#ill add more tws on request

[necrocities]

@cell113 realized tumblr wasn't gonna let me dm you bc this is a sideblog, so I figured I'd @ you since the link is one of your reblogs and I am indeed interested if you happen to have any thoughts.

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

I honestly don't know how I feel about reblogging the post directly, but I have a thing I've noticed. I'm gonna dissect it further but.

[pedophilia, sexual assault, systemic harm, physical harm, discomfort.]

the energy this gives off is the same as conservatives celebrating when drag queens are chased out, or medical facilities get bomb threats called in, or places are ACTUALLY set up with bombs in the name of "protecting the children."

it was never about protecting the children. not really. even when these people say it is, and they may genuinely think it is, it's about their fears and discomfort. more often their fears imo.

but in this specific case. it even looks to be about the blind adrenaline about "getting something done"

it really can be difficult to sit down and have a clean discussion about what to do to keep people safe without divulging in discussing your personal feelings. it's natural in itself, but the trouble is with not letting that stop the conversation from coming to an effective conclusion. when the answer is to do something that obtains results similar to in the post, that's just beating on someone weaker to achieve getting those you dislike out of the public eye.

even if they don't/hadn't match(ed) up to the accusation (which I'm not familiar with the animator being spoken of), it's about feeling good. those who celebrate the death of those who remind them of their fears and discomforts are chasing good feelings to escape the bad.

and that's breaking it down simply. no emotions are actually inherently good or bad. they're all complex.

this is why it's important to actually be able to set them aside when the time is appropriate. pushing for actions that cause harm to or the death of others is not effective action.

if you're someone worried about either those with paraphilias you see as inherently harmful, or sexual predators, killing them will not conclusively address your goal. I phrase them this way since there tends to not be a comprehensive difference from what I typically see. I want to make sure I fully address this.

when a group decides that the solution us to kill another group, in our current environment, that often means them hiding who they are for their own safety. you can't count all of a population when they're afraid to identify themselves anyways, so it's inherently ineffective. an unlikely goal.

and here's the thing. causing those with paraphilias to hide doesn't mitigate the harm caused by sexual predators. if someone wants to cause harm, they easily can in the US, where I'm mostly speaking of.

the response I see from people when someone actually is blatant about WANTING to cause harm sexually is to freeze and stare at others, waiting for someone to speak up. nobody does.

note that this is OFTEN what I see occur. not always. there's also times where people take action and can attempt to bring victims to safer places or take action against a perpetrator.

but even then, the actual victims don't always find more benefit in speaking up over risk of losing any safety still left. there's nowhere near enough evidence that speaking up will ACTUALLY bring safety to them.

we have to provide safer environments to lessen these fears. provide for and support those who come to you. ask THEM what they wish you to do. they may not want the world to know, but they told you because they think you'll keep them safe. be it physically or emotionally.

I can't say I have a perfect answer as to how to mitigate harm from predators across the board. it's a million dollar question.

what I can say is that we have to do our best to be gentle and understanding with the victims who DO open up to us. let them decide how public to make it. if they need to be quiet, respect it. you often won't know their situation better than they do. work under the assumption you don't if you aren't sure. but support them nonetheless.

[dreamingonfilm]

✧˖*°࿐ Cramps | D.M

Draco Malfoy x f!reader, fluff

Summary: In which Draco takes care of you whilst you’re on your period.

Request: Yes

w/c: 1.1K

You groaned once more as you rolled over in bed, grabbing hold of your covers and bringing them above your head to try and muffle the sound of your roommates talking. On most days, you’d be right there alongside them, complaining about your most recent potions assignment  and gossipping about who is taking who to the upcoming Yule ball. But today, all you wanted to do was lay in bed, curl up in a ball, and die; any means of escape necessary to help ease the pain that was going on in your uterus.

It was already noon, and you were still in bed. You had no plans on leaving soon, even if it meant sacrificing your weekend trip to Hogsmeade that you had been planning for the past few weeks. Your friends only giving you looks of sympathy, as they started grabbing hold of all their things, getting ready to leave for the day.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” One of the girls asked you, as the group started heading for the door.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you squeak out, “I don’t think it’s going to get any better any time soon. Can you just tell Draco I’m not going?” 

They give you a small nod as they close the door behind them. The room finally silent after a full morning of chatter, at last you could take a nap. 

You bury yourself deeper into your sheets as you try and find a more comfortable position. The warmth of the blankets hugging your body as you found yourself drifting further and further into sleep. Nothing could disturb you now.

Nothing except for Draco that is.

The door flung open, a loud bang ricocheting off the walls, as he rushed over to your side. A worried look plastered on his face as he went to put his palm on your forehead. A look of confusion now taking over once he realized you weren’t actually ill. 

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” he asked, going in to give you a kiss on the cheek, “the girls told me that you were sick so I decided to stay behind as well. But you don’t seem ill.” 

You didn’t know whether to be angry at him for disturbing you, or appreciative of the fact that he cared about your well-being. You sat yourself up from the bed, a cramp hitting you as you did so, causing you to let out a little yelp in pain and clutch your stomach. Draco gave you a look of sympathy as he realized what was wrong.

“I’m not sick Draco,” you let him know, “just on my period.” 

He let out a small hum and gave you a gentle kiss on the nose. It was days like these that you were thankful for the blonde, mean-eyed, Slytherin boy that you were able to call your boyfriend. It was no surprise to you as to why so many people saw Draco as cold, you weren’t a stranger to his rude remarks and cold glances, but thankfully throughout your years at Hogwarts, Draco and you managed to develop a strong and unbreakable bond. One that gave him the confidence to show you this soft side of him, and for this you were grateful.

So, by routine, the boy got up from your side and started heading out the door. 

“I’ll be back with your tea and a pumpkin pastry.” He put his hand to the knob and started stepping out.

“Wait!” You interrupted. He turned around and gave you a confused look. It became habitual for him to get you tea and sweets whenever you were sick or during your period, and usually you were okay with him leaving you for just a few minutes.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, just, for the tea,” you hid a shy smile in midst of his concerned gaze, “just remember to add honey and tw–”

“Two sugarcubes, but not the ones from the first cabinet, the ones hidden behind the ugly flower vase near the window.” He finished your sentence. It was such a small and silly thing to be flustered about, especially since it is something that happens so often, but right now, all you could think about was the fact that he was in your room taking care of you and that he remembered how you like your tea. 

“I’d be a terrible boyfriend if I didn’t remember. I’ll be back soon, my sweet.” He came back up next to you and gave you a kiss, turning around and then finally exiting the room.

—-

Twenty minutes later your boyfriend finally returned. In his hands your tea, some sweets, and one of his sweaters. He gave you a flashy grin as he came to your side, placing the things down on your bedside table. 

“Drink this,” he handed you the tea, “It will make you feel better.” 

You grab hold of the small cup and start drinking it. Groaning and trying to resist the urge to curl up into a fetal position every few moments from the constant cramping. “Thank you Dray, but I don’t think the pain is going to go away soon.” 

The boy took the now empty cup and set it aside. He pushed a stray strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear as he went to lay down next to you. Peppering your face with kisses as you laughed in between, almost forgetting about the ache. “Is it really that bad?” He asked.

“Mhm.” You let out sweetly, bringing yourself close to him to try and capture some of his warmth. He smelt of mint and mahogany, a scent that you knew all too well. The boy grabbed the sweater from your bedside and handed it to you, watching as you put it over your tank top. He grabbed hold of your hands and started rolling up the sleeves.

“Then,” he finally finished rolling the sleeves and gave you a small kiss, “I guess I will stay with you until you feel better.” 

“Even if it’s for the rest of the week?” You asked him, taking notice of how soft his gaze has become. 

He closed the small remaining space between you. Both of your bodies glued together as he hummed your favorite song into your ear. Forgetting about your missed Hogsmeade trip, as well as the Pumpkin Pastries that were now going cold on your bedside, he responded,

“Especially if it means the rest of the week.” 

And you didn’t doubt his words for a second.

✧˖*°࿐

thank you for reading! check out my masterlist here!

[j0kers-light]

hi bae, ik youve been going thru a rough patch i hope(in fact ik) you’ll bounce back harder.🫶🏻

i really wanted to make a request for a long long time now, no pressure write it whenever u feel like it i am just going to drop it here.

for me J has always been a Lana del rey song specially the ultra violence album, he’s shades of blue, he’s ultraviolenec, smts hes even brooklyn baby. Can you write something dark, like real dark where hes possessive, violent, exatcly like he was in TDK. Pulling stunts and dropping hints. maybe he kidnappes the reader or smt like that, he’s acting all crazy and violent but something inside him just makes him slip to a lil caring or loving side every now and then, which eventually leads to some serious SMUT 😏😏

the reader could be his enemy’s daughter(maybe even batman’s daughter lol i am going wild) he tortures her,loves her, takes care of her then tortures her a lil more but make no mistake the reader is a fireball she gives him that lil fight they have in her which makes J even more attached to her.

ik i am just blabbing and making no sense, but i hope ukwim. i am also attaching a link to my fav J edit ever which might give u an outline of what i am trying to say. maybe even add J’s POV.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CqyP1PdveA9/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

okay ill shut up now. feel better love you 🫶🏻

His Lighthouse: Broken Dolls (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Broken Dolls - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

I feel ashamed that you had to wait so long for this request. Forgive me times a thousand @heathisbae !! I still love you and I got carried away with the word count. (10,500 words!!) I promise you that my blood, sweat, and tears went into this request. You should've let me stay in my enclosure. I LOVE DARK requests and I was in a dark and lonely place when I wrote this. The perfect mood for Broken Dolls.

Gather round children it’s time to go over some legal stuff. I usually do not care about trigger warnings. You are responsible for your own reading pleasure, BUT I’ll add a TW: List because yall gone need it. Chaos had a lil bit too much fun writing this one.. 👀😬

TW! Dark!Joker. rape, knife, blood, impact, choking, power play, dacryphilia, spitting, biting kinks, unprotected sex, overstimulation if you squint, degradation, no prep (foreplay is important kids) uhhhh… I’m missing something. 🤔 It’s canon Joker people. He’s a walking trigger warning.

Just be careful if you decide to read this one. I know I went overboard but your mental health is always my top priority. Enjoy or not. It’s entirely up to you. Since its a dark request, I decided not to tag anyone except @heathisbae Read at your own risk 🖤✨

Your father made it virtually impossible for anyone to find out. By fate’s design, you looked nothing like the iconic figure you called “father”, and you were forever grateful for that. 

Your skin complexion, eye, and hair color masked you from the surname that was your birthright. You were the rumored Wayne heiress that Gotham City whispered about. Many far and wide longed to meet you to strengthen their businesses by marriage, whereas others flat out questioned your conception.  

Bruce Wayne had neither confirmed nor denied the mother of any of his children to the world. Not like he ever would. There were only a few secrets Bruce had left in this world: you being the most important one.  

Your life would be in danger if anyone were to find out you were a Wayne or worse, the precious daughter of Batman.  

Many were adopted into the bat family, but you were blood to Bruce. A last-ditch effort he made to secure his family’s legacy; He hired a surrogate.  

Should Batman ever fall in combat, you could pick up the torch and continue the Wayne legacy.  

At an early age you wanted to make your father proud and wisely decided not to follow in his footsteps moonlighting as a vigilante. The eldest boys, Dick and Jason, celebrated for days. They loved their half-sister and supported every decision you make, but they would’ve put their foot down should you have wished to don a bat suit.  

Instead of violence, you dedicated your life to education. Only the best schools with full ride scholarships—your cv was lengthy as it was profound. You spoke multiple foreign languages, held many accreditations issued from all over the globe, and excelled at virtually every extra-curricular skill you could think of.  

You were a hardworking, driven woman with a no-nonsense attitude. That much, you got from your mother. 

You dominated any boardroom you entered, and your famous e/c eyes could make or break contracts with a single look. Now that was all your father’s genes. You gave the phrase, beauty and brains, a living breathing, mascot and Bruce couldn’t be prouder.  

That unfortunately made you a target.  

You shied away from public humanitarian appearances to avoid being recognized as a Wayne. Too many similarities with Bruce would make people curious. Instead, you worked behind a smokescreen and attended the many charities and sponsorship parties as a third-party spectator to oversee your work.  

That way, you got to see your hard work being implemented into the community—far better results than your father’s monetary donations provided.  

You took pride knowing your hard work was creating a change in Gotham City. With the safeguards Bruce and the boys had in place; it would take an actual genius to put the numerous clues together to uncover your identity. You could live in relative peace while still making a difference.  

Sadly, your long forgotten surrogate mother would soon threaten life as you knew it.  

Joker prided himself in being a vigilant man. Nothing, not even the smallest of details, went unnoticed by him and when it came to his best friend Batman, J took extra care to notice every little thing.  

The level of surveillance Joker did on the dark knight bordered on obsession but in a way, he was. Joker strived to be twelve steps ahead of his arch-nemesis in order to maintain his freedom. Being shipped back to Arkham was not an option, so he took information gathering very seriously.  

Joker knew that Batman was Bruce Wayne for years. He was surprised other Gotham villains or just the local law enforcement didn’t put the clues together. It was so obvious. 

There was no point in telling the world Batman’s not so little secret, but when Joker studied the daily life of Bruce Wayne a bit further, now that was a blackmail gold mine. Having a one up on Bats just felt good and especially when Joker discovered the perfect weapon that would break the man once and for all.  

You. 

Tucked away and hidden in plain sight; Y/n Wayne, the perfect tool for Joker’s plans.  

A father’s worst nightmare, seeing their child in distress, Joker looked forward to scaring Bruce with this latest prank. All he had to do was get close enough to steal you away, but Bruce kept you protected twenty-four seven. Smart man and Joker didn’t blame his bestie for being a protective father.  

There were dangerous people out there who would dream of your demise if they knew the truth! 

No, it was much easier to track down your mother and it was mere child’s play to make her talk. Joker thoroughly enjoyed extracting as much information from the woman before her untimely demise.  

He found it was unfair that she was virtually defenseless while you had security tighter than most world leaders. It wasn’t fair in Joker’s book, so he set out to put your safeguards to the test.  

And what achievement it was to outsmart Batman at his own game.  

You should’ve known better. Dad drilled it into your brain time and time again to always be aware of your surroundings.  

There was no such thing as a coincidence. Things happened for a reason, and it was up to you to detect any signs of danger at any given time.  

The same could be said for that fateful night. You were feeling a bit overwhelmed by a journalist at a charity event. She kept asking probing questions—a few hitting too close for comfort about your identity.  

How ironic that you attended every event the rumored Wayne heiress organized and knew so much about her personal affairs. What a coincidence how reporters asked you questions like you were the boss..  

The curious woman would not leave you alone! Her mindless chitchat felt more like an interrogation by the minute. You feared your identity was compromised after one of her questions rang true, but she simply laughed it off and said that if you were indeed a Wayne, “You’d be way prettier.”  

Whatever that meant.  

Perhaps the comment hit hard since your longtime friend/rival, Lana, stole attention from the fund raiser with her scandalous outfit. The brunette reeked of new money and had an ego the size of Metropolis, demanding attention wherever she went.  

Her appearance ruined your event for helping orphaned kids and turned it into a mini Met Gala. You had every right for storming out to scream into the back alley. She never failed at ruining things!  

You were really letting your frustration be heard when a whistle nearby startled you. 

“Listen to the pipes on that one.”  

You quickly stopped screaming once you realized that you weren’t alone. A lone male was smoking in the same alley, and he locked eyes with you once he caught your attention.  

They were an unnatural green that felt familiar however, you couldn’t place where you might’ve seen them before.  

“By all means... don’t let me keep ya from your.. uhh temper tantrum.” He blew a long puff of smoke into the night air.  

At first you were in shock, but that reaction soon turned into irritation. Just who did he think he was talking to you like that? “I am not having a tantrum thank you very much a-and... you can’t smoke here!”  

He simply chuckled while taking another drag. You crossed your arms and tapped your heels on the concrete as you waited for a response. This guy was something else.  

“Hello? Did you hear me?” You added.  

“Yup.” He popped the letter p, “Loud n’ clear. Pretty sure this area is ah... employees only. Ya wouldn’t catch me smokin’ if ya weren’t out here being a brat, hm?”  

He had a point, but you still scoffed at his choice of words. You had the idea of using your title as the boss of this event to get him fired; yet he would surely talk and by morning, Gotham City would know that you’re a Wayne. That was the last thing you wanted; however, it was worth the hassle if it got rid of him.  

For now, all you could do was shake your head at this strange man breaking your employee’s no smoking rule. You personally selected all the staff for the event and your security team performed background checks on everyone to ensure your safety.  

The gentlemen sitting before you did not jog your memory.  

His presence made you uneasy and you took a step back, “Do I know you?”  

He snorted, smoke emerging from his nostrils in comical puffs. “Uh no, but I knoooo~ooow you.” 

The blood in your veins ran cold when the stranger stood up and stepped into the light. “Didn’t your dad tell ya not to talk to strangers Miss Wayne?” He said mockingly.  

You took one look at The Joker’s grotesque scars and turned to run.  

Joker grinned and let you have a running start although you didn’t get far. Your feet got caught in your dress fabric and made his job relatively easy. The two of you tumbled to the ground, Joker landing on your back, but that quickly changed with a sharp elbow to his nose.  

You didn’t stick around to see if your hit landed, you just scrambled to your feet and tried to reach for the back door when a hand grabbing your ankle disrupted your sense of balance. One second you were upright, the next, you were on the ground seeing double vision.  

Joker didn’t think you’d put up much of a fight. His research into you was limited, but he doubted that you had any of the fighting skills your father was notorious for.  

Technically he was right. You had taken up self defense training from Jason and he reported that you sucked at it.  

Despite your lack of skills and concussion, you weren’t going down without a fight. One of your nails scratched Joker’s elongated smile causing it to bleed and suddenly, he had enough of your little games.  

You were making too much noise, and his window of opportunity to kidnap you was running out. If he didn’t move you soon, his plan would be ruined. You just had to make things difficult for him.  

“Alrighty Y/n, time for a little nap. Shhhhh... shh easy now.” Joker dodged your wild punch to his face as he dug a syringe out of his pocket.  

The sight of it made you panic and fight back harder but your scream of help was drowned out by a roar of applause from inside. The auction must’ve ended with a success. Joker pierced your skin and watched the milky white substance disappear into your system.  

It was cold seeping into your veins as you still tried to fight back.  

“Aht ahttttt don’t fight it. Let it happen.” Joker crooned into your ear; not like you could hear him. Your body felt so heavy, you lost function of your limbs so suddenly it was terrifying.  

The Joker’s obnoxious laugh sounded miles away from you. When your eyelashes fluttered closed, Joker knew victory was his.  

The environment that you woke up in was dark and cold.  

Your limbs were still groggy with whatever The Joker had injected you with and after a few test stretches, you still had motion in them. Although it would do you no good. The distinctive sound of metal on metal gave away your current predicament. 

