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call-sign-shark · 1 year ago

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Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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ficmenrhot · 1 year ago

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Finnick’s trauma and comforting him:( /angst/

TW: mentions of forced prostitution and description of some gore and violence, a little bit of self hatred, talking about traumatic events

A/N: to all those survivors and victims of traumatic events, I’m proud of you…and this is a reminder that your loved ones are always willing to listen. Also, this is quite long so buckle up!

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I think it is pretty much common knowledge that Finnick Odair has some deep trauma from his time in the games and past. Although most victors of the Hunger Games suffered the same fate, Finnick was caught in Snow’s grasp too young..too vulnerable. He was forced to participate in the 65th Hunger Games at only 14-to kill others for survival- and when he won, thinking that all the suffering would be over then, he was threatened to become a prostitute at 16, otherwise his loved ones would be slaughtered- in which they did.

Finnick tries so hard to put on a facade in front of the Capitol- when he attends shows and interviews- and he does an amazing job at that. He tries so, so hard to remain strong for you too…to try and convince you that he really is alright by lying that his past no longer haunts him. He wants to assure you that he is stable because he is afraid of becoming a burden to you, afraid to be pushed away or feared by you because of his ‘problems’. The last thing he needs is to have the last person he loves vanish from his life.

However, at times, the stresses and memories just come flooding back to him and he finds himself breaking down.

Sometimes at night, you’ll be awoken by the soft sobs of Finnick crying, and seeing him in that state just absolutely destroys you…as if a thousand knives to your heart.

His back is facing you to avoid having you see his teary face, quietly sniffing into a pillow in his arm. He looks so vulnerable…almost like he’s fourteen all over again, and your heart throbs at the sight of your love- usually so big and strong- breaking down into pieces.

“…F-Finnick, my love?” You whisper ever so softly, sitting up against the headboard as you place a your much smaller hand on his shoulder.

Finnick turns at you, his eyes red and tears welling up at his waterline, long lashes wet and cheeks a little flushed from crying. He blinks, wiping away his tears, voice raspy as he says apologetically,

“Honey….I’m so sorry I woke you up.”

This man. He’s breaking down and he is so selfless that he apologises to you for experiencing valid emotions?!

“Oh Finnick, why are you apologising? It’s not your fault..you know it never is. Was it the nightmares again?” you ask gently with sympathetic eyes.

You have no idea what Finnick had to go through in the Hunger Games or any idea of what it is like to have your body sold but whatever it feels like, you know it must be terrible…so painful and terrible for somebody as strong as Finnick to be shattered. And you wouldn’t even have to think for a second to do anything at all -to kill or to sacrifice your own safety- just to share half of Finnick’s pain….to lift the weighs off his shoulders.

“My love, would you like me to hold you?” It is the least you can offer.

Finnick sniffs quietly and nod, moving closer to you to lay on your chest. Your fingers delve into his golden curls, playing with his hair as it is one of your favourite ways to calm him down. The two of you find peace in the silence before you ask softly:

“Would you like to share what happened, Finnick? Or we can talk about it when you feel better and just cuddle back to sleep…whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

Finnick is quiet for a few moments before he blinks and rubs at his wet lashes, “..it was…it was another nightmare. I had to kill the last tribute…a young girl from district 11. She was only a few years older than me…forced into the Games too…and I had to k-kill her to win…” His voice cracks as a tear rolls down his cheeks, and you wipe it away with your thumb, nodding as you listen attentively.

“It was terrible…the look on her face when I stabbed her with my trident…I can still remember her shrill screams, the look of betrayal on her face…the way her body thudded to the ground with blood soaking up her wetsuit.” Finnick begins to sob once more.

“Shhh..shhh” you coo, stroking Finnick’s cheeks as you attempt to comfort him.

Finnick shakes his head, breath hitched and uneven as he sobs in your hands, and the heartache of seeing him like this nearly eats you alive.

“I…I’m disgusting…I feel impure….and with what Snow did to me…”

“…the things he made me do…I feel disgusting....”

Prostitution is something you know of Finnick’s past, but it is a topic he has never really opened up on until this moment. You never forced him or questioned him about it because you know it is an event of great trauma to him.

You can only stroke Finnick’s hair to sooth him and hold him tightly in support as he continues, feeling both sympathy and proudness that he is able to open up about this topic.

“No matter how much I try to wash myself, to scrub my skin and submerge myself in soap, I can still smell the sickening scent of Capitol perfumes. Sometimes…I feel sorry that I can’t be a better partner for you sweetheart……and I’m so afraid that you’ll leave me or regret me or feel shameful of me.”

You cup Finnick’s face for him to look at you and there are a thousand emotions visible in your eyes as you speak.

“Are you kidding, Finnick? Look me in the eye when I tell you that I will never regret loving you or feel ashamed of you. I’m so proud to have you as my partner, as my lover, so proud of how strong you are…how strong you remain after the terrible things you had to go through.”

“In fact, my love, I look up to you. You’re my role model Finnick, and if I were in your shoes, I would not be able to handle things half as well as you do. You are kind, amazing, beautiful and definitely not disgusting. Trust me when I say that that is the last thing you’ll ever be. Besides, it wasn’t your choice to kill that tribute, anyone would’ve done the same.”

And with that, his sea green eyes softens, and that smile you’re familiar with finally appears on his face. Dimples when he smiles. You press a soft kiss on his forehead and stroke his hair as the two of you hold each other sleepily, slowly dozing off to a deep slumber. The last words you mutter being:

“I love you, my love.”

“I love you more, honey. And thank you….really.”

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A/N: AHHHH! tell me why I almost cried writing this?! This is my first angst and I think the lost piece I’ve written by far (on this new account). Please like or reblog if you enjoyed this, and follows are most definitely appreciated ;)

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick x y/n #the hunger games #finnick smut #finnick odair drabble #thg finnick #thg series #finnick fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick x you #finnick angst

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girlrotterr · 11 months ago

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Ultraviolence.

farm!ellie x fem!reader TW!: references to alcohol and substance abuse, along with instances of emotional and verbal abuse. Summary: Years after returning from Seattle, you and Ellie chose to adopt a baby, hoping to rebuild your lives after the traumatic events. However, several months later, Ellie began struggling emotionally, haunted by her past, expressing her pain through cold and distant behavior. a/n: AHHH!! soo excited to finally share this!! lmk if you angels would like a pt 2!

read part 2! read part 3!

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The silence of the house was abruptly broken by a cry that echoed through every corner. It was a sound you recognized instantly, a heart-wrenching feeling that never failed to make your chest tighten. Those cries belonged to your child.

As you stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing away residues of dinner from the white porcelain plates – the very ones Ellie had lovingly chosen for you – memories flooded your mind. Each sponge stroke brought back moments shared with Ellie, her attention to detail in every aspect of your life together.

The kitchen, once a place of laughter and shared meals, now felt empty. The soft glow of the overhead light cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the solitude that enveloped you. How you longed for Ellie's presence, her warmth filling the space with love and comfort.

Yet, she wasn't physically absent.

She simply wasn't present.

"Go check on him," ellie muttered rudely, not even looking in your direction.

"Already on it," you replied, setting the plate down and drying your hands on a nearby cloth.

Making your way upstairs, the cries of your child grew louder as you approached his door. Your heart ached as you recognized them all too well. Taking a deep breath, you knocked and opened the door.

Before you could utter a word, he began pouring out his troubles. He knew it was you even before the door opened, aware that you were the only one who came to check on him. His other mom…hadn't done so in a long time.

He was sobbing into his teddy bear, his red and puffy eyes avoiding your gaze.

"Why is my mommy like that?" he asked, tears staining his teddy bear. "Why is she not playing with me? Does she not love me anymore?"

Closing the door gently behind you, you settled on his bed. His voice choked with emotion, he questioned why his mother seemed distant.

"Oh honey, she loves you.” you tried soothing by rubbing his back, “she’s just… been busy, but soon enough, she'll play with you again, okay? I'll talk to her.." you assured, pulling him into your arms.

"Promise?" This time he raised his head to look at you with those wet eyes. You'd been playing the mother role for the past half a year now. How many times had you made that promise to him?

"Pinky promise," you affirmed, feeling the weight of your words as you made yet another pledge to ease his worries.

"Thank you mama.." He smiled weakly, clinging to you with a sense of reassurance.

A voice in the background called your name – Ellie.

Abruptly, the heavy thuds of footsteps echoed up the stairs, her sharp voice vibrating through the silence of the hallway.

"What are you doing?!" she snapped, her tone laced with irritation as she barged into the room, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" Ellie snarked, her words cutting through the air. Her cold glare pierced through you. "Kid, go somewhere else."

As Ellie's coldness unfolded, you began to bite the inside of your cheek, a surge of anger towards her lack of empathy. The lack of interest she showed towards everyone's feelings aggravated you, you were growing exhausted.

"Stop it.” you intervened, hoping to convey to Ellie the need for a gentler approach toward the child. As expected, Ellie brushed off your attempt, a complete disregard for how her words affected the child.

"I said fucking go!" Ellie yelled.

Your child, tears swelling, quickly left the room, the echoes of his sniffles fading behind him. Dammit, Ellie...

You shoot her a glare filled with frustration, immediately getting up to exit the room. However, Ellie quickly grabbed your arm, her grip tight and nails digging into your flesh, causing you to wince and forcefully move toward her.

"Where the fuck are you going?" she snarled.

"Argh- Ellie, I'm not.. dealing with you right now-" you remarked..

Ellie tugged your arm harshly, her stare growing more aggravated. The scent of cigarettes lingering, the scent so familiar that you had become numb to it. This was the only time Ellie would even attempt to touch you, always using it to assert her control. In all other instances, you existed as nothing, always unnoticed.

“You don’t get to decide that.” She released your arm, shutting the door firmly and positioning herself in front of it to ensure you couldn't leave. Taking another drag from her cigarette, she exhaled the smoke.

Maintaining your glare, you scoffed and went to open the window, refusing to let the smell of cigarettes fill your child's room.

"What the fuckk are you doing?" Ellie asked, displaying no intention of stopping you, her annoyance being clear. She didn't bother pretending.

“What does it fucking look like?” you snapped, not bothering to turn and face her. You hated it when she tried irritating you.

Instead, your focus drifted toward the view outside the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of warm gold and soft pink, casting a gentle glow. The fields surrounding the farmhouse with lively flowers, their petals swaying in the evening breeze.

The farmhouse itself stood as a sturdy, its walls covered with trailing vines of ivy. In the distance, you could hear the faint sound of cows softly in the fields.

Ellie remained silent, simply taking another prolonged drag of her cigarette. She didn't spare the time to respond to your snarky remarks.

“..he wanted to play with you today,” you mentioned, leaning your head against the window, fidgeting with the sleeves of your shirt. “He thinks you don’t love him.”

It had become routine for Ellie to try and get any information about what your kid shared. His troubles and worries seemed to be a curiosity for her. You never questioned it, always holding onto the hope that, in some part of her, she still truly cared.

"So?" she replied nonchalantly, walking over to you and flicking her cigarette out the window. "What's one of his little feelings to me? He's too attached anyway. It'd be good for him if I ignored him for a while."

Ellie's gaze drifted toward the window, her eyes captivated by the familiar view. The golden glow over the farmstead, a sight she had always cherished. It was one of the main reasons she had chosen this farmhouse for her family to live in.

You gazed at Ellie, taking in her features. Her heavy bags from the countless sleepless nights on the couch, her once-soft pink lips now only meeting the cold bottles of alcohol she consumed in the dead of night.

“He’s not the only one who feels that way..” You remarked, still staring at her, hoping that her emerald eyes would meet yours.

Ellie's heart sank, a flicker of emotion appearing on her face.

"Shut up," she muttered coldly. She didn't bother turning to look at you; your words had clearly affected her.

"I don't want to hear you talk. I'll do whatever I want. If I don't feel like playing with him, then I fucking won't."

She stormed off, and the moment of silence shattered. Her heavy footsteps descended the stairs.

Without a moment's hesitation, you rushed out of your son's room, your only focus being to find him. You swiftly walked down the hallway, your pace quickening. Leaving him alone, particularly when upset, was something you hated. As you walked down the hallway…

There he was.

In the bathroom, seated on the black and white tiled floor, clutching his teddy bear, with his face buried into his knees and headphones covering his ears.

He didn't want to witness his mothers arguing. He understood that whenever Ellie interrupted your time together, it signaled something bad.

