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clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 months

Note

F***ing FINALLY!!! I've been looking for stuff with a Reader saving Dogday since he's been introduced and I've only got like, three so far-

And I want this Reader to be resourceful, using anything to patch Dogday up(including scraps of Miss Delight's dress)

I hear your calls <3

...............

"You're wasting precious time, angel. Poppy needs you. I'm only gonna slow you down. Just leave me here, and tell her I'm-"

"You'll get to tell her that yourself, Dogday. Because I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna help you whether you like it or not."

With a huff, you used the grabpack to wheel in a cart filled with an assortment of items you picked up around the Playcare area: doll parts, plush felt, metal bars, and even Dogday's other missing leg, which you have miraculously found in the playhouse.

You did your best to stitch them back onto his body, although the real challenge was fixing them up first--considering how badly they got mangled by the smaller Smiling Critters. Through sheer luck, you were still able to recognize them as his legs.

And conveniently, you've retained some of your craftsmanship skills from your days working with Playtime Co.

You were given some praise for being able to speedily patch up broken and torn-up toys, but you've never touched upon any of the "Bigger Bodies" despite seeing similar injuries on them. They simply never gave you that clearance, and dealing with blood and organs (and possible death) was something way above your paygrade.

But with Dogday, you were able to apply similar techniques you used in doll repair. You made patches out of Miss Delight's polka-dot dress to cover up any tears, and you created small mechanisms to put inside his legs that would (hopefully) enable him to walk again.

It was like you were performing a surgical operation..

Except, well..that's exactly what was going on.

Despite your unwavering determination--and the fact that you succeeded in reattaching one leg to him so far--he insisted that you were only putting yourself at risk trying to help him.

Hell, you nearly got torn apart by those little Smiling Critters who chased you both down, being scared off by the flares you shot at them. He didn't think you'd have enough..but by the grace of god, you did. And you escaped and found a safe place where Kissy Missy and Poppy were also hiding out.

Not only did you finally get a breather, but also a chance to help one of the few toys left here who somehow didn't lose their humanity.

Even so, Dogday still feared for your safety.

"You know..this will only enrage Catnap, right?" He rasped, choking out a wet cough. "He'll know that I'm missing. And he'll know you have something to do with it.."

"Wait.." Pausing in your work, you glanced up at him with furrowed eyebrows. "Why would he care about where you are? Or better yet..why would he keep you alive at all?"

"...because I was his favorite."

"Huh..?"

"Before the Prototype became his sole focus, we did everything together." He explained somberly. "We helped the others fall asleep, stayed out of trouble. Catnap and I..we were like day and night. Two peas in a pod. He brands me a heretic now, but...somehow, I don't believe he likes doing so. Maybe..he hasn't forgotten our friendship, after all."

'Well, stringing someone up by belts and ripping off half their body doesn't sound like something a good friend would do..' You thought to yourself, although you understood where he was coming from.

Yet it didn't change the fact you still wanted to kill that stupid purple cat. Especially after he gave you that hellish nightmare of Huggy crawling out of a television.

"I know you wanna believe there's still good in him, but..he's long gone." You shook your head. "Those critters..they tried crawling inside your body, and he was just gonna allow it all because you didn't wanna follow the Prototype's will."

"........"

Silence was your only reply, but you decided to shift your focus back on repairing the other leg. Dogday allowed you to work, no longer protesting as he instead looked at the stitches on his arms, feeling grateful yet unworthy at the same time.

Him and the others...they were all monsters. He never killed a single human in his existence (or at least none that he could recall), but he felt like he was just as terrible as those who did.

Eventually, you finished, and his ears perked up at your sigh of relief as you set down your tools and pushed the cart away. "There we go. Try to stand up, but take it slow. Okay?"

He nodded, feeling quite nervous as he looked at his legs, before he slowly pushed himself off the ground. For a few moments, he was able to stand, but he wobbled a little and had to hold onto the nearest wall so he didn't lose balance.

'When was the last time I had my legs? It's been so long...'

Then he felt your grabpack's hands gently steady him, and soon enough he could stand on his own without their support.

You smiled and retracted them. "How do you feel?"

"Much better...thank you, angel." Dogday looked down at you, the corners of his wide smile turning further upwards. "You truly are something divine. You've come to heal us, mend all of our broken pieces, even when we do not deserve such kindness. How could I ever repay you?"

Right as you were about to respond, you heard sounds of plush feet moving and turned around, seeing Kissy and Poppy entering the room.

You didn't really he'd nearly be as tall as Huggy's spouse.

"You fixed him! What can't you do?" The redhaired doll gasped in awe, hopping onto Kissy's hand before she was carefully transferred over to Dogday's paws, stepping into them.

He held her gently, smiling. "Poppy."

"It's so good to see you, my friend." She smiled, although it was quick to disappear. "I thought all of you were gone."

"It's just me now, and...I'm....I-I'm...." He began to sniffle, his voice breaking as the weight of everything that's happened came crashing down. "I'm so sorry...I tried so hard, but...I-I failed! I couldn't protect them!"

Thin streams of tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, darkening the fur along his cheeks. "Kickin'...B-Bobby..they all died because of me! I was supposed to be their leader, but all I did was lead them to their demise! I-I should have joined them in-"

"There, there..it's going to be alright." Poppy softly hushed him, patting his arm in comfort. "You did your best to protect them given the circumstances. I promise we'll have our chance to avenge them. But you must live, for their sake..and for [y/n]'s sake, too. They went through a lot to fix you up."

"I know but..I-I'm so scared. I don't wanna face him alone-"

"You won't be alone, because I'm gonna take care of him."

With another sniffle, Dogday looked down at you, feeling you gently petting his ear as another comforting gesture. Your eyes held nothing but sympathy and heartache for this poor creature. "I'm sorry, but we have to put him down. It's the only way we can move forward."

"Are you sure?" He mumbled. "He's gotten more powerful, and hungry-"

"So were Huggy and Mommy, but I saw how [y/n] dealt with them..and they're more than capable." Poppy remarked. "But now that Catnap's onto them, they'll need all the protection they can get."

"Then..I'll do my best to help." He finally declared, smiling at you.

You blinked, surprised that he was willing to stand up against the one who tortured him. But you simply nodded and smiled back, watching as he returned Poppy to Kissy, before he turned back to you and crouched down.

He enveloped you in a warm hug, the vanilla scent still seeping from his suit and helping you feel more at ease.

"Thank you, Dogday." You chuckled, hugging him back.

"No..thank you, my guardian angel. I will follow you to the ends of the earth."

#clanask #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime dogday #dogday x reader #poppy playtime poppy #kissy missy #platonic #poppy playtime spoilers #hurt/comfort

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chaussetteblanche · 5 months

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AHH i lived ur luke one do u think u can do another maybe like an enemies to lovers trope (sorry im a sucker for enemies to lovers)☺️

hi babe !! thanks for requesting ! don't apologise we're all on our knees and begging for enemies to lovers <3

I hate you

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader summary : you and luke have been mortal enemies for months, will things change because of a quest? word count: 2.3k warnings : swear words, description of a wound

Luke had hated you since your first day at camp. To this day, you had no idea why. But after months of letting snark comments and aggressive capture the flags slide, you’d decided you had had enough. That had been the moment you'd officially become enemies.

When he'd jeer at you, you'd bite back with even more venom. If you made him drop his sword at capture the flag, he��d come after you with his bare hands. When one hit, the other hit back harder. It was constant war.

The rest of camp never understood this hatred you both harboured for one another. Singularly, you were both kind, generous and intelligent people. The kind of people you’d expect to get along fine and even become good friends. But no, it was always one thing after the next.

So imagine your horror when a relatively new camper was chosen for a quest and found nothing better to do than pick you and your mortal enemy to accompany him. It was your worst nightmare come true. You froze when both your names resounded in the agora.

You choked, coughed and held back from spluttering, refusing to embarrass yourself. You smoothed down your camp shirt and nodded. You did not look at Luke, even though you could feel his heated glower on your skin. He would probably find a way to blame you for this. Chiron looked between you and Luke with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips. You could almost hear what he was thinking. Nonetheless, he abided.

Walking back to your cabin to prepare your things, you could hear the word actively spreading behind you. "Did you hear that-" "Yeah, he’s chosen Luke and-" "They’ll be lucky if they don’t kill each other." Rolling your eyes, you shut yourself in your cabin and leaned back on the closed door. You dug the heels of your hands into your eyes, groaning. This was going to be nightmare.

And it really was. By hour 12 of the quest, you’d managed to get yourself thrown out of a train, fought off two harpies and had lost Luke. "Where the hell did he go?" you asked loudly as you and Alan, the young camper, walked in direction of your next task. "He couldn’t have just disappeared!" "I don’t know, maybe he’ll join us later on." Alan shrugged. You frowned. "Do you know anything about this?" You slowly turned to to him and he took a step back, shaking his head. "No, no, I-" "I’d suggest you think twice before lying to me, Alan," you growled. Alan sighed. "Yes, he told me he wanted to see how badly you did on your own so he could report it to camp." "Right." Of course. Of course he would find a way to make the dangerous quest even harder than it needed to be. You inhaled deeply, trying to remind yourself not to take your anger out on this thirteen year-old child. Your blood boiling, you turned back around and continued to walk. If Luke wanted to stay behind, that was fine with you. Better that than have him be in your way.

"Oi!" Called a voice about an hour later. Ugh, Luke. You ignored him, keeping a steady pace. He called your name again. You didn’t react until his hand came down on your shoulder. Before he could say another word, you spun around and pushed him up against the nearest tree, your forearm pressing down on the column of his throat. "Who the fuck do you think you are," you snarled, close to his face, "to leave Alan and I alone? The quest comes before everything! It comes before your hatred for me and your stupid pettiness! So pull yourself together and stop fucking around! » You shoved yourself off him, glaring into his eyes. He looked at you darkly before grabbing your wrist and pulling you close to him. "Yell at me again, princess, and I’ll give you a real reason to scream," he warned in a low voice. You scoffed, ripping your wrist out of his grip. "Shut up and start walking, Castellan."

The quest went smoothly -as smoothly as it could go considering the tension between Luke and you- after that. You found that the three of you made a pretty good team. Everything was going fine and you had been on your way back to camp when you crossed a griffin. You pushed Alan behind you immediately, taking out your sword at the same time Luke did. "Distract him, I'll go around the side!" Luke ordered, running off. Despite not wanting to follow his orders, you set your jaw and instructed Alan to hide. You twisted your ring, a gift from your mother which turned into a shield when twisted the right way, and waited for the shield to form before banging your sword against it.

"Over here, you stinking pile of feathers! Or should I say fur?" You yelled as you ran backwards, away from Alan. You continued banging your sword against your shield and watched as Luke charged forward from the griffin's unguarded side. The beast shrieked as it was struck and batted Luke away with its large wing. Luke flew to the side with an 'oomph' sound. Despite your despise for him, you felt surprisingly concerned.

You darted forward as the griffin raised one of its clawed feet, ready to strike down Luke, who was slowly getting to his feet. The loud clang of claws meeting the metal of your shield made him look up quickly. You were straining underneath the power of the monster, pushing back against your shield with all of your strength. "Fucking. Move." You managed to speak through clenched teeth. Luke finally snapped out of his daze and bolted to the side. You readied yourself before jumping to the side, out of the griffin's reach -or so you thought. He swapped at you with his other clawed foot and despite you trying to run out of the way, managed to cut a gash in your side. You cried out. You heard Luke and Alan scream your name, but they felt far away.

You spun around, livid, and cut off the beast's hand as it came down towards you once more. Luke took his chance and stabbed the monster in the chest. The three of you watched as the creature turned to dust. You fell to your knees. Luke was next to you in a second, breathing heavily. He laid you down in the grass, muttering to himself. "Show me," he ordered, lifting your shirt up to reveal your stomach. You squirmed both from the strange feeling of having his eyes on your revealed body and from the stinging pain of the cut. "Gods- how bad it is?" you asked. The sound of Alan vomiting was indication enough. Luke bit his bottom lip, brows furrowed. "It's fixable. You just need ambrosia and a healer." "Really?" You hated the way your voice sounded so weak. Luke nodded strongly. "Trust me." And for some reason, you found that you did. He stood up and sheathed his sword before gesturing for Alan to take your bag.

"Can you walk?" he asked, though it sounded like more of a formality than a real question. You lifted yourself up on your elbows and groaned in pain. You shook your head, hating the fact that you had to rely on him of all people for help. "Okay, then." Luke bent forward, going to pick you up. "Wait." He stopped immediately. His eyes snapped up to your face, which had gone frighteningly white. You were staring at the gash across your stomach. It went from the top of ribs to the side of your belly button. And it did not look good. The cut was jagged and blood poured out all over your clothes. Luke watched, helpless, as your fingers reached out to touch the cut. You hissed in pain before looking up into his eyes.

"I'm going to die." Your voice shook dangerously. He hated the way your eyes watered and the way you looked so scared. He'd never seen you look that way before and he wanted to wipe the sight from his memory. You did not have a face that was meant to look frightened. You had a face which was meant for pride and victory. "Look at me." He grabbed your chin and kneeled next to you. "You are not going to die." He pulled a spare T-shirt out of his bag, balled it up and pressed down on your wound with it. "I know, it hurts," he cooed as you whimpered with pain. "Hold it here."

Ignoring your groans of pain, he pulled you into his arms and stood up. Your vision was becoming blurry, but you did all you could to keep pressing down on your wound with his T-shirt. You heard him bark out orders to Alan in the distance. "Luke," you spoke softly as black dots danced in your vision. "No, no, no, don't close your eyes, princess. Keep looking at me." "I don't wanna die," you whispered before passing out. Luke clenched his jaw as he sped up the pace, ordering Alan to keep up with him. "Idiot. You're not gonna die. I won't let you."

You awoke to a soft yellow light surrounding you. Slowly opening your eyes, you looked around to find yourself in the camp infirmary. Luke was on a chair beside your bed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Hey." "Hi," you croaked, trying to sit up. Wobbly, you managed to sit somewhat straight against the pillows. "How're you feeling?" Luke asked, looking over your face. He was relieved it to find it less white that it had been two days before. "Like shit, really." You let out a hoarse chuckle. He laughed shortly, looking down at his hands. You were surprised to find it was a really nice sound. That had been the first time you'd ever heard him laugh, and it felt really good to be the cause of it. "How long have I been out?" "Two days and a half." You were quiet for a moment as you thought back to the last things you remembered. "I guess I should thank you for saving my life, Castellan."

Luke let out something close to a scoff and leaned back in his chair. "You saved mine first. Thank you." "Well, yeah." You coughed. "I couldn't just let you die like-" "I don't hate you, you know," he interrupted you. You stopped talking. "Not really."

"What do you mean you don't hate me? Of course you do. You can't stand me. You think everything I do is stupid and bound to failure." "No, I- I don't hate you. I'm envious of you. Of what you have." "Of what I have? I have a fucking hole in my stomach right now, Caste-" "Of your mom. Mostly."

Your lips made an 'O' shape as you understood. Suddenly, everything made sense. That was why he'd disliked you from the start. You had the one thing he never would. Your mother was a minor goddess and did not have many children. This permitted her to be frequently in contact with you and therefore play the role of a present mother. Your father always kept in touch with you. You knew that with each of them you would always have someone to turn to. Unlike Luke.

"Mostly?" you asked, tilting your head to the side. "I'm envious of how whenever you walk into a room, it immediately lights up. Of how everyone likes you. Of how you always look good, even if you've just been torn to pieces by a griffin. Of how you always seem to see the good in people, except for me, I guess. Of how you get along with everyone except for me." Luke didn't meet your eye as he spoke. "Maybe if you hadn't been such an ass when we first met, we'd have gotten along fine. And I do see the good in you, I just like to ignore it for my own benefit." Luke's eyes shot up to yours.

"What do you mean 'your own benefit'?" "Well, if I didn't ignore the way you're so kind to the new kids, the way you're so protective of your friends and Annabeth, the way you stand up for what you think is right, the way your eyes look when they catch the light just right and the way your laugh seems to draw everybody in, then maybe... Maybe I wouldn't dislike you at all. Quite the contrary, actually." You could feel your heart hammering inside your chest as you spoke. The way Luke was staring into your soul was not helping either.

"Say something, Luke," you pleaded. His first name felt soft and foreign on your tongue. You had never said it before.

Luke did not answer. Wordlessly, he stood up and was by your side in two steps. He cupped your cheek, leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. Your heart raced and when he pulled away, you found yourself chasing his lips. He looked deeply into your eyes and smiled before kissing you properly. Eruptions exploded in your stomach as you kissed him back. You pulled him closer by the shirt as his warm lips pressed against yours. Finally, you couldn't help but think. All those feelings you'd ignored and pushed to the back of your mind finally broke free and you almost cried from relief.

