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roosterr · 2 years ago

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murphy's law

a/n: ive had this idea in my head for a while so i decided to dump it out of my brain for all of you to enjoy. somewhat inspired by lunarvicar's amazing wonderful fic to the flame i really love her writing so check it out yo also i haven't written anything in years so cut me some slack :')

pairing: captain john price x gn!reader

summary: when a simple mission goes south, you get left behind in the confusion. you just can't seem to catch a break.

no use of y/n, callsign is 'vantage'

no physical description, but reader is (very) vaguely implied to be shorter than price

warnings: descriptions of injury (nothing too graphic), canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, minor character death, i don't know how the military works lmao, lots of swearing bc i can't help myself

word count: 8.6k

read it on ao3 here

✹✹✹

it was a straightforward mission; in and out, grab what you need, and you'd be home in time for dinner. nothing you hadn't handled before.

ghost and price were on overwatch; the lieutenant was positioned with his rifle on a rooftop across the street, whilst the captain stayed in the suv with a laptop to keep an eye on the surveillance cameras around the exterior of the building.

you'd had your eyes on this intel for months now, biding your time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. your opening had finally arrived, and with all that time spent planning, it was going so well.

that should have been the first red flag.

the second, more apparent, warning sign was that anything you found as you, gaz, and soap swept the building was either something you already knew, or irrelevant. how was that possible? the location of this facility was a heavily guarded secret, you'd fought tooth and nail to find it; why spend so much effort hiding something which had such little value?

you'd ventured to the second floor, up the damp stairwell and further into the eerily quiet building. there must be something worth hiding here, you just had to find it. you certainly weren't planning on going home empty handed.

you paused your movement into the dark, staring down the empty corridor through the sights of your gun. you felt your stomach turn, and swallow down the sick taste of bile in your throat. for everything you'd done to get here…

it was going so… well.

bringing your hand to the radio on your chest, you don't bother to calm the shake in your voice before speaking.

"does this feel off to anyone–"

you're cut off by price's shouting, a twinge of panic in his voice you aren't used to hearing from him.

"fuck– it's an ambush! get out of there, now!"

you're about to respond, when you hear gunshots from below you. soap and gaz were downstairs, where the hostiles were pouring into the building, and you were on your own upstairs.

the shots from ghost's rifle make your ears ring, even from across the street.

"vantage, get yer arse down here, there's too many of 'em!" soap's yelling brings you out of your haze, and you can't find the energy to respond as you take off running, back to the stairs you came up. "shit– man down! gaz is hit! they're coming up, vantage!"

you just about register what he said when the door to the stairway bursts open only a few metres ahead of you. diving into the nearest open room, you narrowly avoid a bullet to the gut, and slam the door shut behind you.

shit. fuck. fucking shit.

you counted at least four hostiles up here, and with gaz injured, soap would most likely be dragging him back to the suv you all arrived in, where price was waiting, which meant…

you really were alone.

well, ghost was out there, but he was a man of self preservation. he wouldn't risk coming in here to save you. not when you were this fucked.

your chest felt tight, now, and you could hear the enemies shouting on the other side of the wall. come on, you plead with yourself, do something!

snapping your head to look around the room you'd trapped yourself in, your eyes linger on the filing cabinets lining the wall next to you. you can drag them over here, barricade the door.

prolong your survival, or delay the inevitable.

you hadn't noticed how hard your nails were digging into your palms until you went to grip the cabinet. the half-moon divots stung against the cool metal as you heaved it in front of the door.

now the hostiles are outside, rattling the wall with their attempts to kick the door down.

you drag another one, for safe measure. you pray they'll be heavy enough.

through the blood rushing in your ears, you can just about make out price's voice.

"vantage, answer me dammit! what is your bloody status!"

"i'm good– i'm good," you manage to get out between pants, never once taking your eyes off the door. willing your heartbeat to slow down. "not injured, just– stuck in a room upstairs."

"that doesn't sound good to me."

it all went quiet when he spoke to you. at first you thought it was just because your focus had shifted– because it was him– but it really was quiet now.

"yeah, i… they're– wait, they're not at the door anymore, they…"

hold on.

what?

"ghost, you got eyes? what's happenin' over there?" there's a sense of urgency to your captain's voice, and for a single selfish moment, you think he might be worried for you beyond that of a just soldier. your frenzied mind lingers on that thought.

the gruff voice of ghost brings you back to reality,

"they're setting charges– vantage, you need to find a way out."

charges. explosives.

all you can muster is a half-hearted, "shit…"

deep down, you know that isn't going to happen. you wouldn't have time to run down the stairs, and even if you did you'd only be walking right into their bullets. there's nothing they can do to help. and you think, deep down, they know that too.

this is it, then, you think to yourself, am i really going to die like this?

and for another fleeting moment, you're filled with regret that you would never get to see john's face again. all the stolen glances, lingering touches, inside jokes; none of it would ever amount to anything. would he remember you? would he even come back for your dog tags?

the tightness is back in your heart, but it's different this time.

your eyes still don't leave the door as your back hits the wall. the faint moonlight gives the room a soft glow, serene, and your heart sinks further into your stomach.

the moonlight;

the window, the outside.

not an ideal escape route, but these were hardly ideal circumstances.

you didn't waste a second with hesitation and backed up for a running start. you thank every deity you can think of that you always insisted on wearing a helmet.

this was going to hurt, but it was better than the alternative.

"van, you have to get out, please!" you're not even sure who's talking in your ear anymore, but you know who you want it to be.

for him, you think to yourself, i have to make it back to him.

with a deep breath, you take off into a sprint, tucking your head into your elbow and diving shoulder first through the glass.

as you free fall out the second storey window, you think you hear john calling your name, your real name, and you think you feel a flutter in your chest. it was almost peaceful.

and then you hit the ground.

with a thump and a sickening crack, you rolled unceremoniously and ended up on your side, in the snowy alleyway behind the building you were just trapped in; the building that was about to be demolished. your elbow muffled your pained cry.

right, explosives, the reason you jumped to begin with.

your teammates are still going berserk in your ear, yelling at each other or you or both, but you can't bring yourself to respond. you could answer them once you were a safe distance away– and when you could breathe without heaving. as you stand, swaying on your feet, you feel your ribs shift in a way they definitely aren't supposed to, filling you once again with the innate urge to vomit.

but you swallow that down; it'll have to wait, you need to get as far away as possible, now.

your hands braced your broken ribs– and you notice, then, that your shoulder is killing you too– as you stumble down another alley, leading away from the building. you slip and almost fall on the untouched snow, but somehow manage to catch yourself. in the back of your mind, you notice you lost your rifle at some point. you'd have to survive with just your pistol.

for a moment, you almost felt that you'd gotten away, that you'd made the perfect escape.

of course, it was too perfect.

the charges finally went off. you were thrown forward, and despite your helmet, everything went black.

✹✹✹

your ribs flared with agony at the ragged breath you took, blinking your eyes open as consciousness returned to you. darkness swarmed your vision, contrasting the pure white of the snow that was slowly freezing your extremities, and you fought with every bit of self-restraint you had not to cry. your eyes stung anyway.

how long were you out? you were still in the alley, and you hadn't been found by anyone yet, so it couldn't have been long. i need to move, is the only thought swirling in your head. with what little strength you could muster, you rolled yourself onto your back to look at the ruins behind you.

dust filled the air and coated everything in sight, obscuring your vision almost fully; but what you could make out, was the lights from your enemy's guns as they swept the rubble.

looking for you, presumably.

shit shit shit.

you had god knows how many broken ribs, your shoulder was fucked, and now your vision was swimming, and to top it all off you could barely hear yourself think over the violent ringing in your ears. this night just kept getting better and better.

it took everything in you not to scream at the agony as you dragged yourself behind a fallen dumpster, sitting up against the cold brick of the building behind you in an attempt to catch your breath.

in. out. in. out.

in.

out.

every move had your bones creaking in protest, the longer you sat here the more you felt every little cut and bruise and shard of glass littering your body. the dust in the air tickled your throat and threatened to make you cough up a lung, spots in your vision danced like fireflies, luring you back into the clutches of sleep.

no… i can't rest yet, you urged yourself to fight your drooping eyelids, i have to get back to the suv… they're waiting… for me…

the crunch of debris under heavy boots snaps you back to the present.

someone was approaching.

the optimist in you wanted to believe it was price, coming to rescue you. but you couldn't take that chance. your hand grips the pistol on your hip, drawing it out slowly to make as little noise as possible.

the shadowed figure came stumbling into view. your arm straightened to aim at their unprotected head, eyes wide and breathing laboured.

the man– the boy– locked eyes with you, flinging himself backwards to the wall opposite you with his hands held high.

your expression hardened. he was your enemy. his uniform made that clear. for a moment, neither of you moved, you weren't even sure if he was breathing anymore. like two wild animals, locked in a staredown, each of you waiting for the other to make the first move. which one of you was the hunter, and which one was the prey?

shooting him will draw his comrades over here. sparing him means he can call them over himself. a lose-lose.

lost in your internal debate as you stare at him, you vaguely notice his hand lowering to his belt, and in a moment of panic, your heart clenches in time with your finger to deliver a shot right between his eyes.

his body slid down the wall, a perfect mirror of your own as the life fades from his expression.

shit. again.

his friends must’ve heard that. with renewed, adrenaline fueled vigour, you scramble across the alley, and begin rifling through the packs on his chest and belt.

a twinge of guilt fills you as you notice his empty holsters. he wasn't even armed.

shaking your head, you find what you're looking for; a morphine shot. at least, that's what it looked like, the words on the label were swimming with the concussion you surely had. it would have to do.

you take the syringe carefully, and stick the end into the muscle of your thigh, through a rip in your pants you hadn't noticed before, and inject the solution. it would take a minute to kick in, but hopefully the painkiller would help you at least make it back to the suv where your team was waiting.

where price was waiting. god you hoped they were okay, him especially, though he was probably in the least danger of you all. what you wouldn't give to have stayed in the car with him.

pocketing the empty syringe, you spare another glance at the boy's face. his wide, lifeless eyes. the pack he was reaching for. the same one you found the morphine in.

he… was going to help you. and you'd killed him.

oh god. the realisation has your stomach turning for the third time that day.

you pressed his eyes shut and pushed yourself to stand. as you trudge your way to the far end of the alley, you keep your eyes forward. there wasn't time to linger.

with a deep breath, you steel yourself and begin to make your way through the cold, abandoned streets of the small town. the suv wasn't far, only a couple blocks away. it wouldn't take you long to get there, even with your injuries.

somewhere in the distance, you could hear terrified screaming, presumably the residents who were forced awake by the sound of the explosion.

now that the ringing had died down, you realise that you hadn't heard your teammates in a while. absent-mindedly, you bring a hand up to press the comms, and you almost start talking before you feel the plastic crunch under your fingers.

"oh for fucks sake."

of fucking course your radio was broken. it must have been crushed when you were flung forward by the explosion.

brilliant.

whatever, the suv would be in your sight soon anyway, you don't need it.

the cover of night made it significantly easier to hobble through the streets unseen, thanks to your all black gear. the enemy were still hovering around the destroyed building, but at least that meant they thought you were buried under there. hopefully they would stay distracted long enough for you to make it back.

god, fuck, you really couldn't wait to get back to base. you desperately needed a shower hot enough to melt your skin to scrub off all the dirt and blood from your body. the morphine had started to kick in now, but you still felt your ribs shift unnaturally with every heavy step. you'd definitely need a few weeks off to recover from this one, and you’d probably get an earful from the captain. you’d kill to hear his voice right now, even if he was yelling at you for being an idiot.

only a little further. then you’d be back with the safety of your team, with this godforsaken place in the rear view mirror. with the promise of being able to rest, your limbs seemed to grow heavier as the exhaustion finally made its way into your bones.

except, when you turn the final corner, you freeze, an ice-cold dread sweeping through your veins.

the car was gone.

it wasn’t there.

they weren’t there.

there was a stretch of tarmac that fresh snow just beginning to fall had yet to cover, tire-tracks that showed the u-turn the suv had done, blood on the snow from– you assume– gaz, empty bullet casings from the fight they put up.

but no suv.

no teammates.

no john.

no. no, no no no. they couldn’t have left you. that wasn’t how you did things in the 141. it was no man left behind, you knew that. maybe they’re just circling the area, you rationalised, desperately trying to calm your ragged breathing, yeah, they went to look for me. they wouldn’t leave me behind.

but they weren't here.

and as you followed the tire-tracks down the street, they didn’t go back into the town. they made a straight line, directly to the dirt track leading into the wilderness, clear as day in the snow. back the way you had all gotten here earlier that night.

your knees dampen from the snow, the painkiller in your system keeping you from feeling the impact. when did you fall over? there was no attempt to stop the searing hot tears this time as they ran through the dirt caked to your face. your throat constricted, lifting a hand to your mouth to muffle your hyperventilating.

they were gone.

long gone, without you.

they really had left you behind.

a mumble from somewhere to your left interrupts your breakdown. grief morphs into blinding rage for a split second; can i get a fucking break? you swing your arm still holding the pistol to point at whoever was watching you, twisting your abdomen in a way that has you gritting your teeth.

a woman, clutching her young son, shielding his eyes and ears from you.

you lower your gun. that’s not a mistake you’ll make twice. catching her eyes, you gesture for her to be quiet, which is quickly met with her frantic nodding.

it reminds you, you’re still not safe here. you were supposed to be, but hey, it looks like plans change. no man left behind– what a load of horseshit. you push yourself onto shaky legs, you only had a few hours until the morphine wore off, and you needed to be out of here before that happened. as fast as you could possibly muster, you begin to stumble towards the dirt track that disappears into the treeline, following the slowly disappearing tire-tracks.

