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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 1 month

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You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 7: Are We Old Friends Or Old Enemies?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter seven of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm going to rate this 18+ just to be sure. References to Past Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Cursing, Blood, Guts, Graphic Death, (spoilers?), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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Present Day

Your motorcycle crunches loudly against the black gravel driveway outside of Crimson Countess' trailer. It looks worse than you imagined, shoved behind Vought-land, and sprouting out of the ground like a fungus. Not an unusual thought given it's ogre-like inhabitant.

You weren't looking forward to seeing her after all these years, because you knew it wasn't going to end well. Deep down you hoped that she had let go of everything that happened in the past, like you had tried, well, until Butcher and Hughie showed up at your apartment. Then again, you're not sure that you've really let go of everything that happened. Sometimes it felt like you just shoved all your feelings into the deepest darkest part of your brain where they’d been festering for the past forty years.

And ever since Butcher and Hughie showed up, those feelings had been clawing their way out like a banished Titan climbing out of Tartarus.

You think again about driving away. If you saw her, there wouldn't be any going back. You couldn't go in there pretending to be your daughter, you had to be you. Which meant the possibility of losing the life you'd constructed in the aftermath that followed your long superhero career.

Was it worth it? Was Ben worth it?

You sigh considering that thought. After the fight it was difficult to answer that question. If the answer was no, you might as well just leave. But the answer was yes. You hated that after everything that happened between Ben and you, the answer was yes.

And that meant you needed to know the truth, needed to see it in her eyes. Which also meant there was only one choice.

You look around the clearing where the trailer sits. It’s in a circle of trees that filter the setting sunlight through their lofty branches, making patterns on the gravel where weeds and patches of grass break through every few feet like an oasis in a desert. Further down the road to the right you see a collection of empty circus carts that rust onto yellowed grass, rising from the earth to tangle in the wooden wheels of the carts.

At least the trees are pretty. You think to yourself trying to focus on the positive. They were, after all, one of your favorite things to paint.

You consider your apartment downtown, the open floor plan and large windows, very different from how she chose to live her life. Your eyes trace the mobile home thinking back about the fungus analogy.

The trailer was covered with peeling white paint stained black and yellow in some areas where sticky mold had begun to fester against the structure. The rickety porch was rotted, so much so that when you walked across it, it creaked loudly beneath your feet and you stepped around several foot-sized holes, where others had fallen through.

She definitely didn't budget her money well. I wonder how much money she got when she was a hero? I know that my salary wasn't amazing. Ben definitely did better than me because of his films.

Then again, you were living off money from your father, and your grandfather's investments in real estate, not to mention your artwork was selling better than it ever had.

Your knock against the flimsy front door of the mobile home, not using your supe strength, but the entire house still shakes.

Probably wouldn't withstand a thunderstorm. Hopefully she's invested in an umbrella.

No one answers and for a moment you hope that she's not here or she's dead, but just like always you’re disappointed.

"Who the fuck is it?" You hear Countess' familiar voice shout from inside.

A swarm of memories flock across your mind at her voice, but you push them aside.

"Your best friend in the whole world." You respond, before you can stop yourself. Sarcasm was an easy fallback. If your mother was here she'd say that it wasn't ladylike.

Really just disappointing her in every century. The thought makes you happy.

"What?" Countess rips open the door so savagely that you wonder how the door didn't come off in her hand. You watch her eyes widen and her face pale as her gaze lands on you.

Well, that's certainly not a normal reaction to seeing me.

"Y/n?" You hear her heartbeat spike in her chest. "You're-" She sputters to look for the right word.

"Alive? Yes." You smile at her. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Um-"

A flash of the last time you saw her comes roaring back. The smug look on her face when you caught her and Ben together, the way her face was flushed bright red, sweat dotting her hairline while he- You clear your throat to stop the memory.

You push past her into the small residence, not waiting for her to invite you, and your nose wrinkles as the smell of sweat and her rancid perfume invade your nostrils. It was barely two rooms, the small kitchen/living room was separated from the bedroom with a red beaded curtain that doesn't hide the unmade bed and clothes covered floor.

This was unusual given the fact that she was wearing her supe suit, complete with cape and mask. It was a little tighter in some places than you remember, her reddish hair reeked of cheap dye, her perfume like a cloud of sulfuric acid, and her pointed, cruel face was more wrinkled that the last time you saw her.

"I'd like to say that this is cute," You turn to look back at her from the small kitchen/living room, that was covered in dirty plates and take-out boxes. "But it's kind of a shit hole, isn't it?"

That was fast. So much for trying to be civil. Too much history I guess.

"What are you doing here?" She keeps her voice calm, but the tempo of her heart suggests otherwise.

Your eyes trace the lines of her face, the wrinkles, the subtle graying of her hair that the dye couldn't cover. "Just thought I'd check in. See how things are going. You definitely didn't age well."

"What the fuck do you want?" She snarls this time.

You can't help but smile at her. Something about this whole situation was utterly ridiculous to you.

She said Ben died. Why am I even here? What did she have to gain from his death? The thought swishes around in your brain. But then why was she afraid when she saw me? You think about all the times you spent watching her manipulate the others on Payback and all the other times you were around her, she never showed fear. Why now?

"I'm here because somebody showed up the other day asking me about Ben." You shrug, running one of your hands against the dirty kitchen countertop examining the tip of your finger as if looking for dust. "And it's funny, because as they were asking me questions I realized that you and I never talked about what happened that day. I mean I heard what you said through Stan and Legend, but I never heard it from you. Thought it was time we had a little heart to heart."

Her pulse spikes again, but she covers it with a smirk. "You want to talk about Ben?" Her voice drips with false sweetness. "Well I'll say this, he was a good fuck. But I'm sure you knew that."

Your entire body goes rigid, remembering the night that you found them together, the night after you finally told him you loved him and he pushed you away.

"I mean, after all, he popped your cherry didn't he? Made you a woman." Countess' smirk turns into a rueful smile. "You definitely waited long enough. Ben told me how long you’d been friends. He told me the sex was so boring, that you were so inexperienced, that he wanted a real woman who could actually please him. A woman who wasn’t quite so-." She sniffs, tapping a bright red fingernail against her hip. “Big.”

Her words are like a slap in the face and you feel the cold disapproval of your mother for the first time in eighty years. The anger that surges up underneath your skin flares hot against your cheeks.

Ben wouldn't have said that about me. He- he knew how special that was for me. He said that he wanted it to be special for me.

You remember how happy he looked when you woke up in his arms the next day, before you said the three little words that you couldn't hold in anymore, the ones that you had wanted to say to him since you were eight.

"Poor little y/n. You worshiped the ground he walked on for so long and finally he decided to pity fuck you. It’s so sad. You wasted your life pining for someone who will never love you. And you thought you could just come here and intimidate me? You’re still the same little girl who begged Ben to fuck yo-"

Her body flies forward telekinetically into your outstretched hand, that clamps down around her throat.

