#<just in case someone needs it blocked i guess

[taravangians-storming-balls]

Took my adderall for the first time since January I'm normal again and kaladin means nothing to me now

[b4kuch1n]

Hi, I've been inspired by the composition and abstract style of your artwork for a while now, if I made an experimental art piece inspired by your composition style would you want me to credit you as an inspo? or would you just not be comfortable with me using your art as inspiration altogether? (which is fine btw, i don't wanna do smth that would make you uncomfortable)

oh sure! feel free! I don't mind at all lol

[blotlcss-a]

I just realized i was blocked by someone that i thought i got along with... Im not sure what i did wrong or if theyll see this but im sorry you felt uncomfortable enough that you needed to block me

[occamstfs]

Roommates’ Trivial Tiff

Pretty standard nerdy asshole to himbo TF, who doesn't love some cosmic justice ! -Occam

“You just don’t understand what it’s like dude. You have no idea how hard all this stuff is for me.” Brock was struggling to get through to his roommate, someone he has time and time again been more than cordial with. In response Harvey scoffs and rolls his eyes refusing to engage and instead doubling down, “I’m sure it’s real difficult with all your paid tutors and your-” 

“You’re not even listening bro! You like to think you’re so elevated, like you have all the answers but you don’t even try to understand what anyone else is going through.” Harvey grimaces and briefly tosses about whether or not this is true but stubbornly neglects to internalize the criticism, “Uhh, I do too?” Brock bites his tongue to prevent just blowing up at his roommate and instead he tries a different angle, “Oh yeah? If that’s the case then, bet you know a lot about me huh? Since we’ve been roommates for a year now,” pausing as he narrows his eyes briefly at Harvey, “and ostensibly we’re friends right?”

Harvey struggles not to display his ever present irritation as he retorts, “Of course we are, uh, dude.” Brock does a better job hiding his intentions as he issues a challenge, “so if we were to say, quiz each other you think you’d come up on top lil dude?” With this gauntlet laid there is little recourse in Harvey’s mind but to accept it, there are few times he enjoys showing off so much as in a trivia contest. So what he might have a less than pristine record of respecting oafs like his roommate, he is certainly not to lose in any battle of the wits regardless of topic or stipulations there may be.

Brock puts out his hand and states the stakes, “You can of course bow out whenever, but uh, how about every question the winner takes something from the loser?” Harvey was resolved to win before hearing the terms and is now spitefully even more eager now as he eyes Brock’s side of the room looking for whatever his prize is sure to be.

Without any further clarification Brock promptly launches into the game, “I guess we’ll start real easy yeah? Only fair.” Harvey feels resentment start to brew as he feels he’s being talked down to as Brock goes on, “For starters then, What’s my major?” Harvey audibly gulps and feels his face blanche as he scrambles to find such an incredibly simple answer. This is such an obvious and pressing piece of information it would be impossible not to have it on deck.

Seeing the hesitation Brock laughs incredulously, “God dude are you kidding? How could you not know this, I-” He shifts his jaw waiting for the second shoe to drop as it is suddenly clear he is about to clean house, this asshole is going to learn respect by hook or by crook. Harvey’s eyes that were just hungrily looking through Brock’s possessions now retread their path, searching for the answer, his eyes linger on some sports bandages and protein powder and he kicks himself for forgetting. “Well duh dude, you’re doing a sports medicine or a trainer degree or whatever. Sorry that I forgot what the proper name is, it’s not exactly high in the list of things I need to know.”

Brock stares down at the clueless nerd before him and slowly shakes his head. “Not even close Harv. It’s-” Before he can finish though Harvey stands and shouts, “Don’t fucking call me that! I bet you don’t know mine either!” This leaves Brock aghast, he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, “Of course I fucking do! You never shut up about it! I’m lucky if my headphones can block out you whining about homework while also constantly talking yourself up! It’s so, fucking, annoying!”

Hurt by this despite his typical apathy to others Harvey starts up once more, “Okay but you didn’t say-” “Computer Engineering.” Harvey blushes in shame, not over his disrespect but of getting the question wrong. Suddenly there’s a hum in the room and the shadows in the corner grow darker and Brock looks around, “Well I suppose that question really tees me up on what to take huh? I’ll take your major.”

“Wha?” caught on the other foot Harvey blinks and sees that his textbooks and assignments are suddenly piled on Brock’s desk. He feels anxiety rise in his chest unsure of what has happened though confident this must be a prank or something. “No no no that can’t be right? What is happening?” He then returns to look at his roommate once more, a scowl plastered on his face as Brock who, despite his impressive stature always aims to present as kind and gentle, cannot help but smirk as he feels he has gotten one over on this jerk.

He stretches, exposing his midriff and flexing  his arms behind his head, perhaps to try and allure or intimidate Harvey, he’s not sure, but Harvey is not going to just take this sitting down.Though at the present, he is too uncomfortable to even vocalize his discomfort as he stands there trying not to shake. Instead Brock begins once more, “Urgh kinda see what all that complaining was about now Harv, kinda got a lot on my plate now hah!”

Harvey stares daggers at his roommate, “Brock I don’t know what kind of nonsense is going through your dumbass ox brain. But it’s not funny, I’m sure you’re used to bullying little g-”

“Excuse me? I’m a bully!? I know you’re not saying that, I go out of my way to be kind, even to little chip on their shoulder assholes like you. I just,” Brock takes a deep breath and flexes his jaw before he continues. “It doesn’t matter actually. I trust you have a vested interest in trying again though right? Surely you want your major back?”

At the moment Harvey is caught between the idea that this is some kind of Christmas Carol-ass dream where he’s supposed to learn a lesson or once more that this is just a prank by Brock. Amenable as he’s always been, Harvey's convinced that behind this lunkhead is the vitriol of the typical jerk jock. In this impossible chance that this is reality though, he can’t just give up his major. He needs it to be an, uh? God what was, no what is his major anyway? 

Harvey looks around in shock as he suddenly can’t bring his current course schedule to his mind, but he was literally in class this morning right? He feels his coursework draining from his mind as fear and rage begin to rise in his frail body. Images of lecture halls and professors flash through his mind before they just as swiftly dissipate, somewhere within him deeper than memory he feels that he was studying something with numbers. Mathematics, physics, engineering, something he was good at. He is determined to get that back as he speaks up finally, “What is the next question.”

Brock smiles and toys around in his head, confident that he will end up on top. “How about you pick this one, give you a fighting chance.” Harvey purses his lips and struggles to produce a question that he knows the answer to that his roommate will not. Oh duh, he’ll just ask him a math question, easy! Certainly not the aim of the game but Harvey just needed to get his life back. “What’s a derivative.” 

“Kinda not in the spirit of the game dude but whatever. I took calc you know. It’s the rate of change in response to a variable. Now since you’re still being an ass how about I lob one back? How about you derivative 𝑓(𝑥)= 2cos⁡(𝑥)−6sec⁡(𝑥)+3?” Harvey is flat stunned, this is some entry level shit but he cannot for the life of him bring the information to mind. He’s just as sharp as he always has been but anything beyond rudimentary trig is continuing to trickle out of his mind. He meekly chuckles out, “uh easy, it’s f(x) equals, uh tan-”

There’s a blaring in his head as both men are aware of his immediate slip up. Energy once more rises in the air as Brock looks down almost pitifully at his roommate this time. “Now I am sorry for this Harvey but, oof that course load! Like you so relish to say, I am just not that bright hm?” Harvey shakes his head as he realizes the horror about to occur. Brock looks a little uncomfortable as he continues, “After failing to pull your little gotcha, I think I’ll just go ahead and have your intelligence.” 

Both men are instantly struck with headaches the likes of which neither could endure under normal circumstances. As soon as the pain arrives though it is converted into a deep profane pleasure. Pins and needles fill Brock’s mind as it becomes heavy. Ideas and understanding fill his mind as a euphoric warmth flows through him. Harvey had enjoyed learning without truly lifting a finger, he had flourished and gained knowledge through no effort on his part but simple absorption. Brock is overcome with the ease at which he will now flow through life. Equally is he overcome by the ecstasy within his body as it only continues to heighten.

Opposite him Harvey clutches at his head as now not only do his learned experiences at university vanish, but all of his capabilities as a student and academic. Even the pleading within his mind slows down as he feels his ability to swiftly process information breaks down. Harvey turns from the man across from him as Brock’s hands feel up and down his musculature in rapturous delight, just in time to see whatever books and tomes he had collected as trophies begin to fade into the aether along with his memories of reading them. He looks down at his hands in confusion and horror, even with his unaddled mind at full steam he could not make sense of what has befallen him. He knows this is not right.

He is unable to find any answers, though as he searches his brain he begins to find a pleasant warmth in the vacuum where there once was knowledge. While his mind has been emptied, the bulge in his crotch demands his attention, which shall likely be a constant issue now that his mind shall evermore be less than preoccupied. He feels his mouth start to fill with drool as he looks down at his cock as it almost feels larger than it should be. He almost laughs at the idea that from now on he may fully be thinking with his cock. He opens his mouth allowing drool to spill out which shocks him back to sense and he turns around to demand that Brock return this all to sense immediately.

Brock for his part is reclined in a chair just rubbing his cock over his shorts almost forgetting about what they had been doing not seconds earlier. He laughs as he sees the expression on Harvey’s face, “Woah dude sorry about that, got lost in my own mind for a second there! No wonder you had, or have rather, such an attitude problem. It all just came so easy to you didn’t it? I mean we could keep going if you want, what else do you have to lose yeah?” Harvey wipes the drool from his face and takes stock, he can still read, he is pretty confident he still passed high school, he remembers his life before whatever hell is currently happening as well as whatever this new reality is. He nods his head and pushes his erection down as it continues to rise upon seeing his roommate’s cocky repose. He answers, “let’s keep going. Your question right?”

Harvey can’t help but trace Brock’s traps as he shrugs, “If you insist lil bro. What’s my middle name?” He knows this one for sure, he would bring it out to tease his roommate as needed. Brock slams his arm down in excitement and shouts, “fucking Laurel!” then he recalls this is only half the battle, Brock must also get his wrong, “what’s mine?” Brock smirks once more and laughs as he stretches to scratch his back, his roommate hungrily staring, “you don’t have one dude”

The energy rushing between the two men is drastically different this time. Unlike the pleasurable prickles of knowledge or the soothing burn of loss there is a direct, deeper connection between the two. Brock’s grin grows wider as understands, “Oh I getcha, question’s a tie so we share the spoils Harv. Only fair that since you’ve the mind of a what, meathead? May as well have the body of one.”

Harvey watches as his roommate takes off his shirt, he feels a warmth in his chest as he stares directly at Brock’s pecs. His breath catches as he watches his roommate flex them and he feels a nervous energy begin to surge within his own. He’s never had pecs before but he feels his chest pushing, growing, into his shirt. He sees his nipples harden and grow too large to ever hide as his chest expands. His swallows to stop from drooling once more as he sees Brock pose and flex his massive biceps, forcing a burning delight down the whole of Harvey’s arms. He matches the pose of the powerful man he has spoken nothing but ill of and flexes, sweat immediately staining through his shirt as the energy and strain heats his body beyond reason.

At the same time both men drop into a crunch, there is a loud tear as the pants of both men tear as they reach the lowest point in the crunch as Harvey’s ass bursts larger and his thighs swell with strength well enough to carry his increasingly top heavy torso. Not only is Harvey to gain the muscle of a tight jock, but the masculinity expected. The cock he has been til now proud enough of pulses with his heartbeat, with each pump it gorges larger, veins thick as the ones surging down his biceps force his cock thicker and further down his strained shorts. He tears at his pants to free his bulge as his balls bloat to the size of eggs, they pull tight ass they’re exposed to the air and all the soreness, strain, and pain of his still growing body becomes agonizing delight.

Harvey’s eyes water as he struggles to even stay cogent with the pleasure and power coursing through him. He smells his new musk breaking through his senses. Through the burning bedlam across his body he feels a soothing burn as hair begins to sprout and thicken where every man should make clear his masculinity. His pubes thicken and curl beyond his waistline and his pits grow wild and begin to spread to make it clear they, nor his musk, can ever be contained.

He lies, sits, writhes, flexes, exists in nothing but pleasure for some time, no longer concerned for his lost intelligence, beyond the care of his education. His hands, larger and painted with still thickening hair, press tight against his body as he feels the new contours of his body. Each new valley and mountain is a testament to the ecstasy he shall now prioritize above all. Until his roommate’s voice breaks through the haze, “Fuck bro you’re really feeling yourself huh?” Harvey’s eyes open to see Brock’s arrogant sneer has only grown worse as he has contendly watch Harvey lavish his new corpus.

Harvey meets it with a scowl and Brock tilts his head, “Want to do one last question then, bro?” His smile grows tight as he tries not to laugh as the appellation of bro has become the paramount definition of this once genius. Harvey just nods his head, still understandably disoriented as he lies in a pool of his own sweat and pre that remains dripping directly onto the floor. Brock motions for him to ask whatever the presumably final question is but is met with a grunt and a wave of the hand. Brock grimaces slightly, “if you insist bud,” he grimaces slightly as he looks down at the man. Asshole he may have be, may still be even, surely there’s something Brock could do to fix even that. He leans to whisper the question in Harvey’s ear, “what color are my eyes.” 

Between grunts, Harvey strains to look at his roommate only to find them obviously closed. His body contorts with pain and pleasure as he feels the throes of defeat and one final lose begin to seize him. He groans out through clenched teeth as his jaw widens and his brows thicken as changes already begin to work upon his mind, “don’t… know…” Brock nods and sits next to his roommate laying Harvey’s head on his lap. At the point it would be a kindness for the man to forget his life before, and that is exactly what he is to do. 

Brock removes the memories and identity of the sour nerd that made life perpetually unpleasant not only for him, but anyone unlucky enough to grace his presence. His breathing speeds up as his body heat rises beyond imagination, sweat turning to steam in the cold dorm room as he shakes his head and clenches his fists. He writhes only briefly, each flex of his body a final protestation of Harvey as Brock erases even his name from his head. 

After a minute of this his body goes still before he opens his eyes blearily and groans. Still lying in Brock’s lap he stretches his arms, turning to smell his impossibly rank pits before turning it into a flex as he must do anytime he raises them. Brock watches this with trepidation, unsure of who exactly his roommate is to be now before suddenly a name surges into his mind, Bull. Perfect fodder for the jerk he once was and an apt name for the behemoth lying on his lap. Testing the waters Brock pats his chest to wake him up, “Morning Bull.”

He yawns and scratches at the same stubbled face he has always known and he sits up, “urgh got a massive headache bro, must have gone pretty hard to have a hangover this bad huhuh! Wanna go grab brekkie and hit up the gym?” Brock stifles a smirk and helps his roommate up to standing, slightly surprised to see him standing taller than himself before responding, “You got it big guy, how about you get some clothes on first though right?” Bull guffaws, looking down at his hairy sweat-drenched body as he throws an arm around his roommate, cock bobbing around in the open air, still chubbed up. “What would I do without you bro huhuh!” 

Brock looks to see all of Bull’s tops have changed to stringers and tanks. Where Harvey had nothing but pants Bull has piles of unwashed athletic shorts, one of which he promptly throws on, going commando. Seeing Brock watch him, Bull grabs at his crotch and juts at the door, “Come on bro! Faster we get a pump in faster we can get back here and have some fun dude.” 

