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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

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it will come back [pt. 1] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 2] [Part 3]

A/N: Low budget yandere for my greasy king. This concept has definitely been done before, but I couldn’t resist. This is my first non-smut on this acct and I’ll be so sad if it bombs 😭

Title from the Hozier song: “don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: light yandere, minor injury, angst, Shiggy likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep. [In later parts but not in this one: violence, sex, more yandere, 18+]

You’ve always had a soft spot for strays. Maybe that’s why you became an ER nurse—from the first abandoned puppy you brought home as a kid to the patients you refuse to give up on even when it looks hopeless, you’ve never been able to turn a blind eye when something needs your help. Sometimes (times like this) you wish you knew better. It’s hard enough to take care of yourself these days.

Today’s shift was…what, 16 hours? 17? The 20-minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment building feels like it takes twice that long in the rain. God, you need a shower. And a decent night’s sleep, preferably for at least 12 hours. Tomorrow’s your day off, and you’re ready to take advantage of it the best way you know how: Netflix, soju, and your favorite vibrator. But tonight? As soon as you’re clean, you’re going to pig out on leftovers and collapse into the bed that’s the only halfway nice piece of furniture in your shithole apartment. You really do deserve a break; you’ve earned it.

Unfortunately, as usual, the universe has other plans.

You hear him before you see him: wheezing, choked breaths, like someone’s trying to breathe with an anvil on their chest. You’re not quite out of nurse mode so your mind starts trying to diagnose the issue before you even register what you’re hearing. Fluid in the lungs, possibly blood. That hacking isn’t good. Broken ribs? Definitely bruised. But probably not a puncture…

The breathing is coming from down an alley next to your building. It’s dark enough that you can’t see from the street what’s making the noise. And you’re not a fool, you know it’s a bad idea to walk down pitch-black alleys late at night, especially in this area—a neighborhood you’re living in by necessity, because it’s the only place cheap enough for you to get by. But the coughing…it just sounds so awful. It sounds like it hurts.

Your phone’s already in your hand with 119 dialed and ready to call (standard practice when you’re walking home by yourself), but you turn the flashlight on and shine it down the alleyway. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Nothing responds, but you can still hear the breathing. You step in a little deeper, swinging your light from side to side and looking over the heaps of trash bags overflowing from the dumpster. The raindrops make clicking sounds as they hit the plastic, and you can hear gurgling from a rain spout down the side of the building, but the wheezing doesn’t stop.

One more step. And then one more. You wish there was something you could do to make the splash of your rain boots in the puddles a little less loud. Something about this situation—the rain, the dark, the flat grey light from your cellphone, and that horrible hacking breath—it makes you feel like you’re walking into a horror movie. But you don’t stop walking.

The hacking is coming from a man propped up on the wall between a few XL bags of trash. The black outfit he’s wearing almost blends into the bags, but a mop of grey-blue hair gives him away. His head is slumped onto his chest, and if he’s conscious he doesn’t show it. “Hello?” you ask again, even less confident that you’re going to get a response.

No answer.

The smell of garbage is…ugh…hard to ignore, but on top of it is an oppressive stench of copper coming from the man passed out in the trash. You kneel down to get a better look and yep, he’s covered in blood. It’s hard to make out in the low light, but there’s a trio of long gashes in the man’s abdomen, cutting apart the skin and flesh so deep you can see traces of a slim layer of yellow fat between all the inky clotted blood. It looks like he was attacked by an animal. Or someone with an animal quirk. There are a lot of villains in this neighborhood.

And the coughing...definitely internal injuries. Whoever this guy is, he needs treatment. You hold up your phone to hit the call button on your pre-dialed 119—

“Don’t.” The voice is a growl, low and surprisingly firm despite the scratchiness. You jerk back and clutch your phone to your chest, caught off guard not just by the interruption but by the intensity of the face glaring up at yours.

His eyes are red. “You need an ambulance,” you tell him in your calmest nurse voice.

“If you try to call the police, I’ll—kill you,” the man says, but the threat is a little less threatening when he has to stop in the middle to retch blood onto his own chin.

You glare back at him but don’t call the emergency number. There are a lot of of reasons why he wouldn’t want to go to the hospital, but the most obvious one is probably true. “You’re a criminal. A villain?”

He doesn’t respond, choosing instead to keep glaring at you like you’ve committed some mortal sin against his ancestors by having the nerve to check on him and try to help him. Somehow it pisses you off. When you were getting your ADN, you once took a temp job doing health screenings at a local middle school and you would always get so annoyed at the kids. Didn’t they see you were just doing your job? Why is it so hard to understand that what you’re doing is for their own good?

Stupid kids. Stupid villain. “You’d rather bleed out and die?”

The man bares his teeth at you, and it’s a pretty disturbing scene considering how they’re covered in scarlet. “You think they’re going to save me? Think I’ll go to the hospital and get all my HP restored?”

He’s mocking you now. You only have a second to move out of the way before he spits off to the side. “I mean…that’s how a hospital works.”

“If you think I would—make it out of that ambulance alive, you’re—dumber than you look.” His voice is interspersed with coughs.

“Well, you’re not going to live if I leave you here.” You hold up your phone, ready to call the ambulance, but in a shocking display of agility the man lunges forward and grabs it out of your hand. “Hey, wait! Give that…back…”

Your voice trails off as your phone crumbles—literally crumbles to dust in the man’s fingers. Once he’s satisfied that there’s no way for you to call the cops, he slumps back onto the trash bags and closes his eyes, apparently exhausted from the effort.

Goddamnit…! For a second, you can only stare blankly at the pile of dust that used to be your $300 smartphone. And then you’re seized by something, maybe not hatred but an annoyance so strong you can feel it in your throat, and you decide right then and there that this villain is not going to die. You’re going to save him. Out of spite.

You’re not sure how you manage to half-carry him from the alley to your apartment, but you do. You’re lucky it’s ass-o-clock at night and no one’s in the lobby or the elevator, or you’d definitely be getting some looks trying to lug a maimed body around. What would you say if someone did call the cops? Don’t worry, don’t worry about it officer, it’s just my friend drank a little too much, oh those wounds? We were at a costume party, haha…

But no one sees you, and no one calls the cops. The man is unconscious the whole time you’re carrying him, and by the time you have him laid out on a shower curtain on your living room floor his breathing is a little bit shallower than it was before. You’ve got your tools—nothing fancy, just some gauze and closures and antiseptic from your personal first aid kit. It’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

“Let’s get to work, asshole,” you tell the unconscious body in front of you, and you crack your knuckles.

///

The day after you pick the villain out of the garbage, your body decides that it’s not going to let you sleep in no matter how much you need it. You can tell because the huge windows in your bedroom—the only saving grace of this apartment, honestly—are depositing golden-pink sunrise light over everything you see when you open your eyes, including the villain’s face. Which is about six inches away from yours.

“You smell like death,” you tell him sleepily. He doesn’t move.

He’s…probably in his early twenties, you think, but it’s hard to tell because of all the wrinkles. His hair is on the longer side, and it’s striped with rusty brown smears from his blood. Again, you notice how red his irises are. Have you ever seen someone with eyes that color before? You’re pretty sure you haven’t.

“You slept for a long time,” the villain says, finally moving back so he’s not breathing into your mouth.

“Yeah, I was tired. From saving your life.” You sit up and rub your temples. “I’m thirsty…”

Before you can finish your complaint, the villain is holding a glass of water out to you in an awkward 4-fingered grip.

“Um, thanks, I guess.” You suck down the water and immediately feel better, enough that you realize how wrong it is that he’s up and moving around and probably undoing all your hard work. “You should be lying down.”

“The floor hurt, and I was bored.”

“Lie on the couch then. You can watch TV. But first—“ He’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to you, and you make him lie down flat so you can look at the injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as they looked last night—no walk in the park, but at least you won’t have a corpse in your apartment in a few hours.

When you’re done inspecting him, he sits up and asks you for a shirt. You had to cut his off, not that it was any great loss. The thing was shredded. Him pointing it out is the only thing that makes you really realize he’s shirtless, so you give him an oversized pajama shirt of yours. It has the name and motto of your old high school on it, and the villain reads it out in a half-mocking tone when you hand it to him.

“Beggars shouldn’t be choosers,” you snap. “You should be grateful.”

“I am grateful,” he says, putting the shirt on. “But I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you need a shirt, right? It’s cold—“

“No. Not that.” He’s staring at you again, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact. “Why you didn’t leave me where you found me last night.”

There’s a lot you could tell him, all of it a little bit true. You were curious. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t make it out of the hospital alive. You couldn’t leave him alone the same way you can’t leave abandoned puppies alone. You wanted to prove to him that you were right, and that being stubborn wouldn’t get him what he wanted. But you don’t say that. “You killed my phone, so you owe me a new one. And I can’t get that back if you bleed out.”

He’s looking at you like he doesn’t believe you, and you fidget under his gaze until he sighs and says, “Whatever.”

You have to let him lean on your shoulder when he walks back to the living room to lie down on your couch. How the hell did he even get to your bedroom by himself? You really didn’t think this through—what are you supposed to do with an infirm possible villain who can barely walk unsupported without opening his injuries back up?

But that’s a problem for tomorrow you to deal with. Today, you’re content to set your laptop up on the coffee table so the two of you can watch TV in…oddly companionable (if you’re not imagining it) silence. It’s almost the lazy day off you were daydreaming about before you got yourself into this mess, and the atmosphere is so relaxed that before you can really decide whether to force the man to go to the hospital or turn him out on the street (or…?) you’re dozing off on your couch like there isn’t a potentially dangerous stranger lying beside you with his head just a few inches from your lap.

When you wake up, your problem is solved for you. He’s gone, and it’s like he was never there—except you’re down a cellphone and a pajama shirt, and your shower curtain is drenched with blood. You wrap it up with the rest of the soiled medical supplies and toss all of it in a dumpster a mile away from your building without knowing exactly why.

///

It’s not the last you see of him, but somehow you had a feeling that was going to be the case.

He scares the shit out of you the first time he visits (over time, that’s how you’ll start to think of his little unannounced drop-ins: visits. Like you’re being visited by a ghost or something). You’re coming back from another grueling shift in the ER, so tired you think you might be sleepwalking, and what do you find when you come in your apartment but a strange white-haired man sitting on your couch eating dry cereal out of the box and flipping through one of your books?

You nearly piss yourself.

He doesn’t seem surprised, which makes sense, considering he’s a villain and he’s probably used to pulling this dramatic entrance thing on people. He certainly doesn’t seem the least bit threatened when you brandish the mini canister of pepper spray on your keychain and demand that he tell you how he got in if he wants to retain the power of eyesight.

“It was unlocked,” he says.

“It was not unlocked,” you reply, rolling your eyes. You may be sleep deprived, but you’re not careless. Never careless.

“Whatever. Calm down. You’re not going to use that on me.”

He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. If he wanted to do something to hurt you, he could’ve done it that first night. And you’re too tired to really put up a fight, so you just put the cap back on the pepper spray and flop down next to him on the couch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He looks at you curiously from between his shaggy bangs, like you’re the one intruding in his home and not the other way around, then reaches out to hand something to you. “Here, payback.”

It’s a cell phone—not a smartphone like the one he destroyed, but a flip phone circa the 2000s, the kind that forces you to press “9” four times to get the letter “F”. You stare at it for a second, then look back at the villain. “Are you kidding? Did you get this from a museum?”

“Take it or leave it.” His feet are propped up on your coffee table, but you can’t make yourself care. Actually, it looks nice…him stretched out with an odd look of comfort on his lanky form.

You lean back on the couch and kick up your feet next to his. “Fine. Thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs.

“How are your wounds healing?” Why are you trying to make conversation with this guy? He’s…a villain, right? Not that you’ve ever received affirmative confirmation of that fact, but the hesitance to call the police and the breaking and entering are pretty good tells. But…it might be weird, but since you picked him up that day, you’ve felt a kind of kinship with him.

Alone. Abandoned. No place to go. No one to save him. It’s not a pretty comparison, but you can’t deny it rings true.

Maybe that’s why you pick up strays.

“They’re fine,” he tells you after so long a pause that you’ve almost forgotten your question. “Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

You take a long look at him, at his posture—he’s relaxed, but his abdomen is crunched a little bit, curled in on himself so subtly that even you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t looking. It’s not your problem. He’s an adult, and you’re sure he could be seeking real medical attention if he really needed it. You’re in no way obligated to perform some kind of checkup on this arrogant dick who literally broke into your apartment to give you a shitty phone and eat your cereal. The sensible thing to do is to tell him to forget that you live here and hopefully never see him again.

His head tips back to rest on the top of the couch, and he holds your book up to read. At this angle his long hair is out of the way of his face, and you notice among the deep-set creases in his skin a pair of wide scars across his right eye and on the corner of his lips. They’re pale and faded—old, then—but they look off to you, and after a while of snatching glances at his face you realize it’s because they’re healed badly, extraordinarily badly, the kind of healing that you don’t see very often because it only occurs when a stubborn patient tries to let a particularly nasty injury heal on its own. The part of you that isn’t sensible wonders how old he was when he got those scars.

Has he learned his lesson?

You doubt it.

“Lie down,” you sigh. “Let me see the cuts.”

Which is how you find yourself examining this annoying villain again, checking on his injuries and giving him recommendations for care like you’re his personal nurse or something. It’s not a role you enjoy playing, but at least he takes it without complaint, and you start to wonder if maybe this is why he broke into your apartment in the first place. If anything, he looks calmer when you’ve flipped up his shirt and prodded at his wounds, his eyes closing slowly and freeing you of that scarlet-red gaze.

He’s like a cat, you think, and then you shake your head and remind yourself that it’s a terrible idea to think of this man—this grown man who is probably a great danger to you and others—as a wild animal you’re trying to domesticate.

When he finally leaves (only after you drop a couple dozen unsubtle hints about how long you’ve been at work and how exhausted you are), you take a moment before you sink into bed to look at the flip phone. It’s no nicer than your original impression, but as you scroll through the screens you notice that it’s factory-new, except for one thing: there’s a contact programmed in, a phone number with an area code you don’t recognize listed under “T”. And you don’t want to be curious…

…but you are. Shocking.

Down the rabbit hole it is, you decide. So you text him.

///

[You: 12:03 AM] > Hey it’s (Y/N) > (the girl whose apartment you broke into) > What does T stand for? [T: 12:07 AM] > What do u think [You: 12:09 AM] > ?? [T: 12:09 AM] > My name > Dont you know who i am [You: 12:10 AM] > Are you famous? [T: 12:10 AM] > You dont watch the news do u [You: 12:11 AM] > Not really > What’s your name then [T: 12:12 AM] > … > Didnt u say u had to sleep [You: 12:15 AM] > Oh yeah > Whatever I guess > Good night

[T: 2:34 AM] > Its Tomura > Dont look it up

[You: 8:02 AM] > Ok > I won’t > Tomura

➠ [Part 2]

#Shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura #yandere bnha #yandere shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha imagines #feeling real shy posting this 👉👈#bnha #yandere shigaraki tomura #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #my hero academia #mha imagines #my hero academia imagines #shigaraki tomura/reader #yandere shigaraki tomura/reader #yandere

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bibbawrites · 4 years ago

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Underwater Memories - Single Dad!Charlie x Owen

THIS IS PART 3 OF THE SINGLE DAD!CHARLIE SERIES YOU CAN READ PART 1 HERE AND THE PREQUEL (PART 2) HERE

Request: not technically but i had a few comments for more chowen

Word Count: 1955 words

Summary: charlie, owen and margaux spend the day at the aquarium and charlie realises some important feelings

Warnings: romantic chowen- if you do not feel comfortable please do not read

A/N: you guys asked for more chowen in this series so here you go, i tried to do it in a way where i guess you could still see them as platonic if you feel more comfortable (not that it really worked, its pretty obvious that charlie has feelings for owen in this lol) but if you do want them to be more romantic then here’s your slowish burn haha also please don’t hate on me for posting this this is a FICTIONAL STORY, please remember that!

Tag List: @happinessinthedarkesttimes @littlemissaddict @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @headheartbellarke @lovesanimals @bartok-the-magnificent @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1 @katrina765 @fandomxreaders

Charlie gripped onto Owen’s hand tightly as they made their way across the car park to the entrance of the aquarium, Margaux held safely in his arms. He had taken Owen’s hand at first, claiming that it was so they wouldn’t lose each other, but they both knew that was a lie, the car park was almost empty.

Margaux had been begging to visit the aquarium ever since the three of them had watched Finding Dory together on a rainy Saturday afternoon, and Charlie was never one to be able to refuse his daughter.

So now, on their first full day off from filming, Charlie had found the nearest aquarium and had packed Margaux and Owen into the car for a family bonding day.

As they walked Margaux chattered away about what she wanted to see at the aquarium, and neither Owen nor Charlie had the heart to tell her she probably wouldn’t find a whale in the middle of Vancouver. Instead they just let her excitedly dream about what she might find in the large white building.

Reaching the entrance to the aquarium Margaux squirmed in Charlie’s arms.

“Walk Daddy?” She asked, and Charlie placed her down, taking her hand instead.

“Hi there, do you have a booking?” The girl behind the front desk asked, a smile on her face.

“Yeah we do, under Charlie Gillespie.” Charlie responded. The girl began to type before nodding.

“Awesome, here are your wristbands.” She held out the three bands, which Owen took since he had a spare hand. The girl smiled at them.

“Have a lovely day.” She told them, and both Charlie and Owen returned her smile.

“We will, thank you.” Charlie replied.

They stepped off to the side so that they could put their wristbands on, Charlie smiling to himself when Owen linked their fingers again after Charlie had finished putting Margaux’s wristband around her tiny wrist.

“You ready Maggie?” Owen asked as the three of them entered the first room of the aquarium.

“Yeah!” Margaux grinned up at them. She tugged her hand out of Charlie’s rushing over to the nearest tank with a large smile on her face.

“Look at this one Daddy.” She called, and Charlie pulled Owen along with him as he made his way to Margaux’s side.

“Do you know what that one is?” He asked, looking into the tank. Margaux looked up at him, eyes full of curiosity.

“No.” She replied. Charlie smiled.

“It’s called a stingray.” He told her. Her eyes widened in excitement.

“Hi stingray!” Margaux smiled, leaning closer to the tank. She giggled, looking up at her dad and Owen.

“He’s pretty.” She said.

“He is.” Owen agreed, staring at Charlie, and Charlie felt his heart skip a beat, his mind racing. He opened his mouth to reply, but Margaux was already tugging them towards the next tank.

He’d figure out Owen later, for now he was ready to watch the excitement on the face of his baby girl.

“Papa look at that penguin.” Margaux tugged on Owen’s hoodie, her other hand pointing towards a penguin who was swimming in front of her. Charlie’s heart filled with warmth at the name she had for Owen. It was a new adjustment, her dropping Owen’s name and just calling him Papa instead of Papa Owen, but it was one that both Owen and Charlie loved.

Charlie watched the two of them with a smile, Owen kneeling down next to Margaux and the three year old leaning against him. He was so glad that Owen had been so accepting of Margaux, there had been a part of Charlie that had figured that Owen wouldn’t want anything to do with the toddler. He was only 20 after all, and Charlie wouldn’t have blamed him one bit if he had preferred to do normal 20 year old things, but no, Owen had adopted the role of babysitter, and then eventually another parent to Margaux easily.

Charlie’s heart swelled with an unfamiliar feeling as he moved closer, his hand resting on Owen’s shoulder automatically. He had begun to notice this feeling around Owen quite a lot recently, but he was yet to figure out exactly what it was.

“Char?” Owen’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he glanced down, finding both Owen and Margaux staring up at him with expectant eyes. Charlie’s eyes lingered on Owen for a moment, the sight of the blond boy on his knees in front of Charlie bringing less than appropriate thoughts into his mind. He swallowed quickly, his eyes focusing on Margaux.

“Sorry wasn’t listening, what’s up?” He asked.

“Can we go to the tunnel?” Margaux said, looking up at her father with pleading eyes.

The tunnel was an area of the aquarium where you could walk underneath a large glass tunnel and watch fish, sharks and more swimming above you and around you, like you were inside the water with them. Margaux had been desperate to go in since they had arrived.

“Yeah of course we can.” Charlie replied and Margaux squealed with excitement. The family of three headed back upstairs to the entrance of the tunnel, Margaux leading the way happily.

“You okay? You seem distracted.” Owen asked softly, linking his hand with Charlie’s again. A brief thought flicked through Charlie’s mind that they had been holding hands for longer than they hadn’t been that day.

“Just got a lot going on in my head.” Charlie replied. Owen gave him a sympathetic look.

“Wanna talk about it?” He said, and Charlie hesitated. How could he explain to Owen that all of the thoughts in his head were about him? How could he explain the weird feeling in his heart and stomach whenever the blond boy was around?

