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undressrehearsal · 3 months

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dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?”

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes.

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?”

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed.

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.”

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.”

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.”

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?”

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips.

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?”

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?”

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?”

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.”

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?”

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.”

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in.

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress.

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?”

You grinned. “$200.”

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.”

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.”

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips.

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling.

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.”

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.”

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor.

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?”

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!”

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.”

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone.

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning.

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.”

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you.

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”)

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?”

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-”

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!”

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-”

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?”

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?”

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.”

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?”

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.”

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing.

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints.

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.”

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light.

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies.

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar.

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own.

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?”

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands-

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?”

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited.

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse.

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk.

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat.

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?”

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.”

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic.

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.”

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else.

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.”

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.”

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart.

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there.

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.”

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.”

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover.

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer.

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face.

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth.

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp.

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest.

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving?

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.”

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body.

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue.

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.”

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone.

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.”

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin.

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips.

“What?”

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no.

“Truth,” you sighed.

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?”

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy.

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing.

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs.

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?”

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips.

And you decided to play her game.

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes.

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.”

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.”

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment?

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue.

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach.

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.”

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.”

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple.

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones.

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease.

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.”

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan.

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye.

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.”

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission.

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence?

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them.

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been.

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs.

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place.

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….”

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job.

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-”

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted.

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-”

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs.

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity.

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple.

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?”

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?”

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?”

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.”

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin.

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again.

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you.

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.”

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?”

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.”

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you.

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.”

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.”

#listen i'm writing a novel rn so i forgot how to write short things #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian smut #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #idk man #tlou 2 x reader #i might change the title idk i couldn't think of anything #i haven't written fanfiction in. like 8 or 9 years i think lol

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hwaightme · 4 months

Text

With you

(masterlist) (taglist)

🫂 pairing: bf!seonghwa x gn!reader 🫂 genre: comfort, healing from hurt, established long-term relationship, fluff 🫂 summary: even when it feels like the world is crashing down, seonghwa was, is and will be with you. 🫂 wordcount: 2.3k total 🫂 warnings/tags: not edited, implied work challenges, clutter, focus, negative self-perception, crying, negative self-talk, catastrophising, physical/mental health, hugs, sharing struggles, unconditional love, supporting loved ones in darkness, feeling overwhelmed, love does not have a limit or price 🫂 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🫂 a/n: this one was in the drafts, and now completed in a flurry, perhaps having waited for its time. hope you find comfort in this, and have love and your safe space. any notes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated. much love.

Sometimes, people said it was “not their day” - much like a sudden downpour. Sometimes, they could even say that it was “not their week” - much like a rainy season. For you, well, for you it was starting to turn into “not your life” - a perpetual cacophony of droplets pelting down and taking you with them. Perhaps when you were a child you did not pay much attention to your habits and your natural pitfalls, but as you entered adulthood and launched yourself headfirst into the corporate workforce to play the role of a diligent office worker earning your share and volunteered to take more and more responsibilities in every aspect of life outside of nine to five, cursed quirks were becoming harder and harder to ignore, or rather, to hide.

And this was exactly why you had found yourself in the darkness of your room, wanting to be abandoned by the world, staring at the ceiling and only seeing your mistakes and what had to be overreactions that were accumulating into a colossus faster than a snowball rolling down a hill. Nothing was right, and every single time, you were the one to blame. You couldn’t even change out of your work clothes into what, in your happier times, you called your favourite pyjamas - maybe it was because you were afraid to ruin them too. A rational thought? No. But it somehow ended up making more sense than the bingo card of emotional rollercoaster-inducing nightmares that kept on being filled out.

You did not want to count the minutes, possibly hours that you spent suspended in your own dread and misery. The time must have been considerable, since you could hear the turning of a key, and the slow opening of the front door to welcome none other than the subject of one of your present flavours of despair. Anticipating disaster, you curled up into a ball on the cold, now messy bed, and tried your best to force any tears away. Sleeves rubbing at wet cheeks and eyes, you did not want your boyfriend to see you like this. Weak, helpless, broken. Worn down into nothing more than the clumsy disappointment with medical bills and chaotic thought processes you actually have been all along. What a tragic ‘big reveal’. Absorbing everything around you and spilling out everything brewing within - you should have trusted those who had told you that you would make anyone and everyone run away. Who would want someone who couldn’t sort out their own messes before making another? Who would be able to stand someone who could barely last a day before ruining a piece of clothing, losing or breaking something, and on the better days almost guaranteeing a stain in the oddest place or some kind of trail of a sloppy existence? How could anyone rely on you when you could not even sort out your own noise?

With a trembling lip, you watched scenarios flash before your sore eyes of how Seonghwa would undoubtedly hate you. And when you heard a sigh travel from the corridor and crash against your eardrums, you knew that at the end of the day, all those people who had been saying the same thing over, and over, and over again to you were right. Until knuckles were starting to turn white you clutched at the material of the throw that had been lying on top of the sheets - without a doubt a protective measure, and here you were, ruining things. Never in anyone’s plans, you were an elephant in a porcelain shop. An elephant who should be put far, far away from anything human. An insensitive crybaby who both physically and mentally represented discord. You couldn’t even-

“Y/N, how many times did I tell you to not leave your shoes at the-”

Here. It. Was. The end. It had to be. It had to be the grand finale to what sliver of happiness you had left in your life. The little bit of festive cheer was already starting to evaporate, you could sense it. Soon, he would utter the words you had imagined many times. Soon, you would be alone and lonely. Soon, you would be where you were supposed to be according to what others established you deserved. You couldn’t breathe, with your back turned to the door, you could only sense your boyfriend’s presence, and catch the hint of a shadow falling over your frail, exhausted form.

“-Y/N?”

You did not dare answer, no matter how sweet, or how supposedly concerned Seonghwa sounded. He could be coaxing you out of your cave to scold you, or better yet, recite all the words you despised, but had grown used to hearing. The only thing on your mind was the thousand things you managed to ‘achieve’ today. One of them included those shoes.

“Hey… talk to me,” voice more gentle, barely above a whisper, floats across the room and practically caresses your head. You couldn’t move. He would be disappointed even more if you were to do anything. You should pretend you were just a pile of laundry, maybe then it would all stop and you wouldn’t be out here losing buttons, breaking baubles and scratching up perfectly good heels.

You sensed a dip on the bed. A warm presence. Your boyfriend scooted closer to you until you could feel him leaning over towards you, his chest hovering just above your side. The most impossible feat in the world was to hide yourself from him, but you could not help but try with all your might. A shiver jolted over your body despite you still being in a woollen sweater, resulting in a familiar, loving hand finding purchase on your upper arm. The thumb traced abstract shapes in a soothing motion, and soon enough, you were being turned a little ways backwards. Face to face with fear, you felt the tears that had stalled in a panic threatening to spill over once again.

“Have you… have you been crying?” despite being in the semi-darkness, the glistening trails on your cheeks must have given you away. One peck, another delivered by Seonghwa’s plush lips while a soft hand positioned itself on the side of your face, preventing you from hiding yourself, “...oh baby please, tell me, what happened?”

Your eyes bore into his, not dissimilar to a deer caught in the headlights, as though you had been spotted committing a crime. While you had been in a relationship with a man who you swore was an angel for a considerable amount of time, so substantial in fact that you had a shared lease under both of your names like proper adults sometimes decided to do, there was one thing that you could not bear to do - burden him with your troubles. You could not allow yourself to complain, instead choosing to bottle up all the miniature disasters into one catastrophic potion, waiting until it bubbles over and only then crawling towards salvation in the form of a long shower where no one could hear you cry. It had to be you who was wrong, anyways. It was always you. Even in things that were meant to be outside of your control, you felt guilty, repeating this to yourself until illusion became fact.

It was always you who had forgotten to take something out to defrost or had not checked the mail again. Always you who had not put some abstract item away, or you did but not in the right place. Always you who had not found the energy or the time to clean something or to water the plants. It was you and your family and your friends who had to untie Gordian knots, and you were the weakling who cried, and cried and cried while others seemed to be able to stand tall and face any challenge. In the inevitable times of a storm, be it your own or another’s you were the thin and hollow piece of straw that was bent in the wind and all the previous beauty crumbled to join the rotting ground. Your inner voice was loud and hurtful, blockading you from believing in anything else except the fact that you could not handle a simple twenty four hours. A tiny piece of news, a tiny little change be it in schedule or tone, a little hurdle all had the capability to ruin you and make you fall, leading you to how you were now. Did you try to manage? Of course you did, always. Was it enough? Never.

“Hug?” There it was. An offer that could never be refused. Perhaps this was the last ever time you would be allowed to come so close to the love of your life. Heart to heart, the delightful, comforting scent of vanilla being the only thing on the senses.

With a quick gesture, Seonghwa encouraged you to roll over completely, and lift yourself so he could wrap his arms around you, as though sheltering you from a storm. His chin nestled into the crook of your neck, and he tightened his embrace until you had no choice but to give into the comfort. Tired body and mind, unwinding at his touch, falling apart only to be rebuilt again, better, brighter, warmer. The long-awaited spring. Legs folded, you wriggled to close whatever space was left between your bodies, grabbing a fistful of his black turtleneck sweater as though to confirm that this wonderful man was real. Indeed, he was. More than real. As real as the kiss he planted on your cheek. As real as the reassurance that poured from his soul without any words uttered. Well, none except:

“Let’s walk through it, okay?”

