#he seems to be coming mostly for her and hasn’t said much about what he’s gonna do with me

[gestippeldedieseltreinworm]

There are gonna be some people at work tomorrow and Thursday that I’m supposed to ask things but I don’t know what 😭

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances at his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “Especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged-looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled by the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There are voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There are some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on a scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night as a fighter, a crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[hotpinkstars]

WE NEED THE COMFORTT FOR THE BLIND READER FUN YOU CAN’T LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THIS?????? (can’t do angst no comfort 😔)

-> blinded mistakes - happy ending

synopsis -> your husband feels bad for the way he snapped the other day. how does he make it up to you?

a/n -> approximately 28 people have asked for a part 2. this is insane i have so many people to tag (who aren't anons, obviously) BUT THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE ON MY OTHER ONE OMGGGGG!!!! i love u all sm

warnings -> crying, but that's kinda all lol. this ones mostly just fluff!

w/c -> 951

-> kamisato ayato

it’s been a few days since the argument. 

ayato had been given an extension due to his circumstances, and didn’t have to worry about the ruined papers due to the kindness from the city's higher-ups who assigned him such papers in the first place. a lot of them were salvageable, too.

once he finished them, he leaned back, smiling from the stress relief. he got up, grabbed a cup of tea from the kitchen, and realized something.

you weren’t in the main room, waiting for him to leave his office so you two could spend some time together.

he then thought back about the events that took place. his chest immediately fills with regret at the words spoken to you. coincidentally, ayaka walked into the room.

“ayaka, have you seen y/n?” he hurried to his sister, who simply sighed.

“they’ve been in their room. they’ve been beating themselves up about the incident, so now they’re afriad of moving incase they bother you more,” she brushed past him. “good luck making amends. they’re incredibly hurt.”

he nodded, processing the information. he pacewalked to your shared bedroom, where he opened the door to see your sleeping form. 

he sat next to you, stroking your hair until you woke up. when you felt a hand on top of your head, you flinched a little bit.

“who’s there?” you said in a soft voice, unwilling to cause more issues by lashing out or showing aggression. 

“ayato,” he took his hand off your head. “i’ve come to say i’m sorry.”

you got up and found the headboard, slowly resting yourself up on it. “why all of the sudden? i hope you understand that you really hurt me, ayato. i’ve been too scared to get up these last few days because of the way you made me feel. the only times i’ve gotten up were to go to the restroom, bathe, and eat, but thoma would bring me something here. i still think about the words you said and your gestures.”

he looked down, sighing. he didn’t realize how much of an effect his words and actions had on you, but now that he’s hearing it from you, it seems like two more tons added to his shoulders. “don’t worry about it. it was salvageable, and you hadn’t ruined anything.”

“i wish you told me that when it happened, ayato,” you started to tear up. “i forgive you, but i don’t want to hear that again. it made me feel like shit.”

he nodded, hugging you tight, letting you cry into his shoulder. you felt around his body to realize he was wearing his white and blue suit, the one he usually goes out to fight in. 

“i’m not ruining this suit, right…?” you brought your face off his shoulder, but he immediately shoved it back in the same spot, silently telling you the obvious answer. 

he was glad he was able to resolve things. he couldn’t imagine a life without you.

-> wriothesley

it’s been about a week since wriothesley has seen you. he figured you went out of the fortress, staying over at a hotel or with a friend, like navia or chlorinde. he pretty much figured it would be chlorinde, considering she hasn’t come down to the fortress or has tried to initiate contact with him since the incident. 

he figured he’d try knocking on both doors, starting with navia. once navia told him everything he needed to know; that you were with chlorinde, he rushed over to her place.

“what are you doing here?” she scoffs as she opened the door, leaning against the doorframe. “your wife told me everything. i hope to trust that you didn’t embarrass her in front of the people who work for the palais mermonia, especially monsieur neuvillette himself.”

he shook his head, rubbing at his temples. “just let me see her, would you? i want to apologize.”

she nodded, clearing the doorway, allowing him to rush into the spare bedroom. 

you knew he was the one coming towards your room, considering his footsteps were a lot heavier than anyone you’ve ever known. his were tough, threatening. 

“wriothesley! w-what are you-” you started, your heart beating a little faster.

“i want to apologize for the things i said. i didn’t have to completely redo all my papers, and neuvillette understood the situation, and i was able to get an extent.”

you shook your head. “so you embarrassed me then, huh? you told them everything? that your stupid blind wife who is not even near good enough for you ruined your work?” 

he was speechless. he didn’t know how to respond to that sentence, so he put his hands on your shoulders, asking for silent permission to take you into a hug. once you nodded, he embraced you tightly. 

“no, i didn’t tell them that. i told him it was just a spill, and that i was able to save some of the papers. neuvillette is a very understanding man, and this never happens. i never need new copies or need extents, so he was willing to do it this time. nothing about you came up in our conversation,” he swallowed a lump in his throat before going on. “and you’re not stupid. you’re also the perfect choice for me, not good enough my ass. no matter what i have to do to make you see that, just because you have a disability doesn’t mean you’re unworthy.”

you started to cry, letting the tears spill into his chest, creating a damp spot on his tie. 

“so you don’t hate me then?” you sniffed.

“no, not at all. i couldn’t bring myself to hate you for something as dumb as that.”

[moody-alcoholic]

Dinner date

Still don't have a name for this yet, I'm sure one will come to me. It's kind of cheeky since I had the first two chapter's pretty much ready to go, but the next chapter might take a while.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 3.4k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe. CW: Alcohol, little bit of touching, like I said it's a slow burn, very fluffy, got to get the fluff in before the smut ;)

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

You’re early again standing outside the coffee shop doors. Johnny didn’t give you much warning, asking if you were free that afternoon. You should have said no, rescheduled for another day. You didn’t want to come across as desperate, you didn’t want them to think you had nothing better to do then wait around for Johnny’s text. In truth that’s all you had been doing. You spent the last two days trying to distract yourself, thoroughly cleaning the flat and yourself. The vague talk of sex had you scrubbing and waxing your body within an inch of its life. 

You take a breath and walk into the café, the place was warm and you find yourself taking your coat off as you walk up to the counter, ordering a tea. You pick a spot where you can see the door this time. Flicking through social media on your phone trying to calm yourself, checking the door every time it opens. It didn’t take long before you clock Johnny and Simon walking in. Johnny is standing up on his tiptoes making him almost as tall as Simon. Your heart skips a beat as Johnny spots you walking over to you dragging Simon behind him. He’s not wearing his usual skull balaclava, instead a the bottom half of his face was covered with black mask and he had his hood pulled up. He sat down while Johnny took his jacket off placing it over the back of the chair 

“Need another?” He asked pointing at your cup.

“No, I’m good,” you say gripping the mug. Johnny smiles walking behind Simon pulling his hood down as he makes his way to the counter. You smile eyes fixated on Simon's curly golden locks. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, he meets your gaze and you blush looking away. You take another sip of your tea, your leg bouncing under the table as you wait in silence for Johnny to come back. He places a cup in front of Simon and sits down with his own. 

“How’ve ya been lass?” Johnny asks his infectious smile beaming on his face.

“Good, busy.” You say. “What about you two?” 

“Ah nothing much, enjoying some time off.” Johnny says his hand resting on Simon's thigh. You look at Simon he seems tense his eyes studying your face, he seems like the polar opposite of Johnny. You simile at him anyway taking another sip of your tea. 

“Plan on going anywhere with your leave?” Johnny asks.

“Maybe see a few friends, rest mostly.” You reply sighing.

“You got family?” Johnny asks raising an eyebrow. A lump forms in your throat.

“Yeah but we don’t speak much.” You reply swallowing the lump away.

“Are you a virgin?” Simon ask’s the question catching you so off guard you gasp your mouth hanging open. 

“I think what Simon is trying to ask is have you ever had a boyfriend?” Johnny says squeezing Simon's thigh. You let out a smile at Johnny his presence calming you. 

“Eh, yeah a few, never anything serious though.” You explain without going into too much detail. 

“We must seem quite unusual, but I promise we don’t make a habit of taking pretty girls out for coffee.” Johnny winks. Your cheeks blush. 

“It’s fine-I mean I don’t care-if you take pretty girls out for coffee..” You blurt out trying to act like you’re totally not freaking out with these two sat in front of you. Johnny chuckles taking a sip of his coffee. Simon hasn’t touched his, he’s leaned back in his chair arms folded. 

“How do you do it? The threesomes?” You ask, skipping straight to the point. You’ve had the last two days to imagine the scenarios Johnny and Simon must get themselves into. “If you don’t make a habit of taking girls out for coffee first?” Johnny laughs.

“We’ve only tried it twice, you’d be surprised how many dating apps there are for this stuff.” Johnny looks at Simon who looks back at him, his eyes soften as Johnny strokes his thigh, it seems to calm him down.

“Just hookups, it’s like scratching round an itch, it doesn't feel quite right.” Johnny looks at you. You tried to pick up on what that meant, you’d always been pretty vanilla in the bedroom, not inexperienced but this was new territory. 

“Why ask me?” You say nervously tapping the mug in your hand. Johnny smiles.

“Well for one you’re drop dead gorgeous love, been playing on our minds ever since the day we saw you.” You look down at the table feeling embarrassed tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Normally, when we talk about it it’s cos we have that itch that needs to be scratched. With you it’s like, there’s a full body rash and we desperately need you to itch it.” You see Simon roll his eyes at Johnny metaphor, but you get the point. I guess it’s now or never bite the bullet or turn them away. You look at them both again your eyes flicking between them, taking in a deep breath. 

“So you’re not looking for a hookup?” You ask, your eyes flicking to Simon who hasn’t said a word since his last question, but his eyes have never left you. 

“No, something different…” Johnny trails off, you bring your tea up to take a sip looking back at him.

“A relationship.” Simon blurts out. You swallow your tea hard looking over at Simon. 

“But you two are married,” you say frowning, putting the cup down.    

“Happily, but we both feel like there’s something missing.” Johnny says looking at Simon who looks back at him. You’d heard about this kind of dynamic before, people in 3 way relationships, seen documentaries and YouTube videos that kind of thing. It always seemed to be 2 women and one man though. 

“Isn't it illegal?” You ask quietly. Johnny chuckles.

“Only if you marry multiple people.” 

“Oh,” you don’t know why that disappointed you, they’re all ready married. You sigh looking at them not quite sure what to say next. 

“How about we cook you dinner some time? You can come to our flat, we can chill out no pressure, just getting to know each other. See how the night goes.” Johnny suggests. You find yourself smiling again.

“Sure,” you say nodding. A dinner date, one that might end in sex has your tummy doing flips excitedly, the previous nerves being washed away. 

“How about on Friday? I’ll text you the address?” Johnny asks. You nod sipping the last of your tea and checking your watch.

“Sounds good.” You smile going to get up.

“Haven’t scared you away ‘ave we lass?” Johnny asks.

“No, I just-I want to get home before rush hour and I’m crammed on the tube like a sardine.” You say as you walk round the table. Johnny laughs getting up giving you a hug. You say goodbye to them and make your way home. 

Later that evening after a microwave meal and a few glasses of wine you get a text. 

Thanks for today xx

You smile at the kisses. 

No problem, can’t wait for Friday xx

Your belly is doing flips again, your mind wondering to the meeting today. Johnny and Simon had been on your mind for days now. But you're pretty sure the meeting today was more for Simon than anything else. You remember his eyes never leaving you like he was trying to soak up every inch.

Wear something sexy ;) xx

Holy shit that sent tingles through your body. The wine mulling you out, the thought of a skimpy dress being ripped off your body by Simon and Johnny forced its way into your head making your body shiver. 

Of course ;) xx

There let his imagination go wild.

——————————

Johnny and Simon's flat was in a very affluent part of London a place you had only ever been too once. You double checked the address before pressing the correct buzzer. There are a few seconds before a voice comes through.

“Who is it?” 

“It’s Ashe,” You say. 

“Ah come on up!” Johnny’s energetic voice comes through the speaker. The door buzzes and you make your way to the lift taking it up to the 6th floor. You grip the neck of he bottle of wine you bought, pulling down the bottom of your dress again. It had been at least half a year since you had dressed yourself up like this. Your heels felt especially uncomfortable, but you did promise sexy, you hoped it was enough. You make it to the door ringing the bell. It’s Simon who opens it, it’s the first time you have ever seen him without a mask. His hair freshly groomed, he’s stunning just like johnny, you fight to keep your jaw from dropping. 

“Wine,” you say thrusting it into his hands. He smiles taking it and stepping aside. Holy shit it’s the kind of smile that makes you weak at the knees, it’s maybe even more palpable then Johnny’s. Their flat is nice, big windows, open plan, great view of the city. You start to take your coat off when you feel Simon’s hands on your shoulder’s helping you slip it off. 