You observed him from the doorway painfully knowing that he didn't deserve this, enduring the harsh environment that the house had become. It pained your heart to see that he had developed coping mechanisms for these moments.

He glanced up at you, his eyes red from crying.

You gave him a soft smile, walking over and lifting him into your arms, gently wiping away the tears from his face. “I’m sorry honey, mommy needed to tell me something-”

“I know,” he said softly, nuzzling his face into your neck. He already knew all your apologies.

You kissed the top of his head, tenderly stroking his hair and swaying side to side. Your mind raced, searching for ways to lift his spirits and make up for Ellie's behavior.

“Hey, why don’t we-”

"Mama... I’m tired," he interrupted, his gaze staring off as if he was drifting from this moment. It wasn’t just physical fatigue; he was tired of it all, exhausted from feeling this way.

You nodded gently. “Okay, let’s head to bed then…”

You walked over to the sink, sitting him on the nearby stool where you usually did to brush his little teeth. The tap gushed water as you applied toothpaste to his green toothbrush covered in tiny dinosaurs, a choice Ellie had insisted upon a while back. You remember her begs of "pleaseee!!" throughout the shopping trip.

With the toothbrush in hand, you gently brushed his teeth, being careful not to hurt his sensitive gums.

“Okay, now you can spit.”

Ptui!

“All clean, mama!” he exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together and flashing you his newly cleaned smile.

You leaned down, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Good job, honey!”

He carefully climbed down from the stool, making his way towards your bedroom. Sleeping with you always made him feel safe, and he eagerly headed for the bed, emitting little grunts of tiredness along the way.

Finally settling onto the bed, he lay down next to his teddy bear, giving it a small pat.

“Mama will join you after she’s done cleaning, okay?” you assured him, tucking him into his space-themed blanket. The blanket, a dark blue adorned with various planets and stars, was one of his favorites.

It was a gift from from grandpa Joel, who had been thrilled to learn about your and Ellie's news of starting a family. He couldn't contain his excitement, bombarding Ellie with endless parenting tips and even purchasing books on child development in preparation.

Joel never got to meet him.

“Okay...” he said softly, turning away as you walked towards the door. You stared at his back, an ache overwhelming your thoughts, and all you could think about was saying, "I’m sorry." Though you knew you weren’t responsible for Ellie's behavior, you felt like you owed it to him.

You and Ellie were eagerly excited on the journey to adopt a child together, ready to try again. Jackson had many kids in need of a loving home. When you adopted your kid, you promised him a life filled with love and joy, but that promise crumbled far too quickly.

You stepped out of the room and closed the door behind you.

Heading downstairs, you found Ellie sitting on the couch, smoking a joint and watching Breaking Bad, an episode she had already seen twice.

Resuming your routine, you began cleaning up the kitchen. Drying dishes, sweeping the floor, and wiping the countertops. All tasks you were now accustomed to doing alone.

Ellie gradually stopped helping, a gradual drift. The same snarky excuses: “I’m too fucking tired” or “I have some work to finish up.” Eventually, she left you alone in the silent kitchen, where everything felt still.

“Goodnight,” you said, looking towards Ellie as you headed towards the stairs.

Silence.

Ellie remained motionless on the couch, smoking her joint and staring blankly at the TV. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, trying to detach herself from the world.

You took a deep breath, attempting to control your emotions and suppress the ache that surfaced every time she responded with silence. Placing your foot on the first step, you began to ascend the stairs.

"C'mere,” Ellie said, actually looking at you for once.

Your heart raced at her sudden attention, her piercing gaze catching you off guard. You walked over to her, standing in front of her. Up close, you couldn't ignore the mess she appeared to be. Her eyes were puffy and red, a foolish smirk plastered across her face.

“c’meree..” she said, motioning you to come closer.

Ellie brought the joint to her lips, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke right into your face, giggling at how it was causing you to cough.

She started laughing, “you look stupid.”

Irritated, you smacked the joint out of her hand. Causing ellie to jolt at the sudden movement.

“Be fucking stupid and pick it up,” you snarled, glaring at her, your eyes piercing through her.

Ellie simply looked at you, no words, no movement, her gaze fixated on you. You couldn’t decipher the emotion behind her gaze there were thoughts behind those eyes, but you couldn’t recognize them.

Scoffing, you turned away, no longer wanting to be near her. Heading upstairs, you headed straight for the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Tears welled up, but you refused to let them fall. I need to be strong..she can’t..can’t win…

You couldn't help but feel stupid. Stupid for thinking she would offer you even a shred of affection. Her undivided attention, a drop of care.

Turning on the faucet, you splashed water on your face, feeling its cool touch soothe your heated skin. It was as if the water washed away the tension, calming your mind. Each droplet felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders, easing the ache you carried.

Taking a deep sigh, you began your nightly routine, another task you were accustomed to doing alone.

Slowly opening the door to your bedroom, you found your child fast asleep, clutching his teddy bear tightly in his arms and cocooned in his blanket. His gentle breaths filled the room with a sense of tranquility, a small smile gracing his lips as he slept peacefully.

In that moment, he appeared like a peaceful, angelic child, as if he were innocent and free from life's worries.

Closing the door behind you, you approached the bed, gently laying beside him, fingers caressing his soft hair, humming a melody –a melody Ellie used to sing to you back then. Never missing a chance to soothe you with her singing whenever you couldn’t sleep.

He appeared so innocent, carrying that light within him. The idea of him being exposed to Ellie's behavior filled you with guilt. He was the reason you tolerated Ellie, not demanding for more.

You had an urge to fight for his safety and his right to happiness. All he deserved was love and affection, and ellie failed to provide it.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you closed your eyes, letting sleep envelop you as you tried to quiet the endless thoughts swirling in your mind.

Thud.

Sometime later in the night, you heard Ellie stumbling her way up the stairs. Her movements were unsteady, the effects of alcohol. It seemed like she hadn't slept at all. The only evidence of her rest was the blanket and pillow on the couch.

You heard the sound of ellie turning the doorknob and entering the room, not bothering to turn on the lights. The room filled with the sound of Ellie rummaging through drawers and opening closets. You had no idea what she was looking for, but she appeared determined to find it.

You tried to catch a glimpse of Ellie in the darkened room. Your eyes adjusted, and you could make out the outline of her figure as she searched. She stood there in a tank top and boxers, her arms revealing prominent veins, and her hair ruffled messily around her face.

“El’s?..”

Startled, she jumped and stopped her search, clearly taken aback by the sudden sound of your voice. She turned around with a scowl, not bothering to whisper back.

“What?” she snapped, clearly annoyed.

"What're you… doing?" you asked sleepily, being awoken by her rummaging.

"Nothing," Ellie replied with a heavy sigh "Go back to sleep."

You looked into her eyes, your eyes glistening in the gentle moonlight.

Ellie was startled for a moment at the sight of the eyes that met her. But snapped herself back into reality.

"Don't… give me that look," she muttered before turning around and going back to rummaging through the drawers.

You gently extended your hand towards Ellie, wanting her to sleep with you. Your fingers moved slowly, reaching out for hers.

She paused, her shoulders rising and falling as she took a sharp inhale of air. She sighed and then looked at you. She didn't pull away from your touch, her demeanor appearing softer as if she was trying to resist you.

"No,"

You stayed silent at her response, silently hoping for her to change her answer.

"I said No. Go… back to sleep." She tried to say firmly but her tone was softer now.

You turned away from Ellie, silently acknowledging her rejection. Each time your attempts were turned down, the familiar ache grew duller, as if numbed. You wrapped your arm around your child, closing your eyes in an attempt to drift back into sleep.

Your child's peaceful breathing filled the room, a comforting reminder of his presence. Though still awake, you could hear Ellie's silent breaths nearby. She lingered by the bed, her presence still even in the darkness. It felt as if she was trying to find a way to be near you without you knowing.

You resembled an angel in the soft moonlight, your skin radiant. Ellie couldn't help but admire you, considering you the most beautiful sight she had ever seen—as if you were kissed by the moon.

The night was warm, the gentle wind gentle and comforting. In this moment, you hoped to never wake up.

Your soft hair laid on the pillow like soft and silky thread. Your gentle breathing was soothing. Your body looked like a painting created by heaven itself. You were its beautiful muse and the moon was the painter showing its admiration.

Ellie couldn't help but gaze at you, her eyes lingering on your lips for a moment longer than usual. She then looked down at your child, peacefully nestled with you For an instant, a longing for love stirred within her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a very long time. It reminded her of the days when you both were deeply in love.

Your body was so peaceful, ellie found herself entranced, her eyes tracing every curve and line. Ellie felt an overwhelming desire to simply…admire you, to preserve your presence.

Without a second thought, Ellie found herself slowly lying down beside you, her body acting with impulse. The comfort of the bed and the softness of the cotton sheets gave her a warmth that she had long forgotten.

She pressed her body as close as she could get it against yours. Her hands folded under her chin, as if she was too afraid to touch you.

She found herself lost, aching for a connection she feared to ignite.

#ellie angst #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie fanfic #ellie x y/n #farm ellie #ellie fanfiction

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luveline · 2 years ago

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hello!! your writing is so lovey !! i’d love to read about some hurt/comfort with Joel if you’re up for it!!

thank you for your request, hope this is ok! tw for attempted sexual assault and implied physical assault/ bruises/ traumatic event | fem!reader 1.1k

Joel's probably worried, you think.

The skin of your arms and torso is rippled with goosebumps as another cold breeze whips past. Your fingertips are numb. Every new gale stings the welts across your stomach, shallow cuts from untrimmed fingernails. You'll need to wash them out when you get home, only home is a long ways away, and you're still shirtless.

Joel's apartment is much closer. You know where you'll end up, even as you beg yourself to stick out the cold and the vulnerability. You don't want to burden him with this, but you don't want to carry it by yourself, either.

The steps up to his apartment are cracked and filthy. Glass crushes under your ratty converse as you bump up each step, uncrossing your arms to hold on to the bannister inside. You pretty much sprint to his floor. You're not stupid, you know walking around half naked makes you a target for creeps.

You stand in front of his door, shaking from the cold. You bruised knuckles ache as you knock.

"Joel?" you say, crossing your arms over your bare chest again. "It's me."

Please be home.

"Joel? Are you–"

The door opens suddenly, wisps of your hair dancing forward. You tighten your arms across your chest and can't make yourself smile at the man in front of you. Joel is rumpled, his clothes marred with dark mud, and he looks pissed. He must've just gotten in.

He steps toward you and you step back. You're still in flight mode, but Joel's not gonna hurt you. He grabs your shoulder and shepherd's you behind him, looking down the hallway.

"They didn't follow me."

"They?" he asks stonily. His rage is quick to boil.

You don't have any answers for him. You don't know who it was.

Joel walks you inside of the apartment. His hand burns your chilled skin. Any heat feels like a relief to you, your body thrumming with an emotion you can't place as you press your back to his arm.

He gets you on the couch, drapes a blanket over your shoulders. You're freezing up and not sure why, your grip on the present loosening as he crouches in front of you. The tip of his ring finger brushes against the gouges in your arm.

"Is this it?" he asks.

You press your lips together tightly and lift your arm so he can see the long welts over your stomach, beginning just under your chest and stopping before your navel.

"Nothing else?"

You look over his shoulder. "No," you say softly. "Nothing else."

"Look at me."

You look at him. You've known Joel for long enough to understand his expressions, but when you'd first met they felt like a puzzle. You'd thought him disdainfully detached, especially when his impassive lowbrow was accompanied by his silences. His glaring isn't at you, it's for you.

A single tear races down your cheek. You try very hard to mirror his steadiness.

"They pushed me up against a wall," you whisper, afraid that any sudden movements will spill another welled tear, "and they took off my shirt, and I– I think I hit him in the throat, and I pulled away even though he," —you gesture to your stomach— "tried to pull me back in. I tripped the other one."

"You're sure they didn't do anything else?" he asks.

"It's all surface wounds, Joel. My arm hurts, and I'm cold, but it's not as bad as it looks."

He takes your cold hand like he doesn't mean to. He squeezes your fingers together, the bones aching for a millisecond, and lets you go. You curl in on yourself as he stands and leaves the room, his footsteps moving through the bedroom and the bathroom, where the tap runs.

He returns with a shirt that won't fit you right and a first aid kit. He turns though he's seen it all now, letting you slip the shirt over your head and tug it over your stomach with a semblance of privacy.

"I'm sorry for coming here," you say.

He turns and shakes his head. "Don't say that shit. This is exactly where you're supposed to come. Do you want to stand up, let me disinfect scrapes?"

You stand and reluctantly leave the blanket on the couch. He takes your arm into a much gentler hand than the one that left your scratches, disinfecting your cuts with a small piece of gauze and a splash of alcohol. You wonder if he thinks about the loss. Any sip is precious.

He starts to pull up your shirt. You hold very still, let him pin it just under your breasts without so much as a wrong breath, and still he checks your face.

"Alright?"

You nod emphatically. Joel takes care to be gentle but he's still thorough — you wince at the feeling of wet cotton dragging down your broken skin.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Joel doesn't say sorry often. You know he wouldn't apologise for something so small as the biting ache of disinfectant.

"It's not your fault. It's mine, I didn't have my jacket, I was only–" putting out the trash. Trying to do something normal, but nothing's normal anymore. "I'm fucking stupid. I've seen one of them with Ronnie before, I should've known they were bad news."

You really aren't expecting his hug. Any affection beyond a quick hand hold or pat on the shoulder is scarce.

"You're not stupid." Joel's hand moves up to your hair, cupping the back of your head. "You're not."

His touch brings an instant wave of heat behind your eyes. You screw them closed tight to stop from sobbing into his shoulder, your hands vying desperately for his waist, his back, pulling him as close as he'll let you be. He doesn't push you away, not for a second.

"You're okay," he says firmly.

Joel is all encompassing. His presence numbs the last remains of your panic. His arms are tight behind you, his chest solid under your own.

"My hands are so cold, they're hurting," you mumble.

If he feels the tears seeping into his t-shirt, he doesn't mention it. "Yeah?" he asks, reaching back to pull one from his back. He wedges it between you, your fingertips aligned over his heart.

You'd never know how angry he was at that moment. You won't realise how deeply it runs until night's fallen, and you wake alone in his bed to the sound of the door closing. When he climbs in beside you, his knuckles are an angry red.

#joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller hurt/comfort #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us tv show #the last of us hbo #joel miller #joel miller x reader angst #joel miller x you #the last of us

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tinfoil-jones · 2 months ago

Text

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 7

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: TW/ the topic of suicide.

First - Prev - Next

CH.7

“You really need to tidy this place up, Stanford. I know you live by yourself, but that’s no excuse to have papers and books scattered around like a dust devil came through.”

“It’s organized chaos, Fiddleford. I know where everything is.”

“And this pile of unwashed laundry?”

“I’ll get to it. Washing clothes is a waste of time, and I’m a busy man.”

“Uh huh, and this pile of unopened letters on your counter? What are all of these, Stanford?”

“Several of our colleagues started sending me letters en masse.”

“And you didn’t open or read them?”

“I received so many at once, it must have been an invitation for a convention. I wasn't interested in attending one at the time. I’ll get to them eventually.”

“These are dated over a year-.”

“Eventually.”

“You’re stubborn as a mule. At least wash your dishes. You’ve been categorizing your notes for the past hour - what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to find the definitive event.”

“For Stan?”

“Yes. You said that something extremely traumatic caused the memory loss; if I can identify what event exactly caused this, maybe I can fix this. The problem is, however…”

“Is that you’ve handled the situation in the most extreme way you could think of?”

“No. That isn’t it- and that isn’t true.”

“Mhmmm.”

“The problem is there’s too much.”

“Too much?”

“Trauma. He’s offhandedly mentioned terrible things- even when I met him in town, he had three stab wounds and acted like it was no big deal. And the more we ask, the more we prod, there’s more. The ones we heard were just the ones he was comfortable enough to mention, there has to be worse things he will not or can not speak of. And that thought… scares me, Fiddleford. I knew he wasn’t doing fantastic, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.”

“That’s not your fault Stanford - didn’t you say he left home? It is sad he was too stubborn to ask you or anyone else in your family for help, but I suppose you two have that in common yeah?”

“...”

“I’ll admit that might have been tactless of me- Stanford? What’s- Hey! Hey now, it’s okay! It’s okay- I’m here for you.”

“...Five.”

“What’re you whimpering into your hands, now?”

“Five times. He wrote me a list of people who have tried to kill him in the past. There were thirty names.”

“That’s terrible, but not entirely surprising from what he’s-.”

“He listed himself five times.”

(...)

“How could you be so selfish?”

“I’m a selfish guy, I dunno what you want me to say.”

“Why do you only ever think of yourself?”

“Can’t afford not to. It’s dog eat dog out there, you know.”

“Will you take this seriously?”

“Will you tell me what you’re upset about this time? I can’t read minds, and I’ve known you for four days! Throw me a bone here, PhD.”

“You tried to- to take your own life?”

“Yeah. A couple times. Never succeeded, but that’s the story of my life.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you try something like-”

“Okay I’ve had enough of your judgemental bullshit. I’ve been playing along with your ‘missing twin’ narrative, the least you could do is not fucking go there. I’m a homeless criminal on the run all the time. You tell me why you think I’d want to die sometimes.

Use that big fucking brain of yours for two seconds and think statistics - homeless people kill themselves more than ‘regular’ people, so do prisoners and convicts. You’re both? Oooh boy you’re in for a time. You have to fight to survive all of the time, and sometimes… sometimes you just get so tired, you want to stop fighting you… you just want a break from it all. You want it to just end.”

“Stanley…”

“...”

“...Talk to me. Please. I’m not trying to judge you, I just want to understand.”

"...Let's say I am this mystery twin-"

"You are."

"I'm being hypothetical here, listen. Let's say I am this mystery twin of yours. Specs was saying he didn't even know you had a twin."

"How did-."

"You pressed the mute button, not deafen; I could still hear you. Anyways, your best friend didn't know you had a twin. So to your own best friend you never mentioned 'me' over what, at least 4 years or however long it took you to get a degree? Or in the years that followed? Not even once?

If I'm your twin, I can't have been that important for you to do all of this. I screwed something up, and you don't want me in your life."

"..."

"I don’t know what you're trying to prove here- if you’re going through some guilt or pity or whatever. I'm just some drifter! I don’t have anything, and I don’t have anyone. You shouldn't be wasting your time like this. I'm not worth any of the time or effort you’ve put into this. Even if I was who you think I am. Because that guy? That guy fucked up so badly you didn't think about him for ten years. And I'm just as big of a fuck up."

"Is that... is that what you think about yourself?"

"Stanford, that's all that I know about myself."

*Ford abruptly opens the barred door and walks through the forcefield into the cell*

"Woah woah, I'm not looking for a fight-."

*Ford hugs him, Stan just stands there*

"I wish you called, reached out to me, I-. I wish I reached out."

“...He probably wishes he reached out, too.”

To be continued...

#tw sui talk #tw sui ideation #early amnesia au #ford isnt a mad scientist hes a sad scientist #Sure is convenient that Ford keeps saying that Stan 'left home'#fanfic #fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #stanley pines #stan pines #stangst #anyone notice that Stan called Ford by his actual name #gravity falls #for your own good #mystery trio

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benispunk · 29 days ago

Text

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 9: Looking After You

What happens when a guy bothers Y/N in a bar? Logan comes to the rescue. But there's no real meaning behind this...right?

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W.

A/N: hey hey hey!! so sorry for not posting on Sunday!!! but I come with great news ! the wicked witch of the west is dead!- oops nope, wrong fandom, anyway, you're getting a new chapter right now...and TWO other ones this week!!!! why??? because a special chapter is coming for Christmas!!! and like...I'm kinda bad with schedules so I have to post all these chapters before the Christmas one...alright, enjoy this one!!!!🎀

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part / Next Part

If you had told little Y/N that this would be her life, she would probably be thrilled.

Not just because of her deep fear of loneliness and/or the divorce of her parents haunting her every thoughts during her teenage years, no. But because of how much fun she was having.

Not that they were going out every single day and throwing parties whenever they wanted, far from that.

They just made her life happier. Fuller.

She definitely hadn’t been through the same traumatic events as them in her life, but she did feel out of place sometimes— as if she was too late most of the time. As a kid, and then teenager, people would always say that she was the responsible one. You know how they call you the mom friend. That’s probably what happens when you’re the one in charge of yourself when your parents are too busy making their life a living nightmare.

The thing is, she felt like an adult as a teenager, and now that she was deep into her adulthood, she felt like something was missing. Looking back at the past and noticing that some boxes haven’t been crossed and will never be. It always left her feeling frustrated and regretful.

Living with Wade and Logan, though…that was something.

And everything started falling into place.

It wasn’t any single, big thing that brought them close. Instead, it was a hundred tiny, everyday moments that started to add up, grounding her more than she’d realized.

There were late-night talks after a long day at school, worn out and ready to crash, only to find Wade stretched out on the couch, waving her over to join him for one of his favorite TV shows. They would sit there, munching on popcorn he’d burned at least twice before getting it right, laughing until their sides hurt at his running commentary. Logan would often wander in from his room, rolling his eyes but eventually plopping down with them, claiming he was “just passing through” but never actually leaving.

Each of them brought something different to her life. Wade was all chaotic energy, someone who could make a night out of anything, even if it was just a spontaneous grocery run that somehow turned into them wandering the aisles, making each other laugh as they competed to find the most bizarre snack.

Logan might be quieter, but when he did join in, he gave as good as he got. He’d take one look at Wade’s latest snack “invention,” mutter a deadpan, “You know that’s disgusting, right?” and somehow, that would start a full-blown debate. Wade would challenge him, daring him to try it, and after an exaggerated sigh, Logan would take a reluctant bite. Every time, Y/N would watch the shift, catching the way his mock-serious front softened as he leaned into the banter. Wade, of course, would just grin, teasing until Logan broke into a laugh or tossed a pillow at him.

And then there were the mornings. She’d wake up to the sound of clinking dishes and find Logan already making coffee, often still in sweatpants and looking like he hadn’t quite left his dreams behind. They would share a quiet nod or a quick “Morning” before she poured her cup and joined him at the table, where she could count on him to ask, “Got anything big planned today?” She loved those simple chats, the way he genuinely listened.

All three of them together, though— that was something else. Their dinners turned into improvisations, with Wade trying to “improve” a recipe while Logan, arms crossed and with a skeptical brow, dared him to do his worst. Y/N would end up laughing until her stomach hurt as Logan finally gave in, joining Wade’s kitchen experiments with his own twist, each trying to one-up the other in some unspoken contest. The apartment filled with their laughter, the kind of warmth and chaos that made it feel alive.

It had been a few months now that she had moved in, and as she— or they— settled into a new routine together, everything started to feel right.

———

The bar buzzed with life as Logan and Y/N settled at a small table near the stage, waiting for Wade’s gig to begin. Logan, his usual stoic self, sat with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd with a casual alertness, while Y/N tapped her foot, soaking in the atmosphere.

“I like this place,” Y/N said, glancing around with a smile. "Kinda cozy."

Logan shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "Yeah, it’s alright. Wade actually picked a decent spot this time."

She chuckled. "Did you come to his gigs a lot before I moved in?"

"Whenever I was able to." Logan’s mouth twitched in a half-smile. "I come here so there's at least one person clapping."

Y/N laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "You’ve got backup tonight, don’t worry."

Logan’s lip quirked, and he leaned back, looking faintly amused. "Guess we’ll see."

Just then, the lights dimmed slightly as Wade sauntered onto the stage, his confidence as loud as the applause he imagined he was getting. He held the mic up dramatically. "How’s everyone doing tonight?" The crowd responded with scattered claps and a few cheers—except for Y/N, who stood up, clapping and whistling loud enough to draw curious glances.

"Wooo! Wade!" she cheered, grinning at him.

Wade’s eyes lit up, and he pointed at her with an exaggerated look of delight. "Finally! I have a real fan!"

Y/N laughed, catching Logan’s eye as she sat back down. "Told you I’d back you up."

Logan shook his head, but the smirk on his face gave him away. Wade launched into his routine, cracking jokes and jabs, his charisma filling the room. Throughout the set, Logan and Y/N exchanged knowing looks whenever Wade would refer to stuff they knew he did, or didn’t. And before they knew it, his set wrapped up. He joined them, looking more than pleased with himself, dropping into his seat, his grin wide as he took a long drink.

"Not bad, huh?" he said, reclining in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

Y/N gave him an exaggerated round of applause. "You were amazing, Wade!"

Wade mock-bowed. "Ah, stop, you’re making me blush." He shot a glance at Logan. "Even Logan cracked a smile, so you know I crushed it."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Don’t push it."

