#real check stubs

[astonmartinii]

girl, so confusing | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem norris!reader

will "norstappen" will work it out on the remix?

note: obvs everything here is hearsay and all a big fat joke i am just venting my frustrations with whatever the fuck lando just said after that race

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR |

- part of the brother's best friend series -

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 783,049 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: we don't just let people by because we have a big lead in the championship (that's actually how you end up with a big lead) btw.

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user5: WELCOME BACK OUTWARDLY BITCHY Y/N I'VE MISSED YOU

user6: the atmosphere shifted, my skin has cleared and the birds are singing

user7: i didn't think it would be against her own brother BUT WE'LL TAKE WHAT WE CAN GET

maxverstappen1: can you do all my media for me - you give a lot better sound bites than i ever could

yourusername: all my sound bites would be completely unusable

yourusername: cause if they thought you had a potty mouth oh boy they have another thing coming

danielricciardo: it's true i was around her when she stubbed her toe once, it was like shakespeare but concerning

alexalbon: or that one referee against chelsea, i've never heard so many creative insults

maxverstappen1: okay but my thoughts exactly

yourusername: twitter would cancel me baby

maxverstappen1: everyone wants cunty f1 back until i make contact and you ... open your mouth?

user8: not like all of lando's friends either being in the likes or the comments

user9: bro is fighting for his life in the GC after that press run

user10: i think y/n got all the sass cause lando that was not the diva statement you thought it was

landonorris: before you delete i already sent it to mum

yourusername: i'm not deleting it you big baby you gotta stand on your words bro

landonorris: nuh uh

yourusername: i can feel you pouting YOUR 24 YEARS OLD

landonorris: but i'm still your baby brother

yourusername: not with this PR strategy

landonorris: MAX WAS IN THE WRONG

yourusername: 1. i watched the ten laps before lando i'm not dumb 2. i support his rights and wrongs 3. you still won driver of the day and i thought that's what meant the most to you

user11: oh she gagged him

user12: can we get a rupaul's drag race reading challenge in f1 but it's just y/n reading the drivers PLEASE

charles_leclerc: literally all you have to do is spend 10 minutes with her in the paddock

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,304,599

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maxverstappen1: still got my favourite norris on side and that's all that matters

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user13: someone check on lando cause DIVA IS DOWN

user14: diva is dead and buried at this point

user15: they're dancing on diva's grave

landonorris: DO YOU PEOPLE MIND ???

maxverstappen1: who is this random fan in my comments?

landonorris: i'm definitely not a fan of yours after this weekend

maxverstappen1: oh then let me add you to my block list

charles_leclerc: i thought unfollowing each other after a race in austria was our thing max :(

maxverstappen1: yes that's why i'm going to block him not just unfollow

charles_leclerc: oh good 😊

yourusername: and that's why i'm ready to get rid of the name altogether

maxverstappen1: i think you suit verstappen so much more anyway

yourusername: i'm ready when you are

landonorris: really? ENGAGEMENT TALK ON A POST THAT DISSES ME

yourusername: a diss? you don't want your sister to be happy? or am i not your sister anymore since max isn't your friend anymore?

landonorris: IT WAS ONE QUOTE LIKE TEN MINUTES AFTER BEING CRASHED OUT OF THE LEAD

yourusername: * second-place

landonorris: STOP IT

yourusername: don't dish it if you can't take it buddy

user16: not this brocedes era for max and lando

yourusername: @lewishamilton @nicorosberg i am so sorry they're minimising your trauma like this

user17: so real of you

yourusername

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tagged: maxverstappen1 & landonorris

yourusername: when you forgot that you invited your boyfriend to stay at the family home before the british grand prix and arranged a big family dinner and the flight back to england and your boyfriend and brother decide to try and kill each other in the race and have now 'ended' their friendship.... relatable!

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user21: the footage... GIVE IT TO ME, SHOW IT TO ME RACHEL

yourusername: most excruiting three hours of my life boys are so dramatic

user22: shock horror mad max and norrif are holding grudges

yourusername: IF i didn't have the patience of a saint i would've gone mad max on their asses and mclaren would've been down a driver

user23: out here threatening the victim and not the aggressor

yourusername: now why would i attack my trophy husband?

landonorris: i didn't make the plane ride awkward HE MADE THE PLANE RIDE AWKWARD

yourusername: we tried to nap but the heat from your death glare kept us up

landonorris: THAT'S NOT MY FAULT

yourusername: it's kind of expressly your fault, you could've taken your anger out on a pillow or a 12 piece wing meal like a normal person

landonorris: max's jet doesn't offer wings

maxverstappen1: get your own jet then

yourusername: @ryanair we have a new customer for you

landonorris: NO I'M SORRY

maxverstappen1: finally

landonorris: just for your jet not having wings, you're still the one in the wrong overall

user24: i fear lando may not see his sister back in the mclaren garage for the rest of the season

user25: i mean she looks better in blue anyway

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oscarpiastri: can we please move on lando your attitude is stinking up the gaff

landonorris: 1. wtf osc you're meant to be on my side 2. where the fuck did you learn that

oscarpiastri: while you've been sulking in your childhood bedroom i've been taking in the normal norris hospitality

yourusername: he'll get over it he did this all the time when we were younger - he'll come back and join when dinner is finished

landonorris: TELL MAX TO APOLOGISE

yourusername: i guess you don't want any of these profiteroles then ...

maxverstappen1: i'm eating them all lol

landonorris: FINE GOD DAMN

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,674,099 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & yourusername

landonorris: i think i just got gentle parented (brought matching jellycats) into forgiving max

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user28: about fucking time

user29: baby had his first real dose of wheel to wheel racing for a win and wanted to throw away a friendship

user30: good thing his sister never knows when to shut the fuck up and humbled these men cause lord knows without her lando would still be chatting shit in the media

yourusername: someones got to make sure lando doesn't embarrass himself (idk where his PR department went but mclaren need to run me my money)

maxverstappen1: girl, so confusing when you literally forget all about it as soon as we got you the jellycat you wanted

landonorris: i am a little brother first and foremost

yourusername: hard on the little you've been acting like a whole ass five year old

landonorris: have you ever thought that maybe i'm acting out because i miss you now you've moved in with max and wanted matching jellycats so we always have a part of each other??

yourusername: awww really???

maxverstappen1: that's actually kind of cute

maxverstappen1: and a hunk of BULLSHIT

landonorris: FINE I'M PETTY BUT I WANTED TO WIN SUE ME

maxverstappen1: well i also wanted to win so that's not the serve you think it is

yourusername: you only 'forgave' him because you saw that max was playing padel with charles

landonorris: umm yes obviously, i can't let lestappen be a real thing

yourusername: why not that's literally my dream threesome

yourusername: WHAT WHO SAID THAT

yourusername: lando i think your comment section is haunted

charles_leclerc: well i'm ... flattered

landonorris: you can have lestappen you weirdo

maxverstappen1: @charles_leclerc stop being flattered i don't share

yourusername: heheheheh

landonorris: that much is obvious... you couldn't let me win once?

maxverstappen1: no!

yourusername: no!

fin: here's a lil quick one today cause i had some free time! i am working on guilty as sin p4 but i'm so so so busy and i do be going to silverstone on wednesday xx hope you enjoyed !!!

[rafecameronssl4t]

the jarah pregnancy made me so happy, so i was thinking about thornton!reader finding out an unexpected pregnancy

Sweet Nineteen || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: I was thinking the same thing 🤯

Warnings: vomiting, mention of drugs, r is pregnant at 19

Word count: 1,960

MASTERLIST (rafe x Thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The bile rises, thick and sour, up your throat, and you throw off the sheets in a panic, bolting to the bathroom. You barely reach the toilet before you’re heaving, clutching the rim as the wave of nausea overwhelms you. It takes a moment before you feel Rafe’s presence at your side.

Gently, he gathers your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail as he kneels down beside you. His hand is warm and steady on your back, rubbing small, comforting circles. “Fuck,” you mutter in a weak voice, feeling the bile burn again as you throw up once more. Rafe doesn’t flinch, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch grounding you.

“You okay?” he asks softly as you finally catch your breath, reaching out to flush the toilet. He sounds genuinely concerned. “I thought you don’t get boat sickness.” “Yeah, I don’t,” you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before reaching for your toothbrush.

The cool water on your teeth and gums is a relief, and you close your eyes briefly, trying to shake off the dizziness. “Probably something bad I ate yesterday,” you add, glancing up in the mirror to meet his gaze. He’s watching you, his brow furrowed as he nods slowly, a hint of worry still lingering in his expression.

~

“I can’t believe you’re gonna be nineteen in like…” Sarah pauses, glancing down as she counts on her fingers, her grin widening. “Ten hours,” she chuckles, nudging you playfully. You smile, popping a grape into your mouth. “I know, crazy, right?” you say, shaking your head. It feels surreal, like the year passed in a flash.

Before you can say anything else, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. Turning, you spot Rafe and Topper strolling onto the sun deck, looking relaxed, almost too relaxed. But then the sharp scent of weed hits you, making you wrinkle your nose. You sit up from the sun bed, eyeing Topper with a grimace as you spot the joint hanging from his mouth.

“Are you smoking weed right now?” you ask, unable to hide the irritation in your voice. Topper raises an eyebrow, the joint dangling as he gives you a smirk. “Yeah?” he replies nonchalantly, taking a slow, lazy drag, as if daring you to say more. Rolling your eyes, you wave a hand in front of your face, trying to clear the air. “Well, go smoke it somewhere else,” you mutter. “The smell’s making me sick.”

Topper holds your gaze, his expression shifting to mild confusion mixed with amusement. “What? Never bothered you before, sis,” he says, exhaling another plume of smoke, clearly finding this reaction from you entertaining. “Seriously, get the fuck out of here,” you groan, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over you. “I feel like I’m gonna vomit.”

Topper’s smirk falters as he studies you, genuinely taken aback by your reaction. He glances at Rafe, clearly puzzled, as if to confirm whether this is real or just a joke. Rafe watches you, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he turns to Topper. “Just listen to her,” Rafe mutters, giving Topper a nod of silent insistence. With a sigh, Topper raises his hands in surrender, then stubs out the joint against the railing.

“Fine, fine. You didn’t have to ruin the fun,” he says, tossing the remnants aside. With one last look—half-amused, half-apologetic—Topper ambles off, leaving you Rafe and Sarah in a moment of silence. You exhale slowly, the nausea finally beginning to subside as the smell dissipates, while Rafe lingers, his gaze still fixed on you, as if silently checking to make sure you’re alright.

Did you take any medicine?” Rafe’s voice breaks the comfortable silence between you and Sarah as he strolls over, his expression softened with concern. He sits down beside you on the sunbed, his hand instinctively reaching for your thigh, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.“Yeah,” you reply, offering him a small smile. Sarah perks up at the exchange, her brows knitting together in curiosity.

“For what? Are you sick?” she asks, tilting her head with genuine worry. You shake your head, hoping to ease her concern. “I threw up this morning. I think I just ate something bad,” you explain, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. Sarah’s expression shifts to one of cautious relief as she slowly nods, her eyes lingering on you for a moment.

~

You glance at your watch: five minutes until midnight. The bathroom is quiet and dimly lit, but inside, your mind races as you stare down at the test, barely able to breathe. With trembling fingers, you turn it over, bracing yourself—and your heart stops. Two clear lines. Positive. Pregnant.

The air feels thick, each breath you take heavy with the weight of this sudden, life-changing truth. Pregnant at nineteen. You feel a tear slip down your cheek as the reality of it hits: the uncertainty, the responsibility, and the tiny spark of awe that stirs in your chest at the thought of the life growing within you. Who would’ve thought?

Just as you’re caught in the storm of emotions, you hear Rafe’s voice calling out to you from down the hall, his tone carefree and excited. “Babe, where are you?” Your heart skips, and with a surge of panic, you quickly hide the test in the drawer, wiping away the tears from your face. You glance in the mirror, dabbing beneath your eyes to make sure there’s no trace of the overwhelming emotion that just ran through you.

“Here!” you call out, doing your best to sound cheerful as you step out of the bathroom, forcing a smile onto your face. You walk toward Rafe, wrapping your arms around his neck as he gives you that familiar, comforting smile, his hands settling on your waist. “There you are,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He glances down at his watch, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“C’mon, three minutes until midnight,” he says, a spark in his voice as he takes your hand and starts leading you down the hallway. As he pulls you along toward the top deck, you can’t help but glance back at the bathroom door, where the test lies tucked away, as if leaving behind the secret that’s only just beginning to dawn on you.

The cool night air brushes over you as you step onto the deck, where Sarah and Topper are waiting, chatting and laughing under the glow of fairy lights strung around the railings. The ocean spreads out beneath you, dark and endless, stars reflecting off the gentle waves. You try to take it all in, hoping the beauty of the scene will settle the nerves still buzzing under your skin.

“What’s the time now—” you begin, but before you can finish, the sky bursts into a riot of color as the first firework explodes overhead. You gasp, your hand flying to your mouth in surprise as another spark ignites, followed by another, each one brighter than the last, painting the sky in shades of red, blue, and gold.

Your eyes widen as the fireworks continue to light up the night, each one booming and shimmering against the dark sky. The sight is breathtaking, yet you feel tears pricking your eyes again, overwhelmed by the moment, by the beauty of it all, and by the tiny life that only you know about.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Rafe whispers close to your ear, his arms slipping around you from behind as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His warmth seeps into you, grounding you as you lean back against him, watching the fireworks burst above you. You turn in his arms, unable to stop the tears that slip down your cheeks, your emotions too strong to hide. Rafe’s face softens, his thumb brushing against your cheek to catch a tear.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low and filled with concern as his hands gently cradle your face. You hold him close, gathering the courage to tell him what you’ve only just discovered. Voice barely above a whisper, you lean in close, “I’m pregnant.” The fireworks continue to crackle overhead, and your words are nearly lost in the noise. Rafe pulls back, searching your face with a confused look. “What?”

A nervous laugh escapes you, and this time, you say it louder, “I’m pregnant, Rafe!” His face shifts, eyes widening as the realisation dawns on him. “You’re pregnant?” he repeats, his voice filled with awe, and you nod, unable to hold back the smile spreading across your face. “Oh my god,” he breathes, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he pulls you into a deep, joyful kiss, his hands cradling your face like he’s afraid to let go.

When he pulls back, he’s grinning, looking at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “We’re going to have a baby,” he says softly, almost as if he’s speaking to himself, still in shock but brimming with happiness. “What’s going on?” Sarah’s voice cuts through, and you both turn to see her and Topper walking over, eyes filled with curiosity.

You beam at them, feeling a rush of excitement at sharing the news. “I’m pregnant!” you announce, your voice trembling with joy. Sarah’s jaw drops, her hand covering her mouth as she lets out a squeal of excitement, immediately pulling you into a tight hug. “Oh my god, y/n, are you serious?! This is amazing!” she cries, nearly bouncing with joy as she squeezes you.

Topper’s eyes go wide, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe with a grin spreading across his face. “Holy shit, dude! You’re gonna be a dad!” He claps Rafe on the back with enthusiasm, pulling him into a quick, celebratory hug as they both break into laughter. Rafe chuckles, patting Topper’s shoulder, a lightness in his expression that you rarely see.

“And you’re gonna be an uncle,” he replies, unable to hide the pride and excitement in his voice. Topper’s grin softens a little as he turns to you, arms wide open. “Congrats, sis,” he says warmly, pulling you into a tight hug. His embrace is solid and reassuring, swaying you back and forth as you both share a laugh. “Mom’s gonna be over the moon,” he says, chuckling as he releases you.

You smile, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. “You really think so?” A part of you can’t help but worry about how your parents will react to the news, especially given that you’re only nineteen. Their expectations have always been high, and this wasn’t exactly in their plans for you.

“Oh, trust me, I know so.” Topper’s eyes twinkle with a mix of reassurance and amusement. “She might put on a big act and pretend to be shocked, but deep down, she’s been waiting for this. She’s dreamed of being a grandma for years.” He gives your arm a gentle squeeze, his playful grin easing your nerves a little.

As you pull away from Topper, Rafe’s arm wraps around your waist, drawing you close to his side. He looks down at you, his expression softening, and leans in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “I can’t believe we’re going to be parents,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of wonder, as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around it.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you as you snuggle into him, resting your head against his chest. “Me neither,” you reply softly, your voice filled with quiet happiness. “But I’m glad it’s with you.” Rafe’s arm tightens around you, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back as the reality of it all settles between you.

[innerfare]

You Just Do It Better 

Summary: There are some things that are better left to you

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy:  

When his hat is in a state of disrepair, as it often is, he now hands it over to you to be fixed. You did it once when he was sound asleep after a fight, and when he woke up, he discovered his most prized possession looked better than it ever had. People are so rarely allowed to touch his hat, but he begs you- puppy dog eyes and all- to fix his hat for him every time it gets damaged. You just do it better. 

Zoro: 

Why does your sake always taste better? And your beer? And, though he’s loathe to admit it, he’d rather swipe that fruity cocktail you’re drinking than have his own whiskey because whenever you order a drink, it just tastes better. Oh, and when you make it? Forget about drinking it yourself. If you make a drink yourself, be it ice water or hot tea or something with liquor, Zoro will at the very least be stealing a few sips, even if he’s made his own. You just do it better. 

