#maybe i've spent too much time writing fanfics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

creepswrites · 3 months ago

Text

MASK OF HATE | Michael x Reader

a long awaited rewrite of my favorite fanfic i've written... i've come far since my first time writing it and i'm so so happy to be able to recreate my pride and joy!! if you want to see the original, here it is! but i'm thrilled to rewrite it and i hope you all like it :)

MICHAEL MYERS X FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence & injuries

The smell of wet earth enveloped you as you made your way back home. The earlier afternoon rain had let up long enough for you to walk home from work, a long day spent at the farmers market and plant nursery. It was rewarding work and one of the few jobs you'd actually wanted to be hired at. Your family had moved here a few years ago and you'd fallen in love with the town instantly. You and your father lived on the edge of town, more in the woods than the city itself, but not too far that you had to go out of your way to go to work. Even after you graduated, you still hadn't moved out. Why would you? You helped pay rent, shopped for groceries, and could tend to your garden.

It was, as far as you were concerned, the perfect location. A lovely little house surrounded by trees and bushes of flowers, overgrown with vines, and a stepping stone path that led to the front door. The house itself was covered in a dark brick with the inside a beautiful white with dark wooden floors that smelt of books and fresh fruits and vegetables. And sometimes the smell of rain leaked in when you left the windows open.

So no, you had no intention of moving.

Today was one of those days where you'd get the house to yourself. As the current chief of police, your dad was known for working late nights and leaving you to your own devices for a few days. With Halloween coming up, the police were on edge. Rumors were circling in the station that Michael had escaped again but couldn't confirm yet. They were avoiding telling the public until they were sure.

You always enjoyed walking home more than you enjoyed driving. It gave you a chance to think while enjoying music in your headphones, hopping along to the beat. You were weighing your options for dinner in your mind as you got closer to home when you felt a sense of wrongness wash over you. When your song came to an end, you lowered your headphones to hang around your neck as you scanned the nearby area with scrutiny.

The smell of iron reached you in a soft breeze that brushed your clothes and skin. Coyotes weren't unheard of but you didn't exactly have a way to defend yourself if they got any closer. Not to mention there was the chance your cat had gotten out.

You picked up the pace, grimacing when the smell grew stronger and stronger. Had your head not been on a swivel, you would have missed the way the bushes shook. You froze, swallowing hard as a man stumbled out of the treeline and onto the paved street towards you. He was tall, dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit and a white Halloween mask that rang a bell in the dark recesses of your mind. But you were too prioritized by the gunshot wound in his side that bled copiously, staining the jumpsuit in dark blotches.

"Are you okay?" You gasped, watching the man stumble for balance. He just made a grunting sound so you rushed forward to catch him by the shoulders. "Oh fuck, okay, uh, I might have a first aid kit at home. It's not far, c'mon." You said, trying not to panic. God knows how this dude was even standing with how much blood he'd already lost. But you slung his arm around your shoulders to practically drag him along. He was silent, which unsettled you slightly, but you didn't have the time to be unsettled. This man was possibly dying and that was far more important to you.

Did you need to talk to him to keep him awake? You were worried that if he did collapse on you, you wouldn't be able to move him. "How'd you even get an injury like that?" You tried, jostling him a little. The size difference was glaringly apparent like this but you did your best to move him. "You're lucky I live near here. Don't want to imagine you bleeding to death out here in the woods alone."

The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

The walk home felt like hours but you finally pulled him up to the back door, kicked the rickety old screen door open with your foot, and practically dropped the man on the floor against the counters. No way were you carrying him up the stairs, especially not when he could track blood all over the carpet. You threw your bags aside and ran upstairs to the bathroom, hurrying past your cat Mayhem who cried in hunger. "Later." You said quietly as you began rifling through the cabinet under the sink. "I should clean this out later."

First aid kit in hand, you tore down the stairs again and came to a stop in the awning of the kitchen. The man was slumped over where you'd left him and you took the brief moment to get a better look at him. Dirty, brown work boots that were covered in grass stains and wet mud had left a small trail of dirt alongside the blood drops. The jumpsuit was mostly clean except for what looked like oil stains and the blood on his side. As you approached him, you noticed blood staining his sleeves in streaks too. Odd. You made a mental note to check his arms when you were done.

You knelt down in front of him, close enough that you could hear his frantic breathing. Like he was attempting to stay awake. "Can you tell me what happened?" You asked softly, clicking open the first aid kit and reaching for the zipper of his jumpsuit. When he flinched away, you froze. "I'll need to unzip you in order to take care of your wound."

He stared at you. Or you assumed he did. The black voids of the eyeholes left much to be desired.

"Just give me a nod." You sighed.

A moment passed but he finally nodded. A small little motion that you would've missed if you hadn't been looking. You gave him a little smile and unzipped the jumpsuit to his waist, careful to avoid brushing against the wound as much as possible. The black tank top underneath had ridden up slightly which made your cheeks warm. Stuffing that down, you helped him carefully shrug his sleeves down so you could better see the damage.

It was hard to see what had happened with how much blood covered his skin. So you reached into the kit, using one of the little sanitizing wipes on your hands before grabbing the disposable gloves. "Okay, uh, I'm not exactly a doctor so just let me know if the pain is too much, okay?" You gave him a nervous smile before hiking the tank top up more around his chest to let you wipe down the skin with a clean wet wipe.

The amount of blood was almost ridiculous. But you were eventually able to make out what was undeniably a gunshot wound. "Who the hell shot at you?" You mumbled more to yourself than to him. But he still gave you a tilt of his head as though answering. "At least the bullet went all the way through," You sighed, looking between him and your supplies as you tried to figure out what to do. "Okay. Let's… see what I can do."

You didn't know anything about gunshot wounds, much less how to clean them. But you'd helped patch your dad up when he stuck himself with a fishing hook so you figured it couldn't be that much more difficult. Anything was better than letting it get infected. "Sorry," you said softly before giving his hand a squeeze, "This is gonna suck."

And you poured the hydrogen peroxide on both ends of the wound, wincing at the pained grunt he let out. You kept apologizing as you fumbled around for the needle and thread, also dousing that in the peroxide before you tried to stitch him up. Sewing had never been a skill of yours but it was the best you could offer him. At least until you could get him to a hospital. You pressed gauze at either end of the wound before wrapping him tightly in bandages. "I think the wound is supposed to drain? I think I remember hearing stuff about that. We'll have to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't get infected." You tried to give him a reassuring smile and sat back to view your handiwork. It was probably sloppy, yeah, but at least it was cleaned and covered.

It could've been much worse.

"Can you pass me one of the wipes?" You asked, holding up your bloodstained hands and giving him a toothy grin. "I don't wanna stain everything with blood."

He offered you a blank stare before reaching slowly into the kit and handing you one of the little packages. You tore it open and got to scrubbing. "I'd give you a sucker for being a good patient if I had any. Would you take dinner and a shower instead?" You scooted back to clean up more, letting him stand on shaking legs. "My dad shouldn't be back till late. But he should be able to drive you to a hospital once I explain-"

At that, he shook his head violently no. "No, what?" You paused, brow furrowing. "No hospital?" He gave you a nod. "I'm not exactly a doctor. Your injury probably needs more than my below average sewing skills and half a bottle of peroxide." But still, he shook his head. "Fine. Okay. No hospital." You sighed loudly, giving him a quick once-over. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He tried to pull away but you finally saw it: a spot on his opposite shoulder where he'd been just grazed by a bullet. More a flesh wound than anything, but you'd missed it in your stitching him up. "Alright, c'mere mister," your tone was light as you raided the kit for more gauze and bandages. "Got anything else you're hiding from me?" You gave him a playful smile as you wrapped and cleaned his wound. "It doesn't look too bad. I'm way more worried about the gunshot wound." You trailed off. "I wasn't kidding about dinner and a shower though. My dad's got clothes I bet could fit you. Though the pants may be a bit short." He gave you a calculating look as you shrugged. "At least until I get your jumpsuit washed."

The two of you just stared at each other for a while. His head tilted slowly in confusion and you couldn't help but snort. "What, you think I'll just patch you up and throw you out? Not a chance. C'mon," you took his hand and led him towards the stairs. Mayhem had ventured downstairs and began to sniff you both over, hissing at your guest despite your soft scolding.

Once inside the bathroom, you tossed the first aid kit back in as the man took a look around the small space. White tiled floors and faint, floral wallpaper framed a huge mirror, spanning the distance of the smooth countertops. You pride yourself on keeping the bathroom clean, so you only winced slightly at the dirt on the work boots that left a small trail of dirt behind. "I'll get you some clothes if you want to get undressed. I don't mind washing your clothes for you." You gave him a smile, sidestepping him to slip back out into the hall. "A shower might help you feel better. Just try to avoid getting your bandages too wet."

You left him in the bathroom and slipped down the hallway to your dad's room. A rifling through his dresser earned you some plain sweatpants and an old, black shirt you knew he wouldn't miss. Worst case scenario, your guest bled all over the shirt and you'd have to throw it out.

Heading back towards the bathroom, a realization came to you. "Hey, I'm sorry, I don't think I introduced mys-" You froze in the doorway, words dying on your lips. The man had his back to you and had shrugged the jumpsuit off the rest of the way, his boots laying near the doorway by your feet and the blue material like a puddle around his ankles. His shoulders were broad and you could make out tiny scars that littered his forearms and shoulders. His mask had remained but that wasn't what surprised you.

He didn't have underwear on.

Your face felt like it was on fire as you slammed fresh clothes down on the counter, pointedly not looking at him. "Alright, here's your clothes, bye!" It felt like your words slurred together as you slammed the door behind you, leaning against it with an embarrassed sigh.

Once you heard the water turn on, you went downstairs to clean up the kitchen floor, grateful the blood hadn't dried too much yet.

Mayhem, having decided you'd spent long enough fussing over your guest, began to complain and shout for his dinner. "Alright, you needy thing, c'mere." You scooped him up and pressed a kiss to his fuzzy head. "Let's get you fed and then see about feeding our guest, yeah?"

Mayhem meowed, as though enthused only about the coming tuna.

The man took his time showering but you didn't really mind. He certainly needed it. Plus, you could empathize there - showers always made you feel much better too. In the meantime, you'd snuck back upstairs to grab his clothes and toss them into the washing machine. When you'd gotten a good look at his clothes, you recognized the auto mechanic company logo on the jumpsuit. "L. Smith?" You'd wondered aloud, frowning to yourself. "Pretty sure I'd tutored his kids when I was a junior…" But he didn't look anything like Lawrence Smith. "Maybe it's just a common name," you had mumbled. Something about this whole situation felt off but you couldn't exactly place why.

You shook your head slightly and sighed, trying to dismiss a nagging feeling you had in the back of your mind. Sparing a glance down at Mayhem, who brushed against your leg insistently, you frowned. "You don't think this is Michael Myers, right?"

Big yellow eyes blinked up at you and you sighed, chewing on your lower lip. Not much about the Myers case was made public beyond his crimes and his mugshot. Your dad had refused to divulge anything to you about the case and you'd only managed a quick peek at crime scene photos. Nothing about the way the man had been dressed or anything like that. Besides, it had been so long since that night that any details you could have seen have been lost to time.

"Impossible." You decided with a shaking sigh as you opened the can of tuna, not even believing your own words despite their conviction. "There's simply no way."

The sound of thunder outside was a welcome distraction from your thoughts. The rain had always been peaceful to you, the smell of wet earth and the chill breeze from the window had you relaxing. You smiled, whistling for Mayhem to come get his dinner and slipped past your hungry cat into the kitchen once again.

Cutting the vegetables and boiling pasta was peaceful, a wonderfully monotonous task you could just get lost in with the soft white noise of the rain. You would have missed the sounds of the shower turning off if you'd been any more zoned out. You had just taken the tomatoes out to cut them up when you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder and took him in. The sweatpants had stopped just above his ankles, which you had expected. What you hadn't expected was the way his broad chest filled out the shirt, struggling to hug around his biceps. You turned back around to hide your swooning, biting your lip hard to keep yourself from smiling like a fool. He'd put the mask back on but you couldn't even bother to give it a thought.

Swallowing, you cleared your throat. "Are the bandages alright?" You asked, turning your attention back to the tomatoes. He didn't say anything but, then again, you hadn't really expected him to. "Pasta's boiling right now so dinner should be ready in a few minutes if you want to sit down." You gestured to the nearby dining room table with only a few chairs pulled up. But you didn't hear him move. The feeling of eyes on the back of your neck made you tense for a moment but you brushed it off. If he needed something, he'd let you know, right?

As you reached for a knife, his hand shot out and covered yours. You weren't even aware he'd gotten that close and you jumped in surprise. The eyeholes of the mask bore into you as you turned to look at him once again. "Do you… want to help?"

He just tilted his head, as though bewildered by your offer.

You move your hand aside to let him grab the knife, stepping to the side to give him room at the cutting board. "You just have to make them into small chunks. Try and get them around the same size, I'll get the garlic going." You hummed, your fingertips barely grazing the extra knife before he grabbed your wrist tight, jerking your hand back. A surprised yelp left you as you stared wide-eyed up at him, noticing the way he white knuckled his own knife.

Something about this was very wrong.

Swallowing back your terror, you held eye contact with him, the two of you locked in a standstill. The room was silent except for his heavy breathing, barely audible over the pounding storm outside. Soft bluish grey light cast shadows on his face, making the eyes of the mask seem like bottomless pits. Everything felt frozen in time as the two of you stared at each other.

You were the one who broke the tension, reaching over with your free hand to uncurl his fingers from your wrist as casually as you could. Anxiety pounded through you when you heard his breathing hitch. "Don't worry," you gave him a weak smile once you were freed, "I have every confidence in you." You said, giving a weak gesture to the tomatoes laying on the cutting board. You slowly moved towards the stove to set about roasting the garlic cloves, trying to appear as calm as possible while he continued to stare you down.

You only let your shoulders drop when you heard him start slicing.

Making the rest of dinner didn't take long, especially with your guest's help. He seemed unwilling to leave you alone now, hovering around you as you finished cooking and plating dinner - pasta with garlic sauce and dried tomatoes - and only retreated to the living room when you'd reassured that you were right behind him. He took a seat on the couch and you caught him staring at Mayhem comfortably sprawled out on his favorite chair.

"His name is Mayhem," you told him as you sat beside him, setting two water glasses down before digging in. "He won't bug you, he knows he's not allowed on the couch."

The man's head turned slowly to look at you, letting you get a brief sight of one of his eyes: a blue-green color that looked almost hazel in the darkness of the mask. You held in a soft gasp and turned away, trying to push the idea that the man was pretty from your mind. You hadn't even seen his face for crying out loud! Much less gotten his name.

Instead, you just clicked the television on. "Anything in particular you wanna see?" You asked around a mouthful of food. "We've got movies too but I dunno if you like horror." You hummed, setting your plate down briefly to shuffle over to the drawers in the tv stand, leafing through VHS tapes. "It's almost Halloween though," you smirked, "But, judging by your mask, you knew that."

His eyes were boring holes into you again but you just chuckled to yourself. While you pride yourself on being good at reading body language, his ramrod straight posture and silent staring was like gazing at a white canvas. But maybe that's one of the reasons you liked him so much: he wasn't complicated to understand, when he needed to be heard.

You pulled out a particular VHS and flashed it to him. "Do you like cartoons?" You asked, dangling 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown' for him to see.

He nodded then - so clear and obvious that you didn't waste any time popping the tape in and sitting back down alongside him. You kept your eyes glued to the screen as you ate, hoping that would be enough privacy for him to comfortably eat. He'd have to give you his name later, at the very least, but you felt the urge to give him some semblance of privacy as he ate. So you kept your eyes off him and the two of you ate in amicable silence, both your attentions rapt on the little cartoon. He ate like he was starving for it and practically chugged the glass of water when he was done, which made your heart hurt a little.

How long had this guy gone without eating or drinking anything?

"There's more in the pot if you want. Help yourself." You said softly, bumping his knee gently with yours to get his attention. He'd tensed up slightly at the contact and you momentarily scolded yourself for that. He was clearly not good with touch, but it had just felt natural to do for him.

But he didn't seem to hold it against you and just stood up, retreating into the kitchen with his plate. You watched him with a slight smile on your face. He was, no doubt, intriguing. His mysteries had you utterly fascinated and there was so much you wanted to ask. But a part of you feared the answers, paranoid your suspicions would be proven correct.

He would have killed you if that were the case, right?

The two of you continued watching movies once you'd learnt he hadn't, in fact, seen most horror films. "Well obviously I'm going to show you 'The Thing,'" you'd said as Charlie Brown came to an end. "It's one of my favorites, I think you'll like it." His staring didn't bother you anymore so you took his silence as agreement when the movie began playing. The night continued like that, the two of you watching movies together. Horror films seemed to intrigue him and you swore he jumped a little at some of the visceral body horror moments. But the two of you had cozied up just a little. He'd finally sunken back into the couch and had tolerated you scooting closer to him.

You were halfway through Frankenstein when you heard the phone ring in the kitchen. "Be right back," you whispered to him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was nearly midnight and you frowned. Your dad should've been home by now and your guest didn't seem in any hurry to go home. Didn't he have somewhere to go?

Regardless, you stepped into the kitchen on socked feet and plucked the phone off the receiver. "Hello?

"Kiddo? Oh thank god you're alright!" Your dads voice sounded monetarily relieved, letting out a sigh as he spoke. "You should've called me after you saw the news." He said, once again becoming frantic. "Lock all the doors, keep Mayhem inside tonight, and-"

"Calm down," you cut him off, "What's going on? I haven't even seen the news, I've been watching movies with-"

Your dad wasted no time cutting you off as well. "Just stay inside, okay? Keep your eyes on the news and just- just stay safe. My pistol is in my room in the bedside table if you need it."

A sinking dread began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you twirled the phone cord. "Just tell me what's going on!" You became equally frantic, running your hand through your hair in frustration.

He was silent for a moment before sighing. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you. This is strictly police business. But the last thing I want is you digging into this yourself-"

"That was one time-!" You protested.

But he ignored you. "There's a killer on the loose." His words were like a gunshot to your chest. "We nearly caught him this afternoon but he managed to escape. We're- we're not sure where he'd gotten off to so I want you to stay inside and call me if you hear or- or see anything strange."

A lapse of silence passed and you can tell your dad was about to hang up but you quickly squeaked out. "What's his name?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you." His voice had a finality to it. He didn't plan on telling you.

You knew how to play him though. You faked a sniffle and a sob. "Dad, please, I- I need to know what I'm up against! W-what if he gets inside?"

Despite his voice being barely a whisper, it was deafening to you. "Michael Myers."

Instantly, you sobered up. Your fears were confirmed and you felt your blood run cold. Michael Myers was sitting in your living room in your dads clothes after you'd had dinner together. He'd been fascinated by Charlie Brown and had jumped a little at the chest defibrillation scene in The Thing. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield had helped you cut tomatoes and let you tend to his wounds.

You were still alive. As terrifying as this revelation was, you were curious why he hadn't killed you. You didn't know Michael Myers to be very forgiving or benevolent…

Wrapping up the call with your dad, you practically slammed the phone back into the receiver, your back still to the living room. You steadied your resolve and forced your hands to still when you turned back around. You nearly slammed into him when you did. He'd been eavesdropping and the idea that his mercifulness would end made you talk before he could move. "Seems we're locked in tonight." You managed a smile and a shrug. "Dad says it's too dangerous to go out tonight so at least it'll just be us two. If you want, I can set you up on the couch to sleep when you're ready."

He continued to stare at you and you swore he almost seemed…surprised.

You sidestepped him to head back into the living room and he let you, though he was hot on your heels. "Means you and I get more movie time though." Grinning up at him, you sat back down with a soft "oomf" and looked up at him expectantly. If you just acted like everything was fine, maybe he wouldn't kill you?

It seemed as good an idea as any.

Eventually he rejoined you on the couch after staring at you for a few good minutes.

You knew. And you had a feeling he knew that you knew. But what could you even do? It wasn't like you stood a chance against him if he decided to attack you. In fact, a part of you felt almost guilty for withholding your newfound information from him. He was literally a serial killer and you didn't want to make him think you were against him.

Which bewildered you. Why would you feel bad? You knew, logically, you should call your dad back and tell him Michael was here and let him and the rest of the force come try and catch Michael before he ran you through with a knife.

He'd extended trust to you though. You recognized that. You didn't want to betray that, especially since you didn't know who the last person he trusted could have been.

As the movie came to an end, you decided to take a risk. "Want me to make popcorn, Michael?" You kept your tone light and casual as you stood and stretched.

You didn't even get two steps in before he was up, grabbing your wrist tight and spinning you to face him. You kept your smile light and tilted your head the way he liked doing. "I think I have M&Ms if you want me to mix those in too." He continued to stare and you finally sighed. "I already knew. I, uh, had my suspicions before we made dinner. But dad called and confirmed it, basically." His grip tightened but you brushed it off. "I'm not going to tell anyone." You finally admitted.

His posture remained rigid, like he expected a fight. You felt your heart break a little. Has he ever had anyone be kind to him ever since that night? "Do you know about doctor-patient confidentiality?" His blank stare was an answer in itself. "When a doctor treats a patient, that patient has the right to keep their information private. Including their name." You placed your free hand atop his in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. "So, since you're technically my patient, I don't have to tell anyone anything." He still seemed confused and you just let out a soft sigh. "I'm not gonna rat on you, is what I'm saying."

He seemed to consider this before giving you a slow nod.

A part of you was relieved. A fair trade, you thought as you went into the kitchen to make popcorn. You patched him up and fed him and, in exchange, he didn't kill you.

The two of you wound up watching movies late into the night, with you adding soft commentary as you munched on popcorn and M&Ms. By 2AM you were fading, your head lolling to the side and bumping against Michael's shoulder in your attempts to fight off sleep. He was warm and, despite knowing who he was, you felt safe.

So you'd nodded off.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were being shaken awake by your father. "Get up," he whisper-yelled as he turned off the tv, a quick flash of the movie menu disappearing as soon as you saw it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

You hummed, yawning and rubbing your eyes. "Early." A glance at the clock confirmed it was nearly 6AM. "Sorry, guess I was up watchin' movies." You sat up and looked around a little before your sleep-addled brain immediately recalled that Michael Myers had been sitting on your couch last night and you looked around.

As your dad herded you upstairs and past the kitchen, you noticed Michael's boots were gone. The dishes had been left atop the table but yours had been placed in the sink as though to hide the fact there had been two people here. Once of the knives from the block was missing too, but that didn't surprise you.

If your dad's weary expression was anything to go by, Michael had escaped before he'd gotten home. "'m headin' to bed," he grumbled, "You should too." He said before shuffling into his bedroom, closing the door with more force than intended. You nodded to empty air before retreating into your bedroom, noticing Mayhem lazily dozing on top of your messy bedsheets.

Your bedroom was dim and cool, the morning light just starting to shift the pitch black sky into a dark tealish blue color. Raindrops still covered the window, indicative of the storm that must be still going. You frowned and went to close your curtains to avoid being blinded by the sun once it rose but you paused just before you could yank the fabric closed.

There, across the street, only visible thanks to the streetlight he stood under, you could see Michael Myers staring up at you.

Dumbfounded, you smiled and gave him a little wave, swaying on your feet as you tried not to swoon. You wanted to believe he wouldn't hurt you, seeing as he had ample opportunity to do so and had instead laid you gently down on the couch to sleep when he'd decided to leave. But the realistic part of your brain reminded you, as you closed your blackout curtains, that it should be more concerning that you'd become a fixation of his.

You'd heard of Laurie Strode and how she was assumedly his previous fixation, seeing as he'd stalked her for a while before deciding to take action against her friends. She'd been terrified of him for years and continued to lock herself in her house for the past two years to protect herself against him. Despite her fear of him, she'd yet to move out of Haddonfield.

There wasn't any point in trying to figure her out though. She was of no help to you. You couldn't tell anyone about what was going on or risk yourself or Michael.

You were far too tired to think about any of that for now and just flopped down into bed, freezing when your hands brushed an unfamiliar texture. After scrambling around under your stomach, you held up Michael's tank top. He must have left it for you when he'd gone to change into his jumpsuit. You felt your face heat up at the implications of him leaving his shirt for you, opting instead to shove it under your pillow with your cheeks burning.

The memories of him in the tshirt filled your head as you fell back asleep.