You were chained to something.  

You tried not to panic but you were unable to see anything a few inches in front of you much less see how far the chain allowed you to move. You felt something solid underneath you and concluded that it was some sort of mattress or padding. It was a small comfort while being confined in total darkness.  

Wherever you were, The Joker was to blame, and you weren’t going to let him have this much power over you. You had to find a way out before he started his sick form of entertainment.  

Every citizen of Gotham knew Joker’s M.O. You didn’t want to be tortured to death all for a laugh.  

You waited until your eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings before exploring how much freedom you truly had.  

You felt around in the darkness until your hands bumped into something solid. It was a surface with nothing that could help you escape on it, so you moved on. Minutes felt like hours as you stumbled through the dark, searching for anything useful. Just when you thought you were painting a clear picture of the room in your head, a door opened beside you.  

The blinding light was nothing compared to the searing pain of the door hitting you square in the face or that of the trauma caused by falling to the ground.  

The room was still spinning when your loudmouth got the better of you. 

“What’s your f__king problem?!” You cried out. You feared that your nose was broken, it sure felt like it with the amount of blood you felt gushing out. The Joker didn’t seem phased by the display.  

Instead, he stepped right over you and flicked on a light, blinding you in the process. “Errr let’s see... problems. MY problem.. Social injustice? Global warming…uhhh rush hour traffic?” Joker paused for dramatic effect and slowly turned to face you. You froze, feeling his emerald eyes rake over your form hungrily.  

The unnatural hue seemed to suck you in the longer you stared. “You.” Joker purred. 

“M-Me?” How were you a problem? He abducted you not the other way round! 

You had never crossed paths with the Clown Prince of Crime until tonight. The two of you couldn’t be more worlds apart. You stayed nose deep in your humanitarian work and out of any trouble whereas The Joker was trouble personified.  

The only thing that linked you to Joker was your father, yet you doubted the clown was smart enough to put all the puzzle pieces together to uncover that.  

You prayed that this was all some sort of misunderstanding but judging how The Joker was staring, your hopes began to shatter one by one.  

You instinctively shielded your body from the known threat and in doing so, your skin brushed against unknown material. The formal dress you originally wore for the evening was gone and replaced by a thin t-shirt and baggy men’s pants. The implications were not lost on you. 

You turned to glare at the madman before you. “Who changed my clothes!?” If you were able to blush, you knew you’d be redder than a tomato.  

This man obviously had no respect for women. He simply threw his head back and laughed, “The pleasure is allllllllllll mine.”  

You failed at hiding your full body shudder and even worse, you were unable to silence yourself from talking trash. “Screw you.” You regretted saying it the moment you opened your mouth.  

The room suddenly got quiet. Joker sauntered his way over to your mattress and crouched down so he could be eye level with you. He admired the fire burning within your e/c eyes for a time. Such a strong wielded fire, it was beautiful to behold. If Joker had his way, there would only be smoking embers after he had his fun. He would make sure of it.  

The Joker always had an air of drama about him, and it took center stage as he spoke to you. “Ya wanna.. know something? You should be lucK-yyyy my boys didn’t change ya. They would’ve loved to uh.. what did ya say? Screw you.” 

His choice of words held more meaning as he tried to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. You shut down that idea by chomping at his fingers the second they were within your reach.  

You refused to sit around like some damsel in destress until dad or one of the boys came to rescue you. You would fight back even if it killed you. 

To Joker, your little stunt was comical. You could rebel all you wanted; your antics would never compare to what he had in store for you.  

He simply wagged his paint-stained fingers at you like a scolding parent and insulted you further. “Mm, feisty! I like thaT. But that’s no way to behave while you’re here. No noooo. No. You are a verry special guest, Y/n!” 

Joker walked over to the table that you found earlier. You watched as he pulled out a tripod and took the time to set up a camera in your general direction. Once it was positioned to his liking, he mashed a button—and to your horror, a red light began to blink. 

“Tada! May I present.... Y/n, my lead-ing lady in this uh.. short film of mine! The title you ask? Why it’s, How to Break Batman’s Little Girl 101!”  

Joker’s words were like a sucker punch to your gut. They bounced off the thick walls of the room and echoed back in your eardrum's times a hundred. Your worst nightmare was happening right before your eyes. Not only did someone know who you were, but dad’s long kept secret was out—and his arch-nemesis of all people, knew about it.  

You were blinking a mile a minute and Joker thought your lips flailing like a fish was oh so adorable. Kissable really but he shook that odd thought away.  

He hyped up his performance so much, you weren’t sure if he was addressing you or the camera at this point.  

“Oh come now, Y/n. Don’t act so sur-prised! I knew Bats’ secret for years now. We are friends ya know.... Mmm on second thought. Ya might wanna work on the security Batsy.. I just so happened to waltz in and steal your precious.... and might I add.... beau-ti-ful daughter away easy peasy. Did I mention she’s verrrry beautiful?”  

You snapped out of your panic by Joker’s fingers grazing your cheek. Your response was instinctive by slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”  

Joker wasted no time reacting to your outburst. His gentle touch turned cruel and struck your face hard enough to turn it sideways right into the wall.  

He quickly grabbed ahold of your jaw and yanked you back upright. You were forced to bear witness to his self-inflicted scars, all jagged and swollen up close. It was a permanent reminder just how insane this man truly was. Joker’s nails dug into your cheek and for a split second, you genuinely feared this man.  

His green eyes were almost electric staring into your soul. “You’re mine now and I’ll touch ya however I want. Got thaT?”  

Joker saw the insult queuing up in your brain and squeezed your face tighter in his grasp. You whined but still managed to part your lips to respond. “I’m not yours.” You growled.  

A brief staring contest ensued. Green verses your e/c.  

Joker admired your bravery; you questioned his sanity. He dressed the part of a gentleman with his three-piece suit and coattails (despite the outlandish colors) yet he was so far removed from the title. He was unpredictable in every sense of the word that you weren’t sure if you would survive a moment longer in his presence. 

You were confident that someone would come save you, Joker thought you were too naïve to understand the gravity of your situation. In any case, he would have ample time to extinguish the fire blazing in your eyes before someone started searching for you.  

He was so caught up crafting his mental plans, he didn’t notice the glint in your eye right before you bit his hand.  

It hardly phased him and for your efforts you received a rough shove towards the ground. Thankfully the mattress softened the blow however you still had the strength to glare at The Joker in disdain. 

“Let’s see how long that feisty streak of yours last hmm?” Joker chuckled under his breath and walked over to the door.  

The sudden change in brightness blinded you again but this time you caught a glimpse of a bulky man guarding the door before he and Joker disappeared from sight. 

Finally you were alone with your thoughts. The first thing you did was let out a shaky sigh and glance at the camera still recording you. The Joker didn’t turn it off and you concluded its sole purpose was to monitor you and collect material for the ransom cd your dad would receive. 

You choked back a sob just thinking about dad. He would be beside himself knowing you were abducted. Finding out that his greatest enemy took you would be a low blow—one you hoped he would overcome in order to rescue you. Dick and Jason would steer the detective in the right direction but with every hour that passed, you knew dad would slowly lose his mind. He knew firsthand what Joker was capable of. Your nose throbbed bitterly as a harsh reminder.  

There was nothing stopping the clown from killing you if he simply became bored.  

If only you took dad’s words to heart and abided by his strict security measures. You had snuck away from your detail for a bit of privacy. Now you regretted that dumb decision. You were in Joker’s clutches with no chance of escape, and it was all your fault.  

He chained you to a bedpost like some animal and now that there was light in the room, you could see it in its entirety.  

It was a mini prison right down to the bare necessities. The Joker had every intention of keeping you here, cut off from Gotham City, most likely below ground to disrupt the bat tracker embedded in you since childhood.  

You scratched at your wrist, praying that it miraculously still worked despite the odds. Surely your father, the world’s greatest detective, could locate his daughter with much less. 

It was the only reassurance you had.  

You were getting tired overthinking your predicament. There was nothing you could do at present, so with one last hesitant glance at the video recorder, you tried your best to get comfortable on the mattress and fall asleep. 

That became your routine. Time held no value anymore.  

Was it a few days? Weeks? Longer? How were you to know? You were confined to four concrete walls with no form of contact, save for the ever present blinking red light watching your every move.  

You were forced to use the horrendous facilities they called a bathroom, and meals (which were surprisingly great) were brought to your room like clockwork while you were asleep.  

You began to look forward to the tray that would magically appear on your table. It was the only connection to the outside world you had, and you didn’t take it for granted.  

There was always a special treat on your dinner plate and it never failed at putting a smile on your face regardless of being a prisoner. You tried to keep a grip on your sanity with these small bouts of happiness, but it was obvious what angle Joker was playing at.  

He was using isolation to mentally break you and it was working. 

You thought being locked away all alone would be easy, but the constant silence was unbearable and before long you began to fear when Joker would return.  

Not fearing him specifically, but of what you might do for a sliver of human interaction.  

That visit came unexpectedly. You woke up from a nap sensing a presence inside your room. Sadly, you had embraced having hallucinations during your lengthy stay here, but this one felt a little too real.  

Something didn’t feel right. “H-Hello?”  

The door was still closed with the lights dimmed and there wasn’t a tray of food dropped by, so you glanced near the bathroom area on pure instincts. Nothing was inside the room except that camera that you loathed so much. Its constant flashing light both annoyed and comforted you. At least you weren’t completely alone.  

You sighed to yourself and was about to fall back asleep when you felt something move behind you. Joker’s laugh blended in with your scream as you tried to scramble away.  

You didn’t get far given that Joker dragged you back towards him.  

The last thing you expected after waking up was a man lying in the same bed as you. It was a natural response to freak out, especially since it was The Joker pinning you to the mattress. “YOU SICK F__K! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?”  

You didn’t see the way Joker's eyes glazed over or the way his hands tightened around you before he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Have I lost my… have I.. losT my mind?”   

You tried to pry his hands off you, but Joker was just too strong as he continued to repeat your question over and over. His manic laughter was deafening in your ear. “Have I lost my mind, Y/n? Or have you?”  

You looked up into pools of jade that glinted mockingly down at you. “What are you...?” 

Joker cut you off by directing your gaze to the camera in the room. “Did ya forget I’ve been watching you this entire time doll? Talking to yourself, your uh... hopeless words of affirmation? Oh Dad will come, he’ll come save me! Hang in there, Y/n! You’re so braaaaaave and strong!”’ 

Joker’s imitation of your voice was cringeworthy as he repeated your own words out loud. He mocked your defiant spirit and hopes of escape as if it was a joke. Strangely enough, Joker’s tone softened, and he sounded sincere with his next angle of attack.  

“You just don’t get iT. Daddy’s not coming Y/n. No one knows you’re missing, and nooo one cares either. It’s been a month now doll. If Daddy Bats really cared about his precious daughter, he would’ve rescued you by now don’tcha think?” 

Joker was just messing with you. This was another tactic of his to break you down. He was a master of manipulation and his way with words was just as dangerous as his work with knives. His sole existence was to harm others and yet with your fragile state of mind, a part of you believed him.  

You couldn’t believe that a month had passed with no one trying to find you. Was Joker telling the truth?  

It was too absurd to believe. “N-No....  no dad cares about me. He wouldn't.... he wouldn’t give up..” You whispered. You didn’t know who you were trying to convince here, you or The Joker.  

He must’ve seen the doubt starting to creep in for he pushed you a little further. “Are you sure, Y/n? He’s a uh, busy bat! Fighting crime always comes first, you know that better than anyyyyy one. He’s never had time for you...” Joker smiled, watching you blink back tears.  

He enjoyed every minute of tearing down your defenses one lie at a time.  

He leaned away and bit back a smile when you followed, seeking his contact. You were making this child’s play for him.  

“Bats always sent ya away when you were younger. Never letting you err.. blossom to your fullest. He hid you away because you were a failure to him. A mistake. He never cared about you! But guess whaT?”  

Joker waited until you looked up into his grassy green eyes. Were they always so expressive or was it your imagination that made them sparkle? It was the first source of human contact you had in who knows how long. You felt special to have The Joker staring at you the way he was.  

The air in the room was filled with static energy as you waited for Joker’s next words. You craved validation, acceptance, and attention at a time like this. The Joker had starved you for far too long in isolation.  

His hand raised up and softly caressed the side of your face and you missed how his eyes lingered on your lips longer than intended.  

“I care Y/n.” He chuckled seeing you pout, “I mean iT! I’ve been so ah.. cruel to ya. I should’ve treated you better. You want me to treat ya better doll?” 

Joker leaned forward and kissed both of your cheeks. The contact made you jump and blink up at him in shock. If he couldn’t hear your heart beating wildly, then he was deaf.  

You soaked up his form of human contact like a sponge. How long had you been wasting away in this room?  

Was it really a month like Joker had said? Right as Joker was leaning down to kiss you properly, you had a moment of clarity.  

Who was to blame for you being trapped in here? Why were you here in the first place? The answer was right in front of you, buttering you up with sweet lies and fake affection. Joker was playing you like a fiddle, and you were weak enough to fall for it.  

Not anymore.  

The Joker was the enemy. He was full of lies. Dad would never abandon you so why were so inclined to believe this green haired clown? No amount of isolation, no form of torture, could break you to believe such. You couldn’t give up so easily. You were a Wayne. You were born a fighter.  

Joker’s scarred lips ghosted against yours as you shoved him away. “You are nothing but a liar.”  

You enjoyed his brief moment of shock before his eyes cooled into the hard emeralds that they were. 

And just like that the act was over. One second you were in the comfort of Joker’s arms, the next you were tossed aside like trash and his true colors were revealed.  

He towered over you like a titan as you tried to back away but there was simply nowhere to go. You were at Joker’s mercy, and he spared you none. Each kick to your body made you cry out for Joker to stop but he didn’t listen, rather he laughed and kicked harder.  

You grabbed his ankle and begged him to stop but he jerked free and stomped on your wrist in retaliation. The audible crack was background noise to your earsplitting scream— yet it was all music to Joker’s ears.  

He enjoyed the pain of others and yours was icing on the cake.  

You sounded so pretty, so helpless and filled with anguish. He wanted to hear more. He was obsessed. How far could he push you until you gave under pressure? 

Two knocks on the door stole Joker’s attention and his eyes watched as another person entered the room. Joker knew who it was. Anyone else wouldn’t dare enter while he had his fun.  

Frost took one look at you sobbing on the floor before he focused his attention back on his boss. “We got trouble.”  

Joker rolled his eyes at Frost for interrupting his fun although it was probably for the best. He didn’t want to break you just yet. Slow and steady won the race and he had all he time in the world to do so.  

He might’ve went overboard today judging by how you visibly flinched when he moved in your direction, but he knew you’d bounce back defiant as ever. You had to.   

“You’ll have to uhh, excuse me Y/n. It seems.. I’m needed elsewhere. Don’t. You. Move.” He patted your head and laughed all the way out the door.  

The heavy sound of it closing did little to silence your tears.  

The pain was nothing. You were more upset with yourself for not being stronger. Joker was destroying your fighting spirit in record time and you were powerless to stop him.  

The bruises never faded, and it made sleeping even more difficult on your worn mattress.  

Sure, Joker was considerate enough to cast your broken wrist, but it was a small gesture compared to the verbal and added physical abuse he bestowed upon you daily.  

You became Joker’s personal punching bag and there was no end in sight to your suffering.  

Each time the door opened, you were forced to endure Joker’s twisted mind games or his heavy hand. It didn’t matter that you were a woman, in his eyes you deserved every ounce of pain that he inflicted. And when he finally left you bleeding and holding back tears, your own thoughts tortured you some more. 

Did father really abandon you? How was the world’s greatest detective, renowned for his state-of-the-art technology and gadgets, unable to locate his only daughter?  

The days blended together and all the hope you originally had of being rescued, diminished.  

The Joker enjoyed his daily visits with you but he could tell that it wasn’t enough. Your body was obviously battered yet your mind remained intact.  

You still possessed a thread of hope that made you defiant to the end. You spat in Joker's face whenever he was in range, and you rolled your eyes at his half-hearted jokes about killing you.  

“Then do it.” Your snide remarks often led to more beatings that did little to fulfill Joker’s goal.  

Nothing seemed to be working to ultimately break you, so he decided to try a different angle. 

You woke up to the smell of food in the air. Your stomach growled in want, but the reset of your body hurt too much to move. You debated skipping eating all together in favor of rest however that choice was made for you.  

“Sit up.” 

His voice. The root of all of your problems. You didn’t have the strength to be bothered with him today.  

Joker waited for you to move yet when you remained lying down, he became agitated. “I won’T re-peat myself doll.” 

Your voice cracked with your response. “I can’t. It hurts.” You just wanted to be left alone, to hurt in peace but Joker controlled everything here. As if you had a choice to begin with. 

“Lemme help you.” 

Just hearing the offer gave you the strength to flip over to face him. Surely he was joking. He wanted to help you?! After all he did? Screw the consequences, you had to speak your mind. 

“Help me? You want to help me? Okay then. Go away! Far… far away and leave me alone! Or even better! Let me go!  What’s the point of keeping me here? What do you want from me?!”  

During your speech you began to cry and Joker (for the first time in his life) felt guilty. Your timeless beauty was marred by cuts and bruises that he caused, and he couldn’t justify his actions for creating them.  

Somewhere along the way Joker lost focus of the mission.  

It was all a game— to get at Batman but along the way Joker saw how strong you truly were. Anything he tossed your way, you deflected it with ease. You never faltered, never lost hope. Even now as you lay weak and hungry, your eyes set him ablaze.  

You had won, he just didn’t know at what.  

Joker didn’t know what else to do with this failed experiment of his. One thing was certain, he wasn’t letting you go. There was something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on.  

Your rant fizzled off as you stared at Joker.  

There was an odd gleam in his eyes that you were wary of. He looked lost in thought and when he snapped to, you were shocked to see a genuine smile appear on his lips.  

You feared what his thoughts could lead to.  

To mask your fear, you rolled your eyes at his lack of an answer and reached for your dinner tray. Your groan of pain made Joker wince. Were you really in that much pain?  

Without thinking, he smacked your hand away and stabbed a portion of food with the provided fork. The two of you stared at each other in silence waiting for the other to make a move.  

“I can feed myself.” You grumbled.  

Joker gave you an, ‘are you sure about that’ look and tapped the fork to your lips.  

Just thinking about moving used up too much energy and your muscles begged for you to take him up on the offer. The Joker, Gotham City’s notorious criminal, wanted to feed you dinner; who were you to deny him?  

You begrudgingly opened your mouth while looking away from his smug green eyes.  

The act was so demoralizing, but you kept your cool while chewing in silence and opening your mouth for the next morsel.  

Just to be cheeky, you closed your lips around the fork and refused to let go. Joker didn’t think it was funny but he entertained your bratty behavior nonetheless. He considered stabbing your tongue—but thought against it. There was no need to be violent.  

