Summary: In another life, you knew him. Not as a monster, but as a man. You were lovers once, before the town swallowed him whole, twisting his soul into something inhuman.
The fog swallowed the streets, twisting over the cracked pavement like ghostly fingers.
Silent Hill was a graveyard of forgotten sins, a place where the past refused to rest.
It was here, in the hollow remains of what had once been a town, that you walked alone.
Or, at least, you had thought you were alone.
You had felt his presence long before you had seen him.
An unseen heavy weight pressing against your chest. The first time he had appeared, you had stumbled backwards, your breath catching in your throat at the sheer size of him.
Pyramid Head.
A monster made of rust and strength, his form an executioner’s nightmare, a walking ghoul of punishment and blood.
The great blade he carried scraped against the ground with every step, carving jagged lines into it. You had expected him to kill you.
But he hadn’t.
He had only stood there, watching.
Then he had vanished into the mist, leaving you alone once more.
But it was never for long.
He was always there.
Lingering in the edge of your vision, a shadow in the fog.
And then the memories began.
They came in fragments, brief flashes of another life. A hand in yours, rough and warm. A voice you could not quite hear. The feeling of being held.
There was a time, long ago, before the town had twisted him into this monster, that he had been someone else.
And he had been yours.
The realization settled into you like ice. You should have been afraid. You should have run.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you wanted to find him.
The town shifted as you walked, streets warping, buildings stretching toward a sky that did not exist.
And yet, you found him. Or maybe, he found you.
He stood in the centre of an old, ruined church, his massive frame silhouetted by the flickering glow of candlelight.
Rusted chains coiled around the pillars, their clinking the only sound in the heavy silence.
Slowly, you stepped forward.
The weight of his gaze, unseen yet suffocating, settled over you. You should have feared him. You should have trembled.
Instead, you reached out.
Your fingers brushed against his chest.
And something shifted.
Pyramid Head did not move. Did not breathe.
But you could feel it, the aching remnants of the man buried under the executioner’s mask.
“…I remember you,” you whispered.
The chains rattled. The candles flickered.
For a long moment, there was nothing.
Then his large and heavy hand lifted. It hovered before curling over yours, pressing it against his chest, where beneath leather and flesh, something still pulsed.
Not a heartbeat.
Something older.
Something that had waited. Longed.
Silent Hill would not let you go easily.
The town thrived on suffering, on despair. But as Pyramid Head stood before you, no longer a monster, no longer a tormentor, but something more, you knew that whatever this place had taken from him, whatever it had taken from both of you, it could never steal what remained.
Not your love.
Not you.
And in the ruins of Silent Hill, where the fog would never lift and the ghosts would never sleep, you and he stood together.
Bound by blood. By rust.
By something eternal.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
Summary: Leon can't help but crave physical affection from his girlfriend.
CW: language, cold!reader, re4 leon but re2 puppy leon is def lurking, he is a BABYYY, hint of some 2000s toxic masculinity?
_______
Leon was pretty content with his relationship.
Another agent, but in the FBI. A strong and resourceful woman who didn’t mind him constantly being gone on dangerous missions, considering she was busy with her own. She didn’t mind his closed-off personality because she was probably more closed off than him.
And she didn’t mind his dry dad jokes. Another plus.
She also never pestered him for his lack of physical affection. He always gave her a kiss when he would first see her and one when they said their goodbyes. A handhold every now and then. But he barely touched her. She barely touched him.
He was content with that
…Yeah, he was lying.
Sure, he tried to give off a cold and dark vibe. A demeanor that showed he was not one to be fucked with. But damn, even the baddest bitches need to be held every now and then.
Sometimes, his girlfriend would stay at his place for the night. The first time it happened, he didn’t dare admit it, but he was excited. Excited to not sleep alone, to sleep next to the woman he claimed his, to feel her warmth in his arms.
Then, when they laid in bed, she had said a gruff “goodnight”, turned her back to him, and passed out. Not even a kiss. An “I love you”. Nothing.
Did she even love him?
He questioned that often. Why didn’t she ever kiss him? Touch him? Showed him any affection? Then again, why didn’t he? They both gave each other the bare minimum. But that wasn’t what he wanted.
Fuck. Even the baddest bitches wanted to feel loved.
