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certainlynotasimp · 11 months

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Okay, first of all, how are you? Hope you’re doing well! Drink plenty of water, stay hydrated- Second off, your Sunny fics? *chef’s kiss* so mainly, what if anybody made Sunny cry and Miguel had to find out about it? And Sunny’s trying not to make it seem like a big deal in order to keep Miguel from, you know, absolutely obliterating anyone.

Come on, Baby, Cry.

((Miguel O' Hara X Female! Reader))

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much for the compliment. All my readers? *Extra chef's kisses* I am very hydrated and I got so excited to write this for you and to add some angsty content lol. I hope you enjoy this and let me know if you are disappointed or if you love it.

A/N: I also wanna address two things before I post this too. 1) thank you so much to the anon who asked me to include translations for the Spanish phrases as I was honestly not thinking about doing that. I will do better to include the translations at the end of the fics. 2) There are gonna be some triggering topics explored in this one-shot so if you don't want to hear about near injuries to children or child loss, then I understand if you don't want to read it. Feel free to enjoy my other fanfics and here's the post where you can stay notified on happier Sunny and Miggy fanfics.

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Barely using (Y/N) ((Sunny is just their nickname, not their actual name.)), Female pronouns, PTSD, Mentions of Child Loss, Endangerment of a Child ((No children were actually hurt, just traumatized)), Trauma, Comforting, Fluff, Angry Miguel, and Google Translate Spanish.

The room fills with squeals and giggles as the chase between the chubby toddler and the jumping spider. Mayday swings her little self around the corridor as the young woman follows behind amused by how agile the little tyke was.

‘Maybe she’ll make a good sidekick in the future.’ The smiling woman muses in her mind before a bloody image flashes in her mind. Shaking her head, she clears the idea out of her mind as Mayday reaches an open window.

Her quick scream of horror as she accidentally swings herself out of the window causes the woman’s blood to run cold as she flings herself out of the window after her. “MAYDAY!”

The adrenaline coming from her heightened fear causes the whole thing to appear to be trapped in time as the spider woman falls with the screeching infant falling inches away. Tears clouded her vision as she shoots out her webbing to the pillars around them as the images of flames lick at her eyes.

So many flames, and too many buildings at once. Screams and pleas from below as she tries to be there. They didn’t matter to her, not at that moment. The only one who mattered was him. Did he scream like that too or did he not even feel it?

Using her webbing, she quickly creates a hammock for Mayday to fall on a few feet from the ground, thankfully trapping the wailing infant so she can’t escape. Unfortunately, reality doesn’t set in time for the spider as she slams into the titanium flooring below, knocking the air out of her lungs.

Many spidermen gathered as they heard the commotion, but she could only focus her blurry vision above her as she tries to regain her sight. A familiar blur of bright pink swings up and grabs the ball of ginger hair in a muddled mess of cries. He quickly drops down to where the disoriented woman was splayed out below with the whimpering infant in his arms.

“Hey, Sunny, you alright?” Peter calls his friend. The damage didn’t look bad from the outside, but he was sure she had some nasty concussion with how she was looking at him.

Hobie crouches down beside the crumbled girl and carefully lifts her head up with one hand. “Oi, Sunshine, you there?” He mutters as he looks into her eyes. He holds up his hand and makes three fingers pop up. “How many fingers do you see, love?”

With a cough, the woman croaks out, “Three?” Her eyes begin to focus as her enhanced healing works out the stars in her vision. With the help of Hobie and Peter, she stands up with a whimper at the feeling of her shattered ribs forming back together. “Damn, I forgot that falling several feet actually hurt.” She attempts to joke despite her wheezing breath. The crowd around them laughs as Peter sighs in relief.

“Thank god, you’re alright.” Peter mourns as a glint of regret shines in his eyes. “I’m sorry for all this, Sunny. I shouldn’t have let her bring the web shooter here. She almost swings herself out of the window all the time and MJ told me that one day I won’t be there to help the next time it happens.” Mayday’s cries end as she sees her favorite play partner up and well as she shows off her gummy smile.

“Well, luckily I was here to save the day.” The disoriented spider muses as she returns the infant’s smile as the men chuckle. The crowd dissipates leaving the injured spider with her two friends.

“I’m still really sorry, P. I got distracted and didn’t see that the window was open.” She winces as she blames herself for being so neglectful.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. This little rascal will probably send me to an early grave with all the mischief she causes.” Peter jokes as he tickles his now roaming daughter, chuckling at her excited squeals.

“Good thing you don’t have a kid, Sunny.” Hobie chuckles. “You would lose them in a heartbeat.”

The bright atmosphere shatters as the woman abruptly pulls away from her friends. The men look at her confused until they saw the look in her eyes. The normal warm and inviting gaze that they all thrived under was gone, only a dark void was staring back at them. Their light now shining in hurt and sadness as memories cloud her mind. Her lip trembles in a tight line as tears begin to roll down her face.

Hobie looks confused at the sudden shift, but Peter realizes something as he looked at his trembling friend. Her eyes burned with tears as they locked with his. She had a haunted look about her. It's a look only parents can ever understand and fear. The look Peter himself almost experienced. “Hey,(y-” Before Peter can comfort her, she activates her mask and turns invisible before running off, her muffled sobs leaving them speechless.

Hobie groans as he realizes two things. One, he just made the sweetest person in the world cry. And Two,...

Miguel is gonna kill him.

~~~~~~~

The warm glow of the portal illuminates the surveillance room as the blue spider steps out covered in a musty yellow goo. Lyla smirks as she observes the little chucks slipping onto the ground as Miguel attempts to dust off the slime from his large shoulders.

“Was your mission successful, boss?” The assistant snarks as she sends out a little robot to follow the annoyed Spiderman. The little bug-like contraption eagerly swallows up the disgusting mess Miguel left as he walks up to the platform. “The anomaly was captured and disposed of. Next time, warn me if William Baker is made of anything except sand.” He grumbles as the sound of the little robot annoyed him even more.

“I’ll make a note of that.” The AI giggles as she downloads the mission info from Miguel’s gizmo. “Also ‘Miss Sunshine’ is here and she doesn’t seem too happy.” She says before fading out.

Miguel’s eyes widen upon hearing that his sunny partner was upset. She was never upset. Never. With concern eating away at him, Miguel shoots out a web and swings himself to the platform above. He lands softly as he sees the scene in front of him.

His sunshine sat in his usual seat in front of the monitor. Her costume was dirty with a chest compression brace wrapped around her ribs as her choked sobs wheeze out of her. Her mask was off as her head rested against the ice pack in her hand, her back leaned forward as her attention was focused on the image before her.

He already knew what was on the screen.

He knew that file name by heart just like how he knows Gabriella’s.

File SW-0001425

World 16457-0

Spider-Woman- (Y/N) (L/N)

Age of infection- 23

Occupation- Intern Medical Research Assistant in the Genetics Department of { REDACTED } working under Dr. {REDACTED}

Sacrifice: Ben (L/N), age 4, Son of (Y/N) (L/N), 1 year into being Spiderwoman

Cause of death: Blunt Force trauma and Smoke inhalation caused by a multi-location attack caused by { REDACTED}

Status of Universe: DESTROYED

On the screen, the laughing face of a younger Sunny shines as a chubby cheek of a baby boy with dark curls smooshes into hers. The faint sound of a child mimicking the smooch of a kiss can be heard as the overexaggerated gasp of the woman causes the toddler to squeal. “That was such a sweet kiss, Benny. Can mommy have another one?” The sweet voice soured the air as the sobbing woman mournfully watches her baby boy.

The baby she failed.

Miguel approaches behind her and slowly takes the mouse from her weak grasp. The broken woman sighs as she realizes her miggy is here with her now, but doesn’t turn to look at him as he pauses the video. Her baby’s matching eyes stare right back at her before Miguel turns the chair around to face him as his mask disintegrates. His eyes glow red under the light of the monitors as he searched her sore eyes. Her face was red with a noticeable bruise along the left side of her face. Tears and snot crusted over her soft features as her lips remained turned into a trembling whisper. Her pupil shone in self-loathing and searching for his comfort. He could tell that this episode isn’t just one of her low days, something happened.

Something happened and he wasn’t here to stop it.

Miguel closes his eyes as his hand caresses her cheek. The warmth of her flushing face nuzzling into his palm allowed him to ground his rage as he focuses his gaze back onto his beloved.

“Mi luz, ¿qué pasó?” He seethes as he looks deep into her eyes.

She shakes her head as she tries to avoid looking into his concerned ruby gaze. The glass bridge was already cracked as she internally debated with sobbing everything that happened into his warm embrace or to protect her friend from the wrath she knows Miguel will unleash if he knows what was said. The warmth of his other palm cupping her cheek, guiding her to a wandering eye to look at his frowning face nearly broke her.

“It was nothing, Miggy…”She whispered as her voice trembled again. She tried to control her eyes from unknowingly confessing while she tries to bite the wobbling pout. “It was an accident…”

“What.” Miguel runs his thumb under her abused mouth as a piece of her disheveled hair was swept back. “Happened?” His demand is punctuated as he holds her in his stare. His eyes burned with barely contained fury and protectiveness as he studied her reactions. “Odio verte como la suya, mi amor.” He admits with a sigh.

Leaning forward, Miguel places a firm kiss on her forehead as his beloved’s breath shudders at his touch. The gentle heat under his touch left her trembling as the glass began to crack. “Let me ease your pain…” He whispers as he trails his kisses down to her eyelids. “These eyes are meant to be filled with happiness, not sorrow…” The cracks deepen as he gently kisses her nose. “I can’t undo what has happened…” The corners of her lips were caressed by his as his nose brushed against her cheeks causing her eyes to meet his mirrors. Her sorrow and helplessness are reflected in his ruby eyes as he kneels on the ground between her legs. A silent plea breaks the resolve she built as he mutters into her ear.

“Please, mi sol, at least let me feel your pain too…It's me and you against the universe remember…Por favor no me dejes solo ... No quiero perderte de nuevo.” He begs as the tension shatters.

With her arms snaking around his shoulders, the little spider confesses all that happened hours prior into his ear. Each detail, each scar, burned into his mind as she clung to his neck and hair. His inferno of rage almost imploded until he looked back into her eyes again. The relief of letting go of all of her troubles made her face look years younger as she looked at him with her big vulnerable eyes.

Hobie will have to wait. His love needed him now.

In a silent nod, Miguel wrapped her weak legs around his waist before he stood up. Feeling her snuggling into his throat, he carries her toward her room down the hallway while the annoying robot follows them to clean up the mess. As he enters the room, he releases some of his anger by smashing the bug with his foot.

“What was that, Miggy?” She croaks as she weakly tries to look over his shoulder.

“Just a bug,” He sighs as he approaches her dresser and grabs his spare set of clothes from his drawer. “You want your clothes or mine?”

“Yours…” She shyly admits as he feels the heat returning to the cheek on his neck.

“Muy bien, niña bonita. Lo que quieras.” He whispers as he grabs another set of clothes that he knows will swallow her. With that, he carries them into her personal bathroom and spent the night slowly bringing back his sunshine.

~~~~~~~~

A deep scream rings out through the Lobby as they see a flash of blue fury tackles the residential metal head into the ground. Peter hurries to save his colleague along with a few other Spidermen as Mayday laughs at the anarchist getting thrashed by the clawed man spewing Hispanic curses at him.

~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Mi luz, ¿qué pasó? - My light, what happened?

