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lostalioth · 2 months ago

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𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

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literaila · 9 months ago

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slip-up

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: megumi says something he's not supposed to

warnings: bit of sad megumi (same babe), gojo is a terrible comforter, reader doesn't get a lot of screen time but she's always there, a good lack of conflict resolution

a/n: the one-shot that started this series. i figured it was time to give it up

last part | next part

year four.

megumi doesn't notice the slip-up right when he says it. he's not even really paying attention to the conversation.

instead, he's thinking about the homework assignment he was supposed to turn in today--the one that gojo refused (couldn't) help him with.

"my mom usually drops us off," he's telling his teacher, trying to be polite like you taught him and not start whining (like gojo taught him). "but she's out of town right now, so gojo dropped us off instead and he gets the times confused..."

in all honesty, megumi could blame this whole thing on gojo. because it was his fault.

usually, you woke him and tsumiki up, pulling on his hair when he whined into the pillows, packing their lunches while they both sat at the table, eating cereal or tamagoyaki. usually, you reminded megumi to tuck in his shirt and helped the two of them get their books together, taking an occasional moment to shout at megumi's budget dad to get up before he was late. usually, you walked them to the door, kissing them both goodbye and watching both of them until they closed the door.

later on, you'd be there again, welcoming them home with another smile, asking about their days. forcing them into a thorough recap.

but today megumi woke up with a sore neck and gojo smiling at him, asking if he was planning on being buried in his bed.

because even though megumi heard you tell gojo that he needed to help out, step up, the mornings while you were gone, all of you should've known better.

megumi hasn't even ever seen gojo out of bed before nine-thirty.

so here he was, with his shirt untucked, his homework missing, and a bag of lollipops that gojo packed for lunch.

here he was, three hours late for school, trying to explain to his teacher that it wasn't his fault.

and here he was, accidentally calling you mom.

but megumi doesn't even realize that until his teacher smiles a little bit, telling him that she understands, asking him when his mom gets back.

megumi freezes.

the word repeats in his mind, and he finally realizes his slip-up.

sure, he's heard tsumiki call you it before--because for all intents and purposes, that's what you were. after four years of your unconditional love, the two of them knew, truly, that they could depend on you.

but megumi has never had a mom, and he doesn't now.

so it's still gojo's fault when the first tear rolls down his cheek. which megumi promptly wipes away. he's not going to cry--he's not the sort of kid that cries. he prides himself on it, actually. not needing the same sort of attention that he's seen his classmates get, never feeling things that deeply.

but he's crying now, and his neck still hurts as he turns away from his teacher, going to sit down at his desk.

and megumi isn't the type of kid that cries, but when he puts his head down, his cheeks feel a little damp.

megumi's got a headache now--another reason why he doesn't cry--and he sort of wants to curl up in bed until tsumiki gets home, and then convince her to run away with him.

but he doesn't.

when gojo unlocks the door, megumi goes through it without stopping to look around. he drags his backpack to his room--gojo watching the whole time, of course--and closes the door before the man can say anything stupid.

he can't deal with him right now. or ever, actually.

megumi sets his backpack up against the wall with a brief thought about homework and the class he's going to miss because of this, but he doesn't care enough to dwell on it.

everything about him feels stiff, like glue got between the seems of his very core.

he's ten years old. he shouldn't have to worry about anything.

he takes off his blazer, sets it on his desk with sweaty palms, and feels quite naked--even with the layers of clothes and lack of eyes. and his head hurts. megumi wants to get up and restart his day just so he can tell some version of his former self not to be so stupid.

but he knows that's just the guilt talking, so he ignores that too.

and it's only ten minutes into his glooming that there's a knock on the door, and gojo doesn't knock, so megumi knows immediately that something's wrong.

he's lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, but he leans up on his elbow when you peek your head into the room.

for a brief moment, megumi is so relieved to see you that he almost jumps up and clings to you--like some child would.

he wants to hold onto you and beg you not to leave again, because everything seems to go wrong when you’re not there. he wants to tell you that he’s scared, and that he’s not sure what to do.

but he refrains, and blinks idly, confused about why you're here, and why his heart hurts just from looking at you.

“hey, you okay?” you whisper, taking a step into the dark room. you don't look banged up, and megumi wonders what gojo said to get you to come home. he probably told you that megumi was dying, or something.

you sit on the edge of his bed, and your hand is on his forehead before megumi can blink. “you feel sick?”

megumi nods, but his eyes don’t meet yours. it's a small enough lie.

“i’m sorry. did satoru give you any medicine?”

“did you have to come home for me?”

you smile, slightly. “no, buddy, don’t worry. it was easier than they said, just a grade one. plus i kinda rushed it cause i missed you guys.” you push his hair out of his eyes, “now, medicine?”

“i don’t want any.”

“if you don’t feel good—“

“actually,” he interrupts. “can—i, um, i don’t really want to talk.”

you pause, eyes roaming over his face. “oh. okay. that’s fine.”

you remove your hands from him immediately, walls of metaphorical space flying up between the two of you. “i’ll leave you alone. just ask if you need anything, okay? i’m going to go unpack.”

he nods and you give him a little grin.

and right as you're at the door, he falters. he doesn’t really want you to go. he wants you to crawl into bed with him, treat him like he's actually sick, and let him lay with his head in your lap. he wants to ask you the same question that's been in his head since he said it, but he can't.

“y/n?” he whispers, instead, your name feeling wrong in his mouth.

“yeah?"

“will... will you get gojo?" he asks, even though it's not what he wants to say at all. "i want to talk to him.”

“gojo?” you frown, looking at him. “yeah. of course, yeah. i’ll go get him. one sec.”

and when you close the door, megumi feels like he’s said something wrong. slipped up again.

he sits there and waits, feeling incorrect in his body. he wants you to come back and tell him that it'll all be fine, but he knows that you won't. if there's one thing you're good at, it's respecting boundaries.

and megumi has a lot of them.

gojo doesn’t knock when he comes into the room, and megumi is so lost in thought that he jumps as soon as the door clicks open.

megumi’s neck flies as he looks at him, wide eyes. he's already sat up, preparing himself for an influx of anger.

“is this about your lunch?” gojo asks, immediately, words fast and smooth. “because that wasn’t my fault. i thought your school did that.”

“you bought us our lunchboxes,” megumi argues, “you made me get the weird one with the dragon.”

“do not insult dracomon like that.”

megumi rolls his eyes. “whatever.”

“so, you wanna talk to me, huh?" gojo sits on megumi’s desk chair, legs hanging off the sides. “i think this is the first real conversation we’ve ever had.”

megumi rolls his eyes again.

gojo waves a hand. "alright. what is it?"

megumi pauses. he can't ask gojo. even if he had an answer, it would be the least trustworthy version of one.

he scratches his neck, not sure how to lie about this. knowing that he's not supposed to lie in the first place.

he's doing everything wrong today.

gojo shakes his head, white hair the victim of many fashion crimes. “spit it out, kid. i just did you a huge favor, and i don’t have time for the attitude.”

“you didn’t do anything,” megumi frowns, crossing his arms.

gojo snorts. “you think they just say ‘come get your child’ when you’re crying at your desk?” he asks, rhetorically, and megumi’s face goes still. “no, they disrupted my nap, saying that you needed to be picked up and handed me a card for a child psychologist.”

“they told you?”

he nods. “and i didn’t tell y/n,” he grins, self-satisfied. “so you’re welcome.”

“why not?”

“because she would’ve freaked out, and i don’t need that, and i’m pretty sure you don’t want that…”

megumi nods immediately.

“it can stay our secret if you tell me what’s going on. i’ll edit the report when y/n asks,” then he turns, looking at the door. “even though she’s already listening in.”

“really?” megumi bites the inside of his cheek, checking the crack under the door for feet.

satoru kicks him. “no. she’s in her room. now, talk. i don’t know how long she’ll take.”

megumi swallows. he doesn’t really want to ask—not his only real question—but he’s already gotten this far.

at least it doesn't matter what he says, because no one will believe anything gojo makes up anyway.

“megumi…” gojo prods.

“do you know where my mom is?”

there’s a pause. a very long pause where megumi feels like he’s being scrutinized.

he can tell that gojo is looking at him very closely, a microscope to megumi’s cell, even though he can’t see his eyes.

“i—“ gojo pulls a strand of hair by his ear. clearing his throat. “i, um, im not sure. why?”

“no reason.”

there’s a very weird wince on the man’s face. “do you want to… talk about them? your… parents?”

“no,” megumi says immediately.

gojo sighs. “look, i’ll tell you if you really want to know—“

“i don’t care. i just… i don’t care.”

“…okay.”

“okay.”

the two of them are both lying. they have the same neck-scratching, and looking away tells. if you were in the room, you would be monitoring both of them very harshly. probably scolding them for the look on both of their faces.

gojo’s expression is so much weirder than megumi’s ever seen it. “are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“i just wanted to know if you knew,” megumi says, crossing his arms, then doing it again. “i don’t care about them. they don’t care about me.”

“well, i don’t know that—“

“no. you and y/n took us in and they didn’t care. so why should i?”

“right.” gojo nods. “right we… took you in.”

megumi nods, as a finality, and then deflates a little bit.

he doesn’t care about his mom—whoever she is, wherever she might be. he doesn’t. he just… also doesn’t want to replace her.

it feels wrong to think about. she doesn’t care about his life, so why should he care about hers?

it's a stupid sort of guilt. if tsumiki said anything like it, megumi wouldn't talk to her for a week.

but it's the sort of guilt over you, and a woman he knows nothing about. someone he doesn't really want to know about.

maybe that makes it worse.

“did someone say something at school?”

megumi frowns. “no. why would they?”

gojo shrugs. “kids are jerks,” he answers, simply, and then mutters “i would know…” under his breath, making megumi want to punch him again.

“no one said anything.”

“then why were you crying this morning?”

“i wasn’t crying.”

“hey,” gojo frowns. “crying is fine. it’s good.”

“i know,” megumi crosses his arms.

“okay, then.”

megumi doesn’t even know why he wanted to talk to gojo in the first place.

“look,” gojo sighs, his fingers tapping along the body of the chair. he whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “y/n is so much better at this,” and then meets megumi’s eyes—metaphorically, of course. everyone knows that gojo doesn’t have any eyes. “if you want to talk about your parents, we can talk about them. tsumiki asks questions every once in a while. and…” he breaks away, shaking his head. “if there’s something i don’t know, then i'll—we’ll figure it out. i’ve got eyes everywhere.”

gojo is grinning at his little joke, but megumi’s frown deepens.

"i don't care about them," he says, again, as a reassurance to them both.

"they are your parents, you know?" he holds his hands up in defense, probably from the glare megumi is giving him. "i'm just saying. curiosity is normal."

"how would you know?"

gojo sighs, tilting his head back. he looks almost hurt. "i'm wise. i've got years of experience on you."

"no, you don't."

he shakes his head. "now i'm going to start crying."

megumi stares at him. if he could trade gojo for literally anyone else in the world, he would.

and yet, he doesn't want to talk to you about this. he doesn't want to talk at all. and he does.

at least he knows that gojo won’t take any of this too seriously. that he won’t get to the bottom of the problem, like neither of them wants.

"do you think..." megumi starts, whispering. "do you ever regret taking us in?"

gojo swallows. he looks almost hesitant to answer, but megumi knows that must be wrong. gojo has never hesitated a moment in his life.

"well, you guys are pretty mean to me. but no, we don't regret it. why would we?" he asks, teasing, like always. "children are for chores."

megumi shakes his head.

"you should--" gojo scrunches his nose. "i can get y/n. she's got better answers, anyway."

"no!" megumi holds his hand out when the man begins to move from the chair, heart racing. "i don't want to talk to her."

"did something happen with you guys? you think someone might mention it to me..."

"no, nothing happened. i just... want to talk to you."

gojo snorts, but he sits back down. "whatever you did, i'm sure it's not that bad. remember that time i set tsumiki's hair on fire when she was gone? that was bad."

"i didn’t do anything. i'm not like you," megumi scowls, looking away.

"would you like a reward?" gojo asks, dryly. "most people wouldn't openly admit that. i admire your confidence."

both of them are silent, megumi considering the consequences of just saying the words out loud, nonetheless to gojo--who definitely won't know what to do with them.

after a minute, gojo clears his throat. "okay, megumi. my turn. do you regret coming here with me? instead of going with your family? you'd be clan head someday, you know."

"that place with the freaky shed of weapons you showed me?"

"yup."

"no," megumi doesn't have to think about that. "tsumiki's with me here. and i--"

i like it here, he almost slips. i love you guys.

megumi sighs. he doesn't want to say that to gojo.

but the older man looks like he already knew what he meant, a dumb smile on his face. "good. okay. well, i don't know what's wrong with you," he gives megumi a pointed look, saying that he actually does. "but i'm sure it'll all work out. you've got me here, so there's nothing to worry about. and y/n would kill me if anything happened to you, so. don't worry about your parents, kid."

megumi blinks at him. because his problems can be summed up with a quick "yeah, that's cool."

he rolls his eyes.

gojo's hand nudges his knee. "you can still ask if you want. anytime. we love you, you know? y/n more than me, but still..."

megumi shakes his head. "well i love her more than you."

"good. tsumiki's my favorite anyway."

"good. she's the only one who can deal with you."

"good," gojo retorts, like a child.

he leans in, ruffling megumi's hair as he does it. "even if you are pretty annoying, i'll still do some research for you. see about your mom."