Your head - fuzzy from the overflowing tears and emotional haze. Your eyes, puffed up and reddened. And even then, Seonghwa was looking at you as though you were the one to hang the moon and the stars. How could you dare disappoint him and bring him down by being such a disaster? You could feel another burst of terror and despair welling up and threatening to spill over, and it appeared that your boyfriend did too, for the speed with which he pressed you impossibly close to himself was beyond your comprehension. It was as if he was trying to squeeze every bit of pain out of you, sorry that you had to feel what you were feeling, sorry that he could not take it away.

“I’m with you, Y/N. I’m always with you…” soft whispers - sharp swords on your dark consciousness, slashing at the demons that had been rearing their ugly heads again and again for however long. You had stopped counting after a couple weeks, pretending that they could be kept under control. Again, how wrong you were.

He was neat. Seonghwa was borderline pedantic at times, but you were convinced that that was the exact reason why the walls of your home had not come down yet. But, if it meant that you would be calmer, and you could see more sunshine in your inner world, he would let you cry into every single sweater, every single shirt, and would never dare let you go. If there was one thing he was infuriated by, was by whatever or whoever had ingrained in you that hiding was the same as powering through.

“I’m done, Seonghwa… I’m so tired…” you sobbed into the warmth of his chest, allowing for everything you had been holding back to flow through and out of you.

“We’re together, so we will make it through. Through everything. Whatever happens, happens so that the future can happen. We will power through it,” he repeated the words like a mantra, aware of the turmoil that he had to combat to get to you, but was going to never give up trying.

“I feel… so small…”

“We can do it,” he cut you off, planting another velvety peck on your head before rocking gently side to side, running a hand over and over again down your back.

“So… so small…” the words disappeared, swallowed by an indescribable void that came with the onset of fatigue.

“I love you so much, Y/N. You hear me?” How could he? This was a question you would never be able to answer, but you thanked every part of the universe for giving such a blessing to you.

“I- I love you so… so much too…”

“So you and I, right now, we will lie right here, breathe, and then put all of the little pieces in order okay?”

“O-okay.”

“We share everything. Mhm?”

“Everything…”

A silence. Pangs of fatigue and worry about everything under the sun were not yet abating, but were becoming easier to manage as you focused on Seonghwa’s steady breathing, and the rhythmic thrum of his golden heart. You pulled away, admiring every part of him, not wanting to focus on anything else. You drifted into a trance, sinking deeper and deeper into his adoring gaze, unbroken. His hands found yours, thumbs tracing your skin in that same lulling way. You watched his lips as they let another miracle wash over you:

“I am so happy that I am with you.”“Even-”

“Especially. We. Yeah? We. And because we are ‘we’, we will make it through everything.”

The words echoed in your mind as you gave the love of your life a tiny smile. Your person. The one who was always on your team, even when you tried to delude yourself into thinking the opposite. He was here. With you. Through all the downs, through all the ups. When you know what is happening and when you need a little more time to figure things out. You and Seonghwa are here and will be here. Together.

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clockwayswrites · 7 months

Text

A Broken Sort of Normal, Part 14

WC: 2416, Masterpost CW: Panic attack

Endless, convoluted Uno games aside (really, who added tarot cards to Uno?), getting to know Wally’s friends was good. Danny liked them and hanging out with them was easier than he thought it would be, but he felt a little bad every time. Whenever he was there they had to keep masks on and that had to suck. They started dressing down, like Wally did, but it was always masks on for the heroes that wore them. They insisted it wasn’t an issue, but Danny made sure to sometimes have obligations that came up at the same time. He wanted to give them the chance to hang out together as themselves, without the hero suits.

Danny knew how important that was.

After several months and a bit of stumbling, it all found a rhythm. Danny had date nights and nights with the Titans. He also had nights out with coworkers or at the game store. That wasn’t to say it was all easy. Setting up the Justice League Response Team was hard, sometimes impossible seeming, work. There were arguments and issues and more red tape than Danny thought possible. His real job was also exhausting at times. Being a field medic meant dealing with injured and dead which never got easier, though he was grateful to have Wally to go to on the worst days. And then, of course, there was the lightning incident.

It really wasn’t his best moment, in his opinion.

Wally was so excited.

“Come on, come on!” he said as he dragged Danny by the hand. He had been lying in ambush to snag Danny right outside of the door of meeting room B3, otherwise known as the Response Team Lair. (They had been encouraged, repeatedly, to stop calling it a lair. Apparently that a bit too villainous for the comfort of some heroes.)

“What’s the hurry?” Danny asked, purposefully dragging his feet a little just to watch Wally bounce up and down impatiently.

“I’ve been working on a new power! I’ve really gotten it down and I want to show you. So come,” Wally pulled at Danny’s arm, “on already!”

Danny laughed and stopped fighting Wally, who almost stumbled with their sudden movement forward.

“Are we going to a training room then?” Danny asked. While over the months, the main response team planners had gained a lot of freedom throughout the Watchtower, there were still a number of areas they either weren’t allowed or weren’t supposed to go without supervision and the training rooms was one of those. Danny had been a few times with the Titans, but usually it was just to grab someone for a game or a night at Wally’s place.

“Yep! No one is stupid enough to risk the Big Bat’s wrath practicing powers like that outside the training room and this is a new power. I’m going to keep you in the observation room and everything just to be safe.”

“My hero,” Danny said with feeling.

“Always,” Wally replied with a grin. “And speaking of heroes, N is going to be there running the sim for me. Are you up to a meal after? Just something casual at my place with the usual peep?”

Danny thought about that honesty. He knew that Wally was asking because he actually wanted to know if Danny could handle being that social tonight. It was still hard sometimes. “Yeah, it would be good to see them. It’s been a few weeks with how busy things have been.”

“More like several.”

“Several?” Danny asked. He felt chastised even though he knew that’s not what Wally was trying to do. “Well, then definitely yes. I hadn’t realized it had been so long.”

“It’s okay, they all understand. You’re really in the thick of it trying to get the last things done for the response team. We all get being busy.”

“Yeah,” Danny said and let out a huff of air. “I guess you would. But a nice night with friends sounds good. Just please tell me there have been no more rules added to Uno.”

“I can make no such promises,” Wally said with a grin as they stepped through a door. “Nightwing! I have your observer for you.”

“No, not the Danny Fenton? I must be seeing things! Flash, take me to medical, have me tested,” Nightwing said, swooning into Wally’s arms.

“Yeah yeah, I get it, it’s been a little long since we saw each other,” Danny groused, but he couldn’t help the smile at the dramatics.

“It has,” Nightwing said from where he was still draped in Wally’s arms. That really couldn’t be comfortable, but Nightwing looked just as at ease as if he was standing normally. “But are we on for dinner tonight?”

“We are.”

“Yes!” Nightwing said, springing up. “Okay speedy, let’s get this show on the road! I’ll message the others while you warm up. Just signal to me when you’re ready.”

“Sure!” Wally chirped. He pecked Danny on the cheek before he sped off.

In a, well, flash, Wally was on the other side of the thick, blast proof window and stretching.

Danny shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I haven’t ignored him too badly, right? I’ve just been so caught up in finalizing everything. Not that that’s an excuse. I can, like, set alarms for myself. My days have been all thrown off not going to my actual job this last bit…”

“Hey, Danny, no,” Nightwing said. “Would he like to have seen you a little more? Probably, but it’s not like he hasn’t and you two text plenty. He gets that you’re busy, we all do. He’s been good, really.”

“Okay, good,” Danny said, making sure to smile for Nightwing. “I just… don’t want to do wrong by him, you know?”

“Why do you think we all like you so much?” Nightwing teased and bumped their shoulders together. “You’ve been good for him.”

“He’s been better for me, believe me.”

“Luckily not a competition,” Nightwing said. “You really good for a dinner with the group tonight? If you need some time alone with Flash, I can’t say the others are busy and make up an emergency.”

Danny shook his head. “No, dinner with everyone, well, everyone who can make it really does sound nice. They’re making us take the weekend off anyways, so I can just stay over and spend tomorrow with him too..”

“He’d like that I’m sure,” Nightwing agreed. He pulled out his phone typed for a bit until Wally’s voice came through the intercom.

“All good here!”

“You still want the Sigma B pattern?”

“Yeah! That let’s me build up best.”

Nightwing nodded and pulled some things up on the computer before counting down for the training to start. It was fun to be able to sit back and actually watch Wally in action for once instead of having to work. The other really was something.

“The regular training bots have to be taken out in certain ways. Flash is going for pressing one of the buttons,” Nightwing explained. “Training for precise hits helps us heroes who use hand to hand not use too much force on regular people.”

“And keeps the repair budget down?”

Nightwing laughed. “That too. Okay, so he should be getting close now, watch the sphere on the wall there.”

“Close to wha—” Danny swallowed the last part of his question as his mind blanked.

His head banged against something metal and cool. A locker. He was in the locker room. When had he gotten into the locker room?

Someone reached for him and Danny jerked back again, pressing into the little gap between the metal locker and the wall that he had squeezed into. Wally, Wally was paused, hand outstretched. Wally was, Wally had— Danny squeezed his tightly closed so not to see the look of hurt on Wally’s face. It was just that… he swore he could feel still feel the electricity buzzing along Wally’s fingertips.

Wally had shot lightning out of his hands.

“Just… I don’t… don’t touch me right now, please?” Danny whispered.

“Okay, I yeah, okay babe,” Wally said. He sounded heartbroken.

There was some shuffling, footsteps heading away, and the whoosh of the door.

Danny bit his lip to choke back the noise wanting to pull its way out of his throat, but that only served to make his breath catch and stutter in his chest.

“Hey, Danny,” a new voice said later; an hour, a minute? Danny didn’t know. It took Danny another moment to place it as Nightwing. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to touch you. I’m just worried about your breathing there. If I count, can you follow along with me?”

