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honeymoonjin · 3 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-” Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with. Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, “he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

#bts x reader #bts x reader smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #the gentlemen #tgm #yoongi x reader #jin x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5

More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.

Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.

I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go

Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming

“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear.

“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”

“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid.

“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room.

“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?”

“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.”

Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.”

“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!”

You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him.

“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”

"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."

And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.

“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.”

Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.

"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.

"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.

“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”

“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.

You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.

"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"

"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"

You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.

"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.

"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.

"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."

"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.

"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, me too." You agreed.

"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.

"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."

"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."

You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."

You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.

He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.

"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."

"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.

Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.

You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."

Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.

“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?”

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.

"On?"

"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."

"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"

You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."

"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.

"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.

"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."

"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."

“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions.

“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.”

"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"

He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"

"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."

"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."

You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."

You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.

You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."

"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."

You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?”

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.”

You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression.

Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.”

You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.”

“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours.

You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you.

“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?”

Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.”

“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.”

Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.

You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure.

“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.”

“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?”

You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.”

Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.”

“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.”

“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?”

“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.”

“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.”

This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.”

“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.”

He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?”

“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.”

He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes.

“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.”

#hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x you #hannigram #hannigram x reader #the sommelier #wine #tw trauma #tw victim blaming #tw alcohol

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wenellyb · 3 years

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Can I ask your opinion on the what if... series? I'm really hating the Captain Carter trailers. I feel like it's disrespectful to Sam's character who has only just taken up the mantle of Captain America and the shield. I get that this is an alternate timeline series but from the sounds of things they plan on launching these alternates into the main MCU via the multiverse. If rumours are true and Peggy appears in Doctor Strange 2, then that means Captain Carter will appear on the big screen as a supersoldier shield-weilding Cap before Sam appears. And that doesn't sit right with me. Not to mention the merchandise that's already everywhere. Feels like Sam's getting sidelined again before he's even had the chance to shine on his own. Anyway, I'd be interested to know your thoughts on it, if you've seen it. (Also, less related, the uniform being the British flag just reeks of WW2 British imperialism which is also just ugh. And I'm an Australian, our flag literally includes the British one! I just do not like any of this.)

Hi Anon!!! Thanks for the ask it's a very interesting question.

I haven't thought about it a lot because I have seen the trailers and I liked it, it looks like a very cool show and I llike Peggy Carter's character.

They have announced the What If... series since a long time ago and one of the scenario announced was indeed what if Peggy was "Captain America", so this isn't exactly a surprise.

I have seem some posts about the fact that there is much promotion and much more merchandise is done for Captain Cartet than for Captain America. And that are disappointed that Sam's character is sidelined and maybe it's too spon and I will changer my mind, but I personally don't feel that way for now.

I guess I would have more of a problem if:

-it weren't an animated series and there was a real show with Captain Carter. I didn't know about Peggy appearing in Doctor Strange 2, but I guess we'll have to wait and see what is the screntime, if she appears as Captain Carter or not. But for now, I personally don't see Captain Carter as a problem or as Sam's character being sidelined.

- if they brought back Chris Evans' Captain America on a different project, like those rumors said some ago. It would annoy me to no end if they used the excuse of the multiverse to bring back another version of Steve Rogers as Captain America, or as

Honestly, for me, there is a problem with Sam's character and how him being Captain America is handled, but it has nothing to do with the What if series. I think it's important to put the blame where it should be.

The problem isn't that there is more promotion or more merch available for the What If series or Captain Carter, because the show is about to air, so it's normal that it would get promoted, that's how it works.

To me, the problem is that we had a TV show with Sam as Captain America, and then... nothing???

The problem is that we had an announcement for a Cap 4 movie but with no realease date nothing? Not even a TBA date in 2024 or whatever? With all these MCU moves already lined up there should be at least an official announcement, even a vague date.

And I'm thinking maybe we'll get to Sam Wilson in other movies, before the Cap 4 movie, but it's not a certainty, and also what about the official dates for his own movie? Not even something like "confirmed" or "announced" with the Captain America logo.

That's what doesn't sit right with me, because for now it looks to me that Disney has no plan to follow up on Captain Sam Wilson... Just from the looks of it, I don't know what they will or will not do.

Am I the only one who remembers that we were supposed to have a Cyrborg solo movie in the DCEU? It was announced and it never happened? So that's what's really making worried regarding Captain America.

From where I'm standing, Disney wants the diversity points without putting in more work than necessary.

Another issue is that historically the fandom never stands up for the Black Superheroes and the Balck actors.

It happened woth Ray Fisher, it happened with John Boyega, and I think John's case it's even more disgustimg because the behavior of the fandom eventually led to his role beong reduced in the Saga...wtf. They preferred to run an incoherent story and make a mediocre movie rather than pay Fonn his due!

Just an example of what I mean when I say that the fandom doesn't support Black Actors: You see all what is happening with Scarlett Johansson right? The lawsuit etcetera.... I have seen dozens and dozens of posts supporting her and her lawsuit.... And this isn't coming from her fans... It's even coming from people who dislike her but understand the importance of what she's doing. I understand the importance of what she's doing... But I can't help and compare it to he support Ray Fisher had in the fandom, when he was calling out the abuse he received from Joss Whedon and from some Executives. Since the story with Scarlett started every 10th post on my dash is about it. And yes, it's still fresh, so it's normal people are talking about it. But when the whole story started with Ray Fisher, the reaction was just not the same.... People were amkong posts that wouldn't get more that a 100 notes, and for me it was easier supporting from Twitter because at least I could retweet Ray's tweets.... but let me tell you that he was bassically fight alone. ALONE.

I have seen so many posts saying.... "I hate Scarjo but..." "I can't stand Scarjo but..." So from where I'm sitting a problematic White actress will get more support than an unproblematic Black actor denouncing abuse. And just to be clear... I do think that the fandom should support Scarjo's lawsuit because Disney is never held accountable for the sh*t they do, I'm just making a comparison and saying they both deserved support but only one of them got it.

That's why I have absolutely no fate that the MCU fandom will stand up for Anthony Mackie or Sam Wilson if it's ever necessary seeing how they turned their back on Anthony Mackie the moment they thought he was against "Sambucky". They will turn their back on him and his character the minute a minor inconvience happen. And Disney/Marvel will love that because they will have a justification as to why they will not follow through with Sam Cap (His characyer is unpopular.... or whatever excuse they will find).

And about the interview thing, I guess I could understand if and only if they had a problem with some of the things he had said... But the fandom made it clear that they only cared about what they thought he said about Sambucky, not the rest, proving once again that the fandom is untrustworthy. Because they were ready to condemn hom for something as trivial as a fictional ship.

If push comes to shove, and for instance they brought back another Steve Rogers from another universe, I'm sure they would be quick to support THAT character instead of Sam.

To me the problem is Disney & Marvel Execs and also the fandom of course... Because the Execs go where the money is... If the fandom is hyping up anybody BUT Sam Wilson... the execs will do the same... because they will promote characters who are the most popular.

It's important to reward reprensation, and hype up movies and shows with reprensentation, but to me it is as important (if not more important) not to reward lack of representation.

That's why I have absolutely no intention to pay for a MCU movie other than Shang Chi, and Black Panther and also Cap 4 whenever it comes out! But other than that... I'm staying away from the movies with always the same group being represented.

TL:DR; in my opinion, there is indeed a problem but the problem isn't the What if series, far from it.

#what if #sam wilson #captain america #peggy carter #ray fisher #john boyega #anthony mackie #And the Marvels too #Forgot to add that!#Sorry for the typos

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Intrinsic: Jameson in Therapy

Prompt from Anon: If you're still taking prompts... "Have you tried NOT doing that?"

CW: Noncon survivor discussing future consensual spice, Jameson’s masochism, frank references to noncon and pet whump, brief internal victim-blaming, world-building detail about WRU

Dr. Berger tucks a bit of graying hair behind one ear, smiling slightly at Jameson from her place in the soft armchair she uses during appointments. “Well,” She says, thoughtful, “have you tried not doing that?”

He looks up at her from where he sits curled up on the long sofa, knees to his chest, picking absently at loose threads across the knee of his baggy blue jeans. As always, she is careful not to let her eyes move to the places where hair is slowly growing back in over bald spots where the straps of a leather muzzle had rubbed, careful not to look at the scars he wears on every inch of exposed skin - she’d made the mistake of being caught looking, however briefly, and had discovered that the newest of her clients was deeply insecure about the visible evidence of his captivity.

She’d apologized, but it had taken time to develop enough trust to come back from her initial mistake. She would not jeopardize that now, after they’ve made so much progress and she’s begun to see a shift in how he talks about and relates to his new life, his world.

He even told her the name he chose for himself, and that he’s been telling the others in the house, one by one. Accepting that it won’t be taken from him like his original name was - that it belongs to him, and is his to share or not.

She would never, ever admit it, but... Jameson is one of her favorite clients to work with. He’s working so hard, every week that they meet he trusts more and more that the path he’s on is one that will move him forward.

“What?”

His voice is slightly rough - someone who has screamed enough to have permanent vocal chord damage, she thinks. She makes a note to speak to Jake Stanton about having a physician check on the potential for nodes or other issues that might pop up later. She’s not a medical doctor, but… well. She’s had a lot of clients with vocal chord damage in the sixteen years she’s been working in the pet lib movement, and you start to pick up on the little signs and symptoms they don’t necessarily declare out loud.

“My question is really just me being a little facetious, I won’t lie, but I do want to talk through the spirit of the question. When you mention feeling guilty that you are having a physical response to your housemate, that you are attracted to them and have been struggling with... well. I’d like to really dig in to where that guilt comes from. Now, I am aware that adjustment houses tend to discourage relationships between household members during their time in residence to cut down on the chance for conflict, but that’s not where your guilt lies, is it?”

He goes back to picking at the hole slowly wearing through his jeans. Dr. Berger waits, giving him the silence and time he needs to think his way through the question and the possible answers. After a long time, he says softly, “No. It’s not. I don’t give a fuck if Stanton wants me to hold somebody’s stupid hand or not.”

She has to force her smile not to widen, wondering if Jameson is aware of just how like Jakob Stanton he really is. No wonder they don’t always get along. “Okay. So can you talk to me about just what you sense of guilt, this worry you feel, is rooted in?”

She watches with some small surprise as the angry, defiant recovering Box Boy who has spoken frankly and openly to her about being maimed, injured, treated as an object, referred to as an animal... blushes.

“I want-... It’s not the, um, the response. That I hate.” He won’t look at her now, and he’s one who loves to stare her down whenever he thinks she’ll be shocked or disgusted by what he has to tell her. But this… this, he’s ashamed or embarrassed to say. “They’re fucking gorgeous, that’s... anybody would like them. It’s… it’s what I want from them that... scares me.”

“You are accustomed to a certain level of unwanted physical attention, it’s not at all uncommon in Romantic rescues to continue to feel sexual attraction and desire after freedom-”

“No. It’s. It’s not that I-... I know that’s normal. It’s… I want…” He shifts, uneasily. “I want… I want Allyn to hurt me.”

The last sentence is whispered. It’s not sharing a thought, it’s confessing what he feels is some kind of sin he is committing or intending to commit. Dr. Berger sometimes feels like a priest in a confessional booth, although she’s never been one to suggest atonement - no, fear of oneself is where the core of most of her clients’ pain lies, in her experience. Instead, she works on reconstructing the impulse or fear from its foundations, breaking apart the horror of its weight and reconfiguring it so it’s easier to understand.

To take control of, to direct.

She helps them to own themselves, not to fear the prospect but to see in it freedom they have always deserved.

Fear is the absolute last thing any of her clients should ever have to feel again. They have been taught to devalue and debase themselves, to fear what their bodies can be made to do. If she does nothing else, Dr. Berger hopes she is able to help them be just a little less afraid of the bodies they live in.

“You want your housemate to hurt you?” She asks, gently. “Do you mean in the sense of a serious injury, or…”

“No. Um. No, I fucking… I think about them, um. Hurting-... like… like they used to do. Biting me, or... or scratching... I th-think sometimes about Allyn h-holding a... never mind. Just. Hurting me. I’m-... made to be hurt.”

“You are made only to be yourself,” Dr. Berger reminds him, her voice low and without any hint of judgement. “We’ve talked about your captors before and how you were held. You believe that you were made into a masochist as part of your training, and so you’re frightened that your mind is thinking about your housemate in ways similar to how you were once forced to think about your captors.”

His nose wrinkles - he’s more dismissive than most of the language she uses, and early on delighted in insisting on using words like owner, handler, master. Things he thought might shock her. But Dr. Berger has heard nearly everything she thinks there might be to hear, by now. She only smiles slightly at his expression, jotting quickly down on her notepad a few notations.

Finally, he offers hesitantly, “I-I guess. Allyn is… good. They’re soft, and nice, and they’d never-... but I want them to. And it’s-... it would make-... them be like Robert, or… wouldn’t it? It’d be… treating them like… I don’t ever want to be what I was again, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it?”

He is so rarely vulnerable. Dr. Berger doesn’t take for granted the gift he gives her by letting her see past the wall of anger and derision he has built to keep himself safe. In many ways, he reminds her of when she saw Jake Stanton after his own brush with WRU’s handlers and their methods. Bristling, defensive, and with wounds that cannot be bandaged. They instead need to be exposed to the light.

“Intrusive thoughts that contain elements of your captivity are absolutely normal. You are still in the early stages of making progress, and progress is never linear, Jameson. There is no starting line, no ribbon at the end of the race. There is only moving forward, bit by bit, even if sometimes we move back.”

“You mean I move back,” He says, sullen now. “You don’t do shit. You’re already fine.”

“Mmmn, that’s not… quite accurate. I actually see someone myself, you know.” Dr. Berger smiles at his obvious, visible surprise. “My mentor once told me he never trusted a provider of therapy who did not themselves seek it out. I have my own progress to work towards, just as you have yours.”

“Problems are probably real fucking different, though.”

“Well, that’s true.” She allows herself a warm laugh - and is rewarded when he doesn’t bristle or assume mockery like he used to, but relaxes and even gives her a very small smile in return. “But I would advise you not to compare yourself to others. Your situation, while not unique in some ways, is still unique to you. You’ve been through a kind of horror that no one else has - even if others have experienced some similarities, the traumatic events they experienced will never be entirely like yours.”

He nods.

“But-” She holds up one finger “That doesn’t mean we can’t use what we know as a framework, a foundation you can build your own way on. Think of an ancient Roman road paved into a highway in modern Italy, for instance. The foundation was there, a path laid by people who came through before. But you can take what you need and use it to find your own way. I know that you’re scared of your thoughts, I know that you are frightened of wanting to find gratification or satisfaction in pain because you think it means a return to how you were treated before, or that you are inherently changed in damaging ways by your captivity, but…”

When she trails off, he leans slightly forward “But?”

She chooses her words carefully. “Jameson, would you be willing to consider something that may make you a little uncomfortable?”

He looks at her, depths of feelings in his brown eyes, and slowly nods. “Why not? I’m already fucking uncomfortable. All the time.”

His thin shoulders under the oversized band shirt he wears make angles under the fabric as he shrugs, although in the time she’s been seeing them those sharp edges have already begun to round out, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones are softening.

She’s seen it over and over again, the physical changes reflecting the rebuilding of an entire life. It never ceases to amaze her, how hard each and every one of them works.

“Okay. This may be hard to hear at first but I think it will help you.”

Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” He half-rasps. “Yeah, okay. Just say it. Everything… everything else you’ve said has helped. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, what I would like you to consider… perhaps what you see as an enforced flaw, a crack that was put into you, a danger you present to your housemate due to your conditioning and mistreatment… it might be in fact an intrinsic part of your sexual expression, and simply an aspect of your attraction to them, and the wish you stated to me to perhaps escalate your current relationship.”

He swallows. The color drains from his face, except for two spots of bright red high along his cheekbones. “What?” His lips barely move.

“Jameson…” Her tone dips, reassuring and soothing. “I know what you were told. I know you were likely given a series of half-truths and whole lies designed to engender dependence and teach you to loathe yourself and therefore disconnect from your body. But… that body? It’s very real, and it’s entirely yours. I think that we need to look into the possibility that you already had certain tendencies that were exploited and twisted. Those tendencies are not inherently unhealthy or damaging if you learn to pursue them in a safe environment.”