With that Bull again throws his arm around Brock, once more smelling his b.o. as he almost deliberately spreads it on his roommate’s neck, like an animal marking its territory. The two then off to start their day, in Bull’s mind as they always have. Brock feels his crotch grow weightier as the amble down the hall, unsure if he’s made a horrible mistake in all this. Who is he to say what is too far in acts of cosmic retribution. Brock is certain at the end of the day he and Bull are at least to have quite a bit of fun.

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 5

Part 4

After collecting their bags from the library lockers Jazz led him down the hallway until she found a small, unlocked, empty classroom. The room was barren except for desks and a whiteboard. I guess they don’t bother locking it if there’s nothing worth stealing.

Jazz sat her messenger bag down on the teacher’s desk and pulled a whiteboard marker out of a side pocket.

“Right,” Jazz began, “I don’t know how much you know about ecto-entities and since, as you said, the reports on them tend to be pretty biased, I’m just going to start from scratch. Sounds good?” she rambled.

Tim hopped up onto the front row desk and tried his best to look like an attentive teacher’s pet.

“Yes, Ms Fenton,” he said cheekily.

Jazz gave him an amused look.

“Careful Mr Taylor, or you’ll end up in detention,” she said lightly. She turned to the whiteboard and gathered her thoughts for a moment, then wrote ECTO-ENTITIES in large block letters, “Many people refer to all ecto-entities as ghosts, but this is actually a misnomer. Ghosts as most people think of them, i.e. the restless spirits of the dead, are only a small subset of the ectoplasmic population. There’s plenty of them that were never human to begin with,” higher up on the board, she wrote INFINITE REALMS, “Ecto-entities originate from a parallel dimension to ours, which is called the Infinite Realms by its inhabitants. Though my parents refer to it as the Ghost Zone, that name is woefully inadequate.” Jazz paused and glanced at him.

“Kinda like foreigners renaming places instead of using the one in the native language, gotcha,” Tim nodded. They had dealt with alternate realities before, so this wasn’t completely out of left field. He would go along with it for now. Jazz gave him a small smile.

“That’s right!” she said and tapped the whiteboard, “Now, the Infinite Realms and our dimension are closely interconnected, like two sides of the same coin. Large scale damage to one would cause similar devastation on the opposite side and vice versa,” she gave him a serious look.

“Which makes the hostile attitude of the paranormal research community rather worrying,” Tim mused, “If someone did something stupid the blowback would hit us too,” If he wasn’t trained to read people he would have missed the slight tightening around Jazz’s eyes.

“That’s the theory anyway. And it’s not like the US government ever dropped bombs on people just to see what would happen,” she chirped with false cheeriness.

There’s a story there, Tim thought, and not the kind you would find in a history book. What the hell has been going on?

“I’m guessing getting access to the Infinite Realms isn’t as easy as calling an Uber though,” he joked.

“You’d be surprised,” Jazz said wryly, receiving a raised eyebrow in response, “there are places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin, allowing temporary rifts to form more easily, but they can pop up pretty much anywhere in the world. It’s what allows ecto-entities to enter our dimension. It’s also not unheard of for humans to stumble into the Realms either, though they’re lucky to return at all,” she twirled the marker between her fingers, “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way in the Realms as it does here. Just in case you ever come across one, make sure to leave through the same portal you entered. Otherwise you might find yourself stranded in the Middle Ages, or far in the future with everyone you know and love long dead.”

Tim had to fight to keep down a wince. The whole Bruce Lost In Time Debacle was still an emotional scar for the family, they really didn’t need a repeat performance.

“Duly noted.”

“Some entities are able to open and close rifts at will,” Jazz continued, unfazed by Tim’s dry tone, ”though that ability seems to be pretty rare. It probably requires an unusual level of power or incursions would be much more common.”

“That would explain the little disappearing trick Damian’s delivery guy pulled,” Jason murmured through Tim’s earpiece, “But does that mean we’re dealing with a fucking super ghost?”

Tim gave a thoughtful hum and drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.

“Do you think humans could open a portal to the Realms?”

Jazz gave him a wry smile.

“You just summed up the bulk of my parents’ research over the last two decades. They managed to build a functioning portal about two years ago.”

Tim choked. Jason swore.

“What?! But that’s-! How is that not all over the news?!” Tim sputtered. Jazz just sighed.

“My parents have been ranting about ghosts since they were in college,” she said wearily, ”Most of the scientific community had written them off as crackpots years ago. It doesn’t help that large concentrations of ectoplasm generate some kind of interference that messes with recording equipment. Short of kidnapping the naysayers and shoving them bodily through the Fenton Ghost Portal it’s hard to prove anything. And thankfully even my parents aren’t that crazy,” she finished with an eye roll.

Tim buried his face in his hands. An interdimensional portal. What the fuck. He thought back on everything Jazz had told him so far.

“What’s ectoplasm?”

“You’ve been paying attention!” she smiled and added some notes to the whiteboard, “Ectoplasm is the basic building block of everything in the Infinite Realms, and by extension ecto-entities. Hence the name. It’s the equivalent of matter in our dimension; atoms, protons, quarks, etcetera. I’m not a physicist, so I can’t tell you exactly how it works, but that’s why ecto-entities are able to interact with our physical world in such fascinating ways. Flight, intangibility and invisibility are all common abilities for them.”

“Wow, what a fucking security nightmare. B is gonna freak,” Jason groused. Tim tuned him out to focus on Jazz’s continued explanation.

“My parents have been experimenting with using ectoplasm for power generation, but it’s proven extremely volatile. It seems like it’s affected by things like belief and emotion which is absolutely fascinating,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “not to mention its effects on organic tissue. Have you ever had your dinner come to life and try to eat you?”

Tim had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat, “Um… Jazz, what does ectoplasm look like?”

“Well that depends on what it’s been affected and shaped by but in its raw form it looks like a bright green, glowing liquid,” she tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

Over the comms, Jason made a sound like someone had kicked him in the crotch.

“Lazarus water?! Is she talking about the fucking pits?!” he choked out.

Tim made a valiant effort to keep his own reaction in check.

“Oh, just wondering how I’ll recognize a ghost- er, ecto-entity when I see one,” he lied with fake casualness, “You mentioned something about powers?”

“Yes! All the entities we’ve encountered so far have exhibited powers which are common to their species, as well as additional powers that seem to depend on the individual core. I’ve theorized that powers develop as a response to stress related to either their Obsession or death trauma…” Jazz trailed off, “aaaaaand I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, I know I have a tendency to ramble,” she said sheepishly and considered the bullet points she had written so far, “Let me backtrack a bit. Not all ecto-entities are ghosts. There’s personifications of concepts, which I theorize are formed through the collective consciousness of living beings. They are entities which represent Hope or Justice or-”

“Time?” Tim interjected. Jazz gave him a calculating look.

“...sure. They are among the most powerful entities and have powers related to what they represent. I suspect they may have even been worshipped as gods at some point. You definitely wouldn’t want to mess with them,” at Tim’s nod, she continued, “There’s also the Neverborn, which are formed when ecto-entities choose to reproduce. They are entirely of the Infinite Realms, and thus were never ‘born’ into our world.”

“Ghosts can have children?” he said, surprised.

“Yes, although I’ve never been able to get the details on how it works. They don’t like to discuss it with outsiders. And considering they can look like dragons or disembodied floating eyeballs I’m not sure I’d want to know the exact mechanics,” she joked.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree with you on that,” Tim muttered, then paused. “Wait, dragons?”

Jazz waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The point is that there’s way more to the other side than most people realize. There’s probably lots of things I’ve never even heard of. It’s quite exciting, really!”

Tim worried about it. A lot. Jason had also gone suspiciously quiet.

“So, ghosts are just the tip of the iceberg?” Tim hedged.

“Exactly. What sets them apart from other ecto-entities is that they are usually created upon the death of someone or something from our dimension, which gives them motivation to come back here,” Jazz added more notes and arrows to the whiteboard. “All entities have something they call a core; think of it as their central organ or brain. It houses their consciousness, and its nature affects what powers they get. There’s all kinds of elemental cores like fire and water, but also more esoteric ones like shadow or technology. An ecto-entity’s body is composed of ectoplasm and moulded by their core. Their physical form is malleable and heavily based on their self-perception. With experience they can change shape to suit their needs.”

Tim mentally added shapeshifting to the growing list of powers to worry about. So far it sounded a lot like a Martian’s.

“So can ecto-entities grow and age?”

“It depends. The Neverborn usually do, but a lot of ghosts have a bit of a Peter Pan thing going on where they don’t want to. They are often ‘stuck’ at the age they were when they died, physically and mentally. Though there’s always exceptions.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. Something had been bothering him since ghosts had first entered the equation.

“Jazz, if ghosts don’t age or die, why aren’t they all over the place? Even if rifts are rare, shouldn’t there be hundreds of thousands of years worth of dead folks wandering the Earth?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“I never said ghosts couldn’t die, Adam,” she said carefully, ”And not everyone who dies comes back as a ghost. The ones who do typically have some unfinished business holding them back. Like an obsession they never got to fulfill, or a loved one they are watching over. Once they are done, they are free to move on to whatever Afterlife awaits them,” she sighed and crossed her arms, “It also takes a lot of energy for a ghost to do anything in our world. I think a majority of them never hit that level, or can’t keep it up for any significant amount of time. It’s also part of the reason my parents are so biased against them.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it. Most ecto-entities are just like regular people, going about their business and keeping their heads down. The ones who are both motivated to cross into our world, powerful enough to manifest and tend to make themselves known are the troublemakers. It would be like an alien looking at the population of Belle Reve and concluding that the majority of humans must be super villains! It’s sample bias.”

Tim bit his lip. This all sounded worryingly plausible, which would mean a literal world of trouble about to come down on their heads. Fuck, just what we needed.

“You mentioned that ghosts can die. I assume you don’t mean from old age, right?” he queried. Jazz looked at him wearily.

“You’d be right. If an ecto-entity’s core is too badly damaged, they will cease to exist,” she said cautiously, “It doesn’t help that ghosts tend to maintain a strength based social hierarchy and are fiercely protective of their territory. Ecto-entities usually have a lair within the Infinite Realms, and those who cross over to our dimension often establish a haunt to call their own. Any intruders would be met with violence,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead, “My parents have also been developing weapons to fight ghosts with… varying degrees of success. A lot of their tech runs on ectoplasm which makes it pretty temperamental.”

Seeing Jazz’s obvious discomfort with the topic, Tim decided to switch tracks.

“Is there any way to tell for sure if my brother came back as a ghost?”

Relieved at the change, Jazz made a see-sawing motion with her hand.

“Kind of? My parents tried for ages to build a ghost detector but they never got it to work quite right. Too much ambient ectoplasm in Amity I guess,” she shrugged as if that statement wasn’t extremely worrying. “You could always grab a ouija board or something and try asking. Just… don’t ask a ghost about their death. It’s a major trauma for most of them and there’s no better way to send them into a frothing rage. If they volunteer the information that’s one thing, but to ask about it is like the social faux pas among ecto-entities.”

Tim nodded and made a mental note to get his hands on some Fenton tech. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week for him.

Jason and Tim didn’t speak until they were safely back in the car. Tim was mentally composing the report they would have to make to Bruce. He was not looking forward to his reaction.

“So,” Jason began with fake casualness, “an interdimensional portal in Illinois.”

“Yep.”

“Creatures made of fucking Lazarus Water.”

“Sounds like it.”

“And we still don’t know if our mystery meta is Bruce’s dead kid or not.”

Tim groaned.

“It all adds up though, doesn’t it? The camera glitching, the powers, the portal…”

“And that damned prophecy. The personification of Time, huh?”

Tim pinched his nose to stave off the growing headache. They contemplated the fucked up situation they had stumbled into in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jason sighed and started up the engine.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to tell B?”

Part 6

[lovebugism]

I had this idea about eddie dating reader who is obsessed with pop boy bands! tysmm

i'm so obsessed with this idea bless you anon — the town freak tries to impress the local cool girl and, in true eddie munson fashion, it doesn't go as quite expected (friends to lovers, fluff, shameless it reference, 1.1k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie stands across the counter at Family Video and lays a collection of cassettes on top of it. 

Steve blinks once at the tapes, then twice up at him. “…What is this?” he wonders, visibly dumbfounded.

“Do you interrogate every customer that comes in here?” the wild-haired boy quips, digging into the pockets of his leather jacket for some wadded-up bills. “Just scan it.”

“New Kids on the Block? New Edition?” Steve announces as he bags each plastic case. His chiseled features twist in confusion. “Who are you, and what did you do with Eddie Munson?”

“It’s not for me, dingus.”

“First of all, don’t call me that. And second of all, who the hell is it for then?”

“Someone. No one,” Eddie mumbles, shrugging and shifting his weight on his feet, doing a terrible job of hiding his sudden sheepishness. “Don’t worry about it.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “A girl?”

“…Maybe.”

“A pretty girl?”

Eddie scoffs an unamusing laugh. “Sure. If that’s the only way your pea brain knows how to describe someone as… uncanny, and demonic, and fascinating as she is.”

Steve’s brows pinch in a subtle horror. He’s not sure what most of those words mean, but they don’t really sound like compliments. He just shrugs and decides not to press it any further. “…Okay.”

“She’s just into this stuff, okay?” Eddie confesses, gesticulating wildly with his ringed hands. “And I wanna like the things that she likes— Is that so bad?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s very, very bad,” Steve answers without thinking twice. He passes him the plastic bag full of tapes with a sympathetic glint in his eye. “’Cause that means you’re in love.”

————— 

Eddie stands outside the arcade in wait for you. He knows you always come to The Palace on Fridays — right before the school day ends, so you have a couple hours of peace before the snotty middle schoolers run you out with their post-P.E. stench.

He wears a set of headphones over his untamed curls and a walkman clipped to his jeans. It plays a pop song he’s only ever heard on the car radio. Steve’s radio, specifically. He’s heard you hum it a time or two, and it’s the only time he’s ever been able to stand it — as if he needed another reason to prove Steve right. 

He was head over heels, disgustingly, wretchedly, completely, utterly, and totally in love with you.

Propped against the driver’s side door of his van, he exhales smoke from his lungs and sees you walking down the sidewalk. 

Your pink tights swish at the knees while your plaid skirt, in a grass green color, flutters around your thighs. Your sweater’s bright blue, and the only thing halfway matching the rest of your outfit is the bright emerald dinosaur pictured on the front of it.

You beam at the sight of him. “Teddy? What are you doing here?”

“I’d guess the same thing you’re doing here, sweetheart,” he quips, playing cool as he snuffs out his cigarette with the heel of his worn sneaker.

“Normally, you’re busy on Fridays… I’m starting to feel like you’re stalking me.”

Eddie’s deep brown eyes narrow, twinkling with dark chocolate. “And how would you know that I’m busy on Fridays?” he teases, tilting his wild head to his shoulder.

You shrug, faltering for a blink of a moment. “Corroded Coffin always performs on Fridays. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, maybe just you and the… four other drunks that happento come to the Hideout on Fridays,” he jokes with a boyish laugh.

“Touché,” you concede, smiling wider. “Whatcha listening to?”

You reach out for him, taking the headphones from his ears like you always do. You place them over your own head and expect to hear something loud and heavy — that’s what you usually catch him listening to, anyway. A wide smile blooms on your lips when a familiar song fills your ears.

“New Kids on the Block?” you wonder with a scrunched nose, voice distant with disbelief.

