#get this boy some proper Medical Care | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

riot-ghost · 6 months

Text

Commissioner Gordon was ostracized within the Gotham Police department. He knew this was because of his ties to the Bat, his late hours, constant overtime. He knew that even the good officers, while he couldn't tell too much who was who, didn't mean to ostracize him. It happened on accident, he's sure. He picked up some clues from the world's greatest detective. Rumors went around, running rampant about him. He just couldn't care so much about them.

Everyone knew that Commissioner Gordon always took his late dinner at 9:37 at night. Everyone cleared from the break room. Gordon opened the door, taking a heavy breath. He was still expecting the empty room. It felt empty, in a way Gordon had picked up from The Bat. He pulled his burrito out of the fridge, opening the styrofoam container and eating a bite. "You're not going to heat it up?" Gordon barely manages to catch his burrito, his whole soul leaving his body.

"Jesus Christ, kid, you scared me." Gordon lets out a heavy breath, seeing the new detective sitting at a table in the corner. He's eating... Something indescribable. He looks tired, his long black hair bulled back into a high ponytail. His face seems disproportionate, large prominent features. A crooked nose, a wide, thin mouth, large eyes accompanied by large bags. His skin was pale, dusted with faded freckles and litchenburg scarring. The young man- still a boy, practically, shrugged at Gordon's words, eating another bite of the odd food. "No one warned you I'd be in here?" Gordon decided to sit with him.

"No, they warned me. But the past couple of days they've been... Avoiding me." Dr. Fenton, Gordon remembers his file passing over his desk. He could never be a cop- he was a detective-by-hire because of some medical condition. Gordon feels a pang at the emotionless words.

"Ah, they avoid me too." Gordon takes another bite of his cold burrito. "So, how have you been enjoying working here?"

"Well, it's been alright, I guess." Fenton took a drink from his thermos- which has a straw in it. It goes unsaid that this was the only job Fenton could really get. Close to the force, anyways. His medical condition refrained him from being a proper officer, so he wasn't officially a Gotham PD detective. He was an out-contract detective, receiving the same work, pay, and hours as the regular detectives.

"Getting around the town well enough?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Almost got robbed." Fenton held three doctorates- criminology, psychology, and natural sciences. All at the young age of 22.

"Almost?" Gordon snorts a bit at that. "Scared them off with your badge?"

"I don't have a badge. And I don't have a gun, if that's what you're thinking. I guess they just thought I was too pathetic to have much cash." Danny shrugged.

"Oh come on, you're not pathetic." Gordon is a bit taken aback that the boy doesn't carry any weapons. He makes a mental note to get him a badge.

"I looked pathetic enough not to rob."

Gordon feels like he missed something there, because Gotham robbers would rob a kindergartner if they were unattended. Regardless, he and Fenton sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. "What are you eating?" Fenton asks eventually.

"A burrito from the Mexican stand on Westwood."

"Why are you eating it cold?"

"Because if I reheat it, then the sauce becomes a solid liquid and everything gets soggy. What are you eating?"

"It was supposed to be stir fry?" Danny stared down at the leftovers container. "I'm not good at cooking. No videos ever make sense, so they don't turn out right."

"Your parents didn't teach you?" Gordon asks.

"No, they weren't the best chefs. They did pass on the family fudge recipe though. I can make some killer fudge." He laughs a little bit at that.

"I'll bring you lunch in from now on." Gordon says. "Until we can get your cooking sorted out, anyhow. Normally my daughter and I spend Tuesday nights fixing dinner together, so you'll get the best meals Wednesday."

"You don't have to do that." Danny seems a little caught off guard by the kindness.

"I can't have one of my youngest detectives going hungry!" Gordon smiles. "Besides, you're the first person in the precinct to eat dinner with me in nearly twenty years. You keep eating with me, it'll be no problem. I enjoy the company." Danny smiles at him and Gordon is reminded of someone, but he can't remember who.

Over the next couple of weeks, Gordon and Danny get well acquainted in their overlapping shifts. Danny works the nights and sometimes early mornings, similar to what Gordon does. Gordon finds himself feeling fatherly to the young man, who's working and picking up significant overtime to pay off his student loans. He learns that Danny moved here from Illinois- it was the only PD he could work at. He had no formal fighting training, but apparently his mom had taught him some moves. They had yet to overlap in the field, and it was easy for Gordon to forget that the boy was really a detective.

"Danny?" Jim paused, having finally made his way to the crime scene. Danny was crouched over a dead body, using his gloved hands to inspect the wound- the word Joker carved using some sort of knife.

"Gordon?" Despite all insistence, the boy still used his last name.

Jim has to stop himself from asking him why he's here. Danny's eyes shift to a spot behind him and James sighs. "What happened?" Batman's voice startled the last officer in the room, who quickly stuttered an excuse and left.

"The Joker broke in, tortured her, and left." Jim says. "We just have to figure out why."

"No, we don't." Danny looked back at the body, his eyes unfocused. "It was political. Do you see the swelling here on the neck? No lacerations, and no bruising. Allergy, I suppose, or a poison that reacts similarly. No clawing at the neck or face, but heavy rope burns on the wrists and ankles. The cuts were sloppy, and from the bleeding, it was done after she had died. Maybe five, ten minutes after? The window wasn't fully closed when it was broken into, do you see how the glass fractured there at the top?"

Jim blinked, and Danny continued. "It doesn't fit the motive of a mad-man like the Joker to do this. Who you're looking for is a woman, younger than the victim, maybe around twenty or thirty?" His eyes unfocused again. "Hmmm." He snaps back, looking around. He stands, his hands shaking a little. He looks around, eyes landing on the shelf. He scans it, using gentle hands to lift the potted plant. He pulls out a camera, unplugging it. "A Direct Link- model E47C." He sets the camera in an evidence bag.

Batman gives a grunt- and if Jim isn't mistaken it was one of approval? Danny held the camera out to Jim. "That was some fine detective work today, kid." Jim sets his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny glances off to the side nervously. He locks eyes with Batman. "Danny, this is Batman. Batman, this is Dr. Daniel Fenton, the newest detective on the force."

Batman holds a hand out. "I look forward to working with you." Danny pulls off one of the disposable gloves, reaching out to shake his hand. "You're shaking a little, are you alright?"

"Medical condition." Danny answers. "You're taller than I expected."

"It's the ears." Jim represses a smile. "You go ahead and get your deductions filed. I brought pasta." Jim watches Danny leave. He turns to Batman, who's staring him down with that signature I-know-everything™ face. "What?"

"When are you going to let him know that you're mentoring him?" He says it like a sentence, and was that amusement in his tone?

"I'm not." Jim turns to the window.

"You brought him pasta."

"He never learned to cook."

"So you're teaching him." There was definitely amusement in his tone now.

Jim huffed. "We're getting old." He finally sighs. "We both have full grown kids. Crime and corruption are still thick in this city." Batman is standing next to him with a swoosh in his cape. "Retirement... I could see myself with it. Sipping cocktails on the beach. A beach with sunshine and no broken down carnivals."

Batman is silent for a moment, as if considering this. "So you see Fenton taking your place?"

"Like you see your Robin." Jim admits.

3K notes · View notes

lost-and-ephemeral · 1 month

Note

helloooo, can i req cuddling with love and deepspace boys? :))

Imagine: Loving Embrace (ft. main trio)

Pairing: Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader (seperate)

Tags: pure fluff

A/N: i'm still feeling pretty bad mentally because too many things happened and i'm no longer taking antidepressants, but this little cute request was hard to resist ♡ I decided to focus on different situations instead of writing simple hcs for cuddles

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´-

Rafayel: Cuddles for Inspiration

"Come here, I can't find my inspiration without you."

At least that's what Rafayel always says when he can't find the right balance between painting and wanting to spend time with you. So why not combine both!

Yes, he's covered in paint and, yes, its smell completely soaked his clothes, but you never say no to him. How could anyone resist his cute pouty face when he's asking for something like this?

The moment Rafayel pulls you by the waist and sits you on his lap, be prepared to spend a very, very long time like this. Especially if he's really inspired by your closeness.

And he just can't let go of his muse in the middle of the creative process, right?

Rafayel holds you firmly but gently by your waist while his chin rests on your shoulder. His eyes are either closed as he thinks about something or focused on the canvas.

Sometimes his fingers draw invisible abstract shapes on your waist. He does it instinctively, without thinking. Or he plays with your own fingers while he draws details with his other hand.

"See? Without you, this painting wouldn't be complete."

Zayne: Cuddles for Productivity

"I need some cuddles to promote the production of oxytocin."

Zayne… Always remains Zayne, covering up his own desire to be closer to you with various medical terms and researches. It is cute in it's own way, actually.

He loves it when you hold him in your arms and he can completely relax for a while, resting his head on your chest and listening to your heartbeat. He'll definetely call it a way to check your heath too.

Zayne loves to cuddle before or after work most of the time, but he won't refuse to be there for you during his break at work.

He needs to find the energy to keep working, after all.

He probably prefers to keep quiet during yor cuddling session, but if you want to tell him something, go ahead, Zayne won't say a word against it.

In fact, he even enjoys hearing your stories. Just make sure they don't contain things about your work that might alarm him. Otherwise, he might go back into strict doctor mode. But it's still only because of his love and care for you.

"Have you heard that hugs or any other show of affection can have health benefits, including reducing fear, stress, and pain? So it is good for both of us."

Xavier: Cuddles for Sleep

"My internal battery is completely drained."

And with these words Xavier will make himself comfortable in your arms while you're lying on the couch or bed and scrolling on social media.

And that's not even a joke, he's actually completely exhausted after spending the last couple days on missions without proper rest. You know Xavier, he either works non-stop or goes into hibernation after that. It'll take some time to change his habits.

In this state, he's more like a big plush toy, and you can do whatever you want with him. But the best idea is to play with his hair. This action always relaxes him.

After all, only in your hands he can find such a desired comfort.

Xavier will tell you about how his last mission went while you cuddle. Well, he will try to do it before sleep finally consumes him. And you'll be able to hear perfectly how his voice grows quieter and quieter with each word.

He's so cute when he's sleepy, isn't he? You can even tell him that to get a quiet chuckle in return. Xavier doesn't mind your little teasing.

"It's so warm in your arms, I swear I… I can't stay awake anymore…"

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader

471 notes · View notes

2frosty4you · 2 months

Note

Hiii! If reqs are open, can I request for all the mercs finding out teen merc reader grew up with very neglectful parents, and is basically a mother to her younger siblings? The only reason she even took up a job as a mercenary is so she can pay the bills for her little brothers and sisters, since her parents are too busy using their money on drugs:/

Mercs find out teen!reader takes sole care of her siblings [Platonic

Hardest thing about this was actually getting a name for it :cry:

╔═════════════════╗

Scout

✧ He says he relates, but in reality he doesn't. His family was filled with successful boys (fatherless) and his mother who they all loved. He sent his paychecks to her every time.

✧ When you explained that you had to take care of your siblings from a younger age over the campfire he became quiet.

✧ Doesn't make a joke, but the awkward air was getting to him.

"so.. how many siblings ya got?"

✧ He only says this to break the ice

✧ After a while he understands why you're always on calls with people, always away on ceasefire and always take any off days you can get (hardly any)

Soldier

"AN AMERICAN CARETAKER SHOULD NOT INTAKE DRUGS FROM THE FRENCH!!"

✧ He's trying, but not hard enough

✧ He offers you one of his extra helmets and his raccoons. He cares for you like a strange rabid dog you found on the street.

✧ Shares his food with you, gives his loyalty to your brothers and sisters with a goofy salute.

✧ Don’t let him meet your siblings unless you want him to get them to dig a trench around your house

Pyro

".. mph?"

✧ They don't understand why your parents aren't using their own money.

✧ They don't understand a lot of what you explained

✧ They'll begin to offer any candies they have to you, not like they weren't already. Protects you a lot on the battlefield and draws pictures for you and your siblings (mostly balloonicorn)

✧ Would like to meet your siblings though, they've got plushies to share 100%

Heavy

✧ He pats you on the back and nods, he didn't need to mother/father a group of kids but having no father made his family's life harder.

✧ Teaches you some night hearty meals that could feed a battalion

✧ Also teaches you self defense, even if you know it already it's never enough (heavy tells you that like :nerd: )

✧ Also makes you sit and have some time to yourself, he's your 'father' now. No ifs, buts or whys

Engineer

"pardon."

✧ He says, frying pan in hand as he was cooking breakfast. Staring at you like he was going to kill a set of parents.

✧ Tries to keep you safer on the battlefield, not wanting you to suffer more than your family has done to you.

✧ Teaches you to cook, like heavy

✧ Cooks breakfast for you first, and when you have a rough time its 100% only you getting proper meal.

✧ Will drive you to your family's house, and stand there like a guard as you let him meet your brothers.

✧ Probably would build little contraptions for them and help tutor them.

✧ Loves you like family, including your siblings (not your parents, not at all)

Demoman

✧ He's drunk when you tell him this, he raises his bottle and spits out

"aye, fuck ya parents"

✧ He passes out immediately

✧ If he's sober when you mention it again he's going to be more caring(slightly) and since hes always at least tipsy he'll offer you his bombs like a drug dealer.

✧ If you say yes he'll blow up them and their crackhouse.

✧ Is on the fence about meeting your siblings, he doesn't really want your brothers seeing a drunk, half-blind Scot stumbling around.

Medic

✧ His eye twitches, a large insane smile on his face as he turns to you while having his elbows deep in the corpse of the enemy heavy.

"Did I mishear you?"

✧ He removes his hands from the corpse and comes over to you shaking you like crazy. Ranting about how a teenager shouldn't be caring for small children and asking if you had symptoms for any mental issues.

✧ He's insane, I'm not gonna sugar coat it.

✧ But he is smart and teaches you how to do some basic first aid

'no medic I'm not going to remove any appendices please stop cutting into scout'

✧ Wants to meet your sisters, offers them to play with his birds and offers up some plushies

'MEDIC DON'T GIVE THEM SYRINGES' 'and PLEASE put away the baboon heart'

Sniper

✧ Asks for you to repeat what you muttered and then offers to 'get rid' of your parents (sniper put down the rifle.. and the jarate)

✧ Drives you back and to your family home, is uncomfortable around small children so he's going to 100% either stay in his truck or be leaning against it the whole time.

✧ Don't worry he didn't bring any jarate with him.. Just don't check the truck (please)

✧ But if he mentions taking care of birds your siblings demand to see them, so they get along well

Spy

✧ He will assassinate them, won't tell you, but it'll be suspicious when your mother dies from an overdoses while having and obvious bullet hole through her chest

✧ Look, he wasn't a father to scout but he'll be a father for you. Better than your last father at least, and a little better than he was to scout.

✧ Teach your siblings french 100%, you won't know until they start speaking it and you're left dumbfounded.

╚═════════════════╝

Posted 1.03.2024 if you see any typos or anything pls tell me!!

202 notes · View notes

bonny-kookoo · 8 months

Text

Jungkook

𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓮. [Closed Doors]

Jungkook makes decisions every day- but none has ever felt as hard to make as the decision whether or not to keep or leave you.

Tags/Warnings: Hospital/Medical AU, Doctor!Jungkook, slightly aged up!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Dog Hybrid!Reader, another slightly heavy one but the comfort is strong with this hurt, angst, fluff, romance, strangers to lovers, blood, medical stuff, mentions of domestic (physical and mental) abuse, corruption, mentions of drug abuse, health scare²

Length: 2.3k Words, it's very tiny I'm very sorry

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: hi sorry I just really like this fic pls eat your vegetables

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

"The little guy is recovering good." Namjoon nods. "But we'll have to inform child protective services, no matter if it was an accident or not.." He sighs, as Jungkook nods.

"I'm pretty sure it'll go well if it really was just that." He says. "I can't believe people just leave this stuff around when they know children eat any candy they see the moment they get the chance to." He shakes his head a bit angrily. "If that boy was a hybrid he'd be dead."

"Luckily he's not. I'll send the boy over to pediatrics, and as soon as that happens, he's out of our hands." Namjoon reminds his friend and coworker, as they both silently agree, walking through the hall. "How's your puppy doing?"

"Awake, and she's been transferred out of the ICU this morning, so I'm gonna check on her now and see how she's doing." Jungkook sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Have you decided if you want to take her in yet?" Namjoon wonders, greeting a fellow doctor who's passing by.

"No." Jungkook shakes his head. "Not.. yet."

It's a touchy subject for now- so Namjoon leaves it alone- letting the doctor enter your new room on his own, to check up on you.

It's quiet inside, no nurse yet present- and Jungkook is actually a little thankful for the short, quiet moment he's got. Standing close to you, he lets his hand run over one of your soft ears- now cleaned and fur soft and vibrant in color. It's something Jimin had informed him about yesterday- how you cried from happiness after he'd helped you properly clean your ears and tail, something that appeared to be very much unfamiliar and new to you.

It angers him, to know that you were nothing but something to show off until now.

So many of your health problems could've been avoided if you just had received any amount of proper care and attention. Yoongi already suspects that you might have developed some behavioral issues from the way you've been living until now- all that, combined with your physical troubles will take weeks if not months to resolve. If they ever resolve fully at all, that is.

Not that Jungkook really cares. He'd take you in even if you were to bite and scratch.

But it's not that easy, and he knows this. "Hello?" He carefully says as his hand shakes your shoulder gently. "Can you wake up for me for a moment?" He requests, and your eyes slowly open, squinting at the bright hospital lights, before you stretch- and hiss at something cramping. "Good morning." He greets you- and suddenly you seem to realize who's there- and your tail begins to wag under the blanket, ears turned towards him as you smile. "How do you feel, hm?" He wonders, but you don't answer.

It's to be expected. All of these traumatic events must've taken a toll on you- not just physically.

"Well you're looking a lot better already, that's for sure." Jungkook tells mostly himself, though he smiles when he spots you taking the praise for yourself as well. It gives him a moment just to quietly look at you; imagine what life could be like if someone like you was to wait for him inside his apartment, every day whenever he'd come home from work.

Surely, you'd turn his apartment into a home in no time. The thought of just a little more chaos inside his living space, a little more of a mess here and there, a bit of disorder in his life, might just be what could color his life a little more vibrantly. Make things more exciting, more emotionally valuable- maybe it could even make his life less about work, and more about..

well, living.

You're yawning, and he laughs, train of thought broken as he pets your head teasingly, before the door opens, and a very chipper Jimin walks in. "Ah, there's my favorite person!" He sings almost, walking in to put the small tray of food down, before he looks at Jungkook. "And you too, Doctor Jeon."

"Well thank you." Jungkook jokes, before he watches as Jimin opens the tray, revealing some light soup and rice for you to eat. It's only a small portion- just to slowly ease you back into eating, and not overwhelm you again. He notices how attached you seem to what he recognizes is an empty pillowcase of all things you seem to cling to, probably for comfort, taken from your first room you occupied. It's another problem- you now have no one to bring you any clothes or comforting items into hospital at all.

You're alone, all by yourself.

And for some reason, the realization of that small fact hits him hard.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

It's been not even a full 24 hours, and you're already causing mischief.

"There you are!" Jungkook sighs, relieved to have finally found you near a vending machine two floors away from where you should be- which is in your room, in your bed. You, meanwhile, are just simply smiling at him, tail wagging at the sight of him crouching down to you to pet your head. "Come on now, you gave the poor nurses a near heart-attack by vanishing like that." He gently scolds, before he stands back up to his full height, reaching for your hand.