Like right now. He was seated in bed, fiddling with his fingers as she laid curled up next to him. Practically on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible. Like he was diseased or something.
Maybe there was something he was doing wrong. Maybe he wasn’t loving her right. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be touched. Didn’t deserve to feel love.
But what did he do wrong? What did he do to not deserve a simple fucking hug from his girlfriend? Why couldn’t she initiate a kiss? Hold his hand? Nothing?
Fuck, stop thinking like that, Kennedy. Be grateful you even have a girlfriend.
And so he laid down, burying his head in the fluffy pillow and shutting his eyes. Back turned to her, like they always slept. Like they didn’t even like each other. He had thought finally getting a girlfriend would make it all better. He wouldn’t feel as lonely and sad. He just wanted to feel wanted.
So why did the bed feel more cold with someone in it than without?
Just stop fucking thinking and sleep already. Fucking loser.
Trying to steady his breathing, he brought the blanket up to his chin, suddenly feeling cold as goosebumps formed on his skin. It was almost fucking spring, for fucks sake. Maybe it was because he had the coldest woman on the planet in his bed that he felt like this.
Yeah, that’s probably what it was-
Wait.
He couldn’t tell if it was a hallucination or a dream, but he could have sworn he felt arms slowly wrapping around his waist. Felt the bed stir slightly as she scooted closer to him, her chest to his back. What the fuck what the fuck what the-
She was holding him. She was actually fucking holding him. Was he in the fucking Twilight Zone? Yes, he had to be, because there was no way his girlfriend had her arms around him.
Holy shit.
Hesitantly, Leon reached down, placing his hands atop hers, feeling… warmth? Feeling something he hasn’t felt in years. Tracing his fingers over her soft skin, her well-manicured nails, feeling her breath on his neck. Fuck, this was just a little touch and he felt so fucking happy. Something so small finally made him feel somewhat wanted.
Honestly sad. This simple gesture was enough to get him giddy.
Giddy and eager to hold her too, slowly turning in her grip. She moved as well, unconsciously repositioning herself on her back, an arm still lazily keeping him close. With a smile, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Pressing his face in the spot connecting her neck and shoulder. She smelt so good.
Look, Leon was a big guy. Broad-shouldered and muscular. However, this was probably the safest he ever felt. In a long fucking time.
So you can’t judge him for tearing up a bit. A lot. Sniffling against her neck as he held onto her tightly, resisting the urge to cry like a fucking baby.
“Babe?”
Shit.
He laid limp against her, hoping she’ll somehow assume he was asleep and leave it alone. A dumb thought. As if she couldn’t feel his tears on her skin and hear his ragged breathing. Maybe she’d think he’s just having a nightmare. Yes! This wouldn’t be the first time he had a nightmare-
“Babe,” she repeated gently, and he felt her fingers trail from his spine to his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with her nails, “What’s wrong? I know you’re awake so stop playing,”
Before he could respond, she tugged at his hair, not enough to hurt, but to get what she so impatiently wanted. His attention, which she had when he finally peeked up at her, stormy blue eyes meeting hers. “Nothing,”
“Bullshit, you’re literally crying,” she rubbed at his scalp again gently, “Did you have a nightmare?”
“No, I don’t really want to talk about it,” he replied, tapping the pads of his fingers against her hip absentmindedly, “I’m fine,”
“Am I supposed to believe that?” she chuckled softly, lifting his chin up and cupping his cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone in a soothing motion, “C’mon, I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re upset,” He didn’t even know how to respond. Her hot-and-cold personality made it so difficult for him to know what would be considered okay to say.
“I’m… I’m not upset,”
Her brow raised in disbelief, “You’re not upset? Am I imagining these tears then?” With her thumb, she swiped one off of his face, “Hm, no. Not imagining anything,”
“They’re…” he gulped, embarrassed, “...happy tears,”
“Oh? And what caused these happy tears?”
He could hear it in her tone already. She was ready to tease the fuck out of him. So with a huff, Leon sat back up, crossing his arms over his toned chest in annoyance. “Nothing,”
“What do you mean nothing?” She sat up as well, tilting her head to the side as she eyed him in curiosity. “Just tell me what’s up already!”
“You fucking held me!” he broke, burying his face into his hands in embarrassment.