Crunching dry, brittle leaves beneath your boots, you made your way into town for work. You always liked the walk, especially with how beautiful Haddonfield got in the fall. A gorgeous watercolor painting of oranges, browns, and reds, touches of yellow and green giving pops of color. Despite the tragedies that had happened two years ago, Halloween decorations were still up in full swing, the town determined to celebrate no matter what. There was even a small festival at the farm nearby, complete with haunted houses, hayrides, and pumpkin patches. Halloween spirit was everywhere and you loved it. It'd always been your favorite holiday, even before a certain man fell into your life.

As you approached the plant nursery you worked at, you mulled that over. The police hadn't caught Michael yet but were working round the clock. And although you hadn't seen him in person since he'd stayed over a few days ago, you'd seen glimpses of him. Enough to know he was definitely stalking you. While you should logically feel afraid, you instead felt… oddly comforted.

You stopped beating yourself up over why. You knew why. Michael Myers was the most dangerous person alive and he was looking out for you, in a way. You felt safe with him watching you. So you played the game and pretended not to see him. It was easier to play along anyways and, as far as you knew, he hadn't killed anyone since he found you. No one your dad talked about at least.

So you'd been spending more time in town or out in the woods, hoping that entertaining him would keep him from killing. At least, you hoped so.

It didn't help that you still found yourself fascinated by him.

You'd stopped beating yourself up for that too. Most people you knew were predictable, bland, or boring. They had routines and patterns that were easy to predict. But Michael wasn't like that. You never knew what he was thinking or how he'd behave. He was interesting, unique, and unpredictable.

You liked that. Maybe that was sick or twisted of you, but it was true.

"Helloooo?" Your co-worker's soft voice pulls you from your thoughts. "Did those blackberries do something to you?" Kalei snorted, nudging you gently. "You've been staring at them for, like, ten minutes now."

You responded with a yawn, rubbing your eyes. Despite having only been at work for a few hours, you were ready for it to be over. "Sorry, jus' haven't been sleepin' well." You slurred as you tried to give her a smile.

"Bad dreams?" Kalei asked, frowning slightly as she set her own blackberry plant aside. Working at the plant nursery had been your idea, more interested in working with plants than people. But Kalei was a good friend and always looked out for you. It was nice to have company while taking care of the plants.

You chewed on your fingernail and gave her a little shrug. "Just been… thinking about a guy, I guess."

They let out a shocked gasp. "A GUY?!" Kalei squealed, ignoring your desperate attempts to shush them. "Tell me everything RIGHT NOW, oh my god!"

You blushed, trying to get them to quiet down, flustered at the idea of Michael listening in. "It's not anything serious! Just, um, met this guy and he's… interesting. I like him." You blushed at the childishness of your own words, focusing on your plants to avoid meeting Kalei's eyes.

They gave you a nod. "Well, as your workplace bestie, I am obligated to give him The Talk."

You chose to not mention the fact there were only five total employees counting you both. "Kay, it's Illinois. I doubt he'd be interested in me, available or not." Which wasn't untrue. Even if Michael was interested in you, it likely wasn't anything beyond obsession. At least the obsession went both ways, you thought to yourself with a private smile.

"Well, regardless, I have a duty to fulfill." They beamed at you, hands on their hips. "You're a cute guy and, if I didn't have a partner, I'd take you out sometime." They ignored your snort and continued. "If this guy screws you over, I'll kick his ass for you."

If only they knew, you chuckled to yourself as you left Kalei to attend to a customer. Michael wasn't exactly great "bring-home-to-the-parents" boyfriend material. Much less introduce to your co-worker. When you'd finished helping the customer, you froze at the sight of movement in the tree line across the road. Standing in the tall grass and brush, you swore you saw Michael standing there…

As far as you were aware, he stayed close by to watch as you finished your shift. You hoped that as long as he was watching you, he wasn't out killing someone. Hopefully. For all you knew, he could be supernatural.

But you'd let him watch you. The whole rest of your shift, the walk home, and as you got in the car to go shopping. While you usually got vegetables and fruits from the plants at your work, you still needed to get normal groceries at the store. So you parked around back to be a little more secluded and went inside.

It was a cute little supermarket, clean linoleum floors and shelves lined with food. You didn't need much but you definitely needed to refill your medkit and find a proper first aid book, just in case. Thankfully, it was relatively empty that day, meaning you had free reign of the aisles to explore and take your time shopping.

You knew Michael wouldn't come in the store but you didn't doubt he was waiting for you outside.

So when you finished loading your grocery bags into the trunk of your car, you didn't feel surprised when you heard footsteps approaching you. Michael was definitely taking a risk being out with you in public but you hadn't exactly spoken to him in a few days and you were itching for the chance.

Turning around, however, you were met face to face with an unfamiliar black ski mask. Definitely not Michael. The stranger grabbed you by the arm before pulling out a knife, his head on a swivel. "G-gimme all your cash! Now!" He hissed, jerking you aggressively.

"I don't have anything on me." You said calmly. Your dad had always prepared you for situations like this so you didn't worry too much, even with the glint of his knife in the corner of your eye.

"D-don't bullshit me! I know you j-just got outta there. G-gimme what you've got and I'll b-be on my way!" He spat at you, pulling you closer to press the knife against your neck.

You caught the faintest of movement in the shadows of the alleyway behind him but you kept your eyes on him to prevent the guy freaking out. "Okay. Let's just calm down," you said, keeping your movements slow as you reached for your hip, pretending to go for your wallet. The guy kept looking around frantically as though expecting something to jump out at him. Police, most likely. But when you saw the white face of a familiar mask over his shoulder, you felt a sense of calm settle over you.

"C-c'mon!" He hurried you, jerking the knife again to threaten slicing your throat.

At that moment, you jerked back as hot blood splashed across your face. Michael had effortlessly slashed the guy's neck open from behind, bright red falling like rain against the concrete below. You closed your eyes as the choked gurgles of the mugger's voice faded to silence and his body hit the ground. It was like you were frozen in place, unable to make your muscles move as you listened to the sounds of Michael killing the man. The vicious stabbing sounds made your skin crawl and you turned away from the scene entirely to check yourself over.

You hadn't gotten blood anywhere besides on your face, which was good. Easier to clean.

This was inevitable, you reminded yourself. That man wanted to hurt you and Michael was doing you a favor. Still, you tried to steady your breathing, bracing on the trunk of your car as he dragged the body away, presumably to hide it.

You heard Michael start to approach you and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. His footsteps could be silent, almost supernaturally quiet, so if he was making an effort to be loud, you knew it was his attempt to make you feel better. To let you know he was coming.

He stood in front of you now, covered in fresh blood and gripping his knife tightly. You were thankful for the setting sun that cast dark shadows over you two, obscuring the bloodsoaked Michael from view on the streets. You noticed the body slumped against the wall a little ways away and you swallowed back bile. "T-thanks." Your voice was soft and you cleared your throat. "For saving me."

It was only an assumption that he'd killed that guy to protect you. He didn't have to. He could have just let you die or at least be robbed. You were confident in that assumption though. He wouldn't risk your game ending so soon.

On some level, he wanted you alive.

The blood on your face was beginning to dry uncomfortably and you desperately wanted to go home. You gestured to your car and gave Michael a tilt of your head. "You coming?" He seemed to weigh his options in his head before casually making his way for the passenger seat after a brief deliberation. "What's the plan if we're caught?" You asked him with a raised eyebrow and climbed into your own seat.

Turns out, once the cops got wind of the body, they were very easy to avoid. Predictable, you thought as you gripped your steering wheel tighter, careful to not draw attention to your car as you drove through the windy roads that led to your house.

You got Michael inside, shoving the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter as Mayhem came around the corner, meowing for attention and approaching Michael to give him a curious sniff.

It was then that you remembered stories your father would tell you about how Michael would kill animals for fun as a boy. How he'd leave the dead bodies of cats and birds in his locker at school to terrify the other kids. You weren't sure how truthful the stories were but you felt a heavy pit of anxiety when Michael looked down to acknowledge Mayhem.

"If you hurt Mayhem, I will turn you in." Your voice was steady despite the way you trembled. His head snapped up to look at you and you could feel the glare behind it. "I mean it. T-this is one thing I'm not bending on. He's my kitty and I won't let you hurt him."

Michael was still for a moment, letting Mayhem rub against his boots and yowl as though expecting the man to feed him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he bent over and let his fingers brush against soft black fur. The motion was gentle, like either you or the cat would lash out should he make a mistake. Mayhem loved the attention, purring and rubbing against his fingers more, which made you smile.

He was usually an anxious cat so seeing him this comfortable with Michael made you smile. You set about making up Mayhem's dinner while Michael tried to navigate petting him. He was shockingly gentle despite clearly never having pet an animal. "Did you have pets as a kid?" You asked as you scraped food into the bowl.

He didn't answer but you didn't really expect him to. His hand was still, just letting Mayhem rub all over it and meow at him. It was endearing, you thought as you set the bowl down and let Mayhem go to town on it. Michael's head tilted curiously as he watched and gently stroked his back once before standing back up.

"I think he likes you," you giggled, scritching the cat behind the ear.

Michael just watched the cat before slowly standing back up and heading back into the living room. You followed him, tugging on his sleeve gently. "Want me to wash your clothes?"

Your words trailed off when you noticed Michael was looking at a photo of you with your dad at your graduation party. A tired sigh left you when the man tilted his head. "I don't… want to talk about that." You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not like it's easy to plan for your own dad's murder." The words were heavy in your mouth and you forced yourself to look away from the photo.

Ever since your mom had died, you knew your dad had been different. She'd died in childbirth with you and all your dad's friends would whisper about how that changed him drastically. He'd always been distant with you, especially as you'd grown up. When you'd hear stories about him before your mom died, he sounded like an entirely different man: happy, enthusiastic about life, and excited to be a father.

But then your mom died and he retreated inward. As though the whole thing was entirely your fault. He didn't want to parent you on his own and therefore you had to grow up taking care of yourself instead.

"Whatever you have to do," you swallowed, turning away from Michael entirely and your voice hollow, "Just make it as painless as you can."

It wasn't like there was an easy way to ask him to kill your dad painlessly. You tried not to dwell on how easy it would be to let him go. It wasn't exactly like he'd ever been there for you anyways.

"So. Your clothes. I, um, still have your shirt and the sweats you borrowed are clean, if you want to change." You changed the topic quickly, ignoring the way he stared at you. The last thing you possibly wanted was pity from the Boogeyman. "Either way, I'm going to go wash my face before someone sees me."

You went upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Michael to his own devices downstairs. You opened drawers at random until you found the wet wipes you kept stashed for when you wore makeup. Some good hard scrubbing and scented lotion and it's like you were never there, all evidence flushed down the toilet and out of sight. You sighed, staring at yourself in the mirror as the events of the day hit you, leaving you feeling winded and exhausted all at once. You were complacent in a crime now. It wasn't just you hiding Michael from the cops, you'd let him kill a man in front of you.

Trying to argue with yourself that it was self defense was pointless. No use in lying to yourself.

When you opened your eyes, unsure of when you'd closed them, you met Michael's eyes where he stood in the doorway of the bathroom. "Oh, sorry, do you want to shower?" Before you could even move to leave, he unzipped the jumpsuit, leaving you speechless.

You gasped in horror at the state of his chest. The black shirt was gone and left his bandages on display, dirty and stained with reddish-brown blood that mixed with ugly yellow pus from the drainage of the wound. It reeked of infection even a few feet from him. "Michael!" You hurried to him to get a better look, feeling sick for the second time today. "Christ, you should have come to me before it got this bad! With how wet it's been… Take these off and sit down on the edge of the tub. God, this looks awful."

Michael sat, watching you with amusement. At least you assumed it was amusement. Though you couldn't find anything funny about this. "I should have stitched you," you mumbled as you reached for your first aid kit and began sterilizing a pair of scissors, "Or at least looked up what to do."

Swallowing back your squeamishness, you cut him free of the bandages, practically retching when you got a better look at his wound. It had somehow gotten worse, a painful red and oozing pus. "Oh my god, Michael." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

He tilted his head and you almost wanted to smack him. How he wasn't in any noticeable pain was bewildering to you.

You began to undress him, uncaring of any potential nakedness, and he grabbed your wrists tight when you reached forward to take off his mask. "Michael, this infection could kill you. I need to see if you're running a fever. So either let me touch your forehead or I'm touching your neck."

He stood quickly, stumbling slightly as he grabbed the bloodstained knife from where he'd apparently set it down on the counter. But you didn't back down. "Be mad all you want, this is really fucking infected and I'm not letting you get worse." You sighed, racking your brain to come up with an idea to placate him. "If I close my eyes, will you let me take your temperature?"

Slowly, his shoulders fell. Which confused you. You'd seen his mugshots, you knew he wasn't disfigured or anything like that. So his insistence at not being looked at confused you but now was not the time to be worrying about that.

Prettiness aside, you needed to help him.

So you shut your eyes and held out your hand. A minute passed without Michael moving and you briefly worried he'd left the room entirely. Before you could open your eyes, you felt his fingers encircle your wrist and press it to his neck. You felt him swallow and you tried your best to focus on how hot his skin felt and not how this was an incredible show of trust. Goosebumps erupted across your arms as you cupped his neck gently.

His skin was soft and feverish and you felt your heart clench.

"You're definitely running a fever," you sighed. "I'll look for a sewing kit or something to stitch you up but I want you to shower and get all that gross off first. Don't scrub too hard, okay?" Before you could retract your hand, his grip on your wrist tightened. "Are you-?"

He lifted your hand, letting your fingers graze his bare cheek. You felt Michael lean into the touch momentarily and you reacted quickly, holding his face gently. He was burning up so hot you weren't sure how he was even standing in this condition. When was the last time anyone had taken care of him? Or the last time he was even sick?

Judging by his height, he was likely slumped against the bathroom counter. The idea made your heart clench. Despite every instinct in your body telling you to pull away, you ran your hand up the side of his face in a gentle, soothing motion. Your fingers ran through tangled hair, soft and curly, before sliding down behind his ear to rest back on his neck. "You'll be okay," you said softly. "The fever will break and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Having had enough of being touched, he took you by the shoulders and moved you aside, careful to not let you stumble and fall. You kept your eyes closed when you heard the shower turn on and the curtain shift as he stepped inside. Only then did you open your eyes.

What... was that?

You looked down at your hand like it offended you before shaking your head in bewilderment. He'd never fail to surprise you.

You figured out pretty quickly that that instance of seeking your touch was the extent that Michael wanted you to touch him. He barely tolerated you checking him over for fever symptoms, opting instead to lounge in your bed like he'd been exorcised of a demon.

For the past few days, you'd done your best to keep Michael's presence in your house a secret. With your workaholic dad's late hours, he usually just came back home, ate a frozen dinner, and passed out in his bedroom before waking around 9AM to stumble to work and repeat the process all over again. So, provided Michael kept quiet, there wasn't any worry. You'd taken a few days of sick leave from work to take care of him, citing a head cold. Now you just had to hope that the police would continue their dedicated search even if people weren't dying.

You wondered, as you sat on your bed with a feverish serial killer half naked and asleep beside you, if hoping he recovered soon made you a bad person.

Probably.

But god he was a bitch when he was sick.

He kept the godforsaken mask on, which you had expected. But when his fever rose to 102 you had kind of hoped he'd take it off for the sake of wanting to cool down. He was persistent, you'd give him that.

You were getting the hang of his body language too. It was subtle but you'd begun to notice the slight shifts in his stance or the way his hands would twitch without a knife in them. At first you'd assumed it was just you projecting but you'd grown confident you could understand him now. Being sick definitely made him more expressive too.

Though, right now, you wanted to strangle him. "Michael, it's chicken noodle soup." You sighed, rubbing your temples. Trying to feed him was like dealing with a picky toddler sometimes. "It's chicken, noodles, carrots, and broth. All things I've fed you before." You could feel his glare at you and you were half tempted to get your own knife to speak his language better.

The infection was running its course, which was the only reason you had so much patience with him. His bitchiness was a byproduct of his fever and you had to keep reminding yourself that he probably hadn't been sick before.

That didn’t make you want to clobber him any less.

"If you eat the fucking soup I'll go buy you pumpkin pie when you feel better." You tried, glaring him down. "Because the sooner you eat this, the sooner you'll get better. And then you can go back to slaughtering the town."

He seemed placated by that. You turned your back to him so he could eat and you let out a silent sigh. You knew him well enough to know he liked that soup, he just wanted to be a jackass about it.

Later that afternoon you yet again threatened him with violence when he refused taking medicine. You weren't surprised he wasn't interested, seeing as he grew up in a hospital. But you were outgrowing your patience with him. You did smirk a little when you realized he absolutely wanted to throw you across the room for all but forcing the antibiotics down his throat. But once it was down, you softened. "C'mere, sleep will do you some good."

Michael glared at you but let you sit next to him against the headboard of the bed as he laid down. You'd learnt he was definitely a stomach sleeper and you could tell by his huffing that the heat underneath the mask was beginning to frustrate him. You jerked your head away when he ripped the mask off, throwing it with a growl and face planting onto the pillow.

"It's okay," you said softly, keeping your gaze straight ahead and fighting the urge to look down at him. "You don't feel as feverish today, you should be back on your feet in a day or two." You heard him grumble and you giggled. "Want me to rub your back? Might help you sleep."

He was silent. But he didn't immediately lash out so you kept your movements slow and purposeful. Like approaching an anxious, abused cat. He didn't know touch that wasn't associated with pain and you had to be careful to avoid startling him or overstepping. Your fingers made contact with his back and you slid your palm over his upper back, rubbing in slow, soothing motions.

Maybe it was exhaustion, the fever, or resignation to your touch but you swore you felt him relax.

Michael's skin was tacky to the touch and incredibly warm but that didn't deter you. You hummed a soft lullaby, keeping your movements slow and gentle. He looked painfully human and you were choking on the urge to care for this man. This strange, silent Boogeyman who'd fallen into your lap and sought you for care and food and attention and it made you want to cry.

If it weren't for his murderous hobby, you'd be infatuated with the sleeping man. The slow rise and fall of his chest made something in your own clench painfully as you continued to rub his back. You'd only known each other for a short time and yet you both had extended a lot of trust to each other. Most people met him with hostility or violence but you'd met him with kindness. A kindness he was unfamiliar with and must have been a welcome change. Either that or he just liked your cooking and bedside manner enough not to kill you. You weren't too picky about his motives.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't fond of him regardless.

The sound of the front door opening was like a bucket of ice down your back. You crept from the bed, carefully shutting the door behind you and heading downstairs, meeting your father's tired face. "You're back early."

"I'm only on my lunch break," he sighed as he shrugged his coat off, "Didn't feel like packing one so I figured I'd come check on you." He was giving you a strange look. "Are you okay?"

You watched him go into the kitchen as you loitered on the stairs, watching him through the awning closest to the steps. "Yeah, just been a little under the weather." You feigned a cough and sniffed. "Getting better though."

Your dad hummed as he opened the fridge. "Michael Myers killed a man at the store the other day." He reached in to pull out a sandwich you'd made for yourself at lunch and hadn't gotten around to eating. Trying to feed Michael was a laborious task.

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. "I didn't hear about it in the news."

He watched you with a painfully blank expression. "Correct me if I'm wrong but… I think you were out shopping before you fell ill, am I right?" Your dad took a slow bite of his sandwich, poorly trying to act casual. "The store clerk said a man was following you outside the store."

Fortunately, you were a better actor than your father. "I didn't see anyone."

But, of course, he didn't believe you. He never did. "Son, a man was killed by Michael Myers the day you went out and now you've been hiding away since then." His cop voice grated on your nerves. It felt like he never stopped being a cop, even with you. Every conversation with him felt like navigating a maze to try and hide yourself from him. You hated it.

"The weather has been getting colder and I work outside. It's really not that surprising."

"Have you seen Myers?" He got sick of beating around the bush, his hands on his hips as he leveled you with an unimpressed look. "Is that why you've been hiding out here?"

The word "hiding" made your hackles raise. Like this wasn't the same man who'd told you to lock the doors and windows when he first informed you of Michael. "Nope." Your smile was fake and bitter and you could see the way he flinched. "Hard to miss a man walking around in a Halloween costume."

"Kid-" He tried to placate you.

But you weren't interested. "I'll be back to work in a day or so, don't worry."

He seemed remorseful now. "If Myers is stalking you, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

An awkward silence hung in the air. Your dad seemed to deflate and he ate in silence, pretending to not see you. "Have you talked to Laurie Strode yet?" You asked as you picked at a stray string on your sweater sleeve.

He swallowed and shook his head. "We're hesitant to let her know what's going on until we're certain he's still after her. Dr Loomis has been working with us to try and find him as soon as we can." He scratched his chin in thought. "Maybe I should make a statement soon, what with Halloween approaching."

You gave him another acidic smile. "You'll find him, I'm sure. You're very dedicated."

Your dad gave you a helpless look. If you were five years younger, you might have apologized for being so curt with him. But you weren't sixteen and craving your father's approval anymore. You knew that the family charade you both put up was only because you helped around the house. He wasn't home enough to give a shit who lived there anyways.

He didn't even know the killer he was hunting was asleep in your bed, stitched up with your string and your soup in his stomach. You had no intention of telling him, partially out of spite at this point.

You hoped Michael got better soon.

Lucky for you - and unlucky for Haddonfield - Michael was back on his feet a day later. He was still a bit warm but you knew it was fruitless to try and keep him inside any longer. He had to make another appearance in town anyways or else he'd risk you both. If people paid too close to timelines, your sick leave corresponding with his disappearance would be too suspicious.

But his stitches came out easily and his wound had healed decently. "Next time, come back before your bandages get too dirty." You'd smirked at him as you zipped his jumpsuit up. It felt too close to a wife sending her husband off to work for the day and the thought made your face warm.

You managed to get a few days of relative peace, especially once your father was occupied by Michael killing again. It had also been a few days since you saw Michael and you hoped that was just because his bandages were holding up well. The last thing either of you needed was another sick week.

Currently you were heading home after spending the afternoon reading at the park. Your little bag bumped against your hip as you hopped along to the music coming out of your tinny headphones. It was unlikely Michael had been watching you, since you didn't feel his eyes on you, but you still felt like taking a break from the house for a minute.

The sight of a cop car parked haphazardly along the sidewalk made you freeze. It had hit the curb slightly and looked like the driver had been in a hurry to get out. The door was wide open and you lowered your headphones slowly, the frantic voice over the radio better. The voice was staticy and it sounded like whoever it was was running but their words were crystal clear. "All units respond. Multiple fatalities reported on Orange Grove Ave. Suspect has been identified as one Michael Myers. He is armed and extremely dangerous. Shoot to kill, I repeat, shoot to kill. Over."

You felt your stomach drop and your head whipped around. Orange Grove Ave was just ahead so you took off like a shotgun, sprinting down the street. The only sound was that of your shoes hitting the pavement as you tried to come up with a plan. If they hadn't seen him yet, you just needed to get an opening for him to escape. You knew of Michael's unnatural ability to vanish if your eyes weren't on him.

Desperately, you didn't want him to get shot again.

You rounded the corner onto Orange Grove with a sharp turn, your eyes immediately spotting a second cop car. "Fuck!" You hissed to yourself as you picked up the pace. You should have gone looking for Michael sooner. Should have left for the park earlier in hopes of catching his attention. Anything, anything to have avoided him getting caught.

When you got closer to the car, you noticed a cop hanging halfway out of the car. His head had been smashed in, a puddle of gore, blood, and brain matter leaking steadily down the side of the car door. You felt like throwing up but you held it in when you spotted his partner. A young man, likely fresh on the force, clutching his gun as he pointed it down the alleyway. His trembling told you all you needed to know.

The officer gave you a quick glance, fear obvious on his face. "Get back!" He called to you.

You ignored him and looked down the alleyway. Michael stood there calmly, hanging back in the shadows between the two buildings. Another cop lay before him and you watched with horror as Michael's boot made heavy contact with the cop's skull, a wet, sickening crunch echoing out in the small space.

"Get down and put your hands in the air!" The rookie said, hands on the gun shaking as he kept his eyes on Michael. An idea came to you. It was stupid, reckless, and dangerous.

You lunged for the cop, knocking his gun from his hands and sending him stumbling.