Sanji: 

Who knew you had such a talent for frosting cupcakes? He takes such pride in cooking for you, never imagined for a moment he would allow you to pick up even a single kitchen utensil. But he had his hands full one day and you took over the cupcakes he’d made upon Luffy’s request, and you did such a beautiful job he didn’t even let the crew eat them. Now, it’s your job to frost any sweets he makes. You just do it better. 

Ace: 

It’s everything you touch, really. Whether you’re picking out a necklace or seasoning a dish, you just do it better. But most especially, you talk. Whether you’re talking about nothing or speaking on something important, you have a way with words that he simply doesn’t. He always puts his thoughts and feelings through a you filter because however you phrase things is going to be the best way. You just do it better. 

Sabo: 

You edit his manuscript. He has no shortage of people who could do it for him, people who have real experience doing such things. He could do it himself, too, educated as he is (though he hides it well). But you’re so much better. You know exactly how to read his words and improve on them without changing the underlying point he is trying to make. He even has you read his private journals just for your opinion. You just do it better. 

Law: 

You put the right words in his mouth for him. Law often stumbles over his words and isn’t the best at communicating his emotions. You have a special talent for reading his emotions and explaining them, so much so that when he has a conflict, he comes to you and you help him piece together the right thing to say so he doesn’t end up snapping and saying something rude (still probably ends up snapping, but it’s not as bad with your help). You just do it better. 

Kid: 

Applying the soothing gel intended to calm the residual pain in the stub of his arm used to be a private ordeal, the fact that his arm hurt perhaps his most closely guarded secret. But you walked in on him one night and found him in so much pain that you took over despite his protests, and he found the gel worked even better when you massaged it into his arm. Now, he doesn’t even bother trying to do it himself. You just do it better. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[awkward-fink]

Sleep Positions with Them. (I)

Price: - He lays on his back, one arm around your body, holding you securely to his side in a gentle but firm hold. - only wears sleep shorts and his dogtags to bed. His thighs are too thick for normal sleeping pants and he gets way too warm in those anyway. Also he loves that he can feel your skin on his when you tangle your legs with his own. - loves when you are draped half over him, your fingers curled into his chest hair, one hand of his covering yours. One of his fingers is laying on your pulse point, feeling the steady thrumm while his thumb lazily traces over your knuckles. - he doesnt need a blanket. And you dont either. He is a living furnace, even in winter you are always cosy warm.

Ghost: - curled around you, holding onto you tightly. - always sleeps closest to the door, its instinct, dont question it. - on bad nights he will sleep on top of you, his head firmly positioned on top of your chest, ear firmly pressed against the spot where your heart beats underneath layers of skin and flesh. Its his most favorite lullaby. - would sleep in his tactical gear if you hadnt forbidden it, so he wears a long shirt and long sleeping pants to bed. - will wake when you move or twitch and check if everything is alright before falling back to sleep - forget going to the loo in the middle of the night alone. What if you fall? Or stub your toe? And he isnt there to protect you from the corner of the shower? No way. He is sleepily stumbling right after you, only alert enough to fall into bed after you and curl around you, again. - only needs a light blanket when sleeping with you, because you are clingy (as if he is not!). And needs a weighted blanket on nights when you are away on business.

Soap: - no fixed sleeping position. He starfishes, noodles around, and planks on the bed. All at once. Though, he never pushes you out of the bed, again. Once was one time too many and the *Look* you gave him after that scared him for life. - falls asleep with you in his arms as the big spoon. wakes up in a double spiral, flat salto mortale with you on top of him, his legs wrapped around you like a monkey. And no one knows where the blankets have gone to! - would sleep naked but you wont allow it, on every night. He starts with a boxershort and a shirt and wakes up with one article of clothing missing. - is a sleep kisser. Kisses your fingers, your shoulders, your chest and if he is lucky, your mouth in his sleep. Also cant get enough contact. - loves when you card your hands through his hair when he had a bad day, or a nightmare. Calms him down real quick. If you speak gaelic, he will literally start drooling in his sleep - all the blankets and then no blankets - nights with Soap are wild. In more ways than one.

Gaz: - has a strict routine before coming to bed - loves to have you at his side when falling asleep, your head on his shoulder and his nose buried in your hair. Its calming for him. - sleeps like the dead. Or a stone. Or a field of stones. You could play hardcore metal with screeching violins and that man will only twitch a finger. - *has* to have contact with you while sleeping. Doesnt matter if its a hand, a foot, a leg or even your head, NEEDS contact. If there is no contact, he will wiggle in the bed to search for you, and he will be asleep while doing that - has a whoe ass pyjama, which looks like a suite or at least fitting together like those checkered Ones made out of cotton. Filthily comfy and wont let you burrow them. - Needs at least two blankets and you to rest in comfort. - Listen! Has the most wild dreams and will talk to you in his sleep, wont remember anything in the morning though

Bonus! Roach: - loves to sleep with you in the bed - has a blanket only for you, and a pillow and even wants you to sleep in his shirt. - you understand, that he can fall asleep better if he can have something smelling of you, when you are not with him - loves to curl his fingers around yours, watching you sleep, your legs tangled and your foreheads touching. - lazily signs one handed against the palm of your hand, silly little things, his feelings, sweet nothings, just wants to feel you. - has the best sleep when your breaths mingle, your hands intertwined, his leg hooked around yours. - loves to wake up and the first thing he sees is you. (has literal heart eyes!) - has one oversized blanket for you both to share - loves to kiss you lazily, lips just brushing over yours chastely until you both fall asleep. Holds one of your hands to his heart if he can get away with it - wears a very ol shirt and some old shorts to bed

[shiftingdiariesofophelia]

i spend so much energy trying to make/find fun creative things to add to my scripts and i’m not gonna gatekeep, so here’s some of the funniest/weirdest/lowkey best things i’ve added to any of my scripts (that I haven’t talked much about before):

-I can always find things I need.

-Santa is real

-People just??? trust me??? I could genuinely tell someone that world war two was between the australians and canadians and they’d just be like yeah that checks out

-I don’t have allergies bc i hate sneezing

-Every pair of shoes I own are comfy as hell

-My hair can’t get knotted/tangled

-no periods because f that for real

-I always win/I’m naturally good at card and board games.

-Babies/Animals like me and will stop crying/whining/etc. when i’m around.

-cigarettes taste good and aren’t bad for you. i wanna be lana del rey coded so bad i guess

-i will literally never be in a situation where i have to kill someone. (useful for more dangerous drs!!!)

-random beef with the funniest character imaginable. hp dr? me and susan bones are arch enemies. fame dr? me and pete davidson indirect tweet each other all the time complaining. avengers dr? me and the ancient one are fist fighting in the mirror dimension idc

-indestructible things. i am clumsy and stupid i need this in every dr.

-pages don’t rip out of notebooks on accident (this has been the bane of my existence since 9 years old)

-I always have a hair tie when i need one. because you think you won’t need one, and then the second you don’t have it, you need it.

-people don’t smell. lifesaver.

-*random character* knows i shifted but can’t do a goddamn thing about it/doesn’t care and just goes with it. my favorite examples are Shane Dawson (fame dr) and Professor Trelawny (HP dr)

-i can’t get hurt in stupid ways (stubbing toe, tripping, etc.)

-if someone tries to shoot me the gun will literally fly out of their hand lmao (again, useful for dangerous drs)

-i know everyone’s phone passwords

-infinite toilet paper (for dystopia/woods/etc. drs, but could just be useful every day tbh.)

-i’ve always got some kind of out of pocket one liner for when the situation is too awkward

-tattoos don’t hurt (i am a pussy)

-adding random side characters/completely new mfers to my scripts because if i’m constantly around these fine ass bitches i know everything about i might actually have a heart attack

-when someone’s mean to me they get some form of karma in the next 24 hours directly related to how mean they were. call me stupid? enjoy tripping up the stairs. push me over? i hope you enjoy biting into a sandwich only to find the bread is moldy.

there’s probably more but this is just a short list of the first ones i could think of

[creamflix]

choso x reader; no specified reader gender. established relationship. marriage proposal. pure fluff. choso and reader are college sweethearts. #boyfriendmaterial men <3 — masterlist here ☆

you're 28 now, standing across from choso under soft evening lights as he holds a small, elegant box. he’s fiddling with it, looking more nervous than he’s ever been. “okay,” he starts, voice a bit shaky, “before i open this, i just need you to know... i've always wanted to do this right, to give you the real thing.” he pauses, eyes lifting to yours, and there's this gentle, shy smile on his face that makes your heart ache in the sweetest way.

you laugh softly, catching his meaning instantly. “oh, the real thing, huh? you mean it's not from shein this time?”

he flushes, biting back a grin as he remembers that day years ago, both of you curled up on your bed, a knockoff vivienne westwood necklace in hand. you’d been 24, and he’d blurted out, “i just thought… you’d like it. i saw it on your pinterest and figured, i mean, i can’t afford the real thing… but —”

“i love it,” you’d said right then, before he could talk himself down any further. “it’s perfect, choso.” and it truly had been, because it was from him, because he’d seen it and thought of you, saving up his little checks just to make you smile.

and it’s the same way he’s looking at you now, eyes filled with that same sincerity, even more intense this time. “i wanted to give you the real thing because you deserve it… because i want you to be my real forever,” he murmurs, stepping forward and holding the box out with both hands.

your breath catches when he opens it, the familiar vivienne westwood orb glinting from within, this time on a beautiful, genuine silver chain. he swallows, voice soft but steady as he says, “will you marry me?”

a gentle laugh escapes you, your hand covering your mouth, feeling that unmistakable warmth spreading through your chest. “choso, it’s beautiful… you’re beautiful,” you say, barely managing to keep your voice steady. you lean in, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he wraps his around your waist, holding you close as though afraid to let go.

as choso slips the necklace around your neck, you catch a glimpse of the small jewelry drawer by your bedside. tucked away, hidden beneath old ticket stubs and a few mementos, is the original necklace — rusted and worn but untouched by time in your heart. you could never bring yourself to throw it away. that little knockoff had meant more to you than anything else he could have given; it was the first thing he'd bought with you in mind, a piece he chose simply because he thought you’d love it.

and every now and then, when you’d catch a glimpse of it, you’d remember that giddy 24-year-old version of him — nervously handing it over with a soft, “it’s not the real thing, but… i just wanted you to have it.”

now, standing here with the real version resting around your neck and choso’s warm hands still lingering at your shoulders, you realize nothing has really changed. it's the same love, just stronger, and the old necklace will always have a place with you — a quiet little reminder of how it all began.

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[pedge-page]

aww imagine when ellie is a little older and she has one of those doctor kit toys, and joel gets a cut (or maybe a bruise or something like that) and ellies like "it's okay daddy i'll help you 🥺" and she runs with her little kit and puts on the stethoscope and does a little "check up" and takes his blood pressure and checks his temperature, and then she asks where his boo boo is 😭 and then she gives it a little kiss (bc thats what joel and reader do) and she's like "all better daddy :)" 😭😭😭 please that would send me into a coma that is too cute

notes: oh my god this was so adorable to think about, thank you so much for the baby fever.... I ran a little further with this one based off this ask!

Joel Dealing with Wife: Doctor Ellie

- - - -

Joel’s caught on to something pretty big here. His ever growing littler girl Ellie is quite the caretaker….of him especially. All he tolerated under you and Sarah finally met its match when Ellie quietly entered the world.

He started to realize it after she would burst into tears each time he’d trip on Sarah’s toys, or grunted at your shoulder slaps. But she only ever showed worry when it was him getting hurt.

And he couldn’t get enough of it. Okay sure, its wrong to make your kid worry about things they don’t understand isn’t quite worth stressing over, but he can’t help but fall into a giddy awe spell of greed seeing just how bent out she gets when she thinks he’s hurt. It started with big hugs for long minutes. Then she decided she needed to practice real medicine. The amount of bandaids this family has gone through despite no real injury is astounding to his wallet. 

But it’s commendable. She so carefully puts her warm hands over his forehead whenever he stubs his toe, or checks his pulse when he’s eaten something too hot. Doctor Ellie is always in the house, and ready to assist.

And maybe Daddy… goes a little too out of his way to bring her out.

Joel had just rammed a large plank of wood into his abdomen, not carefully checking its length before swinging it around as if he were still in his twenties. “Ugh--damnit!” He groans, clutching his side. The throb lasted for just a moment before dulling, and he was about to carry on his business when—

“DADDY!!!!” Ellie wails, followed by the patterpatterpatter of her little feet running as fast as they can take him towards his aid.

She’s etched with concern over her chunky face, grasping on her tip toes for his hands. “Daddy okay?” She asks with her high pitched, sweetie voice that gets his soft spot racing.

“Yea—No. No baby…I think—“ he clutches his side, as if remembering the near fatal accident he just suffered. “Uuughh---oh Ellie…I’m hurt. I’m hurt real bad.” He bends forward, one hand over his abdomen while the other covers his face. (He peeks through one squinted eye to see her reaction).

She gasps. “It’s okay daddy! I help make it better!”

She grasps his finger with her entire hand and leads him towards the living room. “Moo!” She commands to Spoon. “Amboolance! WEE WOO WEE!!” She waves her hands around to clear the way of the invisible traffic as Joel followed, half squatted and stiffly wobbling to match her short stature.

She quickly tosses a blanket on the carpet, pointing for Joel to lie down. He obliges, groaning more so from the cracks in his back and knee instead of the fake pain he’s been dishing out.

He watches as she digs frantically through the bin of various toys before retrieving her mobile hospital toy kit. With the stethoscope thrown on her waist (it’s for kids 8 and up and she isn’t quite the size yet), she puts the rounded part over Joel’s stomach. Then she presses her head on his injury as well, causing him to let out an oof and chuckle as she listens futally for his heartbeat. 

“I nee take look.”

She rolls up his shirt a few inches to uncover the invisible wound. 

“How bad is it, doc?” Joel pleas in dramatic desperation.

She tilts her head to the side, closing one eye with her palm before shaking her head.

“Nee sur—Sur gee.”

Joel puts together that’s surgery, and he’s starting to wonder where she’s learning all this hospital stuff….

She begins rummaging around for her other toys before announcing “Knife!”

Joel’s head sits right up, eyes wide in Father-panic mode that she may have gotten her hands on an actual—

She instead pulls her yellow and green kids-cooking toy plastic knife that is meant to part velcroed plastic vegetables, and realistically couldn’t even slice through two strands of hair. He lets out a sigh, leaning back and letting her continue with her critical patient.

“Snack time!”

Of course you just had to interrupt their special Daddy-daughter only playtime with fucking snack ti—oh is that apple slices and peanut butter?

Ellie drops everything, sits on her butt almost like a dog and awaits patiently for her snack. Conveniently Spoon has also come to sit automatically next to her, if the dog-analogy wasn’t evident enough.

“Interrupting surgery, babe,” Joel hums. 

“Surgery can wait after snack.”

Ellie wiggles her feet as you hold out a slice towards her mouth for her to bite and keep her hands clean. The room is silent minus the content, unhurried crunching of apple sizes.

“Okay baby, continue your surgery. What part are we at?” You ask, sucking a slice into your mouth as you also dip one into Joel’s open trap, giggling as he swallows it like an arcade ticket machine crunching away at his spoils. 

“Make cut,” she says plainly, searching around for that knife again.

You raise your brow suspiciously  but let any irrational thought go as she holds up her very non lethal kiddie knife.

Doctor Ellie starts serrating his belly fat back and forth with the dull piece of thick plastic.

It probably looks like real pain to her, were it not for him holding his breath as his chest and stomach puffing up and down, trying to hold his giggles and squirms together.

You watch Joel with raised brow, knowing he’s got tears in his eyes trying to play poker face so hard, knowing you’re there watching him get tickled by this thing and knowing he’s gonna deny it profusely. 

“Shouldn’t you put me under anesthesia—“

She slaps a piece of paper — the phony ticket from her train conductor set (Jesus, how many different toy sets did you guys get her?) — a little too carelessly, but enough to get the idea across that daddy needs to stop talking as she does careful work.

“Sew!” She announces, as if she has a nurse assistant handing her each tool. Although, technically, she does, but you seem more interested in wiping the plate of peanut butter and sucking it off your digits.

Joel’s eyes are closed, enjoying the serenity of lying on the floor. You don’t realize how good it is to be on the ground until you have kids, and now you’re constantly on the floor doing everything with them.

“Mommy…where sew?”

You shrug. They’ve got so many toys, you’re honestly not sure what creative thing she’s gonna come up with the “sew” Joel’s tummy. Given her use of the kids knife, you’re curious what kind of toy—

She pulls out a real sewing needle, point and sharp and definitely not kid approved along with fabric thread. It glints in her little hand for a brief moment as she dips to make contact on Joel’s skin—

“OOKAY Let’s not use that,” you yelp, grasping her arm carefully from going any further. Joel’s still got that stupid paper over his eyes, absolutely oblivious and too trusting of Ellie. 

Something else about kids: you can baby proof the fuck out of everything you didn’t even think needed baby proofing, and yet they will still —what does Jeff Goldblum say in the dinosaur movie?…—f’ind a way’. 

You remove the needle and thread from her grasp, position it inside a cotton swab and high out of her reach. You fashion a string of yarn wrapped around a q-tip instead, and hand it to her like it’s nothing. She takes it and goes back to “sewing” Joel’s tummy up, dragging the cottony tip over his naval.

