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stevieschrodinger · 6 months ago

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Part One Fifteen

Steve’s left bloody smears on the tiles, but the bleeding does seem to have turned a little more sluggish; he’s too frightened now to pull his sock away, he’s pretty sure it’s stuck to the wounds where the blood has started to crust over.

From the floor, Steve manages to reach up for the phone, it rings nearly a dozen times, but Steve persists. He knows Hopper will assume it’s an emergency.

Steve hates doing this, but he definitely can’t drive. Just the thought of making it to the car on his own makes him cringe, and the dull, thudding pain is radiating out to the rest of his foot.

“Hopper.”

“Hop. Sorry. I think I need some help.”

“On my way.”

The doctor frowns at Steve spectacularly, “a raccoon?”

“I know, wild right?”

“So that means he definitely needs a tetanus,” Hopper says unhelpfully from where he’s perched on the other side of the treatment room. He’s got a coffee in a Styrofoam cup and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Steve hisses as the doctor uses some saline to loosen the sock, peeling it away from the wound, “I’ll give you something to numb the area, and then it will need some stitches. An x-ray might-”

“Nah,” Steve interjects, “stitch me up, I need to get home.”

The doctor has that look on her face again. From the other side of the room, Hopper sighs, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve can hear El and Eddie from where he’s standing in the kitchen. El’s been teaching him stuff again; today she’s taught him the ABC song. They rush through when they get to the ‘LMNOP’ part, making Steve smile.

“Okay Steve, we’re ready!” El shouts for him from the next room, and Steve goes in.

The furniture's been moved out of the way, Eddie lying on his back in the middle of the room. He’s laying on a white sheet, the long point of his tale stark black against the material. Next to his hip, there’s a pair of legs. They stand perfectly fine on their own, disembodied, rounds of flat pale skin on top, where they end at the thighs.

Eddie looks over smiling, “oh good, you’ve brought it.”

Steve looks down. In his hand he’s holding a saw.

Steve wakes, flailing. He’s gasping for air, trying to orientate himself. Panicking.

He’s sitting. It takes him a few confused seconds, but it all comes flooding back. Fuck, his neck hurts, and his back.

Just a dream he thinks on repeat to himself. Just a dream just a dream just a dream.

His foot. His foot is still up on the coffee table, “Steve, come on, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“What,” he manages to croak out.

“Here, drink this,” Robin hands him a half glass of tepid water, Steve downs it, “you had a nightmare.”

There’s a towel and a bag of peas draped over Steve’s ankle; trying to cool the area. Keep the swelling down, or whatever. The peas are melted now, the bag sagging in either direction with the weight of the mush inside.

The sight of it makes a sob catch in Steve’s chest, it comes out in a huge shudder, and Steve’s only vaguely worried he’ll never be able to walk the frozen isle in the store again. That he will cry spontaneously every time someone offers him a pear.

“When did you get here?”

“Mom dropped me off, Hopper wanted someone to watch you. He’s going to go check on El.”

Steve’s head feels muzzy. Too much has happened. They didn’t get home until the early hours, and Steve’s blinking in the full light of day that’s streaming into the lounge. “Where is he now?”

“Back yard.”

That takes a second to process, “no.”

Steve pulls his foot down, wobbling as he stands, leaving the towel and peas abandoned, “Steve, hang on.”

The dressing and stitches feel like they’re pulling as Steve takes a few tentative steps, the whole end of his foot feels like it’s burning, Steve moves until he can see Hopper; he can see him from the back, he’s smoking and looking down into the pool.

“Robs, get him away from there, please. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding her hands out like she’s dealing with a skittish animal, she goes to the door, opening it and calling, “Hopper, he’s up!”

Hopper comes back in, dropping the end of his cigarette and stamping it out with his boot on his way in, “kid, are you sure he went into the pool?”

The implication of Hopper's question has Steve’s moving before he can really think about it, Robin calling after him that he’s got nothing on his feet, that it’s cold out. Steve ignores her. He has to walk funny, keeping all his weight on his heel on the left foot, but he makes it work. He sees why Hoppers asking; the water of the pool is opaque white.

It looks like the whole thing is filled with milk.

Hopper leaves to go and check on El. Steve’s glad, he did cause Hopper to have to leave her in the middle of the night, and that’s not fair on El, she might be worried.

Steve’s had maybe a couple of hours sleep on the couch, passing out when they got back from hospital. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells Robin; she’s scrubbing at the bloody smears Steve’s left on the kitchen tile.

“It’s fine, and it’s not like you’re in any condition to do it. What the fuck Steve, Hopper said he bit off two toes??”

Steve looks down at where the dressing’s covering his foot, “yeah.” Robin sits back on her haunches, bloody rag in hand, glaring. “He said that...if he eats Demogorgon, then that’s what he becomes. And if he eats Demodog, he becomes one of those so…”

“So you let him eat some of you instead? Because that’s the sane response-”

“I love him, Robs.”

She sighs, “I figured.”

Robin spends most of the day. She talks him into eating some toast; he balks at the thought of soup. Steve takes his pain killers and his antibiotics under Robins close supervision. They have the TV on, and Steve sleeps more.

She tells him to come away when he spends too much time staring out of the window.

Robin has to go that evening; she only does because Steve swears on everything she can think of that he will be fine. He will eat some eggs. He will take his pills. He’s not a complete invalid.

Robin leaves him after what is probably a ten minute hug, and a promise that she will sell Keith on Steve’s 'family emergency.'

The eggs are sitting heavy in Steve’s stomach when he hobbles outside. He managed to get a sock on over his dressing, but couldn’t bare the thought of anything else pressing on his wound, so he goes out like that. Just in socks.

He has a coat on at least, and takes the blanket, knocking snow off a pool lounger and moving it to the edge of the pool so he can sit with his feet up, wrapped in the blanket. The water still hasn’t frozen; but it is darker than it was. It’s turned a sort of pale mucky brown, like someone's mixed some dirt in.

Or chocolate milk.

Steve sits, and he waits, and he cries quietly.

Eventually the cold gets too much, and he heads back inside to try and sleep on the couch.

Steve stares blankly at the unlit Christmas tree, and considers dragging the thing outside and setting fucking fire to it.

He hasn’t cried since he woke up, which is a new current record, and he doesn’t understand where the anger has come from...but he thinks he might prefer it. It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair, and it fills Steve with a rage he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before.

Hopper sits opposite Steve, leaning forward, his hands dangling loose between his knees, and Steve knows that this is Hoppers ‘I’m trying to be kind, or sympathetic, or understanding face,’ Steve also knows he’s not going to like whatever is about to come out of Hopper's mouth and he’s already angry about it.

“Kid, I really think we should drain the pool.”

“No.”

Hopper takes a deep breath, “son,” and that one word fills Steve with a rage so complete he feels utterly still. Utterly calm. He’s completely empty, in that moment, except for the rage, “if we don’t, his body will rot into the water, and if you want to be able to bury him? Then-”

“Out.”

“-what?”

“Out,” Steve stands, and he speaks calmly and levelly, “get out of my house. Right now.”

Hopper doesn’t stand, he spreads his hands in a non threatening gesture, “El says she’s can’t feel him, kid, he’s gone-”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Steve screams at him, suddenly full to brimming, his hears his pounding, breaths sharp, “I said get out!”

Hopper sighs. He looks at Steve with...pity on his face, but he gets up, and he leaves.

The water is so dark now it looks nearly black. Murky and shitty. There are black, choking vines growing up the inside of the tiles; clinging to the sides of the pool. Some of them are long enough to creep up over the edge, like The Upside Down is bleeding into Hawkins again. Steve is reminded viscerally of Barb Holland, and he hates it.

The phone is ringing. Steve ignores it until it stops.

It makes him itchy, ignoring the phone. It’s too ingrained in him that something could be wrong. It’s an emergency. The kids might need him.

It starts ringing again; Steve answers it this time, but only as a preventative measure. If he doesn’t answer it, whoever it is might show up, and Steve would really rather not right now.

“Hey, Steve.” Robs is uncharacteristically quiet. Reserved. “So...it’s Christmas tomorrow and, I know you said you didn’t want to come for the day but...what about in the evening? Just for a little bit?” She asks, hopefully. “Mom says we can save you some leftovers, you know.”

“Yeah...yeah, that’s really kind and everything Rob...” Steve trails off scrubbing at his face. He’s got a fair bit of stubble going on, and he only showered this morning because even he could pick up on the fact that he stank.

She sighs quietly, “have you been eating? Taking your meds?”

“I...yeah. Some. And finished the antibiotics.”

“Good. That’s good. You want me to come over then?”

“Uhm. No. No that’s fine you, you should have a nice Christmas with your family, okay? We can talk after.”

“Steve…”

“I know, Robs, I know, but I’ll be fine,” Steve tells her with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

“Okay, well, I’ll call tomorrow. Love you, Dingus.”

“Love you too Birdie.”

There are thick black vines growing up the legs of Steve’s pool chair; he ignores them. He climbs into position, wrapping himself in his blanket. He has a beer, his pills are finished now, so he can’t see the harm.

“I had a shower Eds, sure you’re pleased to hear that. Took the dressing off my foot, and it looks fine, you didn’t hurt me, not really.” Steve tacks on, “not ow,” out of habit.

Steve sips his beer, pulling the blanket tighter around his legs, and not thinking about Eddie's tail doing the same, “I’m supposed to have an appointment to get the stitches out, but it’s not until like the twenty seventh, or something, you know, everything being shut for Christmas. Which is tomorrow, by the way.”

Steve sighs, “anyway, I probably won’t go, it really doesn’t look so bad now, I think I could get them out with nail scissors and some tweezers, so I might just do that.”

Steve sips his beer, watching the laden pale clouds scud along overhead, “I think it might snow again, that’d be nice, right? White Christmas and all that stuff.”

Steve sighs again, and quietly admits, “I think you would have really liked Christmas. You get like, gifts and stuff-”

There’s a frantic splash in the pool, Steve’s up as quick as he can, fighting with his blanket, his beer bottle falling, forgotten, and rolling away on the tiles, getting caught on a vine.

Steve’s flooded with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, he doesn't register the chill as he scrambles up, stepping to the edge of the pool.

Eddie’s on the steps, he’s covered in so much slime and shit from the pool it's hard to see him, but Steve doesn’t care how dirty it is, he’s knee deep and helping to haul Eddie out the rest of the way.

He has no hair; but he does have legs, and he takes a stumbled step with Steve before collapsing to the ground. He can’t breathe, he’s bent over, on his hands and knees, choking. Steve’s lifeguard first aid training kicks in before he can really think about it; fueled by adrenaline, he braces Eddie with an arm about his middle, then using the palm of his hand he delivers one hard upward blow between Eddie’s shoulder blades.

Eddie splutters, but there’s nothing, so Steve does it again. Suddenly, like a seal has been broken, Eddie coughs up what might be nearly a pint of fluid, yellow and green and streaked with pink blood, it splatters loudly on the ground.

Eddie drags in a huge breath; it might be the most beautiful sound Steve’s ever heard.

They collapse down again, Eddie shivering like crazy, his teeth chattering; Steve grabs his blanket, covering Eddie. He’s naked and covered in gross shit, completely hairless, and has long gangly legs. Steve doesn’t pay attention to any of it really. Just Eddie. Eddie’s here.

He smells fucking awful, but Steve doesn’t care, Steve bundles him up and pulls him close, “Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie blinks, his eyes crusted with gack from the pool, pink and puffy and sore looking around the lids, the whites bloodshot to fuck, his voice a raspy mess, the words broken by how violently his teeth are chattering, “Eddidie good bad.”

Steve bursts into tears.

Part Seventeen

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ficlet #ao3 author #mermeddie #mermaid eddie #upside down creature eddie #Fish Guy Eddie #creature eddie munson #creature #tw blood and injury

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13uswntimagines · 7 months ago

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Weight of the Sky (Alessia X Leah X Reader)

Summary: No one knew why you left the United States and stopped accepting call-ups to the senior team. Only the important people were informed that it had to do with your treatment by the coaching staff. But some reporter got ahold of the story, and a report that was never supposed to see the light of day. How do you deal with everyone suddenly knowing your deepest, most shameful secrets?

Warning: This fic deals with how people process trauma. There’s implied abuse, but nothing explicitly described or explained. Again, systemic abuse (physical, mental, and verbal) is what is dealt with in this fic, specifically how someone might deal with it (in healthy and unhealthy ways).

It wasn’t something you talked about.

It wasn’t something you liked to think about.

The people who were important to you knew something had happened. They knew why you stopped accepting call-ups to the senior USWNT a year ago, why you had fled the NWSL, and why you were so adamant about never stepping foot on American soil again.

You didn’t feel the need to explain it to anyone else. To open the dark box you had buried so deeply so long ago. To rip apart the fragile stitches you so carefully constructed over your wounds.