He didn't even have time to do anything but look at you with horrified eyes before Michael descended on him. He grabbed the rookie by his collar and lifted him effortlessly before running him through with his knife, spilling his guts on the sidewalk in warm waterfalls of blood. You scrambled backwards to avoid being caught in the spray but Michael gladly covered himself in the fresh gore. The rookie's lifeless body hit the floor with a heavy, empty sound and Michael turned his attention on you.

You scanned the nearby area and spotted a little path between two houses overrun with grass and brush. Without a second thought, you took off towards it and just hoped Michael was behind you. Other members of the force would be on their way and you both needed to disappear. You ignored the scratching of sharp branches against your arms and hands, only wincing when a particularly sharp one sliced a thin cut across your calf.

But you didn't falter. You kept running through the town, your heart pounding hard and pumping pure fumes through you as you ran. As soon as you broke into the treeline of the forest, you collapsed to your knees and let yourself catch your breath.

A hand gripped the back of your shirt and for a brief second you feared you'd been caught. But Michael dragged you towards a tree, pinning you to it and holding his bloody knife close under your throat, the blade digging into your skin. "Wait!" You struggled against his grip, kicking out at him with your heavy boots. "What did I do?! I got you out of there without getting shot!"

You could see his eyes this close. Hazel, like you'd suspected. His eyes were narrow with hate and anger as he glared you down. But you stopped struggling and that only seemed to make him madder. "I wasn't just going to let you get hurt!" You hissed, reaching up to grab the hand that held your collar tightly, keeping you rooted in place. "I don't see what you're so angry about."

He didn't like that answer. The knife pressed in and you gasped when you felt a stream of your own blood run down, wetting his fingers. "Stop," you pleaded, clawing at him frantically. "Stop, please, I'm sorry."

That wasn't good enough for him and held you tighter. Tears welled up in your eyes and fell, mixing with the blood. Pain shot through you when Michael yanked his knife away, taking a few steps back and letting you slide down the tree as you gasped for breath. Your hands gripped at your neck, slightly relieved it wasn't more than a surface cut. Blood started to stain your hands, falling in rivulets down your arm and leaking over your elbows only to stain the grass beneath you a muddy red color.

His head tilted as he watched and you wanted to spit at him. "Y'know, I kinda thought we had a partnership going on." Your words were choked as you glared up at him. "Was I wrong?"

That seemed to get to him. He straightened up and stared you down. You got up on shaking legs and stumbled away from him and towards the forest. His footsteps were loud as he followed behind you and that only served to make you angrier. The walk home was silent and he stayed a few feet behind you the whole time, never getting closer nor straying. The only sounds were the twigs crackling under your shoes and you were too rattled to feel or think much of anything. Your only goal was getting home.

You kicked the back door open and stormed inside and upstairs to the bathroom. You stared at yourself in the mirror and wanted to smack yourself for your infatuation with a killer who didn't care about you. The cut was, thankfully, small. And hopefully the amount on your arms could convince your dad you were just handling a blackberry bush at work or something. The one on your leg could be hidden under pants until it healed. So you began rooting around for bandages and ignored Michael standing in the doorway.

"I help you get away and you try to kill me?" You growled, glaring at him in the mirror. "I could have let that cop shoot you and I didn't because I fucking care, Michael." Tears threatened to fall again and you swallowed them back when he gave you a tilt of his head. "I get you aren't good with feelings and- and maybe this is just you needing me to clean and feed you but I wanted to help you." You dabbled your neck with a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide and hissed at the sting. "If that's all you want me for then fine but I need to know where we stand."

He watched you bandage your neck, his shoulders set tight as he waited for you to finish. He set the knife down on the counter and reached for you but you flinched back. "Wash your hands." You mumbled and stepped back more to give him access to the sink.

The water ran for some time as the two of you watched the blood swirl down the drain and out of sight. Once the water ran clear, he pulled his hands out and reached for you again. You wanted to run but were backed up into a corner with no way out.

He covered your eyes with one and you frowned in confusion. "What are you-?" He took your wrist with his free hand and held it to his face again, silencing you. His face felt wet and that concerned you. "Are you bleeding somewhere?" You tried feeling around for any cuts but he shook his head no. "Was it raining?" Another no.

So an idea came to you. A dangerous one if you were wrong. "Were you… crying?"

He nodded. Your heart broke.

You pulled him in for a hug, keeping your eyes closed as you just held him. He dropped the hand from your eyes to hold your hip, leaning into your touch like he did when he was ill a few weeks ago. "What happened?" You tried, holding his face with both hands.

Michael just shook his head helplessly and bumped your foreheads together. Oh. Oh. "Were you… worried I was turning you in?" No. "Was it because I was there while you were, uh, hunting?" No. You chewed on your lip as another dangerous thought came to you. "You were worried I was going to get hurt."

His jaw clenched as his throat worked around a growl. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield couldn't afford to feel anything. He doesn't. As far as anyone is concerned at least. Yet here you were, defying all odds and earning Michael's favor. His protection. His care. And the idea of losing you had terrified him, causing him to lash out at you for willingly putting yourself in danger. Emotions had run high and he'd acted out. He hadn't known what else to do but scare you back.

"I'm sorry I worried you," you said softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks and wiping the moisture away as you kept your eyes closed. "I was worried about you too. I heard the police radio mention shooting you on sight so I went looking for you." His grip on you tightened slightly and you sighed. "I know that you're used to people shooting at you or- or attacking you. But I'm not used to hearing about it."

You finally admitted to yourself and him: "I don't want you to die."

After a moment of silence, he pressed your foreheads together. You felt his breath ghost over your skin and your noses bumped together awkwardly. You hooked a hand behind his neck to just hold him and he squeezed your hips tight. "I don't want you to die," you gasped into your shared air. He made a muffled sound and this felt so much more intimate than any kind of kissing you'd done in the past. You just stood there in each other's spaces, sharing air and warmth and closeness that you hadn't had with someone else in a long time. You couldn't imagine how it felt for him.

"We're in this together now, okay?" You said softly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. Pretty, you thought absently. But you already knew that. Brown ringlet curls, one eye injured from his fight with Laurie Strode, and a light dusting of freckles across his nose. His face looked damp and you brushed under his eyes with the hem of your sleeve. Despite that, his face was expressionless even though you could see conflict swirling in his eyes. You couldn't imagine how he was feeling. "We'll look out for each other, yeah?"

He gave you a slow nod and you smiled. Your foreheads pressed together again and you felt his shoulders relax as his eyes closed. Trust. You both trusted each other and were partners in this now. You accepted you'd be complacent in his crimes going forward and he'd learn to accept your care in time.

Just you and your Boogeyman against the world...

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x s/o #halloween 1978 #mask of hate #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #slashers

224 notes · View notes

loganwritesprobably · 5 months ago

Text

First Meeting.. P4 (One Piece Edition)

Part one with Ace, Law and Sanji Part two with Zoro, Robin and Luffy Part three with Crocodile, Mihawk and Buggy

Here is the final three characters I planned on writing for this: Benn, Shanks and Smoker! If anyone is interested in seeing this with other characters, my requests are open. All readers are gender neutral, so everyone is welcome to enjoy. No Y/N is used!

Requests are open for x reader things! I will write basically ANY kind of reader - male, female, non-binary, gender neutral, trans, disabled, black, white, latino, asian, neurodivergent, etc

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Notes: For Smoker it's kind of a first re-meeting but.. that totally still counts

Generally, men that much older than you weren't your thing - but men that much older than you weren't usually that attractive. Like, this guy was hotter than 90% of the people you saw come into port. You had a rule though, you didn't flirt with people just passing through. It wasn't worth the trouble of maybe getting attached, just for them to leave again. You knew for sure that this guy would be leaving again fairly soon when you saw him interacting so casually with Emperor Red Hair Shanks. Not worth the trouble on any level.

A young woman approached your stall and struck up conversation with you, and you fell into what you knew how to do - shifting stock. An older man in town had hired you to run the market stall he owned selling animal produce, because he was getting too old to be spending so much time on his feet and in the sun. You took the job happily. A man then approached, asking about the various things you had, and you continued with what you knew best. You told him about the milks and cheeses, the furs and the meats, and he just nodded along with a list of things in hand. You told him about each product, but he just stood there looking at his list, a little clueless. "Do you want to give that list to me, and I'll get what you need?" You offered, and the man just handed the list to you with a sheepish expression. You laughed good-naturedly and took it, grabbing things quickly to set on the counter for the man to take.

You turned your back to the main window, getting a few other things listed, and when you turned back to the man once again, the hot older guy was stood there too. "Come on Yassop, you know better by now." The guy said with a sigh, but he looked fond. Both pirates then. You set the final things down and counted up the total, writing it down on the list that had been handed to you so they could keep that as a record of their expenses. "That is everything from your list." You said, pointedly speaking to the man that had been identified as Yassop rather than the handsome man. "Ouch, don't think I've ever seen you be ignored quite like that Benn." Yassop said, and sudden understanding dawned on you. Benn. Benn Beckman. You felt a little stupid for not realising sooner, not that you'd exactly spent much time thinking about pirates. You had bigger problems. "Hey, I have to leave some for the rest of you." Benn seamlessly joked back, and Yassop took the list back from you, which he passed to Benn for him to look at while you packaged everything they'd bought in paper and into bags.

Benn was the one to pay, and his fingers brushed yours as he handed over the berri for everything they'd bought. A little spark lit as you touched, which you tried very hard to ignore. You didn't care. Nobody that's visiting, you'd promised yourself. "You're damn gorgeous, by the way." Benn said, and you knew you were already fucked.

You were a pirate. You didn't like to call yourself or your crew nobodies.. but hey, sometimes things that hurt a little were true. Tiny bounties, very few fights on your records, and little to no concerns of being tracked down by marines or by bounty hunters. So you were living the pirate life on easy mode for the most part, which you weren't really complaining about, you couldn't imagine having to learn how to really be a pirate whilst being hunted. You and your crew were in a random bar on a random island, drinking them out of house and home - but you were paying them, at least.

Your crew were yelling and laughing together, and it made you smile. You'd been looking over some paperwork (and why did being a pirate involve paperwork?), with a drink in hand, letting them have their fun. Most of them were a little younger than you, and if not physically then certainly mentally. Your head shot up as the door swung open to reveal some older men whose faces you recognised. Lucky Roux, Yassop, Limejuice, Hongo, Benn Beckman. The Red Hair Pirate crew. You didn't think this was one of their islands, you'd have noticed you were sure of it, so there was nothing wrong with you being there.

You sat very still for a few minutes, just watching what they would do, and how your crew was reacting. They were mostly oblivious, which was fine, as long as they weren't running your mouth they'd probably be okay. The Red Hair pirates also didn't seem to pay your crew any mind, which you weren't exactly surprised by.

When the door opened again, letting more sunlight into the relatively dark venue, the more experienced pirates looked up and laughed and cheered. Enter Emperor Red Hair Shanks. He was a sight to behold. You could feel his strength radiating from him, and damn he was handsome. You wondered if the rumours of his flirtatious personality held any stock, because you certainly wouldn't mind being flirted with. The man looked around the room, and as if he could hear your thoughts, his eyes locked on you. You looked quickly back down at your paperwork, but couldn't see any of the words. He didn't approach immediately, but a few minutes later someone did sit at your table with you. You looked up to find Shanks, with a drink in hand. "Your drink looks pretty empty, can I get you a refill?"

Once upon a time, you'd been training to be a marine, alongside Smoker. Not anymore. You'd seen some of the things that the marines were willing to do to civilians first hand and you hadn't been able to reconcile that with what you wanted to do with your life. Rather, you became a pirate. Yes, both pirates and marines had the power to do both bad and good things, but pirates didn't answer to a higher power in the way that marines did. You could choose to do good every day, and you didn't have to ask permission - so that was what you did.

More than anything, you were a travelling doctor. Your crew didn't fight, and neither did you really. You were all more than capable, but it was a last resort, because you all intended to do good as much and as often as you could.

Smoker had continued onward into the marines, and you'd lost a valuable friend.

You were in Alabasta, aware that the warlord Sir Crocodile kept the citizens safe, but one of your crew members wanted to visit home, and it never hurt to check in. You found devastation. Most of your crew members at least knew basic first aid, and so you deployed in pairs or trios to different towns to try to treat those that you found still alive. They were dying en masse of dehydration, and those who weren't dying from dehydration were suffering sunstroke, or illnesses they already had were worsened. You came across many a drunk child, because a mother decided alcohol was better than total dehydration, and you appreciated that they were trying. You gave away the ship's entire stock of fresh water, and your shipwright showed everyone how to build water filtration systems, so that you could show that to the citizens too. Then, you were able to distribute salt water that could be filtered into drinking water.

You were there for weeks. Then the marines flew through.

"What are you-" A familiar voice called out, and you froze where you were patching up a child's leg wound from collapsing. You took a deep breath, and checked the wrap, then stood to face Smoker. "Hello, Smoker." You said, voice soft, and he couldn't seem to find a response.

#one piece #fanfic #writing #loganwritesfanfics #reader insert #smoker #one piece smoker #red haired shanks #shanks one piece #benn beckman #benn beckman x reader #shanks x reader #smoker x reader #smoker/reader #shanks/reader #benn beckman/reader

133 notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 8 days ago

Note

hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader

can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩

hope this is okay! thanks queen

MEMORIES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss

ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.

Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.

You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”

You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.

“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”

Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.

You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.

You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.

It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.

“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”

You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.

“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”

He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.

His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”

You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.

Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”

As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.

You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.

But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.

That peace doesn’t last forever.

The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.

After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.

You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?

It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.

But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.

The love. The pain. The warmth.

You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.

The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.

Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.

Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.

“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”

You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.

You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.

Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.

You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.

The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.

It’s your name.

Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:

"You are my home."

The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.

You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”

And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.

The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.

It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?

You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.

Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.

You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.

You light the match.

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.

But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Can you really do this?

Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.

But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.

You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”

Forget about him.

As if it were that simple.

You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.

It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.

And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.

His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.

“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.

The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.

But you’re not really listening.

Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.

This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.

He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?

The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.

“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.

“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.

The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.

Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.

You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.

No one holds a candle to Loki.

No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.

And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.

One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.

“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.

She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.

But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?

“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.

And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.

The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.

But it doesn’t work. Not really.

Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.

It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.

And yet…

The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.

He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.

Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.

“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”

The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.

He’s gone.

The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.

You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”

There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.

Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.

And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.

“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”

The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.

But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.

And yet, he didn’t.

The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.

At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.

You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.

And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.

Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.

“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”

You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?

One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.

But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.

You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.

It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.

The dream begins the same way every time.

You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.

Loki.

He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.

In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.

“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.

“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.

The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.

At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.

The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.

Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.

“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”

“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.

One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.

It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.

“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.

You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.

She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.

“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.

But even the dreams begin to shift.

The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.

“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”

Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”

The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.

And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.

It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.

“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”

You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”

“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”

From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.

You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”

She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.

“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please just listen—”

“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”

Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”

Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”

That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.

He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.

“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”

“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”

“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”

You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”

The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.

You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.

For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.

Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.

And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.

The next morning, you call your friend.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.

The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.

But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.

The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.

The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.

The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.

“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.

You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”

You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.

“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”

The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”

You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”

The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”

Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.

You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.

“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”

Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”

“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”

He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.

The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.

“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”

You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.

The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.

It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.

The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.

Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.

One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.

The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.

“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”

As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.

When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.

You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.

And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.

Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.

You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.

On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.

You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.

But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.

And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.

The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.

You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.

Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.

You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.

One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.

For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.

You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.

Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.

But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.

And maybe you never will.

ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol

93 notes · View notes

kodared · 3 months ago

Text

✰ Stanford & Borrower/Anomaly Reader ✰

fears not enough they have to tear him apart.

Chapter 2/?

Wordcount: 2,684 / 4,741

➤ Summary Based on the borrowers of many universes! I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't know about borrowers, let me be your guide into a world I've loved since I was young. ✰Written because I saw the severe lack of borrower content in Gravity Falls fanfic, i hope you enjoy <3 ✰ - ★Updates irregularly! I write when I want ★ ★ - Also on AO3! - ★

You had spent the better half of that night scheming of ways actually to put your plan into motion. Sure the basic idea sounded easy enough, but you were only about 6 inches tall. His journal might even be taller than you. You tried not to let that thought bother you.

You had even turned the string lights in your makeshift home on. If you were to think of ways to get the page you needed a comfortable space. You never liked sitting in the dark.

The only sound in your room was your feet hitting the wooden plank you used as a floor while you paced in a circle. It had to be late at this point, and you could check and see if Ford was still awake, but you knew he’d still be up.

Once he was enamored by something he stayed up studying, it felt weird for you to be that something, but here you were.

If you were to take the page out of his journal, you needed something sharp to rip it out. Your needle wouldn’t work, it would take too long to rip the paper. You weren’t too keen on the idea of being caught by the scientist.

You needed something more similar to a knife a human would use. You knew better than to think of making your own. You weren’t much of a blacksmith or crafter, you tinkered with a lot of things sure, but nothing extravagant.

Finally getting bored of the scenery of your room, you decided that if you were going to brainstorm anything it would help to look around first.

You clicked your string lights off and set off into the walls. Your hand fidgets with the needle on your hip anxiously.

You always had a problem with twiddling with things. Your mother even had to put poison ivy on your nails once so you’d stop picking them and the skin around them. …You still had small scars but you tried not to pick them as bad.

Absentmindedly walking the dark corridors of the inner walls wasn’t bad now and again. The cottage didn't have any mice, so you didn't have to worry about predators or bugs for that matter.

You wouldn’t have minded befriending a pill bug though, those little critters were always friendly as long as you had a treat for them.

Your dreams of settling down with a bug friend though would have to wait. Reminding yourself why you came here, you finally felt along the wall for anything that could help.

You were on the first floor. Meaning you were on the right track to the perfect spot to go looking for scraps the human wouldn’t miss.

Not that it mattered if he noticed items going missing anymore, he already knew you were here. It was always best to avoid confrontation though.

Gently tapping on the wall as you went, you felt your body stiffening and halting right as you passed the humans room.

If that was the noise you thought you heard, maybe the plan would be put in action sooner than expected.

Halting in your tapping you gently pressed your body against the wall, hearing the faint whispers of a snore from beyond the wood.

Deciding to bite the bullet you pressed harder, feeling the thin wood bend so you could peek.

True to what you heard, you could see the human, Ford. Passed out at his desk, and even better, the Journal.

Unguarded and open on his desk next to his hand. He must have been taking notes and fallen asleep.

If there was any time to waste you weren’t going to be the one to waste it. Quickly pushing off the wall you took off towards the storage room he kept full of random items.

Usually just rubbish of whatever he was working on at the time, sometimes wires, and more than often boxes full of who knows what. But that didn't matter, because you knew what you were after.

Cramming yourself against the wall once more you operated quickly. Squeezing through the small crack made by pushing you landed on a box. Quickly you brought your sleeved arm up to stifle your coughing from the sheer amount of dust.

Would it kill him to dust now and again or was he only interested in studying???

Pushing past your internal cussing you scanned the floor for what you came for to begin with. A small black screw lay on the floor exactly where you recognized it being. Still sharp at the end from disuse, overlooked on the floor for weeks.

Bingo.

You jumped off of the box, ignoring the protests from your still sprained ankle as you speed walked over to the screw.

Picking it up it felt cool in your hands. A comforting feeling in the stuffy and still dark room. The only light was from the moonlight that drifted from the window up high.

Sometimes you wondered if your family was still okay in the woods. If sometimes when you looked at the moon, they where looking at it too.

You began the long trek back to the humans room, debating whether or not it would be worth it to go back through the walls or just walk on foot.

Eventually, you decided to just go back through the vent. Climbing back up the box and weaseling your way into the wall would be too much work. Plus the vents usually were easy enough to navigate.

You used the screw to pry the grate up ever so slightly before using your hands to pull it up the rest of the way. Your wrist also protesting from where you fell on it. You seriously needed to take better care of yourself once this was all over.

Dropping down into the vents you made sure to pull the grate shut behind you before crawling through the cramped space. Even for you, it was a bit uncomfortable but the cold on your stomach was oddly comforting.

You oddly preferred a cold room over a warm one, even better if you had a warm piece of cloth. Even as a kid you much liked it better in the early months of fall than in the middle of summer.

Finally, you could hear the humans' faint snoring from above you, confirming the vents were a pretty straightforward path to his room.

Taking a deep breath you pushed the grate up. Timing it with his deep snores to make sure he stayed fast asleep.

Clambering up into the open space you could see Ford sleeping at his desk still. His body was uncomfortably curled around and resting on his desk.

You were no fool. You made sure to plan an escape route just in case he did wake up, quickly scanning the room you could see a small hole in the floorboard. Probably made by the natural cut of the wood, but perfect for you to drop into at a moment's notice.

You then looked at his desk. Trying to figure out a safe way to travel up it without your fishhook and thread. When something caught your eye.

The bastard had kept your fishhook. There it lay on his workspace, just barely discernable from your angle on the floor as it glinted in the moonlight. Almost as if it was taunting you.

Suddenly all the nerves you had were ebbing away into frustration. Who gave him the right to keep your things. You worked hard on getting the proper supplies, and he never noticed. So what gave him the right to pocket it like he made it?

You made quick work of walking across the floor and getting your footing on the desk leg. The unpolished wood was rough enough to support your hands and feet as you climbed.

If you could get your fishhook back on top of taking the page you would be ecstatic. Then you could move without worry and find a new place to move into. This would all be behind you and you could talk about it like it was all some bad dream.

Now was a time for the present though as you neared the top of his desk. You had almost forgotten the human was resting just beside you, frightening yourself as you pulled yourself onto the desk and saw his arm right next to you.

…You almost forgot how large this guy was.

He was tall by human standards, you saw him standing next to his assistant before.

Pushing down your curiosity you peeled your eyes away from the human.

Quickly scooping up the fishhook and thread that was so rightfully yours. You took one more glance at him to make sure he was asleep.

By human standards he was attractive. Hell, even by borrower standards he was mildly satisfying. You weren't one of those borrowers who actively sought out humans, but you could admit when someone was pleasing to the eyes.

He had short brown hair that slightly curled at the ends. His glasses were now crooked with how he pressed his face on top of his arm as a makeshift pillow. You allowed your eyes to scan over him a bit longer.

Taking in his outfit as well, a simple brown sweater with a collared shirt poking from above it. His usual trenchcoat was hung on the chair he sat on.

His hands rested on top of his forearms, which-

… Don't humans usually only have five fingers?

You could've sworn they had only five. Raising your own you looked back and forth at it.

You remembered your mother mentioning humans were genetically very similar to borrowers. The only difference is the height, which should mean he would have only five fingers. Not the six he seemed to have on both hands.

You were getting sidetracked. Soon you wouldn't even be living with this weird scientist, so why did it matter if he had an extra finger?

Finally focusing on what you came for, you turned your attention to the journal. That cursed, stupid, red journal. The cause of all your anxiety for the past few days.

He's lucky you're not just burning the entire thing. You weren't above arson, but you didn't want to kill him if the fire got too big. Despite how much you loathed humans.

You walked over to the journal and skimmed over the page it was open to. To no one's shock, it was open on the page you despised the most.

Over the top of the pristine white paper was the name he had given you and your species.

‘Parva persona’. Whatever that meant you didn't care.

Below it was a crude sketch of what you could only assume was your shadowy figure slinking off into the wall. You thought you dressed better than that in all honesty. He could have atleast drawn you in detail.

Whatever. Didnt matter as long as the page was gone. He could always rewrite it but you doubt he would remember everything.

And the more that was lost to time the better in your opinion.

You placed your foot on the page to hold it down as you positioned the screw at the top of the page. Pressing your whole body weight on it as you dragged it down, it worked beautifully. Leaving a messy tear in its wake.

You almost forgot about the snoring behind you.

Until it stopped.

About halfway through slicing into the cursed paper you heard it. The slight intake of breath. The stutter was all you needed to whip around just in time to catch the human sitting up slightly.

His eyes were wide as he looked down at you, the holds of sleep still gripping him tightly as he moved sluggishly.

Screw the page. You dropped the screw and took off to the side of the desk. Already planning on using the hook to drop off the desk and disappear back into the walls before promptly packing your bags and going back to your parents.

As you were about to drop your hook and use it to swing off the desk, you felt the warmth of his hand on your back once more before those damned fingers curled around your entire being.