Eddie had been expecting this. He’d spent ten minutes praying this exact moment would happen, but he stumbles over himself about it anyway. “Yeah. Uh, Family Video— They’re selling tapes and stuff now— To keep from going out of business, I guess,” he stammers, laughing awkwardly as he scratches the back of his neck. “So, I don’t know. I guess, I thought I’d—”

“Buy it for yourself?” you finish for him, with a knowing grin on your petaled mouth. “And then try to impress me by waiting outside the arcade I go to every Friday? Even though you’re usually busy practicing?”

You see right through him with little effort. Mostly because you’re one and the same — hopelessly in love and tripping over yourselves with it.

Eddie nods, then laughs. “Yeah, actually. That’s— That’s the half of it, yeah.”

Your smile quietens when you slip the headphones back over his head, fingers brushing his curls and palms grazing his flushed cheeks. “Maybe we can go together sometime?” you offer and step back from him again. “I can show you where they kept the real music. You know, make sure they got the right stuff to listen to.”

His chest swells. He almost forgets to breathe. 

He never, in a million years, would’ve expected his first unofficial date with you to be at Family Video, of all places — but he’s grateful for it nonetheless. He figures he could go just about anywhere and be happy as long as he could look over and see you standing right beside him.

Eddie nods until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Sure. Yeah. That sounds— That sounds good.”

“I’ll call you when I’m free,” you tease and walk on by him. 

You’re always free. He knows that. You’re always everywhere and nowhere all at once. Even now, standing right in front of him, you’ll disappear like you’d never been there at all. You just like to keep him guessing, really, and he knows that, too. It’s why he melts for you so easy.

“Okay,” he nods, rapid and utterly dumb.

“I’ll see you soon. Maybe.”

He watches you meander towards the entrance of the arcade. Words start to bubble in his throat. They spill out before his brain can decide whether or not to actually say them. “Please don’t go girl,” he blurts while the lyrics of the same song croon in his ears.

You spin around and blink wordlessly at him. You don’t look confused, but you don’t look impressed either. Eddie can’t gauge the emotion on your face, and he falters.

“That’s the... That’s the name of… of one of their songs,” he stammers.

He blinks, and you’re beaming again. A golden laugh spills from your lips, like honey and summer and sunshine. “I know, Teddy,” you grin — voice as warm and as fond as your glittering gaze. 

He grieves when you turn away again, walking into the arcade without looking back at him once.

Eddie doesn’t breathe again until you’re gone, forgets how to until you’re done clouding his vision.

You’ll be the death of him yet.

[kachowden]

Yandere Jock x Reader

You did not want to be here.

The seats were cold. Your butt hurt. It was loud. And the smell of sweaty feet and gym shorts was nothing short of a headache this early in the morning.

You knew you were being dramatic. Nobody liked gym class. Well. Nobody except maybe Loren. The campus “wonder boy”.

You guess you understood the hype. I mean the guy was a star player for your colleges team. Not to mention, insanely athletic, and good at about, well, just about anything. Except for y’know. His studies.

Which y’know gotta have that little cliche in their right? Who doesn’t love a big dumb jock huh?

And of course he was otherworldly pretty. Because obviously.

Okay maybe you were being a little hard on the guy. You didn’t hate him. Hell you hadn’t even talked to him!

A small part of you was willing to admit it might’ve been a slight case of jealousy

But only slight! The guy had everything practically handed to him and here you were busting your ass!

It sucked yknow? I mean what’s someone gotta do around here to get a helping hand-

“Hey! Watch out!-“

Suddenly the sound of rubber against skin boomed in your ears. A sudden shadow blocked your sight, and it took a moment for the sound of your own heart beat to settle, for you to realize what had just happened.

“Hey, you okay?”

The shadow moved, revealing a large hand, firmly grasping a stray volleyball. A volleyball that would’ve smacked you straight in the face because you were too busy monologuing to-

“Hello?”

Oh right

You hesitantly moved your eyes upwards, and nearly groaned out loud.

Wonder boy. Of course.

Time to embarrass yourself with your poor social skills!

“Oh shoot, hey, sorry-uhm..thanks for totally saving me back there! I mean, saving might be a stretch cuz the worse that could’ve happened might’ve been a bruise or on the very slim chance a concussion- but still I appreciate-“

“Pfft..”

Mother fucker did not just

Loren must’ve noticed your sudden change in mood, because he quickly coughed into his empty fist with a shy smile. His brown eyes were twinkling obnoxiously in your opinion, from the reflection of the faux lights.

“Sorry- sorry…I just uh…you’re kinda dorky”

This bitch.

A scowl quickly took residence on your face, a snarl being on the verge of pouring out.

“Right. Well I said thanks so, I think I’ll be on my way now. Thank you, again for the save. Or whatever.” The last part came out as more of a grumble than anything, and yeah you might’ve been a little petty for it, but come on who says that to someone you just met??

As if realizing his mistake, Loren’s grin fell agape, and with slow reaction time, unusual for someone like him, he moved to follow after you towards the door way.

“Hey wait no! I meant it in-“

The door closed with a thunderous slam.

“-a cute..way.”

“……”

A hand perched itself on Lorens broad shoulder.

“Hey man! Who you talkin to?”

A fellow player chirped at the brunette, who’s lips had settled into a troubled frown before he snapped his eyes towards the other player.

He didn’t know his name.

There was a brief moment where the player swore he was being glared at by the Star member, but it was gone so fast he figured it to be a trick of the artificial light.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get back to the group yeah?”

—————————————-

God what a long day

Loren sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that hour, sweat pouring from his brow as he roamed the mostly barren halls.

It was fairly late in the evening.

There was the occasional straggler, most of who greeted him enthusiastically.

“Hey Loren! Can’t wait for the game this week!”

“Loren! You goin to the BMZ’s party tomorrow?”

He responded the way he normally would. Smiles, “hell yeahs”, and high fives. Though at this point he was just going through the motion. He didn’t really feel the need to show up to the parties. But he decided he’d wait to see how he felt by tomorrow.

Right now, he just wanted to get home and relax.

“Stupid- fucking professor! Couldnt wait till I- goddammit!”

Maybe home could wait a while longer

Loren peeked around the corner, and swore he almost did a backflip at the sight of you slouched against an empty classroom door.

Perfect.

“Hey!”

The moment your eyes drifted to his he swore he almost forgot how to breathe. You were way too cute.

But the frown on your kissable lips was disheartening to say the least.

“What do you want?”

Okay that hurt a little, but he kept his easy going grin as he strode to stand above you,

a visual he found…almost unnatural really.

It felt weird. Wrong, to be standing above you like that. But he disregarded the feeling for now. No matter how strong the desire to drop to his knees was.

“Need a hand?”

He heard you scoff

“Right..the professors gone so unless you have a key to the city than-“

Click!

He wanted to laugh at the stunned look on your pretty face. But that didn’t go well last time so he settled for a smile.

“…Ta-da!”

You looked less amused than he had hoped, with the way your head whipped back and forth before you carefully stepped in.

“Why the hell do you have a key that opens this classroom?”

“When you’re the “School Pride” you get a few extra privileges sometimes.”

You mumbled something at that, but he was unfortunately stood too far away to hear what you said clearly. He figured it was a jab at him. Not that he minded.

With quick, but still obviously cautious steps, you peddled on over to one of the front desks, where a lonely bag sat.

Quickly and nimbly you scooped it over your shoulder and made your way back to the brunette, who stood guard at the doors entrance. Almost dutifully.

Loren had to beg the universe that you didn’t hear his thundering heart and stuttering breath when you stopped directly infront of him.

Fuck you were so fucken cute up close what the fuck

“Thanks.”

“Huh?- Oh! Yeah of course anythingforyou”

.

.

.

.

“What?”

“What?”

“……”

You eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before seeming to sigh in resignation.

Moving out from the doorway, and away from him, you paused outside where you had previously had your little breakdown.

“Anyway. Thanks again. For the double save and stuff.” You almost looked pained saying that if he was being honest. But he’s take what he could get for now. “See you around. Or something.”

Wait what?

You were leaving again? Already? He barely even had time to stare at you!

I mean. Talk to you. And make up for embarrassing you earlier!

“Wait!”

You paused, almost irritatedly but seemed to ultimately decide to be civil and hear him out. Probably because you liked him now.

(No you were just tired.)

“How about you come to my game this week yeah? It’s on Thursday.”

.

.

“Why?”

“Because i want you to. And I wanna make up for this morning.”

Loren watched anxiously as you seemed to weigh your options.

“Please?”

Again, you sighed, before turning around and beginning to stalk off down the hall.

“I’ll think about it. I guess I owe you anyway.”

Nowaynowaynoway

Loren waited for you to turn the corner

“YES!”

He jumped up excitedly, “yes yes yes! Hell yeah!” clenching his fist with a enthusiastic grin, eyes practically shooting beams of excitement with how bright they were.

This was it. This was the beginning.

Fuck yeah! He was so pumped now!

You could consider this Thursday’s win dedicated to you.

———————-///—————

A/N: this ask/story was so fun to read and write about! I love getting asks so don’t worry about sending too many btw <3 thank you so much! Perhaps we’ll see more of Loren in the future? Hope you like my take <3

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series - humor, strangers to friends/roommates

word count: 5.1k

cherry here!... first req that turns into a mini series and I'M SO EXCITED. the idea was perfect and i really hope you all enjoy this little story based off one of the best films :) common changes and adjustments are made for the plot but HAPPY READING

*can you guess what film it's based off of? where the title originates from?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 1

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

Parents know best - at least that’s what we’re all told growing up. How about bioengineering? Cardiothoracic surgeon? Architecture? With braces and a messy fishtail, you shake your head profusely as you clutch onto your notebook. 

"No. Journalism."

“Why didn’t I listen to my mom?” Groaning, you rub your tired hands all over your face as your roommate stares back, bewildered by your sudden frustration. 

“You’re telling me doing open heart surgery would have been better than writing an article?”

Aiming a pencil at her, you gasp as you cover your mouth and she squints her brown eyes at you. “I am so sorry!” Running up, you hug her desperately. “I’m just stressed, I’m stressed, I’m stressed!” You pull away. “I’m stressed.”

Amelia chuckles as she sits down on a stool, pointing for you to do the same. “You, my serial killer friend, need a break.” You frown at her choice of words. If I take a break then I’m going to get fired. She smiles brightly. “You won’t though.”

You can distinctively pinpoint the moment a ripped up journal turned into a laptop. It was senior year of highschool and you finally had the courage to confront your parents and tell them that you, if fact, were not joking about your bachelors in journalism.

"Darling, how will you make a living out of something like that?"

For a moment, her words had you second guessing your choices. Could she be onto something? Know something perhaps you don’t? The older, the wiser, no? 

But you had already applied - it was done. So you tipped your head firmly, clicked your tongue against your straight teeth, and smiled.

"I’ll find a way."

You moan softly as you hit your forehead with the palm of your hand. “What I would give to just be an elementary school teacher…Grading papers, cute kids-”

“Shit everywhere, tantrums, headaches, signs of early aging - oh God - receding hairline!” Amelia pales as she scrunches her nose in disgust. “Nightmare.” The blonde reaches for your hands, intertwining her fingers into yours. “But this is your dream, it’s what you're good at. Don’t let a little writer's block scare you away.”

-

“Goodness gracious! Are you alright?” Lucy’s southern accent surprises you as you fix your crutches. The older lady had been working at the famous magazine company since you can remember, always a cheerful receptionist. Loud, too. 

You wince. “Oh, you know…clumsy me?” 

"Eleanor is never going to let me take a vacation. I would have to die first."

Amelia’s eyes twinkle deviously. 

"Then that’s what we’ll do."

"Die?"

“It’s okay, I could open it myself,” you yelp as Lucy swings the door to your boss’ office. Let me, she insists as she pushes you in. Tumbling, you hurry to fix your posture as you nervously giggle, beady eyes staring back at your rude interruption. “I had no idea you were in the middle of a meeting.”

Eleanor and a crowded room all look you up and down before she sighs. “You’re already here, what is it that you need?” You shudder at her cold tone.

“I- uh- I mean, if it’s possible, I was t-thinking I could maybe get a m-m-month off?”

Oh no, someone whispers as they catch the editor-in-cheifs face change. Your stomach drops. Or not, I’m fine! The gray haired lady stands up as she tauntingly makes her way over, circling you like a hungry lion. “And why do you need a month off?”

“Doctor’s orders?”

She hums, analyzing your casted leg and left arm. “I’m sure you can type with your right hand. Off you go.” You blink. Once she takes a seat, she narrows her eyes again. “I said you can go.”

“Of course. Have a nice day.”

"She’s going to see right through me," you repeat for the millionth time as Amelia's boyfriend, Roman, works on the fake casts. 

She groans. "With that attitude she will! Get it together. You have to stand your ground and don't dare walk out of that office without a month off."

Terrified of your best friend, you nod. "Thank you again for this future doc, hope you don’t get fired."

He pales. "The things we do for the people we love, am I right?" Amelia blushes.

Letting out a shaky breath, you brace yourself before tripping and falling straight onto your back. The whole room gasps in shock as Eleanor stares back with a bored expression. Shit, are you okay? Peeking with one eye, you catch Grayson - Eleanor’s son - staring back with a helpful hand. 

He had always been nice to you, bringing you coffee whenever he was around. Sometimes he even helped you brainstorm new ideas. Your heart rate accelerates as you struggle to get up. Mother, she can’t be working in this condition. She huffs as she waves her hand in dismissal, Dior bracelets clicking against one another. 

A month. That’s it.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he helps you into your overly priced Uber. He tilts his head, slowly tracing your features.

“You're lying, aren’t you?” He signals at your poorly done cast. 

“I c-can explain-”

He laughs. “Your secret's safe with me.” Reaching over, he buckles you. Your breath hitches. “Enjoy your time off. I’ll be waiting for you.”

-

“I’ll be waiting for you!” You swoon as you retell your embarrassing story to the cozy couple who cuddle on the couch like proud parents. 

Amelia claps. “He’s the one! I feel it!” Roman scoffs. Settle down, daydreamers. Your friend slaps his hand. “Debbie Downer.” You giggle as she wiggles her eyebrows. “So…what are you going to do now that you're free?”

You tap your chin. “Um, probably write.”

Her smile falls. “This is the whole reason we even did any of this! For you to not think and just enjoy yourself!” 

Her boyfriend nods, floppy hair bouncing up and down. “Yeah, I didn’t go through all that,” he signals to the casts that lay by the doorway, “Just for you to lay around doing what you always do.” He stands up to grab an apple. “Travel, I’m serious.”

-

Amalfi Coast. It called you poor in seven different languages as you tug your suitcase into your AirBnB. Amelia and Roman had sat through 8 hours of planning everything, detail and safety included. 

"Oh, click that one!" Roman tsks his tongue as his fingers slide against the keypad. The blonde beams. "That’s perfect!"

"Perfectly out of my range," you sigh as you slap it shut. "I’ll die homeless if I stay there." The couple share a silent look before returning their attention.

"Well, we were thinking… " the brunette starts before your friend cuts him off, jumping up and down on his lap. He groans. 

"Sorry, honey, but anyways, we’ll pay for it!" Your jaw drops as you wave your finger, shutting down the idea.

"There’s no way I’m going to let you guys do that-"

"Okay, maybe not all, but at least a good chunk of it," she butts in as Roman stays with a soft smile. "Isn’t that right? " He nods.

"Take it as an early birthday present," he adds. Your chest tightens at their kind gesture.

"That’s still a lot of money." You grow light headed.