"But I do intimidate you." Your eyes shift to purple with your display of power. "Your heart rate hasn't dropped below 120 since I got here. So obviously there's a reason why you're afraid of me." She gasps against your hand, but you don't let go. "Tell me what happened that day." Your voice has slipped into a monotone, tinged with rage. “And I promise that I’ll let you live. In what condition, well, that's up to you.”

"I don't have to tell you anything!" She spits, pushing her hands together and sending you flying backward as the ball of fire hits you just under the right side of your rib cage.

There's a high pitched popping sound, an immeasurable amount of pain, and everything goes black.

It wasn't the first time you'd died. You'd heard of other supes being able to come back from the dead, and of course the others like Ben and Homelander who were almost invulnerable to injury, but your gift was different. Yes you had enhanced senses, speed, and strength, which were the original powers that were displayed after you received the injection of Compound V, but there was more to it than that.

It took you the first two deaths to figure it out, and you could remember both clearly.

The first was a few weeks after you took Compound V, when you and Ben were on his tour overseas promoting the might of the United States. It was supposed to be safe. The shot fired from the crowd was meant for Ben, but you pushed him out of the way. It was before you figured out he was bulletproof. Your gut reaction was to protect him as it always was. He ripped the guy in half for what he did and turned back to you. You remembered how he looked, remembered the fear in his eyes he never allowed to break through the façade he wore as Soldier Boy as he held you across his lap, holding a hand against the wound where blood poured freely from your chest. You remembered gazing up at him for what you thought was the last time and then the darkness that followed, welcoming you like an old friend.

And then thirteen seconds later you woke up, gasping for air, the bullet wound healed leaving only a circular scar behind. You didn’t understand at first, it wasn't until you died the second time that you realized how powerful you could be. The second time was Ben's fault, a scorned lover, a telekinetic, with a bone to pick with him. When you got in her way she'd snapped your neck with her powers. But this time when you woke, it was different, you felt different. You could feel her powers stirring beneath your skin, and it wasn't until you flicked her away from Ben that you understood. When you died a normal way you came back after 13 seconds, but when a supe killed you, you came back in 13 seconds with their powers.

You didn’t know why 13 seconds. In fact it was Ben that told you it was exactly 13 seconds, why he knew that you didn't know. It seemed that for everyone else 13 was an unlucky number, but for you it was the difference between life and death, literally. You also didn’t understand why you kept the powers. Sometimes you wondered if when you were killed by a supe your body analyzed how you died, understood it, and then you came back with that forbidden knowledge like you’d just eaten the fruit off the wrong tree.

Ben was the only one who knew and when anyone asked, you attributed your sudden ability to move things with your mind as something you never used in public. Having that much power scared you. You weren't sure what people or Vought would do if they found out, so you kept it to yourself and so did Ben. Honestly, sometimes you think the reason why he kept it to himself was because he didn’t want anyone to be more powerful than him, but you didn’t care about the abilities. You didn’t think you were a god despite Vought’s constant worship and praise. If anything, you felt closer to hell and in a binding contract with the devil.

Exactly thirteen seconds later, you sit up from the floor completely healed while Countess stands there over you, a horrified look on her face. She'd never seen you die before.

"Did you just try to kill me Countess?" You ask.

She puts her hands together to shoot another fireball, but you make a motion with your hand to that flicks her away. Her body soars backward illuminated in the purple glow that manifests with your telekinesis, into the small hallway that leads to the bathroom on the other side of the mobile home.

"You know," You stand from the ground looking down at your melted motorcycle jacket. "This was my favorite jacket. Had it from the 80's it was vintage. Damn.”

“How-“ She groans stumbling to her feet and leaning on the wall for support.

“We all have our secrets don’t we? And I'd love to hear yours."

Her eyes flash to where the front door is, but you beat her to it, yanking her back towards you by the arm, crushing her right wrist in your hand. Her scream of pain quenches the anger fueling in your chest from the words she snarled at you earlier.

"You're pretty worthless, even with your powers." You sigh. “I was hoping for more of a challenge.”

She cradles her broken wrist to her chest, backing away from you. Fear flashes in her eyes when she realizes that she's made a mistake, but instead of it making you feel powerful, it makes you pause.

Being a hero was difficult. You watched how so many others abused their powers over the years, feigning to be pure and heroic but really succumbing to dark urges when no one was looking. It was also why you hated Herogasm.

You hated it because you knew what happened to the normal people, the ones that thought they would be safe with the heroes they admired so much. You'd watched Ben lose control more than once, knew stories of innocent people that were hurt, not that Countess was innocent. But you never liked to hurt people with your powers. Standing here in this trailer made you guilty and watching her cower away from you made you guilty despite your shared history and her harsh words.

"So I'm just going to ask one more time, what happened to Ben?" You force your voice into a snarl, shaking off the guilt.

Because it was necessary. It wasn't just about you settling something from years ago, it was about Ben.

She deserves this, she isn't a good person.

"Go to hell." She spits at you.

You grab her by the front of her red suit and throw her away into the small kitchen. Countess' body crashes into the lopsided brown cabinets with a solid thwacking sound smashing through the flimsy structures. Blood drips down the side of her face from where she hit the cabinet corner, blending into her reddish hair. She rises from the ground with an angry snarl, clutching a dirty knife in her hand.

"I don't want to get tetanus from that. I can't remember when my last shot was-" You begin to say with a sigh.

She swipes the air in a vicious arc, but you grab her by the wrist, dodging the knife. "You never learn do you?"

The wrist twists to the side in your hand with a loud snapping sound followed by Countess' scream that reverberates in your skull as you break her other arm. "Pretty soon you're gonna be out of limbs, so I'd start talking."

Countess drops to her knees as the pain begins to seep into her body. "Fine. I'll tell you-"

"Then do it."

"He's not dead."

As the world stops spinning a high pitched ringing in your ears takes over, filling the monotonous drone of seconds ticking past. The past forty years no longer matter, the next hundred wouldn’t either, because Ben wasn't dead. As much as you hated him, the thought chilled you to your core, because then where the hell was he?

"Or at least he wasn't when they took him." She mutters, holding her arms to her chest.

"What did you do?" Your voice comes out in a whisper because you can hardly speak let alone comprehend what she's saying. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" You scream, grabbing her by the front of her suit.

"They wanted him." She spits.

"Who did?"

"The Russians. They wanted him and they took him!"

"You sold him out to the Russians?" You roar, hauling her up into the air so close you can smell what she ate for lunch. "Why? Did they pay you?"

"No. We all hated him!" She snarls. "But you were always around." Her mouth twitches into a painful smile. "It was so easy to get him to fuck me. I knew it would drive you away, you'd wanted him for so long and he didn't give a damn about you. And then you weren't there to protect him!" She laughs through the pain that builds in her chest.

I was right. She fucked him to make me angry, to get me to turn my back on him. I wasn't there to help him and they sold him out the first chance they got.