mi sol - my sun

Por favor no me dejes solo ... No quiero perderte de nuevo. -Please don't leave me alone...I don't want to lose you again

~~~~~~~

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#spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fandom

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magicalmanhattanproject · 8 months

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so i wanna talk about 2b2t, specifically as a backstory for qfit. because the thing is everyone talks about 2b2t as a wasteland and a wreck and a bombed out warzone and like. it sure as hell isn't not that. but it's also a server that people keep on coming to. it's a server that takes pride in actively murdering new members, but it's a server that keeps on having new members

so, what's the draw? what keeps people coming and coming back?

well, the thing about an anarchy server is that it has no rules, be they rules of society or rules of reality

the way i think about 2b2t is that it's a fucked up wonderland. like you know when someone makes a deal with a sinister fairy and it comes true in the worst way for them possible? that's how everything works on 2b.

you want infinite blocks for your builds? sure, the griefers have infinite tnt too. you want infinite totems to stay alive? sure, end crystal pvp means you're gonna need every last one of them. you want fame and fortune for griefing a legendary build? sure, you got a target on your back for the rest of your life though

but the thing is that the metaphorical fucked up fairies are busy. it's down to the individual server members to take care of the double dealing and the double crossing and the wreaking of havoc. and they do! with delight! but they can't* be everywhere at once.

so, you have a chance. you can get lucky. you can get lucky for a while. you can build a nice little life for yourself. you can even get it off the back of tearing other people down if you're quick and you're clever and that's much faster and easier than trying to grind your own resources the vanilla way when every moment is a race against the clock before your base gets found and griefed but you can try and you can do pretty well and you can try again and you can try to get revenge and you can make friends and you can make enemies and you can have everything you ever wanted for the low, low price of everything you ever had and why not pay it when you can just build it all back up again

the other things about 2b2t that i think points to fucked up fairy wonderland instead of standard wartime dystopia is so much of how the server works is really best understood as necromancy-adjacent. so every account is a different person, right? well, some people have a half dozen faces just in case someone finds out where one sleeps. sometimes. there was that one time one guy's shambling corpse** just got reanimated by a completely different guy who took over his identity and no one really minded when they found out

there's an entire population of bots that move and act like players and communicate in all the ways players can barring hte most intimate*** and they literally can't be distinguished from players in most circumstances but they're used as delivery drones so they'll bring you a package and then die in front of you so you can't follow them back to the cache

like this is just!! a thing!!! that people live with!!!!!!!

2b2t has highway unions!! it also has collectives who go around destroying the highways!! there are compassionate souls making community areas!! those areas are griefed to hell and back but not beyond recognizibility!!

it's all just an absolutely fascinating world and it deserves to be explored in how it affects fit's character a lot more than just "ptsd from bombs" even though that's also a massive part of it

*NOCOM notwithstanding

**To be clear bc it wasn't a roleplay bit, the original player is still alive, but he's got no intention of returning to 2b2t so his cubito is definitely dead.

***They can like spam crouch and send messages in chat and you're not gonna want to hop in a vc with a rando from 2b2t

#sorrelposting #qsmp #fitmc #qsmp fitmc

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urhoneycombwitch · 21 days

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in sickness, to cherish

foreword: so excited to release this lil’ babe into the world. PTSD and trauma healing is of special interest to me, I hope you enjoy 💖 (p.s. from my limited research I don’t think they would have used a heart monitor for low-risk patients but it is literally integral to my plot so I’m breaking my anachronistic purity rule. soz)

wc: 3k

cw: descriptions of seizure, PTSD + hospital/medical trauma for the whole gang, brief mention of non-consensual drugging, R is referred to once as “Mrs” & “girlfriend”, angst w/ comfort

___

The mounted clock on the wall of the dingy Hawkins Memorial waiting room ticks over to nine PM, a brutal reminder that time (for everyone else, at least) has not, in fact, stopped.

Nine o’clock. As you pace from one end of the plastic chair-lined aisle to the other, you run the numbers in your head, fingers spastic at your sides- it’s nine right now, and Steve was admitted just after six, which means they’ve been running tests for three hours, even though the charge nurse said it should only take one…

”You wanna step outside for a smoke?”

Eddie speaks up from his seat at the end of the row, catching your bleary gaze before you’re turning on your heel again to complete your looping track.

His voice cuts smoothly over the buzzing fluorescents, the old television in the corner droning with last week’s news cycle; it’s enough to disrupt Robin from her half-sleep against Eddie’s shoulder, blinking into consciousness and stretching her stiff limbs as you respond.

“No, thanks.” Your hands slip to the inside of your elbows, squeezing through layers of soft cardigan in a near-bruise, feet continuing the rhythmic pacing. “You can go, though- I’ll make sure Robin comes to get you if anything happens.”

Eddie clears his throat, sinking back into the hard plastic, rings clicking at the armrests. “Nah, I’m good without one. Just thought you’d want a change of scenery, maybe some fresh air would calm-”

“I’m staying here.”

There’s a sharpness to your voice, a rarity- Robin winces, fingers in her lap twisting and fidgeting as she tries to change the subject. “God, Steve’s gonna be spitting mad when he wakes up. He’s the most doctor-adverse person I know.”

Eddie latches on to this with a humorless chuckle- “Stubborn bastard. Wouldn’t let those lab goons go near him, even after last year-”

“Fuck.” The swear comes from the bottom of your toes, even as you swivel on the balls of your feet to loop back in front of your friends; their faces snap to you, a blur of motion as you pass them again- “You’re right. Steve fucking hates doctors. I should’ve-”

Your next breath comes stilted, fingers a vice-grip on your own arms as you pace, pace, pace- “I should’ve treated this like taking a dog to a vet. Crushed up some pills in his food, or something- he never listens to me when I nag him about his hearing getting worse- do you know how many meals, how many glasses of water we share, every day?”

From the corner of your hazy vision, Robin’s gone still and pale, her voice tremulous- “I didn’t mean to imply- this isn’t your fault, you know-”

But you’re not ready to hear that, guilt surfacing like a sick wave, tears pooling, moments away from spilling over, voice trembling with anguish- “Could’ve been so easy, tell him we’re going for a ride, load him up into the passenger seat, he goes to sleep and I could’a passed him right off to a doctor, to someone who could have prevented this-”

Eddie rises from his seat to stand in the middle of your path, hands lifting to soothe and appease, but you’re still in flight mode, like a bird beating its wings against the confines of its cage.

You flinch away from his touch, standing with your back turned to them both, staring out the dark window, unseeing. “You know what Steve said to me? Right before he hit the ground? He said, ‘Don’t panic, I’m gonna pass out, try not to let my hair get too messed up.’”

An edge of misplaced humor draws a dry laugh from your throat. The dark window reflects your own face back- tear-streaked, red veins encroaching on the whites of your eyes- as you shake your head in disbelief. “He made a joke. To try and distract me from the fact that he was about to hit the ground and go all… all spastic-”

Unbidden flashes of memory surge to the forefront of your mind: victims of last spring. Twisted forms snapped at the bone, Max’s arms and legs bent at horrifying angles, plaster casts from head-to-toe, freckled face still and sallow against the starch-white hospital sheets-

A leather-jacketed form in the reflection behind you, Eddie’s hand solid on your back against the shuddering breaths wracking all the air from your lungs. You don’t flinch away this time.

Your beautiful boy. Steve. With his eye-crinkling smiles and sharp wit and gentle heart, stiff as a board in the middle of your living room, eyes rolled back in his skull like a downed deer, unreachable, just three hours ago.

“I thought it was Vecna. It’s been so long but I thought he’d come back, somehow, I was this close to running upstairs and grabbing our Walkman-”

”But you didn’t.” The hand at your back is joined by another at your arm as Eddie pulls you to face him, his gaze locking on your own, brown eyes full of grave compassion. “You heard the nurse. She said tipping him on his side was the best call you could’a made, sweetheart- you saved him.”

”But I didn’t know,” you insist, “I didn’t know that’s what would help, I just did it ‘cuz I was worried he was going to choke on his own tongue-”

“Semantics. You intuited it, then.” One of Eddie’s hands leaves your arm briefly to make a dismissive gesture through the air- “Which, in my book, is all the more impressive.”

Unconvinced, your voice small and tightening along with your chest- “What if this happens again, and he’s alone, this time? What if he’s working one of his three closing shifts a week, without Robin- what if he’s driving?”

You can’t help the spiraling of your thoughts, what-if scenarios jumping in line, each one more horrifying than the last.

Robin rises to stand beside Eddie, opens her mouth- to deny, to comfort, it’s unclear- but is interrupted by a new nurse who’s just appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Harrington?”

This snaps you back to earth, a bit, another watery laugh as Eddie takes a step back, allowing you to swipe at the mess of tears on your face before turning to the nurse- “Yeah. As good as, I guess. How’s he doing?”

With a last look at your friends, the nurse leads you down sickeningly-bright corridors while reading from a clipboard- most of it’s medical jargon, your foggy brain struggling to keep up as you stay on her heels.

What you gather, as you’re led to his room, is nothing new- Steve’s had a seizure, likely due to the trauma his brain incurred from the ‘earthquake’ of ‘86, and it’s unclear what triggered it, or if it’s likely to happen again.

“We’re going to keep him overnight, just to monitor his condition.” The nurse stops at a door labeled Room 202, hinges squeaking as she pushes it open. “He was really lucky, this time. Must’ve had a good guardian angel looking out for him.”

Heart thrumming thick in your throat, you almost ask the nurse to wait, to give you a second- maybe a quick bathroom break to splash some cold water against the tear-tracks, or even an extra few seconds to pretend at being stoic- but she’s already ushering you in with a kind smile.

The nurse pulls the door shut, and you’re left alone with the boy in the bed.

He looks exhausted, dark circles pulling at the soft skin below his eyes, which are full of relief, trained on you as you approach.

“Hey, there’s my girl.” There’s a scratchy quality to Steve’s voice, on its way to being lost.

You were doing really well, no crying or anything, before he spoke. But hearing him, paired with the awful sight of a medical cord wrapping around the width of his broad chest, has your face crumpling in an instant.

“Oh, shit. Aw, honey. C’mere-” Steve reaches for you, halfway to sitting up off his supporting pillows, and you quickly close the gap, sitting near his hip on the bed.

“No, hey- stay down,” you chide through the tears, pushing at the shoulder of his white hospital tee. “Don’t put any stress on your body.”

“Cut the stress, she says,” Steve grumbles, leaning back against the stack of pillows but compromising by pulling you in closer. “My baby’s crying, and she tells me no stress?”

His left palm slips over your cheek, thumb swiping away tears, while his right hand- IV taped flat over the back of it- slides to rest on your waist.

”Gonna tell me what’s wrong, hm?”

Under different circumstances, you’d laugh at his question- christ, where did he want you to start: but with that amber gaze so full of empathy, desperate to fix what’s making you sad, you’re stripped raw with sincerity.

”I was just- I was so scared, Steve-”

Steve pulls your face towards his, needily, a breath away from begging for a kiss before you lean in for one.

He tastes salty, like sweat and tears, lips plush and softly seeking against the seam of your own. Between the kisses, he’s mumbling apologies, “sorry, so sorry”, broken by the need to be as close to you as all the medical gear will allow.

There’s a soft noise from the back of his throat, and you pull away just enough to bump your nose into his, hands running up to push through the soft strands of his hair.

Steve practically purrs under your touch; you’re careful not to disturb the tubing wrapping around the length of his chest, leaning your weight into his shoulders instead.

A vein of hilarity spikes as you remember Steve’s last words before he went under: and here you were, fingers pulling at his dark roots, breaking his one request. When you start to giggle, Steve’s eyes pop open, baffled, hair sticking up at the ends when your fingers leave his hair. Both hands now squeezing at your hips, he feels left out of the joke- “What?”

“I just- nothing. Never mind. I’m really glad you’re okay.” It’s the truth. You frame his lovely face with your hands, kissing his forehead once before sitting up fully. “I don’t wanna fight about it here, okay? Let’s just focus on you feeling better, and then-”

“See, now, wait a minute-” Steve holds up a finger to interrupt. “You don’t get it. I’ve been hoping and praying for hours now that my pretty girlfriend would come in here just so we could have a good fight.”

He tweaks at the skin of your hips (with the IV-hand, so you can’t just smack it away, dammit), smiling up at you far too dreamily for someone reclining in a hospital bed.

Settling against the length of Steve’s torso, your arms cross over his stomach just under the tubing as you start, carefully- “You know, Max had one of these- when she was in the hospital?”

”Yeah, you’re right.” Steve’s hands worm their way under both your cardigan sleeves, seeking out the comfort of skin like a magnet- “Think it tracks heart rate. Or something.”

“Mm-hm. And… you know how she had to go to physical therapy three times a week? For, like, half the school year?”

Steve’s thumbs swipe absently at your wrists, a line pinched between his brows, trying to piece together your angle. “…yeah?”

“Takes a lot of time, to heal from something like that.” Your eyes drop to his chest, throat swelling with the effort of holding back a sob. “And I’m just- just thinking of all the times you might be alone, and how we could have prevented this, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey- shhh…” Steve soothes, shaking his head. “Honey, it was inevitable, okay? Nothing we could’a done. The doc told me this shit can happen, like, years after a big event. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Fighting against the wall of emotion that makes speaking harder, you return his head shake, desperate for understanding- “But you can’t promise that, baby. You had a seizure- an actual, medical emergency, and… we don’t know if it’ll happen again.”

With a purposeful straightening of your spine, you state, resolutely: “I want a different promise.”

Steve presses the crown of his head back into the pillows, melodramatic, resurfacing with a tsk. “So stubborn. What promise you want, then, huh?”

”I want you to promise that you’ll see a doctor- a real one. A head guy. Not some… family medicine quack.”

Steve grins, charming even while unusually pale- “I love it when you talk medical, really gets me going-”

He decides to bail on the rest of that sentence when he sees the flare of irritation on its way to real anger in your face, raising both hands in appeasement- “Okay. Hey- I promise to see a real head doc. I don’t intend on putting you through this again.”

WIth a sigh, you surge forward again, mumbling “Thank you” into Steve’s lips, a kiss of relief and gratitude. Best news you’ve heard all day.

His groans vibrate through you, hands running down the length of your side, near the bottom of your cardigan; you squeak at the intrusion of his cold palms on the bare skin of your waist but they warm quickly, and you’re willingly distracted as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips.

Perhaps not exactly hospital-appropriate, but as it’s been an evening full of adrenaline-filled panic and heartache, you figure some making out might be a good cure for the both of you.

“Won’t scare you like that again,” Steve says, lips already pink and spit-slick, intense and breathless as he clings to you between kisses- “Gonna be okay. You saved me, angel. Love you s’much…”

Your hand, previously resting on Steve’s knee, automatically slides up at his words, notching into the soft expanse of his inner thigh over the thin sheets- “Love you too, so much…”

A bright, electronic noise jolts into frantic beeping- the monitor that Steve’s hooked up to is loud enough to startle you into sitting up.

There’s no time to process or even rearrange yourselves before the nurse from earlier bustles into the room to glare at the machine’s screen; best you can do is a swipe across your mouth, hopefully hiding any evidence of moments-ago spit-swappage as you stammer out, “Um, yeah, sorry- h-he was trying to sit up and that set it off, I guess…?”

Steve lies placid and amenable against his pillows, giving the nurse a gold-medal grin, which unfortunately does nothing to allay her suspicions.

“Uh-huh.” The monitor alarm is stopped short with the press of a few buttons, and she gives Steve a sideways look, clipboard tucked under her arm- “You ready for your other visitors, Mr. Harrington, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

“Bring forth the party, Patricia.” Steve folds his hands behind his head, wincing when his IV gets bumped but covering it with a wink.

Nurse Patricia leaves. You cover your heated face, mortified- “Oh my god. She probably thought I was giving you a handjob or something, jesus, Steve-”

He’s outright laughing at you now, unable to help it- “Come on, no she didn’t. And even if she did…”

Steve is momentarily distracted, frowning down at his chest, following the monitor’s line to the machine; you watch through cracked fingers, his face lighting up, triumphant. “See, I bet if we unplug it from the wall same time as disconnecting it from here, we might be able to fit a handy under the radar, after all!”

Robin and Eddie enter the room just as you’re swatting Steve’s shoulder; over your subdued and mildly horrified laughter, he groans in faux-pain: “God, you two got here just in time. She’s beating me up for no reason.”

As Eddie settles into the plastic chair under the opposing wall’s window, you scooch down the mattress, patting the side closest to Steve with an encouraging smile at Robin.

She takes the seat, appreciative, her clammy hand slipping into yours for support as she addresses Steve: “Y’know, if you did this to get out of doing inventory this weekend, you could just say so.”

“You caught me, Robs,” Steve says, thumbing over her knuckles fondly. “Finally gonna join my conspiracy to make Keith’s life hell?”

You’re about to cut in, emphasizing that no one else should be making any hospital visits, when a metallic screech has the three of you on the bed whipping around.

Eddie’s managed to crack the barred window- judging by the sound, it hasn’t been opened since the 70s. He freezes with all the attention, then speaks around the cigarette clenched between his lips, suave again- “Pardon the interruption. Anyone else care for a smoke?”

Everyone in the room blinks at him, in various stages of disbelief; Steve starts laughing, first, which gets Robin going, and eventually you, too, until Eddie’s grinning around the cigarette, lighter halfway to his mouth as he chuckles- “Well, can’t say I didn’t offer…”

Robin makes a comment about nicotine fumes, which quickly devolves into her and Eddie fiercely bickering.

The elevated chatter of your friends fades into the background as Steve takes your hand atop the sheets, head tilted to get you in his line of sight again- love you, he mouths.

Love you, too.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader

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ghostboneswrites2 · 1 month

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You Ran

Summary: Your boyfriend is a known abuser but nobody does anything to stop it. (Similar to the Jess situation.) When Daryl goes out of his way to help, you lash out, realizing that he might have helped you for the night, but it would surely only get worse from there. When Deanna makes it clear she has little to no intentions of addressing the issue, you take matters into your own hands.

18+ MDNI || Warnings: Profanity, non-graphic references to abuse, one instance of descriptive abuse (slapping & pushing), description of bruising, TWD typical violence

Part 2: You Were Found

Note: This story may not be suitable for all audiences. It's not intentionally triggering but as a former victim of abuse / witness to the abuse of a parent I did channel a bit of my own trauma into this.

You anxiously tugged at your sleeves, ensuring the bruising around your wrist would be hidden as you worked your shift at the armory. Usually Olivia would handle the pantry and armory combined, but with rations getting low and runs becoming a more frequent necessity, you offered to help her with one or the other. The Alexandrians were getting antsy, crowding the pantry all hours of the day to try and intimidate Olivia out of extra rations, selfishly complaining that they needed more, regardless of who had to go hungry for their bellies to be filled.

You had only been at Alexandria for a year, maybe. You and your boyfriend bumped into Aaron and Eric on the road, and he graciously invited you to his home. You often found yourself missing what you had with him on the road. He never hit you or raised his voice. He was always tender and protective. The only goal either of you had was to see another day together. Somehow, though, when you arrived here, everything changed. It was like the safety of the walls left him too much time to recall the horrors of the time you spent out in the open. PTSD ravaged him, and he became a mere shell of his former self.

He'd become overwhelmed with rage. He'd shout, break things, attack you.. Truth be told, you changed too. Once the violence began, you became reclusive and shy. You thought if you looked anyone in the eye for too long they'd be able to see your problems at home written all over your face. It wasn't a risk worth taking.

The people noticed, too. When you first arrived, you were goofy and talkative, excited for any human contact. You never stayed inside too long. You always offered to help anyone you saw with yard work, hauling, preparing. You'd see the kids playing or hanging out and offer them a drink or ask to join their game of hide and seek. Slowly, though, that changed, beginning right around the time your boyfriend changed.

See, Ty was the kind of guy to smile at his neighbor and offer a hand in lifting that heavy couch, or ask a fellow passerby how their day was going. He was eager to be given a job, to contribute. It was mere weeks before the depression krept in and stole everything lively about him away, leaving room for the more sinister post-trauma to settle in in the wake of his joy. You tried to pull him out of it. You stayed by his side every step of the way, and at first he was grateful, but somehow he grew to resent you. He felt sick to his stomach at your sweet nature, at how effortlessly you acclimated to any semblance of normalcy. He felt left behind, like you were going to bloom and expose all your petals while he remained shriveled underneath the surface.

That was when his outbursts began. The damage to your surroundings followed soon after, and that only escalated to violence. It wasn't every day, but it was often. Most people avoided him, and even you, but a select few kept in touch. Mostly Olivia and Denise.