But you just let yourself fall to your side, stubborn. Tail still wagging, smacking onto the smooth floor.

"Got yourself a troublemaker, huh doctor Jeon?" An older nurse laughs, watching the interaction between the hybrid specialist and you while she prepares a cart with food trays for the patients. The news of Jungkook's interest in maybe adopting you permanently has made it's round quite quickly by now- mostly thanks to Jimin, who's the unofficial news reporter of every bit of gossip there is.

Jungkook sighs. "Seems like it." He chuckles, unable to really be upset with you, considering how glad he is to see you up and running again instead of pale and fighting in the ER. It's as if you finally realized that in here, no one actually wants to hurt you. No one blames you. No one is mad at you. You're actually being cared for here- you can truly be yourself, and no one's gonna get upset over it.

And slowly, Jungkook starts to see your true personality- which does help in his decision whether or not you'll fit into his life, or not. He's not made one yet- the papers are still at home, on his desk in his office, unsigned.

It's a tough decision to make, after all.

On one hand, sure; he really likes you, you seem absolutely sweet and also independent enough to stay at home by yourself if he goes by all of your documents, which included general assessment of your overall intelligence and social capabilities. You're a bit of an odd case- while your instincts are very strong, your hybrid features very well developed, and your overall behavior shows habits and reactions similar to a hybrid much higher on the scale, you do know how to properly process situations in a more human way.

For example; Loud noises startle you, but they don't make you panic. Food and snacks make you excited, but they're useless as bribery if you don't want to do something. You can read, write, and are educated to a very good degree, and you understand social cues without any issues.

But on the other hand, Jungkook isn't a man with endless patience. He gets frustrated easily, especially with himself- so what if he snaps at you on accident? Will you understand that he doesn't mean it badly, and that it's not even directed at you? And what about when he has to work- will you be lonely in his home, unhappy but too nice to actually tell him? He doesn't want you to just waste away while he's too focused on his career. It's something important for him, after all- he can't just quit and call it a day.

Even if you were to say that you don't need the attention, or the affection, or constant care or anything at all- he'd still feel bad for not providing it anyways. Because you deserve it. You deserve someone who can love you each day properly, someone who doesn't have to push you to the back every time his job has to take priority.

He's not sure what decision to make.

Or if there's even a choice at all.

Suddenly, you're pulling on his shirt to get back his attention- probably because he started to look mad while thinking. He knows he does this- it's why he usually turns away from patients whenever he has to think about something, which makes his face look upset. "I'm not mad." He reassures you, smiling again, petting your ears again while you watch him with suspicion. You're currently in a different headspace, regressing after all the stress and honestly rather traumatic events, which makes communication a little difficult- but everyone manages, since you're quite expressive in other ways, able to tell what you want and think either way.

Jungkook wants to take care of you- he wants to take you home, and make sure you're happy forever, but he can't be selfish, or too fast with his decision.

"Now come on, it's lunch soon. You hungry?" He asks, and you nod, tail wagging as you stand up alongside him, hand holding onto his shirt as you walk next to him-

and this time, he decides to cave in a little, as he instead holds your hand in his while walking back to your room with you.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook likes to play music in his apartment, even if it's just quiet.

It fills the space with noise, makes him feel less lonely, takes his mind off of things. It helps relax. But tonight, it doesn't really work, as he sits in his office, sighing as he looks at the unsigned paperwork still on his desk in front of him. He's read through all the documents more than twice now, knows what's written down, what information it all gives out to him- and yet, he's unsure what to do with it.

If he signs it, you'll be given to him for a foster time first- three weeks of 'trying it out' so to speak, to see if you're a good fit for him, and if he's a good fit for you. During that time, a careworker will visit randomly to check up once or twice, and at the end of it, it's you both who have to agree to an actual permanent registration. But Jungkook worries, he always does.

The thing he worries most about, is the fact that he feels like he's already in too deep. There's a small, pink and white plush toy in his lap after all, bought yesterday straight after work from a store specializing in hybrid clothing and other items. It's a comfort plush that holds scents very well, so he keeps it close to his body ever since buying it to offer it to you tomorrow morning when he's back in hospital to check up on you.

And yes, he has been browsing what a dog hybrid of your specific breed might need to live a happy life. He might also have looked up options for sports or other activities you might want to do-

he's really in deep, isn't he?

He sighs yet again, scratching his head in frustration after he puts down the pen, staring at the 'signature here' spot at the bottom. It could all be so easy, but he really doesn't want to fuck this all up.

He knows from Taehyung, an anesthesiologist and good friend, that having a hybrid can actually work out perfectly. He's balancing it just fine, his own hybrid at home happy and healthy, his work never suffering, his happiness thriving. The young medical worker always shows off pictures of him and his hybrid, proudly, and he really has every reason to be, considering where she came from.

But Jungkook also knows how tough it can be.

He's reminded of it every time he checks up on Yoongi and his cat hybrid- now awake, but clearly in distress over her lack of control over her own body, and it's going to be a long road to recovery for her and Yoongi just as much. He knows they'll get through it- but the amount of heartbreak and absolute terror that went down just scared Jungkook, straight up.

And he knows, your future together is absolutely going to be both of those scenarios- good, and bad.

"What's the worst that can happen.." He hums to himself, one hand playing with the fuzz of the comfort plush in his lap, little black eyes staring blankly at him, tiny mouth curved into a forever smile.

You deserve a happy future. You deserve to have opportunities, and care, and affection, and a stable environment you can rely on, and thrive in. And he won't ever really gain the knowledge of that happening if he's not the one providing that for you.

And yet, the doubts are still there, clouding his mind.

What's he going to do?

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #bts jeon jungkook imagine

342 notes · View notes

lunatic-pudge · 3 months

Text

TF2 Mercs Green Flags (except it's very biased)

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

I love my boys. Yes, this is biased and questionable. But this is meant to be cute and fun.

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

Scout:

-Silly little goober, great person to be around when you need cheering up

-Golden retreiver boyfriend

-Can easily make you laugh without even trying

-Artsy fartsy

Pyro

-Cutie patootie who makes the cutest drawings of you two together

-Owns an Easy Bake Oven

-Master at baking, never-ending supply of sweets for you to indulge in

-Your biggest supporter. Would literally cheer for you if you rob a bank

Soldier

-Also your biggest supporter, will demand that other adore you as well

-Will let you own any pet you want no matter what the animal is

-Speeches of why you're the best thing to ever exist and how America is blessed to have such a beauty like you live there

-Will give you anything and everything you could ever want, like human ears. Definitely a good person to be if you like collecting weird stuff

Demo

-Precious baby boy is a major cuddle bug

-Def knows how to knit/crochet, will make you whatever you want

-Baby man likes learning about folklore/mythology

-He's essentially a big walking teddy bear. Perfect for cuddles, especially on a cold or rainy day

Heavy

-GIANT WALKING TEDDY BEAR

-Protective baby boy, big scary dog privleges

-Bookworm, can recommend a good book if you don't know what to read

-Perfect person to lay around and cuddle with, he can smother me any day. Dates at home are TOP TIER

Engie

-THE BEST PERSON TO GO TO WHEN YOU'RE HAVING AN OFF DAY HANDS DOWN

-Smart boy, can make you stuff that helps with day to day activities which is helpful if you can't do certain things to having a disability or something

-Dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, can't get enough of it

-Voice of an angel, will sing for you if you'd like. Can def sing you to sleep

Medic

-NERD, he's an adorable nerd! Let him ramble about his hyperfixations!

-Def a good pet owner, would kill someone if they don't take proper care of their pets

-Would make sure you take care of yourself, he's kinda like a dad that cares

-He's such a maniac. I can see him just secretly being up to no good all the time. And he's also very girlypop

-Putting an extra for him cause I can: Medic boobs. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

Sniper

-Sweet, precious baby boy who can do no wrong. He strikes me as someone who listens to EVERYTHING when it comes to music. He ain't genrephobic

-Also a collector of weird things. Likes making bone jewlery. Bone boy

-I just love the concept of him being feral? This is probably the weirdest thing on the list. Like there's the golden retreiver boyfriend (Scout), and then there's the feral boyfriend (Sniper). Literally acts like a cat, hiding away from people, hissing when people that aren't you tries to touch him, will demand attention/affection from you, ect. I need to make a more detailed idea of a feral boyfriend so work with me plz

-He would absolutely let you wear his clothes, thinking about how adorable you look. He'd do the same with your clothes if they're big enough for his lanky body. You two swap jackets in the winter time so you guys always have a piece of each other when you two are busy and aren't able to see each other

Spy

-I know a running joke is that Spy is a smelly French asshole, but I really do think that he wears some of the nicest smelling cologne out there. Expensive af colonge, but damn, it's addicting

-Smarty pants. Not just anyone can be a spy, it takes quite a bit of intellect for it. And not to mentions he knows multiple languages? Love it, even if I hate the French language with a burning passion

-Him having a good taste in fashion? He's gotta know what he's doing by wearing suits all the time. Not only does he look fresh af, but people always look so good in a suit, especially when it fits them. But please also picture him dressed in a more romantic goth aesthetic plz, okay I'll stop now

-Is good at paying attention to even the littlest of details about his partners. Even if you're trying to be cryptic or subtle about things, he'll always find out. He's def a protective type too

329 notes · View notes

buckychristwrites · 10 months

Text

Could This Be | Chap. One | j.t.

Summary: One minute, you're single and working for AFC Richmond as the team's medic. The next minute, you're in a fake relationship with the team's handsome striker who you know next to nothing about..

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Cussing. Fake Dating

A/N: Back again with my favorite idiot boi. I hope you guys enjoy :)

Masterlist | Could This Be Masterlist | Main Blog

Oh, if only.

If only you knew what was about to happen.

The music from inside the house made the ground vibrate as you walked up the front path. It was a toasty summer evening, the sun not quite out of the sky just yet. The perfect night for a party, in anyone’s opinion. Certainly in yours. The front porch was filled with people, standing around with drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces. You pushed passed and let yourself inside.

From where you stood, it seemed the whole house was filled with people. Not an inch of standing room to be seen. No familiar faces either. None that you could see, anyway The room was humid, but it wasn’t from the air outside. You squeezed through the crowd, making your way to the kitchen. Thankfully, there was more space in there. You grabbed a soda from the fridge, popping the top open and taking a large gulp. Somehow, the drink in your hand made you less anxious, taking another sip as you looked around the room. The back door was cracked open, calling your name. As you approached, you heard the sound of a familiar voice from the other side.

“Oh Keeley!” You called, holding out the last note of her name. Her head whipped in your direction, her hair flailing along with her. It was clear she was already a few drinks in, her hands flying above her head as she stumbled towards you.

“Hey, babe!” She shrieked. When she got close enough, she threw her arms around you. You instantly melted into her hug, as you always did. There was just something about Keeley Jones that made everyone around her feel better.

Behind her was Dani Rojas and Sam Obisanya, who excitedly waved at you.

“The medic is here!” Sam announced happily. “Now we may resume all dangerous activities.” Dani giggled. As Keeley released you, you shook your head at him.

“It’s my night off, Obisanya,” You said, a slight warning in your tone. “If you hurt yourselves, I’ll be sending you to hospital in an ambulance where you can queue like everyone else.” It wasn’t true. You knew you’d still help them. And he knew it too, by the look he gave you.

“You are too nice of a person to leave us without care,” Dani added, pointing at you with a smile so wide that his eyes turned into crescent moons. You bit the inside of your cheek to hold back a smile of your own.

“She can’t help anyone once she gets a real drink in her and not just some soda,” Keeley declared before pushing you back towards the door. “Go on. It’s your night off. We’re having fun tonight.”

“What if I wasn’t planning to get drunk tonight?” You asked her while fighting every urge to smile. It broke out anyway when she gave you a look of surprise.

“You can’t come to my party and just expect to not get shit faced!” She exclaimed. “Damn near blasphemy, that is!” Shaking your head, while still laughing, you made your way back inside the house. She called after you again, “Either come back with a proper drink or don’t come back!” Isaac, Richard, and Bumbercatch passed by you when you entered, all greeting you excitedly before disappearing out the door.

Surprisingly, the kitchen had pretty much been vacated by the time you had entered. Also surprising was the only presence left in the room.

“Jamie,” You said, sounding more taken aback than you had intended. He had been standing in the corner with his lower back leaning against the cabinet, staring at his phone while sipping on a beer. When you spoke, he jumped at the sound. It would’ve made you feel bad if it wasn’t so hilarious, but you tried to hide your amusement. Seeing that it was you, he calmed.

“You alright?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Just hidin’ is all,” He said. You approached the kitchen island, placing your hands on top of the marble. His candor shocked you. While you had never taken specific issue with Jamie, it would be a fat lie to say the two of you were friends. More like acquaintances. Or, probably more accurately, just coworkers.

“Hiding from what?” You decided to ask. Curiosity was a fickle bitch, and you also knew it must’ve been really bothering him if he was talking to you over literally anyone else. He peaked over your shoulder at the back door, then over at the doorway that led to the living room, before turning back to you and sighing.

“Keeley.”

Leaning your elbow on the counter, you set your chin in your palm and stared at him. It had been impossible to stop your eyes from widening.

“You’re hiding from Keeley, in her kitchen, at her house, at her party?”

He sighed again, exasperated, as he pushed himself away from the cupboard and approached the island. He was now directly across from you, his palms pressed against the countertop.

“She woulda been upset if I didn’t show up, which I didn’t want.” Raising his beer to his mouth, he took another quick swig before lowering it back down. “But I’ve been tryin’ to keep me distance.” He set the bottle on top of the counter and began to twirl it. You watched him do this for a moment before speaking again.

“And why are you avoiding her?”

“I’m just…” He scratched his head. You could see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to think of the best way to explain. “She keeps tryna set me up with new girls. Tellin’ me I need to find a girlfriend. I think she feels bad because she’s with Roy and thinks I’m just a lonely loser.” You scoffed.

“Yes, Jamie. I’m sure everyone is sitting around thinking about how much of a loser you are, purely because you don’t have a girlfriend.” I let out a long drawn out breath as he gave you a blank stare, his lips pressed tightly together to hide a smile. “It’s so hard, being you, isn’t it?” He pointed at you.

“Don’t be smart,” He warned, sounding playful. Rolling your eyes, you stood up straight.

“I think she’s just doing that because she loves you and wants you to be happy,” You explained, all seriousness now. He looked at the countertop as he considered this. “I think you should be flattered, honestly. She thinks so highly of you that she’s willing to let her friends date you? That’s a fucking compliment in my book.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s just weird, going on dates with her friends,” He said, sheepish. “The ones I’ve met are all so… superficial. They all just want to say they’re datin’ a footballer.” The bottle he was messing with fell to its side, the sound making the both of you jump. Once he had it upright again, you looked back up at him.

“You could just do what I do when she tries to set me up with her friends,” You said. His eyes snapped in your direction.

“She does it to you too?” He asked in a stunned voice. You nodded, slightly offended by his shock, but not commenting on it. He leaned further across the island. “What do you do?”

You shrugged.

“I lie.”

He looked completely flabbergasted at this, mouth agape.

“Ain’t she one of your best mates?” He asked, his voice a whisper. The look on his face was priceless, with his wide eyes, and you wish you could’ve taken a photo. “And you just lie to her? Just like that?” You leaned forward and grabbed a cup from the pile before grabbing one of the bottles of alcohol.

“Not anything crazy,” You said casually as you poured. “I just tell her that I’m already seeing someone, and that I’m not interested in dating more than one person at a time.” Sliding the vodka back to the middle of the island, you grabbed a mixer. “I just have to change it up at times so that she doesn’t ask why she hasn’t met the person. Nothing crazy.” He watched you with an intense stare as you finished pouring your drink and took a sip.

“And you don’t feel bad about it at all?” He asked.

“Sometimes,” You admit, staring at the ring of the cup so you didn’t have to look at him. “I just don’t want to go on any more blind dates. And she’s so hard to say no to, as you are aware.” He nodded, jabbing his finger in your direction.

“You get me.”

The back door burst open at that moment, and in walked Keeley. Her cheeks were bright pink, much like the top she was wearing, and when she spotted Jamie, her eyes widened.

“I’ve been looking for you!” She exclaimed happily, making her way towards him. Jamie stood up straighter, his face tense. She looked over at you, a sway in her body when she turned. “Babes, would it be okay if I talked to Jamie alone?” From over her shoulder, Jamie shook his head violently, giving you any and every gesture that would suggest he did not want you to leave. You smiled sweetly at her.

“Of course, toots.”

When she turned to face Jamie, her back now to you, his eyes sent a glare in your direction, complete betrayal riddled on his face. As you backed up towards the door, you sent him a sweet smile before turning and rushing out.

Sitting in one of the chairs was Roy Kent with a beer in one hand. He sat as stiff as ever. Walking over with your drink, you sat down in the seat next to him.

“Hiya, ugly.”

He grunted in response as you took a sip from your drink. Sam, Isaac, Colin, Dani, Bumbercatch, and Richard were kicking the football around the giant backyard just beyond the patio where you and Roy were sat. You watched them, your eyes following the ball. They weren’t doing anything serious, just showing off some advanced moves that were hard to work into a game.

“Did you see Jamie while inside?” Roy asked, glancing at you. “Saw the prick once since gettin’ here, then he disappeared.” You didn’t take your eyes off the football talent show going on in front of you when you responded.

“He’s talking to Keeley in the kitchen,” You told him. He grunted again, nodding.

“Talkin’ about what?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t stay to listen, although he did mention that she’s been trying to play matchmaker for him. So maybe about that.” Richard tripped Colin intentionally, the players all letting out an ensemble of laughter. Even Colin, from his place in the grass, was laughing along with them. You couldn’t hide your smile, even with Roy staring at the side of your head.

“Since when do you talk to Tartt?” He asked. The drink in your hand had been at your lips, but the sip was never taken. You looked over at him.

“We were in the kitchen together while I made a drink,” You explained, casually. “Got to talking. Not about anything serious though.”

“About what then?”

“You’re fucking nosey today, aren’t you?” You looked at him, finally breaking away from the game, with a scrunched up face. “I thought you liked Jamie now. What’s your deal?” He raised his hands defensively.

“You’ve never talked to him before.” He let his hands drop again. The football was kicked in your direction, but you ignored it, giving your attention to Roy. “Except when he’s hurt on the pitch. Just weird, innit?”

It was weird, now that he was pointing it out to you. You had been the primary paramedic for AFC Richmond for a few years at this point, having proceeded even Jamie’s time on the team. During your tenure, you had become close to Roy Kent. He was still just a player when you came around, meaning you saw him often for his many knee issues and injuries, and he had become a sort of big brother figure to you.

When Jamie joined the team initially, he was easy to avoid due to the fact that he was a huge prick. And while you acknowledged his turn around when he rejoined after the Lust Conquers All stint, the opportunity simply never arose for the two of you to become closer. It wasn’t hate though. When he got injured and needed your help, he was always kind, the two of you occasionally even joking around when you wrapped his foot or iced his knee. But never more. It was simply a mutual respect for what the other did.

“Oi!” Isaac yelling brought you back to reality. You looked over to see him pointing in your direction. “Throw us the ball!”

Following his finger, you saw him pointing towards the football, which was now conveniently parked next to the seat you inhabited.

“Wouldn’t it have been faster for you to get it instead of waiting for us to stop talkin’?” Roy asked. The players all muttered amongst themselves, unsure of what to say.