But as you stared down at the headline, it looked like you wouldn’t have a choice.

Scandal set to dismantle US soccer: reports of rampant emotional, physical and sexual abuse at both the youth and senior level

You didn’t want to read it.

You wanted to shove your phone back in your bag and join your team out on the pitch like nothing had ever happened.

It had worked for you so far.

But the way your phone was buzzing told you that it wouldn’t work for you this time.

That arriving late to practice so you had the locker room to yourself wouldn’t be the out you prayed it would.

It was one of the best and worst qualities of the team you had left behind. Their stubbornness, especially when someone’s well-being was on the line.

They wouldn’t give up when you had been the baby of the USWNT for so long with your first call-up coming at 16.

It didn’t matter that you barely answered them most of the time now.

With both you and Foxy playing for Arsenal, you knew that Alex, or Kelley, or Alyssa, or Becky were not above calling Kim or Jen to sort you out.

To force you to face the thing you had run to Europe to escape 3 years ago.

The things you had never told them about.

“Have you read it yet?” You blinked up at the voice of your fellow American, as Emily sat down beside you.

“Just the headline,” You sighed, tossing your phone into your cubby and grabbing your cleats. “I’m pretty sure I already know what it’s going to say,”

You could feel her eyes on the side of your face, trying to peel back the impenetrable mask you always used to cover your emotions. You had known Emily long enough for her to be able to see past it. To decipher the barely visible tells littered across your features.

You could feel the pity in her gaze, and it made you want to puke. You didn’t want it. You didn’t need it.

“I didn’t know the details,” Emily said, her voice a pained whisper.

It wasn’t that Emily hadn’t known about the abuse. She was your longest friend, one of the people who you had shared nearly all of your soccer experience with. She knew that things had happened, but you always breezed over it. You didn’t give out specifics. You didn't need to be viewed as one broken toy.

You made a low noise of agreement. “That was by design,”

She caught your arm, and you finally looked at her.

“Y/n,”

Concern accented her blue eyes, and desperation lingered behind her irises. It was an unspoken question.

A why that rang clearly.

“It was better for everyone,” You muttered, finishing the knot on your boot and pulling the 2nd one up, answering the question she hadn’t asked with words.

You knew she would have fought for you. She would have stood up to the people you had been too afraid to. It was safer if she didn’t know the full extent of what you had endured. If the complaint you had lodged was the only record of it.

You wouldn’t put anyone in the firing line. Especially not her.

“Did Leah and Alessia know?” She asked, so quietly you barely heard it.

Or maybe it was just the blood pounding in your ears.

You blinked at the question, looking away from the defender.

Of course, your girlfriends knew, but they didn’t know. You had never gone into depth about your experiences in the youth system. You never detailed how it had followed you like ghosts until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Until you broke under the pressure.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to tell them. To let the words out during a million late-night chats over tea with Leah, or when you were so comfortable laid out in Alessia’s chest, her nails dragging up and down your back.

They made you feel truly safe for the first time in your life.

You didn’t want to give them a reason to not want you. To realize you were too… damaged to love.

You cleared your throat, your cleats clicking in the concrete as it hit the floor. “You better get your boots on. We’re going to be late,”

You didn’t wait for her response before you pushed yourself to a standing position, and headed out onto the field.

You hadn’t spoken to your girlfriends since the article came out. You had spent a very rare night in your own apartment, ignoring their texts, and the calls that had followed.

You were surprised they hadn’t staked out your apartment this morning, or been waiting for you when you arrived (admittedly late) to practice.

You understood that you couldn’t ignore them forever. You didn’t want to.

You just wanted enough time to gather your thoughts. Time to figure out how you were going to explain it all to them. You just wanted 3 hours of peace, before you would have to face reality.

Before you would have to finally deal with Pandora’s box.

You snorted to yourself as you reached the locker room door.

At least Pandora’s box had held hope with all of the bad things. Your box held nothing but pain and agony. Memories that had burned and sizzled the happiness you had finally regained.

Experiences that were like bubbling acid, destroying everything they touched.

You didn’t want them to destroy the word that you had rebuilt for yourself.

You wanted to pretend for just a bit longer that you weren’t a poison that could only hurt the things you loved.

Pretend like you weren’t about to lose everything. Like they hadn’t realized how… unworthy you were of them yet.

*****

You felt eyes on you the second you stepped onto the pitch. Like tiny lasers, following your every step. Your every breath. Like they were waiting for you to break down.

And for the most part, you ignored them.

You painted your signature easy smirk across your lips and joined the midfield warmup line behind Kyra. It was also coincidentally the line furthest from your girlfriends.

You focused on the drill, watching as Lia expertly weaved through the cones, the coaches passing her a ball every 3 cones to send into a mini-net. It was easy to let your mind sink into the familiarity of soccer.

The field had always been your happy place, even when coaches were running you into the ground. It was a place where all that mattered was your skill. Your ability to ignore physical discomfort and pain to run circles around your teammates.

It was why you lasted so long under Rory Dames, Paul Riley, and the rest of the USWNT coaches. They couldn’t break you on the pitch. Pain only fueled you.

It’s what had driven them to… other methods.

You pushed yourself through the line drills, forcing your legs to move faster, and your feet to take shorter touches, driving the pace of the midfield line higher and higher.

“You know this is just warm up right?” Kyra panted as she made it through the final drill, both hands behind her head. “We still have an entire practice to go,”

You shrugged, grabbing a water bottle and squirting a bit in your mouth as you waited for the other lines to finish. “Just feeling it today,”

“Don’t feel it too hard though,” She said, side-eyeing you, trying to sound casual. “Pushing yourself won’t make it better,”

You blinked at her, and the uncharacteristic seriousness in her voice. The young Australian was the last person you expected to read the article and then try to confront you about how you dealt with it all.

“I’m fine,” You mumbled, squirting more water in your mouth.

“Never said you weren’t,” Kyra said quickly, stealing the bottle from your hands, briefly glancing over your shoulder. “But you don’t have to be if you don’t want to be,”

You nodded stiffly.

You knew that if you wanted to fall apart the team, and your girlfriends would be there for you.

But you didn’t want to.

It would make it real instead of just the bad dream you had convinced yourself it was.

“I just want to play football,” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’m over everything else,”

Kyra hummed, her serious look shifting into an impish grin as she flipped the bottle towards you and squirted you with water. “Heads up,”

“Must you always be such a pest?” Leah’s voice appeared behind you before you could think about what Kyra meant, her arms wrapping around your middle and her chin resting on your shoulder. “Hello darling,”

Shivers ran down your spine when her lips pressed into the sensitive spot just below your ear, and your body tensed unsure if it wanted to sink back into her or flinch away. Your skin crawled in a way that it never had in her embrace before.

You shoved the feeling down.

It was ridiculous.

Uncalled for.

Not real.

“Hey,” You said, painting a smile on your face and forcing yourself to relax back into her familiar hold.“The forwards aren’t finished yet?”

“They were on their last drill when we finished,” She said, loosening her grip so you could turn to face her. “Less will be happy to see you. She missed you last night,”

You noted the worry lines on her forehead and the crinkle between her eyes.

You forced your lips to quirk upward into a teasing smirk despite how heavy it felt. “Just her?”

“You know better my love,” Leah hummed, her blue eyes searching your face and her thumbs running over the skin under your training top just above your waistband. “We were worried about you,”

You could hear the honesty, the concern in her voice. The unspoken questions lingering in the air between you.

“I’m ok,” You said, meeting her eyes.

It was the truth. Right now, with the pitch under your feet, you felt alright.

You felt almost normal.

She nodded once. “Ok,”

You appreciated that she didn’t press you. Didn’t point out the obvious cracks in your perfect mask.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to escape their probing later, but at least now she let you be.

“You’re still coming home with us tonight?” She asked, her voice still soft, and you swallowed hard.

Jonas blew the whistle just as the forwards finished their last line drill, calling the group to circle up before you could answer.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, gently extracting yourself from your girlfriend.

“We should go,” You said, ignoring her question and the deep frown etched across her features.

It should have bothered you how the knot in your chest loosened as you stepped out of her grasp. How your skin didn’t feel like it was on fire.

Her and Alessia had always made you feel safe and it should have bothered you that Leah’s hands had reminded you of his.

But you didn’t have time to be bothered.

You pushed the feelings down again, forcing the lid on them shut.

You hoped Jonas’ remarks would be short. That you could have the ball at your feet soon. That you could sink into the familiar peace soccer always brought you before any more emotions tried to force their way to the surface.

A stupid article would not derail your practice.

*****

You stayed at the edge of the group as Jonas explained the 3 on 3 drill he wanted you to do, watching his little whiteboard as he drew out the formations.

It was easy to ignore the poorly concealed glances from your teammates (and Leah’s blatant staring). It was easy to force yourself to focus on the coach.

It was easy to pretend your other girlfriend hadn’t edged her way over to you, her perfume surrounding you with the sense of peace you had been missing since the stupid article came out. Surrounding you like it had done since the two of you were at UNC together, and she was your anchor to reality, even when she didn’t know it.

Alessia didn’t try to touch you, even as she leaned closer.

“Be my partner?” She asked in a whisper, the words tickling your ear.

You made a low noise of agreement, your fingers fidgeting at your sides.

It felt like when you were in college again.

Like every time you would come back from a national team camp, and have to reintegrate back into the team. How she would always inch over to you while Coach Dorrance explained drills.

The two of you had been dancing around your feelings back then, and you had been convinced your heart and soul were too damaged to deserve someone like her.

You thought her and Leah had finally unconvinced you. That they had finally washed away the feelings of hands you didn’t want and cracks that you feared could never be healed.

You were wrong.

When the news broke, you stared at the headline for hours. You were thankful that you had decided to spend the night alone for once. That your girlfriends were having a date night (something the three of you tried to do every once in a while) because the rush of uncleanliness that rushed over you and settled deep beneath your skin, leaching into your bones was unstoppable. It didn’t matter how raw you scrubbed your skin in the shower.

“Ready?”

The nudge pulled you out of your thoughts, and you blinked at the blonde forward.

You hadn’t realized that Jonas was finished, or that most of your teammates had already dispersed.

“Oh, yeah,” You muttered, unsure of where you were supposed to go, or what you were supposed to do.

Maybe you hadn’t been paying as much attention as you thought.

Alessia’s lips tilted upwards, and she sent you a knowing smile. The one you hadn’t seen often since you were both in America. The one that used to greet you after bad camps and hard nights.

“Come on then,” She nudged your arm with her shoulder again.“Steph’s our third,”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

Why hadn’t she picked Leah as your third?

She always picked Leah.

You were the one who liked to play against your defender girlfriend. She was always physical, and it never failed to get you worked up.

Alessia liked to play with Leah. Their banter always wound her up.

You turned, glancing at the Australian defender already collecting a ball. Frankly, you were just thankful it wasn’t Emily.

That would remind you too much of your time at UNC.

“Alright,” You nodded, swallowing hard.

You had no reason to feel this… off balance.

No reason to be thinking about the things you had escaped.

Alessia’s head tilted to the side, watching you. “We need to make sure we kick Leah’s ass. She’s got Viv and Lea. It’s unfair,”

You hummed again.

This you could do.

You let your brain slip into the safe place where all that mattered were tactics and the ball. The safe place where all that existed was the pitch, and none of the other noise mattered.

“We’re faster, and we can outmaneuver them,” You mumbled, letting her guide you towards Steph. “It’s the team of Beth, Kyra, and Katie I’m more worried about honestly,”

While Leah, Lia, and Viv were tactically savvy, you knew you could outpace them. They were defensive-minded, and you were far more used to being an attacking midfielder than Lia was. You would use their defensiveness against them.

Beth’s team was much more balanced. Though Katie liked to attack, she was a damn good defender. Kyra could absolutely play as a box-to-box midfielder and Beth was a lethal striker.

Alessia made a noise of agreement, her hand gently resting on the small of your back.

The comfort didn’t send pinpricks up your spine like you thought it would, but maybe that was because you were talking about soccer.

Whatever the reason, you leaned into it, accepting the familiar comfort.

Yeah, you could do this.

****

“It’s scary to see her like this,” Leah breathed out, glancing towards the door to the showers.

You had waited until the rest of the team finished before you disappeared through the doors, with a promise from Leah and Alessia that they would keep everyone out.

Emily and Lotte both joined in their vigil, forming a little circle of sorts with their chairs just outside the washroom.

Alessia sighed, running her hand through your hair. “Reminds me of our junior year,”

That year had been brutal.

The two of you were growing closer, edging past the line of friendship into something more. At least you had been until you attended the USWNT World Cup Qualifying tournament.

After that, everything changed.

You pulled away completely and looked like a ghost.