"It's hot today, love. Don't you wanna take that sweater off?" Olivia asked innocently as he brought in your clipboard. "I did a quick inventory last night, go ahead and check it out again. They should be by soon to check out for their run."

"Okay." You smiled and nodded, checking off every gun, scope, and round of ammunition. You were quickly bored so you started arranging everything neatly, setting the larger rifles and shotguns on the pegs of the utility wall, carefully laying out each pistol, lining up the mags and ammunition, organizing the sights by magnification.

"Need a few things." A husky voice startled you. You spun to face him fast, relaxing a bit at the familiar face. It was just Daryl. A lot of people found him intimidating or mean, but you figured he was just quiet. Most people in Alexandria were blissfully unaware of the world beyond the walls and what it could do to a person.

"Oh, go ahead." You pressed your lips into a thin smile. "Just let me know what you take so I can.." You held up the clipboard. He nodded and wandered around the room, picking up a few pistols and sliding the mags inside, which you had graciously preloaded for them already.

"Can ya toss me that AR?" He asked. You reached up and lifted it off the prongs, walking it over to him. "Is it loaded?" He wondered as he reached to grab it. His eyes stuck to your wrists, which had been exposed as your sleeves rode up your arm through the mundane tasks you had been performing. You didn't really notice his gaze.

"Yeah, I--" You paused as his hand grabbed yours and turned it over, looking at the purple and blue marks littering your skin. They were clearly left from another hand.

You yanked your hand back and adjusted your sleeves shamefully. Embarrassment encased you. It wasn't that you worried about intervention, perse. The entire community knew what was happening behind closed doors and they all swept it under the rug, not willing to intervene and disturb the peace in their blissfully ignorant suburb.

"Sorry, it's nothing." You mumbled, brushing your dull hair behind your ear. Funny enough, you were a social worker before shit hit the fan. You were well trained in signs of abuse and malnourishment, in both women and children. Thin, dull hair was often a sign of abuse in the sense that one's body can be in a constant state of fight-or-flight and the adrenaline could take a real toll on someone's health. Usually accompanied by less than healthy BMI, timidness, always looking at the ground when they walk, avoiding eye contact, only speaking when spoken to, the list went on. It was like a sick joke, being a poster child for the textbook signs of abuse, the very thing you were trained to protect and remove the vulnerable from.

"It ain't." He said quietly.

"No, really. It's fine." You forced a smile. "Was that all you needed, or..?"

He studied you for a moment, deciding it wasn't the right time to address it.

"Need a scope." He relented.

"Oh, they're right there." You pointed to the shelf. He nodded and picked one.

"Just these." He said, displaying his haul. You recorded each item and nodded.

"Okay. Be safe out there." You smiled. He grunted and walked out. You let out a breath, praying that slip up wouldn't have consequences.

----

You slowly entered the bedroom where Ty would be enjoying his typical glass of whatever booze he could get his hands on. Recently he even resorted to fermenting fruit for his own mead.

"Dinner." You said shyly, setting it on the end table beside the bed, knowing better than to interrupt him too much.

"It's about time." He slurred. "I'm starving."

You hung your head low as you scurried out of the room, gently pulling the door shut behind him. If you closed it too loud, he'd think you slammed it, and that was sure to trigger a response.

You sat down on the couch downstairs, picking at your food in an attempt to grow and appetite. You had a knot in your gut all day after the encounter with Daryl. You had this nagging feeling that it was sure to turn into more than an awkward interaction.

And you were right.

Knock knock.

A casual double knock wasn't typical around there. Most people, if they dared to stop by, tapped lightly and persistently. You set the food on the coffee table and pulled the door open.

"Oh." You blinked at the quiet huntsman. "Don't do this." You pleaded, just above a whisper.

"Do what?" He shrugged. "Just came to drop this off."

He was nonchalant, but you both knew what he was doing. He held out a bag with some rations.

"We usually get rations at the pantry." You said apprehensively.

"Mm. Decided to drop by after we unloaded." He explained absently, more focused on the house behind you as he searched from the doorway.

"Well, thanks." You reached for the bag but he seized the opportunity to grab you hand again and pull your sleeve up.

Carol stepped into view from beside him. She was hidden from your sights before that, right beside the front door. She looked down at your wrist then back up at you.

"Enjoy the rations." Was all she said as she walked away. Daryl brought her along to judge the situation. Given both of their pasts, he thought there'd be no better duo to help.

You snatched the bag back and eyed Daryl.

"What's this?" Ty asked from behind you, empty plate in hand. His eyes lingered on Daryl and flashed with jealousy.

"This is Daryl." You stepped to the side.

"I know his name, damn it. What's he doing here?"

"Just dropping by with some food." You explained hurriedly attempting to avoid any kind of confrontation.

"The pantry out of commission or something?" Ty asked suspiciously, stepping toward you.

"No, they just--"

"Just stocked it up. Olivia asked me to drop some things off for (Y/N)." Daryl spoke up.

"Huh." Ty hummed, looking Daryl up and down and decided it wouldn't be a fair fight. "Thanks." Was all he said before he shut the door in Daryl's face. He watched the door as he listened to Daryl walk down the steps before his eyes found you. You gulped.

"Just some food." You mumbled, extending your arm to show him the bag. He snatched it and you jumped. He looked over the contents inside. Typical things like canned goods and bread. "I needed some--"

You began to formulate an excuse to keep his rage at bay, but he cut you short with an open handed slap across the cheek.

"I told you no guests." He seethed.

"I didn't know they were coming." You whimpered, hand holding your throbbing skin as your hair slipped over your face.

He shoved you into the wall and the impact knocked a picture frame down, shattering all over the tile.

The door swung open just then and Daryl's stocky figure hurdled at Ty, taking him to the ground.

"Ya like beatin' up on little girls?" Daryl seethed, straddling Ty and landing two punches across his face. "Huh? Why don't ya pick on somebody your own size, ya prick?!"

Daryl had walked down the steps loudly to trick Ty, then he waited for any sign he needed to intervene. Carol went to get Rick. It was all planned.

You scrambled away from the scene, stunned. You couldn't watch for very long before you felt compelled to intervene.

"Daryl.." You pleaded, trying and failing to pull him back. Daryl punched Ty over and over.

"Answer me, ya sick fuck! You like beatin' up on your girl? It make ya feel big and bad? Huh?!"

"Daryl!" You pleaded.

That was when Rick rushed over with Michonne and Carol in tow.

"Daryl, stop!" Rick ordered. Hesitantly, Daryl stood up to his feet and Rick stepped in front of him. Rick took in the scene of your bloodied boyfriend writhing on the ground, you cowering away. "What happened?" He asked you. You couldn't speak.

"Bastard's been hittin' her!" Daryl spoke up for you, still pacing and circling like a hungry predator.

"That true?" Rick asked you. He noticed your red cheek and your generally timid nature. You didn't answer, but you didn't need to. Rick nodded and looked back down to Ty. "Alright. Michonne, help me get him to the cell. We can try to explain this to Deanna tomorrow."

Rick and Michonne dragged Ty away as you stared at Daryl bewildered. Suddenly, a flash of rage washed over you.

"Do you know what you've done?!" You shouted through tears. "It's only gonna get so much worse now!"

Daryl was stunned. He took offense to the fact that he went out of his way to defend a stranger only for them to turn around and lash out at him, as if he had wronged her.

"It was only gonna get worse if I didn't do nothin'!" He defended.

"You don't get it! He'll be home tomorrow and it'll start all over again, only worse this time!" You sobbed. "You should have just left it alone."

"He ain't comin' back here."

"Yes he is! Have you ever seen anyone be punished here? Do you see any laws posted? Did you get a handbook when you arrived?" You tried to explain. "Deanna will let him out tomorrow and everyone's just going to pretend like it never happened; like nothing is wrong. That's how things work here."

"Well then pack up and go. Get outta here 'fore he comes back." Daryl shrugged. You scoffed.

"And go where? I barely know these people. You think Deanna's just gonna give me a whole house to myself? Even if she did, how long do you think it'll be before he shows up at my door? Are you gonna be there to save me then too?"

Tears were still streaming freely down your cheeks. Your voice cracked and trembled with fear and rage.Daryl was speechless. He didn't know what to do to help you. He wondered if you were right, if he should've just left things how they were and minded his own business. Maybe he was fool to think he had any right meddling in your life just because he had been through similar things.

"Can't just let ya sit here and get beat." He finally spoke. You scoffed and shook your head, running a hand over your flustered face.

"Well you don't really have a choice. I have nowhere to go." You said, holding your arms out and gesturing around you. "This is where I live, this is where he lives, and this is my life now."

"Nah. Rick's gon' talk to Deanna. He's gon' fix this."

----

The next morning, Rick and Daryl showed up at Deanna's bright and early, with Michonne and Carol in tow.

"So you attacked him?" Deanna asked, eying Daryl. He scoffed.

"After he beat up his girl, again. And from the sounds of it you all know exactly what goes on over there and don't do a damn thing to fix it!" Daryl spat. He was frustrated with the entire situation, but more so with the lack of action from the community or its leader to protect all of its citizens. Rick held his hand out to Daryl and gave him a look, silently asking him to calm down. Daryl began pacing.

"We don't know for sure that anything like that was happening. We can't act on suspicion alone--"

"We saw the bruises." Carol cut Deanna off. "All around her wrists, where someone grabbed her."

"And I heard him throw her into the wall." Daryl added, straining to keep his voice down. "Waited on the porch 'til he thought I was gone and heard it all."

"Her face was red too." Michonne spoke up. "When we got there. The whole left side was lit up."

Deanna looked to Rick, who nodded in confirmation. Deanna pondered for a moment.

"So then what do you suggest I do? Leave him locked up in a cell underneath my house?" She asked rhetorically. It was clear she had no intentions of facing the issue.

"What ya do is tell him to get lost." Daryl said as if it was obvious. To him, it was. No room for abusers in a functional society.

"What Daryl means to say is maybe you van give him an ultimatum. If he can't keep his hands off people, then he has no place here." Rick tried to smooth out the situation. Deanna was already more focused on Daryl attacking Ty than he was on the year-long assault Ty waged against your body.

"I can't just start throwing threats around and --"

"You need to protect your people." Michonne spoke slowly. "That means not leaving one to suffer just to keep everyone else comfortable."

"This isn't a comfortable world." Carol added meekly, maintaining that denmother persona she played so well.Deanna sighed.

"Suppose I give him this.. ultimatum.. Then what? What happens when he hits her again?" Deanna asked. Daryl stopped pacing and stared at her, arms hanging down at his sides. He was baffled.

"Then ya stand on what ya said and throw him out." He deadpanned.

"And what do I tell my people?"

"The truth!" Daryl threw his hands up in frustration.

"Okay, Daryl, maybe you should take a minute to cool off." Rick sighed.

"No need." Deanna held her hand up. "I've heard enough. I have a lot to think about."

----

You had cleaned up the house the best you could and worked hard to make sure food was ready on the kitchen island for when Ty came home. You were sure nothing would contain the rage he'd feel, but you hoped you could butter him up enough to avoid his fist.

Someone knocked just as you were setting the tray of lasagna on the counter. You rushed over to answer, surprised to see Deanna.

"(Y/N). Have time to chat?" She smiled. You stepped aside and let her in, crossing your arms over your chest as she strolled past you and stood facing you. "I've been thinking a lot about your situation."

"Oh...?" You raised your eyebrows.

"I don't believe it's in the best interest of the community to blow this out of proportion." She began. You rolled your eyes and focused on a random tile on the floor. You already knew where she was taking it. "I've heard the testimonies from Rick, Michonne, Daryl, and Carol. They can all confirm that maybe things aren't the most peaceful for you here."

"Huh." You hummed.

"The thing is, I can't just leave Tyler in a cell, or kick him out of Alexandria. That would cause fear. People would be wondering who's next, or what simple mistakes could end up getting them banished." She went on. "I have a duty to my people."

"Am I your people?" You asked suddenly. You didn't mean to say it, but you did mean it.

"Well -- Yes." She stuttered, caught off guard.

"So then what does that mean for me? The need to keep everyone comfortable trumps the need to keep one person safe from another?"

You didn't want Ty to be banished or to be imprisoned. You just wanted a safe way out. You loved him, of course you did. He was good once, but that part of him was gone.

"That's not what I'm saying." She insisted.

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm not sure what to do to keep you safe." She admitted. "At least not without--"

"Without making the others feel uncomfortable. I get it." You summarized.

"Right, well... I just need more time to think it over, to speak with people I trust to make the right judgement here. I will figure this out for you, (Y/N)."

You didn't believe her.

"When are you letting him out?" You asked. She didn't seem to understand. "Of the cell, I mean. When are you sending him back here?"

"I'm not sure." She said quietly.

"Right. Well I have a lot to do before he gets here, so if you don't mind..." You nodded over to the door. She gave a quick goodbye before she left, and you took some time to think. Maybe nobody else could help you. Maybe you just had to take matters into your own hands.

----

The wall was menacingly tall. You stared up the height of it, gulping, adjusting the straps of your backpack as you did. You had seen Enid climb it before, so you were sure you could do the same. With a deep breath, you hoisted yourself up the steel beam and climbed with all your strength, dropping down on the other side once you had reached the top. You quickly grabbed the biggest kitchen knife you could find from your bag and tucked it into your belt, before digging for the loaded pistol you stole from the armory and sliding it into the back of your waistband.

You double checked that you had food, water, and a change of clothes in the large part of the bag. You checked the front pocket for all the first aid you could fit. When you were satisfied, you tossed one last glance at the walls of Alexandria, and you ran.

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uhohdad · 9 months

Text

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Pt 3

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

Warnings: Sexual Content, NSFW, bondage, DOM!Konig, size kink, light spanking, unprotected sex, possessive!konig, praise kink, the mask stays on 😈, Reader x Konig, injury, needle torture, PTSD, talk of standard war stuff, Non-con Voyeurism. No use of y/n,

Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys

Word Count: 10,2k

(tbh you probably don’t need to read the first two parts so if you just wanna read this slutty chapter it should be fine lol but if you do i’ll link them)

AO3

PART ONE

PART TWO

NSFW under the cut

You’re praying that he’s getting this.

There’s a million things that could go wrong - Konig not being near his device and you’re just streaming into an empty room. Or Ghost’s device wasn’t the one that was synced with Konig’s, maybe one of the matching copies or an earlier prototype. Or worse - Konig found out about the video and leaves you to your demise as he rightfully should.

You swallow as you watch Mohawk put the his phone away in his pocket, hoping his screen wasn’t exposed to the feed’s camera, “Thanks for making me have that on my phone, by the way. Do you know how many times I was forced to watch this?”

Stop talking about it!

“What else do you want to know?” You’re more willing to give out top-secret government intel than let Konig find about that fucking video.

Ghost senses you’ve been holding back on him, and he tilts his head down to look at you from above the projection, “What’s it do?”

“Everything.” You answer, “Anything I tell it to. It’s like VR.” There’s a bit of a slur to your words. You’re still aware enough to manage the long-con, but your eyelids are getting heavier. Just have to hold out awhile longer, juggle a few things at the same time. Don’t let Konig find out about how you ended up here, but make sure he knows you’re here. Don’t let skull boy and stupid-haircut find about the transmission, but don’t let them lose enough interest to turn the device off. Don’t give away too many government secrets, but don’t give out too little to keep the soldiers from doing anymore permanent damage to your brain.

And manage all of that while coping with the current level of brain damage you have.

They look at each other, trying to figure out if they’re satisfied with your answer.

That’s good. Just keep stalling.

Everything was threatening to crash down around you, but there’s a glimmer of hope so minuscule, you think you could actually pull it off if all the pieces fall together.

You’re no longer giving up.

We can fix this. Fix all of it. Fix your mess.

You’re going to give it a fair shot, you decide, and you’ll leave it up to the universe.

Ghost cocks his head, those intimidating eyes boring into you, “And what things do you tell it to do?” You can tell he’s irritated with the meaningless answer. You steer in the opposite direction.

You give a drawn out hum, “Identify the bad guys. Heat map, heart beats ‘n all that.” You’re trying to keep your thoughts together, but there’s too many to keep up with, and the concussion still has you in its hazy clutches.

Another idea, a back up plan, you’ll call it. You can’t tell if it’s a stupid idea or not, but you’re slipping and fast, “Can I get a smoke? I’m feening.” You give a smile, the residual of the painkillers making it easy to appear unassuming.

“No. What else does it do?” Ghost is straight to the point, and it reminds you of Konig, and you wish Ghost would stop doing that because you’re trying to do something here.

Another drunken hum, “What’d’ya want it to do? I can do it.” You wave your hand at him, casually flashing your restraints so Konig would get a clear view.

Ghost steps towards you and grabs the front of your gown, yanking your face inches from his, “What does it fucking do?”

A proud smile crosses your face, “Not your mom, ‘cause I got that covered myself.”

Mohawk puts a hand of warning on Ghost’s shoulder, reminding him not to get too violent with you.

Ghost ignores the warning, his fist connecting with your temple before you had a chance to brace yourself.

Skull boy packs quite a punch.

You’re reset for a moment, blinded by a bright white and the ring in your ears makes a blaring encore.

You can tell by the warm and wet feeling under your bandages that the gash from Ghost’s gun had split open.

You don’t know how long it takes you to get your bearings, but once you do you’re almost thankful Ghost had rocked you.

You’re hoping Konig can see the urgency of the situation and your injured brain being rattled around your skull gives you an excuse to lie motionless, hindering interrogation. They know you’re not useful to them when you incapable of coherency. It’s why Stupid-Haircut is trying so hard to keep Ghost from injuring you to bad. It’s why they went through the trouble of nursing an enemy back to health. If Ghost turns your brain to soup like you’re so clearly provoking him to do, you won’t be able to tell them what they want to know.

Okay, painful change of plans.

Instead of forcing yourself to stay clear enough to manage all the details through the fog of the concussion, you’re going to force yourself into ignorance by weaponizing Ghost’s temperament against him. It’s in their best interest to keep you cognizant, and it’s in your best interest to get Ghost irritated enough to torture you until you’re unable to speak.

It’s going to be brutal, but you’ve been feeling nothing but pain at the hands of him, and you don’t think you’re far off from the cozy clutches of unconsciousness as it is - that it won’t be long until you’re unable to feel anything.

Always the masochist.

You can’t help but smile, even though it all. A genuine one, toothy and face-wrinkling, one that wasn’t for anyone else in the room, but didn’t care if they saw. It wasn’t a desperate attempt to relieve your discomfort. Not a waste of your precious energy lulling strangers into their sense of comfort. Not a weak effort to influence the opinion of you belonging to whoever happens to be in your vicinity.

You feel like you’re watching yourself descend into madness, powerless against the euphoric feeling that floods through you. Warmth coasting through your veins. You could tell it wasn’t the drugs, the concussion and the growing list of other injuries, or even the idea Konig may be rushing to your rescue any minute now.

It was because in this moment, despite everything that has happened, you can’t help but be enamored with yourself.

You?

Of course. Of course it took these conditions to pull it out of you.

It’s always the hard way with you, wasn’t it?

“If you can’t restrain yourself maybe you should let me handle it.”

“Back down, Johnny.” Ghost warns in that low, cautionary tone that can’t help leave the receiver wondering just what horrible punishment would occur if they pushed. He doesn’t even have to look at Johnny to hammer the intimidation into him. It’s only accompanied by a low extend of arm vaguely in his direction.

Neither you or Ghost noticed the way Johnny’s eye twitched or lip snarled, but he heeds Ghost’s warning.

Ghost’s eyes lock on you, and you think everyone in the room has caught on to the predicament they’re in.

Johnny, who’s been up to speed since the start, walking the tightrope of being respectful to his superior without letting him damage the value of his informant.

Ghost, who’s long lost his respect for you before he even laid eyes on you, and since meeting you has only been sinking deeper into his hatred of you. He’s used to getting information from soldiers. Out of powerful individuals that could handle a hit and that stay conscious during an interrogation session. The ones smart enough not to antagonize and beg for the brutality. Ones that grit their teeth an at least try and suck it up to maintain a scrap of dignity. Not you. He knows he needs your brain but he’d be happy to put an end to all of it, right now. Pull the plug on your project the manual way. If they can’t have it, no one can. Maybe he’d get what he wants along the way if you’re coherent enough to squeak it out, but that’d just be a bonus in his eyes.

And you. Wonderfully brilliant, even if occasionally misguided, and as much as you hate to believe it sometimes, incredibly lovable, even if Ghost is looking at you like he wants to put your head on a stick. But you don’t care about that dummy. No, you’re not even looking at him or his Johnny. Even if he takes your life from you right now, you think you could accept that. Not for any necessarily suicidal reasons, even though the concussion has definitely knocked some dark feelings loose.

You close your eyes, and the smile still hasn’t left your face, even if your sore muscles were pulling on the edges of your headache.

“Too much morphine.” Ghost says, to no one in particular, not hesitating as he forcefully grabs your forearm and digs his thumb into the skin encasing your IV needle.

You immediately hiss through gritted teeth, but he doesn’t hesitate as he takes the beginning of the needle with his other hand, roughly poking around in your arm.