Y/N laughed, excusing herself to go to the restroom. She navigated through the crowd, but just as she neared the hallway, a man stepped into her path, blocking her way. He was slightly taller than her, with a casual smirk, one that didn’t put her at ease at all.

"Hey," he said smoothly. "I saw you cheering pretty loud for the comedian up there. What’s your name?"

Y/N offered a polite but firm smile, stepping slightly to the side. "Just here for the show," she replied, aiming to make her way around him.

But he matched her move, his smirk growing. "Don’t be like that. Why don’t you give me your number? We could grab a drink sometime."

"Thanks, but I’m not interested," Y/N said, her tone polite but clear. She tried to step around him again, but this time he reached out, catching her arm in a firm grip. The slight edge in his eyes made her pulse quicken.

"Come on," he pressed, leaning closer. "Just your number."

A chill ran down her spine, and she tensed, glancing down at his hand. "Let go of my arm," she said quietly, but her voice wavered slightly.

Just then, Logan’s voice cut through the crowd, cold and unmistakably firm. "Let her go."

The man glanced up, and his expression shifted when he saw Logan, who had closed the distance between them in silence. Logan’s gaze was intense, and his stance made everyone around them feel warned.

The man loosened his grip and stepped back. "Alright, alright," he muttered, fading quickly into the crowd.

Logan waited until the man was gone, his gaze softening only slightly as he turned to Y/N. "You okay?"

Y/N exhaled, relief washing over her as she nodded. “Yeah. Thank you. He just appeared out of nowhere and I kind of got…confused. Don’t know how to explain it. Thank you for stepping in.” she said, her eyes meeting his.

Logan shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but a hint of protectiveness lingered in his gaze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to thank me.”

She told him she’ll be back to the table quickly as she went inside the bathroom. Meanwhile, he walked back to the table in silence. When he arrived, Wade was waiting with his usual smirk, though there was a slight curiosity in his gaze.

"Everything alright?" Wade asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Logan.

Logan gave a brief, dismissive nod, though his posture was a bit more tense than usual. "Yeah, all good."

But Wade leaned back in his seat, one eyebrow raised. "Oh, really?" he said, drawing out the words. "What exactly happened over there, huh?"

Logan shot him a warning look. “It was nothing.”

"Nothing?" Wade repeated, clearly enjoying himself. "Then how come you jumped up faster than I’ve ever seen you move?" He tilted his head, grinning. "And you were sitting with your back to the hallway— how did you even see that guy bothering her? Were you, I don’t know… watching her?"

Logan’s jaw tightened, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "I just happened to look over, Wade."

Wade chuckled, not letting it go so easily. "Sure, just happened to look over, behind you, all the way across the bar, like a perfectly normal thing. You know, most people don’t have superhero reflexes, but hey, I guess that’s just you, huh? The author really had to give you a sixth sense, and here I thought this was a no-powers AU fic. I’m jealous now!"

Logan just rolled his eyes again, knowing that he would never hear the end of it.

Y/N returned to the table just then, completely oblivious to the exchange between them. She smiled at Wade and Logan, though her gaze lingered on Logan, a subtle thank you in her eyes. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing at all," Wade said smoothly, but the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. He shot a knowing look at Logan. "Just Logan saving the day."

If looks could kill, then maybe the author really did give powers to her characters, or else Wade would be dead from the amount of rage radiating from Logan’s eyes.

Y/N looked a bit surprised, her smile softening as she turned to Logan. "Well, he did save me from a pretty annoying guy." She gave Logan a warm look. "Guess I have a personal bodyguard now."

Logan shrugged, trying to hide a smile. "I wouldn’t get used to it."

"Oh, I think she should," Wade interjected, grinning. "Logan’s got a radar for trouble when it comes to you."

Logan glared at him, but Y/N only laughed, the tension easing as Wade continued to pile on the teasing.

———

The night air was cool and refreshing as they left the bar, but a palpable tension had settled between Logan and Wade. Y/N walked ahead, her steps light and relaxed, still buzzing from the performance and unaware of the tension simmering just behind her. Logan kept his gaze forward, his expression unreadable, hoping Wade might let things slide.

But, of course, he actually had no hope.

Wade slowed his pace, eventually falling into step beside Logan. He cast a sideways glance, lips twitching with a barely concealed grin. "So, Logan…" he began, his tone laced with unmistakable mischief. « What really happened back there?"

Logan exhaled, already bracing himself. "Don’t start, Wade."

"Oh, I’m definitely starting," Wade replied, the teasing edge in his voice unmistakable. He leaned in, keeping his voice low so only Logan could hear. "You jumped up faster than I’ve ever seen you move. Gotta admit, I never thought you would act like that for someone."

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he felt his face grow warmer, an embarrassment creeping up his neck that he hoped wasn’t visible. He didn’t know why but he needed to justify his actions. He had known Wade for years and he knew that whether he was answering or not his questions he just wouldn’t let it go. So, Logan trying to justify something? Well, that was definitely suspicious. "I was just helping her out."

Wade’s grin widened, his eyes practically gleaming. "Interesting… but I just can’t help to come back to this important detail. That guy wasn’t exactly in your line of sight. And yet, somehow, you just ‘happened’ to notice her in trouble." Wade gave him a mockingly thoughtful look. "So, what is it? Are you keeping an eye on her like the protective fierce man that you are or…were you checking her out—"

"Drop it, Wade." Logan shot him a withering glare, his discomfort flaring into frustration.

"Sure, sure…" Wade said, holding up his hands in surrender. But his smirk was relentless, delighting in Logan’s reaction. "I’m just saying, maybe there’s more to this knight-in-shining-armor routine than you’re letting on."

Logan ground his teeth, forcing himself to look away from Wade’s insufferable grin.

Why does he always have to push? he thought.

He could feel the heat rising up his neck, his reaction only fueling Wade’s suspicion, and for once, he wished he could just slip away and leave Wade’s relentless teasing behind.

For Wade, this was gold. He hadn’t seen Logan look this flustered in… well, maybe ever. And the way Logan had bolted from his seat to protect Y/N?! Oh oh, that was not something he was about to let go. In fact, he’d been waiting for something like this, knowing that behind Logan’s guarded demeanor was something he’d been working hard to bury. Wade had noticed, even if Logan hadn’t admitted it yet.

Just as Logan was about to retort, Y/N slowed her pace, looking back at them with a casual smile, blissfully unaware of the silent battle happening behind her. "Oops, sorry! Walked too fast." she said with a laugh. She gave Wade a playful shove on the shoulder. "You were really incredible up there. I want invites to all your gigs from now on."

Wade turned to her, beaming as if he hadn’t just been relentlessly teasing Logan. "Finally, some appreciation! And I’ll keep a special place just for you, beautiful." He winked at her before throwing a quick glance at Logan. "See, at least someone here recognizes real talent."

Logan glared, the weight of Wade’s unspoken insinuations only fueling his simmering frustration.

Great. Now he’s playing innocent.

But he bit back any response, knowing it would only feed Wade’s amusement.

Completely oblivious to the silent exchange, Y/N continued to laugh, shaking her head. "You’re a menace on stage, Wade," she said, grinning. She glanced over at Logan with this wide beautiful smile, and for a moment, he— what the fuck was happening to him.

He just happened to look out for Y/n in a crowded place. That didn’t mean anything right? That shouldn’t mean anything. Friends look out for each other. And they were roommates. Final point. Nothing else. Nada.

And yes he did jump quite fast into action and he would have killed the man if he had hurt her but that didn’t mean anything. That’s just the way he is. He would do that to anyone. Well, maybe not everyone. Maybe Wade. Some of his students— okay, all his students. And Y/N, yes. Because they’re friends.

Friends.

Wade, however, was far from finished. He gave Logan a light nudge as Y/N walked a few paces ahead again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "What are you thinking about in that big head of yours" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

Logan’s frustration simmered, though he did his best to keep his expression neutral. This is what he wants, Logan reminded himself, to get a reaction out of me. But the way Wade’s grin lingered made his composure waver, and Logan could feel the tension building. His mind replayed the moment he’d seen Y/N’s tense expression from across the room, how a fierce protectiveness had overtaken him without a second thought.

He would have killed that man.

Wade leaned closer, his grin widening as he observed Logan’s clenched jaw. "You know, I’ve seen you keep your cool with a lot worse. But the moment she looked like she needed help, there you were. Funny how you seem to care about her more than you let on."

Logan’s voice was quiet. "I was just looking out for her."

"If you say so," Wade smirked, finally retreating but clearly savoring the effect he’d had on Logan.

Y/N turned around, giving both men a warm smile. "You two coming? Or are you planning a secret meeting back there?"

Logan forced a neutral expression, though his mind was still racing with Wade’s comments. "Right behind you," he replied, ignoring the knowing smirk that hadn’t left Wade’s face.

———

The usual playful banter was subdued as they made their way back to the apartment. Logan walked in silence, his mind replaying the night’s events. He hadn’t planned to feel so protective, and he certainly hadn’t planned on Wade dissecting every second of it. He won’t let this go, Logan thought, mentally bracing himself for whatever was coming.

Y/N stifled a yawn as they entered, stretching her arms over her head with a contented sigh. "Alright, I’m heading to bed," she said, smiling. She turned to Wade, her face warm with genuine appreciation. "Seriously, you were amazing tonight, Wade. You have a real gift."

Wade’s face lit up in an exaggerated grin, and he gave a theatrical bow. "Why, thank you, my lady! Always glad to perform for my number one fan."

Y/N laughed, amused by his antics, and then looked over at Logan. "Night, Logan. See you tomorrow."

Logan’s expression softened, his tensed demeanor slipping for a moment. "Night, Y/N."

The words came out gentler than he intended, but he held her gaze for a split second longer than usual. Y/N gave a small wave and retreated to her room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The moment she disappeared, Logan turned to see Wade standing there, arms crossed and smirking as though he’d just uncovered the world’s greatest secret. The mischief in Wade’s eyes was practically shining.

"Go to bed, Bub," Logan muttered, hoping he could somehow slip away unscathed. He made a move to walk past him, but Wade wasn’t about to let that happen.

"Oh no no no," Wade said, stepping into his path, his laughter barely contained. "After all that? After that heroic display tonight?" He crossed his arms, savoring every moment. "You honestly think I’m letting you off easy? ‘Don’t start, Wade’— well, you better believe I’m not stopping.”

Logan groaned inwardly, "Fuck off" he muttered, his frustration evident, though he knew it would only amuse Wade further.

Wade’s grin widened, his eyebrows raised in mock innocence. He shook his head, leaning in as if sharing a great conspiracy. "Come on, Peanut! The whole ‘just looking out for a friend’ thing doesn’t fool me. I mean, Y/N’s completely oblivious, but me? I see what’s going on. You, my friend, are more obvious than you think."

Logan rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the accusation as he shifted uncomfortably. Just ignore him, he told himself, though he knew that was nearly impossible. Wade wasn’t going to let him escape that easily.

Wade’s smirk only grew, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "That protective glare you gave that guy? That’s not how you look out for just any friend. Admit it, Logan—you care about her."

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look away, knowing any reaction would just fuel Wade’s fire. Logan was trying really hard to resist the urge to wipe that smirk off Wade’s face.

"Shut the fuck up, now, will you?" Logan knew there was no way this was going to work. It was his own end of the world. Probably one of his worst nightmares.

Wade clapped him on the shoulder, feigning seriousness as he leaned in, his voice a loud whisper. "Sweet dreams, lover boy."

Logan groaned, flipping him off as he brushed past, Wade’s laughter echoing down the hallway. He could still hear the lingering amusement in Wade’s voice as he headed toward his room, knowing his friend wouldn’t be letting this go anytime soon.

Later, he laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, Wade’s words still replaying in his mind. Maybe Wade’s right, he admitted to himself, feeling the slightest twinge of something he couldn’t quite name.

They were only roommates.

XXX

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gothic-aesthetic-gal · 2 months ago

Text

Old Scars (Part 1)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

I stared despairingly at the huge stack of paperwork my line manager had just slapped down on my desk. I sighed and bit the inside of my cheek. None of my male co-workers had to deal with her extra work. This was such bullshit.

"Ah, you are a life saver, (y/n). What would I do without you?"

Her own work, probably, I thought to myself, sighing in exasperation as she left me to my souless cubicle.