"He always wanted me more than you, knew that I could satisfy him better than you ever could. You really thought that he could love you? Ben doesn’t love anyone!” Her eyes glint with malice. “And you’re still the same pathetic little girl who begged Ben for his co-“

Her head tears from her shoulders in you hands cutting off her next words, the explosion of blood from her carotid artery spraying your face, and soaking into your ruined clothes. The ringing is back, filling the void of silence in the air that followed the tearing of bone and sinew.

You stand there for a minute holding it, not quite comprehending what you've just done. You hadn't lost control in a long time, not since you had the fight with Ben about Countess, or when you threw your sofa through one of the walls in your apartment and then broke every piece of glass, windows included, and had to move when you found out he was dead.

Or not dead. The thought chills you. Payback handed him over to the Russians, where he's been for the past 40 years? Why? Just because he was irrational, angry, and a dick? There's got to be more to it than that. Stan would have never allowed that. Soldier Boy was his golden boy, his meal ticket-

You think about the last forty years of hating Ben, cursing him, trying to forget him, wishing that you'd never loved him. The night you fought washes over you, bringing the anger, frustration, and heartbreak roaring back. The head in your hands smashes into mush as the memories barrage your mind, surging over the dam you built to keep them away.

You and Ben had always watched each other's backs. It was the promise you made to each other before all of this started, on the night he asked you to come with him and leave everything you knew behind. You knew him better than anyone else.

And yes maybe he fucked me once and I told him I loved him and he immediately went out and fucked Countess-

Your heart cracks in your chest with the thought, the heartbreak coming back in a wave of sadness that makes you shudder.

But you couldn't leave him, because you knew he would have never left you. Ben may have said that he didn't care about you, but you knew in your gut that Ben would have torn anyone apart who hurt you. He's always protected you. Even before you became supes together.

You stare back down at the mush coating your hands and the front of your clothes.

Why the fuck is everything so complicated?

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

When you get back to your apartment you're covered in a thin layer of soot, from blowing up the trailer, and a layer of blood and brain matter from removing and crushing her head. You hoped that by blowing up her home and burning her body with your newfound abilities that it would be enough to cover your tracks, but you were uneasy. The buzz of killing her and the shock of her revelation had worn off, but was now replaced with a numbness when you think about what could have happened to Ben, what could still be happening to him.

The shower does little to ease your mind and sleep evades you, despite the exhaustion that pulls at your limbs for using your powers. Dying usually meant that you needed to replenish that energy, but you couldn't muster the enthusiasm to do that. You just felt listless. The last forty years felt like a lie, felt like a waste, because as you’d been living your life Ben had been trapped in Russia.

So you open your laptop on the counter, wet hair soaking through your sleepshirt, and begin to research flights to Russia leaving within the next few days.

I have no idea where I'm going. I go to Russia and then what? Where in Russia? The Kremlin? Yeah let me just waltz right up to that.

You lean forward with your head in your hands thinking about Butcher. He came here because he wanted to know more about Ben. Maybe he knew where he was. He was the one who mentioned Russia.

You pull the card he left behind on your counter towards you, rubbing your thumb over the number. Legend said he kills supes. So is that what he wanted? To find Ben and kill him? The thought makes a chill travel down your spine, immediately followed by the primal urge to protect Ben. But what had Ben ever done to him?

You look at the number again.

If I call him, he's going to know that I was lying. Not that I'm scared of him.

You finally pick up your phone and dial the number, but it goes to voicemail.

"Hey this is Y/f/n Y/l/n. I just remembered a few things about Soldier Boy and thought you'd like to discuss them. Just give me a call-back whenever you get this."

You hang up the phone and sit there for a minute, eyeing the coffee that sits untouched next to your open laptop.

I killed someone today. The thought should be chilling, but you feel no remorse, no guilt.

Is that because I think she deserved it?

Your mind goes back to what she said about Ben sleeping with you, what he told her about you. The urge to cry rises in your chest with the memory of her words.

You remembered that night. You had been so excited. Ben had taken you out to dinner for your birthday, despite your insistence that you'd celebrated enough of those. The restaurant was quiet, secluded, different than the flashy world the both of you were living in. It had reminded you of before you took the Compound V, when you were still normal. The food was good, there was flirting and hand holding at dinner, and finally a slow dance when he kissed you for the first time.

And when he took you back to your apartment and to bed, it didn’t seem like a quick fuck, it didn't feel like cheap sex. The way he took care of you, held your hand, said your name, looked at you, held you close to him after, and the soft smile on his face that he had only when it was the two of you- it felt special. He made it special for you because he knew how important it was for you.

Tears slip down your cheeks. It would have been one of your favorite memories if you didn't know what followed, what was going to happen the next morning or in the next 24 hours.

"Guess it was just a lie." You mutter to yourself, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes.

The next morning when you woke up in his arms you couldn't help but tell him that you loved him, whisper it to him, more happy than you'd ever been curled against his chest. You remembered the way he looked at you, like you were crazy and then he left for his movie premiere even though we were supposed to go together muttering flimsy excuses as to why he had to leave. And finally the image of him and Countess in the bathroom crashes over you, sending shards of glass back into your heart.

You thought that by now you'd picked them all out.

More tears drip down your cheeks, as your thoughts drift back to Ben and the years that followed that night. You sigh considering what to do.

I wish I could just forget, wish that I could leave him, but I can't.

But that didn’t mean you had to forgive him.

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

After a night of no sleep, you stand poised over the wooden chest in the back of your closet. Packing for the flight that left in two days was turning into a bigger task than you'd thought.

Your current wardrobe wasn't suited for storm the capital city of Russia and kill everything in your path to find Ben, it was more suited for late night painting and art shows. The amount of paint stained overalls, oversized band t-shirts, sweatpants, and dresses in your closet was astounding and none of which screamed "fear me." You would definitely need to go to the mall to find more things that you could move in, if need be, and find things that hid your identity. All it took was one photo or video linked online and everyone would know that you weren’t dead.

You knew that no one would be willing to talk to you, give up the information willingly, not to mention if you really had to break into the Kremlin it was not going to be a walk in the park.

It wasn't that you were out of shape. You still trained during the week, took self-defense classes, and worked out to prevent yourself from going soft, but fighting Countess was the first time in forty years that you had faced another supe and you weren’t up to speed on the supes that the Russian government employed.

You also didn't like the idea that you were going in blind. There could be any number of men there, any kind of supes, and anything waiting for you.

But the truth was, deep down you didn't care. What the rest of Payback did had ignited something deep inside you. You knew that people were going to die if they stood in front of you, but the urge to protect Ben rose above all else. Because you still loved him, despite everything he said, despite everything he did, he was still Ben after all this time and you couldn't let him go that easily.

You hold up your supe suit in front of you. It was made specifically for you, designed of a breathable material that made movement easy, not to mention the hood and mask did a wonderful job of concealing who you were.