His free hand found the back of your neck and you shivered as his fingers caressed the skin there. You leaned into his touch and cupped his jaw before slowly sliding a hand into his hair. He let out a soft moan but before you could get too into it, a cough resounded throughout the room.

"I'm glad to see that you and Luke have managed to work through your differences, Y/N." Chiron spoke, amusement dripping from his words, as he trudged into the room. "Now tell me about your quest."

#percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan #luke castellan angst

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silent-stories · 1 year

Text

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Wayne didn't trust you, until one night.

Warnings: angst, fluff, nightmares

Wayne Munson just wanted to protect his boy. And that's why he was so reluctant towards you.

It wasn't that he didn't like you, it was that he didn't trust you: after all the years Eddie had spent almost alone in school, you came in the picture. You, saying you cared about him, saying you were interested in the music he listened to and the books he read, saying you loved him.

It all seemed too perfect and Wayne just knew there was something wrong.

Not because he was a bad person, Wayne absolutely wasn't, but because he was afraid you were playing with Eddie's feelings. He was afraid that one day you'd laugh in his face and tell him there was no way a girl like you could ever love someone like him. An outcast. A cult-leader. A freak.

The worst part was that Eddie, on the other hand, was really in love with you. He could see it by the way he talked about you when you weren't around, by his loving gaze when you visited him at the trailer, by the smile that appeared on his lips whenever he mentioned you in a conversation.

Wayne was afraid Eddie would suffer when you left him.

Because he knew you would. It was just a matter of time.

After what had happened in the upside down, after Eddie had almost died (because yes, he knew the whole truth even if he had a hard time believing it at first) he often woke up due to nightmares.

Often he heard the bed creak as if Eddie was tossing and turning in pain, sometimes he heard him talking but never understood what exactly he was saying. He was probably calling your name, the name of girl he was in love with, poor naive boy.

Once, he opened the door to his room slightly, slowly and asked if everything was all right, watching the figure curled up on the bed, his legs drawn up to his chest in a defensive position.

Even in the dark he could clearly see that Eddie was shaking.

It was pretty obvious that no, he wasn't all right. He was far from it.

Eddie told him to go away, that he was fine. Wayne pressed for a while but Eddie didn't seem to want to talk to him. Finally he closed the door and went back to his room, hoping that giving him the space he wanted would help.

He wasn't sure if it had really helped him when he started hearing muffled sobs coming from his room.

He really didn't know what to do. Eddie should have talked to someone about it, vented in some way but he didn't seem to want to do it with him.

He didn't seem to want to talk about it even with you, his "girlfriend". Wayne had expected this too: You wouldn't be there for his boy when he needed it.

After that night, Eddie had locked the door to his room, so even if Wayne wanted to go inside to check, he couldn't.

One night though, Wayne woke up to a noise coming from the room next to his, from Eddie's room.

He sighed running a hand over his face, tired, knowing he was going to have another sleepless night and that Eddie would too.

Thar time though, he heard the door to Eddie's bedroom open and the sound of bare feet making their way down the hallway where the phone was hanging on the wall.

What the hell was he doing?

Wayne got out of bed and headed for the door to his room but, when he was about to open it, he heard Eddie's voice on the other side of the door and stopped.

He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but that didn't stop him.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Wayne realized Eddie called you. At two in the morning.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Eddie whispered, almost as that was all the voice he could get out at the moment.

"Yeah, don't worry. I just... I think I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm sorry, I'm sure I woke you up. Yeah, I told you I'm fine." Eddie muttered, if his words were to sound convincing, he was failing miserably.

He sounded like a kid scared by a thunderstorm, in moments like that Wayne wished Eddie's mom was still there with him, some things really would've been easier.

“No, that's stupid, I shouldn't even have called, you probably just want to sleep and not worry about my dumb problems. It's just…I'm tired, Y/N. I'm so tired and the nightmares won't stop and I… I don't know what to do. Every time, every night I'm there again and there are the bats and the lightning and- and It's hard to sleep without you. I'm scared Y/N. I'm scared they'll never stop, that I'll never be okay." Eddie sniffed.

Was he crying?

"But it's okay. I mean, yeah, I- don't worry and-" he probably stopped to hear what you were saying.

Were you telling him to go fuck himself for calling in the middle of the night? Were you trying to console him? Wayne couldn't know but either way, he didn't trust you. He had never done that.

"No. You don't have to. No, Y/N, no please, really, I-" Eddie stammered before silence fell on the other side of the door.

You hung up the phone. You hung up the phone on Eddie's face when he needed someone to listen to him and when he trusted you enough to call you and talk about how he was feeling.

Wayne knew it would end like this. You never loved Eddie like you said you did, you didn't even care about him or you wouldn't have hung up the phone. Maybe it was a joke all along, "make the freak your boyfriend, make him fall in love and trust you and then leave him when he needs it most and break his heart."

He knew how mean teenagers could be, they always managed to hit where it hurt the most. And, of course that's what you did with Eddie, you played with his heart that had already been broken too many times for someone so young.

He heard Eddie pacing nervously down the short hallway a couple of times, and just as Wayne was about to walk out of the room despite having no idea what to say, he heard the trailer door open and close.

Eddie went out. And Wayne wasn't going to let him spend the night in the cold or whatever that boy was up to.

The older Munson finally came out of his room and made his way to the door Eddie had disappeared through.

He opened it slightly and looked out, finding himself faced with the most unexpected scene he had imagined.

There you were, your car parked in front of the trailer, the door still open, and you were striding towards Eddie.

The sky was dark and moonless, only a few stars were visible, a nearby street lamp allowed the man to see what was happening.

Wayne leaned against the door frame, watching the scene a few feet away from him.

As soon as you reached Eddie you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him towards you, he immediately wrapped his arms around your body in a hug Wayne wondered if it could actually break any bones.

Eddie held on to you as if his life depended on it, squeezing the fabric of your shirt with his hands and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as he hugged you, as if having you there in that moment solved all his problems, as if Eddie was okay again just because of your presence.

"I'm here. It's okay, I got you." You said holding him, your voice soft and sincere.

That was the moment Wayne realized he was completely wrong about you, all along.

"You didn't have to come." Eddie whispered, not letting you go.

"But I wanted to." You responded by stepping away from him slightly, cupping his face with your hands and running your thumbs on his cheeks.

"I swear, you are something else." Eddie said with a slight smile. "Thank you for coming, really."

And Wayne, seeing you looking at Eddie as if he was the most precious thing in the world, wondered what had been on his mind every time he doubted your sincerity, every time he thought you didn't really care about Eddie.

You went there in the middle of the night because you knew he needed it, and he didn't even ask you. That was all it took to know that you were a good person. That you were there for his boy.

"I love you." He murmured before bringing his lips to yours in a light but affectionate kiss. Wayne had to look down, feeling he was slipping into a too intimate a moment.

"I love you too." You responded leaning your forehead against his. "And I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, you know that."

"Do you- think you can stay the night? I understand if you can't- if you don't want to- I mean-"

"Eddie, I've come to stay. I wouldn't leave even if you begged me, right now." You reassured him.

He nodded, leaving a kiss on top of your head. "I love you so much."

You smiled grabbing his hand with yours, intertwining your fingers ready to reenter the trailer.

Your eyes met Wayne's still in the doorway.

Eddie's hand squeezed yours tighter as you reached for him.

"She's spending the night here whether you like it or not." Eddie announced to his uncle.

Wayne looked between you and Eddie, then back to you as you started to talk.

"I'm sorry I showed up here in the middle of the night but I can't leave now, I-"

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you." He finally admitted.

A surprised expression came onto your face.

"I was wrong about you, I was wrong from the start." He said leading you into the trailer.

Eddie smiled at his uncle's words.

"It's okay, I understand where all your resilience came from. Really, don't worry about it." You answered with conviction.

Wayne patted your shoulder. "You are a good kid, thank you for being here."

You smiled again. "You don't have to thank me. None of you have to."

Eddie put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, up against his Metallica shirt he used to sleep in.

"We're going to sleep, uncle Wayne." Eddie said before heading to his room, dragging you with him.

You turned one last time to Wayne before disappearing behind Eddie's bedroom door. "Good night."

The man's gaze softened even more. "Goodnight kids."

Eddie was in good hands now, he always had been even when Wayne didn't know it.

You were always there, even when Wayne didn't know it. You were family.

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #wayne munson #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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theemporium · 3 months

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[3.6k] your life comes crumbling down when photos are leaked of your boyfriend making out with another girl. it doesn't help that your other boyfriend seems to be handling it worse than you are by ignoring the world, including you. well, the everyone except his rival.

series masterlist

It felt like a nightmare.

A sick, twisted nightmare that you were waiting to wake up from any minute now. You could imagine it so clearly, shooting up in your bed with the sheets sticking to your sweaty skin and blood roaring in your ears before soft, comforting French words washed over you. You imagined a pair of arms wrapping around you, holding you tight and a pair of lips pressed against the top of your head until you found the courage to speak.

Every cell in your body craved for that to be your reality, but it wasn’t.

Instead, you were sitting on your bed in the comfort of your father’s home with the distant sound of music playing from the kitchen and the curtains pulled back to let the sunshine come through and—well, a series of photos on your screen that made you feel like you were about to vomit, if you even had anything in your stomach from last night’s dinner to bring up.

It wasn’t often you visited your father’s home in Switzerland. But sometimes you craved the normalcy and seclusion of the farmhouse. You craved a few days to just relax, to pretend you were a normal girl with a normal father with a normal life. You liked to play pretend for a few days, and Sebastian always entertained the whole concept because he liked having you around.

That was what this trip was supposed to be.

With the boys over in the states for the Miami Grand Prix, you had decided against flying out with them. It had been a few months since you had seen your father and, with no great urge to fuck up your body clock with jet lag, you had decided to fly up to Switzerland instead before the boys inevitably returned for Imola.

It had been nice. It had been exactly what you needed. It had been the few days you needed to ground yourself, to remember life beyond the constant work and travel. It had been the perfect getaway. Even as a young girl, your life revolved around the paddock with your father racing every other weekend, it was easy to forget a life outside of it all.

But right now? Yeah, you really fucking wish the outside world didn’t exist at all.

Your relationship with your boys was complicated and intertwined and unconventional, but it was yours. You loved each other, you cared for each other, you would do anything for each other. Or at least, that was what you assumed. The day Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly entered your life, you thought everything made sense.

Even if it took a few years of beating around the bush and your own feelings to reach that conclusion.

You thought your relationship with your boys was one of the key things that made your life so perfect, that made you happy to be the one living it.

Until you woke up this morning, rolling over and reaching for your phone to find a flurry of notification banners filling up your screen. It was a mix of messages and mixed calls and mentions from almost every social media app you owned. It was a mess, undistinguishable and baffling to your barely-awake brain. You honestly just expected it to be another fluke, another stupid scandal blossoming out of nothing. It made you want to roll over and fall back asleep before your PR manager inevitably called you.

God, you would have preferred a stupid scandal to this.

Instead, you found countless photos and videos of Pierre. He was in a club, most likely celebrating ending up in the points after the race. He was in that white linen shirt you loved on him, the one he always left a little too unbuttoned because he knew it drove you and Charles crazy. But instead of his friends or even Charles by his side, it was some random girl.

His hands were all over her. She was pressed up against his front, starry eyed and grinning up at him. His lips were on her lips, her neck, any inch of skin he could kiss. She was laughing and dragging him out of the club. He was smiling and happily following her.

And you felt fucking sick.

Not even in your worst nightmares had you imagined something like this, something as horrific and despicable and public as this. Never had you thought Pierre—one of the men you loved—could be capable of this. You never thought he could do this to you, to Charles.

Charles.

Charles who was nowhere to be seen in the videos. Charles who had messaged about having an early night sleep before he flew out to Maranello for Imola prep. Charles who was either asleep, on a plane or sitting in his hotel room in a similar state to you.

Fuck, you wished you were with him right now.

But you couldn’t stop reading the comments, reading the countless articles and tweets and posts about the whole situation. You couldn’t bring yourself to ignore the comments from strangers on the internet saying it was about time, that they were glad he got away from you. The ones showing sympathy were even worse because it made this real, it made the whole fucking thing so real.

You hadn’t even heard the music from the kitchen stop or the footsteps approaching your bedroom. You hadn’t heard the knock or the door slowly creaking open. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen until you felt a warm arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Shhh, honigbienchen, it’s okay. Let it out, I’ve got you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice soft and sweet and comforting and the exact thing you needed to break down the last of your crumbling walls.

You pressed yourself into your father’s side as you sobbed, as you mourned the loss of what you believed was a loving and trusting relationship. You let yourself melt into his embrace as he held you close, as he held you together.

You didn’t fight as he pulled your phone from your grasp, locking it and throwing it somewhere on the bed behind him. You didn’t fight as he pulled you closer, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck as you let the familiar smell of your father’s cologne—the same one he has used since you were a child—wash over you. You didn’t fight as he murmured comforting words in German because a part of you hoped he was right, wanted nothing more than your father to be right.

You just let yourself break because you knew your father would keep you together.

...

The apartment felt like a mockery of the life you once lived.

You remember the day the three of you signed the lease, it was one of the happiest days of your life. There were always concerns about moving too fast, about hitting a milestone as big as moving in together so early on in the relationship. But, in all honesty, you didn’t see the issues. Call it rose-tinted glasses or call it the truth, but it never felt too soon.

Not for you and your boys.

Because the relationship was still new when you moved in, just under a year old, but you had known these boys for years. Your life had been intertwined with racing from the day you were born because of your father, you had seen these boys grow up alongside you. You had been there to see them both enter Formula one. You had been there to see Charles as your father’s teammate.

You had been there for it all.

You had been friends long before you were a couple. You had grown close to Charles in the days your father wore the Ferrari emblem. You had found yourself attached to the boy, bonding with him in a way you never had in previous years. And where Charles was, Pierre was close behind. They were the package deal you thought you had lucked out on.

So, moving in together seemed like a baby step in the future the three of you had planned together, a simple necessity as you continued to grow and love and care for each other.

Now, it was a painful reminder that the place you called your home was tainted with the memories of a man you once loved. Maybe still loved. You hadn’t wanted to delve into those feelings too much yet.

It was empty.

You had expected as much, or maybe you didn’t. You weren’t sure anymore.

A small part of you assumed for this to be the moment you woke up from your nightmare. That you would wake up in your bed, slowly blinking your eyes open as you heard the boys laughing away in the kitchen at whatever they were attempting to cook before you woke.

Another part of you expected to find Charles here, looking like a mirror reflection of you as you finally fell into his arms, as you received the touch you had been craving from him and him only in the last forty-eight hours.

Another part of you expected to find Pierre standing in front of you, despite the reassurance you had received from a few friends at Alpine that the boy hadn’t left Miami. You thought maybe he would be here to beg for forgiveness or explain himself. You thought maybe he would at least have the decency to look half as worried as you were about Charles’ disappearance off the face of the Earth.

You didn’t know if you were disappointed or relieved that he wasn’t here.

With your messages and calls receiving no answer from Charles, you had packed your bags and hopped on the first flight out of Switzerland. Your father had his reservations of you leaving so soon, of you being alone. To be completely honest, you wished you could have stayed in his arms forever and ignore everything.

But you needed to see Charles.

You had to see him with your own two eyes because he was the only person in the world who understood what you were going through.

To the world, it was just you and Pierre. And you were all okay with that for right now, you were okay with keeping the details and complications of your relationship private until the moment was right.

But right now, you fucking despised it. Because the world was so focused on you and on Pierre and on the random girl from the club, but nobody was looking at Charles. Nobody cared about Charles. And despite your relationship being an open secret to the paddock, it seemed not even the people closest to him—his own fucking team—knew where he was.

And it fucking terrified you.

Monaco had been your last hope. Your apartment had been a fucking last resort. You were grasping at straws and you were losing your mind and there were a million different things running through your head but you just wanted Charles.

There was still a voice in the back of your head reassuring you that he would show up, that he would walk through that door and fall into your arms until you both felt something other than pain right now.

You wanted nothing more than for him to come home, to come to you.

But forty-eight hours of emotions were wracking through you and you didn’t even realise you were falling asleep on the living room couch until your body was too tired to even try sitting up.

...

…

“Where did you find him?”

“Well, hello to you too.”

You flashed the Dutchman a sheepish smile as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. Your brain had been on a one-track mentality since you received his message, the bleary-eyed sleepiness long gone the second he mentioned Charles. You hadn’t even bothered to drive over, far too jittery and worked up to get behind the wheel. You needed the cold air to calm you down.

“Sorry, hello,” you greeted as you stepped into his apartment, trying to push down the urge to just grab Max’s shoulders and shake him until he told you where Charles was. “I just—”

“I know, you’re worried,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. “C’mon, I left him on the couch because he looked comfortable and I didn’t want to disturb him.”

You silently followed the boy through the long entrance corridor, your hands clenched into fists at your side to stop yourself from picking at the skin around your nail beds until they were raw and bleeding.