Silence.
“Ughhhh,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the bed, ready to leave. Jump out the window and dive proudly to the street and die, maybe. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea.
“Wait!” he then felt her arms go around his shoulders from behind, “Stay!”
And like a dog, he stayed put. Still with the pouty and embarrassed look on his face, staring straight ahead at him at the window he so desperately wanted to jump through.
“That made you cry?” his girlfriend whispered, head resting on his shoulder, “I was just hugging you from behind…”
He felt a tad bit more pathetic now. “I know. You… you never did that before,” he hesitantly raised a hand to graze her arm, soaking in the physical touch as much as possible.
“I suppose not,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “You always seem so closed off. I figured you didn’t want to be touched, which is why I always just let you initiate contact,”
“I…” he bit his lip, trying to form the words in his head before saying them out loud. Trying to describe how he felt without hurting his manhood.
But fuck, yes, even the baddest bitches need to be spooned from time to time.
“I do want to be touched,” he mumbled out, “You’re my girlfriend. I want you to touch me, I want to touch you. I thought you didn’t want to be touched,”
“You’re kidding?” she laughed gently, next kiss going to his neck, right on his pulse point, “Literally every night I stay at your place, my arms are around you at some point while we’re sleeping. Can’t help myself,”
That made him shift his body to face her, eyes slightly widened, brows furrowed as he processed his words. This wasn’t the first time? She… did this literally every night she was here? “Really?”
“Mhm,” she nodded, taking his hands in hers, “You know, you could have just told me you wanted some affection, babe.”
“That’s embarrassing…” his eyes darted away again, cheeks flushed red. He could still feel her eyes on him, making his cheeks redden further.
“So unmanly, isn’t it?” she teased gently.
“Shut up,”
She giggled, releasing his hands and laying back onto the bed, head resting comfortably on the pillow. Arms opening, she said, “C’mon. It’s late and we both have to be up early!”
He hesitated. Because, well, he was a dumb ass. Falling asleep cuddled up to his girlfriend like a fucking baby? How fucking embarrassing-
Ugh, sign him the fuck up.
The hesitation lasted a possible two seconds before he laid next to her, accepting the embrace while snaking his arms around her waist as well. Accepting a little kiss to his forehead and a soft “I love you” that left her lips.
Handing her an “I love you too” back before getting the best sleep he literally ever had.
Simon picked your engagement ring himself. He went to the jeweller, saw the ring, and immediately thought of you. He loves it. He’s always kissing your left hand. He’s so in love with you, it aches.
When the two of you finally get married, he never stops looking at his ring. It’s a plain thick silver band, but he loves it so much. He’s just so afraid he’ll lose it.
Instead, he wears the ring on his dog tag chain and gets your initial tattooed on him. The day he comes home from deployment, at first, you don’t notice anything different but his facial hair. Then, when you ask him to get you a fork at dinner, you gasp, “What’s that?”
“What?” he raises a brow.
You grab his hand, pointing to the tattoo. “What? Where’s your ring? What’s this?”
“Here,” he tugs at the chain around his neck. “And ‘is is jus’ to show people ’m married.”
“It’s permanent!”
“Is our marriage no’ supposed to be?”
“But-”
“Are ya tryin’ to leave me, lovie?”
“No…it’s just…permanent…”
“Good. You’re my Mrs. ‘hat’s permanent too.”
You giggle. “Fine. I’m getting one too.”
“Like ‘ell you are. ‘M not letting you ruin that perfect skin.”
“But-”
“Lovie,” he warns. “No means no. I know how much you love me and you hate needles.”
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. THIS IS SO NASTY. WHAT IS THIS STRANGELY SHAPED, HI RES FUCKED UP PIECE OF SHIT. SOMEONE EXPLAIN TO ME THIS DISGUSTING MASS OF WHAT THE FUCK EVER THIS EVEN IS. WHY DO THINGS EXIST LIKE THIS. WHAT THE HELL DO I TAG THIS NASTY THING. WHAT IS THIS. WHAT IS THIS
*Sees someone on twitter arguing that DoorDash is necessary for the disabled because microwave food is too much to handle.*
...What. That seems absurdly specific.