“This ball?” You asked innocently, pointing at the black and red coloured ball. They all nodded. You stood, slowly approaching the ball and dribbling it towards the field. They all watched you closely. “You’ll have to get it from me first!”

Suddenly, you took off, kicking the ball around the yard as they began to chase you. You squealed as you ran, the alcohol making you feel lighter. Your football moves were nothing compared to theirs, but you were giving it your best go. A pair of arms wrapped around you, yanking you away from the runaway ball. The sound of joyful laughter gave away your kidnapper immediately.

“Looks like I got you!” Dani Rojas yelled proudly as he hoisted you over his shoulder and marched you around the yard. You laughed loudly, hitting your hands lightly against the small of his back.

Life was lovely. You loved your job, and your coworkers, with all of your heart. Moments like these happened all too often. Blissful.

“ARE YOU FUCKING JOKIN’?”

Everything froze. Dani came to a halt, dropping you to your feet. All eyes were staring at the back door, where the voice had just easily yelled over the music and voices from the other side. It felt like everything had gone quiet. Instinct made you start moving, almost reaching the door when it opened rather quickly, and Jamie came out. His eyes were wide as he stared at you. If the good mood hadn’t already been ruined, the look on his face finished the job.

“What-” He approached so fast that your words evaporated off your tongue.

“I panicked,” He whispered so no one else could hear. This made your heart jump into your throat. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

Before you had the time to even open your mouth, your name was being yelled from inside and then, Keeley Jones came storming out of the house. The jovial attitude she held before was gone, and was replaced with intense anger and confusion. In turn, you were filled with immense confusion as well. When she spoke, it could all be heard in her voice.

“You and Jamie are together and you didn’t fuckin’ tell me?”

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #tedlassosource #ted lasso fanfiction

538 notes · View notes

leviathanleva · 6 hours

Text

Daisy

........................

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

........................

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 4 "The Plea"

You stretch and groan.

The sound comes out jumbled and is drowned out by the violent vibrating of the washing machine you’re perched upon. You strain your legs, flexing your thighs and working out the sleep from your numb muscles. Your toes squish against the inside of your boots before you relax and rub at your eyes, wiping away the tears your incessant yawns were causing.

You’d seen plenty of pictures of children hollering in front of a fan on a hot summer day, some sort of weird way to entertain themselves because the beat of the fins distorted their voices. It was a good commercial for any fan whenever summer rolled around. Sadly, now when you were free to wander and do as you pleased, much of the mundane experiences you wanted to dip your toes in were impossible to achieve. You were two hundred years too late. You took what you could get though, hence why you’d let curiosity guide you on top of the washing machine once it had started centrifuging.

The steaming coffee mug sat on the L-shaped kitchen counter just next to you and after a moment of being thoroughly jostled around, you picked it up with as much care as you could. Lips latched onto the edge of the mug with haste before you took a big sip, slurping audibly before the coffee could spill out from the violent thrashing causing your arm to quake.

Wet hair clung to your bare shoulders and the aromatic droplets of water dripped and soaked into your dress. It had taken you a good hour to get the ghoul inside the shower after you’d gotten out, all squeaky clean and smelling of lavender soap. How he managed to bear being a grimy crusty prune was beyond you, but as soon as the generator had kicked back to life and restored some power in the vault, you’d jumped at the idea of a nice hot shower.

His clothes were strewn on a dangling cable, as clean as they could get after being worn for who knows how long without a proper wash. Some stains persisted and the washing machine couldn’t do anything about the faded colors, but at least they didn’t smell of death anymore.

He’d dismissed your proposal to launder his rags at first, bumped the butt of his shotgun against your stomach hard enough to make you wheeze and still you hadn’t relented. It was the least you could do, you’d said, begged even. After everything he’d done for you, you wanted to repay him outside of the hefty tatoe sack stuffed to the brim with bloody Pip-boys and medical supplies and provisions. You’d chewed at his ear until he’d given up with a sigh and hidden behind the shower curtain before tossing his clothes at you layer by layer.

In truth, you just wanted to prolong his departure. Thinking of anything and everything because you didn’t want to be left alone in this haunted vault, you’d come up with ploy after ploy and the power coming back had only aided you in your private battle. So traumatized by the last day that you clung to him even if he was a demented, deadly wastelander probably no better than the raiders he’d slaughtered.

Your sleep had been plagued with nightmares that night; grotesque sceneries of violence and gore were painted in detail over your closed eyelids, making you stir and whimper in your bed. The ghoul was a light sleeper, trained to spring into action at the slightest noise and you tossing and turning and making the bedframe creak gave him all the rights to chuck a cushion at you. He’d scared you half to death with that, but the reminder that he was still there, grumbling on the couch and trying to catch a wink of rest, had given you enough comfort to sleep peacefully for a few hours.

When the washing machine stilled, your reminiscing ended.

You tipped the mug, suckling at the last few drops of sweetened coffee, before setting it aside and hopping on your feet. After pulling the foggy lid open, you drape your socks and your old dress over your forearm and a scowl pinches at the corner of your lips.

Apparently, Abraxo wasn’t strong enough to wash away radroach intestines. You mourned the ruined dress, bitter with wasting the cleaning product for nothing, but decided to hang it up regardless and let it dry.

Who cared for stains anyway? You had bigger problems on your plate.

The screech of the shower tap and a curt whistle have you automatically groping at the ghoul’s clothes.

“Be right there, mister!” you call out and bunch them up in your hands, placing his hat over your head to save space, his coat is still damp but you doubt he’d mind. You skitter to the edge of the shower and leave the pile next to his weaponry before your manners lead you away to give him some privacy.

The half-empty coffee pot caught your attention once you were back in the bright yellow kitchen area. Despite your low tolerance and the apparent twitches in your fingers, you refilled your mug, deciding that adding sugar wasn’t needed this time.

You were free now, you could drink all the coffee you wanted.

Once the rustling of clothes and buckling of belts and straps ceased, the ghoul appeared from behind the wall, finding you sitting on the counter with ankles crossed and kicking your feet rhythmically. You beam at his slightly less disheveled state, eyes darting from him to the full mug waiting for him. He scoffs and accepts your silent offer.

“Feeling better?”

“Like a new man.” he declares with a sense of peace to his tone and leans back against the fridge before taking a long sip from his lukewarm drink.

Cooper was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He’d caught on to your innocent scheme quickly. From the coffee to your constant close proximity, to washing his clothes. The biggest giveaway was you trying to hide your nervousness and biting back victorious smiles whenever he accepted any of your domestic offers. You were kneading him like sourdough, nice and good and gentle, hoping for something in his brain to click and his simple plan of taking his things and leaving to take a different course.

That’s why he fought against melting in the shower and suppressed a genuine smile when he saw the coffee. He kept his guard up, concrete walls so high one couldn’t see the top, locking away whatever humanity was left to rot, untouched and undisturbed. Joy was an illusion, peace was the quiet before the storm.

Nothing lasted, neither would you.

“Take me with you, I won’t be useless, I promise.”

He could almost hear those words twirling on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill but never being voiced. Like hell, he’d ever entertain that idea.

“So what now, mister?” you ask casually, hiding pouty lips behind your mug and looking up at him in question. “Where you headed off to?”

“Well, – ” he rasps and clears his throat. “ – considering my bounty’s prob’ly dead. Gonna head off to Tillburry.” he nudges his chin at the sack resting by the exit of the suite. “Gonna sell some o’ that, make me some profit.”

Your vigorous slurping stops and you swallow the mouthful of bitterness before cocking your head.

“Tillberry?” you test the unfamiliar word with hesitation. “And that’s…what?”

“Tillburry.” he corrects and rests one foot against the fridge door, the spur on his boot clanking against the metal. “It’s a settlement, darlin’. Quite the big one too.” he mulled over a particular memory, looking down at his drink. “ ’Bout three hundred people last time I checked.”

“There are settlements?” you choke and cough out the spit tickling your throat with a fist to your mouth.

The thought that a good number of people had survived and were thriving enough to start rebuilding was unfathomable. Even if said settlements were based on the ruins and scraps of the cities from the old days it was still such a groundbreaking piece of knowledge.

Considering the raiders and the ghoul, you’d assumed everyone on the surface was deranged and out for blood. A man-eat-man nightmarish hell in which not even the strongest survived for long.

But no, there were people, honest hardworking people, that were coming together to build safe havens and restore some order to the chaos they had been born into. Sure, they had probably seen their fair share of hardships and were rugged and hard-skinned, but if they’d managed to keep the peace and grow towns and develop businesses, they couldn’t be that bad.

You had to see this. You needed to.

“Plen’y of em.” he pipes in, then tips his head and his voice acquires an almost mocking twinge. “Wasteland’s not as dead as you think, sweetheart.”

“Take me there.” you blurt out before even realizing it.

“Pardon?” he’s surprised for only a moment before his demeanor shifts to dangerously sharp and his eyes harden. He moves in an instant, large palms planted on either side of your thighs and you have to jerk back to avoid him smashing his forehead into yours. “Mind your fuckin’ tone with me, missy.”

When you squint and recoil, he eases, satisfied with your reaction.

“Just cuz I been toleratin’ you don’t mean I can’t stuff a bullet in your belly.”

“I’m sorry! Sorry, sir.” you rush to undo your mistake, having spent too much time with him while he was docile to remember that you weren’t dealing with a friendly neighbor. “I meant no disrespect.” with a lowered gaze and a lump in your throat you continue. “I’d just really like to see such a place…”

“And I’d like a fifty-acre ranch to breed horses.” he sneers at you, yellow teeth peeking under his chapped lips. He shifts his weight around, resting from one hip to the other as he pulls away just barely. His fingers still grip the counter, still around you and ready to subdue another fuss. “But we don’ always get what we want.”

“Maybe I could…live there?” you didn’t believe your own words, but you still persisted. Flickering lashes swatted over pity eyes as you stared at him like an expectant street cat waiting to be adopted.

A preposterous idea. You didn’t know the first thing about surviving on the surface, couldn’t tell a radroach burrow from an anthill, and yet however difficult it would be anything would be better than living by yourself in a hole in the ground. Maybe you would have managed if the raiders had just left and the ghoul never crossed your path. But now, after knowing the bliss of company, of a friend who didn’t talk about medicine and made-up cures, now you couldn’t.

You needed him and not just for his skills or his wisdom of living off a toxic land. You needed him for him, just the ghoul, just the man who’d shown you kindness.

“Sweetheart, you needed t’ read the manual before turnin’ on the washin’ machine.” he states in a very mocking matter-of-fact way and snorts with a half-smile. “Twice.”

“But I did it.” you say back, struggling against a lost battle but how could you not when there was a blueish limp hand peeking from beyond the complex exit.

He gives you a once over, considering for a second before shaking the thought away with a bitter glower.

What the hell was he even thinking?

“You don’t really fit in with the common folk.” he counters again and he’s confident that soon you’ll wane. “Don’ think they’ll take too kindly to you.”

“What’d you mean, mister?” you tilt to the side, leaning on one hand with a faint pout.

“Yer too clean.” he mumbles while skimming over you with a judgmental expression, his mouth pursing as he took you in. “Too pretty. Too kept.” he leans back to cross his arms, a half-frown of disapproval glooming over his face. It wasn’t a compliment; it was dry facts that he offered you to get through your thick skull that you’d be in more danger than you realize if you ever managed to reach a local town. “Surface dwellers don’ like your kind.”

“Then I’ll work on it until they like me.”

The back of your boots hit the counter each time you kicked your feet, egged on by the caffeine overdose. You kept your eyes glued to his because you didn’t know of a better way of pleading without sounding pathetic and getting on his nerves.

“You can’t even fire a gun, darlin’.” the ghoul sighs in defeat, not because you’re getting under his skin, but because you fight this ferociously for your demise.

Both of you are aware that you wouldn’t last long outside. You were defenseless and had no usefulness, you weren’t accustomed to radiation, and everything on the surface was soaked in it. Most available jobs either needed you to get your hands dirty or break your back with overtime and you’d nearly passed out after walking half a day in a desert and thrown up at the sight of a dead body.

He’d be damned if he let you abandon a life of comfort and security because you didn’t know what you were asking for. Letting go of constant food and fresh water and hot showers just because you were too scared to learn by trial and error on your own was too much for him. It was stupid and you rebelling against him tooth and nail made it worse.

You weren’t winning anything; you were just giving him a headache.

“Someone would be willing to teach me.” the naivety in your comeback makes him laugh and your brows rise and furrow at his reaction.

“Ain’t nobody gonna do shit for free.” that was his last pushback before he made up his mind on ending your charade. His hat dipped and his tone lowered to an even rasp. “You’ll be just fine here, darling’.” he takes a few steps back and chugs the remainder of his discarded coffee before grunting in satisfaction. “Good cup o’ coffee…Now be a dear ‘n show me the way out.”

“I could make you more if you stayed a bit longer, mister.”

A drowning man’s attempt to keep from sinking.

You give him a tiny smile and roll your ankles to release some tension. You knew you were pushing it, from his stiff shoulders to his thinned upper lip, but you didn’t want to stay here anymore. Disregarding the steady supply of provisions and the regulated temperatures, the medical supplies and the safety. You wanted to go with him. Wherever he went, no matter the danger, you want to be in his shadow. The radroaches and raiders forgotten, ignorant of just how hostile his world was and selfish by continuing to thrust your life in his hands when he didn’t want it.

“Das enough, darlin’.” he mutters while picking up the supply sack and flinging his bandolier over his shoulder.

“What if – ”

“– Enough!” your mouth shuts at his command. His glare is piercing while he stands by the door with his back turned to you, giving you only a stern side-eye. “Move.”

You slide off the counter without another word and pat down your dress, not that anything could be seen underneath the thick tights but common decency forced you to. He waits for you, motioning with his hand once you're by his side and you walk forward, through the dingy corridor and past the raider he’d gutted the day before.

You try not to look, but it’s difficult when the deep red hues contrast with the metallic white of the wall and floor. It’s an abominable sight. There’s a cut spanning over the entirety of the man’s neck, horizontal and precise, so deep that amidst the flesh and blood, you see bone.

You could almost simulate the pain and you struggled to swallow.

He was a raider… he was a criminal. He was a bad man, he’d tried to murder you and failed by just an inch, the ghoul did what he had to do. There would be plenty more with much the same mindset if he agreed to take you with him. Scenes like this would probably be a daily occurrence, but you wouldn’t be the one doing the killing and still seeing the raider nearly decapitated scarred something deep within you.

Were you really willing to go through this again just to stay with the ghoul?

Maybe, for him, maybe.

“Fuckin’ piss stain…”

You look to him at that remark, then down at the center of his attention. He had one foot set in a puddle of blood and pieces of flesh, both attached to an unmoving vault dweller. He wiped his boot in the corpse’s suit and spat with malice.

“You really don’t like this place, mister?” it’s more of a statement than a question, but your quizzical expression gives him enough room to reply.

You had noticed his visible disdain once he’d first entered the vault with you, but you’d blamed it on him being an experienced bounty hunter who knew better than to let his guard down. Then you’d seen his complete lack of empathy for the dead bodies littering the hallways and even a drop of anger edging his default scowl. He had a personal vendetta against the inhabitants, a distaste that went so deep he’d preferred to sever the wrists of the corpses over just unclasping their Pip-boys and claiming them for himself.

You’d never brought it up because it wasn’t your place, but now you had a reason to, and your curiosity was peaked.

“Vaults ain’t my thing, darlin’, nor vaulties.” he speaks with spite, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips when he raises his gaze to you. Then he kicks the mess out of his way without a hint of shame, splashing the gore over the floor, and continues after you.

“Why?” you peep and it’s so innocent and light because you don’t understand the gravitas of the answer you’re reaching for.

There’s a small pause as you glance at the ghoul with a blank visage. There’s a certain lethargy to your step and a bounce to your slack shoulders because you’re relaxed and clear-minded and you have no idea just what you’re asking him. He could be angry, you’re poking around topics that are beyond your capacity, ones of resentment and shrewd grudges that span over such a long time that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

But he wasn’t upset, there was no point. You were just a stupid little thing trying to sow a light chat before your paths diverged.

The memories are knocking on the front door of his consciousness, but he refuses to indulge them. Not now, maybe later when he was alone and could recollect everything in peace.

“That ain't none o’ your business.” his words are snippy but his tone is placid, he doesn’t even reciprocate your prying eyes, just stares straight ahead with a tense jaw.

His reluctance to delve deeper and the shift in the air give you a good enough hint to not press the matter further. You would have reached to pat his arm, a benevolence he undoubtedly deserved along with so much more, but refrained from doing so. Despite you having placed him on a golden pedestal for all he’d done for you, which wasn’t much, but enough to leave you with an unforgettable impression, he didn’t see you in the same manner. His life had hardened him both physically and emotionally, he hadn’t even trusted you to sleep together in the same suite, having tucked one of his pistols under his pillow with a finger on the trigger.

You’d seen it, you just didn’t mention it.

He didn’t need your pity nor your good-heartedness, he didn’t care and that’s why you kept from overstepping even if you wanted to comfort the restless beasts pacing somewhere within his being.

“You’ve been nice to me though.” you put forth a honeyed smile and steered the conversation to a lighter note. A small sugary quip to oppose his hardened exterior and alleviate him of his hissy mood.

He chuckles, a raspy chortle that tickles your ear and curls your lips into a grin.

“Ain’t nice, missy, just tolerant.”

Your chirpy chat continues as you pass through the whey field and into another brightly lit tunnel. He doesn’t have to know that you could have led him to the elevator three times already through a shortcut. You like him, harbor such fondness for him in all his gruffness, you might have agreed to lead him out but you never said you wouldn’t take the scenic route. An extended detour while you continuously banter with each other and you always relent because you want him to be happy with having the upper hand in the conversation.

But no matter how long you tried to prolong the inevitable, eventually, you found the way to the elevator. Before it had been your savior, taking you away from those vile people before they could sink their grimy claws in your flesh. Now it was an unwelcome vestige, the last step before the ghoul left and you were abandoned to waste away in an underground prison.

He entered first and leaned against the steel wall, a thumb tucked in his belt and hat tipped over his eyes. You turn your back to him and press the button and it’s suddenly awkward and silent.

You wished the damn thing moved slower, but it propelled up, passing by vault levels within a blink. Such a cruel construct…

Misery didn’t thrive for long, you didn’t let it.

Maybe one day you’d meet him again. You’d learn to shoot a gun, there had to be at least one stashed somewhere for emergencies, then you’d learn to sustain yourself and grow crops, fiddle with the mechanisms of the vault and read every book and article and document regarding medicine. You’d prepare well and one day leave again to explore the world outside and maybe if fate was kind, you’d run into him on your journey.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember, maybe he would, but you’d be happy all the same.

And you’d be different then, stronger and more independent and not useless. Maybe he’d take you with him when you proved that you wouldn’t be a burden anymore. He’d take you on his adventures and teach you how to be a bounty hunter like him and you’d make the best duo the surface has ever seen.

Your self-assurance dwindled when the elevator reached the top level and the door slid open. He walked out unbothered and you struggled to keep the calm façade going.

It wasn’t healthy to form such attachments so quickly, but it happened and you were torn between begging him one last time and giving him the solace he craved. But could you really be blamed when you’d known only solitude?