He blinks, once, twice, his eyes glittering.

She’s made a misstep and she knows it immediately, clear as the tears Jameson never allows to fall. She didn’t time it quite right. They should have spent more time working up to it…

“Are you saying I’m just-... like this?”

“Not the way you are suggesting,” Dr. Berger says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself clearly enough. Please let me elaborate a little.”

“I fucking hope you d-didn’t mean that I’m-... that I’m just fucked up,” He says, looking away from her, down at the floor. She pretends she doesn’t see one hand go up to curve around the side of his neck, recreating some of the weight of the collar they are so often taught to rely on for a sense of safety.

“I absolutely did not mean that. One thing WRU excels at - one of the reasons they have been so successful - is that they utilize very effective techniques that encourage a sense of complicity and responsibility in the people they abuse and violate. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were told that you chose what happened to you.”

“I signed up for this,” Jameson whispers automatically, rote and robotic, without hesitation. At least, Dr. Berger thinks, she’s been doing this job long enough that hearing that no longer gets to her like it used to. “I wanted to be some rich asshole’s-”

“Yes. That. One way I think they are able to convince so many individuals so thoroughly isn’t only because of the standard methods of sleep and nutritional deprivation, the repetition, memorizing, the mistreatment… no, I think one thing WRU does is find in each of its victims a core truth they can exploit and cause you to fear in yourself, making you more vulnerable to the idea that this company is somehow saving or helping you by ‘making use’ of it. They find your weak point and use it to shatter you, but what WRU never realizes is that the very weakness they exploit is also often the same piece of you we can recover, that we can reclaim. In your case… Jameson, have you ever heard of consensual masochism?”

He’s hooked, she thinks, on this line of logic. On the lifeline she’s thrown him, something to grab onto. A way to begin to believe, in some small way, that he isn’t ruined. They all think they’ve been ruined, by the time she meets them.

None of them is.

“No, I-I haven’t. Does this mean… there are people like me who aren’t, you know, fucktoys-”

“Recovering Romantics,” She corrects, gently. “And yes. Masochism is a not-uncommon mode of expression that many people engage in consensually in the context of healthy sexual expression.”

He swallows, hard. She watches his throat move. Sees the look in his eyes, the minute changes in his expression. The hand pushing against the side of his neck slowly drops. She can see the gears turning within him, a shifting point of view maybe. She can see what he doesn’t want to speak out loud.

There’s another silence. This one is more comfortable, and as always she gives him all the time he needs.

“How-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly again. His knees slowly uncurl and his feet, clad in old hand-me-down sneakers, find their way to flat on the floor. Without his ever-present scowl, he looks years younger. Terrified.

Hopeful.

“How can I-... how do I-...” He takes a deep breath. “If it’s just… part of me… how do I make it safe?”

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

#whump #recovery whump #referenced pet whump #recovering whumpee #wru #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #masochism tw #condtioning #deconditioning #jameson bb #dr. berger #trauma recovery #noncon survivor navigating consensual spice #referenced consensual spice #referenced noncon #internalized victim-blaming #whumpees in therapy

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vacant--body · 3 years

Text

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of unaliving self, PTSD, Bucky have flash backs, vomiting, loss of pregnancy, ED if you squint, lots and lots and lots of angst. sad, saaaad, Bucky :(

female!reader x steve and bucky love triangle (not as much here)

Side note: HI! I'M SO SORRY! I LOVE YOU ALL:) *also if the text is in italics it means there's a flashback*

part 1

✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿

It had been almost a month since Bucky had last seen Y/N. Tony and Steve thought it was best for Y/N to be admitted to the psychiatric ward at the near by hospital. But you have been gone a month. And you didn't put Bucky down on the approved list of people that could come visit you. The only thing he had left of you was the last conversation you guys had, and it was slowly driving him insane.

"Bucky? Where are they taking me? I don't wanna go." You were still loopy from the anesthesia Banner had used during your surgery. The way you were talking to him made it seem like you had just forgotten everything that had happened over the last 3 months.

"Shh, it's okay." Bucky said softly. Talking still hurt his throat. "But you gotta. You gotta get better, okay?" You nodded and sniffled. "Don't cry doll. It's all gonna be okay." He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, like he always did when you were upset.

"What happened to your face?" You muttered, your fingers grazing across the cut on his cheek bone. Bucky flinched at your touch, not wanting to remember how it felt.

"Don't worry, doll. Just get some rest. I'll see you soon." Bucky stood up from beside the cot and nodded at the paramedics who were standing close by to take you to the hospital.

"Bucky?" You asked quietly.

"Yeah, doll?" He could feel the hot tears in his eyes getting ready to spill over.

"I love you."

"Bucky," Sam tapped his shoulder. "Are you listening?"

"Sorry." He mumbled. "Just thinking." He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, wringing his hands together.

"I asked how you were doing?" Sam repeated.

"I'm fine."

"Don't do that Buck." He scoffed, slumping into his chair. "You gotta talk about this shit, man. And I know you normally talk to Steve but-"

"Sam, don't."

"Bucky-"

"I don't need your fucking pity.” Bucky growled, getting to his feet. Sam stared into his eyes with exactly what Bucky was upset about; pity.

"I am trying, damnit." Sam seethed through his teeth. "I am trying to hold you together and I am trying to hold Steve together. I hate being the middle man but if you two want to act like you're in high school and give each other the silent treatment, then I'll do it. I don't like seeing my friends hurting." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "You are very clearing showing signs of PTSD, and if you just let me help you, I can try to make it better."

"Everyone hates me, Sam." Bucky changed the subject.

"No, they don't. They're worried about you." Sam tossed his arms up in the air, exasperated. "You and Steve lost so much in one night, they're scared for you. They are mourning with you, Bucky. Please understand that."

Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I gotta go, this was pointless."

"Bucky-" He didn't hear what else Sam had to say before he shut the door to his office behind him and stormed down the hallway. He scoffed and shook his head. Fucking therapy. Tony had forced him to go or else he was sending him some place like Y/N was. He didn't need it anybody’s help, he was fine.

Bucky had wondered around the compound for hours after been you’d taken away, unsure of where he was going. This place felt so empty without Y/N here. He felt so empty. He found himself standing outside Steve's room after walking for hours. The sun was starting to rise now. His arm jerked as if he wanted to knock on the door, but he couldn't do it.

Then why did he knock?

Steve opened the door and was standing in front of him, eyes red from crying. His hair a mess. He definitely didn't look like the calm and collected Captain America.

"What the fuck do you want?" He spat, glaring down at his best friend.

"I-" Bucky was at a loss for words. "I don't know."

Steve laughed bitterly. "Get the fuck out of my face before I knock your teeth out."

"Steve, please-" Bucky's voice broke. "I need-I need you. Please."

"You need me?" Steve hissed. "What about what I need, huh? Does how I feel just not matter to you?”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, staring down at his feet. He couldn’t look Steve in the eyes any longer.

“You were fucking her.” Steve laughed, almost as it was a joke. “You were fucking my girl. You got my girl pregnant, and she tried to kill herself. Because of you, Bucky. So get out of my face. I don’t care what you have to say.”

"You're the only one-" Bucky tried desperately. He needed to talk. And Steve was the only one who understood.

"Save it, I don't wanna hear it. You ever show up at my door again," He took a deep breath, his eyes falling on the bruising cut that was on his cheek. "I won't stop this time." Steve slammed the door in Bucky's face.

Bucky was standing in front of Y/N's room. The door had long opened and an empty room was staring back. After you had left, Pepper and Nat had cleaned your room up the best that they could. While cleaning they had found an ultrasound picture hidden away in your nightstand. Nat said she wanted to throw it out but Pepper stole it from her and brought it to Bucky one evening. Bucky didn't know what to do with it so he brought it back to your room, stashing it away where you had kept it. He didn't want to take anything out of your room for when you came back. He wanted it to look like how you had left it. Well- before you destroyed it anyway.

Bucky slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning at the sudden weight on it. No one had sat here in a long time. Bucky heaved a sigh and hung his head, his long hair made a curtain around his face. You were always telling him to cut it.

A frown crept onto his lips, silently cursing himself. You teasing him about his hair is was started this whole thing. It was 4 months ago, you guys had most of the compound to yourself and were passing the time playing a drinking game.

He still remembers the smile on your face when you had brought up his hair, thinking it was hilarious how it was so long. Your laugh was more intoxicating than the alcohol the two of you were consuming. He just couldn't stop staring at you, your beautiful eyes, your hair that smelled like lavender, your gorgeous smile. And every time you leaned over it would expose your cleavage from the top of the thin tank top you had on. By the time you were done giggling Bucky had leaned in and grabbed your face, pressing his lips firmly against yours. You were stunned at first but quickly gave into his advances, as you had been waiting for this moment too.

A noise outside the room made Bucky snap back to reality.

"Thought I would find you here." A soft voice whispered. It was Nat. She gave him a soft smile before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. "It okay if I sit?" Bucky shrugged his shoulders and nodded. "Sam said you're having a bad day."

"Sam doesn't know shit."

"I know some days are tougher than others. You seemed to be doing okay last week. Actually saw you smile." She laughed quietly. Bucky didn't say anything. "She's not dead, Bucky."

"Why the fuck-"

"Shut up and listen." Any hint of kindness in her voice was gone. "I'm not like Sam, I'm not gonna coddle you. She is alive and is doing better, I just came from the hospital."

"We'll I'm glad you got to see her." He scoffed.

"I know you're not gonna hear what I have to say, but just listen to this- you are not alone, Bucky. Okay? I know none of that matters because you don't have the people you love most around you. But the rest of us are you for you, and Steve. Okay?" Bucky opened his mouth to snap something back but Nat held up her hand. "Just tell me you understand, okay? Because if I have to clean up one more persons blood off the floor I am going to loose my mind."

Bucky sighed and nodded his head. "Okay. I understand." Nat patted him on the shoulder before standing up and left the room. A tear dribbled down his cheek and he quickly whipped it away. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?

Absolutely exhausted, he kicked his shoes off and laid down, not wanting to pick himself up and walk back to his room. Everything just felt too heavy. His eyes slowly fluttered shut, no matter how hard Bucky fought against it. But it was just too heavy.

"Hey, I need to talk to you." Banner said quietly, standing in Bucky's door way.

"What?" Bucky grumbled from his spot on the bed. "If it's about checking my head, I don't want to hear it. I'm fine, he didn’t hit me that hard.”

"No, it's not that. I need to know-"

"Then what?"

"I need to know what you want to do with the fetus...the baby." He shifted his weight back and forth.

A heavy silence surrounded the two of them. "Why me?" Bucky croaked out finally.

"Well, you're the father and-"

"Don't. Don't call me that." Bucky pointed a stern finger at him Bruce stood there awkwardly, waiting for Bucky to tell him what to do. He blinked back a few tears and cleared his throat. "What do you think I should do?"

"Well, everyone else thinks you should bury him."

Him. It was a boy. Bucky was going to have a son. His son. Y/N's son. Our son.

"Then bury him."

"I think you should go."

"I don't want to."

"Bucky, please. You need to cope."

"Oh yeah, and how should I do that, doctor?" Bucky snapped back. Bruce sighed, defeated. "Go fucking burry the thing and get over it. I don't want to be there, got it?" Why was he saying this? That's not what he wanted to say.

"Okay. Sorry for bothering you." Banner exited his room in a defeated sigh, his shoulder hunched over.

Some more time ticked by before there was another knock on the door. Bucky jumped slightly as he just starting to fall asleep. He hadn't slept in about two days and it was starting to take a toll on him. The evening sun cast shadows that danced around in his dark room.

"Bruce I swear-" He opened the door and stepped back, surprised. It was Pepper. She smiled shyly at him. Bucky thinks she hasn't said more than 10 words with him since he came to live at the compound a year ago. Mostly just awkward good mornings when they came into the kitchen at the same time to get coffee. Pepper always got up early but Bucky was fed up of trying to fall asleep.

"Oh. Did...did you need something?" He asked looking down at her. Pepper wasn't as hard as everyone else at the compound, she hasn’t seen the things everyone else had. He had barely spoken to her and there were already tears forming in her eyes.

"Nat-" She cleared her throat and attempted to wipe the tears away from her eyes. "Nat and I were cleaning up Y/N's room, so it won't be a mess when she comes back. And we'll we found this." She held out some grainy pictures. Bucky wasn't sure what he was looking at.

"What are these?" He muttered, taking them from her.

"They're ultrasound pictures. I guess she knew..." She cleared her throat again, fighting back the urge to cry. "Sorry. I guess she knew about the pregnancy. Nat wanted to throw them out but I thought you should have them."

Bucky didn't know what to say. He didn't want to open his mouth and rip Peppers head off, because he knew that she was just trying to be nice. Trying to make him feel better, but honestly it was just making him feel worse. If you knew you were pregnant why did you try to kill yourself? Or is that why you tried to kill yourself?

Before he could think of what to say, a sob ripped through his chest, his knees giving out under him. Pepper moved quickly to his side and threw her small body against Bucky's, wrapping him up in a hug. She tried to hold him up the best she could, but they crumpled to the ground together.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky." She cried. Her hands grabbed the back of his shirt, like she was trying to keep him from falling apart. It wasn’t working. It felt like someone was chiseling away at his heart. He clutched the ultrasound pictures to his chest, another sob wracking through his body. He wanted Y/N. He wanted you here with him, mourning the loss of your child together. "I'm so sorry." Pepper repeated. Bucky gently pushed her away and tried to calm himself down.

"Thank you for these, Pepper." He babbled. "But I need to be alone. Please leave me alone." She shook her head at what he was saying and tried to protest. He held up his hand to stop her. “Go. Just go.” He pleaded. Finally, she left him there, sitting in the door way, holding the only pictures of his son that he would ever get.

Bucky woke up with a gasp, his clothes were soaked and sticking to his skin from his sweat and it felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest, his stomach churning in knots. He scrambled out your bed and into the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. These fucking dreams would not leave him alone. Ever since you left that's all he was able to dream about.

He spilled his guts out a few more times before slumped down beside the toilet, he shoved his head in hands and took a few deep breathes, trying to ease his spinning head. He gagged at the taste of vomit in his mouth and spit into the toilet again. Standing up shakily, he looked at himself in the mirror that was above the sink. He hated the person looking back. He looked sick, disgusting.

Saying Bucky looked rough was an understatement. His eyes were sunken in, which were accompanied by dark bags. His hair was ratty and dull and he hadn't trimmed his beard in weeks. He had also lost weight and muscle mass from not being able to eat. He couldn't. The only thing he was able to keep down was chicken broth and he hardly even eat that. He had no desire to work out either. His metal arm, which he usually polished at least once a week was dull too. And covered in scratches from him clawing at it in the middle of the night.

Bucky sighed heavily and rinsed his mouth and face with water. Patting his face dry with a towel he realized for the first time, he was starving. He could smell someone cooking bacon down in the kitchen and it made his mouth water.

Maybe Sam was right, Bucky did need to talk about this. Or maybe Steve was the one who was right. This was all his fault. He made the first move on you. The baby was his. Everything was his fault. Maybe if he had just left you alone, none of this would have happened. He couldn’t think straight anymore, nothing made sense without you here.

He pushed his thoughts out of his head as he remade your bed. Picking up his boots from off the ground, he slowly made his way back to his room. It was a hot mess inside, more than normal. Bucky doesn't remember the last time he picked anything up. He discarded his sticky clothes and got into the shower, letting the hot water fall over his skin. He hummed contently as he washed his hair, yanking to get the knots out. While he was in there he trimmed his beard the best he could without looking in a mirror.

Getting out and rubbed the steam off the mirror and looked at himself again. His beard and his hair looked better, but his eyes still looked empty. He still felt empty. Bucky tossed on some clothes that smelled the cleanest, which happened just an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

Taking a deep breath he left his room, or his cave, as Sam called it, and went down to the kitchen. It seemed like everyone was there, talking and laughing together. Bucky felt an instant nauseous feeling build in his stomach as eyes fell on him. He felt like an outsider, no, he was an outsider. Always has been as always will be

"Hey, Buck." Sam greeted, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts. "There's coffee in the pot if you want some." Bucky gave him a small smile and poured himself a cup, and grabbed a few pieces of bacon and fruit that was cut up. He sat down beside Sam and cleared this throat. Sam looked down at the small amount of food that Bucky had gathered and frowned slightly, but refrained from saying anything. He should be glad he was eating at all.