Danny didn’t have it in him to nod, but did what he could to follow along. The logical, trained part of his mind knew that even if he didn’t feel like he could breathe, he had to try for even breaths. It would get easier, nothing was actually wrong with his lungs.

“There you go. Do you think you can open your eyes now?”

Spots bloomed across his vision from how tightly he had been squeezing his eyes shut. Danny blinked them away.

“You’re doing so good. Can you talk?”

“Sorry,” Danny rasped.

“Hey, no apologizing. I want you to just keep breathing. I know you’re with me now.”

Danny managed a nod, let his eyes close again as he focused on breathing. When he was feeling a bit more stable, he moved out of where he had tucked himself away.

Nightwing smiled at him. “How about we get you out of here?”

Danny gave a hysterical little laugh. “What, no breakdowns in the Justice League locker room?”

“Oh, no, we’ve all had breakdowns in the locker rooms,” Nightwing said. He got an arm behind Danny and pulled him up. “But that’s how I know it’s not that comfortable. Are you up to Zetaing?”

“As long as you don’t expect me to think,” Danny said as he leaned, helplessly and heavily, into Nigthwing’s support. “Fuck I hate panic attacks.”

Nightwing easily took the weight and started them moving. “The adrenaline crash after them is really something, huh?”

“Yeah, hate it,” Danny agreed. He was aware of them moving through the halls of the Watchtower, but everything was still a bit of a blur.

They stopped near the Zeta tubes where Nightwing grabbed a little bundle. Danny frowned at the earplugs he was handed.

“Your senses are going to be off and the noise of the city might trigger you again. Put these on,” Nightwing said, settling sunglasses on Danny’s nose, “and the earplugs in.”

Danny gave a little nod and did as he was told. Then he obediently tucked into the hoodie he’d been handed. He tucked his nose into it. It smelled like Wally. Nightwing tugged the hood up and moved them to the portal. It wasn’t until they were piling into a taxi that Danny realized that Nightwing put clothing over his suit too. Danny glanced away from Nightwing’s face, now clad only in dark sunglasses.

“Wally’s place?” Danny asked, finally realizing where they were when Nightwing opened the door to the apartment.

He shrugged. “I don’t know where you live and I figured you’d be comfortable here. At least I assume the freak out wasn’t about about Wally as a whole person?”

“A— gods no,” Danny said. He set the sunglasses on Wally’s little side table inside the door. The earplugs got stuffed in a pocket before he rubbed at his face as he made his way to the couch. He felt more terrible every passing moment. “How upset is Wally?”

“He’s not upset at you.”

“Yeah, but…”

The couch dipped on the other side. “Pretty upset. He hates that he hurt you.”

“He didn’t hurt me. I just,” Danny dropped his hands with a sigh and was left blinking at an unmasked Nightwing.

“Hi, Dick Grayson.”

“Oh great, now I know more heroes’ secret IDs. Is Batman going to come and boomerang me for this?”

“Baterang.”

“Baterang, really?”

“I was nine,” Dick said with a little shrug.

Danny snorted. “Don’t pretend you still don’t think it’s a great name, Dick.”

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or calling me my name.”

“Can’t it be both?”

Dick chuckled and finally sunk back into the couch. “Good to see this hasn’t slowed down your sass any.”

“I’m told it’s one of my best features,” Danny said with a laugh. The sound was still slightly unhinged sounding, he knew, but he was settling down at least. “Thanks for, you know.”

“It’s no biggie, really. We’ve all had them. Is having Wally close going to set you off again or…?”

“No, I don’t think so? I should be good?” He hoped he would be at least.

Nightwing, Dick, eyed him for a moment before texting something on his phone. A second later Wally was standing in front of the couch.

“You’re not supposed to use your powers out of uniform,” Danny reprimanded on instinct.

“Yeah, fuck that. Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about the lightning freaking you out because of your accident. That’s what it was, right? Babe—” Wally reached out for him and then pulled himself back.

Danny smiled, sadly, and held open his arms. Wally basically tackled him in a hug.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Danny said, tucking himself against Wally. “I mentioned what the accident was, what, once? Months and months ago? Of course you didn’t think about it.”

“I should have.”

“You can’t remember everything, Wally.”

“I can if it’s about you.”

A flash of a camera went off. Dick lowered his phone unrepentantly. “You two are such saps. Should I call off the others, order you some food, and get out of your hair?”

Danny knew they would, they would all change their plans if they thought that’s what he needed right then. But… “No. No, I think… I think people would be good right now. Better than quiet and getting in my own head, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dick said with far too much familiarity.

Danny felt his phone buzzing with the group chat messages Dick was sending. A little smile tugged at his lips, despite everything. He tucked his face into the crook of Wally’s neck.

“You going to be okay?” Wally asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Of course I will. I have you, hero.”

---

AN: He has Wally, everything will be okay, right? 🥺

I know I know, every identity reveal comes after a panic attack. That's just Danny's sort of luck in this fic! But hey, he's got some good friends out of it!

Hope you enjoyed it and stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #abson #quick death #danny fenton/wally west

660 notes · View notes

lesservillain · 4 months

Text

— i. did you get what you deserve?

summary: the beginning.

cw: season 4 canon divergent, grumpy eddie, medical talks

an: this is a wayne heavy chapter, but i doubt anyone will complain.

Ringing. A very loud ringing. That’s all Eddie can hear.

Something’s pushing on his chest.

The ringing gets louder, until it peaks and starts to fade. Muffled voices all around him, and he can feel his body shifting.

Then it shifts a lot. Ouch, that hurts.

Everything is dark. Or maybe his eyes are closed?

His eyes flutter a bit, but everything is blurry.

There’s some yelling, but it’s too garbled in his ears to make out what’s being said.

It was dark one moment, then suddenly very bright. Like a flash directly in his eye. And then again.

Everything hurts, he notices suddenly. But only because he feels it all slipping away. His body starts to float, suspended in black with a light just above him. Instinctively he swims towards it. It feels like warm sun rays on his cold, cold body.

When he hits the surface, everything starts to hurt again. His eyes open to a dimly lit room. Every part of his body feels heavy. Even moving his head is a challenge. There’s something next to him though, a presence that he can see out of his peripherals. He tries to call out, but there’s something in his mouth, his throat, obstructing his ability to talk. With all he can muster, he lets out a groan through his nose. Whatever is next to him shifts, moving quickly with a screech.

“Ed? Ed, you awake son?!”

“I can help who’s next!”

Feet shuffling beneath you, you clutch your handbag close as you move through the bodies of your classmates. A handsome man about your age with a million dollar smile sits on the other side of the table. He looks at you expectantly as you take the hint, fumbling in your bag for your student ID.

“Sorry,” you mumble as he gives the card once over. He says your name and laughs when you respond with a yes?

“Thank you for coming,” he beams, “We’re happy to see so many people volunteering to help out.” He clicks his pen and copies your name down on a paper. You look him over as he does this. Thick, dark hair styled perfectly, with long lashes to match. His name is Sam, per the Hello my name is sticker on his shirt. He’s cute, you think.

“Yeah,” your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth so it comes out weird. After licking your lips, you continue. “Our teacher told us we could get extra credit. I guess everyone could use it after our last test.”

Nursing school is hard. Even harder when you don’t know anyone in your class. A lot of the girls all went to the surrounding high schools and knew at least one other person in one of their classes. But that wasn’t the case for you.

“I’ve heard some of those classes you all take are no joke,” he laughs, flipping through a stack of papers next to him.”

“I certainly wasn’t laughing.”

He stops his flipping, looking up at you through those thick lashes, his eyes creased at the corners from his smile.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

The question catches you off guard. Was it that obvious?”

“N-no, I’m from up north.” You gesture upward, pointing above you.

“Like Canada?”

Now you’re smiling, “Try Anderson.”

“Oh, jeez,” he shakes his head, “That’s hardly north.”

“More north than here.”

“You got me there.”

He pulls a small stack from his pile, sliding it across the table until it’s in front of you. You look down at it, immediately noticing that a large portion of the top page is blacked out by sharpie. Flipping it over, you see that the second page is pretty much the same, barely any information to be gathered at all from this “info” sheet.

“You look confused,” Sam says in a sarcastic tone.

“Um, just a little,” you sass him back, looking at him with a silent plea for answers.

“Okay, so, this guy here,” he points to the top of the page, finger just above the name Eddie Munson. “He’s not a very…popular guy around this area. I’ve been trying to get someone to take him as their case all morning and everyone’s turned him down.”

Your head tilts, eyes skimming over the paper as he talks. Under his name is an address in Hawkins, but most everything else is blacked out, even his age.

Still, even with the lack of knowledge you’ve hardly ever been one to turn someone down.

“Okay,” you say with a nod.

“Okay?” Sam parrots back, shifting forward excitedly in his seat.

“Yes, I’ll take him.”

“That’s great!”

He grabs his pen and writes your name next to Mr.Munson’s on the paper, before sliding it into a white folder.

Sam pauses for a moment, a hand running through his hair as he looks around. “Hold on,” he says as he stands up, “let me find my lead and I’ll try and get you some more information on him.” He looks into your eyes, then up and down at you. Was he checking you out? Ugh, why did you have to be in your uniform right now?

You stand awkwardly as he leaves, taking the time to flatten the wrinkles in your dress and adjust your flossie. This school was one the only schools who hadn’t gotten with the times, still mandating the Nightingale uniform over scrubs for any female students.

“Okay, so,” Sam tucks some papers into a red folder, “I wasn’t able to get anything too specific to tell you. I guess there’s a lot of hush hush going on with him right now. But, my lead did tell me I could give you this care packet. It’s all stuff you should know how to do, but it’ll give you a hint on what kind of care he’s going to need.”