He stood at the vault entrance and tossed you a slow, expectant look and you fiddled with the Pip-boy. Stiff fingers scrolled through the menus, determined to take as much time as possible while you prayed for a miracle. Your pleas remained unanswered, the time for stalling ended as the gate screeched and rolled to the side. A hot gust of wind crept through, drying your eyes and making your throat scratchy after a few silent breaths.

“Best of luck, vaulty.”

He raised his arm and flicked his wrist in a goodbye after readjusting his hat, boots clinking as he set forth with an even pace. You watched him leave, heart asunder, mouth cracked open but no words came out. Gripping onto the control panel, frustration flaring, desperation so intense it made the hairs on your arms lift up.

Was this really it? Was this the end of it? Was this the last time you saw him? The only friend you had, the only person you knew, the only warmth ever given to you.

He could let go without a second thought, but you couldn’t.

“Go…GO!”

A shaky step, then another.

With each step, the quake in your legs eased, determination overpowering hesitation, and before you knew it you were jogging and then running. The sand wasn’t kind to your shoes, you nearly tripped, wide strides bringing you closer to him because, unlike his tempo, yours held intention.

He knew you’d do this, he knew and he had the common sense to pull out his pistol and threaten you back inside.

You might have tumbled him over if you had the strength, but instead, you splat yourself against his back and drape your arms around his abdomen. His hand faltered, resting on the holster of his gun as you squeezed him and slid your fingers past his coat, grabbing at his vest.

“Please.” you force through a clenched throat, choosing to beg him instead of breathing. Saliva pools in your mouth and tears form in the back of your eyes as you press your cheek against his spine. Your eyes squeeze shut as if cutting off your vision would make you deaf to his answer. “Please…I’ll – ”

He’d taken what he needed, completing your transaction and wanting nothing more, but maybe you could find something else he had use for. He sighs and you’re so regretful, but you can’t let it go without a final push. And he’s fed up enough to maybe just shoot you, but if he was you’d have a chance at bargaining again and keep him around for a few more minutes.

“ – I’ll pay you.” you sniffle back the runny mucus seeping through your nostrils and swallow a mouthful of thick spit, it distorts your voice just a bit. “Please take me to Tillberry. I’ll find a job – I’ll – You can have everything I earn, I just need enough to buy some food.”

“Tillb – ” he grunts and pinches the space between his eyes as they shut.

He wanted to rip you off of him and leave, with no mercy and no care, but you just had to play nice. You had to play house with him and make him coffee and wash his clothes and be soft with him. The sweet gestures and light words did things to him, he was no fool, they reminded him that humans still existed and they were still kind. A peek into the past.

“I won’t be useless. I’ll learn quick and stay out of your way and do anything you ask…Just until the settlement.”

Whines and sobs and sniveling sniffs and chokes, they crawl up his skin like maggots and try to burrow and find an ounce of empathy, but he has none.

“Right.” he whirls around with such force that if it hadn’t been for the iron grip he clasped over your jaw, you would have fallen. He’s an eyelash away from your face, with a fowl snarl carving into his gaunt features and he spats poison at you. He speaks the truth. “Do you fucking know what the hell you’re asking for?” he’s so pissed that his accent dissipates. “You’re gonna fuckin’ die out here. With or without help.”

“Plea – ”

“ – I ain’t no God damned babysitter!” he snaps and forces you back. You stumble and curl your hands over your chest instinctively as he points his pistol at you, forefinger on the trigger. “Now get the hell outta my sight.”

His lips pinch in annoyance when you don’t move.

He didn’t give a damn if you lived or not, but you’d shown him respect and generosity and he repaid you by not shooting you down on the spot. He gave you a chance at survival, exterminated the pests in your home and made sure to leave enough provisions to live off of while you worked out how to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t receive half of what he’d done for you in the wasteland, it was a cutthroat fever dream that no one could wake up from.

Precious things lived in castles, not in the wilds.

But then you finally move. You move and it’s the wrong fucking way.

The tip of the gun glosses over your cheek as you enclose trembling fingers around his wrist and his sleeve is pulled back enough for you to find his skin, marred and leathery and disgusting and safe and wonderful. Your eyes close and press into his glove as the barrel rests against your bare shoulder and all it would take was a click and you’d be dead.

“Please, mister.”

You sink to your knees, bringing his arm down with you.

A lost little dove, fluttering in his palm, trusting and willing and kneeling at the gates of hell because it already knew what heaven was. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe you knew a different hell he was unfamiliar with so you begged for his instead of going back to your own.

“I’ll do anything…”

He’d seen plenty of people beg for their lives, for food or water or help. He’d heard it all, from bargaining to taunting, reverse psychology, and manipulation tactics all in the name of living to see another sunrise. This was the first time anyone had ever pleaded for him.

He should have left yesterday, the moment you’d found the storage unit he should have taken his things and been on his way. He should have tried to find the exit while you were sleeping and never looked back. He should have done more, everything in his power to not be in this damnable situation. You fed something within him, a slumbering behemoth forgotten over time, you sated a need he’d developed so long ago, a need so constant he didn’t realize was there anymore until you.

“Get the hell up.” he grips your arm like the brutish man he is, pulls you to your feet, and spins you around like a puppet.

You don’t fight, drained by both the searing sun and your turbulent emotions, letting him latch his hand to the back of your neck and drag you forward, back to the vault.

Back to solitude. Back to hell.

“Three hundred caps.”

You muster an inquisitive hum and dare to steal a glimpse of his expression. It’s haggard, annoyed, defeated.

“For your safe transportation t’ Tillburry.” he offers you nothing, not even a peak, but his hold on your neck tightens and you wince. “Now use your fuckin’ legs. We’re loosin’ daylight.”

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @judgementdays-girl @windierhades @ultimatereality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x @fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul x you #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #fallout the ghoul #the ghoul #x reader

71 notes · View notes

mrsparrasblog · 25 days

Text

Mission save the human race Pt2

Pt1

You spend the night talking to John after you can't sleep anymore. Too many thoughts enter your brain. Getting pregnant at this time is dangerous, but it's what every good person would do, right? Save the human race.

"I'm a bit afraid."

"You don't need to be, Dove; I'm going to support you; either way, you saved Johnny." he reasured you.

"What if I die while giving birth? Then the whole thing is useless."

"First of all, you are a doctor; you can explain all these things beforehand, and we are soldiers going to take care of you; we would be better than delivery nurses, well, maybe except Kyle."

You chuckled. "And, um, do I need to sleep with every one of you?"

"Not at all, love; you have free choice; you can just choose one, or you can have more than one, you know since the chances are better."

"And they sure want me?"

"I think yes. Look at you."

"You only say that because I'm the only woman on earth."

"Not at all, dove; you're my type, even if there were millions."

"Liar," he pulled your hand and laid it down on his rock-hard dick.

"See how much I want you, and that's only by looking at you."

He stroked the hair out of your face and captured your lips in a kiss. The kiss was shy and thoughtful at first but turned more and more into a battle of dominance, and you knew you wanted him. "So fucking gorgeous. I wouldn't want to share you, but I'm a good man."

You rested your head against his shoulders. "I want to do it with all of you, but not together," he chuckled at your words and how flustered you got to admit your desire.

"We can talk further tomorrow; just let me cuddle you now." You fell asleep, almost suffocating in his strong arms.

------------

The next morning, you went upstairs, entangling yourself from John's massive body.

You went straight to the room where Johnny lay, checking on his fever. He cooled down overnight. You were kind of proud that you managed your surgery well without proper equipment and medication; you're a fucking genius. If the Hopkins had seen this, they would have regretted declining you after medical school.

You rubbed a paste on Johnny's surgery wound and disinfected it.

You were a bit unprofessional as your eyes glanced down at his pure muscles; you wanted to trace them down with your fingers, of course only for medical reasons. You heard the door open, and Simon stood in front of you, only wearing briefs. His thick thighs were covered in scars, and his pecs were well-defined and so fucking tall. You wanted to climb him like Mount Everest, and you sure as hell will soon.

"My eyes are up here, darling." You blushed as he noticed you staring.

"Sorry, you're just so tall, and it's hard to look up." You laughed at your own lie.

"Price told me about the little plan." He walked close to you, pinning you against the wall with sheer force. His calloused fingers touched the hem of your shirt. "I look forward to helping you, and Johnny too. Play a bit with the other boys so you'll be stretched out for both of us."

"Both of you," you breathed out in fear and arousal at the same time.

"We like to share sweet little things like you," he said, pressing his erection towards you and fucking hell which horse was that.

"I know it's big," he said and you swallowed, afraid.

"I'm going to make your stomach swell pretty fast, Doll," he said, pushing you against the wall, his fingers groping against your round ass.

"Simon-"

"Shh, doll, it's okay. We're going to take care of you soon."

You just nodded, unable to do, think, or say anything.

"Just be a good girl today and give your sweet cunt to the captain; he has a thing for cute innocent girls like you." He kissed you around your neck and then let go, making his way back to his boyfriend.

So they would share you. Should this make you feel afraid or aroused?.

You tried to shake it away and went to the kitchen, preparing some fruits for breakfast.

Price awoke to find himself alone in the bed, the sheets cooling against his skin. He sat up and stretched, yawning widely, before looking around for you.

Finding you in the kitchen, he smiled and walked over, wrapping an arm around your waist from behind.

"I feel so domestic with you around me," you said, taking in his smell.

John chuckled, leaning in to kiss your neck. "Domestic? That's a new one. But I like the sound of it." He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "You know, I could get used to this—being with you, taking care of you."

"Already acting like I'm your little wife."

He smirked, his lips curling into a smile. "Well, if it means I get to be your husband, then I think I'm going to like this arrangement very much." He turned you around to face him, his hands sliding up your arms.

"Are you fulfilling your husband's duties then?"

John leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. "Oh, I plan to," he murmured before capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip, asserting his dominance and affection at the same time.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to go on your tiptoes to reach him.

John's body reacted to yours, his hands moving lower to squeeze your butt through your clothes.

He pulled back slightly, looking into your beautiful eyes as he trailed kisses down your neck and shoulders. "I love the way you respond to me," he said, his voice sounding horace and full of lust.

"And how do I respond, John?" You sounded cocky, and the awareness to not tease a man twice your strength left your body.

John's lips curled into a sinful smile. "With fire, Angel, just like this." He bit down gently on your earlobe, eliciting a soft moan from you. "You're so fucking sexy when you submit to me."

"What makes you think I'll submit to you easily?"

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained soft and commanding. "Because I know you want to," he said, trailing his fingers down your stomach and teasingly tickling your lower abdomen. "You love the feeling of being taken and owned." He pulled a slap on your ass, showing you how he in fact owns you right now.

"Oh, do I now?" you asked.

He chuckled, kissing your neck again. "Oh, yes. You do." He ran his hand up your thigh, gently caressing the inner part of your thigh and teasingly brushing against your pants, which were already soaked.

"You're so responsive,"

"John, everyone could walk in the kitchen any moment," you whined, afraid of what others would think of you. You gave in so easily that it didn't even take you a week to decide to become their personal fucktoy.

His eyes flickered at the door for a moment. "That just makes it more exciting," he said, his voice deep and husky. "The thought of someone walking in on us and seeing you like this turns me on."

"Oh, it turns you on how they see how good you take care of me."

"Yes," Price admitted, his voice low and raw with desire. "I love the thought of them watching me claim what's mine." He slid a hand down to cup your pussy through your panties, his fingers teasing your swollen clitoris through the fabric—you hadn't had this friction in a while, making you almost cum from it.

Mhm, John, stop, I didn't shave." Well, you trimmed, but try to shave properly in an apocalypse.

Price's eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned in to whisper against your ear. "I don't care if you haven't shaved—I even prefer it this way," he said, his beard tickling against your skin. "I want you just like this- all natural."

He nipped at your earlobe before trailing kisses down your neck, his hand still buried in your panties. "You're so fucking sexy," he murmured against your skin.

"You think so?" You knew you looked good, but good enough to be desired by these seven literal gods. You doubted it.

His eyes are burning with pure desire for you. "I fucking know so," he growled, pulling you closer and grinding his hips against your body—his erection was already there, and it was fucking big. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, Angel."

"You're the most handsome man I've ever seen." Well, you couldn't quite decide which of them was the hottest, but he didn't need to know that right now.

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Flatterer," he teased, kissing you gently on the lips. "But I'll take it."

You kissed him deeper, moaning into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a heated dance. He could feel your warmth through his pants, and it only made him harder.

With one swift move, he lifted you onto the kitchen counter, pinning you under his strong arms. He lifted you like you weighed absolutely nothing.

"Mhm, John needs you," you whined. You could not hold your composure anymore; you felt lust for him - primal lust for him—like nature wanted it to be; you were animalistic.

"You have me," John said, his voice rough with passion. "Always." His hands moved deftly to slip off your shirt.

Now you sat there on the counter only wearing a bra and some short skirt with spread legs so he could always reach your begging mound. You thought about how any of the boys could walk in at any second, and it only fueled your desire. In the deepest twisted place in your mind, you thought about them taking you at the same time. You blamed it on ovulation week or not being fucked for years straight.

And even though of the sex you had before was frustrating, your ex just couldn't get you off, rubbing on your poor clit like it was a lottery scratcher. How many orgasms you faked, and you asked yourself if you needed to fake one with them too? This would be disappointing.

Price took a moment to admire the view before him, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin. He reached up and undid your bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away to reveal your perfect breasts. His mouth watered at the sight of them. "You're so fucking beautiful." Price smiled as he leaned in, his lips brushing against one of your hardened nipples. "I could spend all night just worshipping these," he whispered before taking one into his mouth and sucking gently.

"Then do it," you whined, wanting him to suck your nipples.

"With pleasure," John replied. He continued to lavish attention on your perfect breasts, his hands teasing and pinching the nipples while his mouth moved from one to the other, lapping at them with hungry kisses. You could barely take it longer. Your eyes darkened from hunger.

You slipped off his shirt as he continued to suck on your hard nipples.

You oggled over his muscular frame; he wasn't the lean muscle type; he had thick, delicious muscles with hair on top of them; he was the pure definition of masculinity; your primal needs chipped in when you saw him, thinking of how you resembled the perfect pair.

He groaned as he felt your hands on his skin, his muscles tightening at the touch. He pulled away from your breasts for a moment, looking down at you with a predatory smirk. "You like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

"I love what I see."

"Good," he replied. He reached down and pulled your panties off, tossing them aside before leaning in to lick a path up your stomach towards your breasts again. You freeze because of your exposed sex; your wetness has already flowed down your thighs.

"I'm going to make sure you scream for me."

"Pretty sure of your skills?" The bratines never left your body; you were lucky that John was a soft dom, and you would regret your bratines sooner or later on Simon's Day.

"You have no idea," John growled, his voice thick with desire. He took your hardened nipple into his mouth once again, sucking and biting gently before moving on to the other one.

"John, I need your mouth somewhere else." You slowly grew impatient, your hole almost begging and crying to finally be stuffed.

"Oh? And where would you like that?" he asked, his voice still rough with lust. He continued to tease your nipples, flicking his tongue over them as he waited for your answer.

"You know where," you whined, hoping he wouldn't let you say it. For fucks sake, you were a medical professional, but you couldn't say that you wanted him on your vagina, stuffing you so badly that it reached your cervix.

Price smirked knowingly. "I've got a few ideas," he replied, his hands sliding down your body. Before he picked you up and laid you down on the kitchen table.

"A fine meal needs to be eaten on the dinner table." You blushed at this sentence.

He looked up at you, his eyes burning with desire, as he took in the sight of your exposed, dripping cunt. "You're so wet for me," he whispered before lowering his head and pushing his tongue into your pussy.

You screamed loudly at the sudden friction grabbing his hair.

John moaned at the taste of you, his tongue lapping up your juices eagerly. He used his hands to spread your legs wider, giving him better access to your most sensitive spots.

"That's it," he growled. "Let me hear you scream."

"John," your moan filled the whole house, and you just hoped you didn't wake Johnny up. Poor boy needs his sleep.

"Fuck, yes," Price panted between licks and thrusts of his tongue. He reached up to grab one of your legs, pulling it over his shoulder as he continued to eat you out.

"mhm feels so good." You moaned, your eyes closed.

"John hummed in response, his tongue swirling around your clit. He reached up to squeeze one of your breasts, eliciting a moan from you. "You feel so fucking good," he murmured, loving the way you were responding to him.

He pushed two fingers into your tight hole, fucking them in and out while he continued to eat you out.

"Don't stop," you begged and felt a bit pathetic. You let an unknown man eat you out, which wasn't the worst part. You let seven fucking men breed you.

"I won't stop," he promised, his voice low and rough with desire.

You shook completely under him, screaming in pleasure. He moaned at the sounds you were making, his arousal growing as he felt your body tense and quiver under him.

He picked up the pace, his fingers thrusting deeper and faster, while his tongue worked overtime on your clit.

"I'm going to---- fuck." you screamed.

He felt your walls clench around his fingers, signaling your impending orgasm. "Cum for me," he growled, sucking even harder on your clitoral area, leaving a small bite on your clit.

And for the first time in your life, a man was competent enough to let you reach an orgasm, and it felt better than everything you felt in your life before you saw stars shaking like you had an exorcism, and so you came squirting all over His tongue. He groaned in delight, his tongue thrusting deep into your pussy to catch every drop of your sweet nectar.

He continued to lap at you, savoring the taste of you as he held your hips down firmly, not allowing you to take away his meal. You thought they looked starved when they ate your food for the first time, but this was a completely new level of starving.

"Fuck," you were a bit embarrassed as you saw the wet puddle on the table and his beard completely drenched." I never squirted before. I'm so sorry," you apologized, your cheeks burning red.

He chuckled, raising his head to look at you. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he assured, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. "I've never had a woman squirt before, either."

"Was it bad?"

He smirked. "Oh, I'd say it was fucking incredible." He pulled his fingers out of your puffy hole slowly, licking them clean before leaning in to capture your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste your cum on his tongue, and it was so messy and hot at the same time.

"Do you want me to suck you off, or do we go straight to the fucking part?" You asked, wanting to make him feel good too.

He stepped between your spread legs, his erection jutting out proudly. He looked down at you with a predatory grin, his hand reaching out to cup one of your breasts. "As much as I love to see you on your knees for me, we can't waste an ounce of cum, sweetheart."

"Can you go in slow? I didn't have someone inside in years," you asked, afraid, especially not someone so thick. His dick was perfect, comfortable, 7,5 inches curved to the right and fucking thick, and he had a vein that probably would press against your G-spot perfectly, and fucking beautiful dark curls between his legs, making him seem only more masculine than he already was.

He nodded and positioned himself at your begging entrance, teasing you with only the tip of his cock before slowly pushing inside. "You're so fucking tight," he groaned, savoring the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

"God, you're the biggest I ever had." He almost pulled you apart; it burned to take him inside, and without proper preparation, you sure as hell wouldn't be able to take him.

John chuckled at your words, pleased with the compliment. "You'll have to tell me how it feels when I'm balls deep inside you," he murmured, thrusting deeper into your shaking body.

Feeling you start to relax and take him deeper, Price began to move faster, his hips grinding against yours in a sensual rhythm. "Fuck, I love how you take my cock," he growled out between gritted teeth.

"Oh God"

"John is enough; no need to call me God Sweetheart." He picked up the pace even more, slamming into you with primal force. His free hand moved to grip your breast roughly, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. "You like that? You want more?" he asked breathlessly.

"I want your cum, John," you whined.