"you don't have to--"

"i can't pick you up every time you're crying in class," gojo shrugs, so simply. definitely a joke in the words, but no teasing. "and i won't tell y/n. but you should talk to her. she worries."

"i know."

gojo smiles. "okay. as long as you know."

the two of them sit there for a while more, gojo making an awful comment every couple of lapses in silence, megumi answering with an equally sarcastic retort, and the two of them not minding at all.

and megumi still can't get the question out--are you his mom?--but there's the undeinable feeling that no one else can answer it for him anyway.

and gojo seems to know that, so he doesn't say anything about it. just lingers there, like an illness, waiting until megumi is okay, or maybe waiting for him to ask something else.

even though megumi doesn’t want to give the man any credit, he knows that gojo understands a lot more than he lets on. and, just from the weird little prideful looks he gives him every time he says something, megumi knows that he probably gets what this is about.

but if gojo isn’t going to say anything, then neither is he.

still, it’s nice to have him here.

there’s no comforting glances, or squeezing of hands with gojo. no acute words and adept gestures.

megumi has never expected gojo to overcome his tendency towards immaturity, or to become something that he’s simply not.

but there is just this. just the man who’s been there for long enough for megumi to notice. to understand that he’s not going away so easily.

and it’s nice to have you both. (megumi won’t admit that the gratitude he has for his makeshift parents is much stronger, more vehement than any worry about biology, or being left behind).

eventually, megumi's eyes begin to droop, and even though his headache is less stress-induced, it's still there, a gentle pounding at his skull.

like a reminder that things are going to change, even if he doesn't want them to. that he's growing up, and he can't protect everyone from his emotions forever.

but megumi doesn't have enough energy to think about it. so he lays down against his pillows, eyelids fluttering open and closed.

and he can just see it when gojo sneaks out of the room, whistling softly as he leaves, purposefully leaving the door open.

megumi should've gone to live with that clan.

"hey," you stand from your chair, looking not at satoru, but behind him, like the essence of their conversation is going to follow him through the door. "what'd he want? is he okay?"

you dance on your feet awkwardly, looking like you were waiting that whole time (you were).

satoru smiles, leaning on the counter to stare at you, at your nervous little lip bite. "he's fine."

"is he feeling really sick? he told me he didn't want any medicine, but if he's got a headache or something, then i could give him a pain reliever. did he seem bad? should we take him to the doctor? i can probably schedule an appointment--"

you're cut off by satoru as he nears you, crushing you against his chest in a hug so tight that it knocks the air from your lungs.

seriously, jujutsu sorcerers and their sheer amount of muscle training are ridiculous.

"satoru--" you squeeze out, but he holds you even tighter.

"it's all good," he says like it's an answer, and he sounds like he knows something that you don't. probably because he does.

but after a moment you relax into him. even if you have to bribe him with cuddles, someone's going to tell you what's going on...

next part | series masterlist

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celestialprincesse · 9 months ago

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🫧💕

Single mom!reader X Simon Riley cute little post deployment fluff

The moment you see Simon's truck pulling into the shared apartment building parking lot, you're gathering your daughter in one hand and Riley's leash in the other, all whilst being bashed unceremoniously in the face by the 'welcome back' sign your three year old insisted on making with glitter glue pens and heart shaped rhinestones. You'd tried to help her with the spelling, but your unwavering conviction very clearly passed down to her, reflected in the gold glitter lettering of 'wellkum bac' and a child covered in more glitter than her little project. 'No bath mama!' still rings in your ears if you listen hard enough.

Anyone could be fooled into thinking that the grim reaper had come for them at the sight of Simons massive, black clad frame blocking out the already dim light of the hallway - but not you, not your daughter and never Riley. He's already dropping his duffel down by his front door, hoisting your squealing daughter on his hip whilst Riley practically vibrates at his feet with how quickly his tail wags. What you can't get used to, however, is the way you're enveloped into his chest, his masked lips pressing kisses into the crown of your head, Riley's leash dropped so he can lace his free hand through the silky softness of your hair.

"You're back." You hear yourself hum into his chest, letting your fingers curl tight into the old cotton of his henley, reminding yourself that he's here, that he's back and safe. "Are you alright? You're not hurt anywhere?" "Few cuts and scrapes - nothing for you to worry about Love." He rumbles, gently pulling you away from the soft warmth of his chest so that he can take your cheeks in one big palm and look properly at you. "Missed you." Simon admits quietly, allowing himself just a moment of quiet affection whilst your daughter is occupied with grabbing at his mask with her chubby little fingers. "And wha's this?" He turns to look down at the toddler in his arms, pointing at the now crumpled sign she clutches. His smile at her poor spelling and valiant effort is concealed by his balaclava, but you can tell by the way that his brown eyes scrunch at the corners that he's grinning warmly as he drops a kiss on your daughters head, now occupied with Riley's soft ears.

"I made dinner." The sound of your own voice, so full of love and longing, feels foreign to you, as foreign as the concept that you've got someone to make dinner for, someone who cares enough for you and your baby to be a consistent part of your life. "I can bring it over, if you want. I'm sure you're probably desperate for some alone time." You stammer in a poor attempt to not sound so lovesick, a lame play at nonchalance. "Let me drop my stuff and shower and I'll be right 'round." The sound of your daughter whinging as she's handed back to you makes you cringe. Simon lifting his mask to press a tender kiss on the apple of your cheek stops you completely.

𝜗𝜚

They're happening😚 need to commit and give single moms! daughter a name lol

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little-annie · 4 months ago

Text

It's in the kitchen of their shitty little 1.5 bedroom apartment that Eddie Munson continues to bemoan his roommates request for him to watch the 2024 Olympic Games with her this evening.

“Christine Henrietta Cunningham,” he starts with a sigh, wiping the reminentes of yet another YooHoo from his upper lip, leaning a narrow hip against the countertop's edge, “there is no way in hell you are getting me to watch the Olympics.”

Already wearing her team USA sweater, Chrissy tries to protest. Just as she did last night and the night before. For some reason thinking it's such a dire thing that Eddie watches the Olympics this year.

“First of all, not my middle name. Second-”

“You would literally have to glue my eyeballs open.”

“Second-” she tries again, voice stern, pointing a yellowed spoon in Eddie's direction as she dishes up a bowl of Kraft Dinner for them both.

“There is not now, nor will there ever be, any reason for me to watch juiced up jocks prance around and play any form of sportsball.”

There's so many reasons. Christ. Fuck. So many. But he's not telling Chrissy that. He'll watch the reruns when she's not home. He couldn't possibly be caught dead after last time.

“What about the swim-”

“Not even Gandalf himself,” Eddie interrupts, “-could convince me to waste my precious campaign planning time on such a thing.”

Following Chrissy to the living room, bowl of macaroni in hand, Eddie refuses to sit down next to her on the couch. He's not going to watch. Nope. Maybe sneak a peak in passing? Sure. But not watch. Are you kidding me?

“What a about To-”

The metal spoon that was once in Eddie's hand chatters to the floor as he mock gasps. Neon yellow noodles on the tile that the cat comes running over to clean up, Eddie stands in abject horror. She wouldn't dare.

“Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say, Christine. My 2020 not obsession with Tom Daley shan't be spoken of. It was merely a blip in the system. A glitch in the matrix.”

He still thinks Tom Daley can get it. But that's neither here nor there. And what is there, is simply between Eddie and the well used bottle of lotion next to his bed.

Chrissy rolls her eyes, now sitting with her legs crossed on their ugly ass thrifted couch, patting the cushion next to her as if Eddie's a dog. “Eddie you literally watched every one of his ra-”

Races?

“I did not.”

Okay maybe we wanted to. Who wouldn't? But it's not like he obsessively watched every one of the man's races.

“... I missed two.” He admits Inna whisper.

And what a sheer travesty that'd had been

“Oh yeah. You missed two. Oh Edward, how could I forget?” After patting the cushion mindlessly next to her again and eating a spoonful of macaroni she faux whines, “‘Oh Chrissy, would you record the race for me? I don't want to miss it.’”

He doesn't sound like that.

“I do not sound lik-”

All pathetic and whiney? Eddie Munson doesn't sound like that.

“As if I would believe you actually gave two shits about the races you giant homo.” Chrissy rolls her eyes so hard Eddie's surprised she doesn't hurt her neck, “You just liked seeing those boys in spandex.”

Well…. She's not wrong. Sports are dumb. People playing sports for money is dumb. What the Olympics does to those cities in the aftermath of the event is dumb.

But she's not wrong.

Spandex

“…. I hate you”

“No you don't.” She smiles, blowing Eddie a kiss.

“Um. Yes I do.”

As if he could ever hate Chrissy.

Avoiding making eye contact with her as she continues to pat the cushion next to her and turning heel towards the hall, Eddie decides maybe it's just best to eat his supper in his room. Away from jockey spandex and its temptations, “Anyways. As I was saying. Fuck you and your jocky hobbies Chrissy.” Eddie yells from the hall, “My time is far too valuable to be wasted mindlessly drooling over arrogant jocks and their-”

In a sing-songy voice Eddie hears Chrissy call from behind him, “You're gonna want to watch this!”

He groans, turning back around from the journey he'd just started in the direction of his room, “I would rather di-” only to be caught short when a familiar mole dotted, spandex covered ass makes its way across his TV screen.

He'd recognize that ass anywhere.

Went to every goddamn swim meet at the stupid community pool to see that beautiful ass in motion for years.

He fawned over it in the halls of Hawkins High.

Drooled over it on the odd days he actually attended gym class. Tried to solely avoid eye contact with it when he found it bare and within reach in the change rooms only an hour later.

Fuck.

Eddie's knees feel weak and before he knows it he's climbing over the back of the couch, bowl of macaroni in his lap and mirroring Chrissy's position. Legs crossed. Eyes glued to the TV. Mindlessly eating chemicals that some big corporation somehow manages to pass off as macaroni and cheese.

“Is that Steve Harrington?”

Oh look at those moles.

Beautiful.

Those pecs?

Fucking hell.

“Christine!?” Eddie screeches from his position on the couch when Chrissy doesn't answer, just simply shrugs and smirks at him. The little devil. “Did I just see Harrington?”

“Told you, you'd want to see this.”

266 notes · View notes

anothermansjeans · 7 months ago

Note

I love the idea of YouTube reader and Spencer being like Jenna and Julien, you know that video of Jenna giving Julien fake nails? I totally see reader doing it to Spencer.

He’s like “these come off right?” And reader is like “:) hopefully!”

I GOT MAJOR INSPO FOR SOME DIALOGUE FROM THE VIDEO!! i hope you enjoy (i love these bitches 😭)

cw: acrylic nails, sassy spencer back at it again, reader enjoys making spencer suffer (lovingly ofc), my favorite fictional couple

wc: 877

youtuber!reader masterlist

“Your fingers are so big.”

“Thanks?”

You laughed as you pressed one of the acrylic tips onto Spencer’s thumb. “I have to push it–” your laughter was cutting you off, “I have to push it all the way down… to fit… your nails.”

Spencer was amused by your hysterical state. You got the video idea from a few of your comments. They were begging for more Spencer and wanted you to put him through the real youtuber boyfriend experience. A few suggested that you'd become good enough at doing your nails to the point where you should do Spencer’s nails and bam! There you were, sitting at your vanity with the camera and acrylic all set up. You’re about five minutes into the video already and you've only glued two nails.

Calming down, you continued to find the right sized nails for him, “you're being a really good sport about this, Spence.”

He was quick with his response, “when is being a good sport going to start benefiting me?”

You laughed again, squeezing his wrist as you placed a drop of glue onto his middle finger. “You'll look even more beautiful.” Placing the tip down, your next words were spoken under your breath, “even if I have to make these tips extra wide.” When the nail was fully on and you began to move on to his ring finger, you felt a small jab at your hand. “Ow!”

“I don't appreciate the comments about my fingers under your breath.” He was being playful and you knew that, but that still stopped you from further comments on his man-hands.

You sped through the gluing process and moved on to priming his nails. Once you got to the actual acrylic part, Spencer flinched. “What are you doing?”

“What?” You slightly panicked, scared you were about to hurt him, but seeing the inquisitive expression on his face made you relax. “You watch me do this all of the time.”

“I just want to know the process.”

“Okay,” you began, dipping the brush in the clear glass in front of you, “I’m dipping the brush in the monomer and gently tapping in on the paper towel to get the excess off. Now, I'm aiming to pick up a bead of acrylic powder, and place it on your nail.”

As you were doing what you were saying, Spencer furrowed his brows. “On my nail? Like, my real nail?”

“Mhmm. Then we’re going to let it dry.”

“So when I take it off will it be close to ripping my nail off?”

His scared expression caused you to suck your lips to your teeth. “Yes?”

He stared at you for a moment before speaking, “the rational part of my brain knows you're playing it up but this is uncharted territory for me so I’m not sure what to expect.”

You laughed and let him know it would be okay before continuing the process and allowing them to dry. When they were done, Spencer was wiggling his fingers and getting a feel for the nails. “I hate it. It’s extremely uncomfortable and I don't understand how you could do anything with these. I already respected you, but I think I have a lot more now.”

You smiled earnestly at his remark, and noticed his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. His reflexes caused him to push them up, one finger from each hand on either side of his glasses secured them back in place, and you couldn't help but laugh once again.

“What?” He didn't understand how his actions made him look.

“You looked the amount of sassy that you are.”

“I am not sassy!”

“Yes,” you began, still laughing, “yes you are.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, holding out his hands to glance down at the nails. “We’re lucky I haven't been called in. Could we take these off now?”

Biting your bottom lip, you gave a cheeky smile. “Yeah… we just have to run to the drug store really quick to grab some acetone.”

“We?” His eyes were big, pleading with you.

“Spencer… it's dark out and I’m not driving to the drug store that is less than 600 feet away. You wouldn't leave me to walk the D.C streets at night by myself, would you?” You knew you got him the moment you mentioned the time of day. Looking at the camera, you smiled and addressed your followers. “We’re going to jump cut to me taking these nails off of Spencer. I think I’ve tortured him enough. He isn’t built for the acrylic lifestyle.”

“I could be!”

“You wanna keep those on?”

“No,” his answer was automatic, again, causing you to laugh.

You cut the camera before grabbing your bag and putting on your shoes, watching Spencer struggle with his Converse from your peripheral. “Come on, lover boy, you never know when you're gonna get called in.” You began to walk out of the room but heard him grumble. “What was that?”

You turned around and smirked at his defeated expression. “Can you help?” He said it a little louder, but still quiet. Shaking your head, you walked over to him. With or without the acrylics, he was truly the sassiest man you knew, and you loved him for it.

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666 @lyd14k4y @happiestcat @hauntedtv13 @obi-wansgirl @charismatic-writer

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#HEHEHE LOVE LOVE LOVE THEM #i have a bunch of fics queued up for the next couple of days be warned #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #youtuber!reader

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breathinlove · 8 months ago

Text

glue 002 ellie williams imagine

read this

sinopse: you might have a crush on your friend, college!au

cw: swearing, basically fluff, ellie plays soccer, puppy love again because that's my thing, slightly nerdy loser!ellie, reader and ellie are oblivious, not explicit if reader is fem or masc, not exactly proofread.

you had been up all morning, not up really, awake. it was 11:43 when you actually got up, sick to your core. niyah had checked on you before she left for her classes, leaving you some cash for lunch, it's not like you didn't have any but niyah just felt like a mom sometimes. she also gave you a forehead kiss.

you rubbed your eyes while your other hand hugged your aching stomach. you grabbed your phone and squinted at the brightness of the screen.

“shit fuck.” you hissed, boy did your head hurt. you had suspicions that ellie had made so much nervousness pile up in you that it was threatening to explode your head and your poor stomach.

you had always been a little… anxious and got nervous when you hung out with new people, especially without your best friends. they were your safe space, you smiled sweetly thinkin about them, so you read over the texts on your group chat ‘take ur meds’. never the instagram one, because it's just your friend luana spamming instagram reels.

you laughed at your phone, turning it off just to wait for your friends to show up, you knew they would. you grabbed a piece of fruit and sat down again.

you grabbed your little notebook where you did all of your journaling, you always read some pieces before actually writing in it, so you did that. ‘ellie’ this ‘ellie’ that, from just last night before you got sick. but maybe you had already been sick from the moment she stepped into the room.

sick in your stomach, crippling nervousness. you and ellie hung out so much 1 on 1, so you assumed that's what happens when two anxious people get together to talk alone, even though you had known each other for a while now. you didn't give it much thought, well maybe you did. you wrote in pink ink...

‘she's so cute’ ummm late night thoughts were so funny to read over, right? just hilarious. ‘ellie williams #8’ adorned with stars and hearts? you were already sick last night, for sure!

on the other side of campus, ellie was at class but her mind was on the same side of campus as yours. ellie was very much in tune with her feelings for you, she'd say. ‘we're so awkward, we need to get closer!’ that's all you two needed, right? just that. she sighted, you looked at her adorned name in your notebook, she imagined your face adorned with flowers and asteroids?

she needs to pay attention in class! she'll think about you later, she wants to text you but she'll see you at lunch anyways so she decides against the text. ellie tried her best to focus on her boring class, impatiently waiting to see you again.

abby had texted you a few to let you know she was coming over, she was your childhood friend, inseparable at that. caring and loving, gentle giant abigail anderson. she was now on your carpet in front of you bed.

“so, did you take your meds?” she laughed, abby was a med student and definitely a good one but damn her she didn't know shit about pharmacy.

they might’ve teached her some of it, but this girl had very selective memory, it's not like you know what they teach at med school anyway. but you still thought she should cure you everytime you got sick, all your other friends agreed too.

“yep, i looked it up. turns out my friend being in med school doesn't serve me anything.” you stretched my leg to touch her with your feet and she gave you a disgusted look.

“you're such a bitch to me, i came to see you, sick girl.” she grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you with no force.

“abbyyy!” you laughed and tried yanking your feet back and she used more of her strength. she laughed with you and you felt less sick.

you two kept it up until you were falling off your bed onto her, she grabbed your torso, manhandling you so you looked at her. she looked mischievous, she had something up her sleeve.

“how's our favorite soccer star?” she smirks and you look scared, head jumping up and hitting hers. “hey! ouch lil girl…”

she soothed her head before soothing yours, with harsh pats... you weren't sure if she was soothing you or actively making it worse. you both laughed again, what the hell was wrong with you? you had slipped out of her thighs and sat on the carpet, right next to her.

“she's…” you coughed. “she's alright, i saw her yesterday.” you nodded to yourself and abby nodded back.

“right… right…” abby stared at you, smirk still in her lips, waiting for something.

you thought of what she might’ve wanted you to say. you used your brain so much that you realized something, eyes widened and eyebrows furrowed.

"what? you look like you developed your first thought.” she chuckled and you looked frightened.

“i forgot to tell her i'm sick.” you searched for your phone around the carpet and the bed.

“why would you have to tell her?” abby leaned back, watching you look for you phone.

"you know, even if she was a nurse in your wet dream, i don't think she can help.” she added when you ignored her.

“abby.” you actually slapped her nape and she hissed. “we were supposed to have lunch together, i don't wanna be rude and leave her hanging.”

“oooohh you're bailing her on your lunch date.” abby loved pressing your buttons and she knew which ones to press.

“yeah, our date at the campus cafeteria, abigail.” you found your phone under a pillow, one that you were sure you checked before. whatever, you texted ellie.

“abigail is crazyyy…” abby got up and peeped your phone from behind and you pushed her face, the fat on her cheek smushed. “sweetness, let me see.”

abby had a big sweet tooth growing so when you became friends, her dad started calling you tooth and sweetness, since she could never get enough of you. she clinged to it even now, when she was being nice but really often when she pissed you off.

“fine, tooth.” you caressed the cheek you had pushed. she laughed and playfully bit your shoulder as you turned off your phone.

“it's fine, y/n. she'll understand, of course.” abby slurred, you turned to her.

“yeah, i know. i wanted to see her though.” you rubbed your nose sitting on the carpet again, followed by abby.

“you'll see her soon, it's alright.” she patted your head and you looked at her blankly. “what? don't wanna see me too?” she pushed you head and snickered.

“i do, stop abby!” you laughed, pushing her back.

“you gotta crush and now you're gonna abandon me and lua.” she shook her head. “you won't abandon niyah because you live with her, but who knows! you might move in with ellie.”

“what are you even talking about?” you chuckled at her while she tried to maintain a serious face. “i'm not abandoning anyone.”

"AHA! so you do have a crush on ellie, lil girl…” she laughed loud, slapping her knee, now it was your turn to maintain a serious face while she laughed.

“first, you’re not funny. second, i don't have a crush on anyone.” she arched her eyebrow you held her temples, pressing her eyebrows back to their place. “stop, i don't”.

“be for real with me, pookie wookie.” you cringed hard with her.

“you can leave.” you both laughed so loud until she stopped and tapped your lap. “but she makes me nervous.”

“i know she does, might be something, don't you think?”

“mmm, i don't think so, we're both pretty anxious people so…” you shrugged and abby did too, she'd never pry.

“you might be right, time will tell.” she casually says as gets up. “you wanna order some? “i'm hungry.” you nod and she takes her phone out.

ellie on the other hand, is frowning at your texts, she's upset she won’t see you and she's upset you're sick. she immediately texted her friends dina and jesse about it, asking to have lunch with them instead.

she'd waited for them to meet up with her on campus, holding her phone. she wanted to text you again, but you probably needed rest so she opted out to spam texting cat, who wouldn't reply to the groupchat texts. cat was a fucking ghost most of the times, even when they dated... girl gets busy. when dina and jesse finally got there they walked together.

“y/n bailed on you, damn.” jesse shook his head ironically and dina rolled her eyes.

“shut up, jesse.” dina tickled his ear and smirked. they were walking towards the local subway.

“yeah shut up, she's sick dude.” ellie replied, with little to no humor.

her friends noticed. her hands were in her jeans pockets and she was looking down, jesse and dina knew her all to well to know she was even just slightly upset. childhood friends are like that, you'd know. abby was exactly like that with you.

“what's wrong?” jesse asked, palming her shoulder. dina stopped walking but ellie kept going, making them get back to walking too.

“nothin’. it's dumb, i just miss y/n or whatever.” ellie slurred, looking at her sneakers. jesse and dina chucked and she snickered.

“okay, okay. my bad.” jesse looked sternly at dina so she'd stop laughing. “you had plans?”

“actually yeah, i was gonna invite her to see me play saturday.” she looked up.

“it's wednesday, man. you can ask her later.” jesse started. “right?” he looked for ellie's eyes.

“as in a date?” dina asked, not afraid to. ellie was always open with them, she wasn't embarrassed by her feelings even though sometimes she was confused.

“nah, not a date. and yes i can ask later, but i get nervous and… i dunno.” she held her fingers as she sighed.

“just say it, els.” dina chuckled, jesse and ellie chuckled back.

“yeah, alright. i want her to see me play but i get nervous to ask and i thought i’d do it today.” ellie laughed at herself. dina and jesse nodded, they understood her.

“it's alright, you will ask. don't worry, she's gonna be thrilled.” jesse slapped ellie's back and dina looked at him in disgust.

"thrilled" dina mocked jesse, holding her fingers up as quotes.

they all busted out laughing as they got closer to the subways shop, talking about the saturday game, but never distracted ellie from the thoughts of you.

taglist: @mikellie @amberputh @ellslvr @elliesactualgirlfriend @macaroni676 @onlinelesbo @aispike @kalyxvfx @ellieschair

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shinyac0re · 7 months ago

Text

━━ 𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 ¡! 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ━━━

( note: pls remember englisch is not my first language and there may be some grammar mistakes !)

★ angst, fighting, bad language, based on my smau „ Them still being in love w their ex !¡ “

Your heart was beating fast, too fast. You thought it was going to leap out of your chest and fall to the floor just right before your feet. Your body didn't move at all, as if it was no longer under your control. As if someone had pressed the pause button.

Your eyes starting slowly to burn and form crystal clear tears. One or two tears even made their way down your cheeks. Leaving a trace of smudged mascara with them.

Your heart broke into probably a million pieces. And you knew no glue in the whole world could stick them back together. Not even Satoru, who would always make sure to take care of your heart and put a bandage around it if it was hurt, could put the pieces together this time. Because he is the reason your heart broke in first place.

Your hand trembled. But not just your hand. Most likley your whole body. Still holding the thin piece of paper which caused your world to breake.

You never knew why everybody around you would glaze at you with that guilty eyes. But now you know. Because everybody knew and no one told you about it.

They knew the way Satoru would look at her. As if she’s the brightest star in the dark blue night sky. Just as if they were meant to be.

You would rather put the letter there where it was hidden, instead of talking with Satoru about it. You wanted to pretend not knowing about it.

But now it’s too late. Your tears already dropped onto the thin paper sheet. Causing the ink to smudge or completely disappear. You couldn’t turn back, no matter how much you wanted to.

Your carefully let your eyes wander all over the letter again. Only being able to see half of it since your view was blurred thanks to the tears. But maybe it was better this way, otherwise it would’ve just hurt to much.

„…please contact me again…“

„… sometimes late at night I still sit at our fav spot…“

„… I hope we meet again. But this time, the right time…“

„… I never wanted to lose you…“

„… I still think about you when I smell your perfume in public places because someone is wearing the same one as you…“

„ …In love, your Satoru…“

It was clearly his handwriting. You just knew it to well. The way he‘d put a little wing at the end of his name has betrayed him.

How could you be this blind?

Not being able to see that the person you love, loving someone else. You now knew Satoru would never love you as much as he loves her.

You suddenly hear the door shut. Which must’ve caused your body to be under your control again. » Baby? You home?« You hear his voice. Not answering you stand still at the place you found the letter. Y’alls bedroom.

» Hello? darling?« you hear his footsteps coming closer. With every step closer, you’re getting more nervous and anxious about what is to happen. You would love to run out of this situation. But your legs won’t move.

The door opens and it feels like it’s happening in milliseconds.

You see his white hair, the light pink lips, his sharp jawline and the cheeky grin he‘d always wear on his face in the corner of your eye.

» Hey why didn’t you answer?« he asks. He straight goes to his closet. He hasn’t seen yet that your standing there silently crying. Gripping that letter to find some hold, even tho it feels like the paper is burning into your skin. Just like the words Satoru wrote on it are burnt into your brain.

» Love is everything alright?« he comes near to you, trying to look at your face. But you can’t stop looking at the wall. His eyes slowly move to your Hand. The letter almost completely crumbled because of how thight your grip is.

» May I ask what your holding onto like your life depends on it.« he laugh’s. Not knowing he got caught.

Not knowing that Y/n is crying, because he can’t see her face. Her hair also hiding it like its a curtain and Y/n tries to hide behind it.