You take the folder from him, opening it up to peak inside, only for him to place another paper with a card attached on top.

“That paper is for the organization itself. You just have to have the patient or guardian sign when you go over there as proof to get your credit. Oh and,” he points to the card,” that’s my information. Feel free to call me if you, uh, have any questions.”

Suddenly, someone bumps into you. You close the folder quickly and turn around with wide eyes.

“Sorry, sorry,” your classmate, Rhonda, apologizes with a wave of her hands as she keeps walking down the table. You breathe in, giving her a nod of acknowledgment before looking at Sam again.

“Okay, um, thank you for everything,” you say, backing up from the table and making your exit. He calls out to you, but your ears are already starting to ring before you can even get to the double doors.

Your feet carry you out of the building and into the hot August air. Sweat immediately beads at your hairline under the unforgiving sun, a most brutal summer that feels like it’s never going to end.

You make a beeline for the parking lot, fumbling with your keys as you unlock your car and immediately begin rolling your windows down to try and let the non-existent breeze cool down your interior. Reaching inside you grab your pack of smokes and lighter from your middle console, lighting one up and feeling immediate relief as the smoke fills your lungs.

The drive to your friend's house is quiet other than the low tune of the radio playing. Tonya’s car isn’t in the driveway, and you say a silent thanks under your breath to have some time alone. You love Tonya, she’s been with you through everything, but you need some time to mentally decompress before dealing with her big personality.

After a quick shower and a bit of rummaging through the fridge for something quick to eat, you sit at the dining room table and start going through the red folder Sam gave to you. The top paper with the signature spots had a section on the top that you hadn’t noticed before where some information had been filled out.

“The patient would like to be seen at…” You see a few time slots printed on the paper starting from 8 am ranging all the way to 5pm, the ladder being the time circled. You suddenly realize Sam never asked you what your availability was, or much of anything really. Not that you asked him anything either.

Five pm was pretty late in the day, and as you kept reading, you noticed that the next section asking for “frequency of visits” had Monday through Friday circled.

This guy wants to be seen every day? You think to yourself. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone to cook for him or something.

Going through the different directional packets doesn’t make you feel much better. Information on post op care, wound disinfection, dressing changes--things you’ve done before, but not by yourself, and certainly not in someone’s home.

Why do you do this to yourself?

The drive to Hawkins isn’t terrible. The “Welcome to Hell” didn’t do anything to settle your nerves, but you persisted.

A lot of closed roads lead you to take some detours, but you’d still be able to see how badly damaged the town was after the earthquake hit them. Businesses, houses, streets, all completely ruined by the way the ground split the town in fours.

You mustered up the courage to ask one of your classmates from here about what happened, and she told you that some serial killer tried to destroy the town by sacrificing teens to the devil. “Oh, okay,” was all you could give as a response. It was hard to tell if she was fucking with you or not, so you just decided to go and see Sam instead.

That turned out to not be a fruitful endeavor either. He seemed to dance around your questions, dodging them by asking you about yourself instead. You left with none of your questions answered other than a start date for your visitations.

The start day is today, a blazing hot Monday. You didn’t have time to change out of your uniform since your professor asked you to stay over to help clean up after labs, clock getting closer and closer to 5pm as you drive down this woodsy road.

A mailbox appears ahead with numbers that match the address given to you. You slow down and turn onto the gravel path, expecting to see a house as you do. Instead the drive continues into the woods, the thick lining of the surrounding trees blocking you from seeing past the brush even with full sun. The gravel crunches under your tires as you keep going down the path, following it up a slight incline before reaching a clearing.

In the center of the clearing is a one story ranch style house, half brick and half light blue paneling. It has a covered front porch, bare except for a small table and a single chair, an overflowing ashtray dead in the center. Well that’ll be good for you.

The house looked brand new, and completely out of place in the middle of the woods. It was almost creepy in the way it contrasts against the trees and dirt, no grass to be found.

That's what it is, you realize. This house feels void of life.

You park your car next to an old gray pick up truck and sit there for a moment. Maybe you could smoke one more cigarette before going in. But what if they heard you coming and wonder why you’re taking so long?

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, grabbing your supply bag and pushing open the car door.

You keep your head down, watching the dirt stick to your black uniform shoes as you cross the yard to the front porch. You knock on the door, wiping your feet on the welcome mat as best as you could. A pair of dirty work boots sits just outside the door.

There’s movement behind the door that makes your head snap up, taking in a deep breath as you wait for the door to open. A quiet pause is interrupted by the sounds of multiple locks being undone and the door pulling open just enough to make the chain lock taught.

An older gentleman’s wrinkled face makes its appearance in the crack of the door, looking at you up and down. “Can I help you?” He has a slight southern drawl, voice a bit horse as if he had just woken up.

“Y-yes,” you squak, “um, are you Mr.Munson?”

His eye narrows and you see his arm shift behind the wall.

“Depends on who's askin.”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m here volunteering with Visiting Angels? I was-“

He cuts you off with your name, asking it as a confirmation of who you are. You nod, “Yes, that’s me!” He looks you up and down. He grunts, shifting a bit until the sound of something hitting the ground slightly catches your attention.

The door closes slightly, and with a click opens fully to reveal the older man in his entirety, standing aside enough for you to walk in, but his eyes scan the area behind you suspiciously.

“Come on in,” he says, closing the door behind you, “I honestly didn’t think anyone was gonna come.”

“Well, I don’t mind the drive,” you say with a tight smile. Mr.Munson stands in place as you let your eyes wander over the house. The smell of fresh paint filled your nostrils, and the new furniture and bare walls gave you the same creepy feeling as the outside of the house. As your eyes reach the front door, you suppress a physical reaction to the large shotgun leaning against the wall next to it.

A deep sigh from the man has you turning to face him, his rough hand running over his face to the back of his head. “You don’t have any clue, do you?”

“I’m sorry?” You’re having a hard time hiding the nerves that are bubbling up in your chest, body entering fight or flight mode.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, walking away from you and plopping down in one of the recliners. He gestures to the couch, “Have a seat, I’ll try and explain.”

You hesitate. You’re right by the door, you don’t have to do this. This guy doesn’t seem like he needs any help anyway. Sam’s words about him not being very popular in this area come to the forefront of your mind and now your head is swirling with possibilities as to why.

A small ringing from another part of the couch pulls you from your spiral.

“Shit, hold on a second,” the man says as he rises back to his feet, “let me go see what he wants and I’ll be right back.” He walks past you and down the hall, leaving you by yourself.

This is it. Just turn around now and leave.

“Whatcha need, Ed?”

Your ears perk up. Was the man you were talking to not who you came here for? Maybe it’s his dad, and the man you’re talking to is just Eddie’s tired son who needs help taking care of him. But why would he call his own dad Ed? Maybe it’s an uncle or a family friend? He did say he was a Munson…

“Okay, let me whip something up for ya.”

The mystery Munson walks back down the hall, slowing down enough to talk as he walks by. “The boy’s hungry, can we talk in the kitchen while I heat him up somethin?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you say after a moment, following behind him into a large dining room/kitchen area. There’s a huge table in the center of the dining area that’s covered with boxes labeled with things like “dishes,” “salvaged photos,” “salvaged misc.” It all the sudden clicks for you.

“So, I’m not sure what all they told you,” the man starts, speaking with his back turned as he pulls some things from the fridge.

“I was given a name and an andress,” you say almost playfully, letting some of the tension leave your body.

“Should’a known,” he says, looking over his shoulder at you with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “I think its for legal purposes, they can't disclose much about my nephew or something like that. But, uh,” he nods his head to one of the bar chairs at the counter between the two of you, “I can.”

And so he did. He told you about how a murderer had escaped from prison and snuck back to Hawkins, murdering teens and attempting to pin it on his nephew. The killer had killed a girl in their old trailer, right in front of Eddie, almost killing him, too.

But, since no one had realized that the killer escaped, the whole town had believed it was Eddie the whole time. Four teens were killed, almost 5, and Eddie was brutally tortured before his friends were able to save him.

“Oh, my god,” you gasp with a hand over your mouth.

“I know,” the man, Wayne, says as he scoops the macaroni and cheese into a bowl. He opens a drawer and pulls out a spoon with a large, grippy handle that you recognized from your nurse shadowing. They’re normally used for people who’ve had strokes or other hand mobility issues. He shoves the spoon into the bowl and walks around the counter.

“I guess I’ve talked about him enough, might as well meet him for yourself.”

You slid out of your seat and follow Wayne down the hall to the very end. He gives the door a knock before opening it with a quick “coming in!”

Stepping in behind him, you see a large, mostly empty room with more new looking furniture and a few boxes in various places. In the center against the wall was a hospital bed with a large pull bar dangling above it. You were expecting to see someone laying in the bed, but were met with the sight of a lump of blankets and comforters instead.

“Ed, food’s ready boy,” Wayne says as he pulls a bedside table from against the wall to the bed. “Got someone here for you to meet, too.”

The lump on the bed moves a bit, and for a brief moment you see a set of eyes and a few wild curls peek from under the covers. But, just as quickly as you see them, they’re hidden once again.

“Ed—“

“No,” his muffled, strained voice calls from under the covers.

“Boy, don’t do this. You know I can’t leave you alone when I go—“

“No!” The voice squeaks, followed by a harsh cough. Wayne sighs, setting the bowl down softly.

“Let me get him set up and I’ll, uh, meet you back out in the living room.”

“Oh, okay,” you say quickly, backing out of the room and closing the door behind you. You’re barely down the hall when you can hear some strained yelling coming from the last room at the end of the hall.

You settle back in the kitchen where you can’t hear the conversation happening between the two men. You thought about dark and dull eyes that looked at you briefly, how even with only that small glance of him, Eddie looked tired. Just about as tired as his uncle, who rounded the corner a few minutes later.