I really don't want to wear this again. You think to yourself, eyeing the smooth material. It wasn't that you hated your suit, it was what it represented. If you wore that again, you'd be Indigo and you'd spent the past forty years trying to put as much distance between you and your superhero career as possible. You would be recognized instantly.

Could I even squeeze into this thing again?

You look at yourself in the floor length mirror on the opposite side of your walk in closet. You looked the same as you always had. Countess’ jeer about you being big makes you flinch again, bringing another cloud of insecurity over your mind.

Maybe that’s why he never slept with me before that night. Maybe that’s why he ran to Countess.

The thought is immediately followed by the image of Missy Callahan at your 16th birthday and how Ben clung to her. Then followed by your mother’s constant attempts to hide your figure. And finally, followed by all the other women you had ever seen Ben with. None of the others had looked like you. You shake off the urge to cry and look back at the suit.

Maybe I can paint over the purple, make it only black? Would that really change it that much?

Suddenly your phone rings, shattering the still silence in your apartment. For a second you hope that it's Butcher returning your call, but when you lift the phone to your ear you realize that it's something much worse.

"Hello?"

"I need you." The familiar voice says.

Shit.

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

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys series #the boys tv #soldier boy fic #the boys season 3 #the boys s3

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theflowerrooms · 11 months

Note

dad spencer headcannons PLEASE

THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVED DOING THIS SO MUCH

Lowkey wanna write more dad!spencer

Spencer was always loving and caring, always doting on you. But since you’d gotten pregnant, he’s done nothing but take excellent care of you, doing everything in his power to make sure you’re not overexerting yourself, and making sure you’re comfortable and healthy.

Spencer started off having pre-parental panic for the first three months of your pregnancy. He read countless amounts of books on parenting and pregnancy, he knew everything from what you should eat to what what you should watch on tv in order to have the happiest, healthiest pregnancy.

Picking the name was a hassle, you would constantly blank, not thinking of a single name you liked, and Spencer would suggest names like Mildred, Earl, or something from a different language that, while it would have a beautiful meaning, you struggled to pronounce.

When you found out you were having a boy, you both eventually decided to name the baby after people you cared about, and when he was born, he was given the name Jason David Reid. It was beyond important to Spencer that you’d named him after Gideon.

Your birth wasn’t nearly as hard as your pregnancy, and all of it was worth it when your baby was cleaned up and in your arms.

It felt even more worth it when they placed him in Spencer’s, seeing a father hold his son for the first time. You’d seen Spencer cry, a few times. But you’d never seen him cry like this, tears of love and enchantment, tears for you, tears for your baby, and tears for your family.

Spencer was the only one in the room during your birth, at your request. It wasn’t until afterward that they let people in, and of course, the team who’d been waiting at the hospital for six hours crowded into the room, washing their hands at Spencer’s request.

You both cried again, watching your baby be passed around between these people that you loved like family. Penelope had been crying since a nurse informed her that your baby boy had been born healthy and happy. Jj cried the first time she saw him, Emily cried the second he was in her arms. Rossi sobbed when he heard his name for the first time.

Your first night home from the hospital was hard. The baby slept so good, he hardly cried, he was such a happy baby. But you and Spencer were so nervous. He’d read every book and website he could get his hands on, spoken to so many seasoned parents and paediatricians. But still you both were nervous.

That quickly faded, and you got used to having a new baby. You’d gotten used to waking up to change or feed him, gotten used to the weight of a baby in your arms.

He wasn’t a big baby, still very healthy and happy, just a little guy. And he already looked like Spencer, button nose and a full head of hair, just a shade darker than his father’s.

The baby went through a series of nicknames. Because Jason’s a lovely name, just not a baby name, and David felt worse. You went from calling him Jay, to JJ, which was confusing, to JD, which is what stuck. Baby JD, JD Reid.

JD was happy and content almost all the time, but what calmed him down fastest was the sound of Spencer’s voice. So Spencer would spend hours talking to JD, explaining the history of Hallows Eve, or telling him about different types of plants.

When JD was around 10 months, he said his first word which was bird. He loved birds, his mobile had handmade birds sewn by Penelope, his wallpaper had little blue birds just below the trim, He saw them a lot outside in the yard. Spencer cried the first time he said it, from how cute it was, from the fact that Gideon loved birds before he passed.

As JD grew, he proved himself to be very intelligent, which Spencer took great pride in. He was speaking full sentences before he turned two, he could identify many different types of dinosaurs, which became his new obsession after birds.

Spencer would read to him often, the first book being ‘Goodnight Moon’, the second being ‘The Narrative of John Smith.” JD was able to remember nearly all of the words to the books that Spencer would read to him, but he struggled to read and he was diagnosed with Dyslexia when he was almost 5.

Being a dad and husband is the most important thing to Spencer. He happily spends less time working and more time with JD and you.

Neither you nor Spencer had cried so much until you became parents, he’d cry over how cute you looked holding JD in your arms as he slept, he’d cry over how sweet JD’s voice was as he told him he loved him, He’d cry watching JD and Hank play pirates together. And he broke down in tears of love when JD ran to hug him when he got home, wearing a shirt that read “big brother”

#dad!spencer #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #headcannons #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid headcanon

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tachimichishrine · 4 months

Text

"broken and fixed again"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

dazai osamu x fem! reader {hospital AU}

warnings: nsfw ; literally 1 fingering scene the rest is fluff ; mentions of suicide; not an actual au just a scenario ; fluff but it's just complaining abt your joints ; reader teases the living sh out of him bc flustered and soft dazai needs to be more mainstream ; makes him wear a nurse outfit with the power of words ; slight tw blood and pain i love seeing the silly in agony ; intended lowercase ; cursing ; so so so self indulgent i just got my second surgery in the span of 5 months dw im fine just dramatic as hell and my hospital neighbors are all gilfs

"haaaaaaah..."

dazai wasn't on any pain medications, so there was no way he was imagining that sound.

"haaaaaaaaaaahhhh..."

the day after being shot by fyodor, he wound up in the hospital due to his inability to be cured by yosano. it wasn't a big deal; he'd dealt with worse before, obviously. you don't spend as much time in the port mafia as he does and come out fully unscathed, after all.

"haaaa-"

then a slumping noise as if a body collapsed onto the ground. he was still on bed arrest, but he was growing restless being locked in the room all day with himself. the nurse who was tending to him seemed to be rather cold, but he knew that she'd turn to puddy for him shortly if he actually tried.

he groaned a little bit while getting up, fingertips grazing the paper thin clothing they were given at the spot where the bullet had pierced him. softly footsteps fell on the squeaky clean floor, and his head peaked outside his doorframe to look around for the source of the sound.

you were on the ground with a walker collapsed next to you.

pleasantly intrigued, he shot a quick glance at your facial expressions to check whether or not you were truly in agony, which you weren't. in fact, you seemed just as bored as he did. your arms spread out your sides like wings and your legs were tussled awkwardly as he guessed you were trying to keep the cheap clothing from revealing your butt-naked figure.