Hearing those words sent a surge of lust through his body. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you, hitting your sweet spot perfectly. "Gonna cum all over your pretty little pussy, going to make you so full of my cum."

"Yes, John," you whine.

"Going to make you all round, going to fucking breed you."

You whined and moaned; the primal need to let him fill you up and mark you as his own filled you. You needed this, and not only for selfless reasons; you enjoyed it as much as he did it.

"You're going to beg me for my cock after this." He pounded into you harder, his dick twitching with anticipation. "Feel that? Feel how much I love fucking you?"

"Yes, feels so good." You whined, "Breed me, John." You didn't know what took over you, but you didn't care. Shame is for post-nut clarity.

Hearing your whine only made him more turned on. He slammed into you again and again, each stroke deeper than the last. "That's it, baby. Take it all. I'm going to fill you up so fucking good." John leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to make you a mommy," he growled out before slapping his massive cock against your g-spot once more.

He could feel his impending release as he continued to thrust into you; he never had something perfect like you—such a good woman between his filthy, not-worthy hands. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you tightly as he pushed deeper into you than ever before. You felt him hitting your cervix.

"That's it, baby. Take my cum. Let me empty myself inside you."

"Yes, please, Daddy, cum in me."

Price groaned loudly as he felt himself erupting inside you. His hips bucked wildly, driving his cock even deeper as hot, thick cum filled your wanting womb. He held nothing back, emptying himself into her before finally pulling out with a wet pop. "There you go, baby. That's what a real man does to his woman."

"And I'm your woman?" You asked completely out of your mind, probably about hormones.

John smirked, pulling you into his arms. "You sure as hell are." He kissed you passionately.

"Now we need to make you a mommy."

"Well, you already came to me," you giggled.

He rolled his eyes. "I've got plenty more where that came from, sweetheart." He traced his finger down your stomach. "Now let's see about making you a baby; besides, I don't want any of these muppets making you pregnant before me." You didn't strike him as the jealous type since he shared you with seven men, but maybe it was the thing about being the first that fueled him.

"You have the stamina for a second round? Price grinned, giving you a wink.

"With you? Hell yeah." He pulled you close and kissed you again, starting to nibble on your ear. "And this time, I'll make sure I hit the back of that sweet cunt of yours." He carried you to the bed and laid you down.

The bed dipped at his weight, his hard cock still rock-hard against his stomach. He positioned himself between your legs and looked into your eyes. "Ready for round two, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy." You knew how crazy it made him when you called him this.

Price leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he thrust his hips upward. He groaned into the kiss, feeling the head of his cock push against your entrance once more. "God damn, you feel good."

You put your legs on his shoulders. He imideatly kissed your ankles and hit you deeper with every thrust. He couldn't help but moan in pleasure. He looked into your eyes as he began to move his hips back and forth, slamming into you with each powerful stroke. "Fuck, you're so tight."

You clenched around him, and it only fueled his primal instincts. "That's right, baby. Let's make you a mommy." His fingers dug into your hips, pulling her closer as he continued to pound into you.

"Mhm, going to cum soon, John," he grinned as he heard your moan.

"That's it, baby. Let it out." He felt your cunt clench around him as you shook from the orgasm he had just given you.

"Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome, Dove. Now let's see if we can get you pregnant." With that, he pulled out of your pussy and rolled over onto his back, beckoning you to straddle him once more. "Ride me until you're ready for another."

You let your hips fall on his thick cock, whining as he spread you in half, and so you began to ride him, your boobs jumping up and down.

He moaned at the sight of your ass bouncing against his full balls as you rode him hard. He grabbed your hips tightly, helping you to move faster and harder on his shaft. "That's it, baby. Ride me until you can't take it anymore."

He reached up, grabbed one of your perky breasts, and began to play with your nipple while you rode him. "Do you want me to crawl inside you again, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy," you nodded and clenched around him just at the thought.

Price loved the way you answered. "Then keep riding me, dove." He pulled on your nipple gently, watching as you let out a small cry of pleasure. He continued to play with your breast while he watched your ass bounce up and down on his cock.

"That's it, baby. Show Daddy how much you love his cock."

"I love it so much, Daddy."

He groaned as he felt your pussy clench around his cock. "Oh, fuck yes. You feel so good." He continued to play with your breast while he started to circle your clit while you rode him.

John's voice dropped to a whisper as he spoke his darkest desires into your ear. "I want to fuck you in every hole, dove. I want to mark you as mine and give you all the babies you want."

He continued to rub your clit in small circles as you rode him harder. Price could feel his orgasm building quickly. That's it, baby. Give Daddy what he wants." He reached up and pinched your nipple hard, watching as you let out a sharp cry of pleasure.

"I want you to cum for me, baby. I want to watch you squirt all over my cock."

"Mhm, fuck," you moaned. You couldn't take it any longer.

He continues His work on your abused clit Till you clench around him and squirt all over His dick.

John groaned as he felt your pussy clench around his cock and squirt all over him. "Fuck, yes. That's it, dove." He continued to rub your clit even after you came, wanting to draw out every last drop of pleasure from your body.

"Too much, Daddy," you whined as he overstimulated you.

Price chuckled softly at your whines, his fingers still working on your clit. "Sorry, dove. Did I go too far?" He asked teasingly, knowing full well that he hadn't. Instead, he loved pushing your limits and seeing just how much you could take.

"That's it, dove. Give Daddy all of it." He whispered in your ear before pulling out of your wet pussy and slapping his hard cock against your slick mound once more. "Daddy going to fill you up now, and you're going to take everything, understood?"

You were too fucked out to talk; you just nodded.

He fucked with a mean pace into you, his balls slapping against your ass, leaving his mark, but that wasn't enough; he needed to mark your breasts too, to show everyone he was the first to have you - the first to hopefuly impregnate you. You were his, and he was only a good captain for sharing his priceless angel. A pure act of selflessness from him.

With a final thrust, he erupted himself inside you. Hot, strips of his sticky cum painted your inner walls white. "Take it, sweetheart, let me fill you up." He pushed his cum in your hole all over again and then removed his dick out of your red, swollen cunt. He held your legs up. "I don't want my cum to flow out of you before the job is done."

You thought he would leave after the act, but he didn't, so his affection was real. He cleaned you up with a towel, massaging your sore thighs and almost forcing you to drink enough water since you squirted so much. "Did it feel so good for me, Sweetheart? I never had such a perfect woman before," he whispered against your skin. " Gonna worship you and give you everything you need, okay?"

You nodded and cuddled against his fury body, easily falling asleep after this activity.

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #tf 141 #smut #tf 141 x reader #tf141 smut #john price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x you #breeding k1nk #zombie #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley #john mactavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader

147 notes · View notes

narwhalandchill · 6 days

Note

how are we feeling about this project amber update

assuming this is in relation to childe bc who the fuck else JWDJWJKDJKW anon im so sorry if not. also so so sorry for how out of hand this got. i am simply unwell about him.

But! Well. there certainly are thoughts

(obviously 4.6 datamine of arle SQ and her voicelines; This Will Not Spoil Anything Abt The Main SQ Plot, i only discuss the relevant parts. also some p Heavy negativity towards fanon ooc at the start youve been warned dont @ me)

(i mean i didnt even read anything of the SQ but The scene w childe so idek the main plot of the quest rly either lmao. tho go at ur own risk if u wanna check the dialogue out; its the 2nd quest log but it does hint at the greater story)

TLDR: how i feel abt his appearance in a vaccuum? quite solid despite the briefness, actually. accounting for the way fanon is 100% likely going to be reading into this and turning it into the Lets Infantilize Ajax Even More 2024 championship? conflicted.

in other words; a certified labyrinth warriors moment - theyve expanded on childes character in a very interesting and quite a compelling way and while i Do like the potential in what im seeing from hoyos end theyve also done it so that its going to be misinterpreted to hell and back by fanon so i kinda have an immediate jaded love-hate moment going on JJWJDKJDKJWJDWKJ

its literally just labyrinth warriors flashbacks - that event has some of my ALL TIME favorite insights into who ajax is and how he views the world and himself but when the event came out all everyone cared abt was to warp it into baby boy stuck in scawwy paper boy dungeon dehumanizes himself by calling himself a weapon and doesnt love himself he is such a sad trauma meowkitten 🥺🥺so yeah

bc like lets look at this properly for a bit; okay he went back to fontaine to look for skirk still somewhat injured and waa waa my 286 month infant baby cannot Make decisions like that!!!!!11! which is to say. i am tired of him getting this shit every time.

is it smart of him to get on the move immediately with just the bare minimum of rest? no. do i like that hes straining himself before proper recovery? not particularly no. do i feel the particular need to psychoanalyze this grown man and feared warrior whos 100% survived Way Worse in Way More Extreme Situations for it? hell fucking no.

while not at all the course of action a medical professional would approve of. from childes POV its perfectly logical hes priorizing going back for skirk when its literally the FIRST TIME shes showed up in like. a Decade. when hes been looking for her all this time are you kidding me 😭😭😭 but fanon must keep fanoning for their widdle baby girl so what does a hater like me know

anyway. seething and venting over im gonna try to avoid bringing up how much i hate this kinda infantilization of ajax now im sorry for bringing it up so much on ur innocent ask anon KJWDJKWKJDJDKWJKD. neutral discussion moment. i Promise

so it seems that theyre going for the pulcinella-is-shady-about-ajax (and prolly his family) angle for good and like. personally for me as long as the only real source of that claim was scara (a cynical edgelord who doesnt believe in non-exploitative human relationships, mind you) i was rather skeptical towards just instantly drawing that conclusion, but well. with the scene in arles AQ it appears to be sth theyre building towards

i actually really fucking loved that scene bc while theres outsider perspectives (scara obvi; and even arles line for him has that vibe. and ppl still take that shit face value 💀💀) and a lot of fandom assuming childes like. completely clueless and naive and ignorant towards the potential risks involved with trusting pulcinella. this is actually a very clever demonstration of quite the opposite? and showcasing how despite his aversion towards schemes and lies hes still intelligent and knows the kind of people hes dealing with when it comes to his fellow harbingers

like. childe has a negative opinion of arle based on what pulcinella has told him about her because at face value many of her deeds are in heavy conflict with his values of loyalty and family. and because he does not have the further context behind her actions and what the HotH under her is really like. Obviously hed hold a very hostile and wary view towards arlecchino

(ESPECIALLY when with all this biased intel hes still going to run into kids from the house!!! and then hes going wtf? these are good kids. what the hell is that knave doing with them??? blink twice if you need help i will start a civil war for yall like thats how he is with kids!!!!)

so YES. pulcinella has given him if not false then at least misleading intel based on the political tension between himself and arlecchino and the wider HotH. and childes taken that at face value! sure! he is close with pulcinella of course he would!

BUT. THEN. he returns to fontaine and seeks arlecchinos help looking for skirk. and observes her behavior and modus operandi for himself as well as the kids. does he go "nah she must be just hiding the crazy evil shit i would never distrust pulcinella" and leave it at that when reality doesnt completely match his expectations?

NO. because when offered the opportunity through the traveler asking about the HotH childe immediately capitalizes on the opportunity to prod for answers and see if pulcinella is lying to him!!!!

and hes so fucking smart with the way he does it too???? i LOVE his intelligence. the entire thing is so simple yet elegant; it Completely relies on his reputation as the kinda gullible harbinger whod Never scheme or hide Anything to indirectly affirm or deny his suspicions. he doesnt Need to Pretend to care about the possibility of arle betraying the kids bc he genuinely does!! and when she pushes back against the accusation he doesnt Need to fake admitting to her that well, actually, its all just rumors so he could be completely wrong. and so on. like he navigates the entire thing so effortlessly. and whats the end result?

childe has Confirmation of pulcinellas possible ulterior motives in action AND that arlecchino is a much more reliable ally than he initially assumed. all the while appearing as just The Straightforward 11th. like obviously id need to hear it voiced first to be sure but in text it v much gives the impression hes almost kinda just. playing up the threats towards arle and being "dumb" on Purpose?? to get the answers he wanted out of arle without appearing like hes fishing for anything particular. and i just hhhhhhhhhhh

i love when he does this so muchhhh!!!!!! 😭😭 he doesnt need to become some machiavellian schemer to be able to strategize !!!!!! he avoids scheming bc he Dislikes it not bc hes incapable of it like this has Always been the case Since Liyue AQ and i love whenever they show that side of himm . my Beloved

so anyway. while i do still think the like "pulcinella is bad and has his family hostage" is still kind of a generic plotline and i hope the writing regarding the whole thing wont ultimately turn out to be sth That simplified and black and white. its p clear theyre doing Something with pulcinellas motivations and as they are. im Really glad theyre letting it show that childes not just some completely passive party being manipulated in this all. he Is thinking abt this stuff and his position among the harbingers. ig we shall see where it goes - not the greatest fan of the concept still, but canon text supports it becoming a thing way more than when it was just scaras word we had for it. hope theyll surprise me positively w how they go about it!

then briefly for the rest uhh

also loved arle and childe just shittalking the rest of the harbingers it was amazing. i wasnt expecting this kinda dynamic between them at all but its great lmao. also i wanna see childe hang out w the HotH kids

as for project stuzha; so we dont really get anything solid on it other than being summoned back to snezhnaya for it is apparently a Big Deal. but still very interested. let my man have his endgame significance Trust

childes appearance was obviously v brief ultimately but that was clear from his leaked linecount to begin with - i am pretty satisfied with what they seem to have done w him. like its not The Best but also i wasnt expecting his lore to get some massive expansion in another harbingers SQ . the worst i feared was that it was just going to be a flashback of arle returning his vision which did Not happen so massive W. i am super hyped to hear this scene voice acted proper and happy to see him again, i really hope he gets to appear at least once more in an interlude or dains quest or something before going on hiatus again but idk if thats too much to ask LKKWJDJWDJWD

also: i am never changing my namecard after this patch drops. oh my godddddddd its So Fucking Beautiful 😭😭😭😭

But. Yeah. lots of good stuff. unfortunately lots of it will get misinterpreted and fanon will get obnoxious about it. but i still love getting to see him again and i am speedrunning that namecard day fucking one mutuals and/or followers in EU please add me (UID 711090267) ill need coop buddies for the world bosses

thank youuuuuuu for the ask i hope this monstrosity of a monologue doesnt scare u off 💀💀💀

#im actually so sorry for dumping this on you anon i Really hope this was what you were referring to bc . if not then JJWDJKADJKDW #ill feel horrible 😭😭😭😭 but also. this is the brand i have no clue What Else would it be #i Guess it could be about arlecchino as a whole ? im sorry anon i didnt actually read the entire SQ log so idk yet how it all goes #but sure ask me abt my arle thoughts if ud like after this jumpscare once the patch has gone live jjkjkdjkwjkjkdw #also 286 months is 23 years 10 months. no i dont have an age hc for him set in stone or anything but eh . its in the ballpark #asks #aaaand unsurprisingly this goes into #childeposting #genshin

56 notes · View notes

kiestrokes · 7 months

Note

i like had this thought in the back of my head of like what ateez would be like with an S/O who has a physical illness bcs i actually have one which causes a lot of pain to my bones and i'm like in a constant state of pain and discomfort, been going on for about 12 years HELL YA ✊🏻, if i don't keep up on my meds (currently don't have the proper meds so it only tides me over for a little while-) then im basically fucked so IDK i feel like there isn't a lot of stuff written about this kind of stuff (im a sucker for shit i hardly ever am able to read abt) ALSO IM NOT 100% SURE IF YOUR REQS WERE OPEN BCS I DIDNT SEE ANYTHING POSTED ABT IT SO- YA- if you don't want to write it obviously you don't have to !! no pressure at all lovely

ATEEZ Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition | SFW

Pairing: ATEEZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: fluff, slice of life, headcanons, imagines, scenarios. Warnings: chronic illness + immunocompromised talk.

🗝️ Note: Hey atiny anon! You actually asked the right person; I have fibromyalgia combined with a few other annoying chronic illnesses. Because you can't just have one 😓 I hope that you can find a decent fucking doctor and get on the proper medication soon. That's the biggest part of the struggle, finding a physician that will listen and is competent enough. I hope this was enough, I tried to assign each member a caring task that I felt fit them! Has not been beta-ed.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

Seonghwa

He’s here to help you prevent all the chronic pain that he can. Booking you massage visits. Trips to the hot springs. All the arnica rubs. Silly little games the two of you play, to keep your mind off the pain and depression spirals. His favorite is seeing who can build their new Lego set the quickest. Hwa is the biggest advocate for you, he would never return a dish at the restaurant when its wrong. But he will fight for you at every appointment, every pharmacy, wherever you need him to. Because he knows you've grown tired of fighting all the time.

Hongjoong

HJ's specialty is flexibility. You have a sudden burst of energy? He’s down to go explore that new pop-up market with you. You’ve come down with a bout of bone numbing pain? That’s cool, you’re getting changed into comfy clothes and piled up on the couch. Swaddled in your heating pad with all the snacks. Where he falls asleep on your shoulder. HJ never gets frustrated with your rapid change in mood or plans. Nothing but the most understanding partner you could ever have asked for, and boy is he so cute and snuggly when dozing on you. Small hands seeking your face for drowsy kisses that soothe your aches just a smidge.

Yunho

The quiet presence, the one who knows what you need before you say it. Passing you tissues, making you a cup of tea and most importantly holding you so that you can cry. Shedding angry tears about how frustrated you are with your own body for betraying you. For feeling weak. For missing out on things. He's gently calming every frayed nerve in your brain. Reassuring you that you're exactly where you need to be in this moment, and he will bring all of the fun to you. And he does, in small, manageable doses.

Yeosang

His way of caring for you is through caring for your outside. All the skin masks, hair treatments, skin softening lotions because if you feel cruddy, at least he can make you feel cute and comfortable. They do heal though, in their own way. The extra moisture of the humidifier and every cream and essence he buffs into your skin helps keep some of the aches away. Subsiding the itchiness of the nerve pain, just a little. And you can’t get over how cute Yeosang looks in each animal themed headband or with his hair tied back into teeny space buns or how nice his hands feel every time they glide over your skin.

San

Where Yunho is quietly attentive, San is passionately attentive. You cry, he cries (while holding you). Quite literally your pain, is his pain and he’s here to be with you through each step. No judgment is ever passed when he has to pick up your extra chores around the house. Because to him, that is the smallest act of service he can perform for you. San is the one who wishes he could take on your pain, that he could fight it and destroy it and it pains him that he cannot. So he will simply have to do everything else.

Mingi

He thrives on making you laugh and smile through tough days, because he understands feeling burdensome. Mingi never wants you to feel that way, he wants to make sure you verbally know that your presence is needed and welcome. His favorite thing is cuddled up in bed with you wrapped in your heated blanket watching shows. You looking so small in his arms, giving him the feeling of protecting something. He reassures you constantly, because he himself seeks constant reassurance. Mingi never tires of this, he will reaffirm every single self deprecating thought with a compliment even on his worst days.

Wooyoung

He cares for you with his skinship, which is incredibly healing. His happy heartbeat encourages yours. His strong hands make you feel loved and needed. Who would cuddle him if not you? Woo often reminds you, whispering the phrase into your ear as he traces his nails through your hair, or while rhythmically drawing circles on your spine. Making you float into dream land and anchoring you in the moment with him at the same time. Woo also loves making you whatever dish you’re craving, knowing you need energy to fight off fatigue and pain. And cooking is one of his many, many love languages.