"Where's Steve at this morning?" Bucky asked, taking a sip of coffee, which stung going down his throat.

"Oh, he went to visit Y/N." Sam replied nonchalantly.

"Hm." Bucky stared down at his food, which suddenly repulsed him. Maybe this was a mistake, he should have stay in his room. Sam silently cursed himself for bring you up and tried to change the conversation.

"Sleep any better last night?" Sam questioned.

"A little. Fell asleep about an hour after we got done talking." He shrugged. “Woke up a little bit ago.”

"So you slept for 14 hours?" Sam chuckled. "We got done talking at 5, so you were out for 14 hours. I'd call that pretty good sleep."

"Doesn't mean it was restful."

"It's still a good thing that you slept through the night." Sam took a bite out of his bacon. "Oh my god, I swear Vision makes the best food." He goaded. Sam was obviously trying to get Bucky to eat.

"I know." Bucky faked a smile as he couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to get sick again. The feeling suddenly got overwhelming and he suddenly stood to his feet, his chair scrapping loudly against the floor, which caused everyone to stop and look. They watched as Bucky disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.

There was nothing in Bucky's stomach for him to throw up, besides that little bit of coffee. He was now just dry heaving, spit trickling down his chin. He just wanted this to go away, why couldn't it go away? Bucky heaved into the toilet one last time before picking his head up, wiping away the spit that was now traveling down his neck. He noticed there was a slight red tinge to it.

He brought his knees up to his chest and his hands shook as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. The room was spinning, he was so dizzy. His mouth felt he had just chewed on chalk. He was a super solider, god damn it. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Something wasn’t right.

He slowly got to his feet, hanging onto the sink for support. Slowly he made his way back to the kitchen, leaning against the wall so he wouldn’t fall over. He just needed to get to Banner. Banner would know what to do.

Back in the kitchen, Bucky could hardly see. His vision was darkening and his ears were ringing. He could feel eyes on him. Gripping the wall for support, he dry heaved again. “Bucky?” Someone asked, concern in their voice. That voice. He knew that voice.

“Y/N?” He panted, his head snapping up. The quick action made his head spin and his grip on the wall loosened. He caught a glimpse of you right before he fell on his face, vision going black, everything falling silent.

part 3

115 notes · View notes

bookwrm99 · 3 years

Text

Sweet Dreams pt. 1

So, I've had to switch my medication recently for my anxiety, and it's been a bit rough. I normally have a bit of a problem with nightmares because of stress, but since starting Effexor it's been like... on steroids. One of my ways of coping with my mental health is writing, so I've started working on an Obey Me! series of short fics with each of the brothers comforting an MC who's been suffering from long-term night terrors as a medication side-effect. I debated about whether to post them or not, but ultimately I feel like if they can be comforting reads to someone else in a similar situation to mine, of course I'd want to share them! So, here's part one with Lucifer. Please know this is based on my own personal experiences with my anxiety and medications- mental health isn't one-size-fits-all, and everybody experiences it differently on all fronts. Not everybody will experience anxiety the way MC does in these fics, and that's okay! MC is not meant to be representative of everyone everywhere who has ever dealt with having an anxiety disorder- I personally think such a thing is impossible anyway. That being said, please practice good reader discretion if mental health is a hard topic for you- the last thing I want to do is harm someone else's mental health with my writing. I'll post specific trigger warnings just above the cut, so you'll know exactly what you're getting yourself into before you continue!

Now that the long disclaimer is out of the way... I hope that you enjoy this small fic series, reader! It was cathartic for me to write, and I hope they can bring comfort to others too.

Genre: Comfort with Lucifer x gn!reader (if you squint)

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: Mentions of anxiety and treatments, depictions of anxiety and nightmare aftermath, descriptions of nightmares

Lucifer was worried.

Not that he would admit to it. He was the Avatar of Pride, and as such he had an image to maintain. After all, just because someone fails to reply to text messages and calls- or does something out of their norm, like skipping breakfast- it doesn't necessarily mean there's something dire afoot.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Lucifer tried to school his facial features into something close to neutral as his brothers fretted and discussed (Y/N)'s radio silence, and now their absence at breakfast. Mammon was the first to make a commotion about it, of course, causing the other brothers to slowly voice their own concerns about the resident human exchange student.

"I'm tellin' ya, it's just not like them! We ough'ta check on them. What if they caught some kind of weird human disease and died in their sleep?!" Mammon boomed out, fists clenched and resting on the table as he leaned forward over his plate.

"I highly doubt that, Mammon. I don't know of any human disease with such a quick onset and short incubation period before death. Still, it is a bit worrying. Should we make sure they're alright?" Satan, ever the voice of reason, spoke calmly, looking to the eldest to gauge his reaction to his question.

"Maybe they had a late start? I did suggest a new morning skincare regimen for them; maybe they've taken my advice?" Asmo practically crooned, no doubt preening at the thought of a small success with the exchange student- and probably thinking other impure thoughts related to them getting ready for the day.

"They need to make sure they eat. It's no good trying to learn on an empty stomach," Beel interjected, shaking his head and settling a hand on his stomach, clearly appalled at the thought of enduring that kind of experience.

Lucifer kneaded the small ache that had started to form between his eyes from his brothers' bickering and rapid-fire speculations. A sharp pain lanced through his skull from said place when Mammon brought his closed fists down on the table forcefully, rattling the dishes and forcefully pushing himself and his chair back.

"That's it, I'm checkin' on 'em! If all you guys are gonna do is sit around-"

"Enough, Mammon," Lucifer spoke, commanding the attention of all his brothers. A pregnant silence fell over the room as the Morningstar sighed, casually tossing his linen napkin onto the table beside his empty plate as he calmly pushed his chair back to stand. "I will check on them myself. The rest of you are to go about your days as normal unless you hear otherwise."

A couple of the brothers muttered angrily under their breath, but most seemed satisfied with the decision. Without another word, Lucifer strode from the room, leaving his brothers to clean up and be on their way to RAD.

When Lucifer reached (Y/N)'s room, his superhuman hearing picked up soft sniffles from within, heightening his concern about the human. He rapped his knuckles against the solid wood of the door, calling out their name gently but at a volume where he knew he would be heard. When he didn't hear them stir, and nobody came to the door, he resolved himself to intruding upon a potentially sensitive situation. "(Y/N), I'm coming in."

When he opened the door and took a couple steps across the threshold, he panicked a bit at first, not seeing any sign of (Y/N) in the room. Another small sniff allayed those fears, though, and he closed the door softly behind him, making his way into the space as he looked for the human. He finally found them curled up into a small ball on the floor in a corner of the room, out of sight of the door, their face pressed into their knees as they trembled.

The sight in front of him broke Lucifer's heart. (Y/N) had brought such brightness to his and his brothers' lives, showing them the utmost care and showering them with love they hadn't realized they were starved for. To see them like this- shaking with pent-up sobs and white knuckles as they squeezed their hands into fists- was a blow directly to the eldest's normally ice-cold heart.

"(Y/N)," he breathed, slowly approaching as if he was walking towards a frightened, injured fawn. His entire presence softened as he got down on one knee beside the upset exchange student, fighting the overwhelming urge to gently turn their face to his or pull them into his arms. "What's happened?"

(Y/N) shook their head, their arms tightening around their knees. "It's stupid. I'll be fine. Please don't worry about me- I'll be down for breakfast soon."

Lucifer's face pulled down into an even deeper frown at their words, bothered that they were so quick to invalidate themself and push comfort away. "Well- that's why I'm here. Breakfast was over an hour ago, and my brothers are worried about you."

(Y/N)'s head shot up at that, and for the first time Lucifer got a good look at their flushed, tear-stained face. "God- I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to worry anybody- I'm such a burden-"

Lucifer made hushing noises, and unable to restrain himself anymore he sat fully on the ground, pulling the human into his arms as they hiccupped and began to sob. When they didn't push him away and began leaning into him, he tightened his hold, rubbing small circles into their lower back as their tears soaked his left shoulder, all the while murmuring soothing words in their ear. After what seemed like a small slice of eternity, but what in reality may have only been fifteen minutes or half of an hour, the exchange student's tears slowed, then stopped altogether, though silent sobs continued to wrack their smaller frame.

Lucifer lifted his head from where he had rested it on top of theirs, leaning back slightly to see their face as he gently tilted it towards him. Red eyes looked back at him, glazed with exhaustion and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. Reaching up with a gloved hand, he gently cupped their face in the palm of his hand, wiping away the tears he could reach with his thumb.

"You aren't a burden, (Y/N). You go out of your way for myself and my brothers, doing things nobody asked of you to lift us up and make our lives easier. We've needed somebody like you for a long time now, and if anything we are a burden on you. We worry about you because we care." Lucifer broke the silence, his voice gentle but leaving no room for argument. "I won't push you into telling me what's wrong... but if you would like to talk about it, I promise I will do everything in my power to make things right."

Their eyes wavered, then shifted to the side, a frown continuing to mar their beautiful face. "Lu, I... it means a lot to me for you to say something like that. I just... I don't think there is anything you can do, or anybody for that matter, and not for lack of wanting to."

(Y/N) paused for breath, and Lucifer waited, sensing their internal debate about disclosing their struggle to him. Finally, they sighed, sagging against him as if all the strength had just left their body. "You saw my file," they said flatly, their head against his chest. Lucifer tightened his hold around them once again, pressing his face to the crown of their head and making a small sound of affirmation.

"Did it say anything about my anxiety disorder?"

Lucifer paused. Yes, he had noted that there was a mental health condition in their profile- generalized anxiety, with therapist notes stating it had a strong social skew- but it had never come up in conversation with (Y/N) before, and with how bright and happy they usually were, he thought they might be in remission- either that, or managing it extremely well.

(Y/N) continued on before he could answer them. "Barbatos has been making sure I have my medication- which is great, since of all the SSRIs I've tried it's the only one that seems to help level me out. But, the bad thing is... my doctor didn't tell me that a lot of people experience nightmares while on it, and ever since I've started it, it seems like I'm having them almost every single night." They paused for breath, their entire body tensing up, and Lucifer began to soothingly stroke their bicep with his thumb, where his hand had settled after they shifted. "Most of the time they're really vivid and... weird? Like, I had a nightmare a few nights ago that I was leading an expedition into the far North back in the human realm, and just as we were about to reach an Inuit settlement I got lured over the side of the boat by sea monsters and drowned... which has absolutely no relevance to my life experience. Obviously. But in the moment they're so scary-" They shuddered, then continued, almost as if they couldn't stop themself now that they had started speaking. "And then other times they're those really vague ones- like, running away from something through a deep forest at night, and suddenly you're falling off a cliff. But then there's, like, maybe 25% of them that actually are relevant to me- some of the worst periods and moments of my life- and those-" They almost choked on their words at the end, and Lucifer squeezed gently, worried they might start crying again.

When they stayed silent, Lucifer spoke. "How long has this been going on?"

There was a pause before the human answered, as if they knew he wouldn't be happy. "Since before I was brought here."

Lucifer was shocked. The exchange student had been here for several months already, and he was only just now hearing about this? Another pang lanced through his heart, wondering how many other mornings they had spent like this, and he deeply regretted the thought of them spending so many nights tortured by their own mind, all alone.

"You should have come to me sooner, (Y/N). You didn't have to suffer in silence." Lucifer's tone softened the words, and he again leaned back to get a look at the expression on the exchange student's face.

"I didn't want to be- troublesome. All your brothers have their own commitments and things they do, and you especially have so much on your plate. I didn't want to disrespect anybody's time."

Just when Lucifer thought things couldn't get worse, they did. He could hear their fear of being a burden, even with their carefully chosen words. The exchange student had put themself through months of agony, all because they hadn't wanted to trouble him. The revelation deeply disturbed him. A handful of months was nothing in a demon's life, just a blip, but for a human? That was a very long time.

"You are incredibly important, to all of us. Your struggles are never a waste of our time, even if you feel they're insignificant." Lucifer spoke firmly, trying to put every ounce of the conviction he felt into his voice. He reached up again to gently turn the human's face towards him, meeting their eyes with his own crimson ones. "Please, don't put yourself through something like this again. If I can bring even a small amount of the comfort you've brought me back to you, I would move the heavens to do it. Promise me."

Their eyes glimmered, and their bottom lip trembled. "I promise," they almost whispered, their voice choked up.

Lucifer impulsively brought his face closer to theirs, softly placing a chaste kiss on their forehead. The exchange student sniffled, bringing their hands up to wipe at their face.

"I will talk to Solomon and Satan about any potions they might know of to combat your nightmares. In the meantime, please come find me in the event that they wake you up in the middle of the night. I'm no stranger to night terrors."

When they acquiesced, he smiled, satisfied. "Now, get dressed. I'm informing Lord Diavolo that we're taking a personal day off- no buts." He spoke, already seeing the protest in their eyes and on their lips, which had parted on the start of a word. "We'll do whatever you want. My treat."

Their brows furrowed. "Won't you get in trouble?"

Lucifer stood, bringing (Y/N) up with him. "Not if I'm doing it for the exchange student's benefit. I'll give you ten minutes while I make the call." The softness the Morningstar had displayed was now gone, replaced with his usual composure as he began walking towards the door, fishing his D.D.D. out of his pocket as he moved.

"Lu?"

He paused at the door, turning back to look at the human. Their eyes were glimmering in the dim light of the room, arms wrapped around their waist. Lucifer thought they were about to cry again until he recognized the sheer gratitude in their expression.

"Thank you, for this- and for everything."

Lucifer showed a soft smile, just for them. "Anything for you, (Y/N)."

#obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me #obey me!#obey me! lucifer #soft lucifer #comfort #lucifer x gn!reader

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punkpresentmic · 3 years

Text

Traitor Aizawa AU Pt. 3 — 1, 2:

Shouta ran away in the middle of the night. When Hizashi woke up, it was to an empty bed, to fists pounding at their shared suite, to UA in lockdown. Hizashi was immediately forced outside & taken in for questioning.

Shouta had left Nezu a resignation letter, in his own unmistakable handwriting. It's blunt, concise, & it contains detailed descriptions & evidence of his betrayal. It makes no excuses for his actions & it does not discuss his motivations.

When Shouta visits that night weeks upon weeks later, he says nothing of the letter & nothing of his motivations. Shouta is silent as Hizashi sobs, dutifully keeping his Quirk erased as asked. It's been a pressure building on Hizashi for far too long, so when the dam breaks, there's no stopping it. It's an unwelcome but necessary catharsis—one he needs because of Shouta, one he can have because of him. Hizashi cries himself to sleep in his husband's arms.

& in the morning, again, he wakes up alone. It could have been a dream, but this time there's a note on his nightstand. It's painfully simple, the script rushed: I'm sorry I couldn't be here when you wake up. I'm sorry it has to be like this. I want to talk with you soon. I love you, Hizashi.

He should report this. Shouta betrayed UA, he's a wanted villain, & he expressed interest in taking Eri. Hizashi should turn in the letter.

Hizashi makes himself a coffee, & he sets the letter in front of him, & he stares at it blankly while the Sun rises slowly outside. The moment the light hits it, it's like the decision has made itself. Hizashi puts the letter through their paper shredder, tucks the pieces into his pocket, buys a muffin at a coffee shop, & throws half of them away in his napkin in one trash can, half of them in another down the road. He doesn’t tell a soul. Not Nemuri. Not Eri. Not Nezu.

He has to see Shouta again.

It’s two weeks before there’s another Shouta sighting. One day Hizashi comes home & senses the difference immediately. &, oddly, it's not a bad different. He knows exactly what it means. So, he takes off his gear in the entryway. Locks the door. Takes a few calming breaths before he calls into the apartment: “Honey, I’m home.”

He steps into the bedroom. Sure enough, Shouta is sitting on the bed.

Hizashi stops. He looks like shit. Exhausted, face sallow like he hasn’t been eating, eyes red & irritated like he hasn’t been using his eye drops. It occurs to Hizashi that his prescription probably ran out. He can remember the last time he picked up a bottle from the pharmacy; he’d teased Shouta about his 'special eyes' that regular eye drops don’t work on. “How did you know I was here.” His voice is rough too. Hizashi wants to offer him water, a meal, something. He hovers in the doorway.