You try to pull away but he’s got a grip tight enough to force your arm extended. You’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

He removes the needle entirely before puncturing you in a different spot on your inner elbow, shaking the needle violently beneath your flesh. You gasp, pulling against his iron grip with what little strength you have.

“Where’d your smile go?” Ghost asks in a neutral tone, his eyes dead of emotion as he removes the needle before stabbing another hole in your arm.

You let out a yelp, eyes screwed shut as your other hand jerks against the restraints. You’re too focused on the sickening feeling of skewered veins to make up a good comeback.

He does it again, and your fists clench and a high grunt escapes through gritted teeth.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to set an IV.” Ghost says dryly, his eyes cold behind the mask as he thrashes the needle.

“Keep practicing.” You hiss, pitch warbling through the pain.

And he does.

It’s brutal, Ghost flaying the crease of your arm repeatedly. It’s been less than a minute but you’re sure the torture started a lifetime ago. You just have to take it, it’s all you can do. Your verbal stalling wasn’t cutting it, so you’re just going to have to opt for this instead and hope you can piss him off enough to get just a little too violent with you.

When he’s done, he jams the needle back where it was, managing to lay it back in your vein. “There we go.”

You study each other for a brief moment, before he leans in close, so close his projection becomes obscured through your head. You’re eye to eye now, nothing between you two but the mask your nose is almost brushing up against.

He grabs your face, his gloved fingers digging into your jaw with the same force he had held your forearm. He holds your head still and all you can do is look at him, brows pinched in fury as your nails dig into your palms, fists fight the restraints.

His eyes twitch as they flicker between each of yours.

“I am going to ruin you.”

You shake your head in an attempt to free your jaw from his clutches, but his grip is strong and he makes a point of forcing your head still, looking down his mask at you.

“You can give me all the information you like. I’m not stopping until it’s finished.”

Ghost finally lets you go with a rough shove. He takes the device from his ear and his wrist, discarding them both over his shoulder. Johnny catches the ear piece with a slight fumble, and the wrist remote hits the ground with a ting, rattling obnoxiously as it rolls to a stop. Johnny’s got his hands full as he yells but you you don’t bother listening to what he’s saying.

You’re too busy relaxing into the attack as you let Ghost carry you to death’s door.

———————————————————-

Even wincing is painful.

You're finally stirred awake by the feeling of a gloved hand on the back of your neck.

It’s hard to open your eyes, and when you finally do you see him, from the chest up, he looks just like a just a blurry figure. Two of them, actually, doubled vision multiplying the lone man that stood before you.

Even with your damaged vision you can tell it’s Konig, making out the telling shapes of his gear and those biceps you’ve studied so close you could pick them out of a lineup.

The hood that always intimidated you, but now fills you with a comfort like no other. You can see the light of your projection shielding his eyes.

A blinding bright light surrounds him, haloing your vision and it hurts, but you can help but keep your weary gaze fixed on him inbetween slow blinks.

You’re sure you’re dead. That you’re passing over and this is your brain manifesting some hallucination to comfort you as you transition.

You reach out to touch his hood, just to see if you can. You wanted to see if you could feel him, the researcher in you testing the potentials of your delusions. The restraints cut you short for a final time, before Konig quickly cuts your hands free with a knife. He takes your weak extended hand in his and you can feel it.

It engulfs yours, the scratchy feel of his glove wrapped around your hand, and he feels real.

His other hand retracts from your neck and reaches up to turn his projection off to get a clearer look at you. His hand comes back from under his hood and moves carefully to the side of your face, his thumb tracing a bruise on your cheek. His can’t believe what he’s seeing, his eyes darting around to the various injuries plastered on you.

“Meine liebe…”

He says, and you’re not sure if he’s speaking a different language or if your Ghost gave you dyphasia.

“Who did this?” He asks, horrified as he realizes there’s anyone out there cruel enough to do this to you.

You thought his stares were scary before, but the way his eyes glaze and turn cold as they follow the swells and bruises marking your face appears animalistic. It shoots a feeling in your gut so unnerving it confirms that you’re definitely not experiencing some euphoric deathbed hallucination.

When you don’t answer, your eyes just flicking around his features as you adjust, he asks again.

“Who did this?!”

His voice strikes an urgent and menacing tone the second time. On your recording he had been able to see Ghost’s point of view, but not Ghost. A front row seat to watch you get brutally attacked but not being able to identify the aggressor himself.

Always determined.

You reach up with your other hand to your saving grace, and place it on his upper arm, “Don’t leave.”

He hears how delicate your voice is, how you barely have the power to speak. How your hand quivered as you reached out to him, how you had squeezed his arm with what little might you had to encourage him to stay, to join you in a world where your aggressors and injuries didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

And how can he say no to you?

His eyes soften again and you can’t help but smile at the man behind the hood. You’re smile immediately turns to a wince as it forces an uncomfortable tug on your fresh injuries.

“Come here.” He says softly and he picks you out of the hospital bed with little effort. He’s got one arm secured around your back and the other is under the crease of your knees like he’s carrying you from the alter. He tilts you gently so your head can rest on his chest while he carries you to safety.

You’re wondering if you really are dead after all. It’s too good to be true, your plan working and Konig carrying you from the danger like he’s a fireman rescuing you from a burning building. You can discern the capabilities of his muscles as he holds you tight. You’re not even slowing him down, he’s still able to hurry through the hallways, guided to the exit by your device without fault.

The jostling hurts, but he’s doing his best to hold you steady, and being in his arms, resting the less injured side of your forehead against him, makes the pain all worth it.

You can hear the sounds of gunshots in the distance, not even your impaired hearing could muffle the loud pops. They must have had a full team come out to do an extraction. You thought it was a lot of to-do for little ol’ you.

Konig gets you to nearest exit, carefully managing the door as he opens it to ensure it didn’t hit you, and carries you out to the getaway vehicle, setting you down across the backseat like you’re made of glass.

“Liebe, they need me.” He looks back to the building, “Can you stay here?”

You give a weak nod, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

And you have his word.

He rushes back into the building while you try and rest in the backseat.

————————————-

The safe house was incredibly depressing. A rundown little two-room shack in the country, decorated with outdated appliances and furniture. The wall paper is peeling from the ceiling and you’re not sure if it was originally a drab yellow or if it had been stained from years of abuse. You can tell no one’s been around to take care of the water damage, judging from the large brown stains spotting the ceiling. There’s a kitchenette in the corner with an oven, a fridge that hums too loudly, and a microwave that appears never to have been cleaned. A worn beige couch outfitted with two dusty orange cushions that sag with age. A few generic paintings on the wall that hardly comfort you. No internet and no cell service, but there is a small box-shaped TV that you’re sure is from the 50s, the picture warped and cloudy.

Base placed you here temporarily until you relocate, your apartment now too dangerous to live in as your address was in enemy hands.

Judging by the way your supervisor spoke to you when discussing the transition, they must be in the dark on what caused the breach.

Your secret is safe for now, but there’s no telling when it’s going to get discovered. Waiting for the truth to come out has left a weight in your chest that sticks around from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.

They had assigned you a counselor to visit you and help process the trauma of the event, but you don’t trust them enough to give them the full truth. You just tell them about the violence Ghost inflicted, walking through the nightmares that result from it. You haven’t gotten a goodnight’s rest since it all went down, often waking up in the middle of the night kicking and screaming at the vivid night terrors of Ghost at the side of your bed.

Other than your counselor, the base associate that brings grocery to restock the noisy fridge on Thursdays, and the occasional check-up from your supervisor, you’ve been totally isolated from the outside world.

You don’t care about most.

Just Konig.

He had held you in his arms and carried you to safety at the risk of his own life. You knew you didn’t deserve it after what you did, but you can’t help but daydream.

Thinking about the way it felt to have your head on his chest, the cotton of his mask brushing your bruised cheek, his arms grasping you tight - protecting you - it definitely helps distract from the uncomfortable feeling lingering by your heart.

You wondered if he knew, if he had seen himself on Johnny’s copy of the recording, but still was kind enough to do such a favor for you.

Then you really wouldn’t deserve him.

You spend all your time thinking about Konig, bouncing between the depth of your guilt and the highs of the fantasy, just as you have been since you met him.

When he visits for the first time, it nearly triggered a panic attack. You had not been expecting visitors, and you were still haunted by the precious unexpected visitors you had. You’re delightfully surprised when you peek out the window and see Konig, looking nervously at the landscape behind him when you don’t answer right away. Your eyebrows spring up in shock and you let out a verbal exclamation at the sight.

You quickly run your fingers through your hair as a last ditch effort to appear somewhat put together before opening the door, forced to tilt your head back to look at him. His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he moves, almost like he’s about to step closer but stops himself.

You force yourself to contain your excitement at his visit, “Konig, It’s good to see you.” You look down at your clothes, still donned in loungewear, “Sorry about the jammies. Come in.” You open the door for him so he can step in before shutting the door behind him. He takes a few steps into the room before stilling, taking a moment to look around.

“Sorry for stopping by unannounced.” He says, followed by a clearing his throat. His eyes linger on the old beige couch before meeting your eyes again. “I‘ve been worried about you.”

You knew you were unreachable, he couldn’t have gotten in contact any other way, “Don’t apologize, you really have no idea how good it is to see you. I’ve been thinking about how to say thank you, for what you did, but I’m not sure there’s enough words between our languages to cover it.” You put your hand to back of your neck, looking to the floor for a moment before meeting his gaze again. You give a nervous laugh, “So I guess I owe you a bottle of wine, huh?”

You can tell he smiles under the mask by the way his eyes crinkle, “Just doing my job.”

You glance down at the arms that had held you so tight and wished they were wrapped around you again.

“Thank you, Konig. Really. I owe you my life.”

“It was my pleasure.” He says as he gives his head a little shake. His gaze shifts a bit higher, “You’re healing nicely.”

You touch a hand to the gash Ghost had left from his gun. You were most likely going to have a scar, but it had closed and the swelling had gone down significantly, the previous inflamed red now a medium pink. “Ah, well thanks for noticing. You know I made those skin cells myself?”

Huh?!

He tilts his head, “That’s good, I hear store-bought isn’t what it used to be.”

You giggle and roll on your heels a bit, not necessarily at the joke but at the fact that such a normally rigid and imitating man is now being cheeky with you, and it feels so nice to break the tension a bit.

“How are you holding up?” He says, and it reminds of the way your therapist inquires, with that gentle tone that clearly eludes to the incident without directly referring to the incident.

“Uh,” You trail off a bit, touching the nasty bruise on your inner arm, large from the spread of the internal bleeding, but now faded to a healing yellow. “Y’know? It’s actually been,” You let out another nervous laugh, “awful, actually. But that’s alright. Uhm, I think it’ll get easier with time.”

He nods and his eyes dart down to the bruise you’ve been mindlessly tracing with your finger. Something dark flickers behind his eyes but quickly subsides.

“If it’s worth anything, it does.”

You give him a weak smile and you have no way to confirm but you think he does the same.

A silence falls on you both for awhile, both of you picking a random point in the room to unfocus your vision on. The silence doesn’t feel awkward, more like you both were grieving for a minute - or maybe just lost in thought. Even if neither knew what to say to the other, you were still bonding over your traumatic experiences in your own quiet way.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice a bit cracked from your dry throat, “What do you do about the nightmares?”

His eyes leave you for a moment as he considers it. “I leave a book by my nightstand. For some it’s TV, others crossword puzzles. There’s no stopping it. You just have to find what calms you down after.”

You give a nod. You knew there wouldn’t be a magic cure but you still have to take a moment to process that you’ll have to be dealing with it for the foreseeable future.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, “You dream of him?”

You swallow again, trying to make it easier for you to speak but bail, instead slowly nodding your head.

Another silence falls over you both. A longer, more drawn out one. You both get lost in thought for awhile.

When you interrupt the silence again, the words spill out of you fast, coming out in a jumble and before you can stop yourself. He had that effect on you, making you feel so vulnerable and exposed, ready to spill your guts. Deep down you knew that it’s time to rip the bandaid off. Free yourself from the guilt and the constant fear your world is going to come crashing down around you.

“Do you know what I did?”

He studies you, tilting his head, “What do you mean? About your SOS?”

His response tells you that he truly doesn’t know. If he knew what you did, he’d have known exactly what you’d meant. Regardless, you still make a futile attempt to jog his memory, hoping you won’t have to explain yourself, “How I ended up there? What caused the breach?”

His eyes squint in confusion, “I was told we didn’t know how they received your information.”

Your head tilts down in shame, and you have to look away from him.

You take a deep breath and rest your palms flat on your thighs.

“Okay, look, I’ve done something horrible. I have not been very good to you, and… that sucks! Because I really thought we could have been,” You hesitate for a moment, “friends.” You close your eyes and take another breath, “At first I thought I could keep it a secret from you, even if I believe you have every right to know, but the truth is I just can’t handle the guilt anymore. I’m exhausted waiting for the other shoe to drop, okay?”

Konig’s whole body is tense now, standing at attention as he waits for your words. You’re worrying him.

“The day we met,” You’re choking up now, the adrenaline coursing through you, causing you to shake and perspire, mouth dry, “After our day in the shoot house, I forgot to disconnect your feed.”

Your tone shifts from serious to a bit desperate, “It was an accident, I swear, Konig.” You look at him, pleading eyes begging him to believe you, “And I should have just disconnected the feed when I found it, I know,” You’re getting exasperated, “But I’m sick and curious and to be honest I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, and swallows hard. He knows what you mean, but he has to confirm it with you to believe it, “What did you see?”

You look away from him and to the floor. It takes you a moment to work up the courage, “I saw you getting off.” You say it so quietly, ashamed to admit it.

“I shouldn’t have watched Konig, I shouldn’t have. It was wrong and I know it doesn’t mean anything now but I truly am sorry. But I did watch and I heard my name and I’ve been wracked with guilt ever since.“

He stands still, his breathing escalating slightly. He doesn’t say anything and the silence drapes over you both for awhile.

This silence was definitely awkward.

His eyes tell you nothing and his expression is masked by the hood.

You swallow, knowing you owe him the full truth as you force yourself to continue. If he’s already disgusted with you under that hood, this will really put you over the edge.

Your fist clenches, “In a moment of pure stupidity, I kept the video.” You break eye contact for a brief moment before returning your gaze to him. “I sent it to myself.”

“Okay?” You spit, angry at yourself, “I kept it and I’ve watched it so many times because I am just addicted to the way you moan my name, Konig. I’m sorry. I heard it and I needed more. It made me feel so good, and so so terrible at the same time.”

You’re on a roll now, rambling like you’re talking about your research.

“And I have not been able to stop thinking about you!” You laugh a bit, “And I understand how serious this is. So if you want to go straight to head of command and have me discharged, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, if you don’t even feel like filing the report, I’ll pack up my things and leave now, and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

You pause, and he doesn’t fill the silence, so you keep going, the words coming out like vomit, “But there’s something else you deserve to know. When I sent the video to my phone - for personal reasons only, okay?! I was not planning on showing anyone, if that helps. When I sent the video, it opened a vulnerable point of entry for TF-141 to hack in. They… have your video. I’m so sorry, it was a major lapse of judgement, and I overlooked so many protocols, and I put our intel at risk. I put your private moment at risk. I put us all at risk. I-“

You cut yourself off, tears starting to well in your eyes. It was relieving to get it off your chest, but you knew what was about to happen. You knew you were lighting a fuse with one hand and holding dynamite with another.

“I’m so sorry, Konig.”

The tears start flowing and you’re powerless to stop them. You hoped it wasn’t coming off as a desperate attempt to gain sympathy.

For awhile you stand there, eyes fixed at the floor as you wait for his response.

Konig hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, just stands in his spot, staring.

When you finally look at him, eyes full of heartbreak, he maintains eye contact for a few moments, expression unreadable.

After a moments to process, he uncrosses his arms to dig into his pocket, pulling out the device you had given him on that very first day. His boots slowly cross the linoleum floor and he gently sets your device on the dinky table behind you before removing the wristband and setting it down next to the earpiece without making a sound.

He doesn’t even look back at you before he turns his back and walking out the safe house door, shutting it with a soft click.

——————————————————————

It’s been three days since Konig left you alone in the safe house.

You’re wondering if you should cut your losses and leave. Change your name & get started with a new life.

You’ve already preemptively packed up your things to make it less painful on yourself when your supervisor comes to kick you to the curb.

Even as your life is dissolved and scattered to the wind, you actually feel a lot better than you have in months. Almost like the worrying was worse than the actual consequences. At least now you can live honestly.

Nonetheless, it was still pretty painful. Your latest infatuation finding out how you so deeply betrayed them. Watching him walk out on you had left you sobbing face down in the dusty orange couch pillows to muffle your cries.

It’s late at night on that third day, and you had managed to find some respite with a surprisingly warm shower and losing yourself in blurry reruns of a game show when you hear the light ting of metals.

At first you think it’s the ringing in your ears returning, it had been on and off ever since Ghost concussed you, but you quickly realized by the uneven rattles it had been coming from within the safe house.

Your eyes scan the room after switching the TV off, first starting with the fridge that hums too loud, but quickly dart your attention over to the movement of the safe house’s doorknob jiggling.

Not again.

You try and suppress the flashbacks enough to find somewhere to hide, but the safe house is one big open room with a small obscured bedroom that was more bed than room, and you don’t think the bed is high enough off the floor to crawl under.

So instead you freeze on the dingy couch, your heartbeat deafening in your ears as you watch your doorknob wiggle in its loose hold.

There’s a distinct click and then a long pause. You don’t even see the doorknob rotate because the door gets flung open with such speed and force it slams against the wall and bounces back.

“Konig?” You fear melds with confusion as you make sense of the figure rushing in.

He’s already closed most of the gap between you when you manage to squeak out a more alarmed, “Konig!”

It’s scary to have such a large man charge you, especially one you’re so used to being docile around you, one that usually stands hesitantly by the door until invited closer.

You don’t have a lot of time to think about it. Konig grabs you by the crest of the back of your neck with one hand, his other hand lifting up his mask to kiss you without room for arguing.

You let out a surprised gasp that was muffled by the kiss, and he takes that opportunity to have his tongue greet yours. His grip is tight on the back of your neck, his fingers digging in slightly to stake his claim. The stubble on his chin brushes roughly against your skin as he takes what’s his.

Once you catch up, you close your eyes and try to match his intensity but it’s difficult to keep up.

He finally pulls away, out of breath and letting his hood fall back over his mouth, his now free hand moving to the side of your face, “I’m sorry I left you, mein schatz.” He pulls away from your face slightly with a breath, “I needed to think.”

Your wide eyes flicker between his, mouth slightly parted as you nod. “Yeah,” your voice is breathy, the shock of the kiss having knocked the wind out you, “That’s uh, understandable.”

He brings his face closer to you. His eyes shift, and you see that dark flicker again.

“You have to understand, liebe, your deed will not go unpunished.”

Your brows retract as you swallow at the threat, looking up at him with concern in your eyes and your thighs pressed together.

You’ve been nervous around Konig before, maybe even scared, but you’ve never feared for your safety. Quite the opposite, actually. Such a large, strong soldier on your team gives you a shield of comfort - he made you feel safe.

But the way his voice had lowered and his eyes tinted with something primal shoots a tingle down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck. You’re not sure what he means, but your brain is coming up with ideas faster than you can sink your teeth into the details.

You’re almost ashamed at the warm feeling of arousal that sinks to your lower abdomen.

He kisses you again, this time closed and softer. When he pulls away his face stays dangerously close to yours, “You’ve done a very bad thing, liebe. You understand?”

His voice is low and husked but holds incredible authority. You can’t help but feel like a child being scolded in the principal’s office. You nod slowly, lips pursed and eyes still rounded in suspense.

He brings his finger up to your chin, his face close enough your noses are brushing, “I can’t hear a nod.”