"oiii, psst psst," he called out, hand flattened next to his mouth as if he were whispering to you intimately in the empty hallway.

you tilted your head backwards, looking at him upside-down with what was an inarguably listless expression.

"heyyyyy," you seemed to be almost slurring your words, and he guessed you were hooked on enough meds to make a small fortune if sold on the streets. "wh-whooo... who are youuuu?"

a few steps forward and dazai was standing over you. he carefully lowered himself, his eyes scanned you again and a smirk played on his lips.

"that's quite the act," he snickered, which caused you to let out a groan.

truth is, you weren't on enough pain medication to get to that high. however, it had been a week since you were admitted, and you were losing your mind doing nothing all day. the operation went well, but there was always a high risk of infection or post-op complications and they'd insisted you stayed 10 days for observation. you tried chatting with the nurses, tried exploring the place, tried sleeping to recover faster but every solution tired out after a while.

they gave you a few tools to navigate your surroundings, one of which was the damn walker. you'd done crutches and mobility aids before, casts, splints and braces, but no one liked the walkers. they made you feel like you were a hundred years old, and your body might as well be.

so, you decided you'd collapse and see what happens, how long it takes someone to come find you, rescue you and make your day just a little less boring. you settled yourself onto the ground, threw the walker and got comfy on the floor.

the man who approached you seemed a bit concerned at first, but he appeared to see through your games annoyingly quickly and called you out on it without even pausing to indulge. you let out a puffy pout and crossed your arms. "mannn, no one here is any fun."

you caught a glimpse of bandages wrapped around nearly every one of his extremities, almost like a decoration more than anything else. you slowly turned yourself and shuffled your body so you were sitting down facing upwards to look at him.

"what're you in for?" you asked with a snicker, getting over the fact your plan hadn't worked because he seemed to be relatively normal and you sure could use a conversation right now. "armed robbery? assault and battery? tax evasion?"

"you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he mimicked your expression, piquing your intrigue with a sly grin. you couldn't help but notice he was incredibly pretty, and you quickly developed another hospital crush; you roamed the hallways enough to identify the regulars but not enough to actually speak to any of them, and having stupid crushes on just about everyone kept your mind mildly active.

"what, you got jumped by an elite ninja squadron or something?"

before he could retort, clicking of heels resonated from the end of the hallway. the pace picked up when the nurse saw two patients laying down on the floor with a toppled walker, calling for some kind of a code. you giggled mischievously even when she realized you were fine and helped you up. the man who's been with you for a few seconds also received a verbal beating while responding just like you did.

your hands went to the metal of the walker, and you rolled your eyes while deciding you'd try to come back this way and speak to him again at night when they were understaffed and no one was going to pester you. you were barely beginning your plans to escape yet again when something deep within your body that had been altered recently felt like it burst. it didn't, but the pain and the sight of the blood you were coughing violently onto the floor made you rack your brain over the long list of possible complications.

fuck.

you fell onto the ground again, but this time it was painfully real. wafting in and out of consciousness until you couldn't tell if you were fainting, having a seizure or if something else had happened. the nurse turned around too late to catch you, but quickly yelled out that code from before and instructed the man go and get help immediately.

your body felt so broken.

you were never more pissed off to see the damn white drapes, walls and the same old view out the window accompanying that damn beeping.

your finger was clamped in some device reading your heartbeat, and a bunch of sensors were hooked up all over your skin. your head was groggy, a stiff pulsation throbbing at the back like you'd given yourself a concussion.

"mmmmn..." a languid groan was all you could manage; your throat was dry and you felt like you could eat the ekg right now. you wavering in and out of a daze for a few minutes while you tried both to fight off the sleep and fight off the day.

a knock at your door roused your attention once more. your neck hurt too much to crane over and take a look, but you could definitely hear the door closing.

"oh, it's you," you said, the bandaged man making another appearance. "sorry about today. I didn't mean to fake it 'til I made it."

the laugh at your own joke hurt your chest and you tried not to cough.

"it's actually been a bit longer than you think," he mused while sitting at the foot of your bed.

you hastily cut off any word that he was thinking of saying. "don't tell me! I have 3 days left before getting discharged, and I'd rather it come earlier as a surprise than right on time."

you did not ask him why he was here, assuming he must be in the same exasperated position. instead, you asked him your question again from the other day.

"or at least your name," you added. "I gotta know to whom I owe the honour of a visit. the nurses must really like you to let you pull a stunt like this."

he chuckled, mostly to himself. "oh, you've got no idea."

despite his weird way of talking like everything was a riddle and he was a spy of some sorts, the man - whose name you learnt was dazai osamu - was not so bad. he lent you his phone (you had no idea how he had managed to get away with this kind of thing) for you to call some close friends, and listened patiently while you told him how you'd ended up in this hospital bed. he however did not explain what happened to him, nor why he had all those bandages all over himself.

he didn't say much at all, to be completely honest. you blabbered long enough for the daylight to cease seeping in from your curtains, and it was dark when you were both laying down side by side in the tiny bed looking up at the ceiling in silence.

"thanks for stopping by," you hummed, eyes closed but a slow smile on your lips. "didn't think I charmed you that much with my hospital charisma. you should see what I'm like at full power."

you didn't need to open your eyes to know he was smiling back. "anytime, darling."

another chuckle at his words and another long pause. you didn't like the soft humming of the machines around you, but it was different when you weren't alone. heavy eyelids combined with steady beeping led you to start slipping asleep when he spoke up again.

"you wanna know what landed me here?"

damn him for choosing now to tell you. you stirred uncomfortably, body smushed against his while you tried to lay down on your side to face him, but it was incredibly uncomfortable and you quickly retreated back to the hellish laying on your back. you actions spurred him to continue.

"I was shot," he admitted nonchalantly. he seemed to be examining his nails and yawning like he wanted to emphasize just how much he didn't care much for the words he said.

"so my ninja theory wasn't so far off, then," you chuckled for a lack of a better response. "what'd the bullet pierce?"

dazai would never admit that he was mildly impressed that you didn't ask about who had shot him, or why. "the doctor said I'm a 'lucky bastard', because it missed all my vitals."

you have taken note of where the wound was, and confirmed again when he said that because he must really be lucky to miss out on death and major complications if he got shot in the abdomen and it missed all the important things in there.

"your doc sounds like they wanted you to have some damage," you remarked, gaze back on his face. maybe you were particularly tired, but his eyes felt so dreamy when he smiled. you decided you'd ask him out once you got out of the hospital.

"oh, she definitely did," he agreed, "but she's an old friend and I think all my coworkers were hoping for something more serious."

"kinda sounds like you did too."

he considered what to say; his double-suicide jokes felt incredibly out of place in this environment full of people desperately trying to cling on to life. even if you seemed to pick up on the general direction of what he was implying, he shook his head and turned it towards you.

"are you implying that I'm a masochist?" said with a sly smirk.