“Thanks,” you say turning to him as he hangs it on a hook. He makes his way back over to you lightly pressing his hand on the small of your back leading you down the hall. The touch sends electricity up your spine but you’re quickly distracted by the amazing smells coming out the kitchen. You look to see Johnny pushing something round in a pan, he looks at you, his mouth dips open as he leans back putting one hand on his hip taking you in. 

“Well ain’t you a sight to behold.” A wave of embarrassment falls over you and you look at your feet for a second heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“Wine?” Simon asks his hand leaving your back as he heads to a cupboard to take out glasses. 

“Yes, please,” you say a little too quickly, seeing Johnny chuckle turning his attention back to the food. Simon pours the glasses handing one to you and placing one next to Johnny. He leans up against the sink behind Johnny who turns to see him sipping his wine. He reaches down and picks up his glass. 

“Cheers!” He says holding it up then taking a sip. You follow taking a big gulp. 

“What are you cooking?” You ask moving over to stand next to Johnny looking at the various pots and pans working on the hob. 

“Chicken alfredo,” He says proudly putting the lid on the pan with the chicken in.

“It smells amazing,” you say, it’s true the smell has your mouth watering. 

“It’ll be done soon just need to wait on the pasta.” You nod turning your head to look at Simon still leaning against the sink. His eyes meet yours, and a small smile appears on his lips, you take another sip of your wine feeling your body relax as you smile back at Simon feeling your heart flutter. He seems different more relaxed when he’s in his own home, not like the big scary skull guy you’re used to seeing round the base. His eyes are soft but always alert, flicking between you and Johnny. 

“Need a hand with anything?” You ask, feeling like you need to do something other then standing around gawking at them. 

“Don’t be silly lass you’re a guest,” Johnny says as he scoops out a piece of pasta tasting it.

“Why don’t you go sit down with Simon, the food is pretty much done anyway.” You nod letting Simon lead you to the dining table. You take a seat as Simon sits opposite you. 

“How long you been in the Army?” He asks. 

“4 years,” You say. “What about you?” He lets out a chuckle.

“I stopped keeping count.” He says as Johnny comes over with the first plate placing it in front of you.

“Thank you, it looks great.” You say watching as he places a plate in front of Simon.     

“If there’s one thing Johnny is good at it’s cooking.” Simon says as Johnny walks back into the kitchen smiling. 

“That’s why I married him.” Simon says quieter leaning over to you. You can’t help but chuckle. Johnny comes back sitting with his plate and a bottle of wine. 

“Well dig in,” he says picking up his fork. You smile following his lead twisting the pasta round your fork and almost throwing it in your mouth.

“Holy shit,” you say. “This is amazing.” Johnny laughs looking at Simon. They spend most of the meal chatting, they tell you more about their work. Talking about some people called Gaz and Price. Their banter puts you at ease as you listen to them, the whole thing starting to feel more and more natural. They ask you questions too, about your life, why you joined the army. It’s only when they ask about your family you shy away from giving too much info. By the end of the meal you’re full with a nice buzz going from the wine. Johnny insists on moving to the sofa where it’s more comfortable. You nod first excusing yourself to the bathroom. When you come back out Simon and Johnny are already sprawled out on the couch flicking through the TV channels. You can see a bottle of whisky on the coffee table as you make your way over. As soon as Simon sees you he moves apart from Johnny.  

“It’s okay,” You say waving him back to his spot. “I’ll sit on the end.” 

“Don’t be silly love, come sit.” Johnny says patting the spot between him and Simon. You feel bad for breaking them apart like this but then you remember the reason you’re here in the first place. Simon wouldn’t have moved so eagerly if he didn’t want you to sit between them. You smile walking over and sitting down leaning back on the plush sofa. Johnny extends his arm round the back encouraging you to lean against him, which you do. He smells good, whatever cologne hes using fills your nose, its earthy it suits him. 

“The food was good.” You say breathing out relaxing into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, that’s good.” He says his voice humming in your ear making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You watch as Simon keeps flicking through the TV till he lands on some random police chaser show, and he throws the remote on the coffee table. You watch as he leans back on the sofa. 

“You can put your legs up if you want I don’t mind.” He says looking over at you, it was uncomfortable leaning on Johnny with your feet still on the floor. You reluctantly pull yourself from Johnny’s shoulder bending over and unclasping the strap on your heals pulling them off. You move so they have a bit more room leaning back up against Johnny with your legs on Simon’s knees.

“‘E’s never gonna make it,” Johnny says pointing at the TV as you see a birds eye view of the police chase. 

“I don’t know, he’s got some good distance now.” Simon says. 

“I bet he loses them.” You say, looking at Simon who moves his hand down to rub your leg, you smile at him in approval enjoying the feel of his hands on your body. 

“See you want to avoid the tight residential streets.” Johnny says as a matter of fact.

“Talking from experience there Johnny?” Simon says chuckling. 

“Not experience just common sense.” You chuckle looking up at him, his deep blue eyes looking back at you. 

“You okay?” He asks smiling down at you. You nod as you do his arm rests on your back pulling you closer to him. You let out a breath your arm stretching its way over Johnny’s stomach. 

“Have you done this before? With other women?” You ask. Shit, why did that come out now, it’s a total mood killer. And you were enjoying yourself, your body tenses as you grip Johnny’s shirt. Johnny chuckles of course he does his hand squeezes your arm.

“No lass, we weren’t exactly on the look out for women.” Johnny’s smile put your mind at ease. 

“We knew you were special.” He murmurs, squeezing your arm again. You look over at Simon still stroking your leg. He smiles, reaching over and squeezing Johnny’s hand. You look back over at the TV, they’ve caught the guy. 

——————————

When the show ends Johnny gets up to clear the table, flat out refusing your offers to help insisting you stay on the couch with Simon. You sit up yawning looking down at your watch. Shit, it’s almost 10pm. If you stay any longer you’re going to end up having to walk home instead, you nervously tap your foot at the thought of walking across London at night. 

“You alright?” Simon asks placing his hand on your thigh you stop tapping your foot.  

“Yeah, just I didn’t realise how late is was.” You say smiling. 

“Do you need to get home?” He asks. You look at him, you don’t want to leave this is nice, but it would be rude to stay the night. You find yourself biting your lip trying to think of what the best solution would be. 

“You can stay the night, we have a spare room it’s no bother.” Simon says. 

“You’ve already been so accommodating I couldn’t-”

“It’s not a problem.” He cuts you off, his voice laced with authority, you almost want to bark back yes sir. Instead you nod smiling at him. He moves his hand from your thigh reaching over for the bottle of whisky.

“Want one?” He asks. 

“Sure,” you smile at him as he leans forward pouring the shots. You pick it up trying to remember the last time you had had a whisky neat. 

“To new things.” He says, you clink your glass with his and drink. It burns your throat as it goes down and you can’t help coughing, it’s stronger then you remember, or maybe it’s the fact it’s not mixed with coke. Simon chuckles taking the glass out your and hand placing it on the table. Johnny comes back into the living room with a bottle of wine and a hand full of glasses.

“Breaking out the scotch already?” He says. 

“Tastes like wood,” You cough again the taste coming back. 

“Probably why Si likes it so much,” Johnny winks sitting down next to you and pouring you a glass of wine you gladly accept to get rid of the taste of whisky. 

“She’s gonna be staying the night Johnny.” Simon says as a matter of fact. You look over at Johnny to see his response. 

“No complaints from me.” He beams sipping on his wine. You place your glass back on the table leaning back on the couch. You feel Simon’s arm pull you onto his chest this time, you put your legs on Johnny’s thighs without thinking about it. Feeling his warm hands stroke your leg. Simon plants his chin on the top of your head as you stretch your arm over his stomach. He’s bigger then Johnny, his shoulders broader you relax into him just like you did with Johnny. Okay maybe you could get used to this, Simon’s hand rests on your side rubbing your arm. 

“Can I hold your hand?” He asks after a few seconds. You don’t say anything but move to loop your fingers with his. It feels natural his hand being in yours. You look over at Johnny, he smiles at you squeezing your leg. Then your stomach drops in realisation you squeeze Simon's hand sitting up. 

“I don’t have any pyjamas, or a tooth brush.” You look between, Simon and Johnny, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable your dress was feeling. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, you can borrow one of my tops.” Johnny says laughing. 

“Or mine, and we have a spare toothbrush I’m sure.” Simon says pulling you back onto his chest. You look back at the TV as Simon and Johnny get back to guessing how this police chase is going to end. You find yourself rubbing Simon’s thumb as you relax even more. Okay you could defiantly get used to this. 

Next part

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

No good deed goes unpunished

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie apocalypse (I like how I lied to both myself and y’all that there was ever gonna be a chance of it being another type of apocalypse), both John and Love are a little crazy which is to be expected re: zombie!au, more nausea, more pregnancy related discourse, zombie world building and the ramifications/implications of being pregnant in the apocalypse, the author is currently having A Thing about pepperoncinis, strong hints to the events that lead to Love being abandoned, etc etc etc

First/Previous Chapter Here | Next Chapter

Captain John Price of the SAS, it seems, has decided to keep you.

As a child your neighbors had an Australian Cattle Dog.

He reminds you of that dog. Keyed in on your every move, herding you about as he sees fit throughout the day.

Gets irritated just like that dog used to, if he finds you somewhere he thinks you shouldn’t be.

Being alone with a man you do not know goes against everything you were taught growing up. You, however, are not exactly spoiled for choice where company is concerned and are in no position to bite the hand willing to feed you. Especially when the hand in question hasn’t done anything untoward.

John provides security and stability, even if he fusses at you incessantly.

“Need to be eating more than that.”

Objectively you know he’s correct, but there’s fuck all to be done about it.

“I can’t. I’ll throw up.”

You learn the nausea card will stay his hand, not that you’re even overplaying it. The child you’re carrying likes to alternate between sitting on your bladder and your stomach between bouts of playing soccer with your ribcage. Not exactly making it easy on you to get (or keep down) the food you need to grow a liver or a pair of lungs, or whatever it is that you’re cooking in the final stretch of your pregnancy.

For the most part he leaves you be about the food if he sees you picking at something over the duration of the day.

You circle each other cautiously; circumstance and loneliness making you unwilling to avoid him, but also still having the good sense to be aware you’re dealing with a stranger for less than a full day.

He’s brash, obviously used to getting his way. You don’t know a ton about the military and can only assume that it comes with the territory. He’s used to barking orders and commanding a space. You’re not exactly in a position to buck against his hand- and it’s not like you really want to, anyway.

He gives you first pick of the food, your cravings deciding your meal for you.

Cravings in an apocalypse blow, by the way. It’s not like you can get the tandoori chicken from your favorite Indian place at 2 am just because the mood strikes.

“I would kill for a jar of pepperoncinis,” you mumble, mostly to yourself one night as you pick at your dinner. God you could fuck a jar of them up with how your mouth is watering just at the thought of them.

In fact, had the world not gone to hell in a handbasket you’d probably be doing something cruel and inhumane to a pile of them. Like dipping them into nutella. Wasn’t one of the joys of pregnancy appeasing your cravings with absolutely abominable food combinations?

You’re not exactly in fight or flight at this exact moment, but you are in survival mode. No luxury of door dashing random items.

“How much longer do you think you’ve got?” The captain asks one night over dinner.

“I’m not sure. I think any day now at this point.”

You feel like you’re all belly, something that’s compounded by his follow up question of “Only got the one in there?” which is honestly fair.

“Yes. The midwife said he just has an Olympic sized swimming pool to float around in.”

“Midwife would be handy to have given your state.”

The question is buried between the lines. Why are you here and not with her?

“She’s dead.”

That’s what started this whole mess, isn’t it? It’s not your fault she’s dead but her absence was the catalyst of your group abandoning you.

He pauses his own meal, looking at you momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

You don’t know what to say in reply.

It feels disingenuous to pretend her death impacted you more than it actually did. While you two had spent more time together as your pregnancy progressed, the conversations had stayed staunchly about the baby and changes to your body.

You weren’t friends. But she was kind and compassionate and seemed knowledgeable about what was happening to you.

It does make you nervous, though. Women have had babies unassisted for millenium, but women have also died in childbirth since the dawn of time. Certain cultures regarded a successful birth in the same vein as warriors returning home from battle.

Since he asked- in a roundabout way- about your group, you feel bold enough to ask about his.

“How’d you get separated from your group?”

“Got caught with our trousers down by a herd wandering through this area. We were overwhelmed and I ended up going through a window. Did a number on my leg, that seems to finally be healing.”

Herds is such a funny way to describe a roaming group of the undead.