By the time i'd finished up, it was getting cold out. After taking a detour to try and stave off the inevitable return to my shitty apartment, I found myself in front of a particularly expensive shop. My feet were aching from the heels my backwards regional manager insisted on the female admin staff wearing and my head hurt from the tight bun my hair was scraped into. His smirk was etched into my brain, as were his vile words on his latest visit.

"You're a very attractive young lady, even with your face like that. Your body makes up for it."

I felt pure rage rising up again at the memory. It was the way he's said it as though he truly believed it was a compliment. The laughter of my coworkers rang in my ears. To them it was all a big joke and I was just too uptight to appreciate it.

What I wouldn't give to see the area manager humbled one day... but that was pure fantasy and I knew it. I wondered what he'd buy with his overinflated christmas bonus this time, while we were all given a meeting to explain why they couldn't justify a minor pay rise to ease the cost of living crisis in Gotham.

The twinkling lights of the high end window displays were a beautiful contrast to the bleary grey outside, and after another hellish day in the purgatory which was the cubicle farm, my heart warmed a little. Everything in the store was definitely well out of my meagre price range, but the inner child in me was drawn in to look at all the pretty evening dresses and jewellery. I shrugged to myself, figuring there's never any harm in window-shopping and a little indulgent fantasy. Even if I could afford any of the opulent dresses, half of them were really ball gowns, and what events was I ever invited to where you'd need a dress like that? No, those sort of parties were for Gotham's social elite - charity fundraisers, galas and that sort of thing, no doubt.

I was half expecting a staff member to immediately spot me in my regular civilian garb and herd me back out of the door like a stray dog but they seemed to be dealing with a particularly difficult customer at the tills. She was waving her arms around and pulling a "do you know who my husband is?".

I stifled a laugh at the image of her, in her ridiculous fur coat shouting frantically and looking like she was about to give herself a anyeurism, if the prominent vein on her forehead was anything to go by. I turned away from her soap operatics and back to the rails of clothes in front of me. I gently touched the fabrics, marvelling at the softness of the richest velvet. Gazing at cool silk like rippling water; nothing like the cheap imitation the rest of us were accustomed to. I got drawn into my own little world imagining who might wear each dress and for what occasion.

"Can I help you with something?"

The voice pulled out the rug on my little escape instantly. I felt anxiety rising in my chest but resolved not to panic completely.

"Oh, I was just browsing..." I said, faking the best dismissive tone I could.

"You're sure, I'd be more than happy to help. Do you want to try anything?" She pressed, a friendly tone rather than the suspicion I had anticipated.

Perhaps my work suit was giving a higher-end impression than I had realised... or maybe she was new here.

"This one is particularly lovely, don't you think?" She gestured to the garment I unknowingly had a hand on, pausing as she'd approached. She wasn't wrong, it was a rich purple, ridiculous really, with layers and layers of tule skirting, but somehow the fine cut and quality of the fabric, and the detailing made it look classy rather than like something out of 'my big fat gypsy wedding'.

When was I ever going to get the chance to try on a literal ball gown? I decided to play into it, after all, I could always say I needed to go away and review my options. They couldn't make me buy it.

"It is lovely," I murmured.

"Do you want to try it on?"

"If it isn't too much trouble..."

Before I knew it, I was being whisked into a dressing room. The shop girl came whirling in with the dress and began unfastening it for me.

"Shoe size?" She asked briskly.

I hurriedly blurted out my answer and she dashed back onto the floor.

I kicked off my uncomfortable work heels and removed my blazer, skirt and scarf. Somehow I felt even more like an imposter standing there in just my undergarments and a pair of tights. I hurriedly pulled the dress up and held it in place. Before I knew it, she'd returned and began fastening me up at the back.

I gasped, both from the air being pushed out of my lungs as she cinched the hidden corsetry, and in awe at what I saw in the mirror. I had never had particularly wonderful self-image, but since the accident, I'd really shrunk into the background. I had always been shy, but i'd become a total wallflower these days. I hated the public-facing parts of my job - if it was telephone or email correspondence, people couldn't react in their myriad shitty ways to my facial scarring, but sometimes I was on front desk duty. Those were the worst days for me.

She made a minor adjustment to my hair, pulling a few strands loose around my face. To my surprise, she hesitated as she saw my scars up close, but didn't recoil, or pull more hair out to try and hide them. Her delicate fingers lingered for a moment, hovering above where my eyebrow was split into three by the forks of red lightning which were still deeply scored into my skin. I had mostly made my peace with it, but it was other peoples' reactions to my face that caused me the most pain. The grimaces, the staring, looking startled, regarding me with pity, strangers asking me what happened, it could all just be too damn much some days. It was a rare and beautiful thing to have someone not react negatively in some way.

I knew I was lucky to still be in the land of the living, and that I was in remarkable shape considering what happened that day, but it had left an inescapable mark. I anxiously ran my fingers over my temple, over the metal plate holding my skull together somewhere beneath the skin. She pulled her own hand back away slowly.

"You look beautiful, miss," she smiled with a genuine warmth that made me begin to believe it. It seemed as though she could sense my sudden swell of insecurity.

The shop girl was young, couldn't be more than sevetneen or eighteen, and I prayed that she somehow retained her gentleness in a city as ugly as Gotham.

"Thank you," I said, tearing up a little.

The dress itself was surprisingly lightweight and not like some kind of Victorian horror complete with a hoop skirt. Instead, it looked quite modern, and had a lot of volume in the skirt due to the layers of tulle fabric, which meant that you could still dance with ease. I did a little twirl for good measure, watching how it flowed and moved around my form. The shop girl smiled at my childlike delight.

Unfortunately, my elation was shattered in an instant. A chorus of screams and panicked shouts, followed by a spray of gunfire hit us like a slap to the face. The shop girl's eyes widened in confusion and panic, and I grasped onto her arm to steady myself. We strained our ears, trying to make out what exactly was happening. My brain was struggling to make the jump from the moment I had just been experiencing to the very real danger we were now thrust into.

After a couple of agonising seconds, there was another round of shots, and I heard a gruff male voice shout;

"Everybody get down!"

"Try to stay calm," I whispered, my own voice shaking.

I herded us into the corner of the booth and desperately gestured for her to undo the corset, not wanting to have to run for my life in the stupid dress. I could hear crashing and footsteps, as though the place was being ransacked and bit the inside of my cheek as the girl shakily tried to loosen the cord for me.

"Check in the back, we don't want anyone calling the cops!" came a voice which sounded unsettlingly close by.

Suddenly, someone burst through the door into the dressing room. We froze, praying whoever it was, wouldn't round the corner, but sadly it was too late. The scraping metallic sound of the curtains of each booth being flung aside echoed around the room. I counted each one, feeling as though my heart had stopped beating altogether, sick with anticipation. They were going left to right, and would reach us soon enough.

The curtain to our booth was torn to the side, and an enormous man stood in the light. The shop girl let out a yelp of terror as she huddled behind me with her head in her hands.

"Found two hideaways!" He yelled out, lurching forward to grab at us.

In a blind panic, my body blocking him from the terrified girl behind me, I kicked and struck out like a feral street cat stuck in a trap. I got a few solid kicks in but was ultimately not match for the man towering over us.

"Quit struggling you stupid bitch," he spat, striking me across the face.

Dazed, and with my eye stinging already, I felt another pair of hands grasp me and haul me out into the open. The barrel of a gun was quickly jammed into the small of my back.

"Stop causing trouble if you want to live," he hissed.

A third figure appeared and roughly forced the girl to her feet as well.

"This one looks so scared she might piss herself," he chuckled.

"Leave her the fuck alone," I muttered through gritted teeth.

"Ooo, you got a mouth on you, huh, rich girl?" Said the one holding me at gunpoint.

"Mm the boss ain't gonna like that, maybe we should gag her," one of his companions snorted.

"Nah, leave it. I wanna see what he does if she gives him any back talk," crowed the third one.

They marched us out onto the marble of the shop floor. Both shoes had come off the moment i'd started to struggle against our attackers and the tiling felt cold as ice beneath my unsteady feet. I saw that there were three other men holding up the cashiers and the handful of customers as they huddled together in one corner.

"Look what we found in the back," announced the biggest of the three men, shoving us forward.

It was only then that I noticed everyone's attention seemed to be drawn to one man, a man who I couldn't yet see, on account of him facing away from us as he nonchalantly rifled through the nearest rack of clothing.

He was a fairly tall man, perhaps a little over six feet, wearing a long coat. It was well in need of a wash, covered in dirt and ashy, yet still obviously purple in colour - though perhaps not the vibrant purple it once was. His hair could best be described as messy; a straggly mop of green waves, with his natural brown hair showing through at the roots and in patches. His body language was odd, the way he held himself, with his shoulders hunched, unsettled me.

As he turned around, to see what his henchmen had brought in, I felt a pang of total despair. I recognised his streaky painted face from a recent news broadcast, and I knew instantly that we were in deep trouble. This was the man they called 'the joker'. I could hear the poor shop girl sobbing behind me somewhere, barely hiding her sheer terror.

"Ah more guests for our little party," he exclaimed, his voice and intonation seeming as erratic as his physical movements.

"What you want us to do with them, boss?" Grunted the shorter goon to my left.

"Put them with the others," he gestured, stalking forward.

I turned to watch as he approached the shop girl, my heart in my throat.

"And who do we have here?" He asked, in a tone mimicking gentleness, which was even more unsettling than his usual, more sinister way of talking.

"S-sarah," she choked out between sobs.

"S-sarah? What's wrong s-sarah? Are you s-scared?" He cooed, practically circling her like a big cat.

I felt sick watching him toy with her, and anger began to rise in my chest. Sarah nodded defeatedly.

"Please don't hurt me," she whimpered, unable to look him in the eyes.

"Oh now why would you think we are gonna do that?" He exclaimed.

She didn't seem to know how to answer.

"Just do everything we ask, and some of you will live," he grinned patting her on the head, "put her with the rest," he gestured dramatically to the others in the corner.

His goons did as he asked and shifted her to where the others were cowering in the corner. I bit my tongue as his attention now shifted to me.

"My my, what a pretty dress, I love the colour," he purred, barely three strides away from me now.

I said nothing, hoping he would somehow just lose interest. There was still the largest goon stood beside me, pistol jammed into my lower spine so I didn't want to antagonise either of them.

He got close enough to reach out and touch me, pulling off one of his leather gloves with his teeth. The red painted smile, already smeared and smudged, left its mark on his finger tips with the clumsiness of his action. I was trying very hard to keep a steady breath, refusing to panic as I knew it would only worsen my situation.

"What's the matter? Are you shy?" He asked, that fake empathetic tone creeping in again.

"No, I just don't find that a hostage situation lends itself to free and easy conversation," I snapped back, unable to suppress my anger fully.

He tilted his head to the side, a glint in his dark brown eyes as they searched my face, scanning, analysing. In defiance, I stared right back.

In my struggle with his henchmen, my face had become half obscured by the hair which had come loose from my bun, and my hands being behind my back, I had not been able to move it out of the way.

Suddenly breaking his stillness, he reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a knife. The switch blade swung open with a characteristic clack. I bit my tongue even harder to try and subdue my panic.

He reached out his ungloved hand to rougly grasp my face. Everything within me was screaming to struggle free, to run for the hills, but I was stuck. I'd be shot down before I made it two steps, I knew that.

"You are beautiful," he mused, " tell me, does this," he moved the knife barely an inch from my face, "does this, scare you?"

I grimaced, unable to stop myself from recoiling at his skin touching my own.

"Do you ever wonder what life is like for the ugly?" He asked, flatly.

Undeterred by my shrinking away from his touch, he roughly used his fingers to comb my fallen hair back away from my face. Once the curtain of hair was lifted, my scars were revealed, and his face took on a curious, unreadable riot of emotion for a split-second.

"What's the matter, am I not as beautiful as you thought?" I muttered sarcastically, wanting to pre-empt his inevitable mockery.

He clearly liked to pick people apart, to try and tap into their biggest fears, so it seemed a sure thing that he would have plenty to say about my face. This only made me all the more dumbfounded when he put away the knife and his grasp on my face melted into something altogether tender.

His fingertips gently brushed over the deep valleys of my old wounds as though he was trying to read my story. I felt him follow the fork from my hairline at my temple all the way down, bridging my eye, down my cheek to the point mid way along the lefthand side of my jaw where it ended. As he did so, I saw for the first time up close his own grisly scars which formed a sort of permanent smile. The makeup he applied over the top made it harder to see from afar just how extensive they were. I knew from my own experience that the wounds had been more than skin deep, into deep muscle tissue. You could tell by how raised and pitted they were.