"are you denying it?" you mimicked his tone.

he did not, in fact, deny it. you fell asleep shortly afterwards teasing him about it, and he just took it with a stupid grin on his face. your head fell limp onto the pillow, and he only began to be convinced you weren't just pretending again when your jaw slowly dropped down to slightly open your mouth ungracefully and let out a soft snore.

he could've gotten away with falling asleep beside you, but he didn't know how his nurse would feel about seeing him in bed with another woman.

two knocks at his open door signaled your presence.

"no walker," he said, showing you that he was impressed with an exaggerated nod of approval. "next thing I know, you'll be running marathons around the entire wing."

you huffed proudly, thinking about flopping onto his bed but your body wasn't quite ready to be thrown around just yet. "ahh, I wish. I've been told I need to stay an extra week because of my little incident. how's your timeline looking?"

he put up a four, indicating how many days until he abandoned you. faking a sorrowful sob, you wrapped your hands around his leg and hugged it like a child trying to get their parents to stay. "nuh uh, you're not! what happened to 'til death do us part'? was I the only one who said those vows?"

"apologies, my dear wife," he bowed apologetically, snickering. "I guess I'll just have to injure myself to come back to you~"

your frown was instantaneous and serious as you scooched up on the bed. "hey, don't joke about that kind of stuff. my old roommate was recovering from an attempt and she had it rough. I hate it when people joke about suicide just to sound funny."

oh.

dazai was lucky that all the members of the ada were too busy to come and visit him, because judging by your reaction, you would genuinely hate him if they heard kunikida call him a suicidal bastard or ranpo ask him why he's in the hospital if he wants to die. you may have been faking a crisis playfully the first time you met, but he felt a little ashamed lying in your presence with how truthful you were about your emotions. he admired it, but didn't know if he envied it too.

"anyways, I have something for you," you winked at him, then reached into the sleeve of your hospital gown and pulled out a simple flower. it was disheveled and barely alive, but some of the colour was still there and your smile was bright enough to compensate. "ta da!!"

"I thought flowers were not allowed in this hospital?" he raised a brow, a subtle pink dusting his cheeks at the action despite his typical unaffected demeanor and the fact that this gift was incredibly insignificant. his fingers held the stem delicately as you seemed proud that he liked it.

"they aren't!" you beamed with a giggle. "kai - the boy a few doors down from me - his girlfriend brought him some and that one really mean nurse threw them out. I was walking by the garbage and picked the best one for you."

he watched you shift closer when you finished speaking and laughed. "trash flowers."

"reminds me of you."

"ouch! I think I'm gonna need more pain meds from that sting!"

you called him a goof and continued to tell him about the rest of the hospital lore. he had been holding the flower for quite some time, and you asked what he was planning on doing with it. he asked you to fetch him one of those ridiculously tiny plastic cups at the drinking water stations and fill it up. the dying flower sunk into the water delicately while positioned on his bedside table.

responding to your remark that the nurses will have to throw it out if he let it out in the open, he reassured you that that won't be a problem. he still refused to reveal to you his methods, though.

day came and went; you finally asked him if he'd be interested in going out with you once you were both recovered; he did you one better and kissed you under the moonlight.

you didn't care that the walls of the hospital rooms were thin; it was good when you were collapsed and the dull thud could mean the difference between life and death.

however, it made what you were doing even riskier.

"fuck... fuuuck, osamu take... mmn take it easy," you murmured against his lips, thighs parted as his fingers reached deep enough to get you shaking.

he was laying on his side, supporting his weight on his forearm while he buried his other hand into you with slow, calculated movements. neither of you were fully recovered and as much as you wanted to slam him against something and grind on him until he was a babbling mess, you weren't in a state to try just yet.

instead, dazai was spending his last night in the hospital making your thighs twitch and chest heave. things progressed fast after the first kiss, especially since the two of you had nothing to do all day but speak to the other. he occasionally got calls on his phone where he had to excuse himself to take it, but other than that you didn't have much else on your minds except each other.

he took you on a date to the cafeteria and offered you a fine dining experience (junk food he beat out of the vending machines) complete with the most exquisite wine pairing (a pack of juice boxes).

you took him on the next, sneaking into rooms where you most definitely weren't supposed to be wandering and broke into the nurse's lounge. you both stole uniforms and changed, although you had to admit he pulled off the dress rather well. you got him to throw on the tightest size he could fit into, and he did a little catwalk in his formfitting outfit. none of the staff caught you making out in the supply closet.

and the third day was simply another moment of lounging in each other's rooms and talking about nothing. he accidentally dozed off and woke up an hour later to your fingers tenderly running through his hair. he gave you the side eye, receiving a kiss on his temple as a response. dazai retaliated with a kiss of his own, and suddenly you were carefully trying to lay down on him to kiss him deeper, better, but your groans were of pain and not pleasure and he offered to swap positions.

and fuck, was this man talented. you were happy just looking at him and muttering about how pretty you thought he was, but he was a lot more sensitive to your little teases and fingers exploring the outline of his body than he let on, and he had pushed up the bottom of your gown to get in between your thighs.

"nnng... ahh, do that again," you rasped out as his thumb rubbed your clit with slowly, languid motions. "is this your... mmmnnn... your way of feeling guilty for leaving me haaah... here all by myself?"

"sorry," he quipped, albeit not looking sorry at all with that lazy grin as he looked at you through low lashes. "I haven't even left yet and you miss me."

your hips buckled painfully as a jolt surged through your body and made you muffle a moan into the side of his neck. "hey, I said take it easy. can't have me extending my stay just 'cause you fucked me good."

he promised he'd do his best, but only thrust into you with harsher movements once he saw you purse your lips to keep from whimpering. you called him a little shit, but that just seemed to make him even more smug.

a nurse heard you cry out, rushing to check up on you; they didn't see dazai hidden on the other side of your hospital bed while you explained that you just had a nightmare and woke up suddenly, promising to keep it down. they just sighed, walking out with a frustrated shake of their head as dazai popped back up and giggled along with you. you leaned your head over the edge of the bed, holding his face in your hands so you could kiss him again.

"miss, please wake up. it's time for your medication, and you have a visitor."

you weren't sleeping. how could you, when it was your first night not crawling into dazai's bed to talk yourself to sleep? he was finally recovered enough to leave, and all you could do was ask him for his number so you could call him once you were out. 3 more days wasn't quite bad, but it was already piled on top of the countless ones that had passed. boredom was even more bitter once you'd tasted the sweetness of a friend.

reluctantly, pills dropped into your hand were thrown into your mouth and swallowed dry under the watchful gaze of the nurse. he didn't seem to particularly like you, but you supposed he had a right to when you kept breaking all the rules they had.

"what do I have to do to be next?" a smug voice resonated from the doorframe, lanky frame leaning against the wood as he watched you swallow.

you felt well enough to get up and give him a hug, but he beat you to it and leaned down to kiss your forehead. he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked your hair out of your face with the kind of shallow loving nature he seemed to have on by default. it took a few hours together for that to wear off and for his actions to begin feeling genuine again, but you never commented about it. you supposed everyone did that to a certain extent and you were just a little hyperaware of his giveaways.

