#the cat was not there when ghost fell asleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

venomvalley · 4 months ago

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FEED ME!

PART II: FRIED APPLES AND SWEETBREAD ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 8.2k words

SUMMARY:

Sevika plays a game of cat-and-mouse.

TAGS: 18+! smut with feelings (thigh riding), vomiting mentions, PTSD, graphic violence, blood and gore, a lot of character development, soft!protective!mean sevika (it’ll make sense), listen this chapter is 8k a lot happens

NOTES: there are a lot of things in here that were really cathartic to write for me (i bet u can guess one of them) so uh i hope u enjoy it!!! if it sucks, i give yall permission to beat me with hammers

-> READ ON AO3 | PART 1 / SERIES MASTERLIST

The warm body in her bed is her worst idea yet, but you had begged her so sweetly, promised that you would stay on your side as you clung to her in the living room. You have a way of shaving down her edges, making her a certain kind of weak that she thought she would never experience again.

She finally accepts the fact that's been staring her in the face since the very first night she met you: you're her responsibility, especially with your attacker still roaming the streets. Nobody will protect you like she can, has both the skills and reputation to remain unmatched in the Undercity. It has to be her.

You’re also a liar. Fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow then immediately rolled over and curled yourself against her back. So here she lay, wide awake, shoved to the edge of the mattress as you attempt to fit yourself between her ribs. The curve of your stomach sits perfectly against the small of her back, your arm thrown over her waist, gripping her shirt in a loose fist as if terrified that she'll up and leave. The heat of your breath between her shoulder blades makes her skin crawl.

Well. She’s slept in worse conditions. And she wouldn't dare move you after the day you've had. At least you're warm, and you smell nice, and maybe the flush weight of your body isn't the worst feeling in the world.

In the dead of night, she touches your hand. A ghost of fingertips over the hills and valleys of your knuckles, and your tightened fist relaxes. That's how she justifies it—an action borne not from her own want, but for your comfort.

Behind her, you stir awake, groaning against her back, and she tugs her hand away like you've burned her.

“Sorry,” you mutter, voice thick and gravelly, “but if I move right now, I'll throw up.”

She looks over her shoulder and barely makes out the curve of your cheek in the darkness. “I have a bucket.”

You exhale a pained laugh, and she tries and fails to suppress the stretch of her lips. “Oh shit, don’t make me laugh.”

“I told you to stay away from the mystery meat.”

“It smelled so good, though,” you whine, forehead thumping against the notches of her spine.

“Was it worth it?”

“No.”

A few minutes later, you relax against her, and the long, rhythmic breaths against her back tell her that you're finally asleep. Your hand returns to her belly, curling into a weak fist, and she soothes her thumb over the breadth of your knuckles.

And that's how she falls asleep, too.

The next morning, you stumble into the kitchen bleary-eyed and squinting, roused by the smell of fried apples Sevika cooks on the stove.

She’s not used to making food at home. Sees no point in it when there’s only her to worry about, and would much rather save herself both the time and effort by stopping at a food stall or sneaking snacks from the bar’s stash.

But she has a reason now. Glances over at you as you lean against the counter nearby, shirt hiked up over your bump to scratch at your belly—

Two reasons.

At least you put on underwear today.

“What’s on the menu?”

“Fried apples and sweetbread.”

You lean close to the pan, twisting toward her to keep from hitting the stove, and close your eyes on a slow inhale. “Smells amazing.”

She scoffs. “It’s fried apples. Nothing special.”

“Says you.”

Good point. You probably haven't had a fruit in months.

You stay close to her, even as she fusses in the kitchen to collect plates and silverware. At one point, she almost elbows you in the stomach because you needed to be right behind her at the drawers, and she hisses back a sharp breath. Spins around to snap at you.

“Can you just—” at the sight of your stiffened shoulders, she cuts herself off, inhales deep and counts to ten, “sit down.”

She isn’t used to this. People crowding her space, her apartment housing an extra body. And she definitely isn't used to the sniffling coming from her kitchen table.

She makes your plate of food then puts it down in front of you. You sit with your head in your hands, elbows balanced atop the table. By the time she’s ready for her own breakfast, you haven't even touched yours.

“What, you don't wanna eat?”

Your only response is to push the plate away, still sniffling into your hand.

She considers the best way to go about this without making the situation worse. Considers ignoring you, letting you cry it out, but she doesn't wanna do that. She feels bad.

So she scratches at the back of her neck, peeking at you from beneath her brow. “I didn't mean to upset you, but I don't want you hurt.”

“I know,” you grumble, voice gravelly and pouting. “Just hurt my feelings.”

“Then eat.” She moves your plate back across the table. “It won’t be good cold.”

With one final sniff, you pick up your fork and cut a piece of syrupy apple in half.

“It's good with the bread,” she says, picking up a piece and motioning for your fork.

She stabs at a few slices of apple then mashes them into the toast, spreading the syrup over top. Your eyes glaze over as you track the motions of her hands, your crying spell quickly forgotten at the sight of good-smelling food. She reaches you the slice, and you immediately bite into it.

At your low moan, the closing of puffy eyes, her lips twitch toward a smile. “Good?”

You hum in response, nodding your head. “Amazing. Thank you.”

Always a ‘thank you’, she's noticed. Grateful to a fault.

“I’m going to the markets today. You can come, stop by the consignment shop.”

She doesn’t know how else to make the morning up to you aside from buying you a few gifts. Things to occupy you when she inevitably leaves you alone for a few days.

In a few hours, you're back on the streets with a familiar hand in hers. The Lanes in particular have no doubt noticed your presence by now, some strange woman following her around like a lost puppy. All they do is talk around here. Let them.

The consignment shop is relatively close to her apartment, and yet you still have to stop a few times to rest, complaining about the ache in your back. She waits, though. Knows a thing or two about pain.

Your mood brightens when you step into the small building, heading straight for the small section of books and tomes. She glances around the place, walls stacked floor to ceiling with all manner of objects, some useful and some decidedly not.

You pick various books up, tilt your head as you read an excerpt, then slot them back onto the shelf. Over and over again, making slow work of the first section.

Picky woman.

She walks over to you, hovering nearby to let you concentrate in silence with an adorable furrow to your brow.

“Do you like to read?” you ask, sparing her no more than a glance before turning back to the page you opened to.

“I stopped reading after my mom died.”

An olive branch. She knows something horrible about you, and now you know the same. Can count on one hand how many people she’s mentioned her mother to.

Your lips curl into a sad frown as you set down the book in your hands. “Can I ask how she died?”

Sevika swallows, eyes flickering down to the swell of your belly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Did she read to you?”

You breeze past the question like you never even asked it, and she’s grateful. This isn’t a good place to start opening up old wounds.

She nods, trailing behind you as you waddle down the small aisle. “We didn’t have much, but she bought these picture books that we’d flip through before bed. I never really gave a shit about any of the words.”

Up ahead, you laugh, looking over your shoulder with a teasing smile. “I can see that.”

“What about your parents?”

You sigh. “Well, let’s see. My dad died in the mines when I was little, my sibling was stabbed to death in an alleyway, and my mom just… up and left when I was sixteen.”

A backstory all-too-common in the Undercity. Throw a cog in the street and hit a hundred traumatized people.

“I can't believe you turned out so…”

“Weak?” You scoff, picking up a thick book before reading its spine. “Yeah, my mom always said I was nothing like her. Hear that enough from somebody you can't stand, and you start being proud of it.”

Sevika blows out a breath, running a finger along the dusty shelf you stand next to. “I understand that more than you think.”

She bucked against her old man’s discipline for years. Fought her way out of the box he tried time after time to shove her in. Hard to believe, but there was a point in her life when she resembled you a bit too much.

But the world has a funny way of teaching you when the words of your parents fall on deaf ears. And teach her, it did.

“Regardless of what happened, I think we turned out alright.” You give her a small smile, expression absent in your eyes.

You turn back around to keep sorting through the books.

Another month goes by without incident. But with your mobility slowly decreasing, she finds herself at your feet more often than she ever expected to. Helping you with your socks and shoes, grabbing cookware from the bottom cabinet, picking up the items that you drop.

It's weirdly domestic.

One day, she wakes up to you plastered against her side, snoring into her shoulder, and she can't remember a life without you in it. That morning, she laid there for an embarrassingly long time just soaking up your warmth, the weight of your arm over her ribs, the leg tangled with hers.

She's fucked. No coming back from this. You’ve burrowed a place for yourself beneath all the rot, a speck of star in the expanse of midnight sky, and she doesn’t think you’ll ever dig yourself out. Doesn’t think she wants you to.

With her bag slung over her shoulder, she steps into the doorway of her bedroom where you rest beneath the sheets of her bed. You've slept a lot the past few days, eaten your weight in the pastries she's brought home. Not that she minds—it means you feel safe.

“I'll be gone for a few days.”

She doesn't want to leave you, doubly so when fear washes over your face, leaves you wide-eyed and frowning from where your face sticks out of the blanket.

“Do you have to go?” you ask, voice so broken and pitiful that she almost says fuck it and sets her bag down to lounge with you the rest of the day.

Instead, she sighs out through her nose, eyes closing to block out your pleading expression. “I do. Important business.”

Doing Silco's dirty work. She doesn't tell you that, but you already know.

“Just be careful, okay? I gotta tell you about the book I've been reading when you get back.”

She nods, hovers in the shadows of her dark apartment for a long moment before reciting her usual rule: don't go out unless you need to. At this point, you can quote it right alongside her.

She stays long enough to commit your lazy smile to memory before dragging herself out the door.

While she's away, she takes the opportunity to look into her mystery man once again. Silco's late to their meeting, no doubt some bullshit with Jinx holding him up, but today, she's grateful for it. The conversation she overhears at the bar between two of Smeech's goons is just what she needs.

“—swear, I thought the kid was gonna shit himself.”

The man closest to her, face pockmarked with scars, laughs low and wheezing. “Shit, did he tell you why?”

“Something about this girl he knocked up. He's worried she'll try to use the kid against him.”

Her fingers tighten around her glass, the liquid inside untouched. She doesn't drink much these days, but she can still keep up appearances. Loose lips and all that.

The man beside her whistles, shakes his head. “Man, that's rough. He say what he was gonna do?”

“Well, he's gotta find the bitch first. Saw her at that market thing last month, so she's clearly alive.”

The muscles in her legs tense up to keep her seated, but she wants nothing more than to get up and smash the guy’s teeth out against the bar top.

“Bet somebody’s hiding her.”

Before she can act on it, they finish their drinks and leave, passing by her in a tipsy rush as they fuss over being late to wherever they’re going.

At least she has information to go on, something tangible for the first time in a solid month. There’s no doubt in her mind that you’re the bitch they refer to, and now she knows that he’s looking for you.

Fuck, she hopes you stay inside. She doesn’t want to have to tell you all this, to stress you out for the sake of the kid.

So she’ll have to stop by their hideout, have a little talk with the guys at the bar. It's been a while since she's had a good game of cat-and-mouse.

The next day, she returns to a cold, stale silence inside her apartment. Different than when you’re sleeping or in the bathroom when she gets home. Empty.

She checks the other rooms to make sure and, just like she suspected, you’re not here. Shoes no longer near the front door, jacket still thrown over the back of the couch, a dent taken out of the money she always leaves behind.

Panic. The first place her brain goes. Did you leave in a hurry? Were you in trouble? Had he already tracked you here?

This is exactly why she never wanted to get attached. Sevika is not irrational. The word has no business in her damn vocabulary, and yet here she is, pacing a hole in the floor, fucking up her hair with her fingers because you're not here and the Undercity is a big place and she has no idea where to even start looking.

But she has to start.

She leaves out the front door and beelines down the hallway, shaking the nerves from her hands. Just as she goes to exit the building, a hooded figure steps inside.

There's no mistaking the roundness of your belly, the shape of your body even beneath the familiar cloak draped over your shoulders (an old one she used to wear, left folded in the bottom of a drawer).

You spot her with a wide smile. “Sevika, hey—“

She strides up then pulls you into a hug, arms tight around your shoulders, and you squeak as the breath leaves you in a rush, a paper bag rustling in hand. You wrap your unoccupied arm around her waist, hood falling off the back of your head.

“Nice to see you, too.”

She pulls away and takes your face between your hands, brows pinching up in the center. “Don’t do that to me again.”

Don’t make me worry. Don’t make me think about you every moment I’m awake. Don’t make me care.

“What?” Confusion washes over your face, and you grasp at her wrist. “I just went to get food.”

Not what she’s talking about, but she doesn’t expect you to understand. Neither does she, really. The special place that she's sets aside for you in her heart.

Even without the similarities to your situation and her deepest regrets, she—

Well. That seems to be the problem. You're her second chance.

“Whatever, just… let's go.”

Admittedly, she's frustrated when she walks back to the apartment with you in tow. All that stressing for nothing. Deals with enough bullshit on a daily basis without adding you into the mix.

She collapses onto the couch, balances an elbow on the armrest, and worries a hand over her forehead. Bone-deep exhausted. It’s been a long two days.

You settle in next to her, plastered against her side, and open your paper bag. The smell hits her: pastries from the small bakery down the street.

“I got some berry muffins. Wasn’t sure what kind you like, so they gave me a variety.” Huh. How thoughtful of you. “You gotta be hungry.”

“I'm not.”

“Oh, don't be that way. You need to eat.” You hold up a muffin in front of her face, waving it around as if to entice her. “They're really good,” you sing, and she turns to glare at you.

“I'm not a baby.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

She takes the food from your hand with a huff and bites a large chunk out of it to shut you up.

Apple. Go figure.

“Good, right?”

Might be the best she’s ever had.

She shrugs. “I’ve had better.”

With a scoffing laugh, you shove at her shoulder. “Liar.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you eat. A dozen muffins gone in five minutes, so full you don't even want to move.

Sevika sighs. “So. How have you been?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well. Nightmares.”

She hasn’t either. Can't sleep anymore without a warm weight against her back.

“What kind of nightmares?”

“The scary kind.” You rest your head on her shoulder, folding then unfolding the paper bag in your hands. “Just feel like something bad is gonna happen. I dunno.”

She can't tell you what she learned at the bar. You're still too skittish, too emotional to not freak out, and that's even more dangerous than being kept in the dark. At least you're safe with her, but she can't protect you if you decide to run off while she's gone.

She leans her weight against you, just enough to remind you that she's here. “If it does, we'll handle it.”

“What if you're gone?”

“Trust me. I'll know about it.”

Your cheek moves against her shoulder, and she looks over to find you grinning. “I'm so glad I'm not on your bad side.”

Venturing into Smeech’s territory is always an uncomfortable affair. The chaos is worse here, streets littered with trash and tossed-aside food and cigarette butts. Darker, too. Oppressive.

At least she knows the way to her destination. Stopped here a few times to swap information about one thing or another, and for the most part, the people she passes leave her be. She ignores the ones who don't.

When she steps inside the small building, the air fogs up with smoke so thick she heaves a cough. Packed with all types of people: working girls curled up in laps, soot-covered miners chatting at the bar, Smeech’s goons gathered around tables at the back. It only takes her a few moments of searching the crowd before she finds the pockmarked man from the bar, sat in the corner with two other men over a round of drinks.