The man holding me at gunpoint seemed not to have picked up on this sudden change of pace, as he had plenty to say, even if the joker didn't.

"I shoulda warned you, she's a butterface," he chuckled, "you should do the other side to match, I already made a start," he gestured to the split eyebrow and puffy eye he'd given me on my good side.

The joker's body language rapidly changed again. I felt him tense up, even in his fingers against my cheek. It was as though every fibre in his body was taught suddenly, like he was a rubber band about to snap. His eyes seemed to darken, his irises almost like black pools against the black paint encircling them. I was suddenly very afraid.

He looked down at my face with an air of detachement, his tongue flicking against the inner corner of his lip.

"Would you excuse me for a second, doll?" He grinned, before his smile dropped flat again the moment he straightened up to full height.

"Give me the gun," he comanded of his goon.

"But boss..." the burly man protested, before removing it from my back and reluctantly handing it over.

There was a deafening crack and the smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils as my ears rang. Some of the hostages cried out in fear and for a moment I thought he must have shot me. I stumbled on the stupid dress, falling to the floor with a crash, dazed, my ears still ringing as I rolled onto my side, preparing for my seemingly imminent death.

Unexpectedly, my vision began to clear and the ringing dimmed down enough that I could try to collect my thoughts. I became aware of another figure in front of me on the floor. Someone was roughly pulling me upwards, trying to get me back on my feet.

"Up you get!"

Suddenly, I managed to re-engage my muscles enough to stand, swaying on legs that felt like jelly.

"There you go, see? You're fine," came a low voice to my left, practically right into my ear. I blinked hard as I began to make sense of what had just happened.

The joker shifted so that he was stood in front of me again, and gripped a hand under my jaw so that he could look me in the face. He turned my somewhat vacant face this way and that, as though he was checking I was still in there.

"Whoops! Probably should've told you to stick your fingers in your ears," he wheezed with laughter, releasing my face and waving the gun around casually.

My lingering confusion was cleared up when I realised the other figure on the floor was his own man. The others looked on, some unfased, some clearly very uncomfortable at this sudden decision to remove him from the equation entirely. He had shot him point blank, I couldn't bring myself to believe that it was in reaction to his insults. Surely this was just some kind of mind game going far beyond my comprehension... I didn't feel reasurred, I definitely didn't feel flattered, if anything it just showed the true unpredictability of the psychopath in front of me.

"Right, now that minor... detour is over, I want you all to stay calm, while we execute out little plan," he comanded, gesturing to the hostages.

Two of his men forced grenades into peoples shaking hands, pulling the pins so that they were forced to hold on to them, or risk them detonating. They produced a roll of duct tape and wound it around each pair of hands, so there was no chance of them tossing the grenades away from the group either. The others continued to stuff duffle bags full with the cash from the registers, and the jewellery from the display cases. I cursed the slow response time of the GCPD, although there was never a gurantee that their arrival wouldn't cause more of a bloodbath, since so many of them liked to shoot first and ask questions later. They had far too lenient of a threshold for 'collateral damage'.

I was expecting to be forcibly handed my own grenade, but instead the joker gestured to me. The way in which he waved me over was completely antithetical to the situation unfolding around us; it was so casual, as though we were long-time friends. Not seeing another choice, I gingerly approached him, and he, losing patience, roughly grabbed me by the arm and yanked me closer to him.

"These lovely people can stay here, but, uh, you..." he lingered on the word looking me up and down, as he taped my hands together in front of my body, "you, are coming along for the ride".

"Why?!" Was all I managed to get out as he shoved me roughly toward the front of the store.

He laughed, sending a fresh chill down my spine.

"Well, we have an opening, consider yourself the newest member of our operation," he said in a congratulatory tone.

Before I could respond at all, my head reeling in total panic, I was being tugged out of the door with my arms feeling like they were going to pop out of the sockets.

#joker #the joker #joker fanfiction #heath ledger #dc joker #dc comics #batman #the dark knight #the dark knight joker #ledger!joker #ledger joker #joker x reader #batman fanfiction #nolanverse #gotham fanfiction #gagwrites

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mushyblushyredhead · 3 months ago

Text

TickleTober 2024 🎃

♡ Aug’s TKTober2024

DAY 18: Tickle Fight

“You Can Relax”—an SCP Foundation Story

♡ Also available on my FanFiction! (Autobot-Tiff)

Word Count: 6k

Summary: It is late at night of the weekend Travis sought sanctuary at the SCP Foundation, but he is still anxious to go to sleep. It’s everyone’s favorite SCP, 999, to the rescue. Takes place in its own timeline at the Foundation, in an AU. This is a tickle fic, obviously. X3

TW: Mentions of past abuse.

Travis Blanche belongs to me!

Agent Simon Fisher belongs to my best friend who has allowed me to use their OC for this story. :3

A/N: Apologies if there’s any errors with the French words that are written throughout this story. Although I do not speak French (kinda wish I did) I did my absolute best translating some words and phrases so forgive me if they’re not all correct.

A rather eventful week had occurred for Dr. Travis Blanche and the batch of anomalous kids he had saved. In actuality, the last six months have been nothing but eventful, but not as much as the previous week that took place. So much had happened in the span of one week; teaming up with the SCP Foundation—a place he was told and believed was the enemy—to rescue a group of anomalous children he once took care of who were being physically altered and bid to be used as living weapons.

Despite the many setbacks and near casualties, in the end, Travis and the Foundation had successfully managed to rescue the kids and shut down the evil Foundation for good. Everyone who was a part of that operation were already taken into custody and being dealt with, courtesy of the Foundation. It seemed everything was going to be okay finally, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for someone in particular.

That night, one of the MTF squadron captains, Captain Simon Fisher, had been casually strolling down the hallways in the middle of his evening patrol, when he noticed light coming from one of the lounge rooms up ahead. That’s odd, he thought. Who could be up at this late hour?

Curious, he cautiously peeked inside the doorway and his eyes widened when he saw their newest Foundation member, Travis, was the one awake. He was sitting alone at the lounge table, listening to his Walkman, and clutching a mug of steaming tea with an exhausted and nervous look on his face.

How long has he been up like this? Simon wondered. Is he not happy to be here after everything that happened? He hoped not. After all the crazy things that everyone had been through, the SCP Foundation had graciously offered a permanent sanctuary for Travis and the children he helped save. Although Travis was skeptical about having the kids stay in containment chambers as SCPs, everyone assured him that the kids would all be treated with care, given proper housing and food, and would no way ever be abused like they were before. They even offered Travis a dorm room to stay in at the Foundation site so he could still be close to the kids and see them whenever he pleased.

That seemed to calm his overprotective nerves, but the young scientist still had trouble fully relaxing. It was obvious he was still traumatized after everything they went through. Despite being safe at the Foundation, Travis couldn’t put his overthinking mind to rest. What if the evil Foundation wasn’t defeated entirely? What if they still had another secret base somewhere that they didn’t know about? What if they had more anomalous children hidden underground? What if they would eventually find out where he was?!

Travis clutched his mug tighter, shaking his head. He just couldn’t shake off the fear. He knew from his previous time with these people that they had such volatility. He often compared them to the Galactic Empire from Star Wars; that evil foundation was able to bounce back from scratch like the second Death Star being built. He worried for himself, the kids especially. He would never want to break his promise and put them in any sort of danger again.

In an attempt to calm his anxious mind, Travis tried making himself some maple tea while listening to his Walkman. It was usually a good remedy whenever he couldn’t sleep, except tonight it didn’t seem to be working. He kept taking sips of the hot liquid, but couldn’t taste a thing. His mind just could not stop racing.

Agent Fisher could not bear to watch the poor scientist like this. It was so heartbreaking to witness. Travis deserved a break, just like those kids deserved a proper home and childhood. But even here, in the safety of the SCP Foundation site, he was still scared. And the officer couldn’t blame him. The poor guy probably thought the evil foundation was going to jump through the walls at any moment and harm him. After suffering in that cruel environment for so long, who wouldn’t still be scarred?

But at the same time, everyone hoped that Travis could learn to relax a little at the site now that he was safe. The kids has already settled in their new rooms just fine, happy to call the SCP Foundation their new home. If only Travis felt like doing the same same…

Not wanting the poor sleep deprived scientist to suffer any longer, Simon walked into the lounge room and waved to get Blanche’s attention. Travis jumped, startled, but his body relaxed when he saw a familiar face. Pulling off his headphones, Travis forced a smile on his face. “Oh, good evening, Captain Fisher, sir.”

“Hm, good morning is more like it,” Simon stated back, gesturing to the clock on the wall. “It’s 3:30 in the morning. Why are you still up?”

“Why are you up?” Travis countered back.

Simon quirked a brow. “Because I’m in the middle of my night shift,” he replied as-a-matter-of-factly. “But seriously, is something wrong, Dr. Blanche? I thought you had retired to bed along with the kids hours ago.”

Travis weakly chuckled. “First of all, no need to address me as Doctor all the time. Just Travis is fine.” Simon nodded understandingly. “Second,” Travis shrugged with a sigh. “Can’t sleep, I guess. I…guess I am still shaken up after everything that happened recently. I still have nightmares; nightmares of…them. Of what they d-did to me…to the kids..!” He heaved a shaky sigh. “I don’t know, I just—can’t seem to erase that from my mind. A part of me is still afraid that they’re still out there, waiting to come after m-me and the kids..!”

Travis quickly turned his head away as tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. He cursed himself for getting so emotional so quickly. He hated crying in front of others. But Simon didn’t mind. He rested a delicate hand on the scientist’s shoulder, squeezing affectionately. Travis turned around, meeting Agent Fisher’s warm eyes.

His smile was comforting and his voice was gentle. “Hey, I get what you’re going through. I really do. None of us here are expecting you, nor the kids, to get over what happened to you all so quickly. That’s traumatizing, and that’s not something you can simply get over overnight.” He squeezed Blanche’s shoulder once more. “But, know this: you do not have to carry this burden alone like you did before. You’re safe here, and you know we would never let anything happen to you guys. You’ve got to believe that.”

Travis nodded softly. “I know. I know you all mean well, and I am so very grateful for you all to let us stay here…even after everything before…”

“Hey, what’s past is past, kid. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Thank you. I…just wish I could stop having these nightmares. These people are defeated and yet it still seems like they torment me.” Travis groaned and rested his head against the table. “That’s why I’ve been listening to my music and drinking some maple tea. It’s usually a good remedy when I have trouble getting to sleep, but tonight it’s not as effective.” He sighed miserably. “I suppose I just won’t sleep tonight. But that’s alright…I’m sure I can busy myself for the remainder of the night by working on one of my unfinished projects. Maybe that will tire me out.”

Simon couldn’t believe what he just heard. Travis was really willing to work himself to exhaustion because of his nightmares? He pitied for the poor scientist. But what else could he do? His words didn’t seem to help.

And then suddenly, it clicked. “SCP-999!” He suddenly blurted his thought out loud.

“Huh?” Travis tilted his head.

Simon cleared his throat. “I meant to ask this earlier, but…have you had the chance to interact with SCP-999 yet? Or at least read its file?”

“Actually, no. I assumed since I am new here, I don't get to read any of the files you have for these SCPs like library books."

The agent chuckled. “Yes, well, there’s certain files that are classified for good reasons. But there’s files that newbies like you can read, like SCP-999’s file, for example.” He paused. “Funnily enough, the kids got to interact with 999 the other day and they loved it! They even requested another session with 999 as soon as possible,” he added, as if he thought that would convince Dr. Blanche.

Travis’ heterochromatic eyes lit up, intrigued. “Oh, really now? I’m assuming it’s a safe anomaly then?”

Simon nodded. “Oh, of course. One of the safest and harmless anomalies on this site. In fact, 999 is more than just a safe class anomaly. It’s actually therapeutic; simply touching 999 can bring immediate euphoria that intensifies the longer you are exposed to it. Heck, the euphoria lasts long after separation from the anomaly. Everyone here, myself included, has had at least one encounter with SCP-999, and it’s helped us all greatly when we were struggling mentally. I really think you would benefit from one visit with 999.”

Travis seemed hesitant and unsure. “Uhh…well…I-I’m not sure.”