The human wasnt speaking yet but you didn't want to wait to hear him. Thrashing as hard as you could you tried desperately to grab your needle on your hip, but his hand was quick to squish your arms to your sides.

The dizzying feeling of being lifted off the desk was the next thing you felt. You felt nauseous at the mental image of being manhandled.

The human was stunned into silence as you screwed your eyes shut, still desperately kicking at his pinkie that held your thighs down. His thumb pressed against your neck and shoulders, almost as if he was examining you.

Finally, you opened your eyes, and you wished you hadnt. His other hand held his glasses up, pressing them firmly against the bridge of his nose, as if he was afraid he wasnt seeing right.

His hair messily framed his face as his mouth hung open just a bit. Clearly in awe at what he was seeing. Your heart hammered quickly against your chest as you feared you might die from shock and horror.

You were stuck. Trapped by a scientist. The most dangerous human to exist to your kind.

His grip tightened ever so slightly as he tilted you to the left, looking at the items you had on your hip as he lifted his middle finger. Your thighs and shoulder are still pinned to his palm.

His palm was uncomfortably warm against your back. You hated the feeling of his skin against your clothes. Absentmindedly he used his other hand to poke at the needle on your hip. You contemplated trying to bite him.

Your blood was rushing past your ears as the effects of vertigo hit your body in full swing once more as he moved. His head tilted to look somewhere beside the desk before you heard him rummaging.

It was a wonder you weren't passed out at this point as his hand swayed. The motion was natural to him, but entirely foreign to the small sentient being he held in the palm of his hand.

His eyes focused back on your form as you felt him press something against your side, it was cold and plastic.

Craning your neck you could see him pressing what appeared to be a ruler to your side. His thumb pressed against your shoulder moving to press against your neck as he held you straight.

“...6 and a half inches.. That should be impossible..”

His voice boomed in your ears as you felt the beginnings of a headache nagging at the back of your eyes. In all reality, he was probably whispering. It didn't matter though combined with the closeness he held you at.

His thumb was beginning to press a bit too hard into your neck and you saw spots forming in your vision. Your body kicked up in squirms as you desperately tried to squeeze in another full breath of air.

He was quick to notice as he moved his thumb back to your shoulder.

“Sorry!- I didn't realize, maybe I could..”

He sat down the ruler before taking a few quick notes. Your vision cleared as you sucked in precious oxygen again.

Your vision was just starting to clear fully as your brain caught up with his rummaging. He was once again rifling beside his desk. When you saw him pull a jar up into your vision you felt your blood run cold.

You did not want to be put in a jar. Going into a jar meant transporting you. Which meant you where going down into that lab.

“Stop!-”

The frantic words left your mouth before you could stop them, and you felt the human practically completely freeze. His calculating eyes pierced into your very soul as you felt him grip you ever so slightly tighter. “You can talk!”

-- --- - - - --

Hope you enjoyed!! Will ford be nicer next chapter? Who knows!! I sure dont!!! ✰ Let me know if you enjoyed in the comments!!! I love reading them :)!!! Feel free to send me any asks in my askbox if you want as well! ✰

╱|、♡ (` - 7 |、⁻〵じしˍ,)ノ

#stanford x anomaly reader #stanford pines x reader #stanford gravity falls #stanford pines #gravity falls #ford pines #gravity falls fanfiction #g/t #giant/tiny #borrower reader #borrowers #gt writing #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #multiple chapters #fears not enough they have to tear them apart

103 notes · View notes

pearl-the-artist · 4 months ago

Text

(You called for me) Gabriel / Reader Oneshot

Ok please be patient with me on this. I spent over 24 hours in a car on a trip to Russia a few days ago and it made me do something I've never dared to before: write a fanfic. On my humble Samsung notes.

If this isn't a total flop I might make more? I dunno? Maybe hop on ao3?

Criticism and feedback is appreciated ok thank youuu have fun

Another restless night, another hour spent lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above you. The room was shrouded in the comforting night air, more illuminated than usual by the soft glow of the full moon outside.

You look at the clock on your nightstand; precisely midnight. Two hours after your drunken father came home again, letting his pent-up frustrations and anger out on you in a one sided yelling match. Of course, as usual, neither was your mother of any support; only giving you that same disapproving, disdainful glare. You were never really welcome, not even in your own home- your parents biggest mistake lingering around only to weigh them down, and remind them of what they could've had. Or so they've told you, many, many times before. Tonight was no exception.

When the broadcasts first announced the new threat infesting the county, "alternates" they called them, you were, admittedly, both terrified and somewhat relieved. You were never really one to believe in the supernatural, but who knows, your parents were just superstitious enough to maybe fall for their schemes.

The first announcement had been around, what, a year ago now? Not much had really changed admittedly, although the population had begun falling drastically since then.

Your parents had of course used this opportunity to also confiscate your phone, the CRT TV in your room and old little MP3 player gifted to you by a relative, god forbid you let an alternate in to potentially threaten them, your own safety not even really a point for consideration to them.

Living with your parents was already hell, but getting by without your favourite albums and shows? Torture.

So tonight when you lied in bed unable to fall asleep, your mind wandering as usual, it may have wandered a little too far.

You recalled something you overheard your parents talk about. A friend of your dad's, a man of unwavering faith, who had been found dead in his own home a few weeks ago, seemingly in the middle of his usual prayers. Even though his family mentioned having seen an odd, ghostly figure outside their home that night, the doctors seemed to blame the cause of death on a brain hemorrhage.

It made sense, come to think of it. When you first saw the emergency PSA, it explained all kinds of methods to protect yourself from alternate attacks, one of which being avoidance of religion, faith, and philosophy.

So then, the alleged "ghost" that visted that poor man just might've been... Well.

This gave you a bad idea, but you weighed the options available to you.

Either you would die in a similar way as the old man, or... you might just get lucky and bargain with it. Alternatively, nothing happens, and you remain stuck with an unhappy married couple that hates each other as much as they hate you.

It was definitely stupid, but at this point it seemed like you had nothing to lose anyway. You weren't really much of a believer yourself, so you didn't exactly know how to pray, but you gave it your best shot. Sitting up in your bed, hands clasped together with a bowed head and closed eyes, you tried your best to focus.

If there was a god out there, may it hear your pleas. Wordless whispers called for help, begging to be heard, while you did all you could to try to concentrate on any spiritual connections. All the while you knew you may as well be praying to a literal demon.

A few minutes passed as you racked your brain for what to say before you stopped, your hands falling back into your lap.

What the hell were you doing? Yes you hated it here, and you couldn't even run away if you wanted to, but inviting an alternate to your house just like this? It was a death sentence, and not a pretty one, that much was certain.

You shook your head. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Right, this was all just some silly superstition, not that different from those "send this to 5 other people or you'll die tonight" chain e-mails. You laughed internally at how silly it was that you even thought this would work to begin with, and, admittedly, felt a brief sense of relief. You decided that you were ready to just go back to sleep, and just as you pulled your blanket up to crawl back underneath it- you almost jumped.

It was a voice, faintly audible outside your window. You didn't even process it until a few seconds after, a barely legible, strained whisper.

"I heard you praying."

You froze. A cold wave shot right to your stomach. Slowly, agonisingly so, you turned around to face your bedroom window.

A tall figure stood outside, its hands clasped together similarly to how you just had a few minutes ago. With long, flowing white robes and silver, wavy locks that reached down to his shoulders, he looked... Ethereal. Not to mention the massive, pure white wings folded neatly behind his back. His head blocked out the full moon, the light creating something almost like a halo around him, making him appear even more angelic.

"Woah."

You couldn't help the little gasp of awe. He seemed to find it amusing, his grin spreading a little too wide for comfort. Admittedly, you almost doubted if he even was an alternate at all. Maybe you'd come out a person of faith yourself, after this.

"Are you... An alternate?"

You whispered hesitantly, quiet enough to try to conceal the trembling in your voice and also not alert your parents sleeping upstairs, though you weren't sure if he actually heard you at all.

He didn't respond for a moment, tempting you to ask again, before that inhuman whisper was heard again.

"You called for me, and now I am here."

Avoiding your question, huh. Suppose he was an elusive sort. You quickly glanced around your room, eyeing the door in particular just in case; you really hoped your parents were asleep.

"May I... Come closer?"

You couldn't even recall the last time you were this polite to someone, though it was your best bet not to piss him off while he was still friendly, if you could even call it that. You had no point of reference, though he wasn't actively trying to harm you, so it was a start.

The angel, his smile unwavering, simply nodded, waving his arm in an invitation to approach.

It took a moment for you to will your body to move from the initial shock, but with slow, careful steps you moved to open the window to properly speak to him, a pleasant cool breeze inviting itself into your room.

"So... What's your name?"

Did alternates have names? Suppose they just took on the name of whoever they were trying to mimic. You leaned onto the window frame, trying to catch a good look at his face; and for the first time in god knows how long you were met with eyes that, albeit a bit creepy and lifeless, looked back into your own with an unfamiliar lack of hostility.

"You may call me Gabriel, child."

Gabriel? That name sounded familiar- Oh! The Saint Gabriel's church at the edge of town. Suppose that made sense, given his angelic appearance, if it wasn't just one morbid coincidence. Your thoughts and scrutinizing stare dragged on for a bit longer than you were aware of, though, as his voice pulled your attention back to him.

"Are you lost, my lamb? I can save you. Let me in. Let me into your mind."

The last bit seemed a bit more... Pushy than the rest, making your stomach feel just a little heavier. You gathered your thoughts anyway, trying to push that feeling aside for now. You did do this for a reason, after all, though now that he was actually here you were starting to second guess things.

Gabriel seemed to take note of your hesitation after a while of you not responding.

"Open your eyes, my lost little one. Look at me. I can grant you anything you wish for. You just need to let me in."

An odd mix of dread and comfort you'd never felt before settled in, and the feeling was almost... Refreshing, in a way. You quickly glanced back up at him, and he was still staring at you, ever so patiently, eerily.

"Uhm... I was just- well, it's probably kind of silly."

No backing out now, not when he was already here. Even if you wanted to, you don't think he'd let you go so easily. As you verbally stumbled over your own thoughts, he simply waited, his unblinking eyes staring into you, gouging out your soul. Or so it felt.

"I just thought... Is it possible for, well... Is there a chance for humans to be able to ally with alternates? Can I join you?"

Surprisingly, that got his smile to falter, if only a little bit. A flicker of emotion you couldn't quite explain showed in his eyes- surprise, perhaps, or consideration.

"What for, my child?"

That uncanny whisper of his never gave away any emotion, monotone and unfeeling, yet not unfriendly. Admittedly, his question made you pause; you hadn't exactly thought of how to explain this to him. You hadn't even expected him to show up at all.

Fidgeting nervously, unsure of whether to tell him the truth or not, you tried to think of what to say. Despite your rationality screaming at you for being an utter moron, you knew you were in too deep at this point.

"I don't think I'm any good to these people at all anymore, I just... don't know what to do anymore. With myself. I have nowhere else to go. And, maybe..."

You weren't sure if you should say it or not, you already let more vulnerability slip than you wanted to. But your spite driven words were quicker than your brain, and man did it feel good to open up for once.

"...maybe for revenge, also."

Gabriel listened to you surprisingly attentively, very interested in your words. At your last statement, he perked up with an almost malicious twist to his grin. Before he could respond, though, you suddenly heard the sound of your parents creaky old bedroom door and footsteps from upstairs. And you could tell by the sound of them that it was your mother. And she was pissed.

For a very panic filled moment you weren't sure what to do, your thoughts racing- instincts called for you to jump into bed and pretend you were asleep like you usually would... but with Gabriel here, you couldn't- and that's when you realized you really only had two real options.

Stay here, and continue living this miserable life, and also deal with the imminent outburst of your mother.

Or go with him, and then... Well, nothing and no one could possibly guarantee what would happen to you then.

"Choose wisely, my dear lamb."

Your dilemma seemed to be rather palpable to the "saviour" as he pulled you out of that mental spiral, and you were rather grateful for it. As much as it made you nauseous with uncertainty and anxiety, you finally snapped out of that paralysis and turned towards the window.

"Please, help me. This is the only favor I'll ever ask of you. I will do anything you want in return, I promise."

You began to plead in an urgent, hissed whisper, practically leaning out of the window, causing him to take a step back.

Desperation and panic shook your words as you glanced back at your bedroom door.

"Get me out of here."

He chuckled, an amused sound mixed with something you couldn't quite explain that made you feel more fuzzy than you'd care to admit.

"Come. Come to me, my child. Step outside."

For the first time tonight hesitation became a foreign concept as you practically leapt out that window. Your bare feet felt the cold gravel beneath, just in time as the door to your room swung open.

The angered yelling of your mother were drowned out by the feeling of suddenly being lifted off the ground, Gabriel taking you up into his arms like your weight was akin to a feather.

He was cold, lifelessly so. And yet the soft silken robes, the way he held you in his arms, and his deceitfully promising whispers were lulling you into a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"A lost little lamb, asking their shepherd for guidance..."

His eerie, yet strangely comforting laugh filled your ears once more over the noise of your mother not yet realizing you weren't in your bed. You're surprised she wasn't hearing him at all. Maybe it was another mind game of his.

"You made the right decision. I knew you would. Such a smart, yet scared little thing you are, are you not?"

You leaned your head against his chest, sighing deeply, beginning to forget what you were ever doubtful about during the start of this whole fiasco. Your weight began to sink into his arms as you relaxed. He held you a little tighter in turn.

"Of course I shall guide you, my child. Come with me; you will be mine. You will be safe."

Just as the furious woman realized to check the opened window, Gabriel vanished as swiftly as he appeared, leaving behind the sight of nothing but an empty garden, peacefully quiet, as if you were never there.

#stole gabriels dialogue from volume 5 hehe #cuz hes so very silly and im obsessed with that claymation part ngl #also im still trying to get a feel for how i even want to write him #I'm metaphorically pacing around the room and curling up into a ball posting this #i get so many ideas i like but im not confident to write let alone put it out into the world to see but fuck it we ball right #cant improve if you never try #archangel gabriel #tmc #the mandela catalogue #the mandela catalog #tmc gabriel #alternate gabriel #the mandela catalogue gabriel #oh and also #authors note hehe #huge thanks to howl-arnon for both giving this a read and giving me some much needed feedback #and also for giving me the confidence boost i very much needed to step out of that comfort zone #wow tags have a character limit. thats crazy.#ok ill shut up now

56 notes · View notes

americas1suiteheart · 1 year ago

Text

Had this idea a little while back and decided to go on with it! Tell me how you guys feel about it.

Kleptomaniacs

[Tangerine x Kleptomaniac! Reader]

[Summary; You've been working with the twins for a good while now, and all whilst knowing them you've bonded with them through similar interests. For Lemon, Thomas the Tank Engine, and on the other hand as for Tangerine and you - kleptomania..]

[Notes; You've got a code name, so there's no use of Y/n but know that your "Citron," (When I tried to post this after finishing it up, tumblr gave out on me and deleted it completely off the face of the internet so I had to write it again. Thanks Tumblr)]

[Warnings; Swearing, Stealing, it's a Bullet Train fanfic what do you expect?]

"God are you guys seriously fuckin' doing this shit again? You guys are gonna get caught one day doing that and you two are gonna be fucked y'know that right?" Lemon groans.

You and Tangerine made a game to see how much shit you could steal before chickening out. You can't do anything worse than killing people for money so you two figured, why the hell not?

"Fuck off Lem," You and Tangerine say at the same time dismissing him.

"Citron, I think you've officially spent too much time with Tan."

"Hey you can't say shit Lem, you've brainwashed Citron here into thinking of people in terms of fuckin' Thomas the Train characters you twat," Tangerine says, sneaking a pack of sweets into his suit jacket.

"Don't say shit about Thomas the Tank Engine, and dont call me a twat, you're the right fuckin' twat you ass," Lemon says, pointing a finger at Tangerine.

"Will you two stop acting like children? I spend too much time with the both of you, and you've both got qualities that are fuckin' annoying, the both of you are twats." You groan, taking multiple trinkets and small toys and shoving them into your pocket.

"Fucks sake mate, your taking the fuckin' children's toys?"

"I can take what I want Lem, piss off," You hiss.

This is typically how you three interacted with eachother. Lots of bickering and cussing at eachother, almost like teenagers that just learned a new cuss word

You'd figured with the boys it was just how they talked being that they were siblings and grew up together. I mean, you had siblings too but you never talked that way with them. Maybe it was just the way they were raised.

But with you, maybe you started acting like them and having the same behaviour after knowing them for so long. You hadn't acted like this before you met them.

You and Tangerine had finally gotten your rush from taking things and you three left the store, walking to your car given to you guys for the mission.

"Alright, start countin' everything you have," You say, getting everything out of all of your pockets and such.

"You guys have a fuckin' problem, I've said it multiple times and I'll say it again. You need to fuckin' see someone about that shit." Lemon shakes his head disappointingly at you two.

You and Tangerine ignore him as to not loose count of your stolen items.

The two of you finally finish, then looking at eacother and saying what you had in total. "32," You smirk, overly confident you had more.

But you already know you've lost when a cheeky smile appears on Tangerine's face, "47."

Your mouth hangs agape, staying quiet for at least 20 seconds. That's the most either of you had ever taken the four years you've known eachother so far.

"The worst part is that most of that shit is just sweets," Lemon says breaking the silence.

"Fuck off Lem," Tangerine hisses.

"Got a sweet tooth eh?" You chuckle, poking fun at him.

"I aint got no fuckin' sweet tooth, the sweets just so happened to be the easiest and least childish things to steal." Tangerine says, turning on the car.

Tan always liked to uphold this "tough manly guy," sort of figure. For example, when you're at a petrol station market and you and Lemon are over getting sugary drinks such as pop or juice, you best believe Tan would be getting water or a black coffee calling you two children.

"And sweets aren't childish?" Lemon raises his eyebrow.

"I didn't even get them for me you fuckin' bellend, I know you two like that sugary shit." Tangerine says.

"Wow, when did Gordon become an Edward," You say, giving Tangerine a cheeky grin.

Tangerine just sighs in defeat, knowing you and Lemon will end up teasing him just to mess with him the rest of the time regardless.

The ride back to the hotel was fairly calm, you and Lemon eating the stolen sweets and showing off the small toys you took as well, when you suddenly remembered something else you'd gotten for the both of them at another shop.

"Lemon, can you hand me that bag right there please?" You say, pointing to the small, blue bag next to him.

Lemon nods and hands you the bag from the back, you reaching over to grab it from his hands.

You take out a small plastic wrapped Thomas The Tank Engine phone charm and hand it to Lemon.

Lemon's face immediately lights up as he takes it out of its packaging, putting it on his phone and fiddling with it.

"Got this for you too, Tan," You say, turning to him and handing him a small satin bag.

"You steal this too?" Tangerine says, glancing at the bag before returning his eyes to the road.

"No, no. I actually bought that, I don't steal sentimental gifts I give, I'm not a fuckin' monster," You say, putting your hand on your chest in fake offense.

Tangerine gives you a judgemental glance.

"What is it?" He asks, still holding the small bag in his hand.

"Open it,"

Tangerine smiles and opens the bag with one hand, taking out a silver and blue colored star engraved ring.

"Its a promise ring. I saw it in a shop and figured we should get matching ones. I hope its your size, I kinda just guessed," You say, showing him your right hand that the ring was on.

"This is lovely, darling. Thank you.." Tangerine says with a loving smile, quickly putting it on his right hand with all of his other rings.

"You two are just right fuckin' sops for eachother it's sickeningly sweet," Lemon says, a cheeky grin on his face.

Tangerine mumbles something both you and Lemon couldn't hear, though by the tone it was very clearly not anything nice.

After a while longer, you three finally make it back to the hotel, Lemon checks all of you in and you all walk up to your hotel room.

As soon as you get in Lemon sets his stuff down and heads to the restroom for a shower, leaving you and Tangerine alone with eachother as you two unpack your bags.

"Tangerine?" You speak out, turning to look at Tangerine who was putting his clothes into the bottom drawer of the hotel room dresser.

"Yes, love?" Tangerine says.

"Thank you. For staying with me even when we go through all this shit. It's stressful and keeping relationships has never been easy for me with this job, you're the only one that's stayed this long and I want to let you know how grateful I am for it." You say, putting what you were doing aside so you could talk to him without any distractions.

Tangerine's head perks up a bit, then turning to look at you.

He smiles sweetly and walks over to you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

"Darling, you have no clue how happy I am that you've stayed with me the same. I know I can be difficult at times as well," Tangerine said, voice barely above a whisper.

You rarely ever get to see a softer side of Tan, but when you do you try to savor it as much as possible.

"You guys, are fuckin' disgusting. What I just saw there was right fucking nasty." Lemon says, standing in front of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Fuck off Lem."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

[Quick Authors Note! Sorry I haven't gotten to these requests and other stuff these past few months, I've been busy and have had other stuff get in the way. I know this isn't much but I'm trying to clean up my drafts.

#tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #atj x reader #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #aaron taylor johnson #fluff

188 notes · View notes

botboots · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! I'm probably SOOO late to transformers fanfics and one shots but I've come with this prompt,( I hope you like it enough to write it!) could you write Ratchet x injured reader, g/n or female. Injured shoulder, and maybe trying to hide it from him? Also in Tfp? If all this isnt too much to ask? Thank you for considering! Have a good day/ night

a/n: heehee this one was fun. the dialogue is kinda splotchy because theres a lot going on in my brain rn but!! hope you like it <3 also reader is cybertronian bc there are NOT enough cybertronian!reader fics out there and theyre very fun to write tbh. hope thats okay!!

ALSO! guidelines have been updated so before anyone submits a new req please read it! and please please request mirage/rotb fics oh my god im obsessed with it ROTB WAS SO GOOD </33

warnings: very minor injuries, pining <3 word count: 1059 (GN, cybertronian!reader) continued under the cut

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

The purple and green swirl of the ground-bridge closed behind you as you followed your team back into base, the lingering energy buzzing under your plating.

Glancing at Bumblebee, a small twinge of pity struck you as he made his way over to the medical bay. The scout had taken a few nasty punches from Breakdown and clearly wasn’t feeling too hot; dents littering his armor.

“We showed ‘em, huh?” your focus was snatched when Bulkhead caught you off guard with his usual celebratory elbow-bump, sending you stumbling a little from the force. A sharp pain ran up your arm to your shoulder and you winced.

“Yea- totally.” sending the wrecker a strained smile, you gave him a half-hearted push back. He tilted his head, about to open his mouth to ask you something when Miko booked it over to the two of you, questions spilling out of her mouth at a mile a minute. All of them were something gore or violence related, asking Bulkhead if he got any pictures of some “hardcore massacre-ing”. The girl's interests were a little concerning, but endearing. Nonetheless, you took the opportunity to slink away and avoid any more attention. Angling your helm, your face scrunched up at the sight - and feeling - of the wound on your shoulder.

Too focused on the fight in front of you, a stray Vehicon had been able to sneak up behind you and catch you by surprise. Fortunately for you, Vehicons were mass trained for quantity over quality and didn’t have the best shots. The blast grazed your shoulder, tearing between some of your paneling to the barely exposed wires. It hurt like a bitch at first, but adrenaline buried it enough that it wouldn’t distract you - plus it was small enough that none of your team noticed. Now that you were back at base, though, the piercing sting prodded at your processor incessantly. You did want to go and see Ratchet about it - always finding some kind of excuse to be around the mech - but he was dealing with Bumblebee right now, and you didn’t want to add to his plate. Not like it was anything life-threatening, anyway. You could just try and patch it up yourself - you’ve spent enough time with Ratchet to pick up a few things yourself.

You stole a glance at said medic, who you only just noticed was looking right at you. Immediately you realized from the questioning look on his face, raised brow and all, he had probably caught both your reaction to Bulkhead bumping into you and the grimace you had made at your shoulder. Optimistic, you shook your head at him, giving the mech a meager thumbs-up and a “I'm-actually-totally-fine” smile. He gave you a hard stare, and your spark sank when he motioned you over with a flick of his digits. You begrudgingly made your way over to the medical bay. As you neared, Ratchet had already cleared Bumblebee and was shooing him out. The scout passed you, and your attention was focused on Ratchet waiting with a cocked helm and his ever-present RBF. Standing awkwardly under his gaze, almost scrutinizing, you huffed. Without a word, the red and white medic picked up his scanner, turning it on with a loud click and running the green laser over your frame.