But suddenly your curtains moves. Revealing your red eyes and crying face. You can’t overhear how Satoru suddenly sucks in air as if it were his last breath.

» Hey love, what’s wrong?« he looks at you all worried. But the fact that this is all fake won’t leave your head. How should that even be possible.

You still stay quiet. Swallowing down all the words laying on your tongue. You can’t find the perfect words. Maybe because they don’t exist.

» Hey, you know you can talk with me right? I‘m not a stranger, we‘ve been together for over a year know.«

…“we‘ve been together for over a year know.“ those words replay in your head for a continuous loop. For over a year he‘s pretending to love you, when he was still in love with her. Telling you everyday, he loves you more than anything, knowing it was a lie.

Finally your able to move. You just show him the letter. Holding it directly into his face.

He needs some time to realize what your‘re holding in you’re Hand. And when he does, his ice blue eyes widen in disbelief. His mouth open without saying anything.

And now the anger takes over Y/n. » We‘re done.« is all you say before going to the closet they both share to get some of your stuff. Satoru just watching you unable to do anything because of the shook.

» Y/n wait! Please let me explain!« you stay quite. Shaking your head as an answer. » Please Y/n I‘ll explain it to you! You know- the letter is really old!«

You close your eyes. Trying to hold back tears. You won’t allow them to stream down your face. This is ridiculous. Is all you could think about. » Satoru, it’s over. Should I spell it for you?« you ask him with a tone of anger and disbelief.

His eyes are filled with tear’s. You laugh a bit because of that. He never really loved you, at least not as much es he loves her. But he still as tear’s in his eyes. » I can’t believe you did this.« you mumble to yourself while packing some of your clothes into a bag.

As you’re finished, you’re about to leave. » Satoru move.« you say and watch him not moving. He’s staying in the doorframe. » Y/n please, we can talk about. You know, like always when something bad happens.«

Your heart cracks a little more. Your sure you could hear it loud and clear in your ear. And if Satoru listened closely he could’ve heard it to. His words brought memories back to your mind.

How the two of you sat at a park bank together. The night sky filled with stars. He handed you his jacket as soon as he saw you were freezing. You talked about how scared you are because of his job. Because what if he wouldn’t come back one day.

This was your biggest fear. Getting a call from nanami. Telling you Gojo didn’t made it. He would never entered your house again or come to your bedroom to cuddle you. You were scared he wouldn’t comeback just for you to leave him now.

You take a deep breath. » No, there is nothing to talk about. You love her. Why would you want me to be in a one-sided relationship?—« you arch your eyebrow. »— You have two days to pack all of your shit, then I never want to see you again.«

This were your last words to him. Letting him stand there in silence while leaving him forever.

━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━━

| likes n reblogs r appreciated ! request always open !

#jjk smau #jujutsu kaisen #yn #x yn #anime #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #oneshot #angst #gojo x you #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo angst

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thanotaphobia · 1 year ago

Text

stay

hello pissa nation, i'm here to declare that i'm actually in charge of canon now and this is what happens ty xo

CROSS POSTED TO AO3

⋆

Missa comes back to grab his backpack he left and finds Phil in the kitchen.

It’s an accident– he would’ve thought at this time of night the other would be asleep, but he’s wrong. The light hadn’t even been on. Phil had just been sitting in the dark, and Missa had shrieked long and loud when he’d flipped on the lanterns and found him perched on a stool staring at nothing in the dark.

Once he’s recovered from his heart attack, Missa has at least enough decorum to cough and ask: “Why are you awake?”

“Why are you here?” Phil immediately fires back, and that’s when Missa clocks into the fact something is very, very wrong.

Philza looks like a mess. His hair is loose and limp, framing a face that looks gaunter than Missa remembers it being. The eyebags he’s sporting are truly impressive. His wrists look strangely thin where they lie on the countertop, fingers clasped in a knot of knuckles. Phil looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept well in weeks. The tone of voice he uses with Missa is all wrong, edges and sharp angles and accusing words.

“I left– my bag,” Missa says. He shuffles to the side where he had dropped it earlier and forgotten it before dipping and getting distracted by the capybaras. “The last of my things.”

“The last?” Phil asks, and it’s like the last piece of twine holding him together snaps. “So you’re gone, then. For good.”

“Not from the island,” Missa says. “Just– I’m useless, I know you don’t want me here, it’s not like I’m doing anything for you.” Plus whenever I’m around you I go a little crazy stupid, he doesn’t say. He can only avoid Phil for so long– maybe this conversation was a while coming. “I haven’t lived here in a long time. And with Chayanne gone, I don’t see why–”

“Why you have to stay?” Phil asks, then laughs. It’s grating, abrasive. Missa winces.

“He’s not here anymore,” he says. The reminders of Chayanne hurt. They hurt like nothing Missa’s ever felt before. The memories come flooding in unbidden, of warm mornings making breakfast in this very kitchen, wandering around the top of the wall. Chayanne is written into the cracks and corners of this house and that’s fine, but Missa knows he can’t stay here with Phil in the same way they’ve been for the past few months. Not without something changing.

“And so you leave,” Phil says, nodding. “Okay, cool. I see– I get it. It’s fine.”

“I mean…” Missa slings on his backpack. “Are you sure? You don’t look–”

“It’s fine,” Phil repeats. Missa is about ready to run, but something makes him linger and slow down, stepping back towards the door. But Phil doesn’t say anything, just stares at the mess of his own hands. Missa takes another step back, and another.

“Bye,” he offers softly. Phil doesn’t answer, and so after another agonizing moment of waiting, Missa turns. In the same second, his heart shatters.

And then–

"No, stop," Phil says, and Missa pauses in the doorway. The pieces of his heart record-scratch on their way to the floor, and slowly– very slowly– start to rewind back upwards. "I don't–"

When Missa looks back at him, Phil is breathing hard, like he's just run a long way. Neither of them move. The words come out next ragged and scratchy, torn out in fits and bursts between teeth. "I don't want you to leave. The house is– so quiet, with them gone."

It's cruel, but Missa doesn't say anything for a moment. Just lets the silence sit between them.

"I think I'm going crazy," Phil says next, clearly nearing desperation. “I keep finding things. Seeing things. I take pictures, but they disappear. I try to show someone, it’s gone. I’m being fucking messed with, Missa, and I can’t– I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be alone.”

“What changed?” Missa asks. He still hasn’t crossed the threshold yet, caught inside. He feels a little bit like a fly trying to escape a glue trap. Like there might be an inevitable conclusion despite his efforts.

“I don’t know,” Phil says, burying his face into his hands and letting out one long whoosh of air. “I don’t– I just can’t do it anymore.”

The glue constricts. Missa feels his throat tighten, his eyes smart. The backpack that had felt so secure on his shoulders just a minute ago loosens, and then slips to the floor. He sets it down gently, taking a few short, quiet steps to where Phil sits on the stool. He hesitates, but only for a moment– Phil is clearly putting himself out there right now. Missa thinks this might be the first time he's seen his husband so honest, so distraught, and it’s that which gives him courage to do the same. He reaches out and catches Phil’s elbow in his hand, the other one reaching up to draw one of Phil’s hands away from his face. He’s surprised to see tears silently falling down Phil’s cheeks, but neither of them say anything for another long second. Missa just holds his arm and Phil looks back.

“I love you,” Missa says. He says it slowly, purposefully. The translator won’t miss a word this time. “Do you know that?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. His fingers grip Missa’s hand, firm and unyielding.

“No, no,” Missa says. He doesn’t think Phil gets it. He changes his grip, makes it so he’s the one holding Phil for a change. “I love you. Do you get it?”

Phil nods imperceptibly, just the briefest shake of his head. “I know.”

“Then why don’t you say anything?”

“I’m not–” Phil stutters, stops, and then starts again. “I’m bad at…”

“Nothing,” Missa interrupts. He feels strangely calm, weirdly in control. This is a situation he can handle and Phil can’t. It’s not something they’ve run into together before. “You’re bad at nothing and good at everything, Philza. You are strong. It’s part of why I love you.”

Slowly, Phil leans forward. He inches closer until he’s collapsed almost entirely against Missa, his head resting on Missa’s shoulder and staining his jacket with tears. Missa doesn’t let go of his hand or his elbow, cradling him and supporting him as he goes nearly limp. There’s a hot brush of air against his upper arm as Phil says, “I need you.”

It’s a strange feeling, to know you’re needed by the one man on the server who doesn’t need anything, ever. The man who forgave you for running, who treated you with kindness you probably didn’t deserve, the man who has saved your life a hundred times over. The same man who killed a code monster and raised two kids without so much as complaining once needs Missa, the sad sack of an absentee dad who can barely hold a sword right.

I need you is as close as you can get to love with a man like that, Missa thinks. He’ll take it. He tightens his grip on Phil’s arm and kisses the side of his head ever so softly, pressing his nose to the top of his hair and inhaling.

“I won’t go,” he says. He feels the sob more than he hears it, the shuddering that wracks Phil’s whole body, and moves one hand to rub his back in gentle circles. He breathes and makes a promise: “I’ll stay.”

#pissa #qsmp #q!philza #q!missa #philza #missasinfonia #my writing

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libby-for-life · 8 months ago

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Good morning, Libby! If you aren't to be busy, I was wondering if you could do a request for me?

Lucifer and Adam having been getting close lately, but not close to how they were back in Eden, because Adam do not trust him enough to let his walls down (and the fact the the guy still wears his wedding ring isn’t helping) But here's the thing, Adam and Alastor have been getting close as well, some would say closer than Adam and Lucifer. So when Lilith comes back and Lucifer sticks her like glue and Adam has so many emotions about this(hurt but not surprised, disappointed, etc.), so he goes to Alastor for comfort and they just cuddle for the rest of the day, until it's time for Dinner and everyone is raising eyebrows on what's going on between the two of them and why Alastor is acting gentle with Adam.

Jealous Lucifer, even though he has no right to be, like dude your Wife is right there 🙄

Basically Lucifer missing his chance as he watch Adam getting flustered and smiling so brightly and Lucifer isn't the cause of it.

You can do whatever you want with Lilith, I can care less about her, if I'm being honest

Ooohhhh, I like that. AngelicRadio.

Adam felt like the relationship between Lucifer and him was finally getting better. Not everything was healing, but it was a start. Adam could smile at Lucifer and not feel like he wanted to throw up. Progress, right? Okay, it was more than that. He knew he had at least sexual feelings for Lucifer.

The caressing while no one was looking was probably a good indicator that Lucifer somewhat felt the same too.

Charlie seemed to be happy with their development.

Adam was currently cooking with Alastor weirdly enough. Despite how bad they started, Alastor and Adam had grown closer to the point that they weren't growling at each other's throats.

"Hmmm. I think this needs more cumin. What do you think, dear?" Adam blushed at the nickname and his mouth opened slightly to accept the soup offered. It was good. Definitely needed....something. Okay, so Adam wasn't the best at cooking. That's why Adam was being taught by Alastor.

"Whatever the fuck is good with you." Adam shrugged only to have his ass swatted with the wooden spoon Alastor was stirring with.

"Ah!" Adam yelped and glared at the damn deer demon who looked far too pleased with himself.

"No swearing in my kitchen, lamb." Alastor reprimanded. Adam would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't sure that would have earned him another swat.

"Yeah, fine." He wasn't sure what kind of relationship they had other than it was....friendly he guessed.

Everything changed when, in a drunk stupor, Lucifer kissed Adam. It led to some heavy pawing before the First Man tried to make him stop. "Wait-" kiss. "You're drunk-" kiss. "This is going too-" Kiss. Adam whimpered when his ear was pulled and Lucifer growled. "Let me have you."

Adam was railed that night.

Adam and Lucifer regularly had sex. Adam liked it but he kind of wished Lucifer was a bit more accommodating with how rough he could be. But it had been months. Adam was wanting something...more.

He was prepared for it. He wanted to confess his feelings. Only, the day Adam wanted to confess, Lilith came back. He had forgotten how insufferable she was. Lucifer was all over her the moment she came. Showering his former wife with attention and love that Adam had been pining for about a month.

So all that sex...was just sex. Why was he surprised? He was never anyone's first choice.

He walked away from the happy couple, feeling tears gather in the corner of his eyes.

Adam wasn't really watching where he was going so he was surprised when he bumped into someone and they grabbed him to keep him from falling.

"Adam?" Alastor said. The deer demon is looking at him with...concern? Adam could feel himself shake. "Come now, dear. Let's you get you out of the hall." Adam allowed himself to be guided away. Soon, the First Man found himself in a room he had only been in once. Alastor's room.

The deer demon was notoriously private. Barely anyone was allowed into the walls Alastor had made for himself.

He was sat down on a couch and to Adam's complete surprise, brought into thin but strong arms. "Now. Care to tell me what made you cry?"

"It's...stupid." A hand rubbed his back making Adam relax a bit. "If it made you cry, then it's important. Won't you tell me, lamb?" Adam looked up at Alastor to see the deer demon looking so concerned.

Everything spilled out. How he had his first night with Lucifer while the former archangel was drunk. How the man had sex with him and how Adam had wanted something more but when Lucifer's wife came, the devil was all over her. Like what they did ment nothing.

Adam was full-on sobbing. "I hate myself, Alastor. I'm never anyone's first choice. I'm always left behind or at best an afterthought. It happened in Eden and Heaven. And now, with Lucifer again."