“Later.” He told Owen, mostly so that Owen wouldn’t ask any more questions. Owen gave his hand a light squeeze as they entered through the gates of the tunnel.

“Okay.” Owen whispered, before turning his attention back to Margaux. Charlie did the same, smiling down at his daughter who was looking up in awe.

“Woah, look, shark!” Margaux grinned, pointing to the large shark swimming above them.

“What’s the name of the shark in Finding Nemo?” Owen muttered quietly, leaning towards Charlie. Charlie chuckled quietly.

“Bruce.” He whispered back.

“It’s Bruce.” Owen said in a normal volume. Margaux looked up at him.

“No Papa, it’s Daddy Shark.” Margaux shook her head at Owen, an unimpressed look covering her face, and Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at the sass that was radiating from her response.

“They might be the same shark, you don’t know that.” Owen fired back. Margaux squinted at him.

“No.” She stated. Owen raised an eyebrow.

“No?” He repeated. Margaux nodded, turning back to the sharks.

“You’re silly.” She stated and Owen’s jaw dropped. He turned to Charlie, pouting.

“Char! Your kid is sassing me.” He whined. Charlie laughed, ruffling Margaux’s curls. Margaux grinned cheekily.

“So I hear.” He replied. “And she won.”

“Daddy, carry me?” Margaux asked, and Charlie obeyed quickly, lifting her into his arms. She smiled, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Love you.” She whispered. Charlie’s heart almost exploded.

“I love you too baby.” He replied. “More than anything.”

Once they were finished in the tunnel, Margaux had started to snuggle into Charlie’s arms, her head on his shoulder, a telling sign that the three year old was getting tired.

“You tired baby?” Charlie asked softly as they headed up the stairs to the ground floor of the aquarium. Margaux nodded.

“Yeah.” She replied.

“Time to go home?” Charlie said, mostly directing his question to Owen, who was walking along beside him, still gripping onto Charlie’s hand.

“Looks like it.” Owen agreed. They headed through the building, arriving at the small gift store at the exit.

“Do you want a present?” Charlie rested his head on Margaux’s. The three year old eyed the stuffed toys across the store sleepily.

“Yes please Daddy.” Margaux smiled softly at him. Owen let go of his hand, motioning towards a display of aquarium branded hats and Charlie rolled his eyes slightly but nodded to let Owen know he understood. Owen headed off and Charlie walked over to the wall of stuffed toys.

“Which one?” He asked, and Margaux sat up in his arms, scanning the toys. Her eyes landed on a small, white polar bear and she reached out for it. Charlie grabbed it off the shelf and handed it to her.

“This one?” He questioned. Margaux just hummed in response, already snuggling back into his arms, the polar bear clutched to her chest. Charlie’s heart swelled as he made his way over to Owen, and they checked out quickly before leaving and heading home for a well deserved nap.

Later that evening, after dinner, a bath and some play time, Charlie was tucking Margaux into her bed, the three year old exhausted from the day. He picked up the stuffed bear that they had bought at the aquarium, holding it out to the toddler.

“Here’s your polar bear.” He said. She took it happily.

“His name is Fishy.” She said, and Charlie held back a laugh.

“Fishy?” He questioned, sitting on the edge of the bed. Margaux nodded.

“Uh-huh. Cause he likes eating them.” She explained. Charlie made a face of understanding.

“So we should call you nuggets and pizza then?” He teased.

“No!” Margaux giggled.

“What about macaroni?” He suggested. Margaux squealed with laughter.

“No, I’m Margaux.” She said through laughs. Charlie’s heart was filled with love hearing her laughter. It really was the most incredible sound he’d ever heard.

“Oh, well that’s a better name than nuggets pizza macaroni.” Charlie grinned. Margaux giggled.

“Silly Daddy.” She said. Charlie laughed at the three year old.

He lent down, kissing the top of her head gently.

“Okay, time for sleep baby girl.” He told her. Margaux pouted slightly.

“Stay?” She asked, snuggling down into her bed, Fishy the polar bear held tightly in her arms. Charlie nodded, he could never say no to that request.

“Always.” He replied, laying down in the small space next to her.

“Love you Daddy.” Margaux mumbled. Charlie smiled, placing another kiss to her head.

“I love you too princess.” He whispered.

He played with her curls, singing softly, and in no time at all Margaux was fast asleep and Charlie was sneaking out of her bed and heading back down the hall to the lounge room where he had left Owen.

He sat down on the couch, the blond boy instantly wriggling closer to cuddle into him. Charlie glanced towards the TV, noting that Owen had loaded up the movie they had started watching a few nights ago, but had never finished. He pressed play, leaning into Owen wordlessly, and for the rest of the movie they just snuggled quietly.

As the credits rolled Owen sat up, and Charlie shivered at the loss of warmth.

“Thanks for today, I really needed it.” Owen mumbled, clearly sleepy.

“Me too. I’m glad you came.” Charlie admitted, watching as Owen’s cheeks flushed at the comment. Owen swallowed before talking again.

“And now I’m exhausted.” He said. Charlie reached out, ruffling his hair.

“Get some sleep, I want to take you and Mags to this really nice cafe I found for breakfast.” He told the blond, and Owen nodded, standing up.

“Sounds great.” Owen yawned again, leaning down to kiss Charlie’s cheek, and Charlie felt his heart speed up at the contact.

“Night Char, love you.” Before Charlie could even reply Owen had left the room, leaving Charlie on the couch, his heart still fluttering from the kiss.

The kiss. Oh.

Oh.

He was so fucked.

#chowen #charlie gillespie #owen patrick joyner #single dad!charlie #single dad!charlie x owen

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amethystroselilith · 4 years ago

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If Lost Return to the 11th Harbinger (Babysitter Childe ft. Chilumi)

Finally, I get to write my first Chilumi fic! Hard to find a peaceful time to write cause of family demanding attention haha

~~~

SUMMARY: In which Childe has to babysit 3 girls that means a lot to Lumine

Can also be read in ao3: here

“You know, sometimes, I think he’s doing it on purpose.” Childe sulked, wrapping his arms around Lumine’s waist in an attempt to ditch her plans for the day and spend it with him instead.

The bed looks cosy right now and Childe would pretty much like for Lumine to get back in there with him and maybe lure her into various activities they can play on the sheets.

Lumine chuckled, “I’m sure Zhongli doesn’t mean that.” before running her hand through his hair, letting him hold her for a while, a warm feeling blossoming on her chest as she watched them cuddled together in the mirror she was using to get ready for the day.

She wouldn’t admit it, but feeling Childe’s bare chest against her back makes her just want to stay with him a bit longer, but unfortunately for her lover, she knows how to control herself.

“Yeah? You really think he didn’t plan to tag you along with whatever rites he has to prepare whenever I’m in Liyue?” Childe huffed, burying his face against her neck.

“People don’t schedule when they’ll die, Childe.” Lumine rolled her eyes.

“Can’t he find someone else to help him?” Childe pouted up at her, displaying the best puppy eyes he could put on.

“Hm, didn’t really ask.” Lumine shrugged, earning a whine from her clingy lover.

“You mean we could’ve thrown someone else with him? But you didn’t ask?” he huffed.

“He invited me to help. I accepted. Besides, he helps me a lot during my stay here, it’s just fair to help him back. May I remind you he also pulled some strings to have you here without any Milleliths watching your every move?” Lumine hummed.

Childe rolls his eyes, “I’m pretty sure you could’ve convinced them to leave us alone, you’re a hero here, they know you kicked my ass, they trust you and all.”

“Same hero that’s dating the same man who almost destroyed their city.” Lumine rolled her eyes, “I’m pretty sure they’re a bit wary of me as well ever since you decided to shout we’re officially together in public.”

“First of all, that’s to declare I won against all my rivals and they should fuck off.” Childe shrugged, “Second… I mean, how could they blame you? I’m charming as fuck.” Childe snickered.

“Right. I’m out.” Lumine said as she unwraps Childe’s arms off her.

“Ojou-chaaannn…” he whined as he tries to pull her back, “It’s the truth, come back.”

Lumine was about to say something back, but a knock on the door caught their attention.

“You think he’ll take Paimon if I throw enough mora on them?” Childe tried, to which Lumine just chuckled and walked to the door.

“Good morning.” Lumine greeted their guest as she opened the door, “Oh?” her eyes widened in surprise when not just Zhongli appeared, but also three little girls.

“Qiqi brought friends.” Qiqi simply said.

“Onee-chan! Klee and Diona found you!” the excitable girl in red waved, “Diona said she missed you! Me too so we looked for you!”

Diona freaked out, “I-I did not! I don’t care! If she doesn’t want to return to Mondstat and see me then that’s her problem!” she huffed, looking away with a red face.

“You went all the way to Liyue?” Lumine’s eyes widened, “Does… anyone know you two are here?”

“Yea! Kaeya-oniichan!” Klee smiled.

“Oh,” Lumine breathed out in relief that they’re not alone, “So, where is he?”

“I dunno, he was sleepy when I asked him, but he said ‘yes’, so Klee is good, no?” she smiled.

“He’s passed out drunk outside of Angel’s Share,” Diona mumbled.

“But we still asked permission and he said ‘yes’!” Klee argued to avoid getting in trouble.

“No need to worry, Ms Lumine, I have taken care of that. Rest assured that their guardians are aware of their little ones’ whereabouts.” Zhongli intervened when he saw the blonde’s about to have a heart attack.

“I’m glad you found them before anything bad happened.” Lumine sighed in relief, while she knows Klee and Diona aren’t helpless when it comes to fighting, she still can’t help but worry. She’s especially fond of the 3 little girls, protective of them as a mother would be of her child.

“Yea, I recognised Mister during your visit in Mondstat and Qiqi as well! So Klee is good with not following strangers.” Klee nodded with a proud smile.

“Good.” Qiqi agreed, it may not be seen, but she’s also excited with the thought of playing with her friends again, “Play with Qiqi and friends?” she looked up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Ojou-chan, what’s taking so long?” Childe emerged, now wearing a shirt, “Oh?”

“Qiqi brought friends,” Qiqi informed once again.

“Hi! Will you join us in playing too?” Klee asked excitedly.

Childe caught a glint of mischief in Zhongli’s eyes, “Unfortunately, Ms Lumine and I can not join you, but Mr Childe here will be playing with you for the whole day.”

“Eh?!” everyone looked at him with wide eyes, additional pouts from the 3 little girls.

Zhongli just chuckled before kneeling at the little ones’, “Ms Lumine and I will need to take care of some urgent errands, but we will try to finish them as fast as possible, but for now, will you be good for Mr Childe?”

~~~

And just like that, Zhongli had dragged Lumine away for whatever errands he has to do, leaving Childe with 3 innocent eyes looking at him curiously.

Childe hasn’t been around much whenever Lumine visits Mondstat, it’s always been the usual party of Lumine, Qiqi, and Zhongli since Childe still has duties to fulfil for his Queen. Duties that would make things complicated for his relationship with the Honorary Knight, but he believes that as long as they work together, not hiding dirty secrets from one another, they may be able to find a peaceful resolution for all parties.

But that’s something he has to think of for another day, today he has to entertain three little girls.

Three little girls that Lumine holds dearly, and for some reason, Childe feels a bit pressured in trying to win their favours, well Qiqi should already be won with coconut milk and the fact that they both work together in Lumine’s main party, but he’s not too familiar with the other 2 besides Lumine and Qiqi’s story.

Klee seems to be easier to win over because of her energetic and friendly nature, Diona however, may take a bit of work with her shy and independent personality.

But they’re still kids. Childe has experience with kids, his siblings love him, so this shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

“So, do you guys have any games you want to play?” he asked after watching the 3 finish the last of their breakfasts.

Klee pursed her lips, “Well, we were supposed to play house but, Mr Zhongli and Lumi-oneechan are gone so we don’t have a mama and papa anymore.”

“Ahaha, why are they mama and papa?” Childe laughed through gritted teeth.

“Are they not Qiqi’s mama and papa?” Klee tilted her head.

“No.” Qiqi answered, “But Lumine can be.” she hummed, “No papa though.”

“Ah, well, ojou-chan and I are very close-”

“But I guess Zhongli can be papa, he gives Qiqi flowers.” the zombie child hummed.

A vein popped in Childe’s forehead, “Ah, Qiqi-chan, I give you coconut milk too, remember?”

“But you’re always gone.” Qiqi shrugged.

Childe frowned.

“Ah! Kaeya-oniisan can be our papa?” Klee added, “He’s the bestest!”

“He’s always drunk, he won’t spend time with us.” Diona huffed.

“Diluc-”

“No.” Diona hissed, ears and tail raising.

“Yeah, he’s weird.” Klee nodded, “He doesn’t smile. Weird.”

‘Just how many men does ojou-chan know?’ Childe’s eye twitched.

“I guess Zhongli is papa?” Qiqi proposed in their little meeting.

“Ahaha, I mean, what about me?” Childe smiled since apparently not smiling will make him weird according to Klee’s logic.

The three looked at him, eyes focused, judging him thoroughly until Klee perked up.

“Does Mr Childe have a huge crush on onee-chan?!” the red girl gasped excitedly.

“Ah, you caught me, you’re a very observant girl.” Childe went along, just glad that he’s getting acknowledge as a potential papa for their mama.

It doesn’t really make sense since he’s the one dating Lumine, but being ignored by the three girls as a candidate as a papa just doesn’t settle well in him. Especially losing to Zhongli… he may have tricked him once, but there’s no way in hell Childe’s going to lose to him again.

Even as a hypothetical father figure to these girls.

“Hm, well if you want to date Lumi-oneechan, then you have to go through us!” Klee declared with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I suppose you’ll be a better boyfriend than that drunkard captain and evil Diluc.” Diona shrugged.

“If you become Qiqi’s papa, then will I get more cocomilk?” Qiqi asked with hopeful eyes.

“Eh?!” Klee protested, “We have to give him tests first! Like… like how the prince has to go through challenges to get the princess’ hand!” she huffed.

“Okay. A cocogoat, please. Thank you.” Qiqi nodded.

“A giant Jumpy Dumpty!” Klee’s eyes sparkled.

“Destruction of Mondstadt wine industry!” Diona requested.

‘What the actual fuck…’ Childe gulped.

~~~

Childe likes to pride himself as an ‘amazing storyteller’.

His finest work is “Snezhnaya’s Greatest Toy Seller”.

He just released 3 new stories;

“Unfortunately, the Cocogoats have to be Kept in a Special Cocomilk Production Place to Spread Cocomilk Joy”

“Oh, Have You Not Heard of the Secret Survival Rule? A Giant Jumpy Dumpty, Leads to Confinement Solitary”

“Destruction of Mondstadt Wine Industry Will Make The Good Lord Barbatos So Mad He’s Going To Destroy Us All”

The 3 girls are in awe as he tells an elaborated story, each nodding in understanding, though he’s pretty sure Qiqi will most likely still look for her cocogoat, Klee will still create a huge bomb, Diona will still try to destroy the wine industry in Mondstadt.

Childe wonders what kind of environment Mondstat is that turned Klee into a pyromaniac and Diona having such strong ambitions…

He’s going to beg Lumine to take him there soon.

“That’s so pretty, Mr Childe!” the three awed as Childe finished weaving a flower crown made of Violetgrass.

“A pretty flower crown for a pretty princess.” Childe smiled placing the crown on Qiqi, who was beaming at the new hair accessory, hugging her hat tightly to her chest.

His little sister had always loved flower crowns, and with some random flowers he found nearby, Childe had made one in hopes of impressing the girls. He was testing it on his head when it immediately attracted Qiqi’s attention. With some spare Violetgrass she has with her, she shyly asked if Childe can make her one too. The pretty little crown on Childe’s head had also caught Klee’s and Diona’s attention by the awed look on their eyes, and Childe offered to make one for them out of the flowers that catch their eyes.

“Thank you…” she smiled shyly, carefully checking if the crown is secured on her head.

“Me next! Me next!” Klee jumped, plopping some silk flowers she gathered around Wangshu Inn on Childe’s lap.

“Oh, these will be very pretty as well.” Childe complimented, earning an excited squeal from Klee, “Have you found some flowers you like as well, Diona?” he asks.

The catgirl blushed, turning away, “I don’t want one anyway.” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“Hm?” Childe frowned a bit, he was sure Diona was also excitedly looking around, but then it hit him, there was not a lot of choices for flowers around Wangshu Inn, and it looks like she wants a unique one as well and with only Silk Flowers nearby, she came back to him empty-handed and disappointed.

She can also feel the disappointment coming from Qiqi and Klee, who had been talking about taking pictures with their flower crowns with Childe’s Kamera.

Childe’s face softened, “Is it because there are not enough flowers that you like nearby?”

Diona just looked down in embarrassment, ears flat on her head and tail wrapping around her leg.

He just chuckled, “Well, don’t worry, there’s a village here with some glaze lilies nearby, maybe you’ll like those?”

“T-that’s still far though…” Diona mumbled.

Childe chuckled, “Don’t worry about it, I know a fast way to get there.” he said hydro vision glowing.

~~~

Despite Diona’s displeasure with water, she ended up having fun sitting on Childe’s shoulder as he literally rode the waves to Qingce Village, the other two clinging on both sides of his waist, secured by his arms wrapped around them protectively.

The girls giggled as Childe softly landed them on the flowery field. Their entrance would’ve given them weird looks, but Childe had already done this a couple of times with Lumine. It’s one of his favourite moments to spend with Lumine, they would just chill in the flowery area, Childe’s head on Lumine’s lap, his hair being played with while Lumine sings softly, Glaze Lilies blooming beautifully.

The thought sends a warm feeling in his chest, smiling softly at the thought of being lucky that the blonde made him a bigger part of her life.

“They’re beautiful!” Diona’s excited gasp pulled Childe from his thoughts.

“Well, then go and pick them while I’ll work on Klee’s crown.” Childe smiled before sitting down on the flowery field.

The three nodded and began collecting the flowers. Childe checked his surroundings first to make sure everything’s safe before taking his eyes off them.

Childe was halfway done with Klee’s crown when he noticed that it suddenly got too quiet. His head raised, heart stopping when the 3 girls are nowhere in sight.

He rose to his feet and began searching through the fields, hoping that they’re just hiding within the flowers.

He started panicking when he can’t find them. Not only are these children his responsibility right now, but he’s sure his beloved ojou-chan will murder him if there’s even just a small scratch on them.

“Qiqi, Diona, Klee!” he shouted as he searches, cursing under his breath when there’s no villager nearby to help him.

A patch of frost caught Childe’s eye.

Qiqi and Diona are cryo users, and it’s a high possibility it’s from them. There’s a burning patch just ahead of it, and Childe’s certain it’s from Klee.

The relief within him didn’t last long when a realisation hit him.

If they’re using their vision, it must be because they’re fighting someone.

And Childe needs to move fast.

~~~

Childe followed the tracks, his pace increasing as soon as he heard even the softest sound from the three.

As soon as he reached closed enough, his hydro daggers appeared on his hands. It has to be treasure hoarders.

He jumped in the area, a clever phrase in the tip of his tongue.

“Mr Childe!” Klee cheered.

His eyes widened, there was no treasure hoarders insight. Just the 3 girls with a mora weasel in Qiqi’s hand.

“...Wha…?” he stared at them in shock as his daggers slowly disappeared.

“We caught a mora weasel!” Diona said proudly.

“Oneechan always runs after them so we thought we’ll help her,” Klee explained.

Childe took a deep breath, relief washing over him as he lives for another day for escaping his lover’s wrath, “I understand that you want to help her, but please don’t run off like that without me, okay?” he gently smiled as he walks to them.

“It runs too fast,” Qiqi said, raising the animal to Childe.

“Are we in trouble?” Klee asked in worry, “We just want to help.” she said looking down.

Childe chuckle, “I’m just glad you all are safe, but please let’s avoid doing that next time, alright? Liyue is a bigger place than Mondstat so it’s quite easy to get lost.” he explained before patting her head.

He then took the weasel from Qiqi, retrieving the mora before letting the animal go, “Now, why don’t we get back and finish your crowns, yeah?”

They smiled and followed Childe back to the field.

~~~

It was late at night when Lumine got back to Wangshu Inn thanks to Zhongli’s high standards when picking the materials for the rites. Paimon hadn’t even bothered staying around when it started getting late, making an excuse about meeting Xiangling for an important taste testing.

Though the whole experience wasn’t bad, she was just worried about how Childe can handle looking after the three alone. Zhongli assures her that Childe is probably experienced looking after children since he’s from a big family. Which worked and all, but she also remembered how busy Childe could be from that experience with Teucer, what if they run off when Childe wasn’t looking?

Zhongli shut that down by reminding her that the three are vision holders and Lumine just huffed and pouted, but agreed.