✹✹✹

you managed to make it into the woods faster than you expected, and you found a fallen tree slightly off the path to take shelter behind while you licked your wounds. literal and metaphorical.

this was unbelievable. how could they leave you like that? if they’d only taken the time to do a quick lap of the building, they would’ve found you laying face down in the snow, and this whole mess could have been avoided. where were they off to in such a hurry anyway? it’s not like you guys had found anything sensitive.

oh, wait. gaz was shot. that had briefly slipped your mind. perhaps you were being a little selfish by getting so worked up by this, but then again, for all they knew you could have been in the same condition– or worse. they…

your breath hitched. and not from your injuries.

they thought you were dead. that would make sense, in the chaos of everything, and amidst your panic, you didn’t really do a good job keeping up with answering your comms. still though, you were definitely going to rip them all a new one when you got back; or maybe it would be the other way around.

either way, you couldn’t sit here and dwell on it all night. you needed to make it to the safehouse before they flew back to base. if you missed them this time, you really were well and truly fucked.

✹✹✹

"i've gotta be at least half-way by now," you lament, flopping down against another tree with a grunt in an attempt to calm the burning in your legs and chest. the morphine had worn off about a few hours ago, and you were finally feeling all the bleeding wounds you'd ignored before. nothing lethal, you hoped, aside from your shoulder, ribs, and splitting headache, it was mostly just a lot of glass in your skin.

when you left the town, it must have been just past midnight, and at this pace it would be well after morning before you made it back. you could just about see the first signs of dawn poking through the cloud layer.

the snow had gotten heavier, casting a haze over the horizon, but it hadn't escalated into a storm yet. even under all your gear, the cold was starting to bite at your limbs. your lack of gloves was a decision you were coming to regret; if you lost any fingers because of this you really were going to kill price.

"fuck, he thinks i'm dead…" you groan as you stare up at the sky. snowflakes catch in your eyelashes and threaten to freeze the tears as they well up in your eyes. was he as distraught as you currently were, you wonder? was he even moved at all, or were you just another soldier, just more paperwork he had to fill out?

being in love with your captain was so, so difficult. a mistake, most would say, and you used to tell yourself the same thing. but after knowing him, seeing the vulnerable parts of him he keeps closely guarded, you can't bring yourself to care. seeing his expression when you gifted him the cigars you bought for him, learning his favourite drink when you all went out after missions, trading stories over paperwork in his office late at night. even after everything you've been through together, you know, in your heart, he doesn't feel the same; he's your superior, you're his sergeant, and he is nothing if not an honest man. it can never work between you two. but despite it all, the only regret you have as you sit bleeding in the snow, is that you never told him how you felt.

please, don't leave me here…

in the back of your mind, you know they wouldn't go home without at least id-ing your body, but you were so shaken by the ongoing near death experience that your train of thought wasn't making much sense anymore.

the distant whirr of a helicopter snapped you back to reality. maybe it was… no, the 141 didn't have a helicopter here, which could only mean it was a hostile one. fucking fantastic. where you were slumped was right at the edge of the road, with very little cover from above. you needed to move further off the path, under the protection of the forest canopy.

with a laboured grunt, you pulled yourself back onto your feet, using the tree behind you as a crutch until you could catch your breath again. the helicopter was getting nearer now, close enough that you could almost make out the spotlight through the falling snow.

a brief jog was all you could manage to get away from the road. the snow wasn't deep enough to leave tracks that would be noticeable from the air, not through the shade of darkness. you still as the helicopter passes overhead. there's no change in its course, and you huff a breath of relief. at least you wouldn't have to try and outrun a chopper.

you watch the helicopter's silhouette fade into the night sky. there was nothing to do but carry on. you needed to get to the safehouse.

this was going to be a long night.

✹✹✹

hours, it had been hours since you first set off, so long in fact that it was essentially daytime. the sun hadn't fully risen, casting the world in a dim light that was just dark enough to keep you tripping over roots and holes in the ground.

the snow had let up a while ago, but the overcast clouds had stayed, the perfect match to your steadily declining mood. you thought you felt like shit earlier? if only you could have predicted how much worse it would get. you were acclimated to the pain by now, it reduced to a constant throbbing where your bones were broken. perhaps the icy temperature around you was numbing your injuries; it was either that or the shock.

ahead, you recognised a set of worn tire-tracks making a hard turn through a gap in the forest. there was no way of knowing it was the right way, but a spark of optimism ignites in your chest. maybe you were finally getting close. you just had to pray that your sense of direction was good enough to be leading you in the right direction.

you were right on top of the tracks now, and upon closer inspection, the pattern of the treads might just match the ones on the suv; you've had to fix that damn car so many times you'd know it in your sleep. they were messy, the snow making it hard to pick out, but you needed the hope right now.

this had to be them.

you go to continue down the clear path, to follow where your team had gone, but your luck just doesn't improve.

the mud slides under your foot, catching your ankle and toppling you in your attempt to struggle through. the breath is forced from your lungs as you impact the ground. you cry out through gritted teeth, feeling the strain of your muscles twisting far further than they're supposed to.

pain strikes through your ankle like lightning. drawing a breath is almost impossible from the pressure of your ribs. as you fight to sit up, the mud fights to drag you back down like quicksand.

fuck. another injury to slow you down.

muddy snow covers you from head to toe, the stabbing pain in your shoulder coming back in full force.

was that a car? the low rumbling from the direction you came from drew your attention, and you faintly see beams of headlights through the darkness. you momentarily forgot about your injuries, a frenzied panic making your blood run cold. another patrol. i need to go.

then, as you struggle to get up and out of sight, you feel a concerning pop from your kneecap, and you don't even have to look to know it's dislocated.

but there was no time to check the damage, you had to hide, now, or the truck would reach you and you'd have a lot more problems on your hands. you scramble onto your hands and knees, and yank your ankle free of the wet mud, practically throwing yourself behind the undergrowth just in time for the truck to round the bend.

your ribs are displaced again, injecting fresh pain into the shuddering breath you took, on top of your newly twisted ankle and dislocated kneecap bent uncomfortably beneath you.

it's a miracle you were able to keep quiet as the vehicle passed by.

by some stroke of luck, or just divine stupidity, your enemies drive straight past the space in the trees and your hiding spot. the headlights cast ominous shadows as they cruise by, but they didn't see you.

struggling to your feet once again, this time you give the muddy path a wide berth as you make your way deeper into the forest.

✹✹✹

one foot in front of the other. dragging your injured leg behind you. cradling your broken ribs.

just keep going.

limping through the mud took every resource your body had left, the effort of keeping upright was almost more than you could take.

how much longer could you possibly go, before you can't get back up again?

you couldn't lose hope.

ahead of you, a break in the sea of trees.

just one foot in front of the other. that's all you need. it's all you can do.

closer, stepping out into the open, squinting against the sun.

against the pale light of the morning sky, you see a dark shape. a building? you couldn't tell, you could only pray it was the warehouse you'd been longing for.

one foot in front of the other.

closer still, despite the bone-deep exhaustion in every limb. you could make it out now, the rusted metal siding and fresh tire-tracks in the mud. you were right there.

you taste the salt before you realise you're crying.

almost,

somewhere between the agony, you hear yourself think,

still too early to celebrate.

your heart stutters. they were here, they had to be.

they had to be.

one foot in front of the other.

closer again, you focus on the keypad beside the door. your ankle twists uncomfortably as it drags along the gravel.

the handle became your crutch as you mustered the energy to lift your arm to enter the code.

seeing double, vision swaying as the edges fade.

a distant beep. a red light turning to green.

the handle turns under your weight, and the door swings open.

you find the floor coming up fast.

voices are all around you.

you give in to unconsciousness.

✹✹✹

the distinct hospital smell is what rouses you from your deep, dreamless sleep. hands prod at your busted ribs, drawing a scratchy groan from your dry throat. you grab the wrist of whoever is there as you fight to open your eyes.

"sergeant vantage?" they call out to you, and you realise with a disappointed sigh that it's the medic and not your captain. you open your eyes fully and see her standing above you with a clipboard in one hand. apart from her, you're alone in the medical wing. she notices you looking around, and looks down at the clipboard as she continues, "glad to see you finally awake. your teammate gaz got off pretty lucky, the bullet went clean through his leg. you on the other hand, i'm impressed you made it back at all."

your ankle is in a boot and elevated on some pillows, and you can feel your knee is tightly bandaged under the blankets. an ache starts to form in your shoulder at the effort of holding your arm up.

"vantage, i need you to let go of my wrist." she says, and after an awkward pause you free her from your hold.

"sorry doc…" you mumble, bringing both hands up to your face and observing the tiny cuts littering your skin. you let them flop down to your sides again, but the aching doesn't subside.

"how are you feeling?" she breaks the momentary quiet, setting her clipboard down on the table next to your bed, "want me to get you anything?"

"i'd kill for some water…" you wheeze, the dehydration was catching up to you.

"alright, i'll be right back," the doctor affirms, making her way to the door. she turns back to look you in the eyes with a stern expression before she leaves, "please don't go anywhere."

and with that, the door clicks shut and you're left truly alone with your thoughts again.

your bones creak as you push yourself to sit up, your movements sluggish still with exhaustion, and you're reminded of just how badly you were hurt. everything aches, and it feels as though you'd been asleep for years.

gaz was okay, that's a relief. a little insulting that he got shot and was still in better condition than you, but whatever.

you look around the room for something, anything, to take your mind off the pain, and your eyes eventually land on the table beside you. a few cards sat on top, all with some variation of get well soon on the front, along with a small vase of flowers. you pick up the card closest to you and open it to read the scratchy handwriting inside.

'i swear you could survive a nuke, you're like a cockroach! get better soon, lots of love, soap! xxxxx'

what a charmer soap was. you chuckle at his lighthearted message, he always did try to keep your spirits up in times like these. as you place the card back where it was, your gaze is drawn to the empty chair next to your bed. there was a thin blanket folded over the back, probably left by whoever was last sitting there.

your mind begins to wander; how long were you out? your teammates clearly visited, does that mean price did too? you feel your stomach flutter at the thought of him worrying for you, watching over you as you recover. and if he fell asleep at your bedside? the heart monitor might call the doctor back if this train of thought continues. but then again, you doubted he'd be that forward, he would most likely be buried in paperwork like he usually is after a mission. and the mission you just came back from would require more paperwork than most.

because they… left you behind. that's right. you had to walk yourself back to the safehouse on all your injuries. who knows how long you were walking for but it must have been at least ten hours, considering the sun had risen by the time you got there. the butterflies were swiftly melted by the hot anger rising within you.

you were going to give him a piece of your mind, just like you promised.

all thoughts of the pain you were feeling are out of your head as you fling the blanket off your lower body. you grip your injured leg and lift it over the edge of the bed, swinging your other leg to plant both feet on the floor.

just as you were about to pull yourself up to stand, the door opens again and the medic walks in with your water bottle in her hand. she stops, an icy look in her eyes as she observes what you're doing.

you look back at her, debating whether you should give it up and lay back down, but your anger quickly wins over. the heart monitor picks up again as you work yourself up.

"i swear to god, if you don't sit back down right now," she makes her way over, setting the water down on the table you were using as a crutch. you meet her eyes indignantly, and go to step around her anyway. "no! you need to rest!" the doc puts her hands on your shoulders, and she stops your movement embarrassingly easily.