He was trying a different angle to this whole hostage situation he created. Your defenses were down tonight and he would be a fool not to take advantage of them.  

A quick glance to his right confirmed that the video camera was still recording. Perhaps it was time to send a message to daddy dearest and make some progress.  

You were under the impression that Joker was taking pity on you with his nice guy act. He was patient, feeding you bites of food and not shoving it down your throat like he’d done in the past when you tried starving yourself.  

He was being.. (dare you say it) nice. You should’ve known it was too good to be true.  

He finished feeding you and you thought he was moving onto the slice of cake that was on the tray. You had been eyeing it since Joker uncovered it and you licked your lips thinking about the delectable treat.  

It would have to wait. There was an ominous shift in the air that completely blindsided you.  

Joker didn’t know what came over him. He didn’t have any plans when he entered your room tonight. It was supposed to be a simple food drop—nothing more, but the moment his eyes landed on you curled up on the mattress resting so beautifully, what left of his demented mind, checked out early.  

This past month and a half was filled with harsh lessons and far too many close calls. Batman and his ban of birds did everything in their power to find you and they almost succeeded once or twice. 

Thankfully Joker was smart enough to place you inside a shipping container so you could always be mobile and out of reach. You hardly noticed the frequent moves since he coordinated them during your sleeping hours. It also ensured your meals were always hot and fresh since they could just travel to wherever Joker deemed fit to your standards.  

Everything was planned down to the smallest detail, everything except developing feelings for you.  

Now that was out of Joker’s control.  

Underneath the clown façade, Joker was still a man and you were absolutely stunning with your aristocratic beauty and educated mind.  

Your fierce personality drew him in despite you being a means to an end. You were supposed to be a form of entertainment, a toy until Joker got bored and let Batman have his daughter back but over time, Joker became attached to you in an unhealthy way. 

You were Joker’s property, his special secret hidden from the world to do with as he so pleased.  

He stopped hitting you and allowed you time to heal due to some unknown form of guilt. More and more tasty desserts were included with your meals to make up for his abusive behavior, and unbeknownst to you, Joker watched you sleep every night.  

There was something soothing watching you blissfully unaware of the monster in your bed. He could slit your throat in your sleep but he didn’t. No, that would be a waste.  

Joker found it better to sleep beside you and hold you close. He knew you would freak out if you knew all the liberties that he took while you were asleep.  

From tracing your major arteries with a knife to leaving lipstick marks all over your skin—his feelings for you were disturbing and perfectly justified in his opinion.  

Joker didn’t want the traditional lovey dovey crap most couples shared because he wasn’t normal. He wanted to own, to control, to destroy you completely and then protect the broken pieces that remained. 

There was no concept of love in Joker’s mind and there never would be. Seeing you so docile as he fed you was the breaking point. He got a taste of your submissive side and craved more.  

Why couldn’t you just give in and break already? You brought this upon yourself. You forced Joker to do this. 

He blocked out the sound of your cries and wrestled your arms down to onto the mattress. His only goal was to get you naked and when you began to struggle more, he took matters into his own hands. 

Joker grabbed the army knife from his pocket and sliced your clothes off. One motion caught your skin and you howled as the sharp metal tore it open. Joker saw red bubble to the surface and dove down to lick you clean.  

He didn’t like hearing your voice filled with pain. It distracted him from getting hard and after staring you in the eye, you quickly got the message. Keep quiet or else.  

You tried not to make a sound louder than your whimpers. You didn’t want to provoke Joker’s wrath.  

“Much better. So pretty.” Joker hummed to himself when you were laid bare beneath him although he frowned seeing tears staining your cheeks. “Shhhhhh, hey hey. Look at me... Behave and it won’t hurT.”  

He watched your lip wobble as you remained quiet. Your wrists were being held down by Joker’s hand, leaving you powerless to squirm away and he loved the power scale tipping in his favor. Good. You would always be beneath him.  

He struggled a bit to unzip his fly but managed to get his cock out without letting you go. A shame you were being bratty and didn’t prepare yourself for this. He really had to do everything around here.  

Joker spat on his hand and worked it up and down his cock, groaning to himself at the feeling. His eyes roamed over his doll and admired your beauty mid stoke. You had curves in all the right places that begged to be fondled. He wanted to touch them, but if he let go of your hands, you would act out.  

He could see the fire burning in your eyes. If he gave you an inch, you’d take a mile.  

Yet it was criminal not to mark you up the way he wanted.  

Joker sighed as he lined himself up with your pussy. You panicked and tried moving away from his tip tapping your opening with heavy slaps to no avail.  

“Are ya gonna behave doll?” 

He shifted his weight and applied more pressure on your healing broken wrist when you continued to rebel. The searing pain made you bite your lip and cease struggling altogether.  

“Now. Are you gonna be a errr.. good doll for me n’ stay realllllllly still?” Joker sang.  

Your lip curled back, ready to cuss him out, instead a loud scream took escaped your lips as Joker began to force his way inside your dry entrance.  

It burned. It ached. He was tearing you apart and you shook your head in agony as it continued without end. You didn’t think about the consequences, you bucked your hips away from the unwanted invasion.  

You knew you were in trouble the moment Joker said your name in warning. 

“What. Did. I just say doll? Dumb b___h.” 

Joker let go of your wrists to hold your hips instead. Once he found purchase, he began thrusting in and out of your pussy. His pleasure was your torment. Your silent tears spurred him on and he swatted your hands away that tried to push him off.  

Nothing would stop him after he got a taste of you. He was an idiot for not taking you sooner. 

“Haha, you’re grippin’ me soooooo tight doll. Ease up for me!” Joker groaned louder to drown out your pathetic pleas. He would not slow down; you were too perfect to stop now.  

He noticed the camera in the corner and got an idea. “Are ya enjoying yourself, doll? Why don’tcha give the ah.. a-audience a good show? Go on. Tell him how you feel.”   

You forgot all about the recorder in the room! Your sharp gasp was music to his ears. You tried to turn away, but Joker would have none of that. He grabbed your jaw and forcibly turned your face towards the lens. Your tears were a paid actor for his production.  

“Ya see that Bats? ThaT, oh f__k... t-that is the face of your failure. She’s all mine and I’m gonna take ahaha.. verrry good care of her. All mine.. d__n it..��� Joker choked back a moan and licked the tears from your face as he sped up his thrusts. If he kept this up, he would cum before the fun really started. Although he shouldn’t have to be the only one getting off.  

With a smug grin, he snaked a hand down to rub messy circles on your clit.  

The response was instantaneous. You threw your head back with a mewl on your tongue. He felt the result of his adventurous touch the same time you let out an unexpected moan. “Oh? Ya like that doll?” He mocked.  

He laughed at you trying to deny deny deny but your body was speaking on your behalf.  

You tightened around him and he felt the slick begin to coat his cock. He arched an eyebrow at the sudden turn of events. You really were enjoying this. He wondered... 

He stroked your clit faster and was rewarded by another sweet moan gracing his ears. His doll made the prettiest sounds under distress. He could see the confusion dancing across your features.  

“Ohhhhhh Bats! You have a naughty.. naughty girl! Enjoying my touch after begging me to stop just minutes ago? Ah.. mmm, it's okay doll! M-Moan louder. Enjoy ittt, I know I am. Mm, you feel better the uh wetter you become.” 

Joker stopped mid thrust when you clenched down unexpectedly on him. Were you trying to crush him to death?  

He wondered if you could feel him throbbing in your pussy. Your tiny fists were beating on his clothed chest but there was no point in pretending.  

You were enjoying yourself and if he was correct to assume, you were getting close. You just needed a little push and Joker had just the thing.  

“I knew you were secretly a whore. Only dirty sluts get off on being used like a toy. Hehe. It's a-always the quiet ones f__k!” Joker chuckled to himself followed by a shuddering groan. You were very close. He had to act fast.  

Without warning he bit down hard on your shoulder. You moaned out before covering your mouth with your hand. It was too late; Joker already knew what kind of woman you were. He bit harder and rejoiced as blood bubbled up to the surface to coat his lips. Finally, he was marking you up the way you deserved.  

He sped up his thrusts, laughing at the sloppy sound of wet skin on skin in the room. His cock happily slid in and out of your pussy now that you were horny.  

You were shaking your head in denial even as your legs shivered on Joker’s shoulders. He licked the fresh bite mark clean before whispering in your ear.  

“Let go Y/n. Shatter into a thousand tiny lit-tle pieces— and when you snap them back together, I'll be righT here to ruin you all over again. And again. And again. I will always break you just the way you need. The way you deserve. So go on. Do itttt. B-Break for me.... For us.”  

Joker thought you were beautiful before, seeing you admit defeat and cum was a vision from heaven.  

Your cheeks darkened in color as your lips parted like the sea to allow carnal bliss to fall from its depths. You twitched uncontrollably in Joker’s hold, and he was more than happy to pull you in close as you fell apart on his cock.  

You rode the wave of pleasure and swept Joker along with the force. He was caught off guard by your tightening cunt and came with your name a whisper on his lips.  

No drug could ever compare to the high you gave him.  

He saw new sounds and heard colors that he couldn’t name. His breath came in short pants as he came down. Words failed him, his head was still too foggy to process the world around him.  

What could one say after an orgasm that intense? He just came inside your quivering hole, and he already wanted to do it again.   

He couldn’t find the energy to even think coherently! All he could do was flop down next to you and sort out his senses in the right categories.  

His paint-stained hands wandered aimlessly and began playing with the ends of your hair, much to your horror. While Joker floated in post-coital bliss, you fell back to your harsh reality.  

You let this monster have sex with you and even worse, you enjoyed it.  

You felt dirty, cheap, a literal failure. You allowed The Joker to touch you, to make you feel good. You came from his ministrations. God, you could feel him softening inside your used pussy. Your inner thighs felt sticky, and you shuddered realizing that The Joker came inside you. The room began to spin as you spiraled into a panic attack.  

What would dad think when he found out? What if you became pregnant with this monster’s child. You felt sick to your stomach and feeling Joker playing with your hair, as if nothing was wrong, tipped you over the edge.  

“Don’t touch me!” You wailed. Your shout made Joker come to and instinctively hold you closer to his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on inside your head, but you didn’t have to be so loud. 

“Doll... I ahh uh, already touched ya.” He rubbed up and down your back despite you flinching from his touch.  

You made eye contact with the video recorder in the corner and Joker curiously followed your gaze. Oh. That would explain your sour mood. You were smart and deduced what he would do with the footage. “Listen Y/n..” 

A knock at the door interrupted Joker’s sentence. He didn’t move an inch as he granted whomever on the other side entry.  

You tried maintaining your modesty but it was a useless effort. You were bare as the day you were born in Joker’s arms and he wasn’t letting you go. 

Joker’s henchman walked in and struck a conversation with the clown, pretended as if you didn’t exist. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die you were so embarrassed.  

You didn’t notice what was going on until Joker snapped his fingers in your face. “Huh?” 

Joker rolled his eyes at your lack of awareness. He sat up straight and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I said..... take a bath while I’m gone. I uh.. took your chain off for ya.”  

He pointed at your bare ankle that was in fact free of the heavy metal. You twisted your leg, feeling the freedom granted to you.  

You wanted to thank Joker but he was already walking out the door with his henchman. And just like that, you were alone. The silence was unbearable as the full reality hit you full force.  

You didn’t fight back. Why did you give in so easily? Why did you miss the warmth of Joker body against yours? Just what was wrong with you for craving his touch?  

Screw taking a bath, you ran straight towards the toilet to empty your stomach.  

Sleep did not come to you when your mind was abuzz with doubt. 

You paced the room while biting your nails and reliving your time spent with Joker over and over. You were beyond restless thinking about your uncertain future. What would Joker do now that he got what he wanted? 

Would you be killed off and discarded like trash? Would your family be given the chance to mourn your passing? Would they even know what became of you? There were too many questions and not enough answers. One thing was for certain, you refused to sit around and wait for your fate.  

For some unknown reason Joker removed your chain. It was a sliver of hope that you planned on exploiting.  

The heavy metal door loomed in the distance. Before it served as a reminder of how trapped you were; now it was a shining beacon of hope. Either coincidental or simply a miracle, Joker also took the elusive camera with him. Nothing was stopping you from running, and nothing was holding you back.  

Joker had slashed your clothes to ribbons but the woolen blanket on the mattress was still intact for you to wrap around your body.  

It left you feeling far too exposed, but you had no other option available. Once covered, you padded over to the door and turned the handle to freedom. 

The hallway was dark and ominous before you.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to venture into the unknown. You looked at the barren cell you were forced to inhabit and back into the dark void, weighing the odds.  

You took the first step, then another, and another until you were walking with haste—desperately searching for an exit.  

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as you stumbled across a door with light poking out underneath the frame. It was the only lead you had so far towards an exit. You slowly pushed it open and regretted it instantly.  

The room full of men all stopped their various conversations to stare you caught like a deer in headlights in the doorway. You quite literally walked into a den of wolves.  

“Well well. Look what we have here!” One guy catcalled.  

They all leered at your body poorly wrapped up in a blanket. It was obvious your purpose here at their hideout. Free entertainment.  

The door slammed shut behind you, trapping you again, only this time in far more hostile conditions. You berated yourself for leaving the safety of your cell if this was the cost. You could barely defend yourself against Joker. There were too many men here to even consider escaping.  

You backtracked right into a broad chest and the male laughed at you already cowering in fear.  

He roughly pulled your hair while another pair of hands ripped your blanket away to knead your breasts. Whistles and laughter broke out in the room at the sight. “The Boss been keepin’ this from us!? Look! She’s freshly used too!”  

You screamed as fingers stabbed their way into your cunt and explored inside. Their hands weren't like Jokers. There was no pleasure to be gained here and unlike before, your body did not warm up to the stimuli.  

You were in pain as they groped and fondled your body and despite Joker being the origin to all your problems, you cried out his name to save you. 

Someone yanked your hair again before shattering all your hopes with a handful of words. “Ya think the boss is gonna help you? You are nuthin’ to him! Just a warm hole for him to use. And now it's our turn.” 

You closed your eyes to block out the pain. The last of your fighting spirit faded away as a lone tear rolled down your cheek. 

Frost and Joker were waking back towards your room when they heard the loud commotion coming from the common room.  

It was well in the night and nothing of note should’ve excited the men to be so rowdy. Most of them should’ve been on patrols in the first place.  

Frost merely shrugged his shoulders and followed his Boss.  

Curiosity killed the cat, but Joker was not so simple minded. He knew something was wrong. He wasn't religious by any means, but he prayed that this didn’t involve you.  

He barged into the common room ready to scold his men when his worst fears came to light.  

Joker didn’t think, he simply acted until nothing else stood in his way to get to you. Frost could handle the aftermath of his rage—you were the only constant in Joker’s mind the second he opened the door and saw you in distress.  

He left you just a few hours prior, safe and accounted for in your room. He left to prepare better accommodations to reflect your newfound status in his life. Joker took great care of his possessions, and you deserved better than being tucked away in some dingy shipping container. You didn’t belong on the floor like a cheap whore. No, you were worthy to be displayed, dressed up like the doll Joker wanted you to be. 

 Never did he imagine he would return to this. 

He fought his way to your side and fell to his knees by your side. His green eyes were wide with an unknown emotion as they took in your battered form.  

He didn’t want to touch and accidentally hurt you any further yet something about the thousand-yard stare in your eyes told him you were no longer here to feel anything at all. Joker knew how ruthless his men were, but this was barbaric.  

He didn’t regret killing them after what they done. His only remorse was not making them suffer more before death.  

Joker gathered you up in his arms and tried shaking you back into focus. “Y/n? Y/n, c'mon doll! Look at me.. s-say something!?” He pleaded.  

You mumbled something inaudible and curled up into a ball.  

Rage. Guilt and surprisingly shame. Joker’s mind was wild with this flood of new emotions.  

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a single cell of compassion in his body, yet the sight of his newest toy utterly broken (and not of his own doing) had him feeling remorseful.  

“I... I don’T.. I...” Joker gathered his thoughts with a deep inhale.  

Frost watched the intimate scene while kicking over a body. It was a bloody mess in here; however, that had to wait.  

Frost could tell his Boss needed some assistance. “I’ll run a bath.” Frost said offhandedly.  

It would point Joker in the right direction at least rather than rocking you back and forth on the floor to no avail. The comment snapped Joker out of his musing.  

Emerald eyes roamed over your sleeping form. “Bath. Y-Yeah uh she needs a uh.. bath.” 

He nodded to himself and slowly rose to his feet to carry you out of the common room. He passed up your old room in favor of his own that had more privacy. Not like it would matter. You had yet to speak.  

This was not the outcome Joker had planned. Even after he washed you clean and tucked you into bed— he sat by your side contemplating his next move.  

You were no longer the shiny doll he wanted on his shelf. His own men had ruined you. They took away your feisty demeanor and all conscience thought from you that made this game fun.  

Joker tried to get you to speak, to react to anything, but you remained stagnant, blinking owlishly at the wall until sleep finally took you.  Nothing of the defiant Y/n that Joker had grown to like remained.  

You left him with no other alternative. He got what he wanted, and it was time to move on.  

In three more days, it would mark your two-month long disappearance. Bruce would be a liar if he said he didn’t count the days if not the minutes that you were gone.  

He blamed himself for your capture and the boys tried their hardest to steer him in the right direction and not spiral into depression. Bruce loved all his children, but you were his by blood. You held a special place in Bruce’s heart and as such, he spent every waking second trying to find you. 

No expenses were spared, and any lead (no matter how small) were investigated. Joker was smart, but Bruce was smarter. He would find you.  

Dick and Tim investigated a possible lead and discovered where you were originally being held. You still had a sweet tooth and your favorite bakery recognized your custom order being placed and tipped off Wayne Enterprises about the person who picked it up. 

Unfortunately, The Joker moved you before Batman could arrive at the location but now they knew you were still alive. It strengthened their hopes in finding you safe and sound.  

Numerous rescue attempts were thwarted in the following weeks, but they never gave up. There would be another lead, they would have another chance to save you.  

All hope was not lost. 

Their patience was rewarded the day the Batcomputer picked up a signal on your tracker. It was finally online for the first time in months. Everyone scrambled to assemble at the pinned location. Bruce was ready for a fight and mentally prepared himself to do anything necessary to get you back.  

None of the boys were prepared to arrive at the back of your office building. It seemed to be a mistake, it had to be. Was Joker sending them on a wild goose chase? Bruce scanned the area but there was only one faint heat signature detected. His nerves were on edge, already assuming the worst.  

Bruce’s heart stopped beating when he saw a body lying in the delivery drop-off/ loading area. He didn’t wait for the others to secure the area. His father instincts were in overdrive as he rushed to your side, calling out your name.  

You were unresponsive with only a tattered blanket covering your shivering form. That’s when Bruce saw the bruises painting your body and the cast still present on your wrist. He didn’t want to believe that this battered woman was his spit-fire daughter.  

You were a shell of your former self when Bruce finally roused you awake. The fire that once blazed intently within your e/c eyes was gone and it was evident what The Joker did to you.  

“Bruce, look.” Dick said as he picked up something near your feet.  

Scattered around your body was a deck of playing cards. On the joker card a note was written in red.  

You can have her back Bats; I don’t like broken dolls. 

[shooting-love-arrows]

Your aesthetic is just so beautiful dear!! i love how you organize everything, how pretty you write !!

Can i request maybe a yan! mortician? I don't really know the word in english waaa (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠)

kisses. mwah mwah take care of yourself ok?? 🎐

Dear Anon,

Thank you, dear. It’s really nice of you to say. Your english is very good so no need to worry. Sending you lots of kisses and thank you for the patience.  P.S I’m reminding myself to drink water regularly :)

@shooting-love-arrows

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍! 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 x reader [gender not mentioned/specified/implied] SYNOPSIS: General headcanons/some concerning habits of his. Tw. yandere walking red flag, creepy yandere, intentional poisoning, delusion, attachment issues (?), nudity but not nsfw. 

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Who treats you like a corpse rather than a living, breathing, human being. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 is so used to being surrounded by dead that sometimes he forgets you are in fact alive. It shows during those moments when he starts doing most simple things for you, like dressing you up before you wake up; when you stay still for to long, he’ll carry you around bridal style because he forgets that you can move on your own or forgets to prepare you a portion of food, because corpses don’t eat. Those moments scares you the most, because you’re never sure if he snaps out of it.

“Hm…? Oh dear…” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 muttered and tilted his head when he realized he’s been carrying you around the funeral parlor for a while. “It seems like I have done that again.” Not that he was complaining. After all, he’s got to hold you in his arms.

Who regularly poisons you. He adds small doses of the earlier crushed pills he originally brought in the pharmacy to your food. Just enough to make you sick, weak and confused. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 feels his heart squeezing painfully everytime time he sees you in this state but at the same time, he believes that what he's doing is for a good cause. You must stay in the house. It’s not safe in the stress! Not to mention those people who could harm you (or worse, take you away from him!). This just can’t and won’t happen. He’d rather be the one to bring harm to you and nurse you back to health. Your place is here, in your shared house, with him.

“It seems like you are ill again, sweetling. Lay down, you need rest.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 proceeds to tuck you in and kiss your sweaty forehead lovingly. “Let me take care of you, sweetling. I will make everything better.” He whispered into your skin decorated with glistening pearls of sweat, smiling softly. 

Who always has to carry a piece of you on him. He just can’t part with you. Be it before or after you’re officially his. He has a silver locket with a coil of your hair in it, a ribbon that fell out of your outfit tied around his wrist or a photo of you (especially the one he took of you). Those are few examples but anything that belongs to you he’ll gladly take to carry around. This way you can always be with him.

“What beautiful hair you have, sweetling.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 laughed in glee. He was in his funeral parole, staring at the coil of your hair he secretly snipped off when you were asleep. It was placed neatly in a pure silver locker he always carried around his neck. “The prettiest.”

Who has a habit of photographing your nude body. It depends on his mood whether it’ll turn sexual or not, but what doesn’t change is that he’s always in awe of your body. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 saw many naked bodies, more or less beautiful. But you…you are perfect in every way. He feels like it’s his obligation to document that beauty. So usually, you’ll find yourself lying in the coffin panelled with silk, naked as the day you were born. And so the photo session continues. And when he’s done…? 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 will lean over you, looming like a grim reaper ready to whisk you away into the underworld, and whisper sweet nothings, prizes and compliments to you while his eyes admire every inch of your body.

“Keep still, sweetling.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 adjusted his trusty camera so it’ll focus on you.  You kept shivering from the cold that keeps nipping at your skin. Not even the silk you were laying upon helped to ease your worries and shame for you had no choice but to be vulnerable and exposed towards your captor.  “Perfect. Close your eyes and stay in this position.”

Who kisses the spot on your chest where your heart beats. It happens first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. When you’re laying in bed, in your nightclothes, he’ll lower the front of yours and gently place a kiss above your heart. He imagines that it’s his way of pouring his undying love straight into your heart. It always sends a pleasurable shiver down his spine.

“I was born to love you…” kiss “I am breathing for you…” kiss “I am living for you…” kiss 

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[thewulf]

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I've got this itch for some hurt/comfort with Simon Ghost Riley and the reader from TF 141. Reader's this badass sniper, always on top of her game. But one day she wakes up feeling under the weather. She decides to push through training, but things take a turn when she starts feeling faint during drills after Price gives her shit for not training hard... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh this was challenging but so much fun to right. Please let me know your thoughts below :) Got a little carried away with this one!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 7.7k +

TW: Heat Stroke, Flu, Illness, general COD warnings.

Four years ago, you were a part of a special training assignment with the American Navy, deployed in a remote and sweltering military base off the coast of Africa. It was here in the middle of the grueling drills and relentless heat that you caught the eye of Captain John Price. Your prowess with a rifle was unmistakable. Every target set before you fell without fail. But what truly set you apart was your demeanor: you kept your head down, focused intensely on the task at hand, never boasting about your undeniable skills.

Captain Price who was always on the lookout for exceptional talent to add to Task Force 141, saw in you a rare combination of humility and sharpshooting expertise. Recognizing your potential he pulled some strings, navigated through the complexities of the American Military bureaucracy, and somehow successfully recruited you into the prestigious ranks of TF 141. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One that would challenge your resilience and skill more than any previous assignment.

Joining TF 141 wasn't just a promotion. It was being welcomed into a family of elite soldiers. While Soap and Gaz took an immediate liking to you, appreciating your wit and marksmanship, Ghost was initially more reserved. His trust was not easily won. It had to be earned on the battlefield not just through training exercises back at base.

Your defining moment came during a perilous mission in the frozen expanses of Russia within your first year with the 141. The mission had quickly gone sideways. Ghost found himself in the deadly crosshairs of an enemy sniper. With the situation deteriorating rapidly and no clear shot available to him your actions in those critical seconds would forever change the dynamics of your relationship with Ghost. From a concealed position you took out the opposing sniper with a single, precise shot, saving Ghost’s life.

This act erased any last reservations Ghost might have held. From then on he saw you not just as another sharpshooter but as an indispensable member of the team, his team. Your ability to make life-saving decisions under intense pressure proved your strength. Not just in terms of physical prowess but in intellectual and tactical acumen as well.

Since then you have become an integral part of TF 141's operations. Your journey from a promising recruit noticed by Captain Price to a pivotal player in some of the team’s most critical missions has been defined by relentless dedication and the deep trust you've earned from some of the military's toughest warriors.

The shrill beep of the alarm slices through the stillness of your room dragging you from the shallow waters of restless sleep into the harsh reality of dawn. For a moment as you blink against the dim light filtering through the barracks' curtains, the room spins slightly—a disorienting dance that forces you to close your eyes again.

You’ve always been the type who never gets sick. The one who breezes through the cold season unscathed while others succumb around you. Your robust health has been a point of pride, a badge of reliability in TF 141. But this morning something is different, and you know it immediately.

Your body aches profoundly, each muscle groaning with a weariness that feels bone-deep, and your head pounds with the relentless rhythm of a dull, throbbing drum. Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down your throat. An unfortunate wave of nausea rolls through you as you sit up. It has to be the flu, you think grimly, recognizing the unmistakable and unforgiving symptoms.

Despite the clear signs of illness, the thought of calling in sick doesn’t even cross your mind. It’s not just about pride. There’s also a deep-seated belief that you can handle anything, a belief that has carried you through countless challenges.

With a heavy, determined sigh, you push yourself off the bed. Standing unsteadily for a moment, you use the wall to keep yourself upright. Today is not the day to show weakness, not the day to break your perfect record of health. You decide to power through. To dress and join your team for the morning drills under the rising sun. The thought of letting them down by your absence is more daunting than the physical discomfort threatening to overwhelm you.As you gear up, each movement measured and more deliberate than usual, you steel yourself for the day ahead. Today, you'll prove—not just to your team, but to yourself—that not even the flu can keep you from standing alongside your comrades.

Stepping out into the cool, pre-dawn air, you allow yourself a moment to feel the chill against your fevered skin. It’s oddly refreshing, a natural contrast to the unnatural heat of your illness. It’s bound to be short lived though as the sun’s rays already feel warm on your skin. The training field is a short walk away and with each step you rehearse the day’s routine in your mind. A mantra against the physical discomfort.

As the briefing wraps up and the team begins to disperse to their respective training stations you feel the weight of Ghost’s gaze right on you. Despite the heaviness of your limbs and the fog in your brain, this unspoken solidarity from your teammates, especially Ghost, gives you a sliver of strength.

With each step towards the day’s first drill your resolve hardens. You're not just fighting the flu; you're fighting to maintain the trust and respect you’ve earned. Today, the battlefield is here, within yourself, and you're determined to prove your mettle. You are keenly aware of being one of the few women in the unit and the additional scrutiny that comes with it. It's crucial that you show no weakness even as your body wages its quiet rebellion. Your head pounds with a relentless ache. Your limbs are heavy. And every breath feels like an effort. Despite these symptoms screaming flu, you've chosen silence—no complaints, no excuses.

When you arrive at the training field the usual bustle of activity sharply contrasts with your internal struggle. Everyone is focused on what needs to be done, their attention solely on performance. As Captain Price begins the morning briefing his voice sounds like a distant echo in your ears drowned out by the pounding in your head. The day's challenges loom large, testing your limits before you've even started.

As you make your way to the lineup, the crisp morning air begins to turn warm, almost uncomfortable warm already. Soap falls into step beside you, his familiar grin lighting up his face as he launches into the light-hearted banter that typically marks your mornings together.

“Morning! Ready to outshoot us all again today?” Soap teases before giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, expecting your usual lively retort.

You manage only a weak smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and nod faintly. The flu has buried your usual quick wit under a heavy weight of fatigue and discomfort. It takes all your effort just to keep standing without revealing how much you're struggling.

Soap’s smile quickly falters at your lack of reply, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You okay, lass?” he asks. His tone shifting to something more serious.

You nod again, swallowing hard against the surge of nausea. “Yeah, just tired,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're careful not to reveal the full extent of your ailment, not here, not in front of your team.

From a short distance away Ghost's intense gaze follows the exchange. Though his presence is more subdued, and his demeanor reserved, his attention to detail remains sharp. You can feel his concern even without words. His posture is alert, his body tensed as if ready to act at a moment's notice.

Ghost offers no overt gestures of worry; he doesn't need to. The slight tightening of his stance is a silent signal of his readiness to intervene. His eyes, just visible through the slits of his mask, never wander, tracking your every move with a vigilance that speaks volumes. You know he's always watching out for his team, and today, his protective focus is unmistakably fixed on you.

"Alright, let's warm up! Start with sprints!" Captain Price commands. His voice cuts through the morning air, decisive and clear. You line up with your teammates, the grass cool and slightly damp under your boots. The whistle pierces the calm, and you propel yourself forward. Each step is a battle, your muscles protesting every movement. Yet you push through the fatigue and dizziness.

After sprints the drills shift to push-ups. Down on the warm, wet grass you feel the earth against your palms, stabilizing yet unforgiving. You count each repetition, your muscles burning and a thin layer of sweat forming, which only seems to heighten the chills that intermittently rack your body.

Sit-ups come next and with each crunch a wave of nausea threatens your composure. The world tilts slightly with each lift, blurring at the edges. Captain Price’s footsteps approach. His presence looming. "Let’s see that strength, Y/N! Don’t slack now!" he urges. The encouragement is meant to inspire but it feels like a heavy mantle on your already burdened shoulders.

“Yes sir.” You manage to get out between crunches.

As you struggle through each exercise you can't ignore the hot flashes followed by chills, the hallmark of flu symptoms. Each movement is more taxing than the last and the temptation to give in and rest grows stronger. However, your determination doesn't waver. You are here to prove yourself, to demonstrate that neither flu nor fatigue can break your resolve. You need to showcase the unwavering strength of not just a skilled sniper, but a resilient soldier.

As the whistle blows, Captain Price directs everyone to break into their respective teams for more specialized, team-based drills. You find yourself grouped with Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Your usual teammates and three of the unit's most competent operatives. Your heart sinks a bit. Their proficiency and teamwork are unmatched and under normal circumstances you would feel invigorated by the challenge. Today, however, it feels like an uphill battle.

"Alright, team," Gaz announces with a nod, "we’re up for the relay sprints and tactical positioning exercises. We need to be sharp and synchronized. Let's show these assholes how it's done."

You nod silently, attempting to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. Soap claps you on the shoulder giving you a reassuring smile, likely mistaking your subdued quietness for focused determination rather than the fatigue that’s slowly overtaking you.

The drills begin with relay sprints. You watch as Soap takes off with his usual speed. His figure swiftly cutting through the warming afternoon air. Gaz follows, moving with practiced ease. Then it’s your turn. As you push off your legs feel as though they are wading through molasses, your usually sharp agility significantly dulled by the flu’s tenacious grip. Each step feels heavier than the last as your breathing becomes ragged and unsteady.

Compounding your discomfort, the gear you're clad in feels unbearably hot against your skin. The layers that are usually a second nature in your fieldwork now seem like a furnace, trapping in every ounce of body heat. Your temperature rises not just from the fever, but also from the exhaustive exertion and the insulated heat from your tactical vest. Sweat beads on your forehead, not entirely from the physical activity but also from the early signs of heat exhaustion—your body’s desperate attempt to cool down under the layers.

Despite feeling increasingly overheated and nearly overwhelmed, you hide your discomfort well. Your face remains stoic, betraying none of the battle raging within your body against the heat and illness. To an outsider you might just appear intensely focused. But beneath the surface you're fighting a much tougher battle, trying to keep pace while your body screams for relief.

Ghost, from his vantage point, watches closely. His sharp eyes catch the subtle signs that others might miss—the slight falter in your step, the way you're breathing a little too hard after your sprint. His gaze intensifies with concern etched across his face as he monitors your every move, aware that something isn’t right but waiting for you to signal if you need assistance.

When you pass the baton to Ghost your hand trembles slightly. He catches it and for a brief moment your eyes meet. There's a flash of concern across his usually impassive face, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. He nods at you before taking off, his movements fluid and precise, yet his mind clearly not fully on the drill. His glance back at you is quick, discreet, checking to ensure you’re still on your feet.

As the exercises continue with the tactical positioning drills, the demands increase. This part of the training requires quick movements and even quicker thinking as each team member needs to cover different angles and work together seamlessly. You position yourself to cover Ghost’s flank, aiming to maintain your usual high standards. However, the world begins to tilt alarmingly. Your vision swims and the ground beneath you feels as if it’s shifting forcing you to steady yourself against a nearby tree.

Ghost, now at a slight distance, turns sharply in response to your stagger. His eyes narrow, not with disapproval, but with intensified concern. He makes a subtle move to close the distance between you, his instincts as a protector kicking in. Yet, he stops himself, respecting your pride and your ability to signal if you need help. He positions himself strategically, so he’s close enough to intervene quickly if needed. His body tensed and ready to act.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gaz’s voice suddenly cuts through your fog of discomfort, and you realize you’ve attracted more attention than you intended.

You straighten up quickly, nodding more sharply than necessary. “Just lost my footing for a second,” you lie. Managing a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Ghost, who has now subtly shifted his position to provide you with both physical and moral support, keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer. He doesn’t call you out on your obvious discomfort. Instead, he gives you a nod, an unspoken communication between you two. It’s his way of saying he’s there, just in case, without putting you on the spot in front of the others.

His presence helps you gather your strength to continue. Despite the unease churning inside you knowing that Ghost is watching over you with such attentiveness gives you a small, but significant boost of confidence. You focus on the drills, pushing through the nausea and instability, bolstered by the knowledge that help is just a few steps away if you truly need it.

You begin to feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you more intensely than before. Each breath feels like you're inhaling fire. And the tactical gear, usually a familiar weight, now feels like an unbearable burden. Trapping too much heat against your body. More and more sweat beads on your forehead mixing with the slight dizziness that refuses to fade. The discomfort is escalating and despite your best efforts to mask it the heat is becoming unmanageable.

Ghost was still maintaining a discreet distance, watches you with sharp, observant eyes. He senses the subtle changes in your posture and the slight grimace that you can't quite hide each time you move. His concern deepens but he waits for a sign from you, respecting your pride and your position within the team.

As the drills continue you find it increasingly difficult to focus. The world seems to shimmer with heat around the edges and you feel a wave of nausea stronger than before. Recognizing that you might be in more trouble than you initially thought you catch Ghost's gaze across the field. It's a silent plea for understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that you do need his help after all.

Ghost responds immediately, his instincts as your LT kicking into high gear. He crosses the distance between you with a few quick strides. His approach discreet yet filled with purpose. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly. His voice low enough that only you can hear. It’s clear he’s prepared to step in, to offer whatever support you need without drawing unwanted attention to your struggle.

Your attempt to respond is less than reassuring. "Heat… too, it’s not the... can't—why can’t the air?" you mumble. Your words tangling into an unintelligible mess, a clear indicator that you are far from alright.

The expression behind Ghost's mask tightens, his protective instincts flaring as he assesses your condition with even greater alarm. Your face is flushed from more than just the heat. It's clear you're struggling significantly under the weight of your gear and the relentless sun.

At that moment Captain Price's voice cuts sharply through the air, his tone laced with the urgency of the drill. "Let's move it, Ghost, Y/N!" he commands from a distance, seemingly oblivious to the severity of your distress. His focus is on the continuity and discipline of the training. Unaware that one of his own is teetering on the edge of collapse.

Ghost’s response is swift and decisive. Without drawing attention to the situation, he steadies you with one arm, his other hand signaling subtly to Captain Price that something isn’t right. "Give us a moment, sir," he calls back firmly, his tone respectful yet insistent enough to convey the seriousness of the issue without alarming the entire unit.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense. "We need to get you out of the sun," he states quietly, directing you towards a shaded area nearby. His hand remains supportively on your back, guiding but not pushing. His presence a steady force as you stagger slightly under your own weight.

Once under the shade, Ghost helps you remove your tactical vest, easing the burden of the heat trapped against your body. The cooler air hits your skin, offering a momentary relief that you hadn't realized you needed so desperately. But as your body starts to cool an unexpected shiver runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. It feels as though the temperature has plummeted, though the day remains swelteringly hot.

"Ghost," you stutter out between shivers, "it's so cold." Your teeth chatter, a stark contrast to the sweat that still beads on your forehead. The sudden coldness is disorienting, confusing, and you clutch at your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

"Simon," you manage to say between shivers. His actual name slipping out amidst the confusion—an unusual slip that does not escape his notice. Ghost, or Simon as you now call him, recognizes the gravity of the situation immediately. The usual protocols and formalities fade into the background as he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

You blink rapidly trying to focus as your surroundings become a blur. The ground seems to tilt beneath you for a second time and a wave of darkness edges your vision. Simon watches you closely with an arm around your waist in case. His trained eyes catching every sign of your deteriorating condition.

“Hang on,” he urges. His voice steady but the concern is palpable. Before he can offer more reassurance your knees buckle beneath you. Your body finally giving way to the overwhelming symptoms. And suddenly the world goes dark in your eyes.

Simon catches you before you hit the ground his arms securing you firmly yet gently. “Medic!” he shouts. The urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air without a hint of hesitation. Captain Price who had been overseeing the drills from a short distance, turns sharply at the sound. His quick assessment of the situation bringing him running.

Price approaches just as Simon adjusts his hold on you, bringing your body to the ground so you were laying.  “What happened?” Price asks. His voice a mix of command and concern.

“Heat stroke, I think—she’s out,” Simon responds curtly. His gaze fixed on you as he checks your pulse and looks for any sign of recovery. Your brief moments of unconsciousness are fleeting but each second is critical.

As you flutter your eyes open, confusion mingles with the need to communicate. “Simon... it’s all spinning,” you murmur with your voice overly weak. The use of his first name again in such a vulnerable state only cements his resolve to get you the help you need immediately.

As Simon kneels beside you he carefully supports your head, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asks again. His voice a mix of firmness and concern trying to assess the level of your disorientation.

You blink slowly but the effort to focus feeling monumental. Your gaze drifts over the familiar yet strangely distant figures of Soap and Gaz before returning to Simon. “We're... in Bosnia?” you murmur hesitantly, the name of a recent mission location slipping out, completely unrelated to your current setting on the training field.

Simon’s expression tightens, a flicker of worry crossing his features as he realizes the depth of your confusion. He exchanges a quick, grave look with Captain Price who has been monitoring the situation closely. The incorrect answer confirms the seriousness of your condition, prompting Price to look around, expecting the medics to be approaching swiftly.

However, as Simon scans the area his frustration mounts. The medics, possibly delayed or misinformed about the severity of the situation, are nowhere in sight. Realizing that waiting even a moment longer could jeopardize your well-being he makes a decisive call.

"Not fast enough," Simon mutters under his breath. His protective instincts overriding protocol. Without waiting for the medics to arrive he gently but firmly scoops you up in his arms. His movements are swift and determined as he begins to rush you towards the infirmary. His concern for your immediate safety taking precedence over everything else.

Captain Price, upon seeing Simon’s sudden movement, understands the gravity of the decision and immediately acts. "Clear the way!” he shouts, commanding the attention of everyone on the field.

As Simon carries you, the world around you becomes a blur of motion and sound, but his steady grip provides a reassuring constant. "Hang on love, we're almost there. Just stay with me," he urges. His voice a soothing presence amid the confusion.

With each step Simon takes your sense of time and space dims, the urgency of his stride and the rhythm of his heartbeat blending into the background noise of the base. As you approach the infirmary you see figures moving quickly to prepare for your arrival.

Simon’s pace doesn’t falter until he reaches the medical staff waiting at the infirmary doors. As he gently hands you over to their care his gaze lingers on yours filled with concern and an unspoken promise of unwavering support, no matter the circumstances.

In the cool, sterile environment of the infirmary, Ghost stands a vigilant watch beside your bed. His gaze locked onto your face as the medical team works rapidly to stabilize your condition. The typical stoic mask he wears has fallen away, replaced by an expression etched with deep concern. Each furrow of his brow and tight set of his jaw reveals more than usual concern. It speaks of a profound fear that he rarely allows others to see.

As the medical staff step back momentarily to fetch additional supplies, Ghost's role shifts subtly but significantly. He transforms from a mere observer into an active caretaker, a role those in TF 141 rarely witness. He picks up a damp cloth and gently wipes your forehead. His touch delicate and caring, betraying the roughness expected from his formidable field presence.

"Hey, love, can you hear me?" he murmurs. His voice soft and laden with a tenderness that surprises even him. The word 'love' slips out naturally. A term of endearment that he hasn't used lightly before. This slip, this small but significant deviation from his usual manner, is a clear sign of his deepening feelings. Feelings he might not have fully acknowledged until this very moment.

You blink slowly, responding to the sound of his voice. Ghost watches for any sign of recognition, any indication that you understand his presence. As you meet his gaze, there's a moment of relief that passes over his features. But it's quickly replaced by renewed worry as he continues to monitor your responses.

He is utterly overwhelmed. A feeling that's foreign to him. He's faced countless dangers without flinching but the sight of you so vulnerable stirs a fear in him that battlefield threats never have. He realizes perhaps more clearly than ever how deeply his feelings for you run. It's not just friendship or brotherly protection. It's something much deeper, more personal.

He stays close, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The contact is meant to comfort you but it also grounds him, reminding him that you're still here, still fighting. "Stay with me, okay?" he adds quietly, almost pleadingly. This is not just a command from a superior officer; it's a personal plea from someone who cares deeply.

Ghost's presence in the infirmary becomes a constant, a guardian ensuring that no detail is overlooked, no necessary treatment delayed. His commitment to your recovery is unwavering, his actions driven by a mix of professional duty and personal concern that has become inseparable. The realization that his feelings for you have evolved adds a new weight to every decision, every action he takes on your behalf.

A few hours later, the haze of confusion and illness that enveloped your mind begins to clear slightly. As your eyes flutter open, the stark white lights of the infirmary momentarily blind you, and the unfamiliar sounds of medical equipment beep rhythmically in the background. Disoriented, you try to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment.

Sitting beside your bed, Ghost notices the subtle signs of consciousness returning. He leans forward, his presence reassuring amidst the clinical surroundings. "Hey, you're awake," he says gently. His voice a soothing contrast to the beeping machines. "Take it easy. You gave us quite a scare out there."

As fragments of memory return—the unbearable heat of the training field, your faltering steps, the feeling of collapse—your face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. The realization that you succumbed in front of your team, particularly because of a flu exacerbating the situation, is hard to accept.

Ghost reads the embarrassment in your expression and quickly addresses it. "Listen, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re dealing with the flu on top of everything else. Heat stroke is serious and it’s a lot for anyone to handle. Especially when you’re already under the weather," he reassures you earnestly.

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch grounding. "Even the toughest soldiers need to take a step back sometimes. It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re human, that you have limits. It doesn't diminish your strength," he continues in your silence. His voice imbued with empathy and understanding.

Feeling the sincerity in his words helps ease some of your discomfort. "Thanks, Simon," you manage to whisper, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. The informal use of his first name in such a vulnerable moment speaks volumes about the trust and comfort you’ve grown to have in him.

Simon offers a gentle smile. His eyes softening. "You’re always pushing yourself to be the best and that’s certainly admirable. But sometimes, taking care of yourself is part of being the best. Don’t blame yourself for this. I certainly don’t blame you for trying," he adds, affirming his support in you.

"Sleep now. Don’t worry about the rest for now. We’re all here for you," he suggests while still holding your hand, his steady presence a comforting constant as you drift back towards unconsciousness. His commitment to your well-being is clear not just as a teammate but as someone who cares deeply on a personal level.

As you close your eyes, comforted by his words and presence, you feel a profound sense of relief. Simon's quiet vigil lets you know that no matter what, you’re not alone. Periodically, he checks the IV line and adjusts the cold packs making sure to monitor your recovery closely.. Each time you stir or grimace in discomfort, he’s there, adjusting your position or simply offering a reassuring touch.

As the hours pass Ghost remains by your side, a silent sentinel. Even as you're asleep he doesn’t leave, instead pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed. Occasionally, other members of the team peek in offering quiet words of support. But it's clear Ghost has appointed himself your primary guardian during this vulnerable time.

This unexpected role of caretaker reveals a depth to Ghost that goes beyond his tactical prowess and battlefield grit. In the infirmary, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background, his softer, caring nature comes to the forefront, showcasing a profound sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards his team. Especially towards you.

As the day's tension slowly ebbs away in the quiet of the infirmary, you sleep deeply, recovering from the ordeal. Ghost sits steadfast by your side. His focus is solely on you. His usually impassive gaze softened by concern. The door creaks open softly as Soap and Gaz walk in. Both their faces splitting into mischievous grins when they see Ghost in his uncharacteristic role as your caretaker.

“Never thought I’d see Ghost play the doting nurse,” Soap chuckles quietly. Trying to keep his voice low to avoid disturbing you. “What’s next? Will you be knitting her a sweater?”

Gaz joins in leaning against the door frame with a smirk playing on his lips, “Maybe a nice scarf to go with it, mate. Make sure it matches her eyes, yeah?” His comment draws a soft laugh from Soap. Their teasing lightening the atmosphere of the infirmary.

Their laughter, though subdued, is a needed release after the day’s stress. It’s filled with genuine affection and respect for both you and Ghost. They understand the stakes of such moments and the bonds they forge.

Ghost, not missing a beat, shoots them a pointed look. His response is tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Keep it up, and you'll be on the next solo recon mission in the coldest part of Siberia," he replies. His tone firm but with a faint smirk betraying his amusement.

In the background Captain Price stands silently in the doorway. His observant eyes taking in the scene. He watches Ghost’s interactions with a discerning eye, noting the subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. Price is no stranger to the complexities of personal dynamics within his team. And he senses the potential implications of Ghost’s deepening concern for you. There’s a hint of understanding in his gaze, mixed with caution, as he ponders the path this could lead down.

As the laughter begins to die down Price steps forward, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. He gives Soap and Gaz a brief nod, a clear signal that it’s time for them to leave. The moment for jokes has passed and it's time to restore some decorum. As they exit Soap can’t resist throwing one final teasing comment over his shoulder. “Take good care of her, Ghost!” he calls out as his tone is playful yet sincere.

Price remains a moment longer his gaze lingering on Ghost and then shifting to you, asleep and unaware of the exchange. There’s a quiet gravity to his demeanor, an unspoken reminder of his leadership role and his understanding of the deeper currents flowing beneath the surface of his team’s interactions.

Captain Price approaches Ghost, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. He pauses beside him, his voice low and measured to ensure privacy. "Simon," he begins. His tone serious but not without warmth, "you're handling this well and it's clear you care deeply. Just remember, maintaining balance is crucial." His eyes, steady and understanding, meet Ghost's, acknowledging the depth of his concern while gently reminding him of his broader responsibilities.

"Don't lose focus. We rely on you—not just for her, but for the whole team," Price continues, his voice softening slightly to underscore his supportive intent.

Ghost nods, the gravity of Price's words resonating with him. "Understood, sir," he responds, his tone reflecting both respect for Price's leadership and an acute awareness of the weight on his shoulders.

Price places a hand on Ghost's shoulder, a gesture that speaks of his care and mutual respect. "Keep me posted. If there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask," he adds. Emphasizing his role not just as a commander but as a supporter willing to provide resources rather than merely oversee.

"Will do, sir," Ghost says, his voice steady as he watches Price prepare to leave the infirmary. Price gives him one last affirming nod—an acknowledgment of Ghost's commitment and his understanding of the emotional complexities involved. As Price walks away his demeanor reflects as a leader who trusts his team to handle personal challenges with professionalism yet remains ready to step in if the balance shifts too far.

Once alone again Ghost turns back to you, his expression softening as he adjusts the blanket around you and checks the monitors to ensure everything is as it should be. In these quiet moments his demeanor reveals the profound loyalty and protectiveness he feels. Traits that define him just as much as his combat skills.

The room is quiet, the only sounds are the gentle beeping of the medical equipment and your steady breathing. In this sanctuary away from the battlefield's chaos, Ghost’s vigilance continues, a promise of unwavering support.

In the dimly lit infirmary, the soft beeps of the monitor blend with the quiet sounds of the night. Ghost sits closely by your side, his eyes tracing over your peaceful face, contrasting sharply with the day’s earlier tension. The room is calm now, the urgency has passed, but the weight of the day lingers in the air heavy with unspoken words.

Leaning closer Ghost watches you for a long moment. His expression a mix of concern and something softer, more vulnerable. He knows you can’t hear him, but the words slip out quietly anyway. A whisper meant only for you. "You’re killing me here, love," he murmurs. The hint of a smile touching his lips despite the worry in his eyes. It’s a rare admission. One that reveals just how deeply he’s been affected by your condition.

He sighs lightly, the sound almost lost in the quiet of the room. Adjusting the blanket around you one last time to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, he finally leans back in his chair. His gaze remains fixed on you a moment longer as a guardian watching over you.

Realizing the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion settling into his bones Ghost decides he wasn’t willing to leave you yet. Not when you’d hardly regained consciousness and certainly not when you might need him upon waking. He shifts to make himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside your bed, his body angled to keep you in sight.

As he settles in, his eyes slowly close but it’s clear he’s not completely given over to sleep. Even in rest, he’s alert, ready to wake at the slightest change in your condition. In this quiet vigil, his presence is both a promise and a protection. A steadfast commitment to be there for you when you finally do wake.

The night deepens around the two of you. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant in the otherwise still room. Ghost, in his chair, remains by your side. A figure in the dim light embodying both the warrior and the caretaker in this rare moment of peace.

As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds of the infirmary your eyes flutter open greeting the new day with a mix of confusion and sluggish awareness. Initially, your vision is blurry, the shapes and colors of the room melding into indistinct forms. Gradually though your eyes adjust, and the figure slumped in the chair beside your bed comes into sharper focus. Ghost, asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the wall.

The sight of him so uncharacteristically vulnerable in sleep immediately warms your heart. Despite the residual fog clouding your mind a soft smile plays on your lips. "Ghost," you call out, your voice hoarse but audible enough to stir him from his light slumber.

At the sound of your voice Ghost snaps awake, instantly alert. He straightens up before rubbing the stiffness from his neck as he turns to face you. His eyes that displayed a flicker of reprieve meet yours. "Hey, you're awake," he says. His voice rough with sleep but tinged with unmistakable relief. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," you reply. Your voice was still weak but filled with gratitude. "You stayed all night?"

Ghost nods, a soft expression crossing his face as he hears your voice. This subtle return to normalcy reassures him. Warming his heart and letting him know you must be feeling a bit better to revert to familiar terms. "Yes, I stayed. Didn’t want you to wake up alone here," he replies. His tone gentle. Ghost’s eyes scan your face for signs of pain or lingering confusion, ever the vigilant guardian.

"Thanks, Ghost. Really," you manage to say feeling comforted not only by his presence but also by the return to a semblance of normalcy. His constant vigilance, even as you slept, speaks volumes of his dedication not just to his duty but to you personally.

Ghost offers a slight smile, one that reaches his eyes this time. "No need to thank me. Just glad to see you're doing better," he says. He pulls a chair closer to your bed, settling in. "Need anything? Water? More pain meds?" he asks. Ready to assist with whatever you might need.

The simple exchange is light yet filled with unspoken care helps to ease the remaining tension from the ordeal. As Ghost continues to make sure you’re comfortable, you feel a profound sense of safety and appreciation for the bond that has only deepened through this experience. The conversation drifts into a comfortable silence filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. In this quiet early morning hour, a new layer of your relationship has been gently unfolded. Revealing the depth of connection that hardship and vulnerability can foster.

As the morning sun continues to pour a warm glow into the infirmary the doctor finishes his examination and nods with satisfaction. "You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I think you're ready to be discharged today. Just remember to take it easy for the next few days," he advises as he begins to pack away his equipment.

Ghost's reaction is almost immediate, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure she’s ready?" he questions the doctor. His voice carrying a protective edge that makes you smile inwardly. His overt protectiveness is both touching and reassuring. A stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The doctor, accustomed to dealing with the cautious nature of soldiers about their comrades, reassures him with a confident nod. "Yes, she's stable. Just ensure she rests and avoids any strenuous activity. She should be fine," he explains patiently.

Despite the reassurance Ghost still looks unconvinced. His gaze flicking back to you, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering weakness. "Maybe another day for observation?" he suggests. His tone half-questioning, half-requesting. It's evident he'd prefer you stay under medical supervision a bit longer.

Your heart warms at his concern and though you find his overprotectiveness endearing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Instead, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand instead. "Ghost, I think I’ll be okay," you assure him gently trying to alleviate his worries.

Ghost manages a small smile. His usual impassive facade softening. "Just making sure," he mutters. Though his eyes remain tender with concern. He finally nods accepting the doctor's verdict, but his posture stays alert, protective.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But we’re taking it slow for the next few days. I’ll let Price know." he declares. His tone firm, directed more at himself than anyone else.

As the doctor leaves Ghost assists you in gathering your belongings. His movements careful and considerate. He checks in frequently asking if you're feeling alright to continue, his cautiousness evident but heartening. It’s clear that although you’ve been given the all-clear Ghost will be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring your recovery proceeds without issue.

His unwavering attention not only makes you feel deeply cared for but also subtly deepens the bond between you, underscoring a shift in your relationship where his role as protector has become as instinctive as it is essential.

As you swing your legs off the bed and attempt to stand a momentary wave of dizziness makes your legs waver slightly. Instantly, Ghost is there, his hand firm on your waist, steadying you. His touch is gentle yet secure, grounding you in the moment.

You laugh it off with a light flush coloring your cheeks. "Just wobbly legs," you joke trying to ease the tension you feel from his close presence. Despite your attempt to downplay the situation your movements are still a bit too brisk. A clear sign you might be overestimating your current strength.

Ghost doesn't smile but there's a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Take it slow, love," he advises, his tone almost demanding. His hand remains on your back as a discreet but constant presence. He guides you slowly out of the infirmary. You feel the steadiness of his support with each step you take. His careful pace ensures you don't overexert yourself, allowing you time to adjust as you walk. The corridor seems longer than you remember but Ghost’s reassuring presence makes the journey feel safer, more manageable.

"You don’t have to rush this," he continues. Sensing your eagerness to prove your recovery. "We’ll get there when we get there." His words are simple but effective reminding you that your health is the priority not the speed of your recovery.

As you proceed you lean slightly into his support realizing how crucial his support has been, not just physically but also emotionally. Ghost’s unwavering steadiness helps bolster your confidence, making you feel that no matter how shaky your steps might be you won't fall as long as he’s by your side.

The walk back to your room is quiet but comfortable. It’s filled with an unspoken understanding that something significant has shifted between you. When you reach your door, Ghost finally pulls his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

"Thanks again, Ghost. For everything," you say while meeting his gaze. It's an open acknowledgment of all he's done and all he might continue to do.

"Anytime, love. Just... please take care of yourself," he responds. There’s a promise in his words, an implication that he'll always be nearby, watching over you.

As you reach the door to your quarters, Simon pauses, his hand resting lightly against the frame. "Can I help you get settled back in?" he asks. His tone as soft as it has been before, something new that has overcome him in your incident. His concern clearly evident.

You nod, touched by his attentiveness and as you enter your room he follows close behind. Simon watches carefully as you slowly make your way to your bed and sit down, still feeling a bit shaky. The room is familiar and comforting but his presence makes it feel even safer, more serene.

Once you're seated on the bed, he scans the room quickly, always alert for what you might need. "You sure you don't need anything else? Some more water? A snack?” Ghost asks, already moving towards your small kitchenette. He assumed a role that went beyond duty into something more personal.

You smile at his back, warmed by his concern. "I’m fine, Ghost. Really," you reassure him. But he shakes his head, not entirely convinced.

"It's no trouble at all. You should eat something," he insists gently while fetching a glass of water and a small snack from your stash. Simple things that you hadn't thought you’d needed until he presented them. As he hands you the glass his fingers brush yours lightly, sending a small, unexpected shiver up your arm. You thank him with a soft smile, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Noticing a few strands of hair falling over your face, Simon reaches out and gently brushes them back, his touch delicate and caring. His hand lingers for a moment, a silent expression of his deeper feelings.

You’re momentarily stunned but thrilled, nonetheless. You find it hard to find words as his hand lingers on your face. "I know I keep thanking you but thanks again Simon. For... well, for everything," you say after a moment. Your voice low and sincere. Using his first name feels natural, reflecting the shift in your relationship.

He pauses, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be," he replies. His voice so soft it’s nearly a whisper, revealing the depth of his feelings.

"If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be just a call away, love," He adds imbued with a warmth that reassures and comforts. His use of ‘love’ is tender, an endearment that resonates deeply, marking a significant moment in your ever evolving relationship.

He gives you a lingering look that was filled with care and a promise of protection before he reluctantly steps towards the door. There's a hint of hesitation in his movement, a subtle pause that conveys his desire to stay longer.

As he exits, gently closing the door behind him, you lie back against your pillows, the glass of water in your hand. His presence has left a comforting warmth in the room. A sense of safety that lulls you towards rest. The thought of Simon being just a call away brings a smile to your face. And as you close your eyes it’s not just the fatigue that makes you feel at ease. It’s knowing Simon is there, caring for you with a tenderness that goes beyond the call of duty.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[benedictscanvas]

omggg in my fluffy needing comfort era and i LOVE how you write jamie tartt x reader- could i make a request for jamie x chronically ill reader where he is just really supportive and loving with someone who is long-term sick? ♥️♥️

of course, my love. thank you for the kind words. i tried to make this as vague as possible so people can relate in their own ways. sending you love! <3 | gn!reader, 1.2k words, tw chronic illness & pain, language

You'd just about managed to get your hair how you wanted it to look for the evening, with minimal swearing for once. Jamie was sat on the bed waiting for you, he'd been ready for a good few minutes now, but you were still reluctant to emerge. There was a wave of pain undulating through you that you were trying to ride out in silence without alerting your boyfriend.

"Y' alright, love? No rush, I wanna be fashionably late anyways," he said from the next room, raising his voice so that it reached you through the closed door. You hardly ever closed doors around each other, so you should have known he'd be worried.

The pain wasn't dissipating, so you took a few deep breaths before stepping out into the bedroom with a smile that you hoped was normal.

"Sorry, my hair wasn't co-operating," you say, tilting your head as you take him in. Navy trousers, white shirt, brown jacket. He looked effortlessly gorgeous, even if he had one more button undone than you would have suggested. Some things didn't change, "You look so good, Jamie."

"Me?" he said incredulously, standing up and huffing out a breath of disbelief, "You look...fuck. I'm not good enough with me words for this."

His hands gesture aimlessly down your outfit and you feel a real smile blossoming under his attention. You take his hands in yours and place them on your waist, stopping his flapping from going further.

"I like your words just fine. And your face," you add with a grin that he returns, curling his fingers into the fabric he's found. A new wave of pain crests and you try your hardest to keep it off your face, but don't think about how your body must tense under his touch. His whole face crumples.

"Ah shit," he murmurs, running his hands down your arms to interlace your fingers together as he takes a step closer, "Why didn't y' say anythin' babe?"

"About what?" you ask pathetically, watching him fix you with a look that said 'cut the shit'.

"Cut the shit," he said, clearly deciding the look wasn't enough, "We agreed, babe, you tell me if it's a bad day so I can help. Or at least try to. Thought we were in a good place with it."

Your heart aches. He really does hate it when you keep your pain to yourself, even though you're not sure he yet understands just how much pain you would be sharing if you shared all of it. You'd been dating for six months, but still wanted to be careful not to scare him off.

"I am. I promise, Jamie, I do tell you it's just..." you struggle for a good explanation that doesn't create any pity in him, "Tonight's big, you know? I want to be a proper girlfriend and I want to burst into tears and kiss you stupid when they call your name for that award."

There is a little bit of pity in his eyes when you've finished, so you can't have done a very good job of it. He squeezes your hands tightly in his.

"Can't say it many more ways," he says softly, "But y' gotta believe that you are me priority, gorgeous. Jus' wanna look after you, y' know. I wanna be a proper boyfriend too."

You'd never thought about it that way. Another wave of pain hits and Jamie's instantly stroking your temple when your eyes clench shut. You feel his lips on the opposite side of your head as he whispers sweet little comforts in your ear.

If it wasn't so painful, maybe you'd be more willing to argue the point with him. It would have to be a battle saved for later, because lying down was the only option for the moment. You could feel the sting of tears; it couldn't have been a worse time for a flare up.

"I'll be there for every other award you win," you say forcefully, but you can't bring yourself to promise. Sometimes you worry you can't promise him enough, but then you see the way he looks at you as he leans backwards again and a lot of that worry falls away.

"You're way too sure that I'm winnin' this award, by the way," he says, a little bashful. It was one of your favourite versions of him, "I'm up against quality."

"None of that. The most creative player in the league this season was you. Hands down. I think you know that really."

He nods, but doesn't look sure still. Then he's stepping away from you as he shrugs off his jacket, throwing it onto the back of a chair and flopping down on the bed.

"Come on then, love. We can fit in a quick episode of whatever you want before the ceremony's on TV."

You stare at him.

"What?"

"Well I'm not fuckin' going without you," he laughs, like that was never an option, "Duh. I'd be bored shitless. I know you need to lie down, babe, come on."

He holds out a hand to you. You take it, still dazed by the sudden turn of events, let him pull you onto the bed and into his arms on top of the covers.

"There we are," he breathes, pressing kisses into the top of your head, "Perfect. We'll have a much better evening bein' able to laugh at Roy makin' a fool of himself for the cameras from 'ere, right?"

Coming back to your senses, you pull yourself out of his arms for a moment so you can look at him properly. He's been acting normal up until now, but when he sees the tears in your eyes, his whole face softens.

"Let's not argue right now, love, please," he begs, "Wanna take care of you, so jus' let me. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Your award..." you choke out, but he shushes you.

"Will be waitin' for me at the club tomorrow. Me speech would have been fucked anyway, so there's nothin' to miss out on."

There's no room for argument in his voice. It's as firm as it is comforting. Relenting as the pain hits once again, you snuggle back into his arms, kissing whatever parts of him you can reach.

"Like my guardian angel," you say, trying not to sound so teary, "So grateful for you, Jamie. Love you so so much."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too," he says, brushing you off as you expected but with fondness in his tone as he pulls you even closer.

"Hey...you just said the award would be waiting. You're finally admitting that you're definitely getting it?"

He chuckles.

"Course I'm getting it. That award's mine, babe," he says, cocky smirk firmly on his face that you can only see in the reflection of the TV. Then he gasps, comically, "Do y' think they'll make Roy do me speech?"

You gasp right back, already feeling better.

"Yes! If you put it on now, we might be able to see him flip people off on the red carpet beforehand."

Jamie grins as he struggles to reach the remote and turns the TV on.

"Fuckin' genius, you are."

---

please see this post if you would like to request your own roy/jamie drabble!! closing soon <3

[th3fam1lyd1ssap01ntm3nt]

RAAAAAHHHHHHH hello :3!!!

I am

Wondering if you would be ever so kind,,,

To write the monster au(or the hybrid au) of TF141 and I was like oh,,, Gaz no on list,,, who else,,, Johnny. Request thee Johnny, you could add the others for funsies as well, I don't mind the werewolf Johnny I like hims a lot as ,, but like, imagine, Male!user(I don't know what we call him erm male whatever the fuck his name is idk the WHORE sorry he's not maybe? Maybe he is actually idk it's male reader around those sluts 😠😠/HJ....) who usually kept his hybrid features hidden for god knows what reason because it's him??? He's just?? He's a little silly, but like "omg a human on the team grrr!!!" Is reaction from almost everyone until they warm up to him later and then he's just revealed as a moth hybrid :3 moth man, he squeaks when angry because moths can squeak and that's very interesting to me :3 and he just itty bitty plush like and plush size and shorter than them, but yeah they angry thinking he human, get close to the "human", they wake up early one morning, see the man they thought was human, but is a moth hybrid, standing in the kitchen, deadass staring into the kitchens light for god knows how long he was standing there, antennas just out as he's focused on the light, not even noticing them standing beside him, he's just staring at the light until someone turns that shit off and then he's just back like " ! " "When did you wake up???" Like .

PLLEAAAASEEEEEE PLEAAASEEEEEEEEE PPPLLLLEEAAAASEEEEEEEE I BEG FOR HIM TO HAVE SOME CHUB TO HIM I BEG FOR MOTH MALE READER WHO USES HE HIM PRONOUNS FOR THE HYBRID/MONSTER AU TF141 LEMSJWJSJS I want chubby male ones to be loved☹️

Have a wonderful day yahhhh‼️‼️‼️

RRAAAAHHH MY FIRST ASK!!!! (Omfg tysm u don’t know how happy this makes me :3 )

Lemme get this straight.. a moth hybrid! male reader x Werewolf! Johnny (Soap) Mactavish?? Ill see what i can do!!

(Inspired by the Monster AU by whisperrwarm on X, when I say INSPIRED I mean, not everything is the same!)

Characters:

John (Soap) Mactavish: A Werewolf

Simon (Ghost) Riley: A Wendigo

Captain John Price: A Dragon

Male Y/N: A Moth

Just a cute wee pudgy lad :3

Tw: Swearing, suggestive content, Male x Male

Since Anonymous wanted M! Y/N to be pudgy, I imagine that he would have the shape of something like this:

Moth Dust

(A Johnny (Soap) Mactavish x Male! Reader fic)

You, LN, FN, (last name, first name), who would have thought out of all possibilities of hybrids, you would be a moth. Not that its a bad thing, it was just rather annoying though.. you were picked on constantly because of it, your hight, your looks, and what made you insecure the most, your weight.

Not that you were huge, but you were fun sized, the perfect love handles, and the loveliest thing of all, your thick thighs. Aye, its like they say, ‘Thick Thighs Save Lives!’ You tend to hide your moth features though, fearing that a hybrid with predatoristic features might harm you.

I mean.. c’mon, you were a moth and there were damned stronger mutants out there.. its like the food chain with normal animals, and as embarrassing as it was, many things ate bugs. And what are you a hybrid of? A bug. Well.. a domesticated silk moth to be more specific, but still!

Being a moth you were fluffy and small, and well.. adorable. But you never though of yourself as that short.. until you joined the military that is-

“Bloody fucking christ! How fucking big does a man need to be here?!?” You thought to yourself once you actually saw how large the men in Task Force 141 where. There was one in particular who stood intimidated you from his height, Simon Riley, better known here as Ghost, and he stood a strong 6’2”!!

He could easily fucking squish you like the bug you are if he wanted! You were intimidated by the other men slightly, I mean, c’mon! Your captain is a fuckin Dragon for Christ sake!

But wow… boy were they lookers though- there was one in particular who stood out to you the most, he looked like a dog hybrid, but that didn’t seem right for some reason? What stood out to you the most was those elegant.. enticing.. wonderful blue eyes… wait. What the hell? Were you staring? Oh shit, didn’t anyone see you staring at him?

Your mind was racing at the thought of being caught staring. “Did anyone see that? Shit- did he see that?!” You thought to yourself, more like mentally screamed at yourself, but still..

(Not finished, currently busy, will finish soon!)

[braxlrose]

You should do a bill!sub x reader. He has to whimper 🤭

sub bill sub bill sub bill sub bill sub bill sub bill

okay so i actually have two requests for sub!bill so ill add in that one too.

request: what about dacryphilia but for bill. like riding him till hes crying but when you try to get off of him he just pulls you back asking for more, i mean being so fucked out he is bucking into you. from my favorite anon ;)

word count: 768

tw: handcuffs, (implied) mommy kink sort of? (it was only said twice), sub!bill, dom!reader, dacraphilia, hickies, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, implied drinking, begging.

"WHATEVER YOU WANT, BABY."

It was 11 'o clock at night. you had and bill had just gotten home from a party, both of you a little bit tipsy. Both of you had sweat running down your forehead because of all the dancing and people around you.

"Mmm bab..baby~" Bill came up behind you while you pulled off your sweaty clothes that had been sticking to your skin all night. A smirk crawled onto your face while bills arms wrapped around you, moving closer to your breasts. You raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't pay any attention to bill which ended up with him and his cute little face in a pout.

"Ba~byyy.." Bill now whispered with his hands on your hips and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking up at you.

"What is it bill?" you asked in a monotone voice, turning around to look at him.

"i want you.." His fingers intertwined with yours as he leaned in with a dopey smile on his face.

"Well im real tired baby, how about another day." you teased. It was pretty obvious you wanted him too after you strutted past him in your panties and bra. A pout stayed on bills face and the begging began. baby please. i need you so bad. my dick hurts. i know you want it too. youre so pretty baby. pretty please. please. please. please. mommy?

That was all enough to make you pull down your cute little strawberry panties and bra. which is what led to now.

"AaaAh baby please...slow down..slow down slow down slooooww down...." Bill had his head thrown all the way back as you rode his dick. his hands were handcuffed to the bed and he was completely sprawled out in front of you, all cute and naked. he had hickies all over his chest. you even made some in the shape of a heart surrounding his left nipple.

"But baby you're making me feel so fucking good. don't you like making me feel good? don't you, pretty boy?" and he did. he loved making you feel good. he loved every single second of it.

bill nodded his head, whispering barely coherent i love yous. his eyes were all glossy and his eyeliner was smeared everywhere. you had put a little lipstick on his lips too just to smear it around. why wouldn't you? you just loved your messy boy. "Please..." he whispered out to you, "I wanna touth..touch you..pleasth..un...uncuff me...." his words began to slur with a lisp as more teared poured out of his pretty brown eyes. you loved hearing him beg for you. it was like music to your ears. and as much as you loved to tease and edge your pretty boy, you loved hearing him happy. and you loved his slim fingers digging into your squishy thighs. so with that, you leaned forward, his dick slipping out of you causing a loud whine to leave bill, and you uncuffed him.

"AaAaahh~ put it back in...put it back in mommy...please...please..please please please please pleaseeeee." You raised an eyebrow and grabbed his face roughly.

"which one of us is in charge? because i thought it was me until you started ordering me around. you wanna be in charge baby. fine. go ahead and be in charge." you leaned over to the other side and him and got off of his stomach and laid down next to him.

"no. no. no...no. no. no. i dont wanna be in charge. im sorry....im sorry..do whatever you want with me please..im sorry.." drool started to form in the corners of his mouth along with the tears running down his face. he was so pretty like this. when he begged.

"I thought you wanted to order me around, baby?" You crossed your arms, squishing your boobs a bit.

"No, i didn't mean it. i didnt know what i was saying..please..ill make you feel good please.." you ran your heads over his head and down to his temple, rubbing it a bit. you looked at him with puppy dog eyes and bit your lip.

"Fine. but i hear you make one peep and im stopping." he nodded fast and laid back in his position. his dick looked so cute. it was all shaven clean and the tip was bright red. you touched it a bit to slide it back in you and that made his dick go crazy. it even slapped his stomach. that always made you smile. You finally grabbed his dick and slid it inside of you, making you throw your head back. "Mmm...i love this dick baby. its so perfect for me..you know that?" you were testing him. he was supposed to answer you whenever you asked him a question. he always did. that was a rule. but he also didn't want to make you mad. he wanted you to keep riding him until he passed out.

You smiled at him once he didn't answer you. he was such a good boy. you loved good boys. brats were little shits who didn't know their place, in your opinion. but bill was never like that. Bill knew what you wanted, what he wanted, and he was happy. you two were both happy.

you kept riding him for the next couples minutes with his fingers pressing into your hips. they were definitely gonna leave bruises. his eyes were closed again and he was biting at his lip so hard, trying not to make any noise. your little messy boy didn't even notice he was bucking into you. you could hear his breathing getting louder and his grip on your hips was tightening. that went on for another minute or so until you both twitched and came together. the loudest squeal that you have ever heard came out of bills drool-soaked mouth. it was so perfect. you began to lift yourself off of him but he didn't let go of your hips.

" i wanna stay i'side..." you carassed his cheek and grabbed a wipe off the counter to wipe off his sweaty makeup before leaning down to lay on his chest.

"whatever you want, baby."

A/N: i didn't proofread for sorry for any spelling mistakes. i hope this was up to your guys's liking!!

[s1llysmut]

hello>_< can i request dom Charlie x sub fem reader smut pls? I have a prompt but u totallyyy dont have to use it!!!! Its like a comfort smut kinda!! Basically Charlie is abt to go down on reader and she notices sh marks (can be healed can be new idm) that she never noticed/saw? Thank uuu!!!>_< if ur not comfortable w that its okiii!!! Have an awsome sauce day💕💕💕

A/N: Of course! I hope you’re doing okay anon <3

TW: SELF HARM MENTIONS AND SCARS

Charlie reacts to readers SH

Charlie didn’t know about your past. Not many people did. People aren’t exactly empathetic in hell so you kept your history with mental illness and self harm a secret for the most part. Even your own girlfriend didn’t know.

Tonight was your first time. Charlie was hovering over you, leaving kisses over your body, soft and sensual, and slowly lowering downwards. You let out small breathy moans as she kisses your clothed pussy. You let out a breath and prepared for the heavenly feeling of her mouth on you… but it never came.

You glanced down instead to find your girlfriend seemingly in shock.

“Charlie? Baby what’s wrong?” You sit up.

Your eyes follow where hers are landed. Oh. Right on your scars.

“Y/n I- w- what is this…?” Your girlfriend stammers out, not removing her eyes from your scars.

“Please… tell me it’s not-“

“It’s not new,” you interrupt her.

She visibly seems a bit less panicked although still concerned. She finally moves her eyes to look up at yours. A small tear drops onto her cheek.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t want you to think of me differently,” you sigh, placing your head in your hands.

Charlie gently lifts your head up to meet her gaze. She’s smiling sympathetically.

“It’s okay. I get it. I don’t see you any differently Y/n. You’re still my beautiful girlfriend.”

You smile and bring her into a kiss. Your lips intertwining with each others. Just like two puzzle pieces fit together perfectly.

“So, do you want to continue or-“ she begins before you cut her off.

“Please continue. Please?” You look at her with slightly pleasing eyes.

She smirks before resuming her position between your thighs. You let out a small gasp as you feel her lips press small gentle kisses on your scars. So gentle, as if she’s afraid they’re still sore.

Her kisses trail upwards until she’s finally met with your core. She slowly glides her tongue between your folds and over your clit, sucks, and repeats the motion.

Your hands quickly find purchase in her hair, tugging and gasping at the new feelings.

“Oh- oh my god Charlie!”

She hums against you, causing vibrations that add to the pleasure you’re feeling.

“F-fuck babe I’m gonna cum!” You gasp out between moans, busking your hips up.

She starts sucking your clit with vigor. Purposely moaning against you to add more stimulation.

Thats when you felt the coil in your stomach tighten and then snap. Pure euphoric bliss rushed over you. Your eyes squeezed shut and your hips bucked up.

When you came back to reality, Charlie was leaving little kisses on your scars again.

How did you get so lucky to have such an amazing girlfriend?

[withonly-sweetheart]

Beast

He took you with him to his haven in the woods, against your will, but you've grown used to him. Betrayal falls from your fingertips, the glinting blade you've always held.

read part one here !! (wont make sense until you have)

a/n: mint anon ilysm i really appreciate the support and ill always love you !! i hope you enjoy this final part, ik its a bit rushed but im working on a lot of other things rn ! requests always come first tho ! <3 lysm would love ur feedback and take on this!

tw: angst, major character death <- thats literally me bro, non explicit nsfw? i think? idk anymore mentions of war and stuff

wc: 2.5k

They arrive the morning after, when you’re still numb with grief, forced to face the people that have Leon’s mystical sheen, the ethereal, otherworldly glow that you grew so used to seeing only on him. It looks strange, unnatural on the duo standing in front of you.

“It has come to our attention that my son,” the man, hands cupped in a somewhat whimsical manner, grits out, “is being held prisoner in your dingy dungeon.”

“More than what he deserves, the beast,” your mother scoffs into your ear, leaning back at a sharp glance from your king. His Highness turns back to your visitors, standing precariously at the edge of the drawbridge, as if entering is declaring things you should not speak of.

“He impersonated us,” he says, eerily calm. “You, of all, should understand how insulting that is.”

“And we formally apologize on his behalf,” he retorts. You can see Leon pass in shadows, in the way his mouth tightens when he’s irritated, in the fringe that covers his eyes, far older and wiser than the man you thought you knew.

“How would you like to apologize for the death of this maiden’s father?” The king nudges you forward with his scepter, and you stumble towards them. Their gazes are uncaring as they scan you, eyebrows raised as if to mock your expression.

"We know nothing of this," the man answers sternly.

"Our son would never harm an innocent," the woman clinging to his side, who you assume to be his wife, adds.

"And yet your boy wore our faces to deceive the people," your king reminds them coolly.

"If what you claim is true, justice must be served,” Leon’s father says slowly. "We wish only to see our son. If you accuse him of crimes, let him defend himself before you in a court of law."

“We are far past the court of law,” one of the knights bursts out, stepping forward. You recognize him as one of the men always surrounding the king, perhaps a member of his personal guard. His eyes are crazed as an identically dressed man pulls him back. “Your son deserves nothing but-”

“Child,” the king interrupts, turning to you and nodding thoughtfully, stroking the slight stubble growing on his chin. “You were there. You know him best. Tell us what you think.”

Leon’s mother sneers at you. “The nerve of your tyrant king, keeping innocents locked away under some false pretense no doubt. Mark my words, he will pay if any harm has come to my boy,” she hisses angrily. “Watch what you say around us, mortal.”

You shift uncomfortably, glancing at your mother. “Your son is not what he says. It is true, he killed my father in the woods. But… I do not believe him to be a bad man.”

You wince at the collective gasp that comes from your people. Your king steps away from you, as if you have suddenly caught a strange disease with your words.

“Nevertheless,” he remarks, as if you had never spoken. “If you want your son, you will have to fight for him.”

Whenever something like this has been declared, you have always seen anger flare to life in the opponent’s eyes, making them seem insignificant, not truly something to consider. But it is unsettling, the level looks on their faces.

Leon’s father cocks his head to the side, and you swear that it’s not him anymore, but his son, standing there in front of you, a taunting smile tugging his lips in the opposite directions.

“If that is what you wish.”

They didn’t look back.

Dinner that night is served with an awkward silence, as your mother’s eyes bore into you across the table, asking the silent question that you don’t wish to answer. Eventually she outright expresses her outrage, slamming her hands down onto the table.

You solemnly watch a blueberry roll down the tablecloth, plopping onto the floor with a sad squishing sound. “Ma, yes, I know. But you told me to be honest!”

“Because I thought I changed your mind,” she seethes, cold heartedly, fingers clenching into fists. You get the feeling she’s itching to mess up your face. “But evidently, I was wrong.”

“You’re the only one who'll never understand,” you mumble, reaching for the glass of juice near you. It seems strangely dark for apple juice, but you must’ve requested something else. Things seem to slip from your thoughts more and more often now, especially when your mom stares at you, looking down at you like you’re just a small child, confused, like it’s all your fault.

“There will be a war,” she calls out as you excuse yourself, storming as quietly as you can away from her, away from the sense of agony that floats around your mother, threatening to infect you as well. “I hope you realize you are the cause.”

Her words echo through your head, thoughts that swirl in a hazy mess, refusing to settle. Your head feels fuzzier than usual, dark shapes dancing at the edges of your vision even with eyes closed tight.

You toss and turn, kicking off sweat-soaked sheets as you abandon your futile attempts at rest, bolting upright, gasping, staring wild-eyed into the inky blackness that fills an area that you can’t see yet.

Dawn’s rosy fingers stretch across the sky, chasing the cotton clouds. Blinking your gummy eyes open, panic sets in when unfamiliar surroundings come into focus.

Rough wooden walls greet your bleary vision, the low ceiling beams dotted with bunches of drying herbs, their aroma lingering in the narrow bars of pale morning light that filter through a small window, doing little to illuminate the single sparse room.

Your frantic mind races to piece together how you've come to be in this place instead of your bedchamber. The last thing you recall is fitful dreams amidst the calm night.

A creak of floorboards causes you to start, snapping your head toward the noise. An old woman stands in the open doorway, regarding you with keen interest.

"Awake at last, are you?" she rasps, hobbling closer. "We’ve been waiting quite a while. Our prince must not know you as well as he thinks, hm?” She winks, the sunkissed skin around her eyes wrinkling. 

Alarm courses through you at her words. “Sorry, what prince?”

She laughs, a loud, booming sound you don’t even begin to expect from such a fragile looking woman. “Why, dearie, you know him quite well!”

Dread replaces the alarm, throbbing in time with your heartbeat as you shakily stand up, feeling faint, sunlight warming your skin quickly. “Are we in the forest?"

“Of course,” the old woman croaks. "The prince entrusted me with overseeing your recovery!” 

Shivering, you clutch your head, images from tortured dreams flickering at the edges of memory. "Recovery? Did he drug me?"

The crone cackles again. "Always straight to the point, that’s our prince! Yes, I've a potion or two up my sleeve. But fear not, it was for your own protection. Forces stir in these woods that seek to threaten the royal line, dear."

Unease coils in your gut like a serpent. "Then I must return at once. My kingdom needs its ruler in these troubled times." You stride for the door on unsteady legs.

”Not the human kingdom, dearie,” she chastises, tugging at your sleeve to maneuver you back to the simple bed. “Our kingdom.”

You pause, confused by her strange words. “Pardon?”

She beams, and for the first time, you feel fear. Her outwardly innocent appearance masks a mad woman, you realize.

“You aren’t too bright, are you? No matter, the princess requires little to no intelligence, yes?”

“Princess?” You frown. “Who’s the princess?”

Her grin grows, revealing crooked, uneven teeth sparkling in the gray dawn. She steps to the side, showing the open door, and the figure leaning against the wall.

“You.”

<><><><>

They have started a war. Fools upon fools sent into the forest, like they’ll find you from mere scouting. The forest is a dangerous place, but how would they know? Locked up behind their walls, deeming it safe, never truly understanding the beauty of nature without seeing it.

Nor its dangers.

“I demand to be sent home,” you say definitively, as if they would ever listen, scuffing your foot on the dirt, smearing it on the gnarled roots of the tree.

“You know I cannot allow that,” Leon murmurs, reaching up into his hair to scruff his already tousled locks, letting them fall back, shadowing his eyes. “I cannot let you go.”

“Can you not hear?”

"Why do you persist in asking when you know my answer must remain the same?" Leon replies, frustration creeping into his tone. "We've had this discussion many times."

"And I will keep having it until you see reason!" you retort. "I don't belong here against my will, lest be your bride." 

Leon sighs heavily. "If it could be different, I swear I would change everything. But fate is cruel, no?" A lopsided smile curves his lips.

"So I'm to be your prisoner forever?" Heat rises in your cheeks at the indignity of belonging to him for eternity. "Keep me locked up here while the rest of the world passes me by?"

"It's not like that and you know it," Leon says, worry lines creasing his brow. He paces a few steps before turning back to you. "I'm responsible for keeping our secrets safe. Forgive me for prioritizing that over your temporary discomfort."  

You bite back a retort, longing to wipe that sadly sympathetic look from his face. Carnations could not hold a melting candle to the flush that dusts his cheeks as he entwines his hands with yours, linking your fingers together.

“I promise I will make your life as perfect as I can,” he vows, sounding as sincere as you’ve ever heard him. Then again, how would you know? You believed him like a fool when he charmed his way through your carefully built fortresses, prodding at your heart like a madman, wanting to love you.

“I will hold you to that,” you mumble, biting your lip. He rests a hand on your chin, and tugs at the bottom of your mouth, gazing down at you with so much adoration it wells up in his peacock feathered eyes, irises the most vibrant shade of rainbow gold.

“You are fated to me,” he whispers against your ear, cupping your neck, hands dipping further down your back. “I should hope that brings you joy. I am still the same man you fell in love with.”

“Was the deception necessary?” you ask quietly. “Why could you not have told me, about my father, or of your true identity?”

“I am no fool,” he sighs against your skin. “I would’ve lost you. How you were when you had to leave me, I assume.”

“Heartbroken,” you admit, leaning back into him, melting into the whole of him, feeling separate from the world while the forest watches you, alone and not all at once.

“Well, it is good you have me to help mend it.”

His grin is the crescent moon that shines so brightly, reflecting off the sheen of sweat coating your skin, eyes the twin stars that sparkle around it.

And if his lips are the moon, and his eyes are the stars, then his mouth…

Oh, his mouth is the vast sky.

<><><><><>

You would always recognize those amber eyes, any day, any place, any time because they are the mirror to your own, depths of tar, emotions slowly dragging across the orange liquid, a fossil preserved in time.

And those eyes peer back at you on another nightly stroll, mere hours until the wedding at dawn, irises hidden in the bushes, and Leon doesn’t notice the soft rustling. You wonder how his keen ears have missed it, but perhaps your breathy whispers in them have muted it.

You grit your teeth when he tenses against you, sensing that you are not alone. He keeps an arm barred against your waist, pinning you against the chipped tree trunk as he twists over his shoulder to scan the clearing.

A flower waves goodbye to you, disappearing between the leaves, and some part of you hopes Leon notices it, grabs your hand and rushes away, vanishing into the thick, mysterious forest.

But he doesn’t. His eyes stay fixed on the bushes, trying to make anything out, and you wonder what’s got him so preoccupied, what’s got his mind racing.

The knife, your mother’s voice whispers in your ear, and you can hear it, truly, but Leon doesn’t, so you wonder whether it's true. The leather handle glints in the moonlight, shadowed by his broad frame. 

Your fingers snake around it, and for a few moments you aren’t even aware of your actions until the blade is buried deep into his skin. Warm liquid seeps from the intrusion as you freeze, dragging your eyes up, meeting Leon’s thunder lit eyes.

A broken sigh escapes his lips, through his parted teeth a torrent of ruby cuts off his air supply, sending him stumbling back from you. Instinctively you rub the area he had pressed against so roughly, already losing him.

He reaches out for you, fingers grasping at the air as he falls, however graceful as a little feathered fiend down on the dead foliage, where you had both tread mere hours ago, the bitterness you once felt towards him completely gone as he discussed your future.

Children. A boy, maybe two girls?

An empire. Anything you want, my princess.

Perfectly fine, in your eyes. You love him, don’t you?

But now here he is, lying on decaying foliage, strawberry-blonde locks spread out in a widening splash of red, a crown on his peaceful face. He doesn’t stir.

The air is thick with the earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, mingling with the sweet, faint aroma of blooming honeysuckle nearby, sweet like your mother’s scent as she gathers you in her arms, a caring gesture, but the knife slips from your trembling fingers.

“You’re safe now, don’t worry, you’re with me now,” she coos, a gentle breeze whispered through the trees and past the shell of your too red ears, making the branches sway as if they were dancing at your demise.

And you’ve wished for this so many times over the weeks.

Wished to be back in her arms.

But in some cruel twist of fate, you don’t anymore.

Your eyes are stuck on Leon’s limp body, as it dissolves into feathers, paintbrushes coated in the crimson of his blood, that, just like you, are gathered between the wind’s caring fingers and swept away, just like that.

Your father was killed by his hand.

He was killed by your hand.

So it seems that there has always been a monster in you, too.

How would your mother put it?

A shaky smile spreads across your face as you tug her in further, imaging her voice in your head, just as you had with the knife.

A beast.

[simplyreveries]

hello hellooo new twst writing blog!! requests are open

about me: well sorta kinda new??? ive had twst writing blogs in the past. you can call me maria, Ive been in the fandom since september of 2020. my favorites are malleus, silver, riddle, azul,,, deuce,, i love them all though its tough haha. Im a hs student aspiring something in the arts in the future for me!

links: masterlist (wip)

rules:

sfw only, i may accept tame, lightly suggestive things but that really depends on what the request is!!

no copy-paste asks

no major angst (like character death or cheating)

ill do familial/platonic stuff as well! not just romantic

^ ortho + grim will only be written as familial/platonic always!

I will write male and gn readers

If you’re not requesting dorm leaders/vice dorm leaders or a dorm, I have a 4-5 character limit for an ask!

i'll also write for chenya and neige, but it may be smaller because of limited info on them^^;

at the moment i'll only write headcanons, not full fics or anything like that

I know some people vary with how they tag it (like using CW) but when needed i'll tag anything potentially triggering as, TW:

i try to get requests out as often as i can! starting mostly with older requests first.

even if my requests are closed I’m perfectly fine with any twst talk like ideas or au’s

ill add more when needed and if you have any questions don’t be afraid to ask :)

[creative-caramel-coffee]

I miss your writing😂 I need me some weems, now idk if you’ll consider writing age regression ? Bc I have another idea if you do.

So r is depressed bc they ran out of medication and forgot to refill it since they’ve become ill (me rn it’s horrid and messing with my head) no one’s seen or heard from r and weems has to do a welfare check. Here she finds a depressed and very sick reader. She knows of readers bad back ground (they are a shifter and was found hanging onto life after being abused in a facility like hydra for shifters) so when r becomes all clingy and very child like it confessed weems. R is so touch starved it’s insane, but with weems rn she’s like a child wanting and craving the affection just needing to be held. So naturally weems does that and that’s how she discovers the fever r has and that r ran out of her meds so weems nurses her better. Oh! Could also add r isn’t sleeping bc of nightmares due to their background?

Sorry for the long request and I’m not even sure it makes sense. I need my Damn pills lmao.

🕯️

A little sick

Pairings: Weems x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 1.4K

Summary: you're sick and regressed.

TW: agre? Sickness, depression, medicine (prescription),

A/n I’ve never written this kind of thing before so tell me if any of its wrong. Cute request tho :) let me know if you like it or want to see more of this kind of thing.

Part 2

Waking up and feeling like your bones were made of lead was not the way you wanted to start the day. It took all of your strength to pull yourself upright. Standing on shaky legs you wobble over to your dresser pulling out the pouch of pills that helped you with the aftermath of the facility and the depression it left. You knew firsthand how bad it could be to be a shapeshifter. Hunted and experimented on. You drew a deep breath pushing the thoughts away and exhaling slowly and shakily.

Unzipping the pouch, you frowned. All the blister packets were empty. You were out. You slouched dejectedly. It was going to be a long day. Yoko had already left for classes and to be honest you didn’t really think you could make it to the wardrobe to get changed let alone all the way to class. You sighed dejectedly and hobbled back to bed and laid down on your back staring at the roof. The feelings were getting harder to push away.

Your chest felt hollow, and you choked back a sob. The last time you were sick … was back there and to be honest you had no idea what would happen if someone found out here.

You zoned out feeling a familiar fuzzy feeling swallow your mind. You tried to push it away which only seemed to make you headache unbearable. The pain was what made you slip. Dropping hard, you felt your body shift. Soon the bed felt much bigger as you curled into a ball and cried. You were tired but scared to sleep, the nightmares seemed to be ever persistent.

You had no idea how long you had been crying, small sobs wracking the tiny body on the bed. Soon a knock sounded on the door.

Weems had had reports all day that you had been absent. Knowing your history with depression she knew it was imperative to do a welfare check as soon as she could. Looking at her calendar she swore. She had a copy if the nurses schedule for meds and prescription refills. Yours were out and it looked like nobody had picked up more for you.

She finally signed off the email she had spent the morning drafting to the mayor. Closing her laptop she toed on her heels, opting to take them off to give her feet a break when sitting and stood smoothing out her skirt. She hurried out the door and to your dorm. Hearing small noises inside she hesitated before knocking, she knew you were in there was was slightly terrified of what she would find inside the dorm.

Hearing the soft knock on the door you wiped a small fist over your eyes and sat up still silent tears running down your cheeks. You waited and heard the door open.

Weems peered into the dimly lit room; the windows still drawn. She saw a small lump on the bed and slowly walked over. The closer she got the more shocked she became. Why was there a toddler in the dorm and why did she look exactly like … y/n?

Small sad eyes looked up at her and sniffled. Weems stood awkwardly not really knowing what to do. She had a suspicion. She knew you were a shifter like herself. She looked down at you and it clicked. It made sense with the amount of trauma you had. You had regressed both physically and mentally to a child. Looking down at the sad child, you looked up at her and extended your arms.

“Up?” You asked with childlike innocence. Weems felt her heart melt. Gently she placed her hands under your arms and lifted you onto her hip. Almost straight away you buried your face in her neck, and she let out a soft gasp.

You were face too warm. Gently she peeled your face from her neck so she could look you in the eyes while she bounced you on her hip. You let out a soft whine at the loss of contact and weems shushed you as she placed a gentle hand against your cheek then forehead.

“Oh honey. Are you not feeling too good right now?” She asked. “Do you feel icky?” She said and you nodded and sniffled, the tears slowing.

“Alright. Well, we are going to get you some medicine then we are going to come back to my place for some sleep.” She said and you whined.

“No sleep.” You pouted and Weems frowned. “Cuddles?” You asked.

“Ok sweet girl you can have cuddles but why no sleep?” She asked.

“Mean dreams.” You pouted and she felt her heart break. Of course, you had bad dreams, that was almost assured with what you had been through. Why didn’t she think of that. Patting you back she used a hand to guide you back to her neck as you put your thumb in your mouth.

Weems winced knowing it probably wasn’t clean but there wasn’t much she could do about it right now and she preferred it to the crying. Holding you on her hip with one arm and the other on the back of your head she saw a small white fluffy thing under your blanket walking over and pulling out the stuffie you brightened as she tucked it between you and her chest as you wrapped you free arm around it.

“Alright honey let’s go get some medicine for you.” She said and left. She knew the school week enough to make sure nobody would see the two of you, God the rumours would be endless if students saw weems with a child. Careful to avoid any class windows Weems made it to the infirmary. As a shapeshifter herself she knew that the doses of medicine would need to match the physical size of the body. Balancing you on her hip she looked into your eyes.

“How old are you sweetheart?” She asked and you looked at her shyly holding up four fingers and puffing your chest out.

“Im four.” You grinned.

“Wow. Big girl huh?” She asked and you smiled wider.

Weems pulled out the bottle of medicine labeled 3-6 and any other supplies she would need. Carefully making her way back to her office she slipped back into her own quarters to take care of you.

You whined as she set you down on the couch but stopped as she lifted you back into her lap. You sure were clingy like this. Measuring out a dose of medicine Weems coaxed you into drinking it which made you stick your tongue out in disgust after.

“Yucky.” You said. Weems chuckled.

“Im sure it was sweet girl.” She said and stroked your hair. You buried your face in her chest and fisted your hands in her shirt.

“Alright bedtime. I think someone needs a nap huh?” She said and you whined.

“Nooo.” You said.

“Alright how about some cuddles instead?” Weems asked and you smiled.

“Cuddles?”

“Yes. Cuddles.”

“Yay cuddles.” You celebrated.

“Alright sweet thing lets go to my bedroom and we can cuddle.” She said knowing you would fall asleep in no time. Curling into her chest more and wrapping you small arms around Weems she felt her heart melt again as she ran her nails up and down your spine. You shivered and enjoyed the touch.

After a few minutes you seemed to be fighting sleep, eyes drooping before flying wide open again with a small whimper.

“Honey whats the matter? Why won’t you sleep love?” Weems asked softly.

“Bad dreams.” You whimpered softly and weems patted your back running her hands through your short hair. It was much shorter than normal probably from the shift.

“Honey, you need to sleep, I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave your side, ok? Do you think you could be a brave girl and get some sleep for me?” She asked softly.

Burrowing your face into her neck you nodded and shuffled around to get comfy. Weems knew either way based off how exhausted you seemed you would be asleep soon regards of what you wanted.

And as predicted after about five more minutes weems felt your breath even out against her chest and heard small snores coming from you. She smiled softly down at you and decided then and there she would never let anything hurt you again.

MASTERLIST

[saey707]

hey i saw your post abt viego!! if you're willing could you do smth about him helping a (female) reader with low self esteem?? ty ♥️♥️

✿ Prompt: Viego adores you ✿

♡ champion focus: viego ♡ tw: none! ♡ Female reader

Author's Note: Hello, anon! I love your request and was super eager to execute it as soon as possible ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა Keep in mind, I tried to execute King Viego in this headcanon, but you can envision him as post Ruination if you please! Hope you enjoy! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

Your doting husband Viego worships the very grounds you walk upon. There isn't a single imperfection he can see in you, though, he can see very well that you don't feel the same way about yourself as he does you.

You saw the way people looked at you among the castle, the streets, and all the royal banquets and ceremonies. You heard of how people spoke of you, often with negative connotations and spite, because Camavor was not your home of origin.

It seemed like everyone believed you were out for nothing but power and a place on the throne of a domineering nation, beside an even more powerful conquistador, with the body of an Adonis and the hair of a fairytale Prince.

But Viego never once thought poorly of you.

He adored the curve of your lips, the softness of your smiles, and the selfless heart that allowed you to see the good in others... Even a man as arrogant and entitled as Viego.

Viego had hoped the little things like gifting you new dresses made of Ionian silk, jeweled necklaces, and gold bengals would be enough to allow you to see how beautiful you looked to him. However, materialistic things were never enough.

But your husband's innermost thoughts and the deep feelings he possessed about you definitely made the most significant impact.

From the day Viego discovered how poignant his words were to you, he made sure daily affirmations about everything he loved about you became a regular reminder. Never once would Viego allow you to think negatively about yourself, so long as he could prevent it!

He would serenade you with songs he wrote and distract your mind with one-on-one dances across hallways.

He would remind you of all your talents and why he fell in love with you in the first place over anyone he could have possibly had as a wife in Camavor... Well- Viego never said that last part, but still! While you stuck out like a sore thumb among the Camavoran people, that was only one more thing to add to the endless list of reasons why he fell in love with you!

Even though it was nothing new for Viego to show you physical affection, he still always did and would do more!

Viego removed his gloves whenever he dared to place a hand upon your soft skin, and he was always gentle as he caressed your face. He would begin by brushing his thumbs against your cheeks, dragging his fingers across the frame of your jawline. Then, his thumbs would graze over your painted lips, the hopeless romantic leaning in ever so slowly to capture your lips with his own in a passionate kiss.

He would listen to your woes and everything that made you feel lowly about yourself. And he would counterargue your insecurities, conquering them head-on and trying his best to allow you to see the good in yourself, as you so did with your others.

And if that doesn't work, he'll begin to open up about his own insecurities... As much as he hates to discuss his own fears and woes about himself, he knows you would never think ill of him. So why should you think ill of yourself?

The Camavoran King knows insecurities and low self-esteem are things that can't be cured overnight. But he hopes each and every day you know and are reminded just how much he loves you.

[josephquinnswhore]

Hiiii bub thank you soooo much for the request here’s another one I have (based on me)

TW: blood & commit and anxiety attack

May you please do a Pedro pascal x plus size reader where readers worst fear is blood and any time they see it the feel nauseous and go in to an anxiety attack. Basically I was sick last week and had the absolute worst tummy bug (I’m all better) and threw up so hard my nose bled that I almost passed out and had an anxiety attack. Basically do it based off what happen to me and if u can add Bella and Nico and Gabriela calling Pedro bc he is the only one to calm reader down from these panic attacks.

Thank you in advance

My Comfort

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem/Plus Size Reader!

Summary: you’re sick and Pedro’s called back from his luck to see you in a bad way.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: reader is sick, mentions of blood, panic attack, vomit.

Note: hi sun bun 🐰, I love you. We must be the same person fr cause I’ve been sick for over a month LMAO and I get so queasy when I see blood. UGH, hopefully this gives you what you need. I also throw up to the point where my throat bleeds lol it’s so fucked. 🫶🏼🥰 I made it pretty dramatic LOL. M sorry it’s short.

You told yourself you were fine, you could do the filming through the sickness. You were sipping on your water and drinking your raspberry flavoured hydralyte, even though it tasted like shit. Just to try and get yourself through the day, unable to tell yourself you’re not sick enough to show up for work. It was too important, it came before everything else in your life, well, almost everything. It was second in line to your boyfriend and co-worker, Pedro.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Just one more scene to shoot, then you can go home.” You chanted to yourself as you look in the mirror trying to convince yourself it to be true, thinking maybe if you said it aloud it would enforce some truth. Your face was losing colour with every passing minute, and the darkness around your eyes was a clear indication that everything was far from okay, that you were not okay.

But you felt guilty, you didn’t want to let the team down by going home and delaying the episode when you had one measly scene left to shoot, you may as well just tough it out and get through it as best you could. It would maybe take a couple hours at most, you could do that! Right? You started to doubt yourself at the way your limbs started to ache and feel heavy. It hurt to hold your head upright.

You turn on the tap to the cold water, letting the water gather into your cupped hands before you bring it to your face, the coolness is refreshing, you exhale a deep breath to try and relax, patting your face dry with some paper towel and throw it into the trash bin. You could do this. You couldn’t give up.

“Hey, are you feeling okay? You don’t look so hot.” Gabriel sets a hand on your shoulder, his thick black eyebrows were nearly touching as he frowned, his dark brown eyes squinted with concern at one look of you, his hand feels like it weighs a tonne on your aching shoulder. “I-I mean you are, but, you know.” He gestures to you and you raise an eyebrow at him, you didn’t wanna have to deal with this right now-as much as you liked him.

“Dude shut it, are you okay?” Bella asks, her face strewn with concern for your well-being. You swallow your spit loudly, gulping down the clump that sits in your throat, feeling more ill with every passing second. “Um…I’m ok, I think.” you can’t decide what to say, unsure of whether you even believe your obvious and blatant lies. Bella looks to Nico and they know you’re lying, sharing a look of sympathy toward you, watching as you slightly sway as you stand still.

“Why don’t you just sit down for a second, have some water.” You nod to Nico, “thanks,” you mumble in agreement as she sets a gentle hand on your back, helping you sit, agreeing it’s a good idea. The bright lights of the set don’t help the ache in your head that’s contributing to your illness. Your eyes squint as your brain throbs at how bright it is, you blink harshly, trying to rid the ache that’s set in motion, the shadow of a headache you knew would grow into a migraine.

“Wouldn’t hurt to sit for five minutes.” You mumble in an unintelligible slur, as you feel a wave of nausea coming over you, it shakes your whole body to the core, the feeling settles uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers grasp your bottle shakily with the hydralyte, desperate to rid your body of the nausea setting, but it wasn’t your bottle, and it wasn’t hydralyte. It was a bottle of soft drink, the fizz of the soda causes a rift in your stomach that feels like it’s about to explode. The feeling builds and builds until it feels like it’s going to erupt, from your mouth.

“Oh my god, someone get me a bucket.” You hunch over in your seat with one arm wrapped around your stomach, the other holding your hand over your mouth, the nausea rising up your throat that you have to swallow down the first time it attempts its exit because you would’ve just spewed all over the floor on set. You heave again, this time Gabriel is holding a bucket underneath your mouth, the taste of the liquid makes your stomach ache even though it barely has time to digest.

The same coloured liquid comes out as clear, mostly bile the first few times, until the stench of the contents in the bucket circulates through your nostrils and churns your stomach again, twisting until it shoots up your throat, this one hurt your throat badly, the sting it made coming out has you unable to breathe for a few seconds, your lash line full to the brim with unshed tears, coughing violently as someone rubs a hand along your back, trying to soothe you.

You feel something dribbling from your nose and you wipe it with the back of your hand, not caring how disgusting it would seem to anyone else. You expect to see snot or mucus on your hand associated with the tears brought to your eyes from the vomiting. To your surprise you see a bright red liquid, your blood was coating your hand in a rugged line on your hand, your nose was bleeding.

“Oh shit you’re bleeding.” Nico exclaims, panic evident in her voice, inspecting your nose and handing you a tissue, the blood filled the tissue within a few seconds, the flow from your nostril not giving up. You must’ve burst a blood vessel in your nostril with how it’s pouring out of you, you start to feel dizzy at the sight of how much blood you’re losing. You pull back the tissue and feel it leaking through the tissue, your fingertips were now stained red from how profusely it was bleeding.

It starts with your hands trembling, your body becomes stiff and you can hardly hear anyone around you. Your fingers are shaking that badly you drop the bloody tissue, your nose is now free bleeding all over you and your clothes. Your breaths are rugged and panicked. The ache in your neck causes it to fall, your whole body falling forward destined to hit the ground until Gabriel catches you, sitting you on the floor, lying you on your side.

“Call Pedro back from lunch, now. And get the damn medic.” Bella demands Gabriel who stands in a panic not knowing what to do, he rushes to get his phone and makes the call to Pedro, Nico rushes away to find the medic on set while Bella stays with you. She’s knelt down beside you, trying to pry you upright but your body is stiff and unmoving other than the small underlying tremble of your body.

The medic arrives first, she’s kneeling down beside Bella to look at you, eyeing the teenager in shock at the state of you. “Hey hun can you hear me? It’s Cas I’m here to help.” You feel a warm hand on your body as she rolls you onto your back, the ache from the touch alone causes you to whimper, your eyes are strewn shut at the brightness of the room, it was all too much, you just wanted Pedro.

She pulls out of her bag a cuff, to check your blood pressure, the tightening of the cuff on your arm was pleasantly satisfying, slightly grounding you with each notch of pressure that was released. “Okay, blood pressures a little low but nothing to be worried about. Just going to check your temperature sweetie.” She moves your arm, shoving a thermometer under your armpit and waits for it to beep. She checks it and purses her lips together on a thin line.

“Baby, oh my god is she okay?” Pedro kneels down next to you, his hands are holding your cheeks, cupped in his own large hands the warmth from them makes you sweat, a result of your ever rising temperature. “Is she okay?” Pedro asks Cas, she puts the thermometer away. “She had a reading of 39.2 degrees, she’s got a fever, not sure what’s causing it though.”

“Hey baby, hey can you hear me? It’s me baby I’m here.” You could barely find the strength in you to open your eyes, eyelids squinting to protect your eyes from the brightness of the room. “Hey.” You mutter, with the last of your strength you could muster before you fall unconscious.

-

Pedro’s leg is bouncing the whole time he’s sat in the chair beside your bed in the hospital. The beeping of the monitor keeping your reading would sometimes make a commotion in the event of a momentary spike in blood pressure, “it’s just trying to regulate itself.” The nurse offered, which didn’t make him feel any better.

“Mr Pascal, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Dr Wrent, we’ve been doing some tests on your girlfriend here today. We’ve come to find that she’s somehow contracted a deadly stomach bug, it’s rare but not unknown, we can give some anti biotics to take home and she should be fine within the week.” The doctor put your folder and hung it on the end of the bed, “by the way, make sure you enforce that she takes a break, tell her to stop working so hard.”

“Right, I’ll do that. Thanks for everything.” Pedro sunk back into his chair and waited for you to wake up, the small sandwich and juice from the cafeteria sitting unopened as you lie peacefully.

You start to stir right when Pedro feels his eyelids drooping, begging him to close so he can have a moments rest. He hears the shuffling before his brain has the chance to fully lull him into sleep, rustling around in the front of his mind to wake up, sending an alarm throughout his body that you were finally awake.

“God baby you’re awake. You scared the shit out of everyone you know that?” As if you hadn’t felt guilty enough, the worry on His face made it worse. You couldn’t look at him, avoidant in your stare towards him, looking quite literally elsewhere until he leaned over the bed and grabbed your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.

“I’m sorry baby- I didn’t mean,” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “We were worried about you, why didn’t you tell someone you weren’t feeling well?” You should’ve just done that to begin with you knew, but you were too stubborn.

“I just convinced myself I should do it, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by delaying the season for one last scene.” Pedro’s hand caresses your hair, fingers gliding through your hair as he calms you. “From now on you put yourself forward okay? Promise me.”

You pull your bottom like between your teeth, enjoying the sting it brings when you bite down too hard, “okay, I promise.”

“I’m proud of you though, you saw that blood and didn’t die, soooo.” Pedro trails off with a small laugh and you groan and roll your eyes, shoving his arm. “Don’t remind me, that’s so embarrassing.”

Pedro stands from the bed, handing you a sandwich wrapped in a paper bag, “you know I think they’re gonna put a scene of you passing out in the show.” You stop feeling back the paper bag and look at him suspiciously, “they wouldn’t want to!”

He simply shrugs, “you didn’t hear that from me, now eat. Need my baby strong.” You unwrap and bite into the sandwich, it contained all your favourite fillings and you smile, stomach feeling settled and the ache of the emptiness was now gone as you’d managed to swallow some food. You’d sure learnt a valuable lesson; Gabriel is useless when it comes to emergency situations.

[dearest-painter]

If your taking any bully request, is it okay if you can do yandere platonic Gary with scene sibling reader who acts the opposite of him and at first, people didn’t know they were siblings but when one of the preps were starting to jokingly sing “I fell Inlove with a emo girl” or “cause tonight would be the night that I will fall for you” or “so why do good girls like bad guys”(you can decided)making fun of them and Gary was pissed

TW/CW:Yandere behavior, unhealthy behavior, unhealthy relationship, abusive behavior, abusive relationship, sorry for the long wait!, Gary himself, I used people who are scene for this for those who don’t know what scene is :3(they are so pretty dude!), tell me if I need to add any

Summary: Only he gets to make fun of his sibling, it’s common law that everyone knows. So when someone tries to bully HIS sibling, he will cause all living hell to happen

Gary was the more edgy and rude one while you were the more social and ‘different’ one. You were a scene girl/boy/person, Gary often bullied you for it yet you knew he loved and cared for you as a brother. You always broke dress code as in your words “Dress code is for those perverted ass teachers that don’t know self fucking control!” and Gary would always hide you from the staff or prefects as he didn’t want you to get in trouble. He always walked with you since you two shared all the classes together.

Gary walked with you as you listened to music on your headphones as you poorly danced as you loved to embarrass him. Gary pretended to hate it yet he was happy you were being yourself. He had fought so many people who made fun of you as you were his sibling. “Knock it off, you look hideous” Gary groaned while you chuckled and leaned on him as you threw your arm over your eyes and dramatically gasped. “Your killing me gary!”

“Get off of me” Gary groaned as he pushed your head off of him which just made you chuckle some more. You went back to dancing poorly as you listened to your music.

Soon you passed the preps, they always made fun of you no matter how many times Gary beat their ass. You never learned their name as it was useless. One of them started to laugh as he said “I fell in love with a emo girl” and another joined in and said “cause tonight will be the night I will fall for you!” In a very poor singing voice. Before you knew it Gary was charging straight at them.

Gary lunged at the first one who started it and started to beat his ass. You were recording from the side lines. “BEAT HIS ASS GARY!” You cheered. Gary was swinging, not even giving him a chance to fight back. When the other guy back away Gary’s head shot to him. Gary then jumped at him and started to beat his ass. You were cheering him the whole time.

When the prefects finally pulled them apart the first boy had a black eye, broken nose that was bleeding, and a cut above his eye. While the other guy had some teeth missing, a shoe print on his face from when Gary kicked him, a bloody face as he bashed his head in the ground, and a black eye. You two were polar opposite yet you both enjoyed violence.

“TALK SHIT ABOUT THEM AGAIN AND ILL MAKE YOU MEET YOUR GRANDPARENTS YOU DUMB FUCKS!” Gary shouted at the preps as he was dragged away. You sighed as you knew you were going to have to wait for him while he was in detention.

[beloved-boat-boys-blog]

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