"Then no birthday presents for two years," Amelia squeaks as she grabs your hands over the coffee table. "Just don’t say no, you need this." You debate inside your head for a few minutes before letting out a shaky breath.

"No birthday presents for the rest of my life and we have ourselves a deal."

Which is how you landed in one the most beautiful homes you think you will ever see in your entire life. You can’t even pretend to try and fit in because everything seems to make your eyes pop out of their sockets. 

After a bit of unpacking, your sweet tooth gets the best out of you as you grab your purse and head out the door. You can’t help but take pictures at almost everything you see, but everyone was doing the same so there couldn’t be too much judgment. Paying for your lemon sorbet, you hum constantly as you stare into the ocean. The breeze was warm, but not obnoxiously so. The rocks underneath you tickle slightly as you get comfortable. 

Then you hear it, light snores. Startled, you turn over as you catch a man sleeping, arm laying over his stomach. You think about maybe moving location but when he releases soft whimpers, you find yourself growing sympathetic. What if he was in trouble? You couldn’t let a person die if they were three feet away from you. Hesitantly, you crawl your way over as you tap his leg.

“Ciao,” you say, but you can only catch his nose scrunching up since he had a hat laying over him, covering his mysterious features. Biting down on your lip, you dig your finger harder. “Ciaooo.” Sitting up abruptly, he groans, shoulder bumping against your cone. You yelp before pouting at your treat melting all over the surface. 

“Oh merda, colpa mia,” he apologizes as soon as he notices your gloomy mood. “Posso comprartene un altro se vuoi, ti prometto che non sono un serial killer-” Like a cat being bathed, you jump up high as you create a large distance. 

“Serial killer?” you squeal. He catches onto your accent swiftly as he waved his hands in defense. 

“I’m not! I’m not!” You eyed him suspiciously, chest heaving heavily. “I was offering to buy you another cone and saying that I’m not a sick serial killer, that’s all…” He signals to your desert. “I feel bad.”

Releasing a soft breath of relief, you smile politely. “Don’t worry about it. I was just trying to see if you were okay, you were kind of…” You theatrically twitch as he chuckles. Your cheeks burn up at the sound. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” A beat. “Sort of.” Softly narrowed eyes stare back at him. Do you need anything? He winces at the bright sun. “I feel a bit sick, if I’m being honest.” He zigzags a bit before falling straight into the rocks, painful grunts following. You shriek as you run over, flipping him onto his back.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck.” Other than a cut up lip, he’s fine, but he groans like there’s no tomorrow. Rightfully so, you start panicking as you dab his bottom lip with the hem of your shirt, then you remove his hat.

“Don’t!” But you’re already tossing it over your shoulder as you analyze his bruised up cheek. 

Green eyes look into yours as you stop breathing. His eyes are sensitive, like some sort of past soulmate, if you believe in that type of bullshit. His hair is rusty brown, long strands hitting up to his lashes. His nose is slightly pointy and it’s worse that they’ve always been your favorite kind. Lip swollen from his clumsiness, but a natural pink. Freckles and moles sprinkle along his face. 

Scooting away, he raises finger over his lips, cryptically telling you to hush. Confused, you lay your palm against his cheekbone. “You need to see a doctor.” Now he becomes visibly bewildered as he cocks his head to the side. You don’t know who I am? Flushed, you extend your hand, introducing yourself. “And you are?”

The brunette lets out an unhinged laugh as his large hand swallows yours. “Charles, I- I m-my name is Charles.” Dimples pop up from how wide he’s smiling, and that almost leaves you gasping for air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Then he grabs his head in discomfort. “Seriously though, you need to see a doctor.” No, he starts. You roll your eyes. “Fine, a medico or whatever you want to call it.” Helping him up, he leans against you as you wheeze.

“I’m perfectly fine, I just need to sleep.” He pants against your head, catching a whiff of your shampoo scent. “Pretty,” he mumbles. You blush harder. “Do you think you can take me to the nearest hotel?”

“I don’t know if that's such a good idea,” you mutter. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but I don’t know you at all.” He shyly nods before removing his arm away from your figure, and all of a sudden it’s cold. 

“I get it, don’t worry.” The green eyed boy waves goodbye before stumbling away. 

You have always been a bit of a people pleaser, one of your many flaws. Amelia and Roman had always called you out on it, stopping you from making stupid decisions.

But Amelia and Roman weren't here.

“Wait.” Charles turns around, loopy eyes squinting at your blurry physique. Making your way over, you take his arm and place it over you. “You can stay with me, I’m just up that hill.”

-

“You can’t be helping out boujee vagrants,” your friends scold you over the phone as you grimace. “Why would you do that?”

You nibble on your painted nail. “I felt bad…” 

Roman snickers before coming into frame. “What if he’s some kind of maniac?” Like a child, you shake your head.

“He said he wasn’t!”

The couple groan at your naiveness. “Boy, let’s just trust everyone we meet then!” The blonde pushes her face directly onto the screen. “You need to slap him awake and kick him out.” 

But there was something so peaceful and homey about the way Charles was sleeping, covered like a butterfly in a cocoon. His chest rises up and down as he occasionally reaches for the other pillow, bringing towards his chest. With one last glaze, you leave the bedroom.

“I can’t do that to him. He was in really bad shape, you should have seen him.”

God can’t even help her, Roman grunts before strolling away. Amelia sighs. “Listen, I know you’re just being a good person, but you don’t even know this guy. We just want you to be safe.” I know, you mumble, chewing on your hoodie’s string. She tips her head. “Let him stay the night if you want, but tomorrow, he leaves. I’m not playing around.”

“Tomorrow,” you reassure her before hanging up. 

-

He had slept for a day and a half and you were starting to get worried but after contemplating throwing his body over the balcony, he was stretching like a newborn baby. “That was the best nap I’ve had in years.” You chuckle awkwardly at the stranger.

“That was most definitely not a nap.” 

He smiles. “Did you sleep well?”

“So good,” you respond quickly and he would have settled with that if it weren’t for your dark under eyes.

“Shit, you haven’t slept?” 

“I did, I promise!” Green eyes reflect intently as you crumble. “Okay, I didn’t, but it was only for two days.” Two? You cringe. “There was just one bed and I didn’t know whether you were-” You trail off. 

“Wasn’t what?”

Maroon paints your cheekbones. “A psycho killer…” You can tell he’s offended by the way he rubs the tip of his nose, as if he’s trying to ease the tension.

“I’m not the Monster of Florence or anything like that,” he mutters as you begin to apologize, watching as he sits far enough away just in case you feel the need to bolt out the door. “But I understand why you don’t trust me. We don’t know each other…So, why don’t we work on that?”

It takes about an hour for him to tell you what he considers the basics about his entire persona, and you rant about your upbringing. He frowns.

“That must have sucked. Not having parents who believe in you.” You flinch at his truthful words.

“I think they’re starting to get it,” you pathetically try but even he can see right through your weak excuse. Focusing your attention onto your twiddling thumbs, you exhale. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a mechanic?”

The Monegasque seems stunned for a nanosecond before munching on a blueberry and crossing his arms. “Their only priority was for me to be happy and doing what I love.” You smile sadly.

“Are you happy? Do you love it?”

“It’s my favorite thing in the world.” 

You feel a giggle bubbling inside your throat with the way he speaks about his job, but then you’d be doing the exact same thing that others do to you. He coughs. “So tell me, you really faked an injury?”

Your stomach hurts from how much Charles was making you laugh and before either of you knew it, the sun had set. “Did we really just waste an entire day?” 

“I don’t see it as wasting my day. I really like talking to you.”

Forcing yourself to look away, you untuck your legs from underneath your butt. “Wanna grab something to eat?”

There’s a comfortable silence that lingers between you both as you walk the busy streets of Amalfi. “Do you really need to wear a beanie? It’s burning hot.” Looking around, he shrugs and continues walking. 

You settled on sharing a plate of pasta since it was almost bedtime and neither of you weren't that hungry. “Good, right?” he questions the moment you shut your eyes about the delicious taste. You hum. 

“Free orgasm right here.”

Choking on his food, he quickly takes a sip of water as you smack his back. “I think I’m good now,” he squeaks as you smile timidly. You can feel the way he judges you as you devour your fair share, but you can’t help it. Connecting your gaze to his, he looks away as he drops his fork against the fancy plate. “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”

“Oh. Yeah, no problem.”

The brunette chews on his bottom lip. “It was nice getting to know you, really.” You blink back dazed as he continues. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip.”

“You’re leaving?” Even your inquiry shocks you as he smiles back warmly. I don’t want to interrupt. You’re looking for peace, remember? Trying to think of a quick enough excuse, you say, “Having someone to keep me company doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. I-I mean if you’re not busy.”

Under the table, you were crossing your fingers as he took in your offer. The brunette nods. “I guess it could be fun.”

-

“You did the right thing,” Amelia congratulates you the next time you call her. “Rather be safe than sorry.” 

Just then, Charles walks in with a bag of peaches, grinning proudly as he makes his way over. “Agreed. Listen Amelia, I have to go. Adventure awaits! Tell Roman that I miss him! Talk to you later!” Hanging up, you greet your roommate. Awkwardly, he passes you the juicy fruit. 

“Friend back home?” You hum, biting down. Taking a bite of his own, he bows his head. “You miss your boyfriend?” You stop chewing.

“Boyfriend? Oh, you mean Roman?” He clenches his jaw, then relaxes. You cackle loudly. “He’s my best friend's boyfriend,” you clarify. “We’re close - all of us.” 

“Oh.” Tossing the seed away, he rises up to his full height. “Wanna see something cool?”

-

“You got insurance?” you joke as he covers your eyes, leading you mysteriously. You’re not going to get hurt or die if that’s what you’re worried about. You giggle. Okay, we’re here. Removing his hands, you take a minute to adjust your eyesight. “What the fu-”

“Cool, right?”

You scoff. “Cool? This is beautiful.” Running over to the cherry red Ferrari, you reach out before turning back to the 26 year old. He nods. Delicately, you brush your hand against the leather seats. “Where did you get this?” 

“I know a guy.”

“Mafia leader?” 

“Ha-ha,” he mocks as he unlocks it, going in to open the door. “Hop in.”

Humid wind sends your hair flying as you let out loud shrieks from the speed. You don’t know how he found such an isolated spot, but you don’t ask questions with how much you enjoy the thrill. “Again, again!” you cheer as he does professional donuts. The car comes to a halt as you fling forward and he stays as straight as can be. 

“How about I teach you?”

“Okay, put the car in gear.” Following instructions, you listen attentively. “Turn the wheel and floor it, but make sure to be alert and keep your foot on the brake just in case.” Swinging harshly, you let out a scream. “It’s okay, try again.”

After a while, you still couldn’t get it down and your frustration was starting to show. But he was patient, spilling out different versions of advice. Twist sharply. Biting on your bottom lip, you huff before trying again. His words circle your mind as you drive the Ferrari straight ahead before turning the wheel and pressing down on the gas. Your adrenaline picks up when you realize what you had just done.

“That was perfect!” Raising his hand out for a high five, you squeal as you smack it hard. He hisses, but you’re on a roll. 

“Hold on, Charles, you're in for a ride.”

Though his car is moving fast, the Monegasque feels as if he’s stuck in slow motion as he admires the way you control the Ferrari. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t find any of this attractive. It took you a while, sure, but your determination got to him as he kept his eyes trained on you, peeking over at you where you sat mumbling the steps over and over. Arms maneuvering the wheel flawlessly, knotted hair fanning your face. Stepping on the break, he barely has a moment to react before he slams right onto the dashboard. You wince.

“I should have warned you, crap! But you were doing so good! Your head would not move an inch.” Admiration paints your voice. Embarrassed, he rubs his temple.

“I got a bit distracted, but I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you mumble skeptically. Honking the prancing horse, you turn to him with a Cheshire Cat grin. “How about a drink, professor? My treat.”

-

“What’s the occasion?” the bartender asks as he fills two glasses of whiskey. I can do donuts now, you brag. His brows raise up in shock. “That’s impressive. It takes a good person to teach you.”

“It does, but lucky for me, I got it.” Discreetly you point over at Charles who sits with yet another baseball hat. “He’s pretty great.” The man's face drops as he leans against the table, getting closer to you.

“I’d say so! That’s Charles Leclerc.” Flabbergasted as to how he knows his name, you take the two drinks and raise them up as a silent thank you. “Free drinks on me if you need anymore, amore!”

On the way back to the small table, you ponder on the weird encounter. Had they met before? Perhaps Charles had fixed his car or something along the lines. Grazie, the Monegasque smiles as he takes a sip of the cool drink. You do the same, wide eyes shining at the taste. “Holy crap, this is good.” Swallowing the rest of the golden liquid, you signal at the bartender for the rest of the bottle. Nodding, he brings it over as Charles lowers his head, green eyes trained on his lap.

“It’s somehow sweet,” you narrate as you serve yourself another. “More?” He shakes his head, wavy hair following his movement. It’s the Italian charm. You hum against your cup. “Must be. Tastes like paradise.”

It’s safe to say that you were obsessed the minute you started growing tipsy. Squinting at the squawking girl who was pouring her heart out on the stage, microphone in hand, you snap your fingers loudly, jumping up. That. I want to do that! Your travel buddy chuckles. “You do?” 

“Of course I do. Plus, my voice is all warmed up.” Massaging your throat, you march over at the little old lady who plays the tarnished piano. “Potrei cantare dopo?” She nods kindly before wrapping up the song. I have another one in me, the girl yelps as her friends pull her off stage. 

“Oh great, a drunk removed for another drunk,” someone shouts out when you stumble on stage. 

“Hey. Blame the delicious drinks!” Flipping through the book, you narrow your eyes. “This one,” you cheer excitedly as you whisper into her ear. She beams. No one ever asks for that one! Practicing against the keys, she nods as you twirl your way back on stage. 

All eyes are on you as you play with the hem of your mini dress. Normally, you’d be a nervous wreck, and maybe the liquor helped, but you weren’t afraid of making a fool out of yourself. 

“You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere.” Soft keys echo through the small bar - for sure a guitar would have been better, but something about the familiar instrument makes Charles feel cozy as he listens to your voice. It isn’t perfect - you were drunk after all - but it was enough to make everyone listen closely like you were some divine object. 

Swaying, with you smiling sheepishly as you move your eyes through the crowd of strangers, and you’re glad the green eyed boy isn’t one of them. Is it fast enough so we can fly away? The brunette  grins at you as you spin in your dress, ponytail fluttering like grass in the gentle breeze. 

“So I remember we were driving, driving in your car. Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk. City lights lay out before us, and your arm felt nice wrapped ‘round my shoulder.”

There is some sort of unexplainable shift inside of you as you feel yourself sober up with his intense stare. His brows are drawn softly, listening to your sweet voice, as if you would disintegrate and never be seen or heard of again. A click - you just clicked.

“And I had a feeling that I belonged. I had a feeling I could be someone.”

-

Kicking the door wide open, Charles carries you in as he settles you on the bed. You flop around like a fish out their tank for good measure, then pout, bare feet pressing up against his clothed abs. He halts. “I need to change…take off all my makeup...” All of it, you mouth, droopy eyes struggling to stay open. 

“I can get you what you need.” Last time he dug through a girl's suitcase, on a mission to find all her essentials, he had a girlfriend. Pushing away his thoughts, he jogs back over to your limp body. “Okay, here you-” 

Curled up like a rolly polly, you breath gently as you sleep. The 26 year old isn’t too surprised, but rather confused. Does he just leave you now? Pacing the room, he nibbled down on his nails as he weighed his options. He could let you sleep peacefully and possibly get a beating in the morning for leaving you to rot with all the nastiness or he could get it done quick - not look twice - and maybe still get a beating.