“I’m so sorry about him, he’s just a little weary about strangers,” the older man says walking over to the phone sitting on the wall, picking it up and dialing.

“It’s okay, I can understand that.” You give him a small smile, which he tries to return, but is distracted as whoever he’s calling picks up on their end.

“Hey, Chief, it’s Wayne—sorry, yeah, Jim. Listen, Ed’s new caretaker is here, but he’s throwing a bit of a fit about ‘er. Think you’d be able to come and sit with him f’r the night until we can try again tomorrow?”

Disappointment washes over you. Not that you weren’t used to rejection, but you’d hardly been able to even give a first impression. Maybe your uniform put him off? Gotta start keeping clothes in the car to change into from now on…

The phone clings as Wayne hangs it up, body relaxing as a slow breath leaves him. He looks over to you, rather looking through you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Little miss, can I be frank with you?”

“It’s the uniform isn’t it?”

Wayne barks out a laugh, and you chuckle even though your inquiry was serious. “No, no--well, maybe a little.”

“I knew it,” you rest your forehead in the palm of your hand.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to wear it when you’re here. S’long as you’re decent I don’t really care what you wear here to be honest. But, I did want to talk to you more about what we’re actually needing here.”

You look up at him, head tilting to the side in confusion. Several questions sit on the tip of your tongue, but you chose to just nod for him to continue.

“Okay. So, uh, I’ve been off work this whole time. Since March. I’ve been with the plant for a long time and my boss’s took a lotta pity on me with everything that’s going on. But…well that time is running out, and I can’t rely on anyone else to keep these bills paid, ya know?”

“Yes, yeah, I totally get that. Broke college kid here.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “So, I gotta go back to work. Tonight, actually, and, uh, I know this is short notice, but I need someone to stay here…while I’m at work.”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh, you wanted me to be, like, an overnight caretaker?”

“Yeah, I just, ya see with everything I told you about what happened, I couldn’t get anyone to come out and take care of him. Either they couldn’t pass a background check or once they realized who he was…So the Visiting Angel’s place was my last ditch effort to try and get someone in here. They said that it would be free if we went through the volunteer program, and that even though y’all are students that you’d still be able to help--But I understand if you can’t. You probably got a job and a family and a boyfrie--”

“I’ll do it.” The words fly out of your mouth without much thinking. But this poor man in front of you has been through hell with his nephew and how can you say no to him?

“Wait, really?” It’s his turn for his eyes to bug out, hardly able to believe what he’s hearing.

“Yeah, sure, I don’t mind. What time do you need me to be here?”

Wayne’s face softens, head hanging low like he still can’t wrap his head around your words. “Well, uh,” he starts, “I gotta leave here ‘round 6:30 and I work til about 5 am give or take depending on the night crew. If you'd be here about 6 or quarter after, that would be just fine. I don’t know how to cook much, but I could try and whip ya up something when I make Ed’s dinner, and you could work on yer school or watch tv or whatever girls your age like to do.”

“I’m plenty content to just work on school or watch tv,” you assure him.

“Good, good,” he says with a nod, turning to look into the living room. “We don’t got a bed in the third bedroom yet, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch until I can find the time to go and get one. Am I gonna have’ta talk to your parents or anything about why you’re not coming home during the week or anything?”

“What? Oh, no, no,” you wave your hands at his question, “Not unless you know how to talk to the dead.”

“Ah, shit, sorry,” Wayne cringes, hand running through his barely there hair.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know,” you say as you stand from your chair, “I will have to figure out how to tell my roommate. I don’t think she would like it if I told her that I was staying the night with a guy who was acquitted for murder.”

Oops. You bite your tongue between your teeth, wishing you could take the last bit of that sentence back. But Wayne’s laugh makes you feel less bad.

“Trust me, if I was in your roommates shoes I wouldn’t be too happy either.”

The ring of Eddie’s bell echoes down the hall again, pulling both of your attention to the sound.

“Better let me go myself. Don’t want to upset him again tonight. Why don’t you go head and head home and in the meantime I’ll talk to him. Try again tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan!”

“Good,” Wayne says, walking you to the door. He lets you out with a goodbye, the closing of the front door being followed by the sounds of locks being put back in their place.

The drive home was quiet, but your head was swirling with thoughts. Your brain goes back and forth on the situation you just got yourself into.

Instead of focusing on the negatives, you decide to make a list in your mind of things you’d need to bring with you to stay the night; a toothbrush, deodorant, your own pillow and blanket—would they let you take a shower there? Hopefully so, since some days you’re going to have to come over straight from work or class. So add shampoo and conditioner. Probably body wash, too. You doubt that two men living together use anything other than head and shoulders.

You cringe when you think about using feminine products while there. Maybe you’d just keep them in your bag and grab them as you need them. It wouldn’t hurt to bring an extra towel in case you need to put it under you while you sleep.

Going through your mental checklist helps make the drive go by. Before you know it, you’re turning onto your street, where, surprise, surprise, Tonya’s boyfriend is once again parked in your spot in the driveway. You park on the street with a huff, thinking of all the things you want to say, but know you ultimately wont, not being one for confrontation.

“Hey, girl,” Tonya calls out from the couch. The smell of delicious food filling the whole house, so you know Charles must be cooking. “Go get a plate, Charlie just finished cooking.”

“I’m good, I grabbed something while I was out.” A lie, but you’d rather retreat to your room until Charles left. You’ve never been a fan of him and his pompous, know it all attitude. It was just better if you kept your interactions with him to a minimum rather than having to pretend he doesn’t get on your nerves.

It was a few hours later, nearing 10 pm when you finally heard Tonya shut the front door, signaling that it was safe to leave. She was cleaning up Charle’s mess in the kitchen when you walked out from your room.

“Hey,” you said quietly, keeping a comment about cleaning up after a child to yourself.

“I was wondering when you were going to come out,” she teases. “Thought I was gonna have to slip you a plate under your door.”

“Ha, ha,” you deadpan, opening the fridge to pull out leftovers from the weekend.

“So why’d you come home so late today?”

The calendar with both of your schedules scribbled in stared you in the face as you closed the refrigerator door. You weren’t a very social person, usually just coming straight home from school or work. And even though Tonya was a very chill person 99% of the time, that wasn’t the case when it came to you.

“I, uh…” you stuttered. You had the whole drive home and you forgot to think about what you’d tell her. If she knew the truth, she’d flip her lid and talk you out of it. You could try to lie, but there’s no way she’d believe you if you told her you were staying with a new guy that you’d never talked about or that you were helping out another friend she knows you don’t have.

“I had a job interview!” It was the only sensible thing you could think of that may be somewhat convincing to her. “For a…nursing home. As a nurse's assistant.”

“Woah, really?” Tonya sets her cup on the counter, jaw dropped in excitement. “Omg, okay, how did it go? Are they going to have you do another interview? Details, girl, details!”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, putting out your hands to keep her from shaking you. You wrack your brain, trying to come up with a story on the spot. “It’s a newer nursing home…very small. Um, I would be able to do some of my nursing stuff under supervision of a nurse. And…it’s overnights—“

“Hold on, overnights?” Tonya interruptus, “Girl, that’s a lot with your school schedule.”

“Oh, um, I know, but its super casual and I can sleep in the afternoon when I get out of class or after work—“

“Wait, you’re not quitting CoffeeHouse?”

Shit.

“Ah, about that, um, I’m…still going to try and work there, just in case. Like if this doesn’t work out.”

Tonya eyes you, making your hands feel sweaty under her scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t understand,” she states with a concerned tone.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you need to have two jobs? You don’t pay rent, Charlie cooks for all of us a couple times a week. I take care of the bills—“

“I feel guilty,” you blurt out, feeling actually guilty when you see her face contort with sadness.

“No, babes, I told you that I didn’t want your money. I want you to focus on something for you for once.”

“This is for me though. It’s a chance to actually get a more authentic experience in my field, and — and I can’t just take and take from you forever.”

Tonya lunges forward, enveloping you in her arms. “Why noooooot,” she wines, fake crying into your shoulder, “just let me take care you, baby giiiiiirl.”

“Stooooooooop,” you cry back, “I’m an independent woman who don’t need no man, remember? I believe you’re the one who told me that.”

“Right, no man. But you do need me!” She pulls back flashing her picture perfect smile at you that has had guys folding for her since middle school.

“You’re right,” you sigh in faux defeat, “if only I was enough for you…”

“Oh my gooooood, just get over your hang ups and learn to love him. He’s really not that bad.”

“I don’t know what you see in him.”

“Not like you have room to talk.”

You gasp, putting on a dramatic display at her poking at your taste in men.

“Don’t even try it,” she flicks your forehead. “When you find a guy that’s not totally batshit, then come talk to me.”

“I can’t help that I attract the crazies.”

After a few more white lies and half truths, the conversation shifts to other topics, including that of a retreat that Charles is planning for the two of them for their one year anniversary. Eventually you wind down and head to your room, making sure to check the locks on the door and windows on the way.

thank you for reading.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson slow burn #disabled!eddie munson #eddie lives #eddie munson st4 #canon divergent #grumpy!eddie munson x sunshine!reader #eddie munson x nurse!reader

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kombuuuu · 8 months

Note

Miles (42) “that’s my baby” Morales.

You weren’t sure what happened.

One second you were running through the field, weaving through opposing team members, watching the ball at your feet and the goal ahead of you. Crowds of people cheering for your team, for your number.

And the next second, a sharp pain was kicked into your foot, and suddenly it could no longer hold your weight. Chin smashing harshly into the ground below you, only thing keeping your teeth from shattering being the mouth guard protecting them. And the crowds no longer cheering — a collective harsh breath being settled into eerie murmuring.