You tried to prepare yourself for the sight you were going to see, to prepare for the worst just in case.

You hadn’t expected him to look so…peaceful.

He was sprawled on Max’s couch like the boy had said, his clothes rumpled and his hair messy but—at first glance, at least—he looked okay. But you could see the signs that he was no better than you were. His cheeks were red, like he had been crying a lot, and so was the tip of his nose, like he had been wiping it excessively. He looked worn down, and heavier than usual. Like there was a weight on his shoulders beyond the usual season stress.

He looked like he was half as put together as you.

“I found him outside a bar,” Max’s voice startled you out of your thoughts as he stepped into the space beside you at the bottom of the couch. “I was on a late night run—you know, jet lag and stuff—and he was there. He was…”

You frowned a little, turning to look at the Dutchman. “He was what?”

“He wasn’t okay,” Max whispered with his own frown. “He could barely string a sentence together, let alone stand up. I think he had been kicked out of the bar, I don’t know. I promised him I would call you if he came back with me. I…I couldn’t just leave him there, you know?”

You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. “Thank you, Max.”

“It’s no problem, really,” he assured you and the silence fell between you two once more. And Max watched as your attention shifted back to Charles. He waited a few moments, a mental debate playing in his head, back and forth like a tennis match before he spoke up again. “I’m sorry. About everything. It…uh, it really sucks.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “Thanks.”

Max took the hint and quickly shifted the conversation. “It doesn’t look like he is waking up anytime soon,” he said. “You can stay the night. The spare room is free. Or I can bring some blankets out here if you don’t want to leave him.”

You turned to him, a strained smile on your face. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay,” he assured you, and something in you felt relieved that you wouldn’t have to return home to that bed, the bed you shared with him. “It’s late anyways. You look like you need some rest.”

You chose to omit the fact that you hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last few days, and even that was after crying yourself to exhaustion.

“Thank you, Max. Really.”

The Dutchman smiled. “Like I said, it’s no problem.”

...

…

When Charles woke up the next morning, his head was killing him.

There was a bright light on his face, his mouth felt desert dry and he could have sworn there was a heavy weight on his chest. Not the metaphorical kind he had been lugging around for the last few days, but something actually weighing down on his chest and making it a little hard to breathe.

He gave himself a moment, tried to ground himself and hype himself up to open his eyes when he knew the light would only be more irritating than it was now. He tried to prepare himself for the killer hangover he was going to have to nurse all day, along with the countless calls to his team to apologise for not showing up to any of the meetings.

To eventually reply to you too.

However, when Charles finally gained the courage to open his eyes, the last thing he expected was to see a cat staring down at him.

“What the—” He startled as he quickly sat up.

The cat let out a noise of surprise before meowing, glaring at him before it padded off. Charles watched it for a few moments before blinking, taking in the unfamiliar setting around him. He knew he wasn’t in his apartment, or his mother’s, or either of his brothers’.

He had no fucking idea where he was.

But before the overwhelming fear took over his body and made him throw up everything he drank the previous night, you wandered into the room with a mug in hand.

“You’re awake,” you breathed out, stopping mid-walk like you couldn’t quite believe he was there.

Charles opened his mouth to say something but you reacted faster. The mug was abandoned on the coffee table he had failed to notice and you were throwing yourself in his arms, clinging onto him like you hadn’t seen him in years.

It had felt like it had been years.

Charles let himself wind his arms around you, to pull you onto his lap and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck until the familiar scent of your shampoo completely engulfed him. He let himself enjoy the feeling of you in his arms after almost two weeks of not seeing you in person. He let himself enjoy the one person in this world that didn’t make him feel like questioning everything in his life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry—”

“Shhh, it’s fine,” you whispered back, sniffling back your own tears. “It’s fine. You’re here now, that’s what matters.”

“But—”

“I just need you, Charles, no matter how long you take,” you murmured, your words slightly muffled but his arms tightened around you in understanding.

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes, just soaking in the presence after so long apart. And, if he was being honest, he was in no rush to speak about everything. It had been playing on his mind like a broken record since he saw the videos, he didn’t want to give it any more brain space. He knew it was inevitable, but right now he just wanted to enjoy you.

“Where are we?” He asked eventually when the curiosity and the cat glaring at him became too much.

“Max’s house,” you murmured, feeling the boy tense beneath you. You pulled back, keeping yourself close as you flashed the boy a sheepish expression. “He found you last night and brought you here before something happened to you.”

“Oh.” Charles blinked. “That was kind of him.”

“Very,” you nodded in agreement. You watched him for a few moments as he stared around the living room before you continued talking. “My team messaged me.”

Charles swallowed. “Yeah?”

“They want to know what our plan is,” you whispered. You didn’t need to say more than that, Charles understood.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Val thinks it will backfire,” you murmured, looking down at your hands instead of his face. “If we are seen together too much.”

Charles tensed.

“The media might spin a story about me moving on from—” You paused, his name unable to pass your lips.

“Can we just…not talk about this right now?” Charles whispered, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I just…it’s too much.”

“Okay,” you whispered with a nod.

“We will handle it,” Charles assured you as he reached for your hand. Because he knew you, he knew the whole thing was eating you up and it didn’t help pushing the conversation away. But he needed to be in the right state for it—not half-drunk from the night before. “Together. I promise.”

You sniffled, squeezing his hand. “Together.”

“You two want pancakes for breakfast?”

Both of your heads snapped around to find Max by the door, a kind smile on his face. He paused when he took a look at the both of you, probably noticing the solemn faces and red eyes and instantly looking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, did I just ruin a moment?”

You shook your head. “No—”

“We would love pancakes,” Charles finished for you, trying to focus on your hand in his rather than the fact he was sitting on the couch of the man he had been competing with for a majority of his life. “Coffee is on us. As a thank you.”

Max waved him off. “It’s fine—”

“We insist,” you said firmly.

Max glanced between you before nodding. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m only saying yes because you two seem very stubborn and I’m not awake enough to deal with that.”

And for the first time in over forty-eight hours, you had the oddest urge to laugh.

“Wanna order the coffee together?”

“Together.”

You weren’t sure what would happen next. You didn’t know what you were going to tell Val or the rest of your team. You didn’t know what Charles’ team would say. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do when you eventually saw Pierre again, when you had to sort out the fact you technically shared a flat with him.

But right now, your biggest issue was figuring out which coffee Max Verstappen liked and it was a kind distraction to your messy life.

Especially with the assurance that Charles was by your side.

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gutghost · 6 months

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Imagine you get cheated on...BUT- the cheater turns kinda...yandere?

It felt like an awful nightmare. Bile rising in your throat as you looked at your lover - the person who you loved through their highest and their lowest, the person who you invested blood sweat and tears into, the person you promised yourself to - undoubtedly pressing their lips to another person's. It took a hot minute before you tried to step back, only for you to bump into the doorway, causing a loud thump. The two looked at you, one with horror, the other with confusion. It took you no time to turn around and make a run for it. A hiccup making its way out of your throat as you felt a sob start to shake through your body.

It's been afew months, well. More then few months since that incident, and safe to say you have been doing...fine. not great, but fine. You've decided to collect your things while your lover was away from the house, your friends and family helping you out as you found a new place to live. It was bare bones, considering you didn't take the shared couch, or tv, dressers, not even bed. But it was yours, and you've been getting by. You'd like to think you've gotten stronger.

That was until odd things started happening around your apartment. Things were being moved, shit you know you wouldn't misplace. Your clothes were going missing, much to your dismay. You barely had any, so to lose even one shirt was frustrating. Then roses started appearing in vases in your home. Seeing as actual items were showing up you decided to call the police, and when it seemed that the window to your bedroom was broken, seemingly from an outside force, they told you to invest in better security as they kept a look out.

Which is why you were going to the store so late at night, I mean, what could go wrong?

bad decision, you later decided as you looked at the scene infront of you. Your throat tight, bile rising, just like that night, the night you lost your true love. In front of you was your lover - now ex - looming disheveled, gasping for air as their voice broke, a small, unnerving, almost crazed look, crossing their features.

"My love, my everything, oh please-"

"Dont."

Your lip trembles as you step back, your look of surprise quickly turning into that of anger. They had no right to call out to you with such fondness, not after what they put you through. The pain and suffering, all due to the person who swore to love you.

A look of hurt crossed their face at the sight of you backing away from them, as if you kicked a puppy. The idea sickened you. Quick to try and close the space once more as they struggled to walk straight they would stumble forward. Their voice trembling as they fell to their knees, a whimper coming from them as they scrambled to grab at your sweatpants.

"Please - my love I beg of you, I know what i did was sin, I know - I've never been more sick in the mind then i was that night, oh I was so stupid, thinking I could ever so much as THINK of another woman! Even more so after wards, how could I think I could ever live without you??? You! Oh precious you, the sun only shines when you are near. Those next few weeks were torture my dear, I've never wanted anything more then to RIP MY SKIN OFF WHEN I REALIZED MY MISDEEDS."

Their insane rambling continued as you tried to shove them off, tears starting to stream down their gaunt cheeks. Had they been eating? You wondered as you tried to get them off you.

"I'm...i'm better now though! I've never been thinking clearer, I came to a realization life isn't worth living without you! But by then- you...- you had already left, I tore through that house to try and find you but you had already been far gone. I asked your family, your friends - but all of them simply turned me away, your LOVER - isn't that what I am? I am, aren't i?? They should've...they-"

You couldn't listen to this anymore. A disgusted feeling filling your gut. What did you ever see in them?? You quickly shoved them away, a small gasp coming from them as you stepped away, your ex lover falling backwards onto the sidewalk. A look so firey resting on your face it could rival the heat from the depths of hell.

"You lost that right. You lost it the moment you took that person into your arms, the moment you brought them into our home, the moment you pressed your lips against theirs."

They seemed dumbfounded, sobs starting to wash over their body as they tried to sputter out apologies. But you had none of it.

"Did you get a kick out of it? Seeing me suffer? Seeing me jealous as you placed your hands on that person's? Your lips on them? When i left did you just go right back to kissing on them? Fucking them??"

You spat at them, your ex lover crying their heart out as they struggle to breathe. Whether it be from guilt or heartbreak, you weren't sure. They shook their head as they continued to cry, trying once again to reach out to you, to hold onto you for that comfort you once so readily gave them. But you stepped back, putting space between you once more. A scoff coming from you as you did so

"Baby please don't do this to me, please please please-"

Their voice wavered heavily. Some part of you, the part buried deep down in your heart, ached at the sight of them so broken down. They looked ill, both mentally and physically. But what done was done. You quickly turned on your heels as you made your way home. Your ex lovers cries filling the street as he urged you to come back, to not leave him. To not abandon him.

Maybe some sick part of you felt good that you left them a blubbering mess, after all. They rept what they sown, did they not?

Little did you know, oh how blissfully unaware you were. They were gonna get you back, one way or another. They will have you back in their arms, with all those roses they left in your apartment in pretty vases all over your newly bought home in the woods, far from everyone.

They will have you be their's again.

that corpse that once used to be their side piece left rotting under the concrete of their basement proves it.

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frozenrogue89 · 9 months

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I Don't Want to be Great, I Wanna be Me.

So we all know the classic ‘JL meets Phantom through summoning’ prompt, and we usually get Danny “High King, Savior of Worlds, Eldritch, Cryptid, Ancient, No Shits Given, Chaos Gremlin” Fenton making an appearance, cool and confident, running circles around the JL. But what if, this High King they summoned, just… wasn’t.

The Justice League was prepared for anything, with the latest BBG threatening the world they had to take drastic measures. The JL Dark managed to scrounge up the summoning spell they… “liberated” from a cult group a couple months back. At first the JL was against the thought of summoning another highly powerful unknown, but with extensive research, Constantine and various others vouching for this so-called “King Phantom'' , and no option left, well, their hands were tied. Said to be the vanquisher of the previous Tyrant of the throne, Savior of the Infinite Realms, thousands of years old, infinitely powerful, infinitely old, and some smaller rumors claimed, infinitely kind. Phantom is said to be extremely protective of humans (something they were banking on), loyal to its subjects, and said to rarely get angry (yeah right). A terrifying creature, tall and confident in its destructive power.

So yes, the League was prepared. They gathered as many members as they could spare for this meeting, everyone ready for a fight, but praying for none. The Big Three stepped forward while the rest hung back. Constantine and the Dark members start chanting, beginning the ritual.

The chanting ends. The silence hangs. Bodies still.

Then, a flash from the hieroglyphs on the ground and an explosion of wind with no origin, a blinding light originating from the summoning circle grows in strength, letting out a vibrating hum that causes Superman to cover his ears and wince. The hum starts shaking the ground and the light condenses into itself, revealing the silhouette of an object.

The wind stops. The light is gone, the vibration a memory. Everything is as it is before, with one exception.

Wonder Woman, wasting no time, straightens, “High King Phantom, Ruler of the infinite Realms, We are the Justice league, We ask your help in vanquishing The BBG, it threatens the lives of all those who live…” Her eyes widened as what stood before her.

This… this didn’t look like a High King, Vanquisher of Pariah Dark. This little thing did not give any indication of confidence, power, or age… it looked… young. The only thing terrifying about this creature is the size of bags under his eyes. Drowning in soft clothes, hunched over, looking utterly defeated, Nothing like they expected. Diana would almost mistake it if for a human child if not for the glowing eyes, fangs, and slight aura it gave off. But this, this was no King… Is- are those tears in its eyes?!

____________

Danny has not been having a good day. Or week. Or month, or- anything really. It seems like dying was only the beginning of his problems. No, scratch that, this all started with his parents’ damn obsession with ghosts. Danny swore they were part ghost too with their utter infatuation with all things Ecto. If only they hadn’t tried to access the ghost zone, if only Vlad hadn’t been involved to become Danny’s biggest nightmare, if only his parents gave up their research once they had kids, if only he didn’t walk in that stupid portal to impress his friends.

If only he had stayed dead.

If only he didn’t gain powers, then he wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.

Danny scowled to himself and let himself flop onto his bed. He’s been spending the last couple weeks cycling through this whole rogue gallery, TWICE! Plus fighting a handful of random ghosts who thought they could take on the ‘Ghost King’ (Pariah’s evil reign and thousand year slumber didn’t help either with all the paperwork that’s left for Danny.) Running from the GIW, his parents, and Val as usual, (Ghost Scum,

Dealing with ‘Mayor’ Vlad’s Evil Plan of the Week -Danny’s powers were still on the fritz after that encounter, painful, was a word for it- Not to mention school, between Dash being Dash, forgetting his science homework, missing a test because of Skulker, Lancer and his threats of, “Black Beauty Fenton! If your grades keep dropping you’ll spend the rest of the year in detention! With ME!” and now his teachers (and Jazz) are talking to him about college? He’s still a sophomore, give him a break! It isn’t Danny’s fault the whole universe is apparently out to get him.

The real cherry on top of this whole thing was the recent ‘summonings’. No thanks to the Fruit Loop and his meddling, with Jack Fenton unknowingly helping him, again. A nice little instruction booklet called, “How to Summon the Ghost King, Made Easy!” got out onto the internet and the world, free for any psycho to speed dial Danny away from his life. At various points in the last month Danny has been forcibly -and if he was honest, painfully- ripped from anything he’s been doing and dumped smack dab into the center of various cults’ plans, usually they wanted power, money, or world domination. His saving grace was the process of summoning forced him to transform or no identity reveals, thank The Ancients.

Sam and Tucker have been a godsend in getting the Booklet wiped from the internet, Danny would be lost without them. He would’ve fallen apart the first week into his powers if not for them. Who knew watching your friend half dying created lasting relationships? They really kept him going and he trusts them with his life, really he does.

But Danny would never tell them about some of the things he’s seen getting summoned, he couldn’t do that to them. The various groups of psychos seemed to think Danny was more likely to listen to them if they offered sacrifices.. human sacrifices. Some nights he couldn’t stop smelling blood and incense, couldn’t get those images out of his mind. He hated himself for keeping track, and hated himself for not wanting to. 15. 15 people, so far just because some handful of lunatics wanted some money or something equally stupid like that. Danny was 15, that’s one whole human being, for every year he was alive, one of them was even younger th- she was just- Danny couldn’t- she was- so small…

Pulling his blankets over his head, Danny took measured breaths against the tightness in his throat. It’s Not fair. It’s not. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want to be King of the undead, he’s just a kid himself isn’t he? It was just an accident turning on the portal. He didn’t mean to. Why is he stuck fixing everything? Can't he just be a normal kid? Go to school, get good grades, become an astronaut? He’s so completely out of his depth, who is he kidding, it’s just a matter of time before he screws up again and someone gets hurt, or worse. He's trying, though, he is. He tries so hard to be good, to do good. To not turn into Dan.