Simon gave him an encouraging smile. “C’mon Travis. I really think this would do you good. SCP-999 loves all people, but has a special interest in those who are hurt, depressed, or suffering from PTSD. It’s no wonder why it wanted to interact with the kiddos immediately when they arrived here. And I know it will want to interact with you, too. Let 999 help you, Travis…Just this once? If you like it, you like it. And if you don’t, that’s okay, too. Although I find it damn impossible that anyone would be able to say they disliked their encounter with 999.” He chuckled again. “What do ya say?”

Travis gave in with a sigh. “Oh, all right. Just hurry up before I change my mind.” Simon nodded, taking Blanche by the hand and leading him out into the hallway.

A therapeutic anomaly that seems to cure depression and trauma? Well, I’m not at the evil foundation anymore, Travis joked to himself. If the kids enjoyed their encounter with this SCP-999 then maybe I will, too? Fisher would never lie to me. Could this anomaly really help me with my nightmares and PTSD? I guess we’ll see. *sigh* Whatever, just get this over with quickly. What’s the worst that can happen?

“Here we are.” Simon’s voice abruptly snapped Travis out of his thoughts. They had arrived at SCP-999’s containment chamber. While the agent stepped aside to quietly have a word with the security officers and another researcher over comm. link, (no doubt requesting permission to allow him to see 999 at this hour) Travis suddenly grew nervous.

Despite being told that 999 was a safe class anomaly, the thought of meeting an entirely new anomaly that he knew nothing about was enough to make him anxious. Normally, he liked to know at least a little bit of background of an anomaly before he charged headfirst into interacting with it. Now he was really starting to regret not taking the time to read more on 999’s file before coming here. But he had nothing to worry about, right? If the kids said that they had fun with this creature, then he would trust their judgement.

He was snapped out of his thoughts again when Simon handed him a top tab office folder. “What’s this?”

Simon smiled apologetically. “The entire information file for SCP-999. I should have given this to you first so you could read it over. But you can still read it when you’re inside 999’s chambers. Y’know, learn along the way.” He winked, smiling.

Travis blinked. He could have sworn he detected something sinister in Fisher’s tone when he said that. Like he knew something that he didn’t yet. Did he set him up?

“Well, go ahead,” Simon urged. “Go cure that trauma. We’ll be right outside monitoring everything in case you need us, but you’ll be fine.” He and the other security guards seemed to be stifling back laughs. Travis frowned. They were definitely setting him up for something. Why couldn’t they just tell him what it was already? After spending so much time at the previous evil foundation, he grew to hate surprises. Even good ones because in the end, they never turned out to be good.

As Travis stepped through the doorway, Simon quickly added, “Oh, and don’t forget to read that file! Better read it quick!”

Travis shot him an incredulous look, but opened the file nonetheless. Alright let’s see…Item #: SCP-999. Object Class: Safe…Special Containment Procedures…yada yada…File Name…wait WHAT?! The Canadian scientist’s heart skipped several beats. File Name: The Tickle Monster.

He quickly spun around, locking eyes with Agent Fisher, who merely just waved with a smile that said “sorry not sorry” before shutting the door.

This was a setup! He had been duped! Bamboozled! “Fisher!” Travis growled, banging on the door. “You set me up! You…You mother-honking HOSER!”

Okay, okay. Don’t freak out. This…This has gotta be some kind of blizzard joke, right?

Travis didn’t know why, but something about reading that file name quickened his pulse and made anticipatory butterflies fill his belly. Something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. He was flustered.

His train of thought was interrupted when the sound of high-pitched gurgling sounded behind him. He whipped around, his blue and green eyes widening at what was in front of him: a large, gelatinous blob of orange slime with big black orbs for eyes that seemed to shimmer like puppy eyes. Travis didn’t know what to think. This was supposed to be the site’s so-called “Tickle Monster”? It certainly didn’t look like anything he had pictured. But he knew from experience that looks can be deceiving; something so innocent-looking could be extremely dangerous.

“Um…h-hello there,” Travis shyly waved to the anomaly. The creature happily chirped, and slithered towards the young scientist. Travis gasped and backed away until his back hit the wall. SCP-999 emitted a confused gurgle and stopped in its tracks. It suddenly seemed concerned from Travis’ reaction.

Taken back, Travis tilted his head and was surprised when the orange creature mimicked his movement. Curious, he tilted his head to the other side, and it copied his movement. Travis blinked twice, and 999 also blinked twice. Feeling a little more relaxed, Travis knelt down to its eye level. “Huh. Well, you’re quite the precocious little anomaly, aren’t you?” 999 let out a happy coo. “You know, I’ve never encountered an anomaly like you before. I was actually told by Agent Fisher that you could help me with my recent nightmares and PTSD?” 999 perked up, bobbing its gelatinous dome head up and down like jello. “I take that as a yes then? So—oh?”

999 slithered closer to the scientist, extending a pair of orange pseudopods and wrapping them around his neck. Emitting cooing and purring noises, the anomaly leaned close to nuzzle against the young man’s chest. Immediately, Travis was hit with a wave of mild euphoria, just like Fisher had said. But that was not all. Travis also detected something on 999’s gelatinous surface; there was a pleasant odor. It smelled like…fresh pine trees from the forests of his hometown in Canada. Along with the scent of freshly baked chocolate cake from Tim Horton’s, his favorite dessert.

Travis felt like crying, but they were happy tears. All this comfort and nostalgic scents this anomaly was giving him was unlike anything he ever felt before. He let out a shaky sigh, allowing his body to fully relax and melt against the warm embrace. 999 simply took that as its cue to continue nuzzling Travis like a kitten, all the while continuing to purr and coo lovingly.

It wasn’t until he felt 999’s orange tendrils suddenly tighten around his torso that he started to feel nervous. “Sacré bleu!” He exclaimed. “I uh, heh, almost forgot the other thing that makes you so infamous here…Now I’m starting to see why Agent Fisher set me up with this little…play date,” he muttered that last part under his breath.

999 simply chirped and glomped the scientist, ready to engage in one of its favorite activities it was best known for: tickle wrestling. Travis, already anticipating the oncoming attack, let anticipatory fear get the best of him and managed to wriggle out of the creature’s near death grip. Giggling breathily, he stood up on shaky knees to try and escape. Except there was nowhere else to go. He was trapped in a containment chamber with a very playful anomaly that look like it wanted to tickle the ever living daylights out of him.

With a wobbly smile already visible on his face, Travis shakily tried to make a run for it. 999 excitedly chirped, thinking Travis wanted to play chase! It gurgled enthusiastically, beginning to chase after the flustered scientist who, in return, bolted away.

Outside the containment chamber, Agent Fisher and the other security officers were laughing at the cartoon spectacle from their security tablets: Dr. Blanche running laps around the room while SCP-999 followed close behind, trying to grab him with his pseudopods.

“Oh mon dieu! Mon dieu! N-No! Don’t! Don’t you dare!” Travis exclaimed behind him. He heard the creature emit a series of chirps, but he could’ve sworn it sounded like it was taunting him; laughing at him.

He suddenly heard Simon‘s voice from the overhead speakers. “C’mon, Blanche! We brought you here to interact with 999, not to run away from it!”

“Firstly, you never said anything about this anomaly being a Tickle Monster!” Travis shot back as he did another lap around the room. “And second! I am not letting said monster…well…tickle me..!”

“And why not? You wouldn’t happen to be…ticklish, would you~?”

The blush on Travis’s face said it all, yet he still denied it. “N-No..! I’m not!”

“Then quit trying to escape if you’re not ticklish.”

Ohhh how Travis so desperately wanted to make Agent Fisher eat those words. He knew he couldn’t keep running in circles forever; he was already sleep deprived and was losing strength in his knees. Cursed his flustered state. It’s not that he didn’t want to be tickled, he didn’t know if he was ticklish in the first place. Up to this point in his life, he couldn’t recall a time where he had ever been tickled. And now, getting a chance to experience it for the first time, he was trying to avoid it. But yet at the same time, he secretly wanted it to happen. He wanted to experience that silly, uncontrollable feeling that he recalled reading about during his early days of becoming a doctor. Unfortunately, his fight-or-flight instincts got the best of him.

He didn’t have time to debate it any further because he yelped in surprise when something suddenly wrapped around his ankle, tripping him. Whipping his head around, he saw 999 had one orange tendril wrapped around his ankle like a lasso. It chirped and tittered as if to say, “got you!”, and proceeded to envelope its victim’s boot and calf into its gelatinous body.

Travis yelped again in alarm at the feeling of feeling his lower leg being swallowed by this orange slime anomaly. He grimaced. This creature wasn’t seriously planning on eating him instead, was it? His question was immediately answered when his knee was engulfed in the slime trap next. Instead of feeling a row of hidden razor, sharp teeth tear into his flesh, he felt something entirely different; as soon as the orange slime touched his knee, Travis felt a fluttery almost feather-like feeling, followed by a growing bubbling sensation in the pit of his stomach. The urge to laugh.

Qu’est-ce que c’est?! Is this really what being tickled feels like?

Reflexively, Travis began kicking out his trapped leg, trying to free it. Except he couldn’t. He was taken back at how strong 999’s grip was. No matter how much he twisted and yanked and pulled on his leg, he couldn’t break free. 999 simply cooed a response, no doubt teasing about how he wasn’t going anywhere.

Kicking his way out wasn’t going to work. In fact, it only seemed to make the situation worse because the fluttery feeling around his knee simply increased. It spread behind his knee and even squeezed around his knee joint, making him reflexively kick out his other leg that was free. He was worried at first if all his uncontrollable kicking would hurt the anomaly; he didn’t want to accidentally kick 999 in its eye or mouth and hurt it. Fortunately, his kicks didn’t seem to harm the anomaly in any way. Its orange slimy surface seemed to absorb any blows it received, seeming to be indestructible.

Travis stubbornly clapped a hand over his mouth, refusing to crack. Blush was already starting to reach the tips of his ears. Could this get any worse?

Apparently, it could.

999 right away noticed the stubborn scientist trying to muffle his laughs as well as his fruitless attempts at trying to escape on his one free leg. So it simply caught his other flailing leg in its slime, swallowing it, too. It wasted no time and began tickling behind and around the scientist’s knees.

Travis couldn’t hold it back any longer. Having his other leg held into place and subjected to the same tickly feeling behind his knee ultimately made him crack.

“Kkthpbblt..! …MmHHHmhmhEEAAAhehahaha! W-Wahahait! Nohohoho!”

“Well, that certainly didn’t take as long as I thought,” Simon’s voice cut in over the speakers again. “I thought it would take longer for you to crack around SCP-999, but it looks like it doesn’t take more than a minute. Good to know!”

“Ohoho shuhuhut uhuhuhup!” Travis pressed through giggles. He hated to admit it, but he was really hoping he would be able to outlast 999’s playful attack. This just proved he really was a super ticklish person. He just hoped the kids would never find out about this…

999, pleased that its victims was finally laughing, decided to continue and increase the ticklish feeling. Still keeping the scientist’s legs in place, it suddenly leapt on top of him, tickling all over his torso with its tendrils.

Travis let out a rather girly shriek as he felt a weight suddenly on top of him. But that quickly switched to loud, bright laughter when he felt his entire torso being scribbled and poked erratically. There were tendrils squeezing and poking his sides, vibrating against his rib cage, tracing across his stomach, and even trying to slip under his arms. And all the while, his lab coat and purple dress shirt did nothing to protect his sensitive skin.

“WaHAAAHAHAIT! AAAH! HehehAAAHAHAHA! N-Nohoho! AAAAH! EEEHEHEHEEHEE! S-StAAAHAHAHAP! WHAAAA! Mon dieu! OH MON DIEU! OH MON DIEU! D-Don’t you dahahahare!”

Travis frantically batted at 999’s dome head as he felt sneaky tendrils trying to untuck and unbutton his purple dress shirt. Ignoring his panicked request, 999 swiftly yanked up his shirt, undid the buttons, and pushed the fabric aside to expose the pale belly underneath.

999 immediately buried its face against the warm surface, nuzzling and nipping and extending two more tendrils to furiously dig under the doctor’s arms.

“NonononAAAAAAHAHAHAHAO!! ARRÊTER! ARRÊTER! A-ARRÊHEEHEEHEETER!! NAAAAHEEEEHEEHEEHEE!! NAHAHAHAO PLEAHEEHEEHEEHEEHEASE!!”

Travis screeched and squealed, trying to twist away from this evil tickle attack but it was no use. 999’s grip was like a boa constrictor’s. And it made sure he couldn’t escape because any attempt he made, resulted in the creature mercilessly tickling another bad spot he didn’t know about.