She strolls up to the table and plops down in an unoccupied chair, and the men pay her no mind, still deep in conversation.

“Got a question for you boys,” she says, loud enough for them to hear over the crowd.

The one with the pockmarks snorts her way, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Who’s asking?”

“Me.” She leans forward when they turn to finally look at her, resting her metal arm atop the table. “I have some information one of your friends might be interested in.”

They all lean forward at that, setting their glasses down.

“Is’at right?”

“Heard from a little birdie that somebody’s looking for a pregnant girl. I know where she is.”

She’d never offer you up to them, but just the thought of their hands anywhere near you makes nausea broil in her stomach. Has to remind herself for a moment that this isn’t real. She’s playing pretend.

The pockmarked man slowly nods, gaze sharpening as he sizes her up. “Alright. Kid’ll wanna know that.”

“What’s his name? I can go find him.”

Hook.

“Or I can tell him for you.”

She shakes her head, face twitching into a grimace. “No can do. His ears only.”

Line.

He glares at her a long moment, tongue swiping over his teeth in some unnecessary display of bravado. One she doesn’t have time for.

With a disappointed sigh, she rises to her feet. Says, “No name, no information.”

And just as she goes to turn away—

“Alright, alright. Kid goes by Joker. Hangs out around The Smiling Jack. Know where that is?”

Sinker.

“I do.”

Easiest interrogation of her life. Barely worth the damn time it took to get here.

She leaves without turning back.

Sevika opens her eyes that morning and knows that something bad is gonna happen. Doesn't know what, or why, or how, but anxious dread settles like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

The feeling follows her throughout the day. Through her trip to the docks for a package, then to Silco's for its delivery, then down to the markets to settle a minor territory dispute. By the time she makes it back to Silco's office, she's exhausted yet wound-up. Expecting a fight with the unknown while fully unprepared.

The time comes when a bouncer creeps into his office, wide-eyed and wary. “Sevika. Hate to bother you, but there’s a girl downstairs wanting to talk to you. I didn’t know what to tell her.”

She already knows it’s you. Doesn’t even have to ask as she strides past him to the balcony overlooking the dance floor. And for you to be here, to leave the safety of her apartment past dark can only mean one thing: trouble.

It’s horrible timing. She has a meeting with Silco any moment, and here you are, huddled in the corner of the club, face shadowed by your hood. You look small, defenseless, ripe for the picking.

She stomps down the steps to the ground floor, people from the crowd staring as she crosses the room to meet you.

“What happened?” she asks, hand rising to rest on your shoulder as she looks you over for injuries.

You tremble beneath her touch, wide-eyed beneath the hood of her old cloak. “I went to the bakery to get some more muffins and these guys were standing outside the apartment when I walked out, and I noticed that they were following me but I didn’t know what to do so I went to the bakery anyway—“ you inhale a deep breath, growing more frantic as your story goes on, “and Tayla was there behind the counter. You haven’t met her but she’s really sweet and when I told her what happened she told me to hide in the back room until they left.”

You pause a moment to look around before continuing, “They stood outside for so long, to the point that I fell asleep at this desk they have in the office, and as soon as I woke up I came here.”

Sevika blinks. Tries to process the mountain of information you just gave her. So two men found out where you were staying, followed you to the bakery, then you came here.

Which means they could’ve followed you here. You can’t leave yet, not without her.

Stupid fucking meetings.

The hand on your shoulder squeezes to draw your attention back to her. “Listen. I've got a guy outside. Tell him you're with me, and he'll watch you until I'm finished here.”

One of Silco’s loyalists, a man she’s worked with countless times before. Hopefully, you know what to say. She doesn’t have time for a debrief.

“No, please–” You reach out to grab her, shaking hands tight around her wrist. “Please don't leave me.”

“I have to.” More than anything, she wishes she didn't. “Wait outside.”

She urges you toward the door with a gentle hand on your back, then heads back up to the office. Silco already sits in his chair when she strolls in, fingers tapping impatiently on his desk.

He scolds her for being late, and that’s the only thing she comprehends for the entirety of the meeting with you worming around in her skull. Something that happens more often these days.

You’re driving her crazy.

He can tell that she's distracted—as if it isn't the most obvious thing in the fucking world—but lets it go in favor of dismissing her once he's gone over the week's activities.

She doesn't hesitate to leave, bullying her way through the club, and her heart drops to the pit of her stomach when she sees the man she secondhand entrusted you to tossing back drinks at a nearby table.

Her first mistake was thinking some asshole would actually do his job.

She drags him out of the chair by the collar of his shirt, the glass in his hand shattering on the floor. “You're supposed to be outside.”

He stutters, eyes widening in surprise. “I was! I just came in to get a drink.”

“Where's the girl?”

He squints up at her. Clearly had more than just a drink. “Huh?”

Her hand tightens around his collar. “The girl I told you to watch.”

“Shit, she’s fine! I left her right outside, next to the door.”

With a frustrated growl, she shoves him away and leaves for the alley.

The first thing she hears when she steps out the door is a hushed conversation:

Who have you told?

Nobody, I swear.

She turns the corner and spots two figures against the wall, one trapping the other with a hand on their face. No mistaking you.

“Long way from home, Joker,” she calls, boots thumping on the pavement.

A surprised laugh echoes off the walls as he releases you, stepping away to spread out his arms. “Sevika. I heard you were lookin’ for me. Also heard you've been walking around the Lanes with a little stray nipping at your heels.”

Her lips twist into a scowl at his mocking tone, and she glances over at you huddled against the wall, a shaking hand pressed to your cheek.

“Let’s get on with it,” she growls, prosthetic hand clenching into a fist at her side.

He stops. Shakes out his arms as spider-like fingers elongate, each metal joint bending back with a squeal as they separate into razor-sharp knives beneath the sleeves of his coat.

Huh. Never seen that before.

Sevika readies herself. Tosses her cloak aside and adjusts her stance, heart pounding against her chest, blood burning hot in preparation for a fight.

This is what you saw before he—

He propels himself forward, crossing the distance between them in an instant. She sidesteps at the last second, head twisting away from his clawing hand. But she isn’t quick enough. The needle tip of a finger cuts across her brow, a stream of blood catching on the corner of her eye.

They turn to face each other. Her focus narrows as she sizes him up, lets him back her away from the mouth of the alley while your form slowly fades into the shadows.

That’s it, asshole. Keep it coming.

“Why you running?” he asks, smile toothy and wide. “Is the big, bad Sevika scared?”

He lets his guard down, slightly rising from a crouch, movements quick but imprecise, stance novice-like. Cocky.

Boring.

She rushes him, her prosthetic fingers slotting between his claws and twisting, bending them back with a spark of light. Her other fist catches the edge of his jaw, a crack from her knuckles as he stumbles onto a knee, arm stretched out behind him from her grip on his mangled fingers.

She rectifies that by ripping them out. Tossing them behind her.

“Scared, am I?” she asks, skirting the range of those annoying ass knives to face him. “Get the fuck up.”

He stumbles to his feet in a rage, growling as he runs at her again. Stabs his arm out when she ducks under his slash but fails to turn his hip into the motion, leaving his left side wide open. Exactly what she needed.

It takes less than two seconds for her to block with her fleshy arm and plant her metal fingers between two of his ribs. To shove him back until he hits the wall, teeth bared as he growls and spits blood from his mouth. Yanks his hand in an attempt to dislodge his claws.

Thankfully, her forearm wasn’t impaled, but the blood pours down her bicep and shoulder. Cut all to shit.

She heaves a much-needed sigh to calm the pounding of her heart, wriggles her arm out of his hold and presses it to her stomach to stem the bleeding. “Congratulations. This was the most boring fight I’ve ever been in.”

Anticlimactic, really. She didn’t expect him to go down so easily after all that bravery. Look where his shit-talking got him.

She yanks out her prosthetic hand with a wet squelch, and he slides down the wall, gritting his teeth around a pained cry.

From the corner of her eye, she sees it: the swing of a pipe. She stumbles away before it can hit her, eyes wide as your form comes into view, your face contorted in pure rage. It meets the side of his head with a squishy thump, knocking him to the ground.

She steps out of the way.

You need this. An outlet for your pain, to give the finishing blow. Sevika did her part.

She lets you bludgeon him as she catches her breath, wiping her face off with the hem of her shirt. It’s a bloody affair, already drying on her prosthetic and clothes, and the spray of his blood covers you, too.

You, consumed by anger, screaming at him until your voice grows hoarse:

I fucking hate you.

You ruined my life.

Motherfucker. Asshole. Piece of shit.

When you start coughing, she looks over at you. Still going, kicking at him with an exhausted foot. His head isn’t even a head anymore, just a bowl for brain and blood and tissue. No coming back from that. Gone.

It’s over.

She steps in. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you back to her chest with little effort, smearing her blood on your shirt and skin. You struggle against her, wriggling beneath her hold, and she presses a cheek to your temple.

“Alright. Hey, it's done. You got him, honey.”

She scrubs a calloused hand up and down your arm because she knows the adrenaline crash well, and the way you collapse into her, chest heaving for breath, blares a warning that you’re already there.

Which is how she knows what comes next.

You rip free from her and stumble over to the wall, palms flat against the brick as you throw up and cough and heave until your lungs threaten to collapse.

Yeah. She doesn't miss those days.

She walks up to you as the pain of her injury finally blooms, and soothes a hand over your back as you brace your body against the wall, legs threatening to give.

“It’ll pass soon.”

You spit onto the pavement. Turn to glance up at her with red, teary eyes. “I’m aware.”

Still, the anger consumes you. She knows that feeling well. Shaped hers into a weapon, a default state of being after everything else failed her. Too bad that finally worked—anger is a hard emotion to shake.

You rest a hand over your stomach with a wet cough, turning to fully face her. “Fuck, I feel awful.”

“Water will help.�� She holds out a bloody hand, and you take it, eyes empty and lifeless as you meet her stare. “Come on.”

She spares what’s left of Joker little more than a glance as the two of you pass by, but takes a moment to grab her cloak from the ground. He doesn’t deserve recognition even in death, and she shields you from the sight, steering you away with an arm across your shoulders.

The bouncers wave you inside, and she stops to tell them what happened. They’ll find somebody to take care of it. Always do.

She sits you down at an unoccupied corner of the bar where the shadows bleed deepest. You’re about to have a really bad time, and you deserve the privacy to unpack everything until she can get you home.

You down the cup of water she brings you in four big gulps, then hand it back and ask if she can bring you another. And then another, and another. After the third cup, she cuts you off. You’re no doubt one sip away from throwing up all over the floor.

She sits down beside you, a thick towel from the bar tied around her weeping arm. You’re bloody from head-to-toe, some hers but most his, glistening to an almost comedic extent beneath the flashing neon lights.

You stare ahead, blinking in thought. Calm.

Shock.

“I just killed someone.”

Back here, the music muffles, quieter than on the main floor. Don’t have to scream even when you sit right next to each other.

“You did.”

“I got you hurt.”

“He did.”

“I shouldn’t have come here. What if he killed you?”

She coughs out an amused laugh. “That prick? I’m insulted.”

You don’t laugh, or smile, or joke back with her. You just sit there, still as stone.

“I lied to you before.”

She pauses, leans in as your voice shrinks to hear over the vibrating bass. “About?”

“I did know him. We… we used to be friends, I guess, through his sister. I lived with her family after my mom died, and he was always really nice to me until… well. You know the rest.”

“So how'd you end up on the street?”

You swallow thick, eyes misting beneath the lights. “I tried to tell my friend what happened, but she didn't believe me. Said she knew her brother and he'd never do something like that.” You wipe a frustrated hand over your eyes. “She kicked me out. Didn’t even let me get my shit.”

Everything makes a lot more sense now. Why he was so adamant on finding you. Why you were in that alley in the first place. What the goons meant when he said you could use the kid against him.

Something inside her shatters. A crumbling of walls at the sight of you collapsing into sobs.

She wraps you up in an awkward side hug, arm exploding with pain, but she doesn't know what else to do. Can't say anything that would make the hurt stop.

The two of you are seated on the couch again. Hours out from a shower, teeth brushed, ready for bed. But neither of you can move from this spot. The soft cushions seek to swallow you up after the day you’ve had.

Nobody's ever brushed her hair for her. Maybe her mom when she was little. It's not like she'd actually let someone, but you're the first person to ever offer, and she’s so exhausted she took you up on it.

It’s nice. Nicer than she expected. You’re gentle about it, brushing from ends to roots, combing your fingers through each section afterward to make sure that all the tangles are out. She could fall asleep right now.

A tangible, piercing weight against the side of her face makes her turn her head. Your gaze tends to do that. Affection so thick it manifests into reality.

“Your hair looks pretty like this,” you say, soft and content.

“A mess?”

“Mhmm. You look a lot more relaxed.”

She shoots you an unimpressed look. “Haven't relaxed a day in my life.”

You set the brush down on the coffee table then cuddle closer to her, testing the boundaries of her personal space. She wants to say something, to push you away, but she's exhausted and—

And frankly, she doesn't fucking want to. You're warm and soft, and she needs that right now. The comfort, the companionship. Things she's deprived herself of for years, decades at this point. But there's not a fucking point anymore. You're bonded for life, share the blood on your hands of a man who deserved a fate worse than death.

Her eyes catch the swollen curve of your nose, the abrasion on your cheek, and she's ready to kill him again. She scrubbed the blood from beneath her nails hours ago, and yet she still feels it there, cloying and sticky.

She stares at you, brows pinching together, half-terrified and half-angry. “I don’t know how to be anything else besides this.”

Cold and cruel. A weapon of destruction. Lonely. A lot of very bad things.

“Then don’t.” You shrug, as if your solution is common sense. Easy. “But I think you want to be a worse person than you actually are. I mean, you saved me from that alley.”

“I almost left you there.”

“But you didn’t.”

She stares at you, eyes flickering over your features—the curve of your cheeks, the shape of your lips, the color of your eyes. You hold no resentment, no anger for her admission. For a moment, she almost believes you.

“I wanted to.”

But you have no idea what kind of person she is. The shadows that haunt her.

”But you didn’t.” You lean in close, close enough for her to count your lashes, for the curve of your belly to press against her side, and she holds her breath. “And you buy me books, and cook me food, and put my socks on. You let me cuddle you. You make me feel better when I’m sad.”

Don't do this to me. Please don't do this. I can't take it.

Things weren't supposed to go like this. She did what she thought was right, and now her entire world has upended because of you. She's soft now, malleable with you around. It's dangerous. Could fuck up everything she's worked so hard for, the empire she helped build with the teachings from her old man.

You brush a strand of hair behind her ear, thumb caressing her skin just above the jagged cut on her eyebrow, so tender she could cry, and she blinks away the mist in her eyes as you smile—that same smile with your crescent-shaped eyes and full cheeks. So much fuller since she saw you that night in the alley.

She did that. Something so gratifying about watching you get better in her care.

Maybe you’re right.

“You’re good to me.” Her heart threatens to shatter her ribs, right hand fisting the fabric of her pants as you rest your palm on the curve of her knee. “I'm so glad for that. Glad I met you.”