‘Stop it, Danny. Now’s not the time for bad thoughts.’ This is the first time Danny’s had a chance to sleep in two days, his parents are out and left the home defenses are down, Jazz is studying at the library, Sam and Tucker are playing Doom while keeping an eye on ecto readings around town. He has maybe 4 blissful hours to spend in dream land. He sighed and sunk into his pillow trying to blank out his thoughts before he could spiral again.

A tightening in the chest, and eyes snap open, ‘NO! NO! Please not now!’ is all Danny manages to think before the unfortunately familiar sensation of space displacement takes hold. His transformation is forced on him as he feels himself fall apart and get put back together simultaneously.

‘Just a couple hours rest, is tHAT SO MUCH TO ASK!!??’ The anger leaves before it can fully form due to the pure exhaustion that washed over his ectofied bones and straight to his core. It feels strained, like glass under pressure, not knowing if the slightest change will shatter him. He slowly gets his bearings and- oh, this almost seems worse than a regular cult summoning. At least there’s not a dead body.

It’s the Justice League, and Wonder Woman is talking to him. And Danny, Danny can’t. He can’t. He doesn’t know if they want to trap him, kill him, experiment… if the GIW got their claws into the JL… Danny can’t anymore, He can practically feel his core splintering into jagged gut- wrecking pieces. He just wants to rest, to feel safe, for just a little while. Why can’t he?

Throat burning and eyes watering, Danny realizes he can do something, just one thing. It’s the only thing left that he can do. Something he hasn’t done for a long time, ever since dying.

Danny starts crying.

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shiny-jr · 8 months

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outlander

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia.

Summary: In every land you travel to, there's a god with elemental powers. But why is it that in every nation you arrive to, the gods attempt to make you stay?

Note: Why has no one done a genshin x twst thing? This is more of a concept idea than anything else. I might do a series with it, or not, or just random posts. Feel free to ask about it or request stuff for it.

This must be a dream, either that or a never-ending nightmare.

Waking up alone on a sandy beach, as if washed ashore, was disorientating. There was nothing else on the shore save for shells and the occasional crab, no debris indicating a wreck and no scattered belongings. All you had on you were the clothes on your back, which were a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, your pajamas.

In the center of your palms, was a marking you had never seen before, like a freshly painted tattoo in the shape of a tiny key. As curious as the strange new markings were and you wondered how they even got there, there was a larger question looming:

How did you get here?

GRIM

There was a cat on the beach. At least, it looked like a cat. A talking feline, with gray fur and the most impossible feature of blue fire lightly simmering in his ears.

It spoke, just like a human, with a grating high-pitched voice. It was a devilish little beast, with little fangs sharper than his comebacks that he supposed were funny.

The feline pridefully announced his name: Grim.

And when you told Grim your story of how you woke up by the water's edge with no recollection of how you got here and little to your name, the creature didn't appear to care. However, when he spoke of elements being used by people and names of nations and cruel living gods you never once heard of, only then was he very vaguely intrigued. Perhaps it was amusement, as he laughed and called you stupid for not even knowing of The Seven.

That's when you heard a growl, not from behind his fangs but from his stomach. If you looked at him from the right angle, he looked quite scrawny. The poor thing was hungry, you realized.

All it took was an offering of cans of tuna found in an empty cabin nearby, and you had him in your grasp. Following you around was only temporary, he insisted, he'd go along so long as there was food. While a talking cat was not the most conventional of guides, it was better than nothing, especially since he knew basic knowledge of each nation and where the nearest sign of civilization was located.

HEARTSLABYUL

Through the winding dark woods where mysterious creatures lurked in hollow trees and dead end paths, were meadows of flowers and peaceful grooves. However, don't let the tranquillity of nature fool you. In the distance were mountains– not actually mountains, but volcanoes and hot sprints along this land's border.

It's been said that the very millions of roses and other greenery in this land, was formed when ash rained down on dry barren earth for nearly a month. Ash from those very dormant volcanoes that were the backdrop to this perfect scenery, which came in huge black clouds thousands of years ago and blanketed the earth.

A god, an archon, the deity of law that rained hell on earth over thousands of years ago.

Long ago this land was a country of criminals ruled by a god of chaos that reveled in havoc and disorder. Among the mayhem, was a small deity of fire with mighty powers and a vision for a future he was determined to see. Riddle, is what the deity was called.

Riddle gained a number of followers to listen to his words, and he created order. A small feat compared to the many wicked still running about in a lawless land ruled by a god that valued anarchy. So, using newfound strength, the deity of fire drew forth molten lava from the mouths of the northern volcanos, burning all those in its path while the deadly plumes of smoke and ash suffocated those that remained. Atop the remains of the destroyed towns and cities, he built a new nation of order for his loyal followers.

Today, it is a thriving nation filled with flowers and greenery. However, there is one issue. The god of pyro, Riddle, is a tyrant. Every law is expected to be followed without question and without fail, beheadings have become nearly a daily occurrence with the criminals often being charged with mistakingly picking flowers on Wednesdays, drinking the wrong sort of tea post-meals, or playing croquet after five pm.

You were fortunate to be spared after your audience with the god of law, for breaking the rule: one must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Before he could burn you were you stood, you interjected, answering that your companion was no cat, so you had broken no rule.

Well, he promptly apologized for the misunderstanding and in turn, offered to make up for it by inviting you to a tea party. It would be best to except his invitation, afterall, he was the same deity that buried nearly an entire country in lava and ash, then built his kingdom atop their remains. He was a tyrant that beheaded and burned people on the daily. It was wise not to get on his bad side. Besides, he appears to have taken a fancy for you. Riddle implores that you tell him more of your world while you ignore the whispers of rebellion.

There is no leaving Heartslabyul, not without the explicit permission from the god of law. The borders with their volcanoes burn any would-be invaders, allowing passage only to merchants and travelers who have received the pyro deity's blessing. Why would Riddle ever give you his blessing to see you go?

SAVANACLAW

Across the volcanoes and hot springs of the borders, the mountains turn green with dense jungles. Across the river lies the savanna where the world's most wondrous creatures run free. Times have been turbulent, the shaking ground was evidence of troubles with this nation's divine beings, or rather, now single divine being.

Earthquakes have always been a sign of something occurring either for a purpose or unintentionally by someone else. The harsher the quake, the greater the importance of the event. And not too long ago, a ginormous tremor shook the entire globe. Something of major importance had happened.

A god, an archon, the deity of intellect was the new sovereign after tragedy befell his elder brother.

In the past the land was under the protection of the god of strength, a mighty god worshipped by his people. This god had a young heir who was also beloved by the people. However, most forgot or completely disliked the younger brother of the god of strength, a deity of ground, Leona, who had a burning hated for his brother.

Leona amassed followers of his own in secret. It came as no surprise that the common and the wealthy adored the exalted god of strength. However, the poor detested him, because he offered no help to them, no matter how much they prayed and offered what little they had to his alter. Instead, their prayers for mercy and for a change in luck, were answered by the deity of ground. The change of luck came from the death of the former god and his son, paving the way for a new sovereign.

Today, there is uncertainty in the street. Many of the former worshippers of the god of strength believe in one thing. The god of geo, Leona, is unfit to rule. The poor and mistreated have emerged from hiding places in the shadows, filled with newfound confidence for their was finally a god that answered their prayers. However, there remains a growing tension between both factions. Followers of the new god sing his praises, while followers who mourn for his brother believe that everything is falling into disarray.

You were promptly introduced to the god of intellect by his followers that wished to spread the good word. There was something wrong, you and your companion both agreed. How could a powerful god of strength and his young heir just perish without warning? Something was amiss.

This was just a new follower, at least in his eyes. So he brushed you off, allowing you to partake in the best food and drink only his followers had the privilege of receiving. Testing your luck, you decided you would ask him if he knew of a way home. For now you filled him in, explaining your origins and recent adventures. For such a conniving and arrogant leader, he was surprisingly lax. It even appeared as if he wasn't even listening to your words, just dozing off on some pillows. Your words were at least more interesting to him than the rumors of possible unrest.

Perhaps he does know a way for you to return home, but he doesn't want to tell you. It's as simple as that. He likes the new follower, you. Besides, you're not going. There is always the option of traveling further, but why do so when the geo deity has what you need? Leona greatly loathes betrayal from his own worshippers, so you wouldn't leave Savanaclaw to see another god, would you?

OCTAVINELLE

In the seas dwell creatures of unimaginable horrors living deep within the watery depths, across the ocean over turbulent waves there are islands of paradise. The chain of islands composed warm southern beaches and cold northern snowlands. This may be paradise, but a toll must be paid to even get near the islands.

A tax is applied to all arriving merchants wishing to trade and tourists wishing to step foot on the island. It doesn't make much sense, until you see their towns and cities bursting with trade. Business was booming, apparently. The water is clear and pristine, you could see the vibrant coral reefs and schools of fish swimming below.

A god, an archon, the deity of contracts once came from these very waters when there was no land.

Thousands of years ago there was nothing but ocean out this far away from the mainland. That is, until a deity of water appeared from the depths. He promised a new nation to traveling merchants, so long as they worshipped him. The deity introduced himself as Azul.

Azul had grown bored of the dull happenings under the sea, for he had achieved most things beneath the waves. The ocean could not satisfy his endless greed. He had his sights set on higher elevation, with the lofty goal of being just as powerful on land as he was in the ocean. He moved waves, creating tsunamis outward but revealing islands once hidden by water. The merchants took to land and fulfilled their end of the deal, worshipping him while creating a prosperous nation of deals.

In present day, hardly anyplace can compare to the thriving hub the nation has become. However, loyal followers have begun to see his greed. The god of hydro, Azul, is a charlatan. The ocean in all its vastness was not enough to satisfy his desires, it was why he took to land. For the promise of fulfilling prayers, something always must be given in turn or the worshippers must risk going on a quest. But, it is not always as it seems. One way or another, a prayer asking for something will end in the worshipper becoming in debt to him.

In exchange for an answer to the continued question of how to return home, you have nothing to offer for payment except for ideas. Home was modern, this world was not yet on par with the technology you knew. So you offer ideas of inventions, a device to capture an image in time, a mechanism like a box with wheels, a tool to contact someone miles away.

He believes you're quite bright, you think it false flattery to deceive you but you would be wrong. Your ideas are truly brilliant, and will no doubt earn him more millions and influence in other nations on the mainland! Best to take the compliment with a smile, or else this swindler may find a way to trap you in debt. Azul insists you tell him more of your home and your lucrative ideas. Here, a contract, where he shall sell your ideas as goods and you shall reap the rewards! Whatever hearsay you've heard painting him in a bad light, is defamation! Don't fall for it so easily.

Sailing away from Octavinelle would just be a fool's quest. Unless you can escape on a boat that can weather the harshest of sea storms, there is no stepping foot off the island without the risk of drowning. Don't you have more profitable ideas to share with the hydro deity? If not, just listening to your voice would make Azul content than all the gold in the world could.

SCARABIA

Rolling sand dunes stretch as far as the eye could see, and rocky canyons border a savanna. Sandstorms fill the skies like a dark cloud, covering the dry hot land in a new layer of sand once again. Struggle through the scorching days and blistering cold nights, and there will be an oasis in the center between large flowing rivers.

Life follows the flowing waters, and an enormous oasis is planted in the center of the desert. For miles and miles along the banks, are blooming cities and towns. A great contrast to the desert outside, these settlements are overflowing with water, with the greenest gardens and greatest crops.

A god, an archon, the deity of commerce that gave life to a once barren land.

Thousands of years ago, a terrible famine struck the land. All remaining oasis had shriveled up, leading to starvation. A kind-hearted deity of earth took pity on the people. So he decided to extend a helping hand. People would call the deity Kalim.

Kalim used his abilities to create a lush environment, a vast and incredibly rich oasis out of sand in the middle of the desert. When he walked, grass and flowers sprouted from the sand. In days, he managed to create a garden of tremendous size and design, where his new followers could live in peace and luxury by the rivers. Towns and cities were developed, giving way to a grand nation where he resided in comfort and extravagance, surrounded by people that adored him.

Now there is a grand metropolis where there is just as much gold in the markets as there are flowers. The god of dendro, Kalim, is naive. For thousands of years he has been sheltered and treasured by his people. He is oblivious and clumsy, but at the same time he is not foolish. He knows of the people that have attempted to use his abilities for sinister purposes. Although, no one could guess a conniving being plotting against him, resides in his very own palace.

Exciting adventures and thrilling tales, the god of commerce loves to hear your stories of the outside world! First time foreigners are welcomed with open arms, but you are treated as a rare guest with your unique origin. This might just be the most peaceful land you had ever traveled to.

Come, partake in the celebrations! It's easy to forget that such a laidback and cheerful personality belongs to that of a deity that gave life to this region of the desert. Dance, chat, he wishes to do it all with you! The brightness of the fireworks and lively atmosphere is nearly enough to drown out the presence in the shadows you see from the corner of your eyes. A figure with a piercing gaze, watching the jolly divine being with envy in their eyes. With a power as tempting as his, there would be those wishing to snatch it. Kalim distracts you, offering more food and drink with a smile sweeter than any flower.

Why would anyone ever wish to leave this garden that was Scarabia? The outside, the desert and canyons, were harsh and unforgiving. The god of commerce did not wish to see you risk traveling and getting hurt. The dendro deity invites you to stay in the city! Surely you could be happy here with Kalim, right?

POMEFIORE

On elevated lands, between mountains and hills, were endless forests in which travelers often vanished in or were discovered frozen. A winter wonderland, although this wasn't so delightful. It was beautiful, but a deadly kind of beautiful, where you risked being chased by mysterious beasts or becoming lost in blizzards.

The snow may be pure, it may look picturesque upon frozen lakes and lines of white trees, but looks are deceiving. This was once a serene land with a temperate climate, but it has only gotten colder and colder in more recent months until there was not a single spot of green to be seen.

A god, an archon, the deity of curses who was so bitter like the cold that he caused snow to fall all year round.

Stories have told that the land was once warm in springs and summers, only growing cold whenever the divine being was cross. They were frighteningly beautiful and terrifyingly powerful, regal as royalty but at times wrathful. Vil, is what the deity was referred to.

Vil became envious of an emerging figure, so he invoked powerful blizzards and storms. In recent generations, there have been a growing number of his people breaking off into a separate faction that worshipped a younger compassionate god of healing. Enraged by the betrayal of some followers and resentful with biting jealously, many knew that it was only a matter of time before he would snap. This frightening divine being would not accept being dethroned, he would not allow himself to be demoted in the people's hearts.

Civilization continued to thrive, even despite the never-ending snow. And yet, people cannot help but worry what may happen if the cold doesn't let up by spring. The god of cryo, Vil, was pretentious. Anyone who openly voices their distaste for him or a preference for the god of healing, can expect to be encased in ice and used as a display. No one dares to even utter the name of his rival, for fear of incurring his wrath.

Misfortune brought you before the god of curses' throne. Mistakingly his followers had believed you to be worshippers of the god of healing, which you insisted not to know of. You had simply been lost. Maybe it was your gawking at his ethereal appearance, or the compliment you murmured under your breath, but you were not frozen a punishment.

He decided to interrogate you himself, and through his stern questioning you found yourself a nervous mess as you answered honestly but blabbered far too much. Maybe this deity was amused, much like a king would find humor in a pathetic little jester. The divinity that froze nonbelievers into statues for his palace, found you quite endearing. Vil even once smiled at you when you spoke of inconsequential things, warming his heart to which the clouds carrying snow broke apart if for a moment, causing his followers to go into a frenzy fueled by hope.

When leaving Pomefiore is so much as even mentioned, all exits will be frozen shut by the god of curses. Why even venture outside the palace, when you have earned the favor of the cryo deity? Perhaps the land is warmer, but the neighboring nation is dangerous and he forbids the journey. Why would anyone leave after finally melting Vil's icy cold heart?

IGNIHYDE

A forest of dead trees serves as an ominous welcome, or perhaps it was an omen warning incoming travelers. Slopes gave way to valleys, and along the coasts was a heavy mist that painted the vision gray. Homes and buildings, magnificent temples and crumbling feats of architecture, appeared to be floating in white clouds, but in reality they were situated on cliffsides thick with fog.

In the center of the dying forest, there are ruins of a grand temple once belonging to a god that met a tragic end. However, its remnants are closely guarded by mysterious creatures of air that cannot be touched. Legends say the temple was once a place of worship for a fledgling god related to the main god the nation worships today.

A god, an archon, the deity of innovation that has never once shown his face to the public.

Thousands of years ago, a pair of divine beings appeared. They went largely unnoticed for many years, until their brilliant inventions brought awe to those around them, attracting worshippers and diminishing the power of other local gods. The one remaining brother from this pair, is a deity known as Idia.

Idia created wondrous inventions, unintentionally forming a nation of inventors in the process. Withdrawn, dark, and silent, he is quite the unconventional god and yet he begrudgingly rules nonetheless. As reserved as he may be, he is feared among divinity. All lesser gods aiming for his spot are quickly wiped out by his inventions, without him so much as lifting a finger and using his own abilities. They're reduced to mere memories, as nothing is left of them. In times of old, it was once believed that he was a harbinger of death.

On decent days, the sun may shine on the coast, but most days there are heavy clouds and fog. The god of anemo, Idia, is an enigma. Most think him a ghost, for never appearing and for his abilities. The highest families, the most brilliant inventors, even other divine beings may request an audience, but he will never show. No one has ever seen him, all that's known is he is a figure shrouded in black robes like a grim reaper. There are others who believe there are double, because two figures have been spotted once.

You become the first to see his face purely by accident. It seemed he was just as startled of you, as you were of him. Thankfully, you were not going to be blown off the face of the planet by hurricane-level winds. No other god would help, in fact, they wished to keep you here. So you had to turn to him for assistance in finding a way home.

It was only by promising that he could pet Grim, a deal to which the feline disagreed to, did the god reluctantly hear you out. After your explanation, he scoffed as if looking at a simple equation like 2 + 2. Of course he knew the answer, but he wouldn't give out the assistance you needed. The deal was to hear you out, not help you out. He'd become quite bold in the private conversation, a sharp contrast to his previous anxious demeanor. There was no arguing against he who could slaughter gods with a snap of his fingers. Although you aren't as intolerable as other mortals, this he admits.

Departing from Ignihyde is highly unlikely, given how dense the fog is. You cannot even see the ground you're walking on. While, yes, the anemo deity hasn't assisted you, he will, eventually, probably, maybe... You're the first mortal Idia has ever asked to stay, so why would you turn your back to him?

DIASOMNIA

A wall of impenetrable thorns stands in the way, magically opening and creating a clear-cut path through dense forbidding forests lively with critters. The thorn walls close, effectively trapping you. There was something different. It was unlike all the previous nations, the very air itself felt off. With every step deeper into these whimsical woods, it felt as if you were not alone.

Once upon a time, there was a dragon. No one knows how long the dragon has been alive, only that even the oldest tales say he was already ancient way back when. Valleys were shaped by his claws, the rivers from his tail, rare ore came from his fallen scales buried in the earth, the tallest mountains were but small hills to him.

A god, an archon, the deity of dreams is by far the most powerful and most ancient of all divinity in the world.

Peace was his personal preference, as he enjoyed new company which he never truly received due to his fearsome reputation. However, when other divinity sought out his destruction and his home, the deity of electricity raged. Destruction was left in his wake across the entire globe, and everyone came to know the name Malleus.

Malleus commanded thorns to be raised like walls protecting his home, and constant violent storms to ward off anyone threatening to cause trouble. For hundreds of years, no foreigner was allowed to step foot within the nation's boundaries. Anyone that tried would quickly be reduced to ash, and just a number added to the untold amount he's slayed in order to protect himself and his territory. Kind he may be to his own, but to foes he is merciless. With his black horns and piercing eyes, some refer to him as a devil incarnate.

A land unseen by outlanders, it's peaceful and magical in it's beauty. However, it seems that while your presence may be surprising, it is not a shock. You're taken by knights in gray and black, escorted away. The god of electro, Malleus, has invited you to his castle. There is astonishment and disbelief in people's eyes, a foreigner alive and well. Most like you would have been reduced to particles before they could even step foot past the thorns.

Much to your horror, or relief, once you're brought to the god of dreams, he seems delighted to have you here. It seems your presence was expected, as all he said was, "So you've finally come to see me, hm? I was beginning to grow concerned that perhaps I would have been left out of your list of destinations."

This was the last option, the only one you could turn to in finding a way home. Surely, the most ancient and powerful deity would hold the answer and assist you, since he had been so kind as to allow you inside his nation. Although as welcoming as he may be, you must remember that despite his fang-toothed smile and the twinkle in his eyes, this man– no, god, was archaic and all-powerful. He must have killed more people than you will ever know, wiped out whole armies and flattened entire nations. Malleus tilts his head at you, requesting that you recount your tale, with every minute detail.

This will be the end, there will be no escaping Diasomnia. Of course, you shall not know until later. For now, the god of dreams delights in your stories. You were the first guest he's had in thousands of years, and one of the few who did not wish to slay the legendary dragon that was the electro deity. Malleus knows what you desire, he has seen it in your dreams. However, he will not be kind and grant you what you sought. If he did, then what he desired would then vanish: you.

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princessbrunette · 7 months

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stepbro!rafe is so….. 😵‍💫

pretty dark content ig !! tw: stepcest, some piss stuff if you squint but not rlly, some angry rafey, thas it 🤓

even with sarah standing between the two of you, you on one side of her, him on the other, he’ll still reach behind her back to tug at your hair— staring straight ahead, not even indulging in watching your head gently tip back— because he’s a big boy, he’d never tug too hard. he does let himself glance at you with a smirk when you pout and fix your heads position, sarah tsking at his actions, sending a non committal swat his way, none the wiser.

he’ll embarrass you at your sleepovers with your girl friends, barging into your room when you’re all sat chatting in a circle on your carpet, messing up your dresser and shelves as he looks for something he apparently left there. your friends don’t complain, either too intimidated by his mean presence or thinking he’s sexy enough to get away with it, hair being twirled in his direction which makes your tummy twitch in irritation and you don’t know why. if you tell him to hurry up, or that you don’t have whatever he’s looking for, or god forbid you tell him to get out, he doesn’t care who’s around— he’ll slowly stride over and squat down by your side, squishing your cheeks with his hand making you look at him. “s’that any way to talk to your big brother?” he hums, a threat of course. your friends, wiser than you, suspect something weird is going on but never would say anything. an accusation like that would be crazy, right?

he glares at you when you’re sauntering around in your bikini, tugging at the strings holding it to your body whenever he passes you making you let out a displeased moan that makes his cock bloat, even if you pair it with an attempted smack. “don’t wear that shit around then?” he shrugs like it’s simple logic as he walks away.

he would die before he lets anyone call him “rafey”, but when little old you says it — he has to admit it’s kind of cute. he does think you’re sweet, he really does — when you haven’t seen him all day and despite him treating you all mean, or acting like a total perv you’re still excited to see him and talk his ear off about your girly drama he doesn’t care for. “oh— and then rafey, i forgot to tell you, she got all up in her face and was like ‘you’re not even a real kook!’ and everyone was like ohhhh—” you ramble, following him through the kitchen as he walks through the house, getting on with his daily life just trusting you’ll follow.

“oh yeah?” he hums, so evidently disinterested but you’re too stupid to notice. he heads towards the bathroom as you continue telling your story and you stop at the door, trailing off with a little furrowed brow when he walks inside.

“rafey m’not done with the story!” you whine, and he’s just casually yanking you inside by the forearm, eyes rolling back into his head as he nudges the door shut behind him.

“yeah yeah, keep talkin’ i just gotta take a leak.” he works his belt open expertly with his hand, looking at you boredly waiting for you to continue. however your interest has totally shifted, happy to get all close and personal with your favourite step-sibling, your innocent brain curious to how his anatomy worked. he’s happy to teach you, he even lets you hold his cock whilst he pee’s, smushing your cheek to his arm and giggling as you aim it into the bowl, giggling more when rafe winces and says “shit, stop squeezin it so hard would you?” irritably.

he is always there for you in other ways of course, like when it’s storming or you’ve had a nightmare and you show up at his bedroom door at 4AM. he looks all cute standing there squinting half awake in just his sweatpants, rubbing at his eyes with messy hair. he lets you in reluctantly when you whine about how you can’t get back to sleep without him, watching you clamber onto his bed, happy as a clam in your fluffy socks, one of them pulled up your calf and the other barely hanging on to your foot. he shakes his head and shuts the door behind him of course, his dad definitely wouldn’t approve of rafe taking advantage of his new step-sister like this, and hell, sarah would surely kill him in his sleep.

he leaves rough kisses on your temple when you snuggle into him, and when you get all restless and try to wake him up properly to entertain you because you just can’t get back to sleep, he really has no choice but to sling your thigh open over his bent leg and stuff a hand down your pink panties, being sure to keep a hand free to cover your mouth whilst he strokes the audible stickiness with a roughness that was totally trademark to rafe. he had to, okay? you wouldn’t go to sleep and leave him alone otherwise! he was only trying to calm you down.

when he gets into his explosive arguments with ward, which was inevitable and horrifyingly often — you’d be surprised at his softness directed towards you if you ever happened to walk in, or be witness to the aggression he displayed. even when mad, he’d sigh and storm over to you, clasping a hand on your shoulder and turning you around toward the door. “go back upstairs, kid alright? this doesn’t — doesn’t concern you. big kid stuff.” he tries to usher you out.

“hell— maybe she should hear this rafe! she’s family after all, and you’re screwing all of us!” ward stands, lifting his arms in resignation. your stepbrother is quick to let go of you to close the distance between him and his father, grabbing his collar roughly and pointing a finger in his face, panting roughly through his nose.

“you leave her out of this. do not fucking play with me dad, a’ight?” he shakes like a feral dog, but still manages to turn his head to you who’s lingering in the doorway nervously. “go, sweetheart.” sweetheart, ward stares at him— the shock from his sons aggression melting into one of disgust, suspicion. surely rafe isn’t doing what he thinks he’s doing.

oh but he is, and then some.

#tw stepcest #tw piss #tw dark content #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb

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arieslost · 15 days

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waking up from a nightmare, literally gasping for air and in seconds charles is by your side and holding you close. he’s whispering in your ear, trying to soothe you and is wiping your tears with his thumb bye i love my little precious leclerc

“my little precious leclerc” actually made me tear up i hope u know. i adore him

wake me up | cl16

you wouldn’t call it a recurring nightmare. more like a nightmare that started one night, years ago, and kept getting worse and worse as time went on, layers of hurt and fear and heartbreak settling on top of each other every time your subconscious displayed it in all its horrid glory. you can’t even pinpoint what the worst part about it is anymore.

it used to be waking up alone. by yourself, in your pitch black room, was almost as bad as being asleep and experiencing the nightmare. there was never anything to distract you from the feeling of tears sliding down your cheeks, your heart still racing from fear, your eyes conjuring up flashes of the nightmare even though you were awake.

now it’s waking up next to charles, wanting to wake him up, desperately craving the comfort that only he can give you, but refusing to do so because of how hard he works. you won’t deprive him of his sleep, certainly not for something as trivial as a stupid nightmare. especially because he has trouble falling asleep most nights; always thinking about things he might have forgotten to do, his schedule for the next day, the next race weekend, when he can get you your all access pass.

you always tell him not to worry about you, that he has enough on his plate and you knew that when you said yes to being his girlfriend. this, your nightmare, is certainly much more trivial than making sure you have a paddock pass for a race weekend. this isn’t even real. it doesn’t matter.

so when you sleep horribly because of it, and charles notices (because of course he does), you just brush it off, saying you couldn’t get comfortable, you were too hot, too cold, whatever excuse you can think up on a whim.

“you should’ve woken me up, amore.” it’s what he says every. single. time.

and you know he means it. that he truly wants you to wake him up so he can care for you in whatever capacity he possibly can. you just can’t bring yourself to do it because of this.

this time, though, you don’t have a choice.

there’s another terrifying layer to your nightmare tonight. you’re lucid to some degree, enough to know that you should have the ability to wake yourself up from this subconscious plane, but you’re incapable of doing so. you tell your eyes to open, but they’re glued shut like they have to see this through to the end, even though you know how this ends.

you fight, and fight, and fight, until finally, your eyes fly open, tears flooding your vision and a ragged gasp tearing its way out of your throat as you scramble into an upright position. the commotion wakes charles immediately, and he doesn’t even ask what’s going on before he springs into action.

“breathe, baby,” he murmurs softly, gathering you into his arms. “listen to my heartbeat.”

you’re trembling, trying your hardest to calm down as you instantly melt into his embrace, his warmth spreading into your limbs and working to ease the tension you didn’t know they were holding.

“i-i—” you try to say, your mouth struggling to form the words.

“shh, it’s okay. i’ve got you, i’m right here.” he whispers, kissing your forehead and running his hands along the backs of your own.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, nuzzling your face into his neck and breathing in his comforting scent.

“don’t apologize,” he replies firmly. “is this why you’ve been having trouble sleeping?”

you nod slowly, already knowing what he’s going to say next.

“why didn’t you ever wake me up?”

“i just...” you sigh, shifting closer to him and tilting your face towards him as he reaches to wipe your tears. “it’s stupid. i’ve been having this nightmare for years now, and it just keeps getting worse. this time, i couldn’t wake up. usually i just wake up and deal with it. you work so hard every day, and this really isn’t important—”

“i’m going to stop you right there, amore,” charles interrupts, cupping your face with both hands. “i don’t ever want you to say that anything you’re going through isn’t important.”

“but—”

“yes, i do work hard. i have a lot going on more often than not. but out of everything, i work hardest for this. us. do you know what the most important thing in my life is?”

“ferrari?” you answer immediately, only half joking.

“no, ma drôle de fille,” he laughs, “it’s you. i’m going to retire from racing one day, but i’m going to be with you until the day i die. and even after that.”

you feel yourself tearing up for a whole new reason.

“so don’t tell me that it’s not important,” he continues, leaning back into the pillows and bringing you with him. “if it’s bothering you, it bothers me too. you hear me?”

you nod.

“and you’ll wake me up next time?”

you nod again.

“good. now close your eyes. keep listening to my heartbeat. i’ll fight off the nightmares for you, okay amore?”

“you are so cheesy, cha,” you grumble, snuggling into his chest.

“shh, go to sleep,” he coos quietly, stifling a laugh as he pets your hair.

you shut your eyes dutifully, focusing in on the steady beat of his heart, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

you dream of him.

word count: 907

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note: every charles leclerc request i get makes my heart soar because not only do i get to write about my favorite driver but i also get to improve on said writing THANK U ANON

ma drôle de fille = “my funny girl” (i hope)

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dividers by @/saradika

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azsazz · 4 months

Text

Midnight Muse (Part 20)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 4,679

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Masterlist]

Notes: Some of this might seem familiar hehe

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You look so beautiful, lying in his bed like that, nothing but your bare skin on display.

The evidence of last night is still marked on your skin; bruises littering your body from your neck to your breasts, from your hip bones to the inside of your thighs. Azriel had gotten over eager at all of the different noises you’d made as he’d explored your skin into the early hours of the morning, and after another round of raucous sex, you’d fallen asleep in the warmth of his arms.

Even with your comforting presence beside him, sleep evaded Azriel.

Last night must have been some sort of dream. There was no possible way that he had taken out the one person who’s been a pestering annoyance all year, and somewhere along the way that irritation became infatuation.

And you’ve seen through his harsh exterior, the barrier he puts between himself and others. He hasn’t allowed anyone to touch him like this since after the accident. Hell, he still flinches sometimes when his friends come up behind him and slap him on the shoulder. It was that same motion his step-brothers had given him before they beat him into the ground and drug him in his fathers backyard.

But you are a whirlwind of fresh air, infatuated with the scarring of his hands, before you even knew the harrowing story, the trauma that came with them. You never shied away like other girls. No, you had kissed them and touched them and…and it means everything to Azriel.

He held you for a while, long after his fingers began itching for the familiar feel of his pencils in hand. Wide awake, he snuck out of his bed and over to his desk, flipping the sketchbook filled with images of you—the very same one that had your eyes tearing up—to a fresh page.

He had gotten lucky that you didn’t react poorly to what is essentially a shrine to you. Pages upon pages of drawings of you, in this one sketchbook he normally keeps hidden on his shelf. How had he been so stupid as to leave it out? Right, because he’d be so fucking nervous to pick you up for his exhibition that the only thing that could ease his racing mind and shaky hands was drawing you.

The apartment is silent, had been all night from what he can remember. He doesn’t care if his roommates hear anyway, they’ll all figure it out eventually and tell him that they told him so.

He can’t fucking wait.

Sleep wears on his body, trying to pull him down, but his mind is wide awake. Creative, is what he calls it, insomniac others called him. He won’t dare sleep a wink when you’re there to draw his attention. You sleep so prettily, the morning sun cascading across your body as it rises, casting shadows across your skin in the most interesting way, highlighting those marks he’s left on your skin…

For now, the marks are hickeys, but his head is already filled with tattoo ideas for your body.

He takes his pencil to his paper. He has minutes to get you down in his book, if that. He doesn’t know when you’ll shift, if the sun will wake you or if everything that happened will come flooding in like a nightmare. He wonders how you will react, if it will be poor or if you will pout, telling him to come back to bed. He shoves the thoughts from his mind and focuses on his sketchpad.

Azriel snags a kneaded eraser, blackened with use. There are shards of charcoal strewn about his desk, brushed to the sides for a cleaner workspace. The chalk clings to his skin instantly and he breathes out a sigh of contentment at its familiar texture. He rolls it between his fingers and looks back up to you, the sudden urge to press his sooty fingertips against your skin barreling through his thoughts.