There are a lot of reasons someone might not be able to microwave food. "I literally cannot get out of bed", "i need nutrients you can't just microwave", "my dumb brain has put up 18 billion barriers to try and stop me from eating and this is the loophole I have" "the microwave in this apartment is out of reach/not labeled properly/not ADA friendly in another way" "for x or y reason microwave food is a one way ticket to severe burns", etc. I found a lot of reasons someone might need DoorDash and I also found this cool article about food sharing in the disabled community and how the author had to rely on an abusive partner once because she was either in bed or barely able to crawl and they were among the few people bringing food.
Just saying, there's a reason disabled people have higher chances of food insecurity and there's a reason meal trains, meals on wheels, and other programs focus on bringing food to people in need and not just assuming "they have a microwave and money, why bother?". Sometimes you don't have a family or friends or mutual aid group to bring you meals when you can't even pop something in the microwave.
Microwave: either stand and wait or get up again when the thing goes off in five minutes. You have chronic pain or just had surgery or are just brutally fucking depressed or devoid of executive functioning that day, so this is an issue.
Delivery: get up once. It's more bearable and saves you spoons you could maybe use to stand and brush your teeth or something later.
Microwave: you have used the last thing in the fridge/freezer and can't go to the store to get more until tomorrow or the next day.
Delivery: you still get fed.
Microwave: harder to prepare food for several people because the inside is small, does not typically yield leftovers.
Delivery: food for everyone, could yield leftovers.
Microwave: food texture can be terrible, soggy, tough.
Delivery: preserves the small pleasure of crisp, well-prepared food.
Microwave: have to cook several times a day, which is a chore from frozen.
Delivery: you can order food to last you all day, and get larger and more calorically dense meals. (If I can only manage one meal, yes. I do in fact need it to be full of calories. A 450kcal microwave dinner isn't enough to live on.
Microwave: relies on you having a fridge/freezer.
Delivery: sort of relies on you having a doorbell, I guess?
Microwave: on average, quality is unappealing.
Delivery: wide range of appetizing foods, including healthy foods.
Microwave: just you.
Delivery: you might see another human's face and pass a few words. Boyfriend did delivery. Don't laugh. People get fucking lonely. Yes. That is very sad. Meals on Wheels type programs that deliver regularly are a major source of socialization AND safety checks for shut-ins.
Microwave: you suddenly need a different kind of food than you have -- you might need soft food because your mouth hurts, plain food because your digestion is iffy, soup because you've been ill and aren't up for much more, etc.
Delivery: order whatever you like.
The smallest barrier can be enough to make me skip a meal or two or even three. People HATE that, they HATE the idea that disabled people are "weak" and "lazy" but I cannot emphasize enough, NOBODY WOULD CHOOSE THIS.
Laziness, in the way temporarily nondisabled people apply it to sick and disabled people, doesn't fucking exist.
Don't judge or question what people eat, when, how they prepare their food, where they get it, none of that.
Just because you cannot imagine a reason for something sick or disabled people do doesn't mean there isn't one. If something seems baffling or absurd or whatever, just be glad you aren't operating under conditions that mean you have to understand it.
The medication I'm on causes me to have a stomach that is basically "always acting like I'm 8 weeks pregnant." Smells are so strong, texture can be so important, and if my body says no and i try to force it to eat a particular food, I'll just throw up.
We refer to it as "the toddler," as in "the toddler says no to that smell," "the toddler isn't hungry," "the toddler loved that food yesterday and hates it now."
There are 2 Costco boxes of papusas in the basement freezer bc they went without notice from The Only Food The Toddler Wants to The Most Evil Food, Gross Gross Gross.
Right now, one of the only things the toddler wants is Feel Good chicken potstickers. There have been times when the toddler only wants microwave lamb saag.
Until you've dealt with your own internal toddler who tells you that if you try to eat your formerly favorite food, you will throw up violently for 20 minutes, don't fucking judge my food habits.
Also. As a side note- please. GOD. If you notice someone's lost a lot of weight.. maybe ask if they're OK first before you start going off about how good they look. Please. I'm so, SO tired of people telling me how much better I look now that I'm sick.
My older brother is paraplegic. He has a permanent massive crescent shaped scar on his leg from a time he pulled a bowl of soup out of the microwave and a teen and set it on his leg so he could get to the table. He didn't know he was burning himself.