You pushed up by your hands, turning to sit, and the ringing in your ears made way, like an amp being pitched too loud and screaming in protest.

There was blood on you, from where — you couldn’t tell. And the dulled hum of far shouting could be made out through the fog. Cotton stuffed ears straining to understand.

The lights of the stadium were harsh against your eyes, and you tracked the movement of a flashlight the best you could.

A medic was above you, shining brightness over your view to check for concussion. She said something, hurriedly gesturing to your foot. And the pain that came from another medic touching it made you cry out.

You saw the flash of a red card, and a stretcher being pulled towards you.

But most importantly, you saw your boy. Your lover making his way over with a stressed look over his pretty features. Only to be stopped by security. You watched him shove his stadium issued VIP ID card towards them and rush passed the moment allowed to do so.

You were on the stretcher now, being carried toward an ambulance. Your hearing was coming back, the ringing not gone but quietened.

“Stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

You mumbled back, a splutter coming from the blood coating your throat and the mouth guard was gently taken from you.

Please don’t ruin this.

—

“You ever do that shit again, I’m beatin’ your ass.”

You snorted, punching your dads arm lightly in jest.

“Oh yeah? You gonna hurt me cause i’m hurt?”

“I’m gonna make that bastar—“

“She didn’t mean it!”

“It was a red card! Totally purposeful!”

“Nuh uh!”

He laughed, a throaty chuckle infectious to you.

“Don’t you ‘Nuh uh’ me, young lady.”

“Dad!”

A knock played at the door, bringing your attention to the shadow just outside. Your dad beckoned them in, calling to the door with a “Come in.”

Miles stepped inside, bowing his head respectfully to your dad before he made eye contact with you. And the worried shine in his eye was an immediate tell for your dad.

“I’ll give you two space.” He smiled at you softly, patting your shoulder and nodding at Miles as he rounded the door.

It was silent for a moment. Miles staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite make out.

“Miles?”

As if your voice was the beckoning of a siren to the nearest fisherman, he was striding over to you in an instant. Calloused hands guiding your face left and right, examining your injuries and the bruises that coated your soft skin.

You stuttered a quick laugh, watching him fret over you quietly. “It’s not that bad, baby.”

“She did that on purpose.”

The sigh that left you was a fond exasperation. “Miles, she slid.”

“Into you.”

“The ground was wet!”

“Her fault..”

“Wha—!?”

He leant down. Kissing you sweetly, a quick thing — more to shut you up than anything. His love for kissing you was just a bonus.

He spoke against your lips, closed eyes and lovey smile.

“Ya’ tough though.”

You smiled back, a huff of a laugh leaving you, and Miles felt your cheeks warm under his touch.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“That’s my baby.”

#໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა #across the spiderverse #miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #spiderverse x reader #miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles my beloved #miles molares #miles x you #miles morales headcanons #miles morales prowler #miles morales x you #miles g

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chronicowboy · 1 year

Text

Buck may not be a paramedic like Chim or a qualified doctor like Hen or a field medic like Eddie. He may not have Bobby's impressive decades of experience or Ravi's desire to take every single LAFD training course there is in his spare time. But he's picked up a lot from his six years with the fire department, so he feels pretty confident in diagnosing Verne with a serious amount of internal bleeding.

But the ambulance has been and gone, back-up hasn't arrived, and everyone else is busy with patients in more critical condition, so Buck crouches down next to Verne and gets to work on starting a line.

"How are you doing, Verne?" Buck asks with a smile. "Any major discomfort or pain I should know about?"

"My back, and my hip," Verne sighs, "but they've been uncomfortable for over a decade now, kid."

"Well, the fact that you can still feel that discomfort is very promising, at least."

"Promising," Verne hums. "Sure, let's go with that." His eyes turn a little glassy, drift, unfocused, somewhere over his shoulder.

"Hey, Verne, stay with me, yeah?" Buck smiles when their eyes meet again. "That's it. You're gonna be okay."

"This isn't the first time I've died, firefighter Buckley." Verne shakes his head with a grimace. "I know how this goes."

"Then, you know you go to the hospital and come back to life," Buck says, a little desperation creeping into his words. He keeps seeing flashes of a pale blue shirt and hearing snatches of a realisation about happiness.

"Maybe when I was your age." Verne smiles weakly. "Got into an accident after picking my best friend up from a bad date. They said I died for two minutes in the ambulance."

"Two minutes, huh?" Buck palpates his ribs to distract Verne as he checks on the rapidly growing bruise on his abdomen.

"You ever died, kid?"

"For three minutes, actually." Buck grins up at him. "Not to brag." Verne huffs a laugh. "I was that firefighter that got hit by lightning."

"No kidding," Verne chuckles. "Pretty cool way to go."

"Oh, very cool, yeah." Buck nods, biting down on his lip as he checks to see if the others are free yet. They aren't. "The trippy dream I had during my coma was pretty cool too."

"Yeah?"

"Well, unsettling more than anything, but, uh, I made it back, so that's what counts." Buck wraps a bandage around the sluggishly bleeding cut on Verne's arm. He winces, groaning, and Buck panics. "You said you were driving your best friend home from a bad date?" Verne nods. "That's exactly what I was doing last night," he snorts. "See that firefighter behind me?" Buck jerks his head at Eddie over his shoulder.

"Diaz?" Verne coughs.

"Yeah." Buck smiles. "His aunt keeps setting him up on terrible dates, I've become his get out of jail free card."

"And what does that entail?" Verne asks, curiosity piqued, more alert than he had been a moment ago.

"I pick him up when there are no Ubers nearby, I call him with an emergency when he texts me 911, I answer the phone when one of the women calls him to schedule a second date and pretend to be his husband." Buck shrugs. "Its a lot of fun."

"Is it?" Verne coughs again, a wet noise that makes Buck's stomach drop. "Is it fun when he goes on the dates?"

"I mean, not really." Buck wrinkles his nose, thinks of that swoop of nausea in his stomach every time Eddie walks out of the door. "But I get to hang out with Christopher, Eddie's son, which is much more fun than a crappy date, you know?"

"Did your best friend watch you die?" Verne asks suddenly.

"I-" Buck blinks. "Yeah, he, um..." He clears his throat. "He was actually the one to get me down from the ladder, the one that got my heart beating again." Verne laughs heartily despite the fact that Buck can see the amount of pain it causes him.

"Oh, kid," he sighs, more of a wheeze. "The best friend I picked up from her date? I felt sick every time she told me about a new man."

Well, at least that's normal then. Buck had kind of been worrying he was going insane.

"Then, I died, and I married her a year later."

Buck remembers watching himself take his first breath without the ventilator from behind a window, remembers the way time had warped and stretched on forever and frozen all at once, remembers how his whole life had narrowed down to that one moment.

This feels a lot like that.

Suddenly, five years of friendship flash through his mind. Eddie's gloved hand in his, the only anchoring sensation in a sea of agony. Eddie's thumb on his neck, warm brown eyes a life raft when Buck had been drowning. Building a skateboard and pushing a kid made of sunshine around the park. The zing of happiness an elf had brought him after the sour curdle of disappointment that had hit him on a fountain. Eddie's hands big and warm on his waist. Eddie's smiles, wide and private alike. Eddie's eyes, always so fond and intent. Quiet discussions in the Diaz kitchen, and teasing banter in the loft. Nights with Chris squished between them on the couch, and the bright lights of a video game illuminating the living room. A legal document and a first name said so carefully. A broken door and a broken man alike. Couch metaphors and lasagnes and steaks and cookies.

Oh.

"I look forward to seeing her again," Verne murmurs quietly.

"Hey, no," Buck croaks. "Its not time yet, it isn't time for that yet."

"I think its been a long time coming, kid."

Verne's eyes flutter shut, his chest spasms with a final bloodied breath, and Buck's world shatters around him.

#sami rambles #okay okay i really wanted to write this and i think it came out better than expected #death and taxes come throughhhhhhhhhhhh please #i can see this happening ngl #911 spoilers #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #911 spec #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #911 spec fic

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er-cryptid · 7 months

Text

Routes of Administration Latin Words

Inhalation -- inhalation = drawing air into lungs

Intramuscular -- intra = into -- muscularis = of the muscles

Intraosseous -- intra = into -- osse = bond

Intravenous -- intra = into -- venosus = of the veins

Per Os -- per = by -- os = mouth

Per Rectum -- per = by -- rectum = rectum

Subcutaneous -- sub = under -- cutis = skin

Sublingual -- sub = under -- lingua = tongue

Transcutaneous -- trans = through -- cutis = skin

Intranasal -- intra = into -- nasal = nose

Patreon

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scientia-rex · 7 months

Note

Do you have thoughts about dealing with your ADHD without medication? I'm in Europe where the laws are different and its haaaaard to access meds. (Immigration is very bad for consistent health care)

Yeah, I mean, caffeine. Caffeine in the mornings and propranolol if I overdo it or have too much caffeine after 1pm. Caffeine has a variable half-life depending on your genetics, so for some people they can have caffeine within about 4-5 hours of trying to sleep and for me if I have it within 9 hours of when I want to sleep I'm a little fucked. (5-9 hours is a relatively typical range for half-life.) Caffeine has active metabolites, which means that as your body processes it to break it down it creates different molecules which are still stimulants, so it's not as simple as "caffeine in, break it down, inert molecule out." You also need to be aware that your brain WILL develop tolerance, so taking drug holidays where you have a chaotic, disorganized day will help when you go back to work.

Another alternative is Strattera, generic name atomoxetine, which gets marketed as a "non-stimulant" ADHD medication. In my opinion it does still have stimulant qualities and the classification has more to do with legal status than medical reality. However, it does have a tendency to cause nausea, so I usually start people low (10mg) and ramp up to 80-100mg, which is target range for efficacy for most people. It doesn't seem as effective as the stimulants but it also doesn't have the legal implications of the stimulants.

Wellbutrin, generic name bupropion, is an antidepressant, but it's not the same as SSRIs or SNRIs--it has its own combination of effects on neurotransmitters that makes it a cousin rather than a sibling drug. It can be used (off-label) for ADHD.

In terms of other things I do to help myself cope, setting and maintaining a sleep schedule is critical. I definitely always feel like I'm being asked to wake up at the equivalent of 3am for other people. This means I need to make sure I go to bed and get up at consistent times, including days off. Bed needs to be for sleeping and intimacy and not for being activated--not for reading, not for hanging out. "Sleep hygiene" is about training your brain that when you go to bed, you go to sleep. The bedroom needs to be quiet, cool, and dark. You can Google sleep hygiene for more information on that.

Learning how to learn was critical for surviving med school. I didn't struggle that much with the material even in grad school, though I was more miserable overall in grad school. The sheer volume meant I couldn't just read everything once and figure enough would stick; I had to read, listen, watch, and eventually I figured out that I really needed to draw pictures and make myself flash cards if I wanted to actually force my brain to retain anything. Making sure I was physically comfortable, including that I was fed, hydrated, and didn't have to pee, was also part of the process. Getting there involved lots of tears and failing multiple tests.

Cleaning can't be an all or nothing proposition or nothing ever gets cleaned. When I start cleaning, I just grab whatever I'm walking by that catches my attention. Fuck doing whole tasks at a time consistently. Move those three bowls to the sink, in the kitchen realize I need to take out the recycling, take out the recycling and realize on the way back in that I have a load of laundry to start, start the laundry and realize I need to pee, while I'm in the bathroom realize I need to clean the counter, clean the counter and realize I need to take out the bathroom trash, take out the bathroom trash and realize I still didn't pee, continue until I'm too tired and then sit down and have a snack and a nap. My house is still a black hole but it's infinitely better than my apartments when I was younger.

Accepting that you can't do things the neurotypical way is a big part of it. Giving up on how things "should" be and recognizing what you can do and how you can do it is critical. I will never stop crashing into things so I've bought rounded furniture that hurts less when I crash into it. I'm slowly designing a life and a home where I'm playing to my strengths, and although it's a work in process, I'm slowly becoming happier.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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diazsdimples · 3 days

Text

Fuck It Saturday

I'm not sure if it's friday anywhere anymore so we're fucking it on a Saturday!! I've been super lax on writing this week because I've got a beefy 3k word report on care for transgender/gender diverse parents during pregnancy due on Monday and I am not even halfway done dfkjds. BUT I did get a small trickle of Frostpunk AU beans so I thought I'd share! Snippet below the line bc it's kinda long

Tagged for Friday & Saturday by @smilingbuckley @thekristen999 @dangerpronebuddie @spotsandsocks @bidisasterevankinard

@cal-daisies-and-briars @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley and @kitteneddiediaz, I will be getting to your snippets tonight!!

Buck’s reading to Christopher when it happens.

Ever since Christopher woke up, Buck has been keeping a near-constant vigil at his bedside, keeping the boy entertained and comfortable where he can. He’d even snuck into the Children’s Shelter to borrow some toys for Christopher - a set of cards, a rainbow puzzle, a small, plastic dinosaur toy, and a fluffy rabbit that Christopher had kept tucked under his arm ever since.

So, it’s not entirely surprising that Buck is there when Edmundo wakes up.

The first indication is the bleeping on Edmundo’s heart monitor begins to increase in speed. Buck stops midsentence and turns in his chair. The first thing he notices is that Edmundo’s eyes are open, wide and fearful as he looks around the room.

In a flash, Buck is on his feet, book clattering to the floor, and he rushes over to Edmundo’s bedside.

“Hen!” he yells, praying his friend is close enough to hear. “Chimney! Someone, come quick!!”

Edmundo’s chest begins to heave as a heavy panic sets in and he raises his arms to claw at the breathing tube down his throat. Buck grabs his wrists and pins them to his size, and is surprised at the strength of the man. It takes no small amount of effort to keep him from ripping the tube out, or scrabbing at the IV lines in his arms.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, Hen and Chimney are coming, just breathe for me,” Buck says hurriedly as he watches Edmundo gag around the tube. He knows the man will be getting oxygen, but that won’t be stopping the feeling of suffocation, the feeling of obstruction in his throat.

Edmundo’s eyes bug out as he looks at Buck, gaze boring into him in a silent plea. Help me. Make it stop.

There’s a clattering of feet on linoleum as Hen, Chimney, and another medic Buck doesn’t know the name of all sprint into the cramped med bay.

“What’s going on, what happened?” Hen asks as she comes screeching to a halt, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. Before Buck can even open his mouth, Chimney is grabbing the extubation equipment and barking orders at Hen and the medic, all three swarming Edmundo’s bedside.

Buck’s in the way, he knows it but he cannot make himself move. Instead, he takes both of Edmundo’s hands and laces their fingers together, squeezing lightly to give Edmundo something to focus on.

“Look at me, Edmundo,” he says as Hen peels off the tape keeping the tube in place. Edmundo’s eyes flick back towards Buck, his eyebrows scrunched together, and Buck’s stomach twists uncomfortably as he sees a tear slide down Edmundo’s cheek.

“That’s it, just keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay, extubating patient now. Hen, have suction at the ready. Jess, get the O2 mask,” Chimney orders, and there’s a fluffy of movement as everyone gets in position.

Buck looks away. He doesn’t want to watch the tube come out. He’s never been the best with medical things at the best of times and this.. well he’s not exactly sure why the thought of Edmundo in particular being in pain makes him so unhappy but it does. So he doesn’t watch, instead keeping his eyes trained firmly on his and Edmundo’s hands. It doesn’t escape his notice the way Edmundo’s knuckles go white as he clings to Buck for dear life.

There’s horrible wet noise followed by the sound of suction and a volley of wet coughs, before Buck hears a deep breath in. He chances a glance upwards and sees Edmundo, eyes open and sans tube for the first time he got to Sector 118. There’s an oxygen mask fitted over his face, fogging up with every breath Edmundo takes.

Instantly, relief flows through Buck like warm honey, filtering through his veins until he’s lighter and warmer than he’s been in days. Edmundo’s awake. Edmundo is breathing on his own. Edmundo’s alive.

Buck grins, unable to contain his joy. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Edmundo.”

“Eddie,” the guy croaks, and Buck blinks.

“Huh?”

“Name’s E-Eddie. Not Edmundo,” he rasps, before breaking out into a coughing fit. Buck rushes to help him upright, takes off the oxygen mask, and holds out a container as Edmundo – Eddie spits into it, his chest heaving from the force of his coughs. Buck rubs his back, murmuring reassuring words until Eddie takes a shaky breath and allows himself to rest back against his pillows.

No pressure tagging (for Friday or Saturday) @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @neverevan @babybibuck @aroeddiediaz

@bibuckbuckgoose @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @wikiangela

@loveyouanyway @exhuastedpigeon @epicbuddieficrecs @hermscat @worriedbisexual

@slightlyobsessedwitheverything @actuallyitsellie @idealuk @dangerpronebuddie @simpingforhotfictionalcharacters

@houseofevanbuckley @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13 @rainbow-nerdss

@steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @jehdogg @ohlookitsthearkhamknight @revenge-of-the-assbutt (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

#james writes #buddie wip #frostpunk au #buddie #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 buddie #911 #911verse #911 fanfic #eddie x buck #HE'S ALIIIIIVE #GOD i'm so glad I can finally write alive eddie #also the fact that I'm at 16k and not even a quarter of the way through...#help

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undercover-smutlover · 8 months

Text

Captain John Price...🏷️

main masterlist📌

*·˚Don’t forget to reblog, follow, like, and comment on the authors’ or artists’ pages. Show them some love!

*·˚Broken link or @? Pop a note in the comments or my ask box.

Works by @miniwheat77

Sweet: Price is harsh on y/n until a mission goes sideways

Sensitive: The only person reader can confide in is her captain

Maneater + Gaz: Reader is a mechanic on base who takes a break with the boys

Give ’em hell Pt.1: Reader and Price are exposed to a weird chemical

Give ’em hell Pt.2: Repercussions of the weird chemical

Red Lipstick: Reader and Price keep one another company

Works by @captainfern

Lake Of Fire: Price isn’t happy about working with another team

Heart-Shaped Box Pt.1: You help Price feel better

Serve the Servants P.2 + Ghost: The aftermath involving Ghost

Breed: You and Price meet up off base

Marigold Pt.1: Price asks you to meet him upstairs

Marigold Pt.2: Crying becaouse you missed him

Works by @halcyone-of-the-sea

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam: Fisherman Price meets an unexpected person

Our Remains: You are hiding something big from John

Lions and Ibexes: Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

Works by @thanksbutno98

No Wandering Around: You go to work with John

Flash Drive: Erotic folder

Works by @xyziiix

ARDOUR: He could already hear the pleading edge in your voice

Three Is A Crowd: Well your Captain always liked proving you wrong

Price Eating You Out by @catsnkooks: Too blissed out to notice a guest

Civillian Reader Is Hurt by @lvlyghost: She believed he would save her. And that was enough

Jealous by @stormiwaves: “I like it when you’re jealous”

Angel of Small Death Pt.1 by @whynot-tryit: Price hires a team medic

Not Meant to Be Here, But Glad You Are by @paranoid-borderline-insane: You need to remember all the tips John gave you to survive

Breaking and Entering Pt.1 and Reprieve Pt.2 by @sprout-fics: No place safer in the world than with him

Doll by @blingblong55: It started as innocent stares

No Hero, Just Me by @firsttimewriter92: Price rescues reader from an abduction

Duty Over Heart by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world: Your lives were forever changed afterwards

Million Dollar Man by @qilinxingg: John gave a satisfied smile as his arms tightened around your small body

Price’s Young Housewife by @moongreenlight: Weekly manicures and pedicures that he’s put his card on file for

My Girls by @bearieio: happy just being able to share moments with your 3 favorite people

Hell on Earth by @ghostlywhiskey: His demeanor and lack of response to your attitude caught you off guard

Designer Dress by @halfmoth-halfman: You can’t think of a better place to start your new life

I Think I Might’ve Inhaled You by @agentmarvel: It eats at him daily, knowing his own indecisiveness is the root of anguish for both of you

Nobody Does It Like You Do by @bunnyreaper: In his embrace, firm and reassuring, you might actually believe him

Spread Your Wings by @crashandlivewrites: “Besides, I find my scene partner enjoys it more when there’s a lot more sensual physical contact involved.”