Herds usually contain deer, or horses, or sheep. Something soft and doe eyed that you can pet. Something that has teeth, yes, but typically not interested in hurting you.

Packs would be the better descriptor in your opinion- but then no one had asked you, had they?

“Do you think they’re still in the area?”

“Not if they’ve got any fucking sense,” he grouses. “There’s a group of survivors up north we’ve been taking care of. Safe zone so to speak- about as safe as anything can be, at least. Came down for supplies as the area looked clear, but the truck broke down. Herd came through and mucked everything up.”

The prospect of another community- a safe zone- enraptures you.

You’re not stupid, even if a lapse of judgment and a too long dry spell breaking has landed you in your current predicament. You understand that you’re a bit of a ticking time bomb.

You live in a world where safety is no longer a guarantee. That too much noise, and too much attention drawn can be a death sentence.

So having a baby is a far riskier move these days than it was in the past. There’s so much that can go wrong. You can’t tell a baby to be quiet because a herd is passing through and if any of them hear, then you’ve signed everyone’s death warrant.

And that’s if you and your child don’t die in labor.

So you were understandably devastated but yielded to the group consensus to leave you behind.

But a safe zone?

You’ve been floating around in limbo since parting from your group. Understanding that your death is written on the walls, but unwilling to lay down and die without trying.

You feel something akin to hope fluttering in your belly- that maybe you and your child will survive. That there’s not a blade waiting to descend on you when your water breaks.

“Can you take me there? Are you trying to go back?”

John regards you for a moment, and you try to not squirm in apprehension.

“Would be a whole lot easier if I had a working vehicle,” he states. “Between my leg and your,” he pauses, spearing a bite of his food and making a vague gesture at you as he chews, “current condition, walking that far isn’t a good idea.”

Right. Because you’re a ticking time bomb who might pop in the next hour, next week, or next day and there’s absolutely no way to know until it happens. Hence why you were trolling through a neighborhood looking for somewhere safe to bed down until you have your baby.

Talk about caught with your pants down if your water breaks trying to traverse a substantial distance. But then traveling with a newborn puts another target on your back, doesn’t it? How long until you’re comfortable with how fussy your baby is and you become confident you can read his cues? That’s a hell of a dice to roll.

“If I can find a working radio I can call my team. Or something I can drive.”

“I’m good with tech,” you volunteer. “Even if the radio doesn’t work- maybe I can make it work.”

You’ve always been someone who takes pride in your work, but working in tech in a post-collapse society has rendered your knowledge useless when traveling with a nomadic group just trying to make things work day by day.

So you’ve been feeling like a bit of a lame duck lately, even though you know logically that’s not being particularly fair to your circumstances. You’ve been forced to learn more pragmatic skills (at least, for the zombie apocalypse) but having to learn them on the fly with threats constantly looming over you doesn’t exactly provide a safe place to fail while you get over a learning curve.

Obviously close combat isn’t ideal in your situation. Guns draw too much attention with the noise. Maybe you can find a bow and practice with it.

So you jump at the opportunity to show that you might be able to pull your own weight. That you’re more than a fragile time bomb waiting for the counter to hit zero.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I find a broken one, then,” he appeases, although you can’t get enough of a read on him to know if he’s just placating you.

It’s a bit after dinner and the sun setting that John decides it’s time to herd you up to bed. “Right then, time to get you back upstairs.”

It’s only been two days now but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s got a thing about you and the stairs.

Someone like him is likely used to preparing for the worst case scenario in every situation. Lord knows what sort of horrors he’s thought up of you losing your balance going up or down, but he’d chewed on you pretty good earlier in the day when you’d tried to go up them without him to get something out of your bag.

Lesson learned- no traversing the stairs unattended.

Given that you are perpetually exhausted at this point, you can’t see the value in arguing that you don’t need your sleep schedule dictated to you. Left to your own devices you likely would have begun nodding off on the couch.

Even with your group, while there’d be assigned watch times, there wasn’t an enforced bedtime. Everyone’s adults- you were expected to handle your shit and be ready to move when it’s time to go.

So you nod along and let him guide you up.

John is magnanimous about the resources in the house, letting you be uncontested for the bathroom upstairs. You don’t understand how plumbing works but you can’t even bring yourself to complain about the cold water as you clean yourself.

There is a chair in “your” room, and the first night you placed it under the doorknob so that should John get any suspicious ideas, at least you’d be awake for your grizzy demise.

The doorknob never so much as turned, and you’ve been at his mercy long enough you decide if he was going to do anything unhinged, he’d have done it by now.

You are snuggled into your bed- which might as well be a luxurious thing with a 600 thread count for all you can care right now, even though it’s most assuredly not- and hear the sound of John’s door closing across the hall, and are out like a light before you can even process the noise and assume that he’s down for the count for tonight just like you are.

Come morning- after you’re finished in the bathroom and are greeted in the hall by John waiting for you- you realize that John was not squirreled away in his own room last night. He leads you down the stairs- insists on being between you and the bottom of the stairwell.

There’s a jar of pepperoncini peppers, a container of prenatal vitamins, and a pack of preggie pops which claims to be a pregnancy safe anti nausea candy.

The logical side of your brain should be floored that this veritable stranger has paid more attention to your needs (and yes you’re going to go ahead and count the pepperoncinis down as a need) in a day and a half than certain exes had during the entire run of your relationships with them.

A thank you would be appropriate given the situation.

Unfortunately, however, your hormone addled “I've been fending for myself after being abandoned, and I'm still emotionally fried” brain has been the one calling the shots lately, so instead what comes out is “You left me last night.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Better Man

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff, minor angst

Summary: You're a single mom who hates bringing men into your life only to have them leave. Your daughter deserves better than that. You're currently dating Spencer, and you're wondering if it's the right time to bring him into her life. Will it be worth it?

Square Filled: “you want? you want? you want? what about what I want?” for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

I can do this. I’m more than capable of getting breakfast ready for both me and my daughter. Even if she is screaming her head off. Oh, please be quiet. Please make it stop.

“Gemma, please stop crying. I am getting your food.” She continues to cry. “Baby, please. I’m working as hard as I can right now.”

If anyone were to look in your kitchen window, they would see a woman who is just trying to feed her child while looking like a raccoon with messy bedhead hair. The bags under your eyes don’t help your case, either, but you haven’t gotten much sleep this past week. Gemma has been sick and has been keeping you up at all hours of the night.

Sometimes you feel like a shitty mom because it seems like whatever you do isn’t enough. Being a single mom is hard. No one told you how to do this. No one gave you a rule book and said, “Here you go! Study for the final exam!” where the final exam is actually having a kid. You’re doing the best you can do even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Before you can start crying because Gemma is crying, you plate some bananas, cereal, and small strawberries on a plate for her. She immediately stops crying when the food is in front of her, and she digs in. You chuckle tiredly and kiss the top of her head. She is getting so old. It seems like yesterday you birthed her when really, it’s been eight months.

Your phone rings and you light up at seeing Spencer’s name.

“Hey,” you answer.

“Hey. I’m off this weekend if you want to hang out.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get a sitter,” you sigh. “I’m pretty low on money right now.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind if you bring her along. I understand if you don’t want to, but I’m really great with kids. I’d love it if she came along.”

You and Spencer have been seeing each other for a few months but he hasn’t met your daughter yet. You don’t want to introduce her to someone new if they’re not going to be in your life for very long. You really like Spencer and you hope he’s going to be in your life for a long time. He’s been very patient when it comes to your daughter, and maybe it’s time they meet.

“Why don’t you come over? I’d feel more comfortable having a date here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think it’s time you meet Gemma.”

“Okay, yeah! I’ll bring some food over and we can cook together.”

“That’d be amazing,” you smile.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Okay. Bye.” You hang up with a huge smile on your face. “You hear that, Gemma? You get to meet Spencer. He’s a sweetheart. You’ll love him.”

She squeals in response but it’s mostly because she wants more bananas. You’re not worried that she will love him, it’s if Spencer will love her. You can’t think about that. You have work to get to. The call center you work at has a daycare attached to it for parents who can’t get someone to watch their kids, so every day is Bring Your Daughter To Work Day.

The weekend comes faster than you expected but that means Spencer gets to come over. He might even spend the night if all goes well. When Spencer comes over, he is nothing but sweet towards Gemma. She is playing in her playpen but as soon as Spencer walks in, she squeals and crawls over to him.

“Spencer, this is Gemma. Baby, this is Spencer.” Spencer grins and picks her up once she gets to him. “I’ve been trying to get her to walk lately. She turns eight months next week.”

“Hi, Gemma. Do you want to walk for Mama? Yeah, I can see it. You’ll get there,” he chuckles.

Spencer brings in the groceries he bought so you two can cook lunch while Gemma plays and watches Spongebob. While you don’t know how to be a single mom, and learning every day to be better, you’d rather do this than be with the ex who knocked you up. He left you when you were pregnant so it’s just been you and Gemma for a long time now. It’s hard to let men in your life, especially with a kid so young, but Spencer has been nothing but a complete gentleman to you. He takes things at your pace, never does anything to make you uncomfortable, and always puts you and Gemma first.

Dinner is spent talking about your week and the plans you have this weekend and afterward, Spencer goes to the living room to play with Gemma some more. He’s really warming up to her. Maybe this is going to be a good thing. Your phone rings and your blood runs cold when you see who is calling you. You excuse yourself and step off to the side while Spencer tosses Gemma in the air a few inches only to catch her. Her laughter makes this night all the better.

“What do you want?” you ask when you answer the phone.

“Hey, you got any money to spot me? I’m in a bit of a pickle,” your ex asks.

“Are you kidding me right now? You call me up after how many months only to ask for money?”

“Can you do it or not?”

“Fuck no,” you hiss on the phone. “This might be in your grand plan, but I want you to actually start acting like a dad and be there for Gemma. You know, the daughter you have?”

“You want? You want? You want? What about what I want?”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Fuck this. I can’t believe calling you was ever a good idea.”

He hangs up after those harsh words, and you try your hardest not to cry. He’s fucking lucky you’re not going after him for child support, but maybe you should.

“Y/N! Look!” You look at Spencer and Gemma to see her walking toward him on wobbly legs. “She’s walking!”

“Gemma!” you gasp and rush over. “You’re walking, baby!”

Before she can fall to the ground, Spencer scoops her in his arms and kisses her cheeks. She has no idea what is going on but she loves the attention. Spencer looks like he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here. Seeing him with Gemma today has only made you realize that he’s the only man you ever want in Gemma’s life.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[onyxmilk]

Twilight x f!Reader; “Missing” (p2)

notes; part 2 to this !! sorry for the long wait :( !! tw; fem!reader wc; 1.5k tl; @dianexo-v @mr-underhills-things @solaeirr @lenguasdegatofan @0vendettaself @sassy-cat-in-town @dreaminmemories

Twilight opened the front door, nodding when he saw Franky and smiled when he saw Anya. They had just come back after their outing to the cafe, but rather than looking excited, Franky had a frantic look on his face. “Bro, we need to talk. A-S-A-P.” Franky said, cutting to the chase as if the matter was urgent. Twilight nodded, sensing the seriousness in Franky’s voice before sending Anya off to her room and sitting down with Franky. Currently, Yor was out and Anya had wanted some uncle time, it was the perfect opportunity for Twilight to give updates on his mission.

“Remember [AgentName]?” Franky asks, Twilight deadpanned for a moment giving Franky a weird look. “Yes..? Franky, that’s my wife.” Twilight whisper yelled, Franky just chuckled nervously in response, “Well, she hasn’t received any messages from you in the last two freaking years.” The short man says. That explained a lot.

Twilight sighed, “That explains the lack of messages in return..” The blond said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But get this, you’re a real father too.” Franky mentioned before making an explosion noise with his mouth and doing some motion with his hands.

Loid choked on his drink, “Pardon?” he asked as he coughed up some of the drink. “You have a daughter, like a biological one!” Franky said, seemingly the only excited one of the two about this news. “And she didn’t tell me?” Loid whispered softly, mostly to himself, Franky shrugged. “She seemed hurt that you hadn’t reached out, maybe that’s why..” Franky replied, Loid just held his head.

He had been reaching out, someone or something had been cutting contact between him and his wife. He had told her not to contact him unless he contacted her first- but here he sat regretting that choice. “I should get going..” Franky said standing up, “Wait, if I can’t trust Nightfall to deliver messages to The Handler, can you deliver a message to her directly?” Loid asked.

Franky acted like he was thinking, making Loid shake his shoulders, “Fine.” Franky gave in. Loid wrote a long message before tucking into the envelope and handed it to Franky. Franky signed and took the paper before heading out and to where Twilight and [AgentName] lived and slipped the envelope into the mailbox and went on his way.