Jongho

Needing to hoard all the extra rest you can get; you seek out solace at Jongho’s place for nap time. Jongho has taken notice, he’s also taken inventory as to which blankets of his you prefer, the pillows that keep you asleep the longest, what temperature you prefer the room to be based on what you’re wearing. All your favorite snacks before or after. New blackout curtains. He’s made his place your ultimate nap zone. New heated blankets. Duplicates of your fave lounge wear and socks. And he takes his payment in cuddles. Holding you tightly in his bed or sprawled on the couch. Sometimes he falls asleep himself and flips you onto your back to bury into your side like a full-sized teddy bear.

149 notes · View notes

necroromantics · 2 months

Note

Do you have any headcannons about Eyeless Jack or even Laughing Jack by chance? :0] For Cryptpasta

HI YES I DO

EYELESS JACK

- He's 6'3 in his typical form, but as he gets hungrier, his body shifts into a more demonic and beastly form. At his peak, he's about 6'7-6'8

- Jack is sort of like a host for the demon Chernobog. He needs to feed it to keep it contained. If he starves it by not giving it proper sustenance (living things, human organs give the most sustenance), then Chernobog will "take over" and cause Jack to go absolutely feral

- He can see pretty well in his typical form. His vision is just muddied and he's colour-blind

- The more beastly/hungry he gets, the worse his sight gets. When hes at his peak, he can't see shit and acts completely on instinct

- He is a huge geek. Very interested in classic literature, maths, sciences, and especially medicine

- Jack was a college student before he got sacrificed, and was working hard to become a doctor

- After his transformation, he began to really look into herbal medicine and started to use the plants around the forest in his medical practices for the other Creeps

- He's very good at fishing, but he fishes like a bear. Jack will jump into the water and catch fish in his mouth. He hates it, but he's more efficient like that than with a rod

- He grew up in a very religious household, which made him very atheist and anti-religion as he grew up

- As a teenager, he was very into things like politics, anarchism, video games, rock music, anything he could to rebel against his parents. He eventually grew out of it and mellowed down

- Jack was always a very intelligent and wise person. But he found himself so angry all the time, and isolated from his peers

- He experiences a lot of guilt now for his anger. He never wanted to hurt anyone, and after losing everything, Jack quickly realized that all he wanted was to make peace with the world

- When he turned into a demon, he felt like the only thing he could grasp was God. He has a very complicated relationship with religion, but its all he has left

- Even after everything, he's at God's mercy. Always rebelling

LAUGHING JACK

- He was human once, back around in the 1930s

- Jack was a serial killer who worked as a clown for a travelling circus

- "The Laughing Jack" was his stage name, he wore all black and white, mixing the traditional clown costumes with the mime act. He only ever talked to children, and would immediately go mute as soon as an adult was in hearing range

- Everybody knew he was a little bit strange. He was irritable, off-putting, didn't quite understand boundaries or when he was going too far. Parents thought his torment of their children was just apart of some sick act, but his coworkers knew it wasn't

- LJ would lure in children from parks or their yards and murder them right before his circus was about to leave the next morning. He wasn't careful at all, very messy and thoughtless

- This carelessness eventually led to his arrest, and he hung himself in prison

- He's actually technically a Zalgo proxy, because Zalgo is the one who granted him an afterlife as a ghost of sorts after his death

- But he always does his own thing. He targets who he wants, talks to who he wants. And it's almost always strictly children.

- Laughing Jack tends to target the boys more than the girls. Nobody really knows why

- He's generally a fun, goofy guy outside of the creepiness and he likes a good classic prank. But once the mask drops, he's very brooding and sinister, and has a tendency to make everyone around him uncomfortable

#cryptpasta #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #laughing jack #eyeless jack #creepypasta lj #creepypasta laughing jack #laughing jack headcanons #creepypasta eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack headcanon #creepypasta eyeless jack #ej headcanon #creepypasta ej

57 notes · View notes

waffles-art-writing · 1 year

Text

Times Where Your Mind Takes Over - Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Kinda Head Cannons)

Summary: It has barely been a few months since you were able to leave the medical wing, the psychical wounds healing and scarring, mental… not so much. All the times your mind has taken the wheel and makes you crumble beneath its grasp, how all the boys of the 141 help you through your pain.

(Thank you @boogieman-23 & @tomhardy41 for your comments! And the inspo! Sorry if it’s not what you had in mind, I hope you don’t mind the tag!)

(Part 2 to JOKER) Sorry this took so long to get out.

Proofread: Nope, couldn’t be bothered.

Pairing: 141!Platonic x Fem!Reader

WordCount: around 4.5K

Age Rating: PG13

Codename: JOKER

KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name.

Warning/Info: PTSD, Anxiety, mentions of torture, conscious of self image, weapons, injury, Normal COD stuff, PTSD Nightmares.

May turn this into a proper series! Comment if you are interested in that :)

——————————————————

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

It’s been almost five weeks since you got out of the medical wing, you stayed in your room a lot more than before the mission and being caught. You locked yourself up in your room for the first week, only leaving to shower and get food. The weeks following you attended some of the training, always having a balaclava or a black medical mask on. You hid from prying eyes of other people, avoiding areas with a lot of other soldiers. If you had to go into an area with ten or more people you would beg one of the boys to come with you, most commonly if it was Soap who joined you. Or you would just avoid it and wait. But now at week five you have gained the courage to mill around the base by yourself more often, keeping your face covered always.

Ignoring the lingering gazes of people, or the quiet conversations you hear around you. You're gaining back your courage, your old out going self is slowly coming back, until you were left alone in the gunnery with a new recruit.

You worked quietly at a table off to the side of the room cleaning your new sniper rifle, thanks to Price, he was able to get your rifle back to you in somewhat good condition after it was abandoned back where your life got turned upside down. The sound of fabric on metal, the satisfying clicks of parts going together, it’s calming. That is until someone walks into the room, you feel their eyes burning holes in your back, your movements falter when you hear them walk up behind you.

The feeling of dread rushing through you as you think fast, your mind not connecting the dots of this is a gunner on base, people come and go. But with it being late in the evening, you thought you would be by yourself. Your body moves before your mind can protest.

You whip around, your fist clenched around the handle of the small pocket knife you had on the table, your blade mere inches from the poor recruits throat. You stare him down, your eyes dark, fear is driving you, nothing but bone chilling fear courses through you. Your arm drops, the realisation hitting you in the face like a sack of bricks. You mumble out a quick apology as you throw everything hap-hazardly into the rifle case, not caring as you zip it up. You dart out the room, not running, not sprinting, just hauling ass at a quick walking pace. The dim halls lighting your way out into the compound, leading into the mess hall that is connected to the barracks - the place you desperately want to be - attempting to avoid as many people as possible.

You speed walk down the corridor, weaving in and out of other soldiers, your rifle case clutched in your hand.

The pounding of your heart thumps in your ears, blood rushing, mind racing, not a single thought about what’s in front of you. The only thing that is racing through your mind is the heart stopping feeling of someone behind you, the eyes of a predator biting into you. You’re practically shaking as you walk towards the doors of the barracks your team resides in. You fumble with a keycard that's in your pocket, your hands shaking as you swipe it through the slot. “Come one” you mumble as you try again, the red light buzzing again. The small screen lighting up presents a ‘Cannot Read Card’. You try again, and again, the same declined buzz sounding out.

You growl out in frustration as you wipe the card on your shirt, hot tears blur your vision, your throat tight like you cannot breathe. Suddenly everything seems to disappear, the tight throat, the fear of the man that caused you harm coming back to get you.

The feeling of safety envelopes you when a gloved hand wraps around yours, you jump out of your skin at first. You look up to see your Lieutenant, his eyes cold as ever but there's the hint of worry dancing in them. “Easy love…” he mumbles, keeping his voice low to not startle you more. He sees you shaking, he watched you struggle with the Key card a few times before he decided to come help you. “Breathe, focus, you're safe” his voice is calm, you nod as you let his hand guide yours through the process of swiping the card. The light turns green and the sound of the door unlocking rings in your ears.

You push forward, Ghost not too far behind, he managed to take your rifle case from you without being caught. You don't even make it to your room before you collapse to your knees in the corridor. Quiet sobs fill the room, Ghost’s quiet footsteps barely audible as he approaches you carefully, knowing how you feel. He’s experienced his own form of torture, paranoia, fear and the feeling of something or someone coming back to continue to pummel you with their hellbent rage. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t touch you, just stands next to you quietly. Allowing you to drain your emotions without fear of someone coming in, seeing you weak and vulnerable

You walk into the corridor, you fall to your knees, finally you’re somewhere that no one can see you. At least no one outside the 141 that is. Ghost stands next to you, not talking, not touching. He’s not good with words, he himself just bottles everything up and shoves it deep inside with Simon Riley to be able to become the infamous Ghost.

You stand on shaky legs, a few sniffles coming out as you brush the dirt off your knees. Ghost places his hand on the small of your back, quietly telling you he’s there if you need him, his actions are more than you could ask for.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

You finally got convinced by Soap to spar with him, finally getting you out og the cocoon of a blanket burrito he found you in. You were moping around the small common room that’s in the barracks you share witht he 141, everyone could tell that something put you off, resetting your progress of coming back to your normal self. Ghost knows, no one else does, the silent Lieutenant kept your break down hour between you and him. He hasn’t even told Price, your captain.

The sparring was going well, your confidence in hand to hand combat still there. You discarded the black medical mask not too long ago, finding it easier to breathe without it while inside. You’ve managed to pin Soap to the mat, a confident smirk on your face, a glimpse into the real you. “Fuck- I thought you would’ve gotten worse without training for as long as you did.” The Scotsman huffs out, sweat dripping down his brow, his smile not leaving his face, happy you’re coming out of your shell again. You step away from him to let him get up, you wipe your face with your shirt, ignoring the twinge in your side from a punch he landed on you.

The sound of the metal hinges chime out, your body freezes, mind going into overdrive as your eyes widen. Your mask is on the other side of the room by your bag and Soap’s. “Lass, look at me” he's quick to draw your attention away from the new presence in the room, his hands come to rest on your shoulders, making you look at him. “Joker, look at me, not at the mirror, not the people behind you. Me, got that?” His voice is low, almost commanding compared to his normal cheerful and playful tone he most commonly uses.

You nod, your breathing picking up in pace as you glance at yourself in the wall mirror of the gym, the scars that adorn your face stick out like a sore thumb. Soap uses his thumb to guide your face back to his, brows furrowed slightly as he makes you look at him.

Why are they in here, what are they doing here? Are they here to judge you? Stare at your scars? Tease you? Bully you? Make fun of you? Here to push you against the wall and poke at you, cause you more pain, point out all the damage that has been thrust upon you without your permission. Make you feel even worse about yourself than you already do, make you want to lock yourself in your room and wallow in self hatred. “Lass, look at me.

“Johnny- I can’t… I can’t do this…” You mumble, leaning into him, hiding your face in his chest, your fingers curl around a dark blue shirt he is wearing. “Okay, okay, just hold onto me doll I’ll get you out of here. You just gotta focus on me okay?” He looks down at you, you nod your head. Soap cautiously leads you out of the room, the rowdy group of people too caught up in their conversation to notice you two slipping out the door. Soap scoops you up in his arms, your arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him like your life depends on it.

Your heart beat is in your ears, the rushing feeling to your head makes you feel nauseous, bile rises up into your throat. “I’m gonna be sick” You mumble, biting your tongue to try to keep it under control. Soap mumbles out an ‘okay’ luckily you’re mere metres from the bathroom, he kicks open the door, hoping no one is in there going about their business while he hauls his team mate that is about to be sick into one of the stalls.

Burning fills your throat as you cough out your breakfast into the toilet, your hands gripping the edge of the porcelain bowl. The smell makes you feel even worse than before, your body quivers, energy plummeting with your adrenaline from the fear. Soaps large hands rub your back gently, while his other hands back your hair, trying to soothe you. You groan as your stomach twists into more knots, sweat running down your face mixing with tears. “You’re okay Lass…” Soap’s low timbre sounds out from behind you.

You sit back onto your heels, attempting to bring your breathing under control. Soap passes you some toilet paper before flushing the toilet, you wipe your mouth while thanking Soap for everything he has done for you. “Thank you Johnny… for everything.” Soap chuckles lightly while shaking his head, he gently pulls you closer, he can still see you quivering from the fear you can feel. “Nonsense Lass, it's the least I can do.” You huff in annoyance as you snuggle into him, his arms wrapping out you tightly.

It’s peaceful being wrapped up in his arms, despite what just happened and where you are. You can hear his heartbeat, it's even and soothing in your ear. Your breathing evening out, falling in sync with Soap’s. You eventually fall asleep, despite being on the fall in the bathroom. Soap smiles slightly, a huff of air leaving him like a chuckle. His arms loop under your legs and back, lifting you off the ground.

Soap passes a few people in the corridor, ignoring their stares, thankful you naturally hid your face into his shoulder. He bumps into Gaz on the way to your room, thankful he's there to open the barrack doors. “Thanks mate” Gaz shrugs, as he follows you two into the corridor. “Is she okay?” He asks, wondering why Soap is carrying their teammate. “She should be now, got crowded in the gym.” Soap states as Gaz opens the door to your room, he stays by the door watching as Soap tucks you into your bed.

“I’ll go get her some water” the younger man states, walking off. Soap brushes the hair out of your face, fingers dancing over the scars on your face. He pulls your desk chair up next to your bed, leaning his elbows on your bed. “You’re safe Lass, we’re all here, I’m here.” He mumbles as he leans on his arms, rubbing small circles on your hand with his thumb.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

You stare into the mirror, eyes locked onto the pale pinkish skin that now adorns your cheeks.

The sinister smile staring back at you, the memory of the blade, the dark gaze, the sinister smirk.

Your hands clutch the sink basin, knuckles white as your breathing becomes shallow and quick.

Tears slip from your eyes, falling down your cheeks and into the white porcelain sink.

That’s when you see him, the same smirk that chills you to your core. Makes your stomach churn like a stormy sea, your eyes widen in fear, your throat constricting as you see the bloody blade come to hover in front of you. The crimson red dripping from the steel, the same red that drips from your cheeks, the pain. Searing pain, blinding white hot pain. You attempt to scream, nothing comes out, your voice nonexistent, useless. You flinch away when no the blade trails along your lips, suddenly seeing your wrists and ankles bound to the chair.

The same man leans in close, his breath fanning over your face, the psychotic look in his eyes sending shivers down your spine. “No, No no no no” you whisper out, your body shaking as tears blur your vision. “No! Go away! You’re dead! I killed you! Leave me alone!” You scream out, tugging against the rope.

A fist connects with the wooden door, banging on it, door handle jiggling. “Lass! Open up!” Soap calls out, his voice scratchy from being woken from your screams, he's just in sweatpants. “JOKER! Wake up!” He steps back, when Ghost comes running down the corridor, Price and Gaz following. “What the bloody hell is going on Johnny?!” Ghost barks out, his eyes dark, the normal black paint around his eyes missing, just a plain black balaclava adorns his face. “She’s having a nightmare! She’s screamin’ bloody murder!” Soap replies as he turns to the team, his face painted with worry. “The door is locked and she’s not waking up” his fists clench when he hears you call out for them, begging for whatever hellish dream your mind is laying out for you.

Ghost stands in front of the door, his large frame casting a harsh shadow on the wood. He backs up, stepping forward again, kicking at the weak point of the door.

The sound of wood splintering fills the room, light floods into the darkness of your room. Your blankets kicked to the floor, pillow hanging off the edge, your own body squirming. “Leave me alone!” You scream, you’re still asleep.

Tears stream down your cheeks, you can hear the faint sound of your name being called. It’s familiar, but desperate, almost begging. You whip your head around to try find the source, your mind racing as you hear the all too familiar nickname. “Lass, wake up!” Soap! It’s Johnny, he’s here, but where? You hear another voice, its firm, commanding, the timbre of the man’s voice comforting.

“Kid, Love, you gotta wake up” Ghost… What are they doing here, but where are they, you need them. “Ghost- Soap? Please! Help!” You whimper out, a choked sob escaping you. A you feel warmth, sudden warmth on your shoulders, hands, rough hands. Familiar hold, it’s Ghost… and Soap. They are here, you can’t see them. “Open your eyes Lass, nothings gonna hurt you.”

You wake with a jolt, your hands clutching at Ghost’s arms, your breathing quick as you sit bolt upright. That’s when it hits you, the constricting feeling of crying, blurry vision. You see Ghost first, then Soap. You shake in Ghost’s hold, terrified to move, to speak, to even blink as you stare wide eyed at the two men. Gaz and Price are by the door, giving you three as much room as possible. Not wanting to overwhelm you. That’s when you lock eyes with your friend, a pained sob falls from you as you reach out to the one of the youngest on the team, Gaz. Ghost has moved to the side, Soap stays seated on the ground by your bed as Gaz walks over.

His sibling-like nature comforts you more than you would care to admit. He moves slowly when he approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes full of concern as he watches you shake in your spot. You make small grabby-hands to him, he chuckles lightly as he moves closer, knowing you just need the comfort. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your face coming to hide in his neck, quiet sobs can be heard from you as Gaz rub’s your back. He knows the pain of having nightmares so vividly they leave you shaken, not wanting to sleep ever again, hell, they all do.

After some time, your sobs turn to sniffles. Ghost ended up sitting at your desk, Soap behind you, keeping a hand on your shoulder, rubbing small shapes there. Price disappeared for a little while, coming back with extra blankets as pillows. “I have an idea” He states as he stands in the doorway, knowing you love movie nights with the team even though he somewhat finds them annoying. Soap jumps from his seat, happy for sudden movie night in the middle of the night. Gaz chuckles, looking down at you, seeing you smile a little.

He scoops you up, carrying you to the couch in the common area of the 141 Barracks. He settles down, you comfortably snuggled up next to him. Soap cramps himself on the other side of you, dragging Ghost with him. Price takes his spot in an armchair next to the couch, remote to the tv in hand as he flicks on your favourite movie.

Gaz keeps you close throughout the movie, quietly talking to you to keep your mind occupied when the movie goes quiet. You eventually fall back asleep in his arms, his thumb rubbing small circles on your back. Soap leaning on you, one the verge of sleep himself, Price is still awake - albeit barely - while Ghost has his head back, small snores leaving him. There’s a small smile on your face, knowing you're safe and surrounded by the ones that are your teammates, friends, family.

Captain John Price

Gaz, Ghost and Soap are off base. It’s the weekend, they decided to go explore the local area the team is currently situated in, they are here to meet with another task force in a few days. You’ve decided to stay in the safe house, taking stock of what there is and if you need to ask Price to help with getting things.

You are standing in the kitchen, food laid out on the kitchen island, not a lot is there, maybe a night or two dinner’s worth, very little for breakfast and not a lot of energy packed things. Whoever was here last didn’t bother with emptying out the cupboards and fridge of perishables. You’ve gagged multiple times, having to dump the trash bag outside as quickly as possible when it started to stink out the safe house. Price walked into the room to find you holding your shirt over your nose, holding the trash bag as far from you as possible. He chuckles when he watches you come back inside, sighing with relief. “So what do ya got Joker?” He asks, walking up next to, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You groan, leaning on the bench, your notepad in front of you. “Not a lot sir, barely two dinners, not a lot of breakfast food along with nothing full of energy or nutrition. So basically nothing…” you rub the back of your neck as you turn to Price, who is smirking at you. “Ain’t surprised, so we're gonna go shopping or what kid?” You shrug, looking at the food in front of you. “It looks like it.”