Mafia!Price x Assistant!Reader by @charliemwrites: In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of colour and delicacy in his world

A Warm Heart by @flowermiist: That clicks in John’s head, it really was you and he was almost amused to say the least.

He Opens the Mail and Part 2 by @the-californicationist: It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby.

Soulmate AU Part 1 by @shotmrmiller: your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

#undercover-smutlover #call of duty #modern warfare #cod smut #task force 141 #captain #captain price #john price #captain john price #favorite fics #smut

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captainsophiestark · 7 months

Text

Dogfight Football

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Top Gun

Day 3 Prompt: "Okay, show me."

Summary: Hangman gets hurt during Dogfight Football. Lucky for him, he's dating a navy doctor.

Word Count: 1,715

Category: Fluff, humor, little bit of angst

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I scowled as I scribbled in my notebook, trying to prepare for an upcoming test by making flash cards. All my friends and my boyfriend were outside on the beach playing something called 'Dogfight Football', but I was holed up here, at a table in the back of the Hard Deck, trying to memorize medical terms and procedures.

Stupid fighter pilots.

Being on temporary assignment at Top Gun at the same time as my boyfriend, Jake Seresin, was supposed to mean we got to spend more time together. And I guess we'd gotten to spend a little more time together, but I'd built it up in my mind as something much more romantic and exciting than navy training. I really should've known better, but I'd been on a ship in the middle of the ocean treating various illnesses for everyone on board for months. The romantic fantasy had been one of the only things getting me through.

At least I had tonight to look forward to. Jake and I were going to a fancy restaurant off base for dinner, then out somewhere to dance the night away. Neither of us had to report for duty until the afternoon tomorrow, so we could ditch some of our usual healthy habits.

I'd finally managed to finish my flash cards and block out most of the noise from outside when someone came bursting through the back door of the Hard Deck. I looked up to find the cause of the disturbance and found Coyote, one of Jake's best friends, staring at me.

"What happened?" I asked, shooting out of my seat immediately. Coyote looked stressed, which never happened unless something was actually wrong.

"Hangman got hurt," he said. I rushed to the bar and grabbed my med kit without hesitating, even as Coyote continued. "He was trying to pull a stunt on a touchdown in the game, and there was some pit or something hidden by the sand. I'm not totally sure what happened, but he went down hard. I think it's something with his leg."

I shook my head, cursing every last reckless aviator on that beach as I followed Coyote out the door.

"He wouldn't be the first one to fall into a literal sand trap and hurt himself. Let's just be glad he didn't break his neck showing off."

Once we got outside, I could see Jake clearly, laying in the sand not too far from the surf. The rest of the Top Gun fliers were gathered around him, and the fact that he hadn't forced himself to his feet to play it cool around them told me he was really, really hurt.

I started running as soon as Jake was in sight, cutting through the aviators and dropping to my knees as soon as I was in range of Jake. He looked up when he saw me and tried to smile, but it ended up being more of a grimace than anything else.

"Hey, Baywatch. Come to check on me?"

I snorted. "What did you do?"

"I was trying to do a flip."

"Oh my God."

"I've done one before! But when I landed, the sand just gave way, and my leg..."

He trailed off, wincing, one hand holding his leg and the other clenched in a tight fist in the sand. Nothing looked broken from here, but with his hand in the way, I couldn't be sure.

"It hurts," he said, voice a strangled whisper so that only I could hear. Jake looked at me, face tight with pain, and my heart squeezed seeing him like that. "It hurts a lot."

"Okay, show me," I said, falling into the cool calm that overtook me in emergency situations. "I need you to move your hand and show me where it hurts, alright?"

Jake nodded, then gingerly removed his hand to rest it with the other one in the sand. Coyote and Maverick had moved the others a little further away after I'd arrived, so we had some privacy. Jake groaned and barely stifled a scream as I reached out to gently touch his ankle, shin, and knee to asses. To his credit, his leg didn't move an inch.

After a few more painful minutes of assessment, I sat back on my heels and looked at my boyfriend. He looked back, body slightly less tensed but his teeth still clenched.

"So? What's the verdict, doc?"

"The verdict is you're insanely lucky," I said, turning to dig in my medical bag. I pulled out what I'd need to splint Jake's ankle, then got to work as I continued. "It's not uncommon for people to break their legs, bad, from falling into pits hidden by the sand. You, fortunately, didn't fall hard enough or twist enough or find a deep enough pit to quite break your leg. Instead, you've got a bad sprain. It's definitely not good, but based on what I'm seeing now, I think you'll have an easier time with this level of sprain than if you'd broken something."

Jake nodded, then winced again as I tightened the brace on his ankle. It wasn't good enough to last for long, but it would keep his ankle immobilized while I found a way to get him to my office where I had supplies to actually treat him more long-term.

"You're gonna be okay," I said, leaning over once I'd finished working and kissing Jake on the forehead. "I'm sorry you got hurt. Stop doing dangerous things to showboat with your friends."

Jake huffed a laugh and gave me the same overconfident, cocky smile that I'd seen a thousand times and slowly fallen in love with, albeit slightly more strained than normal.

"I can't make any promises about the last one. Thank you for taking care of me."

"Always. And you're going to hate what comes next, so... I guess just remember that it's part of what happens when you insist on doing beach-flips in a game."

"What do you-"

"Rooster!" I turned to call to the tall aviator, who'd wandered a little ways away with everyone else. He turned and started walking back as soon as he heard me.

"What's up?"

"I need your help getting Jake to my truck," I replied. Rooster grinned, and I heard Jake groan from behind me. This time, I didn't think it was from the pain.

"Sure thing. Happy to help."

"Can't you get anyone else," whined Jake as Rooster made it to us. I put my hands on my hips and stared him down.

"Rooster's the person on this beach who'll have the easiest time lifting you and carrying you out to the car. I love Coyote and everyone else, and I'm sure they'd figure it out if they needed to, but Roos is gonna be able to just do it."

Jake grumbled, and I caught Rooster with a shit-eating grin as he leaned down and picked Jake up. I just sighed and shook my head at both of them as we headed back up the beach.

"This is ridiculous," said Jake, renewing his protest as we neared the rest of the Top Gun class. "Just put an arm around me and help me up, I don't need to be carried-"

I whirled around, hands on my hips and a scowl on my face. I'd heard Jake twisting around like he was trying to get Rooster to put him down, and if he wasn't careful, he'd get dropped and hurt even worse than before. Both men froze on the spot as soon as I glared at them.

"Jake, grow up," I said, no more room for argument in my voice. "You can't walk. If you move your ankle around or put too much weight on it, you could make it much, much worse. Which is obviously bad for a lot of reasons, but would ground you from flying for who knows how long."

Jake huffed and crossed his arms, but he didn't have any comeback to that. I stared him down for another few moments, until Rooster shifted and cleared his throat.

"Hey, he's not as light as he looks, so-"

"Shut up, Chicken."

I just sighed and continued leading the both of them up the beach. I shot a few glares at Jake's peers as we went, reminding them with just a look that if they started messing with Jake, I had more than enough dirt on all of them to bury them in return. Phoenix was the only one to smile back at me in response.

By some miracle, we made it up the beach and through the Hard Deck without Rooster dropping Jake or Jake punching Rooster. Roos helped me get Jake into the passenger seat of my car, then I chased him off with a quick 'thank you' before he could give Jake any more shit. Once he was gone, I paused a second to sigh and catch my breath, then climbed into the driver's seat.

"So... what now?" asked Jake.

"Now, we go back to base so I can treat you properly and get you a real ankle brace. Maybe some X-Rays, we'll have to see. Painkillers, though, for sure."

Jake nodded, uncharacteristically quiet as I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Then, after a second, he spoke, more quiet and serious than usual.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me. Seriously. And I'm sorry I messed up our date night, after we'd both been waiting for it for so long."

I sighed, then turned to Jake with a lopsided smile.

"I've always got your back, Jake. I'm your wingman in life, remember? And don't worry about date night. If you're feeling up to it, we can still go to dinner. If you're not, we've still got the evening to ourselves. I'm sure we can find something fun to do, just the two of us."

Jake chuckled. "I like the sound of that."

"Hm. Just hang in there, flyboy. We're almost back to base, and then we can get you feeling better."

"I almost hate to ask, but... what's your plan for getting me out of the car and into the doctor's office?"

I hesitated, chewing my lip before turning to Jake. He winced at just the expression on my face, because he knew me well enough to know he would need to.

"...How would you feel if I recruited a certain Vice Admiral to carry you?"

"Fuck."

****************

Top Gun Taglist: @elenavampire21

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