she died, he refrained from saying.

It took everything in him to keep himself still, that maybe, just this once, you needed something he couldn’t provide. Being mates wasn’t the end all to your trauma, just as it wasn’t for him. He had to work hard, day in and day out, to keep himself from spiraling, and there were still nights where he couldn’t find comfort in your scent nor in the bond that wrapped around his heart, binding him to you for the rest of his days.

That’s the way the invisible wounds Amarantha caused worked, they couldn’t be found at the end of a bottle or deep in the throws of fucking another. You just had to deal with it before it consumed you. And that was something he still struggled with.

Azriel left not long after that, snuffing out his own desire to search the grounds for you as well.

Needless to say, he paced his bedroom until your familiar footsteps were heard, the soft click of your door, then the rustling of blankets. It was then he let the tension seep away from his shoulders and felt himself sigh in relief. Once he sat in a chair, he realized he wanted to sneak into your room. Not to watch you sleep, but to watch over you and make sure that you were safe. Still, he refrained. You had ensured a boundary between you and him, one that he respected beyond all measure, even if his instincts roared at him otherwise.

If this was going to happen, he was going to do it right.

He will not make his mates pay for his mistakes. Not again.

Then morning came and you remained asleep without fuss, another small weight lifted from his worries. It wasn’t until he and Amren were in the ornate room set aside for political conferences that his… annoyance reared its ugly head everytime your name fell from Tarquin’s lips.

The Summer Court High Lord praised your refreshing attitude in the Court, praised your beauty, inferred his own admiration of your prowess, your cunning. Every time he said something complimentary of you, Rhysand imagined a new way of torture.

You know, for reasons.

Not because he was jealous, no he didn’t know the meaning of the word. That was absurd. Rhysand? The strongest, most beautiful and powerful of the High Lords, jealous? Unheard of.

Conversation shifted then, ongoing to preparations for a small evening celebration tomorrow for your group's departure. Cresseida had found herself in his lap eventually, rubbing her hands all over his shoulders. Had she had been a different female, you to be precise, he would have been drowning in euphoria. Still, he kept his hands firmly on her hips, no higher or lower, a haunting reminiscent of the nights Under the Mountain when he took you dancing during those pathetic parties Amarantha prided herself on.

Then, over lunch, Tarquin asked about you once more. “Where has the beautiful Feyre been this morning? Don’t tell me I wore her out last night,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Had he not been a better male, he would have either crushed the table or, stars, maybe even Tarquin’s throat, alas he was. He was better than this. He had to be, especially since he actually liked the poor bastard.

Rhsyand gave a noncommittal shrug as he drank a bit of wine to clear his mouth. “Since her transformation, Feyre has not had an easy adjustment to this life, and being Fae, so is resting as much as she can. Tamlin did not treat her evolution with as much grace as he should have.”

As the words leave him, the food before him loses its appeal. It was a shame too seeing as Rhysand had grown fond of bread with olive oil that was famous in the Summer Court.

Furthermore, the deep longing of regret pains him. All these years have flown by and he did not know what happened to his friend, of the male he became. Amarantha dug her claws into him and made irrevocable changes to Rhys, and still, a part of him lingers on wondering how did she ruined his friend as well.

“If I am overstepping then forgive me, but I must ask… is it true then that Tamlin trapped her within Rosehall and your court rescued her,” Tarquin asked respectfully.

Rhys’ hands flexed into fists. “It is true, and it will not be discussed further. It is not our story to tell and I am not fond of being on the receiving end of Feyre’s wrath.”

His fellow High Lord let out a snorting laugh. “Don’t I know it. I swore she almost wanted to murder me in my sleep for a moment there last night.”

Curiosity rose within him. In fact, he realized that this entire morning, Tarquin had not mentioned anything about Azriel nor of the slight Rhys had committed against him. “Do tell how you may have gotten on her wrong side,” he mused. Come on Tarq, where did you take my mate last night, what did you do with her, he thought.

“We were walking along the beach and I made a comment about the attractiveness of a male who caught my eye,” he said, smile lines hitting his eyes. “She didn’t like that very much.”

That spark of interest flared even more. “Oh? And do tell who the two of you were eyeing?”

Tarquin reached for a grape from his plate and smirked. “That spymaster of yours. She seems to be protective of him.”

That’s my girl, Rhysand praises inwardly. “Oh, you have no idea.”