His belly dips as he lets out a pained breath, trying so hard to act like he’s not tickled. 

“Am I gonna make it doc?” Joel asks curiously.

“Bluey!”

He doesn’t quite understand that answer, until she’s pulling out the packs of varied assortment of bandaids. It takes a few minutes to help her pull each sticky back off, but soon Joel’s got 4 bandaids of Paw Patrol on his stomach, one Bingo on top of his jeans, some chainsaw massacre’s on his arm, and a pretty hello kitty across his forehead. 

“All done!” She boasts happily.

“Nah uh! You need to make sure it stays better!”

“Oh—“ she bends down and kisses his belly, just like you and Joel always do whenever she gets a minor booboo. Kisses make everything better.

Minus the bacteria in your saliva but ya know it’s the placebo in the thought that really counts for the healing factor. 

“Give daddy one on the cheek for good measure,” he commands, pointing sternly into his face. She happily obliges with a fat “mmmmmwah!”

“Yay. Looks like he’ll live,” you muse a little too unhappily. Joel snickers, sitting upright. God, he somehow looks ridiculous and hot with hellow kitty plastered across his forehead. 

“Doc, do you think I need to come back in for a check up, ya know, just to see—“

But Ellie has already concluded her medical services, now hustling away to go find something else to do. 

-

Joel steps out to the backyard, where Sarah is cruising in her remote toy jeep with the 6 ducks packed in the passenger seat and trunk. 

She rolls to a stop, her brightly colored sunglasses peering up at her Dad. She sucks her ring pop silently, knowing the desperation he’s come to seek her out.

Sarah fully well knows Ellie has Joel in her back pocket, and she likes to let that play out. because ultimately… Sarah can also benefit from their needy relationship off one another.

Joel clears his throat, looking around as if he’s making an illegal trade. “I’ll give ya two ring pops if ya pretend to run me over. And not the face this time,” he warms, knowing she’’ll plea innocence to his own askings. “Just for Ellie to see.”

She sucks on her candy before pulling it out of her mouth with a loud pop. “I’d do it for free.”

----

taglist: @harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @jeewrites

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter six: i don't need to feel the sun, let me touch your skin

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie's dumbassery brings the cops to… a door. Not exactly his, though.

cw: fem masturbation mention, demonic shenanigans, mean!eddie but not to reader, murder, there are multiple minor character deaths and death mentions, gore, blood, animal death mention, eddie says ACAB, smoking, implied bullying/harassment towards reader, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. this entire work is explicit. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie steps– read: stumbles– through the dusty mirror on the back of the closet door. This house he picked is one grade A shithole, but it’ll work for his purposes.

Ohhh, he’s so fucking mad. So mad. He would have stayed with you all night. He would have been there to force you to drink some water, eat some chocolate. Now that you’ve given him a chance– now that you’ve decided you want him– he would have stayed with you until you were crying from pleasure. You’re so fucking precious when you beg, and he’s a creature of pride. And lust. And gluttony and all those other fucking sins– something about becoming a demon has made them all multiply within him. 

If he’d stayed with you, he would have taken you to pieces. Pulled you apart and molded you to his whim, given you anything you asked for and more. Maybe he’d even coax you to another orgasm in your dreams; who knows? The possibilities were literally endless. 

But he’s not there with you. 

He’s here in Fuckass, Nowhere, because the cops decided to dig into your so-called ‘high school sweetheart,’ Eddie Munson.

Why the fuck he gave you his real name, he doesn’t know. Maybe because he wanted you to know it, to have it in your mind the way yours is in his, constantly. But he didn’t imagine the cops would try to look into it. 

But, of course they would, because shit like this never goes easy for him. And, of course they would decide to do it the day that he’s got a hot date to take care of.

Fucking cock blocks.

He had to leave you in your post-orgasmic haze to cause a power outage at the department of investigation before he could construct a fictitious Eddie Munson, who’d grown up in or around Eastwick. Sketchy background, a few minor felonies that don’t add up to shit, but warrant at least an arrest record. Something believable without being too on the nose.

The lamp lights flicker on and off as he moves through the trailer. The TV switches on without any physical force directing it to. He picks up a yellowing, half empty box of Marlboro reds from the end of the kitchen counter, and pulls one out of it. 

The previous owner of this house rots in a lake a mile away, a few months too late for the party. One of the good things about being a demon is that you can construct an alibi so easily, change names on house deeds and pay stubs and tax forms with the flick of a wrist. Make it so that something you say happened actually did happen, on paper. Erase something you don’t want there. 

The rug beneath his bare feet is rough, indoor-outdoor carpeting that the poor idiot who owned this house didn’t bother to switch out. Eddie’s dark jeans hang low on his hips, his chest bare and his hip bones jutting out at odd angles. He looks down and all his old tattoos are there, just the way he likes them. Your taste is still on his tongue, in the corners of his mouth, behind his teeth, reminding him of where he’d rather be. 

Eddie lights himself the cigarette as he peeks out of the kitchen window. In the yard, the coppers are rounding the rust bucket of a Volkswagen bug sitting in the tall grass.

He sits on the rickety wooden dining chair beside the door, listening to their footsteps as they mount the porch, whispering to each other. He hates cops. Always did, for obvious reasons, when he was human– but now that he’s beyond worldly measures, all they do is stick their noses in where they don’t belong.

Normally, he wouldn’t do this. A normal demon would allow the consequences of the deal you’d made to catch up with you. A normal demon would let you swim or drown when it comes to dealing with the repercussions, take their share from the deal and run away, allowing the contract to claim your soul. Just like his own demon did to him.

The thing that Eddie failed to mention to you when you cut that deal with him is that he would steal the sun just to keep you warm. He had already decided that he was in love with you when he got your petition, and he doesn’t know how to love passively. 

So, this is a walk in the park for him, all things considered.

Three knocks against the door cut over the sound of Scarface on the TV. Eddie shakes his head in solidarity at the house ghost floating in the corner, watching him with hollow eyes and creating a black hole where a lamp is supposed to be.

“Watch me fuck this up,” he whispers to it.

“Edward Munson?” The small one, Officer Leony, peers up at him with a blank expression when he opens the door. 

“Uh… yeah?” 

He stares down at her, leaning a naked shoulder against the doorframe, not bothering to extinguish his cigarette. He sucks in a long drag.

Christ, this thing tastes like ass. They don’t make ‘em like they used to. Cigarettes taste better when he just conjures them himself.

Eddie exhales a cloud of tobacco, somehow without pulling a face or retching. He’ll smell like smoke no matter what, and he’s sure that the heat of his hellfire radiates from his bare skin into the muggy air. Best to pretend it’s because he’s nothing but a smoker. He can feign mortality up to a point, and that’s where the uncanny valley sits. 

Seemingly to support this, Leony rocks back on her heels, but doesn’t step back the way she wants to.

“I’m Officer Leony, this is Officer Casey–” she gestures to the taller man beside her. “There’s been a disturbance at a town upstate, and we’re here to ask you a few questions about it, if that’s all right.”

Eddie shifts in place. Oh, no, he couldn’t have predicted this. “Can’t see what I’d have to do with something upstate.”

“Y’ever been to a little town called Eastwick?” Casey asks mildly. 

“I grew up a town over. Across the river.” Eddie lies. It gives him a certain thrill to lie to the cops again. It’s like riding a bike– you never really forget how, but sometimes you miss it when the weather’s right.

“Ever met a man named Andrew Montgomery?”

That piece of shit motherfucker. “Never heard of him.”

“He’s dating– dated– someone we think you may know,” Leony begins.

“You’ve got her name on your chest,” blurts Casey, who seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes on Eddie’s face, in favor of the glaring mark. “Nice, uh. Nice scar.”  

“It’s a brand.” Eddie can’t help the smirk that comes to his face when he glances down to see the raised tissue on his own skin. You’d only said that he burned your name on his chest, but he took that a step further and placed it over his heart. Go big or go home, right? “Not as pretty as she was, but it’s not like I can remove it.”

“Right.”  

A few paces away, in the trees, a pack of hounds snarl and bark like they’re having a real field day. 

“What’s that?” Casey nearly yelps, peering into the trees. He sees nothing. “Wolves?”

“No, those are just my dogs.” Eddie shrugs at him. He fights off a nervous laugh. “They get a little rowdy sometimes, y’know. No worries.”

Leony clears her throat. “Mr. Munson, we’re sure that given your… history, you’re no stranger to automotive accidents.”

Eddie’s eyes flick to her. “Accidents?” Accidents, referring to the spontaneously combusting car that a certain Edward Munson was held in custody for perpetrating, but was acquitted for lack of evidence.

Or something. He doesn’t exactly remember the wording he used on the fake case file. Not too on the nose, right?

“See, Mr. Montgomery’s vehicle exploded earlier today.”

“Shit, is he all right?” Pfffft. 

“Why would you assume he was harmed?” Leony asks, looking like she’s just caught him in a lie.

Eddie’s eyes flutter in annoyance. “I know cops. You don’t drive into the middle of nowhere to question someone for a bit of damaged property.”

Leony huffs. “You’re right. Mr. Montgomery is in the ICU, unfortunately. Severe burns all over his body. We just want to rule out any foul play. If you know anything at all…”

“Like I said, I’ve never heard of the guy before now.”

Leony nods, sucking on her teeth. “And, when was the last time you spoke to your ex-girlfriend?”

Eddie puffs out his cheeks, overdramatizing it. “Probably, uh…” Could be talking to her right now. “Five, six years?” 

“And you haven’t been back to Eastwick since then?”

“Why would I want to go back to that fuckin’ place?” Eddie growls. His anger isn’t entirely fake– he hates small towns. 

“I can think of one reason.” Leony’s eyes fall to your name burned onto his heart. “Mr. Munson, I’m sure you’re… aware of your ex-girlfriend’s reputation within the town.”

“Reputation,” Eddie parrots.

“As a witch.” Casey says it so frankly, as if it holds some kind of merit.

Eddie bristles and looks back and forth between them. “R’you telling me that two cops actually believe in that kind of horseshit?”

“Witchcraft isn���t illegal, even if it… were real…” Leony explains hesitantly, while Eddie tries to keep smoke from blowing out of his ears. “But rumors like that don’t form in a vacuum. We have reason to believe she may have tried to harm Mr. Montgomery. If the rumors are true– which, usually they are in these cases, she has a bit of a reputation for being unusual. We just wondered if you can recall any sort of odd behavior… besides the obvious.”

Another pointed look at the brand on his chest.

EDDIE.

Eddie glances up at the moon in the evening sky, waxing its way to full. It’s a little more than halfway there.

EDDIE. EDDIE. EDDIE.

You’re calling him. He can sense the need in your body, sees flashes of your hands moving down your stomach and dipping beneath the fabric of your pajamas. You’re just lying there, focusing all your energy on him. 

Touching yourself to the thought of him.

Your voice is ringing in his ears, screaming for him to leave this place and go to you. He fights not to wince at the volume of it. 

EDDIE I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW–

Fuck, he wishes he didn’t have to do this shit. 

Eddie clenches his jaw, squeezing the door jamb so hard that he leaves scorch marks in the plaster in the shape of his fingerprints. He’s mad that he can’t be with you as soon as you call, and he hates that this is keeping him away from you.

He hates what they’ve done to you, ostracized you the way that his own small town did to him. Witchcraft. Devil worship. Unusual equals murder. Even if you are a witch, even if he is the closest thing to the devil you’ll know, he hates the way that these cops talk about you like they know you, or what you’ve been through. 

“Believe me,” he snaps, letting his temper get the better of him, “If she ever did anything unusual, it’s because she had a damn good reason to. Hell, I’d rather burn that whole fuckin’ town to the ground than see her suffer in it anymore.”

Leony’s mouth twitches up at the corners. “Is that so?”

Eddie blinks.

You fucked it up, comes the whispering voice of the ghost in the corner.

“Shit.” Eddie presses his lips together, and tosses his burning cigarette into the dead grass next to the porch. He lifts his two fingers to his lips and whistles loudly. 

Snarling and barking, a pack of shadowy dogs bound out of the trees. Red eyes glow from each smoky figure, varying in size and shape, but all made of the same infernal aether. 

Casey tries to run. Leony tries pulling her gun. The juxtaposition between the two officers is laughable, but ultimately, they both meet the same fate between the jaws of the hellhounds that swarm them. 

Eddie doesn’t see where Casey gets dragged off to– somewhere in the trees, the shouts take a little bit to die down. Leony’s throat gets ripped out first, so all he hears from her is a faint gurgling that slowly gets overshadowed by the sound of crackling as a fire catches on in the grass. 

“Never trust a demon to make things easy,” he sighs, and takes a seat on the porch. It’ll take a few minutes before the fire really gets going on the wood, and by that time he’ll be gone. 

He’ll make sure this doesn’t get back to you. It just means another trip into the computers at the department of investigation, and those wires are really fucking tight to squeeze into.

Eddie whistles shortly. “Cerberus. Stop it, you’re making a mess.” 

The Doberman spirit drops the decapitated head he’d been using as a chew toy, flinging blood all over the yellow grass. Instead, the German Shepherd spirit beside him immediately snatches it and throws it across the yard before chasing after it. 

Eddie glares. “Sauron. Bad dog.”

Out of the mix of shadowy dogs and flying body parts, a tinier hellhound than all the rest trundles up. It’s the newest of the bunch, still in need of training– but Eddie’s not entirely sure that he wants to train it to be like the rest. 

Dogs will be dogs, even in the afterlife. He chose the others for their ferocity. Most of them were the losers of dog fights; innocent animals that never asked to be put through the pain and torture that they got in life, but were trained to be killers nonetheless. They’re protective, loyal, and at times bloodthirsty.

This one is different. This dog has never killed, never maimed, never hurt anything in its little life. This one chose Eddie, sought him out, wandering through the Otherworld as a messenger with a piece of copper in its mouth.

Lacey crawls up into Eddie’s lap on her tiny legs, her little red eyes blinking slowly as she settles down onto his thighs, just like she did when she’d delivered your petition. She’d found him lounging against a tree, emerged from the mist and dropped the copper into his outstretched hand. Made a home for herself in his lap as the details of your petition rolled around in his mind, and all at once he decided you were beginning and end of everything for him. 

He would have given her back to you– she’s the one that you miss, but she’s too young of a spirit to be able to manifest as a physical dog yet. 

But she’s a cuddly thing. He can understand why you loved her so much. He feels a little bit of that love well up in his own heart, underneath your name branded across it.

His hand pets her smoky back as the fire in the grass reaches the porch. 

EDDIE WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU EDDIE EDDIE EDDIE–

Shit, you’re persistent.

[radiant-reid]

In The Dark

Summary: After a few months without contact, Reader assumes Spencer has ghosted her and she's shocked when he has the nerve to turn up.

based on the request: would you write something about spencer going to prison and being in a relationship for a few months, so the team doesn't know about her and no one tells her about him, so she thinks he just ghosted her and is really sad :( but someway she finds out?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst)

Content Warning: prison arch and mention of Spencer's SA and drugging

Word Count: 4.0k

Masterlist | Navigation

Spencer Reid is a great boyfriend. For someone with such little experience, he's mastered date planning, check-in phone calls, and romantic words. It's not a surprise when he's good at everything he tries, but it's impressive and incredibly appreciated by his girlfriend, Y/n.

He gets back into DC late from a case, something about an UnSub murdering people he sees as a threat to his soon-to-be ex-husband in the hopes of rekindling their relationship. It was sad and tragic but nothing exceedingly troubling. After more than a decade on the job, Spencer had seen just how powerful a motivator jealousy could be.

Adding to his stress, Y/n knew he was still struggling with looking after his mom, not as much as before, but it was still stressful. So she was a little surprised when Spencer called, wondering if she was free that night to go out. She tries to keep her calendar flexible when working around Spencer's unpredictable schedule, and she quickly agrees to spend some time with him before he gets whisked away on his next case.

Spencer's never late, but he knows to knock on the door no sooner than five minutes early to avoid Y/n worrying about not being ready if he arrives early.

Every time he sees her, especially after he's not seen her for a while, Spencer can't believe how he got so lucky to be with someone so beautiful.

"Hi." He says softly, trying to remember to function despite being totally blown away by her. "You look gorgeous."

Y/n gives him a little twirl in the new red dress she knew would be perfect for a date night. "Thank you. I missed you." She replies, not letting him get past the entryway of her apartment before wrapping him in a tight hug.

"I missed you too," Spencer says, resting his head on hers. He didn't know what it was like to miss someone until he met her, to think about someone fondly and wish you could see them. That was a first Spencer had never experienced before her. He still hates the longing to see her, but he loves that he has someone to miss.

There's not a feeling like being in Spencer's arms. It's safe and warm, and she loved it from their first hug.

When she pulls back, Y/n smiles up at him. "Also, you look very handsome." She tells him before leaning in to kiss him softly.

Spencer always grins like an idiot about having someone to kiss casually. There's no other feeling like it.

"Should we go?" She asks, her tone just slightly teasing at the spaced-out look on Spencer's face.

He snaps back into it. "R-right, uh, yes, yeah, let's go." His actions are more decisive than his words, and he steps aside to let her into the corridor before him.

"So, where are we off to?" Y/n asks curiously on the way to the elevator, hand-in-hand with Spencer.

With the hand not holding hers, he reaches into his suit jacket pocket and produces two ticket stubs. "The theatre."

Her eyes light up with delight as she takes the tickets to confirm they're real. "How did you- these were sold out?" She's as puzzled as she is excited.

"I know people," Spencer says mysteriously, making her giggle and playfully nudge his arm.

"Thank you." She says, voice overflowing with gratitude. She had mentioned how much she wanted to go, but she couldn't find tickets, and somehow, Spencer found some. Things like that make him the best boyfriend.

He proves he's better than other boyfriends by opening her door when they get to the car, and even drives, although he doesn't like it.

They arrive at the Kennedy Centre with enough time to get food and drinks before the show, and Y/n's even more impressed by his feat of getting tickets when she realizes just what good seats they are.

Despite being shy to touch her at the start of their relationship, Spencer has quickly warmed up, and his hands don't leave her the whole night, holding hers or resting on her thigh or his arm wrapping around her shoulder.

After the show, they walk down the street to a restaurant for dinner when Spencer offhandedly mentions an idea. "We should go to the real thing." He says dreamily.

"Like, in Paris?" Y/n replies with a frown. It's a very forward proposal to get from a boyfriend of two and a half months, who she's only been out with on seven dates and never slept in the same bed as.

Spencer quickly shakes his head when he realizes the implication of what he's just said. Of course, it's in his future plan to take her to the City of Love- even to see the entire world if she wants that. But telling her so soon would be coming on too strong, potentially scaring her off, and he does not want to do that.

He chuckles awkwardly, clearing his throat. "No, uh, I just meant to New York to see it on Broadway."

Technically, it's only a three-hour train ride, which isn't a huge commitment, but the show would end late, so they'd probably have to spend the night in the city together..., and she should stop fantasizing so much about something he's only suggesting.

She settles on a more laid-back answer. "Yeah, we should. I'd really like that."

Spencer makes a promise to himself right there as they walk down a street of DC on the way to dinner. He'll take her to New York City and then Paris one day.

He only gets the confidence to speak the latter thought that night. They're lying in bed together after Spencer once again has proved he's good at things he says he doesn't have much practice at.

"We're going to go to Paris." He vows, holding out his pinky to lock with hers.

Y/n frowns. "Right now? I'm too comfortable here." It's so cozy under her covers, and she feels safe beside him, resting on his bare chest for the first time.

He shakes his head, messier curls dancing on his forehead. "No, I mean just at some point in the future. You know, eventually." He explains before waggling his pinky finger. "Now, promise me."

She snorts with laughter but locks her pinky around his. "I guess we're going to Paris together."

He's about to add something, but his phone ringing on the side table stops him. Spencer can guess who it is, but he knows that she doesn't know he has a BAU-specific ringtone and that that wasn't it. He avoids showing her the screen, taking advantage of her focus on her fingers drawing patterns on his skin.

Y/n notices how he stiffens once he reads the message. "Do you have to go?" She asks softly, purposefully making herself not sound upset. She's not, but sleeping alone won't be as easy as it was about to be when she assumed he was staying the night over.

"I'm sorry." Spencer quickly apologizes, but not for needing to go, just for lying.

She shakes her head quickly, leaning up to kiss him softly. "Don't be." She assures him before moving off him so he can get out of bed and leave. Spencer slips out of the covers, collecting his clothes from the floor and awkwardly- but adorably- clumsily redressing. "Where are you off to?"

"Houston."

Brownsville, then Matamoros, Mexico.

He hates himself for lying to her. He hates himself for lying to the team too. He hates himself in general recently. Lies always snowball. He's only lied by omission to her before, simply saying he was out of town when she asked rather than admitting he was in another country.

When he's finished redressing, he stands awkwardly by her doorframe. He wants to kiss her goodbye but doesn't think he's worthy of affection.

Like he knew she would, Y/n ushers him over. "You have to kiss me before you go." She reminds him with an innocent giggle.

"Right, sorry." Spencer apologizes, making his way across the room to her and resting his hand on the mattress to lean over and capture her lips in a soft kiss.

She pulls back with a smile. "Be safe."

He nods. What he's doing, although technically not illegal, is definitely not safe. For a moment, he thinks about telling Y/n. It would be easy to blurt out what he's actually going to do, but he's not about to dump all of his problems on his new girlfriend. She's too precious and innocent to be involved in his mess.

"I will." He promises. He needs to be for her and for Paris. "I'll call you when I'm back. It shouldn't be more than a few days. Then we can plan New York." He promises as he moves away from her towards the door.

She grins broadly, nodding eagerly. "Okay. I'll look forward to that."

He will too. In fact, dreaming about their future plans is where he'll go in his head as his happy place.

To say Mexico didn't go as planned would be a drastic understatement.

The plan was not to get high, enter a car chase with the police with cocaine in the trunk, and ultimately get arrested.

And there are no words to describe even a tiny fraction of Spencer's despair as he comes down from the awful mix of cocaine and heroin and realizes what's happening. Y/n's on his mind when he starts coming down, but there's so much else happening around him while Emily tries to save him from ending up in a deadly Mexican prison.

Thankfully, his face is so pale, and he looks so ruined that no one notices the dread set in when he's on the jet back to the US, and he finally focuses on his girlfriend. It's a moral dilemma that he doesn't have the morals or energy to work through.

Don't get the team to tell her, and Y/n will believe he doesn't want to be in a relationship with her but is too cowardly to say.

Or get the team to tell her, and she'll be forced into his mess.

He chooses not to tell anyone he's in a serious relationship and holds onto hope that the team can quickly prove his innocence or that he'll get bail and be able to do it himself. He knows JJ, Penelope, or Emily would be delicate, but it's jaw-dropping news, and he needs to be there to beg her to stay if- when, in his mind- she decides she doesn't want to be with a suspected murderer.

At his arraignment, she's who he's thinking about when he gets hauled away, having not been granted bail. He can't make his mind up between speaking up about her and the existence of their relationship or not, and as time goes on, it seems easier not to.

Y/n's not worried the first night he's away, and she doesn't get a text. They're still getting into a routine, and she knows his job often doesn't allow for breaks. On the second day, a missing child's case hits the news, and she figures, although not explicitly stated, that possibly that's what Spencer and his team are working on.

Once it's announced that they found the little girl, Y/n's concern amplifies. It's the longest there's been no contact between them. All her phone calls go straight to his voicemail, and her messages only send as texts.

It's inconceivable that he would purposefully not contact her, so she repeatedly puts his name into Google, knowing it would be published if he were injured or, even more heartbreaking, killed. Something like that would probably make a martyr of him, but it would be an explanation for his disappearance.

Nothing.

There are a few articles on notable cases he's worked on and his remarkable intellectual achievements, but they're all from much earlier.

So it's logical that he's alive and unwilling, rather than unable, to speak to her.

And eventually, she accepts that she got ghosted. The person she thought was the most honorable she'd ever met left and never explained it.

It's heartbreaking, each unreturned message and call piercing her heart and crushing her spirit. Everything about Spencer seemed so perfect. He treated her like glass, delicate and beautiful. He was gentle with her feelings and his words. He never pushed too hard or didn't care enough.

Spencer was everything she wanted, and she had him.

And then he was gone.

She wishes she could be more angry. Of course, she's furious at the abruptness, at Spencer leading her on and possibly treating her so well she won't be able to accept less in the future. She's angry that she looks like an idiot, played perfectly by someone who's probably laughing about it to his friends. And she doesn't even know any of his friends! That's how blinding his affection was.

But she's hurt, heartbroken. What about her is so unloveable that Spencer couldn't stay? And, on top of that, what makes her so unworthy of an explanation? It's worse than a breakup in that way, no answers to the questions plaguing her mind. Doubt and insecurity plague her mind every day. The weight of her sadness felt suffocating. Y/n tried to occupy her mind, but the memories lingered and taunted her. Then there were the inquiries from everyone around her about how her relationship was progressing, everyone who had seen her overjoyed just days before.

She took a weekend to cry about it, to mourn the loss of something good with a promising future.

But, even more than two months after their last contact, it's still difficult to think about. Spencer's absence is found every day in her life. He's not an easy person to forget.

It feels like hundreds of times she's typed out text messages to him, ranging from begging him to reconsider their relationship to demanding answers about why he left without a word. Then it dawns on her that maybe it's not even still his phone. Maybe Spencer does the whole dating thing with lots of different girls to get off, and he has a burner SIM for each of them, and he's thrown hers out.

Still, she has to send that last text message. A final conclusion, two months after the "Please just let me know you're okay" text message that Spencer didn't return. It got sent with trembling hands and a heavy heart, but the final one wasn't. It's impersonal. Structured formal language, blocked out her feelings, and commanded he never contacts her again.

So, the last thing she expects at 7 pm on a random Tuesday night is Spencer to be at her door.

Spencer with, through her view from the peephole, a blonde woman. So this is probably his wife, and now she's about to get accused of being the other woman and sleeping with a married man.

Y/n only opens the door for the chance of seeing him getting slapped by her or slapping him herself.

His eyes soften as hers fill with tears. It hasn't even been that long, but Spencer looks different. He actually looks like shit, totally worn down with his messy curls, deep bags under his eyes, and unshaven facial hair, and she's unsympathetic to it. She felt like that, so he deserves to look like it. Spitefully, she might be enjoying it.

"You good?" The blonde next to him asks, but her eyes aren't judging, just concerned.

So she's probably not a wife, but he has no right to bring an emotional support person to a confession about being a complete dick to her.

Spencer barely glances in her direction as he nods. She hastily exits down the hall while Y/n stares him down.

"I don't want to speak to you." She informs him sternly, shaking her head to avoid tears falling. She's not going to let her walls crumble for him. That was a lamentable mistake and a pitiless lesson.

When she goes to slam the door, Spencer puts his hand in it. He's an asshole, but she won't go as far as to break his fingers.

"Please." He begs, voice grave. "Please hear me out."

Y/n scoffs, dramatically rolling her eyes. It's a facade for how destroyed she is internally. "Why? Why should I?" Unfortunately, she couldn't turn off her caring like he could turn off his attachment.

"I promise I can explain." He assures her.

Her patience is gone in an instant, and she snaps. "Explain!?" She balks. "You can explain why you've been ghosting me for two and a half months? Why you lead me on with these fantasized plans of us going on vacation together only to not speak to me again? Well, that sounds delightful."

Spencer had anticipated the hostility he's met with. "Can we talk inside?" He offers calmly. His fuse is shorter after prison, but he needs to set this right. There's not an ulterior motive. All he wants is for her to know the truth, even if she never speaks to him again.

"Sure." She voices, stepping out of the way to let him in.

It chills her to think that the last time he was here, they were making gentle love and vows.

"Was it all just a ploy to fuck me?" She spits out.

That was the deep insecurity she had about the situation. It couldn't have been a coincidence that, proceeding their first night, he wouldn't return a call.

She continues, voicing all the built-up feelings that are finally exploding. Her emotions are like a pressure cooker with a strong need for release. "Because that's so fucking low. I trusted you! I let you in, and you were such a coward you couldn't tell me you finished with me."

The cracks show. Spencer can hear the pain in her voice and see the tears she's fighting. He wants to reach out and hug her- he needs to. It's what he's been thinking about for so long, but he can't, not yet.

"I was in prison." He says calmly. There are so many ways he's played this out, but in the moment, it came out simply.

"Fuck off." She says, not at all believing a word. An easier lie to sell would be that his mom died or his phone got stolen. Neither are good excuses, but they're much more likely.

Spencer shakes his head. "I'm not lying, I promise." His voice is so profound that it's hard not to believe him.

But he could easily be a psychopath, doing this for more sadistic pleasure.

"Why should I believe you?" Her arms cross over her chest defensively.

"Because I am crazy about you." Her heart stops, and those butterflies are impossible to suppress. They're second nature when she's around him. "I would never jeopardize that on purpose." He swears, but he can tell she needs more. "You are lovely, everything I could ever want in a partner and more. Your kindness is like nothing else I've ever experienced, and I'll always be grateful I met you."

The self-preservation instincts in her brain are screaming at her, warning bells going off. "I need to hear the rest of your explanation." She says strictly.

"Can we sit?" He asks, nodding at the couch. "It's a long story."

Hesitantly, she agrees. She needs to guard herself, but she needs answers just as badly.

So Spencer recounts it. From why he was in Mexico, what substances he was getting for his mom, the other times lies about his whereabouts, the cocaine and heroin forced into him, his hallucination about having sex with her in the motel room, the car chase, the arrest, the cocaine in the trunk, coming off the drugs, the holding cell in Mexico, his team turning up, the times they had to repeat what had happened because of how high he was, the childhood flashbacks, the eleventh-hour transfer to the American authorities, the realization of his situation, the arraignment, the horrible verdict, prison without protective custody, the beatings, his friend dying, the fear, feeling like it was forever, all the interviews and meetings with his lawyer, the unlikely savor on the inside, finally getting out and having his name cleared, and the somehow more stressful ending.

By the end, he's crying, not trying to wipe away the soft tears falling down his cheeks. Y/n hasn't realized she has started to cry, but she can't stop it.

"I'm so sorry." She apologizes, but it's primarily for the internal resentment she's harboring for him and all the hateful things she said about him in her head.

"It's okay," Spencer promises. His guilt is overwhelming already, but it's going to increase tenfold if she's remorseful about it. "You didn't know."

"But I sure as hell didn't give you the reasonable doubt." She adds in.

He shakes his head. "I haven't spoken to you in almost three months, Y/n." He speaks softly, still weeping. "The logical conclusion to draw is that I left you on purpose. I can't imagine how much I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry for it."

"I know it's not your fault." She says, before tacking on, "Now."

He's so grateful she just gave him a chance to explain. He's hopeful it will bring her peace, but there isn't a doubt it will do that for him.

He stands up awkwardly. "Thank you for hearing me out... and for the best few months of my life. It's truly been a pleasure."

"Wait." She pleads softly, making him spin around quickly. "You're leaving?"

"Do you need something?" Spencer asks. He'll do anything she wants in a heartbeat, hoping it will ease some of the misery she's been in.

Y/n bites her bottom lip, thinking through what she's about to ask, but she knows she has to go with her heart and gut. Spencer is Spencer, and she'll never be able to convince herself that he's hurt her on purpose.

"You." She admits.

Spencer's heart gets crushed in an instant. She knows about it now, but there's no way she can fully understand the changes, so he'll have to let her down again and break both their hearts, hearts that long for each other.

"Y/n..." He trails off. "I'm not who I used to be."

She shakes her head. "I don't care." Her confession is nonchalant. It's a quick decision, but it feels right. "Please don't leave again."

"I've been in federal prison." He reminds her.

She gulps, feeling the full power of his rejection. It's a much more Spencer way to do it, letting her down gently. "Mm-hmm." She mumbles. "Okay, I understand." She gets up to show him out, and it feels like the weight he's relieved has been piled back on. "If you ever want to be with me again... you know where to find me." She knows it sounds pathetic, but she needs to say it.

If he ever wants her. There's nothing more than Spencer wants. "Y/n." He coos softly. His hands come to cup her cheeks, relishing touching her skin and being close to her again. It's a natural desire to kiss her, but he stops himself from doing it a few inches away from her lips.

"Don't." She begs in a whisper, more tears clouding her vision. "Not if you're not going to stay."

"I want to." He promises. "But I'm different."

Y/n shakes her head in his hands. "Not inside. You might have more walls, but your heart will always be good."

So he doesn't let himself self-sabotage. When he kisses Y/n, it feels like everything is right in the world again. It's what he's been dreaming about for as long as they've been apart. It's fireworks and butterflies and every cliche possible, but there's a reason those cliches get repeated: they're true.

Spencer pulls back once he's kissed her until they've both run out of air. He's crying as much as he's smiling. "We're okay?" He double-checks.

"You're going to be," Y/n promises. "And that means we're going to be."

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[threepandas]

Bad End: After The War (Next ->)

The click of a button in a mostly quiet room. Machines humming as they churn an endless stream of data. Listening. Receiving. Filtering through the noise, for those bits of intelligence that might win us the war. The outpost was quite. As much as it could be, at least, on this god forsaken moon.

"Perimeter Check?"

More specifically, 'did you get your ass eaten by those horrifying eel-snakes? Because you promised not too, and I WILL be mad.' 'Cept, you know, these channels are technically recorded. Rather not have my snark On Record, thanks. So SUBTEXT.

The familiar, oh so melodious, demonic death screeching of abomination eels and blaster fire comes on comm. A symphony straight out of some sci-fi horror movie, act 3. The part where everybody's getting eaten. Except NOT, because this? This is just my life.

Though the eaten part is still a Very Real Risk.

Which Is FUN.

I wait. Hope I just caught Headshot at just a bad time. Not, you know, in his final moments. Ha ha... Nope! Not! Thinking 'bout that! He's immortal, I'm immortal, and we both live in a happy fun time fairy land of FUCKING WONDERS. Denial? Fuck yeah I know her! Best friend, that one. Gonna be my future kids godparent. Walk me down the aisle. We BESTIES.

There is finally, at long last, ominous silence. Dead or dying? Dead or dying? Which side, eels or Headshot, is Dead or-?

Click.

"Perimeter looks good. Bit of a mess near the east gate, though. We'll need to get the droids to shove some mess over the ledge. They tried to climb again."

Oh thank FUCK. Tension bleeds out of me. This post is hell on my anxiety. I send back the confirm. Slump back on my seat as I keep an eye on his tracker's dot, on the patrol read out. I fucking HATE perimeter checks. They aren't safe. But... well...

This universe? I'm pretty sure, it's an "all the serial numbers filed off" blatant rip off of Star Wars. Might be a fan fiction? Cause, while the troupes are familiar, the "characters", no one is where or WHO they should be. There are also other "totally not X" bits here and there, all of which confuses the fuck out me.

But what I DO know? Is that making a fuss about the safety and well-being of us peons? During this, the "totally not the Clone Wars"? While Evil Dick, Sith-y Pants the Obvious is in charge? GREAT way for our entire outpost to get "tragic casualties of war"-'d. So yeah, no thanks.

Keeping my mouth shut.

And, hey! At least they ate our complete asshole of a commander. Technically we SHOULD be getting a new one... but we were told to make do. Same with all the OTHER critical roles currently empty.

The DICK.

Like? I know he wants to drag out the war and maximize suffering for Evil Not-Sith, Off Brand Space Wizards Of EVIL Powers? But like? Fffffuck yoooou, dude. What the hell. Hope he stubs EVERY toe, always.

The Clones deserve better then this. The SECOND the war is over? I'm stealing Headshot. Fuck this "property of the state" bullshit. Just me 'n him, man. We could go explore the wilds. Or get him a beard and fake glasses. Clone? What clone! This is my BROTHER, Headshot. Our parents were gun-toting hippies. My names Moonrock. Fuck off, maybe. Keep walking.

The second I see him cross the base threshold, I switch over to Droid command. They can't hold my shift forever, but for a bit? Should be fine.

Jogging down the hall and sliding down a few ladders, I finally catch sight of Headshot as he leaves the staging area. Oof. That is a LOT of eel blood. The cleaning bots are cursing up a storm as they follow him. Even from the other end of the hallway... he smells... ripe.

I give him a second to lead the way and for the bots to work behind him. Then join in the little parade. Ah, eel goo. The third worst thing that could come out of going outside. Right behind losing a limb or dying. But hey! I restocked the soaps for ya!

"Doesn't change that it's on my everywhere, Commander."

Oooooh~ breaking out the COMMANDER are we? Is that SASS I hear? Snark perhaps? Why HEADSHOT! Such insubordination~! What EVER shall I do?

He snorts and suggest something anatomically impossible as he gestures to the shower rooms door. I tap it open for him. Goo boy that he is. Grinning I follow and find a bench where I can sit so my back is to him. It... used to be weird, to be honest, this level of living in each others pockets. But time and isolation has eroded a lot.

Clones don't really see boundaries like everyone else. Don't have the same taboos or unspoken social rules. After all... they're all the same gender. Were forced to live basicly in a breadbox with each other. The culture that developed reflects that. And I? Am more of a follower then a "type A". Not passive by any stretch of the imagination, just... eh.

I don't have the social outgoing-ness? I guess? To drag the culture of our base towards MY social norms as opposed towards his. It made him comfortable. I shrugged and went okay. Rinse and repeat. To be honest I was just glad he trusted me enough to SHARE.

Booting up my definitely-not-a-tablet, (which is of course, STUFFED full of various bits of sci-fi technology that only half makes sense) I once again try and connect to the wider army's mainframe. Nothing. I've BEEN trying for weeks now. But for some reason? We're cut off.

No new commands. No new forms to fill. No demands for information.

No UPDATES on what the FUCK is HAPPENING out there.

I'm... not gonna lie, getting nervous. We're a listening outpost. Some of our information is time sensitive. And our SUPPLIES are not infinite. Forget food, if we run out of AMMO? Those nightmare snake-eel THINGS will... Look, long and short of it? I've got an "empty" blaster shoved under my bunk. Two shots left. And compared to the slow, SLOW digestion and meat threshing teeth those horrors have?

At least it's FAST.

But I would REALLY prefer we NOT fucking come to that, you know? That someone would fucking PICK UP. Or? I don't know!? Notice we're offline? Whatever the problem is! The fact that we've gone dark is SPOOKING the fuck out of me.

Not to mention? That even BEFORE communication went down? The chat rooms and update boards weren't making a whole lot of sense. Lot of clone specific references that I didn't get. Memes, maybe? I don't KNOW and that's the part that's killing me. I had no way to CHECK. It all just... went dark.

We're still GETTING data. But? We can't seem to SEND it. Headshot and I checked. I checked the droids while he got the dish and other external devices. Clambering around the roof with his sniper rifle like a well armed, circus trained, mechanic. Nothing was wrong with the droids. And according to Headshot? Nothing was wrong with the dish.

After a while I gave up. Again.

Reminded myself to practice my meditative breathing. In... out... IN... OUT... do NOT trough your only Data Tablet. You'll break it. You can't REPLACE it. It might FEEL satisfying in the moment... but it's Not Worth It. Just listen to the sound of the running water. The quite of the room. Breathe... unclench your jaw, make your muscles relax, c'mon you can do this.

Fuck, I needed my anti-anxiety meds. But we were starting to ween me off them so I didn't go cold turkey when we ran out. It was fucking with my head. But, hey! At least I wouldn't run the risk of seizures! Or any suicidal ideation! No, just slowly building anxiety, in this, History's Most Stressful Outpost.

The shower shut off behind me. Leaning forward to grab a towel from the stack, I tossed it blindly over my shoulder. Heard him catch it. Wet feet slapping quietly against tiles as he walked forward, drying himself. From the feel of droplets and heat, looming just behind me? He was leaning over my shoulder. The man always did like to damn near boil himself in the shower.

"Still nothing? We've run out of D6 bolts. Not to mention your meds..." He commented, still drying off. I could feel the occasional brush of a towel. A bare arm reached over my shoulder to tap at the screen. "Have you tried...? Shit."

He tried several commands. Leaning over me, damn near cradling the back of my head against his bare chest. But nothing worked. Plopping his chin down on the top of my head, he casually wrapped his arm around my shoulders, leaning his weight on me as he considered the problem. The fans kicked in overhead, dehumidifing and hopefully preventing any sort of alien molds.

I told him to go put on some fuckin pants, before he frozen something he might miss off.

With an amused snort he stood and wandered over to the armor cleaner. Grabbing a new undersuit. Blacks went on, armor freshly de-goo-d, he called that he was presentable once more. I swung my legs over the bench. No need to stand, after all, if we're not leaving yet. Besides, exhaustion was a symptom of the withdrawals. Med changes are a BITCH.

Just as I was about to suggest anough brainstorming session, though?

Our comms both ping. LOUDLY.

That's the emergency signal from the control room. SHIT. I'm up and running before the sound even fades. Headshot right behind me. Not so much because he can't out run me, as he'd stop to grab his weapons as was bringing up the rear. Guarding my back. I prayed, PRAYED, this wasn't an attack. We were supposed to be a fourteen person team.

There were TWO OF US.

We'd never be able to hold the line. Would DIE here. Fuck, I didn't even have time to get that gun! I should have been carrying it. It had been too morbid. But... but...!

I slam into the control room. Headshot a half step behind. The droids frantically churning away. Okay. Okay! What's happening? A ship, big one, in orbit. Oooooh fuck. How Big? I ask. Am informed? "Wipe us from the face of the galaxy" Big. Ha ha! FUCKING FANTASTIC. Great! Merry fucking Christmas to me, I guess! Okay. Okay!

Let's DO this.

Get on the short range ship comm, (never thought I'd USE it but here we fucking ARE) and ask, politely, for them to Fucking Identify Themselves. (Because we have Big Guns and are NOT afraid to use um!)

There is a long tense moment. Then? Oh thank merciful FUCK. A Clone's voice comes on the line. General Spark of the 153rd, in pursuit, they're here to catch traitors and resupply if we need anything. Permission to land a few ships?

I. Could. WEEP.

Yes! Oh, ABSOLUTELY yes! Whoever they're chasing picked a REALLY stupid planet to hide out on, not gonna lie. They'll be picking their traitors up in PIECES. But? Never has a voice been more beautiful. Send Techs! You have FULL use of the outpost General! Welcome!

Setting the droids to navigating the incoming ships safely through landing, I all but DRAG Headshot towards the landing pad. People! Actual, real, PEOPLE! Supplies! Oh thank FUCK! We might be able to figure out what wrong with our relays! Get NEWS! And? That was a CLONE GENERAL!!!

That NEVER happens!

I can practically feel my self vibrating with excitement. Bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, as the ships come in for a landing. The officers that roll out are all clones. Their armor more personalized then I've ever seen it. It's BEAUTIFUL. I can't help but lean over and whisper to Headshot, saying as much. Wondering if we can get him some of the supplies they must of used.

You know, assuming he WANTS any of um.

If not? Dibs.

His shoulders are shaking. Why are-? One of the officers thanks me for the compliment. Headshot you SON OF A SUBSTANDARD VAT. Was your SHORT RANGE MIC ON!? Why would you not-!? Bastard! Dead to me! Sorry general, I've never met this man before in my LIFE. Couldn't introduce if I TRIED.

Still! High ranking clones? We love to see it. I am THRILLED. It's been long over due.

Dooooesn't mean we should hang out in Eel Country though. Everybody INSIDE! Let's goooo. Nice and safe, where no ones getting eaten, m'kay? Thank you! And yes! I DO have a list of resupply needs! A LONG list. Starting with my meds, followed by ammo. Though honestly they're tied at first...

As me and the, now rather concerned, medic chat about the collapsing state of our highly rationed medical supplies? Headshot and the General are off to the side... talking about... something. Not sure. Probably not important, or he'd include me. I show the medic our "infirmary" and medical charts. Then get pulled away by the mechanic.

I barely get to SEE Headshot over the next two days. Forget sitting down. The only breaks I get? Meals and lights out. It's kinda awesome. Exhausting, yes, but? After so long isolated? It's a good type of exhausted. The sort where you feel like? For ONCE? You're actually being productive.

There are SO MANY eel burrows to scan? Potential landing sites? And all the MAINTENANCE? Dear merciful FUCK. Literally everything is out of date and cheap as BALLS. Held together with shoe strings and a prayer. But finally! FINALLY! Someone in budgeting GIVES A SHIT!!! Better equipment! Actual medical supplies! Real bedding! And best of ALL?

AIs! As in Actual, information sorting, artificial intelligences!

Because there literally hasn't been a REASON for humanoids to do this job for CENTURIES aside from a misplaced sense of superiority and distrust of droids! All WE need to do? Is stay on base and make sure THEY don't go rogue or break down from the extended isolation! Woooo desk job!

I'm gonna name um. They shall be my BABIES.

That said? None of this? Is very... Off Brand Sith-y. Little too "cares about their fellow man"-ish, you know? And... I'm not stupid. Excited as FUCK, for all the supplies and new changes... but not? Stupid. Blind.

They're keeping me away from the control room.

Keeping me out of important discussions. Sending me off on errands. All of which? SEEM important. ARE important, on the surface, but hide the fact that they are intentionally scheduled? Just as Certain Things Are Discussed. I am being... handled. Like a child. A fool.

When I confront Headshot? In our bunkroom, which we've shared for YEARS at this point. Slept just across from each other, so this lonely hell might feel just a little less empty? So when the dark thoughts creep in? That we might die in this God forsaken place, forgotten by the universe, left to ROT here, and wouldn't it just be easier to-? Someone there, so we won't. So we still matter.

He stands across from me. In OUR place. OUR room.

And FUCKING LIES.

......I guess I know where I stand, huh? And I know... I KNOW, I shouldn't feel betrayed. Clones come first, always. That's the party line. How they survived. I'm a Nat. There was always a power imbalance between us. I would always have been held just that bit further away then one of the brothers. Guess... guess it just finally happened.

I shouldn't feel betrayed. I have no RIGHT to feel betrayed.

But I do.

Headshot looks alarmed, hands twitching at his side, even as he tries to maintain his facade. Nothing's happing. They aren't doing anything. Right. Uh huh. His lie sits between us like a field of broken glass. The words, the arguments, I'd been looking for now seeming so useless. What's the point? He's made his decision.

I feel like crying. Don't want to talk anymore.

Good NIGHT, Headshot.

In the morning, I don't bother asking. I know he notices. Is waiting, restless, for us to continue on as we always have. We always check schedules after all. But what's the point? He'll lie. Instead I pull my armor on and go. Go to your brothers, Headshot. Whatever's happening here, I'm clearly not trusted enough to be part of it.

I just get out of your way.

There's a lot of busy work on my schedule, but honestly? The new AIs are learning to handle it. Instead, I head down to the new supply crates. Grab some bedding. A cart. Then head back. Pack up my shit. I just... can't.

Moving it all to a different bunk, I still have most of the day left to go. Could...? Probably? Check out if we actually DO have space rats? The droids have been reporting dust and noise in the basement, near the food stores. So likely vermin of some kind. Gonna be horrifying to find out what kind of vermin exsist HERE, but better then nothing, I guess.

Grabbing one of the better ration bars to shove in my face on the way to the gun locker, I count it a breakfast. Everyone's busy with a clone only meeting. Good for them, I guess. Not upset with General Spark or his men, I realize, as I check over the gun, no... just Headshot. Because he hurt me.

All he had to say was "I can't tell you." Or "trust me" and I WOULD have. But no. He LIED. To my FACE. And now? Now I feel like I'm waking around with shards of glass where my heart should be. Like I want to hit something. I need a distraction. So down to long term storage I go.

Normally? It's only droids down here. I have to ride a cramped little maintenance elevator lined with blast doors. You know, incase Satan's favorite pet somehow burrows in. The fuckers. It's also freezing. Which, I mean? Great for food storage, not so much for thermal regulation.

The level is eerie quiet.

Which.... huh. That's? Not right.

I reach for my comm before pausing. The hurt in my chest throbbing. I know I shouldn't let it get in the way of professionalism. Of protocol. The rules are there for a reason. To keep us alive and safe. But... God, I don't want to hear his fucking voice right now. I might cry. Say something I don't mean and regret later. You don't LAST long, isolated out in Hellpit, Nowhere, without doing a little soul searching.

Mortifying ordeal of being known and all that.

My hand drops. It's fine. I'm FINE. There's nothing down here. Or, well, should be nothing down here. We'll find out.

Slowly moving forward, I begin to check the stacks. I don't see any of the droids. Don't HEAR any of them. There should be at least thirty down here. But all I hear? Is the circulation fans. The sound of my foot steps. Something isn't right.

It's a loose, half melted screw in the path that saves me. At first I think it's a bug. But the quite clink when my foot nudges it is unmistakable. It makes me look sideways. There, a cleaning droid, cut down from behind. Tiny little mechanical claws still reaching out to claw itself to safety. Wheels shredded. The marks of a lazer blade are unmistakable.

The hiss-hum even more so.

I BARELY dodge.

Half my gun, simply sheared away. Molten slag dripping from the cut point, the battery already violently destabilizing ask it's nicked. I throw it, before I have the chance to lose a limb. The blast takes out a crate. I'm thrown. Barely roll in time to dodge the downward stab of the hissing blade. A brutal, magic-enhanced, kick sends me flying.

Straight through a stack of ration crates, into a wall mounted medical case. I land among the corpses of the droids. Each, a picture of terror and betrayal. I don't understand what's happening. The blades not red or black! It's blue! That's a not-jedi! Right?! Why are they!? Crates are lifted into the air. Threatening to smash down and bury me alive.

Can't move. Something twisted, badly, in my leg. My chest burning. Something cracked, I could feel it. I'm gonna die. Oh good, I'm gonna DIE.

"Wait! She's not a clone!"

I stare up into the face of the so called "good guys" and feel nothing but terror. Around me, the pieces of thirty droids I'd named and known, dead and dumped like trash upon the ground. Flower with his fussy need to have everything just so, Chirp who loved to sing, Mouse with the wheel I could never get to stop squeeking.

Nothing but Cannon fodder.

They died so afraid.

"Oh! You're right! Sorry! I thought you were one of those 'peating bastards. Are you okay? How long have they held you?" The Knight said. His Apprentice nodding eagerly.

My brain was static. Empty. Held? Slurs? W-what in God's name? I stayed down. Feeling small, lost, and confused. Pain rocking my body from being thrown around. The Apprentice, at least, seemed to pick up on the fact that I had no idea what the fuck they were on about.

"Ah. You don't know what's happened." She said sympathetically. It would be nicer, if she hadn't stood back while I was hurt, before they got around to asking who's side I was on. "The Clones betrayed the Republic. Took it over by force. They've made an empire. They killed the old Chancellor, who was Fallen, but then instead of handing the Republic back to the people? Kept it! Said we couldn't be trusted with it."

The last part was said mockingly. As though everyone and their brother hadn't been aware the Republic was on the brink of collapse. Corruption at an all time high. As though that same Republic hadn't been using the Clones as a SLAVE ARMY.

Slaves do tend to take exception to their chains, historically.

I wasn't really sure why the fuck they were surprised.

"Now come on, you can join the Rebellion. You must know all sort of information, from sitting out here, right? You can-!"

Click.

My helmet went full dark and internal audio only. Which was interesting because I still could barely move. But then bright light and sound, popped and cracked not to far away from my head. A flash grenade. And I finally, FINALLY? Remembered that all standardized armor? Comes with in built life support feeds.

Headshot's mystery meeting was in the command room... where my life sign readout would be. The life support feedback. Real time monitoring from me getting my ass kicked and WHERE.

A hand grabs the drag handle built into each armor, for EXACTLY this reason, and I feel my self pulled out of the danger zone. Can hear heavy, open fire. Shit. There goes our supplies. My helmet clears and I recognize the shoulder I've been careful thrown over. Headshot. He came.

He falls back at some signal I can't see. Straight to the elevator.

The shoulder under me is shaking, just slightly. Adrenaline, fear, anger. I can't tell. But... I... I'm...

"Don't." His voice is rough. Choked out through gritted teeth. His grip just carefully loose enough not to bruise. It seems to be taking everything he has. "You don't get to die. Do you understand me? You're not ALLOWED to die. Not now. Not ever. We didn't survive this long for you to leave me now."

He barely waits long enough for the door to open. Stride smooth and desperate as he races us towards the medic. I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe. Let myself be manhandled. Ha ha... a-at least? I know what he's keeping from me now. So there's that. Ow. Oh god.

The medic has to put me under. Bone fragments.

I drift.

Wake up, bandaged to hell and back, in ou-... in Headshot's bunkroom. Across from the empty bunk that used to be mine. Bed's softer then it should be, still smelling like Headshot. We haven't had the new sheets long enough. Knowing him, he probably stacked um.

The door opens. Headshot stalks in, dragging a cart behind him. His usual "pleasantly amused by life" expression nowhere to be seen. Instead? His expression is... blank. A determined, almost violent, edge to the set of his shoulders.

In silence, I watch as he unloads the cart. Bedding, knickknacks, the various bit of cobbled together wall art. All carefully stuck right back where it had been before. As though he had memorized the proper location of each and every piece. Even as he worked, with his back to me, every line of his body was daring me to be dumb enough to argue.

I didn't want too. I was just... just fucking tired.

Didn't like that we were arguing. If that was even what we were doing.

"Why?" I asked. Summing up everything and distilling it. Why didn't you just fucking TELL me? Why didn't you TRUST me? Why did you think I'd turn on you? Why would you lie? Why were we cut off? Was it REALLY a technical error? Why take the Republic? Why ANY of this?

Just... WHY, Headshot? Please...

"I refuse to lose you. When the war ended, you were going to leave. You said you'd take me with you... but honestly? That was naive. There would be no where safe we could ever go. We all knew that. We all had favorites." He finally stopped organizing my bed. Instead, smoothing down the sheet. Running both hands across it as he stared down, unseeing. "It was all so unorganized. Filthy. They treated us like DIRT. But we were... we ARE better. Designed to be superior. Stronger, smarter, faster. More durable. Why were we listening to them?"

"Then we found out why. Control chips in the brain. The nervous system. Carefully hidden, yes. But not carefully enough. You weren't authorized, you know. I'm glad. If you had been? I'd never have forgiven you. You'd never know you were dead before you died. But... I promise."

"I would have made it fast." His smile was a terrible thing. All broken edges and betrayal. Teeth upon teeth. A mania finally set free.

"Never thought those hypocrites would run here. Expect us to die for them. The happy little slaves. For the glory of THEIR Republic. You'll be okay, Commander. The General's agreed to stay until your back on your feet, just in case."

Headshot slides onto the bunk, sitting at my side, sweetly brushing hair from my face as though he hasn't lost his god damned mind. He's the picture of relief, now that there's no more secrets between us. Now that I'm injured and dependent on his help. Yet... it's teetering.

As though at any minute...

He could slide into some... unhinged state of mind. How LONG has he been on his last thread? Barely holding together? He leans forward and my mind goes utterly still. His lips pressed gently against mine. Chaste. Sweet. A warm, calloused hand, cradling my poor bruised cheek.

"I promise we'll stay together." He whispers against my stunned mouth. Eyes intent and mad, utterly loving. Like a strangers. "I won't let them seperate us. Not for anything. Now that it's done? We can be assigned anywhere. I'll take you with me. War's over, love. We're finally free."

Were we?

[heliads]

now you see me daniel atlas x reader where reader kinda volunteered to be a prop in a trick but atlas becomes super shy and stutters? I love me some shy men

loving your 'i love me some shy men.' speak on that anon

masterlist

Honestly, you never really thought you’d swing this. It’s one thing to talk about the Four Horsemen, sure, it’s all anyone wants to do these days, but it’s something else entirely to actually make it to one of their shows. Tickets sell out within minutes, it’s practically inhuman. 

You’ve heard rumors that the Horsemen control who gets seats at their show to make their tricks work better, which makes your presence here even more exciting. Somewhere, somehow, you were meant to be at this very show. You were intended to head over to the venue with your giggling friends, you were supposed to sit in your exact chair, and above all, you were divinely ordained to watch pure spectacle unfold before your eyes tonight. 

Maybe magic and fate aren’t that far off after all. The Four Horsemen have evidently decided to take your future into their hands tonight. It’s something fascinating, to be sure, a sort of excitement that makes your stomach spin with anticipation as you find your aisle with mounting thrill. 

Truth be told, it didn’t feel real until you were walking into the performance hall. Like, yeah, you somehow managed to get your tickets, and you’ll absolutely be holding on to your paper stub until the day you die, but it wasn’t certain. Not until you were sitting down, looking with wide eyes at the stage and seats around you like you’ll be able to spot the answer to all the tricks just by keeping your gaze strong and discerning. Maybe something would happen to pull everything away just before it started.

Goodness knows you’ve been extra careful as of late, just in case. No legs will be broken, no ankles twisted, and the chance of you losing your ticket was small but terrifying. You’ve been checking transportation schedules hours in advance, just in case, and you were fully prepared to call an Uber if something really didn’t work out.

It all went your way, though, and now you’re watching the lights dim around you. This is it, then. The show of shows, what you’ve been waiting for for ages and is now finally yours. They’re saying that the Four Horsemen are going to be the pinnacle of live entertainment for this decade at least, and when the quartet of magicians appear on the stage out of nowhere, you’re inclined to believe them. This is something altogether different than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

The show starts off like most of the Horsemen’s performances do– according to the articles you’ve had the chance to read, at least. They’ll do a few tricks, get the crowd excited, then they’ll start looking to the audience and that’s when things get really interesting. Jack Wilder does a few card tricks, Henley appears and disappears out of seemingly thin air, and then it’s Daniel Atlas’ time to go, and you lean forward slightly in your seat.

You know he’ll be interesting, that’s for sure. Of all of the performers that make up the Four Horsemen, Daniel is the only one that you’d heard of before. You’ve Googled his tricks before, watched grainy videos people took of his street shows before he joined the three other magicians and finally made it big. You’ve never been able to figure out how he did anything, not that you were looking all that closely at his hands.

No, you were, admittedly, a little more interested in the bright blue eyes flashing whenever someone fell for his tricks, the swoop of russet hair he kept irritably combing back. You’re not going to go so far as to say it was a celebrity crush, but. You know cute when you see it.

Sure enough, once Henley finishes off her performance to the thunderous applause of the audience, Atlas claps once to get everyone’s attention back on him, then announces that he’ll actually be needing a volunteer from the audience for his next trick.

One of your friends elbows you in the side. “You should totally raise your hand.”

“Really?” You ask.

“Absolutely!” She laughs. “I mean, this is your one chance to get him to notice you, right?”

You roll your eyes, but grin and do as suggested. After all, getting the chance to go up on that stage and actually have Daniel Atlas look you in the eyes would be nothing short of extraordinary. So, knowing there’s no chance he’ll actually look out and see your hand among the scores of other waving palms in this crowded room, you raise your arm, just because you can.

It’s ridiculous, the odds of actually getting picked for something like this. Hundreds of people all practically dragging each other down just for the possibility of one of the Horsemen seeing them, and you think you’ll be the one they see as opposed to anyone, anyone else.

The Four Horsemen thrive on ridiculous chances, though. Impossibility is their best habit. Somehow, Merritt McKinney turns directly at you and points.

“You,” he says, “Come up here. Yeah, you, the one I’m looking at.”

You rise slowly, as if in a dream, and, when no one stops you, walk up to the stage. It feels insane to be taking the stairs and then stepping up onto the raised platform, looking around at all the people staring back at you. Merritt heads over with a grin, whispering in your ear that he hopes stage fright isn’t an issue with you. When you shake your head, he gestures for you to walk over to Daniel, who’s waiting with an outstretched hand.

You take it with a smile. “Thanks for having me.”

“Yeah,” he says a little quickly, “yeah, thanks for coming. Really.”

He doesn’t say anything else for a moment or two, not even about his trick. Merritt coughs pointedly behind him. “Would you like to ask the lovely young lady her name?”

Daniel’s eyes widen and he straightens up in a hurry. “Yes, yes. Sorry about that. What is your name?”

“I’m Y/N,” you tell him, “Y/N L/N.”

The crowd roars its approval, but Daniel doesn’t seem to notice them for a second. Funny, for someone who’s been performing for massive audiences this long, it’s like he’s almost forgotten what it is that he’s there to do.

Merritt walks behind you, mumbling something to you about how he always picks pretty girls for these sorts of things because it makes Atlas lose his mind. You laugh at that, and if you weren’t sure that Daniel wasn’t hopeless for you before, he’s absolutely gone now. Jack has to come up and tap his shoulder before he remembers to carry on with the introduction for the trick.

Your volunteer opportunity is actually pretty exciting, as if you’d expect anything less. Daniel invites you to step into a glass case just a few inches taller than you, then shatters the entire thing to smithereens to the shock of the audience, all with you locked inside. You’re fine, of course, and step out of a cloud of blue smoke to the delight of the onlookers just a few minutes later after Daniel gets everyone to chant the necessary ‘magic words’ as loudly as they can.

Daniel takes your hand again the second you’re back in sight, raising it to the sky as if you’ve won a boxing round. “Can we hear it for Y/N L/N, our disappearing girl?”

Under the cover of the cheers, he turns to you, whispers something so you’re the only one who can hear. “Meet me after the show? Please?”

When you nod, he smiles like a schoolboy, and it takes the combined efforts of Merritt and Jack to get him to focus on the script for their performance, even after you’ve walked off stage and settled back in your seat once more.

Your friends are cheering when you get back to your place. “Did you see Atlas?” One of your friends laughs, “He was totally smitten. Like, totally. He couldn’t stop staring at you.”

You stare at her incredulously. “Really? I mean, I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. It was probably just a part of the performance, though.”

“No way,” your friend says derisively, “I’ve never seen someone more head over heels. You can’t fake something like that, not even if you’re a world famous magician.”

Your friend is right, as it turns out. Once the Four Horsemen disappear from sight to the tumultuous applause, you and your friends head out to the lobby, all eagerly discussing the magic you’d just seen before your very eyes. As you’re about to leave, though, you spot someone waiting in the shadows, near the backstage entrance. Daniel Atlas, just as promised.

You tell your friends to go on without you, ignoring their knowing looks when you start heading Daniel’s way. His eyes light up again when he sees you heading over.

“I was hoping you’d wait around,” he admits when you’re close enough to hear him over the chatter of the departing audience.

“Well, I promised, didn’t I?” You say lightly.

He smiles bashfully. “I wanted to apologize for being so, uh, distracted during the show. See, Merritt likes to play this joke on me by trying to find people who’ll pull my focus, and it’s never affected me like this before, not before you, but–”

You just laugh. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. He kind of told me as much back on stage.”

“Really?” Daniel asks, somewhat horrified.

“It’s fine,” you tell him, “Honestly, I’m going to take it as a compliment. Not every girl gets to say that one of the Four Horsemen thought they were pretty, right?”

“No other girls,” Daniel says on impulse. “Really, it was– it was just you. Promise.”

You smile. “Does that mean I’m special, Daniel Atlas?”

“Very. Special enough to give me your number, maybe?” He asks hopefully.

“I’d say so,” you grin.

Daniel hands over his phone and you input your name and number. He pockets it with a relieved laugh, and is just about to head away when you realize that you don’t have his number. 

When you point this out to him, Daniel just smiles. “Actually, I think you do.”

Someone calls his name in earnest now, and he has to head away with copious apologies. When you go to check your phone, you realize that a piece of paper has been stuck in your pocket without your knowledge. When you pull it out, it’s a business card for a coffee shop down the block. A date and time has been scrawled on it, with messy handwriting asking if you’d be so kind as to meet him again. As promised, Daniel’s phone number is at the bottom, next to a carefully drawn heart.

You smile to yourself as you tuck the card back inside your pocket. Looks like you’ve got some excitement in your life after all. The only thing it took was one bit of magic.

now you see me tag list: @mayfieldss

[komoboko]

𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐡𝐜𝐬

ft: Kyojuro Rengoju, Mitsuri Kanroji + Obanai Iguro, Shinobu Kocho, Tengen Uzui + wives x child!gn reader

I rlly love these i might make a one shot of them later

KYOJURO who has a big rule against swearing. He always tells you’ll have your chance when you’re older, but right now you’re a kid and shouldn’t say those foul words! Imagine his surprise when he’s making you food and hears you yell “SH!T!” After stubbing your toe on a ledge.

His jaw drops so far and the moment replays in his mind like it was the craziest moment in human history. He rushes into the room faster than you could have imagined yelling “LANGUAGE!” so fast you barely realized what you even said. He’ll only put you in a corner before asking “who taught you that?” with the most displeased expression on his face. “I heard Sanemi say it.” Now knowing he’s going to give Sanemi an earful the next morning.

SHINOBU is a parent where you’ll health will be kept in check 24/7. Monthly check ups, and strict diet meaning eating sweets can be out of the question most of the time. She always knows to it’s almost like she can sense whenever you do go reaching for the candy that’s always in the highest cabinet in the butterfly mansion.

Unfortunately, this “6th sense” can lead to your doom. Like the time when she somehow accidentally walked in on you scavenging through the giant candy bag Aoi had bought a couple days ago. She gives you that “i’m not mad, just disappointed” look before snatching the bag of candy away making sure to lock it in her office.

UZUI lets you do so many things that you shouldn’t really be doing at your age. Sure you can practice wielding a sword by using one of his swords crafted to take down uppermoons, just let him come help you. Sure you can come with him to his hashira meetings in secret as long as your really quiet. You can’t say you haven’t gotten caught yet.

His wives normally scold him for the “dangers” he’s letting you out yourself in. They normally are the ones giving you any restrictions on what you can and can’t do. Uzui tries, he really does but he just can’t help but let you have a little fun right? He tells his wives he tries atleast after Makio caught him letting you chase down little demons late at night for a “real training session”.

MITSURI is so doting and always wants to make sure you’re happy. Every time you have a birthday there’s always a 50% she’ll cry saying “they always grow up so fast!” Even with this she always gives you the benefit of the doubt and lets you do as you please. Obanai is the one that has to keep her grounded most of the time.

It’s not the first time Obanai had caught you eating out of the dozen batch of donuts Mitsuri had bought you the day before. He’ll get kaburamaru to distract you before he snatches them away putting them in a cabinet. Mitsuri will then him she’ll scold you when in reality she retrieved the donuts from the cabinet so the two of you can share instead. Obanai now has to scold the both of you.

[darkmxgician]

Promises Break- Part 4

pairing: fem!reader x noah. tags: drinking, trauma/PTSD, smut, drugs

word count: 1.9k

story song: nowhere to go

taglist: @sorrowsofsilence @angelsdevils @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @montgomery-929496

18+ below the cut

~ Reader ~

I wake up to the headache that was threatening to burst my skull. I dreamt of my brothers friend Noah, that he showed up to the club I was at. That he brought me home and took my virginity, that he relished in the sight of my blood and fucked me like a feral beast. That I enjoyed it. What the fuck is wrong with me? My grip on reality is slipping more and more each day. I try to stand, needing to use the bathroom, my bladder ready to burst. My legs fail me, and the soreness between them makes me gasp. Was it real? It can’t be. I stood up again, stumbling towards my bathroom. I pause as I walk past the mirror, I slept naked, which is odd for me. I have make up all over my face, my eyes puffy, like I’d been crying. What happened last night? But it was the marks on my throat and breasts that make me pause, I raise my hand to my throat, hissing when my fingers scrape at the angry red marks. Did I do that to myself? I turn away, I can’t stand the sight of myself. When I use the toilet I look down and notice the same red marks littered across my thighs, like bite marks, and bruises on my hips. Lack of certainty threatening to undo my sanity completely I go on autopilot, scrubbing my make up off, dressing in boxers and a large t-shirt, each movement eliciting some new pain throughout my body. I make my way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on, filling a mug with sugar and finding a box of tea bags. I know I have no food in so head outside for to smoke, needing something to take the edge off. 

~ Noah ~

I couldn’t sleep, the adrenaline running through my body, having only sated the beast inside ever so slightly. She’s awoken something inside me, and it will destroy everything until it has her in its claws. I took the time while she was sleeping to roam through her home. The room next to hers seemed to be some sort of library, a sofa by the window, three sets of floor to ceiling shelves, housing books and hundreds of vinyl records. I make a mental note to look through her collection of music later. The large windows look out onto a patio, where a small pool is illuminated by lights dotted around in plant pots. The living room housed a large sofa, a TV with games consoles lined up and a cabinet that seems to act as a scoreboard, writing adorning its surface. Two more bedrooms, a laundry room and kitchen make up the rest of the house. I take my time, familiarising myself with her surroundings. My alarm starts blaring and I groan, 7am. I check on y/n, still asleep, she looks at peace, a stark contrast to the make up smeared across her cheeks and the bite marks I left on her throat. The sight of her like that almost had me crossing the room to take her all over again. I fist my hands at my sides and head out, I need to get some clothes and supplies from home, and a store. Her brother has been for a week and there’s no evidence that she’s eaten much since then. After last night, I’ve decided that she is mine, mine to fuck and please, but she needs someone to take care of her. How did this get so complicated so fast? All she had to do was stay home like the good girl she usually is. 

I let myself back in using the key, I need to get a copy for myself, when her brother returns he’ll take this one back. I spot her instantly through the large windows, sat with a drink, smoking a cigarette. She looks lost in her own thoughts, not noticing me as I walk into the kitchen, dumping the bag of groceries on the counter. I open the door and stalk towards her. I expected her to jump, to react, but she lifts her eyes to me slowly, and laughs. What the fuck is wrong with this girl? She closes her eyes, that’s when I realise it’s a joint between her fingers, not a cigarette. I take it from her and stub it out, the last thing she needs is drugs. She looks at me again, tilting her head and assessing me. I stare back, leaning down and resting my hands on the arms of her chair. She reaches up and touches my face, just like she did last night after I fucked her. “Are you real?” she laughs again, the sound grating on me, “of course not, but I’ll give my imagination points for thinking you’d ever want to be with me”. She thinks she made it up? She’s more fucked up than I thought, maybe I pushed her too far last night, maybe I broke her completely. I grab her face, forcing her to meet my stare, “if you don’t think what I did to you last night is real, little one, maybe you need a reminder?” I crush my lips to hers, needing her to feel me. I’ve never formed normal attachments, never had a real girlfriend. But for some unknown reason, I need y/n to know that I want her, I crave her, that she’s mine. She’s the masochist I’ve always dreamed of, granted a more fucked up version, but nobody truly sane would ever want to be with me anyway. She’s barely there, she tastes like weed and something else I can’t place, I grab her, everywhere, squeezing and pinching, trying to get a rise out of her. She jerks when I roll her nipple between my fingers, bingo. I bite her lip, enough to let me taste her blood and she struggles to get away. Like I would ever let that happen. 

~ Reader ~

When I first met Noah I was excited to get to know him. My brother lives with his bandmate Nicholas, who I adore. I started listening to bad omens straight after meeting him, and they quickly became one of my favourite bands. Noah’s vocals and the lyrics made me believe he was someone I could come to love as much as his bandmate. A few months after meeting Nicky I went to their apartment to hang out with them. When I walked in my eyes were instantly drawn to Noah, his good looks enough to pull me in. I was hopeful that we would at least become good friends, I mean Nicky wouldn’t be friends with an asshole right? Wrong. He was rude from the very beginning, he looks at me like he can see under my skin, right to my very core. It set me on edge, that paired with his unfriendly demeanour and lack of empathy and feeling, I just couldn’t get past his shell. I decided it wasn’t worth it. I stopped trying, resigned to feel awkward and raw in his prescience. I tried to act like he wasn’t there. Another impossible task. So I avoided him at all costs, unless we were meeting in a group setting, where he would be distracted with others and content to ignore me. 

I’m not sure how I got caught in his web. I woke up this morning thinking I’d imagined the whole thing. I’d definitely had dreams about him in the beginning. Those quickly fizzled away along with any hope of him being a nice guy. And now he’s on me, his hands everywhere, squeezing and grabbing in a show of ownership. His mouth on mine, biting me, making me bleed like he enjoys the taste of my blood. The more I struggle, the harder he kisses me, pinning me against the chair. He’s invaded every sense. I can almost taste his cologne, he’s all over my skin, the sound of our moans and violent clashing of mouths fills the quiet morning. He’s like a rabid animal, I can’t decide if it’s because he actually wants me, or just believes me to be his. He’s had a weird hold over me since the day we met, his all knowing looks and infuriating smirk. But I find it hard to believe that someone with antisocial tendencies like Noah would ever want to be with me, for one he’s 6 years older than me, and clearly much more experienced when it comes to sex. I can’t relax and let this happen until I understand his motive, is he just messing with me? The thoughts come too fast, and lack of oxygen from the kiss makes my head spin. He pulls back and remains in my personal space, eyes assessing me like they always do, it’s like he can sense my unease. “Why?” I question, my voice breathless in a way that makes his eyes go dark. “Why what?” he fires back, his hot breath all over my skin. “Why did you come to the club last night? why bring me home? why sleep with me?.. And why did you come back?”, the words spill out of me, and I’m useless to try and stop them. If he thinks he knows me so well then he should be expecting my interrogation. “You’re not as put together as everyone thinks, as soon as I realised there’s something lurking under your skin, I wanted to peel it back and see for myself”, his low tone does nothing to ease my anxiety. “So this is just a game to you? some way to see how fucked up I am?”, tears start to fall, I can’t help it. He seemed to care last night, he was looking at me with worry in his eyes, and now it’s all falling apart. “Don’t cry little one, believe me when I say this anything but a game to me. You are mine”, he all but growls the last word, pulling me up into his arms and carrying me inside. “So what, I’m supposed to believe that you want to be my boyfriend? take me out on dates and hold hands?” I almost laugh at the mental image. He gently puts me on one of the stools in the kitchen and begins to unpack a bag of food. Did he go shopping? “If you feel like putting a label on it, I can be your boyfriend”. I mull over his words, how can we go from hating each other to a relationship in less than 24 hours? Do I even want to be with him? As if sensing my internal debate he stalks up to me, fisting my hair and forcing me to look up at him. “If you’re trying to think of a way out of this y/n, you’re out of luck. I’ve seen all of you, and I’m not letting you go”. His hold on my hair tightens, as if proving his point. It stings so much tears to well up, my head goes completely empty, and I start to feel panic rising. He senses it, like he seems to do with all my emotions, and lets go, hooking his hand under my chin and kissing me gently. It was different than the savage kiss outside, this one is reassuring. He brings his other hand up to cup my face and continues his exploration of my mouth, almost making me purr with his sweet caress. When he pulls away his eyes meet mine and they’re swimming with raw emotion. I’m so fucked.

[thehusbandoden]

A Day Off -Dad! Dabi x Mom!Reader

It's really late but I finished this a little while ago and wanted to post it now.

Fluff | 1,471 words

Dabi's real name used + (spoilers below)

An au where Touya doesn't become Dabi the villain, but instead a loving father to your three kids. (Plus the number one hero)

Touya grinned as he finished breakfast, happy to help you out and give you a well deserved break.

You and Touya have been married for eight and a half years. You two met at UA high, and an epic love story commenced. You two were made for each other, finding one another again again, no matter how many times you thought things were entirely over.

Touya gave you happiness in life, and you gave him sanity. He almost ran from home many times, and even got seven miles out of the city on foot before you found him, panting on your bicycle.

Touya was quite mad at you for going so far alone at night, and you were utterly livid that he just tried to leave you.

Before Touya could scold you, you blew up on him, tears running down your cheeks as you cussed him out, telling him if he ever tried to leave you again you would hunt him down and break his legs.

Even as you threatened him he hugged you, rubbing his hands up and down your back for comfort.

You two called a friend to pick you up, and you went on with your life. A little more in love with each other than before.

And here you two were, twelve years later. Married, with three kids.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Haru squealed, pulling on Touya's "kiss the chef" apron, red pig tails bouncing up and down.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"Mommy awake"

"Already? Go show her your picture, try to stall her, mkay?"

"Okays!"

Touya smiled as the four year old ran off to stall her mother, heart melting at her innocence.

Going back to cooking, Touya hoped you would be distracted for at least a few more minutes.

~Your pov:~

Confused, you picked up your phone to check the time.

7:51

Panicking, you bolt up from bed, sprinting towards the door, stubbing your toe on a toy.

Inwardly cursing, you open the door to your shared bedroom, making your way into the hallway.

"Mommy! Wook at my dwawing!" Haru exclaimed, heterochromatic eyes shining as she shoved the paper in your face.

"Oh it's so pretty! Why don't you go show Daddy while Mommy goes to get your brothers ready?"

Haru smiled and ran away with a giggle, making her way to the kitchen.

Sighing, you made your way to your boys' room. Opening the door, you were surprised to see their beds empty.

"Taro, Riku~!" You call, walking towards the kitchen.

"We're in the entrance mom!" Taro calls, bringing you towards his voice.

"I'm sorry I woke up late, let's get ready quickly, and I'll buy you guys breakfast on the way there." You coo, stepping into the entrance of your home.

"But- we're not gonna be late. And we already ate!" Riku replied, popping his (h/c) head out to look at you.

"Hey mama, I already got everything handled, go get some more sleep." Dabi hummed, eyes soft as his head popped out as well, turquoise eyes soft as he smiled at you.

"You... You are amazing." You sigh, smiling up at your husband as he hummed, walking towards you.

"Well if you think I'm that amazing, you could always reward me with a kiss?" Touya smirked, leaning towards your lips teasingly.

Chuckling, you slowly closed the distance.

Right as your lips met your kiss was interrupted by your kids' squeals.

Haru was squealing in joy, always happy to see her parents show affection to one another.

Riku was disgusted, never wanting to see anybody receive any sort of affection besides what he got from both his beloved mommy and daddy.

And Taro- the only one who didn't squeal.

He was beet red.

He dreams of the day when he finds the perfect woman -much like his perfect mama- and has a family of his own.

He loves both of his parents. And strives to be the perfect husband and dad -like his daddy- and find the perfect wife -like his mama-.

You smiled as Riku wailed in despair, shaking Haru as she jumped up and down, Taro only staring at his parents in awe.

"Ri-ri, you'll give your sister a headache, quit that. Ru, you're gonna pass out if you don't calm down, and Ro, for the sake of your ma, you need to breathe." Touya sighed, a smile on his lips as he eyed his gorgeous mismatched children in adoration.

Taro, the seven year old eldest by forty three minutes.

He has crimson red hair resembling Touya's. He got his grandma's eyes, but also a splash of yours. Resulting in gorgeous steel gray eyes with a breathtaking splash of (e/c) around the pupils. His facial structure is most similar to Touya's, but he takes after your personality, attitude, and tendies.

Though it would be hard to tell by someone who's not close to your family due to his shy nature concealing it.

He's known for his respectful, peaceful, and polite nature. The calmer of the twins, and the least likely to cause any sort of problem.

Riku, the younger, rambunctious twin.

Riku has (h/c) hair and turquoise eyes. He looks almost exactly like his mum, and gets his fiery personality from his dad.

He's known as the trouble maker, but he does have his gentle moments.

And the four year old youngest, Haru.

Haru has crimson hair like her daddy and big brother. And, like her uncle Shoto, has two different eye colors. Her left eye is the same gorgeous color of her mama's, and her right eye is the same breathtaking turquoise as her dad's. She looks identical to her dad, and has a fun, very very bright personality.

She's known for her sweetness, creativity, and selflessness.

Touya was snapped out of his thoughts as Haru and Riku pulled at his sleeves, warning him that they'd be late if they didn't hurry.

Laughing he pecked you on the lips before following his darlings out the door, telling you that he'd be right back.

~~

It was half an hour later when Touya walked back in, immediately finding his place on top of you as you laid on the couch.

"Oof- hey baby.. where's Haru?"

"She's at uncle Shoto's house. I thought we could use some alone time."

"Oh? And what are you planning on doing?"

Shifting his way so he could look you in the eyes, he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"Guess."

~~

Twelve minutes later you were laughing in the kitchen as Touya licked the brownie mix off of the side of your mouth, holding your waist to keep you steady.

"To-To-Touya!" You laugh, pushing your beloved back playfully.

"Hmm?" He asks, pulling you in for a chocolate tasting kiss.

"We need to finish these so we can have room for the cleaning, cuddles, and movie date." You breathe against his lips, making him groan.

"But you taste so good!" He wails in despair, falling against the fridge dramatically.

"Help me get these in the oven and I'll reward you with a kiss~." You coo, instantly seizing the pro's attention.

~~

Two batches of brownies and one marathon of cleaning later, you and Touya were cuddled up on the couch, remote and brownies in hand.

"Oooh! Let's watch (f/m)!"

"UGHH~ we are xnotx watching that again!"

"Why not? It's a great movie."

"And we've seen it forty thousand and a bajilion times."

"You are xsox immature To."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am no-"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about!"

"You're doing it too~!"

"Fine! What movie do you want to watch?"

"Princess Bride."

"No way."

"And why not? Princess Buttercup~."

"Because we've seen it seventy thousand, bajilion times~!"

~Bonus~

"I have no idea who you are talking about. You own no child here." Shoto stated, voice as monotone as ever.

"Umm what the fu- fudge! Fudge!" Touya growled, rubbing his side where you just elbowed him.

"Sho we need Haru." You smile, pinching Touya's arm playfully, causing him to yelp.

"Haru is mine now."

"Oh no she is not. Give me back our daughter." Touya growled, stepping close to the menace of a little brother he has.

"You do not have a dau-"

"Shoto dear.. give us our Haru or we will personally burn your favorite cold soba restaurant, all the others and all of the factories producing the ingredients and instant noodles." You smile, eyes holding an evil only a protective parent or lover could produce.

Shoto's face paled as he stepped inside, quickly returning with a sleeping Haru in his arms.

"I- I was kidding.. please don't burn my soba." Shoto pouted, usually monotone voice holding a certain fear.

".. we'll count this as a warning." You drawl, staring Shoto down meaningfully.

Slightly nodding, Shoto quickly closed his door, shivering at the thought of no soba.

Similar to this: Anything For my Queen

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Tips <3

Comments, Requests, and Reblogs are always appreciated<33

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.

[desertfangs]

Strange Happenings

I was listening to a podcast about Cattle Mutilations and then this happened. It's Armand/Daniel, circa 1975, a little more than 1000 words. I will put this in my short fic document on AO3 later.

Daniel’s blood went cold when he read the newspaper headline. He scoured the article and then checked that yes, this was the Denver paper, not some tabloid. He enjoyed a good tabloid story—and since learning that vampires were real, he suspected that some of the stranger things reported on in those rags were not entirely fiction—but this was a mainstream paper: cattle mutilations. 

He looked at the grisly photo of a cow with its guts hanging out, parts of it surgically removed. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed a swig of beer to wash it back down. Ash fell from his cigarette onto the paper and he wiped it away, ashing the cigarette in the ashtray on the small round bar table. 

He poured over the article several times. The article said some people were suggesting it was prank, while others had more out-there theories. The article did not go into the specifics of what these strange theories entailed but something unnatural was definitely implied. Daniel wondered what that meant. According to the article, incidents like these had been happening for months in different areas around the state. 

He was so absorbed in his reading that the movement of the chair across the table startled him and he jumped. 

Armand laughed. 

Bastard. 

The vampire had sat, looking pleased with himself at how easily he’d managed to sneak up on Daniel. As if he didn’t do it all the damn time. Daniel glanced out the window. He hadn’t even realized it had gotten dark. 

“What are you reading?” Armand asked, grabbing the newspaper and sliding it across the table before Daniel could answer. 

Armand scanned the page and frowned. Daniel studied him, waiting for his reaction. It didn’t take long. Armand didn’t have to read like a mortal. He could just look at something and absorb the information. He had once insisted to Daniel that he was reading, just faster than a mortal brain could ever manage.

“Well? Is that your kind’s doing?” 

Armand laughed again. “You think vampires would bother with such elaborate and silly games?” 

You seem to enjoy games, Daniel thought before catching himself, remembering how easily the vampire could hear his thoughts.

“I have no interest in the blood of cows,” Armand said. “Nor do I desire to hack pieces off large animals.” 

“No? Seems like it would be a fun weeknight activity for someone like you,” Daniel said, tone droll. He stubbed the butt of his cigarette against the ashtray and pulled the paper back in front of him. “Do you know what’s doing it?”

“Bored children, probably,” Armand said.

Daniel laughed. He couldn’t help it. What an absurd response! “You think kids are going out and hacking up farm animals?” 

Armand shrugged. “The article suggests as much.” 

It did say local teens were suspected in at least one of the incidents, a copycat prank. He tapped his fingers against the table. “So you don’t know of a creature that might do something like this?” 

Armand’s expression shifted, darkening almost imperceptibly. He titled his head and examined Daniel for a long moment while Daniel tried not to squirm uncomfortably  under the scrutiny. Then he said, “I’ve never heard of such a creature and I cannot fathom what form they would take.” 

Daniel sighed. He folded the newspaper up. “What about Bigfoot?”

Armand blinked. “Are you asking if I believe a giant ape man is carving up cattle?” 

Daniel shrugged. 

“I’ve told you before, Daniel, I have no knowledge of such things existing. I am immortal, I am not all knowing.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Daniel waved his hand and lit another cigarette. “Do you kill animals often?” 

Armand actually looked surprised for a moment, which made Daniel smile. It took a lot to throw Armand off kilter and Daniel took great pleasure in doing so. 

Armand reached across the table and snatched the cigarette from Daniel’s mouth at a speed that made it look as if the cigarette had flown into his hand of its own accord. Daniel’s heart raced but he tried not to show the jolt of primal fear that ran through him.

Armand held the cigarette between his fingers the way Daniel did, mimicking his motions. “Humans are animals,” he said idly. 

“You know that’s not what I mean. Louis said he survived on rats—"

Armand’s head shot up and there was danger in his amber eyes. Daniel swallowed uneasily and reached for his glass. “Do not think speaking to one of us at length makes you an expert. And even he told you that was not normal behavior.” 

Daniel took a swig of his beer. “I’m not an expert, that’s why I’m asking you.” 

Armand put the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled, and then pulled it from his mouth, staring at it like it had offended him somehow. “We survive on animal blood when there is no other alternative. It’s your blood—the blood of mortals—that truly sustains us. Nothing else is sufficient.” 

Armand stared meaningfully at Daniel’s neck as he spoke and Daniel’s hand went automatically to the spot where Louis had bitten him. It had been two years but he could still feel the ghost of the wound and he often wondered how it would feel to have Armand’s fangs in his neck.

Armand’s hand jutted forward, offering Daniel back his cigarette. He took it, fingers brushing Armand’s cool fingers. He wanted to grab his hand suddenly and hold it in his, to see if it would warm up in his grasp. But Armand had already stood, pushing his chair back. 

“Where are you going?” Daniel demanded, without really thinking. He should be relieved the vampire was going. He was ice cold and probably hadn’t fed, and here Daniel was, stupidly asking him all about blood. That was a recipe for getting himself on the menu. 

And yet he didn’t hate the idea. Vampires could drink without killing. 

Armand leaned over the table and brushed a stray hair out of Daniel’s face. “Indeed we can, but it’s not satisfying. When I drink, I ride the heart until it stops and all the life has bled out.” 

Daniel’s pulse raced, ice traveling down his spine. And then Armand was gone, almost as if he’d vanished into smoke. Daniel opened the newspaper again and tried to find something to distract himself, waving to the bartender for another beer. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to his hotel room alone until the sun was high in the sky and it was safe to do so. 

[heartfullofleeches]

Check-In at Ruthieland

Yandere Park Staff + G.N Reader

Summary: A gift from the park's mascot leads to an unexpected surprise

Warnings: None/Slight horror elements 

Word Count: 3.4k

The mug shaped candy has merged with its wrapping by the time you pick it up. 

Almost two weeks since your last annual visit to Ruthieland – the remaining tickets left tucked in their envelope and stored in a secure location. Your encounter with the park's main mascot repeats are the only thing you can retell vividly from that day, yet it all still feels like a dream. Ruthie hasn’t been seen in person since you were a kid for reasons even you were in the dark about. Why were they bringing him back now?

Beloved Showrunner Ruthie Hare makes a comeback in time for the reopening of hotel. 

That seemed like reason enough. The article pops up in your news feed while browsing online, the hare's buck tooth grin catching you off guard enough for you to drop your phone on your face. Recovering from the sting, you skim over the letter and from what you read Ruthie had been seen in lesser populated areas of the park gifting the same candies he gave you to random families with park staff informing them to keep hold of them. The park's office social media page has almost just released news that every person giving a candy would be invited to the grand reopening of their main hotel.

So that’s why Ruthie gave you the candy. Since you hadn’t seen him since you were a kid, the costume probably just looked stranger than you remembered, or went through a design change. What about that note he gave you? “Somebunny likes you.” It could be that one of the park attendants has developed a thing for you giving your constant visits, but was too shy to approach in person and managed to pull a few strings for you. Anything was possible, but the conclusion allayed your concerns well enough for the idea of a vacation to sound appealing. If things continued to work in your favor then maybe the park's recluse owner would show their face again, and you'd get to see an old friend one more time. 

-

The information for the contest comes within the following week. A week long stay at the refurbished hotel with all expenses paid, and general admission to the park for each day of your stay. A couple signatures and all is set for your departure. The date of the trip was only a few days away by the time everything was in order, your belongings packed the night before. The brochure included in your mail gave details of a shuttle leaving for the hotel from the usual pick up location at 7am; two full hours before opening. You arrive a quarter before, and are surprised to see only one other person waiting. The others possibly drove, or were running closer to the assigned schedule. Someone off to your side whisper shouts to their companion.” 

“I told you they'd be here.- Y/n, hey, over here!”

Drawing your attention to their ambush, you barely have time to react as your assailant rushes you and smothers you in the fuzzy sleeves of their oversized coat. As she lets you go and picks up her suitcase thrown aside in her sprint, you find the woman to be none other than the park attendant responsible for the theft of your ticket stubs, Ell. Two others catch up with her. Atlas, the head of security, and someone you aren't sure you're familiar with. A medical mask obscures the lower half of their face and a baseball cap makes up for the rest. The former two were frequent faces you'd see around the park, and people you considered friends for the most part. 

“Ell? Atlas? What are you doing here?”

Atlas shoots a side eye at Ell. “Someone managed to get their hands on some of the prize candies when it was mentioned in a meeting that staff members weren't eligible to win.”

“They never said anything about coming in on a day off. If they had a real problem with it, we wouldn't even be here. Everyone knows the park's royalty was bound to win, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say getting to spend some time with them on vacation is too good to pass up.”

Atlas chokes on his tongue; lips wired shut as his brain attempts to come up with a cognate reply. He looks around for a way out, eyes landing on your bag and the transport pulling up to dock.

“Heh- would you look at that? The bus is here. Those look heavy, Y/n. I'll carry those up for you. ‘Cuse me”

Atlas squeezes past the two and snatches up your bags as he heads towards the bus. Ell throws an arm over the other member of their party. 

“Anyway- despite popular belief it wasn’t me who took the candies. Found this thief with a couple in their bag and they offered me one to keep quiet. Then Atlas found us out and we had to bribe him for the same prize.”

The stranger tugs on the strings of their hoodie. “I'm not a thief…. Like you said earlier, Y/n was likely to win, and I wanted to see them more than just once a month.” 

Their voice is muffled by the face guard, but you recognize that tone. “Cass?”

They make eye contact with you for the first time that morning - before immediately looking away. “hi, Y/n.” 

Ell stares at them puzzled. “You have an actual name? Why have we been calling you-"

“Let's go, guys! It's ten past seven.”

Atlas slaps on the side of the bus to get his point across. Ell and Cass toss their bags in the undercarriage and follow you on the bus. The exterior is different from the typical pink decal and mascot characters acting out different scenes depending on the vehicle. Instead, the paint job had been switched to solid white with a streak  of red around the middle like a bow and the silhouette of Ruthie's head acting as the ribbon. You stare at it for a while, the trance broken by Cass bumping into you. 

“sorry…”

“It's alright. Go on ahead.”

Cass hesitates, but moves on ahead to avoid conflict. They stand at the back of the bus, waiting to see where you sit. Being the last one on board, Ell shoves you into the closest available seat right behind Atlas and sits beside you. Cass takes the bench from across you.

Atlas is the first to strike up conversation- despite Ell being right over your shoulder. “Hey, Y/n. I've been meaning to ask you, how exactly did you win lifetime tickets to Ruthie's?”

“That’s right- your family moved you away after they heard about the field trip. It was a contest in elementary where we had to write a letter explaining what we'd do if we won tickets to the park. That’s how I met Cass actually. They deliver the tickets. I still don't know how I won.” 

Ell butts in. “Maybe it's because you’re besties with the owner. What’s their name again? Wayne?”

“Wyatt. We didn’t really know each other well because their dad kept them at home, but the few times we hung out was nice. They stopped showing up to class shortly after the trip, but the other kids would joke that they had a crush on me.”

“Imagine that.” Atlas leans against the bus window, watching the buildings go by; fingers snaking up to the skin beneath his eye. “I still loved that place, even after what happened.” 

Before you can say more, the bus hits a speed bump which sends you flying backwards into the seat. Recovering from the whiplash, you glance out the window to see where you are. The bus pulls into the parking lot of where you'll be staying. It’s astonishing how you've never seen or heard much about its rebuilding before now. An excuse for the first part could be the large circus tent blocking the park's back wall.

The hotel itself was like a crossbreed between a lodge cabin and the fairgrounds. The main building sat in the middle of two towers; roof slanted like the pitch of a carnival tent and walls made of stone and wood. The pillars in its foundation were painted red for a little more color and the park's name along with its main mascot sat on a sign near the entrance; a plethora of lights surrounding the entire building shut off due to the time of day.

“Ruthie's Paradise Lodge…” You read aloud; the hare nestled in the title's ‘P' and drifting off to sleep. You gather your carry-on bag and join the others as they exit the bus. Atlas insists on taking the remaining lounge for you and wheels your bags along with his one duffle bag up to the front doors. A rustle in the bushes along the path catches your attention as you follow behind, but no one else seems to notice. You peak into the thickets – two, long pink ears greeting you among beady black eyes.

You scream.

Heads spin at the sound. Atlas retains a look of defense while Ell barks out a laugh and Cass removes their hand from the pocket at the sight they all behold. For the second time that day, fuzz laced arms trap you to the chest of a foreign body; this one covered head to toe in plush and oversized hands doing a better job at keeping you in place. Within enough struggle the mascot lets you go, covering his face with his hands out of embarrassment. The last member of your group and the first person on the bus walks up behind Ruthie and pats the hare's back.

“Sorry for the fright. Ruthie here is just excited to meet friends.” 

Atlas pulls you away from the pair and creates a protective shield using his own body. “And you are?”

The man laughs. “Me? I’m the receptionist at this fine establishment and the staff member assigned to welcoming you all to the hotel. You can just call me Flo. I probably should've introduced myself earlier, but it seemed like you all were having a great time with each other which is what we love to see most at our parks. Shall we head in?” 

Flo enters the hotel without waiting for an answer, leaving all you with no choice but to follow. Ruthie tails behind you step for step; eyes drilling holes in the back of your head. You can see his reflection in the glass doors right before you step inside. This Ruthie is nowhere near as stretched out as the one you met before, but his stare carries that same uncomfortable weight as the first. He gently pushes past you and marches in front of the other's to stand beside Flo.

The lobby isn’t anything remarkable. A fireplace in the waiting area accompanied by couches and chairs; framed snippets of the hare's crew on the walls. Twin staircases lead to a second floor and . It’s so open spaced you can’t help but wonder-

“Are we the only ones here?”

“Course not! We have the rest of staff and if you're referring to the other contestants I’m sure they'll be here on a later shuttle. If that clears up your questions then-"

The echo of Flo's clap makes you flinch. 

“Let's get this show on the road. As I’m sure you're already aware of, you lovely folks are the first to witness the grand reopening of our gorgeous hotel after its tragic closing back in 95’. The rooms have been renovated to fit with modern times and there are various activities around the building to keep you all entertained when you aren't enjoying a fun day at our fair park. The only thing we ask is that you avoid staff only areas, even if a few of you are employed elsewhere on the plot. 

Ruthie holds up a flashcard with a rabbit silhouette marked with a red X; tapping the board while slowly shaking his head. Flo walks behind the counter and produces four separate room keys.

“I will now give you all your assigned room keys and instructions on how to reach them. Your luggage will be brought to your rooms by staff later on.”

Flo hands out the keys in order of how you entered from Cass to Ell to Atlas to You. 81. 82. 83. 111. Ruthie holds out his hand for a key and crosses his arms over his chest when he doesn't receive what he’s after.  It would've been a little funny had Ell not addressed the elephant in the room.

“Why's Y/n's room so far away from ours?”

Flo half shrugs, almost annoyed by the question. “I’m not sure. Possibly a mix up somewhere with booking and reservations and whatnot. To get to your room you three just have to walk up to the third floor. Your room is in the south tower on the fifth floor. Bit of a strange numbering system, I know, but we’ve kept the layout of the hotel as close to original design as possible. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

Taking that as ignitive to leave, you walk over to the elevator with the others. You’d ask about Wyatt another time. Ruthie sends you all off with a double handed wave. It drops to one when it’s your turn to receive a fair well. Ruthie brings a finger up to his eye socket and drags it down to his cheek.

“Well…” Atlas starts. “We're still in the same location, and we'll most likely be seeing a lot of each other regardless of the situation.”

“Do you mind us paying you a visit?” Cass questions. “You’re the only reason I'm actually here…”

Ell chimes in. “Yeah, kinda lame deal if I can't try to bust down your door at any given moment.”

“I don't mind. Just give me a bit to get settled in first. I'll see you later.” You push the button on the elevator wall and wait for it to open. As you enter Atlas steps forward. 

“Maybe I should head up with you, just to be safe…”

Ell tugs the taller figure into a headlock and pulls him back. “Not so fast, Romeo. We spend time with them together or not at all. I won't give you the chance to shoot your shot with them so soon.”

Atlas flushes, barking out. “It's not like that!” 

“Don't lie to me. I've seen your wallpaper before. I've snuck a few pictures in my time, and I have no doubts that our other friend over there has as well.”

Cass is already halfway up the stairs before Ell gets her point across, frantically scrolling through their phone. Both Atlas and Ell chase after them.

“See you later, guys.” You press the button to your floor, a last minute rider keeping the doors from closing.

Ruthie steps inside the elevator and into the opposite corner where another button panel was placed. He closes the doors, before pressing every single button prior to your floor while making direct eye contact with you. 

The elevator goes up. The doors open and shut for the second floor. The fluff of the costume's chest rises with a breath. Another floor. His fingers twitch and his left leg shifts towards you. He starts to hum, tapping his foot against the metal floor. Two floors left and that soft drill draws out into a whistle. The cold wall envelopes you as you shrink in their corner. Ruthie teeters in your direction and then.. gets off on the fifth floor. 

The hare ducks beneath the elevator and crawls out into the hall, thunderous footsteps sounding throughout his entire descent. Reaching the end of the walkway, Ruthie turns and tilts his head as the doors slowly close. 

You shuffle out the elevator as soon as the doors open again, gunning for the room at the end of the hall with your assigned number. You jam your key into the lock and tumble inside the room. A balloon floats by your head as you lean against the door. You follow the floating orb trajectory to the bedside where a large gift basket sat on the pillows. Curious, you the item, pushing another stray balloon out of your way.

The basket is full of various treats from around the park as well as non-food items such as tee shirts and plush figures. The two in question are Ruthie and the newer addition to the crew, Bash the wolf. The hare carries his signature bottle of root beer and the canine holds a small mallet. Despite his weapon of choice and his scowl, Bash was a kind and timid creature afraid of his own shadow. The lesson his debut was founded on was about not being scared of those who don't seem approachable on first glance. The cellophane wrapping around the case was too thick to tear through, but a notecard hides between the plastic and the bottom of the basket.

“Welcome Home.”

 A heavy fist rattles the door in its frame. 

“Y/n? Are you in there? Atlas got us lost and we've been looking for you for like- twenty minutes.”

It's Ell. Probably with the others. You head over and unlock the door. Sure enough, the three park members wait behind it with smaller bags on their person, and Cass carrying a few plastic bags from a general store.

“You came over faster than I expected…” You gloss over their added luggage – and the pillow in Ell's arms.” Wait, are you planning to stay the night?”

“Okay if you’re okay with it.” Atlas quips. “We just thought it'd be a good way to break in the night, and it’s a long way away back so we brought over things just in case.”

“You got more than enough space to house us all.” Ell bounces over to the couch adjacent to the bed and the window, ending her exploration at the foot of your bed. “Your room is way bigger than ours and you have a nice view. You even got a whole basket of goods. Oh shit, are those funnel cakes bites?”

Ell pokes and prods at the bag to no avail. 

“Yeah, I couldn't get it open either. Anyone have any utensils?”

“You can use my knife..” Cass unsheathes a pocket knife from their jeans and hands it to you. There's a crow engraved on its side. You pass it off to Ell who then cuts open the plastic and at least asks before she digs in to her desired treats.

The rest of the night goes about the same as one would expect. You each take up a random corner in the room and discuss whatever topic comes to plate. Cass comes clean with more about themselves and lets it slip that aside from delivering your mail, they piloted various costumes around the park. Apparently they wanted to be a voice actor when they were little and the roles helped with that dream. They played Momo the clown, the last remaining character from the park's time as a circus and Ruthie’s closest friend. The young sibling of the Bandit Twins. And Farmer Crow.

“You're Crow?!”

Cass is quick to defend themselves. “O-only on weekends…”

The festivities end with you watching the fireworks show from the park at the window, and the others drawing straws to see where they’d sleep for the night. Ell gets the couch, Atlas the floor, and Cass at the end of the bed. As you try to fall asleep, your mind wanders towards what Ell said earlier. You did have a great view of the park from where you were. You had visuals on the entire park starting from the tent that blocks everything else out of sight. The park closed hours ago, but the lights inside  it are still on.

“Don't you think it's weird?”

Half asleep you pick up on a hushed conversation at the end of your bed. 

“What?” 

“You stole the candies so you could be alone with them, but there were way more than you had in your bag, and they had to have a backup plan if something serious happened. Isn’t it a little strange we're the only ones here?” 

“A little, now that you mentioned it. The receptionist said more people were coming.”

“I guess… Night, Cass.”

You pull the blankets up to your chin and close your eyes, cradling the stuffed animals as you drift off to sleep.