Your eyes dulled from clear to a murky y/e/c like your soul had been ripped out. You were basically nonverbal by the end of the spring semester. It was all Emily, Lotte, and her could do to make sure you ate and got to practice on time.

She didn’t want to go back to that. Ever. And she didn’t like how similar this felt.

How easily you had retreated back into yourself and put all of your shields back into place.

“The year Paul was an assistant for the senior team,” Emily nodded, sharing a meaningful look with Lotte and Alessia.

Leah frowned.

She was clearly missing something.

“She would come back from National team duty and look like a shell,” Alessia explained gently. “We knew something was going on, but not what it was,”

“Or how deep it went,” Lotte added, her eyebrows pinched together as she looked back at the door.

Emily put a gentle hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles.

“He was her coach for the U17 team too,” Leah said, phrasing it as a statement instead of a question.

She had read the article, and the full report, unable to stop herself even as the words sliced into her heart like razor blades. It was line after line branding the horrors you had faced from age 13 into her mind, as the reporter described the abuse you and your teammates had endured in excruciating detail.

The worst was the photo that he had included in the report.

Three words were handwritten in font that was left on colorful sticky notes around your apartments, telling her and Alessia how much you loved them. Font that was on every card, every poem you wrote for them.

Font that spelled out Help me, please.

A plea that hadn’t been heard for years, until an anonymous source had sold the story to the New York Times.

“Yes,” Emily agreed. “He used to push her so hard during practice and the things that would come out of his mouth were vulgar, but I didn’t know about the other stuff. She only told me they were extra film sessions to help with her game,”

Leah snorted. “She told us they were tactics meetings, and that he would make her play games she couldn’t win. She never told us what the punishments were,”

“It was by design,” Emily said, using the same careful tone you had used earlier, shaking her head. “I don’t think she’s ever actually processed what happened. She was too busy trying to protect everyone else,”

“She was a child,” Alessia hissed.

The article said you were 13. Just a kid. You shouldn’t have to protect anyone. They should have protected you.

The system shouldn’t have failed. They shouldn’t have to deal with the catastrophic fallout.

“So was I. So was Mal.” Emily bit back. “She didn’t want what was happening to her to happen to us, so she didn’t fucking tell us. We could have stopped it,”

Lotte held up her hands, telling both of them to calm down. “She buried her feelings so she didn’t have to face them,”

They weren’t angry at each other, she knew. They were both fixers and they couldn’t fix this. Just like they hadn’t been able to fix this while the four of you were in college.

She was just surprised Leah hadn’t snapped yet either. She was the most protective over you, probably because it had taken you longer to fall for her than it had taken for you to fall for Less.

“And now she doesn’t have a choice,” Leah said with an eerie sense of finality. Like the matter of fact bang of a gavel after a judge made a ruling.

The stupid Times writer made it impossible for you to continue to ignore it. He made it impossible for you to outrun it.

“She’s going to try to pretend it’s fine,” Emily sighed, meeting Leah’s eyes. There was something… haunted hiding in their depths that sent a shiver down Leah’s spine.

“And then completely implode when she can't,” Lotte added, mirroring the haunted look behind Emily’s orbs.

They had both seen you at your worst, and they feared they were about to get the sequel.

Leah dragged her eyes from Emily to meet Alessia’s.

They knew the struggle you had with your emotions, even the happy ones. The cycles you spent oscillating between locking everything inside and shaking in the shower because you couldn’t stop them from pouring out of you and you were afraid of what you would do.

They all knew about it.

They had all dealt with it at some point.

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Leah promised quietly, again meeting Alessia’s eyes. “She’s coming home with us, or we’re going home with her,”

“She will not be alone tonight,” Alessia agreed. “Or ever again,”

The three other women hummed, before a comfortable silence enveloped them, broken only by the sound of the shower.

They didn’t have to wait long before the water stopped, and then it was only a few minutes before you came shuffling into the changing room, dressed in one of Alessia’s oversized hoodies and a pair of Leah’s sweatpants despite the warm temperatures outside.

You looked small. Fragile.

Leah pushed herself to her feet the moment she saw you, only refraining from pulling you into her chest when Alessia placed a gentle hand on her arm.

She learned in college that physical contact wasn’t always something you enjoyed when you felt this vulnerable.

“Ready to go Darling?”

Your head bobbed, and you held your hand out for Alessia.

Leah tried not to let it bother her that you had bypassed her. She knew it was just because you were familiar with how Alessia handled you when you were like this. You knew what to expect from her, while Leah’s reactions were more of a mystery.

You didn’t want any surprises.

Not now.

Not when you were feeling so vulnerable.

Alessia took your hand and pulled herself to her feet, while Leah grabbed all 3 of your bags.

“Lead the way then,” Leah sent you a very soft smile, gesturing with her free hand.

Your head bobbed again, and you headed for the door, not even acknowledging Lotte or Emily.

You didn’t have the mental capacity to address them anymore. Practice had taken all that you had, and you just hoped you could make it through the night with your girlfriends.

You honestly just wanted to curl up in your bed and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Maybe they would let you for one more night.

*****

Dinner had been… quiet.

Frankly, most of their night had been quiet.

An eerie silence seemed to settle over any space you were in, suffocating and heavy, unable to be broken even by a soft soccer game playing in the background.

You seemed to be… sleepwalking in a way.

Your eyes were open, but you were light years away, lost in exactly what thoughts they weren’t sure.

This was much worse than when you were at UNC.

But Alessia and Leah both resolved not to push you.

They let you pull away from them both while you watched a random men’s game, cuddled into the far end of the couch. They didn’t press as you stared blankly at the screen, only chiming in when they directly asked you a question.

With the way the night had gone, they weren’t entirely sure you would join them in bed, afraid you would choose to sleep in the guest room instead. Alessia knew if you did, they would be keeping watch outside the door in shifts.

But you didn’t.

You had crawled in between them, still dressed in sweats despite the high temperatures in the house.

Things were again quiet while Alessia scrolled through her phone and Leah read her nightly chapter. You steered clear of touching either of them at first, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended you.

Then you shifted.

You rolled over slowly, pressing your face into Leah’s stomach.

She lifted her book to give you space, carefully winding her fingers through your hair with her free hand. Her nails dragged along your scalp, and you were relieved at the familiar warmth and comfort that spread through your chest.

You never wanted to associate her or Alessia with the feeling of him on your skin.

It was easier with Alessia.

She had been there to pick up the pieces after each camp. She had been on ground zero for the fallout.

Leah hadn’t.

You only knew Leah from the time you played against her.

This was also different.

It was like an army of souls you thought you defeated marching their way back through your mind, reigning old wounds, and ones you had so long pretended didn’t exist. They ripped apart the careful stitches you had used to pull yourself back together and pried open the covers you had placed on the things you could not face.

This wasn’t a new wound.

It was stupid that an article. Words. Had reopened the festering relics you thought you escaped.

Leah turned the page above you, seemingly oblivious to the anguish pulsing through you with every heartbeat.

But you knew she wasn’t oblivious.

Her and Alessia had been watching you all day, trying to support you in their own ways. You knew they wanted to help. All you would have to do is ask.

You made the decision before you could overthink it, rolling away from Leah and staring pointedly at the ceiling.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you both about what happened,” You said, your voice far more shaky than you thought it would be, and you felt the women on either side of you pause. “I just didn’t know how. I’ve never really known how,”

You didn’t look at them.

You knew that if you did, you wouldn’t be able to talk about it. The words would get caught in your throat, and just like all of the other times you tried, you would be rendered speechless.

“We know,” Leah said, her book closing with a low thump. “We’re not upset with you,”

“We just want to understand,” Alessia added, setting her phone down on the side table. “The things in that article. It went on for so long,”

Her voice cracked, and part of you longed to turn over and pull her into your arms. To tell her that it wasn’t that bad. To pretend, just like you always had.

You swallowed hard. You couldn’t do that.

They knew the truth now, and there was no escaping it.

“I didn’t know what to do. There’s not exactly a recourse for stuff like this in America,” You explained. You needed them to understand that it wasn’t that you hadn’t tried to stop it.

It wasn’t that you liked it.

You were just powerless. One of many cogs in an outdated machine.

Leah shifted, sitting up and turning to face you, sitting crisscross on the bed, a deep frown etched across her features. “Even on the youth teams?”

You shook your head.

There hadn’t been anything you could do until you got to the senior team. Until a certain forward recognized the signs and had been so… stubborn and unrelenting in her support.

“Alex helped,” You sighed., picking at the edge of your sweatshirt sleeve. “She got me to do the report and had Coach Riley removed. Apparently, I wasn’t the first, nor the last,”

You owed a lot to Alex Morgan. More than you would ever be able to repay. She had been the only one to know the true extent of the damage the coach had done, and she fought for you when you couldn’t fight for yourself.

It’s why you felt so guilty when you left the team. When you left her.

“It’s why she visited so much in North Carolina,” She said, rather than asking as realization brushed across her features. “Not because she wanted you to play for Orlando,”

“She was worried, and my Captain at the time,” You mumbled, unable to help the way your lips turned upwards slightly at the mention of the old fight between you and Alessia. The fights about Alex taking a 2-hour flight to visit every weekend. The fight you knew now was centered around jealousy and fear that Alex was trying to get you to leave her.

Leah’s eyebrows pulled more tightly together. “If Riley was gone, why did you stop accepting call-ups?”

“Vlatko was a lot like Paul. And Roary,” Your nose scrunched at the mention of their names. They left a terrible taste in your mouth. “He doesn’t understand player health and wellbeing. He told me to play on torn tendons in my ankle or risk my spot,”

Leah’s frown deepened as she tried to understand the full extent of what you had endured. “So you gave your spot up,”

You nodded once.

Your greatest regret in this whole thing was that you had given up playing for your country. Given up the thing you dreamed about for your entire childhood.

“I was too tired to fight him too. Especially when I found places and people where I didn't have to fight at all. People who treated me like an actual human, instead of a playing card to be toyed with,”

You finally met your girlfriend's eyes, the weight of your words. The weight of the choice you had made was not lost on either of them.

“And you carried the weight of it all on your own,” Alessia said, shifting and laying a gentle hand on top of yours, effectively stopping you from unraveling the hem of your sweatshirt sleeve.

You shrugged. Sometimes you felt like Atlas, forced to hold up the sky, but it was better than being forced to watch the people you loved hold it.

“You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help, but we can’t if you hide things from us,” Leah said, joining Alessia's hand on top of yours. “So no more secrets, alright?”

You bit your lip, finally nodding.

Old habits would die hard, but you had to try.

For them.

Alessia squeezed your hand, and you turned, rolling over so your face rested in its favorite hiding place against her chest, and Leah shifted to spoon you from behind.

The smothering sadness around you disappeared, driven out by comfortable silence your girlfriend's breathing, and the feeling of them pressed against you.

There was something else nagging at the back of your mind.

Something else you hadn’t been ready to face yet.

No more secrets, you reminded yourself.

“Emma called me last night,” You admitted softly against Alessia's chest. “she wants to talk at the game against Chelsea,”

The coach had been very polite in her voicemail, leaving an apology you knew she didn’t owe you, and suggesting that the two of you have a chat.

Leah hummed behind you, lips brushing your ear. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“She’s probably going to try to convince me to play for the US again,” You said, ignoring the question she asked you.

“And do you want that?” Alessia prompted again.

Your shoulders lifted and fell helplessly.“If anyone could convince me, it would be her,”

“That didn’t answer the question sweet one,” Leah said again, pinching your side.

You made a low noise, finally pulling your face out of its favorite hiding place.

You knew what your answer was, and you knew that Alessia and Leah would support you.

They would help you hold up the weight of the sky, and it would all be ok because you would do it together.

Article and all.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x reader

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undeadcourier · 9 months ago

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Ghouls are, put simply, humans suffering from advanced, prolonged radiation sickness and whose bodies have mutated such that gamma radiation extends their lifespan past natural limits.

The process of ghoulification is outlined in canon sources, but I wanted to make a guide that goes into more detail on the effects of radiation sickness in various cases, since the level and type of exposure significantly affects the outcome.

This is the first in what will be a series of posts exploring both real-life cases of radiation sickness and the sci-fi concept of ghoulification in some depth. Graphic descriptions of the physical deterioration of the body are included for informative purposes; reader discretion is advised.

For this first case study, I examine the effects on the human body of exposure to high levels of radiation in a short period of time, with a focus on the real case of Hisashi Ouchi.

On September 30, 1999, a lack of appropriate safety measures and the proper materials resulted in an accident that caused three workers at the nuclear power plant in Tōkai-mura, Japan, to suffer from severe radiation poisoning while purifying reactor fuel.