You’re standing in front of the grocery store, staring at the large glass sliding doors, it’s like a large daunting tower to you. Your staring at the building like a little kid staring at the school building on their first day, anxious, scared of who’s going to be in there, what’s going to happen. Are people going to see what’s under your medical mask? See the scars? see what happened to you? Make you feel even worse about yourself than you already do, stare at you like you’re some freak.

A hand is placed on your shoulder, Price is stomping out his cigarette on the ground. “You can wait in the car if you want, kid.” He states as he watches your hands clenched into fists repeatedly, he knows what you're thinking he can practically see the thoughts playing like a movie in your eyes. “Joker?” You lock eyes with him, you let out a breath you didn't even realise you're holding. “I want to do this… Just stay with me? Please?” You ask, you think you sound pathetic, you know you do, you can hear it in your voice. “Of course, I’ve got your six.” Price states, his hand falling from our shoulder to motion towards the doors. “When you’re ready” you nod, making your way to the doors.

So far it's been reasonably quiet, the occasional customer here and there, they haven’t even given you a second glance. Other than the kids, who would be staring at you and Price. You keep telling yourself that kids will be kids, they stare at anything and everything. Price has kept next to you, slightly behind you the whole time, occasionally placing his hand on your shoulder or your back to make sure you know he’s there. However when it comes to the checkout, there's a man in front of you, his stature similar to the devil you see at night, or behind you in the mirror.

His hair is the same. Your breathing quickens, back straightening, muscles tensing. Price stepped away to grab a bottle of something, he said he will be back in a second. The isle he disappeared into only a few metres away, you turn around to try to find him. But your eyes lock onto someone who’s not Price, a woman, she's looking at you with a small smile. You nod your head in return and turn back, staring at your boots. “Are you okay?” The man in front of you asks, he happened to turn around to see you look from the woman to your boots. You flinch when you hear him, your blood turning to ice. You nod again, not looking up at him, not trusting your voice.

The next thing you know is the basket being taken from your hands, the smell of cigars and leather mixed with something like sandalwood, maybe some gunpowder? “She’s okay, thanks mate, just doesn’t like public places too much” its Price, John, your safety blanket. Price stands between you and man, keeping you close to his side as he unloads the basket onto the checkout conveyor belt. You keep your head down, hands in your pockets to fiddle with loose thread that's in there. The young girl behind the counter asks you for your ID, you look a lot younger than John. He got a bottle of bourbon, so in turn you’re asked for ID.

“She’s old enough, I’m paying anyway.” John states, he is already pulling his wallet out. “I’m sorry but I still need to see her ID, I just don’t want to get growled at by my boss, I’m sorry.” John nods his head, understanding why. You fumble with your wallet, trying to pull the driver licence out. You can hear kids talking to their parents, asking why you need to show your ID, other people are talking about things. Your mind twisting them into why are you taking so long? Why do you wear a mask? Why are you so nervous? It feels like it's been ten minutes of you trying to get your ID.

In reality it's been barely a minute, you finally hand over your ID, she looks from the ID to your face. “Okay cool, sorry for the trouble.” John pays and you’re quick to grab the paper bag and walk out.

You get inside the car, slamming the door behind you. John gets into the driver's side, looking over at you hugging the grocery bag to your chest. You’re staring ahead but not actually looking at anything, just aimlessly staring. Your mind racing, eyes wide, brows furrowed, your mask still secured to your face. “Look at me, Joker.” He calmly states, his tone soft to not startle you, his hand is placed on top of your own on the paper bag. “Kid… It’s me Price, John, you know me. Look at me sweetheart.” He tries to gain your attention, slowly bringing you back into the present.

You slowly look towards Price, fear is evident in your eyes. He gently cups your face in his hands, bringing your foreheads together. It’s something he does with you to ground you, you picked it up from him and ended up doing it with everyone else too. Except for Ghost, he doesn’t like being touched, you have done it one or twice, but that was pure luck. Soap loves it, Gaz adores it, Price does it to keep your attention away from your intrusive thoughts. “Focus on me Joker, you're safe, you’re with me.” You focus on his voice as your eyes flutter closed, your hands gripping the paper bag of groceries tighter. “You can get through this, you're strong, you’re one the best.” his grip on your jaw is grounding, it's firm but not tight.

You open your eyes again, your thoughts slowing down, your breathing back to normal as you look at price. “That’s my girl.” He states with a smirk, pulling away, ruffling your hair slightly like a young child. “Th… Thanks Price.” You mumble, wiping the loose tears from your eyes as you settle down in your seat. “No need to thank me kid, my door is always open if you need me. You know that, right?” He raises a brow as he looks at you, turning the key in the ignition. “Right.” You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you watch Price pull out of the parking lot, driving towards the Safehouse.

You’re beyond thankful for this help, support from all of them. All of them taking their time with helping you with your trauma, anxiety, and the stomach churning nightmares.

#soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x y/n #soap mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #john price #john price x reader #john price x y/n #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick #cod fanfic

727 notes · View notes

factorialsotherfandoms · 5 months

Text

TW: Unreality, major character injury, poor medical technique (and IC they know they're not getting it quite right too), panic attacks, brief vomitting

Maybe a bit long for tumblr, but eh, you'll live, and I'll upload it eventually.

Theoretically safe in his room, FitMC is awoken by the sound of his warpstone activating. He sits, and reaches for a knife, and feels Pac sleepily grasp for him as he disturbs the man's sleep.

"Pac," he keeps his voice as quiet as possible. "Let go. Someone's here."

Pac does not wake as cleanly as Fit, but still grips the knife passed to him, hiding it under the blanket and still pretending to be asleep.

Whomever came takes a while to find them, but eventually there is a knock on his bedroom door; Fit grips his sword, wishes he'd realised he had time to dress and put armour on, and calls "come in!"

Two small figures run into the room, and he tucks the sword away - keeps it close, just in case these are imposters again, but tucks it away.

"Tallulah?" Pac has noticed them too, sitting up as soon as he does and opening his arms. "Chayanne? What's wrong?"

Tallulah runs over and hides in Pac's arms before pulling out a sign; Chayanne gets straight onto writing his. Neither child has their hat or their backpack, and there's the slight glow of a potion over both of them.

'/Something's wrong with dad/' Chayanne writes, then pulls out another sign.

'/Papa says the house is on fire. It's not/' Tallulah writes.

Right. Fuck. Another message? After the last one... Fit's genuinely concerned. He believes well enough that the messages are real, but he worries about the doubt they cast into Philza's mind - and also what something like that contacting his friend could possibly mean.

'/He said find you/' Chayanne's second sign reads. '/Will you help him?/'

'/He was scared/' Tallulah adds. '/Tios, papa is so scared/'

Fit and Pac share a look. Pac nods, and Fit wishes he were telepathic and so could send his roommate an apology for the disturbed night.

"Why don't I go help him out?" Fit offers. "I'll go look after him and have a chat. Pac can look after you two."

"A sleepover!" Pac's grin at them both is strained, but Fit doubts the children notice. "Let's go to my home and eat all the chocolate, yes? Chayanne, do you want to make a cake for your papa?"

Fewer people know of Ilha Chume Labs than Fit's hole in the ground, and even if he means Chume Labs proper the warren of labs will keep them safe.

The kids are still hesitant to agree; Fit smiles at them too, and nods, "your little secret. I know Phil says no snacks after bedtime, but he left you in my care and I say you can."

It doesn't really win them over; Chayanne puts down another sign '/you promise to help dad?/'

Fit makes eye contact with the boy, deadly serious, "everything I can. I promise."

'/you leave first/'

Fit doesn't know if Philza trusts Pac with his children, but Fit trusts him, and honestly they're the least of his concerns. The old crow thinking himself trapped in a burning house - why the hell didn't he leave with the kids - is far more of his worry. Is it the Ender King again? Or some other fucked up entity contacting him in the most bullshit way possible?

"Alright," he says, and grabs his warpstone and a shirt. "Be good for Pac, okay?"

"They're sweet," Pac promises. "They'll be good."

Fit knows that’s a lie, but Pac wrangles Richas well enough, so surely he can manage Philza's kids.

He trusts his faith, and worries for a friend, and warps away.

---

Phil and Missa is quiet, and still, and just as calm as it always is. The moonlight reflects on the glass, and it looks nothing like a house that two children might have fled from. Nothing at all seems wrong, but nothing ever does seem wrong; Fit knows better than to take it at face value.

He’s already opened the hatch before he remembers just how jumpy his friend is, and calls out a loud “oi, Phil!”

He’s already in the main room by the time he hears a reply, glancing between the three options as he fails to choose one.

“Kitchen,” Philza’s voice is quiet, broken, strained as though speaking on an over-strained throat. “Be-” a cough “be careful!”

Careful of what? Tallulah said he thought the house was on fire, so… It’s a waste of resources, but Fit splashes himself with a fire resistance potion anyway. Just so he can tell Philza he’s safe, and not have to lie about any follow up questions.

Depends how bad the vision is, really.

Because Fit is pretty sure they are visions, not hallucinations. It’s just the after-effects on his old friend’s mental health are worse for it.

The kitchen is the door to the left. When Fit steps in, he makes a show of checking it. Everything is normal - down to and including the pot on the stove - except for Philza himself. Still in his pyjamas, stood with his back to the wall. He looked like he was reading something, but glances over his shoulder as soon as he hears Fit approach.

There’s nothing in his hands, not that Fit can see, but they still hover like they’re holding up a book.

His eyes are shot wide open, so wide it goes past terror to border on head injury. His breathing, too, is fucked - Fit can see him panting - but that’s a panic attack for you.

“You good?” Fit asks someone who very, very obviously isn’t. “I was worried, so I asked Pac to watch the kids. Chayanne and Tallulah said something was wrong…?”

It looks like Philza is about to reply, but then he starts coughing. Fit gives him a moment, but it keeps going. His body shudders, gasping for air between coughs as he slumps against the wall.

It’s fucking terrifying; Fit runs forwards before he knows what to say, only stopping himself once Philza manages to catch his breath, and Fit remembers what a fucking terrible idea it is to charge someone whose brain is trapped outside reality.

So he slows to a stop, and brings up his hands.

“Easy, easy,” Fit drops his voice lower, trying to project calm he absolutely does not feel. “What can you see, Phil? Because whoever’s talking to you, they’re not talking to me.”

“Not- ah- not talking?” Philza takes a deep, sharp breath - gasping again. His voice is shaking, distant, so quiet Fit has to strain to hear it even over the silence. “Fire. It’s- It’s fucking… hell in here. Lava. Netherrack. Soul- Soul sand. The whole- whole lot, Fit, the whole damned lot.”

The Nether? Shit. Nobody likes the Nether, so no wonder Phil is panicking so hard he’s choking himself. Fit eases himself forward a little more, trying not to scare his friend more than he’s already terrified.

“What else?” he asks.

It’s not exactly grounding when Philza is seeing another reality, but it’s the only thing Fit knows how to try.

“Book, blackstone, blaze rod, quartress.”

That train of words is said much more clearly, more certainly, but still sounding called from a much greater distance than is between them. Fit can hear the panicked tears threatening to spill over with every word, and his heart fucking breaks.

Gentle, gentle, do his best to help. Fit’s not a gentle person by nature, but if his friends need him he’s going to try.

“Hey, hey look at me,” he orders, trying to be kind but knowing he’s a bit sharper than usual. What can he do to break the tension? Flirt? Flirting always goes down a treat. “See this sexy bald head of mine? I’m not going to let any Ender King hurt you /or/ your kids.”

Fit isn’t exactly sure how he could stop anything with such a name, but he’d certainly try.

Then Philza says something. It’s so quiet and broken up he can barely hear it, his breathing growing faster and more desperate as he does.

It takes Fit a moment to parse the words - “not him. Blaze Em-press. His enemy.”

What?

“That’s why she set your house on fire? Pissed he got you first?”

It’s the only sense he can make of the enemy of someone Philza is so fucking terrified of making him think he and his house are burning.

“A friend,” Philza says, and begins coughing again. “She’s- a… friend. But’s she’s- … Also the Nether… You know? I-I think- Fuck, my head hurts.”

No bet.

Philza coughs again, spit hitting the floor. At first Fit thinks nothing of it, then he notices the discolouration - not black, not fully black, but slightly speckled with it.

Shit. The coughing isn’t because he panicked himself into not breathing right. The vision… The vision isn’t a hallucination, and it isn’t just a vision, because whatever Philza’s brain can do it can’t fucking fake smoke in his lungs.

Smoke that as far as Fit can tell /does not exist/.

“Not really,” he answers, shaky himself now but needing to reply to the ‘you know’. He has friends, yeah, but if they set his house on fire and tried to kill him by smoke inhalation they wouldn’t be soon. “Let’s get you out of here, and grab some water.”

And once Philza is away from the smoke, get him to Pac and hope the engineer has fucked around in the lab enough to know what to do, because this is far beyond Fit’s abilities to treat.

Philza doens’t reply; Fit closes the rest of the distance. He kneels down infront of his friend, touching his shoulder and trying to assess his condition - no burns on his face, at least. From what Fit remembers, burns on your face mean you’re extremely fucked.

The touch at least seems to break Philza’s trance a little; he reaches out and touches Fit’s shoulders too, using them to lever himself up. Having realised his friend is legitimately and physically hurt, Fit keeps his hands near.

Just in case.

“I’m sorry,” it seems hard for Philza to breathe, and harder still for him to talk. “I must look… I’m sorry.”

He’s back to himself a little, then, but it’s still awful words he says.

“You’re scared,” Fit says, and he’s terrified too - he’s just forcing his breaths steady, his heart calm, and accepting the fact he’ll have nightmares about this day for months. “It’s fucking scary, just thinking about the idea. Entities from elsewhere lasering shit into your brain? Making you think your house is on fire? No thanks.”

Philza laughs, and it’s blissfully familiar for a second.

Then the coughing starts again.

Philza borderline collapses, his body unable to take the force of the coughs. Fit grabs him, keeping him from the floor. He helps him bend a bit better and rubs at his back. That’s what you do to help someone stop coughing, right? Rub their back?

Fuck, he’s so out of his depth right now.

“Easy, easy,” he tries. “Let’s just get out of here. We can talk outside.”

Under Fit’s guidance, Philza manages to walk. It’s slow going, and Fit has at least half of his weight, but he manages. It’s not far to outside, at least; the bunker is big for a bunker, but it’s still no labyrinth.

And then Philze drops from his hold.

“Fuck!”

Fit doesn’t even know what happens. One moment they’re walking, the next Philza is on - in - the floor. He has no way to comprehend it, his entire mind fucking straining to compute seeing both the wooden floor and Philza /inside/ it at once.

And Philza is screaming in agony. Agony, agony, fuck Fit doesn’t think he’s ever heard him scream like that before.

He doesn’t - he doesn’t know what to do.

So he grabs Philza and yanks him up. The floor gives him up easily, and Fit scroops him into his arms.

There’s burns, there’s so many burns - every bit of Philza that was below the floorline - thank fuck not his chest or his head, the survalist managing to catch himself like so many times before - is burnt. His hands, his feet, lower arms, most of his legs…

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Fit tries to reassure.

He doesn’t worry about taking it slowly or about stopping the injuries getting knocked - what Philza needs is out, and away, and he knows Pac has shit for burns they’ve just got to get there.

But first, cold water. Chume Labs is huge, and Chayanne’s paddling pool is a quicker walk.

And every step of the way, Philza screams and sobs and chokes on his throat.

He keeps up the promises of it’ll be okay, trying desperately to soothe at least one of the three. He carries Philza outside. It’s not glamorous or comfortable, but they get there. They get there, they fucking get there.

Fit as good as dumps Philza in the paddling pool, making sure the burns are covered by water. There’s a shudder in the screams, and the sobs start winning; with one hand he rubs Philza’s back, still awkwardly promising his presence, while with the other he grabs his communicator.

/You whisper to pactw: Where are you?/

The reply isn’t immediate. He considers texting the injuries, but… maybe best to assess them first. Let Pac know exactly what they’re dealing with, and also make sure Philza is okay with the Brazilian’s help.

Speaking of… Philza has mostly stopped choking.

But he isn’t doing much of anything else.

“Phil?” he asks, keeping his voice low and simple. “Can you hear me, Phil?”

Philza moves up a little, like he’s straightening to answer. He opens his mouth and- and then leans sideways, over some of the nearby flowers.

Fit can only support his back and watch in terror as Philza vomits into the bushes, flecks of sticky black smoke clinging to that too.

He can feel his own hands shaking as he supports his friend, keeping him from getting vomit on his injuries or in the water, and trying to comfort him all the same. It’s horrible, it’s terrifying, but there’s not exactly much he can do.

Hopefully it’s just panic nausea. He hopes to Hausmaster it’s just panic nausea.

After only a little bit the vomit ends, Philza leaning back and being caught against Philza’s chest.

“... Fit?” his voice is even weaker than before.

“Right here, big boy,” Fit tries to keep his reply lighter than his horror. “You with me?”

There’s a shuddering breath, followed by a nod.

Philza could probably do with a potion, but the only one he has is in Fit’s pocket. He didn’t grab his bag or anything before heading over, and he’s regretting it now. But to access it…

“Okay, fuck,” he breathes, clearing his mind with the swearing. “If I let go for a second, can you keep yourself above water?”

There’s a hesitant nod - Fit slowly lets go as Philza adjusts, making sure he is steady before digging through his pockets. The potion is… Somewhere. It won’t fix everything, not for shit this bad, but it’ll help with the shock and any infection risk and take the edge off the pain. Maybe heal some of his throat on the way down, too.

He finds it, and puts it to Philza’s lips. It doesn’t take much effort to convince him to drink, pink liquid going easily down.

When he opens his eyes, Philza looks a little more present, and Fit sighs in relief.

“What happened?” his voice is still quiet and scratched, but more solid than when they first got to the pool.

“Fuck if I know,” and honestly, it’s true. Fit can guess and such, but half of the reason he believes in magic crap so easily is because it constantly happens and he has no idea how to parse it, so may as well just take it at face value. “The lava burns are real, though. There was nothing there, it was like watching… I don’t fucking know, you glitch into the floor? Then you screamed, and there’s lava burns.”

He watches Philza examine his burns. With a worried hand he stops him from taking them from the water, massaging his shoulder with a thumb he can only hope is comforting.

It’s comforting for Fit, at least.

“Can I message Pac about this?” he asks, because fuck he’s out of his depth, and Pac and Mike have dealt with enough lab accidents to know some weird medical areas.

Philza quirks something like an attempted smile, “assumed you’d already told him, mate.”

“Not about this,” Fit hasn’t, either; only asking where Pac is since he left. “But… Look, I can stop the burns killing you, but I can’t treat them properly, and I’m pretty sure your lungs are fucked.”

Confusion crawls across Philza’s face. Fit watches in concern as he raises a hand to his lips, it coming away with some of the discoloured, sticky mucus.

He sees the terror in Philza’s eyes as he glances up to meet them.

“Can we not scare the kids?”

Fit takes that as permission. He opens his comms, to find Pac has already replied.

/pactw whispers to you: at Chume Labs

pactw whispers to you: got Chayanne and Tallulah asleep in Mike’s room

pactw whispers to you: how’s Philza?

you whisper to pactw: not good. You got anything for lava burns and smoke inhalation?/

“Pac says they’re already asleep,” Fit promises, and keeps any wondering about how that happened to himself. “They’re going to notice, but we can just tell them in the morning.”