The knot in your stomach doubles and your breath hitches a bit, shaking as you speak, “Yes, Konig, I understand.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, but it doesn’t soothe the mixture of fear and arousal flushing your skin.

“Would you like to right your wrong?”

You take a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re agreeing to, but you’ve been desperate to fix what you’ve done since the moment you committed it. “Yes, Konig.” You nod your head, “I’d do anything.”

A pleased hum comes from him, and you're close enough to feel the vibration. You swallow nervously, gaze hesitantly watching his animalistic eyes stare down at you like you’re his prey.

“Stay.” He orders, pulling away from you and letting his hand linger on your face for an extra moment before turning away from you.

You obey, both fear of consequence and desperation to please not allowing an ounce of will to defy him. Your eyes are still locked on him as he steps to the dinky little table he had set the device on three days ago.

You had left it untouched, making it easier to swallow by still thinking of the device as his. As if Konig had just left it behind by mistake instead of intentionally returning your property to you.

He took both carefully in his hand before returning to you, boots asserting themselves as they slowly and confidently traverse the linoleum. He holds the devices out for you to take. “Feed on. Projection off.”

And you follow his instructions, what choice do you have? When his voice is strict and he’s standing over you, intimidating stature making you feel so small and defenseless. The shake of your hands causes your fingers to fumble as you struggle with the remote, his hand held out impatiently as you stumble with fluster.

When you finally get it, you place both devices in his palm, staring up with your eyes begging for his approval.

He gives you nothing, as usual, placing the earpiece under his hood and setting the wrist piece down simultaneously.

“You stepped out of line, liebe.” Konig takes closer to small gap between you you, “You humiliated me.”

His eyes are half-lidded now, boring into you with menace.

“And now I’m going to humiliate you.”

He touches your face with his thumb again. You can’t help but flinch at the gentle touch, on edge from unease and excitement.

He gives another light huff, reveling in his ability to intimidate you.

“On your knees.” He commands, finger pointing at the floor as he slides back to make room for you.

He huffs in satisfaction at the dumbfounded look on your face. Your mouth slightly agape and stuttering - it’s dawning on you now; exactly what you have to do to right your wrongs.

He squints at you, voice leaving no room for error, “Did I stutter, Schatz?”

That sinister glint in his eye returns again, and just the sight is enough to get you to slide quickly to the floor, assuming your position on both knees, neck slowly tilting back to take him in as he towers over you.

He leans in to to cup your face again, giving it a soft yet firm pat, “Good.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, even if simply articulated.

That’s all you want to hear. That you’re good. You want to be so good for him.

You’re dripping now, Konig already having you ache for his touch.

His strong hands slide down your face, four fingers cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes your bottom lip gently. When your lips part he slides his thumb in your mouth and you oblige, obediently sucking and showing him what you can do with your tongue.

He gives a low pleased hum before removing his thumb and reaching for his belt, the buckle jingling as he unlatches it and removes it from his waist in one swift pull.

Your stare follows the belt as he folds it in half, and he muses at your worried look. He likes the way your mind wanders, always running with the possibilities. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.

He doesn’t hit you, though, just taps it against the bottom of your chin to get you to fix your gaze back on him. Once he’s got your attention, he discards the belt and reaches down to pop the button on his pants, yanking each end to get the zipper down in one smooth move.

He slides his thumbs behind both waistbands, pulling them down just enough to expose his cock. It’s rock hard and practically springs from his pants, and you can’t help but let out a small squeak and just how big it is.

You’ve seen it before, studied it endlessly, imagined it so many times.

It did nothing to prepare you for kneeling before it. Just like the rest of him, his cock intimidated you, at full attention and already leaking precum.

“Wrap your hands around it, schatz.”

You follow his orders, softly gripping his cock. You’ve studied the video of him jerking off so many times, you know exactly how to please him. You start with a loose grip, your hand sliding from base to tip at a slow pace, as your other hand cups his balls.

At first he watches, enjoying how your hands looked so small around him. He can’t help but close his eyes and tilt his head back as he lets out a soft moan.

It sounds so much better in person, and your pace picks up, desperate to elicit more from him.

He tilts his head forward to get a better view of you.

“Suck.” He commands, and you hesitate for a brief moment, worried about the logistics, before ditching your fears and giving it your best shot.

You keep your hand steady on his shaft as you guide the tip to your tongue, a slow lick clearing the bead of pre-cum that had formed.

He lets out another low moan that makes you quiver.

You press your lips to him, slowing working the tip into your mouth as you tease with your tongue.

As you work steadily down his shaft, you have to fully unhinge your jaw to fit him in to avoid teeth, and even then it’s a close call. You’re continue carefully and he seems willing to be patient with you as you get used to his size.

You manage to somewhat comfortably fit half of him in your mouth, using your free hand to squeeze the base of his shaft. You start to move back and forth, pressing your tongue against him.

He watches in awe as you take him in, not holding back in his pleaded hums and groans.

“So good, Schatz.”

Warmth pools in your chest at the praise.

You look at him with a doe eyes and a full mouth, bobbing on his cock as you slick it up.

He moans at the sight, placing a hand on the back of your head. He follows it up with another order.

“Deeper. I want to see you choke on it.”

You’re not in a position to argue, so you oblige, letting his cock slide as deep as you can, but he’s not pleased with your attempt. He tightens his grip on the back of your head, fingers laced between strands of hair, and slowly forces his cock in until you’re squeaking out noises involuntarily, eyes welling with tears.

He starts to fuck your mouth, slowly at first, but picks up the pace. He doesn’t wait for you to get your bearings or catch your breath, savoring the lengths you’ll go to please him.

“There you go, schatz, so good for me.”

The tears are steaming now as he triggers your gag reflex, and your underwear is stained with your arousal in response to being praised and used.

He pulls out of your mouth, his cock still wet with your spit, and takes a step back to admire you. Your breath quickening to catch up, the flushed look of your face, the disheveled hair. He relished in the mess he was making of the intelligent professional he had come to know.

He gives a pleased hum at how you wait so patiently for his next order.

“Up. Clothes off.”

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing a shade deeper. You wipe the spit from your mouth and slowly stand, hands shaking with nerves.

Your fingers dig into the hem of your shirt, desperate to grip onto something, and you hesitate at his command, nervous to let him see you even more exposed.

You ignore your nerves, too willing to please Konig, and pull your shirt over your disheveled hair and discard it on the couch. Your fingers fumble with the waistband on your lounge pants, sheepishly pulling them down your thighs and stepping carefully out of them.

You stand before him in your underwear, and you can’t help but cross one arm over yourself. The way he’s staring at you, not shy about his gaze mapping your newly uncovered features. He steps forward again, close enough his hard cock brushes against your warm skin.

He gives a low hum of approval and steps closer, his hands gently running along your sides until they find your waist, staking their claim with a firm grip. He leans in and you feel the drape of his hood caress your shoulder as he brushes his head against yours, lips in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful, meine schatz.”

You close your eyes as he plants a kiss though his hood on your neck, and you can feel his breath through the soft cotton.

It’s not fair that you’re naked while he’s still fully covered. You feel so vulnerable and exposed.

You quickly understand that’s exactly what you had done to him and let out a soft whimper at the realization that this is intentional, that he’s issuing this power play as part of your punishment. You’ve had your time to admire his body, now it’s his turn.

“Bedroom, now.” The softness leaves his voice with the demand and he pulls away from you once again to get a better view of you.

The knot is your lower abdomen doubles as you turn and head to the bedroom, giving him a good long look at the back of you.

You stand at the narrow space between the end of the bed and the wall, looking up at him when he enters, waiting for his next order. You can’t help but notice the jingle of his belt as he carried it with him. He sets it on the bed and takes his time committing your image to memory.

“On your back, liebe.” The pet name doesn’t soften the domineering tone, warning you not to dare rebel against him.

You follow his order, getting up on the bed and laying down for him, your upper half propped up by your elbows.

Konig follows, crawling over top of you slowly, his massive frame engulfing you beneath him as you lean into the bed. He appears even more menacing over top of you, strong arms and legs trapping you beneath him. You can’t help the nervous expression on your face as you stare up at those hungry eyes.

He brings a hand up to touch your face, leaning forward to plant another kiss on your lips, lifting up his mask as he does so. It annoys you that whenever he pulls away the hood falls, and you can’t even get a peek at what you assume is a strong jaw.

The hand on your face slides down your neck, fingers traversing the bumps of your collarbones before he shifts down to your chest, stopping for a moment to tease your nipples to attention. You suck in a breath and arch into the touch.

He hums again, low and devious.

Your hands reach up to touch his arms, but he doesn’t let you, removing his hands from your chest and grabbing your wrists firmly. He passes one off so he can hold both of your arms in one strong grip, and you’re amazed he’s able to subdue both of your wrists with just one of his massive hands. He leans back and uses his free hand to reach for the belt at the foot of the bed, before wrapping it around your wrists and fastening the buckle tightly.

He leans in close to your face as he places your restrained hands back above your head. He takes in the way your breath quickens through parted lips, eyes wide and cheeks flush with excitement and worry. He likes making you falter, likes watching you breakdown underneath his power.

“You’re all mine.” He reminds you, one hand keeping your bound wrists firmly above your head.

You nod, and when you speak your voice comes out quiet and broken, “All yours, Konig.”

It gratifies him, judging by his self-assured laugh and the way his cock twitches against your stomach. “That’s it, liebe.”

He removes his grip on your forearm with a firm squeeze to remind you to stay, and he scoots himself back so that either leg is straddling your thighs instead of your waist. His gaze shifts down, soaking in every inch as he cups you over your underwear, his careful touch taking advantage of your sensitivity.

You can’t help but grind your hips into his teasing, already leaking for him.

“Mm, I can tell you’re enjoying this. Such a dirty little pervert you are.”

You close your eyes and let out a whine at the teasing, both verbal and physical.

“Don’t worry, liebe, I’m getting impatient as well.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding his fingers along your hips to tease you a bit before sliding them down, having to readjust himself as he takes them off. He repositions himself between your legs this time, letting either of your ankles at his sides.

His hands slide up your quivering thighs, spreading you open and getting a good look at you. You try and fight the embarrassment under the heat of his stare, resisting the urge to bring your bound wrists down to cover yourself.

He takes his time slicking himself up with lube - he came prepared, you noticed. Premeditated passion. Guess he has to when he’s got such a large cock.

You’re worried about the logistics, but you get the feeling Konig wouldn’t dare hurt you in this way.

Once he’s nice and slicked, he lines the tip against your aching warmth, and leans down close to you.

“Are you ready, meine liebe?”

“Please, Konig.” You whine, rutting your hips to grind against him.

He closes his eyes as he slowly works himself into you. Your suspicions are confirmed as he stops just after the tip, opening his eyes again to confirm the level of comfort displayed on your features.

Your teeth are grit, but you nod your head in approval.

He’s continues, pace so careful as he pushes himself further into you. It’s been so long since you’ve got any action, especially action from someone so well endowed, you’re incredibly tight around him. He’s studying you, searching for signs of being pushed over the limit as he takes his time stretching you out.

You can’t help let out a soft moan when he’s halfway in, just at the feeling of being filled. Your eyes flutter shut, giving yourself the ability to concentrate on the cock working into you.

It takes awhile, it does. You��re so small and he’s so big, but he doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying using you as his cockwarmer, walls so cozy and tight around him. He thinks it’s so goddamn arousing that he’s so huge you have to push yourself to take him. He likes that he’s a challenge for you. He wants to train you and shape you in every sense of the word.

But for now, he allows you take the lead from underneath him, letting yourself grind your hips down on to him at your own pace as he lets low moans escape him.

When you’re finally at the point of desperately rutting your hips against him, you give him all he needs to hear.

“Fuck me, Konig, please fuck me.”

He obliges, unable to say no to your eager and breathy tone. His fingers grip onto your outer thighs as he thrusts into you. His pace is quick, but he’s still cautious not to force himself too deep inside you. He’s a disciplined man, after all.

Even without being all the way inside you, he’s still deep enough to hit the spot, forcing moans to escape from parted lips.

“Look at me, liebe.”

You oblige, and his cock twitches inside of you at the sight of your half-lidded eyes glazed in pleasure. He grunts, his pace picking up as he ventures deeper inside of you.

You can’t help the mutters and moans spilling from you. Your hands mindlessly move from above your head to his chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt.

“You feel so good. So good for me, schatz.”

You moan in response, and he decides he’s worked you open enough to push all the way in.

You’re cockdrunk now. Breathy moans escaping without thought, eyes unfocused and body limp to his desires.

When he suddenly pulls out you whine. “Koni- please.”

“On your front.” He commands as he sits back on his knees, towering over you.

You’re flush and out of breath as you do as he says, positioning yourself the best you can with your hands bound. On all fours, head down towards the pillows as you arch your back.

The bed shifts under him as he scoots close before giving your ass a firm smack, the gasp leaving your mouth more out of surprise than pain. He gives you a few more, alternating between your cheeks. Just enough to leave handprints behind, marking you as his own.

He lines up with you again, pressing into you without hesitation.

You both let out moans at the return of warmth. He’s less gentle now, pounding into you hard enough the sound of flesh crashing together fills the room. The creaky bed is slamming against the dingy walls and your thighs are rippling on impact. You can’t help but quiver as the pleasure washes through you.

He’s got such a rhythmic pace, slamming into you while he grips your hips tight to keep you still.

“All mine.” He growls between breathy groans.

You can't even respond, practically drooling into the pillows as Konig fucks you senseless. A string of broken praises fall from your lips, mostly nonsense. Konig leans in and leaves little kisses down your back, without breaking his pace.

“Koni, I’m gon’na- fuck, Konig.”

“Come for me, meine liebe.”

Your eyes pinch shut and a broken moan leaves your lips as you ride the waves of intense pleasure washing through you. It’s enough to make your entire body clench, your walls gripping onto Konig.

He doesn’t let up, forcing your thighs open as he mercilessly pounds you through orgasm.

He gives your ass another firm smack, and your fingers are clawing desperately at the pillows, searching for any sort of stability but you’re powerless to Konig and his forceful cock.

You’re on cloud nine, feeling so far away from your body as you’re washed up on the shores of pleasure. Konig’s strength is the only thing holding you steady.

“I’m going to come, schatz.” He warns, moaning your name just like he did on the video before he fills you up and stakes his claim deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as his muscles tense under his clothes, his thrusts and moans becoming uneven as he loses himself to the euphoric gratification.

He pauses for a few moments after he slows to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath as he lets his cock warm inside you.

He pulls out of you with a low grunt, watching the come that spills out of you. When he releases his grip on you, you’re too weak to support yourself, sliding limp on your front and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He takes pleasure in knowing he marked you, completely broke you down and disheveled you. Made you feel so good you have to collect yourself afterwards.

He steps out for a moment before quickly returning with something to clean you both up with.

He’s gentle with the clean-up, wiping away the mixture of lube and come from you while minding your sensitivity, not wanting to disturb your bliss. He removes the belt from your wrists as well.

“Konig? Cuddle.” You mutter, arm stretching across the bedspread.

You don’t see the smile underneath his hood, but after he wipes himself off he joins you back on the bed, the mattress creaking for a final time as he pulls you in a spoon. You feel so safe and small, pressed into him like this. His strong arms wrapped around you. His chest on your back. You let out a pleased hum.

“That’s going to make a nice video.” He says, removing his earpiece and turning it off as he sets it on the bed.

“You can have the real thing anytime.” You say, eyes closed with a warm smile on your face.

He hums low in your ear and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “You’re forgiven, Schatz.”

“Thank you Koni.”

You both drift off, tired out from your intense finishes.

You stay close throughout the night, but having him pressed into you unfortunately didn’t stop the nightmares. When you wake up in a panic, kicking and screaming at the latest renditioning of your mind’s unresolved trauma, Konig’s there to press his hand to your heart, telling you that everything’s okay, it was just a nightmare.

Your breath is still rapid and your heart is still pounding as you steady yourself, transitioning yourself back to reality after the night terror.

He hugs you so tight, reminding you about how he’ll always be there to protect you, that no one will ever hurt you again, he will not let anything happen to you.

You steady yourself, and he knows well enough how hard it is to calm yourself after such an immersive terrifying experience.

“I brought something for that, Schatz.”

When he leaves the room you think he’s going to bring you a book, a puzzle, something to do to distract yourself.

What he brings back makes you tense, your eyes widening at the gift. He sets it down for you, getting back into the bed and resuming his position wrapped around you, protecting you. But your eyes are glued to the gift, the full implications sinking in.

Konig had set down Ghost’s mask.

“No one will find out about your secret. I took care of it.”

You don’t need him to explain further. You know Ghost will never have the opportunity to hurt you again.

“Thank you, Konig.”

He kisses your shoulder through his hood, “My pleasure, meine liebe. Sleep tight.”

And you do.

———————————————————————-

More by uhohdad:

Meine Perle: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

HIS: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Original Works Masterlist

#konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #call of duty #cod #modern warefare ii #modern warefare 2 #konig x reader #smut #konig x you #x reader #fic #experimental #uhohwriting

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shayyprasad · 1 month

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hello!! can you please do one with mcu peter parker where reader survived a bad mass sh00ting, and they're somewhere in the city, someone pops fireworks and reader gets scared cuz it kinda resembles gunshots and peter comforts her? thanks 🫶

promise | peter parker

hi, darling! thanks for requesting, i hope i did it justice! (this took a little longer than anticipated to get out, sorry!)

summary: the pain of the past is a tricky thing, even more so when it's traumatic.

warnings: mass sh00ting, themes of vi0lence,mentions of bl00d, g#ns/g#nshots, panic attack, ptsd

pairing: comfort!peter parker x hurt!reader

word count: 2.3k+ words

the festival is big, it's bustling with life. happy couples, children, and families roam the area, food in hand, smiles on faces.

lights stream from booth-to-booth, which there are row and rows of. you're walking hand in hand with peter, giggling about something he said.

after a long couple weeks, this is exactly what the two of you need. alone time (well, not really alone). just something to bring spirits up.

you pass by another couple, where a girl is holding the cutest teddy-bear. it's a soft beige, with darker laced bow around it's neck. he sees you eyeing it, grin on his face.

peter is thinking exactly this; "i'm winning that for her."

he drop your hand, to which you complain, and strides up to the couple. "hey, man. what booth did you get that from?"

the man looks up at peter, smile on his face, "all the way in the back, it's red, last row, i think."

peter nods, thanking the guy. he walks back over to you, grabbing your hand again. by the look on your face, he can tell you didn't hear.

he kisses your cheek, then pecks your lips. "wanna come find out?"

you nod like it's obvious, but peter likes teasing.

he's always liked teasing you- no, loved. he fell in love with the way your cheeks turned pink when he did so, all that power in his hands. somewhere along the line, he fell in love with you too.

if someone were to ask him when, he wouldn't know. he's always had that feeling for you, since the day you met. it just got stronger as time went on.

peter pulls you to the back of the large park where the festival is set up, all the way to the back. "peter!" you laugh, "slow down!"

you bump into many people along the way, apologizing to each one. but after a while, you give up.

he takes you to where the guy said it would be, and sure enough, there's a red booth, a row of teddy-bears in the prize cabinet. "i," peter declared to you, "am winning you that."

you squeal; you've got no doubt he can. "really?"

"yep."

you're already thinking of where to put it. the nightstand by your bed would look nice, or maybe the bookshelf. finally, you decide you'll keep it in bed with you.

peter steps up to the booth, and it's one of those ping-pong-in-the-cup ones. his spidey senses won't even make him break a sweat. he pays and the lady gives him three small balls. he weighs them in his hand, calculating how much force he'll need to use.

you're clearing excited, making him equally giddy. "ready, baby?" he asks, stealing a kiss for good luck.

"yeah!" you exclaim, with a clap of your hands.

peter glances at the cups, then back at the balls. he squints, aims, and makes the shot.

that's one.

"go, peter!" you cheer.

aims, and then makes the shot. it's almost too easy.

that's two.

he makes the shot.

that's three.