"fuck that," you croak, your voice still hoarse, "where's captain shithead? i need a word."

she maneuvers you back into sitting on the edge of the bed, and hands you the water. you keep your sour expression, but still drink half the bottle in one go.

"i assume you mean captain price? he's in his office, hasn't come out since you all got back." she takes the bottle from you when you're done, setting it down again, before moving to take the iv out of your arm. if she feels your glare, she doesn't acknowledge it. "whatever it is, it can wait."

"yeah right, i got a few strong words for him, and he is gonna hear 'em."

the doc hesitates as she works.

"i don't know exactly what happened out there, but i think you should know… that he hasn't visited you," she speaks softly, watching your angry expression fall. "your other teammates did, i even saw ghost sneaking out of here one night, but you didn't hear that from me."

silence overcame the small room again as her words sunk in. he left you for dead, and now he was avoiding you? even ghost visited you, and you'd barely had a single conversation with him. your heart feels tight again, the same way it did when you were trapped in that building.

"how long was i out?" your voice is low, almost a whisper.

"two days."

you should have listened to all the people who told you loving him was a bad idea. you'd almost died, and he still didn't visit you? that stung. god, you haven't even been awake an hour and you already want to throw up.

i guess i really don't mean that much to him, huh?

you think back to the night before the mission, when you'd sat with john while he did paperwork. at first, he tried to convince you to get some sleep,

"you wanna be well rested, love."

but you stayed anyway, saying that you'd just sleep on the flight. you would rather spend your nights of insomnia with him anyway.

the two of you had talked for hours that night, about anything that came to mind. it was the early hours of the morning when you finally retreated back to your own quarters. he'd insisted on seeing you back, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and your room was in the next building over. the way he'd lingered by your door as you said goodnight, you really thought he was going to kiss you then. but he didn't, and you went to sleep with a heavy feeling of disappointment that persevered into the next day.

"i'm sorry vantage." the medic sets something down on the end of the bed, and you turn to look. a pile of your clothes. "i know how you soldiers are, you're gonna get up as soon as i leave no matter what i say, so i'd rather you not walk around in a hospital gown."

she was right.

"...thanks, doc."

despite the overwhelming pain in your heart, you were still about to rip into price.

✹✹✹

you limp out of the infirmary after dressing yourself as quickly as your injuries would allow, which is to say, not very fast. thankfully there weren't any stairs between here and your captain's office, you definitely wouldn't be able to make it up them with your crutch.

the sun was already setting, a pink hue filling the sky as you pushed open the doors of the medical wing. you tried to think as little as possible as you made your way steadily across the courtyard. it would only upset you, and you desperately wanted to be pissed at him. you wouldn't– couldn't– let price see how hurt you were, he probably didn't care anyway. he was just your captain, after all, realistically there was no reason for you to be this upset.

but you were, and the few people you encountered in the corridors could see it written on your face, staying well out of your way as you shuffled past them.

as you stared at the closed door of john's office, your anger wavered. despite the ache in your heart, you considered for a moment that perhaps you were being dramatic. he was your captain, you were just one of his soldiers. it made perfect sense that he'd prioritise the lives of three others over yours alone.

it was his job, and he did it well.

you love john, of course you do, and that's why you're so affected by that fact. maybe you were letting your selfishness get the better of you. honestly, you didn't have a real reason to believe he felt the same way about you. everyone on task force 141 was close, that's the way things are, you couldn't confidently say he treated you differently.

but he was smart. he had to know how you felt, had at least had to know that you don't go out of your way for your other teammates as much as you do for him.

then again, even ghost had visited you while you were out, and you considered yourself much closer to price than him. so maybe he hated you now, he'd finally gotten tired of your poor decision making skills. it was the reason you were in this situation to begin with.

you were just about to abandon the idea of laying into him when price's voice sounded through the door.

"whoever's standin' out there, hurry up and come in, or piss off." he sounded exhausted, his tone blunt with annoyance. it wasn't unusual for him to get like that, especially whilst buried in mind-numbingly boring paperwork, but you could feel something else under the surface of his sharp tone.

well, there goes your last chance to run. you took a moment to steel yourself, to remember that you were in fact angry at him, and open the door with the harshest look you can muster.

he didn't look up as you let the door close behind you, keeping his nose buried in whatever report he was currently scribbling on. his hat was discarded on the desk next to him, and the hand in his hair was keeping it the messiest you'd ever seen it. you breathe in deeply through your nose.

"oh you'd love to get rid of me that easily, wouldn't you?" you spit, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

john's head snaps forward at the sound of your voice, the hand in his hair dropping to his desk, allowing you to finally get a good look at him. his eyes were wide and tired, you could tell the bags under them were darker than the last time you'd looked him in the face.

"vantage…" he spoke with something almost like disbelief, like he couldn't fathom that you were really in front of him. the hard lines of his face soften as his eyes meet yours, and then even further when his gaze falls to your crutch and boot.

fuck, how were you supposed to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that? you channel every ounce of bottled up frustration you have before his blue eyes consume you.

"well unfortunately, i am still alive. not that you give a shit; you got a restraining order on the infirmary or something?"

he murmurs your name– your real name, and as he rises to stand, his eyes don't leave yours for a second.

fuuuuuck.

"what? you leave me for dead, now the cats got your tongue?" you hiss at him, but you can feel the venom leaving your words with every second. the way his expression falls ever so slightly has you regretting what you were saying. you came in here needing to hurt him the way he hurt you, but you were quickly losing your nerve.

"don't do that…" he was almost pleading, as he made his way around his desk to stand in front of you, his piles of paperwork long forgotten. he goes to grasp your elbow, but you pull back before he can touch you.

"sorry if you've already filled out my death certificate, i'd hate to cause you any more headaches." there was little fight left in your voice now, as you stared each other down in the middle of his office.

in the pause, john screws his eyes shut, turning his head to the side, before fixing you with a hard stare.

"don't. you know i would never've left you if i had any other choice!" it's not anger when he raises his voice, it's desperation; trying to convince himself as well as you. he takes another step towards you, toe to toe now as you lock eyes.

"do i know that? because from where i'm standing, it looks like you couldn't get far enough away from me," you can't help the way your voice cracks, nor can you disguise the hurt when you continue, "even fucking ghost visited me, but not you…"

another beat of silence.

"i couldn't…" john mumbled, eyes showing his mind was somewhere else. your chest tightened; every trace of anger was gone, replaced with the heartache you'd gotten so familiar with when it came to him.

"correct me if i'm wrong, but i really thought you cared." you try to take a step back, put some distance between the two of you, but he grabs your upper arm– successfully this time– to stop you going anywhere. it takes an impressive amount of restraint not to melt at his touch.

"of course i fuckin' care!" he growls, tugging you marginally closer.

your eyes hardened again; of course he did, just not in the way you wanted him to.

you jab your finger into his chest as you speak, your expression sour. "well you could've fooled–"

he grabs your hand as he cuts you off, and you can see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his face turning sharp again.

"bloody hell, just shut up! it killed me to leave without you, y'know that? if it weren't for simon i would've sent 'em back without me! i waited, as long as i could," he wasn't shouting, but you went quiet as if he was, any retaliation you thought of dying on your tongue. john let out a heavy sigh before he continued, "but you didn't come. you were stuck in that building, and then when it went up in fuckin' smoke, what was i supposed to think? i– we called out to you so many times, but you never responded."

the silence between you was heavy. deep down, you had already assumed everything he was telling you, but to actually hear it from his mouth had you choking up in his grasp.

"i…" you tried to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn't come. despite your best efforts, the tears welling up in your eyes were close to spilling over as your gaze fell to the floor.

john sighed again, softer this time, and using the hand on your arm he brought you into his chest, letting go of your hand with his other and wrapping it securely around your back.

you rest your cheek against his chest, bringing your own arms up around his torso, and revelled in the feeling of his embrace. listening to his elevated heartbeat, you wondered if he could feel just how hard yours was beating too.

"when you came crashin' through that door the next mornin', alive, i swear i've never been so relieved. but then you wouldn't wake up, and you were covered in so much blood… i…" his voice breaks, actually breaks, and you try to lift your head to look at him, but his hand on your arm moves up and presses into the back of your head, holding you tight against him. "...i was fuckin' terrified, love." he whispered.

"... why didn't you visit me?" the question you'd been meaning to ask all along, the real reason you had been upset at him.

you feel him press his lips into the top of your head, gently rocking you both where you stand. the crutch falls from your arm, but neither of you make any move to retrieve it.

"i couldn't. i couldn't face you, layin' in that hospital bed, hooked up to all them machines… knowin' it was my fault…"

"Hey, you know it wasn’t…" you murmur with disapproval; as much as you hate to admit it, you dug yourself into that hole.

"fuck, i'm– so fucking sorry love,"

"don't apologise… please, you did what you had to," you lift your head, and you can look him in the face again. his eyes were slightly red; if your heartstrings were pulled anymore they'd surely break. "plus, i was never really mad at you anyway."

he huffs out a small chuckle, his breath fanning over your face, the crease in his brow melting away as your eyes meet, "well ain't that a relief?"

"i thought you were pissed at me, and that's why you didn't visit…" you clear your throat and avoid his gaze, "i mean, i did lock myself in a building full of hostiles… not my finest moment,"

"no. as stupid as you are sometimes, i could never be angry at you."

"that is a relief."

a quiet overcomes the two of you, standing in eachothers arms as the evening sun casts the room in an orange glow. you wanted to stay like this for the rest of time, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the voice in the back of your head that said this was inappropriate. the way he was talking, holding you, had your hopes high, just like that night before the mission. the one where you went to bed disappointed. it didn't help that you were expecting the let-down now, if anything it only made your heart sink even lower.

you notice that, exactly like you, john was staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. you tilt your head, wordlessly urging him to tell you what's going on. he sighs, scanning the multitude of cuts and scrapes that litter your face, "i promise you, i will never let anything like that happen again, alright?"

"i believe you." you smile softly, and you do; of course you do, you'd trust him with your life. it wasn't something you'd admit out loud, but you would do just about anything if he asked you to.

"i swear, i'm not lettin' you outta my sight." the look on his face has you squirming is his grasp, under the intense gaze he pinned you with.

"alright, i get it," you chuckle, your face heating up at the implication. this was doing nothing for the enormous crush you were harbouring. shuffling backwards slightly, you put enough space between you that you can comfortably rest your hands on his chest.

"i don't think you do, love," you feel his chest rumble as he speaks, and his gaze becomes serious, "i coulda' lost you. i thought i did. fuck, when soap and gaz came outta there without you? i thought my heart'd stopped… i just– i…"

it was rare to see your captain so lost for words. you feel his heart beat faster under your fingertips, the distant look in his eyes giving away the internal debate he was surely having.

"john?"

"if i'm out of order, say the word and we can forget all about this, but vantage…" his voice was low, and you felt your cheeks heat up to a boiling point as he cradled your face with one hand and leaned in closer, chest to chest again. the anticipation and the proximity might just make you sick. "you mean the world to me, i don't know what i'd do with myself if i lost you."

was that… what you thought it was? it sounded an awful lot like a confession, and you really really wanted it to be, but… was it too good to be true?

the lack of a response from you had john pulling back with an uncharacteristic cough that radiated embarrassment. he let go of your face, hovering next to your cheek as if he couldn't bear to let go, and you frown at the absence of his warmth.

"just ignore me, i shouldn't've–" he begins to back-pedel, going to move away from you before you cut him off.

"no!" you exclaim, with a bit more panic than you intended, and grasp his shirt in your fists to keep him close. "i get it, i really do. i- i care about you too, probably a lot more than a teammate should." your face heats up at the admission, and he lights up with surprise. "i think i always have."

slowly, he moves his hand back to its place cupping your jaw, searching your eyes for any signs that he was misinterpreting your response. when he found none, he smiled at you so genuinely you doubted anyone had ever been so sincere towards you.

"yeah?" he murmurs, the slight disbelief gone from his expression but still present in his voice.

"yes, john," you mirror his tone, bringing a hand up to hold the back of his neck. his skin burned hot under your touch.

"well thank god for that," his voice is barely a whisper now, as he draws your lips closer to his. the air separating you felt thick enough to be cut.

you let your eyes fall closed, and with a small burst of confidence, you lean forward and close the final distance between the two of you. he kisses you so tenderly, with so much emotion, it makes your head spin. you sigh into him, tilting your head and pressing yourself impossibly closer, revelling in the feeling of being in his arms at last. all your many months of pining had led up to this moment, and you felt like your heart might just burst. regretfully, you find yourself needing to break away for air, and to your delight he follows your lips as you pull back.