Point of Criticality

An uncontrolled fission reaction was produced when technicians poured nearly seven times the legal limit of uranium oxide into an improper vessel containing nitric acid. The men reported seeing a bright blue flash—indicative of Cherenkov radiation—when the mixture reached critical mass, flooding the room with radiation. The workers evacuated to the decontamination room, but already, the two who had been handling the reactive solution were overcome with intense pain from radiation burns, severe nausea, and difficulty breathing. Hisashi Ouchi, who suffered the highest level of exposure, also experienced rapid difficulties with mobility and coherence. Upon reaching the decontamination room, he vomited and fell unconscious.

~1 Hour Post-Exposure

Ouchi regained consciousness in the hospital about 70 minutes after the criticality accident, where doctors confirmed that he had been exposed to high doses of gamma, neutron, and other radiation.

The maximum allowable annual dose of radiation for nuclear technicians in Japan was 50 millisieverts. Exposure to more than 7 sieverts is considered fatal. Yutaka Yokokawa, the supervisor, had received 3 sieverts. The technicians who had been handling the uranium, Masato Shinohara and Hisashi Ouchi, received 10 sieverts and 17 sieverts, respectively.

~1 Day+ Post-Exposure

During the first few days in the ICU, Ouchi appeared to be in remarkably good condition, given the circumstances: the skin of his face and right hand was slightly red, as if by a sunburn, and swollen. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reported pain under his ear and right hand, which had received the most direct exposure, but he could speak normally, and he joked with the doctors and nurses attending to him.

6 Days Post-Exposure

Tests revealed that the high energy radiation that Ouchi had been exposed to had obliterated the chromosomes in his bone marrow. They were unrecognizable—some severed, some fused, all out of order. This damage meant that his body was unable to create new blood cells. The red blood cells that transport oxygen could not be replaced, and Ouchi's white blood cell count was near zero, leaving him extremely vulnerable to infection.

~1 Week+ Post-Exposure

Intensive treatments, including numerous skin grafts, blood and bone marrow transfusions, and revolutionary stem cell transplants were conducted in an attempt to stabilize Ouchi, but ultimately without lasting success.

The skin grafts couldn't hold; when medical tape was peeled from his skin, his skin came with it, and the marks left behind couldn't heal. Blisters like those of a burn appeared on his right hand.

Ouchi reported frequently that he was thirsty.

~10 Days Post-Exposure

By this point, Ouchi's oxygen levels were so low that even speaking required tremendous effort. Ouchi was placed on supplemental oxygen and required sedatives to be able to sleep.

2 Weeks+ Post-Exposure

Ouchi was no longer able to eat and required an IV. By day sixteen, most of the skin on the front side of his body had fallen off.

His low platelet count and lack of healthy skin meant that his blood and bodily fluids leaked through his damaged pores, resulting in unstable blood pressure.

Donor stem cells that were meant to allow his body to create new tissue were also destroyed by the radiation present in his body.

~1 Month Post-Exposure

On the 27th day following the accident, Ouchi suffered from intense diarrhea. The mucus layer of his large intestine had vanished, exposing the red submucosal layer beneath. His body could no longer disgest or absorb anything he ingested; even water was excreted as diarrhea.

The skin of Ouchi's right hand was almost entirely gone, leaving the surface of his hand raw and dark red. Blisters spread across his right arm and abdomen, then over his entire body. Gauze was required to replace his skin, and his fingers had to be individually wrapped to prevent them from sticking together. Without skin to keep him warm, Ouchi required an electrothermic device to maintain his body temperature while his bandages were changed—a daily procedure that took hours. Every time the gauze was removed, more of Ouchi's remaining skin went with it. His eyelids could not shut, and his eyes bled. His nails fell off.

Ouchi's right arm was necrotizing, leading to an increasing amount of myoglobin—a protein in muscle tissue—flowing in Ouchi's blood. Untreated, this could result in renal failure as the kidneys could not process the amount of myoglobin present.

Ouchi's body could not regenerate the platelets that form scabs, meaning the risk of hemorrhage was extreme.

By day 50, more than two liters of fluid seeped from Ouchi's damaged skin each day. The amount of fluid prevented skin grafts from adhering. Furthermore, he began to suffer from blood in his stool, and permeated blood seeped between his inflamed small and large intestines.

2 Months+ Post-Exposure

On the 59th day after the accident, Ouchi suffered the first of many heart attacks. His kidneys and liver were also failing. He no longer showed reactions to stimuli.

By day 63, Ouchi's macrophages—the immune cells that normally attack and consume bacteria and viruses—were attacking his own healthy blood cells.

After 67 days, Ouchi suffered internal hemorrhage. He bled from his mouth and intestines.

Ouchi would continue to suffer from heart attacks, as many as three in one hour. Each time, he was revived, but he suffered increasing brain damage, until multiple organ failure ended his life after 83 days in the hospital.

Ouchi's colleague Masato Shinohara underwent numerous successful skin grafts and a stem cell transfusion as well as radical cancer treatment, but he, too, died of multiple organ failure after seven months. Their supervisor, Yutaka Yokokawa, was treated for minor radiation sickness and was released from the hospital within three months of the accident.

This detailed chronology was referenced from the book A Slow Death: 83 Days of Radiation Sickness by Iwanami Shoten, translated by Maho Harada. My post, of course, focuses on Ouchi's physical condition in his final months, but it’s important to remember him not just as a victim or a patient. He was a loving husband and father whose sense of humor and resilience left an impression on everyone he came into contact with. The book is available in its entirety here and provides a moving, nuanced account of the incident and the efforts to save Ouchi's life.

#ghouls #fallout #fallout 2 #fallout 3 #fallout: new vegas #fallout 4 #fallout 76 #fallout prime

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cucuxumusu · 3 months ago

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For @sommerwind, hope you enjoy.

The injury is a bad one. Jason knows, Dick knows, the fucking Batman knows! It was a stupid mistake and they should have seen it coming, but when Jason asks, Dicks refuses to be taken to the Batcave where he could recive proper treatment. Jason argues about it, but he kind of understands. What they had been doing wasn’t exactly bat-approved, and spending half an hour hearing Bruce scream at them for their stupidity is not a good incentive to go home.

So Jason takes Dick to one of his safe houses instead.

The place is near but one of the most shabby places he has. It has the most basic necessities: an electric stove to warm food, some old mattress on the floor, and a little shower in the next room that struggles way too hard to produce warm water. There are a couple of boxes near a wall with a couple of clothes changes, and a couple of guns hidden under the floorboards with some ammunition. A survival place more than a comfortable one.

Jason settles Dick on the matres once they sneak inside, and then there is a chaotic moment of panic as they assess the damage done to Dick’s leg. A thigh wound, pretty close to the femoral artery and bleeding harshly, but also manageable as it doesn’t seem to have reached the bone. Dick should be fine with a few stitches. Probably.

Jason brings the first aid kit to the mattress from the bath and waits for Dick to undress, but the older bird just keeps flinching in pain, and his bloodied hands are slippery on the zipper and the tight suit.

They decide Jason needs to help him, and Jason tries to be professional. Even if slowly undressing Dick is one of his biggest fantasies and one of the best moments in his life, he can be professional. Even if having him in a bed, under him, vulnerable and trusting is doing things for him, he can be professional.

He peels the skin-tight suit out of Dick as if he is unwrapping a Christmas present. His hands keep gripping and revealing warm skin generous muscles, and his ears keep hearing choked and pained breaths as he goes. He lets Dick lean on him, fingers gripping his shoulders as Jason lowers the suit down his hips and his tights finally revealing the injury. There is blood and gore on Dick’s legs, the whole thing looking horrible and painful, and the sight finally seems enough to distract him from his exploration of the other’s almost naked body under him.

He lets the Nightwing suit fall to the floor at their side and gets to work with the practice of someone who has done this several times.

He inspects the wound checking for poison or any debris that might hurt his bird, and then proceeds to clean it as carefully as he can. The stitches are the hardest part, with Dick panting over him, and his hands tightening in his biceps as Jason digs through his skin closing the injury as quickly as he can.

Dick never screams or complains about the process. He always hides away the ugliness and hurt inside him not letting anyone see in how much pain he is. As a man who pours his anger and feelings out to the world in cathartic ways, it has always pissed Jason. He hates being unable to comfort him, it feels wrong seeing Dick endure the pain as if it's normal for him.

Finally, after silent agonizing minutes in which Jason’s urge to kill Bruce resurfaces, the work is done. Jason wraps a last bandage over the injury, and he can feel Dick sigh in relief in the middle of the little hellhole that is the safe house. Dick lets go of his biceps and lowers himself to the bed looking pale and sick, done with everything, and Jason makes the mistake of looking at him once more.

His mind again stops altogether at the sight of all that naked caramel skin spread in front of him. At the way Dick’s muscles ripple as he breathes heavy and pained, at his pink perked nipples that seem to be calling his name, or at the sweat covering his frame and making his body glisten under the poor light of the room as if he is a hallucination Jason is having once more.

It will be so easy to reach a hand out and close the distance between them, trace his hips, and touch that skin. Dick is also observing him too now, blue eyes assessing him with an emotion in them none of them acknowledge. The tension that is always between them sparkles to life, and the feeling in the room changes to something different. Dick doesn't shy away from Jason’s scrutiny of his body, he says nothing as they stare for longer than they should. He instead licks his panting lips as if waiting for Jason to do something, cross the line.

But Jason can’t.

Not with Dick. Dick is a hero, his hero, and he deserves much more than Jason. Jason will be way too possessive and rough for the free-spirited vigilante. He will hurt him, and then he won’t be able to forgive himself. Jason is too broken and wrong to go for whatever is in Dick's eyes.

So resisting every urge he has to lean down, climb over Dick's body and finally ease that tension, Jason pulls back, goes to check the stove, and begins making dinner.

#jaydick #dickjay #dick grayson #jason todd #jaydick/dickjay drabble #my writings

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sweetlikesummerhoney · 9 months ago

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rather die

human optimus prime x afab reader

implied mafia! autobots. sex pollen. dubious consent. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. creampie (be safe in rl folks)

the roar of the engine rumbles beneath you as you come to a stop, a small smile gracing your face at the large building before you. finally, you were home.

after a long week of gathering data and running from decepticon agents, you could finally relax and wind down.

parking your bike close to the exterior of the building, you gently take your helmet off and begin the process of slowly peeling leather gloves off your hands.

a loud slam has you perking to attention, peaking around the corner to see optimus angrily storming to the black SUV sitting in the driveway. your eyebrows furrow as you hear a shout behind you.

"and don't come back until you've fucked an escort or two!" jazz's voice cuts through the silence as you see optimus turn around and flip him off.

you slowly walk back to the driveway, feeling confused at the way optimus was acting. you open your mouth for a moment before you see him sharply turn towards you.

his eyes are narrowed as he looks you up and down before quickly striding towards you.

"hey... whats up?" you nervously stutter, taking in his rough demeanor as he roughly grasps your arm and pulls you towards the car.

"i literally just got back where the fuck are you taking me?" you shriek, struggling helplessly as his grip tightens against your arm.

"shut up." a shiver goes up your spine at the way his voice rasps, deep and heavy against your back as he shoves you into the passenger seat and slams the door shut. something dark in his voice makes you gulp as you obediently sit.

you're left to wonder what jazz was talking about as Optimus starts the car. he sits for a moment in silence before turning towards you as you jump. his gaze sears your skin and makes you shudder at his attention.

his movements are rough as he grasps the collar of your jacket and leans you over the center console. you have no time to question him as his lips slam against yours.

there's a split moment before your body is melding into the kiss, one of his hands grasping the back of your hair as he nips and sucks swollen lips.

your heart jumps in your chest as you lean into it, letting him open your mouth and roughly suck on your tongue. your eyes flutter open to look at optimus for what feels like the first time in forever.

his tan skin is covered in a thin sheet of sweat, his usually neat hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. his eyes are striking as they stare straight back at you, almost daring you to stop.

you gasp for air when he finally releases his hold on the back of your head, your voice caught in your throat as he invades the limited space of the passengers seat.

deft fingers quickly slip past the waistband of your pants as you jump. his cold fingers dip into your slit and roughly rub against your clit.

your confusion is quickly melded away by the way optimus is acting. a low simmer fills your stomach as he swipes at your folds, dipping his fingers into your entrance before returning to your bud.

your eyes dart up to him, watching the way he clenches his jaw, his eyes furrowed in concentration.