We have lived in multiple apartments where the only microwave is built into the cabinets and he couldn't reach it at all. This is a common feature.
Sometimes a microwave is unsafe or impossible for someone to use. Please remember not everyone can do "simple" things. People do their best and an unfortunate part of being disabled, and most elderly people are disabled, is that you will have less money but will have to spend more of it just to live.
if you read your microwave user manual, it will probably tell you not to reach up to get things out of the microwave, nor to stand on a stool to do so. Or at least, mine did, with the reasoning that it's easier to spill stuff on yourself and get burnt.
Unfortunately, I am short and the default location for a microwave to be installed is above my head. I literally cannot follow this safety instruction without getting some tall person to fetch my food. (none of the people living in my house are that tall)
Fortunately I have steady enough hands to still use it safely, but that's a hazard. (realization: this is probably why my grandparents have their microwave on the counter. Much easier to use)
I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"
Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.
In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.
In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.
In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?
In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.
The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.
And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?
And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?
Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.
The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.
The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.
Hannibal is that etiquette obsessed autistic grandma whose special interest is catholicism and in whose house no one is allowed to enter and will is her fellow autistic neighbour who lives on the other side of the river who's constantly quietly hissing, never showers, is constantly walking with a pack of dogs or standing in that river dissociating, i mean, fishing. All these two do is intensely stare at each other. They are secretly in love. The whole village knows it.
Made for amazing @anyatolin as a thank you gift for her Buymeacoffee donation and for being a never-ending source of moral support, kindness and inspiration.🫂
You had woken up in the middle of the night to feed Gaz, trying to keep his crying to a minimum so he didn’t wake up Soap and Ghost. “Shhh… you’re okay.”
You were rocking him on your hip in the kitchen as you waited for the bottle to warm. “It’s almost ready, I promise!”
As soon as the microwave was about to go off, you opened it so it wouldn’t beep and wake up Price. You mixed together everything and gave it a good shake before adjusting Gaz to feed him.
The kitchen was dark, only the moonlight peering it lighting the space. The compound was quiet as everyone slept, giving this moment some slowness. You stared down as Gaz drank, his eyes closed. You couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight.
You’d be kidding yourself if you said you never wanted kids, but it hadn’t been in the cards for you. You quietly cooed at Gaz, rocking him as he held his own bottle. Sighing, you watched as he tried to get every last bit out of the bottle, taking it from him and washing it out quickly before returning to your room.
Turning to set Gaz down, you see Soap standing up, a giddy look on his face as he grasped onto the top of the playpen wall, bending his knees to make his body bounce. You laugh a little as you set a sleepy Gaz down and pick up Soap. “What’s got you all energized huh?”
He was giggling and grabbing at your face. Excitement was written all over his little face. You laughed quietly as you sat down with him and held him as he laid against you. “And I thought you had energy as an adult. Simon sleeps more than you right now.”
Soap let out a noise in response to your voice, looking up at you. “I wonder if you know what’s going on, or if you’ll even remember any of this.” Soap moved his arms to lay flat on you as he turned his head to lay on your chest as you began to lay back down in your bed.
“Do you wanna go back to sleep?” You moved to put him in the playpen when he whined. “Nevermind.”
You woke up to feel a wet spot on your t-shirt, looking down to see Soap still laying on your chest, a pool of drool taking place on the collar of your shirt. “Great.” You slowly sat up, putting Soap down, seeing the other two boys still asleep. Yawning, you stretched your arms out, seeing it’s only 5 am.
You leaned over the side of the playpen gently, staring down at the littles when a stench hit your nose. “Uh uh. No way.” One by one, you lifted each boy up to smell who did the deed.
Once you picked up Ghost, it made the scent stronger. “Oh come on.” You carried him stretched out from your body, his little head lopsided as he slept. You looked around, realizing you left the diapers in Price’s room. You sighed, propping Ghost on your hip as you walked down the hall to Price.
A small knock landed on his door as he opened it. He was shirtless, wearing flannel pajama pants and messy hair. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“What the fuck is that smell?!” He looked down at you in disgust.
“Ghost. I left the diapers in here.” You chewed your bottom lip.
“Right.” He moved to go retrieve them and handed them to you.