"maybe i should get injured more often, if this is what i get," you breathe, a dazed smile on your face as both your eyes flutter open, and his chest rumbles under your hand with a deep chuckle.

"you better not; i'll have your head if you do, love."

✹✹✹

#john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #price fic #mw2 x reader #price x reader #141 x reader #first fic ive ever posted im scared #dont break my heart pls <3 #roosterr writes

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seventhcallisto · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter IV — "mirrors."

Deep down.

Toc/cw; suggestive undertones, dialog, and themes. Pre-heat haze, san getting angry, ooc yunho and san. More world building, possessiveness. I'm bad with cw. COMMENTS PUSH MY MOTIVATIOOON Thank you♡

It's four days before your heat. Hongjoong, and you are trying your best not to be obvious about your affections, but it's getting harder the closer you get to your heat. Maybe it's the consistency of your schedule. Waking up at the earliest of dawn, writing down new lyrics as soon as you reach for your phone and then immediately getting up and beginning your day that had changed, which ended up with you feeling strange. However, today is not your typical schedule day.

You thought you'd have more time, really. Seriously. Now you're a heaving, writhing mess under your blankets. Not knowing what's going on because it's the first time you've felt this after your diagnosis. Too hot. Too cold. Never enough. Tossing and turning. Burning to be touched. It only lingers for an hour like a warning sign. The sense of being on the verge of heat. You don't know exactly what to do or what to say. Google is fairly helpful. You especially don't want to leave your room when all of your members are alphas. Even if they're taking scent suppressants, your smell is still extremely sensitive to them.

He hardly remembers you tucking him in a while ago now. Suddenly, your words echo.

"If you remember in the morning, then I give you full permission." To what? He doesn't know. All day- all week. As san gets ready, sits with wooyoung, does some more practicing, eats out with some friends. He still doesn't know what you meant, and he's grown frustrated about it. He's completely lost from the amount of drinking he did with wooyoung.

Maybe the over drinking thing is getting to san. Woo has got to stop daring him to drink more. He can't believe he still allows him to get away with it. As san arrives home around mid day from filming, he realizes it's time to settle in for the rest of the day.

Your scent lingers in the apartment, and it's a good thing that jongsik has told them to begin taking scent suppressants to prevent any of them from practically jumping you. It provides the self-control they need, but it doesn't prevent the thoughts that course through everyone's minds when they get the tiniest scent of you.

It may be thanks to the scent suppressants they have complete control over what they're feeling and doing currently. But it doesn't mean none of them want to knot you. Surely, san is speaking on behalf of his members that it would be heaven to do so. If they didn't have the scent suppressants.. well, san doesn't want to pop a boner thinking about it.

So, for now, they're just coping with your pre-heat scent all over the apartment. No one is allowed in other than the guys. Your pack. San definitely prefers it that way. He peels his jacket off when he steps through the threshold of the doorway, quickly closing it behind him to lock your scent inside.

Seonghwa prepares another meal for you, considering you're still cooped up in your room. And san wonders if hongjoong has been in and out of there, based purely on the smell of him lingering in the hallway. There's been talk about you and hongjoong. Gossip amongst the guys. The papers san found a while ago proves so.

He slaps the paper down in front of wooyoung. Taping his pointer finger against the signed line. "Look! She let him sign it!" san whines, grabbing at his hair. "This is driving me crazy," he huffs as he paces. On wooyoungs bed, yeosang and wooyoung scan the piece of paper. Jaws slack in shock.

There's no way they can dismiss this. Somehow, san got his sticky fingers on your heat paperwork. They don't say anything about that, but the signed line for your heat helpers is only signed by hongjoong. The pack alpha, yes they could ask him. But that would be extremely disrespectful, questioning the pack alpha.

Woo runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "Well, what if we ask- what if she gets uncomfortable? What if she doesn't want us to sign it and she feels pressured to say yes?"

Jongho enters their shared bedroom, questionable looks between his other members. The paper in question catches his eyes. "Why do you have that?" He asks, shutting the door behind him.

Does everyone know about the paper?

San struggles to come up with an explanation for the youngest member. "I- wo-" he looks to wooyoung, wooyoung lays the paper on the blanket, putting his hands up, he claims not to know anything about it. San has no other option except for explaining himself to jongho and what he's gathered the past few days.

Once san is finished explaining in the most rushed manner. Yeosang speaks up, looking to him. "I'm not asking her." Yeosang says, laying down his foot. "If she doesn't want us on it, it's not our place to ask her," yeosang looks back down to the paper in wooyoungs hand. "Put it back where you found it." jongho says, uncrossing his arms from his chest and leaving the room.

San looks back at the paper, propped up at the corner of the kitchen. It's not usual for paperwork to be left around here and there. But the fact you left it out in plain sight when San had to go and physically see it in your room to get it is very suspicious. He can even see the obvious bold letters spelling 'Heat Assessment'.

He not so subtly runs past seonghwa, slamming his keys down on the counter next to the paper. Seonghwa looks up from the dish he's preparing for you, looking at san, who hovers over the counter.

"Hey," seonghwa calls san. San shakes from his thoughts, turning toward the older member. Paper in hand. He reads seonghwas signature, cursive and strategically placed next to hongjoongs. "What are you doing with that?" Seonghwa doesn't flinch. he doesn't even ask about the content of the paper. Truly. Everyone knows, and now seonghwas signature is on it.

"How do you know what I have?" San asks, walking across the kitchen to seonghwa who spreads out some slices of apples on your plate. Seonghwa doesn't look up, "we all know what that is." It's a lie. Many of them dont know. San knows it, too. seonghwa pops a slice into his mouth, biting down on it. The souring scent of san fills the kitchen. "Why has -" he slams the hand holding the paper down next to the plate. Suddenly Agitated. "Why has no one asked about it?"

Seonghwa looks to san, finishing cutting the cheese with the knife in hand. "Asked? It's none of your business." Maybe seonghwa is a little harsh about it. He knows that, for fact. The door down the hallway pops open. San doesn't take a second to tell seonghwa off. Instead, he's marching down the hallway.

Hongjoong is just about to enter your room when he feels san pull him back by his arm. A deep set frown over his eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell us about this!?" He places the paper against hongjoongs chest. Hongjoong looks between the paper and san. Pulling it off.

San is picking for a fight. Seonghwa and hongjoong know. Whatever your scent has done has triggered san to be more possessive of you and more aggressive. Your heat is just around the corner, so the tension is rising in the apartment, and it's higher than ever. The boiling point has been reached since this morning.

"Why is your name on this!" San belts, looking between hongjoong and seonghwa.

Yunho steps out of his shared room with yeosang. The shorter peeps over his shoulder to look for where the yelling is coming from. The door creaks open across from them. Wooyoung and jongho peak out. Confusion written on their faces. Lastly. Mingi is the one to step out from the last bedroom on the left, right across from your room where they're currently at.

"San" hongjoong tenses, watching the way san challenges him. The sudden twisting smell of sans scent burning in his nose. "Tell me," san says through clenched teeth. Seonghwa tries to pull at his shoulder to lead him away from the leader but san shrugs his hand off roughly, cursing through his teeth. Sans tough hands shoot out, pushing hongjoong into mingi. The leader catches himself quickly with the help of mingi. Staring wide-eyed at san.

San, who just opened your door and went into your room. Locking the door behind him. He can hear the pounding on the other side. Drowning out his members, San steps forward into your dim bedroom. The only light comes from the window directly across from your door. It shines the dark room only slightly.

San calls you name and hears a shuffle of things in your closet. The walkover is draining. He can feel himself being pulled in by your sweet scent, invading his lungs. He knocks on it gently.

In the gap, your fingers slide the sliver of the door open. Eyes still blinking back sleepiness. San has to take a sharp breath at the invasion of his senses. You're curled up on the makeshift bed in your closet. A nest you made.

Plenty of clothes san has noticed were missing are strewn in a pile under you. Clad in hardly any clothing to combat the heat of your body. San bends down to your level. You still seem you. The smell isn't in full bloom. San can tell, somehow.

" 'Mega?" San calls to you ever so gently, watching you rub your eyes. "Sannie?" you respond, voice filled with recognition. The sound of your voice makes the tension in sans shoulders dissipate. You stumble up and out of the closet, anxiety begging to settle into your bones. He backs up to give you space. Did he even plan anything he was gonna say?

"What are you doing in my room?" You ask, rubbing your arm because of the cold breeze, and definitely not because you're nervous. "Doesn't my preheat scent affect you or whatever? It's not safe.." You mumble the last bit. San struggles to answer. "The scent suppressants.." he trails off. Watching you rub at the sweat on your forehead. He watches you twitch every so often. You don't meet his eyes. Grimacing slightly. "San.. what did you need?" You know he's not here to talk about something so simple. And the settling pain of your incoming heat is twisting your guts to make room for a big knot at the sudden interest of an alpha in your presence.

San sighs, all frustration draining from him in your presence. Wrapped around your smell. "The heat assessment paper." He says, you take a sharp breath. "What about it?" You turn to look away. San stands across from you.

"Do you really want me to sign it?" He asks in a single breath. You blink up at him, swaying in the cold room. "I said yes last night, did I not?" You huff.

You're kinda mean when you're in pre-heat. San thinks. He goes quiet. That's when you reach out, cupping his arm. Warm eyes meeting his in the dark. "San, I want all of you to sign it"

And you're being extremely bold. "All of us?" San mumbles out, shocked. It's not true, right? San, woo, and yeosang, can all be there for your heat? He won't have to feel terrible about signing it. His members (who are equally infatuated with you) can, too?

"You want all of us to sign it?" San phrases better, grabbing your palm in his, off his arm. "Yes, sign it," you sigh, growing impatient. This is why hongjoong and seonghwas name is on your paperwork.

San feels the hope bubble in his throat. Really, he can have it all. And especially when all he wants is to be with you at this moment. He doesn't care, you want him, and he wants you. Sans tough and somewhat calloused hands wrap around your jaw on each side, his fingers glancing over your primary scent gland, which makes you shudder into him. Your name falls off his lips as he searches yours. You can't help but stare at the lines in his perfectly round lips. As soon as his eyes fall over your own. He's pulling you into him.

You can feel the passion in sans touch, and you can feel the desperation of his kiss as it becomes more heavy. His left hand slipped down to your waist to pull you even closer. His fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. Lips move in tandem, San wants to completely be overwhelmed by you, to be molded by your words and do whatever you want him to. And you want to completely drown into San.

Sans feet shift under him as you guide him, your hands slither into his hair. When you tug gently, san sighs into your mouth, never does he part. Nor does he want to. You know if you keep going, you'll succumb into the inner war of letting San have you here and now. San is oblivious to this. He's slowly letting himself slip into the other mindset he's pushed off for so long, the one where he gets to have you and take care of you like an alpha should.

You shake him out of it. Pushing his shoulder back against the door. You dislodged yourself from his lips. A soft tug, and you're gone from San. He lets out a strangled sound at the lack of your touch. You can't be entangled like this when you're so close to your heat. You can't let this get to you. Breathing each other in, you softly speak. "You have to go," you tell him. San can feel the door rattle against his back.

"As soon as you're done signing, it needs to be turned into the heat sanctuary I'm going to be at. If you don't, the signatures will mean nothing."

So that's why you've been cooped up in your room instead of going to your heat sanctuary. You've been waiting for them to sign it. As soon as san feels the door tug from his back, and you quickly shoving him out. Yunho is pulling the rest of him. Scowling. A screwdriver in hand as they tried to pry open your door. "Why did you do that! That was dangerous! For both of you!"

San heard and felt your words.

Everyone has been withholding their urges all week. Perhaps the scent suppressants are working compared to how your first heat hit. When they didn't know that scent you were producing and why suddenly they wanted to cover you in their own scents. It's a lot less easy knowing that you're only a room away in an apartment full of alphas who are willing to give you anything. But you don't know that. Hongjoong does. He takes a shuddered breath when he stands at your door ealy that morning. He can smell your preheat scent seeping out of the cracks.

Hongjoong knocks a few times. Listening for any movement on the other side. The door swings open. He's smacked with a wall of your smell. "Hongjoongie," you sigh happily. Pulling him in. "Hey pretty girl" he answers, pushing the hair behind your ears and out of your face when you don't stop to turn around and keep pulling him to your closet.