"what's wrong with-" you're quickly cut off with the way he shoves two fingers into your entrance, his palm roughly slapping against your clit as he quickens his pace.

you've got no choice but to clutch his forearm in desperation as he makes a mess of your cunt. your walls flutter against his rough treatment as he curls his fingers.

the sound of skin slapping against skin is echoing through the car, and your body runs hot as your filled with embarrassment. sticky squelches fill the car, slick slowly running down your thighs as you clench.

your jacket is unzipped as he leans closer, his mouth hot and heavy as he nips at exposed skin. you can feel the way he smirks when your hips jump when he hits the spongey spot in your cunt.

you clench and mewl helplessly, desperately dripping against your underwear as he abuses your clit. pain radiates through your collarbone as he bites down, just as you clench and keen.

your back arches as something snaps in your stomach, shuddering and trying to wiggle your hips away as you cum. optimus is relentless in the way he fingers you through your orgasm, palm roughly slapping against your sensitive bud as you writher.

he doesn't stop as you squirm, trying to get away from his rough grasp as you keen. there's no pause, sensitive walls clenching against thick fingers as he fucks you through another orgasm. your stomach clenches as tears fill your eyes.

the heat makes you want more, but your sensitive clit and cunt is overloading with his rough treatment.

one last clench has him slipping his hand out of your pants and straight into his mouth. you watch with your mouth agape as he sucks thick fingers clean, shamelessly licking up the palm of his hand as he makes eye contact with you.

the two of you sit in silence as tires screech against the pavement, tearing out of the driveway and straight into the dirt pathway. you gulp as you continue to glance at optimus.

his hands are clenching the steering wheel as you see him grind his teeth the slightest. your eyes dart down as you shamelessly stare at him, another spark rolling up your spine at the way he's chubbed against his jeans.

the bulge is obvious as you press your lips together, watching as the forest around you slowly thins out and the car enters the highway.

"so. what was jazz talking about?" you question. optimus doesn't even react to your question, eyes focused on the road ahead of him as the engine roars.

he's skillful in the way he weaves through traffic, his chest heaving as sweat beads down his forehead.

"are you sick or something?" you utter again, tilting your head and watching the way his body heats up. you yelp as he suddenly turns, slamming you against the central console as you swear at him.

he pays you no mind as he parks the car and demands that you follow him.

you quickly shuffle out of the car and eye him as he struts up to a fucking motel. what the hell.

you enter the front just to hear optimus talking to the front counter, flashing a sleek black card before nodding at something the employee says to him.

you fiddle behind him, fingers nervously clenching each other as you shift. the uncomfortable feeling of your spend against your wet underwear and thighs has you gulping at the mere memory of what ocurred in the car.

you watch his figure as he turns around you, jerking his head in an unsaid demand to follow him. like a lost, confused puppy, you trail behind him until he stops at a door and unlocks it with a keycard.

he ushers you in before slamming the door shut. the lights are still off as he corners you against the bed.

"i need you." for once, he actually speaks. your eyebrows furrow as your back hits the bed, one of his thick legs pressing your thighs open as he crawls over you.

his form is heavy against you as you bring your hands to caress his face, watching his lean desperately against your touch.

"bee and jazz were messing around in ratchet's lab." he gasps for air as he catches your lips into another searing kiss. he nips at your lips as he continues.

"went in to yell at them when they broke a sample against the floor."

his thigh flexes against yours as his hands settle against your hips, slowly forcing you to grind down as you shudder.

"ratchet said it was an aphrodisiac. told me to cool my head and take care of it." his thumb lovingly rubs against your skin, smiling at the way goosebumps race across exposed skin.

"and there you were." his moves are sensual as he removes his thigh, eagerly grinding his clothed cock against you. a small moan escapes his lips as he swivels against you. you can feel him twitch beneath his jeans as he grunts.

"always wanted you." he growls, taking his sweet time to remove your jacket as you shove your shirt over your head. his eyes darken as he stares, eyes drinking in the flawless expanse of your skin.

you arch your back, pressing against his chest as he unclips your bra. he's careless in the way he throws your clothing off the bed, one of his hands coming to cup your breast.

his fingers brush up against your nipple as you whine.

"desperate for me?" you ask, and you feel his hips stutter against you.

"always." its a flurry of motion to get each other undressed. you lift your hips as he rips your pants from you. the clink of his belt rings in the room as he shoves off his jacket, eagerly pulling the tight white shirt from his torso.

your mouth fills with saliva as you look at him, grasping his hand against his cock as he strokes it. the heavy tip is red and flushed, beading with pre cum as he grunts.

"all this for me?" you question, watching as he thrusts into his calloused hand, his eyes half lidded as you gently swipe your fingers against the throbbing tip.

he utters your name, flashing you sharp canines as he speaks.

"stop teasing." you yelp as his hands find purchase against your waist, flipping you over and making you arch your back against his chest. he shoves a pillow underneath your hips as he traces your back.

you mewl as you grind against him, feeling his cock settle against the space between your thighs. he hikes up one of your legs, nipping and sucking hickeys into perfect shoulders.

the thick tip of his member brushes against your entrance, tapping against your swollen clit before tracing back. "easy." he mutters, kissing your shoulder as he slowly sheaths himself into you. the two of you groan in sync at the feeling.

he slowly grinds closer, heavy, brutal thrusts hitting close to home. each thrust as you arching and pressing against the rough fabric of the pillow, catching against your swollen bud as you keen.

his heat encompasses you as he presses firmly against your back, lowering his hips and snapping relentlessly. his pace is harsh and quick as he fucks into you.

your hips meld against his as wet sounds fill the air as his thick veins rub against untouched parts of your walls. his cock reaches places you couldn't have reached with your fingers as you clench around him.

each rub drives you crazy as your hands tightly grip the sheets beneath you, knuckles white as small moans escape tight lips.

"sing for me." he brushes his lips against your ear, nibbling and nipping against your jaw.

you can feel him pulse as his pace quickens, the room filled with his grunts and keening moans from your lips. each thrust has you tightening and squirming away, sensitive walls clenching.

"just like that babe." he praises, two fingers dipping against your hip and swirling your abused clit. your hits jolt as he fucks you, feeling him smirk against you as you cum.

there is no rest as he fucks you through your orgasm, hands gripping against your hip as he grinds with power.

"one more. you can do it." you feel drool dripping down the corner of your mouth as you grind against him, the never ending heat washing over you in waves.

his teeth dig into sensitive skin as he sucks, his hips stuttering against you before you feel him spent fill you.

its like molten lava, filling you and dripping out of your folds as he pulls away. his chest heaves as he looks down at you, bruised and marked up.

all for him.

he gently smooths his fingers against your swollen folds, smearing his cum against your twitching cunt as you jerk away.

you heave as you look back, watching his cock twitch with interest as it slowly fills out.

he smirks at you.

"think you can endure?" you nod eagerly as he flips you over, pressing eagerly against you as he grunts.

"let's find out."

jazz watches as bee angrily signs at him.

don't fuck around! did you see how angry optimus was? jazz laughs, his head thrown back as his dreads fall against his back.

"he's about to get laid. he should be thanking us. fuckin' hardass."

bee glares at him as his hands quickly sign, a flurry of anger and blame.

fuck you. it was your idea.

"don't act like you weren't interested in what ratchet was cooking up in that lab too."

he could be cooking meth in there and we wouldn't know

the two step outside to see the blackened tire marks woven into the pavement.

jazz whistles at the sight. bee is silent for a moment as he leaves jazz's side, just as they hear something clatter against the concrete.

they both jump, whipping their head around to see where the noise came from.

a frown flitters onto bee's face as he sees a black helmet slowly roll closer to them.

isn't that... bee trails off as his hands come to a stop.

jazz and bee freeze as it dawns upon them. your name is uttered at they stare at your motorcycle tucked against the brick wall.

"we're fucked aren't we." bee nods in agreement as one of their phones ding.

jazz fumbles for his phone in his pocket and grimaces at the single text message from optimus.

be prepared.

"fuck."

#transformers x reader #tf x reader #humanformers #human transformers #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #female reader #sex pollen

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helluvapoison · 1 year ago

Note

im on my hands and knees for some good velvette content- i want to SERVE her bro, i've been thinking of an idea where a reader (and if you'd like, maybe a bodyguard?? you've already drabbled w it eheeheh) helps her get out of something during a show, listening to her every word (even if you feign some reluctance) while helping her out of stockings and a rather fancy suit/dress that has much too many buttons for the next planned "activity" IDK THAT OR LITERALLY ANYTHING. ANYTHING W HER

Allow Me

Velvette x Reader

imagine helping velvette get comfortable after a shitty day

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• As usual she’s on the phone when she comes in, wiggling her fingers at you in greeting while her eyes glare forward

• You watch her begin to loosen the silk scarf around her neck four times only to snap her hand away, gesturing wildly as she shouted at some unlucky soul on the other end of the call

• Having had enough, you pushed to your feet and strolled over to where Velvette stormed in a circle, using expressions like “diffusion line” or “conglomerate” that went over your head

• “Your head must be fucking buried in the ground for you to have missed that, Joanne! Last I checked you’re not an ostrich! Fucking fix it!”

• You got that one easily enough

• Her sneer faltered upon noticing you. She never liked to aim her fury in your direction but you willingly came into her line of sight, reaching out and undoing the knot around her neck

• Velvette’s eyes soften ever so slightly as you work silently. Her lips part but you’re denied whatever she was going to say. She whips her head to the side yelling, “The papers? Why the fuck I would I be asking you to fix a typo on paper!? We’re VoxTec! That’s digital, you half wit!”

• You fold the silk accessory and place it on her vanity, not wanting to try and decipher Vel’s intricate organization process (She tried explaining it to you once, you didn’t make it further than shoes)

• Returning before her, noting the way her brows jump in surprise, you slide a finger into the short sleeve of her coat. She immediately understands what you’re doing and slips her arm out, shifting the phone into that hand so you can take the coat off entirely

• She watches intensely, like you’re doing something wrong, as you hang her coat over a chair

• It makes you hesitate for the next part of your plan

• You take her hand and ease her onto the burgundy, chaise lounge couch. You kneel and start pulling loose the many laces on her knee high boots

• You’re too busy with your tedious mission that you miss the first smile Velvette wears today. You wouldn’t have guessed it either, what with how she keeps swearing at her assistant

• Bestowing the next boot the same treatment, you move on to peel away her socks. You slide her fuzzy (but not tacky) slippers out from under the couch and glide them on her feet

• Velvette’s eyes follow you as you walk away from her, masking her disappointment by pursing her lips

• She pats the side of the couch when you return with her favorite bedazzled cup, quietly ordering you to sit. Putting the call on mute, her legs swing over and drape over your own when you obey, “You didn’t take off my makeup.”

• Quirking a suspicious brow you shake your head, “You wouldn’t let me if I tried.”

• “No,” She sighs, “You’d mess it up.”

• “It’s coming off your face, how would I— Y’know you make it impossible to wanna help you.”

• “That’s because I don’t need help. Consider yourself lucky that I even let you.” Velvette takes a sip of the drink you prepared, blinking at you expectantly

• Throwing an arm around the couch you lean in closer than you ever had before, “I consider myself downright blessed to be in your presence.”

• Sarcasm oozed from your tone but it didn’t stop the need to block your view with her phone, tapping away as if unfazed. She’d literally die if you knew you made her blush

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ this was so much fun to do! i didn’t explicitly say cannibal!reader but i totally pictured them/ a bodyguard reader for this

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanons #velvette headcanon #velvette imagine #velvette x reader

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ckret2 · 2 years ago

Text

Guess who shows up in this chapter! With a ✨summer job✨!

Unlearning the "act like a rich snob" instinct is an ongoing process.

Here's "Bill is the Mystery Shack's extremely sulky prisoner" chapter 10, featuring: a haunted living doll, a trip to Greasy's, Bill acting like a playground bully, and the twins figuring out how they feel about another summer of triangle bullshit. Other chapters here. 9/29/2024 edit: now updated for TBOB compatibility!

####

Late in the morning, Mabel came home from a sleepover at Candy's. She went upstairs to drop her backpack in her room.

Unusually, Bill's nest by the attic window seat outside the kids' room was abandoned. In his place were half a dozen empty cans of hard cider and a sandwich with the crust peeled off and three bites taken out of it.

She grabbed a change of clothes and her toiletries and went to the main bathroom to shower.

The bathroom looked like a salon got in a fight with Bill's hair and won. The wet floor was coated in shorn golden locks like fallen soldiers. The air reeked of hair treatment chemicals and sick. There was a towel smeared with blood.

Maybe she'd brush her teeth downstairs and shower later.

Mabel gingerly plucked her toothbrush and toothpaste from her toiletries bag, gingerly stowed the bag in a bathroom cabinet, and retreated.

She descended the stairs warily.

Soos's blanket of the anti-Bill zodiac no longer hung on the living room wall.

Mabel moved on to the downstairs half-bath. She pulled aside the doorway curtain.

There, sitting in the dark, curled into a ball in the small space between the sink and the toilet, was a human shape. Draped over it was Soos's zodiac blanket. The head of the thing under the blanket lifted and blindly turned toward the sound of Mabel drawing the curtain. The zodiac was positioned just right so that the image of Bill Cipher covered the hidden face like a mask. The false Bill stared into Mabel's eyes.

Mabel quietly backed out of the bathroom. She let the curtain fall shut.