it's over so quickly, that the lady is suprised. nevertheless, she takes the bear out of the cabinet and hands it to peter, who in turn, hands it to you.

"aww!" you gush, "it's so cute!" throwing your arms arounf him, "thanks, petey," you nuzzle your nose to his.

"anything for my angel."

you kiss him, and hold the bear close to you. there's a small group of patio chairs and tables, and for the most part, it's empty. "can we sit down for a bit?" you asked, and then smiling, "not everyone has spider-man stamina."

he laughs, and you're sure it's the prettiest noise you've ever heard. you and peter move over there, and he pulls of your chair. "god," you half-swoon, "may really did raise you right."

"didn't she? i'm so charming. and chivalrous. and-"

"good in bed," you say, it's off-handedly, he can't help but blush. met by his silence, you over at him from across the table. "oh, sorry. i though we were listing things. you can't forget the most important one, can you?"

peter rolls his eyes, still flustered, "so you wouldn't be with me if it weren't for that?"

"hmm," you joke, drawing this out. it's fun, it's a distraction; you love it, and you love him. "well, it's cool you know tony stark."

"then go date him," peter says, playing along.

"maybe i will," you pull the bear to your chest.

peter makes a face, kicking you gently from under the table. "he's, like, 50!"

"well, maybe i like that. he can be my sugar-"

"okay, yeah, we're done. no- we're done."

"you sound jealousss..."

"no, i'm throughly concerned. mr. starks' about 30 years older than you!"

you sigh, "what about captain america?"

"that's worse! wait, you know he's a hundred-something, right?"

"even better. and he doesn't even look it."

"y/n. no."

"fine, fine- oh, wait! have you seen bucky? god, i just want him to bend me-"

"i don't wanna hear the rest of that sentence."

"i suppose i'll settle for spider-man," you say. "too bad he's not super-old and rich."

he kicks you again, and you giggle, falling into silence. you're having something of a staring contest with him, but you lost ages ago. your eyes trace his facial feature, and he's so pretty. you open your mouth-

"you're so pretty," peter says, leaning against his hand.

"aw. you stole my compliment. i was gonna tell you that."

"well, y'know, you still can."

"okay. you're more prettier."

"seriously? 'more prettier?' aren't you literally majoring in creative writing?"

"it's my off-day. now take the compliment."

"thank you. but you're the prettiest."

"you're max pretty times infinity. so... take that."

"and that's why you aren't a math major."

"boo-hoo. i win."

he sighs, long and exaggerated, "i can't argue with the basic, ever-true fundamentals of math."

"no, you can't."

you bicker back and forth, before you know it, it's gotten dark. peter scoots his chair next to you, arm slung around you. "isn't it nice?"

"what?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

"spending some nice time together."

"oh. yeah. it is. it's been some time since we've had this much fun."

"mm. after this, do you-"

and it's so quick and unprecedented, you don't even notice it. it's a short pop, and instantly you've broken into a cool sweat.

because, god, it sounds so much like-

there's screaming. so much of it. it's never-ending, buring into your ears. it's everywhere, coming from everyone, and now it just sounds like a one big siren-y noise.

it feels like you're back there in a blink, feet glued to one spot as people run away.

"pe-peter," you choke, "you said- you said there wouldn't be fireworks!"

he looked around, almost frantic. "no, hey, breathe. the website said there wouldn't, and i double checked with the staff. it might be some kids-" he thinks that was the only one, but just a second later, loud pops and crackles go off - a whole series of them.

peter figures that it's some stupid teenagers down by the dock, which isn't far from here, but that's not his main priority right now.

his main priority is you.

you tune it out, the rest of his sentence because suddenly, it's not fireworks anymore.

you can see the bodies from where you're standing, darky, inky, red liquid spilling. they aren't bodies, not really, but lumps of clothing, a corpse inside.

you think you might be sick, but you can't feel anything.

or maybe you're feeling everything, but it's too much, so it doesn't feel like anything.

peter's holding you tight, you're aware of that, but you can't breathe. it's like your stomach twists itself into knots, like a rubberband being stretched and pulled.

your hands are clammy, your heart rate is speeding up, and your breath is getting shallow. you feel like you're going to burst.

honestly, it's not a great sensation. it's sickening.

you want to focus on what peter's saying to you - something along the lines of breathe - but you can't. you're sucked up into the past. but it doesn't feel like the past. it feels like the present.

someone knocks into you, and you fall onto your shoulder. you're wearing a sleeveless shirt, and your shoulder is rubbed up against the hard granite of the ground. you can faintly feel the blood that's there. though, you can't get it out of your mind that it's nothing like the body just 50 feet away.

you should move, probably, get up.

you can't.

you're frozen, all but for you're trembling breath, just as you were then.

peter grabs your chin, making you look at him. "y/n - can -" it's choppy, not enough to ground you.

and just like that he's gone again.

you never looked at any news reports, but you're sure that there were hundreds killed.

why weren't you one of them? it wasn't that you wanted to die that day, but it didn't seem fair.

children, parents, significant others, grandparents, babies...

they told you that you were lucky.

you don't feel lucky.

he squeezes your shoulders, "hey, hey, can you tell me three things you hear?"

you knows he's trying to help, but you want him to shut up. he seems to know this, but presses on, "three things you hear, angel,"

you're hyperventilating, "music," you choke out, it's the cheesy tunes, "the- the-" you're trying to think, "laughing, there's laughing. i h-i hear you."

"brave darling," he says, "can you do another on for me? two things you smell?"

"um," is it working? you can't tell. "food- food?"

"that's right," peter coos. "one more."

"your cologne."

"last thing, last one, lovie. one thing you taste."

"blood." it's short, you bite it out.

wait- blood?

"blood?" peter asks. he's concerned.

you swipe your tongue over your teeth, there's that distinct metallic taste. you bit your tongue, and you didn't even realize how hard.

he gently grabs your jaw, "no- hey, don't do that, my love."

you press your tougue against the roof of your mouth, trying to will the blood away.

peter wipes away a hot tear you didn't even know was there, "my love, breathe. you're safe, you're okay."

you bury your face into his chest, clutching his shirt. your hands are sweaty, but your lungs are doing there job better.

your breathing slows, and you're left sobbing. he tells you that it's okay, he tells you that you're safe. you know that in spider-man's arms you are, but it doesn't slow the cries.

his heart aches, seeing you like this. you've been getting help, but the hurt doesn't go away all at once.

peter knows this better than most.

he also knows that sometimes there isn't anything anyone can do to help (even though this is all he wants to do).

all he can do is sit there and hold you, let you know you'll be okay.

your crying stops, leaving you with hiccups. you're beyond glad that there isn't really anyone here, expect for an eldery pair. out of the corner of your eye, you can see they're concerned.

you feel like you can sense the dried blood on your shoulder, and you want nothing more than to scratch it away. you feel so filthy.

on impluse, you pull away from peter slightly, brushing that shoulder off. you can see the scar that it left, making you want to throw up. there's a patch of warm saliva that coats your toungue, and you can feel the burn in your throat, but barfing in public is the last thing you want to do, so you swallow it, gagging.

your head hurts, and suddenly, the festival isn't fun.

"oh, pretty girl, i'm so sorry," your tucked back into the safety of his hold, silent. "'s some dumb kids. i promise you, i had-"

"i know," you sniff. you're tried, exhausted.

"do you wanna go home?"

he reads you well, you think.

in response, you nod meekly. "okay, honey, we can go home. do you want a second?"

you shake your head; you wanna get outta here.

he helps you up, arm wrapped around your waist.

his main priority is to get you home, where you'll be content tangled in sheets. it's a quiet ride home, his hand is on your thigh, you're holding on tight.

you're asleep by the time he gets home, so he gently scoops you up, making his way inside.

peter sets you on the bed, going to the bathroom to get makeup wipes. he's sure you don't want to sleep in that.

it's the cool wipe that wakes you up, your eyelids fluttering open.

"petey?"

"hm? you're okay. we're home. 'm taking off your makeup." he pulls one of his shirts out from his drawer, moving back over to you.

"help me take this off?" he askes, tugging on the hem of your shirt.

you comply, and he takes it off, replacing it with one of his. you shimmy out of your shorts, and he tosses them somewhere, along with his own shirt. he quickly changes into something comfier, sliding into bed with you.

"feeling better?"

"yeah. i'm sorry- i-"

"don't you dare apologize," peter lightly scolds you, there's a soft type of stern in his voice.

you let your mouth fall shit, you aren't winning this. instead, you tuck yourself into his side, shielded from all your pain. when your so close to peter, all you can focus on is his scent, his love, leaving no room for everything else.

you sigh into his touch, and he holds you softly. "do you feel better?"

you're quiet, you don't have to put up a wall with him, because it's easy around peter. "yeah," you reply after a moment. "i feel better. 'm just tired now."

"okay," peter kisses your forehead, "then we can go to sleep, pretty girl."

to you it's a simple thing to say, it's sensible. to him? no.

to peter, it's a promise.

it's a promise that he'll always be by your side, that he's gonna be here to work it out, to put a smile on your face.

yeah, it's a promise.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #fluff #tom holland x you #angst #peter parker imagine #hurt/comfort #comfort!peter parker x hurt!reader

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cultofdixon · 1 year

Text

It Takes a Village

Daryl Dixon [HINTS] / Rick Grimes [PLATONIC] • She/Her Pronouns • Everyone upon meeting you has seen you as “the little sister” even if you’re only blood related to the Rick Grimes. No one hates you, you do your part and even go beyond. So when this new change in your life started to grow…everyone was going to pitch in • ANGST/SFW/NSFW • TW: Pregnancy & Birth / One-Night Stand / Anxiety Attacks / Illness / PTSD / Canon Violence Mentioned • Re-Writing Canon [literally ignoring 90% of the Savior arc deaths]

Requested by: Anon

The walk of shame feels even worse during the apocalypse Y/N thought as she tried to be quiet when walking through the courtyard of the Kingdom.

“Maybe yea shouldn’t have drank so much tonight”

The familiar voice caused Y/N to freeze in her tracks before turning toward the sound finding Carol in her new spot at the kingdom, holding herself a glass of whiskey that Abraham gifted her as she was comfortable in her spot.

“I barely drank tonight…I’m just. Leaving the scene before the guy gets the wrong idea…”

“Not a long term gal? Isn’t your brother thinking of marrying Michonne?”

“Oh god. Rick…Don’t bring this up to Rick” Y/N begged Carol as she approaches the woman who scooted to the side on her bench. Letting the younger Grimes sibling sit beside her.

“I won’t. But if this guy does try anythin’ yea don’t like…you let me know.”

“It was just a one-time thing. I think he got that idea loud and clear” Y/N leans back into the bench looking up at the starry night. “But I will…I’ll let you know”

“You go back tomorrow?” Carol asks watching Y/N nod. She was only visiting the Kingdom to deliver some seeds for them to rebuild their gardens and to bring medicine back to Alexandria. “You know I could use company here”

“What do you mean? Your boyfriend is company”

“Yeah yeah. But I’m taking someone I could go hunting with. Or sneak off with just for a breather.” Carol sighs. “I’m not a relationship person either, but I’m bending”

“Ezekiel is a lucky guy, and everyone knows he’ll treat you right” Y/N shot her a smile while tightening the laces on her boots. “Part of me wants that one day…but I don’t know if I even want that”

“That’s normal, hun” Carol pats her thigh when she leaned back in a reassuring way. “Wanna stay with us tonight or stick in the theater like you usually do?”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Can I stay with you—-Bitch, I wouldn’t have asked” Carol laughs rising to her feet and holding her hand out for Y/N who instantly took it, letting her lead the way.

A few weeks went by and Y/N suddenly stopped going on runs, visiting her family scattered in other communities, and the worse of all…being too tired to spend time with her niece and nephew…

“Yea think it’s what Glenn had back at the prison?” Daryl frowns watching Rick shrug for the most part. “We have the medicine now unlike when we were stuck in the prison”

“But she ain’t coughing, or coughing up anything really. She’s throwing up and is extremely tired, that’s about it” Michonne chimes in helping Judith down after she finished her breakfast at the kitchen island. “If Siddiq was back home then he could check—-“

“Which I brought back the second Carl radio’d Hilltop” Glenn interrupts the group by entering the Grimes’ residence with the Alexandria doc that Carl saved during the “down period” of the Savior War.

Both Rick and Michonne have Carl a confused look as he came downstairs after giving Y/N another glass of water. He noticed Siddiq’s return and knew that’s what they were staring at him about.

“I lost my mom, I’m not about to lose my aunt too” And that triggered all kinds of thoughts to everyone in the room.

“Lead the way, Carl” Siddiq states in an instant not waiting another moment as the Grimes kid lead the way to where Y/N was staying in their home. They live in one of the town houses on the other side of Alexandria, but the second she got sick, Rick didn’t want her too far from him.

“Could be worse than the prison”

“Or a savior poisoned her”

“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted those fucks. Just cuz they killed one of their own that night, doesn’t make it alright to just jail the son of a bitch and let fear course through everybody”

“We get your stance on that. But let’s not to side tracked.” Glenn interrupts once again. “I know we moved a lot of the equipment from the Sanctuary into each of the communities because of what they have taken. But with that knowledge we could look more into it. We don’t have to work blindly”

“I agree with Glenn. Ain’t taking any chances” Rick states only for Carl to sprint down the steps and out the house, on a mission for Siddiq. But the action caused the archer to chase after the damn kid.

Sometimes the Grimes can be dramatic

As Carl rummages through the infirmary with the mental list fresh in his mind, Daryl storms in and grabbed his shoulder so that he could look at him.

“What did Siddiq find?”

“She’s dehydrated? That’s about it” even if he is almost 18, he will never learn how to lie. Especially to Daryl.

“I’ll yell at yea if you don’t tell—-“

“Daryl what even is your relationship with my aunt?!” He snaps back. “Whatever. Siddiq thinks she’s pregnant and since I told yea that. You gotta tell me—-“

“I ain’t sleeping with your aunt” Daryl snaps back and at least the two had their possible answer. But the pressing question in both of their minds…who the fuck is the mystery father if she is? “What does Siddiq need”

“I can’t find the makeshift IV bag. I’ve got a few tests but they all read different things…” Carl shows the boxes to Daryl as he took two away from him tossing them back since they weren’t pregnancy tests but the rest were. Then he reached into the cabinet to get the IV line and the bag along with it.

The two came back and when Carl headed back upstairs, Daryl grabbed his crossbow and headed back out with an even more confused Rick following behind.

“What are yea doing?”

“Going to Carol”

“You can’t—-“

“I ain’t sayin’ shit to her. I gotta ask her something” Daryl didn’t wait for him to say anything more as he went to get on his bike and head out right away.

The second he reached the Kingdom he went looking for Carol to ask about the party they held a few weeks ago. It was one of those parties that Deanna used to hold for new people since the Kingdom took in new folk from the Sanctuary that wanted to get away from that place. He knew Y/N was at it but couldn’t be there himself because he was asked to watch the Sanctuary, which felt more like a punishment.

“Daryl! What are you doing here?!” Ezekiel cheers in his usual excitement but given the archer’s serious expression that he always bears, he knew to tone it down instantly. “You looking for someone?”

“Carol have yea—-“

“She’s in the gardens. Or at least that’s the last I saw her. She could also be with Henry who started teaching some of the younger kids how to fight in what he calls “Morgan’s way” it’s really sweet—-“

“Thanks”

Ezekiel watched him leave and was left even more confused on why he was there. At least Daryl didn’t have to go searching for their kid and found Carol in the first place he told him.

“This is a surprise. How are you pookie?”

“Did yea see who Y/N went to the party with a few weeks back?”

“Where the fuck is this coming from?” Carol set the sharpening block beside her along with her knife to give her best friend her whole attention. “I didn’t even go to the party”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like those kind of things. You know this”

“You were supposed to watch her. We agreed—-“

“Daryl. Everyone agreed on that. For everyone. Not just Y/N. What’s gotten into you?” Carol frowns gesturing for Daryl to sit but instead he started pacing to try and calm himself down.

“I need to know who she left the goddamn party with. Who took her away—“

“No one took her. She wanted it just as much as the guy did. I don’t know who the guy is but she did tell me about the much needed stress relief”

“Yeah well that son of a fucking bitch didn’t wear protection and I need to bash his goddamn teeth in”

The words sunk in almost immediately as Carol rises from where she sat and quickly took Daryl’s arm heading back toward his bike.

“You’re taking me to her, now”

What Daryl didn’t know was the conversation between her and Y/N. And how much more personal it got to be

________

“You look like there’s more on your mind” Carol frowns for a moment as the two were walking to her place in the Kingdom.

“What if the unthinkable happens?”

“I’m sorry?”

Y/N didn’t know how to put the words together as she stops walking only for Carol to grab her shoulders.

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything. But what if it happens? I don’t fucking know the guy, and honestly it was just stress relief. I could do perfectly fine without him in my life but the fuck am I supposed to do…if I’m pregnant…”

“Y/N. Didn’t he wear protection?”

“He swore he did! But when does anybody believe a man when they say that?”

“I mean. Ezekiel is—-“

“The most perfect man. But this isn’t about him! You and I both saw what happened when a baby came into this world…I lost my sister in law who was my best friend before my family grew in the new world. But I’m de-railing…what if—-“

“No” Carol shushed her immediately. “If shit happens and you do end up pregnant, we’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. And you don’t need a partner to raise a baby. You have a family. A village or whatever the cheesy saying is. But it’s true. You have a village and you’ll never be alone. And I know for sure that everyone who loves you, would reassure you every day if they have to”

________

Well. It was positive and Daryl wasn’t the only one angry at the guy about it.

“You motherfucker—-“

“Daryl. Stop it” Y/N shoves the archer back as the man cowered a bit behind her. “This isn’t going to erase what happened”

“Yeah man. Besides it was just uh. A one time deal. She’s the one keeping the damn thing” He shrugs.

“Oh so yea blaming her?” Daryl snaps almost pushing Y/N over as she stumbles which made him quick to change his attention. He caught her and before anymore could be exchanged between those two, Rick cut in shoving Daryl away along with Y/N.

“Listen. She doesn’t need yea. Won’t ever need yea” Rick directs the guy away from his family. “But if I ever hear rumors…that are offensive toward my sister?” He suddenly grabs the man’s collar forcing him to look directly in his eyes. “There’s plenty of us that’ll put yea six feet under”

As Rick stepped away and Daryl gave one last glare before following his brother, Y/N gave the man a what the fuck just happened sort of look before quickly following the two out of the kingdom.

The pregnancy was smooth. Felt like it went by so fast because Y/N was taken care of. Granted there were moments where she snapped at her brother for getting too close after returning from a run involving taking out a few walkers. Same went for Daryl but his was more, he had to shower the second he came back to Alexandria after doing who knows what. Carol visited her every other week and that time gave her some space to come to the decision of marrying Ezekiel which she knew would make Y/N cry the second she told her. The start and finish of the bridge happened around her second trimester and during that time it gave her the excuse to step out of Alexandria to spend time with an overly excited Maggie who would stay with her the entire time they were at the makeshift camp for the communities. Giving her some tips about newborns given she wakes up the most compared to Glenn when it comes to Hershel Jr. Which unintentionally brought the anxiety back of being a single mother and the fear of doing this all alone.

But she was never alone. After getting everything settled in the Sanctuary and Carol taking over for sometime, Daryl moved into the basement living of her place. Carl also found himself spending the night at his aunts during the nights he’d find Y/N taking midnight walks. At least when he’s at Alexandria and not visiting Enid in Hilltop. Other times Rosita and Sasha would spend time with Y/N gossiping about Rosita’s relationship with Siddiq and how Abraham keeps testing Sasha’s patience with their watchtower shifts.

When the date got closer that was when everyone in Alexandria hovered whenever they saw her. Especially the rest of the Grimes family. The only hero was Michonne. She would shoo Rick out whenever his questions toward how Y/N’s feeling got a bit too extreme. He was just worried given what happened to Lori and what else could happen without the help of a fully stocked hospital.

All was fine, when Shepherd Grimes came into this crazy world perfectly fine.

Causing his own kind of chaos.

As the little light comes through to the basement apartment, Daryl didn’t wake to it at first given it was his day off. But Dog wasn’t the one either…the soft tug on his blanket alerted him and the sniffing of his Mal came after. He sat up in his bed seeing the two year old boy smiling up at him.

“Shep. It’s early”

“I’m thirsty Uncle Daryl…” Shepherd rubs his eyes as Dog investigated his action by sniffing, making the little one tiredly giggle.

Daryl sighs tossing the blanket off of him before moving to the edge of the bed to get up. Next picking up Shepherd like it was nothing and making his way to his small kitchen.

“Mama sleepin’?”

“Yeah”

“Why didn’t yea get yer mom?”

“She sleepin’ and Jude says you don’t sleep” The stupid goofy smile the kid had when saying that, Daryl couldn’t get mad at that assumption as he had a few sippy cups down in his kitchen since this isn’t the first time Shepherd came down there. He went on a run with Glenn and Rick to get a lot of baby/kid items from abandoned neighborhoods and stores for not only Shepherd, Hershel, Judith, and Gracie but also the newest addition RJ. Rick Jr. Grimes, son of Rick and Michonne.

“Mama is scary when yea wake her too early anyway” Daryl finishes getting the cap on and handing the cup filled with water to the little one in his arm. “But she’ll scream like a banshee if yea ain’t upstairs”

“What’s a…ba…ban…bunsha”

“Close enough, just a screamin’ creature” Daryl made his way upstairs with the mini Y/N Grimes as he gripped onto his sweater to keep him steady enough to take a sip from his cup. “Yea tired?” He asks the child watching him shake his head which lead to him being set down on the couch in the main house before sitting beside him. “I’ll stick with yea until Y/N wakes up”