The entire time Alastor was silent, rubbing his back and softly rocking the bigger demon. Adam was done. He bared his heart out and he was prepared for the worst.

"Adam. I need you to look at me." Adam looked at Alastor, trembling like a newborn lamb. His eyes were still filled with tears and the lamb demon gasped softly as they were rubbed away.

"For too long, you were cast aside. Adam, you're more than just an afterthought. You have so much depth. So many layers and if people took the time to get to them, they would find a sweet little lamb at the center. A wonderful, intelligent, green-thumbed demon with a love for animals."

Adam was sobbing now. "How can you say all that?"

Alastor smiled gently and cupped Adam's chubby cheeks. "Because it's true." He kissed the lamb on the forehead. Adam blushed a brilliant yellow and hid himself in Alastor's chest causing the smaller demon to chuckle.

"There's that sweet lamb. My lamb."

They stayed in each other's arms the entire night.

The next morning, Adam was prepared for the cold shoulder. Just because they cuddled doesn't mean they were exclusive by any means.

He squeaked in surprise when Alastor pulled out his chair for him before he could even sit down.

"For you, my ange."

Alastor chuckled at Adam's expression.

"Alastor? What's going on?" Alastor tilted his head. "Why I don't know what you mean." Alastor sat beside Adam and served him breakfast making him blush even harder.

Alastor couldn't help but smirk when he felt the smoldering glare being sent his way. The devil didn't know how to conceal his temper. Honestly, what did he even have to be jealous of?

Rhetorical question. The short king had everything to be jealous of. Alastor had a sweet little lamb who wouldn't hesitate to be loyal and loving if given the chance. All Lucifer had was a woman who wanted nothing more than his meager power. Once she had gotten what she wanted, Alastor wouldn't be surprised if she left once more. The women was the definition of a gold digging snake.

Was the pathetic man writhing in anger? He hoped so. Because Alastor was never letting Adam go. He kissed his lamb's head who blushed so prettily.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #send asks #angelicradio #hazbin alastor #alastor x adam

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pasta-in-the-pudding · 5 months ago

Note

Hellooo!

Anon 🦷 here and I’d like to request a ticci toby x clumsy male reader! And by clumsy I don’t mean in a pick-me or cute kinda way, I mean literally bumping into everything and tripping over everything…also dropping stuff a lot

THANK YOUUU

Summary: Ticci Toby with a clumsy male reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/n: being clumsy isnt quirky guys.....the bruises, THE BRUISES

Credits: Ticci Toby- Creepypasta, Divider- saradika-graphics, Picture: Pinterest

Ticci Toby x Clumsy!Male!Reader

Toby finds your clumsiness cute, even though you hate it

He doesn't like seeing you get all frustrated, but if you are then he can come cheer you up!

And he will absolutely take any chance to kiss your face and hug you

So as he watches you accidentally bump into the railing of the stairs and drop all the papers you'd been carrying, he can't help but giggle

This is what, the third time in today alone that you've dropped that exact same pile of papers?

You are quickly growing frustrated, so as you bend down to pick up the papers, you grumble a "I don't know what's so funny"

He comes to help you, grabbing the ones you've collected out of your hands and collecting the rest himself "Would it be better if I carried it?"

You stand and sigh, you are more than capable of doing it yourself, but this IS the third time...

Once he stands up as well, he comes to rub his nose against yours briefly, before going to put the papers up

I think the first time he saw your bruises from all of the bumping and falling over things, he would've been worried

You'd only known each other for under 4 months, so he knew you were clumsy, but didn't know how clumsy

So when he sees them he def panics

Did someone hurt you? Did you hurt yourself? Did you fall?

Yes to all of the above, kind of

"I know it's none of my business, but are you ok? I just saw all the bruises and i thought...." He asks

You raise a brow before laughing "Don't worry, tobes. I'm just a klutz is all"

His brows furrow, and he decides to take you at your word, because even if this was just an excuse, he takes it to mean you don't wanna talk about it

But as time goes on, he comes to realize that it definetly wasn't an excuse

Bro really is just a klutz

Even though he does find you being clumsy like this cute at times, he of course still worries

For example, if you were to trip over a rug, he'd come to your side and ask if you're ok, before showering you in kisses and giggling at you

He loves to tease you by saying he's gonna glue you to his side, that way you don't fall over anything

He thinks its super lovey-dovey putting band aids on your scraped skin

Giving you an act of care so centered around one of your quirks is just so cute to him

He will of course, give the area a kiss once he's done <3

"I'm not a little kid, you don't have to kiss it" You say with a laugh as he finishes kissing your knee

He leans back up to press a peck to your lips instead, completely ignoring your comment

"Hold on, we have to cuddle to make it better too"

Also, if you are someone who swears when they get hurt, he will 100% start a swear jar

#creepypasta #slender mansion #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby x male reader #ticcy toby #toby rogers x reader #toby erin rogers #ticci toby x y/n #🦷 anon

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chaotic-orphan · 2 months ago

Text

Intoxicating Fear (XXIV)

Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing (part I)

Read part one // masterpost // continued from here

{Unedited and very rough, but this one’s a kind of two parter, so maybe an update before Saturday and then another Saturday? It depends, but anyways~}

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tides untied Sawyer wordlessly, gathering his shallow breathing body in her arms and bringing him over to where Kit was still restrained, propping him up against the wall. Kit didn’t even know if Sawyer was conscious, but the heat from his body was nice, comforting and Kit hoped his could comfort Sawyer too.

His face was shredded with cuts. In multiple directions, some from cheek to cheek crossing his nose, others arcing down from his forehead over the bridge of his nose to the opposite side of his jaw. A bad one went straight over his left eye and down his cheek. The blood had coagulated into sticky gelatinous goo, patching the wounds with crimson glue. Barely any space on his face was free from caked blood, dried and crusting, the wounds sometimes leaked a clear pus when he moved slightly or moaned.

Tides whispered her apologies, tears still streaming down her cheeks, her breath hitching every now and then. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been stronger. I should have fought him harder. Sawyer, I’m s-so— I’m so sorry…”

Sawyer lifted a weak hand with a grunt and pressed it against Tides’s cheek, thumbing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

Tides dissolved into sobs that wracked her body, hiccuping her shoulders up and down violently. He extended his arm and she lunged forward into a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. Sawyer grunted lightly, but tightened his arms around her and held her while she cried, running his hand through the strands of her hair. “It’s okay.”

Kit stared forward at the opposite wall. Supervillain would be coming down again. Supervillain and Jude. And who knows how many others? If they were going to make Jude use his powers on them to hurt each other, it would break them down quicker than anything else they could do to make them change their minds.

“I think we should give up,” Kit said, hollowly. Sawyer stiffened beside him. Tides sniffed.

“Kit…” she said.

“We can’t—” he began but cut himself off. “We can’t do this to each other. They’re going to come back down and they’re going to force one of us to torture another. There’s no…”

“Kit,” Sawyer said then hissed as one of his cuts opened in his face again. Tides shot up, lightly dabbing at the bleeding with the sleeve of her shirt. Sawyer grabbed her wrist. “Don’t, you’ll ruin your shirt.”

“I don’t care about a stupid shirt.”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t just sit here and watch his friends get hurt and not be able to fight back. If only he had his powers he’d be able to—

Kit blinked, straightening suddenly. His head snapped to the side. “Why didn’t Supervillain lock you up again?”

Tides shrugged. “I don’t think he cares.”

“But… the cuffs,” Kit said, rattling his for emphasis. “They’re power dampeners so why would he leave you loose? Isn’t he worried you can break down the door, or?”

Sawyer shook his head with a groan. “No,” he said. “Supervillain told me that he— he compelled us to not use our powers so now I can’t access them. I guess he just assumes we’re not a threat without them.”

Kit’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he said with a breath. No, not a breath. A sudden, startled laughter. Borderline hysterical but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. “Oh my God!” He screamed, his laughter turning into whoops and hollering as he drummed his feet on the floor as if his team was just winning in a football match.

“Kit?” Tides asked, concern lacing her voice.

“I think he’s lost it,” Sawyer said.

Maybe he was losing it. Maybe. But it didn’t matter. He felt tears climb his face, bubbling over in disbelief down his cheeks. “I need to get out of these cuffs,” he chuckled, trying to fight the fucking giggles trying to spring free from his chest.

“Kit—”

“No, no. You don’t under—” he cut himself off with another bout of sharp laughter that caused his chest to tighten and his abs to tense. It was starting to hurt but he couldn’t stop it, and he didn’t want to stop it really. Even though it didn’t feel appropriate with Tides’s guilt pouring over Sawyer and Sawyer’s face all bloody and bleeding, it felt light. He didn’t remember the last time he laughed as hard. Was it before Ambrose? Was it ever?

God, there was a time before he knew Ambrose. It didn’t seem like it. Though, he supposed Ambrose was always there, in the background. Mentor’s unknown and forgotten son that should’ve got the love that Kit did from him.

Kit’s laughter died down to a few stray laughs before settling into a smile, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. God, if he never knew Ambrose he wouldn’t be able to pull this trump card on Supervillain and Jude and fucking save the day; get Tides and Sawyer out of here to safety, and then come back to finish the villains off.

Kit’s smile fell off his face. No. That wasn’t right. Kit didn’t kill people. It’s why he suffered Ambrose so long, because he couldn’t imagine a world where he was that cold and ruthless. The world was dark enough without him adding to the misery.

Yeah… but those two deserve it, look at what they did to Sawyer? Look at what they made Tides do to her boyfriend, the voice hissed, sounding like static in his mind. Kit curled his hands into fists, uncomfortable at the intrusive thoughts leaking through his mind, but that’s all they were. The voice agreed with him merrily: Intrusive? Turned into external action, what’s the difference?

“Kit?” Sawyer asked, a sharp breath of pain huffed out.

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his thoughts into the back of his mind. He turned to face Sawyer and Tides. “I need to get out of these cuffs,” he said. “And I need you two to help me.”

Tides blinked, a frown pulled across her face. “Kit, we don’t have our powers.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. Just trust me. If they come back and they let us choose who gets tortured, tell them to do me, make it convincing, both of you. Say that you’re madly in love and that Sawyer couldn’t endure another round.”

Sawyer pushed off the wall, his brows drawn incredulously over his face. “And if they uncuff you and get you to torture Tides? You expect me to just watch that?!”

“It won’t come to that.”

“Bullshit, Mallory. How the fuck would you overpower them? Huh?”

“Sawyer…”

“No,” he said, cutting his hand through the air as if trying to chop the rest of conversation off. “No. We are not doing that, Kit. I am—” Sawyer’s eyes raised to Kit’s blue ones. “We will find another way.”

Kit jolted his hands forward in the cuffs, slamming them against the metal and throwing his head forward. He could feel the strain in his shoulders, tensing every muscle so he could feel them be so fucking powerless, then mumbled out a fine.

Another way?

They didn’t have time for another way, but sure. Another way.

They chatted mindlessly for who knows how long about who they thought Supervillain was how they knew him. Tides suggested one of the heroes that were beaten out by Superhero to get Mentor’s position.

“Yeah, but then again,” Sawyer said, “no one really wanted Mentor’s position after Omen.”

Kit swallowed at the mention of Omen, and Mentor. He shouldn’t have split up with Ambrose. He should have stayed with him and they could have found Supervillain together and none of this would have happened.

The conversation drifted to where they thought they were.

“Probably still downtown,” Kit said, but it was Tides that rebutted him, and said: “but with Omen’s power, we could be anywhere and he told us to forget.”

They drifted then, half awake, half catatonic. None of them really wanted to fall asleep in the arms of the enemy, and Kit had only just slept. Tides dozed off on Sawyer’s lap, curled like a child against his chest, Sawyer’s arms wrapped tight around her, resting his chin on her head.

Kit thought he must’ve been asleep too, so it was a shock when he said: “is it bad?”

“Huh?” Kit asked, glancing at Sawyer.

Sawyer’s face was neutral, but his eyes burned with something Kit had never seen in them before. A mix between fury and humiliation, and disgust.

“My face,” he repeated in the same tender voice. “Is it— do I look… am I horrifically deformed now?”

Kit blinked. “No more than usual,” he said reflexively, and cringed at the scathing glare Sawyer shot his way. “Sorry. Sorry, it was by accident, I swear.”

“You’re such a dick, Mallory.” Sawyer said without any real bite to it. A silence blanketed them after, Kit looking for the words to reassure Sawyer that he was still as annoyingly good-looking as he always was, when Sawyer continued. “I just… do you think she’ll still—” his voice cracked.

“Yes,” Kit said immediately. “Of course she’ll still love you, Sawyer. She’ll probably love you more now that you have badass scars. You could be the next Bond.”

Sawyer chuckled, tears glistening the bottom of his eyelids. “Maybe Bond villain.”

“Nah, you’re too good-looking for that,” Kit said with a sigh. “It looked bad earlier, but now that the blood has dried on your face it looks okay. Maybe if we get out of here in time a healer can fix it, or at least reduce the scars. But you still look good to me.”

“Yeah,” Sawyer said wistfully. “Maybe.”

A beat.

Then, “so you think I’m good looking?”

Kit groaned, staring straight ahead at the wall again. “If you tell anyone I said that they won’t believe you.”

“Yeah, but you’ll know it, and I’ll know it, and it will be torture enough.” Kit laughed quietly. “Thanks, Kit.”