She stood in the hallway, hand to her chin, contemplating the omens she'd witnessed.

She said, "Something happened last night."

####

Less than a week into summer vacation, Dipper and Mabel had seen every single movie currently playing. (They'd even seen the R movies, after getting advice from Jeff on how to convincingly pull off the "two kids in a trench coat" gambit. Thompson made direct eye contact with Dipper in the theater lobby. He said nothing.)

They'd hung out with all their friends, had at least one meal over at each of their houses, and caught up on a school year's worth of gossip. Mabel had sleepovers nearly every night, alternating between Grenda's and Candy's houses. Even Dipper had voluntarily subjected himself to an evening of aggressive girliness in order to tag along for one of the sleepovers. (They'd probably only gotten permission because Grenda's mother assumed "Mabel's twin" must be a sister.)

They found a fairy ring in the forest that connected to a crop circle in Wiltshire, England. They discovered a crane game at the mall that was full of haunted dolls. They took Waddles for a walk and had to save him from a cult of feral flower children that wanted to sacrifice him to their love shack.

In other words, they did everything they could think of to avoid home.

When they were in the Mystery Shack, they were either in their bedroom or using the bathroom. They avoided the kitchen and living room as much as they could, they talked more quietly in their room in case of an eavesdrooper, and they fell silent when they heard the floor creaking outside their room. They tiptoed whenever they had to pass Bill's nest by the window seat to reach the stairs. They grew accustomed to strange thuds and quickly cut-off arguments, although they never became comfortable with them. They got used to waking up afraid.

The plague of hair was new; but it was, they had to agree, exactly the kind of thing they expected at this point.

"You could collect some of the hair," suggested the haunted porcelain doll they'd gotten from the crane game. "You could make a poppet. It would let you control him. I could teach you how. All you need is that hair, five black candles, a doll—"

"Nope," Dipper said. He was getting dressed in their bedroom alcove with the curtain drawn. "You're always trying to make more haunted dolls, Bartholomew, and the answer's always no!"

"It won't be haunted!" Bartholomew insisted. "Honest! I promise! Not initially. Until you use it to kill Bill."

"Listen, young man." Mabel scooped the porcelain doll up from the cardboard cradle she'd made for him. "We've told you, we can't kill Bill until we know it won't cause the apocalypse! Do you want the world to end?"

Bartholomew let out the longest, heaviest sigh that had ever come out of a doll with an unmoving face. "No. I don't."

"That's right. So reign in that bloodthirst, Barty!"

"Ugh. Fine."

"Good!" She set Bartholomew back down.

Dipper asked, "Could we use a poppet to control him in non-fatal ways, though?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Torture it, restrain it, freeze it, burn it, cast spells on it, soak it in lemon juice, throw it in the dryer—hey, that one's really funny—"

Dipper pulled aside the curtain and looked at Mabel. "Maybe a poppet wouldn't be a bad idea. In case Bill tries anything."

They collected the biggest, healthiest lock of hair off the bathroom floor, stuck it in a sandwich bag they found at the bottom of Dipper's backpack, stuffed it in his backpack, and left the house to look for brunch.

####

Dipper and Mabel had been putting off visiting Greasy's Diner as long as possible, hoping that at least Grunkle Stan could come along for their first visit of the summer, if not the whole Pines family; but after coping with another morning of Bill-related nonsense, and hearing from Soos that Stan and Ford had also been up half the night dealing with said nonsense and would probably sleep in, they decided they really needed to visit somewhere as comforting and familiar as possible.

And so, off they went to Greasy's. Lazy Susan warmly greeted them, asked when Stan would come by, showed them to a booth, and then left them with a couple of menus and their glum thoughts.

"Dipper?" Mabel spun the laminated menu on the table top. "You remember how at the start of last summer, we just thought Grunkle Stan was some weird smelly old guy and we wanted to do anything except hang out with him?"

"Ugh, don't remind me. If this was last year, I'd be sweeping up dead hair instead of getting breakfast right now." He laughed weakly; but he knew that wasn't what Mabel was getting at. "This summer's even worse, isn't it."

She stopped spinning her menu to look across the table at Dipper. "We still haven't spent any time with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, but this time I feel all guilty about it."

"I'm pretty sure they feel guilty about it, too."

"It's not their fault, though."

It wasn't Dipper and Mabel's fault, either, but pointing that out wouldn't help. Dipper also felt like they'd callously abandoned their grunkles in Bill-infested territory while they ran off to have fun. The fact Stan and Ford they kept telling the kids that they wanted them to have fun didn't lessen the feeling that they were traitors. "Grunkle Stan did say we could take a fishing trip once everyone's figured out the best... guard schedule."

"I know, but there's still..." Mabel waved a hand in vague circles. "All this. I almost feel like..."

She didn't want to say out loud that she wanted to go home; saying it would start tilting their course in that direction. If she said it, and if she found out that Dipper agreed, then it might come true. And nothing would be worse than that.

Dipper didn't want to say it, either. "This won't be all summer," he said. "Grunkle Ford already has a weapon that can get rid of B—Goldie's body and whatever's inside of it, no matter if he's human or alien. He won't even leave a ghost. It's just out of fuel right now. He only needs to find enough to take one shot, and then the rest of our summer goes back to normal. Right?"

Mabel took a moment too long to reply. "Right," she said. "It's that quantum jumbo-laser thing you told me about, right?"

"Yeah, the Quantum Destabilizer."

"How long will it take to get the fuel?" Mabel asked. "Is there anything we can do? I hate just having to... steer around everything while the grown-ups try to deal with it without us."

"Yeah. So do I."

Before Dipper had to admit that he didn't know what it would take to refuel the Quantum Destabilizer, someone approached the table. "Hey, I'll be your waitress this morning. Do you guys have any questions about the menu, or..." The waitress trailed off in horror as she registered her guests' faces. "Oh no."

Dipper and Mabel gaped. "Pacifica?!"

She hid her face behind her notebook. "Don't say anything. Do not say anything."

"You work here?" Mabel asked, followed immediately by Dipper, "You work?"

Pacifica's cheeks flushed. "Don't make a big deal out of it okay! I'm not, like, working-working! I'm just—making some pocket money, that's all!"

"That's working-working," Mabel said.

"Pacifica—" Dipper had to choke back a laugh at the absurd sight. She was wearing normal people clothes. She was wearing an apron. "What."

"Okay, look!" She slapped her notebook on the table. "It's not like I'm poor or anything? But after we built a smaller manor, my parents slashed my allowance—my wardrobe budget only covers a new summer/spring wardrobe instead of summer and spring wardrobes—and like... it's hard, okay? So I'm just—doing a few odd gigs or whatever. To keep up with my hobbies! That's it."

Dryly, Dipper said, "Wow. Earning money if you want to buy things."

"It must be so hard." Mabel was doing a slightly less successful job of maintaining a poker face.

"Oh, whatever! You two just don't appreciate the value of hard work." Over Dipper and Mabel's giggles, Pacifica stuck her nose in the air and went on, "I'm investing in my future. I'm picking up part-time jobs while you two are spending your summer goofing off! It's like you're saying you don't want to have money."

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Mabel said, "Soos said he'll pay us $20 an hour to help in the gift shop."

"He what?!" Pacifica's jaw dropped. "Shut up! There is no way that cheesy tourist trap can afford those kinds of wages! Is it even legal for Soos to hire you! Aren't you, like, thirteen!"

Dipper said, "Aren't you thirteen?"

Pacifica huffed. "Never mind, I don't even care about your dumb job! This isn't even my main income stream. I've got this great modeling gig coming up with a huge paycheck, so—forget you you guys!" She flipped her hair and stomped off.

And immediately stomped back. "I forgot to take your orders."

"Pancakes." "Also pancakes."

"Fine." She re-flipped her hair and stomped off.

Mabel leaned across the table to whisper to Dipper, "Wow, the return of Rudy McSnootypants! Did she switch from acting snobby over being rich to acting snobby over being working class?"

"She's probably just embarrassed," Dipper said. "She's actually been pretty cool the last few months. When we play Bloodcraft together, she's... I mean, okay, during PVP matches she's the meanest person ever, and she's the worst to healers—but she's nice enough outside of that."

"Oh, yeah." Mabel grinned. "Guess she never mentioned her new job while you guys were playing?"

"Nope."

"You're probably right! She was nice when I talked to her about making her blanket. She even shipped new materials to me when she wanted alpaca yarn instead of acrylic." Mabel's voracious yarn habit did not have the budget for alpaca yarn.

Dipper laughed, "Wow, I can't believe Pacifica had to get a job just to afford your blanket."

"What can I say, I'm a master artisan!"

Pacifica returned, set down two plates of pancakes and two sodas, and said, "This is a bribe. Free drinks all summer if you don't tell anybody else about this. All the other cool kids would ditch me and my family would kill me if they knew. They cannot find out."

Mabel considered the offer. "Free drinks and dessert."

Pacifica bounced a heel as she considered the offer. "Only out of the half-off day-old pie case."

"That sounds fair."

"Okay. Deal. Um, thanks." Pacifica turned to go, then paused. "Hey, Dipper. Your uncles don't use the Internet, right? Does that mean you won't be available for Bloodcraft this summer?"

"Soos finally got the shack online. He says the Internet goes out when the weather's eldritch, but I can borrow his computer for our guild raids. He understands how important it is."

Pacifica's eyes lit up. "Cool. Then I'll see you on raid night."

"Yeah! See you then."

Pacifica left to tend to another table, and Dipper said, "Yeah, she was just embarrassed. She's fine. ... Why are you smiling."

"Guild raids? Am I gonna have to warn Kelsey about Pacifica—?"

"Mabel!" Dipper's face flushed. "Come on, we're not—! Worry about your own love life. We've almost been here a week, haven't you found a new crush yet?"

"I've decided love will find me when it finds me. For now, I'm focusing on my matchmaking services."

"Well! Make a match somewhere else."

"You're sooo red right now. Bop." Mabel leaned across the table to poke Dipper's nose, then dug into her pancakes. "You know... even with everything going on—I'm glad we're here. Think! If we'd gone home as soon as we found out we'd be stuck with him all summer, we'd never have learned Pacifica is a waitress. Or met Barty-Mew! Mew-mew. Meow."

"So that makes it worth it, huh?"

"Yes! Making new friends! Being around our old friends! Being part of their lives again. I don't want to miss out on that because I'm afraid. Do you?"

Dipper half smiled. "No. I don't. If we were home, I'd be missing Gravity Falls and still worrying. At least here, we can keep an eye on him."

"Yeah!" Mabel beamed. "We got off to a little bit of a rocky start, but this summer's gonna be great! And there's nothing he can do to stop it! Right?" She offered her fist.

"Right." Dipper fistbumped her.

####

Stan and Ford were worrying over coffee mugs in the kitchen when the door opened, but both their faces lit up when they saw Dipper and Mabel in the entryway. Stan said, "Hey, kids! Whaddaya doing back here?"

"Soos said you'd just gone out," Ford said. "We weren't expecting you back until this evening."

Mabel bounded into the kitchen. "We decided to hang out here today!" She hugged Stan and Ford in turn.

Stan looked between them in surprise. "Really? To do what?"

Mabel said, "Art project!" at the same time Dipper said, "Sorcery."

"I'm gonna sew a doll with Barty," Mabel said. "We'll figure out what to do with the rest of the day after that."

Dipper said, "Grunkle Ford, do you know anything about poppets?"

"Huh." He stroked his chin. "I'm familiar with the concept, but I've never encountered a working one myself. I probably can't tell you much you don't know yourself."

"That's okay." Dipper puffed his chest out. "After we've made one, maybe I can show you my research on them?"

Ford smiled. "Maybe you can. We still haven't compared our past year's research notes, have we? I just haven't been able to find time, with..." His smile faltered.

Firmly, Dipper said, "We'll make time."

"But later!" Mabel insisted, hanging off the kitchen doorframe by one hand, "C'mon, Dipper! Arts and witchcrafts!" She bounded up the attic stairs two at a time. Dipper followed after her.

Stan turned to Ford. "Who's Barty?" Ford shrugged.

Mabel froze at the top of the stairs. The zodiac blanket-bedecked specter was back upstairs in his usual spot, curled up in the window seat, apparently trying to read a book through the gaps in the yarn.

But she quickly gathered her courage again. "Hey! Stinky!"

Bill turned to face her. "Yello?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not afraid of you! There's nothing you can do to make me afraid of you ever again!"

The yarn triangle face stared at Mabel in unimpressed indifference. "Ouch. You're breaking my heart, Shooting Star."

"And I'll break your face if you ever try to torture my family again!"

"Hey, whoa, that's a loaded word! I never tortured anyone in your family," Bill said. "Except Stanford. And he knows what he did."

"What are you talking about! You stuck me in a bubble!"

"That wasn't torture. You had a great time."