#inbox 💌#alynerd #directors commentary #acotar fics #cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #the high lady meta #the high lady of cunning #the high lady talks #acotar fic

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moonjosjongwoo · 3 years

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How do you think Moonjo and Jongwoo were in their respective childhoods/teenage years?

oh oh i think about this so much jasldkfjlaksjdflkj

i'll start with moonjo, because his backstory eludes us all and we've been teased with bits and pieces of it for a while. it went around on here (from a twitter post i think?) that moonjo was abused by his parents and wound up killing them before going to the orphanage. idk how true this was bc i didn't get the chance to do my own research, but i can definitely see it being a thing. that being said, 99 percent of my theorizing on his childhood runs on this little tidbit of information, so take that with a grain of salt.

said information legitimately makes me wonder what kind of person moonjo was before that abuse had led to him killing. psychopathy is a diagnosable disorder, and some kids really are just born that way. It's a spectrum disorder that can range from general antisocial behavior/lack of empathy all the way to committing criminal actions without remorse. i did a lot of poking around online about psychopathy as a diagnosis, and traits like 'superficial charm' and 'pathological lying' popped up on more than a few of them. but i'm rambling.

whether or not moonjo was born a psychopath or became one as a result of the abuse he suffered in his younger childhood years, it's worth noting that there's some evidence that it can be inherited. either way, he started out in a home where people thought trouncing on him for being smaller was an okay thing to do. whether or not he plotted their deaths or just snapped and killed his parents one day is obviously up for debate under the current background we have, but it's safe to say that he was never ever your 'average kid' growing up.

did he question what he was going through? or did he simply perceive it as a situation he needed out of? did he start out as the kid who sat in the fetal position in his room and cried until he'd had enough? or was he cold and calculating about it?

i don't want to say i genuinely believe any one thing about a younger moonjo, because my headcanons (especially with this show) tend to grow and change as i learn more. but i do think moonjo always had some level of charm to him. he's a brilliant actor as we see in the show, playing the role of a completely innocent dentist, a fellow resident at eden, a man willing to help out a friend (paying the settlement for jongwoo), and even making jongwoo believe for a split second that he wasn't aware of what the twins were lugging when they were carrying that bag out.

hell, he might have even played his parents a little before he up and killed them. even further, i feel like he probably charmed his way right into the orphanage. ms. um has been said to have done 'community service', so maybe she met moonjo while his parents were still alive and he appealed to her. that being said, she could have also given him the nudge in the right direction to kill his parents.

who knows? in any case, i feel like as a kid, moonjo was just as smart and quick-thinking as he is as an adult. he didn't do anything without purpose, and he knew at least in general what he was going to get by taking action on any given thing. i feel like he's always been a good planner and he's always been a good actor, and charmed his way clear up into being the friendly dentist who just so happens to be a serial killer in secret.

now, jongwoo!

i am forever bitter that we don't get much background on how jongwoo's mother and brother are, or what happened to his father. i do know for certain that they all grew up poor, and as financial standing is super important to social status in south korea, this was relevant to how things went in the show. you see it when jongwoo becomes bitter with jaeho for mentioning him living in a residence all the time, and for how he is just generally treated worse by others because of how broke he is. classism i think holds an important role in sfh in general, because nobody bats an eye at the people living in the residence until junghwa gets involved.

I don't think jongwoo was ever quite at moonjo's level. i don't know enough about psychopathy to say whether or not he's one, but he definitely has tendencies. i.e. saying outright that he'd planned on tracking sergeant cho down after getting discharged from the military, straight up threatening to kill people both in his head and out loud.

i think as a kid he was probably seen as more temperamental, but i also think that it wasn't like in the way that he was always just trying to cause trouble so much as it was his distaste for bad situations. like people picking on him or his brother, or people joking about how his mom works for pennies at a fish market. jongwoo doesn't start swinging until someone gives him a reason to, but he often comes home from school with bruises and a scolding from teachers.

jongwoo says something along the lines of 'my brother, who brings me down' when he's recalling everything that led up to his time in the eden residence, but i don't think that was meant in a loathing manner. his brother is disabled (though a seizure is the only thing they mention at least in the show), so extra care has always been provided to him. their mother (in the absence of their father, for whatever reason) tried to take care of them both to the best of their ability, and it's obvious that jongwoo loves his mother, because he starts crying when she calls to check up on him at the end of the show and he's willing to help out financially even when he doesn't really have much money. the point i'm getting at here is that he has also probably always been protective of his brother, even if it's for his mother's sake.

that all being said, i think jongwoo has a great deal of volatility. what moonjo saw in him is very real and even if it was all a hallucination and part of jongwoo's novel like has been theorized, that even further implies just how unhinged he is.

so as a kid, i imagine jongwoo to be the quiet type who kept to himself and tended to get annoyed with others, but would lash out if a situation called for it. i think he probably thought about going off on people a lot without actually doing it, but he didn't start trouble just for the sake of doing it. he probably thought what he was doing was the 'right' or 'noble' thing to do, even if he took it too far.

wowie i didn't expect this post to be this long. forgive me lmfao

#strangers from hell #hell is other people #yoon jongwoo #seo moonjo

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