Kit let it hang in the air, seeing Sawyer lean his head on Tides’ again and cuddle her closer. Kit was awake even as Sawyer dozed off too, his breathing light and even beside him. He sighed, wishing he could sleep too, or break out of his cuffs, but his mind couldn’t rest.

Where was Superhero? The explosion, was he dead? How many heroes were injured from Supervillain’s attack? Where was Ambrose?! He always seemed to show up at the worst times that Kit half-expected him to rush in, kill Supervillain and save the day. But he was still cuffed in a basement god knows where. He thought of Ambrose then, remembered that one time he stayed in Mentor’s house, how he could reach Kit’s mind from across the city. He was about to say his name when he stopped, paused. If Supervillain had Omen’s ability he could probably read Kit’s mind so Kit scrubbed all thought of Ambrose from it and replaced it with Omen.

Think of Omen only from now on.

Omen, wherever you are, find me, please. Supervillain took me, please.

It was a prayer of sorts, Kit realised after, but he was desperate. He couldn’t do anything else, so he just stared at the wall across from him and waited, annoyingly conscious.

*~*~*~*~*

Omen, wherever you are, find me. Please. Supervillain—

“Kit?” Ambrose murmured, groaning as he opened his eyes, assaulted by the light and shutting them tightly again. Took me please. I’m with Tides and Crow in a basement somewhere. Supervillain has your ability.

Ambrose groaned agin, forcing himself up by his hands until he was on his hands and knees. His head pounded and Kit’s fucking thunder-like thoughts were rattling his skull. He turned with an effort and sat on his arse, dipping his head and placing a palm against his temple.

He’s not alone, there’s a guy called Jude too, who owes you one apparently. They’re trying to stop us being heroes but the city was attacked and I don’t know if Supervillain is alive or—

OKAY! Alright, Ambrose boomed back and let out a grunt of pain at the force of his power.

Kit’s eyes widened at the concrete. He could hear him? He could… he could hear him!! He could hear him!!!

Kit, Jude’s a monster, he has the same power as me.

Kit shot back a sad: I know.

Ambrose pulled his hand away glancing at it to see a sheen of oil like blood in clumps of coagulated balls on his palm. Fuck, that bastard hits hard.

Ambrose pushed himself to his feet, the world tilting as he did and he stumbled sideways into a tower of boxes. Fuck. The world spun up and down and back and forwards and Ambrose wanted to throw up. He didn’t usually get like that, but then he remembered how much Jude made him drink last night and he paused.

Kit?

Yeah?

When did they take you?

Last night I think, why? Is it day time yet? Ambrose cursed, looking out the windows of the old storeroom, the light stinging his eyes. Yeah. It was daytime which meant Ambrose was out cold all night.

Shit. Ambrose struggled a little to get to his feet again, slower this time half climbing to them and when he did he grabbed the wall and righted himself until the world stabilised itself so he could risk a step forward. Then another, and another.

Omen? The voice threw him and he nearly lost his footing again, but he caught himself in time.

I need you to shut up, Kit, I’ll talk to you when I get myself together.

Why did something happen?! Kit asked, his voice raising in pitch with worry. Ambrose stopped walking. He was beside the door now, hand on the cool, metal handle, the taste of iron in his mouth. He probably had a concussion, maybe that’s why Kit sounded so concerned. Ambrose opened the door and stepped out into the street. He was still in Old Town, on Fagan’s lot. He would go back to Max’s and apologise if he was still there. Maybe try and recruit him into teaming up with him to save Kit and the other heroes.

Ambrose scoffed at the ridiculousness of it. He was spending too much time with Kit, he was starting to think of saving people instead of himself. That fucking kid.

I’m fine. I had a nasty run in with Jude, watch out for the girl with shadows. She strikes from them and can shadow walk— like phase through them into solid objects. I’ll talk when I have more information.

Omen… Please, when you find out if Superhero’s alive, a pause, hesitant, will you tell me?

Ambrose walked towards Dead Man’s Fingers, his body finally obeying his commands again. He needed a hangover cure immediately. Sure. Kit, sure. He pressed his hand against the door and stopped himself, considering if he should try and reassure the hero or not. He really shouldn’t. He was a villain. Kit was a hero, this was a liability of his job. Just hang on, okay?

Kit breathed out a sigh of relief. Okay.

Ambrose nodded stiffly, even though he knew Kit couldn’t see him and pushed on the front door to the Dead Man’s Fingers pub. It was locked, so Ambrose walked to the windows and peered inside. There was a light on in the back so he went to the side entrance where the delivery guys came through and found it open.

The bar was quiet, static and eerie. Then there was shouting and Ambrose quickened his pace, not running because his head wasn’t compliant enough to do that yet. One of the voices he recognised as Max’s but he didn’t know the other. He walked through the hall to up the little staircase to the main bar and pushed the saloon door open.

Max was behind the bar, a spreadsheet of inventory in front of him and standing on the other side of the bar was— “Oskar,” Nathan grinned, exposing his pointed canines. “So good to see you again, mate.”

Ambrose didn’t care about the hangover in that moment, his brain and body united in one goal to knock the bastard out. “Oskar!” Max said in warning, hopping the bar and standing in front of his friend. Ambrose didn’t even look at him. “Stop, he’s not worth it.”

Ambrose pushed forward, ignoring him when Max put a hand on his chest and shoved him back. This time when Ambrose looked at him, Max was pointing his index finger at him like a scolding mother.

“You are not starting a fight twice in my pub in the span of 24 hours, you dick! Just calm down,” Max yelled, running a frustrated hand through his black hair.

Nathan leaned his elbows on the bar, reaching over it to grab a bottle of whatever he could reach while Max was turned around. “Put that back,” Ambrose spat. Nathan waved him away.

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Oskar, what’s a drink between friends?” He asked with a shit eating grin. It had been years since he saw Nathan, years since he buried that chapter of his life, and now here he was, in Max’s bar. The fucking nerve of him. Max walked back around the bar, smacking Nathan’s hand away.

Nathan retracted it, his mouth forming an o shape as he hissed and shook the pain away theatrically. Everything a show. “Why’re you even here?” Ambrose asked.

Max answered, though not out loud. Ambrose felt the guilt rise in him, consuming him, and Ambrose turned to face Max who was grabbing the edges of the counter with a white knuckled grip.

“You still talk to him?”

Max glared. “Get out of my head, Oskar.”

“It’s kinda hard to ignore when your whole body lights up with guilt!” Ambrose yelled, groaning as the pounding in his head throbbed and ignited, setting it on fire. He shot his hand out to lean on the wall beside him, and glanced at Max. “Can I steal a few eggs?”

Max rolled his eyes but didn’t say yes or no. So Ambrose disappeared into the kitchen while the other two continued to speak. He could hear them through the hole in the wall where the trays of pub food could be passed through, but he didn’t have to look at Nathan to know he was still grinning.

Dick.

“Still on the raw eggs and orange juice cure, Oskar?” Ambrose ignored him as he walked to the fridge and grabbed the eggs and orange juice.

“Stop trying to rile him up,” Max said.

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Nathan said, feigning innocence without dropping his grin. “Besides, he already knows we’re still in contact, no point hiding it anymore, Henders.”

Ambrose rolled his eyes, grabbing a class and cracking the shell of the egg against it. He lifted it over his mouth, tilted his head back and cracked it properly into his mouth. He swallowed it in a gulp and exhaled a long: “ahh,” as the slimy liquid slid down his throat like a slug. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, then opened the orange juice and downed another two gulps. Then he rinsed and repeated, another crack, another egg, he screwed his face up, grimacing as he dunked the shells into the glass and drank more of the orange juice.

Better.

When he opened his mouth he felt better.

He put everything back and then walked back out to the bar. “You better not have drank straight from the carton,” Max said.

Nathan grinned and said: “you know he did,” at the same time that Ambrose nodded and said: “I did, yeah.”

“Fucking animal.” Max fumed, enunciating the words. Ambrose took a seat at the side of the bar, while Nathan stood in front and Max behind closed his inventory book as he sensed the conversation turning more disturbing than the argument they were having before.

“So, Oskar, starting fights, drinking to a hangover, aren’t you getting a little old for that kind of thing.”

“You would know, you’re ancient.” Ambrose replied deadpan, schooling his features until they were impassive. “Why are you here, idiot? I’m giving you one more chance.”

“So scary,” Nathan cooed, raising his hands as if he were defending himself and walking around to where Ambrose was sitting. He slung a lazy arm over his shoulder, pinching his cheek. “Come on, Oskar, there was a time where you worshipped me.”

“Yeah,” Ambrose said, elbowing Nathan in the chest. Nathan fell back with an oomph dropping his arm from Ambrose’s shoulder. “That was before I got some common sense.”

Max ran a hand down his face and sighed. “One of you piss off. It’s too early to deal with you.”

“I’ll go,” Nathan said, rubbing his chest. “Because I’m a nice friend who actually cares about you, Max.”

Max and Ambrose shared a look, but then Max dragged his eyes to Nathan. He nodded heavy, turned to grab the open tabs book and put it back on the counter under the light. “Sure. What’s your friend’s name again?”

Nathan walked around to the front pulling out his wallet, though his eyes never left Ambrose’s face. His grin turned to a smirk. “Jude,” he said handing the card over the bar. Both Max and Ambrose stiffened.

Max raised his head, steam rising from his shoulders. “Come again?”

“Jude,” Nathan repeated. It wasn’t Ambrose that went for him this time, it was Max who grabbed Nathan’s forearm in his hands and yanked him over the bar, throwing him to the ground. Before he could recover, Max had his forearm on Nathan’s throat, practically snarling at him.

“Why the— how the fuck do you know Jude?!” Max demanded, nostrils flaring but Nathan’s smirk didn’t leave his stupid face. Even as it went red from Max leaning on his windpipe.

“You know he started the fight last night and brought Superhero sniffing around here you dick, and then you call me your friend?!” Max hissed, his body temperature rising as his skin turned radioactively red, as if he was being looked at through a heat monitor. Which was not a good idea if he wanted to keep his bar.

“Max, calm down,” Ambrose said, lifting the hatch to go behind the bar. “You’re right beside very flammable substances, and your fire won’t even affect him!”

Ambrose’s head swam as he stepped forward, the wood and floor all blending into a swirl of black and brown before he righted himself again. Nathan wasn’t powered, but he did have the ability to negate other people’s abilities. Not through touch or anything, he just couldn’t be affected by magic, but a bullet? A knife? A punch?

“Talk!” Max demanded.

“Max, come on. It’s me we’re talking about.”

Max punched him in the face. “Why the fuck do you think I’m pinning you down?”

Nathan tilted his head down to meet Ambrose’s wide black eyes. “Oskar, darling, tell Max to get off of me.”

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m quite enjoying the show,” Ambrose told him, letting his anger show. Max punched him in the face again, and Osk

Nathan let his head rest against the floor again. His shoulders twitched in a half shrug. “Alright. I guess I’ll just tell Jude to hurt Kit next.”

Ambrose’s blood ran cold. “What?”

Max went to punch him again, but Ambrose’s hand shot out: “Max, don’t move!” Max froze above Nathan, his fist still drawn back.

“Oskar! What the fuck!” Max seethed, his arm vibrating with the effort of trying to disobey his command, but Ambrose wasn’t really listening. His heart was pounding in his chest and his headache was exacerbated again by using his powers in such a short amount of time. While hungover, and Max was strong.

Nathan’s smirk didn’t leave his face, looking at Ambrose through his half lidded eyes. “Get him off me and I’ll take you to Kit.”

“Who the fuck is Kit?” Max demanded, his arm trembling where he held it aloft. “What’s going on here?”

“Aw, Oskar…” Nathan said, shaking his head and tsking. “Naughty, naughty. Don’t tell me you’ve never told him? I thought you and Max were best friends.”

Ambrose’s eyes burned like black coals, glaring at the monster hidden behind a human face and body. He clenched his jaw. “Max, get off of Nathan.”

Max stood, then turned and punched Ambrose in the face. Ambrose stumbled back his arms flailing and would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for his elbows catching on the counter and keeping him up.

A hand fisted his shirt and yanked him forward, the world rushing in his peripheral vision. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” Max hissed, plumes of smoke rushing out his mouth and nose. Nathan got to his feet behind Max, wiping invisible dirt off of him, smirk still on his face.

Max turned to face Nathan again. “What are you talking about? Not telling me what?”

“Nathan,” Ambrose said, his voice wobbling. Nathan’s smiling eyes met Ambrose’s lost black gaze across the bar, slowly shaking his head at him. Max pivoted again, pointing a finger at Ambrose.

“I swear to God, Ambrose, if you open your mouth one more time I will explode the whole fucking bar and you with it,” Max said enraged, turning to Nathan. “Tell me!”

“Kit is Oskar’s pet hero.” Ambrose swallowed the lump in his throat, tightening his hands into fists as he straightened. He watched Max’s back knot tight at the words. “Who was Mentor’s prodigy back when he was the Superhero in the city.”

“You’re friends with a hero?” Max asked his voice unnaturally low and quiet. Ambrose’s heart stuttered in his chest. His black eyes went to Nathan’s, pleading for him to shut up. If Ambrose tried to wipe Max’s memory he wouldn’t be able to do the same to Nathan, and then Nathan would tell Max all over again. Just to torture him.

“How long?”

Ambrose almost didn’t hear the question. “Max, it’s not like that.”

“How fucking long have you been friends with a hero?!” Max demanded, whirling. “Was it before or after you came to me for help about Supervillain? Huh? When you know— you fucking know—”

“Supervillain?” Nathan asked, his brows raising.