So is she. Her life has meaning on a human-need level. Someone to come back to, that’s seen the worst in her and still chose to stay. A home that feels like home, with your little decorations laid out across the apartment, your own personal fingerprint that brings life to the space.

She doesn’t say and of that, though. Couldn’t form the words if she tried.

So she kisses you instead. Hopes you understand from the press of her mouth that the feeling is mutual and terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.

It's what you've been waiting for, coaxing her toward all evening. Pitiful little thing, so desperate for love that you settle for hers. All but worthless and you don't even know it yet, but a part of her knows that you wouldn’t care.

Once your lips meet, neither of you can stop. A crescendo of the last three months together—the eggshell-walking and the what-ifs, and she tried to prevent this for as long as she could, but she knows a thing or two about inevitability.

You kiss her like you love her, like you pour your soul into each flick of your tongue against hers. Sevika doesn't do things in quarters or halves, and neither do you. She understands that now. All or nothing.

Her metal hand cups the underside of your thigh, dragging you into her lap. You smell nice, ripe at the curve of your neck where she layers wet, sucking kisses. You whisper her name like a promise, comb scratching fingers through her hair, and she fights every cell in her body to keep from marking you with her teeth.

Not now. Not yet. Some time soon when you stop feeling like glass in her hands.

You grip the strands at the base of her skull, tilting her head back against the couch, and her lips spread into a salacious smile at the bite of pain in her scalp.

Seems her stray kitten has claws.

You fit your thumb inside her mouth, following the blunt underside of her front teeth. Back and forth, before you press against the wet heat of her tongue.

“So pretty,” you mutter, eyes lidded as they roam the features of her face, as if you’re seeing her for the first time.

She bites you. Just hard enough for you to jolt, a jarring scrape of her teeth against the fleshy pad of your thumb. You pull away in a fit of giggles, smacking her lightly on the right arm.

“Don't do that!”

“Don't call me pretty.”

Don’t let me be vulnerable.

“Then what can I call you?” You lean forward, mouth brushing along the curve of her jaw. “Beautiful?” A kiss just below her ear. “Handsome?” Another against the pulse of her neck.

Heat wells in the pit of her stomach at your words, at the kisses you trail down her neck and across the bare skin of her shoulder.

“Nothing.”

You sit back with a huff, lips twisted up in a pout. “Then I'll call you all of them.”

She rolls her eyes, response quickly ripped from her thoughts when you suck a rough kiss into her collarbone, and then the curve of her jaw, and then the column of her throat. A hand cradles the back of your neck as your hips grind against her, thumb following your thumping pulse.

“I'm sorry,” you pant into her shoulder, nipping her with your teeth, “but you're so pretty and it's been so long—”

She shushes you, lips ghosting against your temple. “Take what you need.”

You whine into her neck, shuffling your legs around to straddle a muscular thigh, and she curls a warm palm over the curve of your ass. Thicker here, too, filled out everywhere. You lean back, balance yourself with both hands on her knee, and rut your hips against the rough fabric of her pants.

You’re a sight to behold. Head thrown back to expose the column of your throat, full tits bouncing under your shirt with each pass you make over her thigh. The wet spot your cunt leaves behind drives her a little crazy, sunburst-hot between the legs. She wonders what you taste like, how tight you’d be around her fingers. How wet she can get you. How many times she can make you cum in a row.

How good she can make you feel.

“Needed this, didn't you?” she rasps, hands moving to your hips to help you build up a steady rhythm.

“Yes—“ You lift your head to look at her, head lolling on your shoulder, slack-jawed, brows tilted up in pleasure. “Fuck. Please.”

“I know.” She cups a hand over the back of your neck, eyes roaming over your face. (So pretty. So sweet. So soft.) “I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t expect you to start crying. To nuzzle against her wrist and repeat the same two words over and over again:

Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Her heart aches like a fresh bruise. You’ve suffered so much, more than she probably knows, and still, you’re good. Soft and sweet. Weak. Ill-fitted for the world of the Undercity.

You collapse forward with a ragged gasp, forehead fitting perfectly in the curve of her shoulder. Like you were made for each other.

(A good thing she found you then.)

Curled up against her, your body tenses, lungs seizing as you rock against her so hard the couch creaks.

And then everything stops. You breathe again, your muscles relax, you press a kiss to her lips that tastes like the salt of tears.

“Thank you,” you whisper, panting breath ghosting over her mouth.

She grins, hand soothing over the curve of your back. “Any time.”

You exhale a laugh, hiding your face in her shoulder. “Sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“A little?”

“Stop. It’s embarrassing.”

“Quite the show, though.” The slick mess she’s made in her pants is proof of that. “I liked it.”

You whine, carefully rolling off her lap to the cushion beside her. “It’s not nice to tease people.”

“Do you know who you’ve been living with?”

You try to glare at her, though your venom is less potent with how fucked-out you look. Reminds her of the pent-up heat in the pit of her stomach.

She needs a damn shower—twenty minutes, hot water, and her imagination. A few good orgasms should do the trick.

“Do you want me to…” Your hand finds its way to the inner curve of her thigh, and her hips twitch in response, a silent invitation completely out of her control.

Not that she doesn’t want it (fuck, she does), but your eyes struggle to stay open, unfocused as you look up at her.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“I still want to.”

She shakes her head, curls her fingers around your wrist. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of it.”

“Can I watch?”

She rises to her feet with a hoarse laugh then pats you on the leg. “No. Bed.”

Twenty minutes, a stream of hot water, her imagination, and three orgasms later, she falls into bed beside you and promptly passes the hell out.

She wakes up beside you in nothing but a pair of underwear, face down against the sheets. Has no idea how she didn’t smother to death in her sleep.

When she turns her head, she finds you already awake with your nose in some book she brought home last week, lit by the morning sun that streams in through the window. Glowing. Beautiful.

Shit. She has it bad.

“Can I ask you something?”

At the sound of her voice, you smile, looking away from your book. “Of course.”

“You plan on keeping the kid?”

The first thing out of her mouth, a bit impulsive from the foggy remnants of sleep. A question she’s been wondering this whole time.

You wince like she's smacked you across the face, and she wishes she could take the words back. “Listen…” a heavy sigh, “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I feel protective over her. It's not something I can even explain—”

“You don't have to.”

Your head drops, and you fiddle with the pages of your book. “Sevika, I don't have anybody. But I can… I can start over now, give her a good life. We don't have to run anymore.”

“You keep saying ‘her’.”

“She's a girl. I can feel it.” You look down at your belly, head tilting to the side as you give it a steady pat. “It's funny. I don't even know how far along I am.”

Sevika blinks. Never realized that she doesn't either. “Then you need a doctor.”

“Can't afford one.”

“I can.” She shrugs, as if her solution is common sense. Easy.

“I'm not gonna ask you to do that.”

She sits up with a pained groan (fuck, she needs to change her bandage) and ignores the way your eyes lock on to her bare chest. Bites back a teasing grin. “I offered. And besides, we gotta make sure the kid's okay.”

You look at her like she hangs the stars in your sky. “See what I mean? You’re so good to me.” A chaste kiss to her lips, the ghosting taste of cheap tea. “More than you realize.”

Maybe if you say it enough, she'll start to believe it.

Maybe a part of her already does.

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #x reader #my fics #fic: feed me!#ns/ft #posting this then turning off my phone cause im so nervous

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longing-for-the-past-times · 2 years ago

Text

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - one.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 2,542

synopsis: Throughout your time as a Task Force 141 operator, you fell asleep on your Lieutenant in random circumstances. What happens when he is the one to fall asleep on you?

notes: hope you enjoy this, it was initially meant to be max 500 words but I got carried away reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

one.

In hindsight, the day shouldn't have been so draining; it had been an average day spent on base, involving physical training, shooting, and paperwork. You had endured much worse during missions where you could barely get some shut-eye between watches, but that was not the case.

The problem, the literal root of your heartaches was a cat, your sister's cat. You had been more than happy to take care of it when she so kindly asked under the pretence of having to spend a few nights out of town. You had been even happier when you went shopping for cat supplies with her - perhaps excited at the thought of having a furry cuddling partner. And you intentionally kept it a secret from your teammates, scared that they would drop by uninvited to help you take care of it when all you wanted was the creature's undivided attention.

The previous day, the first day she'd spent under your care was perfect: she, for the cat was a female, spent hours cuddled up on the couch, sleeping like there was no tomorrow. But when the night came, the little beast came to life. Scratch that, beast was an understatement - it was the spawn of Satan that had been racing through your bedroom, jumping on the windows, and left hanging on the curtains. The demon that kept butting his head against your door, and that launched violent attacks against your blanket until your alarm rang.

So that was why the plain day at the base was more draining than it should have been. You went on with training, the shooting session was average, and the paperwork had you dozing on your desk. Letting out a small sigh, you forced your eyes to stay open as you scanned the last mission’s report for any grammatical mistakes- which proved to be a tedious task, especially because you’d eaten not too long ago and your eyes became heavier each breath.

At the sound of another yawn, Ghost lifted his head from his own paperwork, glancing in your direction. He noticed with a frown your exhausted face and the way you blearily rubbed your eyes in an attempt to make the sleep go away. What was that kept you up last night? Or should he ask- who? He quickly shook his head at the thought, discarding it like a crumpled piece of paper thrown in the bin. He’d known you long enough to notice your mood shifts and he would know, he had to know, if you started seeing someone. Not that he had something against it - he wouldn’t be the one to pry into your personal life like that. After all, it was Johnny’s job who, in turn, would share the information with him.

But that did not mean he could not try to ensure you felt good enough in his presence - the team’s presence - to not feel the need of finding another someone. After all, it would only get you distracted and unprepared for the missions to come.

His reasoning was sound in his head, and when he saw you had given up, propping your head against a stack of papers while mindlessly glaring at your extended hand, he got up from his desk. He made sure the screeching of the chair was loud enough to alert you something was going on, and he suppressed a grimace under his mask when he saw you slowly turn to face him, eyes glossy with sleep. At that moment, glancing at you, he thought you were the perfect embodiment of the expression: no thoughts, head empty, and, as much as it amused him, he knew he had at least to get you out of the office.

"Come on, let's go."

Scrunching your eyes before blinking, you looked up at his massive figure that was currently towering above your desk. If you'd been more alert, you would have noticed a small sparkle in his eyes, but your efforts were put into battling off the waves of sleep that just kept coming. Your mind could not form a coherent thought: what was the time, did the lieutenant finish his paperwork already, where did he want to go-

The internal questions continued and you ended up yawning loudly again, closing your eyes for a couple of minutes. You just needed to rest them for a while and then you'd be fresh, prime, and proper to finish your day on base. Yet your brief rest was interrupted when you heard, or rather, felt, a hot breath across your face. As you opened your eyes, you realized Ghost had crouched down in front of your desk, his masked face being centimetres apart from yours. His eyes still had that tiny sparkle you noticed this time, and involuntarily you began staring at his amber orbs and blonde eyelashes. Countless times you studied his eyes fervently, trying to get a glimpse of the man behind the mask - so much that you began to be aware of every crease and crinkle that would form around them, depending on his mood. At the time being, there seemed to be no such lines, or perhaps you were too tired to actually notice them-

"You can finish this report tomorrow, Sergeant. Let's go!"

He gently nudged you with his arm, waiting for any reaction. When he didn't receive one, he rolled his eyes and groaned, he actually groaned, which made you perk your ears in disbelief:

"I'm up, I'm up!", you shot up and out of the chair, too surprised by his loud reaction. But you couldn't see his face anymore as he was already heading towards the door, back turned to you, left hand silently gesturing you to follow.

The walk to the lounging area was silent, with Simon walking in front and you trailing dutifully behind him. The silence was not uncomfortable though, which was not unusual: he was one of the very few people with whom you could sit in a room for hours and don't feel the need to fill the space with words. There was no explanation for it; it all came naturally and you were smart enough not to question it, knowing that the lieutenant could be difficult with people when he wanted to.

"Look who decided to show up! Ghost, Bambi - how kind of you to join us!"

You shook your head at Soap’s loud greeting, trying your best to hide your smile as you plopped down on the sofa, next to Ghost. Captain Price was already seated in his designated armchair, leafing through what seemed to be a handbook, while Gaz was lounging on the other sofa, next to Soap. As usual, other members of the task force would come and go, bidding silent greetings, and at that moment, the comfort and familiarity of the atmosphere made you sigh softly as you propped your head on your hand while leaning against the armrest.

"Sleepless night, Y/N?"

Price did not look up from his book as he asked the question, but you knew he must have been watching you throughout the day, taking note of the sleepy state you'd often found yourself in. You also knew that he would have stepped in the moment he considered you pushed yourself too far, but for the time being, you were just satisfied that you managed to get through the day.

"Who's keeping you up at night, Bambi?", Soap quickly chimed in, a signature smirk plastered on his face. A smirk that widened even more when he noticed Ghost rolling his eyes, next to you. "Is there someone we should know about?"

"You're shameless, Johnny", you spat back at him, straightening yourself in an attempt to seem more collected. "...and even if there was someone, you think I'd throw them to the wolves?"

Gaz chuckled loudly at the remark, while Price was trying to hide his grin behind the pages. At that moment, Simon was glad the balaclava was hiding his features - the smirk he was sporting could rival Soap's.

"My sister left town for a couple of days", you eventually resumed, running a hand through your hair, "and asked me to take care of her cat-"

As expected, protests and offended remarks could be heard from both Soap and Gaz, the men demanding why they were not told of this earlier. They could have helped-

"The only help I'd get from you would consist of you two laying to sleep with her on the couch. But here's the catch, the beast only sleeps in the daytime - but when the night comes, she transforms into this dark demon which runs around the house and attacks my feet when I try to sleep!"

"Never had a cat before, Y/N? When you were a kid?"

You shook your head at Price's question, frowning when you notice his sympathetic expression:

"You need to keep them busy throughout the day, and then leave enough food for them at night. As a last resort, locking them in the bathroom is a good solution, but you need to first remove everything from the shelves."

"Or we could come in and babysit the baby!", Gaz kept pushing, an innocent smile gracing his features. "Sure, you had a rough night, but how hard can it possibly be, to take care of a creature whose routine mainly consists of eating and sleeping?"

"Well, it's only three more days. I'll manage somehow..."

As the conversation shifted to another topic you were too tired to understand fully, you laid your head against the wall, letting your body sink into the couch. There it was again, that soft hum that lulled you to sleep- not that you would actually fall asleep in the lounging area. No, you would just rest your eyes for a couple of minutes, before heading towards your car and riding back home to the little creature that must have been expecting you.

***

At first, Ghost did not seem to notice the shift of weight on his right arm. He was too busy scrolling on his phone, searching for articles about cats and their nocturnal habits. It wasn't until the room was too quiet for his liking that he looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting Soap's as his teammate was silently pointing to his right - in your direction.