“I’ll be fast,” he mutters to himself as he grabs your makeup wipes. He tries to be as ginger about it, a cool towel erasing your light makeup. As soon as you scrunch your face up like a baby rabbit, he stops and rushes away. Good enough.

Now comes the complicated part. Slip the dress off, change her into her jammies. Easy peasy. But the more he thinks about it, the more he’s unsure. One night with your outside clothes won’t kill you. 

“Take it off, Charles, please,” you grumble as you tug on your dress. His Adam's Apple bobs up and down with panic as he nods to himself. Green eyes flicker the room before they land on his t-shirt. Oversized - would cover you whole - fast. 

As if he’s being chased down by the police, he runs over and in a quick motion, slides your dress off before tugging his shirt over your head, dropping your passed out body onto the bed and throwing the duvets over you. Grazie, you murmur from underneath as he sighs.

“Don’t mention it.”

-

“Fucking hell,” you groan, clearly feeling the awful hangover. After promising to never drink again, you rub your eyes as you yawn, focus becoming drawn to the black shirt. Your stomach drops. No, no, no. Hurrying to look for your phone, you quickly unlock it before freezing.

Who is Charlz Leclerk? You can’t even recall when you must've searched this up, but Google definitely understood your investigation.

"Tell me, Nico," you pout as you take a sip of your whiskey as you wait for Charles to come out of the bathroom. "How do you know my friend's name?"

He beams excitedly. “Amore! He’s…” Blinking harshly, you try your best to listen and read his lips as he makes funny hand gestures. For a second, you swore he was swerving an invisible car. Waving his hand, he laughs. "Look him up."

Monegasque racing driver; Formula One; Currently racing for Scuderia Ferrari. 

“What?” you whisper as you throw your phone away, eyeing it like the plague. No. Charles was a mechanic - a mechanic, for god sakes. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” He tosses you a paper bag. “It’s a sandwich. Eat.”

How can he even look at you and act like everything is okay? Did he do anything wrong? No, not really, but why would he keep this from you? You’re surprised to find yourself feeling hurt by his secretive actions as he stares back innocently. 

“Is it not good?” he questions when you chomp down sadly. It is, you reassure with a mouthful. “Hey, I was thinking we could go for a swim. The weather is nice out.”

“Mhmm,” you respond meekly. “Is it okay if I meet you there? I-I was thinking I could rinse my body first.” 

The brunette nods. “I can wait for you.”

“No!” You blush at your eager tone. “We’ll just meet up.” Okay? Grabbing his things and yours, he strolls out the door, but not before gifting you a small wink. Call me if you get lost. “Asshole!” you cry out as he chuckles, slamming the door behind him.

In a matter of seconds, you’re already dialing work. “Lucy! Is Eleanor there?” Sweetheart, how are you? How’s the leg? The arm? Do you need me to- “I’m fine. Can you connect me to Eleanor, it’s urgent.” The older lady giggles as she switches you over. 

“This better be good.”

Clearing your throat, you fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “I have an exclusive.” 

Eleanor’s rich and elegant voice scoffs. “What about your arm?”

“Like you said,” you hum. “I still got my right one."

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is. 

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

 The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back.  He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don’t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”  

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

[reigningqueenofwords]

Pinky Promise

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 1,409

Read on AO3

“I have to go to my aunt’s wedding this weekend. So I won’t be able to play with you alllll weekend. I’m gonna be so bored.” You sighed, lying on the floor of the tree house your father built you a couple years prior. At 10, it was still your favorite place in the world. 

Dean made a face. “That sucks!” He was your best friend in the whole world, and you spent every weekend playing together. “What am I supposed to do? Play with Sammy?” 

You giggled at that. “Guess so.” You smiled at him. “What’re we gonna do when we grow up and get married?” You pouted. “We won’t be able to play every weekend together.” 

“Well, I just won’t get married if I can’t play with you.” He said easily. 

Sitting up, you had the look on your face that told him you had an idea. “What if we make a pinky swear?” You started. “If when we’re 25, we’re not married to other people… we get married.” Why wouldn’t you want to marry your best friend? 

He thought for a minute and held up his pinky. “Alright.” He grinned when you looped your pinky finger with his. 

It had been almost 15 years since that day. You hadn’t thought of that day in ages. Dean was still your best friend, too. That never changed, and neither of you let anyone get between the pair of you. Sure, there had been girls over the years that tried to get between you, but he swiftly dumped them. Chewing on your lip, you pulled up a text to Dean. Do you remember the pinky promise we made when we were 10? You sent. You and Dean shared a birthday, meaning both of you would be turning 25 in just over a month. 

After a few minutes, he replied. Sure do! 😉 He sent, making you chuckle and roll your eyes. Why, what’s up? Meet someone and need to back out? 

Your eyebrows shot up at that. Actually, I was just asking if you remembered. I mean, our birthdays are in a month. Don’t you think you should start looking at rings, mr? 😛 You sent, sitting up and looking around your room. It was December 20th, and you’d be driving home to your parents in a few days. You’d see Dean then, too. His parents lived a block over from yours. 

Who says I haven’t been doing that already? Hmmmm? He countered. 

You highly doubted that was the case. Are you trying to tell me that you, Dean Winchester, man who has never dated anyone for more than a year…has been looking at engagement rings and actually plans to make good on this 15 year old pinky promise? Getting up, you made your way to your kitchen. It was almost dinner time, but you didn’t know if you were actually hungry. Your mind was on overdrive. As you got older, you felt Dean would laugh off your pinky promise. He’d say you were just a couple of dumb kids. 

I take pinky promises extremely seriously. Especially ones with my best friend. He sent, making you smile softly at that. 

Please just don’t propose at Christmas in front of everyone lol That’s too much attention for my liking. You knew he’d understand. Small bits of attention were fine, but you liked blending into the background. He was the more outgoing of the two of you. 

I promise 😀 He assured you. What day are you getting here, anyway? 

The idea of dinner forgotten, you leaned against the counter. On the 23rd. You?  

You watched the little bubbles pop up on your phone, hoping he would get there early, too. Guess I’m getting there on the 23rd, too. Meet me in the tree house? I’ll bring the beer, you bring the pizza? 

Grinning, you giggled. Deal. Meet me there at about 4? 

It’s a date! 

The afternoon of the 23rd, you stepped into your parents house. “Dad!” You called out, dropping your bags. It was 2pm, so you had two hours before Dean showed up. 

“There’s my girl!” He grinned, pulling you into a hug. “How was your drive?”

“Good.” You told him. “We want to hang out in the tree house, but it’s cold. Help me hang up some blankets or something so we won’t freeze?” You asked, keeping your arms around him. 

He chuckled. “I did that yesterday. Dean called and tried to offer to pay for anything I need to make it a bit warmer out there. You could sleep out there. I made it so warm.” He said proudly. 

“Oh wow!” You chuckled. “Thank you! Where’s mom?” Although you’d seen them for Thanksgiving, you missed them a lot. 

“Getting ready for our date. I’m taking her out while you and Dean act like kids in the tree house again.” He kissed the top of your head. 

You laughed, looking forward to this time with your parents, and your best friend. As far as you knew, no one but the pair of you knew of your pact. You never mentioned it to your parents, or other friends. Dean never told you he’d told anyone, and he wasn’t one to be very open with many people. However, you also knew all parents involved would be excited. Your parents loved Dean, and his parents loved you. 

Dean hadn’t been lying. He had been looking at rings for you. He’d snuck into your childhood bedroom and borrowed a ring from your jewelry box when he was there for Thanksgiving. This way, he knew what size ring to get. He didn’t want to risk getting the wrong size. 

What you didn’t know was that part of the reason he never dated anyone for too long was because he kept this pact in mind. It had always been you. He crossed his fingers that you’d both reach 25, unmarried, and not in a serious relationship. 

He pulled into your parent’s driveway, grabbing the beer from the passenger’s seat. Part of him felt like he was coming home every time he got there. Smiling to himself, he made his way to the backyard. He could see some light from inside the tree house, and got excited. You were already in there. “Honey! I’m home!” He called, making his way up. It was a bit awkward with the bag with beer, but he managed. 

“Dean!” You beamed when you saw him. As soon as he was completely in the tree house, you all but tackled him. “I’ve missed you.” You pouted as you pulled away. 

He chuckled. “Well, here I am.” He swallowed. “I have something for you.” 

“Dean, Christmas is in two days. You can’t wait two days to give me my Christmas present?” You teased. 

“This isn’t your Christmas present. That’s in my trunk.” He told you, pulling out the small ring box. “I know we were just a couple silly kids when we made that pinky promise, but you’ve remained my best friend for all these years. You know just what to say on the days where everything has gone wrong. There’s no one else I could ever picture myself being with for the rest of my life. Will you make good on that pinky promise and marry me?” 

Your eyes were wide, and you felt a tear fall down your cheek. “Yes!” You grinned, watching him slip on the ring. “How long have you been planning this?” You giggled. 

“I borrowed an old ring of yours at Thanksgiving.” He admitted. “It’s on my nightstand. Kinda didn’t wanna give it back yet. And we spent a lot of time in this tree house, where else would I propose to you?” 

You couldn’t stop smiling. “Guess we should talk about moving closer together, huh? Or moving in together?”

“Actually…” 

Furrowing your brows, you weren’t sure what he was going to say. “What?” 

He looked proud. “I put a down payment on a house. Just a couple streets over.” He told you. “Your dad already has plans to buy a treehouse in that backyard.” 

“My dad knew about all this?” 

Dean shook his head. “He knows I’m buying that house, and that I’d like a treehouse like this one, but I didn’t tell him I was proposing.” While he knew your dad would approve, your dad might have let something slip. “So, looks like we have a wedding to plan, sweetheart.” 

“Damn right we do!” 

[otomiyaa]

Ticklish Blade x Reader

Platonic + 47. "I wasn't even touching you." Requested by anon for my 1K Followers Event🌻

Guess guess what scene inspired this, hahaha!

It felt... odd. You eyed the driver nervously. He was so quiet. Not more quiet than usual, but in this case it was kind of concerning.

"Blade...?" you murmured. It was already a surprise that Blade was offering you a ride while you had no idea he even had a driver's license. But the bigger surprise was when you realized Blade was sleep-deprived, and getting in a car accident with him was not necessarily on your wishlist.

Too bad the realization came only after he started the car, and you were now trying to make sure he wasn't falling asleep.

"Blade?" you asked, louder this time.

"What."

Another person would think he was angry, but you knew him better by now.

"Are you sure you're alright? I can go there myself. No need to help me."

"I'm fine. I already told you."

You gazed out of the window, then back at him. Instead of acting like you were worried about him, maybe a more selfish attitude would do it then.

"I appreciate your gesture, really. I'm just wondering if you can get me there in one piece."

You saw him frown a little. "Are you doubting me?"

"Not your driving skills, of course. But... Your current state. Blade, you haven't slept at all. I'd like to keep living, if you'll let me."

He was quiet for a moment and you had a feeling he was going to ignore this discussion. But then he simply pulled both hands off the wheel, and you gasped.

"What are you doing?!" you shrieked, only for Blade to look at you, with his hands right above the wheel and the expression on his face almost, what was it... taunting?

"The car is driving itself. Now happy?"

Oh he was totally taunting you. How petty, hehe.

You would laugh at it, but because of the jumpscare, the first thing you did was let out a sigh in relief. "I can't believe you," you said, faking as if you were going to hit him, but to your surprise he jumped slightly and blocked himself with his arm.

"Don't," he hissed. You stared at him and cocked your head.

"Huh? What're you getting all defensive for? I wasn't even touching you."

Blade glared. "Yet. You sure were about to."

You chuckled. "What, is the almighty Bladie afraid I'm gonna hit him? For real?" you teased.

"Don't call me that."

It was strange, Blade wouldn't recoil from a hit, fake or real, not from an enemy and definitely not from you, so... You smirked.

"Hey!" Blade's voice did quite the thing when your finger pierced into his side, poking him misschievously.

"What are you doing?!" he asked angrily.

"I have a feeling you just thought I was going to tickle you, weren't you? Which inspired me... to actually tickle you."

"I did no-ahh! Don't! That's dangerous! Stahahap!" Blade yelped when you tickled him again. You couldn't stop grinning. This was just gold.

He must've witnessed the two or three times you ended up getting in a tickle fight with Silver Wolf the past days, which caused him to think you were actually going to tickle him just now? The idea wouldnt even cross your mind!

Well, now it definitely did.

"Dangerous how? You said the car is driving by itself. I'm just making sure the driver and passenger won't get bored in the meantime," you said, wiggling your fingers against his side. Blade squirmed in his seat. This was just wonderful. You could see him struggle to not move too much - since then it would get a little more dangerous after all.

Right now he was merely trapped in the driver's seat and forced to endure your little tickle attack.

"I'll - ahah! Stop that!" Blade's angry giggles were everything. You knew you were really being too reckless for someone who valued life so much until seconds ago. But ticklish Blade was actually a discovery worth it.

"Gehehet ohohoff!" Blade swatted at you, and the lack of force in his reactions only made you go "aww". He wasn't entirely helpless - there were plenty of ways he could make you stop without crashing the car, but those might probably include hurting you, or...

Nah, never mind. He would never.

"Lahahast chahance!" Blade warned, jumping hilariously in his seat and twisting from side to side to avoid your relentless tickles. Using both hands, you wiggled your fingers against his sides and ribs, and occasionally tried to poke his tummy, but he really blocked that area with all of his might.

"Last chance or what?" you asked, but finally he managed to catch one of your hands. Then without warning he clawed at your side, tickling you back, and you screamed in surprise.

"EHEyes on the road sihihir!" you cried out in sudden panic. Blade froze, appearing shocked by the volume of your voice. You had already pulled your knees up and lay curled up in your seat, watching him in fear as you anticipated his counter attack. He would never tickle you back: you were confident about that. But... not anymore.

He sighed. "Then stop tickling me." Blade finally put his hands back on the wheel, and for the second time this ride, you sighed in relief.

It was funny to hear him say that word. Hmm. Maybe you just ruined your chances of having your first ever tickle attack with Bladie. But tickle fights in cars were never ideal. You smirked. Knowing he was ticklish and might even potentially tickle you back, you couldn't help but store this information in your head for another time.

"Don't you even think about it," Blade said, probably noticing the smirk on your face.

"I wasn't thinking anything~" you sang, but of course both of you knew that wasn't true!

[cas-backwards-tie]

Wonderstruck

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Ex!Reader

Summary: Simon Riley finally takes it upon himself to check up on his childhood best friend and ex lover. He's been torturing himself reminiscing on your relationship and what went wrong for years now. Little does he know... you're in the same boat. Having seen someone today you swore was Simon on your way to work, you too, reflect on the past.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Stalking(?),

Mentions of: Drinking, Smoking, Motorcycle Riding

A/N: I don't know why but I constantly am getting inspired by certain songs, or am reminded of certain characters, and all the lyrics were just screaming childhood best friends to estranged lovers, right person wrong time Simon Riley. Nevertheless, if you'd love to listen to some versions of the song which inspired me, here we are! Line divider credit: @saradika-graphics and I'd also love to thank @penelopepine for helping me with the ending <3

He knew it was a bad idea as soon as it'd crossed his mind, yet somehow he couldn't rid himself of it time and time again. That's how he found himself here; watching you cross the street, he can't help but notice the vintage band t-shirt you have on, frayed at the edges with the little strings of the hem coming undone that you've refused to cut off. In you hands you clutch a new phone, no doubt an upgrade from the last one he'd seen you with- though it's been a while.