“Shut the fuck up, Nathan,” Max growled. Nathan winked at Ambrose, bending to scoop up his wallet from the ground and his card, and walked back around the bar. Safe from Max’s rage and kept walking until he was in Max’s sight line, behind Ambrose. Ensuring that Ambrose was sandwiched between the two of them with nowhere to flee if things got hairy.

How had Ambrose even let it get this far? Nathan was always a wild fucking card, it enamoured him with Nathan at first. The only person, it seemed like, in the city that Ambrose couldn’t boss around or read the thoughts of. With Nathan he felt like a real person, how real people feel when they’re born without telepathy, and it was dizzying.

Now, all Ambrose wanted to do was kick the fucker’s teeth it and leave him dead in a ditch somewhere. He knew too much, he always, somehow, knew too much. Did Jude tell him about Kit? Or did Nathan tell Jude, and always keep tabs on Ambrose after they fell out? It didn’t make sense.

“Heroes took everything from me, Oskar, so why?” Max asked. All the pain and grief of losing his family to heroes, all the long nights that Ambrose had to stay up to ensure that Max’s nightmares didn’t set his bed on fire from panic attacks. Max told Ambrose he found out his Father died on television when he was eleven, and it was Mentor who broke the news.

A good hero, Mentor said, and an even better friend.

Max told Ambrose how much he hated heroes after that. How he hated Mentor for filling super-people’s minds with all these ideas that they needed to risk their lives to protect others innocent people from bad ones. That it was their moral duty, because they were chosen to be born with gifts, they had to use them.

“Fucking answer me!” Max howled, tears springing to his eyes. “You owe me that much!”

“Max, I— Max, look, it’s not like that. It wasn’t, we aren’t friends, it’s more like business acquaintances.”

“What are you even talking about? Did your little hero pal get into any legal trouble, Oskar?”

Nathan leaned on the bar, putting his elbows on it and propping his chin up with his hand. His smirking eyes drinking in the chaos he caused.

“Max, please, can we talk about this in the kitchen, please? Where there are fire extinguishers?”

“Are you seriously trying to school me on how to use my powers? I own this fucking bar! I can blow it to kingdom come if I want to.”

Nathan chuckled behind Ambrose. “If he’s angry about this, Osk, wait til he hears about Mentor.”

Max shot his hand out, a tongue of flame shooting from his wrist and catching Nathan’s jacket. Nathan fell back a step, eyes wide as he slapped the small ember to extinguish it. He shook it out and the flame died, but the flames burning like hell’s fury in Max’s eyes didn’t.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, Nathan. Get out. Now. Before I fucking incinerate everything you’re wearing.”

Nathan scoffed. “Fine. I’ll be outside when you’re done here, Ambrose.”

Ambrose stiffened at the words, the two of them following Nathan out the door until he disappeared. Black eyes turned back to Max who was pulling at the strands of his hair at the base of his neck, turned away from Ambrose. His back muscles prominent from how hard he was tensing. Ambrose watched his ribs rise and fall and hated the fact that he caused that.

Well, not him, Nathan, but this never would have happened if Ambrose had just told him about his life. About his family. About his dad.

“Max,” he began, straightening. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I haven’t seen you since I met Kit, but Mentor—” Max straightened, his hands forming fists at his sides. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wanted to but—”

“Tell me, what?” Max demanded, his voice a mixture of rage inflected with impatient tiredness.

Ambrose breathed out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He needed a shower. “You know all that bullshit with my dad, right?”

Max walked forward, leaning his hands against the counter behind the bar. “Yeah.”

“Mentor is my father.”

Max’s eyes found Ambrose’s black ones, studying his shame flushed face that he never saw on his friend before. He looked conflicted and upset at the revelation, like he wished he was born to anyone else.

“I just know how much you hated him, and how could I tell you when I found out what happened to your parents, and I—”

Max surprised him by turning his body while Ambrose babbled and placing a hand on his shoulder. His lips twitched up at one side into a mockery of a smile, but the effort floored Ambrose and he cut himself off.

“Why wouldn’t you give me another reason to hate the bastard, you dick?” Max asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I didn’t—” Ambrose began but cut himself off. Well, if he was being honest, why not go all the way? “I didn’t want you to hate me too.”

Max didn’t answer. His smile turned up a little as he scoffed and then he pulled Ambrose into a hug. Ambrose froze, not knowing what to do but feeling an urge to cry.

“What’re ya, a dead fish? Hug me!”

Ambrose obeyed, wrapping his arms around Max’s shoulders and letting a breath out through his nose. A breath of relief and shame and all the guilt he carried around keeping this from Max. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you can’t control who your dad is, besides,” Max said leaning back with a grin. “I don’t think I could ever hate you, Oskar. Don’t let Nathan get in your head again. And, I’m sorry for not telling you about him too.”

Ambrose nodded. “It’s fine,” he echoed, running a hand down his face. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, he felt like he had been up for hours and being knocked unconscious didn’t exactly constitute proper rest. But he had the funny feeling Nathan had other plans for him when he stepped outside. No doubt delighted at the fact that he could lord Kit’s life over him.

Fuck, he should have played it cooler when he mentioned Kit. He could have if he wasn’t hungover and tired and possibly concussed.

Ambrose took a breath and glanced at the door. He looked back at Max, “are we good?”

“Yeah,” Max said with a smile. “We’re good. Go save your hero, or whatever you do these days.”

Ambrose shook his head lightly with a smile and walked through the door, down the steps out towards the side entrance. Through the open door he could see Nathan leaning against the opposite wall, one foot against it, a cigarette dangling from his long fingers and a smirk on his lips when he saw Ambrose follow him out.

“You came.”

“Don’t get a big head,” Ambrose told him, sliding his hand into his jacket pockets. “Max wouldn’t open the front door.”

“Mmm, don’t want to piss him off,” Nathan said, cocking a brow and tilting his head to the side, his eyes flashing with cruel interest. “But because you’re not ashes right now, I assume you didn’t tell him about Mentor. Did you wipe his mind?”

Ambrose stared into Nathan’s silver eyes, wishing he could get inside his brain and crush it in the palm of his hand. His silver eyes swirled like liquid mercury, entrancing and unsettling, and it’s why people always assumed he was powered somehow. He was, but not in the way everyone else was. His ability was defence not offence.

He should lie, and he did. “Yeah, no thanks to you,” Ambrose spat. “Why the fuck would you tell him that? After everything that happened to him? I thought he was your friend!”

Nathan grinned, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag of it, locking his gaze onto Ambrose’s black eyes as the butt burned red and excess ashes floated lightly to the ground.

“He is. I just did it to fuck with you.”

“What the fuck is your problem?! How do you know, Jude?” Do you know Supervillain?! Ambrose didn’t say because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. Why are you back? Where the fuck did you crawl out of?

A million questions ran through his head, his heart throbbing in his chest as the memories of Nathan flooded back to him. He fought the flush of anger and shame that rose in him as he stared into his rolling silver eyes.

“Let’s chat while we walk, Oskar, have a nice little catch up.” Nathan said, plumes of smoke exhaling down his nostrils and over his lips. He pushed off the wall and started walking down the little alley. Ambrose didn’t move.

“Are we going to Kit?”

Nathan didn’t stop walking. “Eventually,” he said, not bothering to even turn around, and why would he have to? He knew Ambrose would follow. Ambrose sighed, mentally kicking himself and followed Nathan down the alley and back into the winding streets of Fagan’s lot.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Continued here

Author's Note - Can I just take this moment to say that the Oskit discussion all week has had me laughing my heart out, and I have loved every second of it. As someone said, our brains rotted while considering Ambrose's sex life which, I'll be honest, I didn't consider before XD So to everyone who ships and everyone who doesn't, thank you for the giggles this week, I was thoroughly entertained <3 I hope you all have a great week!

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @tippytappytyping g @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios s @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter

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shiorimakibawrites · 3 months ago

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Conservations with the Damned (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Summary: Foggy Nelson stands in front of Matt’s grave. And has the talk he should have had . . . before.

Warning: Heavy angst, hurt no comfort, discussion of (perceived) character death, grief, mourning, mentions of suicide

Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza

<Edit: Added taglist>

Conservations with the Damned

“Hey, buddy,” Foggy said to the tombstone. “I need to talk to you. Probably should have had this talk sooner. But I didn’t. Too stubborn I guess. Both of us are too damned stubborn.”

He took a deep breath. “It still doesn’t seem real. You being gone. I knew that it was . . . possible . . . that your hobby was going to kill you. But I hadn’t really believed it. Not really. Part of me just expected you to defy the odds.”

He laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh. “Out of spite if nothing else.”

Foggy sombered. “But then . . . it . . . happened. Everyone walked out. Dusty and bloody but alive. All but you. It still feels like a knife straight to my heart.”

Another pained laugh. “I prayed. Did you know that? I prayed when you didn’t come out. I haven’t prayed in years. But that day I prayed. I prayed and prayed. ‘Please, God, let him stubble out of there. Let him be alive. Please, just one more miracle.’ But you never did. You never fucking did.”

“They never found your body. We buried an empty coffin. Well I did. Karen doesn’t want to believe it. That you are really . . .”

He swallowed hard and said, “Dead . . . Which I get. I don’t want to believe it either. I want every expert saying that you couldn’t have survived to be wrong. I want them all to be wrong. Jessica. Luke. Danny. Colleen. Everyone.

“I want them to tell me that they lied. That you didn’t choose to stay down there. That you didn’t choose to die. For her.”

The last word was snarled. “You know I didn’t think I could hate Elektra more than I already did. Sorry, buddy, I know you loved her. But I’ve hated her since Columbia. Ever since I had to pick up the shattered pieces of my best friend and try to glue him back together. I hate the way she always convinced you to do such stupid shit. Why did you always listen to her?”

His voice dropped down to a whisper. “Why did you die for her? Why, Matt? Did you think she was the only one that gave even half a shit about you?”

Another hard swallow. “Well, you’re wrong. Again. I give a shit. I give all the shits. No matter how much of shit you were being, I still fucking loved you!”

The shout startled the birds out of the nearby trees, sent them spiraling off into the sky. Little birds almost black against the vivid reds and yellows of the setting sun. Another day and Foggy might have found the sight beautiful.

Today it was ugly. Dull. The world seemed to have lost all of its color.

When he spoke again, his voice was as even as he could manage. “I’m sorry Matt. I’m sorry that you died thinking that I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter to me if you lived or died. That the only one you had in your corner was her. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He could no longer stop the tears from falling. “If I could, I would do it all different. Still would have left that night. I was hurt. And angry. I needed time.

“I should have asked you to explain your senses again. And actually listened this time. Instead of assuming things. Should have made sure you knew that you could still talk to me. I hated . . . hate that you felt like you couldn’t tell me about Elektra. Or anything else that was going on during your . . . night job.

“That’s not entirely on you. I made it clear that I didn’t like your . . . hobby. Didn’t like that side of you. Can’t really blame you for avoiding it around me.”

He sighed. “Still wished that you had talked to me. Or I had talked to you. Like the adults that we’re supposed to be. But we didn’t.”

His voice dropped back down to whisper. “But we didn’t. And now it’s too late.”

Foggy stood there in silence, staring at the words engraved on the stone until it was too dark for him to see them anymore. Not that he needed light. He knew what was written there. He saw it in his nightmares. Along with haunted hazel eyes. Hazel eyes that he had only realized later that Matt had started hiding from him. Putting up an armor that Matt hadn’t felt the need for around Foggy since sophomore year . . .

One of many things he had only realized when it was far, far too late.

“Good-bye, Matt,” he said, then turned to go.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him pause. Squint into the shadows around the Church. He thought he had . . . No. There was no one. Nothing here. Nothing but shadows and graves. The silent dead. And bitter memories.

His shoulders slumped, Foggy Nelson trudged out of the cemetery.

#daredevil #netflix daredevil #mcu daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #fan fiction #foggy nelson #daredevil angst #hurt no comfort #tw character death #tw sui talk #heavy angst

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samiswifey · 1 year ago

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Back To You: Part Two

Parings: Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: talks of trauma (?)

Summary: Sam finally explains to you why she broke up with you and left town

Part One

For the last few weeks you and Sam have grown extremely close. You guys were back to how you were in high school, except for the fact that you were actually dating yet. Neither of you were ready to make that move just yet. Sam knew she couldn't take the next step with you until she was honest about why she left.

Sam was sitting alone as she thought of ways she could tell you about her very dark secret and explain why she changed. However, she was scared because she didn't know how you would react to her secret. She just got you back and this worries her because this secret of hers could possibly make her lose you for good.

"Sam I don't get why you're so scared. Y/N wouldn't leave you over this." Mindy says.

Sam frowns as she looks at her friends. "We don't know that. Knowing I'm the daughter of Billy might actually break her and it would break me knowing that I hurt her again." She rants. "I just don't want to hurt her again."

This made Tara look at her and she moved a little bit closer. "I know you're scared but you have to tell her. She will be way more hurt and mad if she has to find out from somebody else." She said. "You have to be the one to tell her Sam."

You were on your lunch break eating your lunch and scrolling through your phone when your sister Linda came over. She said nothing as she sits next to you and began eating her phone. You hated this but said nothing as you continued what you were doing and paid her no attention. It was a very silent lunch for you both.

"So I heard that you are back in contact with Sam." Linda says, striking up a conversation.