Coming up the stairs behind Mabel, Dipper did a startled double-take—this was his first time seeing the blanket ghost—but he said, "You threw me down the stairs and stabbed my arm."

"That was self-torture, and I had a great time."

"I don't care what you call it with your fancy words!" Mabel said. "The point is, everything I wrote last fall goes double!"

"Yeah!" Dipper said.

Unperturbed, Bill said, "'Wrote'?"

"W—yeah. The ones we stuck in your book. The one you were using to try to contact us from the dead," Dipper said. "Don't act like you didn't see our letters telling you never to bother us again."

"You mean the letters you taped to my pages blank side down, with all your messages facing outward from the book?"

Dipper and Mabel processed that. "Aw, man," Dipper said. "And after I wrote that cool boast."

"Oh did you." Bill cupped a hand around where his ear was hidden. "Well? Let's hear it."

Dipper's brows furrowed. "Uh... It was something about—"

"Go on!"

"Um—"

"I'm waaaitiiing!"

"I can't remember it."

"Aww, what a shame."

"Well, I remember mine!" Mabel said. "I said if you ever bother my family again, I'm dipping you in guacamole and biting your in half! Which—made a lot more sense when you looked like a chip!" She turned away from Bill, did her best approximation of Pacifica's dismissive hair flip, and flounced off to the bedroom. "And stay away from Grunkle Ford!" She slammed the door.

"Pfff." Bill turned toward Dipper as he passed by and asked wryly, "What'd I do to warrant all this? Have I not been minding my own business and avoiding you humans intimidatingly enough?"

"No. No quippy banter. We're not doing that. Banter is for friendly chess club rivals, not attempted murderers."

"Oh, you joined the chess club?"

"Shut up." Dipper put his hand on the doorknob, stopped, and about-faced to squint at Bill's book. "Is that—? How did you get my journal!"

"I summoned a living shadow and commanded it to bring me your worst and deepest secrets— Just kidding. You left it in the bathroom, genius."

Dipper must have taken it out of his backpack when he was looking for a baggie for the hair sample. "Give it back!"

Bill held out the book—and jerked it back when Dipper reached for it. "Too slow!" He held it over his head.

"Hey! Bill!" Dipper jumped for the book. "I know martial arts!"

Bill got up on his knees to keep the book out of Dipper's range. "And I like pain! Fighting me will annoy you more than it'll hurt me!"

"Come on, man!" Dipper stuck his fingers in the blanket like a cat climbing a curtain as he tried to reach the book. He took a deep breath. "GRUNKLE FO—"

"Don't!" Bill shoved Dipper back.

Dipper fell to the ground, taking the blanket with him. He groaned—then froze, staring at the burns, the bandages, the raw red-rimmed eyes.

Until Bill shoved Dipper's journal in his face. "Sheesh, relax." He glared down at Dipper, eyes squinting unevenly, a hard smile forced onto his face—then snatched back the blanket. He turned it in his hands until he'd found his face again and pulled it back on. "You can't take a joke."

Dipper gave him a dark look, but retreated after Mabel.

Ford climbed the stairs just high enough to shoot Bill a suspicious look.

Bill returned the stare, head cocked in a pantomime of wide-eyed innocence. "What?" He flung his hands in the air. "What! I'm just sitting here!"

Ford narrowed his eyes, but went back downstairs.

Bill's gaze drifted again to the kids' door. "'Not afraid of me,' huh? Pfft." He turned to watch the world through the window. "Yeah. That could be useful."

####

"What do you think?" Mabel asked, plopping the Bill-shaped doll in front of Bartholomew for inspection. It was shaped like a fabric gingerbread man. It had X's for eyes and was sticking its tongue out. "I made his dress out of a sock!"

"I guess it'll do," Bartholomew said. "The clothes could be nicer."

"Nice clothes are for nice people. He can deal with the sock dress." She considered her handiwork again, then said, "I guess a few more flowers on the dress wouldn't hurt." She rummaged in her craft supply basket for her yellow puffy fabric paint, and asked, "How's that pentagram coming, bro?"

"Just about finished." Dipper set the last candle on the fifth corner of the chalk star he'd drawn between their beds, checked to make sure all the lines were connected, then pulled out a matchbook and lit the candles. "Okay, now what?"

Bartholomew said, "Now, we wait until the next full moon to start the binding ritual."

"When's that?"

"In about two weeks."

Dipper looked at the pentagram, looked at Bartholomew, and said, "So why am I setting this up right now?"

"That's what I've been wondering."

Dipper grumbled and started blowing out candles.

Mabel pulled out a couple balls of yellow yarn and asked, "Hey Dipper, can you get the hair baggie? I need to see which shade of yellow matches Bill's hair better."

"Sure." He rummaged around in his backpack. "Although if you want the poppet to be accurate, you should just leave it bald." He looked at Bartholomew. "Does accuracy affect how well a poppet works?"

"It can be pretty loose," Bartholomew said. "Give it the hair. Blondes are hot."

"You're a creep." Mabel threw a yarn ball at Bartholomew's face. "What do you mean, 'leave it bald'?"

Dipper said, "I saw under the blanket. Bill looks like he burned his hair off."

"Whaaat!"

"Yeah, he's totally bald except for a bit on the back of his head. Not a surprise, considering how the bathroom looks, but—yeah." He snorted. "Maybe he tried to copy Grunkle Ford's shaving technique."

Mabel laughed; but it quickly petered out. "So... he's just hiding because he's embarrassed?"

"I guess," Dipper said. "Huh. Kinda makes it seem less creepy when you put it that way. Even Bill Cipher can have bad hair days."

"Guess so."

So Bill was basically in Sweater Town: hiding under a protective layer of yarn because he felt bad. It must be really horrible if he'd been hiding all day. Mabel considered that, staring at the bald doll she'd made.

Then she grabbed her ball of yarn and started giving the doll hair.

####

(If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks!)

#mabel pines #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #(for the artwork)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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gatheringbones · 1 year ago

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[“When I first came out as a lesbian in 1971, identity politics were so pervasive that this modality didn’t even have a name; it was simply the sea in which every queer sank or swam. One of the key assumptions of identity politics is that we can reveal in one grand social drama of coming out the absolute inner core of truth that makes up one’s “real self.” Coming out is seen as a process like peeling away the layers of an onion or the petals of an artichoke. Identity politics also assumes that your political allies will have to be people who share your identity because nobody else could understand your oppression or really be committed to fighting it; that people who share some aspects of your sexuality but not others are either afraid to come out or traitors to the cause; that it’s not possible for someone to change the way they label themselves without being dishonest or cowardly.

Now I see queer politics quite differently. I know from personal experience that I can’t trust somebody just because their sexual preferences or their gender identity resembles my own. I know we can make allies who are indignant about injustice even if it does not impinge directly upon their own lives. I see coming out as a lifelong process that proceeds as I become ready to understand and accept aspects of myself which bear lessons I need to learn at different points in my life. Each new coming out does not recreate me as a whole new person; I think some people view it this way, but this is crazy-making and too compartmentalized for me. It’s more like being able to see each and every spoke of the wheel that makes up my being, or like opening up and furnishing another new room of my soul.

I wonder what coming out would be like if we were not forced into these defensive positions of tribal loyalty and us-them thinking. What if we could say to a friend who was embarking on a new coming out, “I love you, and so I must also love this new aspect of yourself. Because I care about you I want to know more about it. Let’s both learn from this.” Instead, what usually happens is a great deal of indignation, betrayal, and rejection. I think this is because a person who is coming out threatens the identities of former acquaintances, partners, and coworkers. If someone else’s identity can be fluid or change radically, it threatens the boundaries around our own sense of self. And if someone can flout group norms enough to apply for membership in another group, we often feel so devalued that we hurry to excommunicate that person. This speaks to our own discomfort with the group rules. The message is: I have put up with this crap for the sake of group membership, and if you won’t continue to do the same thing, you have to be punished.

We seem to have forgotten that the coming-out process is brought into being by stigma. Without sexual oppression, coming out would be an entirely different process. In its present form, coming out is reactive. While it is brave and good to say “No” to the Judeo-Christian “Thou Shalt Nots,” we have allowed our imaginations to be drawn and quartered by puritans. I believe that most of the divisions between human sexual preferences and gender identities are artificial. We will never know how diverse or complex our needs in these realms might be until we are free of the threat of the thrown rock, prison cell, lost job, name-calling, shunning, and forced psychiatric “treatment.”

I do not think human beings were meant to live in hostile, fragmented enemy camps, forever divided by suspicion and prejudice. If coming out has not taught us enough compassion to see past these divisions, and at least catch a vague glimpse of a more unified world, what is the use of coming out at all? I have told this story, not to say that anybody else should follow me or imitate me, but to encourage everyone to keep an open mind and an open heart when change occurs. The person who needs tolerance and compassion during a major transformation may be your best friend, your lover, or your very self. Bright blessings to you on the difficult and amazing path of life.”]

patrick califa, from layers of the onion, spokes of the wheel, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

#pat califa #bi literature #lesbian literature #trans literature #history stuff

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intimidating-fettuccine · 8 months ago

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Hello, I hope you are doing well! Can I request Sully and or Helen (if you choose both, then separately please) where they see their partner dressed up (for an event, wedding, or whatever), and you know, taking their breath away. They just look too pretty not to touch and so heavy makeout ensues. If you’re comfortable, can you make it spicy? Also, if those characters don’t inspire you, feel free to choose any other male creeps! (I want to ask this same request with a few other creeps, but I’ll do that next time your request inbox opens!)

Y e s...... I love this. Absolutely feel free next time around to request this with more creeps, I love stuff like this!

I'd say I got quite inspired considering this request got about 500 words longer than I meant it to ^^' This did indeed get QUITE a bit spicy, more than I originally intended

Helen:

Helen is a man of self-control. Not much gets to him, and he prides himself on his ability to control his emotions and hide anything he wants to be hidden. Tonight, however, was the first night that he lost and was and was unable to keep his impulses in check. You were going to an event in the Underworld, something common for those of you living in the mansion, and Helen was very proud of you, wanting to see you off before you left, but what he was not expecting was for you to look so... delicious, yes, that was the word his brain decided on. You were dressed in a brand new outfit, one you'd kept hidden from him one that accentuated your body in ways he wasn't used to, ways that rendered him speechless and left him choking on air as he glanced at you from across the room. When you asked him how you looked, smiling and twirling so he could see the full outfit, it felt like Helen lost control of himself. His strides were quick, and his lips slamming passionately onto yours were even faster. You can't help the noise of shock that slips out of you, especially when his hands begin roaming your body, caressing and squeezing in all of the right places.

Of course, you tried to put up a fight, forcibly parting from him with heaving breaths, reminding him that you were supposed to be there in thirty minutes, trying your best to resist the excitement he had flowing through you, but he laughed, that deep laugh that always caused you to tremble before him, stating that it's good to be fashionably late sometimes. You couldn't argue with that, especially not when he began peeling off your clothing, when his lips began to travel down your body, and when he pushed you onto his bed, yanking off his own clothes in the process. The second his belt hit the floor you'd given up on any possible resistance, and you allowed him to drown you in the familiarity of his pleasure, Helen not even hesitating to slip himself inside you and remind you just what it is you do to him. You did indeed end up there fashionably late, warmth on your cheeks and hickeys decorating nearly all of your visible skin.

Helen had sent you off with that same laugh, and the promise of even more when you'd get home that evening. You couldn't wait for the event to be over, your legs and pelvis sore from his earlier treatment, and from the teasing texts he kept sending you, it was obvious he craved more as well, and he'd prove it to you when you got home that night, fucking any thoughts of anything else out of your mind. He shouldn't have let you go, and he'd reinforce that into you, making sure to rut into you rough enough to make your body too sore to go anywhere else the following day. All you needed to do was let go, let him remind you just who it is you belong to, who should be the only one to see you dressed up as beautifully as that. He'd been so impatiently waiting for you to get home, and he'd be sure to take all that frustration pleasurably out on your body.

Sully:

Sully is not as good at hiding his intentions from you. He prefers to be open and honest with you, as it's something the two of you have been working on improving, so when you told him you were going out that night to an event someone you knew was hosting and asked him to give you his opinion on a new outfit you'd bought recently, Sully was more than prepared to give you his honest opinion. He was not prepared, however, for how drop-dead gorgeous you looked, and he felt as though you'd be able to kill him with how attractive you looked. He barely heard you when you asked him what he thought of your look, clearing his throat in embarrassment, all of his blood flowing to his pelvis making him a bit dizzy when confronted with the effect you had on him.