As you mindlessly tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he can't help the way his insides churn. You were always effortlessly beautiful; you never had to try for anything. Even now, the way you can walk across the busy cobblestone side streets of London in high heels without seemingly second-guessing yourself, body language still poised on guard and ready in case anyone tries anything, just like he'd taught you.

It's clear from your outfit and the lipstick you’re donning that you're attempting to sway the officials at work. Maybe trying for that promotion you’d always been talking about, but never had the gumption to make today the day. What’s different about today, he wonders. You'd always been a go-getter, and truthfully, it was something Simon admired about you. Even in the moments where he'd resented it the most, the constant pestering and prodding at him in an attempt to get him to move and drag him out of the holes his dug himself into...

Where would he be now if only he listened?

What if you knew better?

He couldn't deny that the thoughts kept him up at night while he was away. Though, admittedly, more often than not it was the string of random memories that he’d get glimpses of during the day. It’d always be at the worst times, too. Two weeks ago in Berlin he’d been clapping Kyle on the back, hoping he’ll get it together as he stumbled out the pub. While Soap had the camaraderie to slug half his mate’s weight over his broad shoulders, Simon found himself unable to help as his eyes were drawn in by a couple a few paces down the block.

“Bollocks!” He’d shouted out in frustration. Double-checking himself, he didn’t have a spare cap on him, and he knew he sure as hell didn’t bring an umbrella on your little last minute ‘trip’. Not that he’d really call walking down to the local Tesco for snacks late one summer evening a trip. ‘It’ll be an adventure! Just think of it like that.’ You’d persuaded him.

“What? Are you going to melt?” He hears you joke. As his brown eyes land on your face when you turn to meet his gaze, a few steps ahead of him down the road, he can’t help the smile that breaks out across his lips upon your laughter. Sure, you may both be a little drunk after spending the evening in and having a drink or two. But it doesn’t change the way he feels about you, if anything, it makes him even more keenly aware of the way you affect him.

“Maybe. Who knows?” He teases in responses, tugging his jacket up and over his head to shield himself from the cool summer rain. Despite the time, now he’ll most likely need a shower when you get home. As he jogs to catch up and bring you under his little makeshift cocoon, you do the unexpected.

It was you, of course… he should’ve known better, always testing him, pushing him. With a gentle drop of the plastic bag full of snacks upon the side of the road you’d been strolling down, he watches as you run into the empty street. The streetlights illuminate you in a hazy orangey-yellow light as you begin to spin and twirl, dancing in the street.

With a shake of his head, he’s left stunned once again by the vast difference of your personalities. Your jeans and t-shirt are starting to get damp and discolored, and there’s a taunting, displeased remark sitting on his tongue just waiting to be made. It’s the utter joyous smile on your face as you tip your head back and relinquish yourself to your fate that leaves him wonderstruck, he thinks.

“Come on, Simon!” You beckon, finally meeting his gaze once again with that familiar carefree, hopeful look behind your irises. With an outstretched hand, he knows he can’t deny you this… and really, there’s something inside him that tells him he doesn’t want to, either.

“It’s her, innit?” He hears his Captain’s voice call over his shoulder. Pulled from his memories, Simon dismisses Price with a nonchalant grunt. As the old man tries to place a hand on his shoulder he dodges it, realizing he’s been watching the couple for longer than he’d thought. With Soap and Gaz almost to the end of the block, Simon sighs before shrugging his shoulders to right his jacket and head off in their direction for backup.

That was a time when your playfulness been more easily taken and accepted without question. No fighting, no push back, resentments… maybe that was it: he’d stopped going with the flow. He’d stopped accepting the punches and started dodging and weaving your advances at fixing things and picking up where he left you. Because while it’s too late now, he’s finally realized it for what it is: he left you in the dark, he’s the one who pushed you away, closed himself off.

That night he’d curled up in the temporary bed he’d been assigned, more memories continued to consume him. The way you’d effortlessly ease his worries on nights he’d come home stressed, feathers ruffled from whatever petty drama went on during the day. Whether it was something the guys said that stuck with him, or something he couldn’t get out of his mind when he came back from deployment. Your kisses always seemed to be the cure, your love… or maybe it was just… you.

“You know furrowing your brows like that will cause wrinkles,” you inform him, reaching out to run gentle fingers over his bunched skin.

A grunt of acknowledgment leaves his lips. “More for me to worry about, hm?” While it’s all he says, his eyes are searching over your composure.

“No,” it leaves your lips without thought, “just something to think about, be mindful of. If you’re not upset, then why furrow them?” Voice quiet in the moonlit apartment, your fingers smooth out his brows gently as you admire him. “I read something the other day about how it’s possible our body informs our mental state. If you’re tensing all the time, it won’t help your stress, Si.”

He simply hums in response, doing nothing to stop you as you ghost your lips over his for a moment before planting a loving chaste kiss to his. While big and wide warm hands find the exposed bit of skin between the hem of your sleeping pants and the shirt you wear, it’s the unexpected cool sensation that elicits a muffled gasp. Your much smaller hands are sneaking up underneath his sweatshirt to explore his abdomen, caressing him like he were made of soft silk. Your lips meet again for a chaste kiss.

Then it’s turning into something more; you have to take it slow, your lips dancing against one another, his hand rubbing your back to let you know it’s alright. As you begin to run out of breath, it’s only when you pull away, lashes fluttering against his skin that you ask him. “You know I’d love you even with wrinkles, right?”

Taken aback, he can’t help but stare. Unsure how to respond or what to do, his lips part in search of words. “Is that so?” He finally questions, hand giving your side a soft squeeze.

“My favorite boy… I love you to the moon and back… scars and all. I always have, and I always will, Simon,” you whisper, ghosting his lips again before planting one on him, “I just hope you know that.”

And at the time, he swore he did. It’s odd, really, and he wouldn’t lie to himself about it either. Simon tried dating after you, he tried hooking up, he tried it all… but it never felt right. As many times as he replays the memory, he can never get past the feeling of home. With you, it felt like home. You never made him feel expendable, or worry of the abandonment he knew would inevitably come.

For years afterward he blamed you, he saw it as your fault that you left, you abandoned him… when, maybe, really it’s finally time he admits it was him. He made it a self-fulfilling prophecy, and there was nothing you could do.

It's on your way home from work that you see them; while waiting for the bus, there's a playground in the park a few meters away. Really, the idea that human nature is predictable is always laughable at first, but only after watching people and stepping back to become an observer you've noticed from time to time that... it's more than true. Even from a distance, the children in the park look happy... but that's not what catches your eye. There's a blonde boy, and a girl, much like yourself when you were younger, playing what you can only assume is something halfway between hide and seek and tag, considering the playground offers more space and obstacles than hiding spots.

Perhaps it's the joyous looks on their little faces, or the way they unabashedly play, carefree and unaware of the adult worries and burdens the world hangs above their heads, just waiting any day to drop upon their shoulders unexpectedly. However, you can't help but reminisce on the ways you'd spent your childhood playing games much like the one the children are playing in the distance with a boy, very similar to the one before you, loving life, content, happy, simply aspiring to be the best at finding your ultimate hiding spot.

The soft squeak of the wheels coming to a halt before you and the mechanical release of air as the doors open brings your attention back to the present. Before you know it, you're on the bus, unconsciously taking a seat along the windows, hoping, just maybe you'll catch a glimpse of them as the bus drives down the road down its route. Though as you pass, the sun is beginning to set in the distance, the children departing the playground their separate ways as dusk begins to take its toll and curfew sets in place. The whole time you'd been focused on yourself, it's entirely possible that your own boy wound up beating you at your own game, finding the best spot and hiding himself away from the rest of the world.

Maybe it's the fact that you could've sworn you'd seen someone that looked almost identical to Simon on your way to work this morning, but memories continue to plague your mind for the first time in months. All the weekends he'd spent over at your house doing aimlessly silly things to fill your time, from science projects, to playing 'warrior' outside, you never felt more alive than the time you two spent together.

"I'll keep ya safe, yeah? Nothin' to worry about," Simon insists, gently guiding you to the side of the vehicle. Despite going out with your friends to the city for dinner, you both were sober. It should be fine, it would be. You'd been with him a million times... how different could it be? He'd run it by you as many times as you'd asked.

You swear it's not a good idea, but you trust him to the ends of the Earth. With a look over your shoulder, his brown eyes are steady, not uncertain in his unwavering gaze as he nods in assurance. Swinging a leg over the seat, you're in front this time. Helmets in place, hands on the clutch and brakes, you make eye contact with Simon once more before he flicks both your visors down. "Ready?" You ask him.

"More than ready, Love," he quips. With a quick shove to the kickstand, balance (with Simon's help of course), and a rev of the engine, you start the motorcycle off slowly. Gloved hands around your waist, he gives you a gentle squeeze.

He was always pushing you out of your comfort zone, that one. It was the first time you'd driven his motorcycle, and while it'd been scary and daunting for the first fifteen minutes, you eventually got used to it and it blossomed into something freeing. You understood then why he likes it, and you'd never been more grateful for someone pushing you out of your bubble. While flashes of all the kisses, caresses, and intimate moments between the two of you start to effervesce, you force yourself to remember the last time you'd seen him.

With a lingering hug, you're hesitant to let him go. Even if you know it's necessary, it's still hard... it always has been. "You'll let me know when you get in, right?" You ask, searching his eyes. They stand out from the black warpaint, his uniform always made him look handsome, even if you couldn't imagine how intimidating seeing his actual attire would be in his enemies position.

A dismissive and irritated grunt meets your ears as he shrugs your hands off. He'd packed quickly, something he's been doing more recently; taking more and more jobs, you've begun worrying for his health, not that he'd talk about it, of course. "If I 'ave time."

While you weren't able to get all the details on this excursion, you did manage to get that it was essentially a 'clean-up' for him. He had to go in and make sure that the hostages they'd had a lead on were all rescued and no one was left behind, no assailants or informants lingering or hiding. You've known that his job is hard on him. Losing people can't be easy, especially when you feel like you could've done things differently and changed the ending to their stories. Yet, you also know that throwing yourself into work the way he's been doing without talking to anyone, simply managing to pass debrief counseling by whatever meter their measuring is... not working. Not anymore, at least.

"You're running from this! You won't even answ-" you shout, gesticulating as you do everything in your power to keep the anger and worry that's tightly wound wrapped up in your gut under control, not to let anymore of it seep out than already has.

"An' you're one to talk?! You don't get to interrogate me," he argues, rounding the couch to get closer. The dark circles under his eyes scream volumes, even if he's unwilling to acknowledge whatever's going on for him. "I deal with that enough in my line o' work. Don't-"

"Simon," you say, tone holding that familiar warning tone.

You'd gotten home safely and were able to change and make something to eat. The feelings haven't left the cavity of your chest, still lingering there, the way he always does. He may be 'Ghost' on the field, yet he still haunts your memories, always making you question whether or not you did the right thing. What if only you'd done more? What if you hadn't pushed him so much? It wasn't always in a bad way, either, in fact, most of the time you'd find yourself chuckling randomly at some inside joke only the two of you share, or something he'd find funny. The stolen sweaters and hoodies you know for a fact long ago washed away his scent. Even if you swear sometimes that you can smell the faint odor of cigarettes he used to smoke. In the city when you're out with the girls you'd find yourself fondly inhaling the smell whenever a stranger would be smoking one nearby.

You'd cursed him: Simon Riley. Yet, the aching inside you he left often made you feel like he there's some sense of closure he never fully gave you. The SAS would tell you that he'd get your letters, even if you stopped writing years ago a little while after the split. You never got a response, and you never really expected one. Simon never really was one for letter writing. It was the only way you felt like you could get that closure, that part of your life done with. Ultimately, it did help you move on in some way.

A sigh tumbles past your lips as you change the channel on the television, unsure what you really feel like watching. A reality comedy show is on, something of a local prank show. It wasn't the best show, really, but it's one you used to watch a lot as a kid, and thus, another reminder of him. This one makes you smile, nonetheless. It's a good memory; nostalgia envelopes you in the way that makes you crave times that felt easier. Just when you wrap yourself in your fuzzy blanket, there's a soft rapt at the door.

Heart accelerating, eyes widening slightly, you slowly rise from the couch. The television volume isn't on loud, and while there may be light coming from it to inform a stranger you're home, that isn't enough to say that you're alone. With slow and cautious steps, you approach the door, careful to check the window near the door from a vantage point you're unseen. It's a man in a black hoodie. Panic sets in and you turn to skillfully head back toward the couch in search of your phone with quiet and quick steps. That's when it strikes you.

With all pretenses abandoned, you rush to the door and fling it open, lips parted in shock and awe. "Simon?" Searching and attempting to scan the partially shielded face, you're able to see tufts of blonde hair lit from the porch light.

"I know you've no reason to-" he starts, hands removing themselves from his hoodie's pocket, "but please let me come in and explain."

"You came back," you whisper. It's more for yourself than him, and whether it's out of bewilderment, intuitive knowing, or a premonition; you were right.

As he takes a step forward and reaches out for you with shaky hands produced from the familiar black pocket of his hoodie, you don't retract. Slow and tentative movements on both ends, he grabs ahold of one hand, thumb consciously skirting back and forth repeatedly in a form of grounding and seeking comfort. "You were right," his deep voice rasps.

Your hand cautiously seeks his cheek beneath the shield of his hood. Fully expecting to meet the spandex material of his balaclava, you're surprised by the warmth of his skin underneath your gentle touch. Wrist pushing against the cotton hood, it gives way, revealing his face. Searching his deep brown eyes for any sign he's genuine... you're met with truth.

With a weak nod you turn, leaving the door to shut softly behind the two of you.

~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[mrs-weasley-reid]

Doctor is In

bau!team x psychiatrist!reader

Summary: It was their turn to heed for echoes of your cries. Unweave every inch of your life to find their beloved psychiatrist. And whoever the unlucky b*stard who took you was, he was as good as dead.

Warning: abduction, use of y/n and l/n, curse word(s), stalking, pedophilia, erotomania

part 1 (Therapy Sessions)

Saturday, 12:21 AM

Time passed quickly when a whole pack of profilers searched every nook and cranny of your life. Not a blink of sleep, yet none of them needed a drop of caffeine to stay awake.

For you, they would stop breathing if it meant finding where you were. They would spend thousands of dollars to get all the needed equipment to find you. And even ignored other patrons that requested their assistance.

It wasn't irrationality. Your case was just personal. A taunt to the BAU team. How dare someone take away their psychiatrist? How dare someone take the only person who listened to their horrific stories with a kind smile? How dare someone take the only person they felt comfortable being vulnerable with?

Penelope's heels clacked on the linoleum floor, pushing the glass door open as she sped to the conference room. "I found something!" She announced as she gasped for air, handing the paper to JJ.

"What is it?" Hotch asked, nothing but a stoic manner radiating out of him.

JJ scanned through the document, lifting her gaze to meet the others. "Y/N is not Y/N." She stated, processing the information in her head.

"What do you mean?" Derek knitted his brows, straightening up on his seat.

"Dr. Y/N L/N used to be Odette Solace. She changed her name when she was fifteen years old." Penelope elaborated, picking up the remote.