His heart skips a beat at that, the idea of you covered in the essence of his art, of him, on you.

The drawings in his sketchpad are both rushed and not. Lazy, languid strokes when he has all of the time in the world to recount how you’d glared up at him. Quick, harsh lines of a fleeting look, your gaze brushing across his.

The smooth, cream paper is fresh on both sides, a blank canvas inviting him to soil with his charcoal. The blankness, like the void of night he often shies away from, instead of letting it cocoon him with sleep. Azriel’s eyes ache to fall shut but his mind won’t allow it, a thousand different images of you from the night he has yet to add to the rapidly filling book propped up on his knee.

Azriel takes a deep breath, lets himself bask in the picture of you again, sheet twisted around your body, barely covering your sex. He hasn’t been so fortunate that you kicked off the thin sheet while you slept. Maybe next time.

He’s quick to get your form down. Your face, a quick circle for your skull, a tinier one following for your cheek where it’s pressed into the pillow. A line marking the bed. A box for the window so he can draw the rays of sun washing in over you. Maybe he’ll even add a halo to your messy hair.

The curve of your body is drawn in such a fluid motion it surprises him for a moment, but after last night, he knows the dips of your silhouette better than he knows his beloved bike. The drawing spans across both pages. One wouldn’t be enough to capture the raw beauty of you this morning, though he might have five other sketches of you sleeping from when he’d found you in his bed that night.

Azriel draws the swell of your breasts, your hand, relaxed at your hip, sketching the general shapes of you down before you shift. Realize that he’s missing from next to you.

And his hands don’t shake.

With two quick drags of his chalk there are your eyelids. His hand moves on its own and he does nothing to stop it. He almost doesn't’ draw the lines of the sheet, instead there’s a fleeting moment in his exhausted brain where he thinks about drawing that sweet little cunt of yours but it’s gone as fast as it comes, even if his dick does twitch in response. Instead, he drapes the bending lines across your hips before filling it in with the flat of his stick. Azriel uses his eraser to make the highlights and smudges the lines with his finger until they’re buttery smooth.

He loves the way that the chalk sticks to his skin. The onyx dust coats his hands and covers the blemishes adoring his fingertips. It feels like a second skin, a plate of armor against unwanted stares, except for yours, of course.

Tracing the lines of your fingers, Azriel begins to add the finer details now that he has your base. His mind always tends to wander through the self hatred shadowing the corners of his mind when he’s tired. The loud music only helps on some nights, but in your presence, it seems as if you’ve scared them away like a beacon of light.

He studies the way the light highlights certain areas of your body and hides others, filling in the paper with the thick stick of charcoal. The eraser is in his other hand, ready to really pull out those highlights from the chunk of black he’s just colored in.

Occasionally, he blows the soot off of the page. It lifts, swirling around in the rays of the morning sun and he’s distracted by how pleasing it looks. Reminds him of the whorls of swirling black in twining between the tattoos on his shoulders.

He scrubs the powder into the grains of the paper. His hands are a mess, and the medium sticks to the eraser he’s kneading into a point so he can carve out your nipples tight from the chilly air. He looks back up to you and then back at the page, his tongue poking between his lips as he focuses on the important task at hand.

It’s a shame that you haven’t woken up yet. He’s done with his picture and he doesn't know what to do now, what to draw because you haven’t yet shifted in your sleep. Azriel thinks about climbing back into the bed behind you because every blink feels like there’s sand in his eyes.

He knows that he needs to sleep. Knows that there are dark circles around his eyes and his skin is getting that sickly look his mother used to scold him about when he was young and stayed up all night studying anatomy on the internet.

Instead, Azriel pulls the chair closer to the bed. He could move behind you and draw your backside, but he thinks better of it, wanting to sketch the more intimate parts of you like your face or where the crook of your arm barely covers the curve of your breast.

He focuses on one thing at a time. Your hand. He draws your breast and the hickey he’d left surrounding it last night. Chalks up that scar on your shoulder that he has yet to ask you about. So many things he doesn’t know yet, but your body is not one of them. He draws the curves of your ear and the piercings shoved into them. Sketches the column of your throat, also mottled with marks from his mouth.

He wonders if you’ll be upset with him when you look in the mirror and see those, knowing that you have class tomorrow.

Azriel smirks at the thought of that copper haired fuck getting a glimpse of those. He hadn’t sucked them into your neck so high because of Lucien, but the thought of him seeing them anyway makes Azriel’s chest puff a little. You hadn’t had sex with Lucein, no, your tight cunt is all for him. Only him.

He peers down at you again. Watch you for even longer, hand frozen over the page. He’s staring again but you’re not awake to catch him.

From somewhere behind him, the buzz of his phone goes off. Azriel places his sketchbook back on the desk and rubs his filthy hands on a tissue he pulls from the box on the shelf. Black streaks the thin material but it’s not enough to clean his skin. Uncaring, Azriel crumples the tissue and tosses it into his trash can.

He finds his pants haphazardly discarded on the floor. It’s too early for Cassian or Rhysand to be texting him, and all of his notifications for social media are set to off. It’s a Sunday, so he’s not entirely sure who it could be.

The screen of the phone lights up with the text and the floor falls from beneath Azriel’s feet.

It’s his father, demanding to meet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Here you are boys,” Rita says with a kind smile. She sets a large stack of pancakes with extra butter in front of Cassian and a breakfast special before Rhysand. Azriel’s hands haven’t stopped shaking enough for him to be able to pick up a fork yet, nor the hot mug of black coffee in his hands. Rita offers him a consoling glance—she’s always had that mothers instinct—that Azriel ducks away from. “Nice to see you around here again.”

Azriel is thankful that Rita refrains from asking any questions. He hasn’t shown up to her diner with Rhysand and Cassian since after their freshman year when Cassian figured out he could pull almost anyone he wanted and Rhysand found other places to frequent, more sophisticated to the trust fund he’d inherited for his high grades his first year away.

It feels like he hasn’t seen them in ages even though they live together. Rhys has been too busy with Feyre and Cassian’s been chasing tail as usual, but the both of them had formed a group with you and your roommate, and since Azriel has been so stubborn as to not force himself into your presence, he hasn’t seen much of his best friends as of late.

Little do they know that he’s more than acquainted with you now.

Azriel had used their special code this morning after reading the text his father sent him. The one that would ensure both Rhysand and Cassian would drop anything at any second and meet him here, at Rita’s diner.

It still looks the same as it did two years ago, with its funky neon boomerang pattern adorning the tables, straight from the 80’s. The bright blue booths and barstools have been replaced since then, but some of them are still worn, pleather ripped open and showing a yellow foam inside.

The food is just as good as it’s always been, and he doesn’t understand why they’d stopped coming here, but he always found solace in the quiet diner and the company of the owner. It became a safe haven for Azriel, when he had a bad day and needed a milkshake to make him feel better and he couldn’t ride his motorcycle. He could barely grip the straw in the cup after the accident, his hands so burnt up he’d been almost embarrassed to leave his apartment at all.

A jukebox sits on the far side of the restaurant, and he remembers shoving loads of quarters into it and setting a queue so long that it had the other patrons moaning and groaning on Friday nights while he, Cassian, and Rhysand sat in this very booth and had the time of their lives.

These days, he feels like he doesn’t know a thing about what’s going on in their lives. He doesn’t know how they’re doing in their classes, what Cassian got on his sculpting project. He doesn’t even know if Rhysand still works at the art supply store. He’d steal Azriel a kneaded eraser every other week, but since he’s met Feyre, nothing.

It’s not that he needs the eraser, but Azriel expects his friends to check in on him, and he knows that these things go both ways, that he’s been an irritable prick the last few months, kept his own secrets from them, but they’re all best friends, damnit, and he wants someone to ask after him, too.

Cassian doesn’t seem to notice any of the tension keeping Azriel’s shoulders rigid, glancing behind him with a slight furrow in his brows, but Rhysand’s violet eyes are tinged with the only worry Azriel’s emergency message could cause, and he hasn’t touched his meal.

“What’s going on, Az?” Rhys asks.

“Is this about those noises we heard last night?” Cassian tacks on, stuffing a bite of pancakes into his mouth.

“What?” Azriel coughs. Chokes, really. He manages to take a sip of the hot coffee, but it does little to soothe the lump in his throat. He hadn’t known they’d been home at all.

“Cass,” Rhys scolds, elbowing his friend. “I told you not to bring that up.”

“A whole fucking year since Azzy’s been laid and you want me not to bring it up?” Cassian shoots back, “That’s impossible. I’m only a man, Rhys. I need details.”

Rhysand rolls his eyes, shooting Azriel an apologetic look. He spears his fork into the fluffy eggs on his plate, looking expectantly at his friend for an answer as to why they’re all here at the asscrack of dawn.

“I can, uh, explain that part later,” Azriel scratches his head awkwardly. “But that’s not why I called you here.”

“Is it because of everything that’s been going on recently?” Rhysand asks, and he seems almost ashamed as he sets his fork down again. “Look, Az. I know we haven’t been best friends as of late, especially with the whole (Y/N) thing, and I want to apologize for that. I hadn’t realized how my relationship with Feyre might be affecting you and—”

“And we fucking miss you dude,” Cassian interrupts. “Where are you always running off to? Is it to that girl’s place?”

Azriel shakes his head. So they’ve noticed what’s been going on with him, how he’s always having to find something to occupy himself with while they’re hanging out next door. The last time he’s properly hung out with either of his roommates was when he’d heard you through the wall as you touched yourself.

Fuck, just the thought of you has Azriel shifting in his seat, his cock stirring at the thought of you lied up in his bed, your bare skin on display. He had left you a note with his number and an excuse so lame he cringed as he wrote it, regretting it as soon as he fled the apartment.

He hopes that you text him, or that you’re still asleep by the time he is done with this. He could use some comfort after this.

“No,” Azriel sighs, playing with the handle of his mug. “She’s not the only thing I haven’t been completely honest with you about.” He waits for a reaction from his roommates, either Cassian to start guessing what he’s been up to or Rhysand’s touch of betrayal, but nothing comes. His roommates stare at him, waiting for an explanation. “I’ve been, ah, interviewing for apprenticeships.”

“What? That’s awesome Az,” Cassian grins widely, but it’s not awesome.

Azriel shrugs. “Nothing’s come of it yet, but maybe soon.” He doesn’t tell them about how many times he’s interviewed and failed to score the job. It’s too mortifying. “And I had an exhibition last night. At Opulence.”

Rhysands eyes nearly bug out of his head. His father is an investor in that gallery. If Azriel wanted a showing, he could’ve pulled some strings.

But Azriel didn’t want that. He wanted to earn something on his own, knowing that it isn’t his art that’s keeping him from chasing his dreams. He has a backup plan if tattooing doesn’t pick up, and this is the first step in that career path. Drawing is still something that he loves, and it will be nice to have some sort of income until he can hone his tattooing enough for someone to take a chance on him.

He wants to shrink under his friends’ wide-eyed stares. They’re looking at him like he’s just announced he’s having a child or something, and the silence is making him a little uncomfortable. He checks the time on his phone, cringing, and notices that there isn’t any message from you yet.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cassian asks, tone low. He looks like a kicked puppy right now, with a wounded look on his face.

“I thought you guys might be too busy,” Azriel answers, just as soft. His throat tightens and he doesn’t like the feeling, doesn’t like the looks on their faces, the hurt in their eyes. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Fuck, Az,” Rhys says, pushing his plate away from him. “We’ve been shit friends lately, haven’t we?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Rhys—”

“It is that big of a deal!” Azriel can tell that Rhysand wants to explode, but he’s always been too good at keeping his composure. It’s a trait he got from his father. “We’ve been parading around, leaving you to your own devices all semester and now we don’t even know what’s going on in your life anymore? Fuck, I feel like the shittiest person in the world right now.”

Rita swings around to check in on the three of them and senses the tension immediately. Azriel sends her an apologetic look for all of the commotion and Cassian’s avoiding everyone’s eyes altogether, craning his neck around the owner towards the counter. Rhysand’s heavy violet gaze doesn’t leave Azriel’s.

“Are you boys doing all right over here?” She asks, brushing a strand of graying brown hair behind her ear. She stands closer to Azriel’s side of the booth, a protective wall should he need her.

His chest warms.

“I’d like to put in an order for blueberry waffles, please,” Rhysand says, “To go.”

Azriel deflates a little in his seat when Rita walks away. So this is how it’s going to be, then.

Cassain takes the reins because Rhysand seems too worked up to continue. “When those waffles come, we’re going to the store and buying ice cream, and then we’re going home to talk about everything we missed,” he says, and Azriel finally looks up. They ordered the waffles for him. They remembered that? When he said his ultimate comfort food was blueberry waffles and ice cream when they’d all gotten a misdemeanor for spray painting one of the buildings on the outskirts of town. They’d only gotten a fine for it, and an escort back to town, but it had spooked the three of them enough that their reign of spray painting started and ended in one night. Azriel thought his father would kill him when he found out and they found themselves right in this very booth, with enough waffles and ice cream to feed a small army. It turns out, Rhysand had called his father and pulled some strings, and the incident was cleared from their records. “We’re sorry for being such pricks lately.”

“I’m sorry too,” Azriel admits, and even though he hasn’t called them here for this, he feels lighter. “For not telling you.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me who you were with last night,” Cassian shrugs, stuffing another bite of food into his mouth. “She sounded like she was having fun.”

Azriel’s spine straightens and his grip around his mug tightens. He knows the walls are paper fucking thin but he doens’t like the idea of his roommates hearing the noises you make when he fucks you into his bed.

“Later,” he answers again, and it comes out sharper than he’d intended. Rhysand’s brows furrow and Cassian’s grin widens. Instead of allowing them to ask any more prying questions, Azriel blurts, “My father texted me this morning.”

“Fuck,” Cassian spits, then shouts over his shoulder, “Rita, we’re going to need two more orders of waffles!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Azriel sits across from his carbon copy, and he doesn’t like it one fucking bit.

He hasn’t seen his father since before the accident, when his new step-sons had lit his hands on fire in an attempt to fuck with his art career. He knows that his father doesn’t want him to be an artist. It’s business, the man across from him would rather see him in. Following his footsteps, however…small they might be.

Azriel’s hands are clenched tightly in his lap. Rhysand and Cassian sit at the bar only a few feet away. His father either hadn’t noticed his two friends or didn't care, calling for a black coffee as he slid into the booth, a crinkle of disgust to his nose.

Azriel had almost smiled at that.

Neither of them have spoken yet. His father is typing something on his phone, his thick gold ring catching the light shining in from the window. His gray suit is pressed perfectly and his sunglasses are pushed up into the dark hair styled perfectly on his head.

Azriel waits.

He doesn’t want to be anywhere near his father, thought he made that clear with his lack of responses to phone calls and texts. He thought that they were on the same page, actually, when his father hadn’t visited him in the hospital after the incident that happened by his step-sons in his house.

Azriel’s hands tremble with rage.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, only because he knows his father will wait him out, and he wants the fucker gone as soon as possible. He has things to get back to, like you and his artwork. Mostly you.

His father doesn’t bother with niceties. No greetings, no ‘nice to see you’s’ because it would all be a lie, anyway. They’ve merely put up with each other their entire lives, and that doesn’t stop today.

“I’ve found an opportunity nearby,” His father says, finally slipping his phone into the interior pocket of his suit jacket.

“And?” Azriel asks, boredly. He doesn’t fucking care, but the idea that his father might be in this town more often should he invest makes him want to squirm.

His father pins him with a scathing look. One that used to terrify Azriel when he was young. Now, it only makes him hate the man more.

“And,” his father taps that thick gold ring against the ceramic of his mug impatiently. The sound makes Azriel’s teeth grit. “I want to know about the area.” His gaze lingers on Azriel’s hands. He sucks his teeth, “If you’d consider it profitable.”

“Take a walk around,” Azriel waves lazily towards the windows. There aren’t many people milling about this early in the morning, and he hopes the lack of them drives his father away from this town. “I certainly don’t have the time to do it.”

“You don’t have the time to do it between drawing those stick figures and nonsense you ruin your body with?” His father quirks his brow and from the corner of his eyes he watches the way Rhysand and Cassian’s spines lengthen.

Oh, he knows that Azriel’s still not taking the classes he wants to force him into. Azriel doesn’t want a fucking thing to do with his father’s business, even if he’s owed it by name when he retires. He wouldn’t dare give it to those step-sons of his, they’re not his by blood. Azriel knows that the fucker won’t.

When Azriel doesn’t answer, his father continues. “I’m looking at the 3rd street apartments,” he says, and Azriel’s world stops. His breath catches in his throat and he’s lucky that he hadn’t eaten anything. That’s his apartment building, and by the smirk on his father’s face, he knows it too, even if Azriel’s been paying his own rent through odd summer jobs and tutoring. “It could use some updating, and when summer rolls around and there aren’t as many students on campus, it will be the perfect time to renovate the building. My assistant just told me about the elevator getting trapped with some students inside. Have you heard about that?”