"I didn't think you'd come back this soon," you admitted, trying to scooch on the bed so he could sit next to you as you used to. he seemed however to shake his head a little.

"I can't stay long, dear, duty calls," he said, but the look you gave him showed that you didn't believe that one bit. it didn't take much for him to give in and curl up by your side, clinging onto your body with a childish expression on his features. "this persuasive with nothing but your eyes, did I ever tell you how incredibly talented you are?"

"you did not, in fact. please do it more often," you chuckled, ruffling his hair and kissing him on the crown of his head twice before pulling him into your chest, his nose nuzzling in your neck right under your ear. you swept your hand across your body to hold him, but your iv was still in and it nearly got tangled in your limbs as well. "if you've gotta go, then why are you here, osamu?"

he gasped dramatically, turning towards the entrance. "nurse, nurse please get me something to fix my broken heart! my sweetheart doesn't want me here! on my surprise visit!"

the nurse seemed like he really was about to come in, but much more likely to be in order to remove your problematic visitor than hand him a first aid kit and fix his "broken heart". you shushed him, laughing hysterically as he got all of his melodramatic needs out of the way, asking you if you've considered giving him your house in your will, asking how long you wanted him to mourn you. refreshing, he was refreshing. a breath of fresh air after all these stuffy hours spent in the hospital.

"do you really need to go?" you asked, cradling his cheek with your palm and rubbing slow circles with your thumb. "have you just come to remind me what I can't have, osamu? how cruel of you. you may have been the one shot but I'm pretty sure you just twisted the knife in my back."

he enjoyed your playful banter, but this time a more serious look was on his face. you tilted your head to the side, watching him curiously, trying to analyze his movements and figure out why he was acting weird when suddenly, he grabbed the trashcan from next to him and coughed into it.

"oh my god— osamu, hey, oh fuck, that's blood..." you swore to yourself, calling out loudly for the nurse as well as pressing the emergency button you had on your bedside while you got to his side and held him softly, unsure what to do. he always seemed so above all of this, the treatment, the pain, the entire hospital even, that it felt shocking to watch him cough up more and more blood into the can, rasping without a single witty comment in between.

you combed your fingers through his hair, pulling all of it out of his face as if you'd both been hungover college girls waking from a rough night. the blood seemed to be easing up, but he was wincing and holding his hand to the spot where he said that he'd gotten shot.

"osamu, baby, try to breathe for me. in through your nose, as slow as you can manage. help is on its way, they're going to find out what happened and you're going to be okay, alright? you can't die, we spent all this time discussing my funeral plans and not yours, so I'm not ready," you joked, partly out of habit but mostly because you wanted him feeling reassured as you held him and waited for someone to come in and fix everything.

he seemed to try to say something, but you clicked your tongue and wiped the mixture of saliva and blood from the corner of his lips with your finger. "don't try to say anything. store every asshole remark you want to make in your head and tell it to me later, once everything has passed. 'cause it's going to pass, osamu, it always does. you're going to be fine."

you glanced down at his shirt, noticing the widening pool of crimson in his chest, and hoped that you were right.

you were discharged, but feeling more sick than ever. pacing back and forth in the waiting room, you resisted the urge to go to the receptionist and ask her about his condition again, only to be told that a, you aren't immediate family and therefore can't be informed, and b, she didn't have any information about his anyways.

dazai had been taken into surgery to fix what sounded like ruptured stitches (he was pushing himself too much and they burst, according to what you understood) and you refused to leave without knowing how he was doing.

the wait was long, agonizing and you contemplated faking a relapse of your illness just to get inside and see for yourself, but quickly convinced yourself that you're not that desperate. yet. a doctor walked out, spoke briefly to the receptionist who pointed at you with a look full of attitude. you sighed out of relief, figuring this meant you were finally getting an update.

"so, the doctor told me that your surgery went well and you'd be alright in a few days if you actually followed their words this time," you finished recounting, holding dazai's hand and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles in between sentences. "then you, my sleeping beauty, took two lovely hours just to wake up. I slept a little while waiting, so if you find some drool on your sheets... technically, that's your fault."

drowsy, half-conscious but still able to weakly chuckle at your words. his fingers twitched a little in your grasp, so you just continued to hold him tenderly while he let out drawn-out gasps as he adjusted to being awake.

"try to focus on my voice," you offered, knowing all too well the experience of waking up and wanting to slither out of your body. "don't think about the pain, don't try to convince yourself that you're stronger than it. just listen to me, okay?"

he whispered a soft "okay" to let you know that he was going to try, and you smiled against the back of his hand.

"tonight, I'm going to stay here with you," you begun reciting, almost like a fairy tale that should've started with once upon a time. "I'll sneak into the cafeteria, talk to my guy to get you the good stuff, y'know the green jell-o that everyone is jealous of? tomorrow, I'll put you on a wheelchair and we can go terrorize the nurses again. the day after, we can just stay in bed and I'll kiss you all better so that the following day, I can give you a ride home and we can finally get the hell out of this boring place."

his grip on your hand slightly tightened, and you watched his face flush a soft pink. you checked his temperature, wondering if he was spiking a fever already, but realized it was the rosiness of a blush. you giggled at him and his flusteredness, holding him near and continuing with more tales of ridiculously detailed date plans.

he fell asleep again once you'd gotten to your plans on day 43, but you kept going until you got told visiting hours were over and you had to leave. you kissed his sweaty forehead and swore you saw him smile faintly as you walked out.

you did everything you told him you'd do.

you got him the treats he wanted, noticing how he was especially shy around you when you started bringing him the little trinkets. you bought him real flowers, too, making sure you hid them as well as possible from the hospital staff, but you were already professionals at this point.

after his incident, you learned about a softer side to dazai, one that led him to blushing and losing his words when you complimented him instead of responding with his own. you would surprise him with a spontaneous fashion show featuring the hospital's limited assortment of clothing options, or wearing the nurse's uniform again as you pretended to be helping him take his meds and reminding him to take it easy.

and he did. dazai finally listened, allowing you to pamper him and actually voicing when his pain was getting bad. he mentioned briefly, on a single occasion, that his past job involved a lot of physical pain, but you sensed that you shouldn't bring it up any further. you just let him fall asleep, over and over again, in your arms and never rushed him. the best thing was that you could pretend at work that you were still gone on medical leave, so no one bothered you while you stayed with him.

"does it bother you that I'm always around?" you asked softly on one occasion, helping him to and from the bathroom after spending nearly 30 straight minutes joking about piss kinks. "I don't mean to be too much, constantly by your side. I know some people get kinda annoyed when you care too much, too soon."

dazai, walking with his arm over your shoulder so you could support some of his weight as he made his way back to the bed, seemed to have his legs give out suddenly. your reflexes were fast, and you swooped down to catch him, his body arched backwards as you looked down at him like you had been dancing the tango.

the sneaky bastard smiled at you.