You nodded but kept your eyes glues to your phone. "Yeah, I am." You said dryly. Linda adjust herself so she can face you. "Doesn't it scare you? I mean after what she did I wouldn't think you'd want to be friends with her." She said. You look at her after she said that. "What do you mean? What did she do?" You asked slowly. Linda frowns at you because she knew you didn't know what she was talking about.

"She left you Y/N. She picked a fight when you wouldn't go with her and then left you, completely shutting you out in the process." She says. "Aren't you scared of her doing it again?"

You sighed as you put your phone down and faced your sister. "Sam isn't the same girl she was back in high school. She's changed and so have I. We're different and I trust her to not hurt me." You said. Linda looks at you and nods. "I really hope you're right."

After work Sam asked you to meet her back at the apartment and you agreed. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach because of how excited you were to see Sam. Yes it's been a day but to you that was still too long not to see Sam.

"Ba-Y/N I'm really glad you're here." Sam said when she opens the door. "Come in."

You smiled as you walked inside and placed your bag down. "Glad to be here. So what did you want to talk about?" You asked, taking a seat next to her. Sam really wanted to hold your hand but held herself back because she didn't know how you'd feel after what she was about to say. "I wanted to talk about why I left," she started. "I wanted to explain it to you."

You turned to face her because you really wanted to hear her reasons behind why she just left you and everyone in her life. Sam quickly hid her hands by wrapping them around herself and took a slow deep breath before speaking. "When I was thirteen I found my mom's diary and decided to look through it to see how my parents feel in love because she had me in high school," she rolls her eyes. "When I read it I found out she loved this other guy and he was the one who got her pregnant, not my dad. He was Billy Loomis and I confronted her about it. I was screaming and shoving the book in her face asking why she never told me?" She paused for a moment to gather herself. "I didn't notice that my father had walked in and had heard everything. He left that night and everything around me just changed. My father wasn't my father and my mother had lied to me for thirteen years. I couldn't process so I shut down and became weird and distant with everyone." She explains. "That's why I left and wanted you to go with me because I needed something in my life to stay consistent and that was you Y/N."

You sat frozen on the couch as you took in what she just said. Her biological father was a serial killer and that fact hit you like a truck. This was a lot to take in and you couldn't process when you're around her. So without saying anything you grabbed your things and quickly left. Sam tried calling you but you ignored her as you slammed the door behind you. This was too much for you right now.

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Sam spent the night locked in her room silently crying as she thought about how you just left her. She was blaming herself for you leaving because she knew she threw too much at you. Sue should have never said anything and then maybe you would still be here with her.

"Sam you can't stay in there forever!"

"Yeah you have to come out sometime."

"Just open the door and we can talk about this!"

Sam just pulled the covers over her and ignored the calls of her friends begging her to come out and talk to them. She didn't want to talk to them because nobody could understand what she was going through right now and she really just wanted to be left alone to deal with this on her own like she always did. She needs to deal with this without any help.

The last twenty-four hours had you laying in bed just thinking about what Sam had told you. She gave you a lot of information that you didn't know what to deal with. Could you really deal with the fact that she was biologically related to a serial killer? You didn't know. You still loved Sam but this kind of changed how you looked at her. How you thought about her. It scares you to think that she might one day follow in his footsteps and become a killer, and you couldn't stand by that. You just couldn't.

"Y/N, are you ok?" Linda asked gently.

You sat up as you shook your head. "Nope. Reconnecting with Sam was an absolute mistake." You said. "Well, what happened?" Linda asked. You ran your fingers through your hair as you remembered what Sam had told you.

"Sam told me last night that her father is Billy Loomis. One of the killers involved in the Woodsboro massacre. She explained that when she found out she became very distant with us all and that's why she wanted us to leave together." You told her. "She wanted something in her life to stay consistent."

Linda looks at you with a blank expression. "Well I could have told you that." She said. "What?" You were riddled with confusion when she said that. Linda chuckles as she takes her phone out. "It's all over the internet. I'm sure she only told you before you found out on your own." She said. "She wanted to be honest with you."

You looked at your sister with sad eyes. "I walked out on her." You bluntly spoke. Linda looks at you with a soft gaze. "Why? Why did you walk away from her?" She asked. "I... Don't know. I guess I was scared and I shouldn't be. This is Sam we're talking about, she would never hurt me on purpose." You argued. "She runs away, yes, but she doesn't purposely hurt people. So I'm not sure why I doubted her. I shouldn't have."

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Two weeks had passed before you decided it was time you go talk to Sam. It's been radio silence from you but you were now ready to talk and you hoped that she was willing to listen to you. Fixing your shirt you stood tall and tapped on the door twice.

"I already told you - Y/N?"

Sam blinked twice as she stared at you. "What are you doing here? Why are you here?" She asked, her voice void of any emotion. You felt nervous under her cold gaze but you stayed strong. "I was hoping we could talk." You said. Sam wrapped her arms around herself as she steps back. "What could we possibly have to talk about? You left and that pretty much told me everything I need to know." She said.

You didn't take her words to heart because you knew this was her way if protecting herself. You did leave her and she didn't know how to trust you yet. She was scared of being hurt again. However you just need her to listen to you.

"I did leave and for that I apologize. I should have said something, anything, to let you know that I needed to think. Sam, I am so sorry I hurt you but you have to understand that it's not because I think you're dangerous. I just had so much thrown at me that I needed a moment to take it all in." You tell her. "I trust you Sam."

The moment she heard that Sam's hands dropped to her side and tears filled her eyes. "You do?" Her voice was small, almost like she was scared to speak. You smiled at her. "Of course I do. Sam I love you." You said truthfully. Sam quickly puller you into her and hugged you tightly. "I love you too."

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin

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elizabethwritesmen · 10 months ago

Text

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 2 : October 12, 2022

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: after a few months, the masked man still isn’t out of your head. you’ve tried to shake him but can’t, and keep wondering whether or not you’ll ever see him again. that question is answered when he walks into your bar.

warnings: 18+ for eventual smut. no use of y/n at all. reader is the baddest of the bad bitches. she flirts with a guy that isn’t ghost. i think that’s all but let me know if i missed anything!

series masterlist

October 12, 2022

Months passed and life went back to normal. The fracture in my leg healed, and so did my trauma, for the most part. The only thing I couldn’t manage to forget was the masked man. He stuck in my mind like glue, thick and persistent, begging for headspace. He was plaguing me.

I’d asked about him, but nobody would tell me anything. I don’t think they could. He had a pretty thick accent, sounded English, so I assumed he wasn’t from the states. I’d heard talk from the soldiers around the bar about a task force coming from the British army to the base right outside of town to help with the rampant gang violence going on in my area. The same gang that had kidnapped me. Maybe he had been part of that? Oh well, I’d surely never see him again and I didn’t even know what he looked like in the first place. Just that he was large and in charge and I could not let him go.

“Thinking about mystery dude again?” my coworker, Sabrina, asked me, her tone exasperated but her smirk playful. I snapped out of my trance and went back to wiping the bar down.

“No,” I huffed with an eye roll.

“I call bullshit. You had that dreamy look in your eye.”

“Sab,” I warned with a dirty look, but she only laughed, slapping me lightly with her wet rag.

“Oh, please, Mr. Mask Man, save me! I’m desperate!” she exaggeratedly moaned, mocking me, and my eyes widened as I slapped her back.

“Sab, stop! There are customers here!” I hissed.

“So what? They’re adults, they know what sex is.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” she winked.

I rolled my eyes yet again, picking up a glass to wipe it down. The chime of the door alerted me, but I didn’t look up, too busy cleaning off all the little spots I saw.

“I think it’s clean, love.”

The voice startled me, brought me out of my skin almost, and I jumped, the glass falling from my grip and shattering on the floor, a piece of it cutting my leg.

“Shit!” I gasped before I could stop myself. I grabbed the small broom and dustpan and quickly swept up the mess, throwing it away, before paying him mind. “You.”

“Usually, people I save don’t curse and throw things when they see me,” he deadpanned, taking a seat in front of me with only 12 inches of oak between us. His entourage accompanied in the seats beside him and ordered their drinks with Sabrina while his attention stayed locked on me.

“I didn’t throw it, I dropped it. It was slippery. And I cursed because I cut my leg.”

“You put that poor leg through hell,” he commented, and I fought off my third eyeroll of the night.

Sabrina interrupted by tapping me on the shoulder, “Is this Mr. Mask Man?” Her smirk was wide and my glare was deadly.

“This is the man who saved me a few months ago.”

“Well thank you so much for that. I don’t know what I’d do without my favorite bartender,” she drawled, and he simply grunted in response, turning back to me. She raised an eyebrow but took her leave, getting the hint.

“I gotta get a bandaid, I’ll be right back,” I sighed, glancing at my leg that was now gushing a bit of blood. At least it wasn’t the same one, and at least it didn’t hurt nearly as badly. He nodded and watched me walk into the back room, then watched some more as I emerged with a pack of Paw Patrol bandages and secured one onto the bloody spot.

“Paw Patrol?” his voice turned up in question at the end.

I shrugged, “I like them.”

He let out a small breath of laughter, going quiet.

“I asked about you,” I hummed, “Nobody would tell me anything. You must be pretty covert, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“So I guess there’s no chance of me learning your name?”

“Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“Ghost,” he repeated, his tone more clipped than the first time. I stared for a moment, still wondering if he was serious.

“Is that, like, a call name?”

“It’s what everyone calls me,” he explained, and I left it at that. He probably couldn’t share his real name. Still though, I wanted so badly to know what it was.

“Why are you back, Ghost? I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“There’s a lot going on here that needs special attention,” he offered, and the explanation was short but I accepted it anyway.

“Like what?”

“You’re a curious thing, you know?”

I smiled, “I know.”

“You know what that did to the cat?”

“You saying you’re gonna kill me, Ghosty?”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was stern, but I couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out.

We were interrupted by a hand tapping the bar beside him, the familiar form of one of my regular customers leaning into view right next to him. The marine looked small compared to the mammoth, and it sent me reeling for a moment because there was a time I thought the marine was a large guy.

“Hey soldier,” I smiled, extra saccharine the way that particular guy liked. The way that made him tip a little more. “What can I get for you?”

“You already know what I want, angel,” he sounded desperate, and it sent a thrill through me. I loved rendering men that way. Always made me feel so powerful, especially when they were supposed to be tough guys.

“Well I can’t pour you a tall glass of me, so pick a liquor,” I rolled my eyes playfully, lips puckering slightly in a pout.

“No liquor, just a beer. Whatever you wanna give me.” I grabbed a heineken and slid it over to him. “You know, baby doll, I would’ve made a pass at you already if I didn’t think you’d kick my ass to hell and back.”

“Awww,” I mocked, “You’ve been through all that military training and you’re scared of little old me?”

“Any man in his right mind would be,” his voice was cold but his eyes weren’t as they slid over me, greedy. “You’re the devil.”

“Go sit down. You’re embarrassing yourself.” He seemed almost thrilled at my meanness towards him.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“I love when you order me around.”

“I love when you obey,” the words slipped off my lips easily and he took that as his cue to get out of my hair. Ghost had watched the exchange silently, then turned back to me as the marine found his booth in the back.

“Boyfriend of yours?” he grumbled, and I laughed, light and lilting.

“In his dreams.”

“More like in his nightmares. The kid seemed terrified of you.”

“They all are. Nobody knows how to take me.”

“With a grain of salt, I’d say.”

“Bold words, masked man. How about you don’t comment on how I get my tips and I won’t comment on your shady persona?”

“Fine with me. Give me a whiskey, neat.”

I did as told, his voice thrilling me more than ordering any dumb boy around ever could.

I got off an hour later, and Sabrina agreed to take over for me. As I was getting my things together and preparing to leave, one of the men Ghost was with asked me to hang around for a while.

“This is the most the lieutenant has talked since we’ve been here, you gotta stick around,” he’d insisted. And who could say no after learning something like that?

As I walked around the bar to have a seat with them at the small table they’d taken over, Ghost himself grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks and growling in my ear, “Don’t ruin any of my men.”

I pulled slightly away from him, that same breathy laugh from earlier breaking through. “Or what?” He stayed quiet, and my smirk grew, “Don’t worry, Ghosty. The only one here who’s captivated my attention is you.”

And what I said wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t interested in any of them, my mind too far away, settled on the large and mysterious figure next to me. A few of the guys made slightly flirty remarks, but they shut up after getting a death glare from behind the mask. They didn’t seem very interested in the first place, anyhow. I found that slightly odd, I’d always had a way of getting military boys wrapped around my pinky finger in minutes. I chose to ignore it, though.

As the night wound down, the men were preparing to go. I got my things together as well, saying goodbye to all of them. I’d been surprised by how well I fit into their dynamic, they’d fallen in love with my presence instantly and the conversation perfectly flowed. I enjoyed them as well, usually the guys who stopped by there were thinly veiled examples of toxic masculinity, but these guys were cool and kind and they liked me for more than what I could give them.

Ghost insisted on walking me to my car, saying he didn’t want a repeat of my kidnapping. I let him, no complaints falling from my lips as we approached the driver’s side door.

“Suppose I really won’t see you again this time, huh?” I mused, afraid of the answer but trying desperately not to show it.

“I don’t know,” he honestly answered me, and a tiny spark of hope flared to life in my chest.

“You know where to find me, Ghost,” I hummed, leaning up to place a kiss on his covered cheek. He was quiet, opening up my car for me and helping me in, then waiting for me to drive off before walking to join his friends.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #cod smut #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon x reader #simon riley

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