Of course, he knows about that. He was one of them. But he doesn’t say anything.

Azriel’s stomach shrivels. If his father buys the building and is wanting to renovate during the summer, that means he, Rhysand, and Cassian will be out of a place to live. Not only that, but you and Feyre will be thrown out too.

He doesn’t like the thought of that.

But his father doesn’t care. He’s already taking a final sip of his coffee and grimacing at the taste. He looks around the diner as if he might just buy this place next. If he does, Azriel doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“If the deal goes through you might be seeing a lot of your old man around this summer,” his father taunts, standing. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Azriel glares. He throws every ounce of hatred at the man who fathered him because there’s nothing that he can do. If his father is talking about buying the building that means that the plans are already in the works. He’s truly and utterly fucked.

His father throws a twenty down on the table. “This should cover that. You can keep the change too, Azriel. Spend the rest on some paint, or something.”

Gods, does he want to fucking bare his teeth at the fucker.

His stare doesn’t leave his father’s back until he’s settled into his sleek, black sports car. His breathing is heavy, fingers clenched so tightly he knows they’ll ache when he uncurls them. Rhysand and Cassian slide back into the booth, deep frowns on their faces.

And his phone is still empty of notifications.

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MM Taglist Part 1: @justvibbinghere @nickishadow139 @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut

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#midnight muse #acotar #azsazz #acowar #acomaf #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #tattoo artist!azriel #art school au #artist!azriel #azriel series

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purple-babygirl · 3 months

Text

don't call me daddy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 4,826

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: Bucky is mean, a couple of insults, mistreatment of age regressed reader, crying, mentions of hot liquid getting on skin, crying, mentions of the r-word and the s-word, Bucky's PTSD & nightmares

A/N: so this is an idea I've had for forever and I finally mustered up enough courage to share it with you guys. Please enjoy and let me know what you think and if you have anything you'd like to suggest for the upcoming parts. I love you 💜

“This sounds stupid,” Bucky grumbled when Sam suggested the program.

“It's not stupid, Buck and it works!”

“If it worked for you doesn't mean it's gonna work for me, Sam. You have patience and it's in your nature to want to take care of people.”

“Says the one who looked out for Steve all his life!”

“Steve was one person and he was actually dumb, he wasn’t acting like he can't fucking feed himself!”

“They're not acting. They're age regressed.” Sam tried to remain calm.

“What does that even mean!”

“It means—”

“You know what? I don't care because I'm not doing it.” Bucky smiled before leaving Sam's house and going back to hide in his own.

But Sam was persistent. He was determined to get Bucky help that would actually help. So he suggested the program to Bucky's therapist and before Bucky could punch him, she was having him sign the contract.

“Sam, I don't wanna meet anyone. It's not gonna work anyway so let's just pick any of them.”

“They're not service dogs, Bucky!”

“Really? Because that's exactly what it sounds like they are to me.”

Sam glared at him, elbowing his side as a short lady with a kind smile approached them.

Bucky didn't pay her much attention. He didn't want to be here and he didn't care what she was reciting.

Only thing that caught his attention was when she asked him what age he would prefer so she could introduce him to a group of littles.

He was dreading this. It was stupid.

“…what are you looking for?” Bucky caught the end of her talk with Sam.

“I don't know, someone who can talk like they're not retarded,” he answered the lady rudely and she smiled in understanding when Sam apologized.

“They're not retarded. All of them are perfectly healthy and okay. They're age regressed,” she told Bucky and he rolled his eyes so hard he felt they might never return from the back of his head.

He hated those two words. Age regressed, what the fuck did that even mean?

“Maybe we can meet some of the littles who are not so young, like 6 year olds?” Sam suggested and she nodded, leading them to a building with long corridors and lots of doors.

Bucky could see adult women and men playing with dolls, sleeping with pacifiers and some of them even had other people feeding them.

What the hell was this place? Did they expect him to do that? With a person perfectly capable of handling his or her own self but chooses not to?! Was this the 21st century? Because he didn’t like it very much.

The lady led them inside her office and got a group of files out of some organized drawer. She'd barely laid them out on the table before Bucky was slamming his finger on one.

“We'll take this one,” he said, staring at the lady in disinterest.

“But you haven't even seen them,” Sam said between his teeth, kicking his leg under the table. He wished Bucky cared enough to do this right.

“I've seen enough. I pick this file and I wanna leave,” Bucky seethed back.

“This is Doll. She's one of the softest littles I've ever met and I think you've made a great choice, Mr. Barnes.”

“You call her Doll?”

“Yes, real names aren't revealed for the privacy of our littles unless they decide otherwise and she chose the name herself when she joined us.” The lady smiled kindly, making Bucky even madder.

“Whatever, let's get this over with. Tell her to come so we could leave.”

“Mr. Barnes, I have to admit your attitude towards this is very concerning and I fear I cannot risk the peace of our littles who confide in us to find them safe partners! Like I said she's one of the gentlest and I need to know you're going to treat her right before I even let you meet her!” The woman voiced her concerns and Bucky sighed.

He couldn't blow this now. He's come far enough with this whole process and if he went back to his therapist like that she was definitely going to get out her dreadful notebook.

He had to take this girl home tonight or else they would make him go through this same process over and over again.

“I'm sorry. I'm just a little confused, I guess.” Bucky scratched his beard.

“That's okay.” She smiled again, “most of our visitors are, but you can always ask.”

“Well— what is wrong with them?!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands in the air.

Sam kicked him again and glared.

“What? She said I could ask!”

“It's okay,” she told Sam with a chuckle.

“Nothing is wrong with them. Them regressing in age is their way to cope and relieve anxiety or deal with other mental illnesses such as traumatic experiences, or even just stress. It's a freer, calmer state of mind for them to return to when it's no longer easy for them to be big.”

Her calm, kind manner while explaining this made Bucky even angrier inside. This wasn’t normal and they should all stop acting like it was.

“So they're supposed to be helping me with my issues but they're dealing with their own issues?”

Like he originally thought, this was stupid.

“Yes, it's a mutual helping program.” The lady confirmed.

“Oh. And what's this Doll's issue?”

“Doll reverts to age regression as a coping mechanism for her depression and PTSD. She's been doing great lately actually!”

“Is she suddenly gonna go grownup or?” Bucky continued, involuntarily asking every question on his mind.

“No, like I said, Doll reverts to little space for the comfort and safety of it and while she can coax herself out of her headspace, she rarely ever chooses to.”

“But she can?”

“Yes. But I need to tell you, Mr. Barnes, that this is not why you're here.” She reminded, wanting to ensure the safety of self expression for the little one.

“I know.”

“I also need you to promise me to be a good caregiver for her. She's a sweet girl and I can guarantee she will be good for you.”

“I promise.” Bucky knew he was lying but he couldn’t care less about his honesty at the moment.

“And it’s never acceptable to make fun of her or try to force her into a more grownup headspace. That only makes it worse and her mind regresses further.”

“So what she becomes younger?!” He was trying so hard not to get frustrated, why make him!

“That's correct.” She nodded.

“How young?” Sam asked.

“The youngest she's ever been is 4.”

“Oh.” Great. Just great.

“She can still talk just fine,” she reassured them, knowing Bucky didn't want anyone who couldn't talk or seemed 'retarded'.

“Okay, good.” Bucky nodded, wanting to get out of the place as soon as possible.

“Would you like to meet Doll now or do you wanna take a look at the rest of the files?”

“I'll meet her.” Bucky stood up, hand already at the doorknob.

The meeting thing went relatively well and Bucky was surprised the girl wasn't intimidated by his frown or intense stare. She was mesmerized by the metal arm even.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he still thought this whole thing was dumb but he needed to convince his therapist and everyone that he was okay again so they'd leave him alone.

She didn’t ask him any questions or have any conditions. She just stared at him with wide, sparkly eyes.

A minute later he heard the girl whisper her agreement to the short lady.

Apparently, she was big enough to make the decision to leave with a strange man she didn't know but not enough to properly dress herself or sleep without a damn toy.

Bucky was relieved anyway; glad she was idiotic enough to choose him so he wouldn't have to meet with any other 'littles'. And she wasn't ugly to look at either.

The old lady had a word with her privately before she was packing a bag and they were on their way to Bucky’s place.

“Where do I stay, daddy?”

Bucky hasn’t said a word to her since they’d left the institution. He made her carry her bag from the car to the elevator and from the elevator inside the apartment. He wasn’t going to be nobody’s maid.

She was physically capable and that didn’t need a professional to see it.

“I don’t know, figure it out.” Bucky shrugged, kicking his shoes off by the door and stepping inside.

She followed his lead and neatly placed her shoes at the corner by the door as well.

“Where do you want me to stay, daddy?” she asked politely, wanting to make him comfortable, seeing he was the owner of the house.

He was making her a little nervous.

This wasn’t his energy back at the institution and she tried her best not to get scared.

“I don't want you. I never did,” Bucky told her the minute she sat on his couch, throwing his keys on the wooden coffee table, “We're just gonna pretend your presence here is changing something and then I'm gonna return you.”

I don't want you.

She's definitely heard that before.

Return her. Like she was some sort of item. She wasn't what he wanted and it cracked her trained-to-love heart.

“Yes, daddy,” she replied brokenly, tears threatening to spill over the rims of her eyes.

Nothing was worse than feeling unwanted.

“Don't call me that.” Bucky snapped.

“B— But you're my daddy.” She was seriously confused now. Why would he pick her if he didn’t want this?

“I'm not your anything and stop acting so small, you look grown up enough to me.”

Why did he take her home if he didn’t like her and didn’t want to be her Daddy?

“I'm not acting.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt more insecure than ever.

“Yeah, yeah, you're age regressed. Whatever, just don't call me that. I'm no one's daddy.” Bucky took his shirt off throwing it on the couch beside her, making her flinch.

“But what should I call you if not—”

“Call me Mr. Barnes, if you're so keen on being polite.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She sniffled.

“And stop crying.” He huffed.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly wiped at her face, holding the rest of her tears inside and forcing the lump in her throat further down.

Bucky muttered something under his breath before snatching his shirt and leaving to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as she flinched again.

He didn't say she was a good girl for calling him what he wanted, or for stopping her crying when she was told to. He didn't like her and he wanted to return her.

What was she supposed to do until he sent her back? He didn't want her help even if they said he needed it.

Was it going to be like this for the next 3 months? How was she going to do all of the grown up stuff if Daddy Mr. Barnes didn't help her? How was she going to live? And why did she still care to try her best to be good for the harsh, blue-eyed man?

She didn’t know what to do so she sloppily changed her clothes by herself, putting her socks in the hamper to be washed like a good girl.

She washed her hands and feet by herself, unknowingly making Bucky think he was right all along about letting her do things on her own as she should.

That was until he put a hot cup of instant noodles before her for dinner though. He refused to help her eat and she accidentally spilled hot soup over her hand and the wooden table. It was chaos.

Bucky cursed out loud and she started crying in pain.

He had enough pity on her to drag her to the bathroom and put her hand under the cold water. If his hold on her arm hurt, she didn’t say anything.

“Keep it there, don’t you dare move.”

“Mr. Barnes, don’t leave,” she sniffled, eyes red and in pain.

“I’m not leaving you in the Sahara desert.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “I gotta go clean the mess you made.” He left her in the bathroom and she kept her hand under the water, not daring to move like she was told.

“How hard is it to eat fucking noodles! It’s not quantum physics!” Bucky muttered angrily as he wiped the soup off the table with a cloth.

“Fuck that age regression shit I am done!” He took their noodle cups to the kitchen and dumped both in the bin.

“What are you still doing in there! It’s not like you got burnt by lava!” Bucky shouted to her, walking to the bathroom.

“I— I— Mr. Barnes, you told me not to move.” She began crying again at his angry demeanor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky groaned, “do you ever stop crying?!”

“I’m s-sorry.” She hiccupped. She didn’t know what to say or how to please him she just wanted him to stop glaring at her. She was scared.

“Get out of there and dry your hands,” Bucky told her, sitting on the couch with a sigh.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” Came her chocked whisper.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked when she came out of the bathroom, tears drying on her cheeks.

The question surprised her. Maybe he did care after all.

“Burns a little,” she told him, pointing to the back of her hand where the skin got burnt.

“I might have a cream here somewhere,” he said, trying his best to keep an unconcerned expression on.

She took a look around when Bucky stood up to look in the kitchen. It was a cozy place and she wasn’t too needy but she couldn’t help but wonder about where she was going to sleep.

There didn’t seem to be enough furniture in here.

“Try not to touch it and you should be fine in the morning,” Bucky instructed after applying the burns cream to the sensitive area of skin.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered before absentmindedly pecking Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s eyes widened at her guts. He certainly didn’t see that coming. It was her first night here how was she so bold!

His breath stuttered out of his lungs but he quickly recomposed himself.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he gave her a dark stare.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“N— No.” She quickly shook her head.

“Did I give you permission to do that?”

“No.” She shook her head again, sort of knowing where this was going. She was going to get punished.

“Then why’d you do it?” Bucky sneered through his teeth.

“To th— thank Mr. Barnes.” He made her so nervous she could barely hear herself answer him.

Bucky hated her. She had no sense of boundaries. He hated the way she cried all the time. He hated the way she referred to him in third person.

He hated her.

“You already said that, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Don’t do it again.” Was all Bucky said and she was relieved.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky scoffed and stood up to put the cream back where he found it.

Turned out, Bucky had no bed. He slept on the floor and he didn’t need one.

“But where do I sleep, Mr. Barnes?” She asked in a small voice.

“Anywhere that is not next to me,” Bucky replied, not even sparing her a glance.

“Can I sleep here?” she asked, patting the couch.

“Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She gave a shy smile.

“I didn’t make the damn couch. Just go to sleep.”

“Bad word again,” she whispered.

“What was that?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” She slammed a hand on her mouth.

“Repeat what you just said if you know what’s good for you.” Bucky glared.

“I— Mr. Barnes said a bad word,” she whispered shakily.

“Yeah, well, it’s my house! I’ll talk however I want!” Bucky raised his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She nodded, not even thinking about arguing that he shouldn’t curse in front of a little.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly plopped on the couch, covering herself with a blanket, and burying her face in a cushion.

Bucky almost chuckled; almost thought it was cute but he shook the smile off his face quickly and sighed, taking his shirt off and getting himself on the hard floor, easily falling asleep.

He always falls asleep so fast because nightmares usually wake him up few hours after; he be waiting for bed time all day.

She peeked from under the blanket when she heard Bucky snore, carefully tiptoeing to her bag to get her stuffie. She took one look at shirtless Bucky, her cheeks heating up, before sliding back under the covers on the couch.

Her Daddy that didn’t like to be called Daddy was beautiful.

It has started again. He’s chasing a person, he corners them to where they could not run anymore, his left hand wraps around their throat, they struggle and beg and then snap. He kills them.

Bucky startled awake, having a hard time taking his breath only to find her on the floor next to him.

Her eyes were full of worry and maybe even sympathy as she clutched a stuffed animal. Bucky didn’t like it.

“It’s okay, Daddy— Mr. Barnes. ‘T was just a bad dream.” She whispered, dropping her stuffie to wrap her short arms around Bucky.

He wouldn’t admit it but it felt nice to be held. Something inside him wanted to succumb to the gentleness of her gesture. But Bucky shut that down at once.

“Get off,” Bucky huffed tiredly as the girl clung to him and rubbed his sweaty back.

“But—”

“Get. Off.” He repeated, grinding his teeth and she reluctantly slipped off his lap and went back to her spot on the floor.

She stared at him as he panted and frowned for a second before leaving the room.

Bucky scoffed, rubbing a hand down his hot face. She probably went to cry in the bathroom again; such a crybaby.

Except she didn’t.

She returned with a relatively cool glass of water, only half full. She didn't want to be bad and spill.

“I got you water, Mr. Barnes.” She carefully got on her knees and offered him the cup.

“Stop saying my name so much.” Bucky snatched the cup out of her hand, gulping down the water without showing an ounce of gratitude.

She pouted, crawling to her bag to get him tissues because she didn’t see any around.

“So you do know how to act around liquids after all.” Bucky taunted, still not over the fact that she spilled soup over his table before taking the tissues from her to wipe his forehead.

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby, Mr. Barnes? It helps me after bad dreams.” She suggested, desperately hoping he would let her help.

“Not all of us act like kids to flee our nightmares.”

“Mr. Barnes.” Her eyes filled with tears and it was the last thing Bucky wanted to deal with, “I’m not acting.”

She was hurt but he didn’t care. He said what he said.

“Get back on the couch, I wanna go to sleep.” Bucky dismissed, pushing the empty glass against the wall.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered dejectedly, taking her friend and crawling back to the couch.