"Look," you slide the door open, dropping the edges of his shirt to crawl inside. "Come," you beckon him down towards the floor, pulling at his hand. He grins, crawling in. He's much too big for your tiny closet, but you fit in it perfectly. Hongjoong can see the amount of clothes on the floor, it's like a mountain, and in the center of it, it's big enough for you and someone else to sit in.

You're so very eager to get hongjoong in that circle, just to see if it's big enough. "Once I get to the heat place, I can make a bigger one for all of us." You push at hongjoongs shoulders, and his back hits the clothing softly. He doesn't know exactly what you're doing until you're sitting atop him, trying to nestle your face into his neck. He places two hands on your hips.

You're scenting him now, hongjoong knows this but decides to ask anyway. Shoving your face as close as you can get to him, your lips breeze passes his glands. Your forehead falls there instead, rubbing back and forth to transfer your scent. Encouraging a shuddered breath out of him. "What are you doing, huh?" He pulls your head out of his neck, his right hand holding your nape softly. You huff, hongjoong scans your features in the dark.

"You don't smell like me," you pout, hongjoong laughs lightly. Maybe in a teasing way but more so in a 'that was really cute' kind of way. The grin on his face tells you what exactly he's thinking. "Don't laugh at me" you pull away, sitting up on his chest. You drain the breath out of him in the best way.

Hongjoong slips to sit up, holding you close to him and not any lower. He only has so much control for now, and he doesn't want to risk giving a certain area the stimulus. "I'm not," he bites his grin. "You are," you mumble, shaking your head from the fog. You plop it on his shoulder, holding him against you.

"I'm not even in my heat yet, and I'm exhausted," you say into his shoulder. Hongjoong sighs for you. "I know, I'm working on it," he kisses your head. "I'll get you a knot as soon as possible, okay?" The sentence sounds so innocent when it really isn't. His finger rubs the side of your neck, where your scent glands are.

The thought of seeing hongjoong above you, giving you his knot, being in you for the first time, flashes through your mind. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. You stop the pulse between your thighs the best you can. "You can't say that." You whimper, pulling off of him. It takes everything in you to do so. The omega in you cries to be closer. Hongjoong pats your hip as you land softly on the clothes next to him. This plan is driving you mad, and yet you still have a week of a long heat ahead of you. "Has san said anything yet?" You look to hongjoong.

Hongjoong shakes his head, watching you lean your head on his knee. Prettily poking your lips at him in the most frustrating of pouts. "What if he didn't hear me?.. What if he doesn't like me like that?" You mumble, closing your eyes and squishing your legs into your chest.

"He heard you. He does." hongjoong sighs, rubbing your cheek softly. You don't know if he's saying it to reassure you. But you really hope san did hear you. And you hope you're not getting your hopes up.

Hongjoong tells seonghwa first. He trusts seonghwa a lot. You trust seonghwa just as much. The idea of going to him first was completely a mutual idea.

Later in the morning, Hongjoong knocks on his door, the one he shares with mingi and san. Sans out today. Wherever he is, he decides not to learn the details. Lately, san has been giving him the cold shoulder. And hongjoong has some idea why.

On the other hand, joong isn't ready to tell mingi about you wanting them. Hongjoong knows that as soon as he tells mingi, mingi will lose himself and steal you away for the week. You might end up inducing Mingis rut in the process. It's just not a great idea to tell mingi before everyone else, no matter if he gets upset about knowing later.

So with that, as soon as hongjoong learned seonghwa was alone in his bedroom, hongjoong took the opportunity. Three knocks, and he's entering. Seonghwa rests on his bed, looking at his phone. Hongjoong takes the bed across from him. Seonghwa knows whatever conversation they're about to have. It's gonna be serious. He sits up, taking whatever hongjoong has got to say heads on.

Seriously, if hongjoong says that you two are dating exclusively, seonghwas heart might actually explode into tiny shards.

It begins the same as a nightmare seonghwa has been having for a couple of days. "You know she and i are together," hongjoong starts off with, not knowing how else to phrase it. Seonghwas mouth falls open. "I.. what?"

Hongjoong really doesn't know how to say this. But for your sake, he's trying. "We're dating. I think we are - anyway. I was the first one who asked her, " hongjoong kinda bluffs, he didn't ask. It was kinda set in stone as soon as your lips touched his. Seonghwa wants to urgently shake hongjoong to spill everything. "She wants us to be a more intimate pack if you get what I'm saying, more than what the media suggests." Seonghwa sucks a harsh breath in, eyebrows furrowed.

"She feels most comfortable with us, not only that but.." hongjoong tries to gather his words. "She likes all of us, more than friends, more than members. She wants us on her heat assessment." Hongjoong explains, he can't exactly tell seonghwa you like-love him, it's not his place too. If seonghwa wanted an answer, he could ask you himself.

"She wants all of us?" Seonghwa can't believe it, to be with you and not make it awkward amongst them, is this true? Seonghwa can share. He can play nice. He might even enjoy the idea of sharing with the entirety of the pack. It's something he doesn't really understand, but he's completely fine with anyway.

Hongjoong nods, signifying that seonghwa is correct. Seonghwa let's out a breath.

"I'll sign it." He let's his words freely flow.

And when seonghwa brings your breakfast for the day, you're surprised to see him. And he's very surprised to see you making a nest in your closet instead of relaxing in your bed. "Hwa?" You question, taking the plate gently, your round eyes look up to him, assessing his presence. It reminds him of that moment in the kitchen, and seonghwa grips his fingers into the clothes under him to prevent the blood flowing somewhere else. "Hi," he greets back with a hum. You place the plate down next to the closet door.

"Hungry?" He asks, watching your behavior. You shake your head. "Not really... My heat last time took a lot, and I still tried to eat as much as i could," you sigh. Seonghwa knows a heat will take everything out of you, and you still won't be hungry until after. Too driven by the urge to.. well, breed, really. He hums as he listens to you talk.

You look like the most beautiful person in his eyes. Even when seonghwa met you for the first time. Even before debut, when you were just a tiny beta that begged to be picked on just to bite back. Even during every bad hair day you claimed. He reaches out to smooth his hand over your hair. Your roots are beginning to show. As soon as your heat is over, you'll be long overdue for a touch-up. And seonghwa feels like tagging along for it. Just to watch your pretty face in the mirrors.

You lean into seonghwas hand as it trails down your face. Sighing softly into his palm. "I signed the papers." He gulps, pulling his hand back. You miss his warmth. Even if you are burning up. Your eyes fall.

"I don't want you to be there for my heat -" you sigh out. Seonghwas heart leaps into his throat. "I want you to take care of me, and I want you to be there after," You try to find the right words. Confessions are hard. "I like you, more than my member, more than friends," you mumble.

"You know how long I have waited to hear that?" Seonghwa laughs into his words. You blink once, twice. He pulls you into his chest. Hugging you tightly. His head falls over yours. Seonghwa isn't the most muscular member, but he still has arms to prove how he can hold you comfortably in his arms and steal you away at any moment.

"I like you too, so much." he mumbles into your hair. You pull back and look up at him, begging for a kiss with your smile. If you did, you'd both end up getting lost in each other. You cut the silence. "Could you bring me some dirty laundry?" You laugh, embarrassed. He snickers. "Sure" he knows exactly why.

Sharing a room with yeosang isn't the best, yunhos member doesn't say much about this odd situation. Lying face down on his blankets, yeosangs phone is propped up by his hand. Yunho, on the other hand, is watching a show on his laptop, propped up on his chest.

It started off with yeosang tossing and turning all night, ultimately it woke yunho up. And before yunho could get a clue of what's going on, yeosangs breathy sighs and whimpers had him shooting right up and out of bed. No way was he gonna stick around to listen to yeo have a wet dream.

The early morning dew completely encased the windows after a heavy night of rain. The flashing clock on the microwave told him it was around 2 am. He took his spot on the couch and watched a movie in silence. When from the corner of his eyes, wooyoung tiredly stepped out of the hallway.

Wooyoung stood rubbing his hand over his eye. There's no obvious sign to yunho that he knew what was going on with yeosang, but he had his suspicion. He doesn't greet woo when he lands softly on the other side of the couch. Both watching the movie in silence.

Yunho can't take silence much longer. Wooyoung obviously can't, either. "Have you seen the heat assessment paper?" He uses this conversation for topic? When obviously, yunho knows about it. "Yea, why?" He asks, turning his chin towards the dark-haired guy.

Wooyoung shakes his head like he's swaying his thoughts away. "Did hongjoong tell you his name was on it?" That gets yunho. No. Hongjoong did not tell him. Because yunho didn't know the leaders name was on the paper.

Besides the feeling of longing building in his stomach, yunho wanted to know what wooyoung getting at. "No, he didn't.. why are you asking?" It's a short answer but an even quicker question. Wooyoung doesn't dare spare a glance at yunho. Opting to just stay quiet. It's completely unlike him.

"Whatever reason she has him on the paper, it isn't our business -" yunhos words stop when wooyoung shoots up frustrated, whisper yelling towards yunho. "Yes! I know it shouldn't be any of my business it's hers- but- dammit! She's one of my best friends! I have a right to know!" Wooyoung seems to be drowned in his own outburst for yunho to get a word in.

Pieces fall and collide in yunhos mind. Watching his other member pace back and forth. "There's more to this, isn't there?" Yunhos words stop wooyoung in his track. The dark-haired guy turns to look at his taller friend. hum.

Yunho knows that look, the all familiar sign of hopelessness when you love someone so deeply, and yet you don't know what to do. He's had the same look consistently when you would split from their group to take photos with other idols. Other idols who yunho knows want you. Everyone wants you. The all familiar ace of K-pop.

When he'd sit back as you did video challenges, dancing and laughing with someone else whilst he watched in silence. He wished everyone knew you were his when, in reality, you didn't even know how he felt. Yunho knows that sinking feeling of possibly breaking something that can't be unbroken. Yunho knows these moments of laughter and bickering, but he wishes he could have those moments with you in a different way. A way that you both understand. Mated as a pair. Together in a more intimate way.

Wooyoung is as still as a mouse, caught in the cookie jar, smacking his lips. His eyes squint down, his hand coming up to the bridge of his nose. Wooyoung is estranged. He is tired of lying to himself.

"We all love her, don't we?" He says into his palm, the world doesn't seem to crash like he thinks it does. Yunho stands up, taking wooyoungs hand away from his face. Wooyoung sighs, facing yunhos eyes with diminishing confidence.

"It's her choice.." wooyoung says just as yunhos mouth falls open to speak. Pulling his wrist from the taller members grasp.

It truly is your choice to call on them if you want to. And when wooyoung turns away, he doesn't see the way yunho loses all confidence. Compared to his members, yunho has a lot to beat. If he had to fight for you, could he?

The hallway flur pass yunho. In an instance, he's pulling san out of your doorway, fuming. San has your scent all over him. Yunho does not ignore the pink tinting in his members' cheek or the way his lips are red. His lips pull back into a snarl as he barks at san about what he did wrong. What could have happened.

Sans lovesick eyes and dazed expression only pisses yunho off more. Even when he lets go, he's still towering over the dark-haired guy. A sudden urge of violence panging in his fists. Yunho isn't violent, no. He doesn't know what happened, but the way san reeks of you is making him feel as if he could commit a felony then and there really digs deep.

His members attempting to calm the situation only make things drown him. He's got to step back. He's got to get out of this cramped apartment where you linger around every corner. He turns on his heels, wanting to make a beeline for the door.

"She wants us to sign her heat assessment."

Sans voice speaks up, and yunho knows exactly who it's directed at. He can feel the stinging of sans dark eyes against his back. Still, as wooyoung looks to his friend, he can tell he got more info than he leads on. But the main shocker is what he said.

"What?" Wooyoung asks for confirmation. Heart leaping into his throat. It's got to be a hoax. Seonghwa and hongjoong linger in the back, silently observing. Mingi is the second to step forward, bending his neck to ask what he means. Jongho definitely gets onto what he's saying immediately. But he's almost tempted to barge into your room and ask you himself.

"All-" jongho gets cut off. "All of us." Sans smile is bitten back. He looks to wooyoung, then to yeosang, shock etched into their faces.

"That's what she said?" Yeosang gulps. San has never lied about anything you've said. No matter what. San respects you too much and this situation is too serious for lying. Yet, yeosang looks to the leader and eldest member to know anyways. Their names are on the paper, something you allowed.