“Really, doc - I’m fine. It’s nothing.” you tried, and failed, as he kept the device lingering at your shoulder. With a deadpan look covering his faceplate, he put the scanner down and placed his servos over your shoulder plating. You grit your denta to keep a pained hiss from leaving you, wincing when he felt around the frayed wiring.

“Nothing, huh?” you pouted at his scoff, his metal brows knitted together as he examined the shot that had barely missed doing any serious damage. “Sit.” he ordered, gesturing to the medical berth while he moved to grab some tools from a nearby counter. Embarrassment was settling in your chassis, but you did as you were told.

It technically didn’t take long to patch you up, but the old mech made it seem like eons to you with the way he was muttering about “some of the team having egos too big for their own good.” It only made the burn of embarrassment grow, and you ducked your head when he gave you a pointed look. Ratchet was nothing if not thorough in ensuring you knew when he disapproved of something.

Soon enough he finished up, giving the patched wound a once-over.

“Anything else you’re not telling me?” he questioned, the familiar lilt of sarcasm back in his tone. That at least steadied your nerves a little.

“No, sir.” you mocked, raising one of your servos in a half-assed salute.

He scowled, crossing his arms, “I’ll have Optimus enforce mandatory health checks every time you come back to base.”

Frantically shaking your helm, you raised both servos defensively, “Okay, okay!” you sputtered, “Won’t happen again.” His optics narrowed, giving you a hard stare, and you released a heavy sigh. “Promise.”

Ratchet debated it for a moment, still having half a mind to just assign the checks anyway, but as you kept your optics trained on his, the mech’s will buckled and he huffed a quick, “Good.”

You both were staring at each other for just a moment too long before Ratchet gave a quick cough. “Come back if the pain flares up again.” he waved you off as he made his way back to his usual spot at the terminal. You blinked, watching him walk off with a slightly heated face. Awkward. Hopping off the medical berth, you were careful not to irritate your shoulder and mess it up more than it already was. As you walked past Bumblebee he whirred to grab your attention. You paused, turning your head to him with a raised metal brow.

The scout chirped at you teasingly from where he sat, nodding his head way too obviously towards you and then Ratchet, who was already burying himself back in his work. Your optics widened, immediately narrowing into an offended glare as you jabbed a digit towards him.

“Don't. Even.” you grumbled, folding your arms and walking briskly away from Bumblebee’s poorly stifled, chittering laugh that echoed behind you. Your previous pity for the mech quickly dissipated as your faceplate burned. Primus.

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers fanfiction #tf x reader #tfp x reader #transformers prime #transformers ratchet x reader #tfp ratchet x reader #ratcher x reader #transformers fanfic #tfp fanfic

242 notes · View notes

shimmershy · 1 year ago

Text

There's Only One Thing Left to Say, This Time (Undertale Fanfic)

New fanfic time! When I started writing this, I got the idea mostly because 1. I've been having trouble "moving on" from things in my own life recently and wanted to try processing it through fic and 2. it was the end of the school year for me and I had been saying a lot of goodbyes, so it felt thematically relevant. I wrote almost the entire thing impulsively at like three am a couple weeks ago and really impressed myself lol.

Chara Week Day 7: Free (I know it's over, but shhhh it still counts)

Summary:

You're having trouble saying goodbye, but the thing is that you don't have to! If you keep Resetting just before it's all over, you'll never have to be by yourself again. Right? You haven't known them long, and maybe they weren't super nice at the start, but they were there for you every step of the way. They listened to you and helped you when no one else would. You can't just let them disappear… You can't. ...But you can't keep doing this forever, Frisk. You have to let me go.

Characters: Chara and Frisk

Word count: 4,763 words

(Ao3 link in reblog!)

There's only one thing left to say this time,

I hope you're fine, goodbye.

– “Goodbye” by The Altogether

It isn’t until the third True Reset that I realize what this is all about, and when I do, I feel silly for not realizing it before.

I can still feel the way the bitterness worked its way under my skin the first time you brought everyone back. Which, is actually quite impressive on your part! Seeing as I don’t have skin anymore. I suppose it worked its way under your skin, then, because you wouldn’t stop apologizing to me in your head as you made your way through the Ruins. I should have been the one apologizing to you, Frisk. It’s no business of mine what you do with your own life, and you have no business feeling my emotions for me. This connection we have can be troubling, at times.

Still, it felt like a betrayal, and you offered me no explanation, so I could not understand.

I understood a little better when you decided to stay with Toriel for a while. Despite my obvious frustration and impatience, you sat and listened to her snail facts. You let her show you that bug-hunting spot she mentioned, and you spent time helping her run errands and letting her teach you how to cook. You even got to the point where she started giving you classes, as if you planned on staying. I assumed it was sentimentality, then. Perhaps there was something about the Underground that you didn’t want to leave behind. Maybe you weren’t ready to go back to living on the surface just yet. It’s not as if I could blame you for that one.

What I didn’t notice (and what I am noticing now), was how much attention you were giving me. And well, it’s not that I didn’t notice. I was just too busy being annoyed about it, and rightfully so. Can’t the narrator of your life narrate in peace? I do not care for superfluous conversation. And that’s not even the worst of it. Frisk, you should not be so casual about sharing control of your body, That’s like, the one thing you should never have to share. Sure, it happened one time, but I only stepped in because you were so afraid, and I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was me that the spears were getting shot at. That’s different. I will not take control of your body just to eat a slice of pie. Your pity for me is insulting.

What’s troubling is that it doesn't seem to be going away.

You take your first shivering step into Snowdin (for the fourth time, I can’t help but note) without so much as a glance behind you. This time, you left Toriel with no hesitation, and I know it’s because you know I didn’t want to stay. You’re not even trying to hide it. This is when I finally decide it’s time to confront you.

What are you doing? I ask.

“I’m…walking?” you respond, confused, through thoughts. Your boots crunch satisfyingly through the snow to prove your point. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I huff in frustration.

Frisk. Why do you keep Resetting?

This stops you (and your crunchy boots) in your tracks, and suddenly I can feel anxiety radiating off of you. You weren’t expecting me to ask you this directly.

When you don’t respond, I continue, a little bit of venom coating my words despite my best efforts. For the third time now, you have made it to the end, broken the barrier, only to start all over again. Do you not feel even the slightest bit of remorse?

“Of course I feel bad!” you’re quick to say, as if you’re surprised I would assume otherwise. “But…we’ll still get there again in the end; it’s not that big a deal.”

That’s a horrible excuse.

“Why’re you so angry about it?” Your voice comes out sharp in the frigid air.

Why are you so stubborn?

“What’re you even talking about?!”

You’re trying to delay the inevitable.

You’re about to debate me on that, too, in a defensive way rather than a genuinely angry way. But you stop, because you suddenly understand that I understand, and the anxiety returns. You continue walking after a brief hesitation.

Goodbyes are never easy, I say, as gently as I can. (It ends up sounding forced anyway.)

You ignore me, and I allow you to.

~~~

What are you going to do once you get back to the surface? Once you decide to stay?

You’ve made it to Waterfall at this point, having made it through Snowdin without much event. You’re getting a little tired of doing the same thing every time; I can tell, but you would never admit to it.

You kick a stone on the ground, watching as it disappears into the dark grass. “I dunno.” (“I dunno-”) (“-dunno-”)

Your own voice travels around you in echoes and fragments. You really shouldn’t talk out loud like this in the middle of all these echo flowers. Number one, it’s annoying, and that should be reason enough, but number two, you shouldn’t make a habit of talking out loud to the voice in your head at all. People are going to think you’re weird. And I mean, you’re already pretty weird, but do you really want the reputation of “the weird kid who talks to themself” stuck to you even after I’m gone?

I didn’t even realize you were listening to all that, but you flinch at that last part, not only mentally but physically too, and I try to ignore the fact that you’re proving my point.

I hum thoughtfully. You “don’t know”? That’s certainly an issue then, isn’t it?

You start to fidget with the hem of your sweater and return to talking to me through thoughts, much to my relief. “I just haven’t thought much about it.”

This is a lie. But I don’t point that out to you.

You’re in a part of Waterfall that you’ve never seen before. Admittedly, it’s not much different to the parts you have seen before, but the fact that it’s new at all is good enough for you. You’re trying to explore the area as much as you can this time around, because you’ve realized just how expansive Waterfall really is and the curiosity you came here with the first time still hasn’t left you. You’ve barely seen a fraction of the place, and you definitely won’t manage to see all of it, but you’re certainly going to try.

I might take this time to remind you that no matter how many times you’ve befriended her in the past, Undyne is still hunting you down in this timeline. So maybe taking the time to look at every blade of grass there is to look at isn’t the best idea. But whatever.

There are quite a few echo flowers growing in this area, as I mentioned before. It seems more secluded than the rest of the caverns that make up Waterfall, if that’s even possible. You can see the main path you usually walk from where you’re standing, separated from you by a large expanse of luminescent cyan water, and an overwhelming sense of calm washes over you. It’s like this is a little cove carved out just for you, safe from everything that may hurt you. It’s hard for me not to feel the same sense of calm. Whether it’s just the spilling over of your emotions or completely and entirely mine is hard to tell, but it doesn’t really matter.

Why don’t we sit here for a minute? I ask. You let out a breath and descend to the ground, hugging your knees and resting your head against the rough cavern walls without hesitation, as if you were waiting for me to say just that.

It’s nice to just be here, for me, with you, like this. Together. Your hands are intertwined in the way that I know means you’re trying to hold my hand, in whatever way you can. We look out at the stillness of the water, listening to the sound of rushing waterfalls in the distance. We both must be thinking about the same thing, now, because although I don’t agree with the Resets, I understand why you don’t want to leave, to some extent. Have you convinced me that you’re right? Have I felt this way the entire time and simply didn’t realize until now? I can’t say for certain. But I’m becoming increasingly aware of my own fear of reaching the end.

“Chara?” you say, voice cracking a little. The sound of my name spoken aloud and echoed around by the echo flowers startles me. “It’s just that…I really, really don’t wanna be by myself again.”

I feel tears pricking at your eyes. The honesty in your voice stings.

You won’t be by yourself, I try halfheartedly. Everyone will be up there with you.

You reposition to rest your head on your knees. “You know what I mean,” you whisper, and after a moment you say. “You’re not gonna be there.”

…Right. Of course.

That is the funny thing about good things, see. About journeys and stories. And lives. They end. Sometimes (always) too soon.

I do not know what I was expecting the first time you made it to the surface. What, was I just going to live inside your head forever? Would you want that? Would I? The strangest thing happened when you stepped over that threshold where the barrier once stood, when everyone else followed you out. I felt you pull away from me, and then I watched the back of your head as you walked out into the sun. It was a bit disorienting. I wasn’t seeing through your eyes anymore, I was just…there. Watching. Barely even there, because I couldn't feel you there justifying my existence anymore.

I don’t think there was a doubt in either of our minds about what that meant. As everyone else chatted in awe of how beautiful the sun was, you looked back at me (although I don’t think you really saw me, just the empty opening of the cave). There was confusion, or sadness, or panic on your face. I’ve never had to read your face from the outside before, what a funny thing to realize. Whatever emotion it was, it was enough to make you Reset. And then again, and again. It really was for my sake, then.

This makes me feel a strange mixture of things, but the feeling of guilt sticks out like a sore thumb. Frisk, I don’t want you to feel any sort of…obligation? Or anything? To keep me alive. I’ve been wanting to be dead for a long time.

It’s a lame attempt at humor to lighten the mood, but as soon as I think it, I realize how unfunny it sounds. It kind of stops being a joke when it’s true.

Still, you reply, “It’s not like that. You know that.”

You are making some awfully bold assumptions here, though they’re not entirely false. I’m inclined to ask, what is it like then? Would moving on with your life not be the best option here? Everything is going to work out for you. And, hey, you won’t even have to put up with an annoying ghost in your head anymore.

“What if I like the annoying ghost in my head?”

Well, then you’re weird. But we’ve already established that.

That gets a smile out of you. “See? You always make me feel better,” you think, and I want to roll my eyes at that. I want to remind you of all the times I made you feel worse rather than better, but I stay quiet for now.

“…Before I came here,” you start, eyes trained on the ground as you fidget with the grass there, “I was alone a lot. It wasn’t so bad, but…it wasn’t so good either.” You shrug one of your shoulders. “I dunno. I didn’t think about it much. I had to take care of myself, and there was never anyone there…to say it’d be okay, or to tell me dumb jokes, or just be there…y’know?”

Yeah. I do know.

…

“I kinda panicked when I left the Underground and you weren’t there. You were just…gone, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even really mean to Reset, I just didn’t think, and I-“

You sigh.

“I just really care about you. You’re like my best friend, Chara- ‘N that’s what it’s like. It’s like saying goodbye to your best friend.”

Oh.

Ha ha. Yes, I really do know that, don’t I?

“Wait, augh. I-I probably shouldn’t’ve said it like that, I’m sorry-“

No, Frisk, there is no need to apologize. It is fine. It’s fine.

Your fingernails claw into the grass and the dirt beneath.

I know. I know what you mean. I really do.

I try not to think of my brother. I fail.

I did not think you would care so much. It’s- (stupid), I want to say, but you are not stupid. (See, caring about me always gets people hurt), I want to say, but that’s not your fault. (What did you expect?), I want to say. (I don’t believe you), I want to say. (I don’t understand you), I want to say. I can’t- I can’t say any of that. I can’t say anything to you, right now.

You- you nod, a little concerned, but you give me space. You bring your hands together again and gaze out at the water again for a minute. Then, finally, you decide to continue onwards. You have a fish monster to face.

~~~

Being here doesn’t get easier, no matter how prepared I am after each Reset. The grey, achromatic walls and floors. The feeling of despair in the air. The stillness. It directly contrasts my memories of warmth and color and love in this home. It reminds me too much of dust.

I stay quiet as you kneel in front of the save star. It glows in a steady, consistent way, light flowing out from the center and disintegrating at the edges. A comforting feeling washes over you, as it always does, and you step into the house.

It’s as lonely as ever. You should just get this over with. The monsters that are always here to greet you at this phase of your journey stop you on your way to the kitchen.

“A long time ago, a human fell into the Ruins,” one of the Froggits begins. You stand there with your hands clasped together and listen politely, as you always do. I put up a mental barrier between myself and the world and try not to listen, as I always do.

The key on the kitchen countertop glints in the other room. You wait for the Froggits to finish speaking before grabbing it and returning to the hallway. You make your way to the far end of the hall to grab the second key, too, before entering my old room.

You open the gift boxes and take the locket and dagger out without a word. I relish the familiar weight around your neck as you reach back to fasten the locket’s clasp. It helps me find the words I want to say.

Frisk. I don’t want to keep doing this.

You’re surprised to hear me speak, but you listen.

What we talked about earlier… It’s not that I don’t want to stay. I think…you’ve helped me a lot too. And I’m really glad I met you. I’m just tired of feeling stuck in the past. A part of me…wants that, but. It hurts, being here but not being able to do anything. To fix anything.

Plus, I mean. You!! The barrier’s broken thanks to you! You and…Asriel, of course. At least, it will be. Again. It’s… I’m glad it worked out in the end. Even if it took a really long time.

I wish things could be different. I wish I could stay, at least a little longer, but I don’t want to take this away from them. Or from you. I made my choice a long time ago, and this is already more than I deserve.

…

Are you…crying?

You’re holding your arms around yourself, as well. What is this???

“A hug,” you say through thoughts, sniffling.

Oh.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like that.”

It’s not your fault.

“I shouldn’t’ve kept Resetting, though. I knew it upset you the first time…”

I understand why you did it now, though. It’s okay, really.

“Okay…”

You rub your eyes with your sleeve and stand up, giving yourself a self-assured nod.

“Don’t worry. This will be the last time.”

~~~

When it’s time to fight Asriel, we’re both filled with determination. The nothingness surrounding us erupts in color and light, illuminated by kaleidoscopic starbeams and glimmering stardust. Attacks rain down on you from above, and you weave your body between them masterfully. You can’t evade them all, but I’m there cheering you on. A blast from Shocker Breaker shatters your soul; I reach out to press the pieces back together. But it refused!

Asriel floats above you, smirking with confidence in his power. You aren’t afraid of him anymore. You know all too well what he’s capable of, but you know him better now than you did when you first encountered him, just a human and a flower with a million untold secrets between them. He’d laid all his puzzle pieces out before you, and you can’t help but see the whole painful picture before you now. He’s stuck in a cycle, much like you but nothing like you at all. You’re going to help him bring it to an end. (Once and for all.)

The attacks keep coming, but you persist. You reach out to your friends within Asriel’s soul and remind them of who they are. Undyne, whom you admire for her enthusiasm and sense of justice. Alphys, whose intelligence and desire to do better inspire you. Papyrus, whom you enjoy hanging out with for his optimism and dedication. Sans, who tells you jokes that make you laugh and whose laid-back attitude puts you at ease. Toriel, who cares for you as her own child and made you feel safe when you first found yourself in this unfamiliar place. Asgore, whose presence is both comforting and sad, knowing of the difficult decisions he’s had to make in his life. Once you’ve reached out to all your friends, there’s only one thing left to do.

It seems that there’s still one last person that needs to be saved.

So you reach out to Asriel. And I do, too. He’s not the same as he was all those years ago, when we were just two kids playing in a muddy flower garden, and neither am I. But it’s still him, despite everything. He resists…and he’s still crying out to you as if you’re me. It hurts. I watch him do this every time, desperately latch on to the belief that I’m not really gone, and the ironic thing is that I have been here the whole time.

“I’m not ready for this to end,” he says, confident façade cracking.

It ended a long time ago.

“I’m not ready for you to leave,” he says.

I know.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye to someone like you again…”

…

“So, please…” His voice shakes, laced with despair. “Stop doing this… And just let me win!!!”

He raises his arms and summons all his magic for one final attack. Your vision is overwhelmed with color as the blast hits you, and you barely register the way he screams at you to stop holding on as your HP drops, with each passing second, to an impossibly low number. But it never reaches zero. You don’t die; your soul doesn’t shatter, because you’ve made it this far and you’re not about to give up now.

Finally, the world grows silent as the sound of magic rushing past your ears subsides. You’re exhausted, though Asriel is barely even paying attention to you anymore. He closes his eyes. Suddenly he seems so small inside his godlike form, too small to really be the Absolute God of HYPERDEATH.

“I’m so alone, Chara…” he says. “I’m so afraid…” They’re echoes of words I’ve already heard him say three times before, but they feel like acid nonetheless because it’s my fault and I’m the reason he’s like this, but you firmly tell me that it’s not. I don’t know if I can believe you, but I lean into you and try not to say anything more.

…

The world fades to black, and Asriel stands before you, looking the way I remember him once again. He’s covering his face, wiping away his tears and probably trying to hide the fact that he’s crying, too. He always was a crybaby, wasn’t he?

“I always was a crybaby, wasn’t I, Chara?”

Ha. Indeed.

He pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “…I know. You’re not actually Chara, are you? Chara’s been gone for a long time.”

You open your mouth to protest, but… Come on, Frisk, I can’t do that to him. Not after all that.

“But… Are you sure?”

I’m not… I am not here to stay. It would be a mistake to get his hopes up.

You twist your fingers together, disappointed, but you close your mouth anyway.

I’m only half-listening as he continues, asking for your name (which you have given him three times already) and apologizing for his actions. This is the last time I’m going to see him, is it not? He will break the barrier, and then you will go to the surface with everyone else. And I… Well, I don’t actually know what will happen to me. I won’t be able to come with you. I know that, at the very least. It looks like it might really be the end for me. I don’t know how to feel about that.

You tell him you forgive him, as you do every time. It seems only fair to you, after everything he’s gone through. A part of you understands him, even though most of you doesn’t, and you hope the knowledge that somebody in the universe forgives him gives him some solace. He smiles at you sadly.

He can’t stay, he tells you. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes in concentration. The human souls gather around him as he rises into the air, hovering around him in a circle, and the monster souls follow suit, glowing in the darkness. With the combined power of the human souls and every monster soul in the Underground, each pulsing with the same desire…the barrier is finally broken.

It’s over. There’s a weighty sense of resolution to it now. I don’t want you to Reset again. I know you won’t.

I stare at Asriel through your eyes as he lowers to the ground again, head tilted down, eyes closed. He looks so tired. He tells you that he needs to go, that you should go be with the people that care about you. You should just forget about him, he says. As if that would be possible.

Every word feels like a countdown, and I want to do something, but I can’t move. I need him to forget about me. I can’t be here messing everything up. I don’t…want him to forget me. But I don’t want him to hurt remembering me. I don’t want to stay here… I don’t want to go.

You hug Asriel. To my surprise, your arms tighten around him as you allow me to slip into control. “Just for a minute,” you think. The feeling of warmth and his sweater under my fingers and my chin on his shoulder hits me so suddenly that I can’t stop my tears from running down your face. I relax into the hug, though. I close my eyes and try to forget where we are and what we’ve been through. I don’t want to let go…

When he finally pulls away, he gives me a weird look, but it’s gone in a moment.

“I’ll miss you,” I say without thinking.

He laughs. “Please don’t.”

And just like that, he’s gone again.

“You okay?” you ask as you slip back into control. Your presence is comforting beside mine in your mind.

I am, I say. Yeah.

~~~

Outside, clouds drift lazily across the sky, a beautiful gradient from lilac to yellow to frame the setting sun. Over the edge of the mountainside, you can just barely see the tops of trees stretching out into the distance, leaves tousling gently in the breeze. Tall buildings silhouette the sky on one side, and on the other, more mountains.

The light streams in through the exit to the Underground, of which you stand behind. One of your hands is cupped over the other in front of you, and you run your fingertips over the knuckles absently. You have been standing here for a while, hesitant.

Congratulations, partner, I start in an attempt to ease the tension, you’ve saved everyone once again.

“We did,” you correct. “And Asriel.”

Of course. And now, think about it. Everyone is free for real. They can see the sun, the sky, the stars… There’s a whole future ahead of them. And you get to be a part of it. That’s amazing, is it not?

“Mhm…”

You could stay with Mom. She would make you breakfast in the morning, read you bedtime stories at night. I bet Undyne would be willing to teach you some sick fighting moves. Anime nights with Alphys.

“I could hang out with Sans and Papyrus.”

Yeah! You could learn how to make music with Napstablook. That might be fun. And Mettaton might need some help becoming a star on the surface, too.

You giggle. “I think he’s got that covered.”

Maybe. I smile along with you. But, aren’t you excited? Not everything will be easy, but you have so many people supporting you.

“I know…” You sigh through your nose. “You deserve all that too, though; it’s not fair.”

Hey. The lilac is disintegrating from the sky, fading into a deep orange. Some of the wind makes it into the cave, crisp air whistling through the doorway and cooling your skin. Hey, you know what? It’s worth it. It’s okay.

I think there are tears in your eyes again. Come on, please don’t cry.

I can’t stay here forever. I’m already overstaying my welcome, being dead and all. I was supposed to be gone a long time ago, but…I got to meet you by some miracle, and that makes it all worth it, I think. Even if I can’t stay.

“Charaaa…”

I laugh a little. Don’t worry about me, Frisk. Really. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

You hug yourself- “Hug you,” you correct. Oh. Okay. You hug me, and I, try to hug you back? It’s a little bit awkward, but I appreciate it all the same. The emotional vulnerability is starting to make me uncomfortable, but I need you to know I care about you. I know you’ll be okay.

Ha ha, this goodbye stuff is pretty hard, huh?

“Goodbye,” you say simply, with a teasing smile.

Oh, not so hard for you, it seems. Well then, “goodbye” to you, too.

I pause. …And good luck out there, partner. I think Asriel said it best: take care of everyone for me, okay? Even him.

You nod and give me a shaky little thumbs up. That’s the spirit! (Pun always intended.)

With a glance over to the others, who are in the other room, chatting amongst themselves and waiting for you, you decide you’re finally ready to go. You let everyone know, and the excitement in the room is palpable as you all make your way to the exit. They make a fuss out of you, ruffling your hair and smiling back at you. You let them leave first, and then at last, you step over the threshold yourself. I feel our connection sever.

And then I’m watching the back of your head as you walk away again. Before you reach the others though, you turn around to give me a small wave.

That’s it, I guess… I can’t exactly wave back, but I wish you well and thank you for everything. Together, you and I allow time to continue on.