Sully told you that you looked incredible, and you could tell what you were doing to him, however, you made the mistake of teasing him, tracing your hands up his abdomen, looping your arms around his neck, and pressing a kiss to his lips. Really, you shouldn't have done that, because the next thing you knew your back was slammed into the nearest wall, his arms holding you up as he began to grind into you. The noises slipping out of you as a result of his actions spurred him on even more, both of you struggling to breathe from the sudden excitement taking over both of you. "You're not going." His words cut through the room and you'd blinked at him in confusion, not sure if you'd heard him properly. He reaffirmed his words when you asked him, his hands gripping your ass as he carried you to the bed, throwing you onto it and climbing on top of you. You're not going tonight, he told you again, that you can apologize to your friend later, but with what you're doing to him, you're not going anywhere.

Both of your outfits were thrown across the room, and his hands made quick work of silencing any of your complaints as his fingers pressed inside of you, causing any fight to be replaced with a loud moan from you. After all, how could you think of arguing when he moved his fingers in and out of you in the way he knew would always make you fall apart beneath him? You were quick instead to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back down for more kisses, your moans continuing as you hungrily claimed his lips. It would be a long night for you, not from being at an event, but from letting Sully eagerly ravish your body, and you wouldn't even remember the event again until you woke up sore and satisfied the following morning. You could hardly move to grab your phone and apologize, not before Sully wrapped his arms around you, locking himself into you as he went on to continue from last night's events. You could apologize later after the two of you went for another couple of rounds.

#spicy #creepypasta spicy #bloody painter spicy #homicidal liu spicy #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #bloody painter #bloody painter headcanon #bloody painter headcanons #bloody painter x reader #homicidal liu #homicidal liu x reader #homicidal liu headcanon #homicidal liu headcanons

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bxbyjupiter · 3 months ago

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Embers of Hope

Pairing: Wakanda!Bucky x FOC

Summary: In the tranquil isolation of Wakanda, Bucky Barnes confronts the weight of his trauma while forging a reluctant bond with a mysterious woman aiding his recovery. As her own devastating secret emerges, their shared struggles ignite a fragile hope for redemption and resilience in the face of insurmountable odds.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Discussions of trauma and PTSD. References to past abuse, terminal illness, grief, and loss.

Notes: Dallas is a character I've been playing with for years now and this is the first thing I'm ever publishing anything of her. So, I hope someone likes it at least! This is also barely proofread so, SORRY!!

Part Two

The fire crackled between them, casting long, dancing shadows across the Wakandan plains. Bucky Barnes sat quietly, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames. The weight of his past always hung heavy on his shoulders, even in the tranquil beauty of Wakanda. It was quieter here, and with Shuri's help, he was beginning to peel away the layers of control Hydra had left embedded in him. Slowly. Painfully.

Across from him, Dallas sat cross-legged, poking at the embers with a long stick. She always seemed to be near, watching him with an air of casual observation that made him uncomfortable and oddly comforted all at once. Shuri had introduced her as an assistant, someone who helped with his treatment, but he didn’t understand why she lingered when the sessions were done.

“Why do you sit out here with me?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the crackle of the fire.

Dallas glanced up, startled for a moment. Her face softened as she leaned back, resting her palms in the cool grass behind her. “I told you. I promised Steve I’d look after you.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle. “You’ve told me that before. And maybe Steve would send someone to check in on me now and then, but not like this. You’ve been here for months.”

For a moment, the only sound was the crackling fire. Then, Anora let out a long breath, leaning back against the rock she was perched on. Her face softened, a trace of vulnerability slipping through the stoic facade she usually wore. Dallas sighed, tossing the stick into the flames. She looked away, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Her shoulders stiffened, but when she turned back to him, her face held an openness he hadn’t seen before.

“I’m sick, Bucky,” she said finally, her voice quiet but clear.

Bucky blinked, straightening. “Sick?”

She nodded. “Dying, actually.”

Bucky’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. “Dying?”

Dallas nodded, her gaze steady. “It started before I was even born.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands together as she stared into the fire. “My father… he was a geneticist. Brilliant. Obsessive. When my mother got pregnant, they found out I wasn’t going to make it. Something about my DNA. I wasn’t viable—wouldn’t survive outside the womb. My father wasn’t willing to accept that, so he tried to fix me. Tried to make me...more.”

Her voice cracked, but she pressed on.

“Whatever he did worked. I was born alive. But it changed me. I have...abilities. I can do things no one else can. But the stronger that grew, the weaker I became. My body is breaking down. It’s killing me. Turns out my dad’s ‘miracle cure’ wasn’t a cure at all. It was a patch job, and the patch started falling apart.”

The fire popped, sending sparks spiraling into the dark sky. Bucky stared at her, his jaw tight, his mind trying to process her words.

“You’ve...you’ve tried to fix it, right? You’ve seen people?” he asked, his voice low.

Dallas let out a bitter laugh. “Tony Stark. Bruce Banner. Some of the smartest minds in the world have had a go at me, but no one can figure it out. They all tried. And they all failed. My father’s work was too dangerous, too complex, too unpredictable. Whatever he did, no one can undo it.”

“And Wakanda?” Bucky asked, gesturing around them.

She shrugged. “Last resort. This is the last place on Earth that might actually have the technology to fix me. If Shuri can’t help me, then...that’s it. Game over.”

Bucky’s stomach churned. He’d been so focused on his own battles, his own trauma, that he hadn’t noticed the quiet war she was fighting.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

Dallas smiled faintly, a sad, tired smile. “Because you’re dealing with enough, Bucky. You don’t need to carry my burdens, too. Besides, I promised Steve I’d watch over you. And I keep my promises.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the fragility in her frame.

“You’re watching over me while you’re dying?” he asked incredulously.

She shrugged again, her smile turning wry. “Steve never said I couldn’t multitask.”

Bucky let out a huff of disbelief, shaking his head.

“Look, I don’t know if I’ll make it out of this alive,” Dallas admitted. “But if I don’t, at least I’ll know I tried everything. I’ll know I didn’t quit.”

Bucky nodded slowly.

The fire crackled between them, a tenuous connection in the vast darkness. For the first time in years, Bucky felt the stirrings of something unfamiliar—hope. If Dallas could fight her battle, maybe he could fight his, too. And maybe, just maybe, they could win. Together.

____

The fire burned low, casting long shadows across the clearing as the night deepened. Bucky Barnes sat on a worn log, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his face looked carved from stone. Sweat slicked his skin despite the cool night air, and his hands gripped the edge of the log with enough force to splinter the wood.

Shuri moved slowly around him, her voice steady and melodic as she chanted the words Hydra had drilled into his mind—words that once had the power to turn him into the Winter Soldier. Her tone was calm but firm, unwavering in its rhythm, testing the waters of Bucky’s psyche.

Dallas stood a few feet behind Shuri, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched the scene unfold. Her usually composed expression was drawn tight, her dark eyes darting between Shuri and Bucky. She knew this process was necessary, but seeing the strain etched on Bucky’s face made her chest tighten.

Shuri’s voice rose slightly, the words filling the space between them. “Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy. Pugalo…”

Bucky’s head jerked as if struck, his breathing growing heavier. His metal hand twitched, the plates shifting with an audible clink.

Dallas shifted her weight, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She’d been warned not to intervene, that Shuri’s process required no interruptions. But standing there, watching Bucky endure this torment, made her feel helpless in a way she wasn’t used to.

Shuri’s chant continued, her voice unwavering. “Dobyeg. Odin. Gruzovik…”

Bucky growled low in his throat, his human hand coming up to clutch his head. His breaths came in shallow gasps now, and his eyes squeezed shut as if he could force the words out of his mind.

Dallas took an unconscious step forward, her boots crunching softly against the dirt.

“Stay back,” Shuri said sharply, her eyes never leaving Bucky. “He must face this.”

Dallas froze, her pulse pounding in her ears. She’d heard the stories—how these words had controlled him, reduced him to a weapon. But seeing the fight in real time was different. Bucky wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t some mindless killer. He was Bucky Barnes, a man clawing his way out of the darkness.

Shuri reached the final word, her voice strong and deliberate. “Rassvet.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The jungle seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire and Bucky’s labored breathing. His head hung low, his shoulders trembling.

Dallas stepped forward, her concern outweighing her caution. “Bucky?”

He didn’t respond. His hand flexed once, twice, then stilled. Slowly, he raised his head, his blue eyes locking on hers.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, though his voice was raw and strained.

Dallas didn’t look convinced. “You don’t look fine.”

Shuri stepped closer, her brow furrowing as she studied him. “He resisted the words,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. “They hold no power over him anymore.”

Bucky exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “Feels like they still do,” he muttered.

“But they don’t,” Shuri said firmly. “This is progress, Sergeant Barnes.”

Dallas crouched down in front of him, her expression softening. “She’s right, you know. You fought it, and you won.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “Feels like I’m barely hanging on.”

“Maybe,” Dallas said quietly. “But you are hanging on. That’s what matters.”

They sat there for a moment, the firelight flickering between them. Bucky’s breathing gradually steadied, and the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

Shuri turned to Dallas, her expression thoughtful. “He’s not the only one fighting a battle here,” she said. “You could learn from his resilience.”

Dallas straightened, her gaze flicking to Shuri. “This isn’t about me.”

“Perhaps not tonight,” Shuri said with a small smile. “But soon.”

Dallas didn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she stepped back, letting Shuri take the lead again. But as she watched Bucky stand, shaky but steady, she felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for both of them to win their battles.

_____

The Wakandan lab was bathed in a cool, sterile light that hummed softly, casting faint reflections on the sleek, vibranium-infused equipment surrounding Dallas. She sat in the recliner at the center of it all, her fingers gripping the armrests as Shuri and her team worked around her. Her eyes closed, trying to focus on anything but the faint burn creeping through her veins. The IV line ran from a small, advanced device into her arm, delivering the serum meant to slow her impending death.

Shuri’s voice was gentle, but there was no hiding the weight of her words as she double-checked the monitors. “This serum… it’s not a cure, Dallas,” she said softly, her eyes filled with empathy. “We can’t promise it will fix everything. But it may slow the progression. It’ll buy us time, and time is something we don’t have much of.”

Dallas nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She could feel the serum starting to enter her bloodstream, the faintest heat trailing from the needle at her arm. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to remind her of what was happening inside her. A burning reminder of the ticking clock she’d been living with for as long as she could remember.

The burn was subtle, almost like a low ember smoldering in her skin, but it was enough to make her fingers twitch involuntarily. She buried the discomfort, pushing it aside with the same stoicism she had learned to wear like armor. This wasn’t the time to show weakness—not in front of Shuri, not in front of anyone.

“Thank you, Shuri,” Dallas said quietly, her voice rough but sincere. She didn’t know what else to say. The hope this serum represented felt fragile, like glass she was too scared to hold too tightly.

Shuri gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Just remember—if it starts to feel too intense, tell us immediately.”

Dallas simply nodded again.

As Shuri stepped back to review the data with her team, the quiet hiss of the IV and the soft hum of the lab filled the air. Dallas closed her eyes, letting herself drift into her thoughts, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulled her back to the present.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

Her eyes opened, and she turned her head to see Bucky standing at the entrance to the lab. His expression was guarded, as usual, but there was a flicker of something softer in his blue eyes.

Dallas blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Bucky said simply, stepping inside. He grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it closer to her recliner before sitting down. “But I want to.”

She studied him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Finally, she settled back against the recliner, her voice quiet. “Suit yourself.”

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Bucky’s gaze flicked over the machines, the IV, and finally to Dallas’s face. She was pale but composed, her expression unreadable.

“You going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked finally.

Dallas’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, her eyes fixed on the sleek ceiling above them. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Since when do I owe you answers?”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t,” he admitted. “But I know something’s wrong. And if you think I’m just going to sit around and ignore it, you don’t know me very well.”

Dallas glanced at him, her dark eyes sharp. “You have enough on your plate, Barnes. Focus on yourself.”

“Funny,” he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “I seem to remember someone telling me I wasn’t alone in my fight last night. Guess that only works one way, huh?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond.

Bucky sighed, leaning back. “Look, I’m not here to push you. But whatever’s happening, you don’t have to go through it alone. I know what that’s like, and it sucks.”

For a long moment, Dallas stayed silent. The serum’s burn had intensified slightly, but she refused to show it. She wouldn’t let Bucky see her weakness—not now.

“You’re stubborn,” she said finally, her voice softer than before.

“Yeah, well, takes one to know one,” Bucky shot back with a small smirk.

Despite herself, a faint smile tugged at her lips. She shook her head, letting out a quiet sigh. “Fine. You can stay. But don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound almost surprising in its warmth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, the tension in the air easing slightly. Bucky didn’t press her for more answers, and Dallas didn’t offer any. But his presence was steady, grounding in a way she hadn’t expected.

As the serum continued its slow, burning crawl through her veins, Dallas allowed herself a rare moment of vulnerability, closing her eyes and letting the quiet of the lab, and Bucky’s silent support, carry her through.

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x oc

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