He slowly turned his head towards you, his eyes widening almost comically behind his mask. You were the dead weight on his shoulder, soundly asleep, your left cheek squished against his arm. Of all the days, it was that specific day that he opted for a plain black t-shirt after training, and he was definitely overthinking his choice. Your skin felt soft and warm against his, enough to short-wire all the working circuits in his brain, prompting him to freeze and stare at you. The complete implications of this gesture would hit him later, when he would be lying in bed, unable to sleep, but for the time being, he could solely focus on the facts at hand: you were there, next to him, leaning against him, sleeping peacefully.

And he only wanted to keep an eye on you and kill anyone who had the slightest intention of waking you up.

"Where's that camera when you need it!", Soap quietly grumbled as he got up and started fumbling on one of the shelves, ignoring the daggers Ghost was shooting at him through his eyes.

"Top shelf, Soap - you put it there the last time you used it!", Price whispered with a sigh of mild frustration.

"Guys, be quiet, let the girl get some rest!", Gaz hissed as well before Soap joined him back on the couch, a dusty Polaroid camera in his hands:

"Alright, this one's for the books! Come on, give us a big smile, L.T.!"

He might have been unable to move, but his gaze spoke volumes- a true death glare though and through, quickly captured by Soap through the lenses and printed on the small Polaroid photo sheet. Gaz leaned over Soap's shoulder to see the result and even Price scooted his armchair a bit closer, a small grin dancing his lips. The picture was proudly placed on the wooden panel, next to one depicting the Captain sleeping just as soundly in the very same armchair he was currently sitting in. And in the meantime, Ghost could only feign indifference, letting his signature eye roll showcase his opinion about the situation.

He could not explain, could not even place a finger on or identify the warm and comforting sensation he was feeling in his chest. He was so used to the cold and dull feeling that had taken residence in there- yet there it was, a glimmer of hope, a ray of sun on a cold autumn day.

You felt safe in his presence, safe enough to put yourself in a vulnerable position in his proximity.

And he would do anything to keep things that way.

***

Bonus scene:

Letting out a small whimper, you stretched your limbs while keeping your eyes closed. You could not figure out how you got home or why your pillow was sporting a distinct smell of cigarette smoke, sweat and cologne, but your semi-conscious mind was too busy keeping you asleep that you did not seem to care.

Wait...

That scent was familiar. You were in its presence on an almost daily basis that you could tell it in your sleep. Well, not literally, considering that your mind was still trying to piece it out- why was your pillow smelling like Ghost?

You jerked yourself awake with a start, your groggy mind taking a couple of moments to process the fact that you were actually not in your bed, but in the lounging room at the base. And your pillow was not really your pillow, but actually, Ghost's shoulder and your cheek was fully squished against it.

"Look who's up, Sleeping Beauty herself..."

From your current position, his voice felt like a deep rumble, vibrating through your body and resonating in your bones in an unsettling manner. With a herculean effort, you managed to prop yourself against the other side of the couch, blearily blinking the sleep from your eyes. A faint blush spread across your cheeks, warmth radiating through your face as embarrassment tinged your features. It took all you had not to cover your face in your hands.

"I’m so sorry, L.T. - I really didn’t mean to-" "It’s alright, Bambi. No harm done."

The lack of your weight against him made him feel empty in a way he struggled to define. He tried to brush it away by rising from the couch and making a show of rolling his shoulder in front of you, calmly watching your embarrassed figure through his thick eyelashes. Your cheeks were already sporting an uncharacteristic rosy hue and your renowned doe eyes were widened, a glimmer of sheepishness and self-consciousness reflecting in them. He would never admit it to anyone, but he secretly adored the fact that he was one of the few people who could coax such a reaction from you.

"Although next time you might want to do it in a room without Soap. It’s likely that the entire base will learn of it by tomorrow."

A/N: wrote this on a whim, not proofread so it may contain grammatical errors (and more) updates won't be regular as I'm a college student with a full-time job

Hope you enjoyed it :)

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #task force 141 #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost imagine #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #call of duty imagine

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thatnonameuser · 6 months ago

Note

Can MC make a cat cult and use cat to attack Yanderes.

MC getting a cat for each dorm/ event and all of them are scheming to get you away from the boys is cute. Unlike Grim, these fur babies can’t be bribed.

* * * * *

You love cats.

What’s not to love? The little fluff balls are adorable. And surprisingly the most normal part of this world.

You were a cat person. Plain and simple.

You loved cats, back in your world always feeding them, petting them, cuddling them. You loved them so much that when you first met Grim, you loved him even if he was a pain in the neck that went through tuna like fish breathed in water.

Plus, given how stressful your situation was, they were the perfect stress relief. You can’t count how many nights you fell asleep petting Grim, cuddling Grim in your arms as you slept.

Grim was your ghost repellent, your flame thrower, and your bestfriend/boss. Grim was like a rescue, throwing claws at you at first, and then cuddling up on you for your love and attention.

Grim was a possessive cat, always wanting to be around you and constantly trying to be around you. And when you were threatened or in danger he would attack with his claws or his magic. There was even that one time that he tried to claw out Jamil’s eyes for mind controlling you back during winter break.

To you, that was your one good thing. And because you deserved more good things after everything you went through…..the universe decided to give you a bunch more cats. Yay!

Besides Grim, the first one you met was Cheshire. Who somehow broke into your kitchen and got into Grim’s tuna. The orange tabby had a habit of coming and going whenever he pleased and causing mischief all over Ramshackle, destroying dishes and glasses. But despite your intruder cat’s reign of terror, he had a wonderful habit of popping up from nowhere whenever you visited Heartslabyul.

It was a breath of fresh air whenever he managed to ruin the dorm’s peace and cause disaster to fall like a tower of cards. Like the namesake, Cheshire loved messing things up and causing chaos, breaking teacups, knocking over cakes and treats and vanishing before he could get caught and popping up again whenever anyone thought he was gone to continue it. And whenever one of the boys got too close to you, he’d pop out of nowhere and deliver them a hail of scratches and bites.

So when they inevitably caught him, you scooped the poor baby into your arms and took him as your own before they skinned the cat alive. Cheshire just loved ruining yanderes’ evil plans, and being so adorable that being mad at him for his casual destruction was borderline impossible, and being a free spirit / vigilante that came out of nowhere was quite helpful. And then came more.

After Cheshire, it was Nala, Sushi and Rajah. Your violent babies.

Because much like his namesake, Cheshire came and went as he pleased, only coming in when it was time to be a hero. So you left food for him to eat when he decided to come back. Grim mourned his loss of tuna, but your other cat needed feeding, so you left an open can on the porch with some water. You woke up to Cheshire on your porch with his new friends. Who all jumped you as soon as you opened the door.

Nala, a savannah cat, was a hunter and a fighter. She was a very peaceful kitty with you, but a violent hellspawn with anyone else. She was a territorial kitty so whenever the Savanaclaw boys came near she would leave enough bloody bite marks on them to warrant a rabies shot.

Sushi, a spotted orange, black and white kitty, wasn’t the most feral, but he had a taste for the sea. The tiny kitty always followed you to Octavinelle, and whenever the trio got near he would eye them like dinner. Gotta love merfolk technically being seafood. Sushi was very agile too, so Floyd couldn’t catch them whenever she got too close.

Rajah, an orange and black striped cat the size of a medium-sized dog he’d rip and tear through clothes with his teeth and claws. He hated all your suitors, ripping holes into pants legs, baring fangs and hissing whenever they got too close. He couldn’t be bribed despite even Kalim trying to warm up with him with expensive and delicious smelling treats. But unlike Grim, he couldn’t be tricked.

And after them, it was Duchess, Chimera, and then Diablo. Your crafty kitties.

Duchess, a Persian cat with white fur so long that when you brushed her it looked like your sheets got snowed on, was a spoiled loud princess. So loud that she would yowl at all hours and alert anyone unfortunate or otherwise to hear it. Much to your surprise, whenever Rook decided to invade your privacy she always managed to find him. Which is both strange because the fact Rook barely ever got caught, and helpful because then he couldn’t do whatever. But thanks to…. something, Duchess always found her way to him. And when she did she was like a siren, yowling so loud it woke you up when you were sleeping.

Chimera was an adorably fat patchwork cat that was as lazy as Grim, but had a penchant for finding electronics in Ramshackle and sitting on them. While Idia loves cats to an unhealthy degree, you could see that it was bothering him that Chimera kept destroying his cameras. Too bad, your fat little-big Chimera is a danger to those hidden cameras and as a result of that, a lovely roommate that won’t be moving out.

Diablo, a black cat no surprise, had appeared on top of you when you opened your eyes one morning and didn’t ever leave. You were suspicious of whether or not he was a normal cat, because you noticed the little blue lights that came into the air when he popped out of nowhere. His speciality was messing with magic, or more specifically magical artifacts meant to lure and bind you. The food spelled with potions, necklaces with curses of binding, and even Whatever was sent would be smashed, shattered and broken before you could be tricked into using them. Incredibly helpful given Diasomnia’s antics, specifically Malleus’ gift giving of precious and usually cursed jewelry.

And then, Count Claudius. And Foxy. And Gideon. And Skelly.

All your possessive and protective little kitties, that made biscuits in your blankets and bite marks on your suitors.

Sure Grim was a lil’ jealous. He was still your number one, you did your best to make sure that he wasn’t going to fight with the cats in a jealous rage.

As for your suitors…..

They were probably pissed. You had to free your precious babies from traps to make sure they were able to come back to Ramshackle come morning. But, Grim mostly fell for them.

But hey, you’d rather be a single cat lady than deal with your yandere suitors. Maybe you could take them home with you.

#ask #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandereverse au

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anonymous-existences · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 : Laying Low

Continuation to the Prolouge and Chapter 1

This was bad, very bad. For some... Reason. The Fenton's figured out who Phantom is and they think Phantom is overshadowing Danny.

Danny was panicking and packing the rest of his belongings fast as Vlad tries to stop Maddie and Jack from busting in to get to Danny. Dan was helping him whilst trying to calm Danny down.

"I'm scared... I'm so scared." Danny just slowly stated as tears rolled down his cheeks trying to catch up on his breathe.

"Shh, shh. It's gonna be alright kid. Look. We'll get out of here right now. I got our passports. Our- everything we need basically." Dante carried his duffle bag and the spare suitcase that carried Dante's items. "Now let's go!" Dante Yelled and carried Danny like a kitten before running out the backdoor.

They could hear Maddie yelling and Vlad Clapping back hesitantly but effectively, his paren— no.... Maddie and Jack was trying to reason with Vlad saying Danny was possesed and they needed to kill the Phantom within him.

Danny just covered his ears trying to shut out the noise as Dante put on his helmet and Making Danny wear one as well, Dante puts Danny Infront of him in the bike and Drove off with their Things.

Dante was obviously breaking the law with how Fast he's going but he couldn't bring himself to slow down. Not when the GIW might chase after them any moment they find out Danny is with Dante.

"It's gonna be okay twerp.... It's gonna be fine." Dante tries to reassure Danny, Danny just.. cried and covered his face trying to muffle his ugly sobbing. "I'm scared... I'm so scared..." Danny cries out and just kept very still in his seat.

Soon later they arrived at the airport and Danny has stopped crying as Dante has reassured him, they rushed inside and was quickly escorted by the staff to the so called "private jet" Vlad has prepared for them in advance.

"Are you ready? Are you okay?" Dante kneeled Infront of Danny to match his height, oddly enough he had this very rare worried face.

Danny merely nods and held Dan's Hand, they entered the plane and Dante made sure that Danny was settled in safely.

'It still feels so sudden... It's as if I haven't been planning to do this for ... Weeks.' Danny thought to himself as he stared out the window of his seat.

'Jazz would've wanted me to... Be free .. Right... She would have wanted this.' He whispered to himself as the plane slowly rose and started to fly to their headed direction.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

As they landed to their destination, Dante woke Danny up.

"Danny. we're here." Danny slowly fluttered his eyes open. "Oh?.... Oh okay..." Danny meekly said with a yawn. Dan just carried him like a cat once again whilst getting their bags.

"You can go back to sleep." Dante reassured him as Danny fell back asleep in his arms. Danny felt safe, warm... And comforting. It made his core purr in happiness.... He likes it..

Dante called them a lift as they moved in to a decent sized apartment near Crime Alley. The place already had furniture as Vlad promised. Dante tucks Danny in bed and heads off into the living room to unpack their things.

Dante started dialing Vlad's number.

"Fruit loops."

"Yes ... Big Badger?" Vlad sighs tiredly

"We arrived safely, Danny is off to sleep. He's tired. Do I need to find a job? How did dealing with those 2 crazy fuckers go?"

"Slow down... Yes you need to find a job so no one would get suspicious, Maddie and Jack I managed to stir off of my property finally. Ellie says she'll visit soon when the GIW stops looking for phantom... Sort of." Vlad reassures Dante.

Dante sighed, Annoyed, Stressed and totally Irritated.

"I'm gonna go find some criminals to beat up." Dante started before hanging up on Vlad who was about to complain about what he was about to do but Dante can't care at all about what the old Fruitloops has to say. He had to blow off his steam somehow and heads out of the apartment leaving Danny alone.

Danny had Ghost Blobs Covering him, vibrating to keep him warm like bees and Snuggled beside him to keep him asleep and rested.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Red Hood suddenly felt odd, not in an odd bad way but in an odd easing way.

He looked around his turf continuing his patrol before he heard Grunting. Not a good type... Ugh.

It was someone getting beat up, he doesn't usually meddle with this type of stuff but something within his chest... The pits was being pulled in.

Jason ran. More like bolted to whatever was pulling him in. Because whatever it is, it silenced the Pits, it made the pits quiver in fear.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Heh, Serves you right Mother fucker."

Dante laughed as he finished beating up a guy who tried to Assault a Worker. He dusted his hands and he is so glad he brought his mask and Cap with him because he wasn't prepared for Red Hood of all people to find him.

Dan just tried to keep composes as the Worker he saved ran off safely.

"Who are you." Red Hood Asks Sternly hand in his waist ready to pull out his gun, Dan tries to keep himself away from this situation.

He really Oughtta keep himself out of trouble, his luck is just far too unlucky for this to happen.

"Name's Dante... Just beat up this fucker for trying to kidnap a woman is all..." Dante chuckled to himself, very mentally uncomfortable but physically trying to stay calm.

"You're not from here aren't ya. Don't you know where you are?" Red Hood's tone didn't lose it's Stern but it softened a bit.

Odd, Dante was sure it was said that he can be very violent to his trespassers, he guesses Red Hood is just having a good day.

"No Sir Red Hood, I apologize if I entered your Hau- I mean.. Territory by accident." Dante apologizes, not sincerely but he made sure he sounded like it.

Oh. Now that Dante is looking at Red Hood much clearly and focused, He feels weird... His core is unfinished... Sort of.. there's this weird thing inside of him, Corrupted Ectoplasm? Ew.

Dante made a Disgusted look under his face mask, lucky enough that red Hood doesn't noticed because of Dante covering half his face except his eyes. But now that Dante observes more.

This guy isn't a Halfa. Sort of a Halfa but not all. What does Frostbite say it is?... He tries to remember the Term for it. Ah yes...

Red Hood is-

"A Revenant?" Dante blurts out by accident, his eyes flashing green with red gradient for a moment making Red Hood Stand Stunned.