It would be the following afternoon when [YourName] opened her mailbox and found a piece of mail addressed to her using her agent name. [YourName]’s heart skipped a beat, she grabbed the remaining mail and rushed back inside. Luckily, Lotte was sound asleep, napping.

[YourName] carefully opened the envelope, fearful of what was inside. Divorce papers? An apology? Or a mission? She had no idea, she had hoped it was the middle option, but half of her wouldn’t blame Twilight if he chose to divorce her.

“To my Sweet Angel,”

Okay, well seems good so far…

“I want to start this letter off with an apology, for it seems the messages I’ve been sending for the last two years haven’t graced your beautiful (EyeColor) colored eyes, and that absolutely breaks my heart. You deserve a night out, alone, with me, though I won’t be able to serve that up for another six months. This mission is almost over and I’ll return to your arms, along with our child that I’ve just been told about. Why didn’t you reach out? Two years, Angel, and not once did you break protocol. As much as I appreciate it, when you’re going through desperate times, i.e. giving birth to our first born, is definitely a great reason to do so. I hope I haven’t missed too much, just as I miss your face…

-Twilight”

[YourName] broke down into tears, thanking whatever god out there that existed for this message. She gently brought the paper up to her face as she cried, unintentionally sniffing it and getting a whiff of that cologne Twilight had spread across their bedsheets on days he didn’t feel like showering before a nap.

[YourName] could hardly believe that Twilight hadn’t asked for a divorce. That it was all some miscommunication, not even on her end, but on his. Half of her was pissed, was he trying to seamlessly dance his way back into her life? She didn’t know if she was exactly ready for that, if Lotte could handle that.

With a sigh, [YourName] placed the letter on the kitchen counter. She had to prepare to write some sort of response, she was hurt but happy to hear from her husband. Why didn't he try other ways to contact you beforehand? It broke her heart to know he hadn't thought of delivering a message to the handler himself.

[YourName] brushed those thoughts away and decided to make herself a snack, then one for Lotte as well, preparing for when she woke up. While the woman ate her snack, she watched some tv show until she heard her daughter's cries. She set her bowl down and headed toward the nursery. [YourName] scooped Lotte up and comforted her while opening the curtains.

Lotte was only two, but she could always tell when something was off with her mother. When she was finished getting changed into some afternoon clothing, Lotte made it her mission to make her mother feel better. She tried sharing her food, cuddling [YourName], and other things toddlers could do- but nothing seemed to work.

"Mama! Mama!" Lotte cried rushing toward her mother, who sat on the couch and seemed lost in thought. "Hold!" Lotte said, handing her favorite stuffed animal to her mother, which finally broke [YourName] and she was in tears once more. Lotte gasped, climbing the couch and hugging her mother's arm. [YourName] brought her daughter in for a proper hug, kissing Lotte's head.

"How do you feel about meeting.. someone important to mama?" [YourName] asked, not letting it leak that this important someone was, in fact, Lotte's father. She wasn't even sure if Lotte knew what a 'father' was- it's not like she's in any schooling yet, all she knew is what she saw in her cartoons and her mother. Lotte looked like she was thinking, but she eventually nodded her head, "Yay!" she said.

A little was taken off of her shoulders, and after dinner that night while Lotte watched her cartoon, [YourName] wrote a reply to Twilight. It wasn't long, but it definitely wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill letter. To summarize her note to her husband, she basically said she was ready to meet up with him whenever he was ready.

The following morning, [YourName] delivers the message to The Handler who gets it to Twilight in no time.

Twilight was sitting at his desk when he received the letter, he thought- 'oh just another side mission' but when he opened and saw [YourName]'s handwriting, he melted. He took in the gentleness of the handwriting and how carefully it was folded, he even hesitated- but sniffed the paper, and just as he thought, it smelt just like the home you two shared.

After reading your note, Twilight cleared his schedule and sent a message to The Handler to send [YourName] to the hospital with their child. So, without questioning him, The Handler did just that. At first, [YourName] was confused why she was given direct orders to pick up Lotte from the babysitter's and go to the hospital, then it clicked in her head who she was going to go see.

"You know, Lotte, this is the hospital you were born in." [YourName] tells her daughter, the toddler just gasped at the news, "Woah!" She says in awe as the driver parks and lets [YourName] and Lotte out. "I'll be just a call away." The driver says before [YourName] could shut the door, she nods her head, shuts the door, and the driver leaves.

Walking into the hospital was something else. [YourName] saw familiar faces from the agency, and a nurse or two that checked in on her when she was in labor, it was all just a lot. Half of [YourName] wanted to chicken out, rush back outside and call for the driver- but she didn't. She couldn’t.

She made her way to Twilight's hallway, found the door to his office, and sighed before knocking. Lotte was on her hip, "Where, Mama?" Lotte asked. "We're seeing that important someone to mama, that's where we are." [YourName] replied softly, just then the door opened and there stood her husband, her daughter's father, the love of her life- Twilight.

"Oh my goodness.." Twilight whispered before ushering the two inside his office, he shut the door and went to hug both Lotte and [YourName]. [YourName] returned the hug with her free hand and softly breathed in her husband's scent, "I've missed you.." Twilight whispered to her. [YourName] smiled softly, nodding her head.

Eventually, [YourName] set Lotte down, allowing the toddler to play with the different toys that Twilight had out for planned clients he had canceled on for the day. "She looks like you.." Twilight said, admiring his daughter for the first time, "Really? I think she looks like her father," [YourName] replied with a sad smile.

After about an hour, and a snack, Lotte was out on the couch. Which finally left Twilight and [YourName] alone to talk. Before anything words could slip out, [YourName] slapped Twilight across the face before bringing him in for a kiss. "Don't think you're just getting away from the last two years, I'm absolutely pissed with you." [YourName] whispered to her husband before kissing him again.

[stormyelliotwritez]

walk with me…

ftm reader who has been in love with logan for years but he thinks logan is straight and also logan like wont stop being in love with jean and is absolutely OBLIVIOUS that r likes him.. (literally all the other x men know) and honestly this can be like super angsty or just silly idc whatever the vibe u best think works

im gonna somehow go with mostly angst coz thats my fav so here goes

tw for gender dysphoria related to wanting to fit logan’s so called type

BUT HE’S STRAIGHT?

Logan was staring at Jean again. This was like the fifth time just this staff meeting. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take this. Maybe Charles would let you go lay down if you faked a fever but maybe he’d do the whole psychic thing and realize you were fine.

You sat through the rest of the meeting and then left quickly, feeling like a loser. It’s been years and he still hasn’t noticed you. He’s always staring at Jean who’s literally been in love with Scott since they met. Why won’t he stare at you? How the fuck is he straight? But alas, he is.

You walked to your room, tugging at your shirt and wishing it would fit better. Maybe he’d have noticed you if you weren’t a boy, if you’d stayed what you’d been born as. Maybe if you were still her, he’d think you were cute. Maybe he’d look at you how he looked at Jean.

You slammed your door shut and clambered onto your bed, curling up into a ball. You stayed there, just thinking, until eventually you fell asleep.

In the morning, you got up and after showering and getting dressed, you threw on the jacket you’d stolen from Logan a few months ago, the one with the school’s logo. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. It’s not like he ever noticed you.

You went about your day, bumping into Scott who made a faux growl sound like Logan’s to tease you and then bumping into Hank who sniffed your jacket and then applauded you on managing to steal from Logan. Later in the day, you ran head first into Storm, when you were trying to avoid Logan, and she glanced at him and then meowed at you teasingly. You’d swear on someone’s grave that the only person who didn’t know about your years old crush was the man himself, Logan.

You managed to avoid Logan all day until… dinner. He was sitting opposite the spot you always sat in. He was sitting there. Why was he sitting there was a question you couldn’t answer. You tugged at your jumper while holding your plate with one hand and you walked over to him.

“Logan,” you said with a nod.

“Bub,” he said back before looking you over.

He didn’t say anything about the jacket. He just sat there and ate his dinner and then stood up. He walked around to your side and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Nice jacket, bub.”

He then walked off, just like that.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? He didn’t know though. He would know about your ridiculous crush if he was listening to your heartbeat right now. Oh my god, so he knew you’d stolen it but he couldn’t put the damn pieces together?

You finished your dinner and walked off. You were halfway to your room when someone grabbed your hand and pulled you into an empty classroom. The door was slammed and you were disoriented in the dark.

“You like me, bub?”

That was Logan’s voice. Wait, he knew? How? But…

“Come on, I ain’t got all day,” he said abruptly.

You nodded. You were quite sure he could see in the dark and the scoff he made seemed to say so. How could you have been so stupid? He was probably going to hate you now. He was straight. He’d always been straight and in love with Jean. He was oblivious. He’d always been oblivious. He could never like you. You weren’t a girl, no matter how hard you wanted to still be one so he’d like you. Your heart was racing and soon enough, you were hyperventilating.

His hands were on your shoulders and you were being pulled into a hug, a hug that smelt of wood and fuel. He was hugging you?

“It’s okay, I got you, bub,” he placed a light kiss on your forehead, “I swing both ways, you know.”

You’d always hated that he was still taller than you, one of the downsides of not getting on T until your 20’s and- wait, what? He swings both ways?

“You-you do?” You said once your breathing had slowed.

He nodded. You couldn’t see it but you could feel it. He could like you… as you, as a man? You didn’t have to be someone else? You could just be you.

“Yep, now let’s go. I think there’s two beers calling our names in the teacher’s lounge,” he said before opening the door and pulling you out of the classroom. “Jean mentioned your little crush and now I gotta hear all about how you’ve been pining for me for years.”

Curse you, Jean, but thanks, was all you could think as you just nodded and walked with him to the teachers lounge.

pt 2 - he’s not straight?

[deadsetobsessions]

He doesn’t know how they got here, but Jason’s thankful for it. It’s not often that he speaks to Cass, when Jason’s passions are words and righteous murder and Cass’s passions are distinctly not that, but when they do speak, they manage to get along. Somehow.

“So, why don’t you kill?” Jason leans back on the couch, his favorite mug filled with Alfred’s hot chocolate.

Cass is curled against the arm of the sofa. She looks at him, head tilted. Jason knows she’s reading him, but he’s not sure what she’s finding. It’s humbling, and intimidating, to know she sees more than what he allows to show.

“I can see,” she says. “That one time… I killed. I saw. Pain. Fear. Desp- des- not wanting to die.”

“Desperation?”

Cass nods. One of her fingers fiddle with the material of the couch. Jason knows she’s allowing him to see the motion. He knows it’s her silent way of showing him trust.

“There is more. To dying. Like… like they see their lives-They think- remembers. Loves. Their life- regret, love, everything. It goes through-” Cass taps her temple.

“Their lives are flashing through their heads?”

“Yes. Good. Bad. Everything. I see.” Quieter, Cass adds “I know. I know them, then. I killed a life that I know. They love. Everyone, have something they love. I kill, I kill that love.”

“That must suck.”

Cass leans back. She nods, neck releasing their tension and eyes less hunted, more accepting.

“Yes. I don’t want to- I don’t want to be the end.” Cass swivels her shoulders towards him, now. “Why… why do you?”

“Me?” Jason… hasn’t thought about it for a while, nor too deeply. But this is Cass. And her honesty deserves an honest reply. “I kill because some people shouldn’t be left alive to hurt and kill others”

“Not about… Bruce?”

Jason took a sip of his hot chocolate. Cass settled more into the couch, her eyes clear and watchful.

“It used to be,” he admitted. “About him, I mean. It used to be about vengeance. But then I came back to Crime Alley, and then I saw the kids getting hurt instead of being protected. They’re innocent. And then, it wasn’t about Bruce anymore. Killing is just the means to an end now, for me.”

“Do you- not regret?” She makes a gesture at his leg, where on a normal day, his holsters would be.

“I try to make sure I don’t kill people I’d regret, no. Like, you know how sometimes you guys arrest muggers?”

Cass nodded.

“Sometimes,” Jason said, remembering the days of digging through trash for food and the lingering hunger that rumbled through his younger self’s stomach. “They mug people because they’re desperate. I don’t kill those guys. But people deal to kids? Who hurt sex workers? Rapists? They’re doing irreparable harm, with full knowledge of their actions. For profit, mostly. If they’re willing to ruin lives, then they should be ready for their own to be ruined. It’s justice, for people like me.”

Cass studied him. “Justice…?”

“The only kind us Alley kids could ever appreciate. Arresting an abuser, a threat, and having that stick is for the privileged. Having that threat removed completely is relieving.”

“Can’t trust the world to be fair. But death, is fair.”

“Yeah. I think if I saw as much as you do, it’d be harder to do. But I think I’d still kill, because one person’s suffering after a life of being evil is worth the safety of so many others. To know… well, I guess I’m glad I don’t know what that’s like.”

“I see.”