You both stared at each other for a moment before he raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never changed a diaper before.” You say shyly.
Price’s eyebrows raised for a moment in comprehension, then took in a deep breathe. “Come here.”
You entered his room as he took Ghost from you, laying him down on a towel spread on a side table by his couch. “This is going to weirder than it has to be.” He said as he began to change the diaper. “You see these little tape straps? You gotta peel those back.”
He snapped and signaled for the wipes, which you quickly grabbed. “Hold his feet.” You took ahold of Ghost’s tiny feet and held his bum up away from the towel. You watched as Price discarded the diaper, quickly wiping away any mess and applied the new diaper. “It’s not super hard.”
“You made it look easy.” You laughed.
“You’re gonna need to learn to do it. Especially with the three of them.” Price gave you a pointed look.
“I know. Thanks for your help.” You swooped up Ghost and began to head to your room.
“Wait, why don’t you bring the buggers in here? You can use the couch. That way if something like this happens again we’re close. Share the caretaking.” You nodded as Price took Ghost from your arms.
You began to bring things in trips to Price’s room. The boys in one trip, the playpen in the other, and then finally your belongings.
“I had blankets for you, you didn’t have to bring your own.” Price said as he saw you making the pullout couch up.
“It’s okay, I had to bring some other things too.” You say, setting down a change of clothes in case Gaz spit up on you again.
“Do you need anything else?” Price spoke, crawling into his bed. “We could both stand to get a few more hours of sleep.”
“All good here.” Your voice was quiet, watching as he arms flexed as he adjusted himself to become comfortable. He hummed in response and laid on his side.
You sighed as you laid down yourself.
Suddenly, you woke up to crying, violent screaming if you will. You shot up, seeing Price already halfway out of bed. You both bolted to the playpen to see Ghost crying his eyes out, clinging onto Soap.
You picked him up, shushing him and bringing him out of the room to comfort him. “Hey it’s okay Simon, you’re okay!” You made sure he didn’t need a diaper change. “Are you hungry?”
“Y/N!!” You hear Price’s panic. Bursting back into the room, he’s got Soap sprawled onto his bed.
“John?!” The use of his first name slipped past your lips as you saw the evident worry in his expression. “What’s going on?!”
“He’s not breathing!!”
The world stood still as you watch Pric perform CPR on Soap’s little body. Everything slowed down around you.
Soap wasn’t breathing…and Ghost alerted you both.
The sound of your pounding heart was the only noise you heard as panic swallowed you whole. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process the situation.
You feel Ghost being taken from you, but you can’t react. You fear the worst, that you’d lose one of your best friends, and he won’t even know what happened because he isn’t an adult anymore.
God, Soap won’t even know he’s dead. He won’t even know what happened.
Suddenly, you break out of your spell due to two big strong arms pulling you in. “Hey, you with me?”
You can’t respond, your body is trembling with fear. “Y/N? Hey, come back, come back to me Y/N.”
Finally, the strength comes upon you to look up to see a teary Price. “John?”
“Y/N.”
“Is he…?”
A hand comes down to turn your head towards the playpen where Soap and Ghost are clinging to each other, cooing with wide eyes. Soap’s breathing.
You let out a breathe you didn’t realize you were holding as you lose control and begin to sob. A hand flies to your mouth to silence yourself. “You saved him.”
“Sshhh…” Price holds you tight against his chest. “See? He’s okay. He’s alright.”
You are too focused on Soap moving and being alive to notice how sweet Price is being. “Soap…”
“He’s alright, he had a small toy stuck in his throat. It’s gonna be okay.”
“Oh my God, I put those toys in the playpen! It’s my fault!” You quickly began to crumble as you backed away from Price in horror.
“Y/N, breathe. It’s okay.”
“It’s not! I almost killed Soap! If Ghost hadn’t of started crying, we wouldn’t have known!!” You we’re violently shaking at the ordeal.
“Look at me.” Price’s voice rumbled out his chest. He wasn’t asking, it was an order. Your eyes snapped up, wide in horror. “It’s not your fault. Besides, he’s okay.”
“I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“
“Stop talking.”
“I didn’t think he’d try to swallow it-“
“Y/N!”
“Oh, I, oh God-“
“Shut up.”