Hongjoongs eyes hold curiosity as he watches all his members, he was right. He's smug that he was right. You are so consuming, it wouldn't be anything other than a surprise for any one of them to not be madly in love with you. You are the prettiest shining pearl in the sea that is the world. Hongjoong shakes out of his thoughts. Seeking out the begging and hopeful eyes of his members. Even yunho, who is a few feet away. Turned to listen in on the conversation.

"It's true." hongjoong says.

Seonghwa took the honor of putting his name on your heat contact. So, in case of anything. Seonghwa will get that call. And he'll assess the situation when you can't. Regarding who goes in and out of your heat space, any official business regarding idol work, etcetera. Seonghwa took it on cause if hongjoong had- the eldest knew that the captain would be overwhelmed with all of it.

Seonghwa is your primary caretaker for the entire heat cycle whilst you're out. To confirm, they had all sat around your door whilst you were on the other side. Just a door away. You used your phone to call them so they could hear you clearly.

You are still coherent despite what san did earlier. The door is the closest way you can feel close to them. Joong had slipped a piece of paper under your door along with a pen.

'Rules' it reads. Rules for the guys. Anything you don't want them to do, they'll be coherent, partly, while you're in your omega mindset. They can't do anything you dont want, especially if you're allowing them to be heat helpers, which is why you need rules.

You quickly write down the list whilst they talk. Discussing what they need to do beforehand quietly on the other side.

You write down a list of things you're not okay with and precautions. Birth control for men is the most important thing on the list. You know omega-you will not take them, begging not too actually, and knowing your boys, they might actually give in or get distracted. So they'll have to do the protection protocol.

And that's all you had. You are fairly comfortable with everything else. You're sure your omega mind will enjoy it as well.

There's this obvious what-will-happen lingering in your mind. Will this make or break your group? You know this is only a temporary solution. You know they think you're only doing this because you trust them to take care of you. You can't tell exactly why they're agreeing. Do they possibly feel the same? You know hongjoong and seonghwa do- and even san.

What about the rest of them?

Later in the midst of the night, as you're curled up in your closet. Your phone vibrates, awakening you from a sticky and hot sleep, one where you hardly actually sleep a wink, and you're completely uncomfortable the entire time. The bright light shines and blinds you temporarily. It's 2 am.

At some point after dinner, you must have fallen asleep. The ache in between your legs spikes up your hips, causing you to curl into yourself more. Whining quietly into the blanket yeosang had gifted you for your birthday. A pale yellow.

Your fingers reach for anything. Your phone ends up in your tight embrace. A contact on display, how'd that get there? The all familiar picture of you and the tallest of your friends posing in front of a snowman, his bright smile and bowlcut styled hair. Yunho.

"Hello?" Yunhos happy deep voice rings from the other side of the screen. You shudder at the familiarity. Was his voice always this deep? Your thighs clench. "Hello..?" He repeats. Music can be heard, some type of indie song, you recognize a few of his friends talking. Laughing whilst he takes a call.

You can hear the shuffle of yunho on the other side. A door shuts behind him, silencing the music. He calls your name softly. You're still so quiet. You haven't said anything. He must have checked the caller ID. "Yunho," your small voice speaks up, and you bite your lip. Curling into your side. You continue on with a whimper, "Where are you?"

Yunho takes a sharp breath. "I'm out, getting food with some friends, you okay?" he tells you honestly, his feet pacing in the bathroom echos. Your head begins to fog worse than it has in the entirety of the week. "Yun" you whine his name into the air. "How far away?" You fall into a whisper.

"Not far, I'm leaving now." The fact yunho is willing to ditch his group of friends and come home just because you called has you leaking. You bite on the arm holding your phone up to stop a needy gasp.

"Talk to me omega, tell me what's going on." The shuffle of yunho pulling his jacket on distracts you. His friends call his name as he walks, and the doorbell jingles behind him. You can't take the ache anymore. The fog behind your thoughts is consuming. You feel yourself losing control.

"I need you, please. Yunho, Please." You whine, dropping the phone next to you. Yunhos' words fall short. You can hear the door to his car open and slam shut.

"I'll take care of you, omega, okay? Just keep talking to me, I'm almost there"

A/n; I'm terrible. Ik. leaving it off on another cliffhanger bc I didn't know how to finish this chapterrrrr iM SORRY. THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!! it's gonna start getting really spicy here on-

taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @yunholuvrsblog @ja3hwa @stopeatread @sousydive @voicesinmyhead-rc @giiouis @c4tboyxiao @eastleighsblog @doggopepper @uhhheather @hyukssunflower @hhoneylix @tunaasan @satsuri3su @acescavern @edusweah @silentcry329 @silentreadersthings @ldysmfrst @idfkeddieishot @zdgx1

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froggibus · 2 years ago

Text

Sleepless Nights - Belphegor

Pairing: Belphegor x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort & fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: belphie gets mad at you one night for waking him up, but can’t help but realize that you haven’t been sleeping

CW: nightmares, sleep deprivation, exhaustion, exertion, insomnia?, soft! belphie, vv comforting,

i think this is the first time ive ever wrote anything about belphie on his own...interesting. anyway im sleepy like 24/7....def not self indulgent

————

You wake up screaming, sweat pooling on your forehead and sticking your hair to your skin. You’re left breathing heavily, heart racing in the dark of your room. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to force away the nightmare, but it’s no use.

Your demons have caught up to you—and not the ones you live with.

To say Belphie is annoyed is an understatement. It’s the fourth night in a row that your incessant screaming has woken him up, and he’s had about enough of it. He’s trudging to your room with a frown on his face, ready to chew you out for being so loud.

What was your issue, anyway? Were you so needy for attention that you had to wake everyone up? He shakes his head at the thought. Needy little human. Still, the thought of you trying to wake him up for his attention makes his heart speed up more than he’d like.

He shoves open your door, the wood whining on its hinges, and stomps inside. He freezes in his tracks at your dishevelled form, though. Wet eyes and thick lashes, a frown etched on your cute face.

You look like a sad little doll, and Belphie fights the urge to coo at you. He has to remind himself that you woke him up and that he’s supposed to be annoyed with you. But it’s so hard when just looking at you makes him feel like he never fell from heaven.

“Can you keep the noise down?” He narrows his eyes on you, “I’m trying to sleep.”

His words leave you speechless, staring at him slack jawed. His pretty eyes are narrowed on you, soft dark hair tumbling into his face and catching on his lashes. You hate him for being so pretty, you hate him for being so mean.

“I-I—” your voice catches in your throat, your words falling away.

Belphie looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something. He knows he’s being unfair to you—you’re sad and you look so defeated and weak, it makes him want to protect you. But Belphie is a stubborn bitch, and all he wants right now is one peaceful night of sleep.

“Sorry,” you mumble, hanging your head. “I’ll stop.”

He hums a quick response, turning on his heel and closing the door behind him. He wants to slap himself as soon as he leaves your room and hears the muffled sobs on the other side of the door. God, he’s such an asshole.

—

You walk around the next day like a zombie, shadows under your eyes dark enough to make anyone do a double take. Everything is fuzzy and you have to focus twice as hard in all of your classes, and even then the lights in your peripheral seem to morph into nightmares.

Your eyes close longer with every blink, and you know you won’t be able to last without a proper night of sleep much longer. It’s been almost a week since you slept more than three hours and your body is reaching its breaking point.

The day blurs together as the exhaustion takes over your body, and you start to feel like you’re in an aquarium.

No one’s around when you get home. All busy with extracurriculars and work and whatnot. It makes it easier for you to go sit at the dining room table, muscles tense and rigid, trying to keep your eyes open under the harsh light.

It’s dumb, and you know it’s not healthy for you, but anything is better than nightmares. Anything is better than having Belphie look at you with the same annoyance he did yesterday.

“Hey.” You must have drifted off, because a soft voice snaps you out of it.

You flinch, forcing your eyes open to look at Belphie. He has his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, staring at you with something new in his eyes—concern.

You can’t even open your mouth, you’re so tired. You give him a weak wave and rest your head on the back of the chair.

Belphie kneels down at your side, resting his hands on your thighs. He’s never been gentle with you before, never cared enough to get this close to you. His touch has your breath catching in your throat, tingles filling the spots where he touches.

“When was the last time you slept?”

Your tired eyes meet his. “A week ago, maybe, I can’t remember.”

He sighs. He really is an asshole. Here he is, getting mad at you for inconveniencing him, all the while you’re falling apart. He wants to pick up the pieces and put them back together, but all he ever seems to do is push them further apart.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” His cold hand cups your jaw, holding up your head. He’s been where you’ve been—so absolutely tired that you feel like you can’t move.

“It’s,” you think about telling him, but with the way he’s holding you and looking at you, you don’t want to be more of a burden. “It’s nothing.”

He squints his eyes at you. “Don’t lie to me, baby.”

The pet name is like a shot of espresso but just as quickly as it hits you, the high starts to fade. Belphie watches the light spring to your eyes, surpressing his grin at the sight. Then, he watches it fade away. Yeah, you really need sleep.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” your voice is a mix between a whisper and a mumble, all of your words falling together.

Nightmares? That’s what’s been making you scream all night? He sighs, squeezing your knees. “You know that’s a quick fix for me, right?”

He wants to laugh at the way your doe eyes look up at him hopefully, a spark of life behind them. He could’ve fixed this for you weeks ago—if only he wasn’t so stubborn and so mean.

He grabs your hand tightly, half lifting you out of the chair. You’re so tired that your body sags, all of your limbs feeling impossibly heavy. Belphie has no problem with this, though. You’re human, you weigh practically nothing to him.

He scoops you up in his arms and takes you back to his room. He thinks about taking you to yours, but he knows no one would dare disturb him if they thought he was sleeping, and undisturbed sleep is what you need right now.

He lays you down in his bed, tucking you in and hiding you away from the cold air. He lays down next to you, an arm around your waist.

He rests his head on your shoulder, hugging you close to him. “Sweet dreams only, okay?” He mumbles into your cheek, “I won’t let any of those nightmares come back as long as you’re close to me.”

You rest your hand over his, and let sleep take over. Belphie doesn’t dare leave you—holding you the whole time, ready to drop everything for you when you wake up. You might be the one sleeping, but Belphie is the one that’s so gone.

#obey me x you #obey me oneshot #obey me x reader #obey me #swd obey me #obey me devildom #belphie fluff #belphie x you #belphie x reader #obey me belphegor #belphegor x reader #belphegor x you #belphegor imagine #belphegor avatar of sloth #x You #x reader

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1-ker0sene-1 · 11 months ago

Text

The Dead Do Talk

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish / Reader

(Wheelchair User Reader)

Chap1, Chap2, Chap3, Chap4

"Comatose Blues"

Word count: 2.2k

CW:Blood, corpse description, guns

His eyelids felt heavy, just barely lifting to give him a blurry vision of the dim lit room. He almost let them fall closed again, almost let himself drift back into the blackness of sleep. But the throbbing in his damn skull wasn't going to let him do that anytime soon. He was alive. Fuck. Wasn't that nice? Makarov sent a bullet in his skull and he was still somehow breathing. Lucky bastard. He thought to himself, the team must've got him to a hospital in record time.

His eyes open more determined now, blinking heavily to clear his vision. His arms ached, well his whole body really. His hand slides up the side of the hospital bed, finding the plastic of the nurse button to press down on. Nothing. His brows furrow. But he stayed still a little longer, thoughts sinking in.

Wait.

There was no noise. It's a fucking hospital.

Johnny's eyes fall to the drip in his arm, following the tube to the bag with his gaze. Empty. Hadn't been replaced. He turns his head to the left, the monitor that would normally display vitals was blank, lifeless and turned off. What the fuck? Now that he was thinking about it, there was no bustling of doctors outside his room, no nurses, even the lights were out. Just the sun peeking through the thin blue curtains.

Something was wrong. He knows it. So wrong that something twisted in his stomach, making his shoulders tense. Johnny used his hand to lean on as he eased his sore body to sit up.

"Fuck.."

He let a groan slip out his throat, his voice hoarse and dry. His lips chapped and cracking. He rips the IV from his arm and tossed it aside, with a steadying breath he swung his legs over the bed, his feet on the ground.

His fingertips brush the side of his head, wincing as he finds the swollen stitches where he'd been shot. Quickly pulling his hand back as his brain practically throbs in his skull. Next he checks his abdomen, pulling the hospital gown up a bit. These shots were more clean, what he was used to. A few stitches in his stomach, a few on the back where the bullets left him. They were a bit less agitated too.