“I know you do,” Jason grins at her. “But not killing is an act of courage too. Even if B makes it seem like it should come instinctually.”

“Yes. He does not connect, with Damian. Does not understand, fully, how hard. To unlearn.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while after that, listening to the sounds of their family clambering around in other rooms.

“Hey, Cass?”

Cass turned back to him.

“I would kill David Cain for you.”

He would. It makes the Pit seethe when he thinks about how much David Cain and Lady Shiva hurt Cass for her to get this insanely good at reading people. He hopes she sees the pure honesty and sincerity he feels at that declaration

Cass puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezed once. Twice.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No objections?”

“… would not feel too bad.”

Jason snorted.

“Yeah. You and me both.”

He doesn’t know how they got here, but he’s thankful for it anyways, because he understands his sister just that much more now.

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Drakel behind the cut; "a pocketful of Kons". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Bruce turns down a side hall and heads for the metal door at the end of it. He still hasn’t said a word since they got here aside from the comment about codenames, and continues in the fine Bat-tradition of not telling them a single friggin’ thing they might need to know as he taps two fingers against the keypad next to the door. It slides open silent and smooth, and Tim tries not to wince as Stud keeps chattering excitedly at Cat and Star and Red while flitting back and forth between Star and Red, Cat still lounging casually in his arms and all three of them seeming entertained by him. 

Tim really, really wishes he understood what the hell was going on there. 

“What the hell,” a baffled-sounding voice says from the other side of the doors, and a Pocket squeaks in surprise. Tim can’t see past Bruce filling up the doorway, but the voice sounded like Green Arrow’s. 

“Bats, please explain why you have a Superman Pocket now,” Green Lantern’s voice says, and Stud startles and looks through the doorway himself, given he’s got a better vantage point than Tim does. “Which literally no one is surprised that you do, for the record, just that it took this long.” 

“They’re not mine,” Bruce replies matter-of-factly as he sweeps through the door, and Tim can finally see past him. The room ahead looks like a meeting room, and it’s mostly dominated by the large circular table in the center of it where Green Arrow, Green Lantern, and the Flash are all sitting with their respective Pockets. “Where’s Wonder Woman? I need to speak with her. The rest of you too.” 

“No idea,” Lantern answers with a matter-of-fact shrug, his Saffie peering curiously at Stud from his shoulder and chittering inquisitively. “She was here this morning, but some friend of hers called and needed her for something in Gateway, so she switched off monitor duty with Hawkwoman and headed back planetside.” 

“I think Canary said something about her calling something in earlier?” Arrow says, scratching at his jaw as he glances towards his Singsong, who’s leaning forward curiously too and making melodic little crooning noises at Stud. “But she didn’t talk to her herself and we were more concerned with digging through the news on that whole bizarre mess in Metropolis, so I don’t actually know what–oh, okay, so you brought up half the belfry today, huh.” 

“Well, only the half of us,” Dick says with a grin, Flash appearing in front of him in an electric rush and the two of them knocking fists lightly in greeting as Flash’s Charger chirps a greeting of her own and peers up assessingly at Stud. Stud jumps like he was startled by the suddenness of Flash’s appearance–which, also weird, Tim thinks, repressing a frown again. Flash can’t have been going that fast outside a combat or crisis situation that Stud’s own superspeed wouldn’t clock him. Though in retrospect . . . 

Does Stud actually have Superman’s powerset? He’s been flying, obviously, and he’s clearly more than strong enough to carry another Pocket around without even noticing their weight, but that’s not actually all that much, in terms of superpowers. Flight and enhanced strength are pretty basic ones, in fact, and Stud hasn’t even shown particularly impressive levels of either. 

Shapeshifting is less basic, but whether Stud has that or not is a whole different question anyway. 

Tim . . . probably should not have assumed that Stud would have Superman’s powerset, come to think. Or definitely should not have assumed Stud would have Superman’s powerset, more like. 

“Is the guy yours, man?” Flash asks skeptically, and Dick snorts. 

“Yeah, no, Red’s still annoyed over Star popping up, don’t think she’d forgive me getting a third Pocket,” he says wryly. “Robin woke up to him about six and a half hours ago.” 

Flash–pauses. Pauses for what is a very noticeable length of time, coming from a speedster. So do Green Arrow and Green Lantern. 

“That is a whole-ass adult man,” Flash says frankly, visibly raising an eyebrow even behind his cowl, and Stud looks briefly conflicted but then just scowls at him. “So, respectfully: what the hell?” 

“Yeah, we’re still figuring that out,” Dick says with a sigh and a shrug. Charger twitters up at Stud, who startles again and then abruptly abandons Cat on his shoulder and zips back behind Tim and–hides, again, for lack of a better word, same as he did when she and Star and Red were sitting down at the table and expecting him to come over and sit with them. Given that Charger is just as pretty as–well, not Star, because Starfire is in a whole league of her own, frankly–but is at least as pretty as Cat and Red, it’s still not a reaction Tim actually understands. 

Though there’s a lot of things about Stud that Tim doesn’t understand so far, obviously. 

[justtwotired]

Hello!

I was wondering if you can make a Lloyd x reader like based off the 1st episode of dragons rising season 2 where he can't sleep and has a panic attack then starts to think he's not good enough for reader and she gets worried and trys her best to help him but it's difficult for Lloyd to talk to her about it

Also sorry if this doesn't make sense English isn't my first language😓

Awe, I really like this one! Sorry that it took a while to write, I’ve been busy, but I never forgot about this one, it’s not that long but I hope you still like it<3

Lloyd was trashing around making me wake up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. “Hey, hey, hey,” I softly put my hand on his arm, trying to stop his trashing. “It’s alright, I’m here, it’s just a bad dream,” I whispered to him, combing my other hand trough his hair.

He calmed a little, making me breathe in relief. He used to get nightmares years ago, even before the merge, mostly after Moro. Only I thought they where completely gone, but it seemed they were coming back.

I wondered what they where about, would they be just like then? I believe these are different, he keeps mumbling things about a blood moon and wolves. I don’t know what he’s on about, but when I ask, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

I looked at his face and he was still frowning, he used to look so peaceful in his sleep. I adored looking at him whenever he dosed off, or when he was already asleep when we went to bed.

I always trailing his face with my fingers, sometimes accidentally waking him. He always murmured something along the lines of ‘I love you’ or ‘it’s alright’ when die apologise before going back into slumber.

My thoughts where cut of by his breathing growing heavier and I yelped when he suddenly flinched. I pulled my hands away as a reflex and softly breathed out when I realised it was just another nightmare.

“Oh Lloyd,” I whispered with a sigh, combing a hand trough his blonde curls.

I softly started humming, its what I always did back when we where younger, sometimes even when he couldn’t sleep. It always helped, even now.

I hadn’t done it in years, not really since the merge. But even while asleep, he seemed to recognise it as safety.

He cuddled into me and it’s like the nightmare never even occurred, making a smile curl onto my lips before I fell back asleep.

Lloyd had fallen asleep on the table. His head rested on his arms and he was softly snoring. Arin and Sora, who sat opposite him where both giggling and [Name] shook her head when she entered the room and saw the scene.

“Good morning to you too,” Kai greeted with a mouthful of cereal. “Is there a reason that you are up late and Lloyd is sleeping at the breakfast table?” He asked her with a smug grin, receiving a whack from Nya who gestured to the kids at the table and an eyeroll from [Name].

She ignored the question and just sat down at the table, grabbing some cereal for herself while giving Lloyd an affectionate ruffle in his hair.

“He’s been tired a lot lately, hasn’t he?” Nya asked and (Name) sighed, biting down on her lip.

“He’s been having nightmares,” she said softly, stiring her cereal, looking at it with an empty expression before she looked at her sleeping boyfriend next to her with worry. “It’s like Morro all over again,” she whispered, making Kai suck in a sharp breath and Nya purse her lips.

“You should ask Zane to brew some of that sleeping tea master Wu used to give him,��� Nya suggested, “he said that helped,” she tried but [Name] shrugged.

“I don’t know, I don’t think it really helped, he just said it so we wouldn’t worry as much she revealed and Kai groaned.

“Of course he did, it’s Lloyd,” he bonked his head upon the table making said boy jump awake.

“What?” He asked a bit drowsy and [Name] shook her head.

“Nothing, love,” she assured, come, let’s get you back to bed, it’s clear you need some more rest, Nya and Kai will take over in training Arin and Sora,” she said, helping her boyfriend up and leading him back to his room.

“What is it with you these past days,” she sighed as he laid down on the bed. She sat at the edge of the mattress and took his hand in hers. “What’s going on in that brain of yours, hm?” She softly smiled at him and he avoided her gaze.

“I don’t know,” he whispered softly, making her lightly frown. “I’m sorry,” he looked the other way and her lips lightly parted.

“For what?” She asked confused, brushing some hair out of his face. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for, love,”

“I’m supposed to be the green ninja and here I am, to tired to even train my students and having nightmares over stupid things,” he grumbled softly, hiding deeper under the covers. “God I’m lame, you must think I’m lame,” he said and looked over at her just to find confusion on her face.

“Why would I ever think about you like that?” She asked with a small frown. “Lloyd, I’ve been with you for years, I’ve seen almost everything you’ve been trough and managed to get over, you are probably the least lame person I have ever met and I love you so, so much,” she brushed her hand over his cheek and kissed his forehead, causing his eyes to flutter shut.

“I’d understand if you’d want to leave me,” he muttered making her eyes widen, pulling her head back to look at him with worried shock.

“Lloyd, I will never leave you, alright. Everything will be fine,” she promised. “Now get some sleep, I’ll be here for if you wake up, and get these thoughts out of your head, I love you alright,” she squeezed his hand and he just softly nodded.

“I love you too,” he said before shutting his eyes and drifting off.

Lloyd awoke with a gasp. He looked to the side to find (name) sound asleep next to him. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he carefully crawled over her, out of the bed.

It seemed to be late in the afternoon, they’d slept for a while then. Even after the pep talk and having (name) cuddled into his side, he still had nightmares.

He wondered if she saw it. What’d he look like when he had nightmares? Maybe she’d thought he looked pathetic and just went back to sleep.

Lloyd quickly chased that thought out of his head. He knows she wouldn’t, never in her life would she do that.

He tried to even his breathing when he walked into the kitchen, where he found Arin and Sora who shot him worried looks. He avoided them best he could and just smiled at them, quickly deciding to grab an apple from the fruit basket and make his leave.

When he returned to his room, (Name) was sitting up already, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, a smile appearing on her face when she saw him.

“Hi, baby,” she greeted with a small yawn. “Did you sleep well?” She asked, extending a hand out too him. He hummed and took it, bending down to place a kiss on her forehead.

“I slept amazing, love,” he assured, looking down at her, she smiled brightly before it fell. “What?” He asked concerned.

“You’re lying to me,” she stated, a worried look in her eyes as she searched his. He was about to speak but she cut him of before he could even start. “Lloyd, you’re shaking,” she stated in worried shock, holding his hand a little tighter.

The apple he held fell to the ground, making a loud thud as it landed on the floor and rolled under the bed. Lloyd didn’t make an effort to pick it back up as his lip was trembling, and he tried to blink the tears staring to pool in his eyes away.

“Im fine,” he croaked, quickly wiping them away with his sleeve. He let himself sit on the bed and painted a smile on his face. “Just need to sit down for a second,” he assured.

“Lloyd, you’re still shaking,” (Name) whispered holding both his hands in hers now.

“Sweetheart your hands are cold, maybe you should-” but she stopped him.

“Dont do that,” she shook her head. “Don’t- don’t change the topic, Lloyd you can admit to me when you aren’t doing alright,” she stammered with worry. “Please,” she added softly.

He gave her an anxious look, swallowing at seeing the worry in her eyes, he looked down.

He was supposed to be the green ninja, the fearless fighter, an un-defeatable individual, fates soldier. Not- not some scared boy, afraid of telling his significant other about his damned nightmares.

Nightmares that he shouldn’t be having in the first place, he was the green ninja for gods sake.

He peeked back up at (name). She wouldn’t leave him because of this right? She wouldn’t judge him because of this, he knows her, she wouldn’t. Would she?

“Baby?” Her voice sounded and he met her eyes again. “Are you alright?” She was still holding his hands tightly, waiting for them to stop shaking.

He took a deep breath and he nodded. “Yeah, yeah- it’s okay, I uh-” he stammered. “The nightmares,” she said, “they’re constant, I can’t get rid of them, it’s like they’re some sort of sign,” he started carefully.

She just nodded in understanding, carefully rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand, as if it was porcelain and if she gave to much pressure, it’d break.

He blinked rapidly for a second before he told her everything. The wolves, the blood moon, everything.

“Okay,” she mumbled when he was finished. “We should look into something about the blood moon you talk about, see if anything comes up,” she nodded, seemingly deep in thought.

Lloyd had stopped shaking a while ago, yet she still held his hands, the realisation of it making his cheeks tint red.

“But first, I’m gonna make you a cuppa, meanwhile you stay here and get some rest, we will look into it tomorrow, I’m gonna stay with you for the remaining of the day,” she promised and kissed his cheek.

She stood up, with the promise of returning and walked out the door.

Lloyd’s hands felt empty without hers, yet a small smile formed on his lips. Why did he think she’d leave him again?

He knows her, he loves her. And he knows that she loves him just as much, together they can concur the universe and he made sure to always keep that in the back of his mind.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Could you please write soldier boy kissing butcher’s sister while they were out in the woods looking for Mindstorm… 💞

Cat’s Out

masterlist

pairing: soldier boy x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.0k

warnings: language, spoilers for the boys, references to a character’s suicide

pairing note: obviously butcher’s white, but i still wrote the reader non-descriptive - so she could be adopted, up to you <3

author’s note: i got a request!? literally screamed for joy when i got the notif, i’m not even kidding. thank you anon, thank you thank you thank you!!!

Walking for miles in creepy wilderness, surrounded by people hopped up on V was not your ideal afternoon.

“How much fucking farther?” You grumbled, mostly to Billy.

“This is why you should’ve taken the Temp V; Supe strength,” He replied.

“And risk dying a very painful death? No thanks,” You rolled your eyes.

That wasn’t the real reason you didn’t want to take it. You saw how it changed Billy. How he’d been snapping at you and Hughie, the smallest things setting him off. He’d never snap at you before. You were his baby sister! (Only a few years younger than him, but after Lenny he kept a much closer eye on you; clinging to you as if you were about to pull the trigger too.)

“Is it just me or does Soldier Boy seem a little…high,” Hughie said quietly.

“Y/n, go talk to him,” Billy shoved you forward a bit.

“What? Why me?” You asked.

“Cause you’re the only one he hasn’t been a complete asshole to.”

“Billy-”

“Don’t try to deny it! He complimented your scrambled eggs this morning!”

“Well, yeah…I make good eggs!”

“No, you don’t, they taste like shit! Now get over there and calm down the radioactive Supe who’s definitely high right now.”

“If he kills me I swear I’m gonna come back and haunt your ass!” You grumbled before walking ahead to where Soldier Boy was.

You weren’t actually angry about having to talk to him, you were fucking thrilled! You wanted an excuse to walk next to him, maybe run your hands over his suit to “calm him down.” And of course he complimented your cooking, he’d woken up naked next to you.

“Hey sweetheart, want a hit?” Soldier Boy smirked when you caught up to him.

“Uh, no thanks, Soldier Boy,” You shook your head a little.

“Already said you can call me Ben,” He replied.

“Right, sorry! I just- I wasn’t sure if you wanted Hughie and Billy to know your name.”

“Doesn’t really matter to me,” He shrugged before taking another long hit of the joint he was working on.

“You feeling okay?” You asked.

“What’d you say?” He turned to look at Hughie and Butcher.

“What?” Hughie furrowed his brows.

“Nothin’ mate,” Butcher said. “No one said nothing.”

“Seriously, are you feeling alright?” You asked Ben quietly.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to fully face you. He cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply. Your eyes widened when you realized your brother definitely sees you kissing the (as he put it) very high radioactive Supe.

“Oi! What the fucking hell!” Butcher exclaimed and pushed Soldier Boy forward, causing the Supe to stumble to the ground. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“Hey, calm down!” You said quickly, gripping Billy’s coat sleeve. He looked at you, his eyes bright orange.

“This hundred year old cunt just forced himself on you! And you want me to calm down!?”

“I kissed him first,” You replied, Butcher’s eyes widening while changing back to their regular state. “L-Last night.”

By this point, Soldier Boy had stood up and was furious at Butcher. He charged forward and tackled the temp-Supe to the ground.

“Oh come on!” You yelled.

The two men were fighting like stubborn children. They were both too strong to actually get hurt, but strong enough to shove each other around dramatically.

“Fuck you, Soldier Boy! Fuck you!” Butcher yelled as he punched Ben.

You pulled Butcher off of Ben and put yourself between the two.

“Stop acting like fucking morons!” You excalimed. The two men sighed, staring daggers at each other. “You're making me feel like a goddamn pick-me-girl here!”

“I have no clue what that means,” Butcher replied honestly. You rolled your eyes and looked at Ben, he shrugged, indicating he agreed with Butcher.

“Billy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier about me and Ben, but honestly? It's none of your fucking business. And Ben...” You trailed off looking into his eyes. “Yeah, I got nothing. You were great last night and I hope my asshole-of-an-older-brother doesn't make you think twice before sleeping with me again.”

“Oh, I've thought about it way more than twice, sweetheart,” Ben smirked.

“You slept with him!?” Butcher exclaimed. “Come on, Y/n! Are you fuckin’ stupid!? He’s a fucking monster!”

“Hey!” Soldier Boy furrowed his brows. “I ain’t a fuckin’ monster!”

“Oh, so you didn’t kill a bunch of people these last few days? And you didn’t abuse your team so much they left you to fuckin’ rot!? And-”

“Billy!” You exclaimed. “Stop!” You looked at Ben and could tell Butcher’s words stung. You sighed and continued; “Look, there’s a weird-ass telepathic Supe somewhere in these god-forsaken woods and if we aren’t careful he’ll kill us all. Let’s all calm the fuck down, table this, and if we survive you two can kill each other later. Got it?”

Butcher rolled his eyes as Ben stormed off in the direction you had all been walking. Suddenly a make-shift bomb went off and sent the four of you flying different directions. When you came to your senses you realized Butcher was in trouble.

“Butcher, wake up!” Hughie exclaimed, tapping his face.

“No, no, no!” You mumbled, hurrying to your brother’s side. “Shit, shit, shit! Billy!” You joined Hughie in his attempt to wake up your brother. You then turned to Ben, “what- what do we do? How do we help him?”

“We don’t,” Soldier Boy replied. “He’s gone.”

“No! No, he’s just- how do we wake him up, Ben?”

“Well, Mindstorm put him into this, he can snap him out,” Ben shrugged a little, you let out a breath of relief. “But, he’s about to be dead.

“Wait, just hang on,” Hughie stood up, you stayed kneeling next to Butcher. “If we grab Mindstorm, we make him help Butcher! And then you can kill him! Then you can go to town on him, man. I don't give a fuck!”

“It ain’t worth the risk!” Ben exclaimed.

“Not worth the risk!?” You stood up. “Ben, he’s my brother! Please!” You looked into his bright green eyes with your teary ones. “Please, I- I can’t lose him.”

“Fine,” He sighed. “We find Mindstorm, make him help your brother, then I kill him.”

“Thank you,” You smiled a little.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Curious Sight

What is this?! Two Drabbles?! @spotaus It is more likely than you think.

Mostly because i was REAL impressed you guys managed to keep it equal. like how? Also because i really wanted to do both so here you go! both!

This one is a lot shorter though hihi

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

*--------------------*

Just his luck.

Why did he have to have a favourite pie in a whole other universe?

The Toriel looks very apologetic “I am very sorry. They just sold out very quickly this time. I will have new ones tomorrow morning!”

Blue smiles as he pushes down the disappointment “It is okay! I can always try again later.”

Toriel smiles before motioning towards the other goods she has for sale “Anything else? The cupcakes are amazing today.” she smiles.

Blue shakes his skull “No that is alright. Thank you so much for checking!” he waves and leaves the small bakery.

He sighs as he stands outside.

Damnit.

His luck sucks today. He had hoped he could cheer himself up with some nice pie but it seems like they are out after all. Ugh. Then again, maybe it is his own fault for liking things outside his own universe so much.

Blue looks from side to side. Maybe he can look around a bit? See if there is another bakery. He doubts it because the town, and well this very universe, is very small and he hadn’t seen it when he visited this place with the Stars all that time ago.

But well. He doesn’t really have anything planned today.

He looks left and right and decides to go right for now. He wanders down the street and waves at people along the way.

Okay. So he can’t get the cherry hazelnut pie he wanted. Which is a shame. But he can do something else to cheer him up!

It had just been rough in his underground. Alphys had been very distrusting of the human this time around and it had been exhausting to get her to at least try to get to know them. That is not even the multiverse mess.

At least people don’t demand his help at every turn anymore. Sure he loves helping others but before it got so bad. Back when Dream was still doing the positive guardian thing. People had also demanded help of Blue. And Blue loves to help! But there had been the fear that if he said no it would reflect badly on Dream and Ink.

There is a reason he hardly travelled the multiverse alone before. It was just easier to give himself rest that way.

But now with Dream officially having a new god goal and Ink still being MIA it means people stopped bothering Blue all the time!

Blue tries to ignore the hurt that thinking about Ink brings. He had done so much to help Ink and had thought they had been friends! That Blue meant something to the other! Apparently not. Seeing as Ink hasn’t even shown his face anywhere yet, aside from meetings but Blue doesn’t really count that. They don’t even hang out afterwards. Ink just leaves again.

Blue shakes his skull and keeps walking. It is fine. Ink is also a god and probably busy with god stuff. Reaper was going to talk with Error and Ink about their godhood after all. Ink is probably just busy.

Blue just… he hopes Ink didn’t just… forget him…

Blue shakes his skull and pats his own cheeks twice. Come on Blue! Snap out of it! You got this! No need to dwell on the negatives. Especially if you don’t know what Ink’s reason is! There is no reason to worry or feel sad about things you don’t even know yet!

Blue sighs as he grabs his phone. His phalange hovering over Dream’s icon. No. Dream is dealing with enough. And asking him to track down Ink just so Blue can ask him why he doesn’t want to hang out anymore is just… a lot.

Blue scrolls through his contacts and pauses when he sees Red’s name. Huh. It has been a while since he hang out with Red. Maybe the two of them can go to some motorcross universe and drive a set of bikes around? Just go fast and have fun with a friend? He taps a message and sends it.

Blue grins at his phone as he waits. Oh this is going to be great. Just him and a friend having fun and talking about motorcycles!

A ping and Blue grins before it falls. Red says he can’t at the moment. Bad run going on in his universe and that his brother is very stressed. Apparently the last reset had gone very badly and Red had died and apparently Edge had gotten somekind of memory or dream about it and is hovering a lot more than usual.

Blue sighs but types back that he gets it and if he needs help just to let him know. Red answers with a thumbs up and a thanks.

Blue sighs and just looks up. Huh. He recognises these streets but can’t quite remember where from. Maybe all these areas just look alike? Blue shrugs and looks back at his phone.

Maybe he can ask Sans, or whatever everyone decides to call him. Sans is a bit… strange. No one is quite sure why, Sans least of all. It is just weird how everyone just decided that no nickname really fit him. They tried Comic and Classic. But in the end everyone just ends up referring to him with Sans.

Which is weird as fuck with all of them originally being Sans. Yet Sans is the most Sans.

It is hard to explain.

He finds the number and grins as he is typing a message.

A moment later he answers that he is down to hang out.

Blue grins as he starts typing, not really paying attention to where he is going. He texts his friend about maybe going to Outertale to just hang out at the café. Or even to try and find a new universe.

Sans says he is down and asks if he wants to meet wherever he is now to travel together or to meet at Outertale and search for each other there.

Blue thinks and is about to type for Sans to come to him as he looks up for a reference for Sans to teleport to. Only to freeze.

That is the Cuddly Cat.

More importantly.

That is the back of Killer’s jacket leaving around the side of the building.

Blue doesn’t even answer the text as he runs towards the other road.

He gets there just in time to see the portal melt shut. Blue searches for the right app on his phone and holds it near the slowly fully closing rift. Praying he was fast enough to manage and get there in time.

It takes a moment and the signal the app is picking up disappears. But it is still loading and Blue stares at the program as it slowly slowly loads.

Then it pops up with coordinates to an universe!

Blue stares in shock before seeing another message of Sans appear at the top. He quickly texts him that he is very sorry but that he just spotted the gang out and about.

Sans’s reply is mostly confused. Asking why it matters as Sans thought that was all already solved? So why try and track their movement?

Blue is thorn. Does he share that Dream doesn’t actually know if Nightmare is dead? That Dream is actually looking for Nightmare?

Blue ends up typing that Dream still wants to personally apologise for the gang and Sans says he gets it and just let him know when he got time to hang.

Blue sighs as he opens the right chat window and starts to type. But then removes the message as he tries to type one again.

Over and over as he struggles over what to exactly say before he settles on a message.

“I saw the gang. I know to which universe they went. We got a lead if you want to check it out?”

And he waits.

His phone pings.

“Please.”

Seems like he got plans after all.

*--------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[nekokoaa]

The Agreement - Miguel O'Hara x Therapist!Reader (II)

Summary: It was simple. No kissing. No sex. Hugs and hand-holding only. The goal was to help Miguel feel a little less lonely sometimes. That was your job as one of the therapists at HQ, to mentally stabilize everyone’s mind, including the boss’s.

In other words, you and Miguel make a deal.

Rated Explicit, fluff, smut

3.1K words | (2/5) chapters

Chapters:

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V)

Author's notes: Good news, this fic has been extended to 5 chapters! 6 if I decide to do a chapter in Miguel's POV. We'll see! Also I think some people reached out to me about a tag list! Definitely comment on this post if you want to be added :)

Also on AO3

II.

The first session was the staple of this agreement for a while. To the point where it felt like you were disturbing Miguel when you would appear after his missions. You thought it was when he needed you the most. With the job comes the stress—the anxiety. Every spider-person knew that whether you were one month in or had years on the job. You all knew there was only one person who could protect the people and it was a cesspool of pressure all spider-people were carrying. 

Including Miguel.

So you would visit him after his missions with the intention of closing that cesspool. And every time, he would greet you with that scowl on his face. It would be there from the beginning to the moment you're sliding your hand over his, innocently, gently. A touch he hasn’t felt in God knows how long. A touch he ignored he needed, but never complained about.

In the first few sessions, little was said between you two. Mostly talked about mission statuses and the mental health of the spider-people. Within time, the topics expanded to your universes and your homes. Nueva York being his. New York was yours. And later, by the end of every session, you were discovering layers of Miguel most didn’t know about.

It left you curious to the point where you looked forward to his sessions every week. You tried not to cross any boundaries—but you ended up sharing more about yourself with him than other spider-people. Usually, you were the one listening and advising.

“Cat got your tongue, has it?” It wasn’t the sound of Hobie’s voice that pulled you from your thoughts but the light strum of his guitar, the normally loud instrument’s sound was weakened without an amp. As always, he lounged on your office couch, feet kicked up on the armrest with his guitar on his lap. 

“Not necessarily,” you responded, feeling embarrassed that you had spaced out when he was talking. Noticing, Hobie smirked. He loved it when things seemed awry.

“I seen it all. Little Miss Perfect in her head. Maybe I should be the doc and you’re the patient, yeah?”

“Maybe we should start having these sessions during the day. You do know it’s 1 AM.” Late sessions with Hobie felt more like you were hanging out with a friend. A waste of time but much-needed company.

“So?” Hobie shrugged, a melody was released from the strings. “Night is when the fun happens, mate.”

And Hobie was right. Your sessions with Miguel were always late in the night when most spider-people returned to their universes. Miguel would still be working, red eyes on those orange screens. You would be next to him, close to where you could feel each other’s heat. Sometimes presence was just enough. During these sessions, the clock’s minute hand would move a little too fast. An hour went by like a minute and then you would overstay. You didn’t know what to call those moments after. It was better to not give them a name.

You would leave and return with two coffees. Miguel would thank you, pulling away from his work and then you would chat till the night aged. The night never expired without hearing one of Miguel’s witty but rude comments.

And when you would give him a smile and your hand went on his bicep, it meant you were leaving.

It meant the fun was over.

Yeah, Hobie was definitely right. You were way too much in your head. Even now as the clocks strike 10 PM as you waited for Miguel in his office. Tonight wasn’t a session, but you wanted to check in to see how he was doing. That was normal, right? Checking in? Not like you did it to anyone else but it was still normal in your mind.

It was better than returning to your universe—to your empty white-walled apartment. There were memories buried within that place that you would like to forget.

First came the tremors, and then the tiny hairs on your skin erected. The pen you were holding slipped from your fingers, levitating above you. Gravity no longer existed for small objects and the air became dry but moist at the same time. It was like logic itself was confused as reality was torn open by a yellow portal and who emerged from it was, of course, Miguel fully covered in his spider suit. The sight so familiar, you had thought back to when you were first recruited by the Spider Society. 

Imprisoned by the white walls of your apartment, you felt that same energy shift and that yellow portal appeared in your room like a stain. But to you, it was a hexagonal halo around Miguel who emerged from it, reaching into your universe, saying the words, “doc, we need your help.”

Life was never dull after that.

“Do I look like a blue panther to you?” Miguel approached you with his arms out. You hummed, turning your head sideways as your eyes trace over Miguel’s figure. The yellow portal closed behind him, and soon reality had returned to its natural state. You could feel Miguel getting annoyed the longer it took for you to answer. His hands went on his hips, eyes narrowing.

“Wellll….”

“Ugh, give me a break,” he brushed past you as you laughed. You followed him, grabbing hold of his arm to stop him from walking away.

“I’m kidding! Kidding!”

“ Ha ha ,” he scoffed, shrugging his arm out of your grasp. Like a red laser, his webs shot out from his wrist and he lifted himself onto his floating platform. Even after his missions, he still dived back into work. “Lyla, create a new recruit profile for Gwen Stacy, Spider-Woman from Earth-65.”

“Earth-65?” You webbed yourself after him, peeking from behind his back to look at the orange-screened monitors. “I thought that was one of the universes we’re not recruiting.”

“Jess wanted her to join. She helped us capture Vulture and… I guess she did a pretty good job at it.” Miguel pulled up a hologram of the security camera in the Villains Cell Block. Jess was processing the captured Vulture to send him home in the next line up and next to her was a teenager with blond hair, the ends of it dyed soft pink. You assumed that was Gwen as Miguel zoomed in on her face.

It was rare to impress Miguel so much that he was willing to bend his own rules. Gwen Stacy from 65 was friends with the anomaly. “Cool, then I’ll schedule a session with her. Can’t wait to meet her.”

“What are you even doing here anyway?” Miguel asked, giving you a side-eye glance as he swiped the hologram away. A few more popped up about the last mission he was on and a couple more he had to do in the future. “We did our session this week.”

“Aah,” you had rehearsed your reason several times before arriving in his office and your mind still came up blank. “Just… checking in.”

You could tell he raised his eyebrow behind his mask, “Checking in?”

“Uh yeah, isn’t that normal?” You so wanted to bury yourself underground.

“Then you must have a lot of free time on your hands, doc.” Miguel shook his head, not bothering to inquire more. Not like he had any time to. His mask disintegrated and he shifted his focus to his work. You would’ve left him alone at that point because Miguel didn’t like to be disturbed once he got started until you noticed something off about his face.

“What happened to your lip?” You asked, noticing the dried blotch of blood on the corner of his bottom lip. It even looked a bit swollen.

He let out something like a sigh, a groan, or something in between before speaking quickly. “I don’t know probably happened in the fight or something—Lyla!”

“You should treat it. It could get worse, maybe even infected.” Your fingers grazed his jaw, tilting his head slightly up while tiptoeing to examine the cut. Perhaps, it was because of these sessions that you have gotten so used to touching Miguel. Before, you would’ve earned a warning scratch on your hand by now so something had changed in him as well.

“Infected?” Miguel let out a condescending laugh, his fangs making an appearance. His brown eyes deepened into red as they looked you down. It was almost as if he was mocking you. “Don’t you know who you’re talking to?”

“Does it matter? We’re still human, aren’t we?” It was a question you received so often from your patients that you suddenly found yourself asking that exact same thing. You had yet to find an answer that made sense. Yes, you’re human. No, you’re not. Maybe it was easier to not create a binary answer and to just go with what you believed in. At least that’s what you told your patients when they sat on your office couch. They seemed to have accepted that answer.

Miguel, however, felt different. He turned to face you, his large hand encircling your wrist as he pulled your hand away from his face. He stepped forward with a slight sway, and that was when you realized the size difference between you two. He might as well have been a skyscraper, casting a shadow over your figure and shielding you from the orange glow of the screens. His head was tilted up but his eyes—damn, his eyes barreled down on you, locked on like a sniper scope. It was predatory. And you had never felt so small before in your life. 

“More than,” he answered lowly, releasing your hand from his grip and then he returned to his work.

You stood there, holding your wrist which was hot to the touch as your heart boomed against your ear drums. There was a dull ache in your head and shivers ran up your spine. It could only mean one thing. Your spidey senses were alerted. It happened a couple of times when Miguel would get this way. But he never hurt you. He would never. So why was every fiber of your being telling you to run from him?

You swallowed air, anything to get yourself to calm down. Hesitating, you glanced at Miguel who had buried himself in his work, seeming to have forgotten you were in the room. 

More than human. You had never thought of yourself more superior to the people you were saving. Maybe it was because you used to believe you were the only one with powers in your entire universe. It was easier to think of yourself as an unfortunate freak burdened with the duty of justice. But when you walk the halls of HQ, surrounded by like-minded spider-people in staggering numbers, you could understand Miguel’s point of view. All of you were strong, intellectually smart, and capable of doing extraordinary things that are beyond the capabilities of humans. And then you have Mayday who was born with these abilities. 

You knew the dangers that could come with having a superiority complex. Even then, Miguel was someone you couldn’t exactly leave alone no matter what he thought or how often he pushed you away. It wasn’t something you could explain. Did a moth ever question why it was attracted to the light, beautiful but deadly to its soul? All you knew was that it was better than being alone wandering aimlessly in the dark.

You left and returned with a medkit in your hands. A tap on Miguel’s shoulder earned quiet mumbles from him, claiming he was going insane for being interrupted before he looked at you, brown eyes flicking between the medkit and your face. 

You were as stubborn as he was and he knew you wouldn’t get off his back unless you got what you wanted. So, with a sigh, Miguel followed you off the platform to a large metal block you urged him to sit on.

You opened the medkit, pulling out the items you needed to treat his wound. Miguel stayed quiet. You could feel his eyes on your face, looking over every part of you. It was hard to ignore it considering how piercing his stare could get like he was trying to uncover the deepest parts of your soul.

“God, I feel like I’m always giving in to you,” he spitted out, hissing when you pressed a moist rag to his lip a little too hard.

“Good.”

“Just means you’re always in my way.”

“Still a good thing.”

He rolled his eyes and then they went right back on you. You were so focused on cleaning the blood off his lip that you didn’t notice how close you got to his face.

“You know, puedes sentarte .” You were startled to hear another language in your ear. More or less, you understood him, moving to sit next to him until you felt Miguel’s hand on your hip stopping you mid-motion to guide you on top of his lap. “Better.” 

You let out a less than graceful squeak, cheeks flushing, “O-Okay.” You were taken aback but then you remembered the agreement. As long as there was no kissing, no sex, then this was fine, right?

You continued to tend to Miguel’s cut, ignoring your steadily rising heart rate, but you were also admiring Miguel’s face. His high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and loose curly hair were perfectly combed back. He was definitely a handsome man and he had the most perfect body. You have never seen such wide shoulders in your life.

“You’re like a mother—sort of.”

“What the fuck,” you frowned. It wasn’t something you wanted to hear while sitting on this man’s lap especially when you were internally praising him.

“There was a time when I came home from school with my lip busted after beating up this bully and my mom did what you’re doing.” It was slight but Miguel’s expression softened. He was looking at you but you could tell the warmth in his eyes was from recalling an old memory. It was the first time he brought up his family, and you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You were a troublesome kid, weren’t you?” You joked, placing a small bandage over his cut.

“My dad thought I was too, probably why he busted the other side of my lip after.”

You stiffened, smile immediately dropping. You weren’t foreign to domestic violence stories from your patients back in your universe. It was a sensitive topic, but knowing Miguel, he didn’t want to be coddled about it.

“Sorry,” your fingers brushed the other side of his lip. There was no cut there but you could imagine the pain he went through when his father struck him. “Your dad sounds like an asshole.”

“He was.”

“I… wanted to be one, a mother,” you admitted. “When I got married to Harry, I couldn’t wait to start a family. I wanted a little girl like Mayday, cute with the fattest cheeks. But I only had a 5% chance of conceiving, my doctor told me it was nearly impossible, and when Harry found out… Well, he divorced me. Something about my inability to continue the Osborn family line...”

You spoke without looking at him. You were still ashamed of the reason for your divorce. Harry made it feel like you were a failure of a woman. He was a misogynistic asshole that only viewed women as a means to continue his family line. You wondered what spell he cast on you to make you fall in love with him because looking back, he never seriously cared about you as a person.

It took you a year and a half to recover from the hurt. The white walls of your apartment would remind you of every argument you had with him, of when he berated you, of when he made you feel less than. You spiraled into a hole you never wanted to be in again.

Little Miss Perfect. Gosh, you were far from it.

You noticed Miguel’s hand was stroking your thigh. He looked… sad. He probably understood you the most when it came to wanting a family.