She opened the door to their room, careful with her steps assuming Childe must be asleep.

When she opened the door to their room, she can’t help but have her heart melt at the sight.

Three little girls are asleep on their bed, a sleeping Childe sat on the chair beside the bed, a forgotten storybook on his lap.

With a soft smile, she made her way to Childe, chuckling softly when she caught glimpse of a photograph on the side table.

It was of them 4 posing for the camera, each has a flower crown adorning their heads.

“Ojou-chan?” a tired voice called softly.

“Look like you all had fun.” she smiled warmly.

Childe returned the smile, pulling her gently on his lap. His arms quickly wrapped around Lumine’s waist, face nuzzling against her neck. Lumine sighed in relaxation, leaning back and running her fingers through his hair.

“I’m guessing they liked you a lot they decided to sleep over?” she teased.

Childe chuckled, “More like the Knights were a bit busy to get them, and sent a letter to apologise for the inconvenience. Klee and Diona don’t seem to mind though, and I’ve never seen Qiqi excited for having her friends stay for longer.”

“Hm, well that shouldn’t be an issue, we can bring them home ourselves tomorrow, I do have some things to go over with Jean.” Lumine hummed at the thought.

“Do you think they’ll welcome me warmly?” Childe teased.

“If you behave.” Lumine rolled her eyes.

“Shame. I was planning on picking a fight against the Cavalry Captain and the Dawn Winery owner.”

The blonde shifted to face him, her eyes glaring, “You will not. Why would you want to in the first place?”

“I heard they’re great opponents.” Childe just smiled, hiding the jealousy from Klee’s story about how these men had also shown interest in his beloved ojou-chan.

Lumine rolled her eyes, “I’ll make sure to tell Zhongli to keep an extra close eye on you.”

“I’ll fight him too.”

“Promise me you’ll behave and I might just invite you in the shower.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t do it anyway,” Childe smirked.

“Behave and you’ll be thoroughly rewarded after.”

“Oho, what reward are we talking about?” he grinned.

Lumine just chuckled before unwrapping his arms off of her, “Depends on how good you will be.” she smirked before heading to the shower.

Childe grinned before following after her.

Deciding that he’ll just pick a fight with said rivals another time.

#chilumi #genshin impact

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kanri-tea · 4 years ago

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De-aged Rei

Rei gets de-aged by an illegal mic.

“Rei? …Rei?!”

It’s… bright. You don’t understand. Just moments ago, you were curled up in the closet again, locked away because you were bad, but now you were outside, along with these two unfamiliar men peering down at you.

You curl into yourself, hugging Sen as tight as you can. You don’t know them, but you really, really hope that they’re not the bad men your father always threatens that he’d sell you to.

“I-is that little kid Rei?!”

They know your name, and that sends chills down your spine. You’re scared. You probably should answer them, but even as you grip Sen even tighter than before, you stay silent.

"Oi, oi, oi, there's no way that little kid is Rei!"

Sasara felt like screaming, or maybe just shaking the little kid that was standing where their third member was standing less than a minute ago. To the side, Rosho is panicking and working himself into a frenzy, not that Sasara could blame him. Why did those weird guys even have an illegal microphone that changed people into little kids?! Or maybe it’s time travel since Sasara was 110% sure that Rei wasn’t wearing a tiny hoodie before.

In front of the duo was a tiny little kid, maybe 5 or 6, Sasara guessed, with a worn out red-and-grey hoodie and hugging the most worn out stuffed toy – a blue cat, he thinks – that Sasara had ever seen. It’s missing a button eye and one of its ears is torn and the stuffing was spilling out.

In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that not only did little Rei look terrified of them, but the scar that Sasara had originally assumed came from the old man messing up or something was also present.

He’s like 5, Sasara thinks to himself, frowning.

Turning to Rosho, the little frown and creased eyebrows tells Sasara that he’s thinking the same thing. Baby Rei is still scared, but everyone likes jokes, right?

“Heya, kiddo,” he grins, “want to hear something funny?”

Rei stares back solemnly.

“Why did the picture go to jail?”

Silence.

“Because he was framed! Get it?”

In the background, Sasara swore he could hear the crickets chirping and Rosho facepal– wait, Rosho actually was facepalming, the meanie!

Rei hasn’t moved an inch, and ouch, tough crowd. Okay, so maybe jokes weren’t the best idea.

“There’s something wrong with his head, I swear,” Rosho is kneeling down in front of tiny Rei, pushing Sasara away, which fair enough, “do you know where you are?”

For a good minute, Sasara thought that Rosho would be answered in silence like they’d both been for the last couple of minutes, before a tiny shake of the kid’s head, indicating no, was presented.

“Okay… okay…” Sasara hears Rosho muttering to himself, “I- I’m Rosho and this is Sasara. And you are…?”

Little Rei gives them an odd look, before mumbling something into the plushie.

“Oh. Um. Sorry, could – could you repeat that, we couldn’t hear you.”

“… Don’t you already know my name?”

“Uh, er… I mean, that is…”

Sasara butts in again, covering for a now stuttering Rosho, “We do, but it’s only polite to introduce yourself, y’know!”

“… Rei.”

“Nice t’meetcha, Rei!”

He’s met with a blank stare.

“So, I bet you’re wondering why you’re here! So, uh, your parents left you with us for a while, but I swear they’ll be back soon!”

Sasara could practically hear the skepticism on Rei, but the tiny child doesn’t say anything.

“C’mon,” he mumbles to Rosho, “let’s go to your apartment…”

You don’t understand these two men, Sasara and Rosho. They’re so bad at lying that it’s almost painful.

Sasara says that your parents left you with them, but that’s such a big fat lie. There’s no way that they’d leave you with other people, not when the evidence of their abuse is so obvious. But… they’re nice. They give you food and water and try to coddle you.

You don’t understand what’s going on, not really, but you guess that they’re okay-ish since they haven’t hit you or locked you into a closet or something.

You stay quiet though, because adults are fickle, fickle beings, and you don’t want them to suddenly decide that you’re a bad child that deserves to be punished. You know that they’ve been looking at you weirdly, but you can’t distinguish what those glances mean. You’re usually better than this, but its hard to struggle when Sasara is so weird and nice and Rosho feeds you and lets you sleep on a bed with blankets and pillows.

You sleep well for the first time in ages with Sen curled up by your side while waiting for the other shoe to drop, for nothing is ever freely given, especially not kindness.

Rosho paces back and forth and from the corners of his eyes, he can see that even Sasara has a troubled expression on his face. It was now close to midnight and nearly 10 hours since Rei had been turned into a child.

And what a worrying child he was. If the bruises and handprints hadn’t been enough proof, the way that the 10-year-old (he was 10, apparently, but god, he was so small that he looked 6 or something) flinched or looked warily at them, like an enemy, was more than enough to paint an unpleasant story.

Everything felt so... wrong. Rei was supposed to be a hulking figure, confidence and sleaziness oozing off with every step, not some meek child with solemn eyes.

"So..." He hears Sasara awkwardly start, "Apparently, according to some of my contacts, its supposed to wear off on its own."

Rosho breathes a sigh of relief, "When?"

"Uh, in like a day, but some cases took longer," Sasara pauses, hesitantly adding, "and the old man won't remember anything either."

That's good, in a way, Rosho thinks, but he doubts that Rei would be happy about not knowing what Sasara and Rosho had learned about the man, as secretive as he was.

"I guess we... wait it out then?"

"Not like we have much of a choice," he hears Sasara agreeing, and with how distant his voice sounds, Rosho wondered if Sasara was thinking the same things he was, eyes drawn to the bruises and scar.

You wake up in the morning and for once, your body does not ache from sleeping on the ground nor does your stomach growl in hunger. It's an odd feeling.

Sasara and Rosho are already awake and about by the time you wake up, but they don't yell at you for being lazy. They tell you to sit down a place a plate of food in front of you. You recognize the eggs, but you think the strips oily things are bacon, but you aren't sure.

You do your best to eat as much as possible, but you've never eaten so much in the span of 24 hours in your life. You don't want them to think of you as ungrateful, whether they're your kidnappers or not. You clutch Sen tightly even as Rosho bustles around the apartment and Sasara starts telling what you assume are jokes, but you don't understand most of them.

...You know that you aren't supposed to be here. You heard them talking about microphones and deaging and other weird things that sound like magic last night. You'll probably only be here for another couple hours, a day at most, but you want to savor it. You want hold onto the warmth of Rosho patting your head, human contact that didn't end in pain. You want to hold onto the memory of Sasara's grin when he told jokes that you don't really understand. It's warm. They're warm.

This hopeful dream, you don't want it to end.

Stretching, Rei yawned before pausing.

This... was not his apartment. Actually, wasn't this Rosho's apartment? What was he doing here?

He doesn't remember drinking with the other two division members, so there weren't many possible reasons Rei could think of for why he was here.

"Yo," he greets them in the living room. They're staring at him wide-eyed and... is that pity? The hell?

"R-Rei!"

"Welcome back to the land of the living, old man!"

"Haha, pretty sure I was neither dead nor drunk, you brat."

"Rei," Rosho begins tentatively, "what's the last thing you remember?"

The last thing he remembers, huh... Hmmm... It's fuzzy, but they were in a rap battle, weren't they, Rei thinks, and the opponents had illegal mics with unknown effects. He says as much.

"Yeah, we figured," Rei hears Sasara mutter, but what exactly did that mean? Obviously he was hit by the unknown effect, but from what he could tell, something had happened and no one was fessing up.

"So," Rei leans down, "what exactly happened?"

He looks them in the eye even as they try to look away. None of them were going to leave this conversation without confessing, but if they weren't going to fess up now, Rei was going to make them fess up, and it certainly wasn't going to as nice of an experience as it would be if they confessed now.

"... We, uh," Rosho starts stuttering, doing his best not to maintain eye-contact, "you, uh. Got hit by the illegal microphones..."

"Yeah, I figured, sensei," Rei replies impatiently. Geez, what were they skirting around the topic for?

"Yougotturnedintoatenyearold."

Rei stills and turns towards Sasara. "Repeat that for me one more time, except actually comprehensible. I'm an old man y'know, these ears of mine aren't working as well as they used to."

"You... got turned into a little kid, like you were ten and had this cutest little plushie that you said was called Sen and you were super small and-"

Sasara is rambling, but only static silence filled Rei's ears. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Amayado Rei did not do vulnerability. Amayado Rei was a man with confidence, money, and strength. He was not small child who's only knew pain and misery, who equated himself as a useless existence. Amayado Rei was not that child.

"Okay, hold up," he holds his hands up to distract Sasara, to distract himself, "So you're saying that somehow I, as a 10-year-old, showed up with a toy I haven't seen in over thirty years, and was just chilling here for a bit?"

"For like a day, yeah."

Rei ignores the pitying and questioning stares from Rosho, ignores the questions that are on the tip of Sasara's tongue. He doesn't ask what happened, doesn't ask what they saw. After all, once Dotsuitare Honpo played its part in Tohoten's games, he would vanish. There was no point for attachments, even as he ignored the aching in his chest, ignored the fondness that was undoubtedly growing.

"Whelp, I've got places to be, things to do, and money to make," he grins at them, "Y'know how things are. Thanks for watching over little me, but I don't think he's going to show up again."

He walks out of the apartment even with Rosho stuttering and yelling at him, even with Sasara's suspicious stares, and oh boy, Rei really hoped he wasn't going to be nosy about this.

Amayado Rei would live his life with his head held high and unafraid for the future, unafraid of the consequences of his actions, and no one could tell him otherwise, not even the regrets that piled high at his feet or a trio of siblings that despised him.

He would survive.

#hypnosis mic #amayado rei #dotsuitare honpo #de-aged rei #child rei

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

Note

Hay this might be a rough request, but I am a complete mess rn so this is definitely about me haha. But could you maybe do something for Regis with a Reader who's falling for him, but has struggle to let people inside her life as she's been abused mentally as long as she can thinks and as she's having a breakdown Regis finds her and she's about to confess what she feels for the higher vampire but is scares to be hurt? - 🦊

If you don't want to write this just let me know. ❤️

A/N: hi babe I won’t bombard too much but if you ever need anything my box is open or you can DM me

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of suggested partner abuse but nothing descriptive

***

You were sitting alone at a table in a large room with Kaer Morhen that you declared to be the dining room. You were preparing dinner, making enough for all of the boys should they return. Vesemir was off tinkering with some ladder he’d been talking about all week. Apparently it needed to be repaired.

You hissed as the blade of your knife slipped and caught the inside of your thumb. The knife was abandoned at the table as blood started to steadily seep from the wound. You used your skirt - dirty at the hem from tending to the goats earlier in the day - to stop the bleeding.

“Damn bastard.” You cursed, glaring down at the knife.

“What did I do already?” Lambert teased as he crossed the room. You didn’t realize he had even walked in until he spoke. You jumped and turned your head to him, smiling.

“Hi, Lambert! How was the journey?”

“Shitty and long, as usual.” He took a seat at the table with you. “Anybody here with you?”

“Vesemir arrived late last week.” You nodded. “Geralt, Ciri, and Jaskier are here with Regis and Dettlaff. Yennefer keeps popping in and out whenever she wants. Have you heard from Eskel?”

“A while ago.” He picked up a strawberry from a bowl on the table. “Ran into him in Aedd Gynvael about three weeks back. Said he had an archgriffin contract to finish up and then he was gonna head here. Figured he’d be here already.”

You nodded, letting your skirt fall back into place. The bleeding had stopped but it burned.

You moved over to the pot of soup hanging over the fire. It was bubbling nicely.

“Is this winter gonna be the winter where you tell Regis?”

You turned your head to look at Lambert. He moved towards you, wanting to inspect what you were cooking. He was always very cautious about eating anything someone else made for him. You remembered him telling you a story of one of the few times he let Geralt cook. Apparently everyone in the keep got food poisoning.

“Tell…. Tell Regis what?” You asked quietly, brows furrowing together.

“That you fancy him.” Lambert rolled his eyes at the word. It was very, very rare for him to like someone as quickly as he took a liking to you. You’d heard Eskel say something to Geralt about how Lambert knew what it was like to grow up in an unsafe home, that you both shared similar upbringings prior to his arrival at Kaer Morhen. You never asked the young wolf about it, never wanting to pick at old wounds.

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N.”

You flinched at the name but Lambert didn’t notice. He had moved away towards the table where you had been cutting up potatoes. You knew he meant nothing by it, but you couldn’t help your stomach twisting up into knots.

“You know we all can see how you swoon every time he’s in the same room as you.”

“Can you keep it down a little, Lambert?” You asked him, messing with your skirt as you went to the table. “I-I don’t want him knowing.”

“Why not?” Lambert looked up at you. “You want me to help you with the potatoes? You’ll lose a finger at the rate you’re going.” He nodded to your hand. You had more than a couple knicks on your hands and fingers. You weren’t the best at using a knife, but you tried your best.

“Please.” You nodded softly. Your eyes followed Lambert as he went over to the wash basin to clean his hands. “I…. just don’t think it’d be wise of me to do that. To…. To put myself in that position.”

“I don’t blame you.” Lambert sighed, drying his hands off on a towel. “Opening up to people sucks ass.”

You smiled a little.

“How’s Aiden doing, by the way?” You tilted your head to the side a little as you sat down across from the wolf. “Is he coming this winter?”

“Said he might.” Lambert muttered. “Probably won’t show up until the middle of a snow storm or something stupid.”

You admired the witcher for loving someone, and you were a little jealous.

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at the three little cuts on your fingers.

“What are you thinking about?” Lambert asked, keeping his voice low.

“Nothing.” You answered a little too quickly.

“I can see the steam coming out of your ears, kid. This is one of those rare times I ask you what you’ve got going on inside that head of yours. The polite thing would be for you to take advantage of that.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his yellow gaze.

“How…. How do you do it, Lambert?” You brushed a few pieces of hair behind your ears. “How do you let yourself get like that? Become vulnerable for Aiden? I-I mean, I can’t even comfortably open up to Geralt or Eskel and I’ve known them for the better half of a decade. Sometimes…. Sometimes it’s hard opening up to you even and we’ve known each other how long?”

“Feels like a lifetime.” He sighed, nodding his head. Lambert had met you years ago when a chort had invaded your village. “Uh, it’s hard, kid. Really hard. But you just…. If you really like someone, you’ve gotta let it happen.”

You looked down at the table, your fingers brushing over markings in the wood.

“Yeah, I get it. But you…. You’re a witcher.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. “If…. If Aiden were to get…. If he were to be, um, harmful to you…. You could stop him.”

Lambert stopped cutting the potatoes and looked across the table at you as realization hit him.

“Regis is stronger than you. That’s what you’re afraid of.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip.

“I know no amount of me telling you this will help, but Regis isn’t that kind of guy.” Lambert shook his head. “He’d never….” The wolf trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. “And you know Geralt wouldn’t associate with someone like that.”

You nodded your head and opened your mouth to speak when Ciri, Dettlaff, Regis, and Geralt walked in. Your eyes darted to Lambert, who very briefly met your gaze before looking over at the small group. You moved away from the table as everyone started to sit down. You went to the fire to check on the soup.

“I was just telling Y/N here that I heard from Eskel a few weeks ago. He should be here any day now.”

“Good.” Geralt sighed, taking a seat at the table.

“Y/N? Do you need help with anything, dear?” Regis asked.

You looked over your shoulder to him, your voice caught in your throat as your heart started to beat a little faster.

“Erm, I-I think we’ve- Lambert and I have everything under control.” You looked over to Lambert, who didn’t look at you. You knew he’d never tell anyone about your feelings towards the Higher Vampire, but you couldn’t help feeling that maybe he would. Your trust had been violated by those you thought the world of before.

***

Later on that evening after everyone ate their fill of soup and helped clean the kitchen, you retreated to the library. The entire night it felt like you were tense and on edge. You weren’t too sure what it was, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Regis had sat beside you the whole evening and tried multiple times to engage in conversation with you. You did your best to keep the conversations going, but it wasn’t easy. That voice in the back of your head kept telling you that you needed to shut up before he realized that you were into him.

You got a book and sat down in your favorite chair. It was large and comfy and rested close to the fireplace so you could stay warm.

You tried to focus on the book, to immerse yourself in the story, but it just wasn’t working. Your mind was going a million miles a second and you couldn’t gain control of your thoughts. Your lungs couldn’t pull in enough oxygen. You felt dizzy and nauseous at the same time.

The book was placed down on the table next to you and you leaned forward, your elbows on your knees and your hands over your face.

You tried counting to make the invasive feelings go away, but that didn’t work. You tried to stop thinking about everything that could go wrong if you were to tell Regis of how you felt, but that didn’t work either. Warm hands touched the back of your hands, making you flinch. You pulled your hands away from your face to see Regis kneeling before you.

You sucked in a sharp breath, sitting back in your seat to put space between you two. Your hands found the arms of the chair, gripping them tightly.

“Are you okay, dear?” Regis asked you, brows furrowed together in concern.

You sniffled pitifully and wiped your cheeks with your sleeves.

“I-I’m-I’m fine, Regis.”

“What’s gotten you so upset?” He tilted his head to the side a little.

You shook your head, unable to answer him.

He stood to his feet, messing with a buckle to his jacket.

“I’ll leave, if you’d like some space.”

“No!” You shouted, even though you didn’t mean to. You turned your head away from him, closing your eyes tightly. You needed to tell him. You needed to get it out. Maybe that was why you felt like you were going to explode, because you needed to tell him how you felt. “Please…. Please stay.”

He retrieved a chair from one of the tables and pulled it over to you. Regis kept his distance though, not wanting to invade your space.

You opened your eyes but you couldn’t turn your head to look at him. There was nothing but silence as he waited patiently for you to speak.

“I’m-I’m sorry you.... That I raised my voice at you.” You whispered, your voice weak and broken.

“There’s no need to apologize, my dear.” He assured you. The way he spoke to you so gently, so softly, nearly made your heart melt.

You brought your eyes down to your hands, picking at your fingers. You took a deep breath, before finding your voice again.

“I-I want to…. To tell you how I feel. But I can’t.”

“Why not?” Regis didn’t sound upset with you. He didn’t sound impatient. He was calm and quiet.

Your lips pressed together in a tight line and you shook your head. You turned your head to look across the room at one of the windows. The moon was shining in, casting a rectangle of light onto the old stone floor.

“I can’t let myself…. I can’t be like that with someone. Not after what’s happened.”

If Regis didn’t have such good hearing, he wouldn’t have been able to hear what you were saying.

His heart broke hearing your voice, hearing how upset you were and how hard it was for you to get this out.

“I’ve had too-too many people in my life…. that have hurt me.” You shifted around in your seat.

Silence fell between you both. You couldn’t find the right words to add on to what you were saying, to get him to understand.