"Her name sounds like a celebrity. Why would she want to change that? At the age of fifteen too?" Emily's mouth fell slightly open, and her brows locked in confusion. She wasn't lying at all. And she was one to possess different names during her days at Interpol.

Penelope hummed, pressing the button of the remote. Images of police reports appeared on the screen. "At first, I had a hard time digging into our angel dove, Y/N's past, because it came out blank as in plain white canvas type of blank. But then I thought, let's look more into her parents. That's when I realized how Y/N and her parents have different last names. And then my powers did wonders, speed like the Flash, ka-chow! Y/N had been stalked by this creepy neighbor across the street since she was four. And hear this, one time, her parents were out late, so a babysitter was hired. This dude claimed that Mr. and Mrs. Solace asked him to fix their sink to watch little Y/N playing in the living room. Happened a lot of times that her parents decided to move to a different house five blocks away. And guess what?"

"The neighbor moved to a house in the street?" JJ continued more of a statement than a question, earning a nod from Penelope.

"Because of that, Y/N was not allowed to go out, and she always wore a veil to cover her face if she really had to. The stalking stopped for a few years after the owner of the house this dude was renting kicked him out because they heard about his creepy secrets from Y/N's parents. So, all was well. Y/N got to go outside got to play with her friends. She even started going to school." Penelope triggered the screen to flash younger pictures of you.

Everyone loosened up, looking at your little smiles. A momentary relaxation amid their anxieties regarding your safety.

The first photo was of you in a fairy costume. Wings and wand and all. You carried a pumpkin bucket filled with sweets that shot up the smile on your face.

Spencer was particularly grinning at the image. He remembered how you always had a small bag of candies waiting for him every Halloween for him to pick up, whether he needed someone to talk to or not.

You even personalized it to his liking. Every candy inside the bag was taped on a small piece of paper with a nerdy joke or pun about the candy's brand.

The second photo was Emily and Derek's personal favorite. You wore a camouflage suit, two lines of black paint on each of your cheeks, and a paintball gun almost as big as you. Your face was scrunched in an attempt to look threatening, but you failed and looked constipated instead.

The team once had a horrible case where Emily and Derek disagreed. Hearing about it from Penelope, you asked both of them to visit your clinic without the other knowing.

They argued in your office but stopped when you handed each of them a paintball pistol and said, "Go on. Shoot each other. I'll be watching with more bullets if you need more."

The third image was you at the early age of fourteen. You were surrounded by four-year-old kids who latched onto you. It was the day you volunteered to help your mother, who worked in a daycare.

Hotch couldn't help but recall the day he had to bring Jack to your doorstep. The little boy was missing his mother and wouldn't talk to Hotch, which left him feeling hopeless until you crossed his mind. Maybe you would be able to encourage Jack to talk.

And just like he predicted, you were terrific with Jack. The boy was more open to his father after just one lunch date with you. Even if he didn't know the trick to mend his son's broken heart, as long as Jack could express his feelings to someone, Hotch was forever grateful to you.

Rossi wasn't impressed by your fourth photo. The fettuccine pasta you made from scratch looked more like angel hair pasta. But the caption that your mother typed clearly stated fettuccine. He made a note to teach you the difference between different kinds of pasta when they get you back.

And then there was the last photo that Penelope and JJ found hilarious. It was a yearbook photo of you. Your hair was a mess, and your braces sparkled from the flash.

Sometimes your hair still ends up that way, especially on rainy days. And they couldn't wait to see you again, alive and well, so they could tease you about it.

Sunday, 3:45 PM

You woke up from a throbbing pain in your temple. It has been a week since you got the impact wound on your head, and it still was excruciatingly painful. You needed to see a doctor as soon as possible.

And you would've walked straight into one if you could only get out of the knot that bound your limbs together.

It was dim where you were. The light that flickered as your only source of hope.

Somehow, you knew some people searching for you. And you wanted to stay alive for them as long as you could.

"Hello?! Hey!" You called out, looking around the dark room. "Please just let me out! Please!" You begged, your voice hoarse from the long week of screaming at the walls.

The door swung open, welcoming light that came from outside. You squinted your eyes, blinded by the sudden brightness.

You've heard the same door open and close for a week, and you had a great estimation of what it was made of. Metal.

A man threw a tray of food on the table in the corner of the room. He wasn't evil to deprive you of water, either. So why was he doing this to you?

You weren't a federal agent like your favorite patients. You didn't catch any serial killers. You didn't send anyone to jail. And for years, you have been a psychiatrist and never received a complaint. All your patients seem to feel better, as far as you know.

He glowered over you, "Come and eat, Odette. You don't want the food to get cold." He said in a loving voice.

"Why do you call me that? My name's Y/N. Why do you keep calling me Odette—"

A loud bang almost bled your eardrums. You thought he shot you. You shakily opened your eyes again, figuring out which part of your body had been shot.

But you weren't. He smacked the tray so loud it sounded like a gunshot. Relief spread all over your chest, and tears raged down your face.

"No, no, no, no..." His face softened, kneeling in front of you. "Don't cry. Please, don't cry." He cooed, wiping your tears.

The touch of his hand on your skin only made your tears flow like a mad river. You were disgusted by the way he acted like a lover. You had no lover.

You had no other choice. You held his hand. "Please... just let me go. I won't tell anyone. Just let me go." You sobbed.

Monday, 6:42 AM

"Sir, Mr. and Mrs. Solace is waiting for you." An agent announced in the conference room after interrupting them with a knock.

With her communication liaison background, JJ took the initiative to meet your parents. She walked down the small flight of stairs and was met with a worried couple.

"Hi, my name is Agent Jennifer Jaraeu. I'm the one who called you yesterday." She greeted kindly, flashing them a soft smile.

Your mother stole JJ's hand, clutching it for dear life, your dear life. "Please save my daughter. She's a very, very good daughter. She's always caring." Her tears fell in an instant.

JJ's heart shattered into pieces. You were loved, for Pete's sake! How dare the unsub take you? She calmed herself down before placing a hand atop your mother's. "We're doing everything we can to find her. She's a friend of mine, of all of us. We're not going to stop until we find her."

"Thank you—" Your father said in a broken voice, breaking into sobs. He was worst than your mother. He may have put on a brave face at first, but he was a mess as he shed massive tears for his only daughter.

JJ led them up to the conference room, introducing the team, your friends, hoping it would lessen your parents' worries.

"Ma'am—" Rossi was cut off by your mother.

"Lara, Agent Rossi. You can call me Lara." She sniffed.

Rossi offered her a small smile, "Then you may call me David." He waited for her nod before continuing. "We found out that Y/N changed her name when she was fifteen?"

Your father's eyes widened. No one was supposed to know that. It was a secret your parents swore to bring with them to their graves. "How did you know about that?" He defensively asked.

"We don't mean to offend you, Mr. Solace, but we needed to know everything about Y/N's life to figure out why she was abducted." Emily leveled, making sure her words did not alarm your parents.

"She doesn't know," Your mother cried, feeling your father wrap his arms around her to make her feel safe. She exchanged looks with your father, conversing through their eyes.

"She doesn't know," Your father repeated. "Y/N doesn't know her name used to be different." He explained vaguely. And when the whole team remained quiet, he knew they needed more than that. So he sighed, "That bastard took our daughter on her fifteenth birthday. It was a whole car chase that led to an accident. Y/N was hurt badly and had a head injury. She had difficulty remembering us because of trauma, so we changed her name and let her live a life free from that asshole's memory. To this day, Y/N has no idea. My wife and I made sure no one would ever know. We even hid the files from the government as best we could. Please, we don't want our daughter to remember. She already had a hard time." He rambled, holding your mother close as he fought the threatening tears to fall again.

Tuesday, 5:55 PM

The pain you were feeling has only gotten worse. But the worse thing of all was your dreams.

The man who abducted you was in those dreams. He was a lot younger, and so were you.

One of the dreams showed your four-year-old self running around a living room you weren't familiar with. And there was the man, smiling and rattling a toy in front of you. He brushed your hair, held your hands, and even playfully asked you to kiss him.

You felt nauseous. Your stomach hurled at the vivid dream. But something in your mind was telling you it wasn't. You gagged at the thought that it was real.

And tears began to rain on your lap. You stared at the door, "Someone, please, get me out of here."

Wednesday, 10:01 AM

"Garcia, search for a job with much free time. The unsub would've used those times to stalk Y/N. Maybe he's a janitor somewhere." Spencer stood behind Penelope, watching as she did her magic with her sets of keys.

One result popped up. "Oh, my god." Penelope blurted. Her eyes were filled with terror.

Spencer's brows furrowed, "What? What did you find?" He leaned closer to the screen, squinting his eyes.

"I know that address really well. That's—"

"That's Y/N's clinic." Spencer continued, stumbling his way out of Penelope's bat cave.

Penelope knew she couldn't catch up to him, so instead, she dialed Derek's number.

"'Sup baby girl, what you got for us?" He greeted her, putting her on speaker.

"The unsub. He's working for Y/N's clinic as a janitor. He's been under our noses this entire time. And–and it says in the schedule, he should be working." Penelope stammered, panicking despite the great news.

All of them shared a look as Spencer flew inside the room. Hotch gave Rossi a nod, "Alright, let's head there now." He turned to JJ. "If it's okay with you, JJ. Can you stay with Y/N's parents?"

JJ glanced at your parents, who sat in the kitchenette area in the bullpen. "I'm alright. I'll keep an eye on them. Go get our psychiatrist back. I have so many rants for her." She smiled, earning a stern but soft nod from Hotch.

It was as if they were all thrown off their seats when they moved. Derek paused, focusing on his phone. "Thanks, baby girl. We're gonna go get mama bird." He hung up the phone and followed the others.

The drive to your clinic was like flying from Quantico to New York in under fifty minutes. They were at the doorstep of the building faster than they usually go.

"I'm Agent Hotchner. We're a friend of Dr. L/N. We just wanted to know if you've recently hired this man." Hotch handed a photo of the unsub to Dr. Basset.

His eyes widened, "No, it's not recent. We've had him working for us for two years. He even stays in the spare room in the basement. He was old, so I thought it was harmless." He explained, worry creeping under his skin. He had never expected anyone to hurt his fellow doctors.

"And where's the basement?" Emily followed, nodding when Dr. Basset gave them the directions.

Meanwhile, Spencer, Derek, and Rossi made their rounds into every maintenance closet in the clinic.

"Clear," Spencer stated, stepping out of the third closet they checked. And when he turned his gaze towards Derek, he found the unsub behind him, coming out of a room. "Hey!"

The unsub's eyes blew wide, discarding his cleaning equipment and running on reflex.

Derek quickly followed in his footsteps, tackling him with a heavy body. "Don't move! Stay down!" He hissed, pinning the man down.

Rossi and Spencer followed suit, gun pointed to the man that made your entire life a living nightmare, aware or not. "Where's Y/N?!" Rossi grilled.

The unsub's deranged laughter echoed in the clinic halls, sure to leave nightmares in everyone that heard him. "I don't know a Y/N. You must be mistaken." He struggled out.

"Where's Odette?" Spencer interrogated, urging the unsub to halt his maniacal laughter.

"My sweet, sweet Odette... She was born to be my wife..." The unsub seemed to be in a trance of what he thought your lives together would be.

Hotch and Emily reached the basement, checking every corner, hoping you would be there. And then, there was a door made out of steel.

Emily softly tapped on the door, pressing an ear against it. "Y/N? Y/N, are you there?"

Your ears rang at the sound of her voice. You knew Emily's voice like the back of your palm. You attempted to pry your eyes open, but they were too heavy.

"Y/N?" Hotch knocked thrice on the piece of metal. "This is Hotch. We're here to take you home."

A strangled sob came out of you. Finally. "Hotch..." You called out in a raspy voice, feeling all the pain surge in your body.

It was faint, but they heard you loud and clear. Emily and Hotch exchanged nods before Hotch turned to the door. "I'm going to kick the door. Make sure you're away from it, okay?" He announced.

Light filtered in like a spotlight directly on you. One side of your face was stained with blood, pale skin, and dry lips that turned gray.

Hotch immediately removed his jacket and wrapped it around you while Emily untied your limbs.

And a hoarse giggle shook you, "I knew you'd find me." You whispered, slowly drifting off. "I knew you all were too attached to me to find a different psychiatrist." One last chuckle, and you were out.

Thursday, 1:23 PM

You were awakened by the annoying beeping on your side. Luckily, the pain didn't seem to factor in your consciousness returning.

You slowly opened your eyes, subconsciously squeezing the hand that held yours.

"Y/N! Oh, my, god! My baby." Your mother sobbed, squeezing your hand tighter. Your father went out to call for a nurse.

You gathered a smile as you adjusted your vision under the bright fluorescent lights. "Hey, mom." You rasped, feeling a lot better than the past week.

You felt her kissing your knuckles, catching her silent sobs. "I was so worried about you... I thought staying away from you would've kept you safe." She was apologizing, and she didn't need to say a word. Her hold on your hand was enough sign that she felt awful for letting you out of her sight.

"So... they weren't dreams, were they? He really has been on my tail this whole time?" Your mother stopped sniffing, hesitating. "Please be honest. I'm not mad. I just want to know who I am."

"Oh, sweetheart," She tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. "You are you." She started, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Your father and I may have changed your name, but you are the same daughter we were blessed with. He was trying to take our baby. We just wanted to keep you safe."

You nodded, squeezing her hand back. She stayed by your side the entire day, afraid that someone else would retake you if she left you even for just one second. Until you insisted that she and your father go home and get some rest.

An hour later, came piling in a pack of profilers. They were like children at the edge of your bed.

Penelope had a massive basket for you. She said you must take all of them because they keep you hydrated.

Spencer carried his own gift for you. A book. One that you repeatedly mentioned to him but never seemed to find the time to read. He handed it to you, tucking his long curly hair behind his ears. "I annotated it, so it's easier for you to read." He gave you a tight-lipped smile.

"How are you feeling?" JJ asked, sitting beside you.

You smiled, "Better." You announced.

A wave of relief washed over them. You found it adorable. How much they loved you. How much they depended on you in a way that would disrupt a doctor-patient relationship. But you didn't care. They will always be your favorite patients.

"Jack made this for you," Hotch giddily said, giving you a customized card.

You flipped it open and immediately laughed, making you wince as your head throbbed. Your gaze met Hotch's, "You have yet to learn from Jack, Hotch." You said, showing him the inside of the card.

The others peeked behind Hotch as he scanned the contents of the card.

There was a drawing of a woman, a stick figure, with flowers in her hands. But that wasn't what made you laugh. It was Jack's message below it.

Dear, Y/N

I hope you feel better soon so we can bake cookies again!

Love, Agent Jack

P. S. Dad drew you, which was terrible, so I added flowers to make it look better.

The others also erupted in laughter while Hotch grew into a red tomato. He passed you the card back, unable to meet your eyes.

"Wanna talk about how your son embarrassed you in front of your colleagues? I can help you bounce back from the trauma." You cooed, a teasing grin on your lips. "The doctor is in."

[shigarakisslutbag]

Here are some "romance" tropes I feel would fit shigarakis love style if he were in a relationship or liked someone:

Grumpy and sunshine

Like actual grumpy/sunshine. Not bully x sunshine/sweet reader lol.

Idc what anyone says I firmly believe tomura would have a soft spot for his love interest. It would probably take a long time to build these sort of feelings, but once he does, he does his best to hide it

One: scared of ruining his reputation

Two: doesn't want any hero to use those feelings against him. This is a huge reason it takes him a while to admit any feelings to even himself, he doesn't one the one good thing he has, to disappear.