The same thing happened every night for another four nights. At this point she was really worried about the man she started singing lullabies anyway, not waiting for his permission.

“Hey, you!”

“Doll,” she corrected.

“Whatever! Shut up already. I told you I don’t need your stupid singing.” Bucky growled into his pillow.

He was lying. He hated admitting it but he was. Her voice was actually angelic. He never went back to sleep again after a nightmare but that changed when she ignored his wishes and started singing. Bucky could drift off again to her soft voice.

He could get more hours of nightmareless sleep because of her lullabies. But he was too stubborn to admit anything that came from her was working for him.

It must be a coincidence. He probably fell asleep again because he was exhausted from being mad at her all day.

“I know Mr. Barnes doesn’t need it. It’s for me.” She lied as well. She knew lying wasn’t good girl like but she was helping Mr. Barnes; it was for good reason.

“Mr. Barnes,” her small voice called to him but Bucky was ignoring her.

He was pretending he couldn’t hear her and continued staring at the TV because she talked too much for his liking.

“Mr. Barnes.” She ever so lightly touched Bucky’s arm.

“What!” he spit suddenly, making her jump.

“We— We need to go shopping. Mrs. Morrison will visit tomorrow.”

She knew the process and for some reason didn’t want to be taken away from Bucky.

If Mrs. Morrison came and saw the way the apartment was or the way Bucky treated Doll, she was definitely going to make her leave with her.

“What?!”

“It’s day five.” She reminded, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah, so?” Bucky’s body fully turned to face her.

“Tomorrow’s visit day. We have to go shopping.”

“How do I know you’re not lying just to get me to buy you things?”

“I don’t lie, Mr. Barnes.” She assured him, looking hurt at even the suggestion.

“It’s in the papers,” she told him, referring to the contract he’s signed as well as the guide he was provided with her file before leaving the institution.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but stood up to look at the papers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer in the kitchen a few days ago.

“Shit,” he muttered when he saw she wasn’t lying. He heard her whisper bad word but chose to ignore it.

There were scheduled visits listed with different time intervals between each visit for the next three months.

Bucky groaned, throwing the paper sheet back in the drawer and slamming it shut.

“Put your clothes on, we’re going fucking shopping.”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t even—” she ran to the bathroom to change before Bucky could get angrier.

What has Sam gotten him into?

“Why’s your hair so messy!” Bucky asked, shoving her out of his way to grab a jar of peanut butter and put in the cart.

“I don’t know how to do it on my own an’ Mr. Barnes kept telling me to hurry up.”

Her voice was so small and if Bucky wasn’t so infuriated by the situation he would’ve felt bad for how he spoke to her.

“You’d think you’d actually look decent enough after taking forever to get ready.” Bucky huffed.

She remained silent, looking down and closing in on herself.

“Do you eat this?” Bucky asked, waving a box of corn flakes in front of her.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nodded, throwing the box in the cart.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying my name so much?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barn—” Bucky’s cold stare stopped the word on her tongue.

“Call me Bucky.”

He didn’t want her to call him Bucky. But if that Mrs. Morrison was visiting tomorrow she couldn’t know he made her speak to him formally.

“Bucky?”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Bucky.” She smiled shyly, feeling one step closer to the man.

Bucky didn’t know his life would turn upside down so fast.

He never cared about grocery shopping because he didn’t need that much stuff and he mostly ate at restaurants or diners or bought take out. He mainly just had beer filling his fridge.

But with her tied to him now he was buying all kinds of food: fresh vegetables and fruits, juice boxes, snack bars and way too many Oreos. Not to mention the toiletries he had to pay for because aside from her tooth and hair brushes, she came with nothing.

“Bucky, can we please get this?” she asked, pointing to a stuffed white wolf.

“No, you already have one at home. I see it every night.”

“Please, Bucky, please. Pretty please,” she begged, giving puppy eyes and pressing her palms together even.

“Okay, fine, shut up. God!” Bucky grumpily put the toy in the cart and got them to the nearest cashier before she could pick anything else.

She was so happy and was going to cherish her new stuffie more than ever.

Bucky was pacing back and forth in the living room. He needed to find a way to convince her not to tell Mrs. Morrison or whatever her name was how he treated her.

He didn’t want her to know she had any type of power over him because of the situation.

Bucky definitely wasn’t going to say please, but he also knew he couldn’t scare her into saying what he wanted.

“Bucky, please go to bed. Wolfie can’t sleep.” She whined, hugging her newest stuffie to her heart.

Bucky gave her yet another hard glare. She made him so angry that sometimes he forgot how to function. She was so spoiled and oblivious.

“I won’t say anything to Mrs. Morrison,” she whispered.

“You think I care what you have to say?! They could take you right now for all I care!” Bucky replied angrily.

“I know…” she mumbled, “I don’t want them to.”

Her words left Bucky without a reply. He was confused. She didn’t want to leave? Why not? Bucky hasn’t said one kind word to her since she’s been entrusted to him.

Was she some type of masochist?

“I wanna stay with Bucky. Sing him lullabies and eat noodles with him,” she said, her voice soft and heavy with sleep, before her eyes shut as she drifted off.

Her words put Bucky at ease for now and he got on the floor to finally try to get some sleep. He tried to ignore the way they affected him though.

“Bucky,” she called gently.

“Hmm.”

“I need to shower,” came her timid whisper.

“Do you see me using the bathroom?! Help yourself.” Bucky huffed, stirring the sugar in his mug.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?!” he snapped, throwing the spoon in the sink.

“I need Bucky’s help.” Her face was on fire with embarrassment of having to say this out loud.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky rolled his eyes, pushing his mug aside before grabbing her arm and pushing her to the bathroom.

She whimpered as they stood before the glass door of the shower.

“This, because you’re not stupid you’re just age regressed, opens the hot water.” Bucky pointed to the tap handle on the right. “This opens the cold water. And this—”

“Bucky, that’s not what I need help with.” She shook her head, biting down on her lip.

“What do you want from me then?!” Bucky had no patience and her bashfulness wasn’t helping.

She raised her arms up before whispering, “I need Bucky to gimme a shower.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t start now! You don’t know how to shower?!”

She shook her head, pouting as her eyes got teary again, “not when little.”

“This is bullshit. I didn’t even wanna do this. Damn you, Sam Wilson!” Bucky said, walking out of the bathroom angrily as she trailed behind him like the lost puppy she was.

“Bad word.”

“Stop!” Bucky boomed and she put her hands behind her back timidly.

“Please, Bucky,” she begged, getting hold of his hand.

“No! On my dead body!”

“Stand straight or I swear I’m gonna leave you here and go!”

“Yes, Bucky,” she giggled, the water trickling down her spine tickling her.

“Now what?” He huffed, trying not to stare at her naked chest.

“Now, this.” She held up the bottle of conditioner for him and Bucky sighed before taking it and squeezing some on his hand.

He was about to smooth it down her scalp when she moved away.

“No, no! This goes on the ends or else it gives you dandruff,” She said and Bucky would’ve facepalmed so hard if it wasn’t for the slippery matter covering his palms.

This was going to be long.

She was fast asleep on Bucky’s couch after her shower, so peaceful and without a care in the world.

Bucky envied her as he got in place on the floor. He really wished he had enough flexibility in him to accept help and care from someone.

But no, he didn't need her. He didn't need any of this. He just had to go through tomorrow and the rest will figure itself out.

Yeah, yeah just tomorrow for now, Bucky thought as he drifted off.

part II

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598 notes · View notes

nico-di-genova · 9 months

Text

Parts of Blue Beetle I cannot stop thinking about

Jaime’s Gotham U hoodie. I need it. I must buy it immediately. @ DC pls give it to me.

Milagro and Jaime sitting on the roof sharing a drink and just talking. It’s familiar for them, something they’ve probably been doing since they were kids

Milagro drinking too, which feels like SUCH a big brother move on Jaime’s part. Like yeah, sure you can drink, but only where I can keep an eye on you so you don’t do anything stupid.

The way Jaime feels like an adult in some ways and like a little kid still in others. They really nailed the early/mid twenties feeling of being a child trapped in an adults body.

No one pressuring Jaime to get a job and save the house/help his dad. It’s a pressure he’s solely placed upon himself, this sense of responsibility that he’s meant to pull them up and out, even though they never asked anything more from him then to be their Jaime.

The beetle merging scene, horrifying. Looked like something straight out of the exorcist.

When Jaime and Jenny almost kissed, and Jaime was left like half hard and embarrassed. So real of him. It was also another moment that just felt real, even if it was played for laughs.

Milagro during the entire Reyes house attack scene. Like Jesus she had me sobbing so hard. The way she was so visibly scared and crying for her mom, looking at Jaime and practically begging for his help. She was just a scared little kid who wanted her family, who wanted her big brother to come make everything better.

When Rudy was talking about Alberto bringing him over the border when he was ten and Alberto was 19. It’s such a short but emotional scene, and it really adds to the character dynamics. You see Alberto as more than Jaime’s dad, but this kid who also was once scared and overwhelmed by his responsibilities, but still shouldered them because it’s all he could do.

Milagro wearing her dads jacket for the rest of the movie :(. I love her, she deserves the world.

The absolute rage and fear on Jaime’s face as he was forcibly ripped away from his family, unable to do anything, as his father suffered a heart attack right in front of him. The sheer amount of terror he must have felt to realize in that moment that he was powerless and to see his sister sobbing over their father’s body while he couldn’t get to her. Jaime Reyes is a better man than I will ever be, because if I’d gotten my hands on Victoria or Carapax it would have been over for them. Also the way he just kept screaming dad/papa like a little kid calling for their parent after waking up from a nightmare :(. He’s just a kid, he thought he would come home and fix everything and instead he has to watch it all fall apart in front of him.

Jaime and Milagro in general, best siblings. I’d die for them :)

#I don’t think milagro is over 21 and I’m pretty sure she was drinking in that scene #but correct me if I’m wrong!#I’m gonna see the movie again later this week #because there’s just so much I need to see again #blue beetle #jaime reyes #milagro reyes

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strwberri-milk · 4 months

Text

Crashed on Shore

AO3 || Rafayel x Reader || Nightmare Comfort || 1, 552 words

a/n: this is totally based off of fragrant dream tender moments audio but instead you guys are acc dating [early relationship] so rafayel can shower you in kisses and share a bed w you romantically not platonically ty

It was just a bottle of perfume - there's no reason it should be stirring up all these emotions in you.

Rafayel is anxious.

He knows that you’re busy, that sometimes, you can’t reply to his messages as quickly as he hopes you could or that you’ve got other things on your mind. The two of you are still figuring out what it means to be with each other and how to communicate your needs and wants. Rafayel knows he’s told you time and time again that he hates waiting, pouting and whining whenever you take too long to give him his long-awaited attention.

He knows you got his package because you opened his message and sent him a picture of you with the bottle of perfume, thanking him for the gift and telling him you were tired and needed to go to bed. He let you go with a goodnight message of his own.

You typically awake before him, texting him good morning or sending him a picture of your breakfast. Something would prove you were still alive and his erratic heartbeat would calm once again. He tries instead to distract himself with his work, ignoring how many times he has to stop his mind from wandering over to you and what you could have been doing.

He ignores the fact that right now, he’s haphazardly looking through his things to find that spare key you gave him under the pretense that it’d help soothe his separation anxiety (that he swears he doesn’t have) and grabbing his keys to dive over to your place. It’s been a day and a half now and you didn’t tell him that you had a mission and you normally would have picked up one of his calls by now. He pats himself on the back for driving safe despite how worried he is for you, knowing that he can use it to lord over your head if you scold him for getting to your place so quickly when he confronts you for driving him up a wall with worry.

Pretending to be calm, he rings the bell to your apartment. He’s going to be patient, crossing his arms and fiddling w the keys in his hand. He’s thinking up ways to scold you, how he’s going to get you now for not listening to him but when all that meets him is a deafening silence his demeanour really drops. He practically forces his way in, unlocking your door and seeing your shoes still just sat by the door unmoved.

Quickly, he makes his way to your bedroom and heaves a sigh of relief when he sees you’re asleep. The rise and fall of your chest as you’re curled around a pillow is slightly less noticeable. When he brushes back your bangs to look at your face, he’s glad to see nothing’s wrong.

“Stupid. Got me all worked up for nothing,” he scolds you quietly, intending to lean over to give your forehead a kiss right as your brows furrow.

He expects to see the lines smooth out but when you start to mutter something under your breath that he can’t make out he feels a wave of anxiety begin to crash down on him. You begin to look more and more distressed. You already tend not to sleep easily from how busy your days are and he can barely manage to put you down to rest so he’s conflicted about waking you up but when he sees tears slipping down your cheeks as you start to thrash, he decides he doesn’t have a choice.

You don’t notice any of this is happening. Your mind spins as you try to make sense of all the “memories” fragmenting in your mind. You can feel Rafayel’s arms around your body, the way he’s trying to reassure that it’s okay but you can’t think straight as you watch him disappear. You reach out desperately to grab him, hand tightly squeezing around a quickly dissipating arm and shout for him, not expecting to grab something solid. You’re relieved – maybe he won’t disappear now – but suddenly you feel your arms being pinned to your sides.

“Rafayel?” you ask hoarsely, unsure why he looks so flush and why your throat hurts so much.

Your eyes struggle to adjust to the light in your room, slowly coming to your senses as you realise you had been just having a horrible dream. The fight leaves your body as you slump into your bed a little more. It takes you a second to catch your breath and you wait to see if Rafayel will say anything to you.

“You’re a lot stronger than I thought you’d be asleep. You hit me so hard I thought I’d black out. I guess that’s why you’re a hunter, huh?” he says casually.

If you didn’t know him better you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes keep roaming over your body. His grip holds your wrists securely and he lets go of one hand to gently brush a knuckle against your cheek.

“You’re crying. What happened?” he asks softly after a minute, cupping your face in his palm. Your hand comes up to validate his observation, laughing shakily.

“I had a nightmare. I guess it just shook me up more than I thought.”

You’re about to tell him about it when it hits you. Rafayel basically died in your dream, leaving you all alone after trying to reverse whatever it was that happened to the you in your dream. He gave himself up for your life. Your breathing begins to pick up again and your tears begin to shed anew, making him panic again.

“I’m sorry – I’ll never ask about your dreams again. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here,” he tries to soothe, not knowing what to do since he’s never seen you cry before.

He sits you up, pulling you into his lap easily and hugging you tightly to his chest. Your face buries itself in his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulder and as you cry harder. You can feel the reassuring warmth of his palm against your back, his voice trying to calm you down and ground you. Your nails dig into his skin almost painfully, Rafayel holding back his tongue. He can tell you need this and he’s glad you’re being this vulnerable around him, rocking back and forth gently until you slowly start to calm yourself.

“How’d you know to come?”

“You didn’t reply to any of my messages. Surely that’s more than enough reason to come and make sure you’re alright.”

The words that would normally have a bit of his good-natured bite seem softer than usual, you hiccupping a little in response from how hard you were crying. You try to wipe away your tears but he stops you again, wiping them away for you and laying the two of you back on your bed.

“Do you want to give it another shot? Try to tell me what happened.”

You try again to explain to him what happened, choking a little on the end that put you in distress in the first place. He listens attentively, body stiffening as he processes why you were so upset. Before you can start to cry again, he simply holds you tighter, shaking his head as you take a deep breath of him.

“I’m flattered you care about me that much but next time don’t try to break my arms in an attempt to rescue me. I think you’d end up doing more harm than good.”

You feel yourself growing a little embarrassed, covering your face with your hands. The two of you haven’t been official for long and you’re flustered. To admit in such a dramatic way that he’s already become such an integral part of your being that the thought of losing him makes you this frantic is humbling to say the least and you sigh.

“Honestly, it felt so real. I was so afraid I lost you and the dread that I felt was just…”

Rafayel places a feather light kiss on your cheek, breaking you out of your stupor. You feel him press more and more, stopping when your eyes finally meet his. A hand on your waist squeezes you gently.

“Did you feel that?” he asks you, smiling softly when you nod.

“It was just a bad dream. I’d never leave you like that,” he mutters against your lips, stealing your breath in such an affectionate kiss that it makes your mind melt.

“You couldn’t have slept well like that and you still look tired. You can go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up, I promise.”

Your grip on his body tightens and you look at him hopefully, Rafayel laughing as he finally manages to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, I’ll stay despite my incredibly busy schedule. You’re the only one who can ask such things of me.”

You hum happily, nuzzling your face in the space between his neck and shoulder. You can feel sleep coming back to claim you, Rafayel’s hold on your body continuing to ground you. He continues to press kisses to your face affectionately, thumb rubbing circles on your skin as he waits for you to fall asleep.

If you listen closely, you could hear him humming a familiar tune, lulling you back to sleep with promises of forever.

#love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel #love and deepspace

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