Daryl couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest when the small child scooted over to sit beside him and lay against him while drinking his water.

When it got about an hour or two later making it still an early morning but enough for Y/N to wake. She came down from her bedroom still in her pajamas finding both Daryl and Shepherd asleep on the couch. Y/N quietly went to grab her Polaroid camera from her pack and took a quick picture of the two. The flash woke Daryl slightly but he didn’t fully stir until Y/N carefully picked up the sleeping child.

“Go back to sleep” Y/N mouths to the archer before smiling and carrying Shepherd upstairs.

As the day continued on, Rick found himself with his baby strapped to his chest and carrying Shepherd by the back of his overalls. Like luggage if you will. He agreed to watch his nephew while Y/N went to visit Maggie for Hershel hand-me-downs and to go hunting with Carol.

“Uncle Rick?”

“Yeah?”

“Will mama be home before bedtime?”

“Yeah, she reassured me that she would” Rick smiles to the child setting him down on the steps of his place only to be greeted by Michonne.

“Hey buddy” Michonne smiles kneeling down to Shepherd’s level seeing that smile of Y/N reflect in her son’s. “Carl is about to leave to take Enid on a trip and made sandwiches. And I know he made an extra one just for you” she smiles poking his stomach to get a giggle out of him. “How about you go see him?”

The small child ran inside leaving the adults for a moment as Rick couldn’t help but watch his nephew and think about his sister.

“She was just as energetic. Hopefully he doesn’t get her attitude but, he’s perfect”

“She made a perfect child just like we did” Michonne smiles rubbing the small back of the baby that Rick held bounded to him.

•

“How’s Shepherd? I can’t wait to see him when Ezekiel, Henry, and I come over next week” Carol smiles walking beside her best friend.

“I think he prefers waking Daryl up over me. Found them on the couch again” Y/N knelt at their spot watching a rabbit approach one of the snares, making their conversation turn down its volume. “If he had nightmares he’d come to me…but he gets Daryl every other time”

“Your son knows you’re scary to wake up already” Carol couldn’t help the laugh but thankfully the trap caught its catch. “But that boy loves his uncles. Uncle Daryl especially.”

“Very true” Y/N says softly as she got up heading toward the trap to take out the rabbit only to turn around to a mischievous look on Carol’s face. “What?”

“I know he’s 2 and can’t remember where he put his shoes but has he ever asked about his biological father? Big words to him but you get my point”

“No, one of his books has a set of parents in it and he believes he was created with magic inside of me. I’ll take that over a one night stand any day” Y/N uses her foot to open the trap again and quickly retracted to avoid triggering it. “But I can see where this is going…He knows Rick and I are siblings…but uh”

Carol stepped closing with a go on look on her face watching Y/N’s complexion get redder. “Yeah?”

“He probably sees Daryl as a father figure…just doesn’t call him dad. And we…yeah. We. No…”

“Y/N. I know the first few months of having a baby there were emotions flying. But he’s two now and those hormone influenced feelings have simmered a little…but…”

“I don’t want to ruin what’s perfect” Y/N instantly knew what to say and Carol has always been right about Y/N’s feelings toward Daryl, that it makes it complicated in her mind not to tell Daryl given she knows how he feels.

But for the sake of the child, Carol wasn’t going to make things complicated and let Y/N do things her way.

Even if every fiber of her wanted to say something to Daryl about how she felt. But sitting on the picnic bench in the secluded corner of Alexandria watching Daryl play with her son and niece as careful as he could be. Those moments were enough.

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #rick grimes fanfiction

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romanarose · 2 months

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2000 followers!!!!

Graphic by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog 🥰🥰

Wow, I'm in tears y'all I can't believe I'm at 2k!!!!!

I'll be straight up, the 1k celebration was a lot ;-;

And with school, I can't commit to a whole lot especially writing things for people who don't interact with my shit at all. So, I decided to do something specific

My talent lies in series more than one shots. It's where I shine. So I think the celebration will be centered more around my different universes! Acceptable universes will be listened an linked at the bottom.

Here's how to participate!

Fuck Marry Kiss

Pic 3 canon characters or OC's from any universes. If you say "Marc Spector" Specify if its from Seattle or Sunshine. Make sure I know which series bc there slightly different characterizations sometimes. Same with reader. MOST of my readers have a nickname like Little One or Madonna. Example: FMK: IYWBW Santi, Lorenzo, and Puppy Girl reader

2. Bonus chapter or thoughts (or thots)

Ever wanted to know how Zach and Lorenzo fell in love? Ever wondered what Jana and Will's friendship is like? Wanted to see what Guard Dog! Joel and Reader do for fun? Now is your chance! Please be clear if you're looking for thoughts or an organized chapter. Example: Can I please request a scene with how Santi calms down Laci when she has PTSD now that's she's a few years into healing? Example 2: Was wondering if you had some random thoughts of what shows Jake and Sam have watched together over the years?

3. Crossovers!

Want two characters from different universes to meet? Have a cross story ship? Think two readers or OC's would be besties? Think a pair of characters would be fun in a different AU? Come on over!

Example (From Fen): Leather and Lace Santi and Laci meet The Wrong Way Joel and Little one

Example 2 (Also from Fen): What if Sam met Becca.

Example 3: I think Angela from Blessed be the Fruit would absolutely love Candy and they should date.

Acceptable universes to ask for fics or crossovers from:

If You Wanna Be Wild (Santiago Garcia x Latina!Reader/OC x Javier Pena) with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside (Steven Grant x OC x Marc Spector) Seattle (Marc Spector x Jewish!OC) Leather and Lace Universe (Santiago Garcia x OC, Frankie Morales x AfroLatina!OC, William Miller x Vietnamese!OC, Ben Miller x M!OC) Awakening (Reader x all 4, IronPope, FishBen) Darkness on the Edge of Town (Joel Miller x reader, no age gap) DBF!Joel Miller Holiday Fucks (Joel Miller x reader, large age gap) Pieces from my dark side blog @romana-after-dark are allowed too. I have 2k followers here but Ill want to open the worlds in here to the event.

The Wrong Way (Dark!Joel Miller x reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x reader DDDNE) Guard Dog (Dark!Joel Miller x Dark!reader) Blessed Be the Fruit (Dark!Joel Miller x darkish!reader) Puppy Girl (dark!Joel Miller x reader, pet play) Room's on Fire (Reader x Santiago, Francisco, Will, Ben, FishBen, FishPope)

If you have other ideas, just ask!!!

Spring Break is coming up so im excited to do some of these and my commissions!

I CANNOT thank my lovely followers enough for all this!!! I love writing so fucking much and many have reached out to me about fics being healing for them

so, thank you. I mean it. Man of these stories, like LaL universe or TWW have been healing for me, processing a lot of feelings through them and i pu tmy heart and soul into my stories, so it makes me so happy and proud yall want to read.

#romana's 2000 follower celebration #triple frontier #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #santiago garcia #jake lockley #joel miller #moon knight fanfiction #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #triple frontier fan fiction #dark joel #dark joel miller #santiago garcia x reader #follower celebration #romana is blessed

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samberrybay · 10 months

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On has suprisingly a lot of similarities with Cale and this is some of my thinking about it.

Beforehand wanna make it clear that i don't say that Raon or Hong doesn't! Raon is literally the small version of Cale and Hong smiles and picks more and more talking habits from him as well.

But i want to especially emphasize the similarities On had with Cale even without his influence on her life. Or would be better to say with Kim Rok Soo.

Unlike the other two kids, On is much calmer, collected and rational. She is still a kid, but just the one that had to mature much earlier.

It is also always implied that she understands Cale's intentions or thoughts faster and better than any other people and On, as Cale usually does, doesn't correct them if they are wrong.

Besides everything above, On also lost her parents at a young age and then was neglected or abused by other tribe members until she ran away and began to live on her own.

Does it maybe reminds you of a certain someone?

Kim Rok Soo also lost his parents very young, was neglected and abused by his uncle, lived for a bit in orphanage and then started to live on his own, studying and working part time job.

Both On and KRS wary of people at first and they both had quite a lot on their plates for such a young age.

The biggest difference is in Hong.

KRS never had anyone close enough to him because of the WS's curse. They wouldn't usually die, but there was always something that kept him apart from people. And even when, after a long time, he did, finally, found very dear to his heart people (aka LSH and CJS)... KRS eventually lost them as well.

This created a big wall for all the future relationships in Rok Soo's life plus gave him massive PTSD.

On's situation is a bit different because she had never parted with her younger brother ever since she was three. There was always someone at her side.

Someone to protect, to take care of and to fight for.

And trefore that, their motivation differ.

If Kim Rok Soo matured faster for his age because he felt like he can't rely on anyone but himself.

On matured faster because she is the older sister that Hong is relying on a lot.

Was it made on purpose? Do i look too much into this?

No matter what the answer is, i really love this purposefull-or-not parallel between the two.

#early morning thoughts yes hi hello #sorry for slightly crude writing am sleepy lol #trash of the count's family #tcf #lout of the count’s family #lcf #cale henituse #tcf cale #lcf cale #tcf on #tcf ohn #lcf on #tcf hong #lcf hong #tcf raon #lcf raon #tcf novel #lcf novel #kim rok soo

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raspberry-dounut · 7 months

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hihi!! I saw adventure time on your fandoms list and was wondering if we could get anything about lee!simon? (once the curse is gone.) he's so silly and it would mean a lot

Nightmares

[TW: intense nightmares, references to PTSD, a& grief. And also, this is a tickle fic, so if this made its way into the main tags somehow, then I suggest you don’t read it if you’re not into that stuff XD]

Simon jolted awake, taking deep gasps of the cool night air in a shitty effort to stifle a scream. His heart was still pounding in his ears despite how quickly his breathing had returned to normal. It had been a nightmare, as it usually was, but this one felt different. He didn't want to remember it, but somehow he just couldn't shake it.

His heart sank into his stomach momentarily- he’d sworn he’d seen Betty, if just for a second.

“You guys… are still awake?” He was still a bit disoriented from his nightmare, but he thought he recognized those voices. As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit barn, he could make out the shapes of Fionna and Cake, still awake and engaged in conversation.

“Well… yeah?” Fionna’s eyebrows furrowed as she awkwardly offered an answer.

“We wouldn’t expect you to understand, though. You’re old.” Cake chimed in with a shit-eating grin, completely endorsed in the game she had stolen from Fionna hours earlier.

“What were you dreaming about anyways?” She added, nonchalantly. “Getting it on with someone?”

The snide remark caught the older man a little off guard, as he found himself looking away to hide a deep red blush “Uhhh… I don’t really wanna talk about it, it’s- it’s private.”

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and the two of them exchanged a quick glance. It was clear something was bothering him, and neither of them were too keen on being left out of the loop.

“Suit yourself.” The cat shrugged.

“Was it a good dream or a bad one?" Fionna asked tentatively, her tone soft in a way Simon had never heard her use before. She was always the brash one, but something about the look in his eyes must have compelled her to be gentler.

“It’s— I don’t…” he started. All words seemed to fail Simon as he desperately searched for an answer

“it’s complicated.” Is what he settled on, trying in vein to hold off the weeping that usually followed after such intense dreams.

Fionna's eyes widened suddenly, but her expression quickly softened.

"Hey... it's okay. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," she said, taking a step towards him. His reaction to her and Cake's joking response told her everything she needed to know about how serious the dream must have been.

“No, I—“ he knew keeping secrets from his (begrudging) teammates was useless. It would only make things worse for the trio as a unit in the long run. So he tried- he tried despite his distraught to explain it.

“When you get older… you, uh… sometimes we- I… my fiancé and I—“

“Woah!” Cake snickered and hummed a tune that resembled something you’d hear in a low budget rom com during a particularly spicy scene. “I didn’t think someone as boring and mundane as you would have fiancé!!”

Fionna merely needed to cast a gaze over her shoulder and Cake knew to drop the subject.

“Cake! That’s not funny!” Fionna snapped, though she knew she was partly to blame. She was never one to have a filter, knowing full well that most of Cake’s current habits could be easily traced back to herself. “What were they like?”

“No, it’s okay. She… was wonderful.” he said, almost dreamily. There was a clear passion and affection in his voice for whoever this mysterious woman was. “I still remember what cake toppers Betty and I wanted for our wedding!! And—“

“Simon!”

“Hm?”

“You’re crying!”

"I am?" With little hesitation, he let his fingers connect to under his left eye. His fingertips made contact with warm water. It was a shock at first, but given that Fiona had called him out on his sudden eruption of tears, he didn't jump at that. Still, it was a shock nonetheless. Weakly, he muttered out in a croak after his mind realized he was tearing up. "Oh... I am."

“Um, maybe we can ask big hunky Finn for some water? Or like, an extra blanket?” Fionna offered, racking her brain for a solution. Comforting someone who had clearly undergone some intense trauma wasn’t something in her toolbox- let alone said person being older in age.

Fionna attempted to wipe the tears away from Simon’s face, desperate to clear away his sadness and provide some comfort in a moment of pain. But the tears were streaming down his cheeks too rapidly, making it impossible for her to keep up with them. Despite her repeated efforts, his tears continued to fall, each one slipping past her fingertips and adding to the pool gathering in the crease of his chin.

“No, no it’s okay really… I think we’re overstaying our welcome, anyways.” He offered her a small smile- one that was cheaply sewn together with what little sanity he had left in his grief.

All she could do was look at him with concern. The years that had gone by showed in his features, bringing a deep sorrow with them. The events of his life were like a war zone within his eyes, the tears that stained them telling her the story of his pain.

“Oh! Hey!” Cake’s face lit up as the lightbulb went off in her head, evident in the face she made “you humans like to be pet too, right? You evolved from monkeys, yeah? So there you go!”

“Uhhh…” It was awkward- that was for sure. He often found himself forgetting that, as far as Cake was aware, all she’d ever known was the life of a domesticated pet. An animal companion that was doomed to tight collars and comedic holiday costumes, stuck within the confines of an apartment.

“Umm… n-no thanks, I’ll pass. I think I’m—“

A weight hit his lap, and Simon flinched halfway between a startle and being winded by the force, proving to him once again how old he truly was. Turning to glare at the source he found Cake sitting squarely in his lap. Simon looked down at the cat, completely confused and slightly annoyed. He was still a bit jittery from his nightmare- and her sudden self-invitation into his lap caught him heavily off guard.

“Humans don’t work that way- I mean, at least the humans in my time don’t...” He laughed a little, though it was exasperated one that held no humour, as he was once again reminded of the differences between the world he knew, and the one he was living in. “Our nerves are a lot different than yoURS—“

“Wahahahait!!” His attempted explanation fell on deaf ears as Cake had already taken matters into her own paws. When he instinctively jerked back, she swore he was an expert at exaggerating his reactions- being stroked was a clear sign of endearment to someone like her, and he’d ought to be glad she was showing him such appreciation.

“C’mon, I’m not hurting you!” Judging by the accusing glare he gave and the slightly different tinge of honey-coloured skin beneath his eyes. He was fine.

“Y-You’re not hurting me!” His face crumpled, eyes closed and smiling, as he tried to get a hold of himself. “You’re tickling me! Stoohahahaaop!”

“The humans from your world are so melodramatic!” Cake shook her head.

“stahahahap— hahahaa!! Yohohou ahahahahaasshohohohole!!” He squirmed, giggling in spite of his frustrated facade, his legs kicking softly beneath her hold as Cake's paws worked their magic- Being sprawled out on the wooden floor of someone’s barn, whilst fighting a losing battle with a magical cat wasn’t the best look for him, and definitely wasn’t a one he could pull off.

When the feline struck a particularly sensitive spot, he nearly screamed; it was half way between someone who’d been startled, and someone who just realized how truly sensitive they were- knees bucking upwards instinctively and just about hitting cake in the chin; had it not been for her new luck of the draw abilities. Despite his pleas, both Fionna and Cake both took note of the fact that he didn’t do much to stop his playful attacker.

Cake didn’t listen- mostly out of spite that he’d nearly kicked her, but mostly because his body language didn’t appear to show discomfort. Tutting, she then used her leg to hold down his hips. Being of feline heritage, Cake knew firsthand how awful it was to have one’s personal bubble violated, and if Simon was truly as uneasy as he’d claimed, she would have backed off; spiteful or not.

Instead, she snickered and danced her fingertips up and down the antiquarian’s sides.

"Oh nohohoaaaahahahaa!! Oh m-my gohohohoad!!” Simon hadn’t laughed openly in so long- too long. The sound coming out of his mouth was so foreign to his own ears and he couldn't recall the last time he’d laughed at all. Let alone like this; unrestrained, loud, and so completely genuine.

“Alright alright! I’m done.” She announced in triumph once she had deduced that he’d had enough.

When Cake had finally let up, Simon took the opportunity to enjoy the air- missing its presence and sucking it greedily into his lungs. Each breath he took felt sweeter than the last and after getting his fill of air, he finally sat up again.

“Are you okay?” Fionna inquired, putting a hand on his shoulder. He smiled back at her- and for once, in what felt like years, he could say that he was at peace; if just for a little while. “Do you feel… at least a bit better?”

“Yeah, yeah- I’m okay.” He offered her an answer and the girl smiled in return. He was still a bit giggly from the sudden attack but this time there was no forcing it, no faking the joy- and she was content with that answer in the moment. “I’m okay.”

It wouldn’t cure him, no. But at least it offered him some sort of temporary peace. Something that would last twenty four hours, if he was lucky- and realistically; a break, no matter how small, was something he needed.

“Get some sleep- some proper sleep!” Fionna hissed, grinning.

“Because you’re old!” Cake added.

“Yeah, whatever.” He rolled his eyes, the smile never leaving his face as he waved them off, speaking volumes on what he thought of their cheap jokes. He’d clearly eased up a little. They were right- he was feeling exhausted.

With a relaxed sigh, he settled back against the barn wall, closing his eyes and releasing a long breath as his muscles eased. His head began to tilt as he fought the urge to doze off momentarily, but soon the battle was lost and his chin rested against his chest.

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aurasplanet · 9 days

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NICE FOR A SAVIOR carl grimes x male!reader

warnings — reader is negan’s adopted son, this is literally shit because i couldn’t come up with anything for this request i’m sorry </3

carl first noticed you at the lineup. someone his age, looking disgusted and terrified at the acts your gracious leader was doing. he saw the panic in your eyes with every strike, using his curiosity towards you to distract him from the traumatizing events unfolding right before him.

the ptsd from it all, as much as he’d like to deny it, had him forgetting about you. but that day he popped a cap in a few saviors’ asses he saw you again, following negan around. you always walked in silence, your father’s words going through one ear out the other. your focus was more on carl.

“i can’t, i can’t do it.” your dad laughs, “it’s like talking to a birthday present. you gotta take that crap off your face, i wanna see what grandma got me!”

you roll your eyes at his immaturity, giving carl a pitied look. but he’s not even looking at you, his eye glaring at your dad instead. “no.”

“two men!”

“dad,” you give him a dirty look, causing negan to run a hand down his face. carl grimaces at the revelation that you have to deal with negan as your father.

“two men.” his voice gets lower, “punishment. do you really wanna piss me off?”

you sigh, “just do it.” carl’s head turns to you, squinting his eye at you. you mouth a ‘sorry’ at him, causing him to swallow thickly and sigh. he sets his hat on the table in front of him and reaches behind his head to unwrap the bandages.

you lean back in your seat and look out of the window to respect him, hearing your father go off on him. you stand up quickly, surprising both of them. “i’m gonna take him back, i’ll check on what they have going on while i’m at it.”

you walk over to carl and negan sends you both his weird, sinister smile. “you sure? i think our new friend here would really like to see the iron. i mean, that guy’s eye is gonna be seriously fucked. way worse than his.”

you give your dad a fake smile and motion carl to follow you out of the room. he brushes his hair back in front of his face and places his hat over his head to keep it in place. you both walk in silence for a bit, carl only breaking it when you both get in the truck.

“he’ll just… let you go?” his face is turned up in either confusion or disgust, you couldn’t tell. but you wouldn’t blame him if it were either one.

you nod, “i’m his son, he wants me to be all independent and shit.” you motion your head towards him, “probably why he takes such a liking to you. you’re what he wants me to be.” carl doesn’t say anything for a moment. you notice he does a lot of that.

“do you like it here?” he blurts. now it’s your turn to be quiet. you don’t know how to answer that question. it’s shelter, it’s protection, the big bad guy in charge is literally your father.

you shake your head with a laugh, “i would if my father wasn’t so bloodthirsty. he says he only does it when he has to, but like the other night, with your friends… he went too far.” carl turns his head to look out the window when you say that, “should i not have brought that up?”

“it’s fine.” is all he says, adjusting his hair again.

when the two of you enter alexandria there are certainly a few starers. “look, i’m not actually here to do anything. i just felt bad and wanted to take you home.” he fixes his hair again, pulling it so more and more covers his face. “why do you keep doing that?”

he clears his throat, “it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

you look at him oddly, “your eye?” he nods, you could tell it affected him by the way his cold facade shattered when your dad made fun of it. you shake your head and roll your eyes, “no, why would it? i think it looks cool as hell.”