But at least by then the burns will be covered up and their dad might have his head back.

Philza nods, and Fit returns to his comms.

/pactw whispers to you: the fire was real?

you whisper to pactw: real enough to hurt him, not real enough for me to see

you whisper to pactw: it’s freaking me out, but i know what burns look like

you whisper to pactw: and vomiting up smoke ash/

He looks up from the comms to find Philza’s eyes closed. For a moment his heart stops; “don’t sleep just yet.”

Philza gestures at him in reply, and he isn’t sure what it is, but it’s a sign of life at least.

Something approximating fuck off, he’s sure. Fit turns back to his comms, but keeps a closer eye on his friend.

/pactw whispers to you: bring him here

pactw whispers to you: i’m not a doctor but we have some supplies

pactw whispers to you: will get it set up

pactw whispers to you: or would the order be better?

you whisper to pactw: will ask/

“Okay,” he looks at Philza more critically, assessing the damage for himself. “Pac’s got stuff at Chume Labs, and luckily for us that’s also where he took Chayanne and Tallulah. He can either meet us there, or at the Order.”

“Kids,” Philza immediately replies, and Fit is not the slightest bit surprised.

/you whisper to pactw: we’ll come to you/

“Right,” he glances over Pac’s confirmation, and shuts his communicator away. “Do you think you can manage your warpstone?”

Fit really, really hopes that Philza pulling it out means yes, because he’s not sure how to get him anywhere otherwise.

So he pulls out his own, and warps over there.

---

When he arrives Chume Labs, Philza is half-collapsed against the waystone, and dripping wet. Neither is unexpected; Fit scoops him back up, and carries him to the turtle. There’s worryingly little reaction, but his eyes are open and blinking normally, and he winces properly when he coughs.

Managing the turtle while carrying someone is a bit awkward, but Fit manages. Just like he usually does. As it makes its way across, Fit texts Pac to let them know they’re there. He expects a message back saying which floor to go to, but instead Pac meets them at the elevator.

“Fit?” he asks first, then. “Phil? Are you okay?”

Philza manages to mumble something which sounds mostly like a hello; the look Fit and Pac share is worried. Fit sits them both down while Pac sets the floor, and the mechanism crawls to life.

“Here, I bought splash potions,” Pac shows them first to Fit, before throwing them on Philza.

Fit gets splashed as well, the tingle running along his skin. Philza’s body relaxes somewhat, his breathing steadying a little.

“Thank you, Pac,” Fit says. “I didn’t have my bag.”

“Did you have anything?” Pac asks, hands trembling as he visually checks them both over.

“Gave him a basic potion just before I messaged you,” Fit replies. “Otherwise… Got him in cold water, but I didn’t know what else.”

Pac nods, shifting between his feet, “we need a real hospital.”

“We need a real doctor,” Fit points out.

Pac can do nothing but agree to that. He’s about to say something else, when the lift arrives.

There’s a bed with some equipment set up on one side, but Pac leads Fit and Philza over to a chair instead. It’s just like the ones Pac constantly leaves around, except red this time. A whole pile of equipment is beside it, and it faces an open door.

One which shows Chayanne, Tallulah, and Richas safely asleep in a little pile.

Fit places Philza on the chair, only able to stand and watch as Pac fits an oxygen mask to his face.

“He should really have,” Pac gestures a bit, frowning as he pulls the elastics properly. “I forget the word. But nobody knows how to do it, so…”

“That bad?” Fit asks.

“There’s not much to do. Makes it really scary,” Pac frowns, hands twitching a little as he pulls them away. “Can you help me? With the burns.”

“Of course. What do you need, Pac?”

Something useful to do is better than any other option. Fit is handed potions and ointments and dressings, and told the order to apply them in. While Pac works on Philza’s legs - the more extensive of the burns, with more of them deeper in what can only have been lava - Fit takes one of his arms.

He’s treated burns before, even extensive ones. Not usually with this many things, but he knows what he’s doing.

When the first of the potions is applied, Philza visibly flinches. His eyes, still wide, flicker between both of them, and then to the door - relaxing noticeably when he spies his sleeping children.

“Sorry it stings,” Pac smiles at Philza, and Fit can see how shaky it is.

“It’s fine, mate,” Philza’s voice is a bit drifty, but the surprise of the treatment seems to have drawn him back. All the way to full sentences, too. “Just means I still have feeling.”

… Fit might understand that sentiment, but he’s not exactly thrilled about it.

“Only you, Phil,” and his voice is more affectionate than he means it to be.

Philza turns and glares at him, and Fit swallows a laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

“You have said that before,” Pac points out, though it takes Fit a moment to realise it’s directed at him. “It /is/ true. Still hurts, though.”

Philza adjusts his position slightly, and Fit concludes that it must be the potions actually working that keeps him so present when he was spaced out so badly before. “Don’t worry, I’ve survived worse.”

Fit thinks of his friend knee-deep in lava, without the right protections, miles from home and alone in the Nether, living in a world where a single death means you’re gone forever.

He shudders, and hates it, and it really is not helping his fear.

“You know that’s not actually reassuring, right?” he tries to joke.

He needs to leave this ointment for a little bit. Fit shifts from working on the right arm to the left.

Philza shrugs in reply, but his throat catches. Pac is already bolting up to help and Fit reaching to support his back by the end of the stuttered breath. Philza manages to avoid the coughing fit, though, taking a few deep breaths of the oxygen and settling his lungs.

Once he has, he says whatever he meant to say. He keeps his voice quiet, and the hoarseness is still apparent, but at least Philza manages to avoid the breaking this time. “I do appreciate the help, guys, but I have fallen in lava and been fine before. Didn’t even have bandages then.”

That statement only serves to make the imagined scenarios worse. Fit tries to glare at his friend, only to soften when he sees just how exhausted the man looks.

He can’t win against his friends. He never has been able to.

“I get it,” Pac replies for him, deft fingers now bandaging Philza’s legs. “We didn’t either. But… It will heal better. Faster, cleaner, less infection risk.”

Fit nods along to Pac’s words, and uses the time to gather himself. Philza’s at least chatting, now; it’s easier to suppress the terror.

“Don’t you want us to care about you, Phil?” Fit reaches over with one hand, squeezing his shoulder like he always does when trying to give comfort. The idea of it actually hurts, now he’s vocalising it. “Are you saying you won’t let us worry? Don’t want us to care?”

They see Philza try to reply. This time, the stuttered breaths do turn into a coughing fit. He pulls the mask up to spit out the mucus, but holds it close, still trying to use that air. It doesn’t stop with one cough, or with two; Pac reaches up from his feet, resting Philza’s head against one shoulder as he loops arms around his back. Fit leans down, rubbing circles and hoping they help.

It keeps going and going, and Fit sees his own terror reflected in Pac’s eyes. He’s about to resort to screaming for Cucurucho when the coughs finally cease, Philza’s body weak and trembling from the exertion.

Gently they ease him back into the chair. Fit fixes the mask back into place, while Pac clearly frets about something in his mind.

Even Philza seems to notice that, his eyes shifting to watch Pac.

It breaks the seal.

“How, ah, bird are you?” Pac clearly doesn’t know if that’s a polite thing to ask, and, honestly, Fit has no idea either. He can only shrug in reply to the unspoken question. “I don’t know crows, but…”

Philza takes another moment or two, chest heaving but at a much slower pace than before, “not sure, sorry, I just live like this.”

The reason why Pac asks suddenly clicks - canaries in a coal mine, but all birds are more vulnerable to smoke than humans. Their respiratory systems just being weaker to it.

At least Fit can reassure that one.

“We’ve run through a fire together before,” he says, skimming over the terror of that event too in his mind. “If he took the smoke worse than me, it wasn’t enough to notice.”

Pac may as well collapse in a heap on the floor for all the relief in his eyes - he doesn’t, but it seems a close-born thing. “Still… you really need a hospital.”

It’s muttered, it’s quiet, it’s been said before, but it’s unfortunately very true.

Fit can see the laugh growing on Philza’s face, and also how he struggles to hold it in.

“Welcome to the island, Pac,” Philza manages to say instead. “You read an out of date medical textbook ten years ago, and it makes you about the best we’ve got.”

“It was a biochemistry book,” Pac corrects, and it either explains a lot or nothing at all. “And some websites. I’ve practiced on Mike, though. We both set many things on fire.”

Philza cannot escape an amused snort this time, but it clearly messes with him enough to fuck his breathing once again. Fit keeps an eye on it as he finishes treating his arms, and sees Pac doing the same with his legs.

They drop the topic to work, using each other as a support they might not even really have.

Once the bandages are all in place and Philza seems to be doing better… Well there’s a goat in the room, isn’t there? Because someone set Philza on fire, using lava Fit couldn’t even see.

“Phil…” he isn’t sure how to phrase it but it needs to be said. “I have some idea, but… what did you see?”

“Not a lot,” Philza answers willingly enough, though he twitches as he does. Fit places a hand over the back of his neck, and hopes it’s reassuring. “Kinda like the other two. The bunker was on fire, there was a trail to a book and some items and pictures. Used fire res, but I only had the one… Ran out about when you arrived.”

That gives them a timescale for just how long, at least - fire res offers some smoke protection, so… But then, perhaps he was breathing it in before he awoke or used the potion, too.

“And the book?” he asks, because it’s always the books that seem to scare his friend the most - it was the book Fit couldn’t see he was reading and rereading when he arrived, that probably stopped him leaving before the fire res ran out.

“What do you want me to say?” despite his weak voice, it’s clear Philza is frustrated by the whole thing. “It’s the Blaze Empress, but what does it matter?”

“Is she liable to kidnap you?” Fit asks first, because after the Ender King talk he /needs/ to know if this is another threat or not. “I know you were worried about…”

He glances at Pac, and realises he will actually have to explain that later. Now Pac’s been here and seen this and is kinda involved all over again.

“I don’t know, Fit,” Philza doesn’t seem as scared this time - still terrified, but more burnt out, more exhausted, more likely to give in than run. “In my dreams of her realm… lava is… people. And the quartress has a bee farm. In the /Nether/. It’s not… It can’t be… There’s no sense here.”

Fit and Pac share a look, and Pac agrees to take on the burden of speaking.

“You burnt from the lava,” he hesitantly offers. “I don’t think… you can hallucinate that?”

Yeah, no, Fit’s seen a lot of cases of mind over matter, and none of them result in that sort of happening.

They watch Philza struggle for a time. Pac starts putting the leftover bandages away, constantly glancing back to check on their shared friend. Philza’s lips move, and reassass, grimace and frown and just… don’t seem to know what to do.

The building distress is obvious, though.

Fit’s about to try soothe him again when Philza opens his mouth again. This time, it’s not just weak - they can hear genuine vulnerability, and the first hints of terrified sobs.

“If she’s real, the war is real. She… She can reshape reality, but the Ender King can steal it. /Has/ stolen it,” Philza stops for air, tears trying to streak down his face. “Entire swathes just… gone. In the blink of an eye. He did it to her… the quartress… hangs in a void… I- I can’t- They’re fighting over me now, Fit, they fought over the world and now they’re fighting over me and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s… There’s not going to be a world /left/, Fit, not if they fight again! If… If they come, if they take me… Don’t try to stop them, don’t come after me - /please/, Just…”

Philza glances at his children. The sobs break his speech, but it’s so obvious what he means.

“Oh Phil…” Pac whispers, barely audible.

“Of course,” Fit promises - at least to looking after Chayanne and Tallulah. He’ll never promise to never try rescue a friend, not if he sees the option.

The sobs continue, and there’s nothing either of them can really do.

“I-” Philza breaks through them to try to talk, turning desperate eyes on Fit. “I’m scared- I- don’t… I-”

Fit lets the air entirely out of his lungs, and leans over to hug his friend. It’s awkward and it’s difficult, but they manage all the same. He hopes its comforting - Philza presses hard against his chest - because it’s all he can do.

Pac scrambles up onto the arm of the chair, then hesitantly leans over. He presses his weight to Philza’s back, and wraps his arms around his front.

Together they hold him as he sobs, hoping it’ll be soothing enough to avoid another coughing fit.

It isn’t.

This one isn’t as bad as the last, but it’s still terrifying. Fit does his best to soothe in tongue clicks, while Pac rubs his back and begs him to breathe.

Sobs bubble harder into the coughs, eventually winning back over.

“You need to calm down,” Fit says - not because crying is terrible, but because it’s causing his friend to choke. “Please, Phil, you need to calm down.”

Philza doesn’t. He keeps crying and crying and crying, shaking and terrified and seeming so small where he’s trying to curl in the chair.

There’s no chance to ask him about it, either; the tears have to end eventually, but they only cease as he drifts off to sleep.

Fit gives him a moment, checking that, and turns to Pac.

“He cried himself out,” he whispers. “Do we need to wake him up?”

Pac hesitates, clearly trying to remember. Eventually he shakes his head, “put him on the bed. We just…keep an eye on him.”

“Alright. Can you get the oxygen?”

It’s easy enough to move him to the bed, far easier than carrying Philza to the pool in the first instance. Pac moves various bits of equipment around them, clearing the path and making sure the tube on the mask doesn’t tug, the last one being to pull down the sheets.

Philza is very definitely asleep by the time he’s laying on them. Pac sets up a little more stuff, pushing fluids into his veins and tracing his heartbeat just in case, but there’s only so much he knows how to do. Roier knows more - did more for Forever - but Roier is missing, and Pac’s knowledge is from scientific testing, not medical.

Once Pac is done fiddling, Fit tucks the blankets around his friend. He’s led to a pair of chairs positioned to watch both Philza and the children, and collapse into them.

“Well, fuck,” Fit says, because he really has no other words for the situation.

“Will he be okay?” Pac replies, glance flittering between Fit, Philza, and the sleeping children.

“You’re the closer to an expert than me.” Fit drapes an arm over his eyes, trying to hide from the very bright lighting.

“The burns were a lot, but didn’t have time to get very bad. His breathing is worrying but it’s, ah, improving. I want to do more, Fit, but I don’t know what to do,” Pac shuffles in his chair. “I am not trained for this. But… I meant… in his brain. Will he be okay in his brain?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it,” Fit frowns. “The shit he sees is definitely real, but it’s not the same real so he’s still going to be left doubting it all. And Philza does /not/ handle doubt.”

“The same real?” Fit peaks out under his arm, and sees confusion writ on Pac’s face.

“Yeah,” he frowns himself. “The lava? I couldn’t see it, even as it was burning him. Hell I was standing on the same floor he tried to walk on. It was a brainfuck - he fell through the floor into the lava, but it was still there.”

“Like BadBoy’s ghost blocks?”

“Not really,” Fit, still not sure what he saw, struggles to explain. “Or, kinda? But like the ghost block could also have lava inside it. The lava and the floorboards were in the same place, just you sink in lava.”

Pac pulls a long series of faces, clearly struggling with the concept. After a bit, he clicks, “more like… hiding cables for storage?”

“Maybe?” Fit doesn’t really know a lot about that. “Whatever it was, it was terrifying. And the beings contacting him? Being powerful enough to do /that/? He asked me not to intervene if he gets kidnapped, but I don’t even know if I could!”

Pac scoots a little closer, leaning over the arm of the chair to rest on Fit’s shoulder. Fit reaches up, entangling a hand into his hair. “You’d try.”

“Damn right I would,” because of course Fit would. They might all be as good as powerless here, their actions having even less meaning than in the Wasteland, but he’s still going to /try. Good friends are hard to come by, and he’s not going to let some extra-dimensional fuckery steal one of his away.

Not if he has a choice, anyway.

“It’s just…” Fuck, Fit has to tell Pac, doesn’t he? “Does the name the Ender King mean anything to you?”

Fit watches Pac think very hard about the question, focus and concentration mixing into one. After a few minutes he looks back at Fit, “like… Enderman? But a king?”

“I guess?” Fit shrugs a bit. “Phil did say he’d have no idea if he were here - there’s no marks of him, but he mostly exists in another realm.”

“No, then,” Pac shakes his head a little. “Just… that. Phil said something?”

“Yeah, few weeks back,” Fit pulls a face. “With the egg shoes? It was when he called me off that day.”

Pac nods, “the shoes were cute.”

“They were,” Fit smiles a bit at the happier memory. “But Phil… Chayanne and Tallulah were with him, and I swear its only that that stopped him having a panic attack. He’d had that other message - the one you were there for? That scared him, but the second one /terrified/ him. Was promising Chayanne and Tallulah he’d always get back to him, to behave if he was kidnapped, laugh-sobbing when Chayanne promised to kill whatever scared him, the works.”

“And it was the Ender King? He mentioned it today, too.”

“Yeah…” Fit trails off, unsure what else to say.

There’s quiet for a moment, before Pac speaks up again, “how did Phil, er, how does Phil know them?”

Fit takes a deep breath, trying both to remember and work it out. “He /says/ it’s from his dreams. He dreams of living in another world, really consistently, really vividly, and these… entities are its rulers. He doesn’t remember all of them, though, it’s still just a dream.“

“Memories, maybe?” Pac asks. “Does he have amnesia too?”

“Maybe?” Fit frowns. “He remembers shit with me well enough, but I don’t remember enough about the rest to compare. Could be the Feds just stole part of them.”

“Which means we all might have all-powerful supervillians after us,” Pac’s eyes are a bit wide.

“And who would even be after you?” Fit laughs, already knowing who is after him.

“I am an international criminal wanted in five countries,” Pac mocks some offence. “Entire governments want me dead!”

They can both only hold it for a moment before descending into giggles. It takes a few moments to recover, their foreheads pressed together.

“The Blaze Empress sounds… fiery,” Pac muses, once he has recovered. “And Endermen hate water. Maybe he should make an underwater safe zone? Just in case.”

“We can suggest it once he’s feeling better,” Fit promises. “Knowing Phil, he’s already got one hidden away somewhere, he just hasn’t thought of it.”

Pac might be the least paranoid of the three of them, but that really is not saying much. Fit can already see the calculations running, and so gently pokes his nose. There’s a jolt of surprise, and a soft smile. “Fit?”

“Thanks for your help,” Fit says, trying his best to be genuine. “Sorry about the night… We can talk more in the morning, and rearrange to another time?”

“Philza is important,” Pac shrugs. “We can adjust.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’ve done the same for Mike,” Pac’s voice is a bit soft.

There’s not much Fit can say to that. Instead he just moves on.

“Do you want to sleep first, or shall I?”

Pac glances at Philza, then the time, “you sleep first? There’s more likely to be problems earlier.”

“Alright,” Fit doesn’t want to leave either of them, but they all need sleep. “Wake me in a few hours, okay?”

Pac nods, and shoos him off.

There’s too much to talk about in the morning - Fit already knows they never will finish the conversation, not even if Philza is stolen from their watch and tormented by gods from another realm.

It’s fine, though, it’ll be fine.

He lays awake, failing to think of a solution, listening to Pac watch low-volume Brazilian romance films until his own dreams steal him away.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp fit #qsmp pac #qsmp philza #hurt/comfort #nobody is having a good time here #I hate the ending but it'll serve #it was the only way I could make them stop talking #and I really needed them to it was getting ungodly long #fun fact - this is my current longest qsmp piece #and it was supposed to just be an alt PoV on the much shorter Philza PoV of the same stuff #prompt: hallucinations

78 notes · View notes