"Pardo-" Red Hood tries to talk but Dante just Bowed his head and interrotuped him.

"I apologize again Sir Red Hood for entering your Haunt, but I really need to go, I won't do it again. I can't promise much because there are a lot of dick heads around here but do excuse me. I have better things to do." Dante said quickly but also sarcastically as he turned and bolted.

"WAIT!" Red Hood tries to chase after him but Dante Went Invisible as he turned to a corner.

"What the-" Red Hood was confused. Where did he go?

It made Dante chuckle mentally as he floated away and headed back to their new apartment.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

'What the fuck just happened.' Jason thought to himself confused, very confused infact as the strange and oddly Hot mysterious man just disappeared out of thin air... Like a ghost.

He needed to find that man again. Possibly ask him on a date- who KNOWS. But he needed to find him again.

The pits acting incredibly terrified and tame Infront of him was enough to get Jason Curious and... Oddly Calm.

"Maybe I should ask Timbers for help. I didn't catch his name... And what is a revenant?" He asked himself and scratched the back of his nape in frustration.

Hopefully he can still meet that Guy again... His eyes though.

They looked like the Lazarus Pits and that wasn't good. It didn't sit right with Jason and it honestly never will.

KMS. AAAA MY HANDS. Anyways I'll be writing chapter 3 later <33 cuz I'm insane like that.

Hope you like this chapter.

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bwobgames · 1 month ago

Text

Alright no more mushy feely heart-palpitating homosexual behavior.

There’s a cat on the loose.

He decides to go do a deeper check on the wagons, perhaps his little furball fell asleep somewhere!

At the entrance he sees some things that have fallen over and a slight amount of orange cat hair. Mighty suspicious.

He quickly rearranges the forgotten napkins and continues.

He smells something.

There’s an empty glass on one of the tables, it has an interesting smell. He can’t quite place it but he’s sure he knows that smell. Maybe from another case...?

There’s no liquid left, so he can’t test-taste it. Bummer. But it is a very faint smell...

The one time his heightened senses are useful, and he can’t remember.

Although he has a vague idea.

Hopefully it’s nothing bad. Hopefully nothing bad happened. Hopefully.

(...The feeling that something bad is going to happen...)

(No, no. No more horror movie quotes. This is not the time to make myself spooked for no reason)

Even if the oppressive feeling of the dark makes him feel otherwise.

He has dealt well with this. If he can’t see anyone, they can’t see him either. Darkness is a friend.

Except when Vivi is at home, then he leaves at the nightlights and the TV on, no matter the electricity bill.

Now that he things about it, this train would be a fantastic set for a horror movie, perhaps Nadia could-WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

DID YOU SEE THAT SHIT?! WHAT WAS THAT?!

(…Am I… seeing things…?)

(No, no! No more of this! I am a professional! Not a scared bunny who will call Ángel at the slightest spooky trick of the light!)

(I am a man on a mission. An expert on both the natural and supernatural. I should be fearless by now!)

(No ghost, or man, or ghost man has been able to defeat me, and this will not be the day it does!)

He marches to the dinner wagon

"I! AM NOT! SCARED! I! AM NOT A-!"

He finds yet another small mess made by Firefox that he ignored last time for the bigger mess, but looking at it closely he sees…

A photograph?

Must be Vivi’s, unless any of the new guys are into analog cameras.

It’s blurry, by the colour palette it might be a picture from inside this train. Except for one little detail.

In between the blurriness, he sees a small bit of blue. A shade he has seen before.

…

He should ask Vivi tomorrow.

He arrives at his room, maybe Mozilla came back on his own?

But it’s just as empty as he left it, plus the signs of Ángel getting dressed.

As he leaves, he notices a few things.

His door feels… like it didn’t close properly. Could it be faulty? But it closed just fine before?

Secondly, it seems other doors are open too.

Nina and Mari’s room is slightly open, the lights are off. Are they just sleeping with the door opened?

Their new friends’ doors are slightly open as well. Odd, maybe Seba still hasn’t come back?

He won’t open them, of course. That’d be rude and creepy. Creppy, even.

What he does do is a slight pspspsps noise, to see if Firefox is inside any door.

He’s pretty sure he hears some sort of movement in the bathrooms when a familiar face comes over to him.

“Detective! Detective!”

“There’s a murderer on the train!”

#all for today!#something is coming i believe #probably next update #detective beebo overnight train

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azzo0 · 1 year ago

Text

Someone She Used to Know

Summary: Katsuki meets his ex girlfriend after six years.

Warnings: Katsuki's drunk, throwing up, angsty.

Song: Ghost Town- by Benson Boone

wc: 1k

It's been six years since she broke up with Katsuki. He doesn't hate her for it. She did herself justice by breaking up with him. He wasn't there for her. Every day was a day of broken promises where he vowed to come home early, spend time with her, take her on a date, and cuddle on the couch, but he rarely fulfilled his broken promises, getting caught up in hero work instead. He doesn't hate her. He never can. It was his fault he was more focused on work instead.

She was the first and last person he fell in love with.

Six years later, he's sitting in a pub. He gets dragged out by Eijiro and Denki here every weekend, but some days, he prefers coming here alone. The clicking of heels catches his attention, and he glances up from the glass he's been staring at for the past couple of minutes, watching droplets of water race down the glass. It's a woman dressed in a beautiful black minidress with sequins like stars. His eyes move up to the woman's face, and he almost spills his drink.

It's her, his ex.

His hands grow sweaty, and he sets the drink on the table in case he drops the glass. He's still as a cat, his breath caught in his throat, heart hammering in his chest. He can feel his shirt clinging to his chest. He hasn't heard a word from her in six years. No texts, no calls, no meeting each other accidentally, so seeing her in the flesh made him dizzy. He couldn't tell if it was the drink or if it was just her. He remembers feeling the same way when he first met her in a cafe. She used to work there at the time, and he'd buy coffee every day from that very cafe despite not being a fan of coffee. Here he was, several years later, feeling the same way. He'd convinced himself that he was over it. Maybe he was not. Maybe that's why he drank like a sad old man by himself every week. Maybe his heart still yearned for her.

She's beautiful, he reminds himself. She's always been beautiful, but did he ever make her feel beautiful? Did he make her feel loved? Could he still make her feel loved? His schedule wasn't the same as it used to be before, given that crime rates had dropped significantly over the past few years, but there wasn't any point now, was there? It was too late.

He wonders if he should go up to her, watching her check the time on her phone. She shook her head when the waiter asked her if she'd like something, giving him a smile. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, tapping a finger on the table. He catches the glint of a beautiful emerald ring on her ring finger, and he understands. She's waiting for her fiancé.

He picks up the glass and downs his drink in one big sip. It makes his throat burn. He doesn't care. He gets his glass refilled again. Her fiancé arrives a few minutes later. A tall and handsome man with kind eyes and a warm smile. He watches her eyes light up at the sight of him. Once upon a time, he was the one making her eyes light up like that. She gets up and plants a quick peck on his lips. The man sits across from her, taking her hand, thumb brushing over the ring.

Katsuki thinks of how that could've been him if he wasn't so obsessed with his work back then. If he didn't come home late, after she was deep asleep, cuddling a pillow because he wasn't there and leaving in the early hours of the morning so his side of the bed was cold by the time she woke up. He thinks of how he could have been the one she dressed up so pretty for. How he could've been the one asking her to marry him.

I don't deserve her, Katsuki reminds himself. She deserves someone who puts her first, someone who's far kinder and loving than he is. Someone who isn't him.

He's lost count of how many drinks he's had at this point. He doesn't remember when he got up. He doesn't know when he got into the parking lot. He's throwing up into a trash can. He feels a hand on his shoulder while he's still vomiting. He glances back to see her watching him with concerned eyes. Her fiancé stands behind her, equally concerned.

"Are you alright?" she asks. Her voice reminds him of a flower garden. Soothing and calm.

"Yeah," he manages to croak. Her eyes dart around, looking for his car. He's in no state to drive himself.

"Would you like me to call Mina or Eijiro?" she asks.

"No," he slurs. He's drunk, but he's sure her fiancé raises his eyebrows questioningly.

"Do you know him, love?" he asks, surprised she knows the number two hero.

"Oh, I used to know him," she replies casually, scrolling through the contacts on her phone.

I used to know him.

He tries not to stumble as he watches her talk to one of his friends on the phone. He wants to tell her he's glad she's found the one for her. He's glad she's happy. The words never leave his throat.

When she was done talking on the phone, she glanced at him with a worried smile, "Would you like us to stay with you in the meantime?"

He wishes she weren't so kind to him. He wishes she'd give him an ugly stare and tell him he looked pathetic, but she's always been like this. Too kind for her own good. He shakes his head in response. She hums and locks her arm with her fiancé, telling him it was nice meeting him with a goodbye. No see you around. Just goodbye.

He sits in his car, the back of his hand over his eyes as he waits for one of his friends to pick him up, her words echoing in his head. Oh, I used to know him. She did not say something like 'ex' or a 'friend'. He was just a stranger to her. A someone she used to know.

Nothing more.

#katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #mha x reader #azzo writes

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otto-s-alskling · 1 year ago

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John Price X Reader

Fluff. Just. Freaking cotton ball fluff.

Captain John Price was never one to go aggressively court a lady, no no. He's too old fashioned for that Gen Z energy. But he definitely is one for the long game. Always praising you casually with "Nice job" and "Well done" and "Couldn't have done it without ya." Which slowly evolved to "That's great, sweetheart" to more questionable ones like "Nice one, Lovie." It lowkey made you wonder how many endearments can one man use before he uses "that phrase."

It was hard to know when really. It was a slow night at the office and Price was busy with the last of the paperworks. Of course, the little sweetheart that you are, you stayed behind as well and brought him coffee.

"Hi, Cap... Thought you'd want a bit of coffee for a lil pick-me-up?"

Price smiled at the sweet gesture, immediately putting out the cigar that he had and waving away the smoke that linger.

"Thanks, Lovie. Can you put it here?"

You nodded and approached his desk, putting the cup of coffee (black with just a bare hint of sugar to cut the full bitterness) when he gestured for you to come closer a bit. I complied, glancing at the files that he needed a bit of help with, some french files that needed translation. Being the linguistics expert, you immediately moved to his side.

You were looking down on the papers to try to read it when his hand landed on your waist, making you sit on the armrest of his chair as you translate the papers for him. That's how you worked that night, sitting on the armrest with his arm around your waist on the last one hour you two are there, his thumb drawing circles on your waist as you diligently translate the papers on his tablet there.

This became a routine until one night he just straight up pulled you into his lap when he was extremely tired, using your back and shoulder as his pillow and his arms are wrapped around your waist tightly. You let the poor Captain be, your heart unable to say no, not when he asked oh so nicely to use you as a pillow for a bit. So he snoozed as you sat on his lap, trying not to think too much of it as you worked on the tablet. You did suggest him sleeping in the couch on his office but he didn't want that because that meant not being close to you. He doubted that you'd want to let him cuddle you at that stage anyway, so he was fine with this.

Thus the new addition to your routine. He'd get you on his lap at wee hours at night, both of you working, sometimes him napping, and that's basically it... For now anyways. It got a few eyebrows raised, especially to Gaz who's curious on how slow can a slow burn be. And you never get up from his lap either unless he had to actively talk with the other person on the room. You just stay on his lap, perched like a pretty little cat as you type and whoever was delivering some paperwork to Price would see it and you just... Don't seem to care, especially when Price tightens his hold whenever anyone arrive.

Then came a time when YOU were the one exhausted and against better judgement, fell asleep on his lap, curled up on him upon his insistence. This one really takes the cake because some Taskforce members, Gaz, Soap and Ghost had to be there for a small discussion and had to awkwardly talk in hushed voices because Price refused to wake you up and maybe convince you to go to bed. No, no, that would mean you'd be far away from him and he wants you to get used to being with him all the time. Gaz fought a snicker halfway into the discussion when you nuzzled closer to Price and he blushed. The man himself blushed and you had no clue it was happening.

Lowkey, it was entertaining and kind of weird to see, the three members choosing to face each other instead so they wouldn't have to get caught up in trying to stare at you and him and wonder if you're even aware of the Captain's feelings or if you're just going with the flow with him.

Things did suddenly change when the team got back from a hard mission and Price immediately looked for you after getting rid of his gear. He found you in his office, doing some filing. After locking the door, he just pulled you into his arms and laid down on the couch with you with a soft gruff "Come here please". You looked at him as he held onto you, his head on your chest, before slowly hugging him back, running your fingers through his hair as his ragged breaths changed slowly and he relaxed, the tension leaving him as you gently played with his hair.

It felt intimate and reassuring to him, and he just stayed there, using you as a pillow as he tried to forget and let go whatever it was that happened on the field. For the first time, you two actually cuddled and fell asleep together, the exhaustion claiming Price fast while you slowly dozed off after watching him sleep for some time.

After a few hours, he stirred awake. Price knew that this is wrong. That he is your superior and that he shouldn't even be looking at you like this but how can he not when you looked so sweet sleeping underneath him? He couldn't help but smile, couldn't help but plant a soft kiss on your cheek before going back to sleep again and hope you wouldn't mind the surprisingly high amount of comfort that he's getting just from holding you close like this.

This man has me on a chokehold and I've watched too many shows and movies with him in it. #shameless

#call of duty #john price #captain price #price x reader #price #captain john price #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw3

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soapyghostie · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! Absolutely random request, but imagine reader being a tired person that out of wounds and stress they just fall asleep when they're being carried, about to go on a hook. How would the dbd killers(any, really) react?

Like, imagine. Being carried, without anything under legs can already make someone sleepy if they don't have adrenaline pumped through their veins. Plus, i know that having wounds(aka blood loss) can make people very tired.

Since this request it a little vague, I decided to get a little creative with it and wrote some angst because I’m a sucker for angst with dad slashers (except Frank is your big brother in this request). 😭 Hope you enjoy!

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

Danny would be confused at first, bloodlust still kicking through his veins even after killing all our teammates as he carries you, his injured daughter, to the hook (Sorry (Y/N), he’s just doing his job. No hard feelings). He’ll pause for a moment, trying to process the fact that you feel asleep on his shoulder.

As he realizes that you fell asleep due to exhaustion and stress from your wounds, Danny’s demeanor would soften and his parental instincts within him kicks in. He’ll gently adjust you in his arms from being thrown over his shoulder to being carried bridal style, ensuring that you’re comfortable even as he still proceeds to hook you.

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state would stir up a lot of internal conflict in Danny. He’s torn between his role as a merciless killer and his love for you as his daughter as he hesitates to sacrifice you to the Entity. Danny’s had a lot of bad performances in trials lately and he really needs the 4K. However, to get the 4K he needs to sacrifice you. Of course it has to be you: the Entity is so cruel.

As to not get punished by the Entity, sadly, Danny will throw you onto the hook. Danny would feel a pang of remorse and sadness. He knows that he’s the cause of your pain and exhaustion, and seeing you in such a vulnerable state serves as a painful reminder of the life he’s subjected you to. He silently reflects on his actions and their consequences. He’ll gaze at your sleeping form dangling from the hook, grappling with the complexities of his emotions and the choices he made.

Despite his conflicted emotions, Danny remains committed to his role in the Entity’s twisted game. However, Danny’s determination to protect you remains unwavering. He’ll play the Entity’s game and continue this dark path as a killer if it means to ensure your safety as he doesn’t want you to be harmed as a result of his shortcomings…

The Legion/Frank Morrison

Frank would be initially shocked and panicked to see you, his younger sister, in such a vulnerable state. Despite his tough ‘bad boy’ exterior, he deeply cares about you and seeing you hurt triggers his protective instincts.

The sight of you falling asleep from exhaustion and stress while carrying you to the hook fills Frank with anger and frustration. He’ll curse under his breath, feeling powerless to protect you and frustrated with the situation at hand. First off, your god damn heavy after going unconscious and, secondly, he has no choice but to hook you due to the amount of failed trials he’s had lately to try and please the Entity.

Despite his anger, Frank, also like Danny, would feel a sense of inner conflict. On one hand, he wants to lash out at the Entity for throwing her into a trial with him, but on the other hand, he knows he has to get the 4K by hooking you so you end up safe and sound at the survivor camp instead of the agony the Entity threatened to put you through if he didn’t start stepping it up in trials. You’re the reason he has the strength to keep going in this awful, twisted game of cat and mouse.

Frank would grapple with the feeling of guilt and responsibility for your condition. As your older brother, he feels entitled to preventing you from getting hurt in the first place and blames himself for everything that has happened to you. Despite his conflicting emotions, he would carefully and gently place you on the hook, making sure you're as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. As he watches you sleep on the hook, Frank would have a quiet moment of reflection. He reminisces about y’all’s childhood together and vows silently to himself to do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

Seeing you vulnerable would only fuel Frank’s determination to perform better in trials. He would be even more relentless in his pursuit of survivors, driven by the desire to protect you from the Entity’s hungry claws.

The Shape/Michael Myers

Michael would pause, a flicker of confusion crossing his expressionless face. The sight of you, his daughter, falling asleep despite the dire circumstances briefly disrupts his usual relentless pursuit to satisfy his murderous desires.

Deep within his obscured psyche, a conflict brews. While Michael is driven by an insatiable urge to kill, his parental instincts stir, conflicting with his murderous impulses. This momentary hesitation leads to a brief internal struggle, the likes of which observers of Michael would never perceive.

Despite the task at hand and the chaos of the trial, Michael momentarily freezes, holding your unconscious body with an eerie stillness. His iconic breathing momentarily ceases, as if he too, like Danny and Frank, were contemplating the peculiar situation.

In a rare display of tenderness, Michael gingerly adjusts your position, ensuring that you're comfortable even as he prepares to hook you. His movements would be precise, almost caring, as if he’s trying to shield you from further harm, even in your unconscious state. As he gazes upon your sleeping form, fragments of memories flicker through Michael’s mind. Images of you as a child, innocent and untouched by the darkness that now envelopes you both, momentarily soften his gaze, perhaps even cause a subtle twitch at the corners of his mouth – a long-forgotten smile. You are his world.

Ultimately, the weight of his desire to kill and the futility of his attempts to connect with you wash over Michael. With a heavy heart hidden beneath his iconic mask, he proceeds with the task at hand – sacrificing you to the Entity. With a solemn determination, Michael carries you to the hook, his obsession with killing eclipsing any semblance of any paternal sentiment.

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st4rgrl4l1f3 · 9 months ago

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Stupid stuff I think the 141 would do if they all lived together

—————

Underwear. Who’s is who’s. They all have a red, black, blue and gray pair. Soap may have a pair with the Scottish flag on it.

“I FORGOT WHO WEARS AN XL” Soap would scream from downstairs.

“I DO” Ghost would reply.

“…fatass.”

“I heard that.”

—————

Most random shit in the fridge. Why is the fridge nothing but the cheese drawer and beer?…Okay, let’s check the cupboards. There’s fruit snacks and one of those gallon buckets of goldfish. Okay. Another cupboard. Four cups, four bowls, four plates…The silverware looks the same.

“Why don’t we have food in the kitchen? What happened to the groceries I bought??” Gaz is terrified. He was gone for a week.

“Soap ate it all, and Ghost followed. ‘Saw a cat outside, figured I’d feed it. Now it’s comin back with ‘er kids…” Price says, that last part more quiet than his first two sentences.

“…Is this your idea of groceries?” Gaz looks at Soap, Ghost, and Price.

All three of them in unison, “…Yes.”

—————

Sleeping in the most random places. Why is Gaz halfway on the couch, halfway on the floor? Soap is drooling all over the couch, Ghost is passed out beside his bed, and Price still has his gear on, sleeping beside his rifle, hat halfway on.

Waking up with a sore back, Gaz opens his eyes. Yawning and wincing at the ache right in the middle of his back, he gets up, holding his back like an old man, and cracks it.

“Well good Lord in Heaven, lad, ye nearly broke yer own back crackin it like that.”

Gaz turns around, Soap is holding up his head with his hand, Mohawk all outta whack. Gaz gives him a small “g’mornin.” Before fixing himself breakfast (tap water and cheese from the cheese drawer)

Ghost wakes up, crawls in his bed and falls back asleep. He sleeps like a log.

Price wakes up, oh God, his back hurts. Maybe it was because of all the gear he still has on. He strips himself of it and puts on a gray t-shirt and some sweats. (He still has his hat on???)

—————

Coming home drunk. Holy fuck. Uber loaded with grown ass men laughing about the man that was break-dancing on the table so hard that tears were coming out.

“Yaswereslads gonna make me fuckin cry you know wha I sayin I’m fuckin dead lads, oh shite—“ Soap says, all in one string of words. His accent really comes out when he’s drunk.

“‘T was like he was-wheeze-goin in slow motion when he fell-Another wheeze” Ghost cannot hold his laugh back. He wheezes.

Gaz is looking straight forward, nearly drooling.

Price is listening to Soap and Ghost shit themselves laughing as he silently laughs, gasps of air every five seconds. Even the Uber is laughing.

“Have you ever seen a breakdance?” Gaz says, chatting up the Uber who’s trying to keep his composure.

—————

Discussing pets.

“Can we PLEASE get a dog??” Soap is pleading with Gaz.

“Soap. Look at the fridge. All we have is beer and cheese.”

“The cheese drawer is a necessity. So is the beer.”

“No- listen. You get half decent groceries without me helping, we’ll get a puppy.”

“Hey, wait, can we get a snake—“

“Fuck no we’re not getting a snake, Ghost. What, make you feel at home?”

“I’m not Australian, Soap.”

Price and Gaz look at each other, wide eyed at their stupidity. They rub their temples, trying to genuinely find the brain in their words.

—————

Microwaveable things.

“Can I microwave this bowl?”

“No, Ghost.”

“Uhhh, pretty sure you can.”

“Why did you ask, then??”

“Just cuz.”

Price goes back to his dad show.

“JOHN?”

“YEAH?”

“…YOU WERE RIGHT. MY BOWL MELTED.”

“Oh for fucks-“

“Yer brain is fuckin mush, lad, how’d you not know you can’t microwave that?” Soap laughs at Ghosts misery, his soup gone to waste.

—————

#call of duty #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #i love them

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ljubimaya · 1 month ago

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♱ 𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐄 Baji Keisuke x Reader: 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

♱ SYNOPSIS: A night alone in your grandmother's house turned into a search for Marigold, the cat you promised to look after. Will you be able to find her before the monster of the forest catches you, or are you doomed land between the fangs and claws of the lurking wolf-beast?

♱ C/W: afab reader, no pronouns used, werewolf! Baji, Baji is in his wolf form, mentions of an illness, mentions of death and loss, reader is getting chased through the woods, blood, scarring, wounds, scenting and licking (kinda?)

♱ W/C: 5.7k

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The fourth night you spent away from your busy city life was vastly different from the first night you arrived in. Instead of the warm and welcoming faces of your grandmother and mom, you were met with the eerie silence of the house. In the dark, the usually inviting home turned into something akin to an abandoned, haunted house. The old furniture no longer were memorabilia collected by your grandparents, instead appearing as a collection of things abandoned and left behind to rot throughout years. Like a macabre time capsule, you suddenly saw the old grandfather clock that was no longer able to tick melodically as it did when your late grandpa would maintain it; or the porcelain dolls your grandmother collected when she was a young woman, their faces no longer shining and the paint that graced their once lovely faces fading into dull colors. The realization that home was only home when the people you held dear in your heart were with you hit you hard in your solitude as you remained alone in the house of your grandparents.

You barely fell asleep that night, shuddering at the howling wind blowing outside and the tree branches scratching at your bedroom window. Your only source of comfort was the sleeping feline at the end of your feet, unbothered by any of the outside noises and sleeping without a care in the world. A memory of your mother braiding your hair rushed to your mind, remembering watching the neighbours' cat stare at the corner of the living room when you and her visited them. Your mother would hum and explain that animals, especially cats, had a unique connection to the supernatural and were able to see things humans couldn't. "So, the cat saw something?" A little you would ask in disbelief, scrunching your nose as you heard the strange explanation your mother offered. Your mother would chuckle as she continued braiding your hair into two braids. "Indeed," she mused. "But rest assured that not every spirit is evil. Sometimes, they are just there, and sometimes, cats are just fascinated by them and stare"

You of course didn't believe her back then, thinking you were too smart and mature to be believing in the ghost stories your mother would tell you – now you are seeking reassurance in the ability of Marigold sleeping soundly in your bed despite supposedly being able to see ghosts and spirits. With time, the wind would calm, and the branches no longer hit the windows, comfortable silence falling over the empty house. The only sound you could hear were the soft snores of the orange cat sleeping by your feet, curled up and dozing away while you stayed awake and feared for your life. As the weather calmed down outside, you were finally able to breathe more evenly, relaxing into the soft mattress as your eyelids grew heavier. Your eyes finally closed after having spent perhaps an hour or more staring at the ceiling of your room, half asleep, half awake, as you heard the far way howling of an animal. Probably a dog, you sleepily thought to yourself, being used to the sounds of howling dogs from living in a large apartment unit with plenty of dogs residing there. Somehow, the familiarity of the sound lulled you further into sleep. However, you didn't remain asleep for too long as a rustling sound woke you from your light slumber.

You opened your eyes slowly, eyes still heavy and head pounding at the lack of sleep. Groaning, your hand instinctively reached the night stand next to your bed, grabbing your phone to check the time. The sudden flash of brightness blinded you momentarily before you adjusted to the light. Squinting at the screen, you were able to make out the time. 2.30 a.m. appeared in big numbers on your bright screen before you turned your phone off. You slept less than three hours after being brought back home by midnight and falling asleep only when you felt safe enough. The impressions of last night haven't left you yet, as you were still scared of being alone in the old house, but with the wind no longer howling and the absence of the knocking and creaking sounds, you felt like maybe, it wasn't so bad at all. Maybe it really was just Keisuke's words messing with you; you were still unharmed in your cozy bed with the orange feline curled up by your feet, so really, all things considered, you were fine.

Your back hurt, a remnant of the emotionally and physically taxing prior day, and no matter what position you laid in, the pain would not be soothed. Deciding a stretch could do the trick. You sat up straight and stretched your arms and back, hearing faint cracking sounds from your back and shoulders. Your eyes were closed as you instantly felt better. The pain might not go away entirely right now, but you couldn't deny that at least now, you would be able to go to sleep without your back tormenting you. You sighed in contentment and opened your eyes, expecting to see orange fur by your feet. Much to your surprise, you didn't see Marigold in your bed or anywhere in your bedroom at all after you looked around. "Marigold," you called out as you stood up, ready to inspect your bedroom for any sign of the cat. You crouched down and next to your bed and looked under it in hopes of finding the cat there, but much to your concern, the cat was nowhere to be found. Once again, you grabbed your phone and turned and used the device as a flashlight. Now, with the room illuminated by your phone, you still couldn't see Marigold anywhere. Instead, you noticed the bedroom door being slightly open. While you were sure you closed the door before you went to bed, it appeared the door didn't close fully when you thought it would; one thing was sure, you haven't opened it, and there was no one in the house that could have opened it either. A chill ran down your spine, your heart almost leaping out of your chest as you thought of the ghost stories your mother told you before shaking your head. You refused to believe in spirits and the supernatural altogether, but right as you were truly alone in your bedroom in the dead of the night with your only companion strangely missing, you grew scared of the implications of Marigold wandering off at night when she usually sleeps through the night.

There must be an explanation for that. You reasoned with yourself as you mustered up all of your courage and walked towards the door before fully opening it. You didn't turn the lights on in the corridor, not wanting to suddenly blind the old cat if you would end up finding her asleep on the floor somewhere, so instead you walked out of your bedroom with your phone in your hand. You lit your way through the corridor, the flashlight of your phone pointing down to the floor as you searched for Marigold. Worry grew in your heart as you still saw no trace of the cat by the time you reached the stairs. "Marigold?" You called out shakily once again as you descended down the stairs, the wooden stairs creaking under your bare feet with every step you took. Shivering from the cold as you were clad in nothing but your night gown and didn't turn on the heating in any of the rooms besides your bedroom, you breathed deeply in and out as you looked around. As far as the light of your phone flashlight went, you still couldn't find the cat on the stairs.

The pictures hanging on the wall by the stairs became unrecognizable in the dark, and the once familiar features of family members turned into sinister grimaces. For the first time in your life, you were questioning if the ghosts your mother told you about weren't just made up tales to get you to stay in your bedroom at night, but the spirits of family members haunting the very house your grandmother resided in. You didn't know where this thought came from, whether it was a product of your sleep deprived brain or your irrational fear, but you rejected and buried the thought into the depths of your mind as quickly as it came to your mind. This is serious. You reminded yourself as you continued the search of the missing orange cat, keen on getting her back to your bedroom as soon as you could.

No matter where you searched for her, Marigold was nowhere to be found in the house. You even tried luring her out with cat food; knowing the feline had a black hole of a stomach, you took out the box of cat food and shook it lightly, listening to the rattling sound of the dry flakes of cat food hitting against the cardboard box as you waited to the melodic meows of the feline growing closer to the kitchen alongside her tapping paws. Yet, you waited and waited, confronted with a deafening silence instead of the soft purrs you came accustomed to. Your heart sunk as you realized the severity of the situation – one night alone, and you had already lost your grandmother's cat, and effectively messed up the only promise you made to your ill grandmother. Defeated, you slumped down on the nearest chair, your gaze falling to the ground as you mentally combed through all the possible places you haven't looked at. In the closets? No, you had opened all of them and thoroughly searched through all of them – so much so that you would have to pick up all the clothes you threw across your and your grandmother's bedroom floors in the next morning. The cupboards? The drawers? Again, you investigated those as well, both the inside cabinets as well as outside. You were sure Marigold couldn't have gotten inside the basement, as the door had been locked with a key. The same is applied for the attic.