carl stops walking and turns to you fully, tilting his head and looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“why are you doing that?”

“why?” you echo, turning around as well so you’re face to face.

he squints, “you’re being too nice for a savior.”

“don’t call me that,” you snap. “i’m not like them. i’m only there because i made the mistake of trusting negan.” carl looks down for a bit in thought.

“then come stay here.”

you laugh humorlessly, “so my father can hate your people more? have another reason to destroy what you have going here?”

carl shrugs, “we can protect you.”

you give him a weird smile, running a hand through your hair. “okay, why are you being nice now?”

“at a time like this you should be, to the people who deserve it.”

you nod in agreement, beginning to walk with him again. “you know, i’m starting to like your company carl.” you kick a rock as you walk, “we just met and all, but there aren’t many people who give me a chance.”

carl shrugs like it’s nothing, “maybe i’m starting to like your company too, uh…” carl trails off when he realizes he still doesn’t know your name.

“y/n." carl nods with a smile, leading you to his house.

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x you #carl grimes #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #carl grimes angst #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes x male reader

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acorpsecalledcorva · 3 months

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Thanks to the amount of systems cringe stuff spamming this tag I finally gave in and had a look at what they're saying, great decision on my part, happy for myself and so grateful for the inspiration lmao.

Honestly fuck all the fake claiming stuff, that's old hat, I wanna talk about the reverse conspiracy theory stuff they got going on. Namely their new automod response to anyone that mentions RAMCOA. So uhhh trigger warnings for discussion on that.

That link for an "archive database"? It points to the Grey Faction website, the Satanic Temples replacement for the False Memory Foundation. It's kinda sad honestly, sparsely populated with old news about Colin Ross' eye lasers and 80s satanic panic stuff to completely discredit the ISSTD as the organisation stands today. They completely deny the concept of repressed memories and don't believe in DID at all, even if they try to hide it with carefully chosen language

Does this kinda stuff happen? Absolutely. But the issue is, unsurprisingly, nuanced and complicated.

The Body Keeps the Score has a great section on this. In one chapter the author recounts a patients sudden recollection of abuse memories after seeing their abuser having been arrested on television. The patient had spent their entire life having no recollection of these events, only for them suddenly to reappear in crystal clear and full sensory detail. It does sound kinda unbelievable, I mean we know how dubious and unreliable memory can be, how can these memories be preserved so perfectly outside of conscious awareness? Well the chapter goes on to explore accounts of traumatic memory around Shell Shock. As it turns out, veterans that didn't get Shell Shock often had very personalised accounts of the war, they would even romanticise their experiences spun as a narrative of personal valour and heroism. Shell Shock patients on the other hand had much more accurate and factual recollections that all corroborated with each other, it would be as if they were back there experiencing it as it was, as opposed to looking back on it from the present.

This is because of how memory is processed. A healthy processed memory is becomes part of your own personal narrative, how you feel about it, the lessons you learned from it, and how it relates to the rest of your life. A traumatic memory doesn't do this, because it is deemed as incompatible with personal narrative, impossible to feel anything about, and threatens the integrity of the rest of the psyche, it sits outside. Like lost luggage at an airport never opened and never claimed.

This isn't necessarily the case for traumatic memory in DID though, at least in a good number of cases what's preserved is the emotional memory, feelings of helplessness or betrayal, body sensations of things happening, but the details, the auto biographical recollection of events can be lost.

In fact, this is one of the key ways the false memory foundation claims have been debunked. You can install the memory of being lost in the mall to someone, but what you can't do is give someone PTSD symptoms around a false memory, those emotional and physical intrusions can't be implanted.

This is to say that the trauma is always real, it deserves attention and validation and treatment, but we do have to be careful about what we do with the content of traumatic memories. And you know what? This is 100% in line with ISSTD guidance for the therapy of patients with a Dissociative Disorder. Therapists are advised not to take disclosures of recounted traumatic memories too literally, not least of all because different alters might have different accounts of events. It can cause a lot of internal conflict and distress to believe one alter over the other and they can't all be right. So what you do is something called Processing. Here's a great video on that from the CTAD clinic

youtube

This all relates to the derealisation aspect is DID, and in fact, many have called it a disorder of multiple realities rather than multiple personalities. I guess it depends on which way you wanna look at it from the DPDR continuum. Because of the extreme compartmentalisation of action systems, traumatic memory can be chopped up and distributed among different parts. Some get the emotional memory, some get the physical memory, some transform the content of the memory into something that fits the personal narrative of their created identity. For instance am alter that believes they are a victim of witch trials may have memories of a mob with pitchforks and torches, or a wolf alter might have memories of being surrounded and trapped by hunters in someone who has trauma around severe playground bullying. The emotional experience is retained, but the biographical details are changed into something the brain hopes can be processed, even if it fails in doing so.

Where this gets very messy, is that you can take a compartmentalised emotional or physical intrusive memory, devoid of content, and be suggestible to details that might fill the blanks. This is largely what happened during the satanic panic. Imagining a potential form of abuse, while triggered, can attach those imagined details to the emotional memory. Heck, multiple alters can each attach their own individual narrative of details to the same emotional Intrusion.

And this is a very serious problem I've seen in the community. So many times someone will ask questions about a relatively normal DID experience, and someone will chime in with "well in my case it's the result of programming". This is such a fucking irresponsible and dangerous thing to do. We cannot suggest possible forms of abuse to scared and confused systems that are in the wake of being triggered. This can go SO badly. Many of us suffer from psychosis, paranoia can quickly turn into a full blown delusion, especially when we're talking about organisations of child trafficking and mind control.

Cults exist.

Trafficking organisations exist.

Abusive religious organisations exist.

There's no denial that this happens, but we absolutely cannot just go around suggesting that this might have happened to someone who hasn't yet processed their trauma.

This isn't about disbelieving people, or telling people they are wrong about their trauma, but directing towards what matters, stabilisation from destabilising thoughts during a terrifying and confusing time, grounding, and finding a safe space through which to process the painful emotions so that they no longer intrude on daily life.

Back to Systems Cringe and the Grey Faction, there's something to be said about how faith in institutions can completely broken when we forget, and are reminded, that they aren't some flawless entity but are made up of flawed people that make mistakes

But I think this comment sums up everything I would want to say on that

#syscourse

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eddiesguitarskills · 1 year

Text

When We Were Young

part 2

Older Ex Eddie Munson x reader

Other parts 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Intro: 5 years have past since you packed up and left behind Hawkins. Well not all of it, as the people you met there are still a huge part of your life. But it's been 5 years since you had set a foot in the small town, 5 years since you left him. And now after all that time you were back.

Warning: angst, language, mentions of suicide, miscarriages, self harm, mental health Arguments. Mentions of break ups. Female identity reader. Panic attacks. Y/n used

Bold parts are flashbacks

Word count: 2.8k

A/n: please only read if you are in a good place, I wouldn't want this story to trigger or hurt anyone. I’m dyslexic so if some bits don’t make sense I’m sorry. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next part. Sorry it took me so long to write this

You were so anxious and aggregated you needed something to do with your hands. There were pots and pans ready to be loaded into the dishwasher. So instead you scrubbed them in the sink. You were rigorous with it making things shine that hadn’t in a while. You could hear mutters in the other room, but all you could hear was him. He had haunted your dreams for years and now he was here. You scrubbed and hummed hoping to block out any sounds. The noise felt worse than nails on a chalkboard.

He couldn’t believe were humming, as it all was merry. As if Eddie's world wasn’t crumbling right in front of him. He moved his eyes towards the kitchen glaring, starting to walk towards the room. Anger moved his body. Steve put a hand on his chest stopping him from “calm down”. Eddie shoves him off, getting closer to the man. “Calm down?!” There is a knock on the door, which is ignored by the men at the bottom of the stairs in a stare-down.

Eddie had barely managed to survive the upside down. Even with Hopper helping to legally clear his name. He was the same, life wasn't the same. He tried his best to appreciate everything that he had, new friends, his uncle, and you, but whenever he heard the mutter of the townsfolk, he sometimes wondered if it would have been better to be dead. He was struggling big time with PTSD but he didn't know that. And he definitely wasn't going to burden you with his problems. He felt so alone, that no one would understand what he was going through. Not that he gave anyone a chance to understand. You had noticed he was down so you suggested his favourite horror film. This made him snap, he shouted at you, “How dumb can you be! Why would I want to watch that!?”. Not bothering to explain why he didn't want to watch it. Not telling you he was scared that it would make the thoughts of Chrissy’s bones breaking worse.

There’s another knock. Nancy comes tumbling down the stairs “Steve aren’t you gonna get that?” Her eyes go wide upon seeing Eddie. Shit. No this could cause you to spiral, you were doing so good you didn’t need this setback. All three of them stood frozen, not sure what to do or say. The only sound now was the tapping of Munson’s foot, and your humming from the kitchen. Another knock.

The noise pulls you from your thoughts. After the fourth knock, you realise no one is getting it. You breathe in and straighten your back. Look forward don’t look at him. Keep a smile on your face. You walk over to the door ignoring the scene at the side of you. Everyone’s face turns to you. You open the door and try to ignore the burning stares in the back of your head. “Y/n!” Dustin runs into your arms pulling you into a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you”. He murmurs into your chest. You rub his head “you too kid”. Max pushes him out of the way, “give her some air dude”.

“Sup y/n” she tries to act cool, but you notice the tears in her eyes. You don’t mention it, but you understand how she feels. So you pull her into a hug. “I missed you too” you whisper in her ear. You then pulled away and Lucas awkwardly side-hugged you, the smile on his face showing how much he's missed you. Even if his cool persona wouldn’t tell you so. Robin in typical Robin fashion was running late, probably busy with her ‘not’ girlfriend. It was obvious to everyone they were dating but they were trying to keep it lowkey.

Unfortunately, El, Mike, Will and Jonathan couldn't make it, something about family commitments. You wish they were here not just because you missed them but because the more people here the least likely you would have to talk to him. That him that you were still trying to avoid looking at, which was hard with his eyes burning into you. Dustin was also avoiding the dungeon master's eyes. He felt like he was to blame for the frosty atmosphere, maybe having something to do, like eating, would help. “Nanc when’s food ready? I’m starving”. The sound of the younger boy broke her trance, food, she had completely forgotten. God, she hoped it wasn’t burning. She wanted this night to be perfect, it seemed like fate had another ideas. “You all go and sit down, me and y/n will dish up”. You nodded and left for the kitchen with Nancy.

Eddie didn’t know what to do with himself, no one ever spoke about you so he just assumed you left everyone behind turns out it was just him. He couldn’t pinpoint one feeling for the way he felt, betrayed, angry, heartbroken, curious. The worst part of it all is you were still just as beautiful maybe more so. He hated you for that. He hated you for a lot of things.

You put on the oven gloves taking the casserole out of the oven minutes before it started to go from brown to black. However, maybe burnt food would distract Nancy from the interview she was about to conduct. “I didn’t know he was coming,” she says in hushed tones, you hum agreeing not wanting to get into it. You place the food down, glancing away from Nancy. You weren’t sure what your face looked like, but it probably seemed worried. You were trying to remember all the techniques you had learned to stop you from having a panic attack, counting, listing, and breathing techniques. You were currently counting how many ducks were on the oven gloves you were wearing. 1,2,3,4 “are you okay?” You nod, going back to counting 5, 6, 7. “Should I get him to leave?”. You shake your head.

“No,” you say unconvincingly, you knew everyone else was still friends with him, why should you get in the way of that? It was so long ago, you should probably get over it. Does he even remember what happened? You wonder if he ever regretted it. Should you hate him? You got so caught up in your thoughts that you completely lost count. You were trying to stop your thoughts and you’ve done the complete opposite. It’s okay you could just start again 1,2,3.

“I understand it’s hard seeing him if you wanna talk -“ she hesitates she wants you to feel like you can go to her because you can. But she knows it’s always been you and Steve against the world. She never really fit in. She wasn’t jealous of you, like that anyways. She knew Steve loved her and any feelings you two held were platonic. But she couldn’t help but feel a little left out from the bond you two had. Everyone here had a shared trauma, from their experience of the upside down. Some are worse than others. She could handle that, she knew what to say. How to help. But only you and Steve had experienced that night. She never heard the full story only that it had happened.

She wasn’t there in the aftermath, she wasn’t even there when you left. She wanted to help, she needed to help. She didn’t want to see you in pain ever again, but she felt useless. Steve seemed to be the only person you found comfort in with anything bad. Nancy only got to know happy you, she never got to see the other side. She loved you so much, she wanted to be let completely in. She wanted you to feel like you could come to her with anything and she would help. But there she was in the kitchen trying to show you she was here, she was ready to listen to be a shoulder and you were shutting her out again. She was glad you also couldn’t see her face so you didn’t see the defeated look. “Shall we plate up?” You nod.

You could hear a beeping sound in your ear, which might be the most annoying sound you could ever hear. It felt like it was piercing through your ear drums. You had to open you eyes to get rid of that awful sound. You tried but they felt heavy, you could feel the light seeping through but you couldn’t open them. The last thing you remember is the water starting to turn red. Had you actually done it, was this the end? Was this was the afterlife was? The beeping got louder again, god I must be in hell. Another noise came through over the bleeping.

“Y/n!”. You weren’t dead yet, you had so much you regretted. God Steve you didn’t want to leave him, you didn’t want to put him through this. He was the only thing you had left now. You just couldn’t cope. It was all too much, and the love of your life didn’t want you. But what about if Steve blamed himself? You needed to tell him it wasn’t his fault. Wait what if you regret it? Is it too late? Can you change your mind? All of a sudden you feel a squeeze of your hand. It was so warm, it felt like it was breaking the ice on your body that made it frozen. It was home. You had to get your eyes open, you used all your force, it hurt your head, but you could do it. You saw a blurred silhouette, all you could make out was a blur of brown hair. Omg was it, Eddie, did he save you? Did he still love you? The figure reached forward running a hand through your hair. “You had me worried there”. It wasn’t Eddie but it was your best friend.

Dinner was edible, maybe Steve was right Nancy had got better at cooking. God, she was perfect. You wish you could be more normal like her instead of the mess you were. No, you were doing good, you graduated from university, you have a new job, a new house. You had all of these amazing people who cared about you. You looked around the table and smiled. Until you saw your ex-boyfriend, it’s like the sight of him made you forget how far you’ve come. You were suddenly thrown back to four years ago.

You wish you were just thinking about the bad times, but looking at his face, (god why was he still hot) you couldn’t help but remember the good too. “So why are you back in town?” Eddie didn’t even try to sound nice when asking this. Okay, scratch that now you definitely weren’t thinking of the good times. Be nice y/n, and show him how good you’re doing. “I got scouted for a job at the school” he smirks “I wouldn’t go back there even if they paid me a million dollars”. You plaster a smile on your face, despite the anger that you were starting to feel. “What do you do then?”.

You were both all smiles but anyone in this room knew this wasn’t a friendly chat this was more like a western shootout, of who would win the breakup. “I didn’t sellout, I followed my dream, I own a rock bar” one point to Eddie. “I don’t remember the word bar in your dream. But it was so long ago I can’t remember much from then” point to you. “Yeah it was long ago, it’s like we were different people. We’ve grown up so much. I’ve even got a girlfriend now” this is a complete lie but the smile on your face threatening to fade was enough to show he had won another point. “god I wish I had time for things like dating I’ve been far too busy, getting a degree, but good for you that you have the time for things like that”. Point to you. “ you know I heard people who go to school to study theatre are the only ones who aren’t talented enough to get hired, but I’m sure that’s not true for you. I’m sure you’re just becoming a teacher because you’re good with kids”. Point to him.

Steve had watched enough of this, he had let you both have your little spat but now it was enough, it was going too far. “Who wants dessert?” The seat dragged out behind Eddie, “I’m gonna go for a smoke”. Dustin wanted to say something, he knew his friend was trying to quit, but he was already in the dog house. So he thought it was better to sit there quietly, letting him leave. You slump into your chair, trying to keep the smile up but it becomes harder as the minute pass. You could feel a lump in your throat either tears would soon follow, or you would be sick. “Maybe later, I’m just gonna go to the toilet” you avoid Steve’s eyes peering towards you trying to gauge how you are feeling. You weren’t the only one feeling sick, Steve was starting to worry. Hopefully, this didn’t set you over the edge.

You sink onto the tiled cold floor, leaning against the door not bothering to lock it, your breathing is harsh it’s becoming harder and harder to be calm. Counting helped before maybe you could do that again, this time with tiles. 1, 2,3, 4, 5 the door to the bathroom was pushed open. Sending you flying forward. “sorry I d- oh” Jesus the two of you couldn’t be away from each other for more than a few minutes. You were a magnet to your biggest heartbreak. That was such a cruel fate. You don’t even bother looking at him, you already have given yourself enough material to fill your thoughts for the next couple of months. Torturing yourself with his good looks, signature smirk and the image of what his girlfriend might look like.

He had been trying to get hold of you for a month since originally trying to apologise. At first, he was worried, but now he was annoyed, you didn’t get to abandon him like everyone else. He was gonna fix this. He knew the one person who would know where you were - Steve, which is why he was now here banging on his door. Steve answered, his posture was off, he had lost weight, and bags under his eyes, his nightmares were the worse they had been and now they weren’t just about the monsters. “Where is she?”. His words came out harsher than he meant to. His anger wasn’t meant for Steve but for you, maybe even himself.

Steve used all his energy in his next exchange, he stood up straight to slightly hovering over Eddie to show dominance. “Leave her alone, I mean it”. There was no way Steve would betray you. No one knew what happened and he was going to keep it that way. He was especially going to keep it from Eddie, whom he wish he didn’t but he blamed it on. Even if it wasn’t completely his fault.

Eddie felt like he was back in high school being looked down on by a jock. Which is why he reacted how he did next. “She’s my girlfriend, not yours” he spat. Hoping to prove this meant he knew you better than your best friend. But these were just words. Unfortunately know Eddie wouldn’t recognise the person you had became. Steve wanted to laugh but he was too weak for that. “You lost that title a while ago asshole” he shamed the door. Tears filled Eddie’s eyes, his hands shook. He was maybe the angriest he had ever felt, you couldn’t even break up with him in person. Those 2 years meant nothing.

“I thought you were going for a smoke” he stepped over you and started rummaging through the cabinet under the sink, in search of Steve’s stash he hides from Nancy. The silence is deafening. “What are you looking for?” He huffs, you can’t believe him. “Childish much”. He spots the red label of Marlboro behind a conditioner and pulls it out. He turns around and stares at you, his gaze makes you uncomfortable so you wrap your arms around yourself hoping to disappear. “You know I always imagined what it would feel like the next time I saw you, what I’d say? Would I still think you’re pretty?”. He looks you up and down, “turns out I didn’t have to worry. Because I look at you and feel nothing.” The words leaving his mouth left a bitter taste, but that’s what was needed to officially win the breakup.

After that, he left the bathroom. Not hearing your breathing becoming intense and a panic attack starting to begin. All he could think about was how he needed to get home. He couldn’t keep up this façade for much longer. Pretending to hate you when he still loved you despite the hurt. He need to go out before he did something stupid and apologised for what he said. Even if he did, what would that help, you didn’t care about him. Overwise you wouldn’t have left all those years ago and come back acting as if nothing had happened. The only solace he could have is he won. He hurt you like he’s been hurting for years. He would spend tonight, drowning in whiskey, tears and thoughts of you. Knowing you had already won the break-up the moment you left.

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#eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #stranger things angst #older eddie munson #ex Eddie Munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson #stranger things #stranger things imagines #Spotify

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