#chara week #chara week 2023 #they're not in the cover art but the fic is mostly about them and Frisk so #undertale #safeutdr #chara dreemurr #frisk dreemurr #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #my art #chara #frisk #undertale frisk #undertale chara #🌼#also in reference to what I wrote at the beginning of the post. I wrote that a couple weeks ago. when I THOUGHT I would finish this #but of course I procrastinated on writing the last scenes so now I'm posting it quite a bit after the school year ended. oh well #still thematically relevant #writing is hard for me /except/ when I impulsively write at 3am and realize I've gotten to 2000 words without really trying. apparently. :I #also as a sidenote. this is just a one-off 'what if' scenario for me because the idea of chara not being able to come with frisk to #the surface makes me sad so. :(#sidenote number two. HOW did this become longer than Thunderstorms dude....... that was not intentional.

283 notes · View notes

daddy-dins-girl · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober 2023 Pt. 1 - Dave York (Somnophilia, Frottage, Virginity)

Masterlist

AO3 link

Summary: It's Dave's birthday, and you have a present for him. Then again, maybe it's more for you.

This fic covers days 2 and 7 of @absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 challenge.

Dave York x Virgin!Reader (babysitter)

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: Me: Ok, I can do this, I can write some smutty little kinktober drabble, no problem! Also me: Writes 2500 words of backstory and character development before a stitch of clothing even comes off.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Explicit smut. Cheating, infidelity (it's the York's y'all, come on, is it even Dave York fanfic if one or both of them aren't banging somebody else?). Age gap (Reader is 21, Dave is in his 40's). Virgin (but not inexperienced) Reader. Consensual Somnophilia. "Just the tip" (but like actually tho). Frottage. Vaginal and clitoral stimulation (aka pussy rubbing). Accidental creampie (whoops). Drug use, kind of? (just over the counter sleep aids). Dave York is his own warning. Uh.. if I've forgotten anything, lmk. I think I've given away half the story already in the tags! At least you know what you're in for ;)

There was an excitement thrumming through your veins as you sat in the living room waiting for the York’s to get home, not really paying any attention to what was playing on the TV because your mind was elsewhere.

The two children you were caring for, Molly and Alice, have long since been tucked into their beds and asleep and now you were just waiting for their parents to get home. They typically weren’t gone for more than a few hours. It didn’t need to be said that that was more than they could stand of each other if their children weren’t there to serve as buffers, that much was obvious to just about anyone who spent enough time around Carol and Dave. Apparently however just not to their friends who they had to go out with and appease, pretending their marriage was still perfect. That’s where the York’s found themselves this Saturday night, out with friends celebrating Dave’s birthday that was coming up in a few days.

It was a good job for you though, Mr. York always paid you handsomely. Anytime you’d come over to babysit he’d leave the same amount of money in an envelope on the kitchen counter for you. A fifty dollar bill for you to order food for yourself and the two girls (which was way more than enough, even with the delivery charges and tip, to cover anything the three of you could eat) and a crisp hundred for yourself for your services which you thought was way too high, considering they were never gone more than 2-3 hours. The first couple times you’d tried to give him the change from dinner but he’d shoved the twenty back into your own palm and told you to keep it so now you’ve stopped trying to argue and typically walk away with at least $120.00 a night, which was pretty good for a 3 hour gig for a 21 year old who lives at home while attending school. You didn’t know what Dave York did for a living - something in government, you think - but apparently whatever it was it paid extremely well.

The hard rain coming down outside was hitting the large windows of the York’s extravagant home in sheets and truth be told you were more than glad that there was practically a hurricane going on outside. It actually fit into your plans perfectly so you just watched the storm rage on outside from your comfortable seat on the sofa, a small smile on your face while you waited for your employers to get home.

Within minutes you heard the loud hum of the garage door opening up signaling the York’s arrival and you clicked off the TV, pretending to be interested in something on your phone and acting casually as a minute later you heard the door connecting the house to the garage open and Carol and Dave spilled inside.

“Oh my God it’s madness out there” Carol practically shrieked and Dave immediately shushed her loudly, reminding her of their sleeping children and Carol put a hand over her mouth but laughed uncontrollably still.

Yep, she was wasted, as usual.

“Oh hi, Mr. and Mrs. York” you greet them sweetly, standing up from the couch and coming over to the hallway leading to the entryway where they were taking off their soaked jackets, likely from their walk from whatever restaurant they had been at to their car.

“Oh hi sweetie. How were the girls?” Carol managed to ask, you’re not sure how she got the words out, given the way Dave was literally having to hold her up by her elbow just so she could kick her shoes off.

“Oh they were great, as always” you promise. And they were, Molly and Alice were rarely any trouble. This was by far the easiest babysitting gig you’d ever had.

“Pay the girl David, I need to go to bed” Carol groaned, leaning into her husband’s shoulder for support. Dave rolled his eyes. First of all, he had already paid you at the beginning of the night, like he always had and you’d think his wife would know that by now, and secondly he absolutely did not like how she was all but dismissing you without even thanking you or saying more than five words to you.

“Um, Mr. and Mrs. York,” you cut in, before Dave has a chance to say anything. “I was thinking, you know, the rain is coming down really bad and I don’t really like driving late at night as it is, I thought maybe I could stay over?” You asked politely. You’ve done it numerous times on occasions that they were sure they’d be home late, they had offered you their spare room in the basement so you could go to sleep once the girls were in bed if you had wanted to. Most times when you stayed over it was because you were already asleep when they’d gotten home, but on a couple occasions you’d stayed over even when you were still awake when they got in just because of how late it was.

“Sure, whatever sweetie” Carol waved a flippant hand at you.

“Of course you can” Dave finally spoke, his voice louder and firmer than Carol’s. Dave rarely came home with more than a drink or two under his belt because he typically drove. You also got the feeling that he knew he had to have all his wits about him when out with his wife so he could be a glorified babysitter himself.

“Thank you, Mr. York” you said his name sweetly, a coy smile playing on your lips that went unnoticed by Carol but intentionally noticed by Dave.

You left Dave to wrangle Carol up to bed and made your way down to the basement, getting ready for bed and then pulled your phone out to type out a quick text to the man of the house before you tried to get some sleep.

Cum see me l8r. Got a present for you to unwrap😉. You know the rules. xxx

You took a breath. You were excited and yet nervous, never having done anything like this, specifically, before. You reach over to the night stand and pick up the small white tablet, pop it into your mouth and wash it down with some water before you lay down on the bed and wait (im)patiently for sleep to take over.

Dave’s phone pings in his pocket once he’s finally gotten Carol into bed. She was tugging at his tie and belt and trying to drag him into the bed with her, mumbling something incoherently about a “birthday blowjob” and he could do little but roll his eyes. He was in no mood to have his completely drunken wife undoubtedly fall asleep on him with his cock half way down her throat. Besides the fact that he knows exactly where her mouth has been the last eight months or so which had been the final nail in the coffin that was once their active sex life.

So instead he leaves her there and heads off into the ensuite to shower, pulling out his phone to check his text from you along the way and smirking to himself when he reads it. He doesn’t reply. He rarely does. Sometimes it’s a power move. He likes you to squirm, wondering if he’s read it, what he’s thinking, if he’s as insatiable in his desire for you as you are for him. Mostly he doesn’t reply though because he doesn’t like paper trails. Not that he thinks you would, but the last thing he needs is you screenshotting your conversations with him and sharing them around with your friends or something.

Dave brushes his teeth, gets into the shower, then heads down to the kitchen to relax for a bit, sipping a beer and catching some highlights on SportsCenter. He doesn’t want to seem too eager and part of him likes to keep you waiting. Finally after a couple of hours have passed since he received your text he clicks off the TV and goes in search of you.

He moves through the basement rec room and to the closed bedroom door, pulling the small key out of the pocket of his sweatpants and using it to let himself inside, ensuring to lock it behind him. He’s the only one with a key to unlock the door from the outside so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting anything.

He makes his way over to the bed where you’re lying on your back. There’s a bedside lamp that’s turned on to its highest setting so he has no trouble making anything out in the room, he assumes it's intentional.

“Naughty girl” Dave mutters to himself when he sees what’s waiting for him. You’re lying there perfectly asleep on top of the bedclothes wearing nothing but a tiny camisole and simple yellow cotton panties with a small pair of red cherries right in the center like a goddamn bullseye and a tiny little tied red bow at the top.

Got a present for you to unwrap. Your words ring in his head and he’s half hard already just from looking at you.

He assesses the rest of the room and his eyebrow raises when he sees what’s on the bedside table, a tiny blue box with the logo “Sleep-Eze” on it and a half drank glass of water.

“Jesus Christ” Dave huffs out a breath, pushing a hand through his hair.

You had a conversation recently one night when you were lying in bed together the last time you had stayed over at his house and he came to see you (as he always had). You had confessed that a fantasy of yours was to wake up to having an orgasm. Dave was hesitant at first, for multiple reasons. One he didn’t like the idea of getting off on someone who was effectively unconscious, and two he argued that you’d wake up way too easily if he was doing his job well enough.

You told him you’d figure out a way to help with the second problem which, Dave presumed, was the reason for the sleeping tablet. And as for the first, you told him if he really wasn’t comfortable he didn’t have to, it was just something you had always wanted to try but had never trusted anyone else to do it.

And you did, trust him. The last line of your text, ‘you know the rules’, he did know the rules. Well, rule. It was really just one when it came to you.

No penetration.

At least, not with his cock. You weren’t a total prude or anything but you were a virgin (hence the cherry panties he supposed… cute little vixen). You grew up in a very religious household and although you didn’t quite believe in waiting until marriage like your parents had taught you to, you did want to wait until it could be with someone you loved and that just hadn’t happened to you yet. Still, despite this, you were sexually active in plenty of other ways that certainly seemed to keep Dave satisfied enough. For now anyway. You worried he might get bored of you but it hadn’t happened yet and it’s been nearly six months. Despite his aggressive and controlling behavior in bed he always respected your one rule and didn’t pressure you to cross it with him. He probably knew that before long you’d be begging him for it anyway and he was probably right. Your resilience was waning a lot. And it wasn’t just the sexual desire, though that was obviously a huge part of it, but you felt a connection to Dave you had yet to find with anyone else you dated, especially boys your own age who were exactly that - boys.

Dave was sweet to you when you least expected it. When you’d aced your midterm paper that you had spent weeks agonizing over, a dozen roses showed up at your parents doorstep the next day with a card nestled inside with a single phrase written on it. “So proud of you. D.”

When you had briefly mentioned one night that you desperately wanted tickets to the Taylor Swift concert but weren’t willing to fork over your entire college fund to get them, the next time you had come over to babysit in addition to the usual $150.00 in the envelope on the counter there was a pair of tickets to the Eras Tour Boston show with a small note stuck to it in Dave’s familiar scratchy handwriting “take one of your girlfriends, and have fun sweetheart”. You idly wonder who he had to kill to get them.

Then there was the day your brother had been shipped off to his first tour of Active Duty and you couldn’t be emotional about it in front of your parents because you had to “be strong for your brother” (their words). You had texted Dave when you finally couldn’t be in that house another minute pretending your whole world hadn’t just changed and he had picked you up from the corner of your street, driven to a secluded parking lot and pulled you into the back seat with him where he just held you for hours while you cried in his arms. You told him stories of your childhoods growing up, how close you’d been and how he was your best friend and whole world; your port in the storm against your strict parents and the only person who truly understood you. Dave sat there calmly, listening to every word, brushing a comforting hand through your hair or occasionally pressing his lips to your temple when another wave of tears hit you. He promised you that you never had to be brave or strong in front of him if you didn’t want to be, he would be there to hold you up. Be your strength when you had none left to give.

And when you had told Dave about a guy that had gotten a little too “handsy” with you at a Frat party - despite you repeatedly asking him to leave you alone - well, come to think of it, you’d actually never seen Thomas again after that night. You safely assume Dave had something to do with it though.

So yes, Dave was much more than just a warm body to you, and you for him, you presumed, and there was no one else you trusted with your body like you trusted Dave.

“Fuck” Dave muttered, hand coming down involuntarily to palm over the bulge growing beneath the elastic waistband of his sleep pants. You looked goddamn adorable when you were sleeping, Dave noticed immediately. Little mouth half open, head rolled to the side with your hair spilling over the pillows, and the rise and fall of your chest putting your perfect round tits on display for him under the threadbare top.

Apparently getting over the first hurdle was going to be easier than Dave thought.

He pulled his sweats down and kicked them off, leaving himself in just his boxer briefs and t-shirt and crawled onto the bed on his knees until he was between your legs, sitting back on his heels. He began by experimentally running his left hand down your leg all the way to your calf and then back up to your thigh, waiting to see if you’d stir at all and - nothing. Your breathing never faltered, body never twitched, and satisfied, Dave moved on to what he knew you were waiting for.

He started slowly, gently. He brought his hand to rest on your hip and his thumb reached down to stroke you over top of your underwear, pushing all the way down into your slit and back up and repeating the motion over and over again for a minute or so until he began to feel the unmistakable wetness begin to pool behind the thin cotton barrier.

“Good girl” Dave hummed to himself, then brought two fingers down on top of where your clit would be and began rubbing tight circles around it. Your hips jerked slightly and he stopped immediately like a deer caught in headlights, eyes shooting up to yours only to find you still fast asleep and he let out a relieved breath. It was just your body reacting to his touch but thankfully he hadn’t woken you. He knew what you wanted and he wanted to give it to you and he knew he had a long way to go before he brought you to a peak so it was far too soon to have you waking up already.

“That’s it baby” Dave praised when a little whimper left your lips but you simply snuggled further into your pillow. “Back to sleep”

After another couple minutes of soft caresses of his fingers he took his hands away momentarily to grab for one of the decorative pillows that had been tossed carelessly aside and he carefully lifted your hips to settle it underneath you, raising you slightly for him so he wouldn’t throw his back out leaning over you for what he wanted to do next - for what he knew you were waiting for him to do.

Once he’s got you in the position he wants he hastily tugs down his boxers, shuffles closer towards you on his knees and groans when he takes his own length in his hand. He’s painfully hard already and his head is weeping precum and he hisses through his teeth when he loosely grips his cock and starts pumping his hips, effectively fucking his own hand while the head of dick pushes into your still clothed sex.

“Oh fuck,” he groans. The combination of your own wetness and his leaking tip have caused a giant wet spot on your panties, leaving them basically transparent as he continues dragging his cock through your folds over your underwear.

This had quickly become your favorite thing to do with Dave, once he had tried it once, promising you he wouldn’t go inside but just wanting to be close to you. He’d rub your pussy with his cock until you came - which never took long - and you’d practically begged him to do it every time you were together since. It was near fucking torture for Dave, being so goddamn close to burying his cock deep inside you like he so desperately wanted to. He could do it. It would be so fucking easy. Especially right now. But he wouldn’t. If there was one thing Dave had in spades, it was self control.

Dave checks in with you again, makes sure you’re still asleep and you are, though your face is a little scrunched up now, not as peaceful looking. It looks like you’re dreaming and are a little unsure of what exactly is going on. He knows he probably doesn’t have a lot of time left to get you to cum before you wake up so he moves on to the final stage. He slips his dick under the soaked piece of cotton through the side and continues his little thrusts with his hands now resting on the insides of your thighs and not able to help the moan that escapes him when his dick finally makes contact with your naked cunt.

“Mmmmm” you hum sleepily, somewhere between completely dead to the world and barely awake.

Dave vaguely hears you beginning to stir, the sound of his cock pushing in and out of your sopping core filling his ears and causing his brain to nearly stop functioning with how fucking turned on he is. His tip brushes against your clit with every push of his cock and he has to close his eyes and focus on his breathing so he doesn’t come before you do.

“Ohhhhhh” you whine breathily, being dragged a little closer to consciousness.

It’s the softest fucking sound he’s ever heard and he nearly comes at the sound of your desperate, meek little whimper.

“Oh fuck, Baby, wake up” Dave groans, slightly picking up the pace that his cock slides in and out of your folds.

“Dave?” you mutter, confused as your eyes try desperately to blink open. “Oh. Oh fuck, Oh Dave!” It hits you like a fucking brick wall. You're suddenly completely alert as the pleasure centers in your brain finally start firing on all cylinders again and you’re painfully aware of how incredibly turned on you are. Not to mention how close you are.

“Sweetheart, oh fuck” Dave is close to losing it himself from above you. His hand leaves your thigh to yank your panties to the side and then he grabs his dick with the other to control his movements. He watches his cock rub up and down through your swollen lips and push into your clit, repeating the pattern over and over and over and soon enough you're rocking your hips in rhythm with him.

“Oh my God, Dave. Fuck, fuck, fuck” You cry out. He feels fucking incredible and you’re desperately close to coming, you can feel it flooding your lower abdomen, the dam about to burst. You push up on your elbows, you want to watch as Dave’s cock slides through you.

“Fuck, wish I could be inside you” Dave groans. He knows it's not fair of him to say it when you’re both so worked up like this but he’s never wanted it more than in this moment.

“Yesssss, fuck, me too Dave. Wanna come on your big fat cock baby” you mewl desperately, clutching at the sheets.

“Fuck baby don’t say shit like that” Dave scolds. It was one thing to playfully tease, but saying that to him knowing full well he couldn’t do anything about it was downright cruel.

“Baby, fuck, I’m serious” you whine. “Wanna feel you inside me, just a little bit, please baby? Just the tip? I need it”

“Oh fuck” Dave literally growls like you’ve never heard before and then he pushes inside you for the first time, just the head, like you asked, and you instantly fall apart. Your walls squeeze around his tip like an unrelenting vice grip and your juices flood his cock and seconds later you feel his own hot spend painting your walls as he shudders over you and grips your hips so tightly you know they’ll be bruised tomorrow.

“Oh shit, oh shit shit shit!” Dave curses at his own stupidity and lack of control but can do little about it as he continues to spurt rope after rope of his cum inside you.

“Oh my god, Dave” you sigh dreamily, falling back onto the bed and not only unbothered, but blissfully pleased at Dave’s little indiscretion. You’ll take a Plan B in the morning, you’re far from worried about it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” Dave pants breathlessly as he finally pulls his spent cock out of you and runs his hands through his hair and then rubs them over his face and groans.

“Baby, come here” you insist, reaching up to pull him down on top of you and you’re surprised at how easily he allows it to happen.

“Hey, it’s ok” you assure him softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and petting a hand through his hair.

“I shouldn’t have-” he begins to protest as he pushes himself up on his elbows, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I wanted you to. Baby that was…” you trail off, literally unable to put into words how good he made you feel and so you opt instead to pull his head back gently and kiss him passionately. After a few seconds of trying to resist you, Dave succumbs to the kiss and opens his mouth to you, tongue pushing inside and melding with yours.

You pull apart only when the need for oxygen overwhelms you both and Dave rests his forehead on yours, gently shaking his head.

“You’re fucking incredible, do you know that?” He says sincerely and a blush rises in your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself” you tease.

“I just had my dick inside you” Dave states like he’s reading the morning headlines.

“I remember, I was there” you giggle and he huffs a laugh in return.

“Are you um… ok?” He asks sincerely, bringing a hand up so his finger can lightly trace your jawline, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret.

“More than ok” you promise, raising your head slightly to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“You sure? You don’t hate me?” He asks and you can barely believe your ears, maybe you were still high from the sleeping pill.

“Hate you? Baby you literally just made my wildest fantasy come true”

“Really?” Dave asks, eyebrow raised. “It was uh… what you wanted?”

“It was everything I wanted and more” you promise.

“Come here” you murmur, pulling him down to kiss you again.

You kiss unhurriedly for several minutes, just reveling in the taste of each other and the closeness you feel to one another.

“Happy birthday Baby” you hum against his lips when you finally break the kiss and Dave lowers himself from his elbows to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Best birthday ever Sweetness” he murmurs into your throat.

Tagging @nerdieforpedro, @chronically-ghosted @macabremads

#dave york fanfiction #dave york #dave york x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york x you #kinktober 2023 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe

100 notes · View notes

lingy910y · 4 months ago

Text

Weekly Tag Wednesday

tagged by @doshiart, @mybrainismelted, @sgtmickeyslaughter, @gallapiech, @suzy-queued

@blue-disco-lights, and @mmmichyyy

name and ao3 handle: ling, lingy910y

current location: bedroom

favorite picrew (don't have one? you can skip this or do this one)? twisha's gallavich picrew hehe, i did doshi's too for good measure but idk why i got deja vu. maybe i did it before??

what's one thing you want in a picrew? a ponytail bc i never wear my hair down if i'm going somewhere

favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom?

my fav of my own work has to be Going Down Kicking

my fav thing i've seen created has to be fragile little fate: portrait of a marriage by siriusmickey

why is it your favorite?

i spent so much time researching writing tips cause i want to improve each time i write a fic yknow? and i had so much specific ideas going into it

cause of the amount of space it takes up in my brain. nobody was gonna write a divorce fic but they did and they did it well

did it come easily or was it hard to create?

i rly struggle with pacing :( when i write a fic i have some big ideas for plot points but once i've wrote them, i need to write how to get from point a to point b. but those parts seem so boring to me and they'll def be for the reader as well but if i delete them it might not flow well

last ao3 fic you commented on? guys i haven't been reading much fics :(

if art counts then a reply to gigi's art, Springtime Embrace

otherwise it's Re-boyfriending by @ms-moonlight-inn

biggest wip heartache you’ve ever experienced? refer back to my fav fic 🥲

favorite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? hurt/comfort

least favorite? coffee shop aus 😬

secret or surprising kink or trope? guilt, like religious trauma or internalized homophobia or survivor's guilt. I'M EVEN EXPERIENCING GUILT WHILE ANSWERING THIS

describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? very proud but also don't want anything to do with it anymore. my heart pounds in my chest and i'm sweating bullets as i secretly check to see who has seen it </3

top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: @jademickian

it's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you___? browse tumblr ofc

tagging @deedala, @heymrspatel, @burninface, @iansw0rld, @energievie

@reganmian and @creepkinginc

29 notes · View notes

zoyaofthegardvn · 2 years ago

Note

hi, this is my first ever request. i was wondering if you could do a mor x reader about the reader being insecure about her weight/looks. it’s been a battle for me most, if not all my life. i would greatly appreciate it. thank you love 🥹🫶🏻

You're Perfect, My Love

A/N: Awh anon I am so happy to write this request <3 I have always struggled with my body image, too. I'm a bigger girl and fanfic has always been a solace for me, so I am so willing to write some stuff where the reader is explicitly a bigger girl. Thank you so much for coming to me with this request and I hope I've done it justice!!

CW: Body image issues, insecurities and self deprecation, allusions to smut towards the end.

---

You sighed as you ran your hands over your dress in the mirror. The silky piece was rather form-fitting, a blush pink that Mor had helped you pick out just a couple of weeks ago. Rhys and Feyre were hosting a dinner party tonight, and you and Mor were attending, of course. You'd been looking forward to it for a while now, and you knew Mor had been, too. The mating bond was relatively new for the two of you, having snapped just a little over a year ago. You two had spent so much time wrapped up in one another, it wasn't often that you left home for the evening and spent time with the rest of your family.

But now, you were feeling insecure in the dress Mor had been so excited to see you in, and you felt bad. You got like this quite often, ashamed of your body and questioning if you were good enough for your mate. You weren't thin like Mor and the rest of the inner circle. Your stomach wasn't flat, your thighs and ass were thick and dimpled, your breasts large, and gravity had not been kind to them. Your hips were streaked with pink stripes, and your cheeks full and chubby. Mor wasn't unaware of your struggle, and she did everything she could to make you feel beautiful and perfect and adored. She often urged you to come to her when your mind wasn't being kind to you, but you never did, too afraid to annoy her with your insecurities. But, she never failed to notice when you were having a bad day.

As if summoned, Mor strolls into the bathroom, a smirk tugging at her lips as she leans against the door frame and scans your body head to toe. Like usual, you flush under her gaze.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," Mor gushes, pushing off from the wall, coming to stand right behind you.

"Thank you, my love," you whisper, putting a small smile on your face in an attempt to conceal your true feelings at the moment.

Mor wraps her arms around you, interlocking your fingers and settling your hands on your midsection. She presses between your shoulder and jaw, peppering kisses along your neck. You shiver at the contact and Mor giggles, her breath on your skin causing goosebumps to litter your arms.