“You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with doing, my dear.” Regis’s voice was smooth like honey as he spoke to you. “I won’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, because I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. But I need you to know that I’d never put my hands on you, Y/N. The thought of it….. It makes me sick.”

“It’s not just that, Regis.” You brought your eyes to meet his. “I-I was with a man for three years. He never hit me, but sometimes I think hitting me would’ve done less damage than his words.”

This time, Regis couldn’t hold your gaze. He couldn’t bear the look in your eyes as you tried desperately to fight back the tears. You were fearful, terrified even. He wasn’t sure if it was because of him, or something else entirely, but he couldn’t help feeling as if he was partially to cause.

You looked down at your hands.

“I-I care about you, Regis. A lot. And I can’t-I can’t stop it, as badly as I want to.”

“I care about you as well, Y/N.” Regis fought the urge to put his hand on your shoulder or on the back of your hand. Now wasn’t the time for that. “But we don’t have to act on these feelings, not if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“It isn’t fair to you.”

Regis held his hand out for you, praying that he wasn’t overstepping. You looked down at his hand, taking note of how wide his palm was and how long a slender his fingers were. Your hand hesitantly found his, your fingertips brushing along his palm and up to his wrist.

“My dear, it isn’t fair that you’ve been with someone who didn’t treat you like the queen you are.” His grip tightened on your hand gently. “I am willing to wait as long as needed for you. If there’s never a time you are comfortable with exploring more within our relationship, then that is okay too. I just want to be here for you.”

You nodded your head, smiling a little. Your heart raced in your chest, but this was a good racing. You didn’t feel sick.

“You’re so sweet, Regis. I-I want to hug you.”

He nodded and stood up. You did too, taking quick note of how your head barely reached his shoulders as his long arms wrapped around you tightly. You buried your nose into his chest, closing your eyes.

“Thank you, Regis.” Your words were muffled against him. “I know I’m not the easiest to be around sometimes.”

“Oh nonsense, my dear. You are an absolute treasure.” Regis murmured against your hair.

“Can you…. maybe…. read to me? Like you did last winter?” You kept your face in his chest, afraid to face him in case he said no.

“I’d like nothing more than to read to you, my dear.”

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#Regis x reader #Regis #the witcher #Regis fluff #kacey answers

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northcarolinanative · 4 years ago

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𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝟷𝟶)

Chapter 10: Pogue

A/N: Hey guys!! Thank you for all the feedback on the last part!! It means the world to me!! I hope you like part 10!! It is so crazy that I have written 10 parts of this story, and hopefully more haha! As always my message and inbox are open for requests or just to talk!! Also a TW: Physical Assault and Violence, cursing, depictions of harm, Rafe being an asshole per usual.

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. She and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to catch up? Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch.6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch.9

I was frozen in my spot. My blood went cold, I didn’t know what to do. He killed the sheriff and ran my brother away from the island and into the sea because he couldn’t stand up and own up to his actions. He had the guts to pull the trigger, but not to own up to it. I tried to move my feet but they were frozen in place. I felt the goosebumps begin to raise on my arms as he took a few steps toward me. I had never really been a fighter. There wasn’t much need on the mainland, and here I was always surrounded by JJ and John B, who fought for me, even if I didn’t agree with it. At this moment I was scared and really wishing I had taken them up on that offer.

He didn’t speak until he was steps away from me. His glance was harsh, and his eyes were dark. They were sunken into his face, and his cheekbones more prominent. He looked terrible, but he deserved to be eaten up from the inside out. “You have a lot of nerves coming in here,” he said. His walk almost like a stalk, slow and predatory. I just looked at him, I tried to put on my most confident facade, but I was shaken inside. I never liked Rafe, but now I'm scared of him, he killed someone, then went about his life. “You’re brother killed the Sheriff and you’re here, for what, to beg for our money?” He scoffed at me moving faster.

“Do I look stupid? You killed Peterk–” I was cut off but Rafe pushed me against the wall with his hand around my throat. “Don’t you ever say those words again” he tightened his grip on my throat. I felt his fingers dig into my skin. “You fucking pogue” He gave me the last push before releasing me.

I sucked in a breath. I was seething, I could practically feel the anger running through my veins. I walked toward him, I didn’t want to show fear. “What makes it okay for you to be walking around here after what you did? Huh? You’re a kook, right?” I put my finger in his chest. “That’s why my brother is missing at sea and you aren’t rotting in a jail cell right now.” My words came out through clenched teeth.

Rafe was quick to grab my wrist and twist it harshly away from me. I kicked back into his knee trying to get free. He backed me up against the wall again, using his height and power against me, his arm under my chin pressing my chest hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spat his words at me.

“What is it a secret?” I squinted with sarcasm dripping from my voice. “What? That you Rafe Cameron are a manipulative murd--” I was cut off with a hit to the left side of my face. I didn’t have time to brace for the impact and fell to the ground. By now we had drawn the attention of the other club members.

Rafe kneeled down next to me. “Next time you’ll keep your mouth shut bitch.” He stood up beginning to walk away.

“What is going on out here?” Mr. Jones walked out looking between me, on the ground holding my hand over my now swelling cheekbone, and Rafe.

“You see Y/N Routledge here, was trying to follow after her brother, coming after me,” Rafe said before turning the corner, back to the parking lot.

“No. He was tormenting me, Mr. Jones! You know me!” I started to beg. “I wouldn–”

“You’re Routledge’s kid?” He asked me. I just nodded my head looking down at the ground, unable to look at his face. I knew what was coming. It was inevitable. “I don’t think that it would be good for you to work here this summer. With everything that happened with the other Routledge kid…” He paused putting his hand on my shoulder. “It has nothing to do with you, but I don’t want people to mess with you like what just happened out there. I’m sorry Y/N”

I nodded a quick, “I understand.” I walked out keeping my head down again. I pushed open the large stained glass doors. Instantly missing the cool air-conditioning of the country club. I pulled my hair back to stop it from sticking to the back of my neck.

“Y/N” I flinched away from the voice. “Y/N is that you.” I turned, recognizing the voice. I saw Pope jogging toward me, his hands full of groceries. “What are you doing at the country club?” He asked.

“I could ask you the same thing?” I said, forcing a smile, only for a pain to shoot through the side of my face.

“Wait what happened to you?” Pope said, dropping the grocery bags and touching my cheek. “You’re bleeding.” He took his hand down to show me the red blood that was on his thumb. I looked shocked, I guess the adrenaline was still kicked in. “I’m going to run the last of the deliveries to The Wreck, let's go there and get you cleaned up?”

“Oh no. I really don’t think I should be around Kiara right now.” I said shaking my head and heading off toward my car.

“Y/N. don’t be stubborn, you need to take care of that, you’re covered in bruises and you know that there isn’t great equipment at the Chateau right?” Pope had picked up his bags matching pace with mine. “Plus Kie feels really bad about what she said. She’s dealing with this a lot differently than you and JJ.”

I opened the back of the car, helping him put the remaining groceries in the back of the car, giving in. I knew that I would need to work things out with them eventually. “I hope she shares with me what you said. I’m not gonna let what she said go easily, it hurt Pope.” I finished, raising my eyebrows in his direction before closing the hatch rather harshly.

We settled into the car, each of us putting our seatbelts on. “Are you okay to drive? You don’t have a concussion do you?” He said putting his hand on the gearshift before I moved to drive away.

“I’m fine, no head injuries. I promise.” I held up my pinky finger. I felt like we were kids again, it was something that we all used to do. Kie and I started it of course, but somehow drug the boys into joining us.

Pope shook his head, but smiled and linked his finger with mine. “I just texted Kie to tell her we are on the way.” Pope’s eyes scanned over my face and neck “Your neck is turning purple. Seriously Y/N what happened back there?”

I just shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it okay?” I looked over at the phone in his hands. “Do you think you text JJ? Tell him I’ll be at the Wreck?”

“Yea,” Pope said. I heard the question in his voice as he stared down at his phone.

“I told him I was going to find a job, don’t want him to come looking for me ya know?” I said forcing a smile. “So, I know how the rest of us are doing, but how are you doing with all of this?” I asked. No one had seemed to ask Pope's opinion in the midst of the argument the other day.

“Oh,” He paused before I heard him take in a deep breath. I turned the car back onto the main road toward The Wreck. “I don’t know. I just miss his, like we’ve all seen each other every day since I can remember, and now he’s like not here anymore. Part of me wants to believe he’s out there.”

I thought about telling him what JJ and I had found, but I felt like it was too soon. I didn’t want to give him the same hope, then have to crush it if it wasn’t going to. It might have also been me being selfish because of what happened the other day, but I wanted to wait to tell them.

“I get it, I was expecting to see John B walk through that door when I got back, but instead I got JJ,” I said with a giggle. This comment seemed to lighten the mood of the car as it sent Pope into a fit of laughter.

JJ. He wasn’t going to let this go, he wouldn’t take me not wanting to talk about it for an answer. I didn’t want him anywhere near Rafe. If I was being completely honest with myself, Rafe scared the hell out of me. He was a murder, and the way he treated me, with no caution to try and silence me, showed that he had no remorse.

I pulled myself from my thoughts as we pulled into the parking lot at the Wreck. I helped Pope with the grocery bags. I ignore the pain in my wrist as I load groceries into my arms.

“Ah, Pope!! Always right on time with the groceries, just when I need them” Mr. C said as He walked into the room, Kie close behind. Mr.C took groceries from my arms before turning back to the kitchen. She was notably shocked to see me standing there with groceries. As she looked over my face her eyes grew wide. “Y/N What the hell?”

“I was hoping you could help her get cleaned up?” Pope asked following Mr. C into the kitchen. Kie nodded her head.

I could see the look of worry on her face. “Follow me,” She said. We slide around workers through the kitchen and into the back office. “Sit here, okay?” she sent a slight smile my way, patting the edge of the empty desk. She reached into a drawer pulling out a first aid kit.

“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic Kie, it's a few bruises,” I said laughing with her.

“John B would kill me if I didn’t take care of you, you know?” She smiled and started to unwrap the alcohol wipes. I felt the sting of the disinfectant, flinching away when she first started to clean the split on my face. “Look I am really sorry about what I said yesterday Y/N. It was totally uncalled for what I said. I know that it doesn’t excuse my actions, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up, because it would only hurt that much worse in the long run if it turns out to be true.” He started to rub cooling cream over the bruising around the cut.

“Kie it’s okay” I breathed. I was glad I didn’t tell Pope about the discovery that JJ and I found. “I understand that. We’re all coping in different ways. I shouldn’t have jumped onto you as I did either. We all process differently.” I sent her a small smile. While I forgave her, I found it harder to want to open up to her. In the past, I might have come to her with boy issues or even the encounter with Rafe right away.

“Y/N is this a handprint around your throat,” Kie said, staring deep into my eyes. I felt tears start to fill in my eyes. The pain in my cheek started to finally hurt, I could feel it throbbing. I quickly looked down. Kie moved my head looking up so that she could apply the same cream to the red mark on my neck. I heard a commotion outside the door, quickly moving to look at the door. “Probably just someone dropping something in the kitchen.” She smiled softly at me. I looked down at the floor as she capped the cream on the floor. “So are you gonna tell me what happened, who beat you up like this?” Kie asked, her voice dripping with worry.

“You know, I’d really like to know who I have to kill?” JJ said entering the room. He took a quick glance over me. He practically pushed Kie out of the way to wrap his arms around me. I hooked my chin over his shoulder to see Pope in the doorway to the office. I wrapped my arms around his neck. His hug was tight and protective. “JJ. Thank you, but if you don’t let go so I can breathe you might kill me.” I laughed at my joke.

“How are you joking right now?” He pulled back and put his hands on either of my shoulders.

“I’m fine J. Really. See?” I moved my legs on either side of him and wiggled my arms.

He scrunched his eyebrows looking at me. I could see the hurt in his eyes and I smiled, feeling the tears coming back to the forefront of my eyes. JJ moved his thumb to carefully trace the cut in my cheek with his thumb, letting his finger trace down my jaw to the darkening handprint on my throat. I heard him take in a deep breath as he saw it. “Y/N Cut the shit. Who did this?” He asked. I could see the anger growing behind his words. Kie came up beside me with Pope following behind her.

“Seriously, you can tell us?” She said. I could see the pity in her eyes. That is what I didn’t want, pity from any of them.

I looked back at JJ. and hung my head low. “I went to the country club, that’s where Pope found me, to try and get my job back. I worked there every summer, and I know I would need the money.” I started, JJ’s eyes met mine. He was focused on everything that I was saying. “And Mr. Jones had me step out and wait while he scanned in paperwork or whatever. And I ran into someone there, who wasn’t happy that I was back.”

“Obviously. Who was it Y/N?” JJ asked. He wasn’t being pushy, he just wanted to help.

“It was Rafe,” I said, swallowing after the name left my mouth.

JJ turned away from me. He ran his hands through his hair, I heard his breathing pick up. I saw Kie and Pope’s faces look just the same. “I am gonna kill him. What can’t he get away with?” JJ was seething.

“No, I provoked him. He came up to me and started talking about how JB killed Peterkin, and I snapped. I told him I knew that he did it, he killed her. He tried to shut me up, obviously, until Mr. Jones came out and he left. I didn’t get my job back, but are we surprised?” I let out a cynical laugh.

“Hey hey” JJ walked back up to me. I could feel the anger radiating off of him, but his composure seemed calmer. He was so close. He was standing between my legs. My thoughts going back to the conversation we had last night. He put his hand on my chin forcing me to look up at him. “You did not provoke him, Y/N. He’s a murder, who’s walking free. You did the right thing calling him out. Don’t think for a second that this was your fault, alright?”

“Alright.”

Masterlist

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 4 years ago

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Seen ✓ - 1

REWRITE OF “Can You See The Stars”

Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader Warnings: fear of being kidnapped Word Count: 2.4k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam. A/N:This is my second attempt at the story everyone loved, with an actual pllot in mind this time. So, attempt number two, better writing, better story. Have at it kids.

I have tagged the old taglist for this first part. Let me know if you wanna be removed/ added

Beta: The lovely @percywinchester27 . Thank you so so much hon :) Masterlist

Chapter One: you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night

Y/n | Sam

The road to independence is uphill, and Y/n knows this better than anyone. She’s done it all. She’s gone through jobs at a similar speed with which she goes through books, worked two or more of them, while also studying for college… She knows how it works, and it’s really fucking difficult to balance emotional baggage the size of a city, an underage sister and college, while also trying to keep, not only yourself, but another person, alive, under a safe roof with food in your stomachs.

Currently, she’s only working one job, at a dive bar owned by a friend of a friend as a waitress.

It’s a difficult job, and Y/n has struggled with it, but the hardest part is not the endless knowledge one needs to mix drinks –on the nights Joel takes time off and she has to take his spot behind the bar- or the carrying up to twenty pounds of glasses and drinks and delivering them at the right table without soaking herself or anyone else with copious amounts of alcohol. Any minimum wage worker will tell you the same thing- clients of any kind fucking suck. Especially if you’re a young woman at a dive bar after midnight.

Another thing she’s struggled with is not having too much money, which is why she’s needed multiple jobs in the past, so she has to use public transport- buses specifically, to go to and from work. And that is exactly where she finds herself, a couple hours after midnight, at her bus stop, five minutes from the bar, when she finds a phone which, unbeknownst to her, will flip her world upside down.

It sits on the pavement of the bus stop, limp and sad. The screen is cracked a significant amount, and for a second she figures someone got rid of it and was too much of an asshole to throw it in the trash. But the second that thought crosses her mind, the screen lights up with a concerning text.

dude where the fuck are you?!

The contact reads “Sam”, and Y/n stands over the phone staring at it. She’s concerned. What if the phone’s owner is in trouble? The device may have fallen from their pocket on the pavement and cracked because they were running from someone and never made it home, and now whoever is texting them is worried for their well-being. Anxiety grips her heart.

It’s instinct that brings her to kneel down and pick it up. She can’t possibly know when the owner lost it, or how long the phone has been sitting there, but there’s an overwhelming urge to contact this Sam person and let them know what’s going on. Of course, the voice in Y/n’s head tells her that this all could just be a product of her anxiety, but it beats leaving it there and having it be stolen by a passerby.

Whatever, right? Best case scenario, she contacts the owner, who is perfectly safe and sound, and they take their phone back. She’s not really planning to pocket it. It’s fairly damaged anyways. Her own three year old, beat-up, 100$ phone is in better condition.

The bus arrives, and Y/n picks up the phone and boards it.

As she sits in her usual seat in the back, alone in the bus apart from an elderly man asleep with his head on a window and a cap on his head near the front, she starts speculating, eyes glued to the black device in her hands. Who’s the owner? Who is Sam to them? Perhaps a partner? A friend? How did the owner lose their phone? Why would this Sam sound so concerned, and most importantly, is the owner okay?

The heavy weight of dread weighs her chest at the thought of the phone’s owner being in trouble and without a phone. She must contact Sam immediately.

Hey, is this Sam?

As she awaits for a response, her curiosity is killing her. The intrigued part of her, reasons that she should snoop, it’s alright, she’s only looking for more information about the owner. Like whether or not they’re a woman or a man- which, sadly, matters when you’re walking alone in dark streets like the ones around this area- and perhaps their age –because, again, it matters if they are a teenager or a forty-year old adult.

The lack of passcode indicates someone older, with nothing to hide, or perhaps someone less technologically savvy, again, someone who may not be very young. The lockscreen is the most popular Led Zeppelin icon, and she instantly respects their music taste, and the home screen is some generic western movie from the 90s with Clint Eastwood. The chances of this belonging to someone younger further decline.

There’s a grand total of four downloaded apps in the phone. There’s an email app, a scrabble app, a microphone recorder and a dating app, no other sign of social media. Someone over 18 years old, definitely.

Soon, she’s tapping on the dating app, and opening their profile page. Holy shit, she thinks.

A guy, the tall, dark and handsome kind. Spiky hair and a smolder-like smile, sharp edges everywhere on his face apart from his gentle, olive-shaped and colored eyes. His lips are full, his nose straight, and his eyelashes long, dark and thick. He’s a real-life dreamboat, the kind you see in movies and Cosmopolitan articles about sex. He’s sitting on a black muscle car, a Chevrolet, with his thick thighs barely contained in blue jeans.

Dean Winchester, the app writes. 28. Male. Likes: old cars, beer, hard rock, westerns, she figured that much, bacon burgers. Dislikes: pop music, modern horror movies, uncomfortable beds. Not looking for anything serious, just a night of fun ;), and wow, okay, he sounds a bit like a dick. The very Red-blooded American Male kind, that enjoys BBQs and winking at women from across the bar. She’s had enough of those during her line of work; she can recognize them from a mile away.

Whatever the case, her moral compass couldn’t allow her to pass up on the opportunity to possibly help someone in trouble. She ignores her urge to roll her eyes, and scrolls a little, finding other pictures of the same guy, when suddenly two separate notifications appear, the phone itself vibrating. One is from the app, which has now received a picture from this girl, Jamie, one which she certainly doesn’t plan on opening, seeing as it’s followed by a winky face. The second one is from Sam.

jesus dean how drunk are you

yes it’s sam. your brother? remember?

No, this isn’t Dean, uh.

My name is Y/n. Your brother lost his phone at a bus stop, near a bar.

i should’ve figured. dean rarely ever uses punctuation.

nice to meet you i guess

Nice to meet you, too.

So basically, uhm, I thought you might help me return his phone to him? I got worried, because this was dumped on the sidewalk, I thought he may be in trouble or something.

knowing him he probably dropped it while being too shitfaced to function.

gotta admit i’m impressed though. most people would’ve pocketed it by now.

I mean, it’s not much use to me with such a cracked screen haha.

yeah i guess.

i don’t know about getting it back to him though. i’m in kansas right now so i’m not close by. i don’t think i can help you.

he doesn’t use social media either.

Crap.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this phone then?

keep it probably.

You sure there’s no other way I can reach him?

i mean i can give you his email but i’m not sure he’ll respond.

I’ll take it. Thank you :)

no problem :)

As she looks up the bus stops, and she quickly realizes this is her stop. Throwing profanities loudly enough to wake the older man at the front of the bus, she scrambles for her things, haphazardly thrown in the seat next to her, and gets off the bus. She pats herself down, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything as the doors of the bus shut, and starts down the road to her apartment complex.

She could probably navigate this road blind. There are many ways to reach the apartment she’s renting from the bus stop, but her favorite goes through the park. It’s a large area, full of big trees with thick foliage and leaves that brown in the fall. The paths are paved and winded, and the park benches are stained with dark wood stain and curve comfortably. She enjoys coming here in evenings she has off, watching the sun descend behind the top of the trees with a good book.

The air smells like oncoming rain now, and with headphones deep in her ears, she walks taking deep breaths and enjoying the clear atmosphere that seems so unlike the roads that surround the park. As soon as she spots the first raindrop falling from the sky, she pulls her hood over her head and smiles.