His eyes flick to the small stand at his bedside. Two things rested there, a vase of wilted flowers, and his dog tags. He reached for the small folded paper sticking out of the brown petals, unfolding it to read Laswells name, along with some scratchy blue pen lettering saying- "You'll be back on your feet soon Sargeant."

The letter makes him grunt.

Reaching for his tags he pulls them over his head to wear around his neck again.

John gets up with a groan, he's a little unsteady on his feet. But it doesn't take long to pull himself together, at least enough to make it to the door. He tugs at the handle, gritting his teeth as it doesn't budge.

"Fucks sake..-"

He curses, trying to pull again. Before pressing his shoulder to the door, pulling back and giving it a good slam. Feeling it shift on the hinges he pulls back, only to give it another bash. This time it bursts the door open. He grunts sharply, holding his side as it aches just a bit from the harsh movements.

The hospital halls were dark, eerily still. Johnny was realizing that this bad feeling he has was more than correct, considering the blood scattered around. Cautiously he walked along, searching for any signs of life in the building. Furrowed brows and a tight jaw. Shouldering into rooms to check for people, he either found abandoned corpses, more blood, or simply just the mess of what he's assuming was the rush of others escaping the building. Papers, medicine, medical supplies thrown about.

But nothing disturbed him more than the corpse he found in the lobby.. a woman. Torn open, long dead, insides dragged about the room. As if her stomach and chest cavity had been hollowed out. Jaw slack in a permanent scream of horror and anguish, eyes milky white looking up at the ceiling. The top of her skull bashed open.

"Steamin' Jesus.."

He tore his eyes away from her, he's seen hell and back in the field. But this was different. Shaking his head he kept moving. It was a hospital, somebody had to be here right? Somebody must know what's going on.

Johnny's head snaps up hearing footsteps. Looking over he sees the figure of a man walk by the doorway and past his sight. His throat tightens, he himself staggers towards the door.

"Aye-!"

He calls out. Voice strained.

"Sir-"

He grunts out, like a dog desperate for a meal- he needs to speak to someone. Following him out the door.

The man seems to be sheepishly staggering forward, almost like Johnny's exhausted walk. About his height, maybe a few inches taller. He quickens his place, reaching out and clasping his hand on his shoulder.

"Mate for fucks sake-"

Johnny irks at being ignored. Pulling on the figures shoulder to turn the man towards himself.

John's stomach drops when seeing the man from the front. The man's eyes were glazed over and milky white just like the corpses before, chunks of flesh hanging from it's ripped open throat. He was dead, long dead by the looks of it. This corpse was fucking walking. More than that now, it's jaws snap towards him.

"What tha fuck!"

Johnny rasps, stumbling back as the corpse only keeps walking at him. In his shock the animated body lunged towards him, slamming them both into the wall. He grunts, pain shooting up his abdomen. In attempt to block the bastard from biting at his face, Johnny's hand gripped the corpses neck. What was left of it anyways, nearly wanting to gag as the loose flesh was falling apart through his fingers as it's jaws continue to press and snap towards him. Just inches from his skin.

Frustration coarsed through him. He could fight this. He was stronger than this. But his body was aching, recovering, his head throbbing. He groaned as he shoved the body hard away from him. Taking a step forward from the wall. Ready to fight now for his survival. Taking a step towards the dead man.

But he never got the chance.

A bullet whips by him, going straight through the corpses temple. It falls the ground finally unmoving, as it should be. Johnny couldn't help but stare, his shoulders tense and tight, breathing shallow as he stared at the bullet wound on the rotting flesh. He could feel his own head pulse, his heart slamming up into his throat. Like he could feel the bullet ripping through hi-

"-tten?"

His eyes blink as he recognizes there was a voice speaking to him. Able to drag his eyes from the body, he looks down the hall. Falling on a figure maybe twenty feet away. In a dark grey manual push wheelchair, rifle in hand, aimed straight for his head.

".. What-"

He rasps, coming out of his shock.

"Are you bitten?"

The voice asks sternly. It's a woman in the chair, holding the rifle steady at his head. Eyes narrowed at him, a cloth covering her nose and mouth. Voice just barely muffled, but her strong tone gets her point across.

"No."

Johnny says, glancing down at his hand. Stained with the rotten blood of the body, but no wound and no bite. His eyes flick back to the woman, almost relief in his eyes. At least she was alive, not rotting, talking like a person. He steps towards her. But this only makes her raise the gun to keep it trained on him.

"Don't."

She snaps.

"You sick?"

John swallows.

"No. Take it easy lass.. I ain' gonna hurt ya." He says, trying to soften his voice. Attempting to deesculate the situation.

"Words don't mean shit anymore stranger."

She quips back, but her eyes fall to the dog tags. She was wearing her own around her neck.

".. You're a patient? What the fuck are you doing here still?"

She mutters.

Johnny's brows furrow.

"It's a hospital- fucks sake, shouldn't everybody else be here? 'Was shot a couple days ago."

The womans brows raise incredulously, her gun slowly lowering.

"Couple days ago..? That's not-"

She looks at his hospital gown and her brows fall slowly back down.

".. What day do you think it is?"

"Fuck.."

Johnny drawls out the curse as he sits against the wall, slack jawed with all the information he's been given.

He's been out for two months.

In those two months the world went to absolute shit. The dead were walking around, ripping the living apart to please an endless appetite. He has no idea where his team is, where Laswell was, where his family was. As far as he knew they were long dead.

Fuck he wished that shot killed him.

You sit next to him in your chair, giving him a look of pity.

"Thought the place was empty besides the dead.. somebody must've barricaded your door."

You sigh. The gun relaxes in your hold, no longer aimed at him. Your gaze flickers over the fresh scarring on his temple, the mid healing stitches. Shifting in your chair and glancing away. Not really knowing how to handle the man getting the world ending news.

"I don't.. Know what you're going through. But you're going to need to get out of here. There's corpses all over this place.. And looters will show up at night. I say you get some meds for your head and get out now. That's your best option."

You're trying to warn him, give him a chance.

"You're military right? .. You'll make it alright."

You mumble.

...

"Looters?"

Johnny mutters, blue eyes settling on your own colored irises. You look tired, dark circles under your eyes. But you're steeled, something he recognizes.

"The world isn't the same as it was."

You simply responded.

".. Somebody else isn't going to stop and talk to you like this. Safer to put a bullet in you instead."

You once again warn.

Johnny ran his hands over his face. Trying to take it all in as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Silence and deep breaths.

You chew on your lower lip. You do not know this man. This is the stupidest thought you've had in a long time.

"I'm hold up in a house.. couple blocks away. With some supplies. You can't stay here. Let's grab some pain killers, medicine, and get the fuck out."

You suggest. Gripping your gun with white knuckles. Cautious of him despite your offer.

His eyes open and he glances towards you, his foot taps on the floor in thought.

".. Thanks bonnie.. once I get in touch with my team I'll be outta yer' hair."

He says, holding out a palm towards you.

"Sargeant John MacTavish."

He introduces himself strongly. To which you clasp your hand in his with the same strength to give it a shake, giving him your own name in return.

Pulling your hand back you steady the gun again.

"C'mon Sargeant, I'm sure there's painkillers scattered around. Maybe some rations too."

You mutter, pulling a knife from your belt. You hesitantly hand it over. As he grips the handle, you hold on a second longer.

"You pull anything I'll put you down."

You say with an eery calmness. Johnny simply chuckles.

"Aye lass. I know." Taking the knife gingerly from your hand.

He watched you a bit impressed, you moved skillfully in your chair. Balancing the act of keeping yourself moving, and aiming your gun down the corridor. Johnny wouldn't want to say it out loud, but when thinking of the end of the world.. Or at least that is what this seemed like- he never really thought of what would happen to those with disabilities. But you handled yourself quite well.

Not wanting to waste anymore ammo, you had used your time exploring the hospital to tell John how to take down the dead.

"The brain. Whether you shoot, stab, or bash. Only thing to get them to stop is destroying the brain."

You tell him. Pushing open a hospital room with your boot as you aim in.

He watched you closely. How stiff and tense you were, still untrusting. Not that it wasn't understandable.

"Ye survivin' with others?"

He asks.

Your sharp eyes stare into his, before looking away and moving into the room. Picking up some pill bottles and shoving them into the bag resting on your lap.

"No." You say bluntly.

"Most people tried evacuating.. there.. Was. Shelters in the city. In the beginning at least."

Johnny's brows furrow.

"Why didn't ye?"

You shrug and toss a bottle to him, to which he catches and overturns in his palm to look at the label. Strong painkillers for his head. He holds onto them.

"Couldn't drive." You respond.

"Somebody could have taken ye-" Johnny mutters.

You shake your head with a grunt, pushing past his waist to roll out of the room.

"Hauling me around isn't exactly convenient. It didn't happen."

You say sharply. Everything in your stature screamed at him to drop it. Which the Sargeant did.

You nod your head towards the double doors at the end of the hall, one of the hospital exits.

"You coming John?"

He stares at the doors and then you. Pressing his tongue hard to the inside of his cheek before nodding.

"Yes ma'am."

{if you want added to the tag list please let me know♥️}

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years ago

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NightNurse waking up looking for Jason 🙈🙏🏼

"Jason-"

The broken little whimper snapped Jason out of his doze like you'd slapped him. His head snapped up and he looked over to you on the bed, moving to your side, "I'm here," he breathed. "Sunflower I'm here, you're safe."

"Hurts," you whimper, "Fuck why does it-" You break off with a pained gasp, panting and struggling to move. Struggling to sit up, not thinking clearly. Fumbling for a way to stop the pain.

"Easy," he soothed, stroking your hair, frantically hitting the button to call for help. For Leslie to come and drug you up again. Anything to keep you still.

"Don't hurt him," you pant, "He didn't- he's my baby brother-"

"I won't," Anymore, he added silently. Alex was going to spend the rest of his life eating through a straw. And he'd probably never be able to wipe his own ass. Or live outside of a facility- And Jason only stopped there because outright killing him would probably upset you.

And he wouldn't tell you what happened now because you needed to stay still. You needed time to heal.

Leslie materialized with Alfred and fiddled with machines for a moment before injecting something into your IV- probably, Jason reflected, a pain medication. One you'd never take willingly if you'd been able to object. Able to do anything but frantically claw at yourself. Your last memory one of pain and fear and calling for help.

"Master Jason," Alfred said gently, "Why don't you go-"

"I'm fine," he said gruffly, blinking back tears as you slid back into unconsciousness. Your hand going slack in his. "I don't want her to wake up alone if-"

"I can stay," Leslie offered, "She knows me-"

"Or one of the girls would be happy to-" Alfred started, only to stop when Jason shook his head and settled heavily back in his chair. He left once. To do what he needed to do. And now all there was to do was keep watch. To be here to stroke your hair and remind you that the nightmare is over when you open your eyes.

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #night nurse!reader #ask answered #minors dni

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fairycosmos · 8 months ago

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asking my favorite tumblrina : why is the desire to be desired so embarrassing ?? like no matter how hard i say and believe that romantic love is way too glamorized in our society esp compared to platonic love, ive never been in a real long term relationship and i want a "special someone" so badly tbh...

i think because it's still a fundamental need for many of us and not one that just "learning to love yourself" can replace. while i really do feel like romantic relationships are heavily over emphasised in society and there is so much value in learning to love yourself first/ putting time and effort towards curating platonic and communal bonds, it's still not easy to face every day alone and without that specific form of intimacy if it's something you're wired to crave. i know it's hard but i think you should cut yourself some slack - wanting to be loved and the ideology you talked about are both valid concepts that coexist even while seeming contradictory at times. it i think it simply feels embarrassing because we've received messaging that vulnerability is embarrassing since we were young, and admitting you want to be wanted is one of the most vulnerable things you can do. it is still a natural feeling despite that. also thank u for being so lovely!!! very flattered you follow me fr ❤️ i genuinely hope you find what you're looking for, it's ok if it takes time despite the frustration that comes along with that. X

#anon #ask chloe

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mama-qwerty · 21 days ago

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ive been sorta paranoid over the new presidency but strangely today ive felt. at peace? like i feel like we'll be fine. it wont be easy by any stretch but we'll survive this. i hope im right.

I've gotta be honest, Anon. I've been thinking about how to respond to this. I've read it a few times and don't think you're being snarky or pokey about it, so I'm gonna take this as a sincere thought. And I am in no way directing any of the anger or frustration I feel at you. Keep that in mind.