“It’s a canon event for some, you know. A spider-person must go through a breakup… But after, we always find love, right?” You shrugged, smiling softly after.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” It was rare to hear Miguel sound soft, his voice lower than you ever heard it before. His large hand never stopped treading along your thigh to your hips and then back down again. Slow and agonizing, mapping out your shape. You wondered when you got so close to him, both hands resting on his strong shoulders, chests nearly together. You were slowly gravitating towards him—to the heat of his lips. Those red eyes were normally deadly but now it was with something else, flicking between your lips and eyes. Want, desire, and everything in between.

Surely, you didn’t know what to call this moment. It was better to not give it a name. It was better to just give in because it’s been so so long since you’ve been touched. Didn’t you deserve it? Didn’t he? The hand upon your thigh felt hot, you could feel it through your spidey suit. How glorious would it be if it was upon your bare skin?

Your head was too noisy. Your morals screaming. No kissing! No sex! He’s your patient! Any excuse you thought of appeared, making you resist.

It was too much. You lowered your head before Miguel could lean in any further. His lips were so close that his hot breath was brushing your cheek in waves. You couldn’t bear it so you slightly pushed against his chest to create some space. “I… have to go.”

You managed to say, moving to stand but you felt resistance from his hand on your hip as it held you in place. You and Miguel shared a look. For once, he wanted you to stay.

But you weren’t going to be held back by that look in his eyes.

“Good night, Miguel…” With a flick of your wrist, a string of webs shot out towards the ceiling and you quickly slipped yourself out of Miguel’s hold and out of his office. 

Miguel remained still for a moment, almost like he was frozen in time. But once it settled with him that you left, his hand that was on your hip closed so tight into a fist, it began to tremble. A heavy sigh passed through his lips while his other hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose. He just needed a moment. 

Just a moment to realize not everything he holds in his arms disappears from his life for good.

Within time, he spoke.

“Lyla.”

Lyla generated next to him, floating by his head. “Yeah, Miguel?”

“Did you finish creating the profile?”

“One, you didn’t say please. Two, I didn’t want to interrupt,” grinned Lyla.

Miguel groaned until his back met with metal and draped an arm over his eyes. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes?”

“When are you ever?” Lyla was expecting Miguel’s usual quips to her antics, but when she received nothing but silence from him, she frowned and gave in to his request. “Fiiiine, profile was done ages ago but I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Next Chapter

[insomniamamma]

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

 A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars.  “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide--  “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“    A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

  Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only.   And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you.   What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further.   And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside.   “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide,   “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.”  “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder,  gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain.  “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it.  “But the deposit—“  “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?”  “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents.  “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

 

 “That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor.  “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“  “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.”  “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though.  Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“  “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles.  “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not  broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand.  “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them.  “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.”  “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.”  “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“  “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?”  Ezra dimples at you.   “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“  “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her.   “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust.  “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone.  “Your daughter’s really something.”  “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm.  “This the orientation you want?”  “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“  “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“  “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft.  “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.  We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.” 

 Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says.  Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either.  “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.”  “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?”  “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil.  “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?”  “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”  “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“  “I’ve got a  room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.”  “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.”   “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.”  “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.”   “I’m not scared.”  “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“  “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple.   “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly.   “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.”  So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone.  “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours.   ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever.   “The fireweed—“  “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.”  “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.”  “Yeah? What do you think?”  “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.”  “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

 It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm.  “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’   “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.”  “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws.  “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?”  “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all.  “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.”  “Well you know what they say about assuming—“  “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so.  “What’s your favorite?”  “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape.  “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot.  “Ankylosaurus.” he says.  “Really?”  “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell.   “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down.  “You okay, darlin?”   “Stood up too fast.”   “Apple or orange?”  “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice.  “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same.  Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.”  “I thought I’d be okay-“  “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet,   “That’s Laika,” you say.  “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was.  “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile.  “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

 The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain.  “So what got you here?” asks Ezra.  “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“  “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful.  “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown.  “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away.  “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“  “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“  “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough.   “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.”  “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms.  “Cicadas?”  “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.”  “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say.  “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

 “The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase.  “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.”  “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“  “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples.  “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,”  “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

[bloatedandalone04]

➪the one where ethan mistook your kindness for love. (requested)

Warnings: death, angst, obsessive ethan, lowkey yandere ethan, takes place mostly in the climax of scream vi, blood, mentions of blood, mentions of death, use of knives, all around fun stuff (clearly)

Word Count: 1.9k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

Ethan’s crush on you wasn’t as well hidden as he probably thought it was. 

Every single person in the friend group knew about his feelings for you as he did a really bad job at hiding it. You were the only exception as it seemed as though you had no clue of the poor boy’s infatuation with you. 

There was rarely a time where Ethan wasn’t around you, and unluckily for him - or luckily for him, who really knows - your friendships had always consisted of touch. Hand holding, hugs, kisses on the cheek; they were all things you normally did with your friends. And they were things you currently do with Ethan, platonically. You were oblivious to how seriously he took your displays of affection. 

To him, it went beyond you just being friendly. You had to be into him, right? There was no way you weren’t, no way your lingering touches meant nothing to you when they meant everything to him. There was just no way.

But it was true. Ethan was a good friend, and that was all you saw him as. 

Since Anika and Quinn had been killed in the Carpenter apartment, it was no longer your safe space. Instead, you found yourself sitting quietly on the couch in Chad and Ethan’s place. 

Your leg was bouncing uncontrollably as Tara, Sam, Mindy and Chad talked amongst themselves in the kitchen. Ethan was beside his roommate, pretending like he was listening to the endless conversation, but he was really just looking over at you. The way your body curled up by the edge of the couch, your knees pressed to your chest as you stared at the TV screen, eyes tired and scared. 

You were just so cute. 

Ethan nudges Chad’s elbow with his own before leaving the kitchen, and a rather boring conversation, and making his way to you. “Hey, Y/n/n,” he says, his heart skipping a beat at the way you looked up at him and gave him a small smile, murmuring a quiet ‘hi’ back to him. “How are you holding up?”

You shrug, keeping your arms locked around your legs as he sits next to you, leaving less than a couple inches between you. “I’m fine,” your voice came out shaky and told him just how full of fear you were. He just wanted to pull you into his arms and assure you that there was no way in hell any harm would be done to you. Not if he had a say in it. “I just can’t believe this is happening again.”

You were one of the many survivors of the Woodsboro murders, Sam having protected you last time as she considered you her second sister. Growing up, you and Tara were really close, and by default, you were also close with Sam. She took care of you when your parents didn’t, looked after you when she had better things to do, and even took a stab to the shoulder a few days ago when she saw that the knife was heading straight for you.

When you heard that they were leaving for New York you were devastated. That only lasted about an hour or so until Sam asked you to go with them, and now here you are. 

“You know what’s awful?” You ask and look over at Ethan, not noticing that he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. “I almost wish I died last time. I can’t keep living in fear, Eth. It’s not right.”

Tears gathered in your eyes and you quickly looked away. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why I told you that,” you mumbled, bringing your sleeve covered hand up to wipe under your eyes.

“Hey, come here,” he said quietly and you glanced over at him before allowing him to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You bury yourself in his side as you try to keep your tears from spilling onto his dark shirt. “Don’t be sorry. You’re just scared and you have every right to be. It might not mean much, but I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You lift your head and give him a sad smile. “You can’t make those kind of promises, Eth,”

His heart swells at how cute his nickname sounded when you said it. “I just did,” he answered simply. 

Scoffing playfully, you sit up a bit and wrap your arms around his shoulders, embracing him in a grateful hug. “Thanks for being so awesome,” you say quietly, your chin resting against his neck.

Ethan felt like he was dreaming when he allowed himself the pleasure of returning the embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and pulling you even closer. 

-

 Your heart felt like it was failing you as you slammed your elbow down onto one of the display cases. Ignoring the pain that shot up your arm, you reached into the case and grabbed Charlie’s knife, ready to drive it into one of the Ghostface’s backs once they turned around to attack Tara. 

The feeling of cool metal was placed against the back of your head, making your heart stop. “I wouldn’t do that, sweetheart,” you hear the voice of Detective Bailey, who you had just recently found out was working with the killers. 

The Ghostface you were just about to stab turned around to see what he was talking about. “Jesus, dad, don’t!” The voice of Ghostface morphed into the one of Ethan as he pulled the mask off his head. Your heart fell to the floor as you stared at him, wide eyed. “Please, leave her out of this.”

“She was going to stab you, son,” Bailey said as he pushed you forward. 

You caught yourself, unwillingly grabbing hold of Ethan’s arms as he reached out to steady you. “Son?” You seethe, pushing yourself away from him. “You’re his fucking son?”

Ethan stepped towards you, holding his hands out in surrender. “Please, Y/n/n,” he said desperately. “You have to understand. You weren’t supposed to find out like this. I was going to tell you once everything was over and you and I were finally together, like we’re supposed to be.”

Your eyes widen and a scoff of disbelief leaves your lips. “Together? You and me?” You ask, watching as his brows furrowed. “You’re fucking crazy. I’d never be with you, not even before I found out you’re the fucking killer.”

His eyes darken at your words. “We’re meant to be together, Y/n,” he dared to step closer to you and your heart skipped a beat at the fact that you had nowhere to run. Ethan was in front of you while his dad was behind you, effectively blocking any exit. “You’ll see.”

Sam called out to you from her place on the balcony, Tara right beside her as they looked down at you. She pointed towards the ladder that was behind Ethan and you quickly formed a plan in your head.

Ethan stepped closer to you, his hand outstretched to you. “Let me finish this, then we’ll go from there,” his hand wrapped around your wrist, his other one coming over to take the knife from you. 

You let him and even move a step or two towards him, your hand hesitantly raising. Once it was placed on his shoulder, and his guard was let down for half a second, you gave him a harsh shove. Since his hand was still wrapped around your wrist, when he fell back you ended up falling on top of him.

His hands grip your waist, a devious smirk on his lips. “I’ve always wanted to see you in this position,” 

You let out a noise of disgust as you grab the knife that had been knocked out of his hand and drive it into his shoulder. “In your dreams,” 

When the knife pierced through his skin and his cry of pain sounded throughout the room, you got off him and sprinted towards the ladder, barely missing the shots fired by Bailey as you did so. On your way over, you grabbed Kirby’s gun and tucked it away in the back of your pants as you climbed. 

As you began making your way towards the sisters, Ethan sat up and pulled the knife from his shoulder with a loud grunt. “I told you to leave her out of this,” he muttered to his dad, relieved that he had failed to hit you with any of the bullets. You were just confused right now, and this was just something he’d have to help you move past once everyone was dead and the two of you got the hell out of this city.

“Christ, Ethan,” Bailey shook his head, pocketing the gun and reaching his hand out to help his son stand up. “You wait down here while I go find the stairs with Quinn.”

Ethan nodded, watching as his father and sister fled the room. He looked up just as you lost your footing. He was beneath the railing within seconds as you held onto Sam’s hand for dear life, a cry of fear leaving you once you felt your grip loosen. “It’s okay, baby,” Ethan called up to you, only adding fuel to the fire of fear building within you. “Come back down to me. We can leave now and let my family do the rest. It’s okay.”

“Fuck,” Sam muttered as she tried to readjust her hold on you. “Fuck, you’re slipping, Tara help.”

Tara reached around her sister and also held onto you, but you knew it was a poor attempt as her hands were also covered in blood. “Oh, God,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as you silently pleaded to anyone who was listening for this to just be a dream. 

“Let go, Y/n,” Ethan said from under you, dropping his knife in a way of showing you that he wouldn’t hurt you. “You never have to be scared ever again. It can all be over. I love you, please, come to me.”

You open your eyes and look down at him. “You love me?” You ask just as Bailey and Quinn make it up the stairs. You knew Tara and Sam needed to be able to protect themselves, and they couldn’t do that when they were holding onto you. Another plan quickly formed in your head.

“I do,” Ethan answers you. “I love you so much. I know you love me, too.”

You look away and at the knife that Tara was holding in her free hand. As discreetly as you could, you grab the gun from its place in your pocket and shove it into one of Sam’s hands, taking the knife from the younger sister afterwards. “Ethan,” you called down to him, masking your voice to sound more desperate. “Help me, please.”

He opened his arms as he stared up at you. “Let go, baby,” he said and you gave Sam a sad smile as she finally realised what you were doing. “I got you.”

You let your hand slip from hers and watch as she immediately turned and pointed the gun at Quinn. Clutching the knife tightly as you fell, you take a second to ready yourself for what you were about to do. As Ethan’s arms caught you, you both fell to your knees, a look of shock forming his face when he felt the knife pierce right through his heart. 

“I could never love a monster like you,” you mutter, pulling the knife out and pushing his body backwards, watching as he fell onto his back, his hand slipping from yours in the process.