The tickly nibbles on his belly made him want to reflexively curl and protect that spot, but the second he tried to curl inward or on his side, 999 immediately dug and vibrated against his spine, forcing him to uncurl once again.

“EEEEHEEHEHEEEEEK!! STAAAAHEEHEEHEE!! S’il vous plaît! StAAHAhap doihihing thahahat!” Travis giggle-whined as 999 made him uncurl again. “Thahahat’s soho nohohot fahahahair!”

999 simply tittered at his response, clearly enjoying the playful suffering it was putting the young scientist through. But it wanted to hear more of his sweet, childlike laughter.

So it inched its face higher so it could bury its face against his neck. Travis let out another high-pitched squeal when the side of his neck was attacked with tickly nibbles. Even 999 simply purring against his neck tickled just as bad.

“EEEEEEHEEHEEHEEEEEK!! NAAAAHEEHEHEEHEE!! NOHOHO PLEAHEHEEHEEHEASE!!”

He tried scrunching up his shoulder to protect his sensitive neck, but that in turn made 999 nibble at the other side of his neck.

Travis gave up trying to protect his neck, settling for trying to guard his torso and underarms instead. The scientist tried to clamp his arms down while attempting to button his shirt back up. Or at least try to get it to cover his stomach once more.

But 999 noticed his attempts, and released his neck, diving back to tickle his belly again.

“Wait! WAHAHAHAIT! NON! NOHOHON! NAHAHAT AGAAAHAHAHAIN! S’il vous plaît! S’IL VOUS PLAÎT! Go bAHAHACK to my neheheheck again!”

But 999 didn’t listen. It came to the conclusion that this was clearly a bad spot for Travis, and that just encouraged it to stay here!

The poor flustered doctor frantically batted at 999’s head like an angry kitten, trying to get it anywhere else but his stomach. This couldn’t possibly get any worse, could it?

One sneaky stray tendril brushing over his navel did it. Travis screeched and accidentally sucked in a breath too quick, he snorted. Even 999 paused its tickly assault to gurgle curiously and tilt its head like a confused puppy.

Blush consumed Travis’ entire face as he hid behind his hands, clearly embarrassed at the weird sound he just emitted. He never even knew could make such silly sounds like that.

Intrigued, 999 lightly brushed over the scientist’s bellybutton. Travis jolted like he had been electrocuted, emitting another muffled snort behind his hands. He frantically shook his head and babbled incoherently as he felt 999’s tendrils peel his hands away from his face, pinning them up next to his head.

“Nonononononono! Oh mon dieu! Oh mon dieu! N-No! Don’t..! Don’t you dare! Don’t! You! Dare!”

999 cheekily tittered, bringing the single tendril back to softly trace circles around his tummy, slowly inching towards his bellybutton.

“Oh MON DIEU! NahaHAHAHAO!” Travis panicked as the tendril traced agonizing circles around the little spot, his tummy quivering madly. His stomach was tingling with so much anticipation; it felt like he just ate a swarm of live butterflies.

Travis tried curling up on his side and sucking in his stomach as much as he could to avoid that evil tendril, but his efforts were useless. 999 simply grabbed onto his hips, and straightened him back onto his back.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait! Je t’en prie! NO! D-Don’t..!” Travis screamed like if he was being murdered before laughing his hardest as 999’s tendril plunged into his bellybutton and wiggled rapidly. “AAAAAAAHEHEHAAAAAAHAHAAAA!! OH MOHOHON DIEU!! *snort* NAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAO!! STAAAAAA—*snort*—HAHAHAHAHAAAAAP!! NAAAHEEHEEHEEHEEAAAHAHAHA!!”

Ohhh how Travis hated all the involuntary snorts he kept emitting between hysterics. He wished he could stop, but these accursed snorts were like a dam; once broken, there’s no stopping it. The poor doctor’s entire face was the color of a cherry tomato. His glasses were askew on his face from how much he was whipping his head from side to side. Tears were already threatening to spill from his tightly shut eyes. He was sure his sides were going to split any moment. But yet, despite all that, Travis was actually having fun. He was enjoying it.

He never recalled a time before this when he had genuinely laughed so hard. Well, maybe except that one time where he encountered his first cryptid, but did that really count? It was too short and too quick to even count it as a true experience. Here, being at the playful mercy of SCP-999, it felt different. Intense euphoria rushed through his entire body like adrenaline. In that moment, he couldn’t think of anything else but the ticklish torment. No fear, no nightmares, no trauma, no memories of his dark past, no sadness. Just pure joy. And, of course, the unbearable tickly assault on his navel. So embarrassing…

999 was very pleased that it was able to make Dr. Blanche make that funny, adorable snorting sound. It made him sound like a little piggy! Which 999 just couldn’t seem to get enough of. But it knew it had to stop soon. So, to finish it off, 999 engulfed Travis’ entire torso in its slime, vigorously vibrating its surface; the equivalent of giving multiple big raspberries.

Travis just about died. To him, his entire torso was being assaulted from all angles by these evil raspberries. His sides, his ribs, just right below his underarms, his upper and lower stomach, his waistline, and his bellybutton all at once.

His laughter went silent for a moment before he snorted rather loudly, and laughed his absolute hardest. “…AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHEEHEHAHAHAAAAAA!! NAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!! *snort* NOHOHON!! NOHON S’IHIHIL VOUS PLAAAAA—HAHAHA—PLAIT!! *snort* STAAAAAAHAHAHAAAA!! *snort* NINE NIHIHINE NIIIIIHIHINE!! PLEEEEEAAHEEHEE—*snort* JE T’EN PRIE—HEEHEEHEEHEEEEEE!! I-I CAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IHIHIHIT ANYMORE!! *snort* JE T’EN PRIE!! JE T-TAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!! JE T’EN PRIE!! *snort* PLEAHEEHEEHEEHEEHEASE!! STAAAAAHAHAHAHAP!! NOHOHO MOHOHOHORE!!”

Hearing the desperate cry and feeling Ike he had had enough, 999 finally released Dr. Blanche. It sat next to him, quietly gurgling while waiting patiently for Travis to recover. Travis laid there motionless on the floor for several long minutes, panting heavily. His hair was a mess and his glasses were crooked on his forehead. He just wanted to get the air back into his lungs. 999 nudged and softly cooed at the scientist. It seemed like it wanted to check and see if he was okay.

Travis slowly sat up, clutching his sore stomach. He fixed his glasses before meeting 999’s concerned gaze, giving it a warm smile. “Hey, don’t feel bad. You stopped right when I needed you to. It’s all good, okay? I actually feel a lot more better now thanks to you, 999.” 999 chirped happily, glomping the doctor in another tackle hug.

“Aaah! Sacré bleu! Non! Don’t go starting this whole little chaotic game of yours again!” Travis nervously joked. As fun as that whole tickle game was, he didn’t want to be the victim of another one again. At least, not right now.

999 tittered and slid down to cuddle in the scientist’s lap, purring like a cat. Travis chuckled and began buttoning his now wrinkled shirt back up. When that was done, he rested a delicate hand on top of 999’s head, who purred louder. Then, just to be cheeky once more, 999 tittered like a gremlin and shoved its head underneath the purple shirt. Travis let out a surprise squeal at the feeling of a purring mouth pressing threateningly against his bellybutton again. “N-NAAAhahao! Pleaheeheehease nohohot again! Misericorde! Misericorde!”

Fortunately, 999 took pity on the poor tired scientist and slithered out of his shirt. Travis let out a huge sigh of relief. He had to admit, despite being tickle tortured for what felt like an eternity, he was feeling a lot happier than he had ever been in a long time. It felt like the biggest weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he could breathe again. His mind didn’t feel so foggy with nightmares or visions of his past anymore. In fact, he couldn’t even recall his nightmares or any other negative thoughts. He felt genuine euphoria and this mild feeling of optimism; that same optimism that any happy kid would have, like he was sure everything was going to be okay from now on.

“Thank you, 999,” Travis whispered to the anomaly. “I mean it. You really helped me with something I never thought I would be able to let go. Thank you for that.” 999 beamed and happily gurgled as if to say “you’re welcome”.

After all that laughing and screeching and squirming, and being sleep deprived, Travis’ remaining strength and energy had been sapped up. He couldn’t stifle back the big yawns. He longed for the comfort of his bed, but was far too tired to even get up. Even his eyelids were starting to droop.

999 noticed how visibly exhausted the scientist looked so it carefully lifted and cradled him, carrying him to the door.

“Annnd that’s our cue that Dr. Blanche’s ‘play date’ with 999 has finally ended,” Simon stated, nodding to the personnel to fetch their sleepy victim.

“Okay, 999, hand him over. We’ll take it from here,” one of the guards spoke.

999 emitted a little whine and hugged Travis closer. Simon chuckled, knowing that reaction far too well. “Don’t worry, 999. You’ll get your chance to play with Blanche again another time, okay? Right now, he really needs to get some sleep.” 999 cooed understandingly and released the doctor.

Simon helped Travis stand up, and assisted him back to his dorm room. He had to bite back another laugh because he honestly felt like he was lugging a drunk friend back home. “So…didn’t I tell you this would be a great experience? Learn on the job, eh?” Simon joked.

Travis rolled his eyes, blush coating his cheeks again. “Oh, shut up, ya hoser! You’re a filthy, lying…dip twit!” He tried to sound mean, but the smile on his face proved otherwise.

“Aw, c’mooon! No ‘thank you, Fisher, for making me experience my first meeting with the Tickle Monster?’”

Travis sputtered and blushed harder. “Stohohop saying that!”

Simon couldn’t help but tease. “Why? Is it the Tickle Mosnter part that gets you flustered or just hearing the word tickle?”

Travis giggle-whined, burying his face against the older agent’s shoulder. “Staaaaahahahap! Just…stohohop sahahaying thaaaat!”

“Haha! I knew it!” Simon laughed. “It does fluster you! You just seem too adorable to be a researcher here.” He ruffled the younger scientist’s hair.

Travis giggled and batted at the other’s hand before muttering something in French that sounded like cuss words.

“Hey, hey, hey, watch the language,” Simon half-joked. “Or else I’ll throw you back into 999’s chambers and keep you there until tomorrow.” He poked him in the side. “Got that?”

Travis yelped and giggled once more. “Understood.”

“Good. Alright, well get some sleep, okay? We’ll be here for you tomorrow when you wake up, but no rush in getting up early. Sleep in if you’d like. You and the kids are going to need to fix that awful sleep schedule of yours, and it starts with getting proper rest.” Simon smiled and gave Blanche one last hair ruffle. “Sleep tight, kid.”

Travis sleepily smiled. “Thank you, sir. Good night to you as well. And…thank you…for everything. I never would have gotten through this without you and 999’s help.” He paused with a shy smile. “Especially 999’s.”

“Anytime, kid. Good night.”

“Good night.” Travis let out a happy sigh as soon as he closed his dorm door. “Wow…what a night!” He said to himself. “But at least I don’t have to worry about any nightmares anymore. Hopefully. And if not, then I’m sure I can go to 999 again…right? Oh mon dieu, whyyyy am I actually thinking about going back and willingly allowing 999 to…torture me again?! Geez! Now I’m getting all fluttery thinking about it!”

That fluttery butterfly feeling in his stomach came back at the mere thought of getting tickled by 999 again. He blushed when he remembered how Simon set him up with 999 earlier. Then his blush darkened when he realized that Simon and the other guards now knew of his silly weakness from watching him on the security footage. And all of the embarrassing sounds he could make when tickled in certain spots. Ohhh so embarrassing!

Travis just hoped that Simon and the others would keep their mouths shut and not mention this to anyone, especially to the kids. They didn’t need to know about this. If anyone found out, he would never live it down.

Shaking the thought off, Travis changed out of his work clothes. He slipped on a baggy black shirt that read: Area 51 Escapee in bright green lettering, and a pair of light gray pajama pants with UFOs on them. Then, he tossed his worn clothes into a heap by his bed before crawling into bed. He snuggled under the covers with a happy sigh.

Things were definitely going to be different from now on with him and the kids now joining the SCP Foundation family. But they were in a better place now, and they were free. They could finally be happy and together like the found family they always wanted to be. Granted, they were a very strange, albeit dangerous-looking family, but they were a family regardless.

Travis closed his eyes with a smile, dreaming about what games he was going to play with the kids tomorrow as soon as they all woke up.

THE END

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