A faint howl made you stop counting all the rooms you haven't seen Marigold in, your eyes darting to the back door of the kitchen as a shiver went down your spine. The howl sounded like it was deep in the forest outside your grandmother's house, which wasn't comforting at all to you. You were surprised to hear the howl to begin with; for as long as you remembered, you have never heard of the forest being wolf territory, only being familiar with the deer and wild boars that occasionally liked to wreak havoc on your grandparents' garden. But then again, your memory hasn't been exactly proven to be a reliable source, proven by the fact that you very easily had forgotten about Keisuke being your best friend back when you were just a child. Still, even if your mind liked to forget some details and people from the past, you were sure you hadn't heard howling for the entire duration of your stay in your grandmother's village. No one talked about wolves either, neither your mother nor your grandmother told you about wolves inhabiting the forest. Now with the sudden discovery of the wild animals roaming the forest, you were sure you had discovered one of the dangers Keisuke had meant when he insisted it would be dangerous for you to stay alone in the house.

But still, focusing on the strange howls didn't help you find Marigold, so you dropped the thoughts of wolves for a while, until your averted eyes met the sight of the cat door installed in the back door. Your heart stopped for a second as a terrifying image of the orange cat wandering off into the wolf infested forest flashed in your mind. "Take good care of Goldie and the house for me, please" your grandmother's words echoed in your mind as you remembered you would look after her cat while she would stay in the hospital — a promise you had already broken. Without thinking too much, you jumped up from the stairs and rushed towards the door, unlocking it before storming outside to rescue Marigold. The cold wind blew past you, grazing your half-naked body like the caress of icy cold fingers while the blades of grass and small pieces of wood and stones pricked your soft soles. The darkness of the night swallowed you whole as soon as you exited the house, the only light guiding you being your phone. You didn't pay attention on whether or not you slammed the door shut behind you — and quite frankly, you didn't care about it right that moment as your racing mind wouldn't allow you to think about anything but the missing cat you swore you would take care of.

You stood at the beginning of the forest, the house not too far away in the background. You held up your phone, watching the artificial light seep through the thick branches of old trees. "Marigold!" You called out into the forest, slowly entering the wild grounds. Walking slowly, you paid close attention to the sounds surrounding you; from the rustling grass beneath your feet to the cries of an owl in the distance. Breathing heavily, you waited for a noise that would indicate the cat's whereabouts, hoping to hear the usually responsive cat meow back at you. Nothing, you heard and saw absolutely nothing that would lead you to the orange feline. You had heard stories of the vast grounds that were covered in forest land by your grandparents, most of the stories being cautionary tales of people getting lost in the dense woods and only being found days, if not weeks after their disappearance. These, and the legends of various malevolent entities roaming the evergreen pine forests, being told not to respond if your name was called, and the infamous "If you saw it, no you didn't" phrase that had been hammered into your young mind taught you to not go any deeper into the forest than you really needed to. However, as you broke the most important rule of never entering the forest at night, you weren't sure if you had the willpower to remember all of the seemingly absurd rules you had to abide by. Your stomach twisted in fear, shoulders shaking in fright and from the near freezing temperatures. Despite having stepped on countless pine needles and your feet aching from the stings, you kept on moving on. Wishing you had brought your warm winter coat with you, or even better, changed into a warmer outfit before storming out of the warm house, you came to regret your impulsive decision.

"Marigold! Goldie!" You screamed desperately, throat beginning to hurt from the cold air you swallowed with every breath you took. Tears stung in your eyes, welling up and threatening to spill from your lower lashes. This was not good, you realized. The further you would have to go inside the forest, the denser the trees grew, and the less likely you would be to find your way back home — and seeing that you have wandered off quite a bit already, it was hard to say if you would remember the way back to your grandmother's house. A hard decision laid in front of you: Would you rather risk getting lost in the forest but keep searching for Marigold, whilst knowing that wolves are inhabiting the forest, or would you rather turn around and risk never finding the cat ever again and tell your grandmother you had failed to look after her? No matter what you would decide for, it would end unsavory for you, that you were sure of. Thankfully, you didn't have to make that hard decision. By pure fate, sheer luck even, you heard the silent meowing and purring a few meters away to your left.

At first, you didn't believe what you were hearing, thinking the cold and tiredness messing with your brain, but as you pointed your phone to the direction the meowing was coming from, you saw the small face of the missing feline peeking through the bushes. A sigh of relief left your dry and chapped lips, carefully approaching Marigold. You kneeled down and reached to grab the cat, tears of joy rolling down your warm cheeks as you hugged the cat closely to your chest. "You stupid, stupid cat," you sobbed out, halfheartedly insulting the cat who was rubbing her tiny head against you in glee. "I will not let you out of my sight anymore. You will stay in my bedroom, and I will make sure all the doors are locked so you won't pull this stunt on me ever again" you breathed out shakily, calming yourself down from the emotional and physical turmoil you had to go through to find her. In the end, you were happy you were able to find Marigold, and by extent, keep your promise. All in all, you would say it was worth the hassle. Marigold happily purred, seemingly happy to see you again, before her body grew rigid in your arms. The happy purrs stopped, instead uncharacteristically low growls coming from the cat as she moved to stand on her back legs. She was perched up and moved her head to look over your shoulder, growling and hissing at something you couldn't see. Flowing, you patted the cat, stunned by the strange behavior of the usually docile feline. "What's wrong?" You cooed at Marigold in an attempt to calm her down, caressing her soft fur with your fingers until you heard the sound of crushed leaves behind you growing closer, accompanied by a deep, guttural growl. Your blood froze at the monstrous sound, your body growing stiff from shock and fear. Your breath grew shallow as your arms circled tighter around the cat's body before you turned around with one fluid motion and shone your phone flashlight at the animal.

The bright light seemed to blind the animal as it didn't come any nearer to you. Before you stood a large wolf with fur as dark as midnight and fangs as sharp as razors that it bore it's teeth to you in one horrifying grimace you knew you would have nightmares of once you arrived back home. If you mentally corrected yourself, shivering under the piercing eyes of the beast in front of you. A thousand thoughts ran through your mind, one of which was that usually, wolves weren't hostile towards humans — your grandmother taught you of the misconceptions humans were taught about wolves and their nature, assuring you they wouldn't hunt down humans as humans were no prey for them. "Wolves fear humans," you remember your grandmother telling you as a young child by the fireplace after she read your favorite book to you. And while you were sure this rule applied to most wolves, the one in front of you didn't seem so fearful of you. Quite the opposite, you noted as you noticed the dangerous glint playing in its eyes while it seemed to have recovered from the sudden flash of light. You had mere milliseconds to decide on your next move before it began to stalk towards you as a bone chilling growl vibrated through its chest.

You acted on pure instinct when you stood up and ran off to the general direction you remembered you came from, holding Marigold tightly to your chest with one arm, while your other hand lit your way through the darkness of the forest. Triggered by your attempt to escape, the predator's hunting instinct kicked in, chasing after your vicious game of tag. It was hot at your feet, and you knew that no matter how fast you would run, no matter how experienced you were in running, it would ultimately outrun you. You were used to run, some might even say you loved to run after a long day at university and studying at the library, but hitting the treadmill couldn't compare to running for your life, so you had to be smart about your next move. Instead of running straight ahead, you took a sharp turn to the left, thinking this would disorient the animal and give you a few but crucial seconds to speed away from it. Additionally, you turned the flashlight of your phone off, hoping that without the lights on, the wolf would have a harder time seeing and tracking you down. You were sure your measures would grant you a silver of a chance at escaping it, but you heavily underestimated the beast's hunting instinct.

Your eyes would adjust to the night's darkness, seeing the outlines of tree branches and being able to dodge them in time. Soon, you didn't hear the rabid steps of the animal behind you. Finally, you could slow down and catch a much needed deep breath, not fully stopping in your tracks as you still had to figure out a way to navigate back to your grandmother's house. So you turned your head to the side in an attempt to see any way out of the forest, but alas, every branch and every tree looked the same to you. Additionally, you found it too risky to turn on your phone again, fearing the wolf would find you again. As you wanted to take a turn to the right, your body hit the ground as something heavy made impact with you, leaving you to let go of the orange feline in your grasp. A loud shriek erupted from you when you crashed to forest ground, both from surprise and pain. Sharp claws dug into your right arm as the wolf's wet snout pressed against your cheek. Its snout moved from your cheek to your neck, sniffing and growling against the soft skin of your collar bone. It's heavy paw pressed against your right arm while it held you down to the ground, leaving you practically immobilized and at its mercy. A pained whimper left your lips, which quickly turned into a fearful gasp when the wolf's tongue traced along your neck. Your pulse quickened, and the revelation that the predator must be searching for your pulse point for the finishing bite dawned on you. You could feel the sharp fangs graze along your neck already. If you didn't know any better you would have assumed the wolf was playing torturous mind games with you, prolonging the process of killing you off for its sick pleasure — but you knew this couldn't be right. You knew that animal was nothing but an instinctually driven creature that couldn't comprehend the emotional turmoil it was causing you.

Your head was turned to your left while the wolf remained on top of you, preparing for the deadly bite, when you saw Marigold hiding behind the bush, her vibrant orange fur shining through the dark leaves. A risky thought entered your mind, a plan to escape the beast at last that you otherwise wouldn't have considered, but with your options sparse, you didn't have any other choice of you wanted to have a chance at getting out alive with Marigold. Your left, free, hand swung with unexpected speed and power at the creature, slapping and hitting it at its sensitive snout so hard its paw slipped from your right arm. With both arms finally free and the wolf being caught by surprised, you pushed it off of you before you ran towards the bush and grabbed Marigold by the collar. The adrenalin coursed through your body from this near death experience, fueling your leg muscles to their peak performance. Running over the forest grounds barefoot, you would occasionally step on sharp stones and pieces of wood, sending shock waves of pain through your unprotected feet, but nevertheless, you didn't dare to slow down to inspect your feet. You knew it was behind you, continuing on this vicious chase, now angrier since you landed a hefty punch to the wolf's snout.

The cat in your arms let out a series of low pitched meows as it scratched at you, clearly wanting to get out of your grasp. You almost felt pity for the cat; you figured you held her uncomfortably, or perhaps held her too tightly, but you would rather Marigold be uncomfortable but safe in your arms instead of free but in danger. The wolf behind you growled deeply, too close to you for your comfort. Your legs would give up soon if you didn't find refuge in your grandmother's house, as the pain of your strained muscles began to slow you down. You almost gave up hope and accepted your fate, recognizing the dire situation you were in as a hopeless dead end, until you saw a clearing. Since you didn't go too deep into the forest, you knew this was the clearing that would lead you back to your grandmother's house — or at the very least, to a somewhat more civilized area of the small village. It seemed like fate had other plans for you and that you were immensely grateful for. The knowledge that you were so close to being safe spurred you on to keep running. You gritted your teeth in pain, feeling your legs and feet growing weaker, but pushed yourself to run faster than you were before. Upon reaching the clearing, you could see the familiar outlines of your grandmother's house — your safe haven. The foot steps behind you grew more rapid, as if the animal was trying to outmatch your speed. The growling didn't stop either. You swore it grew louder and lower pitched as well. The terrifying sounds both scared and motivated you to get inside; somehow, the way to the house from the clearing felt painfully longer for you than the chase inside the forest. The soft grass beneath your feet morphed into the smooth stones leading up the back door, leaving you to be only an arm's reach away from safety. You stretched your arm out and swung the door open before you slammed it shut at the wolf's face. Twisting the key, you locked yourself and Marigold inside the house before jumping away from the door. The growling on the other side of the door became muffled, but not any less intimidating. The beast, on the other side, continued to drag its sharp claws against the door, as if trying to pry open the door to come inside. The wolf even pushed its paw through the cat door throughout its attempt to get you and Marigold. Alas, it was short-lived, as the animal would sooner than later stop to pry its way inside. As soon as the scratching and growling stopped, you found yourself carefully tip toeing towards the window above the sink, peeking outside to see what the dark wolf was up to. The sight of it leaving towards the forest felt like a triumph. In a match of life and death, you were able to escape even the most ferocious beast, even if it was not due to any particular skill you possessed. There was no denying it. It was a close call for you, but with luck by your side, you found yourself taking rapid breaths in a warmer and safer place away from harm. Before it fully disappeared into the dense forest, the wolf turned its head to take one final glance at the house you hid in. You immediately duck your head, not wanting to entice any more troubles for yourself by looking at the predatory animal in case it would return.

It was hard to tell how long you knelt on the kitchen floor, but the longer you stayed there, the more you realized how absurdly lucky you have been to have found the clearing and escape the razor sharp fangs of the wolf chasing you. The whole experience could have been nothing but a nightmare, just a meaningless dream your subconscious mind created while you laid in your comfortable and warm bed, far away from the depths of the wild forest and most importantly, from the man eating beast. However, no matter how hard you would pinch yourself, you wouldn't wake up. Your sore feet, the bleeding bruises on your right arm, the scratches on your grandmother's door outside; those were all real.

Slowly, you stood up, legs trembling in exhaustion and fear as you slowly made your way to the orange feline cowered in a ball underneath the kitchen table. You took her in your arms and inspected her. She, too, was shaking, but thankfully, you weren't able to see any bruises on her small body. Good, you thought to yourself while you made your way back up the stairs into your bedroom. Despite having had to go through hell and back — literally and figuratively — the knowledge that you were able to keep a promise to your grandmother filled you with incredible satisfaction. You took Marigold into your bedroom and made sure the door was properly closed this time. Having learned the lesson the hard way, you will have to keep your grandmother's cat away from the cat door to avoid having to go back into the forest and look for her all over again. Once you were certain there was no way for her to get out, you quietly left the bedroom to walk over to the bathroom down the hall. The cuts and bruises on your feet and arm grew painful now that you came down from the adrenaline rush you had. The deep cuts on your right upper arm were especially painful, throbbing against your left hand when you pressed against it to calm the bleeding until you reached the bathroom. You knew your grandmother had a medicine cabinet there as she preferred to store her pills where she would see them first thing in the morning and evening.

You carefully limped to the bathroom, making sure you were walking on the balls of your feet in order to not push the small stones stuck in your skin further into your feet. It was a painfully slow walk, but worth it all the while as you found bandages, disinfectants and pain medications. You had no patience to read through the instructions, just grabbing all the medications you needed and plopping down on the toilet seat to clean your wounds. You hissed as you sprayed the disinfectant onto your feet after having removed the small but sharp stones and wooden pieces. It just felt so surreal. The shock of the wolf encounter was hard to shake off when you were actively trying to clean and bandage your feet and arm. You didn't want to think back of the happenings in the forest, but scenes of the wolf chasing and pouncing on you kept repeating in your mind like a broken record. A shaky breath escaped your lips while you stood up on your covered feet, trying to walk normally but failing as the wounds still shot shock waves of pain through your body. You carefully limped towards the mirror, hands grasping the sink to support yourself. You looked inside the mirror and found the image of a very tired you gazing back at you. Blood shot eyes stared back, the lips of the mirroring image matching the quiver of yours, but worst of it all, the bandage looked to foreign on your arm. It wasn't supposed to be there, same as the deep cuts that it concealed. They will probably turn into scars, the macabre thought shot through your head. Your chest hurt at the thought of having to carry scars on your body as reminders; you choked up, tears blurring your vision — at least you wouldn't have to see a broken you in the mirror.