“But I-“ Price came up to you and put a finger to your lips.
“Next time your captian tells you to stop talking, I’d listen.” He was dead serious. His military side coming forward. “Now lay back down, rest up. I’ll stay up for a bit to make sure Soap doesn’t try to kill himself again.”
You nod, still visibly shaking.
This was all your fault.
But why didn’t he yell at you? Why didn’t he reprimand you? Tell you you were useless? Insult you?
Instead he took you in his arms and shushed your crying.
Something was changing inside of John Price, and little did anyone know, it went deeper than the three littles laying in the playpen.
It’s no secret Michael loves you, he doesn’t feel the need to hide it when you’re alone with him. He is borderline annoying with how frequently he invades your personal space. Sure, you can try asking him to give you alone time but he’s never actually gone, he’s still lurking in the shadows. Watching. Learning about all your embarrassing habits when you think you’re completely alone. He finds it odd you don’t show that side of you when he’s around. He wants to see it and he doesn’t like the fact you hide from him sometimes. It doesn’t necessarily hurt his feelings, more like it angers him. Is he failing at something? You should feel comfortable enough to be you.
With age, he is naturally more tired. He still has inhuman tendencies that are otherworldly but the second he feels any amount of tiredness he wants to go to bed right then and there. And that means you’re sleeping too. He doesn’t care if it’s only 6pm. If he’s going to sleep then so are you. No point in arguing. He always wins.
Lazy Sunday’s are a thing for you two. He’s somewhat lazy and refuses to leave the couch until he’s hungry or wants to do something with you. If you have a recliner he’s totally going to pass out in it and have the best sleep of his life in over 40 years. Will he admit this? Absolutely not. He also feels all soft inside if he wakes up to a blanket over him. Obviously you did it out of love and that small action is enough to make him spiral and think of ways to pay you back. Most times his “thank you’s” involve sex. Slow and intimate sex. When he is feeling grateful for your love he softens up quite a bit.
Peepaw is very cuddly. Michael can’t get enough of your body pressed against his. He feels complete when you’re in his arms. Nothing else exists in the moment. Only you. He loves holding you at any given opportunity. He’s a big fan of having you sit on his lap while he squeezes and rubs your thighs and sides. Rough. Maybe too rough the first few times. But it’s all out of love for you.
He has a habit of watching you sleep. He stares at your face the entire time. He studies every line, every scar, every freckle, every spot, everything and anything you have on your face he takes a picture of it in his mind and keeps it there forever.
Michael will get flustered if you call him handsome. If he’s wearing the mask you won’t be able to see the way his cheeks heat up. Even without the mask it’s very hard to tell with all his facial hair. Just know he’s blushing and avoiding eye contact because you gave him butterflies at his grown age.
He loves sneaking up behind you and kissing your neck. Your neck is a vulnerable area and for some reason he gets a buzz whenever you allow him to kiss it and leave marks. He’s naturally possessive over you and this only heightens it. He likes admiring his work afterwards, caressing the bruises with his thumb. Tilting his head a couple times. He’s not sure what’s considered art to society but this is art to him. You’re art to him.
Michael isn’t one to hide jealousy. If he’s feeling insecure it comes off as raging jealousy. You’ll know by the way he stares down at you. The way his chest heaves with every breath. The way he presses himself against you in a desperate attempt to feel you. He’s always going to reach for reassurance through physical touch. It’s important to him.
While he may be dominant in all areas of the relationship, he is capable of being soft enough to appear submissive. He won’t shove you off if you take control and sit on his lap. He won’t swat your hand away if you grab his face. He won’t grunt in annoyance if you tell him to do something.
Believe it or not - you have him wrapped around your finger. He bends his rules and boundaries for you daily without hesitation. Peepaw is secretly a teddy bear when it comes to you.
This is more sad than fluffy but.. Peepaw has a heavy weight on his chest whenever he watches you talk to younger people, specifically men. He understands it’s not common for a younger person like you to date an older man like him. It worries him. The slim chance of you finding someone better, younger. Someone who will stay by your side longer. Michael is aware The Shape cannot protect him from aging. Some nights he loses sleep over the thought of dying naturally and leaving you behind.
Michael mentally promises to never abandon you, even after death. He always finds himself back home and that’s you now.
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