It kind of plays into the next one

Opposites attract

This isn't always the case of course. And in some aspects tomura would obviously want someone similar to him (hobbies, valuing alone time ((probably)), loyal, etc)

However

This sounds a bit cheesy lol but bare with me. You're like the one thing that keeps him afloat. He can't grow and mature if it's always raining (so to speak), so he needs "sunshine" to remind him that he has supporters. He needs someone to keep him in check and remind him of the things he has going for him when he can only see the cons of a situation.

The Wonderful thing about you, is that you don't just tolerate him, you actively want to see him succeed and want to help further his cause.

He'll fs act like your bubbly personality is inconvenient though, but if you have even a slight change in your attitude, he notices. And will ask you what's going on (in his own way lol. He's trying give him a break. If he didn't care he'd definitely just tell you to get over yourself)

Soul mates

Okay listen. Listennn. This may not sound very realistic at face value. But in a scenario in which you aren't affiliated with the league at all, he'd probably meet you out in public. Likely out to steal some new game or snack/drink he wanted (from a chain store ofc. If it's a chain it's free reign)

That said, he'd either see you on his walk there or in the actual store. Either way, he's burdened by some hero on their first job not knowing, well, how to do their job.

This hero in particular has some sort of "cupid"- like quirk.

Shigaraki, to his dismay, gets hit lol. No one could recognize him with a face mask and hoodie on though. But the first person he looked at was, you guessed it, you. You locked eyes with each other and he felt something he hadn't felt before. It made his stomach turn. He hated and loved it. Was it butterflies? Wasps?? Either way he feels like he just touched wet food in the sink but also wonders how he got so lucky to see eyes like yours- god, he hated being in public .

Tomura, after being hit, fell down from the force of what hit him. Literally fell for you. And you said something he'd never heard before. Something no one has ever really asked besides his mom

"are you okay?" And it's all down and uphill from there .

First love mixed with childhood friends trope

Last one, promise lol. Unless someone asks for a continuation.

I mention these two tropes mixed together, because honestly I see this as one of the most likely tropes. Tomura, as an adult has probably only a vague memory of you due to all the trauma. He blocked out quite a lot.

You were probably one of his closest friends. Granted, you two only knew each other for a brief time as you were both around 5 years old when the tragedy happened. You two probably met in elementary school if his parents sent him (elementary is not mandatory in Japan from what I read. They start first grade after they turn 6 is though). If it wasn't that, you two were likely neighbors or something. Regardless, you two were inseparable at the time.

As kids, you both had a pretty innocent view on how the world worked. Little you at one point may have even asked him why he scratches his face all the time. He'd say he doesn't know, but it feels worse when he's at home. Youre tiny little heart couldn't handle seeing the sad look on your friend's face. Almost immediately you took him to your bathroom and got the "tube with medicine stuffs" that your parents used when you got scratches to help itching or pain (which was probably calamine lotion or cortisone), and put some little bandaids on his face (he said the all might ones would make his father mad. That made you more sad, but you kept those feelings to yourself)

He'd even come back to your place when he felt itchy at home. One night though, you ran out of the topical treatment. You were both sad but went on about your time playing pretend and talking about whatever you two could think of. Time went by and he realized he wasnt itchy. Not with you. Never with you. From that moment forward he considered you his "bestest friend".

As an adult, he probably only memorized you from a feeling of loss, and missing something that he couldn't pinpoint why. This probably made him itch more. It wasn't until he had his transformation arc and his voice matured, that he realized what was making him itch so much. It was the loss of you. At least he doesn't itch anymore.

A/N: OP tries not the make themselves cry challenge (fails miserably). Anyways if there's any typos I apologize. It's 3 am and I wrote this out on a whim. Ikik I got too carried away writing, but oh well. Some of these I felt like writing a whole fic for tbh lol. That said, feel free to tell me what your favorite trope is and which one of these you loved the most:)

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

She’s Perfect

Pairing: Eddie Munson x NewGirl!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: You are new to Hawkins and decides to join the Hellfire club and Eddie finds you to be his dream girl. 

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, creampie, spanking, slight nipple play, riding), fluff, probably incorrect DnD references, soft!Eddie, lovesick!Eddie, slight!metalhead!Reader

a/n: Here is my first fic of the year! It took me forever because I have the worst writer’s block ever! Hope you enjoy! It’s probably a little cringy, lol.

Banner by @vase-of-lilies​

You were new to Hawkins and of course you had to move to a new school half way through your senior year. So now you knew no one and you were so lost in this fucking school. You tried to ask someone but they just kept walking or they scoffed and snickered as they walked past. You growled before slamming your locker shut and just rushed around till you found your first class and of course you were ten minutes late. Great, you were new and late. 

After your classes you heard some freshmen talking about a club, Hellfire, you think? It sounded like a D&D club and you loved D&D. You had your own club back in your hometown, you were their Dungeon Master and you loved playing and creating campaigns for your party. Your club was always filled with Freshmen and Sophomores and they were all so excited to play and you loved them, they were like your little family. So you decided to stop by Hellfire after school.

You walked down the quiet hall and towards the back room where Hellfire was supposed to be held. You took a deep breath before opening the door and all the talking in the room quieted down to silence and turned to you. You looked at the people around the room and they were all guys and at the head of the table was, you guessed, the game master. 

“Can I help you?” The game master asked you, you stopped to look at him, he had fluffy dark brown hair that went down to his shoulders and he had bangs, he was wearing silver rings all over his hands, he had on a leather jacket with a jean vest and a white shirt under it with Hellfire Club on the shirt. 

“Um, is this the Hellfire Club?” You asked as you froze like a deer in headlights. “I was looking to join.” 

There was a collective gasp around the room and Eddie stood up and placed his hands on the table. “You want to join us?” He asked with a hint of surprise to his voice.

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Do you have a character?” Eddie said after a few minutes of thinking and you nodded before grabbing your beat up D&D notebook. 

“Yeah. I’m a level 16 Druid, race Elf. But I was a Dungeon master for a couple of years so I’m a bit rusty.” You said as you opened the page to your character chart.

“That’s alright. We’re just starting a new campaign, I’ll help you. I’m Eddie, your dungeon master. This is Gareth, Kevin, Jeff, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas.” He said pointing to all the guys at the table. You smiled and waved as you introduced yourself before going to the empty chair at the end of the table but Eddie stopped you. “Come sit next to me just in case you need help.” He said before pushing Gareth’s shoulder so he would move down a seat. Gareth glared at Eddie but moved anyway and you sat next to Eddie at the head of the table. 

“Thanks.” You smiled as you sat in the seat and you set your notebook on the table and opened it. 

Then the campaign started, you immediately got the hang of it and fell into the spot as the most powerful character in the game. And well… the boys were not happy about that, Eddie was thrilled but the rest of the club glared at you, except Dustin who thought you were amazing. By the end of the club, you had practically carried them through the quests. The guys glared at you as they walked out of the drama room but Dustin stayed and talked very excitedly about how well you did. 

You smiled at the freshman as he talked and asked for help with learning new spells and working on the best way to level up his character. He smiled at you widely as you told him that you would love to help him and you jotted down your number for him. 

“Here, call me if you need help, okay?” You asked with a smile and he nodded before giving you a side hug and he left. Your heart warmed at how happy he looked when you told him that you would love to help him. You sighed with a smile and turned to Eddie, “Thank you for letting me play.” You smiled as you leaned against the table. 

Eddie chuckled as he packed up the game board. “Had to give you a chance.” He winked which made you giggle and you grabbed your bag. 

“Did I make the cut?” You asked with a playful smile on your lips and he hummed pretending to think about it. 

He crossed his arms as he thought about it, “Well, you did get them lost in the forest…” 

You scoffed, “That was Gareth’s fault and you know it.” You started as you leaned against the table. “I think I did pretty good, Munson.” 

“I’m just messing with you. Of course you did a good job and I would be honored to have you join us.” He smiled genuinely, making your heart skip a beat and you bit your lip.

“I would love that, Eddie. Thank you.” You smiled as you hopped off the table as you walked over to him. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “I had a lot of fun. Thank you.” You whispered before you pulled away from him but Eddie gently grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. He leaned down and kissed you passionately as he cupped your cheek with his ring clad hand. You relaxed against his lips and kissed back deeply and you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him close. 

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered against your lips making your heart skip a beat as he scooped you up and sat you on the table. You kissed him deeper as you tangled your fingers in his fluffy hair and his large hands grasped your hips tight and pulled you closer to him. “Knew from the second you walked in here, you were perfect. Dressed in that Judas Priest shirt and ripped black jeans, fuck, thought I was gonna bust my pants.” He chuckled as he rested his head against yours. 

“Glad I could make a good impression.” You winked as you claimed his lips with yours again and he picked you up before he walked over to his throne and he sat down with you in his lap. He pulled you close to his chest and you kissed him deeper as you ran your fingers through his hair. His hands ran under the back of your shirt and he caressed your skin softly, smiling as he felt you relax against his chest. 

“Is this okay?” He asked as he pulled away and the tips of his fingers played with the hem of your shirt. 

“Yeah, it’s more than okay.” You nodded as you bit your lip and let him pull off your shirt to reveal your black lace bra. He practically groaned at the sight and he trailed his hands up your chest and cupped your breasts through the fabric. He leaned down to kiss in between your breasts as his sweet brown eyes gazed up at you and you smiled softly at him. “God, you’re so fucking cute.” You huffed as you tucked his hair behind his ears. 

“You’re one to talk. Coming in here acting all shy even though you’re hiding this rockin’ body under these clothes.” He winked as he nipped at the tops of your breasts making you giggle softly. His hands reached behind you and unclipped your bra and tossed it somewhere and he groaned at your bare breasts. He leaned down and kissed all over your breasts and sucked marks into them, marking you as his own and his hands rubbed up and down your hips. 

“Come on, Eds. It’s not fair that I’m half naked while you’re still dressed.” You huffed as you caressed his cheek softly. 

He chuckled at your pouting before he leaned back to strip off his vest and jacket and shed his Hellfire shirt. “There? Better?” He asked with a wink and you smirked down at his bare and lean chest. He had lean muscles hidden under all his layers of clothes and you traced his biceps softly and his pecs. 

“You’re so pretty. God, it’s just not fair.” You huffed and Eddie smirked at your reaction and you leaned down to kiss his neck softly and nip on his skin. Eddie ran a hand through his hair as he watched you suck and kiss on his neck and move down to his chest. You ran your tongue over his nipple softly and his body jolted with pleasure and you smirked up at him at his reaction. You pulled away from him to kiss him passionately again and he held you close. “Want- you- to fuck- me.” You mumbled in between kisses and he was taken aback by your confession and he growled softly as he set you on the table. 

“Fuck, hang on, sweetheart.” He muttered as he unbuckled his belt and you started taking off your jeans and kicked off your shoes as you pulled off your jeans. Eddie pulled his cock out of his jeans and you practically drooled at how thick and long he was. Fuck, you wanted to get on your knees and worship his cock, but that would have to wait. Once you got your jeans off Eddie yanked you into his lap and you kissed him passionately as he cupped your cunt and his middle finger circled your clit softly. You moaned against his lips and your hips jolted against his finger and you felt yourself growing wetter by the second. Shit, he knew what he was doing. 

“Eddie, fuck, as much as I love this I need your cock so bad.” You whined against his lips and he smirked before grabbing his cock and lined it up to your weeping entrance. You moaned at the blunt pressure against your hole and you slid your hips down to take his cock deep in your cunt. “O-oh, my.” You moaned as you threw your head back and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

He growled against your lips as he pulled away and rested his head against the headrest of the throne. “You’re so tight, sweetheart. Shit, feels like heaven.” He huffed as his hands rubbed your hips and down your thighs and squeezed the plush of your thighs. “You look so beautiful like this, sweets. You look like a goddess.”

You blushed at his words and you leaned down to rest your forehead against his. “You’re such a sweet talker, y’know that?” You asked with a smirk as you tugged on his hair softly. 

“I’ve been told a few times.” He chuckled, making you giggle softly as you started moving your hips up and down on his cock. He groaned as your walls clenched and throbbed around him and you moaned at the thickness of his cock stretching you to the limits. 

“Eds, fuck, you feel so good.” You moaned and arched your chest against him and he leaned down and caught one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked on the bud softly, making shivers run down your back. His hands gripped your ass and spanked you softly as he nipped on your nipple softly. You gripped his shoulders tight as you moved your hips up and down slowly and his head fell back against the throne and he let out a loud groan. 

“Sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight and wet. M’not gonna last long.” He groaned as he clenched his eyes shut and his hands gripped your hips as he guided your hips up and down on him faster. You moaned as his hand went down to your pussy and he circled your little bud in tight circles making your cunt pulse around him. 

You nuzzled against his neck as you cried out, “Fuck, Eddie, m’close, m’so fucking close.” You moaned and he held you tight as he moved faster in and out of you and rubbed your small bud faster. 

“Cum for me, sweets. Show me how good I’m making you feel.” He smirked as he nipped on your neck and spanked your ass. That’s what pushed you over the edge and you came hard on his cock, your thighs shaking around his lap and he kissed you passionately as he helped you through your orgasm. 

You cupped his face as you continued to kiss him and you came down from your orgasm and you kissed down his jaw and nibbled on his neck. “Cum in me, Eds. Want to feel you fill me up.” You purred against his sensitive skin and he growled out your name as you pushed him over the edge and he came hard inside of you. His ringed hands gripped your hips tight as he held your hips flush against his lap as his cum spurted inside of your wet walls. 

He panted softly as he came down from his high and he kissed your head as you laid against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around you and held you close as you nuzzled into his neck. He pulled away with a dopey smile on his face, “That was a nice surprise.” 

You giggled softly and nodded, “It was. Just couldn’t keep my hands off of you.” You smiled at him and kissed his lips again before you got off of his lap and stood on shaky legs. “You are a very sexy dungeon master.” You winked as you leaned down and kissed his lips again before he tucked himself back into his jeans.

He stood up and grabbed his shirt and had you sit in his throne as he kneeled in front of you and cleaned up your messy cunt. “You’re so fucking pretty in my throne.” He whispered as he kissed your inner thigh. 

“You’re too sweet.” You smiled and he pulled you up gently before helping you get redressed and he put on his jacket and vest as he held his messy shirt in his hand and led you out of the school. 

“Do you want a ride? Maybe we can smoke some and have some more fun?” He suggested with a smirk and you gigged and kissed him. 

“Sure, love a good workout before bed.” You winked and he smirked as he led you into the van and you two were off to his trailer.

[ot3]

this is someone reblogging that 'do you watch television aimed at little kids poll from me' and wow.

for starters i was pretty open in the tags of that post about how much i like watching kids cartoons so it's pretty wild that this person would basically say 'if you do this you're a fucking baby who needs to grow up' IN MY ACTIVITY FEED. like i just immediately blocked them, and im not sure what they thought the outcome was going to be other than that.

but really the main point i want to make here is that this person has a pokemon url. which is notably a franchise whose target demographic is elementary school aged children. just because the franchise has been going long enough that a bunch of people who originally grew up with it are adults now doesn't make that not the case. why is having a pokemon themed blog fine but if someone wants to watch bluey or something they're a fucking baby who needs to grow up? insane hypocrisy. i guess 'nostalgia' is the only legitimate emotion an adult could find in children's media by this perspective. anything else is for fucking babies.