Instinctively, you reached to grasp your silver cross on your neck for comfort, but couldn't find it anywhere on your neck. Your hand tapped across your neck and chest in an attempt to find the small silver charm, but you just couldn't find it anywhere at all. Even the chain necklace seemed to be missing along with the cross. The cross was of sentimental value for you, as it was a gift from your mother. The woman had surprised you with a small light blue box after you got accepted into your dream university after years of working hard to get accepted into it, a joyous spark on her eyes while she had watched you open the box to reveal a shiny cross inside it. "So that you will always stay protected" your mother explained the meaning of her gift to you "We won't be able to watch over you now that you will have to move away, so I hope this cross will keep you safe and protected" True to her words, you somehow managed to stay out of danger throughout the years of living in a big and notoriously dangerous city, though you had never attributed it coming from your silver cross charm hanging off your neck. Now that it was gone, you felt what true misery felt like as the absence of the necklace spurted you into another crying fit. Angry tears rolled down your warm cheeks, burning your eyes and the small scratches in your face in their wake. This wasn't your proudest moment; usually, you would have calmly gone to bed and proceeded on to search for your necklace in the next morning instead of crying in the bathroom over having lost it somewhere.

You had given yourself a few minutes to cry your feelings out before heading back to your bedroom, head and eyes hurting after the intensity of the feelings you were feeling. Quite frankly, that night was the most terrible you had in a long while, and you were almost certain that you wouldn't be able to forget about it any time soon, either. Maybe one day I'll be able to laugh about it, you thought as your head finally hit your soft pillow, eyes immediately closing after you curled up under the blanket. Maybe one day, you will be able to forget the deep growl and feral eyes of the beast chasing you through the darkest pits of the forest — at least you hoped you would. Time will heal everything, but for that night, you had to deal with fresh wounds on your body and your aching limbs. For that night, you would have to get as much rest, even if the far away howls rung through the night like an ominous promise of meeting you again.

#♱ 𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐄 #mdni banner by cafekitsune #baji keisuke x reader #baji #baji keisuke #baji x reader #tr baji #tr x reader #tokrev #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x reader

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whxre4hange · 3 months ago

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the hargreeves go to family therapy :D (my headcanons)

because we all need therapy after season 4....

luther: brings a clipboard to therapy sessions to "take notes" but mostly ends up doodling stick figures of the family, complete with little speech bubbles like "diego is being mean again" or "klaus smells weird." always wears a sweater, even in the middle of summer, because he thinks it makes him look more approachable and "leaderly." instead he gets incredibly sweaty and stinks up the entire room through no fault of his own. tries to mediate arguments but ends up making them worse by accidentally taking sides or quoting something reginald once said. once cried over a motivational cat poster in the waiting room that said, "hang in there!" and now carries a miniature version of it in his wallet for inspiration. spends half the session apologizing for things no one remembers or cares about.

diego: sits slouched in his chair with his arms crossed, glaring at the therapist like they personally insulted his knife-throwing skills. claims he doesn’t need therapy but shows up every week anyway, muttering something about "keeping an eye on klaus." gets into heated debates with the therapist over ridiculous hypotheticals like "how many ninjas could you fight at once" or "is batman technically a vigilante or just misunderstood?" has been banned from three different therapy offices for flipping furniture during arguments, including one time when he threw a chair because someone suggested he might have unresolved daddy issues. once tried to leave mid-session but tripped over the coffee table and pretended it was part of his escape plan.

klaus: shows up 20 minutes late every session wearing sunglasses, a fur coat, and carrying an empty coffee cup he insists is full of "spiritual energy." overshares wildly inappropriate stories that make everyone uncomfortable, like the time he accidentally summoned a ghost during karaoke night at a dive bar. somehow manages to charm the therapist into letting him stay despite breaking every rule imaginable. frequently lies down on the couch and pretends it’s his turn to be analyzed, even when it’s not, and once fell asleep mid-session while everyone else was arguing. keeps trying to convince ben to possess him so they can do a "fun bit" for the group, but ben refuses out of sheer embarrassment.

allison: arrives perfectly on time every week with color-coded binders filled with self-help worksheets she made for everyone. no one ever uses them, but she keeps bringing them anyway because she believes in "the power of structure." speaks in calm, measured tones during sessions but secretly live-tweets the chaos under a pseudonym that has amassed thousands of followers. once convinced klaus to do a dramatic reading of her old tumblr poetry during group therapy just to lighten the mood (it didn’t). occasionally uses her rumor power to end arguments before they escalate but denies it if anyone calls her out.

ben (ghost): sits in the corner with his arms crossed, silently judging everyone because no one can hear him except klaus. tries to offer helpful advice through klaus, but it always comes out garbled or sarcastic because klaus can’t resist editorializing. once knocked over a water bottle during an especially heated argument just to remind everyone he’s still there and then felt bad about it for days when the therapist got scared. spends most of the session wishing he could haunt reginald instead but sticks around because he doesn’t trust klaus not to say something stupid on his behalf. occasionally makes snarky comments that only klaus can hear, which leads to klaus laughing uncontrollably at inappropriate moments.

five: refuses to sit down because he considers therapy "a waste of time" and insists that his 45 years of life experience make him more qualified than the therapist. spends most of the session pacing like a caged animal and muttering about quantum mechanics or assassins he’s killed. keeps trying to outsmart the therapist by turning every question into a philosophical debate or logic puzzle, much to everyone’s annoyance. is basically the human form of "erm, ackshually," correcting even the smallest inaccuracies with smug precision ("no, actually, i didn’t run away from home; i teleported through space-time"). once corrected the therapist’s grammar mid-session and then stormed out when they didn’t thank him. frequently interrupts others to point out why their trauma is "objectively less significant than surviving the heat death of the universe." once tried to psychoanalyze diego as payback for calling him short and ended up starting a screaming match that ended with both of them being escorted out.

viktor: sits quietly in his chair with perfect posture, doodling in a notebook while everyone else yells over each other. only speaks when directly addressed and then drops surprisingly insightful comments that leave everyone stunned into silence for at least 30 seconds. once brought his violin to therapy and played an impromptu concert when things got too tense, which made allison cry and diego accuse him of being manipulative (he wasn’t) and luther fall asleep. occasionally zones out during sessions while planning elaborate revenge fantasies against reginald that involve poison tea and dramatic monologues.

lila: shows up uninvited every week and acts like she’s part of the family now because "why not?" spends most of the session antagonizing diego for fun—stealing his chair, mimicking everything he says—but will defend him fiercely if anyone else tries it. once stole all the pens from the therapist's desk just to see if they’d notice (they did). eats snacks loudly during sessions and offers none to anyone else unless they beg. tried to set fire to one of luther’s binders during an argument just because she was bored but got distracted halfway through by klaus showing her how to make shadow puppets on the wall. keeps threatening to throw diego’s knives out the window if he doesn’t stop glaring at her.

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liquorcooked · 2 months ago

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Record Store Saturdays (vash)

Pairing: Vash x Reader. Knives shows up for a bit of it!. No specific version in mind! tags: record/cd store AU, knives is a good older brother maybe, soft its so soft JUST pure fluff, maybe knives isn't as bad as he makes out to be lol

summary: you share Saturday shifts with vash at the local record/cd store, one weekend Knives walks in unannounced

Saturday mornings at Needle Drop are slow and sunlit, littered with old paper and burnt coffee. The bell above the door jingles as you walk in. Behind the counter, Vash is fighting a losing battle with the register and a pile of newly delivered CDs. There’s a Sharpie tucked behind one ear, stickers stuck to his palms, and a paper cup of coffee balanced precariously on a tower of jewel cases. He looks up when he hears the door, and his whole face lights up like you’ve just walked out of a dream and into his day.

He sees you and nearly drops everything. “Hey, hey, you made it!”

You smile, already slipping your jacket off, the smell of dust, plastic, and coffee grounding you in a way you don’t question anymore. “You said you'd alphabetize the jazz section last night.”

“I did!” he says, too quickly. Then pauses. “Well… I got as far as Herbie Hancock and then I kinda—uh—got distracted by a documentary on Japanese jazz fusion and then I accidentally fell asleep listening to it.”

You smirk. “So, no.”

“No,” he admits, grinning sheepishly. “But you’re here now, and that means the place might actually function today.”

You shake your head, but it’s affectionate. Vash is chaos wrapped in warmth — a sunbeam of a person who never stops moving but always somehow makes time to ask if you’ve eaten, if you’re sleeping okay, if the mix CD he made you actually played in your ancient car.

Because, of course, he’s been making you mix CDs.

One every week, always waiting on the counter when you show up for your weekend shifts. The tracklists are chaotic: dreamy shoegaze ballads smashed against spaghetti western scores, sad folk songs with instrumental covers of video game music, and one that was just 30 minutes of lo-fi beats with cat meows layered in. Every case is decorated with doodles — suns with sunglasses, stick figures, little speech bubbles that say things like “For your ears only!” or “SUPERIOR TASTE IN MUSIC!!! >:)”

You pretend not to treasure them. He pretends not to watch your face every time you press play.

The day unfolds slowly. You settle into the familiar rhythm — you at the bins, fixing the alphabetized chaos he always leaves behind; Vash bouncing between tasks with that restless energy that keeps him in motion even when nothing’s urgent. The occasional customer drifts in, buys a used album, and drifts out again.

Sometimes, when the shop’s empty, he dances down the aisles with a mop like it’s a partner. He’s all limbs and laughter, and you’d call him ridiculous if it didn’t make your chest ache.

Then one Saturday, Knives walks in.

The chime rings and the air shifts.

Vash freezes mid-spin, mop in hand, as if he’s just seen a ghost. You look up from a crate of alphabetized Bowie albums and see a tall man, sharply dressed, black suit, black shirt, platinum-blond hair slicked back like he walked out of a boardroom into a fever dream. He carries himself like someone who doesn’t belong here, who knows it, and chooses not to care.

“Nai,” Vash says, voice cautious but not unkind. He shoots you a glance and mouths "my brother" to you, to which you vigorously nod your head indicating that you knew.

Knives doesn’t respond. Just walks to the back corner, scans the rock section like he’s assessing structural damage, and pulls out Disintegration by The Cure. He examines the tracklist, flips the case once, then carries it to the counter.

You and Vash share a glance.

“Didn’t know you liked that one,” Vash says as he rings it up.

“I don’t,” Knives replies, sliding a card across the counter.

It’s so deadpan you almost laugh. He glances at you then — quick and surgical, like he’s scanning for weak points. You hold the stare. He says nothing. But something flickers in his eyes. Not disdain. Not quite curiosity. As Vash hands him the receipt, Knives finally glances at you. Eyes pale, unreadable. “You organize this place?”

You nod. “Try to.”

He hums. Not quite approval. Not quite judgment. Just... a sound. Like he’s filing something away.

Then he takes his CD, receipt fluttering behind him, and disappears out the door with barely a sound.

The silence he leaves behind is full of static.

Vash exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. “He doesn’t usually... show up.”

“Is he okay?” you ask.

Vash just shrugs. “That’s kind of his thing. Showing up when you don’t expect him. Disappearing just the same.”

You don’t press. Vash doesn’t volunteer. But his hands shake a little as he reshelves something that doesn’t belong there.

Later that day, you find something strange tucked behind the counter, next to you bag.

Another CD case. But this one’s different. Not one o f Vash's. No doodles, no smileys. Just clean handwriting.

“This is not subtle. Neither is he. Figure it out." – K.

The playlist is short. Sparse instrumentals, strange transitions. Track six is Pictures of You. Track seven is Digital Love by Daft Punk. The final track is a cover of Let My Love Open the Door. You almost slap yourself in the face hearing the odd mix of songs Knives put together. You find yourself grinning yourself stupid - stifling a laugh, "God, I didn't think it was that obvious, gee thanks Knives."

You run your thumb along the track list again and let yourself really hear it. You don't know how Knives figured that out, but he did. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. You blink down at the jewel case, letting out a half-laugh, half-sigh, "what a menace," murmuring to no one in particular.

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

Saturday comes again. You step into Needle Drop like always — jacket off, waving to the fake plant in the corner that Vash insists is "alive with love," and you're halfway to the back when you-

Vash isn't at the counter. Instead, it's Knives? What?

Leaning with arms crossed, dressed in another black suit like he’s allergic to color, expression unreadable and somehow still faintly annoyed.

Your feet pause just past the threshold. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

“I’m never supposed to be anywhere,” he replies, flat.

You set your bag down behind the counter, narrowing your eyes. “You came early.”

He tilts his head slightly. “And you came back.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Obviously. Someone has to stop Vash from filing M83 under classical again.”

His mouth lifts slightly, and he doesn’t correct you either. His gaze flicks to your bag, where the CD he gave you is peeking out slightly from the front pocket.

You catch him looking.

“I listened to it,” you say.

He says nothing.

“Twice.”

Still nothing.

“I’m pretty sure I lost brain cells trying to figure out what genre that Digital Love remix counted as.”

His mouth twitches — the barest thing. “I don’t believe in genres. They’re crutches for the unimaginative.”

You scoff. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“And yet here you are.”

You sigh, but it's amused. “Okay, fine. You win.”

“I always do.” He smiles.

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t need help. I just—was waiting.”

“You were stalling. So was he.” He gestures vaguely toward the back of the store. “He’s in the storage room. Probably trying to work up the nerve to ask if you want coffee.”

You blink. “You came early just to intercept me?”

“I came early,” Knives says, tone clipped, “because if I left you two alone again, I’d be forced to hear him make another playlist about unspoken longing. And frankly, I can’t take another cover of ‘Take On Me’ played on harp.”

You snort. Loudly.

He doesn’t laugh, but you dont think you've ever seen him smile like this before. It's soft, not like how you thought of him the first place. That's probably the most you'll ever get though.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he adds.

“Sure you’re not.”

“I’m doing it for peace.”

“Uh-huh.”

A beat of silence stretches. Then he tilts his head, just slightly. “But... if you hurt him, I will burn this place down.”

You blink. “I- That was... not subtle.”

“I’m learning,” he says, and turns on his heel like he’s said enough for the year. The bell jingles as he exits, waving you off with an expectant look that says, "I expect both of you to get your shit together".

You’re still standing there when the back door creaks open and Vash pokes his head out, curls slightly messy, one hand holding a coffee cup and the other gripping the edge of the door like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“Hey,” he says, blinking. “Did I miss something?”

You glance at the front door, still slightly swinging from where Knives left. Then back at Vash — sweet, nervous, trying.

“Nope,” you say, walking over and gently stealing the coffee from his hand. “But you’re about to miss something if you keep hiding back there.”

"Did he say anything weird?"

"Yeah he definitely did."

"Oh? Sorry... about tha- I've been meaning to ask-"

"When?" You cut him off. You figure that's what he was going to ask anyways. Knives probably tried to give him a pep talk before you showed up.

He looks at you. Really looks. And you smile.

Because now you’ve figured it out. And so has he.

He puts the cup in his hand down and smiles in return, "after our shift? Coffee shop down the road? Just you and me."

#trigun #trigun 1998 #trigun stampede #vash x reader #millions knives #vash

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