It’s minutes later, when single drops have picked up to a drizzle, that she gets a sinking feeling, her hair standing up on edge at the back of her neck, shoulders knotting closer to her ears. Someone is close to her.

With the wire pinched between her thumb and index, she pulls one earbud off and pays attention to the surrounding sounds. Sure enough there’s a second pair of footsteps behind her.

Fuck, if she gets kidnapped or attacked right now, she’s fucked. There are no witnesses, and at this time of night screaming for help would be futile. She checks her bag, but her paper spray is nowhere to be found.

Yeah. Definitely fucked.

Her hands go deep in her pockets, going for her phone, but as she hears the footsteps behind her picking up speed along with hers, she panics and grabs Dean’s instead. She doesn’t look for her own, there’s no time for that, so she does the first thing she thinks of.

She texts Sam.

I think I’m being followed.

what?

Yeah

wait what’s going on? are you okay? who’s following you?

I’m walking home from work. I can’t see who it is, but they’re definitely on my tail.

how are you even typing right now??

is there any buildings around? somewhere public to get in?

It’s 3 am. Everything is shut and I’m in the middle of a fucking park, Sam.

Fuck, I’m fucked.

what are you doing at 3 am in the middle of a fucking park then?!

A hand falls on her shoulder and she goes to scream, before she’s quickly spun around. Her free hand is curled in a fist, ready to fall on the attacker’s nose, when they speak.

“Y/n! I thought it was you!”

“Connor?!” She squints and pushes her hair away from her forehead, heart just about ready to fail out of the fright she’s gotten. “Fuck’s sake, dude, what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me in the middle of the night like this?!” Rain still falls on her, grounding her to the present, the fact she won’t have to fight for her life and corporeal integrity sinking in slowly.

Her neighbor smiles a crooked smile, watching her place a hand over her heart and taking a deep breath. His fluffy blonde hair is damp under the light rain, light green eyes glowing under the street lights. She’s so angry at him right now, she legitimately thought she was gonna die for a second there.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “I didn’t think to call out to you.” A shrug.

“It’s okay,” it’s really not, but there’s no point in staying angry at him. Besides, she figures she’ll be a little safer with him walking next to her all the way back to their apartment complex.

On the way back, they catch up. Connor is back in town after a long week and a half at his sister’s wedding. He’s in a brand new relationship with the guy he’s been pining over for like 9 months now, and he got a job at the bookstore, close to their building, he’s starting next week. He was out for a drink, he offers as an explanation, and was returning home, when he bumped into her. The park is also his favorite route to take.

The key dangles from her hands and finds a home in the lock and twists, while Y/n waves at her neighbor.

“Have a good night, Connor.”

“You too, Y/n.” It’s delivered with a wink and a bright smile.

The motions of dropping her bag by the kitchen counter, dumping the keys in the small bowl and hanging her coat on the hanger are delivered on autopilot in quick succession. Shoes toed off, hair pulled out of her lazy bun, she falls unceremoniously on her thrifted couch, feet suspended on the hand rest. Emmy must be asleep, the only lights on in the house are the fairy lights over the couch, setting a soft glow over the furniture. Y/n sighs. What a day.

Seconds before she falls asleep on the couch, a phone vibrates and it’s definitely not her own. Her eyes snap wide open, and she curses, fumbling with Dean’s device.

The messages are seven, and they all share the same panicked tone. Upon reading them, Y/n facepalms and curses, guilt weighing her down. Poor guy.

y/n?

what’s going on?

are you okay?

y/n

what the hell is going on.

you’re not replying.

please text me if you’re safe.

My God, Sam, I’m so sorry.

It was a neighbor/friend, he sneaked up on me.

you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night.

I’m genuinely so sorry, Sam, I had no idea it was him.

it’s okay

you were scared.

i am starting to question your choice in friends though.

Y/n grins for the first time that day. It’s wide and full. Sam sounds like a guy she’d hang out with.

Hahahah yeah.

I promise, Connor’s odd, but he means well.

well i have to go

but i’m glad you’re safe

Again, I’m really sorry to make you go through that.

it’s fine really.

Thank you.

Goodnight :)

Night :)

---

Part 2

A/N 2: Tell me how you’re liking the rewrite!

Old Can You See The Stars taglist: @shutupiminlooove @sammysgirl1997 @kymberlytorres @bambi95-blog @demonic-meatball @thekarliwinchester @littlekay15 @li-m-ii @thinspo-isuppose @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker @marichromatic @illuminatus42 @lazy-author @mirandaaustin93 @hauntedsiriel @pilaxia @devilgirlsarah @nobodys-baby-now @captiveties @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream

Sam taglist @kymberlytorres @theboykingsam @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes @captainmarvelcorps @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @nellachain

#sam winchesterx reader #sam x fem!reader #sam winchester x fem!reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn fanfic #sam x reader

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littlelovelyspiderling · 5 years ago

Text

Finger Painting

this has been sitting in a google doc for a while cuz it’s not my favorite but I might as well post it cuz I haven’t posted in a hot sec

Peter decides to prank his teammates in attempt to cheer everyone up, only for his teammates to prank him back using their new favorite mood-lifting method.

words: 4,010

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Peter Parker loved pranks. Who didn’t?

Growing up, he and his uncle used to engage in long, elaborate prank wars all the time, each trying to one up the other. The mischievous game of back and forth never ceased to leave them both in stitches. Nowadays, May rarely passed up the opportunity to douse his food in pepper flakes or splash him with water while they were cleaning the dishes together. It was her way of keeping Ben’s playful legacy alive.

And after all of the pain and suffering the Avengers had gone through over the past year, Peter figured it was time to bring some of that playfulness to the team.

Initially, he planned to prank each member one at a time. While the spar room was empty, Peter had snuck in with his means of destruction. He and Stark were going to test how effective his spidey sense was at warning him of impending threats when he couldn’t see them coming. Little did Tony know the blindside that was coming his way.

He waited on the ceiling, grinning sinisterly as approaching footsteps met his ears. But to his surprise, it sounded like more than one pair of feet. Voices joined the footfalls as the door opened, and Stark, Sam, and Rhodes entered the room.

“—test his response to multiple attacks from different directions,” Tony said, shutting the door behind them. Then he stared forward, finding the space before him vacant, and a frown gnarled his features. “Wait, where the hell did he—?”

Three birds, one stone, Peter thought. I’ll take it. Triumphantly, Peter tore the webbing away. In an instant, fifty water balloons filled with paint rained down from the ceiling and pummeled the men below, dousing them in explosions of color. Startled cries and yelps jumped from their lips until the assault finally subsided. The superheroes were left stunned and soaked from head to toe, sputtering in disbelief as a waterfall of laughter came pouring from overhead.

“Haha!” Peter howled. Everyone looked up at him bewilderedly. “Thihis is so much better than I expehected! Your fahaces—oho gahad—I cahan’t!”

He knelt upside-down and doubled over with giggles. Stark scoffed, tongue-in-cheek.

“Peter? You did this?”

Rhodey wiped his eyes and blinked repeatedly. “That certainly was…unexpected.”

“You little punk!” Sam hollered, flicking the paint from his hands in disgust. “Oh, you are so asking for it.”

Spider-Man didn’t seem to be listening to them. He was too busy laughing his ass off and pounding his fist against the ceiling. Seeing some of the world’s most famous superheroes dripping in paint was just too hilarious. Despite how annoyed they were with his prank, the Avengers couldn’t help but smile at the kid’s hysterical reaction.

“Oh mahan, I cahan’t breathe,” Peter wheezed. “This is the best day ever.”

“Come down here,” Sam said. “I think I can change your mind.”

Spider-Man shook his head while giggles continued to spill from his lips. Tony ran his fingers through his paint-soaked hair and grinned at the others.

“Come on guys, don’t be such sticks in the mud. The kid’s just trying to have a little fun. Right, Spidey?”

Peter was surprised how well Mr. Stark was taking an ass-load of paint-filled water balloons to the face. He nodded between chuckles. “I mean, yeah. You’ve all seemed kinda down lately. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Oh, of course. We all understand.” Stark glanced between the other three men. “You know what? I think it’s time we followed Pete’s lead and had a little fun of our own. What do you say, fellas? You in?”

Peter’s giggling faltered. Sam and Rhodey shared a knowingly diabolical grin.

“Hell yeah we are.”

Before Spider-Man could ask what they meant by that, Sam pulled a metal rod from his belt and flung it at Peter as hard as he could. Spider-Man barely flinched out of the way, his spidey sense triggering his reflexes an instant quick enough. Not a second later, a taser round and a stun blast flew at him and struck the ceiling mere inches from his body. He stared down at the group with wide eyes.

“Here’s a fun idea: let’s see how long his dumb second sense thing can keep him safe from our vengeance.”

“Wait—hey—guys—it was just a joke—”

Projectiles started zipping towards him, one after the other, promising a world of pain if they hit their target. Peter scrambled across the ceiling with a yelp, shuddering at the idea of what they would do to him if he was caught. This was not the kind of retaliation he was used to.

“Come on! I used washable paint!”

“Spread out,” Tony instructed his drenched, candy-colored team. “Don’t give him any place to hide.”

Sam and Rhodey did as they was told. At least none of them we wearing their full avenging outfits; if that was the case, he’d be toast in an instant.

Peter ducked and flipped and somersaulted through the air as rounds and objects whooshed past him in a relentless wave. The room was big, but not big enough for him to evade three attackers forever. His spidey sense was in constant tingle mode. All right, that’s it. Peter cartwheeled across the ceiling and fired a glob of webbing at Sam, which glued his arm to his side. While the middle was exposed, Spider-Man threw himself between Tony and Rhodes and shot a web-splat into both of their faces, rendering them blind for a moment. The distraction offered Peter the opportunity to stick to the door and pull with all his might.

But it was locked. And he didn’t know how to open it. Spider-Man was trapped.

And since he’d doused all of his enemies in paint, it didn’t take them long to free themselves from the webbing. As Peter cursed and darted back up the wall, Stark shot at him with his watch-gauntlet. The projectile hit Spider-Man’s left hand.

“Ow!” He flinched, nearly losing his hold on the ceiling. Peter held his stinging hand to his eyes. A strange metal block was stuck to it. To his disbelief, the metal started spreading over his palm, up his fingers, thickening rapidly. It looked an awful lot like Tony’s nano-tech. When he tried to pull it off with his other hand, the metal film spread to that one, too. Soon enough, both hands were shrouded in thick metal prisons. Not only did they make his hands incapable of sticking to any surface; now he could no longer fire his web-shooters.

“Crap! What is this?” Peter yelled, sprinting across the ceiling. He dodged another one of Sam’s projectile attacks, but that led to a misstep, giving Stark the chance to hit his right foot with another chunk of nano-bots. Peter froze and flailed with only one foot stuck to the ceiling: his last line of defense against the unforgiving consequences waiting for him down below. If he lost his hold, he was done for.

“Ah! W-wait!” He dangled helplessly by his toes, a sitting duck. Then Tony hit his left foot with nano-tech the same time Rhodey fired a stun blast into his back. Spider-Man dropped from the ceiling and hit the floor with a grunt, sprawled flat like roadkill.

“Ow…ugh…” he groaned. He tried to reach up and rub at the bump on his head, but his arm wouldn’t move. Neither of his arms would. In fact, all of his limbs were pinned to the ground. Peter looked at his wrists to discover the nano-tech had morphed into clasps that were firmly glued to the floor. The same went for the nano-bots on his ankles.

“What the—?” he cried. “I can’t move!” Sam, Rhodes, and Stark converged on him, smiling viciously.

“Gotcha,” Wilson sneered. Spider-Man grimaced and struggled against the restraints.

“Come on, guys. Why are you being so mean? I was just trying to cheer everyone up.”

“You did,” Tony replied enthusiastically. “Now we’re just returning the favor.”

“I don’t think you understand how pranks work,” Peter huffed. “Attacking me does not make me very cheery.”

“True,” Sam concurred, kneeling beside the young hero, “but if my memory serves correctly, I’m pretty sure this does.”

Sam reached out and gently fluttered his fingertips against Peter’s tummy, causing the teen to cringe. It was the last sensation he expected to feel, yet he should have seen it coming. The three of them knew all too well how ticklish poor Spider-Man was.

“Aha!” he squeaked, dread rushing through him and blush consuming his face. “N-noho! No it doesn’t!”

“Really?” Sam asked. He swirled his index finger in a long, slow circle across the kid’s belly, smearing his costume with purple paint while also making him twitch and leap. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were smiling under that mask.”

“Stahap!” Peter giggled. This was so bad. This wasn’t the first time they’d used his extreme ticklishness to torment him, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Except, unlike past instances, in this scenario, he was stuck to the floor—helpless to protect himself. He was totally, utterly screwed. How did he always get himself into messes like this? When would he ever learn? Peter squirmed and wiggled in attempt to get away, but it was no use. He was stuck, restrained, and growing more and more flustered as Sam’s tickly fingers started moving faster and faster across his vulnerable tummy.

“I bet he is smiling,” Rhodes said, sitting on the floor opposite of Wilson. He pinched the top of Spider-Man’s mask. “Why don’t we take this off and see?”

“Noho!” Peter whined as Rhodey pulled his mask off his face, revealing the blushing, smiley teenager underneath. He bit his lip to try to feign composure and stem the endless outpouring of giggles, but was immediately foiled by Sam squeezing both of his sides right above his hipbones. Peter threw his head back with a shriek, floundering like crazy.

“Aw, see?” Tony cooed. “Look at that happy face!”

“I think our prank is really lifting his spirits!” Sam said. He kneaded his thumbs deep into the kid’s torso, chuckling as he jumped and bucked and giggled wildly.

“Nohahat hahappy!” Peter squealed.

“Not happy?” Rhodey repeated, sharing a devious look with his friends. He reached out and spidered his fingers right above the kid’s armpits. “Are you sure? Maybe I should help, then. Your happiness is our number one priority, after all.”

Before Rhodes even touched him, Spider-Man’s giggling jumped higher in both pitch and volume. “N-nohohaha!” he cried, pulling valiantly at the metal cuffs pinning him arms above his head. “Rhohodes, wahait—”

Ignoring him, Rhodey went straight for the kid’s weak spot. He needled and clawed at Peter’s exposed underarms with all ten fingers, switching intensity and tactics every few seconds to keep him guessing. He poked and pinched, then scritched and scratched, then dragged his fingernails up and down the full length of Peter’s arms, all while Sam was busy curling his hands into claws and shaking them into Spider-Man’s ribs and belly. Peter was at his wit’s end being tickled by just one person; he was certain two would be the death of him. And as soon as Rhodey’s fingers made contact with his skin, his suspicions were confirmed.

“AHAAhahahagh!” Peter screeched, whipping his head from side to side. “Shihit—wahahait! I cahahan’t—I cahahahahahaaa!”

“Can’t what?” Sam inquired. “Can’t believe how much we’re cheering you up?”

“Spidey’s got some pretty ticklish underarms, doesn’t he?” Rhodes observed, fluttering his fingers all over the unbelievably sensitive spots.

“He’s ticklish all over. It’s hilarious. Just a little poke here, a little poke there, here a poke, there a poke, everywhere a-poke poke…” Sam jabbed and wiggled his fingers into every inch of the kid’s tiny tummy. As much as he tried to fight it, Peter jolted and squeaked beneath his every touch. It was like they knew exactly what to do to render him a squirming, blushing mess. To be fair, it wasn’t a very difficult feat, and they had experience on their side. This was not the kind of revenge prank Peter had been anticipating. It was unbearably cruel and effective.

As they continued to tickle torture the poor teen, Sam and Rhodes couldn’t help but giggle at the Peter’s childlike laughter. They, like most people who knew the kid well, were starting to understand why Tony was so endeared by him.

Meanwhile, Peter was falling to pieces. His loud, squeaky belly-laughs were rapidly being replaced by hiccups, and the feeling of four hands endlessly teasing and tweaking two of the most ticklish areas of his body was driving him insane. There was nothing he could do but wriggle and twitch and laugh until his sides ached. There was no escape in sight. He had to make it stop.

“Merherhercy! Merhercyhy!” Peter pleaded. “Ihi’m gohonna dihihihie!”

“Can you die from too much happiness?” Tony asked. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Neither of his tormentors seemed to be listening to him, so Peter turned to his mentor. He looked up at the billionaire from his defenseless position on the floor, tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “M-Mihister Starharhahaaak!” he squealed between another bout hiccups. “Hehehelp me! Plehehehehease!”

Tony tilted his head to the side and smiled sympathetically. Peter was too cute for his own good. “Aw, kiddo. Are you sure we’ve lifted your spirits enough?”

As Stark was saying this, Sam started grinding his knuckles into Peter’s ribcage, and Peter thought he might explode. He arched his spine and squeezed his eyes shut and screeched with helpless laughter.

“Ahaha! Yehehes! Plehehehease! Nohoho morhorhahahahaa!”

“I don’t know,” Rhodes said suspiciously. “Are we sure we’ve gotten him back enough? He did douse us in paint, after all.” James brushed his fingers along the sides of Peter’s neck experimentally and grinned when the kid scrunched his shoulders to his ears with a sharp giggle of surprise. “Damn. You really are ticklish everywhere, aren’t yah?” He scuttled his nails all over Peter’s neck, occasionally drilling his thumbs into the muscle right above his collarbones, and watched as goosebumps flared across what little skin Peter had exposed. The kid thrashed as much as his restraints would allow with a slew of high-pitched laughter.

“I think he needs at least two more minutes of solid cheering up,” Sam said, scratching Peter’s tummy as if he were giving a puppy a belly rub. “Would you care to join us, Mr. Stark?”

Tony sighed as he looked down at the giggly superhero, then smiled. “Two more minutes,” he said adamantly. He sat down by Peter’s twitchy feet and grabbed his left foot in his hand.

“NOHOHO!” Peter begged, trying and failing to wrench his foot free from Stark’s grip. “You ahahahassholes!”

“You want us to make it ten?” Sam inquired. That shut Peter up real quick, though he continued to laugh helplessly.

“I’ve got an idea!” Rhodes said, dipping his hands into a puddle of paint next to Peter’s head. “Why don’t we spend these last couple minutes turning Spider-Man into a lovely finger painting? We shouldn’t let all this perfectly good paint go to waste.”

“Oh, yes! I love that!” Sam dabbed his fingertips into the closest pool of paint, granting Peter a few moments to breathe. “What kind of picture should we paint?”

“Whatever your heart desires.”

Once he was satisfied with his assembled palette, Rhodey started gently gliding his fingers across Peter’s face and ears. Despite his attempts to stave it off, Peter cracked into a smile and giggled softly, scrunching up his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. He’d never considered that they’d use the means of his own prank against him. Talk about rude.

“I think I’ll paint you into a clown,” Rhodes decided. “How does that sound?”

“Stohop!” Peter said, jerking away from Rhodes’ feathery touch. Rhodey grinned.

“If you’re not going to let me paint your face, then I’ll just go back to this.”

With that, Rhodes pounced on his underarms full-force, wrecking him with an entirely new level of tickling intensity. Peter sputtered in surprise before busting out laughing, his head reeling with the need to immediately make the torture stop, even though it had only just started up again two seconds ago.

“AHAHANOHOHAHA! P-pahahaint my fahahace! My fahahace!”

“Good,” Rhodes said triumphantly. He stopped tickling Peter’s armpits and re-wet his hands with fresh paint. Then he began tracing his index finger along Peter’s jawline, followed by his hairline, outlining his face in white paint. His delicate touch tickled Peter like a feather and made him giggle uncontrollably.

“I’m painting the ocean,” Sam announced, scooping handfuls of blue paint into both of his palms. Then he dumped it all on to Peter’s belly and started spreading it everywhere with his hands, causing Peter to cringe and laugh as Sam’s fingers slipped along his sensitive sides and ribcage.

“Hold still,” Rhodey demanded, painting little spots of red on top of his already rosy cheeks.

“Ihi’m tryhyhing!” Peter giggled helplessly. “It’s hahard!” He jumped and squealed when Sam’s fingers crept up to his underarms and started fluttering against the hollows. “Ahahaha! Hehehey!”

“I’m painting you whole torso to look like the ocean! There has to blue everywhere!” he explained. A mischievous sparkle twinkled in his eye. “Let’s see. We need more blue here.” He brought both hands down to the middle of Peter’s tummy and drilled all ten fingers deep into his flesh. Peter leapt and gasp and squirmed with laughter. “And some more here,” he continued, tweaking both of his sides with sharp, quick pinches again and again and again.

“Sahahaham!” Peter cried.

“And perhaps let’s add some…here.”

Two hands were suddenly squeezing Peter’s legs above his kneecaps with needling repetition. The sensation sent shocks up his spine and made him jolt and twist and shriek.