“I’ve felt your absence since you left. Of course I know when it’s changed.”

Shouta says nothing. Hizashi relents slightly, asks him if he’s eaten. As expected, he gets a shake of the head. Hizashi turns on a heel, brings the both of them tea & leftover takeout. Shouta scrunches his eyebrows in confusion when Hizashi hands him what’s always Shouta’s order. Hizashi shrugs, nonchalant as if he didn’t take up ordering it after Shouta left. Shouta opens his mouth to speak, but Hizashi holds up a hand. “Eat.”

& they do, in silence. Shouta is positively ravenous. Hizashi has so many questions. So many questions. But he shares this strange meal with his husband, wordlessly offering Shouta what he doesn’t finish as well. Finally, Shouta clears his throat. “You didn’t tell anybody about me.”

Hizashi doesn’t have it in him to glare—to make any expression, really. It’s all very… heavy. Fragile. Ephemeral. Breakable. Dangerous. Wrong. Hizashi purses his lips. “You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

He winces. "Hizashi, I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't."

Hizashi swallows the emotions that rise like bile in his throat, a potent mixture of fury & nausea. He has little control of what falls from his mouth. “You know, somebody referred to you as my ex the other day.”

Shouta’s expression is pained. He shakes his head & pulls his wedding ring out from its necklace tucked away as always in his ratty costume. Hizashi almost laughs. When Shouta commits to something, he commits fully, with his whole chest. It’s why so much of this doesn’t make any goddamn sense. It all threatens to choke him, but he laughs around the lump in his throat & shakes his head too, taking Shouta’s hand & squeezing hard to imprint the indent of the ring he put there into his palm. “It’s just not right, man.”

This time, Hizashi takes a page from Shouta’s book & bumps their foreheads together like a cat. Hizashi offers a watery smile. Shouta lets his eyes fall closed, inhales deeply. “I know it was too much to ask in my letter for you to believe that I'm still the person you believe me to be, but…” Hizashi freezes and pulls back, causing him to trail off.

“Shouta… what are you talking about?”

A flash of confusion, then fear crosses Shouta’s face. “The first letter I wrote to you. When I… When I left.” Shouta’s eyes search his for any sign of recognition, clearly troubled when he finds none. “I wrote everyone in my class letters. & Nezu. & Kayama. Hell, even Yagi—do you really think I wouldn’t face you of all—”

“—Shouta. None of those people received letters. Besides Nezu. I read your… resignation letter. Saw the evidence you laid out so logically for him. But I…” Hizashi’s blood suddenly grows cold. “Shou, the police took me down to the station that morning & searched the apartment. I didn’t think they took anything.” His breathing picks up. “They never told me anything about a letter—”

Shouta is barely breathing. Finally, after a long pause he swallows. “Nezu. Nezu must have found his first & arranged for a search & seizure. He would have extrapolated there were more.” He wipes a weary hand down his face, shaking his head. “You never… None of the students…” He covers his eyes, which must be aching. Hizashi has never been hesitant to offer physical reassurance to Shouta Aizawa, but he hesitates here & hates that he does. He pulls Shouta close with an arm over the shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he lies. Shouta knows. “We can talk now.”

So Shouta reiterates what was in the letter: what he’s done, how he loves him, how he wouldn't leave or do this without him if he had a choice, how he intends to return when this is settled, how in the meantime he would trust nobody else to watch over his students & Eri, how he needs Hizashi to trust that he is who Hizashi knows him to be.

“How am I supposed to be certain of that?” Hizashi whispers when he’s done.

It hurts him, Hizashi can see that. But all of this hurts. “I don’t know how to answer that.” They’re still holding hands. “But I want to,” he adds. “I want to prove it to you.”

“I want that too.”

There’s a tension in the air as they hover, faces close, uncertain if it would be okay to kiss each other. They think better of it, pull back with small sighs.

Instead, they discuss Eri. Shouta has been watching from afar when he can safely. He knew how she was struggling with her Quirk. He saw the doctor visits that hadn’t improved anything. He wanted to help. He also knew that he couldn’t sneak into UA forever, that the instant UA caught wind of it security would render it impossible & arrange for his capture. But if she’s with him, he can still help.

Hizashi shakes his head. “Shou, wherever you’ve been, it’s nowhere fit for a child. Your Quirk helps her, but her support network is here at UA. You were part of that network. & now you’re not. She is not leaving UA.”

Shouta shrinks, & after a moment he nods. He was always one to listen to reason. Hizashi, again, has to relent. As far as he can tell, Shouta only wants what’s best for her & it’s killing him not to be able to participate in that. So Hizashi elbows him lightly & pulls up pictures on his phone of all Eri has been up to lately, some of the students also making appearances. He leans Shouta onto his shoulder. It’s a tender moment. Almost normal. But all too soon it has to end. It’s not safe for Shouta to stay the night & there’s a certain window of time he has to catch to slip past security.

Shouta says he’ll return. He squeezes Hizashi’s hand as he goes to the window—the hand with his ring on it. Promises.

(pt. 4)

#isaythings #fic #traitor aizawa au #traitor!aizawa #angst #erasermic #but wait! there’s more! <3 #i will keep talking abt this whether or not any1 asks abt it & that’s a threat fjdjdj #but you’re also welcome to ask abt it 👀👀#in case it 👀👀#inspires smthn 👀👀

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you-can-call-me-wanda · 3 years

Text

There’s Been An Accident

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Author’s Note: Just a warning, this includes mentions of serious injury. I have very little medical knowledge so please just bear with me...

It was Slash who first realized that something was wrong.

It was the middle of a concert and Guns N Roses’ manager was conversing with some of the crew side stage. That itself wasn’t unusual, but the look on his face was. He looked concerned. His brows were creased, and he bit at his lip worriedly as he stared off at something further upstage. Slash turned to see what he was looking at. It was Axl.

Now, it wasn’t uncommon for management to be concerned about Axl. The redhead had a notorious temper and loud mouth that often got the whole band into trouble, but tonight nothing had gone amiss. Not that Slash had noticed at least. Axl hadn’t arrived late to the show, he hadn’t chewed off an audience member. He was performing like normal, dancing like a madman and singing like an angel.

“Something’s wrong,” a voice mumbled in Slash’s ear, causing the guitarist to jump. It was Duff, Guns N Roses bassist. He had made his way across the stage during the song and was now leaning down and speaking to Slash as the song finished. The audience was applauding and cheering as Axl encouraged them, oblivious to anything out of the ordinary.

“I know,” Slash replied. “What do you think it is?” He glanced back at their manager nervously. He was still focused on the singer.

Duff shrugged. “There’s only one song left,” Duff said. “Guess we’ll find out soon.” And with that, he was swiveling on his heel and headed back to stage right for their final song of the night.

“Yeah,” Slash said, mostly to himself. “Guess so.”

After their bows, the band rushed backstage, post show excitement practically radiating from their bodies. It seemed only Slash and Duff had taken note of their manager’s nerves. Soon though, they would all be made aware of what was going on.

Axl was stopped immediately by their manager once they all left the stage. The singer only had to take one look at the frown on his manager’s face to know that something was up.

“What is it?” Axl asked. His tone was teasing but anyone could hear the agitation in it as well. No doubt he felt he was going to get chewed out again for some lewd or crude behavior.

“There’s been an accident,” his manager replied, surprising Axl greatly and rendering him speechless.

The rest of the Guns N Roses boys lingered nearby. They attempted to look busy doing something else, handing off their instruments to techs or taking off their sweaty shirts but in reality, they were focused on the conversation between Axl and their manager, curious as to what had happened and if everything was okay.

“What do you mean?” Axl finally got out. He was completely serious now. Something was clearly wrong. His mind raced to everyone and anyone he cared about.

“There’s been and accident,” his manager repeated, “and (Y/N)’s been critically injured.”

It was like time stood still. A million thoughts ran through Axl’s head. (Y/N) was hurt. There was an accident and (Y/N) was hurt. What kind of accident? What kind of hurt? There were so many questions Axl needed to be answered yet he seemed incapable of asking them. He just stared wide-eyed at his manager.

“I’ve already booked you a flight back home. There’s a cab here ready to take you to the airport when you’re ready,” his manager said, knowing exactly what Axl was thinking. He needed to be with you.

“Jesus Christ,” Axl breathed out, already halfway to the dressing rooms. He didn’t even glance at his bandmates as he rushed by. “I need to go now.”

****

Axl tapped his foot anxiously as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital. He hated hospitals. They were full of stress and sad people and they always smelled weird. He hated them.

He had been sitting in the waiting room for thirty minutes now, waiting for a nurse or doctor or anybody to call him back to see you. He just needed to see you. A nurse had filled him in when he’d arrived on your condition and what exactly had happened. You’d been hurt badly in a car accident. Some drunk asshole had veered into your lane quickly and suddenly and flipped your car over the guardrail and into a ditch on the side of the road. The man who hit you, of course, wasn’t injured. You, on the other hand, were suffering from a plethora of injuries most concernedly a punctured lung and possible head trauma.

Axl was furious of course, but even more so upset. He had no idea what you were feeling or what your current state was. He didn’t know jack shit about lungs or the brain or broken ribs. He didn’t know anything about concussions or fractures. All he knew is that it was serious.

“Mr. Rose?”

A nurse had finally come to retrieve him. Axl rose to his feet hastily.

“You can follow me.”

Axl did so without a word.

As the nurse led him back to your room, Axl’s nerves began to grow. With every step he took, he became more and more nervous about seeing you. It’s not that he didn’t want to be there for you. He was just scared to face the reality of the situation.

“I just need to warn you,” the nurse said, stopping outside one of the doors in the seemingly endless hallway. “Things might look a little scary when you go in. (Y/N) is hooked up to a lot of stuff right now. Most of it is just to monitor different vitals and such. They are now in a somewhat stable condition.”

Axl nodded his head and took a deep breath before following the nurse into your room. The breath left his lungs quickly at the sight of you. You were laying on a hospital bed in the center of the room and although the nurse had warned him about all the things you were hooked up to, nothing prepared Axl for the sight of the various tubes and cables attached to your body.

Your eyes opened a little at the sound of someone entering your room and you attempted to smile at the sight of your boyfriend in the doorway.

“Hey,” you croaked out, immediately regretting speaking. Your chest was in excruciating pain.

Axl wasted no time rushing to your side. His hand instinctively reached out to grab your own, but he hesitated before touching you. He didn’t want to accidently hurt you. He instead grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it to the side of your bed.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “Oh my god, (Y/N). Are you okay?”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the tears that were rapidly gathering there. Of course you weren’t okay. Anybody with eyes could see that.

You reached your hand out slowly, little by little, hoping he’d take the hint and hold it. He did, though his grip was soft and light as if he was afraid of breaking it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you whispered, knowing that you couldn’t speak much with him. It hurt too much to talk, but you felt those words were too important not to say.

Axl just looked at you and nodded before bursting into tears. Sobs raked through his body and you watched sadly, wanting nothing more than to pull him close and wrap him tightly in your arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, choking back a sob, “I’m sorry. I was just so worried y’know? Nobody could tell me anything for so long and I was so afraid that you were…” He wiped at his tears furiously with his free hand, refusing to let go of you. “What can I do babe? How can I help you?” he asked.

“Stay,” you replied. All you needed was him to stay. You had been so scared all alone here. Now that Axl was here, you could finally relax just a little.

“I will,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. “I promise.”

You smiled tiredly at him. You were exhausted. Your eyes felt heavy and now that Axl was here, you finally felt comfortable enough to sleep, but you didn’t want to stop talking to him. Axl could sense this and reassured you that it was more than alright for you to rest.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

All you could do was nod your head a little and squeeze his hand as you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe in your boyfriend’s company.

#axl rose imagine #axl rose x reader #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #gnr x reader #guns n roses x reader #gnr imagine #wanda writes

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Poison: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

"What is food to one is to others bitter poison." - Lucretius

Cases involving children are never your strong suit. The last one with Billie Copeland was just so hard, you’re not sure if you can be involved in another one--that is until you learned what this case is really all about. Yes, there is a child involved, but the bigger picture has a much larger scale than children.

You have to remind yourself that you need to focus on the case and not on Spencer. It shouldn’t even be a hard thing to do, but something happened between you two when you took him to the bookstore right next to your apartment. After checking out a couple of books, and after Spencer had read virtually all of them, you decided it was kind of late and that you needed to get home. The store was closing very soon anyway, so Spencer opted to walk you home.

When you got to your door, he decided to give you a kiss on your cheek, but you moved your head at the last minute. He accidentally got the corner of your mouth, and that messed up his whole thing. Based on his reaction to your mouths almost touching, you know he can’t be that interested in you. If he were, then he would have just kissed you right there and then. Instead, he stuttered a goodbye and left.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Does he like you? If so, then why won’t he just kiss you? If he doesn’t, then why does he agree to go on these dates with you. Whenever you two go out, you clearly state that this is a date, and he doesn’t say anything that dismisses that idea. Sometimes, you just wish you knew what was going on inside that big brain of his so you can dejumble it and tell him what the fuck is going on. You’d do it now, but you have a case that needs your full attention.

Apparently, a man and his son were driving down the road one night when the father pulled to the side of the road and got out. He walked into the woods, the son followed after him, and the father beat him almost to death. The son is in the hospital undergoing critical care while the father is in the psych ward. You’re not sure how it happened or why, but you know that it did. Hotch and Gideon got hold of the interrogation video sent over by the New Jersey Police Department.

Detective Hanover is the person who is going to be in charge and is also the person who you will be working with the entire time you’re in Jersey.

“State trooper took this before the paramedics showed up,” the detective says and shows Jack Fisher, the father of Eric Fisher, a picture of his unconscious body. “He's unconscious and has four broken bones. He's gonna be in the hospital for a month.”

“I didn't hurt my son,” Jack sighs.

“Do you remember removing the tire iron from the trunk?”

What, he used a tire iron? You gasp softly and put your hand to your mouth as you continue to watch.

“No! No!”

“What's the last thing you remember?”

“I picked Eric up from school on Friday, for the weekend. Who would do this?” he cries softly.

Hotch ends the video there and addresses the entire briefing room.

“This happened two days ago in Beechwood, New Jersey. Mr. Fisher had ingested LSD one afternoon and didn't come down until eighteen hours later.”

“The hospital reported six other patients who ingested LSD in the last twenty-four hours. The hospital called the CDC, then the CDC called us,” JJ finishes.

“So, a bunch of people got spiked. What makes it a BAU case?” Derek wonders.

“They each received ten to twenty times the normal dose.”

“That’s enough to kill a small child,” Spencer informs.

“Or cause a grown man to try and kill him with a tire iron apparently,” you sigh.

“Of the seven victims, there was one death and one coma. This is from the hospital's security footage the same night Fisher lost it,” JJ explains and uses the remote to put a different video on the screen.

It’s of the hospital that is in complete chaos. People are shouting, pushing, yelling, and apparently, having seizures. One man is on a stretcher, and he’s clearly on something. The doctors around him try to push past the madness of people to get him to a room while the nurses have their hands full of scared and angry patients. This wasn’t a spike or an overdose…

“These people didn’t get spiked. They were poisoned,” you reveal.

“Of the seven victims, Gail Norman was the only death. She was seventy-eight. She ran out into the middle of the road, and she was hit by a car. She was DOA,” JJ reveals on the plane ride over to New Jersey.

You’re sitting next to Spencer in one of the seats that are super cramped so that they can fit four of them in on either side of a small table. You’re sitting by the window, so essentially, Spencer is blocking you in. He’s not a big person, but because you have romantic feelings for him, it feels like a fucking trap.

“The other potentially fatal case is nine-year-old Brittany Canon. She fell out of a treehouse and fractured her skull. She's in a coma, but the doctors don't know if she's going to come out of it,” Hotch says.

“How do you wanna handle the press?” Gideon asks the liaison.

“We still don't know how these people even got dosed. I think it would be irresponsible to issue a warning without specifics. It'll just cause panic. I did notify the local PD, though, to be discreet.”

“How is it possible that none of these people knew how they got poisoned?” Derek wonders.

“None of them remembers anything about the day it happened,” you say and gesture, but your hand brushes up against Spencer’s leg.

You blush and mutter an apology, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He looks at you and blushes as well, but he is better at hiding it than you are.

“These people were so messed up; it's made it difficult for local PD to retrace the victim's steps.”

“So, we need to go on precedent. We know there are four types of poisoners who target multiple victims,” Gideon starts.

“There's the true believer--the political terrorist/religious cult. There's the extortionist--the product tamperer that holds the business hostage in exchange for money. The prankster--it’s usually a younger offender who doesn't mean any harm, and it's basically just a big practical joke to them. Then we have the avenger--someone with a personal vendetta who chooses poison as their weapon,” you explain the different types of offenders.

“We need to find out as quickly as possible which type he is. Because with the exception of the prankster, all these types commonly test their poison on a small scale before appearing at a larger attack.”

“Then, let's hope this one was just a prank,” Derek scoffs.

"I suggest we split up the victims and see if there's a pattern to the victimology,” Gideon suggests.

“Most of them are still in the hospital. I'll call local PD to meet us there,” Hotch confirms.

“I'll check the lab reports. Maybe there's a clue to the unsub's motive in the specific nature of the poison he used,” Spencer calls dibs.

“I can't imagine anybody could want this to happen.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll head to the hospital with you. The kid may not be able to tell the doctor anything, but I certainly can. I’ll be able to see what really happened if his mother allows it.”

“Good,” Gideon nods once. “We need all the answers we can get.”

The hospital is buzzing with panic, fear, sadness, and grief. Many people are dying in this hospital, and to someone like you, you’re not sure you can be here for much longer. Hotch, Gideon, and the rest of the team don’t really understand how this all affects you. Normal people like the ones on your team see this hospital for what it is. They see people grieving and people crying, but they allow themselves to be separated from their emotions. They can walk into a loud crowd and tune out all the conversations and emotions without even thinking about it.

Not you. You’re completely different.

You walk into a crowd, and you’re overwhelmed by not only the physical sensation of people all around you, but your mind is also crowded. Your mind goes into overdrive as it inspects each person to make sure they are not a threat. To make sure that they are who they say they are. A normal person can see a kid walking down the street and not know they are kidnapped while you are able to determine that.

You walk into this hospital, and every single emotion of every single nurse, doctor, patient, and family member immediately go to your shoulders. Someone can be dying on the very top floor, and you’d feel how sad their family members are as they watch their beloved ones slip away. There could be someone in the next room receiving bad news, and it’ll be like you’re receiving the same news. It’s not fun living with your abilities, and you’ve caught yourself wishing it would all just end. However, you think about everyone you’ve saved, and it somehow all makes it okay.

“Detective Hanover, Beechwood PD,” the detective that was on the surveillance tape introduces himself to you, Gideon, and Hotch.

“Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Gideon and Agent Y/L/N.”

“Thanks for coming down on such short notice. The doctor said he may have permanent brain damage. I've never seen anything like this,” he sighs and looks at Eric, the little boy who was beaten by his own father.

“Well, let's hope we can help him.”

“Have you had a chance to review the victim's files?”

“We're especially interested in talking to the boy's father,” Gideon says.

“We'd like to get a sense of why he turned violent while the lab analyzes the specific nature of the LSD he was dosed with. we'd like to get our own sense: was it the drug itself or was there something else going on? Hopefully, that can give us a little bit of a window into the motive of the offender,” Hotch explains.

“He's in the psych ward.”

“Well, we'll keep it short,” Gideon replies.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll meet up with you two. I’m going to talk to the mother,” you offer, and Hotch just nods.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@averyhotchner @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @fan-girl-97 @paulaern @inkstainedwritergirl @estrela-rogers @abitchforjay @kwbaby24 @redsalv20 @joonie-centric @spencerreid-mgg @sixpencespencee @boygenius-reid @reidemandweep @prophecyflame @happynekochan1

#poison #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #cm fanfiction #season 1 episode 13 #s1e13

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thefuzzydarkness · 3 years

Text

(Hello! I've wanted to write an enemies to lovers style story for a while now so here you go! I really hope you enjoy it!)

He glanced down at his phone. It was 7 am which gave him about an hour before work. He flicked off the TV and went about trying to find some breakfast. The pantry didn't yield many results but he did manage to find two packets of apples and cinnamon oatmeal. Honestly he never bought breakfast stuff because he didn't usually get up in time to eat it. He hadn't been sleeping well lately. After heating that up along with a small cup of coffee he sat on his couch and took out his phone. "Let's see who's on the schedule for today. Ok me, Darrell, Michelle, and…. Lexi." He hated Lexi. They had gone to high school together and she was the single most annoying student in his entire graduating class. When she had first been hired on he'd asked Michelle to please try and not put them on shifts together. Michelle did try but sometimes it couldn't be helped. He finished his oatmeal and downed his coffee already in a bad mood. Twenty minutes later he was showered, dressed, and on the road. He technically could've walked to work, as it was only a couple blocks away, but today he decided to drive. He didn't want to chance Lexi asking to walk home with him. It seemed like she just couldn't take a hint. Always asking him questions and acting like they were such good friends in high school when that couldn't be further from the truth. He parked and walked over to the door. The lights were still off and the door was locked. He checked his phone again and realized he was still fifteen minutes early. He sighed and sat down on one of the benches outside. He wasn't two minutes into a youtube video when Lexi walked up. "Great" he thought "she can't even wait till we're on the clock." He braced for impact, expecting her to sit next to him and make small talk in her annoyingly high pitched voice but she didn't. She just gave him a small wave and sat down on the bench across from him. She was wearing a sweater and leggings instead of her usual tank top and overalls combo. She had her hair in a messy bun and her face was pale. She untied a hoodie from around her waist and used it as a pillow against the wall. He stared at her bewildered for a second, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He pressed play on his video and continued watching it until Michelle unlocked the front doors. "Hey guys! Thanks for getting here so early! Darrell had to take his mom to a doctor's appointment so it'll just be the three of us for an hour or two. Lexi I want you on the register and Tyler I want you to reshelve all of the stuff from yesterday." Lexi shook her head " Actually would you mind if I reshelved today?" They both looked at her surprised. Lexi always asked to be on the register. "Uh yeah I guess as long as that's ok with you Tyler." He shrugged "Whatever, I don't care either way." Michelle nodded "Then I'm going to open the register." He made a mental note to keep an eye on Lexi. Something was up with her and he was going to figure out what. He put his lunch in the store room fridge and grabbed his vest from the rack. It'd been a long time since he'd worked the register but he'd manage. The first hour was rather uneventful. He'd cleaned the front counter, swept, and made sure the displays were all in order and now he was...bored. Only a handful of customers would come in before school let out and until then all he could do was stand there. He was trying to balance three books on his head when Darrell walked in. "Hey! What's going on?"

"Not much. What's going on with you circus boy?"

"Oh you know acrobatics, juggling, the whole nine yards." Darrell smiled

"Hey what are you doing up here anyway?"

"Lexi asked to do the reshelving today so I got stuck up here."

"Wait, she asked to do the reshelving? You usually can't force her to do it let alone have her volunteer."

"I know but that's what happened."

"Weird? Anyway, do you know where Michelle is? I need to figure out what I'm doing today."

"She's in the office."

With that Darrell walked away and Tyler went back to his balancing act. Not five minutes later Darrell was back.

"Hey Michelle needs you to help Lexi reshelve that stuff. She wants me to take over up here."

"Aw come on man can't you do it?"

" Well I could but Michelle said you and well...I don't wanna."

He sighed "Fine whatever but I'm putting my headphones in. I can't listen to her voice all day."

"Whatever boats your float pal. I'll be up here." Darrell put his feet up on the desk as Tyler stomped back to the store room. Why would Michelle ask HIM to come back here? She knows how he feels about Lexi. He threw open the door and was surprised to see Lexi blowing her nose into a well used tissue. Her pale face now had a bright red nose in the middle of it. She was sitting on the floor, books and tissues scattered around her, using her hoodie as a makeshift blanket. She looked up at him like she was about to say something but started coughing instead. It sounded wet and harsh. Well at least now he knew why she was acting so weird this morning. He knelt down beside her and before he could stop himself he had his hand on her forehead. She nuzzled her head into his cold hand and smiled. She had a fever, and a pretty high one at that.

"How long have you been like this?"

"It started yesterday. I didn't start really feeling bad until I was already here and by then it was too late to call in." Her voice sounded like it could go any minute and she was shivering. He took off his jacket and put it over her legs. She smiled and nodded in appreciation, just before her head jerked forward "hhehITSHichu hhehITSHICHU" She sniffled and Tyler handed her a roll of paper towels from the cleaning supply cart. She blew her nose again for what felt like a full minute to Tyler and even then it didn't seem to help her much. He was now facing an internal dilemma. Even though he despised Lexi he didn't think he could leave her like this. No one deserved to suffer this much, not even her.

"Look if you want I'll reshelve the stuff for today and you can go home." She looked at him curiously "You would do that for me? I thought you didn't like me?"

"I'd do that for anybody. Besides fat lotta help you'd be. I doubt you can even stand up by yourself let alone help with all this. Now go tell Michelle you're leaving before I change my mind."

She smiled at him "Thank you Tyler I really...hhehitshichu *snf* appreciate it."

"Don't mention it...really don't and bless you by the way." She tried to push herself up and ended up falling forward holding her head. The pressure in her sinuses was crushing. Tyler sighed "I guess you'll need a ride huh?" She nodded and started coughing again. Tyler rubbed her back as she slowly started to breathe normally.

"Stay right here. I'll ask Michelle if I can drive you home real quick and come back okay?"

"Okay."

With that he walked over to Michelle's office and knocked on the door.

"Yes, come in. What can I do for you?"

"Well I was wondering if you and Darrell could handle things on your own for a minute. Lexi's really sick and I was gonna drive her home."

"Really sick? Poor thing, what's wrong?"

"Coughing, sneezing, fever, I found her on the floor of the store room shivering. I don't think she can stand up for too long." Michelle frowned "That sounds pretty bad. Tell you what things looks like things will be pretty slow here for the day. Why don't you take the rest of the day off and stay with her just to make sure she's alright?" Tyler's eyes widened. He didn't want to drive her home in the first place and stay with her?! Out of the question. But then again it'd been a long time since he'd gotten off early. Between work and school he could use a little time to himself. He could drive her there, drop her off, leave, and they would be none the wiser. He smiled to himself "Yeah boss I can do that." Michelle nodded in approval "Good now here's twenty dollars. Go to Walgreens on the way home and get that girl some medicine. Maybe some soup and tissues too." He took the money and sighed. Michelle was too sweet for her own good. Oh well an extra stop wouldn't take too long. "I can do that. I'll make sure she knows it's from you." He started to walk out "Oh and Tyler? You're a good man for doing this." He shook his head "Anybody would do this. It just happened to be me this time." With that he walked out and made his way back to the store room. He found Lexi asleep on the floor, a paper towel still held up to her nose. He hung up his vest, grabbed his car keys and her purse, and picked her up bridal style. She weighed almost nothing and he figured she'd be easier to manage if she stayed asleep. He walked out to his car. Unbeknownst to Tyler his coworkers were watching from behind the shelves. "Looks like I'll be getting my ten bucks soon." Michelle said smugly. Darrell rolled his eyes "Really? And what makes you think this is what gets them together?" Michelle's eyes twinkled as she watched Tyler gently set Lexi in the back seat of his car "I just have a feeling."

(To be continued)

#snzblr #sickfic #snz #sneeze kink

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 2

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let’s try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We’re living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn’t actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @vozit @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves all the love 💙

Peter woke me up at eight AM the next morning like the little shit that he was, demanding I make him pancakes. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had the joy to experience him in the morning and he knew exactly how to antagonise me enough to make him the special pancakes he liked so much. They had become kind of a ritual whenever he stayed over at my house, which was quite often - teachers liked me enough to pair me up with one of the most sensible kids for any projects that couldn’t be done alone by yours truly on her own.

I put on my yesterday’s dress, applied moisturizer and obediently trotted behind an excitedly mumbling Peter. The kitchen was large, beautiful and delightfully empty of any resident superheroes. I’ve indirectly crossed paths with all of the tower’s residents hanging around Tony, but I’ve yet had to speak more than polite niceties to any of them.

Spying a bowl of boiled eggs and some sort of weird salad alongside half burned toast on the counter, I suddenly understood why Peter demanded his pancakes. I strictly instructed the disaster child to stay away from my cooking process and set to work with one ear listening to his ramblings and a headphone in the other.

A set of thumping footsteps appeared behind me as I was pouring the batter for the first pancake. Their owner loudly sat down next to Peter, sighing, groaning, generally making “I’m not a morning person” sounds.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” Peter’s tone was way, way too chipper.

“‘mrng,” The Sergeant grumbled. “Who’s this and why is she making pancakes?”

I turned around, spatula at the ready. “It’s me,” We’ve actually met before, but Barnes had left before I could even come over from my side of the work bench to say hello.

He nodded in acknowledgement after giving me a suspicious once-over. “One of Stark’s science children. I’m James but you can call me Bucky,” His voice sounded rough and gravely, and he clutched a coffee cup half the size of my head.

I snorted. “Science child, sure,” It wasn’t half-bad actually. I wisely choose to ignore the part of being Tony’s. No matter how hot the man was, I wasn’t anybody’s but my own, thank you very much. “Go get the bananas, Nutella and maple syrup, fellow science child.”

Peter scrambled to follow instructions as I plated the pancakes and cut the bananas into neat little rings to fill the sweet circles with. A tablespoon of Nutella, half a sliced banana, wrap, garnish with powdered sugar and pour maple syrup generously on top. I really didn’t see how this could be difficult but any and all attempts to teach Peter how to recreate my masterpiece always ended up in an absolute mess. I turned around to ask Bucky if he wanted any. The look of a man starved answered all my questions.

“You’re a goddess,” Peter moaned around his mouthful, nose smudged white with the powdered sugar.

“Gross, chew first then talk, you neanderthal,” I scoffed, prepping more batter for the second batch of pancakes. I wasn’t sure if everybody would show up but figured it would be rude to exclude them from the sheer magnificence that were my pancakes. I was just that good.

The music in my ear drowned most of Peter’s disgusting chewing noises, thankfully. My second batch vanished into thin air, inhaled by the two males like the garbage disposals that they were. Peter, in particular, ate an alarming quantity of food and I was surprised how he managed to stay so skinny. His daily eating schedule resembled the Hobbits.

More people appeared, this time acting less surprised regarding me standing at the stove. Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch and her brother, all of them wandered in wearing sleep attire with various amusing prints. Thankfully, they mostly kept quiet or chatted with Peter - I would have definitely grumbled if someone tried to talk to me. As far as my body was concerned it was still the middle of the night.

“PANCAKES,” A booming voice announced and I shuddered at the sheer intensity and devotion contained in that one word. Thor.

“Please use your indoor voice,” I snapped reflectively. My brain caught up with what I just did so I hastily backtracked. “Sorry, I’m a bitch in the mornings.”

The blonde man chuckled, coming over to poke his nose into my flurry of pour-flip-fill sequence. Then, with all the grace and manners of a prince, he dipped one (1) large finger into the jar of Nutella and wandered off with it stuck in his mouth. With this turn of events the Nutella was bound to run out sooner than expected.

I turned around, annoyed confusion in plain sight. “The fuck?.. That’s gross, don’t do that,” Finding his brother (adopted!) sitting next to Thor, wearing a haughty smirk, finger still in his mouth. So Loki turned into his brother to steal Nutella from a jar. I sighed. Nobody even batted an eye. “Your alien germs are in there now, double ew.”

“Alien germs? Where?” Bruce entered the kitchen with a tablet under his arm, wearing Hulk themed pajamas, Captain America in tow. I was honestly on the verge of breaking down into hysterical laughter. Domestic Avengers wasn’t something I’d expected to see or experience, ever, much less be a part of. It took a moment for me to remind myself that they were people, too, and each of them was entitled to their own quirks.

“America, egg-splain,” Peter muttered under his breath, giggling. “Loki stuck his hand in the Nutella jar,” He pointed at said jar. “She got grumpy,” Peter pointed at me. “Don’t make her grumpy, please, I want more pancakes,” And turned his pleading puppy eyes in my direction again.

“This is indentured servitude,” I pointed my spatula at the little shit. “You just had, like, ten.” But I made more batter nonetheless. I must admit it was kind of cool, seeing the earth’s mightiest defenders so relaxed. And Pete being happy, that was just… The best. I don’t know how to explain it. His eternal cheerfulness was highly contagious.

Chuckles filled up the room, the adults chatting and bickering amongst themselves while they patiently waited for their own breakfast.

“Do you need some help?” Bruce approached me after stopping to fetch himself a cup of tea. It smelled strongly of tangy herbs and honey.

“I need more Nutella and bananas,” I admitted, surveying the sheer amount of people I had to feed. I didn’t doubt the Captain and two Asgardians had an appetite to match Peter’s which meant a literal extra set of condiments was required. Thankfully, Bruce fetched them for me, coming to a stop next to me. “Anything else?”

“You know, I tried making these with Peter and he just ended up with powdered sugar and chocolate all over himself,” I mused, noting the way Banner was carefully observing the assembly of a pancake. “You think Doctor seven-phds can manage to add a few toppings to a pancake without causing a disaster?“

Bruce rolled his eyes fondly, bumping me with his hip. "I’m no Clint Barton when it comes to cooking but at least I don’t burn my toast like Steve,” True to his word, his hands made swift motions of filling, wrapping and plating each individual pancake. They were almost as good as mine albeit more messy. I had lots of practice though. We finished off a batch in companionable silence, sounds of the team and my music playing in the background.

I didn’t notice when I started swaying to the rhythm, catching a confused look from Bruce. I brushed back my hair, revealing a wireless headphone in my ear and he chuckled in understanding. “What are you listening to?”

“Right now? Kings of Leon,” I said, leaning towards him so he could hear the chorus “Use Somebody” currently occupying my right ear.

“I like them, too,” He said, his cheek gently touching mine. His hands slowed on the pancake, a soft hum vaguely reminding me of the song’s melody emanating from his throat. “What else do you usually listen to?”

“Mostly heavier stuff, but I have a whole separate playlist dedicated to mid-2000s bops,” I answered. “I’ve heard I’m quite old school when it comes to music.”

“Well, I am an old man, so…” Bruce grinned mischievously. “But my guilty pleasure is Lady Gaga,” He admitted with a laugh.

I laughed, too. The image of his dancing in his lab to Born This Way was too much for my brain and I hung my head, fighting giggles. Bruce bumped me with his hip again, faking a pout. “Okay, okay, that was a fucking hilarious image, you go dude,” I finally powered through my struggle to contain laughter. “My own guilty pleasure would be… Umm… Lana Del Rey, I guess.”

Bruce made a vague noise of confusion. I took a brief break from mixing the batter to dig out my second headphone, presenting it to him and switching to a song. “This is what makes us girls”. Despite the fact I have never stolen a car or had a close female friend, the nostalgia was real. “Carmen” followed after the first song and I silently thanked whatever deity that “You can be the boss” was taken out of Spotify - I don’t think I was prepared to share that kind of information with a lab partner. An older, handsome lab partner. Wait… Where did that come from?

“I like it,” He said after the song ended and my more usual stuff began playing. “It suits you, I think.”

I groaned. “Really? I think it’s edgy,” Hiding away the embarrassment, I passed him a tray of freshly baked pancakes, occupying his immediate attention.

“You’re an old soul,” He gave me a lopsided smile. I saw a very faint blush tinting his cheeks, the kind of blush that had me wondering about the meaning behind his words.

I gave an attempt at a smile in response, the left corner of my mouth barely tilting up. We talked some more about the rock music we shared in our earphones. I had a lot of 80s hair metal and 90s grunge in my playlist. Bruce was not a Curt Cobain man but enjoyed the works of his legacy, Marcy Playground.

A tan hand wormed its way between me and Bruce, snatching a handful of banana slices and disappeared just as swiftly. “Tonyyy,” Bruce groaned, picking up another banana to replace the stolen pieces.

The spatula in my hand became a weapon as I blindly aimed at the target behind my back. A loud “ow” indicated I hit it. When I turned around, Tony was clutching the side of his face, a hurt look in his eyes and cheeks stuffed full of stolen goods. I stared him square in the face, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was shirtless - the arc reactor glowed brightly in the middle of his toned chest. Fuck.

His chest was honestly what I was aiming for. I constantly kept forgetting how short he actually was. There was this one time when Tony had to put his arms around me to steady a piece of tech - he felt huge, hard and enormous around me.

“What’s that for, Princess?” He finally chewed through his food and found his voice.

“For being a Tony,” I retorted. “Stay away from my workspace and wait for your breakfast like everybody else.”

“Hey! This is my kitchen,” He whined immediately, like the adult man that he was. I nearly cried from how adorable his face became, eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t want to wait! And why does he,” Tony’s finger accusingly pointed at Bruce, “Get the bananas?!”

“Because he’s Brucie-bear,” I stuck my nose up in the air when Bruce’s arm wrapped around my waist. “He’s my science father,” I stuck my tongue out at Tony, seeing Bruce’s triumphant smile. Banner used every opportunity to get back at Tony’s incessant sass.

The gleaming in Tony’s eyes should have alarmed me. “But he’s not your science daddy,” Tony’s flirting was accompanied by a salacious eyebrow wiggle and Peter’s screech of “OH MY GOD!"

It took me every ounce of willpower to not flush. It was one of those rare times that I was at a complete loss of words. Thinking on the spot, I gave a very meaningful look to Bruce - thankfully, he got the gist and returned an equally filthy smirk back. Tony gaped.

"Is this how they are in the lab?” The Captain’s quiet voice leaked horrified amusement.

“All.The.Time.” Peter’s resonating groan was followed by Romanoff’s laughter.

We went up to the lab after breakfast. Thankfully Tony stopped his dramatic bitching when I served him my pancakes, scarfing them down much like everybody else. So me and Pete were accompanied by one (1) happy engineer, all three of us tinkering away on a robot that we were supposed to present in our science class in a month. The focus that was required to solder was immense and our usual banter was missing, replaced by an occasional request for a specific tool or a water bottle.

It took a few hours to get the dirty job done even with Tony’s help (technically he wasn’t supposed to but neither me nor Pete had the heart to forbid him from it when the man looked so content and happy soldering away). By the time I uncurled from my spot on the bench, my back was in knots and my dress had oil stains and holes all over it. I immediately went to the nearest water bottle, finishing half of it in seconds, picking up my phone to see if I had any important messages from my mother.

None.

Just a message from Bruce.

I tapped on my phone, idly scrolling through the Instagram app, liking some pictures of people I barely knew and keeping up a general appearance of being very busy. When the ringtone started playing, it took me a whole five seconds to understand it was, in fact, coming from my phone - I certainly wouldn’t put something so… Outrageous as my main tone.

Banner had discovered the power of the internet. You Can Be The Boss played loudly, and it played from my phone and Bruce was calling me. I picked it up, turning around, fighting the incoming laughter. “Yes, Brucie?"

To say that Tony’s and Peter’s faces were scandalised was nothing. The boy’s face was such a deep shade of red, I started worrying about his blood pressure and Tony’s mouth hung open limply, like he was witnessing the second coming of Christ.

"Is Tony sufficiently traumatized?” Judging by the breathless tone of his voice, Banner was resisting a mighty laughing fit of his own.

“Oh, absolutely,” I happily chirped.

“Good, keep it up. Come to my lab before you leave,” Banner snorted and then, realising what he’d done, promptly hung up, the tell-tale beginning of a giggle fit abruptly interrupted by a dial tone.

I put the phone in my bag, gathering the rest of my things with a look somewhere between innocence and indifference. At least, I hoped it was - my mind kept jumping between the engineer’s ridiculously scandalised face and the way his mouth went slack, lips moist and soft and plush. That’s a very dangerous trail.

A very dangerous trail I couldn’t resist exploring in the solitude and privacy of my own bedroom, at home.

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n

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albino-whumpee · 3 years

Text

Blank Space

An idea came to mind so here. Just gonna say I made a playlist for Albus and Sann on spotify. Here. You can go listen to it here.

Taglist! Hope you liked it! Thank you for reading and sticking by for so long! :D

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @crowned-avery @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker

CW// child abuse and domestic violence, children going missing, child neglect, starvation, and useless child services.

“…ller…Mu…”

Someone was calling for him. But there was a ringing on his ears and his head hurt. The cap on his head with the chipped borders, protected him from the annoying white light of the school´s infirmary. He had been sent there during E.P. After he had refused to continue doing sit-ups because of the pain. In the distance, he heard a sigh.

“Serra”

“Don´t call me that” the boy´s lips moved instantly.

The guy with the white lab coat let out a sigh.

“Sorry, Muller. But I can´t do anything if you don´t show me what´s wrong” the boy exhaled, trying to dissimulate how much it pained him to do even that.

“Can´t you feel it above the clothes or something?” the boy tried to negotiate. The shame swallowing whole. The man gave him an exasperated frown as reply. Muller sighed, wetting his lips before putting his hands on the dirty gym shirt. The last tower standing between him and the reality the doctor shouldn´t see. Shouldn´t know. “Please?”

“Muller…” that tone was the signal to drop it. So he braced and lifted it up to the man, straying his eyes to a corner. The man´s eyes turned into brown plates, mouth hanging disgusted at the way his bones looked like they were trying to pop out the thin layer of bruised skin.

“Oh my god…” he exhaled just before he saw the shirt fall. The man opened his mouth a few times. Like a fish trying to breath out of the water. Gasping for just a bit of precious oxygen. But he was just a man who rubbed the side of his head and leaned on to him with those eyes full of pity he didn´t want. “I know you´re no fighter, Muller. You´re the quiet kid with regular notes. Can you tell me where did you really get those?”

He stayed quiet. Locking his jaw as he breathed in.

If he said the truth it would be worse. It would hurt and not only for him. It would be bad and even worse for Annie. Who was in class. Surely talking with her friends and bragging about the cake he had bought for her birthday. Smiling despite the bandages on her wrist.

He had tried before. To tell someone with authority about his father. He had been hopeful. They had patched him up and let him bath and eat a normal meal. But what happened then was that he was sat in a cold room with a chair in the middle. Talked with a woman that simply took notes, before giving him back to the man they had told him he wouldn´t see again. Just to go straight back home and resume what had made him call child services in the first place.

“I got into a fight” He said.

“Tell me the truth”

“I got into a fight”

“We both know-”

“It won´t change anything if I say the truth or not” Muller said with red eyes lit up in rage.

“Serra…”

“Don´t call me that. I got into a fight and lost. That´s the truth” The ringing on his ears went up. “Just…Just do your damn job and give me something for the pain, doc” the boy said scrunching his eyes, passing a hand over them roughly, in hopes it would end the headache. His dad had grabbed the broom on his hands while he cleaned the living room´s floor of the carpet of beer cans. Said the sound woke him up. So he shoved him to the floor and let it rain down until it broke. Then he had lost interest and gone back to sleep. That´s when he could scramble outside. Forgetting his backpack on the way.

The doctor let out a long, long breath that just made Muller grit his teeth. He finally rolled down to a cabinet. Unlocked it and let his fingers navigate the few pill cases there were. Nothing strong. Nothing that would stop the fear and the pain forever. Just a pill of ibuprofen.

Muller wasn´t amused in the slightest, but it would help. That and a bit of ice on his eye. The doctor put a bag of it on his lap. Taking off the cap, he let his head hang. Letting the cool sensation of the ice wash the pain away.

“Lay down and don´t take the pill just yet, ok? Do you like sandwiches, Muller?” He asked digging on his backpack next to the desk. Taking out his wallet.The boy snapped his healthy eye open going red of embarrassment. Of course, you need to eat something before taking pills and that had happened yesterday afternoon. Around seventeen hours ago.

It vaguely reminded him of Don, the doctor’s clinic where appointments were profusely refused to be paid and the man even gave them his own children’s old clothes. The boy had tried to keep the smell when he did laundry, but it inevitably started to smell like his father at some point.

“Y-yes, Thank you…” he muttered before the man turned to the door. Or tried to, before the albino grabbed his wrist. “Doc, please, don´t tell anybody about this” the man gave him a pained look as the ice bag slipped off his face. “I…Albinos bruise easily…it was just a fight I lost. Please…” Muller hoped it was enough. He was aware he was known among his classmates as a troublemaker. Coming with bruises and scratches almost every day kept people at an arm length. He would use that. He could use it and keep people away from the truth. That he didn´t search for trouble because going back home was enough.

Just so she wouldn´t need to do the same.

The man slowly put away the boy´s hand. “It´s absolutely impossible to call someone, Muller? Child services?” he knelt next to him. Taking the ice pack that had slid to his lap and putting it against his swollen eye. “You don´t have anyone you could stay with? Just for a while?”

The boy´s face went dark. Even as it formed an ironic smile.

“Why would I be here if I had a place like that, Doc?”

—-

When he went back to class, patched up and cradling his ribs, changed into his normal wear from the secret backpack on his locker, to enter art class. He saw a few people muttering something when he came inside the classroom before pulling his cap down. Looking at his red sneakers as he navigated to his seat at the front. Then tried to blink into focus the words on the board.

“Free assignment. High contrast. Acrylics. Due next Wednesday. Be sure to return the materials clean and dry. Be creative!”

Muller sighed slowly. They weren’t sure if they really had a teacher or if they were being given classes by a ghost, as they would have the instructions written on the board and had to leave them on the desk that day or the date written. Receiving their scores through email he had to check on the library.

It was odd, but it was also easier to not be disrupted on the only place he could take his cheap mp3, put the earphones to silence the room and just paint. His moment of full relaxation of the week.

After putting the earphones, he had no idea what to paint, however. He stared at it with a pencil on his hand for a long time, drumming it into his jeans, until an idea came to his head, making him smile. He rolled up the sleeves of his oversized sweater and dipped into sketching light lines over the smooth surface. Halfway through an upbeat song, he felt eyes on him. Brown eyes staring into the purple of his forearm. Not shiny from the cream the doctor had rubbed on it to numb out the pain anymore.

Muller rolled back down the sleeve, pulling his eyes away, before he stood up to grab the paint tubes in the other side of the room. A few girls scooting away as they spotted him. Always looking down, averting his sight from other’s curious eyes.

Two hours of work later, the black paint had reigned over the canvas. He had had to squint harder to get the tiniest little details of it right. Using negative space to frame the silhouette of fruit plate, a candlestick with hanging jewels and a chalice. Leaving them completely white.

A blank space in the immense blackness.

Happy with the result and having played the list four times, he accidentally put the brush with black paint over his cheek. Rubbing it away just smudging it. Letting out a groan, he noticed nobody was there anymore. Had left their half assed paintings on the desk or simply left.

He began to pick up the dirty brushes left from his classmates and went to the sink to clean them thoroughly like always. He didn’t need thanks, but it would be easier if they didn’t try to put out the desperation of the exam periods on the poor brush by smashing them open. There always was one that couldn’t be saved. He was about to throw it out, right when he saw the bruise on his forearms. Going darker in long stripes.

He pressed his lips together as he dipped the brush into the white paint and stroked his arm with it. The cool sensation of the sticky material covering his bruised skin, almost melting into his natural color made him do the same to his other arm.

When he finished it was almost as if he hadn’t fled his house after being hit with a broom that morning. It had been so easy to cover them as it was easy to wipe it off in a rush for the next class. Half finishing up and putting the painting on the desk. Trying to run as fast as he could, when he heard someone coming closer.

The woman saw him scramble outside the classroom as she went in through the other door. She just came in to take the paintings to her car to evaluate, but that time she found herself absorbed on the painting. Taking it into her hands, shocked. Noticing to a smile the same little “A. M.” Painted on the far corner, always there on her favorites of the class. She turned to the door, light brown wavy hair jumping swiftly at the motion.

She put the painting on top of the others as she marched back to the parking spot her old Tsuru was on. She would make sure to arrive early next time and offer him that little place on the students exhibition.

She did wake up early, to most of her disgrace and her co worker’s surprise. She did arrive to class with the announcement of the school’s artistic exhibition, spooking her students and earning groans, but she didn’t see a kid with a white ponytail in oversized clothes. Not the next week, or the one after that.

His painting hanged on large boards among other student’s works, regardless. But he never came back to see it

#you came back a stranger #wru #oc #original fiction #hurt comfort #angst #emotional whump #whump #my writing #writing #whumpblr #albus #annie #tw domestic abuse #tw child neglect #tw starvation #tw child services #tw bruises #trauma response

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pinkispoggers · 3 years

Text

2121 | Lance Bishop x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: therapy and suicidal thought mentions, ALSO SMUT

Previous chapter: Questions Lead to Answers

Please Read!! Hi, so I just want to let you know that this will not be the last chapter, there will be more! And please, please, pleaseeeee (if you can) go read the Marvel Aliens Comic. It will help with the understanding of "therapist/shrink Bishop". And plus, it's good. Also Tw for Suicidal thought mentions and Therapy in general. (Also one more thing. The grammar fucking sucks (I think and I know) and none of this makes a shit bit of sense)

Words: 4.8k

enjoy!

When you wake up from Cryosleep, Bishop is nowhere to be found, just like you expected but you couldn't worry about him right now, you had to be on time for the next sleep, back to earth where you heard you would be hooked up with a new therapist like every marine and crew member was. You didn't exactly know why but you rolled with it.

As you were preparing to go to sleep in the second cryo, you heard a familiar voice talking and then walked in, it was Bishop, half-naked of course. He hopped into another sleeping chamber, but before his shut, he had a few last words. "Y/n, I left something in your bag…" and then he shut his lid by himself. "Something in my bag? What?" You whisper as you are being shut in, and there goes your second sleep.

You wake up… in a hospital? You suspected everyone did but you weren’t sure. You groggily sit up, trying to really see where you were. Yep, a hospital room with one nurse sitting in the back of the room, right next to you. "Hello?" You say and the nurse gets startled. "She's awake!!" The nurse called and a bunch of doctors rush in. "Woah- woah, woah, woah, what's going on…" you say tiredly. "Well, you have been in a coma for 2 days and we are going to let you go in 2 days. Is that OK with you?" "Yeah that's fine." You say, not really knowing what's going on.

_______________________________

The 2 days have passed and you are ready to go to your new home, a lovely little one-bedroom apartment. You get in a taxi and you are off. While you are sitting with all your things, it pops in your brain, that "thing" Bishop had given you. You can't get it now, as all your things are in the trunk of the taxi.

You arrive at the new place, feeling a little nervous, but you calm yourself. It's only 2 stories, and it's the only apparent in a few blocks. The only one you could get. You step inside. Yours is on the top floor, but stairs were all good to you. You get up there, and unlock the door.

It's beautiful! It's the perfect apartment to you. You sigh. There's a couch in the middle of the place, up against the wall, and you sit on in, grabbing your stuff and opening one of the bags. You don't know what you are looking for, but you knew you were looking for something foreign. "Aha!" You say as you found it. A chip.

"A chip?" You whisper. You get up, chip in hand and head over to your computer, in your bedroom. You plug the chip in and something pops up.

WEYLAND-YUTANI CORP

BUILDING BETTER WORLDS

A bunch of information came up.

BISHOP-MODEL- 341-B

And other things like relations, hyperdyne information, and others you had no care about. "It's… it's you…" you say softly. He had given you a copy of himself, his system.

You wanted to start crying. You were grateful for this, but you had no way to put this to use. That was the sad part. You leave your computer open and lie down on your bed. It's not the most comfortable, but it's something. You fade off to sleep after almost 30 minutes of pondering.

The next day

You stumble out of bed, staring at the ceiling. You had almost forgot you had your first session of therapy today. To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

You left your apartment, saying goodbye to the only plant you owned, on a tiny windowsill. You called a taxi and waited out front. Every moment that passed, you spent worrying about who you would get, what you would talk about, ya know, stuff like that. The taxi arrived and you headed off, not thinking anything of the trip until you saw a sign that said: WEYLAND-YUTANI CORPS

"Ah fuck" you mutter. You really didn't like the Weyland-yutani corps cause you thought it was really fucked up. What they were doing there behind closed doors, but you held up your end as a loyal Crew Member and Science officer… like Bishop.

You get out of the car and feel the air around you, it's nice. You step into the big building, guards letting you in and escorting you to the office where you would wait for your new therapist. You fill out all of the forms you need and sit and wait.

Almost 30 minutes later someone comes out and guides you to the office and walks away without saying a word. Anxiety was tearing at your chest, you felt like you were being pulled down but then the door opened. A tall, about 5'10 man looks (up/down) at you and a shiver goes down your spine, it's a Bishop model. "Uh-" you stumble on your words. "Is something wrong?" He asks and you shake your head and walk in as he holds the door open for you.

You go to sit down at a chair across from another chair on the other side of a dark oak desk, the big Weyland-Yutani corps logo and a blue-green wallpaper all around the room. The Bishop model comes to sit down across from you and grabs a laptop from a bookshelf in the side of the room. He opens it and jots down a few notes before striking up a conversation.

"Hello miss L/n, how are you doing today?" He said and you shivered in your seat. That beautiful voice. But it wasn't like the model that you meant. "I'm fine" you said blankly, wanting to say more, like you knew him, but you didn’t. "I- I mean I'm good!!" You change your mood so he doesn't suspect anything is wrong.

"Sorry to ask again but, is there something you want to tell me, to talk about.?" He says looking up at you with beautiful eyes. "Shit, uh… well… i- this is kinda hard for me cause I knew another Bishop model. And well…" you didn't want to give all the details because you honestly didn't want anybody knowing about your sexual relationship with the synthetic. "Ah, 2 other people that I've met with have! My model seems to be popular" He smiles.

You smile gently then peer over him to see a picture of some… familiar Marines? And was that… you? "Bishop?" You ask "yes miss L/n?" He says. "Can you tell me about that photo behind you?" You ask and he nods. "Well, that's supposed to be me before my memory chip was taken out, no one knows where it is so I was transferred to the therapy unit, given a new chip, and here I am!" He put his hands in prayer position, just fingers touching.

"Do you- do you see that woman on the side?" "Yes, she kind of looks like you!" He smiles. "That's because it is! Oh Bishop, before you gave me… I mean you lost your chip, we were friends!" You smile back "oh… you are a beautiful woman miss L/n. I wish to get to know you better!" He says and you blush hard. "Same?" You blush.

You begin to talk about the things you would normally have talked about with a random person, but a little more comfortable. He asked you things like any suicidal thoughts, or any thoughts of hurting others or yourself, things like

that. You talked about your friendly relationship with Bishop and the Marines, and how you met Bishop and the others. Overall it was a comforting talk. He made you feel safe.

The end of the meeting finally came and you felt great! You found this very helpful and calming. He taps your shoulder on the way out. "I never caught your name." He says. "Y/n!" You reply. He smiles. "Such a beautiful name" and you blush. You smile at him and walk out. You felt amazing! He shuts the door behind you and you smile and blush as butterflies fill your stomach.

You walk out of the building with no care in the world. You felt free, not locked up in the Sulaco, or in your apartment, the only difference would be you could leave your apartment any time unless you felt unsafe. You sit down at the desk with your laptop and see the same stuff as yesterday. "Shit." You say as you had missed the opportunity to tell him about it.

You stare blankly at the notes, not seeing anything wrong until you scroll down the page. "What?"

⚠️ERROR

CHIP MAY BE DAMAGED

PLEASE BE CAUTIOUS ⚠️

"Hm?" You say as you take out the chip to inspect it and you see a tear on the side of the chip. You pay no attention to it as you need to sleep. You put it down on the table and head to your bed. You lie in your bed, thinking of him, Bishop. All the things you could have talked about, showed him. Maybe next time you can. You finally fade off to sleep.

A week later

"RING RING RING" the alarm sounds. "Oh fuck off" you reply to the ringing in your head. You slowly get up from the bed, knowing what today was. Another meeting with Bishop. That lit you up with joy. You had a great idea… probably not the best, but to you it was great. You went over to the computer, grabbed the chip and put it in your pocket. You got some clothes on and rushed outside, forgetting breakfast, as you were too excited for the day. You reach for your phone to call a Taxi and it's there within minutes.

Inside his office______________

"Hello Y/n!" He starts the conversation, which you knew could go two ways. "Hello Bishop! How are you?" You ask. "Oh i'm just fine! How are you?" He returns. "I'm good! I have something to show you!" You say as you pull the chip out of your pocket. "What could that be? He asks and then he sees it. "Hm? A chip?" He asks "mhm! Yours. It's your missing chip. Look, you're not going to remember this but you gave it to me before going into our second cryo sleep." You say shyly, feeling connected to him, but also feeling difficulty to breathe, not knowing how he is going to react.

"No, sadly I don't remember, but I am going to need that." He says, holding his ground. "Fuck. Bishop, please understand, this was basically a gift… please, please notice that." You cry. "I'm sorry Y/n, please give it here" he laments. Before you could say, or do anything else, you got an idea, and not a good one. "No." You say as you get up and walk out of the room. "Fuck fuck fuck!" You say as you start to speed walk as you see he is right behind you.

You turn a corner but he sees you. You head towards the exit of the back rooms. He follows and you run out of the exit, hiding behind a side wall. You grab your phone and call a Taxi. Within 5 minutes it's here and you bold out from behind the wall, Bishop watching from behind. He just stands there, knowing you are going to try to get away, but he has a task that he needs to fulfill. Getting that chip. You hop in the car and you are off.

A few minutes later you are close to your house but you see a car behind you. You are in the back seat of the taxi, so you can easily turn around but you already knew who it was. It’s been a few more minutes and you knew it was him because why would anyone be following you this long? You reach your apartment and say thank you to the already worried driver and run in before Bishop could get out of his car.

"Shiiiit" you whisper as you run up the stairs, looking out for him through the space between the railing and he's already there, about to come up the stairs. He looks up into your eyes and a chill rolls down your spine. You run into your apartment, making sure he saw which one it was. You leave the door wide open and run into the closet across from your bedroom. Your bedroom door is shut and you hope he thinks you're in there. "Y/n?" He calls and you giggle.

You guessed he heard you because you could hear footsteps coming to the bedroom door. You slowly walk towards the inside of the closet door, plotting how you are going to go through with this. You know about Weyland-yutani synthetics and most of their anatomy. You remembered that there is a slot in his neck and you have to be careful because it could damage him if you are too rough. You plan it out within the next few seconds. You burst out.

You grab hold of his neck and wrap one leg around his torso. You're eying the slot behind his ear, barely covered by his ear. You snatch it out before he has time to react and you grab the other chip from your pocket as the other falls to the ground. You shove it in the slot and just before he can lay a hand on you, his

arms drop to his sides and you jump off of him backing away into the corner of the room as he turns around.

He's seeming to scan the room and then his beautiful eyes lock with yours. "Y/n?" He says and you nod happily. "How? How did you get me? Ho-" he said as you cut him off with a hug "doesn't matter, I missed you Bishop" you hop up to kiss him but he pushes you off. "Bishop?" "Sorry Y/n, something happened, I'm not sure what it is" He walks out of the room to go sit down on the couch in the living room, just leaving you in the closet. "What the fuck?" You whisper to yourself. He did not just do that, you thought.

You walk out of the closet slowly and walk over to the couch to sit next to him, to see if you could make things a little less awkward. "Hey… are you ok?" You ask softly. "No actually. Something in my system is off. I'm trying to figure out what it is at the moment. Sorry for any discomfort that I may have caused back there." He said unsure of himself, but you could tell that he knew what he did back there and that he was sorry. You easily forgave him and tried to sit beside him on the couch.

You try to get closer to him and he let's you. You rest your head on his shoulder and he pushes you off, again.

"Bishop? What's wrong, you weren't like this before." "Again, I'm sorry Y/n something in me is twitchy. I'm trying to resolve the problem right now." He says, staring into space. "Your chip?" You ask, remembering the warning on the computer screen when you plugged it in. "Maybe, do you think it's damaged?" He asks "well I was looking at it yesterday and it had a tear in on the side.

I could try to repair it? You say and he nods. "Can I?" You ask as your hand reaches up to his neck and he nods. But before you could take it out, a large hand hovered over your neck, then softly grabbing it and pulling you closer to him. He kisses you, pulling you in, gripping your hair, or what he could grab. You missed this, you missed this greatly, and you never wanted it to end but it had to, you knew it was a glitch. You reached your hand up to the back of his neck and behind his ear and pulled the chip out.

He went blank, and you pulled away from him, looking at his glassy eyes. You hop up from where you're sitting, making sure he's ok, and you walk to your room. You inspect the tear on the chip and try to push it together but nothing is working. "Fuck" you mutter. You go over to get the glue from the corner of the table. You had a gut feeling you would fuck it up even more, but you only wanted him back and that's what was driving you.

You smeared the glue around the crack and smushed it together with little force but it stayed and your mood lightened, honestly thinking this was gonna work. You ran to the living room, excited for this to work. You hopped on the couch, Indian style in front of him and hugged his lifeless, synthetic body. You reached over and gently plugged the chip into the socket and he awoke.

As he began to blink, he started to gaze around the room until he found you. "Y/n, did it work?" He asks. His first words since you put the chip in. "I think it did!" You shake happily. He leans in for I kiss and you happily kiss him. It doesn't last long but it's something alright!. He gets up from the couch without warning and goes to the kitchen. "What are you doing Bishop?" You ask and he looks back at you and winks. "Hm…" you whisper to yourself and turn on the TV.

A few minutes later

Your favorite show is on and you are comfortable where you are at. Bishop strides into the room with a plate in hand. "Awww… you didn’t have to!" You say and he nods gently. "Well, you have helped me and now I shall give you something back." He says and you blush. He walks over to you to give you your favorite food. "How did you know this was my favorite?" "I have no clue, but I do know how to cook and make some things." He laments and you smile widely as you take the plate and dig in.

As you finish your meal, he is hooked to the TV screen. "It's a good show isn't it?" You laugh as his eyes are wide open, barely

blinking. "Oh my gods Bishop, you are hooked," you say as you lean onto his shoulder. He doesn't stop you this time and you smile. "A very good show" He murmurs. "I know right. I'm obsessed with it." You say and he chuckles. His hand reaches to your leg and gently glides up and down. "Oh Bishop let's move this to the bedroom." You smirk "Oh? Alright," He picks you up in bridal style.

You gasp but you are ok with it. When you reach the bedroom, he lets you down onto the bed slowly. He unbuttons his shirt and throws It aside. You reach to take of your shirt but he's already there, ripping it off with no hesitation. "Bishop- that was one of my favorite shirts," you say, a little angry. "My apologies Y/n'' he says as he kisses you deeply and you kiss him back. "Apology accepted" you smile on his lips. He takes one breast in hand and fondles with it slowly. "Oh…" you moan and he smiles and pushes his tongue against your teeth and you let him in.

Before you could do anything else, he pulls off of you and pulls his pants and boxers down and you see him. All of him. Fully hard, pressed against your leg. He slowly pulls down your pants and underwear in one and he sees all of you. You smile nervously and he nods. "I won't judge, I've seen you before, remember?" He says and you nod. His large hands push your legs apart and pushes you up to the bed frame, holding you up 4 inches above the bed, arms wrapped around your torso so you don't fall.

He starts a trail of kisses up your leg and you shake a little, knowing what he is going to do. He reaches your sex. "Is this ok?" He asks and with a quiet "mhm" his tongue delves into your folds and you let out a gasp. His tongue circles around your clit slowly and your knees shake. One of your hands reaches over to grip his hair and the other, to grip the sheets for support. His slow circles got faster until you couldn’t take it anymore. you're shuddering, and quivering under him.

"Bishop… oh! I'm gonna-" he cuts you off applying the perfect amount of pressure to your clit and you explode with pleasure. "Ah-AH!!" You scream, knowing you have neighbors but you couldn't give a shit right now. Your chest is rising and falling as you are still in his arms, coming down from your high. "B- Bishop… you're too good for me" you laugh and he rises from your heat and smiles.

He sets you down on the bed gently and grips the sides of your waist. His cock is even closer to your pussy than before. You move your hips closer to his stomach and he takes the hint as he lines himself up with your entrance. You moan out for him to continue and as soon as you know it, his tip is in, letting you adjust to his size. "Please" you moan with soft eyes looking into his. With a snap of his hips, his cock is all the way in you, and you scream out his name.

"Are you ok with this?" He asks. "Mhm!" You say, holding back tears. He slowly starts to thrust and he leans down on you and buries his head in your neck. everything that is coming out of his mouth are moans and grunts. Your eyes roll back into your head and your head is chin up. "You're doing- s- so good." You call out. He smiles, leaving a trail of kisses up your neck as one hand makes it to your neck and grips it lightly. He speeds up his pace and the pain quickly turns into pleasure.

You wrap your arms around him as he's pumping in and out of you, your nails digging into his back, feeling around it but also trying to get a grip on him. He sucks on the skin of your neck, leaving a light bruise there, and you moan softly. As he's pounding into you, you notice that the bed frame is wiggling out of place but you couldn't care less. Every thrust is hitting your G Spot and a single tear falls down your face.

One of his hands reaches down to your clit, while the other tightens around your neck slightly, to a comfortable position. "Ah! Bishop!!" You yell out and his thumb speeds up against your clit. Your legs begin to shake, and your hand grips the sheets. He grunts loudly, and his thrusting speeds to an unhuman pace and you are in a heaven on earth. You are moaning

his name, quite loud but you didn’t care if anyone heard.

"D- don't stop" you moan out and he grunts as he pounds harder into you, a finger faster around your clit. His thrusts were getting sloppier and sloppier as he began to grunt even more. With one more thrust came a loud "CRACK" from the back board of the bed frame. You couldn't think straight with all the pleasure coursing through your veins, making you feel ecstasy."f- fuck… the bed frame!" You say bet he shushes you. "Im- i- im-" you try to make out but he whispers in your ear "Please do my love." As he applies more pressure to your clit. And you cum violently around his cock, moaning his name, and scratching his back wildly.

As you are cumming around him, a hot liquid shoots into you and you quiver under him one last time. He falls on top of you, not too harshly, but hard enough to make you squeak. You try your best to push him off of you but he won't budge. He finally notices he might be hurting you and pushes himself up. Right before he could say something, or smile even, you pushed him off of you, and under you. "Y/n?" He smirked and you positioned yourself over his cock, hovering on top of it, looking into his cow eyes.

"I'm not done, Bishop" you sigh and smile, a little self conscious but you knew he wouldn't judge. You moan as you lower yourself onto him and his head flies back onto the pillow and he lets out a low groan. You position yourself so that you are sturdy enough to start moving. You start to move up and down on him and he grabs hips gently. He's helping you move on him and you start to smile, one hand playing with your clit, and the other on his soft chest.

"Oh!" You shout and he grunts, you assume to speed up, so you do. He's moving his hips to the rhythm of your pumps. You flung your head back, do to all the pleasure and body heat emitting off of you and him. Every thrust he made would send you into a galaxy full of stars that you've never seen before. The pace was perfection; The strength was immaculate; The feelings that you felt were like nothing you had ever experienced before, and all you could think about was hoping this moment never ended. He's perfect. He's lifting you up and down his shaft and everything goes numb for a second but you are holding on perfectly.

You look into his eyes as he looks back into them with a gleam in his. You keep a stare on him while he's making you feel like you could explode. You rock your fingers around your clit even faster than before. You are a moaning and panting mess above him, but you held eye contact with him until you couldn't see straight anymore. "Im- MPF," you say as you pulse around his cock, cumming for the last time. As your walls are gripping his length, his legs are slightly convulsing under you. He left you buzzed. You wondered if he could actually feel something, or what it was like for him.

As you are coming down from your high, he's trying his best to sit up. He does and hugs you while you are still on him. You breathe hot against his neck, panting, and slowly letting go of your grip on him. He begins to massage your scalp; it feels amazing. Then without warning, he lifts you off of him and you gasp. He sets you down beside him and you get under the sheets but he just lies there. You snuggle close to him and he stretches one arm around you and you bury your head into his underarm.

"Hey bishop…" you say and he turns his head your way "How did you emit that much heat when I was riding you?" You ask and he chuckles "Ok, so let me make it simple; it's kind of like when a computer heats up because there is too much going on in the system processor, or anything else that would make it slower or heated." He says with a wide smile. "Oh… was I overheating you?! I'm so sorry!" You cry but he laughs again "no, it's not your fault, it's all the energy building together in me." He says and you connect the dots after a second. "Wait, wait, wait, so you're telling me-" you say but he cuts you off with a nod.

"Yes, when I participate in sexual activities, such as intercourse, my system will

create sudden bursts of energy. It does not hurt me but I do feel it. It's… pleasuring, so I can produce a human-like orgasm." He laughs once more. His laugh is so sweet. "Wait, so have you ever Masturbated before?" You ask and he nods "Yep, multiple times. Just to feel something, anything really. It's not a required function, it's just something I do to "feel good,"" He answers. You thought it was quite sad that he only did that to feel, but it also made you glad that he could actually do something like that, to take care of himself, his body, like that.

He slowly sits upright on the bed and you frown "What's wrong?" You ask and he shakes his head. "Nothing, I just don't sleep." He says firmly and you forget he's a synthetic for a split second. "Well, what are you going to do all night?" You ask. "I think I might watch that show and make you something in the morning." He smiles and you yawn "I'd like that very much." You smile back, hugging him one last time before laying back down and heading off to sleep.

Tag list: (I heard you were really interested!) @soggy-enchilada :)

#lance bishop #lance henriksen #bishop aliens #Bishop #bishop x reader #lance bishop x reader #aliens #alien #alien 1979 #sci fi

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infinitegalahad · 3 years

Text

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO

Summary: Eugene was always there to let you that you were beautiful.

Word-Count: 2.3k

Warnings: PLEASE!! READ!!! Trigger warnings for eating disorder, insecurity, and lots of angst. But there is going be lots of fluff and some self care from your’s truly!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Notes: f! reader. uh oh...not not writing a self insert for my bulimia and eugene roe comforting me because my therapist told me to eat more (which totally solves all my problems)? Never! ;DDDD...enjoy!!

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Your stomach growled and twisted as you hunched over the toilet, tears spilling from your eyes as you forcefully threw up the mass amount of food you had just eaten. Every bite felt like you were eating copious amounts of a forbidden fruit. It was your favourite, and you used to love eating (y/f/f) all the time-but now, you would barely keep it down.

Soon after eating, the guilt began to overtake your body. It was hard to ignore it as the warm feeling in your throat began to rise. It felt tingly and you had only one remedy on how to make it better-running to the bathroom and sticking a finger down your throat: watching everything come out as deformed and clunky.

Saliva dropped from your noses as you began to wipe it as tears streamed down your flushed face. The pain wasn’t ending, and you knew another round was set to come.

When you're a little girl, you didn’t think much of your body or how you looked. Little girls, or no child for the matter should have had to worry about what they looked like. But as you got older, the social norms and your body began to change. Other girls around you were thin, while you felt indifferent. You were made fun of not looking “thin”, which triggered a whole set of emotions. And so you took comfort in food, since it was the only thing that never judged you.

And yet food would soon become your enemy. You learned how to befriend, and also stab it in the back. Your relationship with food has formed into a minute where you could tolerate them, and then the other you had to get it out of your system. After eating meals, it became a habit for you to do so. Some days, you could tolerate being around it. Others, you would barely see if for days-if not weeks.

Your thoughts were overtaken by a large gulp in your throat, which resulted in the food you had binged coming out. Tears came from your eyes as you cried. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal and pretty? Why was life so unfair to you?

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the bathroom door creak open and footsteps slowly approach your hunched figure. The pattern of the footsteps was already too familiar to you. Goosebumps went up your spine as you refused to look at him, embarrassed and guilted. Eugene was the last person you wanted to discover your monstrosity.

“Hey…” You managed to say, attempting to sound put together, which was the total opposite of what you currently where.

Eugene sunk down to your level and placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles. Tears began to form at your eyes as you looked down, feeling it come again. Eugene grabbed your hair as you threw up, letting out a pained moan.

“I’m here, you’re okay,” Eugene cooed, letting you finish up. His soft accent was reassuring to you, but your heart rate increased. “Did it happen again?”

“Nothing is happening. I’m fine.” You lied, but knew that it was a shit lie and that Eugene was smart enough to see. He was your boyfriend and knew you better than anybody else did in the world-besides you.

“You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me, cher.”

You slowly move your head up to look at him. Eugene looks tired, and so do you. Your eyes are puffy from crying, cheeks red, lips quivering, goosebumps all over your skin, heavy breathing- a total mess. A pig is what you would refer to yourself as. The outfit you had worn today was too tight forming and showed off the parts of your body that you wanted the world not to see. You looked like a ugly rat in your eyes, the vision of a disfigured body clouding your vision.

Instead of using your words, you break down once again. Eugene is there to watch you, pulling you into him as you sob uncontrollably. You act like a child to its mother, clasping into Eugene for dear life as you stain his white shirt with tears. He doesn’t mind this since he loves you, and you know that. But how could he, someone so beautiful on the inside and out, be with someone like you-a slob? Eugene didn’t see you as any of the things you would describe yourself as, and you still couldn’t understand why he has chosen to stick around for four years (and counting).

“I’m sorry,” Is all you could cough through your tears. Eugene is running his hands up and down back, his fingers occasionally getting tangled in your hair as he straightens it out. He pulls you from his chest as he cups your face, tenderly pushing your loose hair behind your shoulders to get a better view of your pretty face.

Eugene caresses your cheeks, getting a feel of your soft (y/s/c). “No need to be. Jus’ wanna make sure your ok.”

“I’m not. I…” Letting out a frustrated sigh, the waterworks come back into play. Eugene, being the angel he is, stays quiet as his thumbs wipe the tears away. Gathering your words, you continue on, “I never have been. Look at me, I can’t control it. I don’t know what to do. I-“

“Hey, hey, hey. Your heart’s racin’, settle down.” Eugene reassured in a calming voice not to shut you up, but to calm you. Your skin is shaky and sweaty and your heart is banging against your ribcage. Eugene feels the guilt tug at his heart-he hates to see you in such a distressed state. “Let me help you. Here,”

Eugene slides his arms under your armpits and gently helps your up. Leading you to the living room, he places you on the couch as he runs to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water. He drops it out and pats you on the head before running back to the kitchen. You don’t want to drink, but Eugene would have a hissy fit if you didn’t. Reluctantly, you take a sip and swish it in your mouth before slowly gulping it.

Eugene returns a minute later with a cup of tea in his hand. He places in on the counter, putting a coaster under. Looking down, you can smell the sweetness. It’s your favourite; an orange spice with a dab of honey.

“Drink up ‘dat wata’ before you drink the tea. You’ll fell more refreshed after, and the tea will help with the dryness in your throat,” Eugene explained. He admired you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing circles into them. As you drank your water, you forced a smile and put your hand on top of yours.

“Angé, I’m worried ‘bout you,” Eugene confessed, “You look sad, and when you’re sad-I’m sad.”

“Genie, please,” Is all you could mutter to say. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been dealing with this all my life. It’ll go away in a few hours, and I’ll be all smiles again. I promise.”

Eugene still feels guilty. He’s been around sister’s, older and younger to know what your problem is. The vomiting, the excuses, the insecurity, everything was adding up. What had saddened Eugene is that it was a lifelong issue, and it had gone untreated, and had progressively gotten worse.

“I don’t need you to force yourself to be happy. I want to help you ‘cause I love you, ma douce beauté.”

“But-“

Eugene placed a sweet kiss into your hair, “No. You stay ‘ere, docter’s orders. I’ll be right back.”

“Eugene-“

As he began to walk away, he turned around with a smile and pointed fingers. “What did I say?”

You put a finger down in defeat as you laid back, sipping on your tea. Hearing his footsteps fade into the bathroom and the water running, the tension from your shoulders disappeared as the sweet honey in the tea eased the frustration in your body. Doctor's orders, after all.

The sound of the water running in the opposite caused you to look up and see Eugene walking through the door. He came over at sat right beside you with open arms. Gene wasn’t vocal, but he was begging for your consent to hold you and comfort you. Scotting over, you slide into his arms and cuddle into his chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t want you to see that.” You mumbled into his chest, drawing little circles into them.

“No need to,” Eugene responded into your hair, planting a lingering kiss, “I just hate to see you feelin’ like ‘dis. You’re gorgeous-inside and out.”

“Gene-“

“No, ‘sha. You are.”

“But-“

A finger was placed on top your lips, slowly trailing down your chin as it was tilted up to look at Eugene. “You’ve got a great heart, soul, and body, ma petite fleur. Why can’t you see that?”

Growing frustrated, you removed Eugene’s hand and sat up, letting out a sigh. “You see something that I can’t see. I want to see it-but I can’t. I’ve never seen it, and when you say that...it just spins out of control.” Eugene sat next to see you, a hand on your thigh, listening to every word. You continued on, “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful but-you’re amazing for being my boyfriend through all of this. I know it’s not easy but...thank you.”

Eugene was the one who first knew about your eating disorder. When first meeting you, he was starstruck. Not only were you a beautiful person, but a beautiful soul. You were enchanting, and Eugene could listen to you talk for ages. But as time flew on, he became suspicious. Behind your smiles, something was terribly wrong. You would barley touch your food, wear looser clothing, say self deprecating jokes to the point where it seemed serious, and numerous concerning comments and actions. It caused Eugene to worry. He didn’t want to diagnose you officially, but he knew you had an earring disorder. So he did what Eugene knew he did best; comfort and beg you to take of yourself.

Babe Heffron, out of all the people, was the one who walked on you violently puking. He freaked out and ran to Eugene, which caused a whole shit show. From that day on, Eugene could no longer stand around and watch you hurt yourself. He made you get help, whether you liked it or not.

And it was the moment you realized that you were in love with him, and so did he.

Yes, you were getting proper help for your issues, but what was it truly helping? Your eating disorder would have food and bad days-and Eugene was always there. But the more he begged for you to eat, the more you couldn’t. One look at your body and it would trigger those horrid thoughts. You were so hungry, but you could barely eat.

“And The thing is-I’m trying to get better,” You responded as your voice cracked, “I see the therapist, I take the medication, I just…”

Seeing your shakiness, Eugene pulled you close and stroked your hair once again, whispering sweet words into your ear. “ ‘Dat’s all you can do, ‘cherie. I know you’re tryin’, you’re the bravest girl I know. I know I seem a lil’ pushy at times, and I’m sorry,” He paused before continuing, “I just worry bout you, a lot. But I need to know; what can I do that will help you? Beggin’ you to eat ain’t helpin. Montre-moi comment t'aider, ma petite colombe. Je veux enlever toute ta douleur.”

A smile curved on your cheeks as you nuzzled into his cheek, “No judgement?”

Eugene shook his head, eyeing for you to go.

Taking a second to think, you leaned back to look at your Cajun boyfriend with his pale skin and pretty dark hair.

“You’re you, I’m me. This path...is one I go down alone. You can hold my hand, but this path is mine to walk. This is my battle to fight. My recovery will take time and patience. I know I seem ungrateful, but I walk down this road alone. The only person that can fix this is me, and me alone.”

Eugene paid attention to the way your lips moved, seemingly understanding every word. Sure, it wasn't what he wanted. If he has this way, he would grab a magic wand and wish all your problems away, holding you close and protecting you from the evil’s of the world.

But even Eugene knew that the world was cruel, but a beautiful place. He couldn’t protect you from all the bad.

He showed you a subtle smile, “Ok.” He scooted closer to you, grabbing your hand, “On your bad days, can I ask you what you need from me? How can I support you? How can I do anything?”

“Yes, of course you can.” You shook your head. “You know how amazing you are, Eugene?”

“Says the amazing one. You’re so brave. My brave lady.” Eugene planted a kiss on your lips. It was gentle and soft, just like Eugene. He muttered small saying’s through the small gasps of air, such as how beautiful you were.

“Baby, promise me somethin’.”

“Yes, Genie?”

“Don’t lose sight of the importance your love has on every aspect of our life, especially you. Got me?”

“I got you, genie. Always and forever.”

Eugene lead you away from the couch and into your bathroom. Being the gentleman he was, he asked if you wanted any tea or drinks after your bath. The bath had overflown, the water dripping onto the white tiles as the noise of the water splashing into the tub ran. You noticed the candles lit all over the small bathroom and the magnolias he had picked from your garden, lying lazily on the water.

Eugene panicked, but you walked over and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. It was ok, you were okay-he was okay.

You both we’re gonna be okay.

#eugene roe #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #carrie writes #tw eating disorder

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