"I knew you'd look stunning in this dress," she says, then presses her hips into your backside. She lifts her face to make eye contact with you in the mirror, "But I can't wait to take it off of you tonight."

You playfully gasp at her words, a genuine smile making its way onto your face. She laughs at your reaction, pulling back and spinning you around to face her. "Mor!" you giggle, swatting at her shoulder. She pushes you back until you make contact with the counter, then she leans in and captures your lips in a kiss.

You kiss her back, no hesitation. Your mate, your ultimate source of comfort. She hums into the kiss, and you smile against her lips before pulling back. "I don't think Rhys and Feyre would appreciate us being late, again," you mumble into her mouth.

She sighs, pulling away from you. "I suppose you're right, besides, maybe my treat will taste better if I have to wait," she leans in, nipping at your earlobe as you chuckle.

When she finally releases you, she makes her way to the door. "Meet me downstairs in a few minutes?"

You nod, and she smiles at you before she leaves the room. The second she's gone, your insecurities feel like they're crushing you again. Too fat, too ugly, too out of shape, too big. In all honesty, you have no desire to wear this dress, or even to attend dinner. But if you were to voice your feelings, Mor would instantly know it has something to do with your body image, and you had no desire to start that conversation.

---

The party had been off to a great start, and you and Mor weren't even the last ones to arrive. Drinks were shared, games were played, and Feyre and Elain had just left to finish up preparing dinner to be served in the dining room.

Knowing that it was nearly time to eat made you nervous, as you'd been nursing a stomach ache all evening. The anxiety and self loathing made it hard to work up an appetite.

Mor and Cassian faced off in a game of cards, you and Nesta sat next to your mates, privy to what hands they held. By the look on Nesta's face, and the knowledge of Mor's hand, you knew your mate was bound to win. Just before she could make her next move, Feyre returned to announce that dinner was ready, and Cassian burst into cheers, claiming he wasn't the loser since they couldn't finish the game. Mor argued with him briefly, and you excused yourself to the bathroom before you were to meet everyone else at the table.

Again, you find yourself staring in the mirror, eyes raking over your curves, your plush stomach, your drooping breasts and chubby cheeks. You splash a bit of cold water on your face after washing your hands, in an attempt to calm yourself down, your face flushed in embarrassment. The laughter of your friends and family trickles down the hallway, and eventually, you move to meet them.

Mor left an open seat to her right for you to take, placing you on the end. The table holds a beautiful meal, and Rhys and Lucien are beaming at their mates, thanking them for the work they put into the roast. You smile at Feyre as she passes you a plate, and Mor quickly takes it from your hands, pecking your cheek as she begins to prepare your plate for you.

You watch as she fills your portion with meat, salad, roasted vegetables and potatoes. The sight makes your stomach roil, but Mor is none the wiser, placing your food in front of you with a smile on her face, knowing she picked out all of your favorites. You, of course, return the smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Mor's brows furrow at your look of unease.

"Thank you, baby," you say, in an attempt to not worry her. She nods, then shifts her attention back to the center of the table, listening in as Cassian tells a story about his and Azriel's most recent mission.

Throughout the entire dinner, you hardly touch your food. You'd barely eaten all day, busy with work until it had been time to get ready for the evening. You should be starving, but all you can think about is how you need to eat less, to weigh less, to look better for Mor.

When Mor is nearly done with her dinner, she takes note of how you'd been pushing food around your plate rather than eating it, and she squeezes your thigh under the table, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"Do you feel alright, my love?"

You muster a smile, placing a hand on top of her's, still placed on your thigh. You try not to think about how small her hand looks compared to your leg.

"I feel fine, love, I'm sorry, just not that hungry, I guess."

She goes to protest, her face scrunched in confusion, before Feyre saves you.

"How about I put that in a container for you, Y/N? I know it's your favorite."

You flush at the attention, disliking how the conversation has died down as everyone notices your unfinished plate. You nod politely and clear your throat. "T-Thank you, Feyre, that would be lovely."

You friend smiles and nods, running off to the kitchen with your plate in hand as conversation at the table resumes. It's not long before everyone has eaten, and Rhys announces that it's time for more drinks.

As everyone makes their way to the sitting room, Mor tugs at your arm and pulls you away from the group. She pushes you gently against the wall in the dining room, one hand coming to rest against your waist, the other grasping one of your hands.

"Are you sure you feel alright? We can leave if you don't," she asks, voice dripping with concern. Her eyebrows are raised in worry, and she dips her head to keep eye contact with you. The love and care she's showing you makes your heart melt, and you instantly feel guilty for worrying her so badly during what was supposed to be a fun evening with the friends and family you hadn't seen in so long.

"I feel fine, darling, I promise," you press a kiss to her pouted lips, arms coming to wrap around her waist in a light hug. She returns the embrace, mumbling "You're sure?" into your hair.

You nod, pulling away from the hug to kiss her cheek. "I swear. Let's join the rest of them, yeah?"

She nods, but she still doesn't seem entirely convinced.

Joining the rest of your friends, who've started to pour drinks and pass them around the room, you shoo Mor to sit down on the couch so that you can grab the two of you glasses. For Mor, you pour a red wine, and for yourself, you take a cocktail that Gwyn created.

Mor accepts her glass with a smile and a kiss to the back of your hand. She attempts to pull you down into her lap, but you resist, instead choosing to sit beside her on the couch.

Instantly, Mor realizes what's been wrong. You almost always sit in her lap, and she'd suspected that you weren't feeling quite like yourself when you refused to eat your dinner, but now, she's certain.

She says nothing, though, never willing to risk embarrassing you in front of everyone, or making you feel pressured to confess your feelings.

She just leans into your arm, rubbing your thigh, nursing her wine, and making sure to pepper kisses along your face and shoulder every so often.

Eventually, when the conversation has died down, and everyone is yawning, or, in Nesta and Gwyn's case, asleep on the sofas, everyone decides to head home for the night. Emerie and her girlfriend are the first to leave, Cassian and Azriel scoop their mates up, Elain and Lucien retire to the room they're staying in as they're just in the Night Court for a few weeks, and you and Mor file out the front door with everyone else.

Mor takes your hand in her own, and she winnows the both of you home without a word.

When the two of you enter your foyer and pull your heels off, you catch Mor watching you intently. Her eyes follow your every movement, tracing over your body. The intensity of her gaze makes you uneasy.

"Mor..?" you ask softly, confusion lacing your tone.

"Do you want to tell me what's really going on?" she asks, not rude, or demanding, or insensitive. And truthfully, you're not surprised. She's always known you better than anyone.

You sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. And because you just can't help it, tears form in your eyes, a lump grows in your throat. You're embarrassed, frustrated, and sensitive.

"I don't want to talk about it," is all you can manage, hardly a whisper.

"Oh, baby," Mor coos, scooping you into her arms and winnowing you a mere flight of steps away, into your bedroom. Instantly, the tears come full force.

"I-I'm sorry, this is so-" you cut yourself off with a hiccup, "-so embarrassing."

Mor shushes you, running a hand along your back. "No love, s'not embarrassing, it's just how you feel."

And that makes you cry harder. "I tried to act like nothing was bothering me, I didn't want to ruin your night, I'm s-sorry, Mor," you blubber into her shoulder.

"Shh, shhh, enough of that, Y/N, you didn't ruin anything." She pulls you away from her embrace to look you in the eye. "Talk to me about it, love, I wanna help you."

You shrug, hands coming up to swipe at your eyes, at the makeup running down your cheeks.

She shakes her head at the non-answer. "You seemed upset before we left tonight, you hardly touched your food, and you wouldn't sit in my lap. I think I know what's wrong, but I want you to tell me."

You huff out a breath of air, feeling caught. Several seconds pass before you feel like you can speak again, through the tears. "I just.. I j-just feel so fat, Mor. You a-and Elain, and Nesta, and Feyre... you're all so, so pretty. So skinny, I-I can never be that small," you whine, and you feel mortified at how pathetic you sound.

"Oh, Y/N," Mor sighs, moving to sit the both of you on the edge of the bed. "My beautiful, beautiful, perfect girl, how could you ever think you aren't absolutely stunning?"

You choke on a bitter laugh, your eyes rolling at her question, assuming it was hypothetical.

She grips your hand, tight. "I'm serious, Y/N. You're perfect. I have never once wished you were any different than you are. You're the female I'm in love with," she grasps your chin, forcing you to look her in the eye, "this is the body that I make love to every night, the face that greets me every morning. You're the only female I could ever want, ever desire, ever love."

Your lower lip wobbles at her admission, and the tears continue to stream, though not as heavily.

"But, I'm so-"

Mor cuts you off with a stern look. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with the word fat. It's not a dirty word. Who cares that you're bigger?"

You frown, as if to say 'obviously, I do,' but again, Mor shoots you down with an intense glare.

"I mean it, Y/N. Who gets to decide what size is beautiful, what body type is attractive? I've never once wished you were skinnier. I love every inch of you." Her voice leaves no room for argument. Her hands begin to wander, cupping your face, grazing over your arms, breasts, your waist and your thick hips, coming to a stop when they grip the tops of your thighs. Her eyes look down to where she has you in her grasp. She leans in, hovering just above your lips. "You're perfect, my love, the most beautiful female I've ever seen, I always get so wet just by looking at you."

You instantly burst into laughter at her lewd words, and she smirks, proud that she was finally able to make you smile. She leans in, finally kissing you like she had wanted to all evening. You groan into the kiss, hands flying up to tangle in her hair. It's not long before you have to pull away to catch your breath, the kiss electrifying and hot.

She leans her forehead against yours and bites her red-stained lips, clearly in the mood for more. But, your worries aren't completely at ease.

"Mor?" you whisper, to which she hums in reply.

"Are you.. sure? You can tell me, you know, if you've ever thought I could lose some weight."

She shakes her head, adamant. "I love you, Y/N, exactly how you are." Her hands squeeze at your legs again, "I love your thighs, especially when they're wrapped around my head," she pulls back with a wink, making you giggle. "I love your stomach, so soft and pretty," she places a kiss to your forehead, "I love your cheeks, so cute when you smile," she places kisses to both of them, humming as you blush at her praise.

Her hands wander up your front, until they're cupping your breasts, "and I really love these," she practically purrs, "so sexy, baby, sometimes I think I'm gonna combust."

You burst into laughter, "you're a perv, Mor!"

She responds with her own laughter, hands pushing you flat on the bed by your shoulders. She straddles your waist, her hair falling around the two of you, making it difficult to look anywhere but at her.

"I love you, Y/N, I really, really do. You're so, so beautiful."

Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest, and not for the first time, you wonder how you got lucky enough to be mated to her.

"I love you too, Mor. Forever."

---

A/N: Ahhh! I am officially back! It felt so good to finally write something and get it out there for you guys. Thank you all so, so much for being so patient and encouraging while I was on quite a long break. I really appreciate it. I'm honestly not very proud of this, I think it's super rough, and I'll probably edit it eventually, but I'm just glad to be writing again. Thank you guys again, and I hope you enjoy!

169 notes · View notes

promitto-amor · 1 year ago

Text

Opportunity

It's been a WHILE since I was on Tumblr, but I find myself inspired to write and Mark Hoffman reappeared in Saw X at the most opportune time...

Summary: Mark Hoffman has a special interest in the Rook at his precinct. After she blows off post-work drinks for a date, Hoffman can't let the opportunity to make a move pass by when she turns up at the bar with a familiar date.

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Ivy Reeves (original character)

Warnings: Language!

There aren't nearly enough Mark Hoffman fics out there so this is my contribution. Who doesn't like a jealous Hoffman hmm? Ivy is mine from a fanfic I never finished years and years ago. I've brought her back for this one shot because she needed a name for this fic to work. Please feel free to insert your own name! This is pretty PG for me! Also I will forever headcanon that Adam lived. 👀

Mark didn’t like work drinks. Ever since he had been converted, the thought of alcohol always turned his stomach to lead. The temptation to once more travel down the path of blackout nights was always too great and Mark had to keep his wits about him.

He couldn’t afford to slip up. One slip up could spell the end for him.

Clenching his fist around the non-alcoholic beer that had sat in front of him for the last hour, Hoffman surveyed the throng of drinkers. Among them was Fisk, his occasional partner and first Detective on the Jigsaw case. A man that was too simple for this world, simple enough to have achieved the rare feat of never prompting Jigsaw to put him in a trap. Beside him was Rigg, a future victim, but for now Rigg could live his life in the ignorance that his time was being drained as fast as his third drink. Kerry looked how Mark felt. She’d spent most of the night staring at her gin, too down about Eric Matthews to be in much of a social mood, despite Rigg’s encouragements.

It seems that Matthews himself really was the life of the party. Too bad he’s stuck in some cell of Jigsaw’s making to join them for Friday night drinks.

The only other person who could have made the night somewhat better would have been Ivy. The youngest on their serial killer task team, Ivy had taken to staying late, volunteering to take on swabbing through the heaps of evidence recovered from the latest game. Whether this was due to a morbid fascination with Jigsaw’s modus operandi, or ambition to get ahead in her job, Mark wasn’t sure. But it certainly made the nights when he had to stay late less lonely. With his fellow co-workers becoming more despondent since Matthew’s disappearance, Ivy’s lack of inter-work relationships was refreshing.

Ivy made the best coffee in the office and was the only person to remember that Mark took his coffee black.

A body slumps down beside him, Fisk leans in close to him. “Reckon I’ll be able to get two weeks off?”

“You planning a vacation?” Mark tips back his glass and tries to finish it, but there’s too much left to down in one.

“Thinking of it.” Fisk admits, “I feel like things might be slowing down. I know we had one last week but…hey doesn’t look like anything big is planned.”

“Could just be a matter of time.”

“Maybe,” Fisk grins. “All the more reason to be out of the city when it happens.”

Mark would like to trap him for that alone, but sadly if he could have left New Jersey and Jigsaw behind, he would have been in Europe by now. There was a time when he thought about it. Around the time Ivy had become more present in the Jigsaw case, Mark had allowed himself to fantasise about starting a new life in another country. A new face and a warm smile to wake up next to. But John’s recent resilience across the border in Mexico had proved Mark will never be free until Jigsaw and his puppet apprentice were both dead.

Fisk casts a look round the bar, “Where’s the rook tonight?”

“You’ve gotta stop calling her that.”

”I know,” Fisk nods. “Force of habit, besides she is still new to the task force.”

“Even so she’ll punch you for that soon.”

“I notice you’re avoiding my question.”

Fisk is eying him and so Mark has no choice but to grumble out, “She has a date.”

“Interesting.” Fisk enunciates every syllable and leans back on his bar stool. “Any idea who?”

“No.” Mark seriously considers ordering a shot, “That’s all I know.”

“Good for her.” Fisk says, “For making sure she has a life. Important that, you know?”

Mark’s known him long enough to get the hint, “I’m fine, Fisk.”

“I know,” Fisk says again, his eyes now on Kerry. “I guess better to be single than caught up with a married colleague.”

Maybe John would allow Fisk to be trapped on the basis of being a gossip?

The bar door opens a couple of times as Fisk continues to chatter about a variety of topics. Mark offers one worded answers whenever suitable. On the fourth time the bar door opened, Adam Stanheight walks through the door. He doesn’t know who Mark is, but Mark knows the wannabe PI well.

This kind of dive bar is where he’d expect Stanheight to frequent. A place where lost souls gather to watch the same generic rock bands, play pool and eventually hook up. Exactly why Mark’s precinct usually favours it. Easy to get lost in the flow of people that gather. It is not the sort of place anyone should bring Ivy Reeves on a date.

She slides in after Adam. Rigg spots her immediately and sends her an enthusiastic wave. Ivy pauses on seeing her coworkers, whispers something to Adam and he too looks over. Adam’s eyes dart from Rigg to Ivy and on her taking his hand the two make their way to the bar. Mark notes Ivy puts as much distance between their position and her position at the bar as possible.

Fisk’s eyes are watching everything unfold, “Isn’t that-“

“Yeah.”

“From the bathroom game.”

“Yes.”

“The one that just appeared.”

Ivy had been the one to speak with a nearly dead Adam Stanheight, who appeared at the Angel of Mercy hospital at some godforsaken hour. He’d been dumped in an empty bed and hooked up to an IV with saline solution. Apparently it had given the nurses quite the scare and when all Adam could say was the word ‘bathroom’, the hospital had been quick to call in the Jigsaw task force.

Mark knows who freed Adam. He’d heard the same rant from Amanda over and over about how interfering Doctors should stay in their lanes.

On that rare occasion, Mark had agreed with her.

Ivy’s eyes track across the room and Mark hopes she might be looking for him. Taking the opportunity before him Fisk calls out, beckoning Ivy over. Mark waits for her to find him and once she has Mark offers her a small nod. She looks away and her hand subconsciously tugs at her top. When she turns back to them Ivy holds up a finger and Fisk shoots a smirk at him.

“What are the odds?”

“She can date whoever she likes.”

“Never said she couldn’t” Fisk is watching him like Mark has become his favourite TV show. “You jealous?”

“She’s ten years or so younger.”

“So?”

“Shut it, Fisk.”

Ivy accepts a drink from Adam, who hasn’t stopped talking since they arrived and takes a cautious sip. When she thinks it’s been long enough, she glances over at Mark again. He catches her eye again and this time, Ivy has little choice but to whisper in Adam’s ear and make her way over to them.

“Did you know we were coming here?” Fisk ask as soon as Ivy’s in earshot.

“No,” She says, leaning in close to hear Fisk over the chatter. “Adam knows this place, an ex-friend of his used to play here.”

“Hoffman’s been missing you.”

Mark’s definitely putting Fisk in a trap. Even if he has to lie about the reason. Ivy’s eyes slip back to him, “I doubt that. You all look like you’re having so much fun.”

“Sarcasm?” Mark asks and Ivy sends him a shy grin.

Adam sidles up behind her. He rubs the back of his neck, “Didn’t think I’d see you guys so soon.”

“How you doing?” Fisk starts up small talk with Adam, as if he really cares about his recovery. This leaves Mark the perfect opportunity to corner Ivy. He stands up and leans on the bar, blocking Fisk and Adam from her line of sight. “How’s the date?”

Ivy sips her drink. Her eyes look in all directions but at Mark as she searches for her answer. She’s uncomfortable. But for what reason? Is it because she’s out with a victim of the case she’s working? Mark doesn’t even know if that would count as a conflict of interest. Ivy finally answers in a voice low enough that Mark has to lean in, “Adam’s my usual type. He’s nice enough, made me laugh on our first date.”

Mark places his empty glass on the bar top. “But not enough on a second date?”

Ivy’s fingers tighten on her own glass, “I thought I would enjoy it more than I am.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She glances over at Kerry and Rigg, “I should say hello to them.” She glances back to him, as if asking permission.

Mark seizes the opportunity, “You knew we were going here. Did you convince him to take you here tonight?”

Mark didn’t need to be a Detective to read the guilt that washes over her. “I wasn’t feeling it much when I agreed to go out again. I thought if we came here, where you were, I’d have an easier way out.”

He presses in a little closer to her. Ivy’s eyes jump over his shoulder, like a skittish doe, no doubt checking on Adam. Mark knows he’s sizing her up, the dare evident in how he’s gotten so close to her. “Do you need a way out, Ivy?”

“No.” She balks and takes a step back. She tips her drink back, places the glass on the table and crosses the short distance to reclaim Adam from Fisk. She leads her ‘date’ over to the pool tables and Mark retakes his seat by Fisk.

“I like him.” Fisk announces, “He plays electric guitar.”

“He still stalking people and taking their pictures?”

Fisk shakes his head, “Didn’t ask, but I doubt it.”

Mark’s eyes stalk Ivy as she collects the pool cues. Adam is lining up the balls and then he’s leaning over Ivy, helping her break. Not that she needs help. Mark’s certain Ivy’s played before, judging by how she lines up her shot and pockets a stripe.

“I’m going home.” Mark announces, “Someone’s gotta be coherent in the morning.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fisk nods, “I’ll tell the others.”

Mark sidles over to the back exit, where he’ll deliberately pass by Ivy. She’s leaning against her pool cue, chalking up the end when Mark presses himself behind her to get past. “Your opportunity is leaving.” He murmurs in her ear, hands finding her waist. He knows it’s a cheap move, but Ivy tenses deliciously under his touch. He doesn’t care whether Stanheight is watching or not. Mark pushes open the back door and heads for his car, parked just a couple of feet away.

Thankful he’s made it another night without drinking, Mark puts the key in the ignition and waits a couple minutes. Just as he’s about to drive away, the backdoor opens. Ivy walks straight for his car, opens the passenger door and climbs in.

Mark leans back in the driver’s seat and waits for her to speak.

“Just take me home, Mark.”

“I don’t know where you live.”

She turns her head to face him, “Yes, you do.”

Mark sets off. He lets the silence linger between them as Ivy plays with her fingers. The small bag she’s been carrying around all night is on her lap. Mark can tell the silence is eating at her, but she’s too stubborn to speak first. When they are less than five minutes away, Mark gives her some mercy. “What did you say to get away?”

“I said forensics had found something.” She heaves a sigh and runs a hand over her face, smudging some of her mascara. She’s still beautiful to Mark.

“Why’d you lie?”

“Because I wanted to be with you.”

Her admission unsettles him as much as it pleases him. To have won another kind of game, one Mark has rarely ever let himself play is thrilling. He could see how it could become addictive, but Mark isn’t going to be smug about it. Not much. “I didn’t think you’d entertain the idea of someone like me.”

It should be more of a warning than it is. He should be pulling over, telling her to get out. Mark knows he should do everything he can to make her hate him. But Mark can only resist one temptation tonight.

Ivy doesn’t answer as he pulls up outside her apartment block. Mark smirks as the cliche, loaded question leaves him, “Do you want me to walk you upstairs or are you good?”

Finally, she looks at him, “Do you want to?”

He bites back a growl. “Of course I fucking want to.” He says, holding onto the last remnants of his restraint. “You’ve been on my mind all fucking night, Reeves.”

She reacts at once, climbing across the gearbox and onto his lap. Mark just pushes the seat back in time as Ivy settles herself. His hands don’t know where to hold, his bravado from earlier abandons him when Ivy is bearing down on him in all areas. She looks down at him for a second and then her lips are on his.

--------

How tempted I was to keep this going, but sometimes a tease is better than full smut no? You can let your imaginations go wild from here. 😈

#mark hoffman #hoffman saw #mark hoffman saw #saw movie #saw x #mark hoffman x original characters #poor Adam can't catch a break!#saw #saw franchise #fanfic #jealous!hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #fanfiction

77 notes · View notes

salbei-141 · 2 years ago

Text

Rescue Mission (Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader)

Masterlist

word count: 6.1k...i can't write a 3k essay but I can do this

warnings: 18+ mild smut, fluff, a lot of violence, self-doubt, graphic stuff etc. (forgive me if I've forgotten anything)

a/n: Wow am I entering my writing era again? I haven't written any sort of fanfic since I was like in my early teens, and I'm sure you can imagine how bad it was then, so I'd like to think this is better, but that's up to y'all to dictate. I do hope you all enjoy it, and as much as I desperately wanted to write for Ghost (which maybe I will in the future) I wanted to do something for Soap, he deserves love too, and there's not enough.

I don't know if I'll make this a part 2, if enough of you want it then I'll see what I can do - I also don't know how much more I'll write - knowing me it'll be like once in a blue moon lol

Anyway, I've spent my time writing this instead of completing uni work, which I desperately need to finish, but anything to procrastinate. I'd really appreciate any and all feedback, so please let me know if I can improve and if y'all wanna see anything specific in the future.

(I've gone over and edited it, so hopefully there's no mistakes)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With an intruding knock on your door followed by Ghost’s command of “Smoke get your ass up, Price wants you in his office in 10.” You were left to get ready in a rush with no negotiations.

Walking into the bathroom all you can focus on is the redness around your eyes followed by some bags to bring the look together, and the faded scar under your left eye as a reminder of past fights. You find yourself rarely getting any sleep these days - between random calls for missions and the ongoing night terrors, there’s little to no time for rest. You tend to wonder how much longer your body will be able to handle before it gives into exhaustion and you hit the ground - probably with Ghost at your heels telling you to get the fuck up before he drags you up himself. It really wouldn’t be a surprise if he did that to you, you thought to yourself with a small smirk gracing your face.

With several minutes to spare you throw some water on your face, flinching at the temperature - not quite awake enough to readily process things - patting your face dry and smoking your eyes out with some black paint you're closer to being ready to leave. You find yourself thinking back on a memory where Lt argued you had stolen his look of the blacked-out eyes and anonymity, but you begged to differ, plus you teased you looked better than the big man anyway, which had made him quietly huff.

Finishing up in the bathroom you slipped the plain black balaclava over your head, weary of the healing cut that laid as a reminder of the last mission on your cheek. In some fresh undergarments and black uniform you find yourself robotically walking out the room and down the hall to Price - there’s little thought in your actions anymore, everything’s just an automatic response, and there’s no need to think.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door, “Captain.”

“Come in Smoke.” Price said with a gruffness to his tone - he's not quite a morning person himself despite how long he'd been in the military.

Walking into the room, there’s a thick layer of tension that feels suffocating - your not sure what he’s going to ask of you, but you're on edge, he looks nervous, and Price is never unnecessarily nervous.

“Please sit Smoke.” And he averted his gaze on your eyes to look back down at his desk - it was definitely nerves, he didn't quite have Ghost's staring issues, but he always stared you down when you were walking into the office.

“Yes, Captain.” Without much else to say, you took your place on the dingy chair in front of his desk.

“Did Ghost tell you anything?” He made eye contact then, not averting it like before.

“…no, he didn’t. Just said to meet you in 10.” You felt your brows furrowing slightly at his question - should Ghost have said anything? You would've liked a pre-warning from the guy seeing Price's nerves shining through.

“Well, we’ve got a mission come up for you. It’s solo.” He states staring directly into your eyes, he knew you weren't going to be okay with this arrangement, so why the fuck had he decided on this.

“And you can’t have Ghost complete it?” There was a growing edge of anger to your tone, you didn’t want this, and you were getting progressively defensive.

“He’s aiding Laswell in a separate mission. You can’t hide forever y/n - it’s been a year now, and you’ve had more than enough time only participating in group missions…I wouldn’t make you do this if I doubted you.” There was sincerity in his tone, but you didn't want to believe him, you refused to.

“You didn’t doubt me a year ago and look how that went down, almost got the whole team's data exposed and ended up near enough getting Johnny killed while his ass was dumb enough to accept a rescue mission to save me.” Your hands were starting to shake underneath the table, and you could feel your heart rate starting to beat faster at the memories of Johnny coming to save you. “Look Price I’m not the fucking one, you got enough men on this base better than me and-“

“It’s MacTavish Smoke, and no I don't", you felt your stomach drop and the thoughts started running wild through your head. "Soap lost contact with us 2 days ago and we’ve received intel that a new terrorist organisation in the Middle East have taken him hostage. I’m not going to tell you again Sergeant - your mission is to save Seargent MacTavish and you’ll do it without fail. Do you understand?” He was giving no room for you to back out of this, there was no way to. You couldn't leave Johnny, but you also didn't feel capable after screwing up your last solo mission.

The tension had snapped after his confession, but was replaced with trepidation - it was all up in the air now, but you still felt like you were suffocating. Johnny was supposed to be on an in-and-out mission, nothing too difficult - he was supposed to be done tomorrow, what the fuck had happened?

Swallowing, you asked for the necessary intel, and Price started to brief you on the mission. You were to head to Yemen, following coordinates that Price would send to you once you were in the country. From here you were alone - it was a high-risk operation and they didn't want to risk losing more soldiers than was needed - Price knew you were capable of completing this alone, even if you didn't.

~~~Time skip~~~

Now in the heli you were about an hour away from the house Soap was situated in - you had, had time on the aeroplane to figure out a basic plan and between the anxiety of what Soap was currently enduring and the desperation to succeed you knew what you were going to do.

Price's intel suggsted there were about 50 men minimum around this base at all times - but tonight there was some sort of event, and there were going to be about half that, which made things easier, but you knew it meant they'd be on higher alert; especially when they have a member of the 141. About 5 men would be at the entrance to this home give or take; another few men would be around the back of the house; give or take there would about 6 men patrolling the ground and first floors; then that left probably 3 men with Johnny and some stragglers patrolling the ground of the place, but there was no guarantee this was even close to the layout in reality. What you did know though was that there was a blind spot around the east side of the house where there was a small hatch to the basement of the place - this was your only safe way in and depending on how things went, it'd also be your safe way out.

"Seargent y/l/n, we're here, you ready?" you heard a static voice come through the headset from the pilot.

"As ready as one could be I guess.", you all but muttered into the mic.

And with a count down you were sliding down the rope and landed heavily onto the ground - it was dry land, which meant it'd be easier to cover tracks if necessary, but it also meant there were fewer ways in which you could hide yourself and Soap wouldn't be in the best of conditions for this, assuming he was alive.

Hiking to the house, you were half expecting someone to take you down on the spot with every step you took, but with each step, you got closer to where you had to be, but you still couldn't allow yourself to take a relaxed breath of air.

After about a 40-minute walk, you found yourself on the edge of the compound if you could call it that. You were in the middle of nowhere and already knew you needed to do this quietly - running away was going to be difficult with the sheer amount of open land, but there were a few valleys into the back of the compound, which you were sure you'd be able to escape and camp up in, assuming there were caves within them.

You noticed there were a group of men at the front - maybe about 11..something wasn't right, but you had no clue what was going on yet. There were 2 guys covering the back of the place and no one on the east side - at least it was a blind spot for sure. Without another thought, you went from your prone position to stalking toward the hatch, which would hopefully lead to Soap.

Putting an ear to the small hatch, you listened for what was beneath, and so far there was only silence - hopefully, it stayed that way. With that, you lifted the hatch carefully, making little noise, and peered in, seeing steps leading down - it was dark though - had they been depriving Soap of all his senses hoping he'd go mad enough to confess or something?

Without little insight into what was beneath you, you had no real way to plan how you'd go about this, but what you did know was there were more men outside than you'd planned for, which gave you a little less anxiety. Creeping down the stairs, you turned your night vision on and took a moment to look around. Where the fuck was Johhny? All you could see were damp cobble walls and dirt. Walking to the bottom of the stairs you pulled a suppressed pistol out and a knife and stalked the room looking for another door.

Suddenly a door above you opened - there was another set of stairs and light seeped through before it closed again, welcoming the darkness once again. With the night vision still active you could see one of the men walking down the stairs with what looked like an AK-47 - that made it a lot easier for you to take him out from behind, it would take too long for him to adjust and fire. Watching him reach the bottom of the stairs, you stalked closer to his figure and just before he could flip the switch on the wall, you pulled your knife and plunged it into his neck, covering his mouth and slowly lowering his writhing body to the floor - making sure to make as little noise possible.

Moving the guys body to an empty corner of the room you remained silent and listened for anything else above - no sound. You assumed he was to take watch of Soap - hoping he was behind a door you noticed was under the stairs this guy had come down. There was again no light seeping underneath; either he was elsewhere or they were indeed depriving him of his sense, but you had no idea if there were any men in there. Putting your ear to the door all you could make out were some shallow breaths - it had to Johnny.

Pushing the door forward, you cringed hearing it squeak on his hinges. If someone was in here, then they knew you were too, and with no precautionary thoughts, you walked into the room, scanning it with your gun aimed and knife up.

There he was. You felt tears prick at your eyes, his body had stiffened and his breathing had picked up - Johnny wasn't ever usually this scared, what had they done to him?

Turning to your left you flipped a switch and closed the door behind you, putting a chair underneath in case anyone tried to walk in before you could prepare.

Walking to Johnny you placed a gentle hand pulling up the cloth bag they'd placed over his head - the small flinch hadn't gone unnoticed by your gaze. Letting him adjust to the light, you placed a gentle hand on his jaw, examining the cuts littering his face - you doubt they'd scar, but you were guessing the real pain was done to his body - you could see the crimson that was dried to his clothes - he looked like a mess, you had to get the both of you out of here and straight to a medic, you couldn't bare this for much more.

Of all the years you'd known Johnny, you'd always denied how you felt about him - he was a friend, a coworker, and there was a fine line you refused to cross, you didn't want to lose him nor your team. But seeing him like this, seeing him so broken - noticing his pained stare holding onto your eyes, you knew you couldn't deny what you felt anymore. There was no way you could deny that the pain in your chest wasn't due to the man you refused to accept your feelings for.

"Smoke? That you?" Soap all but managed to mumble out - his eye was bruised up and there was some mild swelling - nothing that concerned you too much, but you could imagine he was having a hard time properly focusing on you.

"Yeah, it's me Johnny. You're alright now, yeah." you said it more to convince yourself than him, but you had to start making moves, as much as you wanted to hold him in your arms and soothe whatever was going through his head, you had to get him out of here before they sent more of them down here, you knew you were counting down mere minutes before they would come.

"Johnny I'm going to cut you out and give you a stim, then we're going - we'll find somewhere to hold up for a bit then I'll call for evac." you were rushed in your movements, still careful with him to not hurt him any more than what he was.

With his hands now free, he brought them to his sides and tried to loosen his arms up a bit from where they had been stiff behind his back. Coming to his front, you gave him a stim and he became more aware of what was happening.

Standing tall, you held his sides, noticing his lack of balance. He sucked a breath in when he felt your hands come up on his sides - you were so gentle, he'd only felt calloused hands pressing into his body over the course of the past few days, and it felt comforting to have you holding him with such care.

With one last look up into his eyes, you told him to follow behind - just to trust you. He never doubted you for a second, the moment he'd known it was you who was sent to rescue him, he knew you'd get the both of them to safety - he admired your skill on the field, even if you didn't possess the same ability to believe you could succeed this.

Moving the chair from the door you flipped the switch, feeling one of Soap's hands come up to your shoulder - he didn't want to admit it to himself, but he knew this was going to take a toll on his mental state.

Opening the door, you took a deep breath and moved forward with Soap at your heel. Crouching back in front of the guy you'd taken out, you took his gun, and gave it to Soap behind you, which he gladly took - feeling more confident now he could aid you.

Heading up the stairs to the hatch, you both suddenly went stiff hearing the door open. Without much thought to pushed Soap further up the stairs whispering for him to leave and run into a valley - you'd be right behind him. His eyes remained on yours - he looked worried, he didn't want to leave you - he'd never forgive himself if you were hurt because he ran. With another push, he lifted the hatch - he trusted you, he had too.

Aiming the pistol you hit the first guy directly in the head, knocking him cold. He fell to the floor with a thud and before you could get a solid aim on the second guy, he shouted something in Arabic and suddenly you could hear chaos starting to ensue upstairs - all you could think was how the fuck you were going to do this now. Shooting the guy in the leg, he fell to the floor with a pained scream and you rushed out the hatch hearing several men shouting at each other. You could see Soap at an edge of a valley - it wasn't a far run, you could make this you were sure.

Without a second thought, you took off for the valley edge where you could see Soap prone aiming his gun. Suddenly bullets started to litter the ground around you and Soap could only do so much to fire back before they'd eventually get him to. Pulling the infamous smoke grenades from your belt you pulled the pin in one throwing it behind you and another one you threw in Soaps direction. With bullets still firing at nothing, you pushed your legs as fast as they'd go, and just as you got to where Soap was now stood, you felt a searing pain travel up your left arm.

"Fuck! Soap I've been hit" you gritted between clenched teeth, "carry on running, we need to find somewhere to bunker down for the next few hours while tensions calm".

Nodding his head in your direction, Soap continued forth with you in tow - you could both hear the men shouting from behind - they were gaining, but you were still ahead enough to hide. Feeling a hand grip your right arm, you were pulled into Soap's side in a crack big enough for the two of you. You could feel the beating of his heart and for a minute you felt yourself relax and just as you did the adrenaline started to wear off, and your arm was throbbing in pain.

Looking over Soap, he seemed to be okay - the stim hadn't worn off yet, and you still had another one for when it did.

Leaning his head down, you felt your heart pause - you felt yourself staring at his lips, wondering how they would feel pressed against your own, thinking that it'd be enough to distract you from the current pain you felt. You felt your hands running up his torso to lay on his chest, feeling his heart beat even faster if that was possible. He was warm despite the nipping breeze. Preparing to move your hand to his neck, Soap bent closer to your ear whispering for you to follow him. You felt stupid - of course, he wasn't about to kiss you in the middle of a mission, let alone ever - you had selfishly been misinterpreting his body's response as something else - he was hurt and tensions were high - you were stupid to think it had been anything to do with you. With that you dropped your arms back to your sides, flinching as you lower your right arm, and followed Soap deeper into this crack, seeing it led into a small cave - it was still cramped, but you'd live.

As you were about to open your mouth to speak, Soap placed his hand over it - silencing you from making any sound, clenching your thighs, you found yourself keening into his touch before coming back to your sense when you heard footsteps and Arabic being shared between people. Suddenly things got very real again and you felt Soap's over arm come across your waist and pull you into him - the both of you needed some sort of comfort right now, and the both of you relished in each other's warmth.

With quiet shallow breaths, the men passed by and you relaxed against Soap's chest. You felt safe with him behind you, you had been so anxious completing this mission that you felt back in your comfort zone being with Soap.

"Think we're okay now hen?" That stupid pet name he used had you smiling underneath the mask, you secretly loved how he only said it to you, but would always pretend it bothered you, which only made him tease you more.

With a staggered breath you turned to face him - you didn't realise how close you were, your noses almost touching but you didn't make the effort to move. "I think we're okay Johnny, for now at least, we'll wait a couple hours then I call for evac".

"How're you feeling?" you asked tentatively placing a hand under his cheek where there was a cut, careful not to press too hard - you never wanted to cause him pain.

Feeling bolder than usual, Soap placed a hand over yours that held his cheek - you felt your heart rate pick up, feeling his calloused skin run over your gloved hand and onto your wrist where your skin was exposed. He could feel the fast pulse within your wrist and wanted to ignore the dull ache in his body, noticing that the stim was starting to wear off. He stared into your open eyes, looking at him so full of admiration, and all he wanted to do was press his lips to yours in a searing kiss - so selfishly he wanted to distract himself with you. He'd seen you with your mask off once and the image was burned into his mind - he spent countless nights led in bed remembering how full your lips looked; how smooth your skin was - with a faded scar beneath your left eye; the way your hair perfectly parted down the middle with bangs that perfectly framed your face, and hair stopping at your shoulders; with a jaw so perfectly carved he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the crook of your neck and place gentle kisses upon your jaw, trailing down to your neck - you were perfection to him, pure perfection and all those nights he'd relish in that memory thinking about your beauty, or fisting his hard cock - precum dripping from his tip as he imagined those full lips taking him in while he praised you from above as your doe eyes stayed locked on his.

Taking a sudden breath in as you felt the pain back in your arm, Soap was pulled from his thoughts with worry plastered over his face, "Oh yeah, I'm okay hen, the pain's starting to come back, but let's get you fixed up."

Even though he'd been through a torturous hell the last few days, your wellbeing was somehow on the forefront of his mind, it made your heart flutter unexpectantly. You couldn't allow him to sort you out first, you'd live, you'd been through much worse, but right now his wounds needed cleaning.

"No Soap, I need to clean your wounds before an infection starts to fester. Then we can attend to whatever I've got, but I'll live." He gave you a narrowed look, but the look you sent back made him remain silenced, you weren't going to let him help you.

Without much more talking you pulled your first aid kit from your back and asked him to remove his shirt. With a smirk he all but obliged and you rolled your eyes - Soap was still Soap. You noticed him struggling and helped him pull his gear over his head, placing it down next to him.

Staring at his body, all you wanted to do was admire him - despite all the marks that littered his torso, you thought he was the most beautiful man you had laid your eyes on. You saw his body stiffen and noticed the look of insecurity in his eyes, making you your face fall in sorrow - you didn't want him to feel like this, he didn't deserve to. Tracing his abs and some scars, you asked where it hurt most and he just let out a chuckle, "Everywhere hen, I couldn't tell you where to start".

Pulling the remaining stim out, you gave it to him and it again started to rapidly kick in. You took some disinfectant on a cloth and started to clean his wounds as he hissed in pain, letting small whimpers slip past his lips - you were doing everything not to clench your thighs right now, he was in pain, but the sounds coming from him were making you delirious - you'd be mad if you were to never make a move on this man - you'd dreamed of pulling those sounds from his mouth.

Feeling his hand grip your arm, you were pulled back to reality and continued cleaning him, whispering your apologies each time he'd grip your arm a bit tighter when it'd get too much for him to deal with. You wanted to press your lips to each wound and hope it'd cure his pain, you could see they had done a number on him, but luckily none of the wounds were too deep. You felt his ribs, seeing his skin was patched in a mix of purple and blue bruises - you could count 2 of them were broke, but a medic would have to confirm this. Placing gauze on his wound, you then wrapped his middle and placed your hand back on his chest - staring into his eyes.

"That any better Johnny?" you asked doe eyed, worry on your face that you hadn't done a good enough job.

"I dunno hen maybe a kiss would make me feel better." You felt yourself blush, you couldn't believe he was flirting with you out here, but maybe you actually had read the signs correctly earlier, maybe you weren't so stupid. Leaning down you pressed a lingering kiss to his head through the mask.

"Better now Johnny?" you asked, a smile forming on your face.

"A bit hen, just a bit" There was a pout on his face, you knew he wanted more, but you were on a mission and didn't want to risk your chances compromising it - you needed him to make it to the evac.

With a last stroke of his chest, you pulled back and helped him dress into his gear again. Turning away from the man you took a deep breath, you needed to get your head completely back into this misson.

"y/n?" you hummed back in response to him, "let me help you fix your arm up yeah?" You'd forgotten about the dull ache in your left arm and turned back to him with your medkit in hand.

In silence he gently took your arm into his own hands, you were only skimmed by the bullet luckily. He wet a new cloth in disinfectant and wiped over your wound, weary of your flinches, feeling guilty about the pain you were in. Wrapping your arm he ran his own hand up your arm placing it on the back of your neck, giving you reassuring strokes as you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

"You know I'm glad it's you that came Smoke" he admitted.

"Yeah?" you questioned back.

"Yeah." he confirmed staring sincerely into your eyes.

"You know I didn't originally want to come here Johnny. Price didn't give me much choice, to begin with, but when I found out it was you, I couldn't say no." you were building up a confession to him, hoping he'd read between the lines - you didn't want to admit to him directly how you felt, just in case you were wrong, you were full of doubt, suddenly becoming self-conscious under his gaze, "I was scared I was going to fuck it up like I fucked my last solo mission. I've been so scared I was going to get you killed this time, I still haven't forgiven myself for the rescue mission, you shouldn't have been the one to fix my failure Johnny, and this time I..." you felt yourself choking up, you didn't realise how deeply you really felt about things and found yourself pulling away, embarrassed at your confession.

Johnny could see how genuine you were being and it made his heart clench that you felt this way - he had been the first one to volunteer to go on the rescue mission - it was supposed to be Ghost's mission, but he convinced Price to let him go on it. He knows how scary of a day it was and how close to death you both were, but he'd do it again if it meant you were the last person he was with.

Pulling you back into him before you could pull yourself away too far, he brought your head to his chest carefully, making sure you weren't putting too much pressure on his torso. You were holding back your tears, you didn't want to break in front of him, but it was hard, a few escaped as his hand came up to cup the back of your head and stroke your hair gently. Without another word, Soap placed both hands on your masked cheeks and pulled you eye level to him, wiping the few tears that fell from your eyes with his thumbs. He didn't want to cross a line, and placed a tentative peck on your masked lips, watching as your eyes flutter closed. You couldn't believe it, without another thought you pulled your mask up, revealing your lips and nose, not feeling secure enough to completely remove it. Taking his chances, Soap placed his lips back onto your own, relishing in the feeling of the both of your lips moving in sync with each other. You felt in over your own head, keening into his body as the speed picked up between the both of you - small breaths getting caught between each other's lips. Soap moved his hand down to your neck, caressing the skin as he passed, and rested on your right breast, caressing it through your uniform. As his palming got needier, you let out a small moan, urging him to move from your lips to your jaw, placing gentle kisses before he nipped at your neck, being sure to leave small marks behind - he was marking you, and you had no issue with it, you'd let him mark your whole body in small love bites if he wanted to. With the both of your breaths picking up, and each other's hands getting needier for one another as a wetness started to pool between your thighs, making you clench them together - not going unnoticed by Soap who gave a deep chuckle at your desperation - a sudden dull shrill was sounded, echoing in the cave.

"Oh come on hen, do we really need evac yet?" you chuckled, pulling you mask back down and gave him a stern look.

"I'm sorry, but I think it's in both of our interests to call for evac - we both need medical attention; you more so, and we can always carry this on back at base hm" You stroked his pouting face, noticing the hardness in his jeans - you felt bad, but you knew you couldn't give into your own desires.

With one last huff from Soap, and a laugh from you, you called evac, and found they were about 40 minutes out. You'd probably been hold up in the small cave for a couple of hours and were sure it'd be safe to continue down the valley.

Pulling yourself up, and helping Soap to his feet, he gave you one last peck on your head, before you took lead, making sure it was safe to walk down the valley before pulling Soap alongside you.

In a comfortable silence, the both of you spent the next 30 minutes walking to the evac location, with no issue, apart from Soap almost tripping on a rock, which had you holding your laughter as he glared from your side.

The evac was close by - you could hear it. Soap pulled you from your thoughts staring into your eyes, "when we get back, we're not going to just forget this right?" you saw the vulnerability in his eyes and it made your heart ache.

"Johnny...no I- I would never do that to you, god no. I didn't go through all of this just to pull your leg and get back to base and ignore you like nothing had happened. I love you Johnny. I love you. I really do and I'm sorry it took me this long, I really am, I've been in denial for so long, just scared, but I'm ready and -"

"I love you too y/n, so fucking much" you could see his eyes well up at your confession, "I'm sorry it took me this long too, I think about that rescue mission a year ago all too much and find myself regretting every passing second where I didn't admit how much I cared about you, and while I was down there getting beat, all I could think about was how I potentially wasn't going to see you again."

You placed a hand on his cheek, bringing your heads together gently, "Johnny, I'd never let you die, never. I'd risk it all for you. We'll head back to base, get cleaned up, then we'll discuss things more okay? But I'm not letting you go - not now, not ever" and with that he placed a final kiss to your head just as the evac came into view.

Holding onto Soap, you helped him onto the evac as it landed - you knew he was perfectly capable, but you wanted to be close to him - it was an excuse.

~~~Time skip~~~

Back in England, you were both at the base - you having been treated by the medic quickly, and Soap having to stay for probably the next few days.

The nurse had relayed Price wanted you in his office for a debrief - you wanted to check in with Soap desperately but knew he was in safe hands, so you made your way to Price.

With a knock on the door you walked in without waiting for a response - you were so exhausted you didn't think.

"Yes, Seargent y/l/n, please come in, don't wait for me," Price said with a sarcastic tone to his voice. You laughed and gave a small apology to which Price gave a small smile to you in return.

"I told you, you'd do it" That bastard you thought, he was wearing a cocky smile on his face, and giving you a sympathetic stare at the same time. "Smoke, I put you on the mission for a reason - we've all seen the way you look at Johnny, we knew you'd get him out alive." They knew this whole time how you felt, were you really that obvious.

All you could do was respond with a quiet "oh" embarrassed at the fact the whole task force was able to read to you so clearly and had done for so long.

"Smoke. Work relations bring a lot of issues," you tried to interrupt, you didn't want to lose your only chance of happiness and contentment, but Price silenced you before you could get anything out, "hold on Smoke. While typically it can cause issues, I've pulled some strings for you and Soap, and you can both remain on the task force, while having relations if that's what you both want - you just need to keep your love lives separate from your work lives when your out on the field, okay?"

You instantly agreed, of course you and Soap could do that - neither of you would ever want to jeopardise your jobs, so you shook on the agreement to not let each other interfere with your jobs - you could be coworkers and lovers. With a goodbye, Price excused you and you were back at Soap's side who was sleeping peacefully - you knew he needed it after everything he'd been put through.

Sitting in the chair placed next to his bed, you took a hold of his hand, kissing the top of it before you too fell victim to exhaustion, closing your eyes, holding the hand of the man you loved.

#soap x reader #cod x reader #modern warfare 2 #smut #john soap mactavish #price mw2 #captain price #simon ghost riley #fluff #x reader #task force 141 #x female reader #johnny soap mactavish #fem reader #love confession #modern warfare 2 x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish

203 notes · View notes