“AHAHACK! NOHO—S-STOHOHAHAHAHAAA!” He bucked and squirmed and laughed himself silly, but Sam kept squeezing. As his hands inched higher and higher up Peter’s legs, his reactions became more and more hysterical. He couldn’t believe how much it tickled. He couldn’t handle another second. But his violent struggling and hiccup-filled laughter only seemed to encourage Sam to squeeze faster and harder.

“His legs are ticklish too?” Tony chuckled. “What part of you isn’t ticklish, kid?”

“His legs are super ticklish,” Sam laughed. “Look how red his face is!”

“HEHEHEHELP!” Peter cackled, balling his hands into fists. Sam was certain he’d explode if he kept this up, so he moved back to the kid’s belly, adding waves and fish to his ocean as Peter giggled breathlessly. “Gah..hah…oho gohohosh…eheeheeheh…”

“What are you going to paint, Tones?” Rhodey asked, dabbing black paint around the kid’s eyes.

Tony drenched his hand in green paint. “I’ll paint him some shoes. Leprechaun shoes. You want some little green leprechaun shoes, kid?”

Peter was too busy giggling dazedly beneath Sam’s tummy tickles and Rhodey’s feathery touches. He’d almost forgotten about Stark’s hand around his foot. He was quickly reminded of the fact when he felt a finger glide up his arch.

“AHA!” Peter squeaked, flinching so much Rhodey smeared paint all over his forehead. “Mihihister Starhark!”

“You said you were going to stay still!” Rhodes chastised him. Tony continued to tickle his foot, adding the rest of his fingers to the equation, and giggles rained from Peter’s lips as his toes twitched in protest.

“I cahahahan’t!” he laughed. Peter’s Spider-Man suit was designed to allow his hands and feet to stick to walls through the fabric, which meant it wasn’t very thick. So it basically did nothing to protect any part of him from tickle attacks, particularly the bottoms of his feet. Stark switched to tickling both of his feet, scurrying his fingers up and down the sides and center of each foot. Peter tried kicking his legs and scrunching up his toes, but it did nothing the deter Tony’s blunt fingernails scouring every ticklish inch of his feet.

Although they were all tickling him relatively gently now, thirty fingers stroking and tweaking his ridiculously sensitive self for as long as they had been was too maddening for words. Peter needed this to end before he died either of laughter or embarrassment.

“Ohohokahay,” he wheezed, his face aching from so much smiling. “Ihi’m cheered uhuhup! Youhou dihihihid it! Now plehehease—plehease just stohohahahahaaa!” His words dissolved into nonsensical giggling when Sam’s fingers returned to his ribs, worming and wiggling between each individual bone.

Rhodey booped his nose with a spot of red paint then looked back at the others. “What do you say? Is our thirst for pranking vengeance quenched?”

“For now, I guess,” Sam said, wiping his hands on the last remaining bit of Spider-Man’s costume that wasn’t splattered with paint. He gave his side a parting squeeze before laying off.

Tony stood and walked to stand by Peter’s head. The kid’s neck and ears were almost the same color as his suit. His clown paint job looked more like a random palette of colors smeared all over his face by someone wearing a blindfold. The poor kid was a Jackson Pollock gone wrong—although that was kinda what they all were at that point. But the wide, exhausted smile on his face filled Stark’s heart with warmth. With a tap on his watch, the nano-tech clasps dissolved away.

“Ihi’m in pain,” Peter moaned, rolling on to his side and curling into a ball. The three Avengers standing over him chuckled.

“Next time, don’t dump paint on your teammates,” Sam retorted.

“I juhust…wanted to…cheeheer you up…” he giggled quietly. “Uhuhugh…”

“Oh, you did,” Rhodey reassured him. “I am one hundred percent cheered up.”

“Me too,” Tony concurred. “You wholeheartedly succeeded.”

“Now I know exactly what to do when me or you or anyone else is bummed out,” Sam said. “Just a little poke, and then…”

Sam reached down and jabbed Peter’s side with his index finger. Immediately, the kid squeaked out a laugh and hugged himself around the middle.

“See? Instant serotonin.”

“Stohohop!” Peter giggled. “Let me lihihive…”

“Are you okay, kid?” Tony asked with sudden earnest, offering him a hand. Peter hesitated before accepting it, feeling wired and tingly as he rose to his feet, his belly still bubbling with giggly butterflies.

“Yeah,” he finally answered, unable to wipe the dopey smile from his face. “I just…ugh. I dohon’t understand why you guys have to escalate things so quickly. Why couldn’t you just put dye in my shampoo or dump malic acid on my pizza like normal people? Why do you always end up doing…that to me?”

“What, tickling you?” Sam smiled crookedly and made a move for his tummy, but Peter flinched out of the way this time. “Because it’s fun to watch you squirm.”

“And no matter how many times we do it, you react just as wildly. With your squirming and screeching and cute little hiccup-laugh.”

Peter’s face went hot. “It’s not…cute,” he murmured.

“I have half a mind to tickle you until you admit it’s cute,” Tony chuckled. When Peter’s eyes went wide, Stark held up his hands. “Not right now. Don’t worry. I think you’ve had enough for today.”

Rhodes patted Peter on the shoulder. “Come on, though—seriously. Is your mood not the tiniest bit improved after all that smiling and laughing?”

As much as Peter hated to admit it, he did feel more peppy and alive now than he had pre-tickle attack. He was certainly more smiley and giggly—that he couldn’t even attempt to hide.

“I mean…maybe,” he ventured to say. When he realized everyone was grinning at him, he backtracked. “But, like, not enough to be worth going through that! You people are evil!”

“We sure are,” Sam said sinisterly. “And we won’t let you forget it.”

Peter swallowed and picked his mask up off the floor, which was smeared with paint like the rest of him. “We didn’t even finish the spidey sense test thing we came in here for.”

“Let’s save that for another day,” Stark said, ruffling Peter’s paint-spattered hair. “I think we all could use a shower.”

After all was said and done, Peter was glad he had managed to brighten everyone’s day, even if it wasn’t through the method he’d intended.

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blakescoven · 5 years ago

Note

11 with Xavier 🥺 plz!

11. Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile

A/N: cant believe I actually wrote something after MONTHS. This is trash I’m sorry :( and things got out of hand because it’s about 2k words oops, but thank you for the ask darling, I had fun🖤 (Despite my proofreading there might be grammar mistakes because of my italian illiterate ass, so please be nice)

Warnings: they’re ghosts here, but honestly just dumb jokes, fluff and a heated moment but if you blink you’ll miss it haha

It’s one of those mornings. One of those mornings when the sunlight peaks through the window waking you up. But why even bother sleeping when you’re dead? Well, call it a habit, call it boredom, call it not wanting to let go that crumb of routine which, as much as possible, allows you to keep holding on to whatever is the shred of humanity left within you; like a fading flame that, for some reason, is still burning. Or at least this is the only way to not dissociate from reality and preserve your sanity.

Based on the amount of light, it must be almost 9 am.

Before even opening your eyes, you already know that he isn’t there. It’s when you turn to the other side of the bed that you get the confirmation; he’s not beside you, just crumpled sheets cold to the touch.

It's one of those mornings you perfectly know where he went. As much as he may not want to admit it, Xavier is pretty predictable.

Halloween has just slipped by, and all of you however-reluctant-residents of Camp Redwood spent 24 hours of complete freedom from that hellmouth, that place which does nothing but constantly remind you of that life that none of the souls stuck there had the chance to live. 24 hours to do ‘whatever the hell you want’. On this occasion, you guys are used to split up and part from each other; it has become a sort of established practice not talking about what you did on those hours, a somewhat “private full-day experience” that you all have this silent agreement to not share.

But then there was Montana being Montana, who enthusiastically bragged about how many frat guys and girls she hooked up with and then mercilessly killed at those wild college gatherings, despite your well-known disappointment on killing innocent people in cold blood. But actually, you’re almost a hundred percent certain that she and Trevor annually spent that day together, doing crazy things and partying all night long. For the first few years, after becoming aware that all the trapped souls are somehow unbound from the invisible restraints and free to step outside the borders of the ‘slaughter camp’, acclimatizing to the evolution and changing of times has been particularly challenging.

You were the one of the gang that for years had used those 24 hours to find a way to set you spirits free from redwood, once and for all. You talked to mediums and psychics, charlatans, coming close to obsession; it has been Xavier who persuaded you to let go, begging to just give up.

“Xav, there must be a way out of this, a loophole…something that could release our souls and let us move on, I-”

“Babe stop, we tried hard enough, but that's just the way it is…and then at least there’s a bright side,” he claimed with a faint smile, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“And what on earth can that be?” you sighed.

“We've got all eternity to be together.”

He’s always been your rock. A hotshot and a dork too, but still. You wouldn’t want anybody else by your side for the rest of your non-life.

So, from that moment, once a year, you and Xavier chose to make the most of your ‘day off’ going on dates, like normal couples do. For over three decades.

Then, as they say, the sun comes up and reality sets in.

And every time, without skipping a year, having to go back to the camp and dealing with that dreadful reality killed Xavier’s mood drastically. His aching heart led him to want to pass the day after in complete isolation, lost in his thoughts, grieving about what he has lost.

“I need to be alone for a while, Y/N” he used to mumble with a shrug, his usual confidence gone all at once, “This ‘let’s play humans’ thing was a mistake.”

And every single year you let him walk away, respecting what has now become a sort of ritual, of cathartic moment. Year after year seeing all those people living their lives, achieving their dreams, having a purpose, or just solely breathing was too much for Xavier. Realizing that he won’t ever have anything of this. For this reason, you always gave him space. But not today. You’ve always felt powerless; all you want is finding a way to let your boyfriend know that, as he had said decades ago, ‘it’s time to move on and accept your new reality’. No more sorrow. If there’s something you know is how to cheer up your favorite aerobics instructor.

On this November 1st of what should be 2020, Xavier is, as well as the last twenty years, sitting on the dock by the lake and staring off into space, surrounded by a disturbing silence.

“Boo” you seductively whispered in the shell of his ear, appearing out of nowhere kneeled behind him.

“Nice try,” he replies sarcastically, albeit his tone was rather emotionless, plain. “…but I can tell when you’re around.” He doesn’t even turn, totally unimpressed by your weak attempt of scaring him.

“Lame” you smirk, suddenly getting up, “Thought you could use some company, tough boy.”

You can’t see his face but you’re sure he is rolling his eyes now. He just sighs. Oh, and do you love his drama queen manners.

Without a real invitation to join him, you sit down again, this time right next to him, swinging your legs off the dock. You stare at the same direction he’s looking at, nervously tapping your fingers on the hard-wooden planks to the beat of an 80’s song.

“So,” you casually begin, though he seems pretty lost in his own thoughts, “Why don’t we skinny dip? I bet that could wash away that sad face.” you grin, biting your lip.

You’ve never been this cheeky before, but what’s wrong in testing the waters?! Honestly, you’re not even sure he is actually paying attention to what you’re saying; you feel almost lucky he acknowledged your presence. You sure as hell won’t budge or back off this time, you won’t indulge his annual pity party. This time you are more than determined to make your boyfriend feel better, even unleashing your secret anti-sadness weapon.

Evidently caught off guard from this unusual boldness, Xavier lifts his head and turns to you with a surprised look on his face, but frowning at the same time.

Damn it, how can he be so attractive even when he furrows his brows like that?

Right now, the glare of sunlight on the water is perfectly reflecting off his sharp features, and, in this one moment, it’s like everything else falls away, and it’s just the two of you. Nothing else matters but him. Just a few seconds and you’re positive you’re going to forget the reason why you are there in the first place.

It’s the soft sound of his voice that brings you back to reality.

“I’m not sad.”

You shoot him a spare-me-that-bullshit-glance, that doesn’t go unnoticed, since he immediately emphasizes what he said in an attempt to make it sound more convincing, a few octaves higher.

“I’m not sad, Y/N!”

Very well Xav, time to bring out the big guns then.

With what you think is the most serious and straight expression your face can make in that moment, you tenderly place a hand on this cheek, which results in his brows furrowing even more, as if he’s silently questioning your sudden change of demeanor. He’s already preparing to get your lecture when instead you come up with:

“Do you know why ghosts are terrible liars?”

With a combo of a dramatic pause and a poker face, you bite the inside of your cheek noting his confused and puzzled look, “You can see right through them.”

Xavier’s blue eyes suddenly widen, shocked by your brainless joke that you’re certain he wasn’t expecting. You remain silent and he looks at you with his mouth slightly open, completely speechless.

“No way, no no no,” his eyebrows raised even further, “You didn’t say what you’ve just said.” and despite his apparent grimace, he lets out a loud laugh he really can’t hold back.

“Any chance to unhear this cringe-worthy joke?”

“Oh stop, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Are you kidding me?” he dramatically snorts. Theatrical might be the right word to describe the way your boyfriend always reacts when he’s at a loss of words.

“If you were searching for a non-physical way to kill me, you just found it.” he puts a hand on his forehead.

“Then why are you laughing, blondie?” you tease him.

“Because you’re the worst comedian ever, baby.”

Yeah? A bulb glows on your head.

“I disagree. Now tell me, what do you call a ghost-comedian?”

“Don’t you dare.” he warns

“DEAD-FUNNY” you scream back, then bursting into laughter.

It starts as a chuckle, but soon Xavier can’t help but mirror your reaction, cracking up himself.

It’s a laughter that fills his lungs, so hard that it takes his breath away, loud yet so warm and pleasant. The lack of oxygen doesn’t matter. All the distress of the past few days melts; as long as you two stay together, the tension is relieved.

“Jeez, you’re lucky you’re the love of my life,” he lightly shakes his head, “...otherwise I would run away from you as fast as I can.” he lies, lightly bumping your shoulder.

Fixing quite unconsciously his signature bleached hair, always perfectly styled, has been his tic for ages. The first time you noticed it was when he nervously tried to divert attention from his blushing, finally bent on making a move on you. You two were friends, but head over the heels for each other.

He smiles at himself; even the thought alone of spending the eternity in that purgatory without you is inconceivable.

“Why don’t you write a book with all these bad jokes?!” he mocks you.

“Only with you as a ghostwriter!” and proud of your quick-but-cheap pun, you put on a massive shit-eating grin on your face.

“Are you fucking with me, Y/N?” Xavier smiles at you lovingly, pinching your side that he knows is a ticklish-weak-spot.

Your body twitches to escape his hold and push his hands away, but when you grab his wrists something shifts inside you. Are your eyes clouded with…is it lust? You’re not sure what it is, but you give him a little smirk, and, much to Xavier’s surprise, you straddle him placing your hands on his toned chest.

“Not yet, babe…unless it is what you want.”

“God Y/N, you suck at flirting” he claims but the groan that slips out means he can’t hide his arousal as much as he would.

“Teach me, then. Still got the moves?” you slightly shift, making sure to adjust your position with a slow grind against his half-boner. He hisses and lets out a little moan in response.

“Very well, but I think we should work on your flexibility first.”

What follows is a series of slow open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and love bites on his neck. You will never get tired of this, not even in a million years.

“Hey, Romeo and Ghouliet! Stop fucking your brains out and get over here…we have a sort of guest.” Chet screams from the lakeshore.

“We are not!” You both manage to say, reluctantly interrupting your heated kiss.

“I’m dead dears, not stupid.” the brunette winks.

Damn cockblocker.

“A guest?” Xavier questions, tilting his head and looking at you as if you know what Chet is talking about. You shrug and ask the athlete who this person is and what exactly they want.

“I think it’s about our…condition. Clairvoyance shit, I don’t know. Her name is Billie Dean Howard or something.” Chet explains, not sure either what all this is about.

Xavier is the first to get up, helping you do the same.

“Maybe she’s just a ghost-obsessed freak who wants to reopen the camp?!” you wonder out loud and tenderly link your hand with your boyfriend’s, ready to go.

“Yeah, maybe. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea, though.”

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dream-girls-evil · 4 years ago

Text

Ratched: Episode 8 Reactions

Three Months Later

It’s here! The finale!!! I did watch this while slightly intoxicated

Pinecone people aren’t creepy, nope, not at all

....Shrunken Apple, however

Literally who let Louise work here (I know it’s Betsy but still)

“Louise, I love and pity you, but you terrify the patients”

Ooh Louise and Betsy aren’t on the same page about Edmund anymore—and therefore probably about Mildred as well

Ooh Mildred and Gwen 😍

Oh honey. Chemo is no fun 😞

Ahhh the classic lesbian pose! No for real, historically pictures of women posed with one sitting and the other kneeling or one standing and the other sitting, that kind of thing, was used to signify that a book or magazine or what have you was about a lesbian relationship

Well, it seems like Mildred’s come to terms with not being able to save Edmund, but does Edmund know that?

Oop and Mildred is imagining dying in Mexico. Romantic?

Aw Mildred. So hopeful. I really hope Gwen is okay.

Ah I was right it seems that Mildred doesn’t work at Lucia anymore

Betsy found a woman doctor yay!!!

Betsy really coming through with comforting Mildred! Still the must unexpected alliance

Her tune changes a little when Mildred isn’t around, but I still don’t think she really believes in execution, and she can feel sympathy for Mildred’s pain without forgiving Edmund for his crimes

What if Edmund just like, made a dashing getaway on horseback? No?

Is Mildred gonna be here watching the execution?

Ugh this asshole governor—OH the electric chair...this is going to be much more painful than an injection. Mildred’s going to panic and realize she has to figure out something to save Edmund?

Oh my god he’s on fire. This is horrible.

Ew can they kill him? The way he thinks it’s okay to talk about their bodies is disgusting.

Okay so Mildred is still not arguing for a stay of execution, just for going back to the injection.

Gwen putting her arm behind Mildred’s back and touching her hand is so sweet but like be careful

The LOOK Mildred gives him

The close ups on this guy’s mouth make me so uncomfortable

Gwen check yourself.

Aaand he knows.

Dude that is FAR from the only reason she wouldn’t sleep with you.

Oh good so at least he’s not a homophobe (insert eye roll here)

Lmao Betsy I really don’t think they’re here to talk about catered lunches

Is Mildred gonna try to kill him herself? Ah Yep.

Angels of mercy 🙃

I do not think this is going to go smoothly. Edmund’s going to get away, isn’t he? And he’s going to HATE Mildred. Maybe he already hates her for not being able to save him from this.

Haha he thinks there’s rat poison in the food. That would be far too simple.

Suddenly Edmund is just a little kid talking about animals

The Escape

Charlotte Wells!!!

Not Charlotte Wells. Technically.

...no. Don’t tell me.

Y E P omg they’re really saying she absorbed Dr Hanover as another personality after killing him?

Does Betsy even know Hanover is dead? Did Mildred ever tell her?

Omg wonder if Charlotte is gonna help Edmund escape. I mean, that was Hanover’s plan with Charlotte—spirit her away so that he could cure her and prove himself.

Nothing bad better happen to Huck. Like they’re trusting him to help with Edmund and now help with Charlotte WHO JUST FOUND A GUN.

Oh man that’s how Huck got his burns

Okay maybe reminding her of Harold isn’t the best idea. The man was murdered right in front of her.

NOOOO NOT HUCK

SECRET DOOR?! FUCK!!!

Why do people say “you’re gonna have to shoot me”? That’s like...a really good way to get shot.

YEEEP I WAS RIGHT SHE’S GONNA TAKE EDMUND

Do NOT shoot Betsy do NOT.

I love how Edmund still believes Mildred has a plan to save him.

Fuuuuck Betsy don’t tell him!!!

Fuck. I was right. He knows Mildred was going to kill him, and he’s going to hate her for it.

Fuck Mildred’s going to show up to Lucia and see that all of this has happened!!!

Lol what if she actually passed their car it would be like the meme

Omg she DID

1950

...and now suddenly it’s 1950???

Gwen!!! Well she’s got her hair back so I’m guessing she’s in remission

Edmund hasn’t killed again? Doubtful. He probably just changed his MO.

BETSY

I’m glad she’s cool with the lesbians

Good on Betsy for moving with the times and realizing her old treatments were bad

What is Mildred looking at?? Please don’t say Edmund. Is she just lost in thought or is she always on edge like this? Waiting to him to appear out of the shadows and take everything from her?

“It’s so nice to be rid of them” “Who?” “Men!” I LOVE IT

Fuck fuck fuck she’s going back to the house on her own. She’s gonna find something or he’s going to appear. She feels herself being watched. He’s there, isn’t he?

KNIFE OH NO

Good she has a gun, but this whole thing is definitely not going to get wrapped up that easy. It’s going to be a cliffhanger or otherwise drawn out.

CHARLOTTE FUCK

Bathing in blood okay Dandy

Fuuuck no bullets NO!!!

Omfg a DREAM?!?! I hate everything. That was too stressful.