"you're cute when you worry," he said simply, and you briefly considered dropping him out of spite. instead, you kissed him and slowly brought him onto the bed. even more cautiously, you sat down on his lap, little to no weight actually being placed on him as you supported yourself on your parted knees. "hm? what's this? what happened to being worried about being too much?"

you ignored his taunt and sat there for a few minutes, just holding him, kissing him and whispering everything that went through your mind. "surely you aren't complaining, are you, sweetheart? yeah, I didn't think so."

it was harder for him to sit still than it was to endure the pain; he slowly got weaned off the medication, but at the same time he was strictly forbidden from going out, using his phone or seeing many people.

on the day of his discharge, you begged him to let you drive him home. he said that it wasn't your responsibility, that he would manage, but the man he was calling sounded like he wanted dazai to rot away in the hospital for the rest of his life.

"all of that because you don't do your paperwork?" you asked with a chuckle, sitting by his side with his belonging in a bag on your lap, waiting for him to finish his call with his friend from work, if you could call that friendship. "really, I told you that I don't mind. let me drive you home, I'm sure this kuni... kunikida guy will appreciate it. what exactly is your problem with that?"

"I like to maximize my time spent annoying kunikida," he explained sensibly with a grin, groaning slightly as he got up and sat back down on the wheelchair. you placed the bag on his lap and began wheeling him towards the exit while he continued. "it's been too long since I've been a pain in his ass, sooooo..."

"is that an excuse 'cause you don't want me seeing your place?"

he gasped loudly, gathering the attention of all that you passed by. "dear, I swear that I'm a good liar. how do you see through me so quickly?!"

"the same way you see through me, I suppose," you laughed softly. "and if you don't feel ready to have me so much as see your home, I don't mind, I'm a patient woman. get it? patient. it's a hospital joke."

your understanding of nearly every curveball he threw at you was too much, and quite frankly he couldn't handle it. every time he tried to push you away, gain some distance because you were getting too comfortable with him emotionally, too close to the parts of him that he didn't keep guarded, you somehow managed to take a step back without hating him or demanding more. he'd always been the type to let women fall for him, that's true, but you weren't asking for anything in return and he just didn't get it.

that was the reason dazai couldn't let you take him home, not because he was ashamed of where he lived but because your relationship was confined within the walls of this hospital and he was afraid of what would happen if you continued outside of them.

it was also the reason he found himself crying once you finally brought him to the front entrance of the hospital, about to check one more time with him that he refused to get a ride with you when you noticed his tears. panicked, you looked at his chest for signs of blood, his face for signs of fever or pain, anything physical.

"osamu, is everythi— nmmf!"

he'd never kissed you like that before, grabbing your face while you crouched down to look at him and just feel you, all of you, on his tongue. desperate and needy, like he'd never touched you before or like you were some kind of lifesaving drug (which you must've been: he hadn't thought about suicide in weeks, hadn't joked about it, hadn't asked someone to a double-suicide. the prospect felt so foreign, ridiculous when he thought about never seeing you again). in the middle of the lobby, you were practically making out all of a sudden which was why you had to pull away temporarily and look at him, confused.

you didn't ask him why he did that. you just laughed (he loved the sound of your laugh) and called him impatient. yet somehow, both of your gazes met and there seemed to be some kind of mutual understanding of the feelings involved. you were so genuine about your emotions that he both psychologically and physically broke.

he was silent as you wheeled him to your car, helped him in and told him to wait as you returned the wheelchair. he sat down, looking at the mess, the faint chaotic smell that somehow matched you perfectly and relaxed into the passenger seat. when you came back, asking him for his address, he opened his mouth meekly to ask if he could stay with you for a few days since he knew he would slack off on the meds and eat junk food if he was living alone again. he almost looked embarrassed as he asked it, looking down at his hands instead of at you.

he wasn't wearing his bandages. in truth, they'd been cut off since he had that emergency surgery, but he never put them back on. dazai told himself that it was because he liked to feel your skin on his, but deep down he knew that it was much more than that.

too quickly. dazai osamu fell in love too quickly and he didn't know how to make it slow down.

"osaaaaaaamuuuuuu!" you called out, trying to wake him up at 6 in the morning. "time for your medicationnnnnn!"

he pretended to snore, and you pretended not to notice his tricks.

you stood there, hand on your hip, sweaty as you were just back from your morning exercise. trying to keep your health in the kind of shape that you wouldn't have to go back to the hospital was nice, but the early mornings took a while to get used to. luckily, it helped that you had your snoring boyfriend as a natural alarm clock.

"oh, he's sleeping? that sure is a shame," you dramatically pouted, setting the small cup with the pills down on the bedside in fake dejection and loudly walking over to your bathroom. "I guess I'll just have to shower all alone..."

on command, the covers were thrown in the air, osamu yelling "I'm awake!" and swallowing the pills dry in a panicked frenzy.

it works every time.

he giggled, holding your hand once he got up in order to make sure you weren't joking and truly drag you to the bathroom. you barely managed to murmur a "good morning" before he was all over you, slowing down only when you told him to take it easy with a laugh.

you'd both met each other when you were broken, but right now you've never felt so whole.

#dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai osamu x reader #dazai bsd x reader #dazai x reader bsd #dazai bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #down bad tm #im unwell for them

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inneedofsupervision · 10 days

Text

So, you got Detention

@berrys-hide-out Hey Berry, I hope reading this cheers you up a little, hope you like it <3. @cantsaythetword I didn't forget to tag you, here you go :)

Summary: Getting detention sucks. Getting detention for something you haven't done sucks even more. Getting detention and getting scolded through a Captain America PSA for something you haven't done and going home to have said man looking at you disappointedly is the bad-tasting cheery on top that Peter didn't need on this absolute disaster of a Monday. At least he gets the satisfaction of telling the rest of the team about Cap's PSAs. That's going to be fun.

Read on Ao3

"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you," sings Peter softly before his face turns into a grimace. "I'm never getting this song out of my head now. Thanks for that, Ned," mutters the teen without any bite, stepping out of the subway station. Despite Rick Astley uninvitedly declaring his love inside Peter's head, his lip twitched upwards for the first time today. He was glad to be finally heading to the Avengers Tower. Peter was ready to lock himself into the lab with Mr. Stark and ask the man what they would work on today. Him needing to bring distance between himself and the rest of the world doesn't come off as much of a surprise, taking into account that today had sucked until now. Immensely. At least in Mr. Stark's lab, nothing could get on his nerves, breaking the continuation of a bleak day.

It began with oversleeping.

The shrill sound of the alarm had cruelly torn Peter out of a dreamless slumber, and with a soft moan, the still sleep-drunk teen had aimlessly patted for the clock to end the obnoxious sound. As soon as silence had fallen over the bedroom, