#I could honestly scrounge up some evidence

[bombyixmori]

I personally think that Vanitas’s death is going to be more metaphorical than literal…

…what? Evidence? Don’t know that word :P

#I could honestly scrounge up some evidence #if I really tried #but I’m sleepy rn so not right now #Vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanitas vnc

[luveline]

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

#kisses before dinner universe #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #afab!reader #mom!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff

[graceofagodswrath]

Aliens learning of Eldritch Horrors: Lovecraft Mythos

I’m a huge fan of H.P. Lovecraft horror. I know most of the big stories and smaller ones. Cthulhu is horrifying, but honestly there are worse. The big man is one of the saner entities out there.

So I recently pulled down a Lovecraft story book from my shelf and was going back through the stories, and it made me think: how would aliens react to hearing these stories? The idea that reality is simply the dream of one ancient forgotten god, including the lesser gods. I mean, if you actually read them there is some wacky shot in there. A mythos centered around the mysteriousness of the unknown, and a true hell hidden behind blissful ignorance.

Then I thought, “what if aliens discovered these things and had their own mythos?” What if every species has stories like these, but humans have the largest collection of them all? Perhaps aliens know that these things are true, but keep their distance. Then they discover humans and their extensive experiences with these ancient evils. Then aliens do something stupid and humans reveal big secrets yayyyy. Now I’m just spitballing.

Written from the perspective of an alien historian charged with cataloging traces of the Lovecraftian mythos.

WARNING: Depictions of violence, blood, and suicide.

~~~~~~

The tales were old as time. Older than the most ancient of civilizations within the cosmos. Some evidence could always be found within every culture. Whether an art piece, an artifact, or an oral story. But all knew how to deal with such things: leave it be.

As alien races began to connect and introduce their cultures, it became apparent there was more out there than we ever imagined. But we also knew better. We catalogued the tales, the artifacts, every scrap of evidence of these ancient beings, and then we ignored them. If any of the stories were true, we needed to heed the warnings.

But we were not prepared for the Terran race. Humans. A strange alien race from a death world long thought to be uninhabitable. Now found to be beautiful. While smaller and weaker than most races, they make up for it in their cunning and wild attitudes towards the universe. Many races fear their eagerness and unimaginably huge ego, while others welcome it. Such races usually burn out quickly without interference from others. But Humans were… different. They knew how to survive, even their own kind. When we added their knowledges to our libraries, many thought it would be the data we needed to spread into the cosmos.

How wrong we were.

It was an acolyte in charge of sorting through the new data that found it all. The stories. The mass knowledge of the unknown. More than that, they were first hand experiences of the ancient evils thought to be mere myth. Yet here it was. More accumulated knowledge than every race combined.

Granted, the stories told no more about these things than others did. The difference was the accuracy. How the Humans chose to write down every piece of literature and oral history they could remember. It was remarkable. For many a klick then we sat scrounging through these tales, rewriting and translating the words.

The more we read, the more we realized what all this may mean. The Human stories dictated these ancient creatures living on their world, Terra, aka Earth. Countless inscriptions of encounters with unknown beasts and horrors. Yet when asked about such things, the Terrans only shrugged. They said that those stories had long been dismissed as ravings of the old. If such things existed, they would have found them.

It was shocking to find the young race so ignorant of these things, even though we were guilty of the same crime. But we placated ourselves, claimed we only had bits and pieces whereas the Humans had an entire network of evidence. But the Terrans did not care. These were bed time stories to them.

We dove deeper and found that while most Humans dismissed the evidence, there were many who still believed. We were warned against finding those that held more evidence and knowledge, even ancient practices of this lost culture. The humans that believed such things had created communities of wild religious belief, cults that were not afraid to defy human societal law. They were labeled extremely dangerous.

But we dove. We leaped. And we didn’t even look underneath us. We became guilty of doing the one thing Humans were known for without realizing that we were not human. We did not have their instincts nor their rationalization and wild zeal. Their immortal adventurous youth.

We did what we were warned against. We sought out a cult. These humans welcomed us, celebrated with us, danced wildly. They spoke even stranger. They seemed to think we had come not to document their history and knowledge, but to welcome the “old ones” as well. We soon realized we had “jumped from the frying pan and into the fire” as humans would put it. We walked into a deeper hell.

We were shown histories, stories, artifacts, more evidence than a historian could dream of. It was a zircasian mine, to put it plainly. The humans did not defend or act cautiously as we expected. They rejoiced. When asked why, they relented that other humans were skeptics “destined for the black pits” but that they knew we understood. They expected us to help them in some way.

It was horrifying. It was hell. It was worse than any religion could damn their evil to. The humans had tricked us. They took my colleagues, split them open and bled them dry. They committed such horrible acts upon the many colors of blood I dare not write them for others to read. The worse came after.

It was indescribable. I can only depict what I understood. The humans danced and writhed in my colleagues blood as I and Yina’sa watched. They kept us alive to “bear witness to the return.” It was as if the fabric of space was torn, contorted, ripped apart to reveal the hidden void. Black tentacles and appendages slithered out, mouths full of teeth and fangs on the skin. But the worst was the eyes. The eyes of these ancient beasts. They were eyes of all races, yet not. They glowed and swirled, power emanating like a beating heart drumming in my ears. The humans still danced and chanted, screeching with sick delight. The chanting became “unearthly”, deep and strange. As if the humans were no longer just the ones chanting.

That was when I closed my eyes. I tried to block out the sounds, tried to pretend I was anywhere but there. I heard Yina’sa screaming, then laughing her Urulian laugh. She was screeching and cackling just as the humans were, shouting hideous things in her native tongue. I just wanted it to be over, over over Over OVER OVER OVER OV-

Then gunshots. True screams. Then a cosmic screech. As if the universe was crying out in pain. The ground shook. But I kept my eyes shut. The chanting was still repeating in my ears, I could t make it stop.

I barely remembered what happened afterwards. I had to be informed by my rescuers, a team of human soldiers. They had caught wind of our escapade, and had tried to reach us before it was too late. But alas. They had dragged me from that cavern, the only survivor.

I found out that Yina’sa had struck her head against the floor until her skull split open. To find out I was the only survivor among my group was…not ideal.

The humans informed me that they cult we had contacted was one that had been under surveillance for years, suspected of extreme violence and illegal obscenities. The human governments tried to warn us against contact knowing these humans we violent and dangerous. They knew these stories were not false. They had tried to dissuade us for our safety.

But we ignored them. Now blood is spilled, and I shall never forget those blood curdling screams, nor the chant the still beats in my head.

Nah’ka thm da

Nah’ka thm da

Nah’ka thm da

~~~~~~

Wow I kinda went off the rails. Wanted to write about aliens discovering humans having eldritch evidence, then trying to keep humans from finding the eldritch beasts. But then it turned into alien hubris and humans keeping the aliens away from the shit. Surprisingly this was kinda tame compared to my other posts. And for those wondering, I have more Humans are feral stories lined up, don’t worry about it.

Hope you all enjoyed. I wrote this feverishly at 10am, so I apologize for grammar and spelling mistakes.

Let me know if you have other suggestions for stories, and if you want me Lovecraftian stuff. Love writing about eldritch monsters.

#humans are crazy #humans are deathworlders #humans are fucking feral if you fuck with a cat #humans are insane #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humans are terrifying #humans are weird #lovecraft #eldritch #Lovecraftian mythos #h p lovecraft #eldritch monster #eldritch monsters

[spellsparkler]

27 with Lae'zel!!

27: Maintaining a weapon between uses

Confusion, Row learns, makes Lae’zel look faintly murderous. They could laugh at the look on her face, but she wouldn’t appreciate it, so they don’t.

Instead, they both stare at the blade on the tarp on the ground, the clouded metal too filthy to shine in the sunlight. The scabbard rests against Row’s knee. “Huh,” they say, and glance up at Lae’zel’s slitted eyes and incredulously raised eyebrows, back down again. “Mortifying.”

Lae’zel – of course – agrees more fervently than they’ve ever seen from her. “It is,” she says emphatically. “You should be embarrassed.”

Row didn’t even plan it this way, which is perhaps the most ridiculous part. They’d approached Lae’zel’s tent – rapidly growing from their scrounged poles and lengths of fabric into some elaborate set-up that borders on ostentatious – with their sword-scabbard hanging from their hand by its straps, and they’d asked a favour. (Sword, is, perhaps, a misnomer. They found it – honestly can’t even remember where, the ship and the first few hours out of it are a blur – and stuck it onto their belt at some stage, the dull-metal blade with its thick handle and blunt edges. It’s not long, but it’s no hand knife, either. A longer sort of dagger, maybe. It doesn’t seem like it’s made for smallfolk, so the distinctions aren’t perhaps of much note. It’s something that can be used for stabbing, under the right circumstances and when few other options are available, and they’d been under those circumstances today, when their citole had been knocked out of their grasp – thank fuck it hadn’t been really damaged – hence the inept stabbing. And hence the blood.)

(Lae’zel is interesting, in that she’s stubbornly difficult and also profoundly, logically easy. The thing coiled watchful behind their right eye helps, of course, but of their quick-growing and motley crew here Row honestly finds her the most straightforward; all harsh-cut stone and if, then. But the magnitude of the threat as she perceives it is quite different, and the unfamiliarity of everything around her puts her on her guard, if she’s ever known how to be off it in the first place. Mapping her out is simple – laughably so, with the tadpole there to chart the topography at a glance – but finding a hollow to mould themself into is extremely hard. She’s too scared shitless to want anything, which is odd, seeing as how some of the others’ wanting is made entirely out of fear. Row is unconvinced she knows what a friend is, so any quest to puzzle out how to become one might be entirely doomed from the get-go.)

(But she is fun to poke at; and the gambit Row’s taken, much as it seems to vex her, is not without its merits. The earth’s been so thoroughly knocked out from under her that any steady footing brings relief, and to that end she seems to like the pattern of Row’s raillery and her own answering irritation almost as much as they do. She likes things that have become familiar. And she visibly hates to be idle.)

Row had asked for help with their more-or-less sword, seeing as martial weaponry is their last resort but it’s still better than nothing; they needed it today, they could need it again, and it won’t do them much good if it’s rusted or dulled or otherwise damaged. Lae’zel had glanced up at the orange-washed sky and magnanimously agreed. The blade hadn’t come out of its scratched leather sheath on the first pull, which was, in retrospect, the first clue – but they’d pulled, and pulled, until finally it came loose and clattered on the tarp-covered ground, smelling quite bad and tacky with hours-old blood.

The inside of the sheath must be filthy, too. Row wrinkles their nose. Lae’zel continues to stare at the weapon as if it’s a personal insult – as if the blade had killed all her family, or, worse, had tried to and failed.

“You didn’t clean it,” she says.

“I didn’t,” Row agrees gravely. “Evidently, I need the help.”

There is a lengthy pause. Lae’zel reaches out to touch the dried-out grime, pinches still-viscid gore between finger and thumb. The makeup around her eyes has smudged something fierce. She asks, “Why?”

Row pokes at it, too, still watching her carefully out of their right eye. It feels unpleasant. “I didn’t think about it,” they say smoothly, and Lae’zel looks, still, like she is considering taking up the sort-of-sword and plunging it directly into their gut, which Row is beginning to think is just the expression her face makes when she isn’t sure what else to do. (It’s very strange to her, perhaps more so than literally everything else. She was practically born – hatched? – with a weapon in hand; Row’s ineptitude is not just an embarrassment, it’s incomprehensible. It affronts what it is to be alive.) (Behind their eye, the tadpole writhes.)

Honestly, Row isn’t sure how they forgot to wipe it clean. They remember they’d gotten within reach of their instrument very suddenly – they must have just stuffed it away so they could grab the citole out of the mud. And promptly forgotten about it. They’d all been in danger of dying – there’d been other things on their mind.

Lae’zel’s lip curls. “Get the soap,” she says, and Row does.

(It’s the one bar of soap they have, residing in its pouch in the supply pack. It smells a little of lemongrass. It’s used sparingly, shared between the whole camp – except Shadowheart, who had her own with her and seems ill-inclined to share, and Wyll, who found a sliver of lye soap in the pack he was given before he left the Grove. It’s a shame Row didn’t anticipate getting snatched up by a flesh-ship on a quiet mid-week night; they’d have prepared better.)

Lae’zel takes the soap; she scrapes off just a corner with her short-clipped nails and mixes it in with enough water to make something like a lather. She doesn’t speak while she does it, but she moves slowly, careful to let Row see what she’s doing, the way she spreads the mixture down the flat of the blade, bubbly and sweet-smelling. When she takes up a ragged scrap of cloth, she tosses them one, too – they fail to catch it and pick it up from the dirt. They watch as she starts scrubbing the blade – fiercely, in long lengthwise motions, even the particularly stubborn gore yielding eventually under her hands.

“Should I clean it like this every time?” Row asks, fixing her motions with rapt attention.

“After every use,” Lae’zel says. She turns the blade over. “It shouldn’t take this long.” A pause; she glances up from her work, eyes rimmed with black. “This is a shoddy weapon. The metal is weak. I’ve never seen its like.”

Row shrugs. “It’s a backup.”

Taking care of a sword-thing, they learn, is not difficult. It’s essentially the same process they go through with any bladed tools, and that’s something they’re no stranger to. The only difference is preparing for and attempting to negate the corrosive influence of blood. Lae’zel offers to show them how to sharpen it, although she seems unconvinced that its edges won’t crumble at the slightest pressure. They agree, and discover they don’t enjoy the sound of a whetstone.

She looks at them – straight-backed and stern, hand resting by the oiled whetstone – and scoffs. “You’re worse than a child,” she says; her voice is very muffled by the fingers Row’s stuck in their ears.

They remove them. “Than a Gith child,” they reply, because they’re quite confident they’re better at weapon maintenance – or usage, when it comes to that – than any child not hatched with a sword in hand. Lae’zel glances at the blood-smeared rags, thoughtful, and Row doesn’t even need the tadpole to see her remembering the tiefling children and their wooden weaponry, their grips uncertain, their feet slow and arms ill-weighted. She’d looked very perplexed, upon seeing them.

She nods, now, sharp and expressive. “Yes,” she says, “You’re right. Faerûn’s children are much worse at combat.”

It sounds so unfamiliar in her mouth; Row quirks a brow. “Did you mean Fay-run?”

“I said –” Lae’zel starts, and then she scowls, eyes slitted, looking down her nose. She sits so steel-straight that she’s got double height on them, even when they’re both on the ground. (Row thinks they might need to start dragging around crates to stand on; craning their head to look everyone in the eye is starting to give them a horrendous crick in the neck.) “I said it correctly,” Lae’zel insists, icy. “I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

The hollow space behind Row’s right eye shifts, cold and running as river-water. “Sorry,” they say lightly. “I was joking.”

Lae’zel looks at them. In the faint orange light of the sun beginning to set, her eyes look molten golden.

She takes up the apparently abysmal-quality blade. “Don’t,” she says, with steely finality, and she holds it out to them, hilt-first.

#completely clueless as to the quality of this. who knows! I'm not editing anything today and you can't make me #row tag #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #my writing #microfic #lae'zel #bg3 tav

[peculiar0ne]

okay

so for the record because i've never officially mentioned it- i have a chronic illness. it is (as of currently due to financial reasons) undiagnosed, but that's besides the point.

it mostly affects my legs, they're always in some sort of pain. tolerance has gotten lower over the last few months and my cane that i only used on my worse days quickly became almost useless, except as an assistant in getting up and down stairs in my apartment. i recently was lucky enough to be able to have my friends scrounge up enough cash so we could get me a wheelchair, as my health has declined so rapidly and i was losing most of my independence, having to rely on my boyfriend for most basic things.

i was able to take a day trip with some of my friends just yesterday, it was not only my first time using my wheelchair in public (minus a literal 5 minute walmart trip the day i got it), but also my first time using it in a completely different place from home. we were in a town that we all travel to quite frequently, but because of how far away from home we were (hour 45 minutes), and the fact that my comfort person, my boyfriend, was back at home stuck at work, it was extremely difficult for me to enjoy my day the way i wanted to.

because yesterday i experienced my first ableism encounter(s) since becoming an ambulatory mobility aid user in general. i've had ableist comments over my autism, adhd, and ocd countless times before...but this stabbed me right through the heart.

i've had my wheelchair for i believe 4 days in total now, i'm still getting used to it and i still have very mixed feelings about myself having to use it (internalized ableism, but mostly just fear of not being independent enough). i have already sat and cried countless times, worrying that my partner will eventually give up on me because of how dependent i'm slowly becoming...

yesterday i was in a location in which i have always felt safe in with my close friends. i've visited said place over 30 times in my life because it's so close to home, and not once have i had a moment where i've had to stop to sit and hold back tears.

tears of rage i think, mostly.

but also devastation. i knew ableism was shitty especially to those of us who are visibly disabled in some way shape or form (whether that be using a mobility aid or being a fancy walker, etc.), but holy fucking shit i am absolutely in ruins over what humanity has become.

i was wheeling alongside one of my friends to go to a store in our favorite mall while our other two friends stuck behind at the arcade, which we all agreed to meet back up at. when leaving the store to quickly visit another one, i heard a group of three boys saying "tokyo drift" behind us.

at first, i pushed it aside. i figured they were just pointing out something or watching some sort of clip on their phones. but then when i glance behind me, as i have caught myself doing as a cautious approach to still not being fully used to my chair, they're smirking cockily at me.

again, i push this aside.

but i shouldn't have because the moment i turned back around i hear "they see me rollin'", followed by a chorus of immature giggles, and the boys running away laughing and looking back at me and my friend.

i immediately dropped any evidence of happiness on my face. i was disgusted with myself. honestly it's only been 12 hours, i still am pretty disgusted with myself even though all i was doing was minding my own business.

now, my friends that came with all either have adhd or autism, much like myself. the specific friend i was wandering the mall with at the time has selective hearing because of her adhd therefore she did not hear these horrid comments, but she looked over to me and asked what was wrong.

i tried NOT to sound like a dick but lowkey i kind of growled when i told her what happened and she just death glared them and then took me to build-a-bear (our original destination) and bought me a kuromi plushie to cheer me up.

fast forward about an hour, the four of us are just finishing dinner in the mall food court. at this point, i was still upset but i had cheered up a little as my mind was able to be elsewhere for a while.

just as we're getting ready to go to the arcade, i'm falling a tiny bit behind. but the arcade is about 100 feet away so it's not a huge deal, right?

wrong.

two other boys, completely separate from the three earlier, look down at me with stupid grins on their faces and say "do a trick!" as they're walking away.

again, my friends were a bit ahead of me, and we're in a crowded food court so they didn't hear.

thankfully they all spend the rest of the night trying to cheer me up (i do not deserve them) but i'm sitting here typing this and trying not to cry.

it's so stupid.

but the stupider thing?

all five of these guys were ranged 18-25 at most. one of the guys in the first group looked to be 16, but i'm not sitting here about to assume that shit. it just devastates me that these people can just look at someone in a wheelchair and think "OMG THAT'S SO FUNNY GUYS" and all his friends will fucking agree.

disabilities are not funny.

mobility aids are not a joke. mobility aids are necessary for us with disabilities to get around.

honestly, i hope you don't look at your grandfather in a wheelchair and start laughing. because there's really no difference there besides age.

just grow the fuck up and start respecting us disabled folks.

that or kindly go fuck yourself!

thanks for coming to my tedtalk, i will now go contemplate my life and worry about my crippling medical bills :)

#ableist language cw #disability #ambulatory wheelchair user #invisible illness #wheelchair #wheelchair user #mobility aid #chronic illness #ableism #fuck ableists #ableist bullshit

[vannybarber]

The Prenup

Summary: After four years of being together and finally being engaged, Chris wants you to sign a prenup.

Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, chris getting his ass handed to him, a lot of pain.

Part Two Part Three Part Four Final Chapter

Scrounging through the little desk in the corner of Chris and you's bedroom, you hear him let out a boisterous laugh.

He was watching some movie and there was a certain part that he found so hilarious. After 4 years of watching it with him constantly, you still don't get what's so funny. But it makes him happy so that's what matters.

You were searching for the wine opener so Scott could get his middle-aged-4-kids-divorcee vibe on. You cleaned the other day and stuck it in there after a nightly dose of freakydeaky from Chris, which consisted of wine, whipped cream, and a many different forms of chocolate.

After what seemed like forever, you find the corkscrew and grin at your accomplishment. You take one more look in the drawer out of habit and you spot a big orange envelope with Chris' name on it. Being the nosy curious person you are, you take the envelope out and get a good look at it. You see the words Prenuptial Agreement in bold and your heart drops.

Chris had proposed to you 9 months ago and you were happy beyond words. After being together for 4 years, he finally put away his commitment troubles and made you his fianceé. And now you find out he's going to get you to sign a prenup. A fucking prenup.

You look around the room at loss for words. You were angry, hurt and confused. After 4 years of being together, he doesn't have faith in his own judgment that you guys would be together forever? You both have been through literally everything. There isn't one thing you don't know about each other. Your relationship was rare and it was special.

After moments of contemplation, you decide you would confront him on it. There's no way you could carry on the night and sleep after this. Not until you get your answers. Closing the drawer, you take a sharp breath and exhale before walking out the room. You get back to the dining table where Lisa and his siblings surrounded.

"Here you go Scott" you say slamming the corkscrew on the table in front of him. He looks up at you, puzzled. You glance at him then at Chris and he's looking at you just the same. Evidently your tone matched your movements because everyone went silent. You draw back and put both hands behind your back and huff.

"Babe, are you alright?" It was Christopher talking to you now. Your attention goes to him and your lips are in a thin line. Refraining from blowing up at him, you force smile on your face and change your tone of voice.

"What do you mean, honey? I'm fine." You should leave the acting to Chris honestly. That's definitely not your field of expertise. Shifting on your right foot, you stare at him. He shuffles and tilts his head with a knowing look.

"Spill it Y/N. What's up?"

"The flames when I burn this damn house down." So much for not blowing up. You snatch the envelope in front of you and chuck it on the table. Everyone watches the exchange and the envelope fly to the table. All their faces change from confusion to shock and even more confusion.

Chris didn't even need to look down to know it was the prenup. His eyes went from you to the wall. Guilt written all over it, you almost wish you gave a shit. You wonder how long he was going to keep this hidden from you. No need to wonder now.

"You want to explain to me why you have a prenup?" You place your hand on your hip and roll your neck at him.

"I got that for us."

You swear to everything you wanted to lunge at him right then and there. 'I got that for us'. Why do people always use that excuse for everything? They weren't thinking about you, just themselves and expected you to go along with it.

"You got it for us? I know you didn't do this on your own. Who put you up to it?" You look around the room. Scott has his hands up shaking his head. Carly and Shanna both let out a quiet "not me". You look at Lisa who had this look of hurt.

"Chris, you tell me everything. How did I not know about this? Why didn't you tell me?" Well now you know she didn't suggest it. You feel slightly guilty for letting it cross your mind, but you had your reasons.

"Ma, I had my reasons. I kept it hidden because I didn't know how I felt about it myself" he says rubbing his face and fixing his hair under his cap. Still didn't answer your question.

"Christopher, who put you up to this? Tell me now!" You're getting fired up by the minute. You have an idea who it could be too.

"Megan. She thought that it would be smart to consider. Just to protect me."

"Megan." Your voice is laced with absolute venom. "You know Chris, she does a good job keeping you out of trouble and bullshit so you're not all over the tabloids, but sometimes, her ass is too much!"

Chris is never in the news for anything negative. He's always minding his business and moving quietly. Megan is a great publicist, but she can be pretty overbearing about his personal life. She gave you side eye for like the entire first year of you guys' relationship.

"Baby, she was just looking out for me. You know how it is, women getting with you for your money. Guys loose half of everything they have when getting divorces."

You can't even believe it.

"I am not 'women'. I'm your fianceé. We've been together 4 years, Chris! After all this time your material things come before me?" Tears are puddled at your eyes now and your voice is cracking. This catches his attention.

"I told you from the start Chris, that I never cared about your money! Never have and never will. I am used to not having much. I'm not money hungry or concerned for having top tier everything. I've learned to settle."

"Y/N, I didn't mea-" you slam your hand on the table, making everyone jump. Chris shuts his mouth.

"I'm. Not. Finished. I am not marrying your bank account. I'm not marrying your cars. I'm not marrying your house. I don't give a damn about any of that shit. And you literally are still concerned about all of that?" Your face is wet and your nose is runny. You wipe your nose and cross your arms.

"It's not even like that!" Now he's getting upset. For literally nothing. This is his fault. "It's just in case it doesn't work out, we don't need to deal with all the extra mess."

That completely shattered you. In case it doesn't work out. He actually has thoughts that your marriage couldn't work. What would even cause that? You guys don't even argue. You don't even remember the last time you did. You've learned to understand what each other needs and mastered that. What is he on about?

"You know what the sad part is? Us not working out crossed my mind in, like, the first year of our relationship. And I decided that if we did get married, and God forbid we divorced, I wouldn't take anything from you."

He looked at you like he just found out he wasn't the father of your baby.

"Yeah, Chris. That's your money. You made it, not me, so why would I ask for any of it from you? You gave me an amazing relationship and thats enough for me."

"Oh my goodness." Everyone directs their attention to Scott. "So you wouldn't want anything from the divorce?"

"Of course not! I came in this relationship for him. Plus a make my own money. I don't need anyone else's."

You had your own business. Many employees at different buildings in Boston. You didn't have much growing up and you were proud of yourself for not having to worry about financial issues. Chris liked that you had your own thing going and didn't have to adapt to his life and depend on him financially. And he still got a prenup.

Feeling like you were gonna cry again, you rub your temples and take deep breaths to prevent it. But you failed and started crying more. Chris got up and moved to stand in front of you.

"Baby, I'm sorry I upset you. I thought you would be okay with this. Like you said, you don't care about my money so what's wrong with the prenup?" His hands were on your sides, but not for long as you shook them off of you.

"What's wrong with it? What this is telling me is three things. You have doubt that our marriage won't work out, you think I might change my mind and ask for alimony, and that your money comes before me."

"I..." he struggles to form words. You take this chance to get out of there.

"I really don't want to be here right now." Chris looks up and grabs your arm.

"Babe, you don't need to go. Where the hell are you gonna go?" You turn and grab the envelope from the table. You open it and pull the papers out, shoving it in his face.

"I'll go to a hotel or something, but I'm not staying here if this is the shit you're trying to pull with me." You turn the paper to you and look in disgust. You scan over it and your eyes fall on the dotted line where you need to sign. Beside it is where he needed to sign his.

Well not anymore.

You read over his signature on the line. Chris Evans.

He signed the prenup already. Now he was just waiting for your signature. He really was leaving you zero choice.

"You signed it already??" Everyone at the table head snapped up. Shanna gasped and covered her mouth. Lisa mumbles an "oh no" under her breath.

"So you were just going to bring it to me and expect me to sign it with no fight, huh?"

Chris says nothing, but his face is red. You don't wait for a response and walk to your shoes and your bag. Already having everything in there, you slip your shoes on and walk back to Chris.

"Just a heads up, you brought this on yourself."

You whip around and walk to the fireplace. You chuck the papers and envelope in the blaze and turn back to him.

"You can forget about that damn prenup, cause I'm not signing it. As a matter a fact, you don't even have to worry about that because there won't be a chance of us divorcing." You force a smile and clasp your hands together. Lisa and Scott rise from the table panicking.

"Babe, no-"

"Forget the wedding, this engagement and all of it. You can take this fucking ring too." You pry the ring off your fingers and throw it at him. It hits his chest and falls at his feet.

"I'm not marrying you."

You turn on your heel, grab your purse and jacket, walking out the door, leaving the Evans' speechless.

Was this too dramatic? I have my own opinions on a prenup, but maybe it's not as big as it seems? Idk🥴.

masterlist

#cevans #chris evans #avengers #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #andy barber smut #steve rogers smut #captain america #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut

[ragingbookdragon]

I’m Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 7

Batfamily x Batsis Story

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author’s Note: Anyone order a part seven? Cause I got a part seven for y'all. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ever since the meeting that night, she’d gotten more letters from her family than she’d ever received in twenty-one years. Not that she decided to read them. The first line from Dick’s letter was, ”I never wanted you to leave because of me. If only I’d known…”. She couldn’t keep reading, and she wasn’t sure if it were from guilt, sadness, or anger, but there was something there that she didn’t want to face.

It didn’t stop there though. They kept coming even if she tacked a return to sender on it and sent it back. She’d even labeled one and written, ”Stop writing me.” but that didn’t stop them. Wally texted her every other night on top of the letters and she wanted to strangle him through the phone.

She knew though, that if she could keep holding out for three more months, she’d be home free. Wherever home was at this point. Every city she kept thinking about had some type of vigilante and there was nothing that didn’t; eventually she decided on Coast City. Somewhere warm and sunny, and as far from Gotham and Central as possible.

Of course that little voice in the back of her head just kept telling her to talk to them, but she was going to be as stubborn against it as possible—but time was dwindling, and so was her resolve.

***

“Ophelia, have you seen the extra bag of espresso beans? I can’t remember where you put them the other week.” She waited for a response. “Ophelia?” she turned and frowned. “Why did I accept the manager’s position when I can’t even round up my workers?”

She walked out of the storage and wiped her hands on the rag at her waist. “Ophelia?” A giggle sounded at the counter and when she walked out, her eyes went wide at the sight.

Jason was leaning against the counter with that smile he used to use on the models at the galas. He smiled at Ophelia. “Tell me, what do you make better, the cappuccinos or lattes?”

“Well, I make a —”

“She makes a mean ‘get in the back and find my espresso beans’,” she grunted and both of them jumped.

“Melisandre!” Ophelia stuttered, pale cheeks flushing pink. “I thought you were in the back.”

“I was. Think you can go find the coffee beans you put away?” She shot Ophelia a stare that screamed ‘scram’ and the girl nodded, hurrying to the storage room.

“Aww, why’d you run the cutie off, Melisandre?” Jason queried. “I was going to ask her out on—”

“Can I talk to you?” she interrupted, voice barely containing her seething rage. “Outside.”

Jason shrugged and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Sure, but be careful, people might get suspicious.”

She grunted and walked outside, listening to him follow and when the door shut, she turned around and hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just getting coffee.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Jason. We both know that’s a load of bullshit.”

His eyes narrowed and he noted, “You’ve really gotten comfortable using foul language. You know that, (Y/N)?”

She glared at him. “What. Do. You. Want.”

“You won’t answer our letters,” he shrugged. “Didn’t have a lot of options to talk.”

“And showing up at my job is the better option?” she griped.

“It was that or your house, (Y/N). Take your pick but you can’t have both.”

“Well, maybe my silence is supposed to be the answer to those letters. Did you think about that?”

“I did,” he nodded. “But after the third letter being rejected, I decided to go big or go home.”

(Y/N) growled. “Go home.”

Jason smirked. “No.”

“I’m not fucking joking here, Jason. I don’t want you coming here. Ever.”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,” he retorted then stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. “You don’t wanna talk willingly, fine. I’ll make you talk to me. And if I have to show up here every day, I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

Jason cocked a brow and tightened his grip. “You wanna bet? Because I’m not Dick and I’m sure as hell not Bruce. I don’t have a day job to get to.” He smirked. “I can do this all day.”

(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek and thought for a moment then sighed and yanked her arm away. “Fine. Come to my apartment after five. We’ll talk there.”

“Thank—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she interrupted coldly. “I’m agreeing for one meeting and then you fuck off back to Gotham City and leave me the hell alone for good.” She spun on her heel and started back for the door when his voice reached her, tired and pained.

“Do you really hate all of us? Do you really hate us like you make yourself think you do?”

(Y/N)’s feet felt like lead and she stopped, gazing at the glass door. “I don’t know, Jason.”

“Then let me help.”

“You can find the apartment on your own. I know you’re good at looking for homes.” She slipped in the café door, leaving him standing there shocked and hurt.

***

Sure enough, a minute after five o’clock, her doorbell rang and she called, “It’s open.” The door opened and shut, and she looked up from the little kitchenette, watching the way Jason walked into her apartment, gazing around the empty living room.

“Shit, do you live in a home or a prison cell?”

(Y/N) grunted. “Nice quip. Come up with that by yourself?”

He wandered into the kitchen, leaning back against the counter as she prepared dinner. “What’re you making?”

“Chicken marsala,” she replied. “You’re here to talk. Start talking.”

“Are you going to be a bitch like you were the other night or can I ask about life in Central the last three years?” she shot him a glare, warning him, but he paid it no mind. “You going to school?”

(Y/N) nodded. “I go to Central City Community College. Take classes all week at different times.”

“What are you studying?” he asked.

“For now, general studies, but I’m minoring in political science.”

“Planning on a four year after you graduate?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Her hands stalled for a moment. “I don’t have the money for a big school to get a bachelors.” Shaking her head, she chopped up the vegetables. “Figure if I can get a job in the area, I can scrounge up enough to start the process though.”

“Might take years,” Jason noted, and she nodded.

“Yeah, hard work usually does.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “What’s Cassandra like?”

He blinked, evidently not expecting that, though he recovered and smiled. “She’s great honestly. Kicks ass better than anyone I know.”

“Even Batman?”

Jason huffed a laugh. “I’m sure she could wipe the floor with each of us if she decided to not hold back. Her mom’s Lady Shiva and her dad’s David Cain.”

“I don’t know who they are but I’m assuming from the tone that they’re not exactly the best parents in the world.”

“No…they’re not.” He agreed. “David didn’t teach Cass how to speak so she’s been mute all her life.”

“I’ve heard the few interviews she’s given,” (Y/N) replied. “She’s very eloquent when she does.”

“Shakespeare’s influence. And probably Emily Dickinson.” He smiled. “I leave her a lot of books to read so I can be her favorite.”

She snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like you.” Sliding the cast iron skillet into the oven, she sat at the crappy metal dining table, Jason taking the seat on the other side. (Y/N) scratched at the table. “Does Bruce like her?” she questioned lowly, and he nodded.

“Loves her like she’s his own.” He her with cautious eyes. “Just like he loves you.” Jason watched the emotion flash across her face, quick as lighting, a deep sorrow, then she was humming.

“Well, that’s good then.” She cleared her throat and looked at the clock. “How’ve you been? I hear a lot about Outlaws.”

Jason chuckled. “Yeah, that’s my band of renegades. Me, Roy Harper, and Koriand’r.”

“Remind me, those were Speedy and Starfire, right?”

He snorted. “Arsenal and Starfire. But yeah, close enough.”

(Y/N) got up and pulled two glasses from the cabinet before going to the refrigerator and getting the lemonade. She poured them both glasses and sat back down. “How’d you manage to wrangle two of the Titans into your posse?”

“Kori willingly tagged along, and Roy won’t leave me alone,” he griped, sipping his lemonade.

“Mmm…and how does Dick feel about you stealing two of his exes?”

Jason choked on his drink, spilling it on the table and down his chin. “That’s not—” he coughed. “That’s not what that is.”

“Uh huh, sure it’s not.”

“It isn’t,” he glowered.

“Riiiiiiight,” she drawled out with a grin, then took a sip and set her glass back down. “Figured you’d get Cass along with you. she seems like she’d be fit for Outlaws.”

He shook his head. “Nah, she’d be better off with Tim and his Young Justice weirdos.”

“She non-lethal?”

“Mhm.”

They dwindled into silence until the timer went off on the oven and she pulled the skillet out and set two plates on the table. “You’re gonna feed me?” he asked as she handed him a fork.

(Y/N) scoffed. “Duh. I’m a bitch, but I’m a bitch with manners.” She smiled sweetly. “But you have to leave afterwards.”

“Mmm…can I crash on your couch?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Figured I’d try anyways.”

They ate in silence, occasionally speaking about their lives the last three years, and when the food was all gone and the lemonade drunk, he sighed and reclined in the chair.

“What?” (Y/N) questioned and he shrugged.

“Dunno…I’d like to do this again soon.” His teal eyes found hers. “It’s been too long since we were together.”

“Tread carefully,” she murmured, looking at the wall and he sighed.

“Sis, talk to me,” he begged. “Even if it’s just to tell me how much you hate me, just talk to me.” She didn’t respond and he sighed again, standing from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”

“…I hate that you all put Gotham and every civilian before our family.” Jason stopped dead in his tracks and turned, gazing at her, though she didn’t tear her eyes from the wall. “I hate that the only time I felt like anyone paid any attention to me was when we were at galas and even then, the attention was just for show. It didn’t matter because all anyone wanted to do was get the hell out of the manor and go on patrol. It didn’t matter because I wasn’t like any of you. I wasn’t a part of the real family.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “I hate that I spent more nights sitting in a dark and silent manor than spending them with my family. I hate that I never had a normal family growing up where we’d go for ice-cream after school and attend school performances. I hate that I got stuck with a bunch of siblings hellbent on giving every piece of themselves to the world and they couldn’t take one night off to have a family night to save their lives. To at least pretend to be normal.”

(Y/N) finally took her eyes from the wall and he felt his heart tighten as the tears slipped down her cheeks and she breathed, “I hate that I was born Bruce Wayne’s biological daughter and I’d give anything and everything I have to be someone else’s daughter and sister.”

Jason’s mouth felt dry, and he didn’t have single thing to say to her and she whispered, “Is that what you wanted to hear, Jason?” she blinked. “Because that’s what I feel every morning I wake up.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and she cleared her throat, wiping her cheeks.

“Yeah well, I’m three years passed sorry.” (Y/N) nodded to the front door. “You should leave now.”

Jason nodded but his feet didn’t move. For a moment, he couldn’t move them, then he sucked in a breath and started edging back to the door. When he neared the door, he pulled it open and paused, looking back at her. “(Y/N)?” she didn’t answer but he said it anyway. “I love you. More than you’ve ever known.” He sighed and stepped out, closing it behind him.

(Y/N) buried her face in her hands and sobbed alone at the dinner table.

********************************************************************************

Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy @foreverthefloor @natatawa-ako @impactshawol @bethabear12 @adazzlingsakura @kimhanbiin @thatanonymouschocolate @mischief-writter-24-7 @lostinwonderland314 @elz-zalarrr @lady-of-the-abyss @peqchynero @d3m0n8ch1ld @goldenguki @fallen-wolf22 @battlenix

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #dc reader insert #batfamily imagine #batfamily #batsis x batfam #batsis x batfamily #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis imagines #batsis imagine #batsis #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #wally west #the flash #flash #dc comics #dc imagines #dc imagine #dc

[hesgunnalovethis]

Dark Circles

Summary: You’re cramming for a big exam. Until Leonard McCoy finds out you haven’t slept in 3 days.

Bones x Reader

Masterlist!  (thank you for all the love you guys are the best <3)

 TW: bit of sleep deprivation init, strong language, passing mention of death (satirically)

 Word Count: 1514

  You had been working on the Enterprise as a student medic for some time now. With a busy five year mission, an unspoken fling with the Chief Medical Officer and a crew who couldn’t seem to keep themselves in one piece, you’d began to believe you’d never make it that final step to officially become Doctor Y/L/N. So, when The Academy offered for you to take your final exams online, you jumped at the chance. 

The exam was in three days. You’d somehow managed to nab yourself a week clear of shifts. Whoever made up the rotas must have it sweet for you you’d joked to Leonard who was now working a doubly busy week. He didn’t mind, he knew how important this was to you. 

 You were ready to be free from the constant watchful eye of people only as skilled as you and you knew it. But having neglected textbook terminology for three years you panicked wondering if you’d be able to convince Starfleet the same. You’d been hitting the books hard for the last few days. Really, you’d been doing little else. So much so that the words were beginning to jumble before your eyes. 

Your comm rang. You answered to Jim’s shrill voice like you were teenagers on a landline. Jim had been a good few years above you at The Academy but you had always been close. Jim initially approached you as a night out trophy and when you’d firmly put him in his place, even through six vodka blackcurrants, he knew he’d found a good drinking buddy. 

 “Sooo how you feeling!” Jim asked as if your final medical exam was a first date. 

 “Honestly? Nauseous. Although I don’t know if that’s the nerves or the tiredness.” The first time you’d spoken in days, you remembered. 

 “Jeez how long have you been up?” 

 “Long enough to be two and half notebooks down.” You eyed the strewn pads filled with messy words and diagrams. You definitely passed the doctors handwriting stereotype. 

 “Maybe I’ll stop by with another one for you. And maybe some crushed up pills.” He wasn’t joking but you laughed anyway. 

 “And how is... the ship?” You said, head scrabbled but feeling rude not asking about him. 

 “Still in space.” 

 “That is good to hear.” 

 “For real, Y/N, are you alright? Do you need anything? Water? Food? A certain doctor?”

 “I need everyone on this ship to stand still for three days so I’m ready to sit this.” Jim was silent knowing that he couldn’t promise that and that he’d probably be first injured. “Currently skim reading the dermal regenerator chapter. If another ensign gets stabbed that’s on them.” 

 “As your Captain I can’t laugh at that.” 

 “’As your captain,’” you mimicked “shut the fuck up, Jim.”

 “Fair.” Jim said in defeat after a long silence. “I’ll get Bones up to see you in a bit” 

 “Don’t bother him, he’s working all his own shifts and all of mine, he’ll be more of a corpse than me.” 

 “I have never seen that man in any state other than grumpy. I’ll check up on you in a few.” 

 “Catch.” You said hanging up the comm.

 A few hours past and you’d filled up your third notebook throwing it on the pile and picking up a fresh one, like clockwork. 

 Another hour passed and Jim had rang your comm, again. You ignored it. Another hour. Another ring. Another comm ignored. You only had six textbooks left and you weren’t going to let anything distract you. Almost. 

 The door to your quarter opened as you finished notepad four. You didn’t fully register it until you noticed the room become significantly brighter. You’d really been sitting there for long enough for the room to assume you’d died. Interesting. 

 You looked up to silently thank the ceiling and were greeted by two cold hands against your skin planting a kiss on top of your head. You’d recognise those hands in death. Hands that didn’t need to sit this exam. You were jealous of them. 

 You felt him squat behind you hugging you from behind his cheek brushing against yours. 

 “How’s it been?” You asked instinctively about the sickbay. 

 “Y’know,” he began, spinning your chair away from the desk to face him, “It’s been-“ he stopped brief worry passing over his face. Brief but not unnoticed. 

 “What?” 

 “Darlin’ you are so pretty, you know that, but right now you have two friends I don’t know called ‘extremely dark’ and ‘evidently from sleep deprivation circles’ under your eyes.” He said it delicately, you scoffed. 

 “You’re not looking so hot yourself Mr Five O’clock Shadow.” Leonard’s mouth peaked at the corners suppressing a laugh. 

 In that moment you felt silently sorry for Jim who’d claimed never to see Leonard’s softness. ‘Jim’ you thought. 

 “Jim sent you?” You questioned spinning your chair back towards the desk but finding it halted by Leonard’s foot. He shook his head. 

 “He mentioned a few missed comms but I was already on my way here. I assumed you’d be sleeping. It is 4am.” 

 You looked at the time to verify. You swore the last time you checked it had been 5am. 

 “How long have you been awake?” Leonard asked assessing the desk space. 

 “A few nights.” 

 “Nights?” He cocked his eyebrow at you. “Nights are for sleeping.”

 “It’s the same as working a few nights.” You stated. 

 He smiled softly at you, reaching forward to knock your glasses from your hair to your eyes. You could see again. He’d actually gifted you sight. 

 “When we work a few shifts in a row, we take breaks. How many breaks have you taken?” 

 “A few.” 

 “Bullshit.” He was right so you didn’t argue. 

 “I just have a few things left to cover before I can start doing practice exams. I’ll take a break then.” 

 Leonard was already at your desk closing textbooks and tidying flashcards. You tried to interfere but he simply moved your hands and stroked your hair. 

 “You get changed, I’ll get you some water.” 

 You were suddenly thankful someone had pried you away. You didn’t realise how awful you felt. Head pounding, nauseous, eyes failing. 

 “Test me?” You asked. Leonard turned eyeballing you. His facial expressions having a silent conversation. 

 ‘Really?’ His face said. 

 ‘Please?’ Your face said back. 

 “Your patient is paralysed. First point of call?”

 “Neutral transducer.” You shouted from the bathroom not missing a beat. 

 “And how does that work?”

 “By picking up neural signals from the brain to mimic and stimulate appropriate muscles.” You were right. Leonard was silent for a few minutes allowing you to brush your teeth and change. “Keep going.” You shouted back. 

 “It’s pointless you know everything.” He stated. You walked back into the room giving him a sad face. He rolled his eyes he couldn’t say no to you. 

 “What are the symptoms of fatigue?” Leonard said handing you a glass of water. You shot him an annoyed look, his face was pure innocence. 

 “Chronic tiredness.” You said. He urged you to continue, “Dizziness, headache, impaired vision, slow reflexes, muscle weakness, appetite loss.”

 “I think you’re missing a few.” He said. You sighed at him knowing the point he was trying to make. 

 “Poor concentration, short term memory problems, impaired judgement.” 

 “Heck… sound familiar?” He said as you both climbed onto the bed. 

 Leonard pulled you towards him, taking your entire body in his kissing your under eye repeatedly. 

 “It’s been fun ‘evidently from sleep deprivation circles’ but you’ve gotta go. It’s not personal I just love your host too much to keep you around.” Leonard joked and rearranged your pillows to make you both more comfortable. 

 “One more.” You whispered almost completely asleep. Leonard sighed heavily. 

 “Where’s a Vulcans heart.” You laughed at the easiness of the question. 

 “Right side. Between ribs and pelvis.”

 “Oooo, wrong.” He said pulling you closer. 

 “What! No I’m not?!” 

 “Vulcans don’t have hearts. Have you met the one we work with?” 

 You laughed, softly elbowing him in his own ribs for being horrible. 

 “You do this every time you have something big. You work yourself into the ground. It’s not good for you darlin’. Not good for my blood pressure either.” Leonard softly said removing the glasses from your face. 

 “I’m just scared. God knows how long I’ll need to wait to resit it.” You mumbled. 

 “Y/N, you don’t have to scrounge through textbooks for these answers. You’ve lived these answers. Hell I’ve watched you take over from doctors well above your rank when they’ve started feeling the heat. You’re exceptional. Being a doctor is in your damn blood.” You could tell by his tone he was sincere. Your heart sung but your head retorted. 

 “What if I fail?”

 “Then I guess you’ll have no choice but to have me watching over you for another two years.” Leonard rested his head on top of yours allowing your own to fall onto his chest. 

 “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” ‘And hopefully a lot longer’ you thought as you finally drifted off to sleep.

#star trek imagines #Star Trek Fanfiction #leonard mccoy imagines #bones imagines #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #mccoy x reader #mccoy imagines #dr mccoy #dr mccoy imagines #dr mccoy x reader #bones star trek #star trek fic #doctor mccoy #doctor mccoy x reader

[ificanthaveu]

Don’t Tell The RA || Shawn Mendes

Description: RA!Shawn asks for your help with studying for your final exam, but an RA should always expect the unexpected. 

A/N: Happy 1st day of my semi-not-really-ficmas! I’m positive I’ve used every winter/Christmas themed fic idea, but I scrounged together a few so here’s the first of the installment. These’ll probably all be pretty short (except for 1 probably bc i have a lot of ideas for it). Also.....if this gif doesn’t look like RA!Shawn trying to get his freshmen boys to stfu so they can start and end the hall meeting ASAP.

Word Count: 2.4k

You were the first person out of the room when your History professor dismissed you, meeting your awaiting roommate Micah across the hall. The two of you started walking back to your dorm without much of a word until she launched into how difficult her calculus exam is going to be.

“At least it’s related to your major. I’m about to fail a gen-ed,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “I’ve never liked History, and this is a literal nightmare.”

“Hey, only one more test, and we’re done,” she reminded you.

Before you could respond to her, you heard your name being yelled from behind you. The both of you stopped and turned around to see Shawn maneuvering his way in and out of people, his tall stature poking out from the rest as you smiled at him.

“Have you started studying for the final yet?” He asked as he fell into step with you and Micah, making your way out of the building.

You practically snorted with a head shake before you said, “Absolutely not. I’ve been so caught up in my biology classes that I’ve barely started looking at this. It’s not looking good for me.”

“We get it. You’re pre-med,” Micah mumbled before you elbowed her.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve cracked open the textbook since the first week,” he said.

“Oh, you opened yours? Mine’s still in the plastic wrap,” you said as proud as you could.

That earned a laugh from Shawn as he shook his head at you.

“You may be worse off than I am,” he said.

He paused for a moment, looking between you and where he had to turn to go to the freshman dorms, opposite campus from the junior ones.

“Would you wanna study tonight?” He asked.

You heard Micah choke on her breath as you prayed he didn’t hear it.

“Yeah, I definitely need it,” you replied.

“Can’t do it in our room,” Micah interjected quickly. “Josie is coming over for calc.”

“We can study at mine,” he said. “If that’s ok with you of course. We just might get interrupted by check-out questions.”

“Sounds just fine with me. I could never do what you do,” you said, looking up at him as he shrugged and looked away, the blush almost evident on his cheeks.

“Well, my room and board is paid for, so I’ll deal with throwing up freshmen in the bathroom at 2 am,” he said. “Does 7 work?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said as you turned to go towards your dorm. “See you then.”

Micah followed behind you as you began to cross campus, waiting until you were clearly out of earshot of Shawn.

“You really had to say we couldn’t do it in our dorm?” You asked as you gripped onto her wrist and she laughed. “Now I have to be extra alone with him.”

“That’s the point,” she said flatly. “Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at him all semester. That man is the total package.”

“And we’re studying together, nothing else,” you quickly pointed out.

“Well it may start that way but-“ you cut her off before she could finish.

“Don’t say something that won’t come true,” you said as you swiped into the building and walked up the stairs to your dorm.

“You wish it will though,” she said in a sing-song voice as you unlocked your door and pushed her in.

“So what are you wearing?” She asked as she whipped open your closet.

“I’m not changing,” you said.

Micah turned around and looked up and down at your sweatpants and sweatshirt with a look of disgust.

“Can you at least put leggings on and a clean sweatshirt? Maybe put your hair in a pony-tail instead of that bun that looks like it was slept in - scratch that - a bun that was slept in,” she said as she threw you a pair of black leggings and a school crewneck.

“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled as you changed.

“You’ll thank me later,” she called after you.

It had started snowing by the time 6:45 came around, and you began your trip across campus. You were regretting not wearing a jacket as you shivered and crossed your arms tightly around your chest.

The person at the front desk smiled at you as you made your way up to Shawn’s dorm, scanning the rooms for the one that said “Residential Assistant” on the front.

You knocked twice once you found it, rocking back and forth on your feet and trying to shake the cold. You glanced around at the winter-themed decorations around the hall before Shawn swung the door open.

“Hey,” he said brightly with that big smile that made you weak. “You look freezing.”

“I am,” you said as he welcomed you in. “Big mistake not wearing a coat.”

You scanned over his room quickly as he shut the door behind the two of you. He had white Christmas lights strung along his window, making for a beautiful reflection mixed with the snow. His overhead light was off, but the lamp beside his futon was on. It was surprisingly clean, but you attributed that to him never knowing when someone was going to need to talk to him.

Two mugs were situated on his desk in the corner of the room. He crossed the room and grabbed one and handed it to you.

“It’s mint tea,” he said. “Helps with studying.”

“Ah, of course,” you said, taking the mug and sitting on his, surprisingly comfortable, futon.

“And a blanket,” he said as he pulled it from the back of the couch. “Since you look like you might have hypothermia.”

“Thank you,” you said softly as you wrapped it tightly around your shoulders.

You pulled out your book and binder, flipping to the study guide that was handed out in class.

“Ok, where do you want to start?” You asked as Shawn pulled his slightly crumpled study guide from where it was tucked in his book.

“Well, I know nothing,” he said as he scanned over the paper. “Actually, I know one.”

“Which one?”

“The one he told us the answer for today.”

“That does not count.”

The two of you determined an order to study from as you kept his open textbook balancing on both of your knees, occasionally having to lean closer to the other to take a look at a passage.

Shawn skimmed the page, pointing at a passage and trying to explain it to you as you looked at him. You couldn’t hear a word he said as you watched how into the topic he got, using his hands to try to express his point. You sent the butterflies to the bottom of your stomach by taking a giant sip of the tea and moving onto the next question.

He asked you the next one, taking the textbook from you as you leaned an arm on the back of the futon. You glanced between him and the mini Christmas tree in the corner as you tried to explain it as best you can without the book as a crutch.

You looked back at him, his head cocked to the side and an interested look on his face. A few curls fell onto his forehead as he studied you. You tried to keep talking as his gaze was unwavering.

“Sounds right to me,” he said, his face dangerously close to yours as he also leaned his arm on the back.

“I honestly wouldn’t know,” you whispered. “Were you even looking at the book to make sure I was right?” You teased.

“I had something else I had to look at,” he said at the same volume.

You felt him lean in as you did the same. You could feel his breath fan over your lips as your hand rested on his knee.

Three solid knocks sent you flying away from each other.

Shawn cursed under his break as he stood up and swung the door open quickly.

“What?” He said to the kid in front of him, who was significantly shorter than Shawn.

“Kevin knocked over the-“ he paused as he saw you watching from across the room. “Oh, sorry, Shawn, I didn’t realize you had a girl over.”

You choked on your sip of tea as Shawn shoved the kid out the door and slammed the door behind him.

You pulled yourself together as you could hear Shawn’s muffled voice through the paper-thin walls.

“Why the fuck would you say that with her right there?” He said.

“I didn’t know! I would’ve gotten the RA on duty if I knew you were on a date,” the kid yelled back.

You could hear Shawn huff and could imagine him tugging at his hair.

“It’s nothing, Cade. It’s literally nothing at all,” Shawn said quickly. Your stomach dropped.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” the kid - Cade - teased back.

“Just tell me what’s going on, so I can study, which is the only thing we were doing,” he trailed off as you could hear the two of them walking down the hall.

You tried not to let yourself get too disappointed as you half packed up some of your stuff, not wanting to overstay your welcome if he didn’t see anything here. You felt yourself begin to overthink, wondering what would’ve happened if he kissed you. If he just wanted something quick before break, a finale to your semester together in class.

You waited patiently, your chin resting on your knees as you tried to look at the study guide with no luck.

The door swung open once again as Shawn came back. He shut the door behind him, running his hands through his hair as he looked over at you, noticing nothing but your study guide sitting out. He felt his stomach drop but didn’t say anything.

“Ok, where were we?” He said as he sat down again, dangerously close as his thigh grazed across yours.

Your breath hitched as he looked over at the study guide in your lap, looking at your one newly highlighted point.

You looked up at him as he asked you a question on the point. It was obvious he was looking at your lips.

You tried to answer the question and steady your shaky voice, but he leaned closer. Before his lips had the chance to press against yours, you rested your hand against his chest.

“Shawn…” you trailed off. “I can’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” he quickly said. “I didn’t - I thought - I’m sorry, I thought there was…” he trailed off as he tried to motion between the two of you as he leaned back.

“I just,” you paused as you let out a breath. “I really don’t want to be a one-night thing before you go back home.”

“Why would you think that?” He asked, an upset look clearly on his face.

“It’s nothing. It’s literally nothing at all,” you quoted him as you played with the edge of the study guide.

He looked at you confused as you looked down at the page, trying to distract yourself.

“Why would you say that? I don’t think this is just nothing,” he said.

“Shawn, these walls are paper-thin,” you snapped as you looked up at him. “I heard you telling the kid that this was nothing, and I don’t want nothing. So I’m stopping it here.”

He rubbed his forehead softly as you tucked your study guide into your binder, opening your backpack to put it away.

“I’m not going to tell one of my residents that he just interrupted something,” Shawn said quickly. “They’re my residents. I’m not about to tell them about my love life. I didn’t know you’d hear that. I swear I don’t think this is just nothing. I just don’t want them to know that stuff about me. There’s no reason to. I’m so sorry if it came off as any other way.”

You watched him continue to get flustered as he stayed relatively close to you, his hand almost hitting your shoulder as he spoke.

“I’ve been crazy about you since the beginning of the semester. I don’t just want to kiss you and forget,” he explained, leaning close to you again.

“Really?” You asked softly.

He smiled back at you, his hand almost resting against your shoulder as he draped it against the back of the futon.

“Really,” he replied.

This time when he leaned in, you let him kiss you. His hand enveloped the side of your face as you rested your hands gently on his chest. He tugged on your hip, and you followed his lead as you climbed onto his lap, smiling into the kiss as his hands stayed planted on your hips, gripping into your sides.

You pulled back before pecking his lips once more, leaning your forehead against his so you could see his big smile.

You glanced outside to see the snow getting worse as you let out a sigh.

“I should get going,” you whispered.

“But it’s a blizzard out there,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “And you don’t have a coat.” Another kiss at the corner of your lips. “Just stay,” he whispered as his lips met yours again.

“I don’t want to get us in trouble,” you whisper back.

“I know the RA. Don’t worry about it. I can pull some strings if he finds out,” he said with a cocky smile as you rolled your eyes, leaning in again.

“Won’t the residents know?” You mumbled against his lips.

“Let ‘em talk,” he said as his hand rubbed up your side, sending shivers across your body. “I won’t see them for over a month anyway.”

“Well, as long as the RA doesn’t find out, I think maybe I can stay,” you whispered as Shawn flipped you over so your back pressed against the futon and he hovered above you.  

“I’ll make sure he never finds out.”

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[writella]

Around and Around and Around

Pairing: Luke Patterson x reader

Requested? Yes! My first finished request! Thank you for the idea anon. Original ask: Could you do a present day... Alive!Luke x reader fic where him and his girlfriend (the reader) are just trying to spend some alone time together at one of Carrie’s parties? (I’m so sorry I didn’t make it Carrie’s party anon, I forgot.)

Summary: It’s a New Years Eve bash! The gangs all there, but the only thing Luke wants to do is spend time with his girlfriend. Unfortunately though, his friends constantly need their help which causes them to lose each other in the crowd. Around and around and around they constantly go... Can Luke meet up with her in time for a New Years Kiss? We shall see, my friends. We shall see.

Word Count: :)

Warnings: Kissing? Two curse words? I don’t think any of that counts. Oh! Over explaining? Neediness? An over use of the same words?

A/N: Hello everyone! IT IS A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEARS MIRACLE! I finally finished a new fic. I really hope you enjoy it. I think I did a little too much, but this request just got my head turning and included the whole gang, so I just couldn’t help but give them all their own little moments! I had fun and I hope you do too. I’m taking you on a bit of a rollercoaster here, I will admit, but don’t worry though, I think I gave it a good ending.... You tell me.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?”

“Luke?”

“Where are you?”

“Luuuke!”

“Luke!

“LUKE, COME LOOK!”

“Y/N, I need you.”

“Her shoe broke!”

“Luke, did you see his dog? It’s so cute! And he even likes pizza!”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to give pizza to a dog, Reg.”

“Well it wasn’t chocolate… Wait where’d he go? Wanna help me find him?”

“Well can she wear yours? Do you have an extra pair?”

“Where are they?”

Hey, Luke?!” 

“Y/N?!”

Boom the bedroom door slammed shut, and an out of breath Luke and his girlfriend, Y/N, filed in with a sigh: “Finally,” Luke said, his eyebrows and the corner of his lips rising with excitement. Throughout the hour and forty minus they had spent at the party thus far, they had found corners, almost empty areas, and even tall trees in the backyard, but none were as private as this. 

Still standing close to the door, Y/N looked around the walls that glittered with posters of rock bands and athletes. “Do you really think we should be in here? It is the birthday person’s room. Maybe we should be nice and leave it alone.” 

“When you throw a party you get what you get,” Luke reasoned, a hint of humor tracing throughout his words. “People travel, and we’re not going to do anything crazy on the kid’s blue basketball sheets if that’s what you’re worried about.” He ended, teasing Nick, the party host. 

She softly gave him an ‘alright,’ waiting for him to make his next move. Though they had been thrown around by their friends plenty of times by now tonight, the night was still young, and she knew Luke was adamant on spending time with her. Even more so, it was her first party after living in Los Angeles for almost a year now. (She was a Molina from Julie’s father’s side.) Back home she didn’t have the friend group that she had now, nor did she have someone like Luke specifically in her life as a significant other. After all this time in high school not experiencing these regular social events, a party— especially at this large of a house— seemed daunting, but as always Luke made it seem, as he always does, like it was the most spectacular adventure you couldn’t miss. Apprehension and excitement filled her spirit for what was to come of tonight. 

Following his gaze as she watched him survey the room, Luke’s eyes fell most notably on Nick’s guitars. “God, I wish I had this many.” 

“He definitely has the collection,” Y/N agreed,  still wondering what they were going to do, “but you’ve got like four, right?”

“Half of those were Bobby’s, and the acoustic is the one my parents got me… way back when, so really I only scrounged up enough money once in my life for one electric of my own.”

“So two. Still more than most.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, messing up his hair a little bit while doing so. He rubbed his head into her palm, enjoying the feeling.

There was a wonder in his eyes as he looked at the guitar rack that Y/N found quite charming. “Can’t believe he could spend all his time with these babies and he decides to balance it with sports.”

“I guess we all have our hobbies… but honestly I can’t believe we’re using this moment to ourselves to stare at guitars.” She laughs, “I’m just saying! This is what you wanted!” She corrects herself, “They are beautiful guitars though.”

“Yeah, you’re right. One of them could barge in any minute now,” Luke says, moving closer to Y/N till her back leans against the door. His fingers trace her jaw, then the side of her neck, ending as he swirled one finger around the tips of her hair. “And I could be looking at a much prettier sight.”

“Stop,” she blushed. Y/N was fine with tending to all her friends needs. She enjoyed being the first one Julie, Flynn, and now even Alex or Reggie went to for advice or help. Besides running the jatp social media account and co-running their YouTube page, making her friends feel better was what made her feel needed, but she had to admit, she liked this too. 

As they traveled backwards to the door, Luke pecked her lips a few times, then the corners of her mouth, then doing both again making her giggle and move her head to either side his lips fell. Finally, he moved centimeters back, looking in her eyes, ghosting her lips, “Stop doin’ what? Tellin’ the truth?” 

The rosy color on her face became more prominent. Her eyes traced between his own emeralds and his smile— his face made her mind fill with wonder. It was so bright, so positive, so warm, so close to her own. She could stay there with him, looking at her so endearingly, forever.

“Y/N?!” 

“Ow!” she screeched as Flynn pushed the door open on her leaning stance, bopping her head on the wood. 

“Oh my god, sorry!” Flynn gritting her teeth with worry, a fist coming to cover her mouth. “So yeah, ha ha,” the girl tried to build some relief, “Well there you two are!”

Luke grabbed the side of Y/N’s head, placing his hand over her own that covered where the impact landed, “You okay?” 

“Yeah…” She sighed, she was more concerned about whatever Flynn had to say. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I need you, like for real this time.” Flynn said, her voice filled with urgency. 

“Haven’t you needed her and looked for her ‘like’ everywhere three times tonight already?” Luke argued, a little disgruntled that their first truly private moment got interrupted in the matter of minutes.

“Was I talking to you, Patterson?” Flynn retorted, head tilted with a closed smirk on her face. “No, the answer is no.”

“You didn’t have to say the answer, okay? Got the gist.” His movements became dorkier by the second, his fingers coming to his face. “It was rhetorical- I knew that!” 

“Wow, learned that big boy word from your girlfriend?”

“Big boy?! I- That’s not even-“ before Luke went on, Y/N cut in: “Alright,” she lifted her hand, “What happened, Flynn? What do you need?”

“It’s Julie-“

“Don’t tell me she broke another shoe. I don’t have an extra-extra pair.”

“No.” Flynn’s eyes widened, “I actually- I don’t know what it is. She just told me to get you and come to her together.” The girl sighed, “She looked sad.” 

“Oh,” Y/N said, a frown coming to her face. A sad Julie is a Julie that should never be in this world. Other than thinking about the absence of her mother, Y/N’s cousin knew how to smile even when things got tough, so if she was feeling down now, and it was evident, it must’ve been important. 

“Yeah. So come? Like now?” Flynn grabbed Y/N’s hand and Y/N looked at her own opposite hand that was currently attached to Luke’s, trailing her eyes up to his face. 

“Well, I’ll just go too.” He insisted, “I want to help Julie, and,” He spoke directly to Y/N, “I don’t mind.”

“She didn’t ask for you.” Flynn snapped back. 

“It’ll be fine.” Y/N decided, “It’s not like we all don’t know her well anyway, right?”

“Yeah, let's go. And then we can just get back, hopefully. I want to spend tonight with you.” Luke said that last part more softly, but apparently not quietly enough. 

“Oh god!” Flynn vexed. “Haven’t you spent all week stuck to her mouth?”  Through snickers she said, “Let her come up for some air, bruv.” Then, letting go of Y/N's hand as she turns, leading the couple to the staircase, she continued: “And really you should be relaxing all those throat muscles or whatever. I've got you in two open mic night cafes next week and that kids party at the restaurant tomorrow, AND on Sunday Julie said she wanted to record that new song for the YouTube channel.” She slapped the side of her hand to the inside of the other, creating a chopping effect, “We got things to do! I’m trying to make sure you guys stay safe and have fun, but we shouldn’t be here all night.”

Luke rolled his eyes, as much as he loved playing, he hated being bossed around like this. “It's New Year’s Eve!” He complained, yet there was still a hint of playfulness in his voice. “Mind you, this is being said by the girl who agreed to DJ at this party.”

“I didn’t agree! I got reeled into it— Difference, see! This kid comes out of nowhere to bring me onto his home stage— man, he’s rich—- and asks me if I could change the tracks, put something fun on. How am I supposed to say no? It is his birthday and everything that was on before was terrible!”

“That we can agree on,” Luke noted with a laugh.

Y/N added on, after her long silence of listening to the two go back and forth, “You finally got everyone dancing.”

“I did! Thank you!” Flynn appreciated the acknowledgment, especially from Luke, but nonetheless, she persists on her earlier claim, “That being said, I really think we should leave by 10.”

“10?!” Luke repeats with annoyance. “Tomorrow’s gig starts at six. PM. And might I remind you again: it's freakin New Years Eve! We have to stay till the ball drops!”

“We have to practice one last time and we have to get there bef-“

“Alright, alright, boss.” Luke was done arguing (for the time being.) Instead his eyes followed Y/N’s who was no longer listening, bored of her best friend and boyfriend’s little fighting game, as they looked for Julie in the clusters of kids all around the room on the main floor. “Let’s just look for Jules so we can get back. And can we make it to midnight at the least? Please? I mean, come on, there no food at the Molina house to celebrate with and you were having fun up there with those turntables.” He started to smile cheekily at Flynn, “Don’t deny it.”

Flynn took in a sharp breath as she thought. Nick did have access to some sick equipment and has always been so kind enough to share, so it would be fun to play around some more. “We’ll see how I feel at 11. And by the way, we do have things to celebrate with at the garage. I bought stuff specifically so you guys wouldn’t complain when we left,” she went on, the three taking another turn, “We’re going to have some fun here till 10, or 11 I guess, get back to the garage, celebrate New Years— woo-hoo!— and then you guys are settled down by 12:15, 30 the latest. I don’t care if you’re not asleep, just not outside.” Seeing Luke’s face rise up again she defends herself,  “It's not my fault you phantoms have terrible time management skills! You guys literally have transportation powers and you’re either late or not present. It’s crazy! I need to make sure you’re there and we get paid. Period.”

Luke suppressed a grunt as Y/N rubbed his shoulders, laughing a bit at the truth of Flynn’s statement. 

Then, to console Luke, she whispered in his ear, “No matter where we are, I’ll be there. Plan still intact.” 

“True.” Luke whispered back, rubbing his nose on the side of her head. 

Luke liked his freedom. He was used to calling the shots when it came to the band, only taking on co-captain position as Julie challenged him with just as much leadership star power as he contained. This made Flynn appointing herself as band manager not something to be desired exactly, especially when she made decisions like this on their down time. He didn’t quite enjoy being told where to go and when, but on the other hand, he couldn’t help to admit to himself that the tech savvy skills both her and Y/N brought to the table were tremendously helpful. The 90s boy was used to walking around town trying to find the next cafe for the guys to play at that he didn’t know how easy it was in this digital world to find venues he never even heard of through the internet. This made him never forget to say thank you after a gig she or Y/N would find from their endless online searchings. And on Flynn’s end, she never forgot to commend Luke on his writing skills when he happened to be the scribe for one of the band’s songs she happened to enjoy, but other than that, they did not have that much to say to each other. 

Despite the natural banter and quips  that would suggest they were well acquainted, they were actually still quite awkward. Luke was used to admiring her relationship with Julie and Y/N from afar, and for Flynn, after the boys came back to life she didn’t know exactly how to fit herself into the group. Of course she was a part of it, Y/N made certain of it as she herself had also felt strange about her placement in Julie’s new friend group before Julie formally introduced her to them, not knowing that her cousin could also see ghost like she could, but overall, Flynn felt just the tiniest bit embarrassed that the boys she once called ‘cute ghosts’-- more than twice-- heard her say that and all the other things she’d say not knowing they were around (Julie told her they could sometimes snoop in unbeknownst to even her at times. ‘They don’t know boundaries,’ she would say.) Flynn especially felt this way when one of those ex-ghosts was Luke who knew he was ‘cute,’  as she once said, and would bother her about it endlessly when he was first able to communicate with her. 

Were they friends? Or was it simply that Luke was just a friend of her friends and that Flynn was just the friend of his girlfriend and mutual friend. Neither of them knew where their relationship stood. This caused Flynn to use her wit as a defense mechanism or to only begin a conversation with the guy when it was about something band related. ‘You kind of act like siblings,’ Y/N would tell them when they were at it. Both of them gawked at the word. ‘Siblings?!’

Around another corner the three went, passing the open space below the home stage that was being used as a dance floor. They went to the room adjacent to it. It was another rather large area, though this one was filled with more furniture, a lot in fact, perhaps to make space for the makeshift dance area. There was also an unused fireplace which caught the eyes of Y/N who yanked on the connected hand of Luke’s and then Flynn to take notice of who sat on the ledge. 

The water bunching up in her eyes sparked white from the room's fluorescent gleaming lights, making her tears look much bigger and shinier. It made the group feel bad they didn’t find her sooner. 

“Julie!” They all exclaimed in unison though Luke’s reaction was filled with the most apparent fret: the glow of the lights and his wide eye expression showed clearly how his eyes were growing greener with questions and worry. “What happened?” He tried to ask softly, not knowing how to react to her tears. The attempt at softness then immediately changed into one of starting frustration as he sat down next to his poor bandmate, hand on her knee, looking toward Flynn, “Why didn’t you tell us she was like this?” 

“Because she wasn’t like this when I left!” Flynn countered, coming to sit down next to Julie on her left side as Luke had taken the right. 

“Why do you always-“

“Enough guys,” Y/N silenced them for the third time that night. She noticed how Julie was shying away from both of their faces, not wanting to show them her tears. Julie was strong; a fighter; she sometimes much rather fake out her friends by smiling through her problems before she was ready to talk about them. Y/N knew all of this, related to it in fact, and could sense the possible embarrassment she must’ve been feeling. Not only did she create a movie moment for herself by being the girl crying at a party, but she was crying in front of her friends, when she was typically the person who tried to inspire hope, for she was the front man of her own band after all. 

Y/N could also sense— guessing by the way she mostly was turning her face from Luke— that it was a boy problem. Not that Luke’s jittery expression, or close proximity to her face was helping her open up either. 

Luke was trying to work on being more helpful in moments where his friends were in tears, but sometimes he could be a little too aggressive, or ‘extra,’ as Flynn would put it and Alex would agree, adding the new slang term to his vocabulary. 

Y/N took a seat in front of her on the ground, rubbing her friend's arm. “It’s okay, Jules. Nobody cares what you look like. You can tell us.” 

“I know, it’s just-“ she sucked her teeth, looking up, head still tilted to Flynn’s side. “It’s stupid.”

 “No ones going to judge you,” Y/N promised, pointing her head to Luke’s direction for Julie to see. 

“Yeah, and I bet it’s not ‘stupid’ anyway.” Flynn added.

“Nothings stupid if it made you cry, Jules.” Luke chimed in, finally agreeing with Flynn on something for the second time this night. “Who was it? I’ll beat them up for you.” He joked.

“Oh my god, no!” Julie tittered just a little while trying to wipe away all her tears. “And please never say something like that again. You sound like a dad.”

“Well he is supposed to be like 40 or something,” Flynn said, making the both of her best friends laugh. Julie specifically shook her head at this moment of Flynn and Luke’s typical banter, it was the first time she was getting a whiff of it tonight. Although she appreciated the entertainment they brought when in a room together, she agreed with Y/N that they were relentless. 

Luke let that one go, seeing how it finally brought a smile to the girl’s face, “There she is.”

Julie rolled her eyes at him, sighing as her fit of giggles passed, “Okay,” she started slowly, “Well... it was Nick… and I know it’s stupid-“

“-Not stupid.” Her friends finished.

“But you know, he invited me to this party. Directly! Said he wanted to hang out- to dance. When we came, the party just started so he had to say hi to people, that made sense, and he told me to stay near the main floor, so I waited. And then my shoe broke, and then some girl spilled some of that fondue on the bottom of my dress which I had to get out with bathroom wipes, so that was annoying. Then next thing you know it’s an hour later and all I’ve done is eat pizza and watch Flynn at the turntables…”

Julie went on. She explained that finally Nick showed up again , but as he was walking to her, Carrie had just arrived at the party, stopping him in his tracks. Apparently her gift was too heavy to bring inside, so she wanted to take him to her car to show him right then and there. “He said he’d be five minutes tops. Told me to come here by the fireplace, so again, I waited. Then five minutes turned into fifteen, so I got up.” She sidetracked, “That’s not me. Just sitting there, waiting, waiting, waiting. I felt dumb. That's when I walked to the backyard to see what was going on out there, find something to do after all this time, but funny enough that’s where I found Nick and Carrie, laughing, dancing, having a great time.” She wipes a new stray tear, “I decided to look for you,” she nodded to Y/N, “And it’s no offense Flynn, you know I love you, it’s just that I didn’t want to hear you tell me that ‘he’s not worth it’ at the moment.” She gave herself a pity laugh, “I’m currently feeling a little bad for myself as you can see.” 

“I’m so sorry Julie.” Y/N started. “But Flynn only tells you the facts like that because she thinks you’re so worthy of more.” 

“So much more,” Flynn added on, moving closer to Julie.

 “But I get it, it's not fair.” consoled Y/N. “I try to always consider his actions in those instances with Carrie as him just being a pacifist, but if he said he wanted to be with you and continuously told you he would, then he should’ve been here.”

“Agreed, but also, being a pacifist doesn’t mean to always stay quiet though, you can find a way to keep the peace and still do what’s right.” Luke spoke up. “He shouldn’t let Carrie always take him away like that.”

Y/N gave Luke a smile, “Insightful.”

“Strangely,” Flynn chimed in, “but exactly right. Not to mention how it’s not fair— no matter how nice he is— for him to just let Carrie keep saying whatever the hell she wants without calling her out.” 

“I just feel like I shouldn’t be so beat up. It is his birthday after all. He can do what he wants.” Muttered Julie.

“No!” Y/N told her. “You feel like you wasted your time, I get that! It’s his birthday, but your feelings are still important.” 

“Also,” Luke started, “Julie, I mean, come on! You could do so much better. So what? He’s like 18 now? Well I’m 18 now too, supposed to be 40 something apparently and I look like this! This! Compared to Nick?  Julie… girl!” He stated her name again, smiled wide, “I know Molina’s have better taste than that. Not to say what you didn’t want to hear, but, it’s true: he’s not worth it. Period.” He mimicked Flynn with the last word. 

Both Flynn and Julie gagged, “Oh my god,” they said in union. Y/N just put her face in her hands.

“You were actually doing well, and then you just go and screw it up like that?” Flynn sighed. 

“Now you went from a dad to sounding like a whole ratty teenage boy.” She rolled her eyes teasingly, trying to conceal her laughter at his conceited remark, “Disgusting.”

“Well as long as I got you to stop crying, that’s all that matters anyway.” He laughed goofily, invading her personal space once again. 

“Yeah,” Julie realized with a contented sigh. It seemed all the company she really needed was her friends. 

“Well, I think the only thing to do now is make up for all that time wasted, huh?”  Y/N spoke with a smirk. “If he doesn’t want to be your dance partner, it looks like you’re going to have to take on three instead.” 

“Fuck yeah,” Luke said, jumping up, grabbing Y/N and Julie’s hands and running to the dance floor.

Flynn called to the group, as she parted from them, heading to the stage, “Lemme change the song!” 

“OOOH!” Luke roared as the ooos and aahs of Donna and the Dynamos filled the room. “One of the best things to come out of the 2000s!” 

Julie and Y/N laughed at the surprisingly grand amount of love Luke had for Mamma Mia! 

Luke imitated the hustle, sticking his tongue out,  shaking his hips, and making Y/N dance along with him, moving around Julie who looked at them incredulously. 

“Come oooon,” he said to Julie’s direction, “Nobody can NOT like this song.” And after that Julie gave in, agreeing that a Mamma Mia and ABBA song was too good not to dance to. Flynn came up right behind her, making the dancing trio into a group of four. 

From jumping, to slides and shoulder grooves, and even forming their own little dancing circle the four lived in the song, seeing the last of Julie’s worry wash away as the speakers blasted the words “Dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen,” to which Julie’s friends made sure to spotlight her on as their hands sprinkled up and down spirit fingers as she twirled, enjoying her title that fit perfectly with her age. 

“Thanks guys,” Julie smiled sweetly, still jumping to the beat.

“WOOOO!” Luke hollered into the crowd, taking Y/N’s hand, swaying and jumping with her exclusively now. 

“WOO!” She yelled back.

“LOUDER, LOUDER!” He yelled in her face, shaking his head, his hair imitating a lion’s mane as he gritted his teeth, getting closer to her face. 

“WOOOOO!” She yelled, trying to match her boyfriend’s energy. 

“YES, Y/N. WOOO!” They kept jumping and he spun her around, letting her twirl into his grasp. He held her closer, one arm tightly around her waist while the other still held her hand, stepping and swaying side to side in a fast pace in order to keep up with the quick musical tune. Her laughs of surprisement to his actions filled him with pride. She was usually so focused on making her friends smile, she could sometimes forget to just have fun for herself. She dropped anything to tend to their needs, which is why tonight was important. At her first party he was going to make her smile and have fun, and that ended with a New Year’s kiss. Hopefully, he could find a way to hide from Flynn— and his friends for that matter— till that time to make it happen. 

Finally the song died down and a rush of endorphins filled the floor as almost everyone in the area, even those who typically didn’t dance joined along to the jumping motion the four started at the beginning of the song. “Should I change it?” Flynn asked Julie as the next song started, noticing how different the vibe of this song was from the last: slower, more romantic.

“No,” Julie told Flynn as she watched Luke take his arms closer into Y/N’s sides, “Let’s let them have their moment.”

Y/N arms went around Luke’s neck, and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling each other closer while swaying in a circular motion. He connected their foreheads. His eyes fixated on her own. They were so gentle, so sweet, so comforting, he felt safe looking in them. He could stay that way forever.

“Luke?”

Luke sighed, once again just minutes of feeling release ruined. “Yeah, bud?” It was Alex. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, but this kid Reginald-“ 

“Don’t tell me he lost the dog again. I don’t want to look for it.”

“It’s not the dog! Well, not this time. I think he’s finally realized that we can’t take it home with us. It’s-“ Alex started snickering which then turned into great belly laughs he couldn’t stop, “I just- I can’t- I can’t- just please,” he had no control. “Please I need your help!”

“What the hell, Alex?”

“Just-“ Alex put his hand over his mouth, trying to conceal his laughs. He motioned Luke with his other hand, walking away. 

Luke kept his hand in Y/N’s, bringing her along with him, “I don’t want to get split up again, like last time with the dog.”

“It’s not the dog!” Alex exclaimed, still laughing. 

The three were now on the right side of the house, near the pool door that also stood to the right and in the area sat a couch and pool table. The wall on the left side had a small vent near the floor which is where they found Reggie, hip deep in the square hole.

“HELLO!” Reggie wagged his butt, for his friends to see, “Did you bring Luke?”

“Yeah!” Alex answered “Do you see now? He’s stuck!”

“How and why?!” Y/N asked, now joining in with Alex’s uncontrollable laughter as Reggie kept shaking his butt. Quickly Luke couldn’t help himself either.

“No! Y/N is here?” Reggie asked, “Y/N I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I haven’t been doing my squats recently. I know I don’t look in the best of shape-“

“I think that’s the last thing I’m worried about, Reg,” Y/N said, still losing her breath along with Alex who yelled an incredulous ‘what?!’ at his words. 

“No one cares about your glutes, bro.” Luke shook his head, laughing with the two. 

“Well I do!” Reggie fought back. “I don’t wear these skinny jeans for nothing!”

Alex’s laughter from Reggie’s wackiness turned into one of apprehension. “Well there are more important things to worry about! Like my date being almost two hours late and also how I don’t even know what to say to him because I haven’t seen him in like two months and it's New Year’s Eve and yeah, okay, okay- Stop shaking your ass!”

“Okay,” Y/N held his shoulders, still losing her breath, “Willie is going to come, alright?  It'll be fine, but-“

“Let’s deal with gluteus minimus first.” Luke finished.

“That’s not even-“

“I don’t care.” Luke finished for Alex this time. “I’ll take the right leg, Alex, take the left. Pull!”

Ow! Ow! Ow!” Reggie yelped.

“PULL!”

“Ow! Stop!” 

“It’s going to hurt till we get you out, Reg” Alex explained. “And why isn’t Y/N helping?”

“Oh, sorry,” She was caught up in the hysterics. 

“Oh that’s right,” Luke noticed. “Take the right, I’ll hold onto his feet and pull from the back. On three. 1, 2, 3, PULL!”

“WAIT!” Reggie yelled.

“WHAT?” Alex yelled back.

“Luke said on three, but you pulled at ‘pull’, or really after pull, so is it really ‘on three’ or do you want it to be ‘on pull’ or ‘after three’ or ‘after pull’?”

Alex shook his head, “Does it matter?!”

Reggie’s voice cracked, “Just asking!”

“Okay, ON pull!” Luke clarified, “1,2,3, PULL”

“NO! WAIT!”

“WHAT?!” The three pullers yelled. 

“I felt a tear in my jacket, I love this jacket.”

“Oh god,” the boys complained.

“I think it’s just going to have to tear for us to get you out,” Y/N told him. 

“But you gave it to me!” Y/N heard the sadness in his voice. It was a brown leather jacket with long strands of fringe on either side. She thought it went perfectly with his banjo and love for country music. It also had big inside pockets that could hold all his little treasures, and whatever he had in his pocket today is probably the reason why it was so hard to get him out. 

“Maybe Victoria knows a good dry cleaner that can give us a discount,” she reasoned. 

“Tía does always have very nicely pressed clothes,” Reggie agreed, as an honorary Molina— self appointed, but appreciated by most— he felt that it was okay to address Victoria as such. 

“Yeah,” She laughed at his words, “So are you going to tell me how you got stuck?”

“Well I knew there was going to be a pool table here so I brought my lucky gold eight ball-” Reggie had a lucky every- “And it kind of just fell in here.”

Alex corrected him, “You mean you were getting too cocky at the game and knocked the ball so hard that it fell in there.”

“Potatoes, tomatoes, uh, spaghetti! It doesn't matter now, I got my ball and now I need you guys to help me get out.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Luke nodded, “You ready Reg?”

“...No!”

“You want to make out with the rats? They have diseases.” Alex sarcastically noted.

“They’re misunderstood creatures!” Reggie stated on their behalf. Reggie’s butt buzzed, “Oh that's my phone, that feels weird, “ he laughed. 

“Phone!’ Alex's eyes widened, “Where’s my phone?” He dropped Reggie’s leg

“Alex!” Luke exclaimed want to get this over with.

“Willie texted, he said he’ll be here in thirty- thirty minutes!” 

“Anything else,” Y/N asked.

“He’s excited to spend the New Years with me” He said softly, unsurely.

“That's great.” Everyone agreed, happy for the boy. 

“Are you going to text back?” Y’N asked excitedly, happy with the idea of Alex’s romance coming to life. 

“Oh yeah!” Alex’s face faltered, “Shit. It just died.”

“Just get Reggie’s,” Luke shrugged, “But after we get him out!”

After 3 more tries at “ON PULLS,” Alex, Luke, and Y/N were able to get Reggie out, only tearing his jacket on the left side.

“Thanks guys” Reggie said appreciatively. 

As Luke patted Reggie back Alex spoke: “Um, hey, Y/N?” He asked quietly, hands in his pocket, “Mind if I steal you for a second?”

“Sure,” she smiled sweetly at him, turning the corner so they could have a little bit of privacy. 

“I’m nervous.” He sighed, “ I already spoke to Luke about it before we left for tonight, so he’s already given me all the inspiration he’s got, but I’m still not sure of it all… He took the whole coming back to life hard, but I didn’t think he would take it so hard that he would separate himself from us, from me. ” The boy frowned. 

“I think he really liked being a ghost,” Y/N started.

“Yeah and we ruined his whole life,”

“We didn’t ruin his life, we saved it. He’s free, just like you guys. And…” Y/N trailed off trying to find the words, “Hm, well, I think he was just a ghost so long it became a part of his identity, and now that part left him, it must’ve been hard to take in. Should he have been more verbal about needing space? Yes. You deserved that. If you want to tell him that, you should, especially if it’ll help relieve whatever thoughts you’ve got suck up there. I’m sure he will be apologetic if you ask calmly, try to see it from his perspective. And that way he can be empathetic to your perspective as well, you know? On the other hand, you can also take this New Year in stride and just like go to the past and have a good time with him. Or do both!” She put an arm on his shoulder, giving him a warm closed smile. 

He nodded taking in her words, trying to remember what she said as she said it.

“You got this, okay? What does Luke say? Step into your greatness?”

“Heh,” he laughed, “Greatness is usually for Julie, awesomeness is mine, not saying that I am awesome though, it’s- it’s just what he says.”

“Well it’s because it’s true. You’re awesome, Alex. Just be open hearted and your awesomeness will shine through.”

“But.. how?”

“Didn’t I- Never mind. Okay, from what I know, Willie already knows you, and likes you, and enjoys talking to you, so there are no awkward first encounters to be made. You’ll see him and all you need to do is be prepared to say hi, that is unless you want to talk to him about the past, and then it will go off from there. I feel it ending up well, I promise. And even if it doesn’t? Show him the food. Everyone loves food.”

“Hi- maybe past- food- got it.” He turned, but Y/N quickly grabbed him. 

“Wait, but don’t just think about that. Remember: He’s coming because he wants to see YOU. He wants to spend New Years with YOU. That’s what his message said right?”

“Right.” It seemed Alex forgot. 

“So believe it. Live in that message.” 

“Okay,” he started to smile lightly, though still a little wearily. “Thanks… He wants to see me, he WANTS to see me, live in it.” He repeated her words. 

Alex gave her Reggie’s phone, asking her to message Willie one last time stating that he would be waiting for him by the front of the house by the band’s van. She did so and turned the corner hoping to find both Reggie and Luke, but unfortunately the latter person was not in sight. 

“Reg, where’s Luke?”

“Y/N! Meet Amelie Laurent,” Reggie introduced the girl sitting next to him, imitating a French accent as he said her name. “She’s a foreign exchange student from France. She likes my jacket.” He said with a smirk. 

Y/N guessed he didn’t hear her question.

“Nice to meet you,” the girl said giggling at Reggie’s antics. “Comment tu t’appelles?” She asked.

“Uh, yes.” Y/N stared blankly, watching the girls face fall, “I’m just kidding, it’s Y/N. I know that much at least.” Both you and the girl laughed. 

“Aw look, my girls getting along!” 

“Your girl?” Amelie questioned.

“Well maybe not yet,” Reggie winked while wiggling a brow. 

“You should get Luke and come hang out with me and Miss Amelie Laurent.” Reggie once again pronounced her name with the most fake sounding French accent he could muster, having fun with how the name rolled off his tongue. 

“Speaking of that,” Y/N handed him his phone, “Do you know where he went?”

“Well he didn’t go through the pool door because that’s where my Amelie Laurent came from, so I’m guessing back there,” Reggie pointed his thumb behind him.

“Alright, then I guess I’m going that way. Nice to meet you Miss Amelie.” She giggled, attempting her own French accent.

-

About 10 minutes had passed. Y/N had walked around to the backyard, upstairs to some rooms, to the dance floor, the kitchen, stopping along the way when Julie and Flynn caught her in their sight till she found herself back by the pool table. Reggie’s banjo and doggy friend was present but not he nor his lady friend, or Luke. Y/N wondered if she should finally try the pool door till she heard a sound, a voice actually. As she walked down the hallway she was just minutes before, she heard his voice. 

It was Luke, his tones muffled by the music and talking inside, but she could hear it, it filled her senses, making her heart flutter to hear his singing as it belted a tune much more soulful then the usual pop or rock songs the band sang. He was outside, in the backyard, one of the first places she looked. As she almost reached the back door, she was pushed rather harshly, by someone with wheels, skateboard wheels. 

“Whoa! Sorry!” It was Willie. “You’re Y/N right?” He smiled, running his fingers through his hair as he took off his helmet. “I know we’ve never really spoken, but we know of each other.”

“We do,”  Y/N said pleasantly. 

“I’m glad I finally found one of you, I’m totally lost.”

“Well I think Luke was just outside there, actually.”

“Oh really? God I was going so fast I wasn’t even thinking. Or looking would be correct, right? Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there, sometimes I still think I’ll just go through people. Can’t believe I have to walk indoors now.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Life of the living,” she tried to joke, “I’m sorry. I know it must be strange.”

“Yeah, better than being under Caleb though.”

“Right,” Y/N nodded. 

“Oh, sorry,” 

“No don’t be. I’ll never know him like you did. No emotional tie here.”

“Um,” An awkward silence erupted, “So since you’re the only one in the group I’ve found you want to play a game?” 

“A game?” She asked, confused.

“Yeah!” He raised his brow.

“And what game would this be?” 

“The Where’s Alex game. If you have the answer I’ll love you forever. I already know I’m super late.”

“Oh!” she laughed at the realization, “He’s at the front! You didn’t see him? Or see the text?”

“My phone died,” He pulled out the device as proof, the glass was severely cracked, “I’m not sure how to properly take care of it as you can see. No wonder I make it die so fast.”

“His phone died too, strangely enough. But he’s waiting for you at the front entrance. You didn’t come from that way?”

“No, I didn’t know if someone would stop me if I went that way because I wasn’t actually invited. I never really did this kind of thing in the past. It’s my first time.” 

“Really? It’s my first too, but for you? You seem so cool to me to never be invited.”

“Well the actual definition of cool and high schoolers definition of cool is wildly different. We’re obviously a different breed, you and I. Better.” He joked. 

“Well thank you.” She could tell why Willie liked him. “Alex is by the white van, it has ghosts painted all over it so you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you!”

“Of course!”

As he was about to walk away, skateboard in hand, he stopped, “Can I be honest?”

“Sure.” She smiled nodding at him to continue.

“I’m a little nervous. I know that’s his thing so I should try to get over it, but I can’t help it. This not being a ghost thing has been hard, you know? Is he mad? I didn’t mean to separate myself…” he faultured. Although Y/N knew Alex’s half of the story, Willie and her were still newly acquainted, it made sense why he felt the need to stop himself from possibly over sharing. 

“He can’t wait to see you.” She reassured him, ending the silence. “It’s literally why he decided to stay by the front. He wanted you to find him right away. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?”

She confirmed, “Absolutely positive.”

“Alright, thanks again. And nice to meet you! You know, not just by me peering through windows and being creepy. Sorry.”

“Ghosts will be ghosts.” Y/N shrugged. She watched as Willie gave her a laugh and started to walk away. 

“Y/N,” the sweet voice from the backyard called for her again, this time saying her name.

“Luke,” her eyes brightened, turning around.

“Found you.” He grinned, intertwining their fingers on both sides. 

“Well really I would have found you first. I heard your voice, from the backyard, but Willie stopped me before I could go.”

“Ah, you heard my call for you.”

“For me?” He hummed in response.

“I’ll pretend that’s true.” 

“Good,” Luke brought one of her hands up to his lips, kissing it softly. “So where have you been in the last twenty?”

“Well I was looking for you. Reggie said you didn’t go through the pool door so-“

“I did.”

You did?”

“I did! He probably didn’t mention it because he was so focused on-

“Miss Amelie Laurent!” You both said in unison, French accents prevalent. 

“He said you went back here so I went to the backyard, but you weren’t there, so I went upstairs back to Nick room, and you don’t want to know what I saw in there-”

“Ooo tell me,”  his eyes were eager.

“Anyway, I went back down stairs, found Julie near the kitchen— we shared a cupcake— and then she asked me if I would go to the dance floor with her and find someone to talk to so I did that, but then Flynn can said she lost her bracelet so we three had to look for that one, then I came back to the pool table, heard you singing, bumped into Willie, asked me where Alex was, and then I think he needed some advice— he and Alex are literally having the same problem, it’s kind of cute— and then you finally came. That’s my story.”

Luke's mouth was open, eyes going around in a circle as she went on her tangent, hanging onto every word, he thought it was pretty adorable. “Well, my story is much shorter. When I picked Reggi up, you disappeared.”

“Oh, Alex asked me to speak to him, all we did was turn the corner.”

“I didn’t know, but then some guy from the pool came up to me asked me if I could show him some cords from a phantom song and before I could say yes he was pushing me out the door. I helped him, went back inside, met Miss Amelie Laurent, walked to the backyard because Reggie said you went that way, and there I stayed.”

“If only I went back.”

“We’re good now.” Though a smile still ghosted his face he felt a sudden suppression wash over him, “Are you having fun, Y/N/N?”

“I- Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know… I just know it’s your first party here and I wanted you to have a good time, but at every second someone needs you, or someone needs me, and we’ve been pulled around and around and around,-“ Luke moves his head left to right, a rasp in his voice like a motor engine as he repeated the word for effect, “-that I feel like you’re not letting yourself get into some trouble like everyone else.”

“Trouble?”

“Lack of a better word,” he smiled smugly. “I’m just saying, you’re not Julie and the Phantoms glorified assistant-”

“Neither are you. You’ve done just as much as me tonight.” She reasoned. 

“Yeah, but that’s because I was trying to stick with you and lessen the load. You know you do so much for us all the time.”

“I guess I just like you guys too much.” she shrugged, matching his playful tone from before.

“Like just me a little bit more then.” He moved closer, placing his fingers on her jaw, “Hmm?”

He finally kissed her, a real kiss this time. His other hand moved to her neck as her hands moved to his arms. The hand on her jaw lifted her chin higher, deepening the action.

“People are watching,” she said through a breath, eyes alert. 

Before going back in he said, “No one's watching,” Then after a peck, “And no one cares.” His hands slid to her waist, head tilting to the other side, he hummed, causing Y/N’s hands to fall to his cheeks, quickly sliding her fingers against his chest; she was lost in the moment. 

Slowly Luke’s feet moved backwards, moving one of the hands that was wrapped around his waist to her hip as he motioned her against the wall. “Ow,” Y/N yelped, the black and blue Flynn gave her earlier pulsing again. 

Luke’s hand came to her head, cushioning it against the wall. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“So did I,” she laughed. 

The both smiled at each other, Luke forehead connecting with hers, he rubbed his nose against her own etching more bits of laughter out of her. He relished in the noises, the closeness, the feeling. 

Looking down he noticed their shoes, Y/N’s original chucks in the middle of both vans. He didn’t care what shoes she wore, but he much appreciated how she had to change her footwear for Julie because now they matched… somewhat. The black and white pallets, but different designs; similar, but different; individuals, but connected. He liked it. “Nice shoes, kid.”

“Thanks,” she laughed, “Not what I originally intended, but they work.”

“Work better, in my opinion.” He moved back, extending her arms out as he held her hands. He was surveying how her black dress with white polka dots perfectly matched the color scheme of the converse. “Perfect.”

Once again she blushed, but didn’t respond. Instead she made a remark about his own shoes. “You know, I don’t understand how you wear those everyday, yet they aren’t all dirty like mine.”

“Well I used to be a ghost, when I was walking my feet weren’t actually treading on the Earth.” 

“Well that was three months ago.”

“Almost three months ago,” he corrected, for that’s when their official relationship started. Luke always thought she was pretty, right from the moment he saw her, but it wasn’t love at first sight, not even like. She was a little quiet, at least with him and the boys and they all noticed. With Julie and Flynn she smiled brightly and chatted constantly, or that’s what he would hear when he would come to Julie’s room, hearing her voice through the door. It was a sweet voice, empathetic, understanding; he thought it sounded like music, and not only did he wonder how his name would sound on her lips, but he felt connected to it. He understood the desire to make others feel good. Through his singing he tried to make people feel seen, make their problems validated, and he could tell she tried to do that with her words. 

For Y/N at first, she wanted Julie to have the band for herself. She thought that this was one of the few things making her feel happy during this dark time of Tía Rose’s passing, so she didn’t want to step in too much, not to mention the realization that she could see ghosts wasn’t exactly the easiest things for her to get her head around the way Julie did. But her elusiveness only made Luke more curious, and when Luke was curious, he was persistent in finding out whatever it was he wanted to know. 

First, he would ask Julie to bring Y/N down for their rehearsals and she would, sometimes, but nothing gave. Y/N would most give Julie feedback, shying away from the ghosts gaze, still unsure how to interact. Then, he just started asking Julie about her cousin, little questions here and there till Julie finally got tired and told him to just go talk to her himself. This is where he was at a stand still as he was unsure how to approach her. Finally, after noticing how her room lights would shine quite far into the night, he decided to go up there, telling himself he would just ask her why she sleeps so late, that he only noticed because he likes to take walks at night. It sounded reasonable to him. 

This is when he realized how similar Molina’s are: Always trying to be brave for others. After she told him she always had trouble falling asleep unless it was specifically her bed at home, but didn’t want to tell anyone else because it would bother them. She wanted to stay here for Julie and for the friendships she was finally making at Los Feliz, so Luke decided to start a tradition with her: late night bike rides. It was a way to tire her out and a way for him to get some alone time with her. Him taking a bike from the garage, and her using her own she brought from her old home. They rode separately, but together, letting the quiet road open them up to the other. Telling each other stories, discussing interests, consoling each other when they were feeling down. Luke never knew how close you could feel to someone else by just conversation until he had to do it with Y/N. It made him appreciate her in a way he’d never felt before. 

They were not friends, they knew that fairly quickly, but they didn’t hurt each other by talking about being more. It was just an unspoken agreement that they hung out with each other exclusively in the way that they did, but they never spoke of romantics. Their rides were special, only for them. That’s why when he became alive the first thing he wanted to do, after celebrating with everyone, was take a ride with her. One bike this time. Her heels on the bars and she heads onto his shoulders, showing her where he used to grow up. That’s what he always wanted to do. 

“Not enough time,” Luke said in response to Y/N who mentioned that wearing the same two pairs of shoes for 3 months had to have made them a little messed up, but he was talking about them, thinking about how short of a time ago it was that he got got be with her this way. It was a long year of just knowing her without the sense of touch. He felt lucky. Once again, he dipped his hands on the side of her face, starting to go in till-

“Hey, Y/N! And oh, Luke! Hey man.” It was the New Years Eve birthday boy.

“Oh, hey, Nick,” Y/N said, maintaining a kind disposition although she knew how his actions made Julie feel. 

“Um,” he laughed awkwardly at Luke’s stoicism, it was unnatural for his character and even Nick knew that by now, “Well I was wondering if you knew where Julie was. I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”

“Really?” Luke questioned.

“Yeah, I promised her a dance,” he laughed, “or really she promised me one because we all know I suck.”

Y/N laughed kindheartedly at his deprecation. She was still trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Carrie does have a dominating attitude, and with someone as tender Nick it would make sense that he got roped into whatever it was even at his own party, but looking at Luke’s face and knowing how she felt earlier, she decided to to be upfront, “Look Nick, you don’t have to say anything, but I think you like Julie, and I don’t know if Julie likes you, but let’s say she does: You’re sending mixed signals. I get you and Carrie have a history and that she can be bossy, but you make your own choices. If you want to hang out with a certain someone, I think you should put your foot down and make it a priority to do that.” She tried to be ambiguous, obviously failing throughout. 

Nick sighed, “I know… I have no excuse. But that’s why I’ve been trying to find her. I want to hang out with her, do a- I don’t know-“

“‘I don’t know?’” Luke intervened, restating his words, unsure about the possible actions behind them.

“I mean like... New Year's kiss, I- don’t laugh at me Y/N!”

“No! I think it’s sweet. I'm only laughing because I’ve understood your pain, Nick.”

Nick laughed alongside her albeit he was still mostly laughing at himself. Luke kept his grumpy face, eyebrows twitching. “Well if that’s what you want, go get it before the Carrie snatches you up again”

“But even if she does,” Luke started. 

“Put your foot down.” Y/n finished “You know, Stand Tall, like the phantoms song.”

“‘Whatever happens’  he snickered, waving his finger as he said the lyric in hopes to ease the tension with Luke, but he was not amused. 

“Exactly,” Y/N smiled, paying her boyfriend's chest. 

“Right,” Luke agreed, he was really only saying it for Y/N. “Nice basketball sheets by the way”

“Hey, come on, my dad got those for me. It’s nostalgic, you know? Anyway, so I know you guys were busy and I’m sorry that I interrupted anything, but do you think you could help me find her? I really want to find her.”

“Listen Nick,” Luke started once again, it was getting late and he still had a plan he wanted to maintain. 

“Y/N! So there’s this gu- Nick, oh-“

“Julie, I’ve been looking for you!” Nick exclaimed, happy to see her. 

“You have?”

“Apparently,” Luke answered. 

“Well Nick, actually I-“

“Wait. Julie, wait. I- um, I was also looking for all you phantoms actually. I mean I was going to find you and talk to you first and the ask about this later but hey two out of the four are here so,”

“What are you talking about?” Julie asks, hoping he’d get to the point.

“I was wondering if you could play a song? Just one. I don’t have a bass but I’ve got a drum kit on stage already and I’ve got plenty of electrics. The party’s coming to a close and I thought this would be one last thing to bring it all together to make a great night. I know it’s last minute,”

“Nick-“

“Julie.” He stopped, stumbling with his words, till he finally felt sure of what to say, “I’m beating around the bush. What I really need to say is I’m sorry for leaving you. You’re the only one I wanted to hang out with tonight. Carrie- Carrie’s just lonely. If I’m being honest and I promise I don’t mean this in a rude way, but Kayla is just more of her henchman. I know we used to date so it looks strange, but I think I’m her only friend right now. She bought a really grand present and took me away to show it to me, that’s all. I should have stopped to speak to you first though. That’s on me.”

Julie looked down, nodding, “I appreciate that.” 

“You don’t have to sing and you don’t have to give me any more of your time tonight if you don’t want to. I’m just glad you’re here either way.” 

“I don’t mind hanging out with you... if you actually stick around this time-“

“I will!”

“But singing? I guess I’ll leave that one to you Luke.” Julie said, noticing his expression, lips scrunched up together.

“I- It’s your choice, Jules. Whatever you want.” He said lessening the intensity that was in his eyes, Nick did do what Y/N said after all. 

“Let’s sing then. This party has been a little hectic and I think we all need to get our emotions out. Let the New Year come in with good vibes. Right, buddy?” She said tapping Luke’s cheek. “Y/N, help me find the others?”

“Sure,” she said with a sympathetic smile to Luke who she noticed didn’t seem to enjoy that little buddy comment, nonetheless, she joined in: “See ya soon, buddy,” Y/N laughed, letting the ends of her finger tips brush against his till she was pulled away by Julie.

-

On stage, Julie and the Phantoms rose, singing Finally Free. It had become quite the party anthem for them. The repetition in the chorus made it such a good song for them to engage with the audience. Every time Julie sang ‘I got a spark in me’ the crowd would sing back, throwing their hands up in the process quite literally making the next lyric, ‘hands up if you’re with me’ come true in the most perfect way.

Y/N wished she brought her camera, instead she opted to take out her phone, taking some iPhone shots of the band, hoping the fans would enjoy these raw candid pictures, but then Luke caught her attention through the screen, he sent her a wink, one that the people in front of her probably thought was for them. As he strummed his guitar he yelled a ‘WOOO’ her way, bouncing with Reggie. Y/N decided to put her phone down. This performance was a New Years special, one to only be viewed in person; in the moment; no thinking of anyone else. Finding Flynn in the crowd who was also trying to catch some snapshots of her own, Y/N passed on the energy Luke had given to her: “Lets just have fun!” 

- 

Soon after, the song had ended, and despite not being the ‘hologram band’ anymore the Phantoms vanished from the stage, still giving the audience chills as Julie was the one last standing, thanking everyone for being such a great audience. When the gang realized the guys still had some ghosting abilities, Julie wondered if they should stop the whole disappearing thing, saying it would be harder for people to believe, but honestly, seeing the guys at school, at this party, and still watching them turn to dust when the music and cheering ended still amazed the crowd and made it just that more of a spectacle; no one cared for reason, it was simply that cool to see. 

Y/N hoped Luke would pop up alongside her, saving her the hassle of searching for him again, but alas, he did not. It made sense to her though, for she was right in the middle of the dancefloor. 

She decided to travel back around to the hallway where Nick and Julie had stopped her and Luke before. Walking down the hall, a hand snaked around her arm, pull her into a small closet under the staircase. “What the-” She stopped herself as she looked up and the light illuminated the small area with a click and a pull. Her eyes traveled slowly from the buttery yellow glow of the small light, the hand which pulled on the silvery chord, the shimmering skin of Luke, whose eyes followed her gaze till she met his own. “Howdy.” 

“Hey there, partner” she said softy, small breathy giggles coming out of her. “Nice hat.”

“Why thank you, pretty lady,” he responded with a wink, tipping the brown leathered cowboy hat he’d found.

“So what are we doing in here?” She asked, watching him take off the hat.

“Wanna play seven minutes in heaven?” 

“Like in 13 going on 30? Is that the kind of game you played in your 90s parties?” 

Luke rolled his eyes at her comment, moving on, “I decided that our friends are not going to leave us alone tonight, so I want just seven minutes. No interruptions, just us.” 

“I’d like that.”

Luke took out his phone starting a timer on his phone, “Yeah,” he nodded as he moved closer to her face, “me too.”

Lips on her own, he moved his hand to the back of her head, remembering her black and blue and he softly placed it against the wall of the small space, removing it once there. 

As her head leaned eagerly against it, the rest of her body was slanted, legs in between his own, he moved his arms to her waist, hands going up her back, while hands went up to his neck, going in to play with his hair. 

“Y/N?”

The sound caused her to jump, banging her head for the third time. “Ow.” 

It was Flynn. 

“Luke!” 

It was Reggie. 

Now Julie came over, “Is Y/N and Luke in there? Guys?!” H-“

“No!” Luke yelled. 

“Hey!” It was Alex, hand in hand with Willie. “Are they coming out? It’s-“

“Five minutes!” Luke yelled out again. He slid out his phone from underneath the door. “In fact, reset it to seven, give us seven.” 

Reggie took phone, “But Luke you didn’t notice the ti-“ 

Luke bagged on the door, “When it rings, that’s when you can give us your requests.”

Y/N covered her mouth, giggling at his aggressive tone. 

“Come here,” he motioned her with his hands on her hips, lips once again reconnected. As they started to move backward again, Luke moved his hands higher, picking her up, motioning her to wrap her legs around her waist, Y/N tried to catch her breath as their lips fell a part in the action, “Not this time,” he whispered in her ear, the vibrations of his voice making her shiver. He crashed his lips onto hers again as his hands went lower on his hips, supporting her on his frame. He swiped his tongue on her lower lip in an attempt to deepen the kiss further. Thereafter, their lips were connected in open mouth kisses, Luke taking control of the action.

“We just wanted to say Happy New Years, it’s 12:03.” Reggie uttered quietly at the bottom of the door, petting Nick’s dog that found him again. Y/N and Luke didn’t answer him, he figured they were too busy engrossed in each other. 

“Happy New Years, beautiful.” Luke sang to Y/N, sighing out, admiring the way her eyes looked into his, realizing that he completed his mission after all.  

“Happy New Years, Luke.” She breathed out, planting her lips on his once more. One hand on the side of his face as the other went back to his hair, rejoicing in their closeness, finally, uninterrupted.

- 

Thank you for reading! 

Tag list: @lolychu​ @marinettepotterandplagg​

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson x reader #luke jatp #luke jatp fic #luke jatp imagine #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine #julie and the phantoms fic #luke julie and the phantoms

[novelconcepts]

You saying more childhood AU is possible with the right prompt is just...

More Tess. All of the Tess. Tess the morning after the party, lives in my brain rent free. The teasing. The knowing looks. The Jamie and Dani being so in love and unashamed and also oops we forgot the roommate. And Tess being the wonderful person she is and not letting them get away with anything.

It’s the fact that they think they’re subtle, that really gets her. 

Not that Tess is upset to find Jamie crashing with them the week following graduation. Of course Jamie is crashing with them. Where else would she go, now that Dani “it’s important to grow up and change and learn who you really are, or some such bull” Clayton has finally snapped up the hot gardener of her dreams? Honestly, if Dani let her walk out that door--especially after that first night, which, hello, gardener; these walls aren’t half as thick as they apparently think--she’d have forfeited all rights to sanity, and Tess would have no choice but to make her move instead.

No, she isn’t upset to find Jamie still here the following morning. Or at all. She loves Jamie. What’s not to love? 

Honestly, so much to love. If she didn’t love Dani even more, she might have to really test the bounds of this friendship. Particularly when she opens her bedroom door to find Jamie--hair rumpled, dressed in a half-unbuttoned flannel and a pair of boxer shorts--at the kitchen counter. Like, warn a woman. 

“Warn you about what?” Jamie looks blank, her hands prying open each cupboard with evidently-mounting disappointment. “You really don’t have any tea?”

“Warn a woman,” Tess repeats, hip-checking her gently out of the way and scrounging the supply of English Breakfast out from behind the stoner snacks. “Before you turn up in her kitchen looking all sex-rumpled. I haven’t even had coffee, Taylor, Jesus.”

Jamie blinks, taking the box from her hands. “O...kay. How was the rest of the party?”

“Not nearly as engaging as your night,” Tess informs her pleasantly, delighted when Jamie’s sleep-muddled expression lights up with embarrassment. “But an extravaganza in its own right all the same. Where’s my girl? I know you railed her into next week, but it seems bad manners to leave you to breakfast alone.”

“I didn’t--we--”

“Thin walls,” Tess sing-songs. “Like paper. Or, what, you’re English--parchment?”

“We have paper,” Jamie deadpans. Tess pats her shoulder, working around her to fill the kettle. 

“Good fortune really does smile upon you. Ah! Sleeping Beauty arises!”

Dani, looking only slightly more functional than Jamie, is emerging from the bathroom with an expression that suggests she, at least, is very aware of the acoustics of their apartment. It’s so tempting to tease her about it--Dani has this truly adorable habit of looking like she might combust if pushed too far, the red of her face complimented nicely by the gold of her hair--but Tess figures some things can wait. Lord knows they’re going to walk right into it soon enough.

But like--so soon. Like, she goes off to take a shower, and comes back to find they still haven’t left the kitchen soon.

“Seriously?” She laughs, watching them leap apart. It’s too clear Dani has forgone the idea of coffee and bacon for the much-more-invigorating art of pushing Jamie against the refrigerator. Not that Tess can blame her. 

“We--were just--”

“Right in front of my cereal,” Tess says gravely, shaking her head in faux-disappointment as she stretches over Jamie--whose hands are still rooted to Dani’s hips, the hem of Dani’s shirt dropping hastily back over her stomach--to retrieve a box of off-brand Lucky Charms. “No shame.”

They’re both making noises of disagreement, as though Tess hasn’t had her share of groping in the kitchen experiences to call on. She snorts. 

“Look, far be it from me to stop your, ah, young love in its tracks. Just. Keep it out of my bedroom, is all I ask. Unless...” She wiggles her eyebrows. Jamie clears her throat so violently, it sounds as though she might fracture something.

“Shower. Should. I.”

“That sentence normally goes in the other direction,” says Tess helpfully. Dani swats her back, grinning. 

“Got that out of your system yet?”

“Oh, not nearly.” Tess beams. “By all means, Clayton, show her where the shower lives.”

“I know where the,” Jamie begins to protest, but Dani is slipping both arms around her middle, pressing against her back to urge her toward the bathroom.

“That’s her polite way of saying if I don’t go with you now, she’s going to spend the next half hour fishing for details.”

“You still owe me those,” Tess calls after them. “Every last filthy one.”

***

They think the shower is noise-cancelling, too, Tess realizes about four minutes later. Jesus, these beautiful useless idiots. 

***

It’s the lack of subtlety masquerading as Chill, really. The fact that every single time Tess leaves a room, she can count slowly to ten, poke her head back out, and find they’ve picked right back up where last she interrupted. 

Step into the bedroom to change her clothes? Come back out to find Dani straddling Jamie on the couch. 

Take a quick smoke break on the stairs out front? Glance through the window to find Jamie shirtless, the unmistakable tread of scratches running down her back beneath her bra. 

Offer to run out for lunch? Spend an extra five minutes idly counting clouds, because fuck only knows the sounds Dani is making isn’t karaoke. 

“You two,” she announces, tossing the pizza box onto the counter with a flourish, “are going to break something if you keep this up. I mean, you’re at least taking hydration breaks, I hope? Do I need to bring you a power bar?”

Jamie has the decency to look slightly ashamed of herself, though there’s a definite grin beneath the hunched shoulders. Dani, selecting a slice of pepperoni-and-banana-peppers, shrugs. 

“Consider it payback?”

“For who?” Tess demands, delighted. Dani raises her free hand, ticking her fingers down toward her palm.

“Tyler, whose butt I saw like ten minutes before you introduced us. May, who you used to desecrate the kitchen floor. Carlos and Beth--”

“Liz,” Tess interrupts, “she goes by Liz these days.”

“--Liz, with whom you conveniently forgot I needed to shower before my presentation and took up the bathroom for three hours--”

“Okay, okay,” Tess snorts, groping for a dishtowel in some shade of off-white to wave. “Truce.”

“And that’s just this apartment,” Dani says cheerfully. She tilts her head to look at Jamie, whose face can best be described as aghast. “Back in the dorm, she used to sneak girls in after I was asleep.”

“You were a sound sleeper!” 

“No one is sound enough to ignore a bed frame breaking, Tess.”

“I...avoiding college was the right choice,” Jamie says weakly. Tess bats her eyes.

“You’re saying you’ve never dreamed of breaking a bed frame with me, Taylor?”

Jamie darts a look around at Dani, her eyes just shy of screaming. Tess is having the best time of her life. 

***

“Tell me honestly, though,” she says. Jamie gives her a sharp look, uncertainty obvious even as she reaches to accept the joint Tess is passing her way. 

“Really don’t think Dani wants me giving you a play by play.”

“Dani, beloved of my soul, was fool enough to schedule a doctor’s appointment while you were still in town. She knows what I’m about.” 

To Jamie’s credit, she doesn’t choke this time. She puffs once, twice, holding the smoke in her lungs an impressively long time before craning her head back and exhaling. "What am I telling you honestly?”

“You’re going to keep an eye on her, right?”

Jamie looks surprised. “Yeah. Not that she needs it, mind. Just. Yeah. Always.”

Tess sighs. “She doesn’t need it, but you know as well as I what that woman is like. Too good. Too fucking good for her own good, you know? Forgets, sometimes, that she can come first, too.”

Jamie offers a smile nearly wicked in its amusement. “Oh, I take care of that.”

“Yes,” Tess drawls, “darling, I can tell. You know, really relieved she never brought anyone home before now. I’m not sure my beauty sleep could have taken the abuse.”

Jamie laughs, leaning back and pulling a throw pillow into a loose embrace. “She doesn’t need anyone taking care of her. But...”

“But you can’t help wanting to, anyway,” Tess guesses. When Jamie nods, she takes another hit, lets the smoke burn in her chest. “She has that effect on people. Our girl would take a bullet for anyone, and it’s...impossible not to love her for it.”

“She’s the reason,” Jamie says softly, “I didn’t run. Reason I did a lot of things, some of ‘em really, really stupid. Sometimes I think everything I’ve ever done can be traced back home to her, one way or another.”

“That, my dear,” Tess says, “is what fools and songstresses alike call love, I think. Just...do me a favor, keep her from killing herself for those kids.”

Jamie nods. “I will. Promise.”

“Good,” Tess says lightly. “I like you, Jamie. You’ve got the hands of a sinner and the smile of a saint. I’d really hate to have to track you down and kill you for doing her wrong.”

***

For all the sex, and all the blushing that follows, it’s late nights like this one that really say it all. Nights where cards fade into lazy conversation fade into this: Jamie, asleep on the couch, her head resting in Dani’s lap. Dani, looking down at her like she’s never felt so at home in her own skin. 

And Tess, watching them both, astonished by the lack of fear in the room. The lack of distance. The lack of uncertainty. 

Dani, who has always been a nervous sort, whose panic attacks are so predictable on bad weeks, Tess came back from that first Christmas break with a laundry list of coping methods to offer--looks perfectly at peace. Her fingers stroke back Jamie’s hair, tracing her forehead, her nose, every brush of contact only seeming to sink Jamie deeper into dream. Dani has never looked like this before. 

“You’re happy,” Tess says quietly. Not a question. Not a challenge. Dani smiles.

“Part of me thought she’d get sick of it, you know. Waiting for me.”

“Who could get sick of you?” Tess asks, and means it. No one in the world stacks up to Dani, on a list of favorite people. No one in the world ever could. If Jamie really did fall ass over teakettle for this woman when they were barely old enough to know what love was, she couldn’t be blamed for it. Not for a second. 

“You’ll invite me to the wedding, of course,” Tess says, when Dani--eyes closed, fingers still tracing aimlessly--says nothing for a while. One blue eye emerges, her nose scrunching up. 

“Jumping ahead, aren’t you?”

“She’d do it here and now, if you asked. Shit, I could get ordained, do it for you. Always thought I’d look nice in a little suit.”

“You’d be gorgeous,” Dani says, without a hint of deprecation. Tess blows her a kiss. “And...yes. If and when, I can’t imagine doing it without you.”

“As officiant?”

“I was thinking maid of honor,” Dani laughs. Tess leans back, smiling. 

“That’ll do.”

The silence creeps in again, the sleepy indulgence of post-midnight living that feels so perfectly suited to the college experience. Nothing else, Tess suspects, will ever be quite this again--the quiet feeling like peace, the weariness feeling earned, not crushing. Jamie breathes out in her sleep, one hand drifting to gently grasp the hem of Dani’s shirt.

“Gonna miss you,” Tess says softly. “And this one, too.”

Dani smiles, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It won’t be the same again, will it?”

“Nope.” And maybe that’s a good thing, she thinks. Maybe that’s exactly how it should be. Growing up. Changing. Learning who they ought to be. “But you’ll call.”

“And write,” Dani agrees. 

“And send me pictures of your hot gardener,” Tess adds. “Lord knows, it’d be a crying shame to forget that.”

Dani laughs. “Never.”

“You did good, Clayton. Took you a minute, but--you did good.”

She lets the silence settle for real, lets Jamie sleep and Dani doze, lets herself sink into the armchair. They aren’t subtle, it’s true--she’ll probably wake tomorrow to find they’ve opted for a quiet round of the most wall-shaking sex she’s ever heard in Dani’s room--but that feels right, somehow. Good, to see Dani refusing to make herself small. Great, to see Dani refusing to temper an emotion this grand.

“I love you idiots,” she says softly. “You’re going to be just fuckin’ fine.”

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #AU one-shot #welcome back Tess I've missed you #love an OC I enjoy almost as much as the canon kids

[winterbanner]

Mercy (Bruce Banner/OFC)

Summary: Bruce is upset after a mission goes awry. Can Catherine's words help him to see himself in the way that she does? Takes place six months after the first avengers film. 

Tags: Angst, Emotional Hurt/ Comfort

Word Count: 2687

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rated PG-13

Pairing: Bruce Banner x OFC (Catherine King, former SHIELD agent gone rogue, now a member of the Avengers.) Her name is only mentioned twice, so just ignore it of you’re looking for a self-insert) 

It wasn’t easy being an Avenger, but today felt especially taxing. The battle wasn’t necessarily harder than others, it was the civilians that made the experience all the more horrific. They were everywhere, scattered throughout the streets, sprinting in a panic to find cover, to save themselves from the cataclysmic destruction. We tried to direct them all to safety, and for the most part we were successful, but there were only seven of us and hundreds upon hundreds of them.

When it’s your job to save lives it becomes difficult to focus on the positives, to think about the ones you saved, to consider how many lives would have been lost if you were not present. It is impossible to celebrate a victory, when the dead bodies of innocent civilians, bloodied and lying under the rubble, products of a conflict in which you were involved, are imprinted in your mind. It haunts all of us, but perhaps no one more than Dr. Banner.

I saw it happen, a young couple, was attempting to run into a department store for cover. Hand in hand they attempted to dodge the flying debris, while avoiding the menacing robotic soldiers that flooded the streets. 

Hulk was there, doing his duty smashingly, taking cars, and large chunks of metal, and throwing them at our adversaries, leaving them as nothing more than a pile of wires. The decision had been made to keep Hulk off the field as much as possible, for Bruce’s sake mostly, but also in the hopes of lessening the inevitable damage. There were times, however, when his strength was needed. For those occasions we taught him to avoid civilians, and the effort was made. Oftentimes you could find him gently careening around a group of huddled innocents, stepping between them and whatever destructive chaos we found ourselves faced with. This time however, he made a mistake, and when Hulk makes a mistake, the consequences can be gruesome. 

He heaved a car, vaulting it over his head at a group of enemy soldiers, but in the midst of our enemies stood the young couple, and as the car came crashing down, they were crushed. The young woman was left barely alive, screaming for her partner, who could be found a few feet away, his head crushed under the fender. Her outcries of pain and grief echoed through the streets, and over the sounds of metal clanging and weapon blasting, piercing our ears, with guilt and shame.

It wasn’t Bruce’s fault. He had no control over what precautions the Hulk did or didn't take, but despite his genius, that concept was something he couldn’t seem to comprehend. Bruce can see what happens during the time he spends as the other guy, he can see the destruction and death, just as much as any of us can, the only difference is that he can’t choose to run away, to duck for cover, to defend rather than attack. He has no control.

It was getting late, our wounds had been tended to, and we were beginning to settle down for the night. For many of us that didn’t necessarily mean sleep, it meant going onto our prospective floors to process the day's events. I, however, wasn’t planning on heading up to my quarters just yet, I wanted to check in on Bruce. I knew for a fact he hadn’t eaten, and I could also guess the toll that the day’s events must’ve taken on his mental state.

As I stepped out of the sleek silver elevator, I could see Bruce out on his balcony, staring down at the destruction from hours before. It was cold outside, and he still hadn’t changed out of the ripped up clothes he scrounged up from the battlefield. His curls were still dirty and his hands were shaky as they clung to his opposing forearms, squeezing himself tightly. He had been crying, the evidence found in the redness of his eyes and the wetness of his cheeks. I grabbed a blanket that laid haphazardly on a nearby chair, and approached the terrace, food in hand.

“Hey,” I whispered, in an attempt not to startle him.

He jumped, before turning around to see who exactly the voice was coming from. When he saw that it was me, I saw the tension in his body release. “Hey Catherine,” he croaked. He was sitting on a patio sofa, staring out over the mangled concrete, flashing police lights and Stark Industry construction workers, that littered the streets of Manhattan.

I gently sat down next to him, before placing the steaming plate of pasta on the nearby coffee table. I took the blanket, and began to wrap it around his shoulders. He winced at my actions, afraid for me to touch him.

“It’s okay” I whispered, as I slowly placed a hand on his, in an attempt to show that I trusted him. I took the blanket and draped it over his broad shoulders before sitting back down again and turning my body towards his. It broke my heart to know that he was afraid to let me touch him, that he thought of himself to be that dangerous.

“Thank you.” he said, finally looking me in the eye.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a loving squeeze, a nonverbal you’re welcome.

He then turned his gaze back to the streets, his expression immediately hardening, holding within it a plethora of sorrowful emotion.

I looked over and saw that the plate of food had stopped steaming, growing colder from the chilly New York air.

“I brought you some pasta, Clint made it so it might taste like shit.” I joked gesturing the plate and fork towards him.

He smiled briefly at my comment. “You didn’t need to do that,'' he said. Before taking the serving of pasta. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that.”

Bruce always had a way of deflecting your kind gestures, of making himself feel like he didn’t deserve them. “You haven’t eaten in hours Bruce and even if you had, I still wanted to come up here and check on you anyway.”

He looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, really thank you.” he said before twisting some pasta onto the fork and bringing it to his mouth.

“And surprisingly it doesn’t taste like shit.” He joked causing me to chuckle.

We both sat and watched the policeman directing traffic as he ate, all within a state of silence. From an outside perspective Bruce wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but when you took the time to get to know him, it wasn’t long before you realized that the man could talk your ear off. When he was passionate or excited about something, he could talk for hours, patiently explaining every particle, and every computation. Watching his face light up when I would ask a question, or when he realized that I was understanding, had become an occurrence I adored. Tonight, however, he didn’t utter a word. Probably in the fear that he may break down in front of me.

He finished up his meal quickly, he must’ve been starving, before placing his empty plate down on the table, and looking back to the street. It was honestly nice to see the city being picked up, to remind ourselves that the damage done can be fixed. There are certain types of destruction, however, that cannot me mended.

Two EMTs approached a pile of rubble. We witnessed their struggling to retrieve something, and to our horror they emerged with the body of a woman. They checked her vitals, and by the looks of dismay, it became apparent to us that she was dead. The emergency workers retrieved a body bag, and gently zipped up her carcass, thus sealing her fate. My heart ached as I thought of her family. That innocent woman could have been a wife, a parent, a child. Now remembered as a life cut short, lost to those they loved forevermore. I felt the pang of guilt press down on my chest, my mind overcome with the thought that that we could’ve somehow prevented the gruesome scene sprawled out before my eyes.

I looked over to Bruce, his eyes wide as he gazed upon the tragic scene that lay before us. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, I swear he didn’t even blink. He felt as though he deserved to watch this scene, to wallow in the pain that he may have caused.The screams of that young woman probably still echoing in his mind. I reached over and put a hand on his back, before rubbing small circles.

“Bruce let’s go inside okay. We don’t have to watch this” I said softly, as I gently gripped his chin pulling his gaze away from the street below to look at me.

He nodded in agreement, more concerned for my well-being that his. We both stood up and walked back inside to his sitting area, my hand still resting softly on the curvature of his back, as we took our seats on his familiar sofa. I had spent many nights sitting in this same spot, whether that be drinking and laughing with him and Tony, or after a mission in a similar situation as this one, I felt at home here, with Bruce. There were even some mornings where I had accidentally fallen asleep on that very cushion, only to awaken and find myself perfectly tucked in, with the smell of maple pancakes wafting from the kitchen.

After watching what had just happened, Bruce was trying even harder to hold back his emotions. He sat there, his hands shaking as they clasped together, his head hung in shame staring at his feet, his eyes glistening with tears. I scooted closer to him, before wrapping an arm around his feeble frame, my thumb gently rubbing his shoulder. He leaned into my touch, his weight shifting so his body pressed into my side.  

“What happened today wasn’t your fault.” I whispered, rubbing my hand up and down his back, in an attempt to bring him back to reality, away from whatever thoughts plagued his mind.

He pulled away, recoiling at the sound of my words that were telling him the exact opposite of what he had been telling himself. “I-I saw it happen, If I had just taken control, if I had just…”, he looked down once more, placing his head in his hands in an act of frustration. He wasn’t angry at me, he was angry at the Hulk for not being more careful, and mostly he was angry at himself. Angry that he couldn’t save them from the giant he was forcibly given the responsibility to manage.

I will never know what it is like to be plagued with something like the Hulk. The risk of danger and violence forever living just under the skin, unable to be fully contained or controlled. I will never know exactly what Bruce suffers through, but in this situation I unfortunately had some expertise.

I sighed, causing Bruce to look up from his sorrowful stance, as I adjusted my sitting position in the effort to make myself more comfortable.

“Ten years ago, I got a call from Fury telling me I was needed in Chicago for a negotiation. Some prick wanted access to SHIELDS weapon blueprints, in exchange for what I was told was “highly classified cargo”. I was instructed to give the contact false intel, it was risky, but nothing I wasn’t used to. “

“I had guessed that this special cargo would have been some sort of weapon, or at the worst maybe a high profile hostage, but when I arrived on location it turned out to be so much worse. These masked bastards had children, I’m talking little kids, lined up execution style. They looked so scared…”

At this point my breaths had become more shaky, causing me to take a moment to gather my senses. Bruce had scooted himself closer in an attempt to comfort me.

“I was so fucking pissed at Fury for not telling me, I just- I wasn’t prepared ya know?”

Bruce nodded and rested his hand on mine as if to let me know that I had his full attention.

“I proceeded with the negotiation, and at first it seemed like it had gone off without a hitch. My partner sweeped the place, and I was told that every child was safe and accounted for. Things, however, went to shit when he insisted the calculations on the blueprints were off. He pointed his gun at me, and without hesitation I blasted him. What I didn't see was the little boy who had been standing behind him.”

My eyes were now filled with tears, and my emotions made it so it was harder to speak.

“I- I killed him. He must’ve been hiding, and they didn’t count him. He was so scared, but there was nothing I could do. I-”

Bruce’s arm had now been gently wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me against his side.

“He was perfectly innocent. So, I guess that makes me a killer.” I whispered.

“No,” Bruce softly uttered. “Catherine, no you’re not-”

I pulled away from his grasp. “I should’ve looked closer, I should’ve double checked I-I”

“Stop, that wasn't your fault.”

I paused for a moment to regain my senses, before turning to look Bruce in the eye.

“Bruce, I killed that little boy, me myself and I. I was in control of my decision making, I did that. So, if that poor boy’s death wasn’t my fault, then how is what happened out there today your’s?”

“Catherine it’s not the same.”

“Your damn right it’s not the same. If anything, I'm at more fault than you are. I, Catherine King, am a killer.”

He looked at me saddened by the words I said, “Don’t associate yourself with that, you’re not that, not you. I’m the monster.” 

I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look me directly in the eye. “Why can't you grant yourself the same mercy you’ve given me?” He looked down, at a loss for words. 

“Bruce Banner, you are no killer, you are no monster. I know what evil looks like, and you aren’t it. Everyday I go out there and find myself met with the absolute worst shit that the world can offer. So, when I get back, I go see you. I go up to the lab, or come find you here because Bruce, you remind me that there’s still good left. You make me feel safe. I couldn’t feel that way about you if you were a monster.”

At first he sat there in awe, at a loss for words. The last few years of Bruce’s life had been ones of fear, isolation, and self-deprecation. His kind nature and mild-mannered disposition, met with violence, scorn and pain. He didn’t deserve to have gone through all that he did, but he didn’t realize that. His experiences were those fit for the monster that he and the world had so convinced himself he was. So, at the sound of my words, he began to tear up, not because of sadness or fear, but out of gratitude. Ever since the accident no one one had ever told Bruce that they felt safe in his presence. That they didn’t see him as a potential threat, a ticking time bomb.

After a moment, I noticed the look on his face grow soft, as he pulled me into an embrace. His chin resting on my head, as his arms wrapped around me. His hold was gentle, but all encompassing. It was as if he was afraid he’d hurt me if he squeezed too tight, but everything within him was telling him to never let go. I tightly hugged him back, carding my fingers through his hair, as I guided his head to rest in the curvature of my neck, all in the hopes of making him feel the truth behind my words, to make him feel human.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

And in that moment, with the two of us intertwined in the others embrace, we felt safe.

#bruce banner #bruce banner x ofc #bruce banner angst #bruce banner fanfiction #bruce banner needs a hug #SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN A HUG #marvel oc #king chronicles

[morgana-ren]

I noticed youd said that you get more shiggy requests. So, if you'll indulge me for a sec.

We've had gatos input on how strade would be if the roles were reversed. Mc somehow had him under their control with the shock collar on.

I want your input because your writing is so detailed i know id enjoy reading what a submissive little bitch he'd become.

Please and thank you Morgana.

ily :3

Oh OH You know me so well! This is one of my favorite things to daydream about when I get angry or annoyed because since Strade is such a garbage human being, it tickles me so much to think about how cathartic it would be to turn the tables.

So as well all know, Strade, while very experienced, is not the brightest bulb in the box. He’s got years of know-how behind his expertise in kidnapping and torture, but there’s some shit that just kind of evades him sometimes. Double checking your ropes after he gets a little too excited and wants a dirty basement floor romp, for example. Thanks to his overexcitement and shit-idiot brain fungus he’s got going on, it’s entirely possible for you to slip your bonds. This mistake, in canon, costs him his life. 

But what if MC wasn’t so kind? 

With a level head, you might be able to scrounge around his torture room for a little bit. Maybe he has a needle with some knockout liquid hanging around for “difficult” catches. Maybe you just wait around behind the door until he walks in and smash him on the head as hard as you can and knock his ass out. Either way, he’s got plenty of restraints, and now he’s the one cuffed to a rusty pole. The look on his dumb face when he comes to is priceless. 

You’re not making the same mistakes he did. He’s triple tied to that thing. You know he’s strong, and you’re playing on his home field. You’ve got to be prepared for everything. At least long enough to get upstairs and find help or call the police. Right? Right? 

But what if you don’t?

What if, after he comes to and is sputtering and howling and hissing things at you in German that would make Lindemann blush, you decide not to go for help? He’s mad. He’s oh so very mad. He does not like this, not one bit. But he’s panicking beyond what you’d expect, even for a serial killer who’s been two-timed by his own victim. There’s something else in those dilated eyes. Something you’ve become very acutely familiar with over the last few days. You can still smell it lingering on you the same way it’s staining his shirt now. 

Fear. He’s afraid. And not of death or capture. 

I mean, he very well might be terrified of those things, but whatever it is he’s feeling right now is far overshadowing that. His face is red, and you can practically see the veins in his neck popping in rhythm with his thrumming heartbeat. He’s sweating extensively, and while that’s not uncommon for him, there’s not that macabre jolly smile plastered across his face. He’s baring his teeth and snapping at you like a feral hound, swearing to end your miserable life in a manner that would make the ghosts of his past shudder in horror for you. 

You don’t put it past him to snap these ropes any second and wrap his hands so tightly around your neck that your eyes pop like overinflated balloons. Even if the cops show up and try to escort you to safety, there’s an unspoken darkness in his glare, something that promises pain in your future even if they manage to subdue him. A promise that you can’t guarantee yourself that he can’t keep.

It strikes you that you know nothing about this man.

Surely someone out there knows about this. Someone knows about him and his little hobby. Monsters run in packs and even if you can’t see them, you know they must be there. Best case scenario, they can’t have him spilling their secrets so they find a way to end his life before the police can. Worst case scenario?  Worst case, they come for you. 

You’ve seen enough Hollywood horror movies to know just how wrong it can go if justice is left to the authorities. You haven’t seen much of it, but this looks like a pretty nice house. If he has money, he can just buy his way out. Who is to say that he doesn’t already have a deal with the cops? Kidnapping people is risky business, especially when folks begin to notice that you’re gone. Surely he has some safety net? 

What if he’s part of a network of psychopaths? There’s been enough late-night conspiracy youtube binges in your existence to know that shit like that is perfectly plausible. What if he’s just one of many? What if they have the pull to see him set free even after you’ve gone through the proper avenues to get him locked away? What if, one night, when you think he’s rotting in a 6 x 6 cement cell miles away from you, you wake up back here in this basement with even more Strades with different names and faces but each one shares the desire to see you ripped apart at the seams and devoured?

No. HELL no. You’re not going to be the cliche victim. He can bark and screech at you until his throat is sore and his gums bleed, but the plain and simple fact of the matter is that you have this monster on a leash, and you’re not about to hand that leash over to someone else. 

How many people has he killed? How many have met their end in this godless basement? How many unsuspecting people has he dragged here only to take them apart piece by piece until their eyes glaze and their final breath moistens his cheek as he watches the light in their eyes extinguish? Do you even want to know? Would it make you feel better or worse to know that, at least for now, you’ve narrowly escaped such a fate? 

You have to know. 

His screaming turns fearful as you ascend the stairs. Again, not for fear of being caught, but because he already has been. It’s so odd to hear the phrase “Don’t leave me here!” from his quivering chest when he’s apparently in the place he values most, and there’s a sick sense of catharsis that settles in your gut as you listen to him begin to whimper and whine. You don’t let yourself dwell on it but you do slam the door behind you loudly enough that he will be forced to acknowledge that his pathetic pleas mean nothing to you. 

His house is painfully average, at least for someone like him. He’s even got portraits up with what must be friends or family or someone that cares enough to pose for a cheesy photo with him. If you didn’t know better, you’d say an upstanding, if a little tacky, upper-middle class man lives here. The furniture is unremarkable and well cared for but lived in enough to not raise suspicion. His kitchen is filled with expensive appliances that might as well be fresh out of the box. His fridge, as expected, is filled with beer and various quick meals. Not much of a cook, you guess.

The car sitting in the garage costs in the six digit range and looks like it’s the most beloved thing in the entire area. It reeks of Armor All and disinfectant, and you’re willing to bet that if he was so inclined, he could put it on a showroom floor right now. He’s got tools and cables of all sorts thrown about, but not the kind you’ve gotten so used to. Maybe he actually does use them for their intended purpose sometimes. 

As you walk the length of his home, you notice a distinct lack of screaming. You can’t hear anything, not even a peep from the basement, and you are very certain he’s crying up a storm down there. Interesting. He’s go this place sound proofed. You’re not sure what you’d expected, but it’s good information to have regardless. 

After you’ve sated your curiosity by observing the dragon’s den, you make your way to the upper level. He’s probably not foolish enough to leave any sort of evidence behind where friends and neighbors can see it, so whatever it is you’re looking for is going to be somewhere a little bit more personal. Perhaps like a bedroom? 

Bingo. 

His bedroom, much like the rest of his house, looks about what you’d expect. King sized bed, wooden dresser with a TV and player on top, and a desk beneath the window. Sliding closet doors with all manner of free range dad apparel inside, and honestly, it’s the closest you’ve been to laughing since you got here. He would wear cargo shorts and plaid, wouldn’t he? A scrounge through the drawers of his dresser and closet reveal nothing remarkable, but you’re willing to bet your injured thigh that there’s something special in the desk. 

Just like you’d expect, the desk is locked, but you’d noticed a pair of keys sitting willy-nilly out in the living room and you’d picked them up. About 7 key changes later and the desk pops open for you like a cheap whore. He really isn’t too bright, is he? Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting this to ever be a problem. Either way, you’re grateful he’s a moron. 

Inside the drawer seems to be loads of DVDs, unmarked except for dates. It feels like you’re the unprepared cop in a serial killer movie as you look down at them. You don’t need to watch them to know what they are, but you’re going to anyway. You have to know. You need to know just who you’re dealing with here. 

You pick one at random and pop it into the DVD player and the scene that greets you seems all too familiar. A hunched figure, bloodied and tied to the pole you’d become so intimate with over the last week. This person was in much worse shape than you, however. You could see shadows moving off screen and the camera fuzzes and refocuses repeatedly as what you assume is Strade messes with the controls. Not long after, he emerges, practically skipping into frame. Even though most of his face is concealed behind a hideous bandana, you can tell he’s smiling. It reaches his eyes. 

He says what appears to be a rehearsed greeting and you’re left wondering just how crazy is he? Is he talking to his future self? You can see him making these videos to relive his sick, sadistic fantasies but talking to himself like an absolute lunatic is just a little disconcerting. However, you also acknowledge that the only reason you’ve even thinking about this is to distract yourself from the fact that you’re watching a homemade snuff film that you almost starred in yourself. 

And then he begins. 

Despite the visceral horror on display before you, the urge to vomit never comes. You watch, blank faced, as this poor soul is faced with every horror a human mind can conceive. It goes on for long. Too long. And Strade never stops talking. 

The realization sets in that’s because he’s not the only one watching. 

He’s not talking to himself. He’s responding. This wasn’t for him. This was for them. 

If you had any emotional energy to give, surely you’d be absolutely horrified, but you don’t and you can’t. You’re not even surprised. Someone like Strade, that bubbly personality and 1,000 watt smile, of course he’d find a way to utilize his talents. He’d found a market. He had a hobby and he made money from it. ‘Love your job and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ and you are just so willing to bet he loves his fucking job. 

You let the video keep playing as you sit up from his bed and leave the room. You make your way down the stairs, back to the living room, and then back to the basement door. You open it and immediately are bombarded with the sounds of his screaming and hateful vitriol. It doesn’t phase you. You’re not sure anything will ever again. 

Calmly, you walk into the room and stare at him. He doesn’t cease his incessant threats until he realizes you’re waiting for him to finish so that you can speak. He finally silences himself, though he continues to rip and tear at the ropes holding him hostage as you tell him you found his little home video collection. 

“Let me out.” He demands, and you realize he doesn’t quite understand that he’s not the one in control anymore. Of course a dog without a tangible leash will continue to run wild. You needed to drive the point home. 

You turn your back to him and begin to ruffle through his various cabinets, searching around the nooks and crannies for something that will help him understand just what position he’s found himself in. You make a very interesting discovery next to his med kit. A collar. A literal collar. 

Poetic justice. 

It’s thick and burdensome and more than a little hideous. It’s definitely homemade, because not even the most fucked of BDSM sites are going to offer something like this. It’s accompanied by a small remote with a large red button and not much else. You push the button and yelp in pain, the collar clattering to the floor as it slips from your fingers. It shocked you. It was so very painful, but you’re smiling. 

You retrieve it from where it fell and pop it open, observing it curiously. Strade watches you through wide eyes and sniveling, trembling lips. The look on his face is a dead giveaway that you’ve found something you really shouldn’t have. The toothy grin you flash him shows him that you understand that. 

Without a word, you approach him, holding the open collar in your sweating palm. His struggles begin anew and before long he’s practically yanking his arms out at the sockets trying to get away from you and your newfound toy. He’s throwing his weight around and doing whatever he can with his limited movements to make damn sure you can’t get that terrible thing around his neck, but it’s all in vain because energy is finite and he’s been expending a lot of it over the last hour. 

He’s breathing heavy and you could swear he’s begging between heaves as you clap the collar around his thick neck. His flesh bulges from the side and you’re fairly certain it was made for someone much less burly than himself in mind. You get the odd urge to adjust it on him like a necklace but he’s still dangerous, even caged. You feel weirdly... proud.

“Stop-! you don’t know what you’re doing!” He hiccups, and as he pulls his head upward, you can see he is indeed crying. “Please! Don’t!” 

You’ve never thought of yourself as particularly sadistic, at least in that sense, but some ghostly force pushes your thumb down on that big red button. Watching his eyes go wide and his body convulse and seize fills you with a sense of sheer euphoria that can’t properly be conveyed. The utterly satisfying clang of his head hitting the pole at mach 5 as he shakes and bumbles almost humorously while the collar sends x amount of volts through his body makes you giggle. 

When you finally pull your thumb off the button, he’s still shaking from the residual shock, drool and mucus bubbling from his mouth and nose and sloping down onto his chin. He looks defeated; utterly pathetic. Is this how you looked to him all those times he stood over you grinning as he gifted you pain the likes of which had been unthinkable to you before you met him? The desire to push down again is overwhelming but you’re determined for him to understand there’s a point to this misery. 

There’s a thousand thoughts going through your mind right now faster than you can comprehend them all, but they all have the same general principal. This man is a murderer. This man is a rapist. This man is contained. This man is afraid. This man is at your mercy. 

And unfortunately for him, you just ran out. 

‘How many’ you ask, despite already knowing. If the videos upstairs are any indication, there’s more than he can probably count. More names and faces than he can practically remember and they’re dead because of him. He looks up at you through wet lashes with a trembling lip, already caught on to the fact that there is no correct answer. Your thumb hovers over that seductive red button and he’s quick to spit out whatever he can regardless. 

“I don’t know! I don’t!” 

You don’t doubt that he’s being honest, but it sickens you none he less. You press that button for half a second and he jolts up off the floor as much as his restraints will allow. When he comes to, his eyes can barely focus in on you and when his slumps over, you can see the burns from the collar already settling in on his tan skin. You’re not sure how to turn down the voltage or how lethal it is, but you don’t really care at the moment. If he dies, he dies. You’ll deal with the complications of that later. 

You could sit here all day and grill him, literally and figuratively, about his track record of atrocities, but it won’t bring you any peace. You’re not sure that peace is something that you’ll ever feel again, all things considered. Meeting the monsters that dwell in the dark is drastically different than simply acknowledging that they exist, and through some twist of fate, you’ve been given the opportunity to show this particular monster that he’s no longer at the top of the food chain. There’s so much you could do, so many things you want to do, and it’s at that moment you realize you’ve spent too long staring into the abyss to try and claw your way out. 

You’re being offered the chance they never were. You’re holding the controls now. He’s already crying and you’ve barely touched him, barely done anything besides shock him a little. You remember that feeling well. If you recall, you were already crying before he put that knife to your thigh on your first day with him. 

Truth is, you decided the second he fell unconscious what you were going to do. 

Maybe a revenge like this isn’t yours to take, but you’re taking it regardless. For yourself, and for every sorry sap that’s met their end in his cement hellhole. They died for you to have this opportunity, and you’d like to think that maybe they’re there with you in this moment. Even if you never knew them, you feel a strange kinship with them. After all, it was almost you. 

He continues to babble underneath his breath, various pleas for mercy or sympathy or any form of compassion you can muster from your still aching body, and though you desperately wish you did, you can’t find any. You’re certain when you look in the mirror next, it won’t be your own eyes looking back at you anymore, but something closer to his. Maybe you did die in this basement, because whoever you were before you met him is long gone and has been replaced with something so much more empty. 

You explain to him, as gently as you can, that it’s your turn now, and his resistance will only make this harder. You don’t delight in seeing him in pain (whether or not that’s a lie has yet to be determined) but it’s a necessary evil for all he’s done. You don’t believe his life is yours to take, but you’d be as terrible as him if you let him loose on the world again. You can’t trust anyone but yourself, and since this situation is so delicate, you need a bit more time to think on it. 

He doesn’t seem to understand, at least until you’re binding his legs and securing his head snuggly to the pole. Maybe it’s overkill considering the man looks like he belongs in a shibari magazine right now, but there’s no precautions you can’t take. You can’t have him escaping. It’s far too soon, and you have such wonderful things planned. 

Were you a kinder soul, maybe you would put him to sleep because it’s so apparent he’s terrified. Being bound like this has really brought out his inner little bitch, and the way he’s looking, he’s going to piss himself. But its a price it’s only fair that he pay, all things considered. You don’t know what time it is or even where you are, but you know you’ll return to him when you’ve been rejuvenated, eager and ready to begin on him. You’re only a few steps toward the door when he begins shouting, words barely discernible between his emphatic weeping and sobbing hiccups. 

“D-don’t leave me here in the dark! Let me go, let me out! You can’t! You can’t leave me here like this!”  You grin softly, turning slowly to face him, and tell him that you can and you will. You ask what he’s so afraid of, but you don’t wait to hear the answer as you step through the frame and shut the door behind you, leaving him to rot in his personal dungeon. It’s only been an hour and he’s already so pliable. You wonder what you can make him do when you really make it hurt. Psychology says it takes 7 years to brainwash someone and coerce them into absolute compliance, but you’re willing to bet you can have it done in a few months. 

You already know one of his fears, and are very clearly not ashamed to exploit it. How many else does he have, you might wonder, already planning tomorrow’s festivities. Maybe you were sicker in the head than you thought. Maybe Strade just brought out the worst in you, stripped away all that made you human and left you with raw hurt and despair. 

It’s tempting. To give in. To sit and massage your aching body while listening to his screams as they echo through the soundproofed basement. But you’re tired, and you haven’t slept in a bed in over a week. His looked awfully nice. Maybe after that, you’d wash the dried blood from your battered body, order some food, and appreciate the niceties that civilized life had to offer. Niceties you took for granted. 

After that?  Well, after that you had a new pet to train. 

#snaspants #Strade #BTD #NSFT #tw torture mention #im mean just mean lmao #IM LOVE YOU GIRL!!

[miss-choco-chips]

Robin and Red X

Just a silly thing I wrote for @animemangasoul. Hopefully this makes you laugh a bit, hon! No edit whatsoever.

The titans were having a difficult time reconciling their easy going, funny, sure of himself leader with the hot mess in front of them.

“Uhh…”Wally, the bravest of them all, places a careful hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should… call your dad?”

Robin turns to look at him so fast it almost looks like his neck broke. Beast boy screams, turns into a rabbit and jumps into Raven’s arms, because the sound that came from Rob’s mouth wasn’t human at all.

“If any of you call Batman, I’ll personally ensure living hell for everyone in the Team. This is MY case!”

Wally hastily retreats, hands up in a surrender gesture. 

“Okay, okay! I’m just saying, chill. This Red X dude has been giving us all too much trouble, maybe Bats could point us in the right direction or…”

They think Dick said ‘no’, but it was more of a demonic screeching.

“But we’ll respect your wishes! Because you are our friend!”, and you scare us shitless, he added in his mind. 

Roy signaled at Wally, the moment Dick turned his back to them again. Something like ‘are we calling the Bat anyway?’, to which Wally replied ‘I don’t have a death wish, fuck no’.

They never really get around to capture Red X, but no one dares to bring up asking Batman for help again. The mysterious anti hero keeps kicking all their asses each and every time they face him, always having a countermeasure for their specific powers or abilities, but honestly? He’s not as scary as an unhinged Dick could be, so they’d rather fight him than wait for bathed breath for Dick’s revenge if they went behind his back to solve the case with his old mentor.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Jason hasn’t inherited the Robin cape from his predecessor. Dick wasn’t happy, seeing a new kid using his suit without permission, when he himself apparently hadn’t been ready to let it go.

But Jason wanted to be Robin. Needed it. All the good he could do… the people like him he could help… This was his chance of doing right. Of proving the world (proving himself) he was not like his father, a complete and utter trash that belonged in the dumpster that was Arkham. That he, a street rat, could be a hero.

So he fought for his right to the mask, even if he sometimes felt the itch to go wild and do his own thing. Because honestly, being Robin was awesome, but having Batman constantly breathing down his neck? Yeah, not so much.

So when Dick, now Nightwing, approached him one afternoon while Bruce was out on business, he was both weary and desperate for some distraction.

Which was exactly what the dude provided.

“What I’m going to show you”, Dick starts, slowly, after he’s checked there are no ears on them, ”it’s Robin’s secret. The only one we manage to keep from Batman. What our ancestors saved for us, our legacy.”

“We are the only two Robins, dipshit.”

“Shut up this is a formal process. Do you wanna know or not?”

“Just… tone down the roleplaying.”

“Fuck off, that’s the best part.”

Curiosity trumping annoyance, he watches as Dick places a briefcase in the coffee table where he was doing his math homework.

“This right here, it’s all the information, anything you ought to know about our mantle’s most important endgame. This is Robin’s never-ending mission. Our Moby dick. Red X.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Jason approached Tim with the briefcase, Tim’s first thought was ‘he’s going to bribe me’- an automatic response after working on Wayne Enterprises for months now. 

The second was ‘he has someone’s head there hasn’t he. Am I going to be an accomplice? What crime was this, and can I hide it from Bruce?’.

The third and final ‘maybe I should ask him first’.

His -thankfully sane now- predecessor reached the little nook where Tim had tucked himself, in hopes of staying hidden from Damian long enough to enjoy the mannor’s wifi without having to stand his bitching. He sits cross legged in front of him.

“So. Give me all you have on Red X.”

This was… unexpected, but not unprecedented. The family tends to think of him as a convenient alternative to some criminal wikipedia sometimes. 

Obediently (because then he’ll get to go back to his research sooner), he rattles out what little he could scrounge on the antihero. It was, admittedly, not much; any younger hero had not heard of Red X, as he’d been dormant for some years now, and the older ones were forbidden to talk about him by Dick himself. The first Robin had claimed ownership of the antihero, and anyone caught working on his case without his permission would find themself with their life turned around  in the most inconvenient of ways before they could even finish burying the evidence. With Bruce taking a neutral stand on the matter, merely respecting his son’s wishes, no one was willing to risk the fury of someone with Batman’s resources and knowledge.

Except, apparently, Jason, because he was opening the briefcase and turning it in his direction.

“Let me tell you a lil story, that Dickie shared with me some years ago. I wasn’t a good predecessor for a long time ‘ere, Timmers, and I wanna make it right by properly passing this on. The true legacy of Robin; the mystery of Red X.”

“I… I’m not Robin any longer”, he blurted out, though his fingers twitched to touch the contents of the briefcase, to go through all that juicy, sweet treasure.

“Doesn’t matter. Dickie gave Robin without your permission, but this… this only I can pass on, just as you can only pass it to the brat when yer ready. No one can take this away, or Dickie loses the claim he has on Red X.”

Jason opens the briefacase all the way, then.

Tim drops his coffee.

Suddenly, there was something way more important. As unholy as it sounded.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Damian was invited by Drake to their own private ‘bonding night’, he was weary but hopeful. He’d been trying to fix their bond for some time now, so he could not ruin this chance, as suspicious as it sounded.

So they watched a movie, ate vegetarian pizza (Damian felt emotions when he realized Tim knew, paid attention) and complained about their older siblings and their role as Robin.

“It’s just… a heavy burden”, he admits. If someone can understand his feelings, it’d be Timothy after all.

“I get you. There’s also the matter of Dick’s and Bruce’s expectations on you.”

“I have to be perfect for them, all the time. The smallest mistake and… I could lose my family. But I feel so trapped…”

Tim’s hand found his and squeezed it. When Damian looked up, the older teen had a compassive look on his eyes.

“I might have the solution for that.”

As if he had planned this (perhaps he had), Tim retrieved a briefcase from under the couch they were occupying.

“Dick gave this to Jason, and he to me. Now, I’m passing this on to you.”

Damian tilted his head, a bit confused.

“I.. am already Robin.”

Tim smiled and pushed the case closer to him.

“This is even better. The freedom to the bindings that come with the suit. Open it.”

Curious, still weary but unwilling to lose any ground he had gained with his brother, he obeyed.

And promplty dropped it to the ground.

“What is this?!!”

“This”, Tim smiles, cheshire-cat-like, “is the Red X costume, and all his toys. Including, but not limited to, a perfect holographic devise, to use to make people think you are fighting Red X, to clean your name should anyone suspect the truth. I’ve been using it all this last few months, to…”

“Ruin my life?!”, he yells, because it’s not a secret Red X had came back from dormancy to utterly fuck with Robin, taunting him and beating his ass at every turn. It had been doubly frustrating, because everyone refused to speak about the antihero to him, so he had no information on the man to hunt him down properly.

“Chill. I just.. needed to vent a bit. And this suit helped me, which is the entire purpose of Red X.”

“I...don’t understand.”

Tim placed the briefcase in the coffee table and inched closer to Damian.

“Dick created the alias back in the day, when the pressure of being a perfect Robin became too much and he just… wanted to fuck shit up. Unwind a bit. He couldn't do it as himself and lose all the respect from the other heroes he had managed to amass, so he needed a scapegoat for it.”

Damian felt a tug of interest in his gut. He tried to surreptitiously look at the briefcase. 

“Being Robin is tiresome. It’s too heavy a burden. Always perfect partner, always a goodie two shoes… Red X allows you to go wild, be gay-do crime sort of thing, without meddling from any other hero in the community. Burn a warehouse. Use the rocket launcher B has under lock and key. Fuck whoever dumb crimefighter  you dislike the most up. Stir shit whenever you feel life’s been too quiet. Let go and have fun... Damian, aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just want to go ape shit?”

His fingers were digging into the suit before his older brother could even finish talking.

#my writing #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #red x #robin #nightwing #red robin #red hood #batman #crack #just crack guys #no plot #batbrothers #Batfamily Fanfic #my writting

[quirkfics]

threshold of the underworld

A commission for a wonderful anonymous commissioner!  A part ii for playing house

wordcount: 5000

warnings: smut, oral, DP, post Deika City (aka manga spoilers!!)

pairing: Dabi x Female Reader x Tomura Shigaraki

Dabi and Tomura aren’t exactly the most mannerly of people. 

Tomura might keep to certain basics, and he’ll argue over them until he’s blue in the face- But he’s demanding. Rude, especially when he doesn’t get everything he thinks he should. Dabi doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he finds most things and people not worth his time. He might not put as much effort into his rudeness, but his words are sharp in a way that isn’t always immediately apparent. They're like a knife fresh off a whetstone, so sharp that you don’t realize you’re bleeding until after you’ve put the blade down. 

Despite that, they’ve always scrounged up enough manners between the two of them to give you some kind of prior warning about when, or when not, to expect them. 

It’s a system that’s worked well for the three of you. So well, in fact, that you’ve never discussed other options. You’ve never discussed what you should do, if anything, when they just… Stop calling.  

That isn’t exactly right though. Saying they’ve stopped calling implies that maybe they’ve ghosted you, or they’re rejecting your calls, or they’ve just decided they’re through. It implies that… That you know they’re still alive, that they exist, somewhere.  

But you honestly have no idea where Dabi and Tomura are, not anymore, and it's eating away at you. 

You would have been worried simply because they're people, and people you've spent time with to boot. It's human nature to be concerned, to care - at least a little. 

But you've had them in your bed, and despite your best efforts… You care a lot. 

Honestly, it's frustrating. None of this should be much of a problem. Not one of the three of you ever took the time to sit down and hash things out. Why would you have? 

The agreement, such as it was, was that you would pass time in each other's company. Asking a lot of questions was.. not a good idea, and knowing even a fraction of what they do- You listened. You didn't press for potentially damning information and they didn't offer it. 

And talking about the state of the relationship between the three of you? 

You're not even sure how you hope it would have gone. Regardless, all of that has left you exactly where you are now. Alone, out of the loop, and wondering if they're even alive. 

You hope they are, no matter how hurt or angry this has made you feel. You care about those reckless fools, despite your better judgement, despite all three of you coming into this knowing that things like feelings had no place in their lives. It figures, really, that you’re the one to catch them though. Feelings and kindness might not have a place in their lives, but it has a large one in yours, and- You’d kind of thought that might have been what kept them coming back.

Oh, the sex was great too, but it hadn’t just been that. Not towards the end of things. They’d started to stay for longer than a romp in bed. You’d woken to them sprawled over you, overheating you until you’d kicked off everything but the sheets. You’d found the gleam of Tomura’s hair on your bathroom counter and the handful of useless junk Dabi had emptied from his coat pockets. Receipts for things he paid cash for, spare change, once an eraser- It’s notoriously difficult, having evidence of someone existing comfortably in your space, and then having them vanish this way. 

So you’re hurt, and sick to your stomach with worry, but short of shouting to the police that the men you’d been… dating? Are gone, there isn’t anything you can do. And you most definitely know you can’t go to the police. You’d never get away again, despite not knowing any pertinent details about their goals. The police and heroes would keep you under strict surveillance, purely on the off chance that Dabi or Tomura or both would come back for you. If by some chance, they did- but they haven’t. 

You pull your blankets up to your chin, trying to ignore the beginning of the storm picking up speed outside. You want desperately to sleep, to let the sounds wash over you like white noise, but your worrying is too loud. You clutch at your pillow, twist your fingers into the sheets and do the only thing you can do. You wait. 

You feel like you can’t breathe as the days go by. Time sprints and halts at random intervals, leaving you weary with it’s passage. 

When you have something to do, people to be around, everything seems to go by too fast. You can barely move without it feeling like someone’s quirk has pushed you to the end of your shift or all the way back to home again. And when you’re alone? All the quiet piles up in the house, and it’s stifling. You feel like every creak of the floorboards or wisp of wind is surely someone arriving at the door. You jump whenever your phone buzzes or rings, snatching it up so quickly that you’ve started to frighten people on the other end. 

And… And you’ve had way too much time to think.

They used to joke about it all. About feelings. Playing house, being a port in the storm of their lives. It was hurtful at the time, it still kind of is, but- But it’s hard not to look back at every interaction, at all the nights spent in your bed and not see the softness. 

As the weeks go by, two becoming three, you think you might be able to work through this. It sucks, it will always suck, not knowing, being left here to wonder about their fates. You have- had, feelings for them. Maybe it was almost love, you decide one evening, food halfway to your mouth, your eyes focused on nothing. Dabi always claimed a kiss before he left. They were glancing things, just barely brushing your cheek. Perfunctory. He didn’t think about it, like it had become a habit, and that- You’d let yourself hope a little bit. Dabi put thought into everything. He hated wasting time, whether it was on words or actions. If he didn’t need to do something, he didn’t do it. And yet he’d kissed you, consistently, let it stand as his goodbye.     

Tomura was more formal, more distant. He threw on his clothes, barely caring if you or Dabi were watching and, at first, would leave without a word. He was always the first to say he didn’t care if you were rambling, but would come back to the topic just before he left, telling you to ignore the coworker you didn’t get along with, or to toss out the things that were causing you some sort of grievance. Tomura thought about the things you said, extensively, before he even considered answering. Maybe he didn’t even realize it himself, but he did care, at least a little. You take the bite of food, trying not to sniffle as you think about it. He probably would have claimed that the only thing he cared about was not having to listen to you complain, so he was solving the problem. 

Both of them were such atrocious liars. 

And now they’re gone.

You’d held out hope, until last week, that you’d still be able to find them somehow. They were part of the League of Villains, and the news seized onto any and every report people gave about them. You watched almost religiously, but day after day, the only thing reported was that… No one had heard anything. It was like the League as a whole had suddenly just vanished. The reports claimed that it meant the populace as a whole needed to be worried, needed to be on edge, prepared for their inevitable return and the horrible things they were no doubt up to.  Anger sprung up for the space of an hour before it spiraled back down. They’re not here. Their phones are no longer in working order. For all intents and purposes they’re not anywhere. 

It’s… It’s time to move on. You’re not planning on dating anyone, not anytime soon, but you can’t just sit here and mope any longer. You clean up the bits of them you find, the receipts, the few stray hairs, and decide you need to get out and do something. All in all, it doesn’t amount to much excitement, but you take walks, leave the house. You still wish you could hear from them. You still want to know they’re alive, but you’ll deal with it. You can’t exactly do anything else. 

It’s just shy of a month, and you’ve just gotten home for the evening. The wind is loud outside, and getting colder, and you still can’t help the moments where you get distracted. You find yourself staring out the window, jacket still clutched in your hands, watching early evening darken the sky like a blanket being rolled out. If they text me, you think, eyes caught on the flickering stars starting to dot the sky, if they just call me, just once, I can forget about it all. It’s a silly promise, a game you play to help cope, and you know it isn’t exactly the smartest thing to do. You know, in the long run, you’re going to have to stop it, because it just keeps you hoping, keeps you thinking about them, but for now… 

If they let me know they’re alive, everything will be okay.

Nothing happens. Not for a full minute, not for five, and eventually you have to put your coat down. You don’t need to just stand here in the kitchen, staring out the window, searching for shadows that aren’t there. You should get into some comfortable clothes or pajamas and catch something on TV or scroll aimlessly on your phone or read a book, anything but standing here. You leave the room, tired from the day, tossing your coat haphazardly into the front room and-

The back door rattles. 

You can see it from where you’re standing when you turn around, can see the knob rattling. There’s a pause, and for a split second you think you might have imagined it- but then it starts back up again. Your first instinct is to search for your phone, but before you can move out of sight, before you can even take a step, there’s a strange crumbling noise filling the air, followed quickly by choked laughter, and then Dabi’s tired sounding voice, just loud enough to hear over your heartbeat echoing in your ears: “I don’t think she’s going to like that.” 

You don’t remember moving, can barely feel the motion of your feet carrying you back into the kitchen until you’re standing six feet from the door, clutching desperately at a chairback. The door swings open, revealing Tomura and Dabi in the near darkness, their eyes bright, brilliant with life. They’re alive. They’re alive, and your heart is heavy in your throat, cutting off your voice and any words you might consider speaking.

You don’t know whether you’re relieved or angry, watching them tromp in like they’re home, like they belong. The debate inside your head seems to take eons, because maybe you are leaning more towards angry. Did he just ruin your door? But the sight of Tomura brushing dust off of his hands makes you pause.

Your doorknob is gone, and so are some of Tomura’s fingers. His hair is long, longer than you’ve ever seen it, and even though his eyes are bright, even though his smile is clear on his face - and growing wider at the sight of you - he looks terrible. Like he hasn’t been sleeping, like he’s been thrown around like a ragdoll and he’s just barely keeping his feet.

“Tomura?” You croke and you clutch tighter to the chair, because you’re not sure you’re awake, not any more. His hand- His hand, and he looks terrible, even as he reaches out for you, a strange looking glove in place and motions you forward. You don’t move. Your eyes dart to Dabi when he finally makes it inside, and he looks worn down and ragged too. He still has all his appendages, but his eyes, always heavy lidded, always sleepy looking- Dabi looks like he’s two minutes away from laying down on your floor.

Tomura snorts when you don’t move, and he doesn’t look… Disappointed, not exactly, but he’d obviously fully expected you to just- “Thought you might have missed us,” he rasps, lips quirking upwards when you look him in the face. “So we came straight here.” He takes a step forward, and you have to physically stop yourself from taking a step back. You… You’re not sure you could take it, if this ended up being a dream.

“You’re alive,” you murmur, glancing over Tomura’s shoulder at Dabi again. 

“...You thought we died?” Tomura asks, nose wrinkling with distaste, with disbelief. He glances back at Dabi, as if to say can you believe this? But Dabi shrugs. 

“We nearly did. Multiple times,” he says honestly, and you feel light headed. Carefully, you pull the chair out from under the table and sit down in it. If you pass out, you’re not sure Tomura should be the one closest to catch you, but- but you’re starting to believe that they’re real, at least. 

“I know- I know no questions is the rule, but if you could tell me anything, I would be grateful. I’ve been-” You bite on your tongue, trying to pretend that you weren’t about to say mourning you because you’re not sure either of them would like it, for a multitude of reasons. Tomura hadn’t seemed particularly happy about you thinking they were dead, and you don’t want to hear what Dabi might say about you being attached. “I’ve made myself sick, worrying over you,” you say instead, and you think the laugh that you follow it with sounds mostly steady. The look they share makes your stomach drop and then Tomura takes the few remaining steps forward, tilting your head up with his thumb, all the better to meet his eyes. 

“Don’t patronize her,” Dabi says, before Tomura can do more than part his lips. His eyes narrow in response, and you think he might just say something flippant on purpose, something that will rile up Dabi and cause an argument that will drag on for the better part of an hour.

“I was securing some important things for us,” he says, and tips his head back towards Dabi. The League, then. “It took-” Tomura pauses, gritting his teeth. All it does is show off how hollow his cheeks have gotten, and all you want to do now is take them to bed to sleep. God, he needs it. They need it, and so do you, if you’re being honest. “It took much longer than I thought it would.”

Dabi comes to a stop next to Tomura, reaching out to pinch gently at your cheek. “Wasn’t trying to leave you high and dry,” he says, and you have to bite your tongue again, or you’re going to start crying. 

In all likelihood, that’s going to be about as much of the story as they’re willing to give you. More might come out over the visit, or maybe the next, in awkward starts and stops about small details- but you’re not sure you care about the details. Not after hearing how very close they came to death. Dabi hasn’t lied, doesn’t have any reason to lie, not here, not to you. But it must have been close, for him to bring it up with such a blase attitude. That… That scares you.

You should probably be scared of them still, of their destructive quirks and the way they’ve used them, but in all actuality, all you feel is relief and- and want. Still. Maybe if they’d stayed away, maybe if something really had happened, you might have been able to move past this. Past them, but they’re here. They’re real, and all you want to do is be pressed between them so you can finally rest.

“Bed?” You ask, getting to unsteady feet, but Tomura hooks a finger around your wrist, tugging you in close. 

“In a minute,” he says, voice quiet. His eyes search yours, pupils expanding the longer he looks at your face. You want to ask if he missed you, or about his fingers, but- “Aren’t you going to welcome us?” He asks, and if it had been anyone else, you might have thought it was a joke, but Tomura? He doesn’t joke like that. He expects to be answered in some capacity, and the only thing that’s springing to mind has you wanting to look away. If you do- 

Your mouth is dry, but you lick at your lips, unable to turn away, to refuse because you’ve wanted to say it before. You’ve thought about it, especially while they were MIA, and you might… You might not get this chance again, not if he changes his mind, not if something really does happen to them the next time they leave here. “Welcome home,” you whisper and your heart starts to pound for an entirely different reason now when he smirks. 

“Doesn’t that sound beautiful?” Dabi asks, and you would think he was teasing, that he was mocking, if you couldn’t see the soft, weary look in his eyes. 

“Good girl,” Tomura says, and that sharp smirk hasn’t faded from his face, but… But they both look like they’re about to fall over. 

“Are you ready to catch some sleep now?” You interrupt to ask, knowing what Tomura is thinking about, what he’s going to suggest, even before he starts to open his mouth. 

“We should,” Dabi says, but not like he thinks they’re actually going to. 

Tomura lets you take a single step backward, but he hasn’t released your arm. “If you’re tired?” He says, less like a question, and more like he’s mulling the words over in his mind. “Then yes. We’ll head to sleep for the night. If you aren’t-” And there’s such promise in the air that you half believe your could twist your fingers and find that it’s tangible, that it comes wrapped up in paper and ribbon. “Then there’s a few things I’ve been thinking about for the past month that I would very much like to do.”

“Trying to leave me out of this?” Dabi asks stepping up so he’s shoulder to shoulder with Tomura, and if they were any other men, if they were more tactile, you’re fairly sure that they would be elbowing each other out of the way. Instead Dabi just snags your other wrist, and you��re fairly sure that both of them have made note of your racing pulse by the looks they give you. 

“Should we?” Tomura asks you, and his chilled finger strokes over your wrist, as cool as Dabi is warm. 

“Should we what?” You ask,completely distracted by the look in his eyes, by the way they’re touching you, by the desire curling around your spine and spiraling through your veins. They’re here. They’re alive and-

“Should we leave player 2 out of this?” Tomura asks, jerking a thumb in Dabi’s direction. The motion, the phrasing, the look of distaste in Dabi’s eyes- you start to laugh. You can’t seem to find it within yourself to stop, not yet. You’re shocked and elated that both of them let you step forward and lean your forehead against their nearly touching shoulders. This close, you can smell ash on them both, but they’re clean enough that you know they’ve showered recently. You wonder if it’s their clothes, because Tomura did say that he wanted to come straight here, because- because he thought you might have missed them. You have to bite down on your lower lip, because even if you keep laughing, you know it’s just going to morph into tears, and neither of them want that, even if, at some point later, you’re going to need it. 

“No,” you finally wheeze, realizing then that Dabi’s fingers are laced with yours and Tomura has tilted his head to rest against you. “I don’t want to leave either of you out. I still think sleeping is the best option-”

“Still worrying about us?” Dabi asks, and the way he leans in to say it, voice rough with tiredness, with want, had your heart thudding unevenly. "You're always so sweet." He says it like he means the taste of you, and you can't help the quiet hitch of your breath.

“Worry later,” Tomura says impatiently, and his hold on your wrist tightens. "Bed, now," he demands. 

Neither you nor Dabi argue, though when they finally release you, you catch Dabi rolling his eyes over the tone of Tomura's words. He's always so demanding, in just about everything he does, and yet there's something about the way he says it, the curl of his mouth- Even Dabi, who definitely disagrees with Tomura simply on principle, is swayed by the quiet charisma. He's part of the League, after all.

The three of you head to your bedroom in near silence, with you leading the way. Neither of them has ever been keen on filling silences, though you do, sometimes, but tonight? Anything you might say will either come across as hurt, or a confession. You're not sure which would be worse.  

It's hard to find the words though when the only language all three of you seem to speak well is with your bodies. And even in that capacity, you’re not sure that a… confession, of sorts, would be well received. 

You glance over your shoulder at them, pausing with your hand on the bedroom door, searching out their faces in the shadows. 

“Scared of the dark?” Dabi teases. You want to laugh with him, to mirror Tomura’s smirk and brush it off, but- It’s not that you’re scared of the dark, no. You feel like you’re on the threshold of the underworld, leading them out, and you just want to be sure that they’re still here. Still alive, still tangible after the nightmare of the last month, that they won't be whisked away by the fear that’s set up shop in the back of your head. 

"Just… wanted to be sure I'm not dreaming." 

“That’s enough of that,” Tomura scoffs and pushes past you. He snags hold of your shirt at the last second with his injured hand. There’s tension building up around his eyes and his forearm when he tugs, but he doesn’t let go of you, doesn’t verbally clue either you or Dabi in to how he’s feeling. “We’re alive, we’re walking-”

“Barely,” Dabi volleys in, raising an eyebrow when Tomura’s head snaps around so he can glare at him. “And some of us are missing pieces.”

Tomura’s mouth opens, anger in the curl of his lips- and then it slowly morphs into a saccharine smile. "You’re right,” he says quietly, and then lets go of you, mechanically stripping out of his clothes. “So I think we deserve a little care, don’t we?” 

For the space of a breath, you think Dabi is going to say something else that’ll set Tomura off, but when you glance at him, he’s smiling too. “Gonna take care of us?” He asks, expectant, but unlike Tomura, who sounds almost mischievous, Dabi sounds warm. You’re half way to throwing all your worries out the window. Earlier in the month you’d actually thought the words, though you’d tried to quash them down deep, but- it’s true. You care. You l-

Before you can open your mouth though, Tomura is taking you carefully in hand, drawing you towards the bed until he’s sitting back on it, leaving you standing at the edge between his naked thighs. He lays back, arms crossed behind his head to form a pillow and waits. You make to touch him, fingers just barely brushing over the tops of his thighs, but Dabi’s arms slip around you and his hands close around your wrists. He pulls them back up until your hands are trapped against your own chest and hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“Can’t take care of us with clothes on,” he says softly against your ear and desire settles low in your abdomen. He keeps your hands where they are, shifting until both your wrists are trapped in the grip of one hand, while the other snakes down your body, pushing at your trousers until you can shuffle them off. As soon as you’re bare, as soon as your shirt hits the floor, Tomura is crooking a finger your way. “Not going to keep him waiting, are you?” Dabi asks, fingers stroking down your spine before he’s bending you over, pressing your cheek to Tomura’s thigh. 

You could lay here, could let Tomura start things by putting your mouth exactly where he wants it- but you do want to take care of them, and at least in this way, you most definitely can. He’s half hard before you even curl your hand around the base of him, and as soon as you take the head of Tomura’s cock in your mouth, Dabi is parting your legs. You make a noise of surprise that has Tomura tensing, growing harder against your tongue and then Dabi is stroking you, hand curled around your hip to hold you still. 

“Always so wet for us,” Dabi murmurs, and the sound of him, the roughness, makes you dig your fingernails into Tomura’s thigh. Tomura hisses, but you know he likes it, has always liked when you leave little marks on him or Dabi, when you lose control. 

“How wet?” Tomura asks, propping himself up so he can press gently against your neck, urging you to take more of him in your mouth, to suck- “Wet enough to take us both?” He asks, and curses when you make another noise around him, vibrations nearly causing him to buck. 

Dabi tests you, fingers slipping inside and scissoring, and he steps in close so he can rut himself against the back of your thigh, groaning when you press back against him. “Shit, I don’t know, better ask her,” he rasps and then twists his hand, fucking into you with his fingers and trying to press against your clit at the same time.  

Tomura pulls you off of him, tugging just hard enough at your hair to have your head tilted back. “Well? Gonna take care of us both or do we need to take turns?”

“I- I’ll try,” you offer, heat so prevalent that you’re surprised you haven’t started sweating. That’s all Tomura needs to hear though, because he pulls you onto his lap, breath coming heavy and fast as he lines himself up. 

“Been waiting- waiting for this,” Tomura growls, eyes fluttering closed as soon as he starts to slide inside. “Dreamed about being here, every time I-” Dabi doesn’t give either of you time to adjust. He places his hands just under Tomura’s and then pushes, leaving you aching and full and maybe you can’t- “Oooh, fuck, you should see her face,” Tomura says and then you’re whimpering as Dabi presses against your back, changing the angle so he can-

“‘S a lot,” you gasp, because it is, and it’s just a little bit, just enough to have your legs shaking and both of them frozen. The only noise in the room is heavy breathing and the small noises you’re making as they try-

Tomura’s laughter is choked and his lips brushing your shoulder as he speaks has you tensing. “Yeah, look at you! Going to make a mess of us both and we’ve- we’ve barely- fuck,” he groans as Dabi slides against him. 

You’re going to be a mess period. You don’t think you can last much longer, with the pressure, with the slow pace they have to keep, you feel like you’re about to burst. Between Dabi’s quiet muttering and Tomura’s constant cursing and wriggling-

“Oh, I’m-” And then you’re shaking apart between them and Tomura is pulling you into a messy kiss as everything turns wonderfully hot and slick and they’re both coming. Dabi whispers your name and when Tomura finally lets you pull away for air, you think you might black out for a moment. 

When your eyes flutter open you’re aching, in all the right ways, and you’re pressed in between them. You don’t think you’ve lost much time because Dabi is still cleaning you up, but you’re now using Tomura for a pillow and- you’re exhausted.

“I did,” you murmur sleepily and Tomura’s gloved hand stops it’s stroking over your neck.

“Did what?” Dabi asks and there’s a quiet shuffling before the light is off and he’s climbing into bed beside you. You’re absolutely spent, and you know that any moment now, you’re going to drift off. 

“I missed- missed you two,” you say through a yawn, relaxing completely once you’re draped twice over with their limbs. Neither of them say anything, but you don’t particularly mind. They’re cuddling you and they came straight here-

Just as you’re starting to drift off completely, you hear Tomura mutter in a tone that brooks no argument: “She can’t stay here.” His partially gloved hand tightens its grip on your side.  

“Agreed,” Dabi says, barely awake as his hand strokes down your spine. “It’s not going to be safe for us to come back here.” He sighs. “Not anymore.”

“We’re not giving her up,” Tomura states and it’s almost enough to rouse you, but-

“No. And we can’t just vanish on her, not again,” Dabi yawns, and then goes silent. 

“We’ll bring her home,” Tomura decides, and then his lips are soft against your shoulder.

#dabi x reader #bnha dabi x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #dabi x reader x tomura #sometimes i feel like my titles are pretentious #and i'm being silly referencing mythology but like #i cant NOT #manga spoilers #lemon

[peraltasames]

if devotion is a river then i’m floating away

anonymous: If you’re still taking prompts: Jake/Amy period comfort fic (cause I girl is suffering with these cramps)

in which i project my (and evidently this anon’s and prob everyone’s) desires to have my own jake peralta take care of me while i’m on my period into a fic! 💕 title from ‘love you for a long time’ by maggie rogers ✨

read on ao3

The worst part is Amy was really excited for date night.

(Admittedly, that’s the second-worst part. The worst part is definitely the awful pain in her abdomen that hasn’t relented even after a long, hot bath and a Midol.)

Still, she was really looking forward to whatever romantic activities Jake planned for the evening (or completely unromantic, she would honestly take hot dogs from the cart near his place and making out on his old, musty couch). She hasn’t seen him - properly seen him, outside of work - all week due to an insane caseload for both of them.

Incidentally, spending an entire week without your boyfriend sucks a lot more than it normally would when you just spent six months without him.

The last thing she wants is to cancel their plans, but she can’t even bring herself to get dressed, let alone go to dinner or a movie. Begrudgingly, she sends him a quick text before going to scrounge herself dinner from whatever’s in the fridge.

Sorry babe, I think I have to take a rain check on tonight. Bad cramps. I’ll call you tomorrow xo

After a very underwhelming dinner of a few saltine crackers and half a banana, Amy makes her way to the couch and turns on a home renovation show, hoping it will distract her from the perfect night she was supposed to be having with Jake.

Just before the big reveal of the couple’s newly-renovated San Fransisco townhouse, a sharp knock on her door forces her to drag herself off the couch. Expecting an Amazon delivery person or a neighbour asking her to collect their mail or something along those lines of banality, Amy sighs and swings open the door.

She’s not expecting Jake, wearing the suit that she only gets to see on fancy date nights, precariously balancing several paper bags in his arms.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” she exclaims, taking one of the bags from him before he drops it.

“Bringing supplies, duh,” Jake replies, striding past her to dump the rest of the stuff on the table. “From the drugstore - Midol, Advil, tampons. Chocolate and tea from the grocery store. And-” He gestures to the bag she’s holding. “That one’s dinner.”

She opens the bag and the unmistakable scent of pierogis floods her senses. Oh, he’s scoring major boyfriend points for this one.

“Jake, this is so sweet, I-” Her eyes flit down to his suit again and then widen immediately with concern. “Crap, did you not get my text before you left to pick me up? I really thought I would’ve caught you in time.”

“Oh, I left early to pick these up before our date.” Jake grins, pulling a bouquet of roses from the remaining mystery bag, walking them over to her. In a terrible attempt at a posh British accent, he adds, “For you, my dear.”

Some combination of Jake’s warm gaze and soft smile and this big romantic gesture makes Amy’s eyes begin to well with tears beyond her control.

Jake carefully places the flowers back down on the table, his brows knitting together as he rubs her upper arms gently. “What’s wrong, Ames?”

“Nothing, I just-“ She shakes her head. “You’re here and I missed you so much and I feel like we’ve barely seen each other since you got back and I just - it’s probably just hormones.”

She wipes her eyes and attempts to laugh it off, but Jake looks at her with complete sincerity and reaches upward to gently cup her face in his hands. She melts into his touch, so warm and familiar even after all this time apart.

“I missed you too.”

He leans in to kiss her and she meets him halfway, slowly rising up to her tiptoes so she has better access. She gradually, reluctantly pulls away, pecking his lips quickly before lowering herself and looping her arms around his neck.

“You know, you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” he assures her, rubbing her forearm. “I wasn’t just going to let you sit at home feeling crappy by yourself.”

Amy smiles, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “You’re the sweetest.”

“It was also cause I wanted to see you, though, so it’s like fifty-percent for selfish reasons.”

She rolls her eyes and leans in to kiss him again, but a sharp pain in her lower abdomen makes her recoil and grab her stomach.

“You okay?” Jake asks quickly, his hands moving to steady her. She nods, leaning into him for support. “Why don’t you get settled in on the couch with those pierogis and I’ll go get changed into couch-appropriate clothes?”

Amy smiles and lets him lead her to the couch, placing the takeout bag and a couple of plates in front of her before disappearing to her bedroom for a moment. She manages to devour half of her portion of food in the time it takes for him to change and return, wearing sweats and a t-shirt from the designated Jake drawer in her dresser. It’s yet another reminder of the silliness of their disagreement over whose apartment to move into - sure, she loves her place and it’s indisputably better than his, but she would take that tiny, unsafe, dirty apartment if it meant coming home to this every night.

She shifts over on the couch to make room for him to join her and he plops down next to her, forking over a few of his pierogis from the container onto her plate when he notices she’s nearly finished.

“Sorry this isn’t the romantic evening you had planned,” Amy says once they’re done eating, placing her empty plate on the coffee table and leaning into his side.

“Nah, this is like, the most romantic night ever,” Jake mumbles against her hair, and she can’t detect even a hint of sarcasm. “I wish you didn’t feel gross, though. Is there anything I can do?”

Amy thinks for a moment. “You could grab my heating pad from the hallway closet? It’s on the top shelf.”

“On it.”

Jake springs to his feet and returns with the soft grey heating pad, which she can see he’s already turned on to warm up for her. Amy immediately slaps it on her stomach, appreciating the instant relief.

“Anything else, m’lady?”

Already laying down and curling up into the most comfortable position possible right now, Amy nods and pats the space behind her. “You can spoon me while we watch that documentary I was talking about on the history of American spelling bees.”

Jake complies without missing a beat (their usual bets and competitions to decide who gets to pick the movie are put on hold whenever one of them isn’t feeling well) and slides into the space behind her on the couch, immediately wrapping his arms around her.

As soon as she selects the title on Netflix she shifts further into his embrace. As much as she has science to thank for the invention of Midol, she’s always doubly grateful for her boyfriend around this time of the month. Without fail, from the very early stages of their relationship, he’s always been there to give her a back rub or stop at the store to buy her tampons or comfort her during one of her hormone-fuelled breakdowns.

It’s incredibly unfair, she thinks, that she had to endure six months of these emotional breakdowns - made exponentially worse by his absence - without him there to hold her and kiss her hair and tell her it would be okay. There’s a lot of injustice in the world, though, and at least the universe seems to be trying to make amends by granting her perfect moments like these, where all the pain fades away and all she can focus on is his arms wrapped around her.

She can feel him rubbing her back gently with one hand while the other pulls her hair out of the way to lay a kiss on her shoulder, and involuntary goosebumps cover her skin.

“Thank you for coming over,” she whispers, already beginning to feel drowsy from the medication and the relaxation Jake’s presence brings, despite the riveting documentary they’re watching. “I missed this. Missed you.”

She’s yet to find the limit to the number of times she can tell him that since he’s come home. If it’s anywhere near the amount of times she thought about how badly she longed to hear his voice or feel his touch again while he was gone, she figures she must still have thousands of ‘I missed you’s waiting to be said.

“You saw me yesterday, clingy much?” Jake teases, one of his signature attempts to lighten the mood, but his hand still reaches for hers and tightly interlocks their fingers.

“Not what I meant,” Amy quips.

“I know, babe.” He lays another feather-light kiss to her shoulder. “Me too.”

She continues to revel in the feeling of his warm breath against the back of her neck and his gentle kneading of her lower back, the intimate attention and overall feeling of safety slowly coaxing her to sleep.

Perhaps he can sense that she’s fighting to stay awake, to spend as many waking hours with him as possible, because he whispers “sleep, Ames” against the shell of her ear.

“I love you,” she murmurs, pulling his arm tighter around her before giving in to the lure of sleep.

Jake carefully grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over both of them, burying his face in her hair once he’s situated.

“I love you.”

#jake x amy #b99 fic