Because I don't feel peace. I feel more like a resigned dread. This was the absolute worst case scenario that could have happened in this election, and with the Republicans also controlling the Senate and possibly the House?

Yeah, 'peace' is not a word I would use.

We won't be fine. Not for a long time. He and his bootlicking loyalists are gonna gut, roll back, dismantle, or alter everything he deems unprofitable or unnecessary. Millions of people will likely be hurt under new guidelines, law changes, and regulations. He's made it very clear what his goals are, and they're absolutely not to help people, or strengthen support or protections for those who are vulnerable.

This isn't a matter of, "oh it'll be kinda bad for a few years, then things will get better!" because number one, it's not 'just a few years', when he's very likely to appoint more conservative judges to the Supreme Court. Those are lifetime positions, which means we'll be stuck with a stacked court heavily leaning conservative for the foreseeable future.

Number two, there's a real problem in this country with hate and anger taking over common sense and compassion. Neo-Nazi-ism is on the rise, and as long as people have an "us vs them" mentality, in which they think that all their problems are caused by, and will be magically solved if "them" are pushed down, we're just going to end up back here again with the next Republican presidential offering.

People respond to Trump's hatred and overt bigotry, and the Republicans are going to keep tapping into that to keep themselves in power.

Assuming there was no cheating or interference in this election (which is a BIG assumption), we've seen what a majority of voting Americans want. A spectacle. A figurehead for their anger, their hate, their greed. Well, they got one, and now the entire country--the entire WORLD--is going to be suffering under that.

That said, I do have a teeny little seed of hope in all this.

Trump's first term was one long stretch of "OMG WHAT IS HE DOING??" No one knew what he would do while in office--not even him. He bumbled his way through, being a daily embarrassment and thinking he had all the power to do whatever the hell he wanted. The whole thing was unprecedented, and left everyone standing slack-jawed at just how imbecilic and cruel and inept he truly was.

Everyone in Washington was in a constant state of shock, caught completely off guard at the things he said, did, and proposed.

So, he's had 4 years to plot and plan and surround himself with loyalists to help him make this term even worse.

But you know what?

The people in Washington who are infinitely smarter than him have had 4 years to plot and plan, too.

Considering he never shut up in those 4 years, the people with more brains in their pinkies than he has in his whole moldy body could strategize and plan for all sorts of scenarios if he came to office again.

Now people know how horrible he is. How he works. How he thinks.

And I have hope that the big brains tucked away in Washington have ideas on how to trip him up. How to throw up road block after road block. How to use the law to keep him from being an absolute fuckwad.

I don't know how likely that is. But I have hope.

Trump caught everyone unawares last time. Having him in office again is like a bad joke told twice.

But this time, we know the punchline.

And maybe that's all we need to turn it around on him.

#ask me #us politics

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find-the-devil · 2 years ago

Text

IV. Scarecrow

The house creaked slightly. Darkness still held the sky, stars still shimmered in their place. A greenish yellow bled through from the horizon, but the dirt road by the front was untouched by the rising sun. The pines still moved in the wind, a haunting howl that weaved through their branches where the sounds died out in the expanse of treetops. Crows flew, invisible against the black, speaking to one another quietly so as to not wake the rest of the forest, they came from the yellow band that rooted itself on the ground far away, obscured by the wooden spires that stood like a swaying, uniform edifice.

Doves whistled with heavy hearts, grief stricken as the sun rose at a crawling pace. Ennis held the neck of a coyote in his steady grasp, sickle at his hip as he let the carcass fall onto the grass, limp body hitting the ground without resistance. He wiped stained hands among the small green blades, dew taking the blood from in between his fingers where it would dry in the heat. His weapon, tossed down beside its victim, a dull, dark metal that reflected no light and bled with another’s life.

His breaths came hard through his nostrils, he muffled the sound, commanding his lungs into a slower rhythm. Sweat lined his brow, his dusty-golden hair sticking to his forehead, hanging above dark eyes that looked upon the animal, breaking it down into its base components in his mind. He flexed his upper back and shoulders, stretched his fingers, his neck cracked soundlessly as he knelt beside the creature, pressing the spine of his hunting knife to the calloused pad of his index finger. From a place deep in this throat, far within his chest he exhaled heavily.

Its mouth hung open as if it wished to howl in death but could not find the life within it to scream. Instead all that came from between the hunter’s teeth was blood.

“For the life I’ve been given I take yours. You grant me survival in death.” He mumbled quickly, running a broad, outspread hand through its stained fur, the color of aloewood and cherry. He lifted its body, holding the slack weight across his shoulders. With a red string affixed to a hook on the overarching roof, he hung the animal by the back paw, staining the grass as it leaked red from its mouth.

He flicked on the lantern that hung above his head.

He took the knife, holding one of the animal’s slender heels in his wide, sturdy, tender hands. The flesh resisted his blade, giving slightly once he cut the skin from the elbow joint, small tufts of wispy fur falling to the grass at his feet. Bone began freeing itself from the pinkish tissue, knife tugging as he moved it up towards the coyote’s rear. Quiet slicing sounds, quick scrapes, faded in among the dawn-time noise, as the land came awake and the night was laid to rest under the rising sun.

The pelt hung lax, taut against its muscles, ankle bones broken, bleeding minimal and bright against the pale skin. Ennis dragged his thumb across the wet blotch, tracing a trail to the base. Tail freed after patient and meticulous work, unhasty and precise, he worked down the abdomen of the beast, crouching on the damp grass, tossing the hair that obstructed his view back with a quick head movement. Spinal bones stuck out from the skin. Muscles, a light, greyish-purple, resembled marble in the light, each separated by a thin line of tissue that lent them an almost stone-like appearance, organic and firm to Ennis’ touch as he steadied the swaying carcass.

The arm bones severed and freed, reddish-yellow seeping from the cut, the head of the animal hung enshrouded by its own hide. He lowered his work, setting it down on the grass before affixing the skin around its neck to the hook, blood trickling from the gaping wound down its back. A dark pink blotch, mixed with hues of red and purple at the base of the coyote’s neck glinted wetly in the white light as the weight and tension let the blade cut with ease, the corpse slowly descending downwards. Ennis looked up, on a bent knee in the soil, at his work with satisfaction, unshown on his focused and intense expression. He skinned the ears with care, as the head of the body hung, nearly birthed from its removed flesh. He dug his fingers into the tissue fold, working down the reddened cranium, slicing with successive motions before hacking at the top of the head.

He reached the beady eyes of the coyote, he pressed his index into the socket, the give minimal under the taught tension of the skin and skull. They glinted back into his own as he freed them from its face, blade close to the bone as he worked attentively, brow knit in concentration. The body was stretched, as if pulled down to the earth by hands unseen, neck long, legs limp as its tailbones shook with the movements further up the carcass. The neck wound, spreading and deep, stretched and struggled to hold the rest of its weight. His knife scraped against its teeth as he freed the bleeding mouth.

With a final slice, the body fell into the green blades below, pelt above swaying in the wind as Ennis sat down in the grass and admired the outturned rosy colored hide, flexing his fingers and tossing his knife aside.

A clean result, virtue of a minutiose, taxidermic approach to his work. With a long inhale he took in the scent of bluebonnets, staring up into the rocking pine canopy as light finally bled into the tree-line.

Rob awoke to birdsong and cooking smells, as the sun shone through open blinds from its place in a cloudless blue sky. He leaned against the couch cushions, smoothing his tousled hair, dragging his hand down the front of his faded shirt as another arm stretched to one side, upper spine cracking quietly as he did so.

“You get up early.” he remarked, standing on legs stronger than they’d been in the days previous. The endless ache in his shin bones, radiating from his knees, quieted for a moment as he padded with a cautious optimism towards the kitchen island.

“It’s 10. ‘Been up for hours.” Ennis replied, head downturned as he monitored the sizzling pan. “Caught this one fresh this morning.”

Rob fell still, silent and stared at him with empty green eyes, widened slightly with a kind of careful dread. His body was tensed, rigid and wound on spring controlled by a hairpin trigger and an antsy triggerman.

“Coyote.” Ennis clarified. “It’s the off season, yeah, but this is the fourth time he’s gotten into the field. Don’t want him eating anything he’s not supposed to.” he said without further explanation. The other hummed in response, peering down into the frying pan, watching as the meat was grilled in a small quantity of what smelled like garlic butter, tempting aroma wafting through the small kitchen and sitting room directly adjacent. “I can make some scrambled eggs too, if you’d like. You’ve got to have an appetite like a fall time bear, haven’t eaten since you’ve been here. I’m not used to hosting.”

Rob felt a powerful hunger tear at his stomach and through his chest at the man’s words. He nodded, curling over into himself as the pain in his abdomen grew more marked. His fingers dug at the soft fabric of his shirt, scratching aimlessly at his middle as the scent of rosemary accompanied grilled meat and garlic. He spotted the bowl of marinade on the dining table beside the open window, considering drinking the vinegary, intensely acidic liquid for a moment of animalistic impulse before he turned his gaze, like that of an owl intent on a mouse, to the food being plated in front of him.

“This really didn’t sit long enough, b-” he stopped at the clinking of utensils, loud in contrast with the hushed space, save for muted bird calls from the outside. Rob took no time savoring the venison-like meat, nor the tang of the apple cider vinegar and the garlic. Primal need overtook flavor, juice dripped from the corners of his mouth with a kind of bacchanalian eagerness.

“You’re not eating.” Rob asked, wiping his lips on the back of his wrist, leaving a greasy streak that glinted slightly on his skin. Ennis tapped the white mask affixed to his face with his fingernail wordlessly. “You ever take that thing off?” the man returned, confusion and curiosity in his expression as one sentiment.

“Yep.” the man replied without further comment as he placed ingredients, spices, oil and garlic cloves back to their respective places.

He dried the dishes as Ennis washed them, the tattered dishcloth the texture of flannel shirt, hemmed crudely at the edges. Rob, as he folded the rag over one of the cupboard handles to let the water evaporate, considered what other use discarded clothes could have for the man. His build was bigger, all strength, tall, a few inches above his own head. The man was broad, with a midsection almost as wide as Rob’s shoulders, muscles flexing slightly with his movements. He had a sturdy, boxy, hefty frame, the tank top he wore fit only just so. He didn’t wear the clothes he gathered.

“Where'd you shop?” Rob asked, oblivious to the long moments of silence that had led up to his query.

“What?” Ennis returned, slightly surprised by the inanity and unimportance of the question, cocking his head in the man’s direction with an almost confused expression. “Uh, I don’t go into town too often, but I get stuff there sometimes.” he answered plainly, unsure if that was the correct response that the man was pushing for.

“Then what’s the clothes for? I mean the ones you… get. Flannel’s an easy enough thing to reuse but the Hell d’you do with jeans?” he inquired further, sitting back on the stool behind the island as Ennis gathered what the man was saying.

“Right.” he gave a small nod, leaning back on one of the counters behind him, crossing his arms “I usually use ‘em for scarecrows.” he explained.

“I didn’t see one.”

The air around grew colder, squeezing tighter, tenser around the pair, as if a cloud passed overhead, despite the unencumbered sky that shone bright sun into the room. The faint sound of swaying stalks murmured outside, leaves rustling as a hare being chased by a rabbit, invisible, darted within the green.

“Crows know better than to come into the field.”

“How’s that?”

“Not sure, but I gather birds are brighter than we give ‘em credit for, detective.”

“Coyotes not so much, then.”

“Not so much.”

Rob looked out of the open back door that drew in a soft, fragrant breeze that brought the day’s heat back into the small space. He imagined, absently, an all-denim-clad scarecrow amongst the corn and smiled to himself slightly, huffing out a small chuckle, inaudible. The man in front of him stared him down without his knowing, as if stalking him from those few feet away, a dark gaze set on him with intent unknown.

“Sometimes the rejects become scarecrows, easier to dress than a bunch of wheat.” Ennis spoke suddenly, snapping Rob out of his thinking. He met the man’s slowly widening eyes as he began to put the words together in his mind.

“Oh.”

“Not the latest, he’s a bit too far gone,” he explained further with a cold factuality. “Pretty sure he’d fall off the stick like meat off a bone.”

The room fell into a common quietude once more, neither speaking a word but simply letting what had been said waft through the room without further observations or remarks. Robin barely dared a breath, turning his head back to the field and watching the dancing leaves shimmer in the wind with a tension locked into his shoulders.

#find the devil #creative writing #my writing #remember to reblog if you like it <3 #writblr #writeblr #writing #chapter 4

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