Ahhh another pretty nightgown for Mildred!

I love Gwen comforting her. This is definitely a routine.

I love Betsy, she’s delightful.

Fuck I bet there’s actually gonna be something in the newspaper this time.

Multiple murder in Chicago.

Seven nurses. Yep that’s Edmund.

How long is this telephone cord?!

Someone she knows sold her out. But who knows she there except for Betsy?? Please don’t say it’s Betsy.

Ooh she’s coming for YOU, Edmund.

LOUISE GODDAMNIT

Thoughts and Theories

Well that was a ride!!! Honestly, nothing too unexpected, but that’s not a bad thing! A few plot twists are always good, but I hate stories where literally nothing is predictable, because then it’s just confusing. A good story should give you enough hints that by the end you can figure out how the pieces go together. Charlotte showing back up was a surprise, but as soon as she did, I could see where things were gonna go. Still raging about their portrayal of DID tho. And now we have the lead into next season! I still can’t believe it was Louise. She’s so kooky that it should be funny but man is she insufferable.

So now we’ve got the set up for next season: a cat and mouse game between Mildred and Edmund. Plus whoever they’ve got in tow. I highly doubt Edmund will keep Charlotte and Louise around for long, but Mildred has Gwen, and that’s worrying. Either she’s going to get left behind for safety or she’s going to get roped into this chase and something terrible will probably happen to her. There’s just really no good ending to this love story, considering we know who Mildred ends up being. Honestly, best case scenario is that Gwen leaves of her own volition because she can’t be okay with knowing there will probably be casualties in Mildred’s feud and that Mildred will consider them justified. But who knows? The last episode did redeem their relationship for me a bit though. It’s clear that there were definitely talks and negotiations during these past two years about Mildred’s past and how they communicate. I just wish we could have seen them.

Honestly, the thing that worries me most about this is that I have no idea how we’re going to end up getting to Cuckoo’s Nest from here. How and why will she end up back at Lucia after all of this? What will happen to Betsy and Gwen that they’re not with her anymore by the time she does? How is this personal fight with Edmund going to translate into her being someone who is really a product of an institutional problem? I actually have an essay in progress on the last point, which in summary is that I really don’t think they will be able to bridge that gap successfully or are even really trying to.

Final notes: I love Betsy Bucket and hope you enjoyed my reactions!

#ratched #mildred ratched #ratched spoilers #all hail the queue of hell #betsy bucket #nurse bucket #edmund tolleson #charlotte wells #gwendolyn briggs

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simmonsofshield · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Thing

Pairings: Y/N Stacy & Peter Parker

Summary: Peter is not dealing with his friend’s death very well. Loosely based on true and personal events.

Words: ~2900

Warnings: Mentions of death. Yelling. Blaming.

A/N: AU, Peter and Gwen are friends. Y/N is Gwen’s older sister. Gwen is an Avenger and has been in all the fights instead of Peter. This is for @jbbarnesnnoble‘s mental health awareness challenge. I chose “How do you even begin to move on?” It won’t be a quote, but it’ll be in bold. Takes place after Endgame.

Dear Peter,

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ve never been known to anyways. If you’re reading this, that means I’m either dead or in some sort of close-to-death coma, probably the former.

I’m writing this the day before I leave for Berlin. Sorry I didn’t tell you about it but Tony Stark came to me so I’m assuming it has to stay on the DL. Yeah, you read that right. Tony freaking Stark! He hasn’t told me much but I’m assuming some sort of drama with the Accords. Why he came to me and not you, I’m not sure. Maybe just because I go out more and there’s more youtube videos of me than you. Or maybe he didn’t want the “friendly neighborhood Spiderman.” He wanted someone tougher. Haha just kidding.

Anywho... back to the reason for this letter. I want you to take my place. Queens still needs someone to take care of it, and since I’m no longer around, it’s gotta be you. We were both in that lab and got bit by those radioactive spiders. Who thought making spiders radioactive was a good idea anyways? We went through all the weird hardships with these new powers together and managed without anyone finding out….except my sister. (and apparently Tony Stark.)

Speaking of Y/N, I’m putting her in your care. You are now responsible for her. I’m only kind of sorry. She’s the only one that knows about this letter.

Hopefully you don’t have to read this immediately following this impromptu trip to Berlin, or at all in 2016. Or, you know, ever. Hopefully I can grow old and retire SpiderGwen. Wait, those are two different things, let me rephrase that: hopefully I can stop saving the day around 25 and then retire when I’m old and wrinkly and burn this letter so you never have to even know it existed.

If you are reading this and made it this far, I want you to know that I believe in you. It is hard being a hero. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions, but you’re a smart guy. I know you will be great. Better than me, probably.

You’re the best basically-brother I could ever ask for. Spiderman is destined for great things. I know it.

Gwen

Present day, May 2023

When it first happened - when half the universe was brought back - Y/N came looking for Peter immediately. After that first weird day back to school, she found him..and that was weird too. She used to only be one year older than him and Gwen, and now she was clearly 6 years older than him. She’d asked if he’d seen her in class, and he said no. She covered her mouth and started crying right there. It confused him at the time, but in hindsight, he realized she knew at that moment that Gwen was dead. Her family got the call from Nick Fury himself that night.

Besides the big bad, Thanos he thinks, there were only two casualties. “Only” two on the heroes side, when there’s usually zero. They were Gwen and Tony Stark. So not only did Peter lose his best friend, he lost his idol as well, and even though he never got to meet him, it still hurts. A little. He died bringing back the half of humanity that was blipped, a truly heroic act, but Gwen died so that that could happen. She’s hardly ever mentioned in news reports or anything.

It’s been almost two months. TWO.

Peter read the letter again. He did almost once a day. The fold creases were already very worn and the page had been stained with tears many times over. He still just couldn’t believe she was actually gone. Being brought back after getting blipped was enough to deal with but now his closest friend was dead. What was the most frustrating was that he didn’t know how. He wasn’t allowed to. SHIELD classified it and only the immediate family could know. You hadn’t told him everything, but you did say something about her getting caught in some crossfire. That’s all you were allowed to say.

He sat in the stairwell of his and Aunt May’s Queens apartment while he waited for you to arrive. He was zoned out thinking and didn’t even hear you come up the stairs.

“Peter?” he snapped back to reality and looked at you, eyes sad, “you ready?”

He nodded and stood up, shoving his hands in his shorts pockets. He trudged down the stairs and met you at the landing, then walking side by side down the rest to ground level. Exiting the complex, you put your arm around his shoulders walking the already too familiar route. What had happened was still fresh and you two had decided to visit Gwen’s grave once a week, tell her what had been going on, if anything.

The first few times were okay, but recently, Peter hadn’t been saying anything. He just kneels in front of her grave, head down, and cries. You really felt for the kid, you did. His parents died when he was 6, his uncle Ben 3 years ago (since he was blipped), and now his best friend-basically-sister. He’s only 16 and has dealt with more death than anyone at that age should. How do you even begin to move on? The gaps are big, but that doesn’t make any of them hurt less. Especially when they’re all family.

After a few minutes of silent sobs, you place your hand on his shoulder. He stands up and steps aside, so you can have your time. You look at him and give him a soft smile of thanks. He looks at you for a millisecond before looking back at the ground, wiping away stray tears.

You approach her gravestone, putting your hand on it, brushing your fingers along it and tracing the letters of her name. You speak softly, as if just to her. “Gwenny, I need help. Your help. This has been hard on Peter. You were his best friend and now he just seems like a lost puppy without you around. I know he has Ned and MJ, but a big chunk of him is missing without you here,” you cough out a sob, “I just want the old Petey back. I don’t expect it tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, but I need it. I want some sort of normalcy back in my life,” your next sob comes out with a little bit of a laugh, “look at me, talking to a grave like I’m talking to an actual human. You’d totally give me crap for this.” you sigh, “It’s just-- being six years older than him now instead of just one makes it hard. We’re in such different places in our lives. He just finished his freshman year of high school, and I’m in college now...” you trail off, forgetting where you were going with it. Standing up, you give one last tap to the gravestone. “Bring him back. Oh-” You dig in your purse and pull out a charm bracelet. You crouch back down and lay it right next to the base where the grass is a little bit taller. You wear an identical one. “Mom and dad are doing fine..well, as well as you could expect. There are some rough nights, but we’re managing.”

Emotions were still running high at home. You’d lost your sister, and your parents, their youngest child. There was a lot of fighting and blaming, despite heroism being Gwen’s choice. She’d told you once that she’d been given the powers for a reason. If bad things happened and she did nothing, it was basically her fault. You never really agreed with the sentiment, but she insisted and went on helping out the people of Queens, eventually roping Peter into it.

A lot of the time the blame fell on you, your father wondering why you weren’t with Gwen and Peter the day they got bit. You take it, as it’s his way of mourning and relieving his anger. He’s looking for answers that he’ll never get. Your mom is mostly silent, save for the fights. You two usually end up drinking a bottle or two of wine before tottling off to bed, drowning your sorrows.

The walk back is silent, as usual. You were both mourning and it was always emotionally draining after a visit and hard to make conversation. You’re about 2/3 of the way back before you decide to try. “I, uh, noticed you had the letter in the stairwell.” You feel a shift and see as his hand goes to his pocket. “Pete, why?” You sigh, not in disappointment, mostly in exhaustion but a little bit of curiosity too.

He looks down, an exhale coming from his nose, “It’s the last thing I have of her.”

You let out a soft gasp. That hadn’t even crossed your mind, it was the last physical thing Gwen had touched and given - by way of you - to him. “Oh, Petey.” You run your fingers through his hair a few times before letting your arm rest limply over his shoulders. He pushes it off, stopping in his tracks and looks at you with an expression you don’t recognize. He mumbles something and you stop waking as well, leaning forward a little. “Peter?”

“Tony did this.”

“To-”

“Tony Stark! He’s the one who recruited her. He’s the one that put her on this path.” he paces back and forth in anger. “If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be a part of the Avengers and she wouldn’t be dead.”

“Peter...” you know what he’s doing. In fact, you went through and did the same thing just a couple weeks ago. “You know he’s not to blame. She’s the one who wanted to help the community, just like you,” you reasoned, “it was only a matter of time before she caught the eye of the Avengers.”

He ignored you, turning on his heels. “I need to talk to him.”

“Y-you can’t. Peter..” you stand there, stunned for a moment, “Peter.” you call out. He doesn’t respond and you quickly move from your place on the sidewalk and jog a little to try to catch up. You forgot how quickly he could walk when he was on a mission. “Peter!”

“What?!” he turns around, fire in his eyes. You actually cower a little, never hearing this tone come out of his mouth before.

“Uhm..” your voice is meek at first as you try to figure out what to say and recover from the surprise his outburst gave you, “you can’t go talk to Tony.”

“And why not?”

“He,” you swallow the lump in your throat, speaking softly not out of fear now, but to bring down the information as delicately as you could, “he died that night too. Remember?”

He blinks and there seems to be a flicker of remembrance and realization. It quickly changes back to anger and he looks you dead in the eyes, pointing. “Then it’s your fault!”

“W-what?”

“Yeah. You’re the one that let her go to Berlin. She would’ve listened to you. If you had told her no, she wouldn’t have gone. It’s your fault!” he continues pointing his finger at you, his voice rising as he talked. You hadn’t even realized you were moving until you were suddenly backed into the wall of a corner store, or maybe a restaurant, you didn’t really take the time to figure out where you were on the street.

You could feel your breath beginning to shallow the more he talked. You had no idea what was going to happen, and with him being enhanced, he was unpredictable. “Peter...” was all you could muster up, hoping just saying his name would somehow take him out of this trance he was in. It didn’t work and if you hadn’t looked down to look away from his face, you wouldn’t have noticed his other hand beginning to ball into a fist. Your eyes widened and you looked back at him, tears threatening to fall. “Peter, please.”

It didn’t phase him. “It’s your fault!” he yells and you see his fist rise and you dodge out of the way in the nick of time, now in a crouched position.

You hear his fist connect with the wall, “Fuck!” Under different circumstances, you’d be surprised and sarcastically scold him because you’ve never heard him swear, ever. At the moment though, you’re now seated against the wall, breathing hard and tears falling silently.

“Y/N?” He crouches down and puts a hand on your shoulder, which you slink away from. At this point, as if it were a movie, mother nature decided it had to rain. All you hear is the soft pattering of the rain on the sidewalk for a moment before you hear some soft whimpering. You look around, and see a few feet from you, Peter sitting and hugging his knees, head down.

You stand up, and walk over to him, not announcing your presence in any way, and sit next to him. Taking his hand in yours, you begin inspecting his knuckles. “You’re lucky you have super strength. Otherwise that wall would have done a number on your hand. More than just some scratches and it looks like probably some bruising.” The only reply you get is some breathy sobs. “Okay,” keeping his hand in yours, you stand up and urge him up too, “let’s get you home.”

He doesn’t argue and slowly begins to walk home, with your aid. Your arm is once again around his shoulders and he doesn’t push it away this time. The whole walk back is silent, as expected. The both of you now more tired than before, physically and emotionally.

When you arrive back at Peter’s apartment, you enter, May leaving it unlocked. She’s on the couch watching tv. She turns around with a smile to greet you guys, but it quickly turns to a frown when she sees the state the two of you are in. You see her mouth open about to ask a question and you shake your head. She closes it and stands, walking over to Peter’s bedroom door and opening it for the two of you. You nod a thank you and walk in.

Peter still seems to be in a daze when you sit him down at his desk. You scan his room looking for a towel, seeing clothes and books strewn about, assuming he ‘lost’ his backpack again. “Well, I see you have a project for tomorrow,” you try to joke, despite the fact that you began picking up his clothes and putting them in the hamper in his closet. You hear a soft hmm? and look over at him. He’s looking at you, eyes red but only a little puffy.

You finally find his bath towel, halfway under his bed. Picking it up, you shake it a couple times to get any dust bunnies off and walk over to him. You can feel his eyes on you as you dry the rain off his arms and legs, but you continue. You dab off his neck and rub his hair a few times, getting as much off as you can before moving to his face. He jerks away and wipes his forehead with his arm before looking at you, as if studying you. You sit back a little, unsure, wondering what he’s going to do.

He takes a deep breath like he’s trying to gather the courage to speak to you. It takes a couple more seconds before he does. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh Peter,” you coo softly, “it’s okay.”

He slaps his hand on his desk, “No it’s not!” seeing you jump, he realized what he did, “s-sorry.” he says barely above a whisper.

“It’s not,” you agree, “but you’re mourning. I’m going through the same thing at home. You know this. I can take a few angry words.”

“But I blamed you, tried to hurt you.”

You nod, “I will admit I was a little scared when you tried to hit me,” he looks down, scared to make eye contact, “but,” you use your finger to lift his chin, “I got out of the way and you didn’t. Guess I gotta thank Gwen for taking me to some of those self defense classes so I could help her train.” You say the last part with a smile.

For what you’re pretty sure is the first time that night, Peter smiles too. You use your hand and wipe away the remaining tears on his face. “There he is.”

You get up on your knees, about to stand up, when he pulls you into a hug. You let out at squeak of surprise but quickly melt into it. Then, you suddenly begin to cry.

“Y/N?” he doesn’t pull out of the hug but you can hear the concern in his voice.

You sniffle and wipe away your tears, letting out a kind of cry-laugh. “I’m just glad, that at least for tonight, you’re back to the Peter that I know. I’ve missed your smile.” You feel him hug you a little tighter.

For Avory

#JBBNNMHAMChallenge #Peter Parker x reader #(platonic yall)#peter parker & reader #gwen stacy #spiderman #spider man #spider-man #spidergwen #spider gwen #peter parker

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zoefandom127 · 4 years ago

Text

Hands Up With Me Pt. 3

part 3!!! show some love to this on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

"Can you please look again?"

"I'm sorry Miss but we've looked everywhere."

They'd been at the airport for at least an hour, waiting at baggage claim. Most everyone has gathered their belongings and left but Julie couldn't leave until…

"But I swear I brought it with me on the plane," Julie murmured more to herself. In reality, it shouldn't have been that serious. She was 20 years old for goodness sake. But she'd had it since forever. The old fabric and loose stitching forever etched into her mind. It's one of the only living relics her mom had given her before she passed. The thought of it being gone isn't something she could fathom.

"Miss, we haven't seen a stuffed animal in any of our ports. If we hear anything, we'll let you know." With that, the baggage handler walked away leaving Julie in a mess.

Honestly, it's just a bear. An old, worn out bear that had been in her life for a long time. She never went anywhere without, always bringing with her on tours and keeping it backstage as a good luck charm before performances. Sometimes it would almost be as if her mom was there with her.

She knew mentally that her mom would always be with her no matter what. Somewhere in her mind or heart or whatever. But emotionally, that bear was the only other thing that made her feel close to her mom besides music. Mr. Harmelody (when she was younger she stumbled over her words and accidentally combined harmony and melody, somehow the name stuck) was there all the time. And she doesn't know why but she needs it with her.

"Come on, Julie, it's getting late." Luke laid a hand on her shoulder, pulling her out of her reverie.

"But…" Julie looked towards the boys and they were almost falling asleep on their feet. It had been a long flight and they still needed to wake up early the next morning for their interview with Carrie. Glancing at her phone, she winced when she saw it was a quarter ‘til one am. "Yeah, okay. Sorry for making you guys wait so long."

Reggie, who had been leaning on a concrete column, slowly waking at the sound of Julie's voice being directed at him, Alex, and Luke. "No worries, Jules." He gave a tired smile and kicked Alex, jolting him awake.

"Are we at the hotel yet?" Alex yawned.

"No, but the cab's outside." Luke grabbed his suitcase and started towards the exit with the boys dragging their feet behind. Julie was lagging behind the three of them sleepily as she tried to rub away the stinging behind her eyes. It's not that serious. Everything will be alright.

...

Everything was not alright.

Luke had been sitting with Julie for hours trying to come up with lyrics but the girl was dead on her feet. Ever since she lost Mr. Harmelody (he could imagine 3-year-old Julie saying that name in all her adorable cuteness) she'd been so reserved. Her answers would be 3 words or less. And she looked so distracted lately, always looking at her phone anxiously. Like she was waiting for it to ring and tell her the best news ever.

He knew the significance of the bear, how much it connected it to her mom. But he didn't think the loss of it would affect her this much. She was barely functioning what with all the singing and touring and late nights but she did it all with a smile on her face. Now she had a blank stare and barely said a word to anyone.

Yeah, he needed to fix this.

Once Julie left, Luke pulled out his phone and went straight to his text messages, clicking on the group chat with the boys.

Luke: guys we gotta help julie

Alexander: Yeah…

Reginald: Help her with what?

Alexander: Haven't you noticed that she's been kinda…

Luke: d e p r e s s e d

Alexander: ^^^

Reginald: Oh i thought she was just thinking. I mean thats what i look like when i think too hard.

Alexander: Nah you look more constipated

Luke: ANYWAY

Luke: we need to find Mr. Harmelody

Luke: any, ideas?

Reginald: Oooooo maybe we could bribe them

Alexander: With what? Your stupidity?

Reginald: *gasp* I take that very offensive

Alexander: You should

Alexander: Calling the airport would probably be the best option

Alexander: Though I think if they found it they would've called

Luke: right but maybe we just have to be more insistent

Alexander: Oh wow Luke, broadening your vocabulary lately?

Luke: haha

Luke: instead of calling we could like go in there and demand the bear

Luke: that could work right?

Alexander: Not if we want to be carried away by airport security

Reginald: Ngl thatd be kinda fun

Luke: idk guys but we have to find it. Julie is not okay

Reginald: Awww yeah for Jules we gotta find Mr. Harmelody

Reginald: ...I still think bribing them could work

Alexander: Wait maybe we could bribe them with a concert.

Alexander: If they search, we play

Luke: yeah that could work!

Luke: i'll call flynn so she can set it up. that girl is more intimidating than our actual manager

All the details would be figured out now but for now…

"We're coming for you, Mr. Harmelody."

...

Julie was bummed.

Well to be honest, she was bummed all the time now. It had been a little over a week since Mr. Harmelody has been gone. The fact that she was this upset over a stuffed animal made her feel like a child again. She was reminded of the time she lost Mr. Harmelody when she was 9 years old. Her mom had taken her and Carlos to the town fair and her mom warned her not to bring Mr. Harmelody but at the time she was at the age where her attachment to her belongings was fierce. Julie didn't have a good grip on her bear for the dropdown ride and Mr. Harmelody went flying from her hands and through the air.

As soon as her legs were on solid ground she went running in the general direction of where the bear flew, leaving her mom and Carlos to follow behind her as tears trailed down her face. After an hour of crying and searching, Rose found Mr. Harmelody lodged underneath a vendor cart for funnel cake.

Maybe she had been a little dramatic back then, especially when she cried "my life is ruined" in her mother's embrace. But all the memories and love engraved in that bear seemed to be lost without it with her.

Just as they seemed lost right now.

Walking through the hallway of her apartment building, Julie heard voices from behind her door.

"Shhh."

Furrowing her eyebrows, she placed her ear against the door gently so as not to alert the people inside the apartment of her presence.

"Okay, I'm gonna set up the camera."

"Reg, we don't need to record this."

"Are you kidding? The fans will eat this up. A touching JATP moment, if you will."

"I will not."

Hearing enough, Julie unlocked the door and wandered in.

"Julie!" Luke yelled, surprised.

There Alex, Luke, and Reggie stood looking as suspicious as ever.

Hesitantly, Julie continued her trek inside. "Hey…" She spoke wearily.

"Did we figure out how we're gonna present it to her?" Alex asked after a brief moment of silence as Julie stared at them skeptically with her arms crossed.

"Uh no. Not really." Reggie responded, still looking at Julie with a smile on his face.

"What's going on?"

The boys looked at each other as if making a small agreement as they nodded their heads slightly. Luke had both his hands behind his back, clearly holding something. He stepped up to her and proceeded to show her Mr. Harmelody in all of his stuffed glory.

Everything was the exact same. The same worn clothes and stitches that were begging to be replaced, albeit a little dirtier than before. Julie reached a hand to touch the fluffiness of the soft bear, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"How did you…"

"Let's just say we're gonna be performing a private concert at the airport on Thursday." Luke smiled, proudly at her.

Julie barely even heard him. She quickly gathered the bear from Luke's hands and clutched tightly to her chest, closing her eyes at the familiar yet nonexistent embrace of Mr. Harmelody. She bent her legs until her knees were fully folded against her chest, pushing the bear closer against her as her arms tightened around it.

Tears streamed down her face freely and she almost didn't register the feeling of her boys kneeling around her. The proximity brought even more comfort.

"Thank you." Julie croaked out, her eyes still shut firmly.

"Anytime, Jules." Alex rubbed her back as she cried softly.

Once her cries ceased, Julie looked up with puffy eyes at each of the boys who surrounded her. "Mr. Harmelody says thank you too." She grinned brightly.

"Aw," Reggie spoke as he placed his arms around all three of them. "I can't wait to put this on Instagram."

...

The next day Julie got an Instagram notification that she was tagged in a post from Reggie. The caption read:

"JATP moments like this>>>"

Julie smiled down at her phone when she saw a picture of the four of them kneeled on the carpet floor of her apartment gathered in a warm hug. Obviously, he chose not to post the full video, wanting to keep some parts of their lives separate from their fanbase.

After taking a look through the comments, she finally decided to comment one of her own.

“Mr. Harmelody is back in commission!"

lukepatterson replied to your comment: "damn right!"

alexmercer replied to your comment: "The unofficial member of Julie and the Phantoms"

Julie grinned happily as she laid her phone on her coffee table. Mr. Harmelody may have been her source of comfort then but now? She had her boys.

hope yall enjoyed!

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #jatp fanfic #jatp family #fanfiction #jatp julie #jatp alex #jatp reggie #luke jatp

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stargazedwinchester · 5 years ago

Text

Just Saying | Dean

i know its been very long since ive wrote, but i have completely missed writing, i feel like nothing else will really be my forte like writing is, so here’s a quick imagine i started 4 years ago that i never finished haha. so here it is!

i’ll probably write a sam version of this, idk

Based off of 5SOS’s song ‘just saying’, listen to it here

Warnings: Swearing, I’m a bit rusty but I really tried to make it amazing

Word count: 1,805

“He’s almost an hour late! Where is he?” You huff, checking your phone for any missed calls or unread messages. None. “I’m calling him.” You look through your contacts and called his number. “There’s no point Y/N,” Dean speaks up, “He’s a total loser. He’s got no future, everyone’s telling you that.” You look over at Dean, whose eyes are glued to the TV screen. “But they like me.”

“The guy has no job, and yet he doesn't bother to take you out anywhere. If he does, he’s late... just like today.”

“Dean-”

“You always come home with no money, you complain that whenever the check comes, he always makes you pay. Always. I’d never do that, just saying.” Dean glanced over at you, shrugging. A small smirk washes upon his face. “Are you telling me song lyrics or something? What’s with the ‘just saying’?” You sat down next to him, squinting your eyes a little bit, trying to figure the guy out. “Are you high? Dean, are you doing drugs?”

“Y/N! No! It just bugs me a lot that you even put effort into this guy. Not once has he ever shown you effort or any appreciation.” Dean shuts the TV off, the black screen dimming the room. He stands up, and treads over to the fridge, and pulls out a beer, offering you one. You pass on it, and he just places it onto the marble counter.

“When you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.” He sips at his beer and looks around the bunker. “Waiting to tell me ‘I told you so’?” You sit there confused, what was Dean talking about? You were pretty sure something has gotten into Deans system to make him talk like this, to act this way. He shrugs. “Dude, you like him. Why are you acting this hostile towards him?” You check your phone again, still no messages. “I can act, Y/N.” he points his pointer finger at you, and raises his eyebrows slightly.

“But what about the French Mista-”

“Let’s never bring that up ever again.” He spoke, drinking his beer once more. Your phone buzzed, and your heart skipped a beat. “He’s parked up the street. I’ll see you later.” You stand up and walk out through the bunkers door. You walk up the hill that the bunker is set on, seeing a car with the parking lights on. That was him.

What if what Dean said was true? But what exactly was he getting at? It honestly sounded like he was trying to terribly serenade you with trashy boyband lyrics, but you shrugged it off and tried to enjoy the rest of your night.

“What are you so worked up about?” Sam questions Dean, unsure of his brothers' feelings and actions. Dean looks the other way. “Y/N. She’s out with... with that douchebag and she should know her worth, man.” Dean sighs, yet going back to the fridge for another beer. “Aww, is someone jealous?” Sam chuckles, poking fun at the older Winchester. “You’re like a little broken-hearted teenager.” He chuckles again, receiving a death glare from Dean. “Shut up, you ass. I just care for her, that's all. I’m so much better than him.” Dean pauses at his statement, contemplating it for a second. His eyebrows wrinkled as he thought whether or not he’s actually better for you than some lowlife. Despite his drinking habits, his unnecessary swearing, and awful, awful good luck with the ladies, he would quite literally make the perfect boyfriend. Hell, even as a friend he would be the absolute best. Dean takes another sip of his beer. “Yeah, I guess you are- in some ways- better than him. But don’t give up hope, man. She’s probably just waiting for you to come in and save the day like always.” Sam pats him on the back and exits the kitchen.

You arrived back at the bunker, fed up and absolutely wasted. You had to hold onto the handrail with both hands and slowly make your way down the spiral stairs, while you had to keep telling yourself to not throw up all over yourself, and the bunker. You look up, seeing an extra tall Winchester stood at the bottom of the stairs. You groan. “God, how drunk are you?” They ask, you’re so hammered you can’t even make sure who’s who. Or even if this is one of the Winchesters. You release your grip from the staircase and go to grab the forearm of said person, and instantly, you know who it is. “Ah. Sam. You’re Sam.”

“Yep. It is. Let’s get you to bed.” Sam attempts to pick you up but you refuse. “If you dare pick me up I will be sick, so don’t try it.” You warn, making Sam laugh. There was a comfortable silence as he slowly walked you down to your room, you knew Sam has always been there for you, even when you’re drunk. Sam’s intentions have never been bad, neither has Dean’s. They’d do absolutely anything for you, even if it means allowing you to be with someone who knows zilch about your real life, neither would he even care about learning everything you’ve been through, all of the ups and the downs and the things you’ve learnt on the way, he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care.

Those words replayed in your head countless times, you weren’t too sure if it was your brain trying to tell you something after the uneventful night you had or if maybe, just maybe you weren’t actually feeling it. You sighed then groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Sam questions, placing his hand on the top of your back, still helping you from swaying side to side. “Nothing.” You look up at him, he connects eyes with you. “It was so bad. We went to this restaurant that wasn’t even that good. We ordered food and he kept insisting that I ordered something different since he ‘doesn’t want me to gain weight.’” You air quoted, stopping in your tracks. Sam stood back and crossed his arms. “What a dick.” He says, leaning against the wall. “I know, right? Dean wouldn’t do that to me. Hell, you wouldn’t either and you’re the health freak.” You huff, making Sam smirk. “He even made me pay.” You point out, Sam rolls his eyes and pushes himself off of the wall. “Again? Y/N, what do you even see in him?” The way Sam asked you this question made you feel so inferior, you had no reason as to why you do actually like him, you made yourself believe you’d want something normal, something away from the hunter life, and that if all else fails, at least you’d be able to go back to your normal, suburban home somewhere in America and settle down with your husband, find a job, have some kids and live normally. But, you never really gave it a second thought that now that you’re in the hunter life, there’s really no way out. Things will still come after you to get revenge or even just for fun... you wouldn’t be able to just throw it all away, besides, the Winchesters need you. “I don’t know, dude, I just thought I could have something different on the side of hunting. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being stupid.” You look down at the floor, then turn around to open your bedroom door. But then, you notice a figure stood to the right of you, and you look up and realise it’s Dean.

Sam pats you on the back and smiles at Dean, leaving you two alone.

“You’re not stupid, Y/N.” Dean exclaims, opening the door for you. You look up at him and smile, to be thankful. You lift your left leg up and attempt to take your shoes off, but almost topple over with the lack of balance, within an instant, Dean grabs you by the arm and leads you over to your bed, and kneels down on the floor, untying your boots for you. “Thanks, Dean.” You say, laying back onto the bed, your hands covering your face. Dean places your boots next to the bedside table and moves onto the other one. He glances up at you. “No problem, sweet.” Everythings quiet for a moment. Dean gets up off of the floor and joins you on the bed, laying back the exact same as you. His arms are crossed across his stomach, while he stares up at the ceiling. “I’m better than him.” He blurts, instantly regretting what he said. “I mean, I overheard you and Sam and he told you to not get a burger? What kind of man does that?” His attempt to make a smooth recovery didn’t end so well, you look at him and laugh. “I know. I really wanted that burger, too. I had to get myself drunk so I could stand him.” You smile, somewhat guilty. You felt bad speaking about relationship problems to someone who never truly has had a proper relationship before.

Dean looks over at you, his gorgeous, apple green eyes shining at yours. You never observed such a beautiful shade before, something so unique but so unforgiving. The fact that those eyes can still shine so bright after he lost his mother, his father, and his brother a few times, it’s incredible. So fascinating, in fact, that you stare back. The back of your hand traces over his cheek, he blinks, then smirks. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N. Hell, I’d die for you if you asked me to.” His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips, but he didn’t want to seem desperate.

You have to physically stop yourself from moving over and kissing the life out of him, he's basically your best friend and probably not even into you like that, you’re sure of it. Dean likes the dumb blondes that only want any sort of intercourse instead of a connection. But the more he stares, the more you’re unsure of what his intentions are. The more you want to go for it. ‘Fuck it, go for it!’ your heart tells you, and you do. Your lips just barely touch his, and he hesitates, wondering what you’re doing, but he moves in closer for a better touch. His hand gently slides through your hair and you smile. It’s the happiest you’ve been with someone, someone that isn’t even yours. At least not yet, anyway.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.” He murmurs, between the kiss. Your heart stops. What did he say?

“What?” You break the kiss, but still touching foreheads. “I’ve always loved you.” He repeats, tracing his right thumb over the bottom of your lip. “I have.” He whispers, going back in for another kiss. “I’ve always loved you too.”

#supernatural #supernatural imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #supernatural fluff #spn #castiel #spn imagines #reader x dean #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester oneshot

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monstrousaffections1 · 4 years ago

Text

Hofniel

Beatrix tried not to breath in the smell of the cigarettes. Failing of course. But one could live under the illusion that they prevented the toxic smoke from entering their lungs by taking short breaths. The street lights flickered a little. The moths and mosquitos swarming the lights. Tugging her sweater tighter she rubs her hands together, attempting to warm them from the chill of the night that seemed to drag on and on. The eleven-year-old wasn’t the only one hear. Other kids loitered around the place. Some in groups, chatting to each other and playing on their phones. Others treating the spare space under the highway bridge like a skatepark. Preforming tricks and cheering each other on. A few others, like herself, stayed huddled together, or by themselves. Nowhere to go. No people waiting for them. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear she adjusts the beanie upon her head. Olivia was meant to meet her hear. She said she was getting dinner this time. She was late. It had been half an hour. Where was she? The older girl was in the same position as herself. A runaway. A part of her worried she’d been picked up by the police and taken back to that place she spoke about bitterly. St Albertus. A Nunnery and a shelter for removed children unfit for foster care. Beatrix hugs herself as her stomach rumbles. The steam came out of her mouth. In the middle of winter, it wasn’t smart to be out too late. But unless you wanted your food stolen from you, never eat at a fire barrel. She didn’t like it out hear. There were whispers of disappearances. Amongst the others. “Lost?”. Beatrix jumps and grabs for the mettle pipe leaning against the pillar. Swinging without a second thought she almost hits the older boy, but he catches the pipe. He tilts his head with surprise. Amusement lacing his expression. Instantly she feels stupid. This isn’t a kidnapper. It’s a just another kid. She blushes. Letting go of the pipe she leans against the pillar again, avoiding eye-contact. “Uh… no… Just waiting for a friend.” She says. Chewing the inside of her lip. The boy raises a brow, his eyes seem to know more than he should. He tosses the pipe to the side and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Olivia right?” Beatrix looks at him incredulously. He laughs a little. Almost patronizingly. “Your friend. Her name’s Olivia.” She swallows, nodding. And she wonders, for a moment. How did he know that? He wasn’t part of their group. Not that she knew all of them by name. But faces were a definite feature she could always remember. She frowns a bit. “Who are you? And how do you know Oli?” She demanded, taking a step backwards. He chuckles. “I’m Hofniel.” She frowns. “That’s a angel name.” Beatrix snaps almost accusingly. He shrugs. “My mum has a sense of humour.” Hofniel remarks snidely. Running a hand through his choppy black hair, he looks around, and for a moment Beatrix swears his blue eyes turn red. Then his sardonic smile is back on his face. “You hungry? I know a really good food joint down by the docks.” She takes a step back. “I’m not going anywhere alone with you…” Hofniel nods, as though he expected the reply. “Ok, fair enough, though, hold that thought.” He calls out to another member of Beatrix’s group. “Oi! Jackson! Wanna get something to eat!?” The other boy grins. “Sure thing! I’m starving!” Hofniel turns his attention back to her. “What you say kid? Coming?” her stomach growls with hunger. “I told you I’m waiting for someone-“ “Olivia’s not coming kid. It’s been half an hour. Now. You wanna stay out hear all night starving? Or you wanna get some chow?” torn between wanting to wait just a little bit longer and her stomach. She eventually gives in. “….ok…” Hofniel clasps his hands together with enthusiasm. “Great! This way.” And as the demon walks off into the darker streets, the two young unwanteds follow him.

Bee remembered the first time Hofniel showed her his true form. The black-haired boy sprouting black fur that just seemed to grow out of his face, his sockets growing bigger, ears stretching to perch above his head. Clean teeth sharpening and forming into fangs. Wings bursting from his back. She’d been terrified, that was when she had been Beatrix. Before she’d been pulled into the world that she is in today. Attempting to run she had raced through the warehouse, the other kids laughing and whooping.

“We got a runner!”

“Run girl run!”

“He’s gonna getcha!!”

She’d heard Hofniel’s laughter as the demon chases after her, running on all fours like a animal. He caught her within seconds, knocking her to the ground and pinning her wrists for a moment before leaping off.

“Run!” he exclaimed, a crazed look in his eyes, the blue in his eyes seeming to drain out of enlarged irises, replaced with blood red. Tail lashing back and forth excitedly he leaps off Beatrix, delighting in how she scrambles to her feet and tries to push open the door. It’s stuck closed, not locked, but there is definitely something heavy against it. She flinches when Hofniel calmy grabs her shoulder and turns her around to face him. The friendliness back on his face. “Ok, Ok, calm down, haha, calm down Bee.” She opens her mouth to scream, but he grabs her chin, holding her jaw shut. “Shshsh, it’s alright.” He chuckles. Digging his claws slightly into her face, pricking the skin. “Calm. Down.” Beatrix feels her heart shudder as her eyes roll back into her head and her knees give way. A few of the others laugh as they exchange money.

“Told you she’d faint.”

Hofniel giggles and scoops the kid up. All of his Unwanteds reacted in one way or another. Every time he showed them what he really was. The main reaction was obviously fear, but then even fear incorporated itself in different ways, some ran, others tried and failed to attack him, and some simply froze. Placing Bee in her bed he instructed Jackson to keep her from panicking when she woke up. Looking at the others he smirked.

“Whatta you all gawping at? It’s an hour till the parade starts, go be useful n pick some pockets!” he snaps at them. Teenagers. Granted he himself was one, he’s always been a teenager. Never aging a day past sixteen. Which had given him his title. Bestowed by Lucifer himself. The Demon of Youthful Rebellion.

At 13 she counts the empty bullet shells; she keeps each and every one. As a reminder. Of what she does not know herself. Sucking on her split lip she savours the sting as she adjusts her gloves, bruised knuckles and bandages over her where her fingernails should be. ‘I’m so tired…’ she thinks to herself, running a hand over her forehead, feeling the sweat and a burning graze.

“Hey.” In her prefile vision she sees Hof jump up to sit on the railing. With a groan she tries to ignore him. The demon raises a brow, with an annoyed growl he looks up at the sky.

“Look… About what happened the other day…” she starts to stroll down the walkway of Sydney Harbour Bridge. The black furred demon follows her.

“Hey don’t ignore me I’m trying to apologise over here!” He snarls, grabbing her arm roughly. Jerking her arm out of his grip she delivers a punch right to his nose, a satisfying crunch is music in her ears as he yells in pain.

“FUck!!” he shouts, grabbing his nose. Beatrix shoves him hard in the chest, knocking him back.

“Stay Away From Me!” She roars. Hofniel groans, snapping his nose back in place.

“Oh please, it’s not like I’m the one who ripped off your fucking fingernails..”

“No! But Your fucking friends Did!”

He sighs, running a hand through his fur. His eyes a unreadable mixture of annoyance and guilt.

“Look… I didn’t know they would do that… I specifically told them not to harm any of you guys… If it’s any consolation, I’ve ripped out his eye.”

She looks at him, confusion. “Huh?” Hofniel scratches the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. The arm around her shoulders speaks more words than his mouth ever could.

Hofniel’s tail flicks calmly as he leans against the wall of the ally way. Lighting a cigarette. The sound of fists hitting flesh making his ears twitch. It’s Christmas Night. It’s chilly tonight so he’s wearing a long-sleeved jacket, forgoing the fish net stockings for skinny jeans. Breathing out smoke he looks to the pulp laying on the icy ground. Pushing off the wall he strolls over with a drifting gait. Kneeling down he lift Jackson’s head by his hair. The demon considers the human for a moment, an expression of apathy plastered over his face. It made the others uneasy, there had never been a day where Hofniel didn’t wear a cheeky smile, weather it promised a day of light hearted fun or dangerous animosity. But today, they had no idea what he was going to do. And that frightened them. Dropping Jackson’s head back onto the concrete, Hofniel straddles the boy and cups his face.

“I’m getting bored Jackson. So how bout you save us a lotta time. Where did she go?” The boy gazes weakly up into the demon’s blue eyes, it was always so easy to lose yourself in Hofniel’s eyes. In most cases, paired with his boyish smile, the brightness in them could be mistaken for innocence. Unless they turned red, when they turned red, anyone who was anyone knew they would most likely never see the dawn. Hofniel sits up, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t make me do something I’ll regret Jackson.” Spitting blood the nineteen year old groans a bit.

“Like you’d regret it…” As he grounds out these words the familiar smile spreads over Hofniel’s face. Bursting into a uncontrollable fit of giggles he runs a hand through his head fur. Gazing down at Jackson, his eyes begin to waver between blue and red. As though he is holding himself back, just barely.

“Ooooh.. Jaack.” He seethes out. Looking towards the group that lingers uneasily. He puts his hand out towards a nine-year-old. The child hesitates. His eyes harden for a moment. “Now Molly.” With fear the small one hands him her Hello Kitty knife. His smile sweetens. “Thank you.” Forcing Jackson’s arms to his sides he moves forward, straddling his chest.

“I’m not going to ask you again.” Jackson sighs a bit, trying to move but the demon keeps him down. Staring up at the sky he watches the snow fall like stars.

“Fuck .. you..” The red in Hofniel’s iris overcomes the blue, he licks his fangs as he starts to laugh

#demons #Original characters #Hofniel #beatrix #homelessness #gangsters

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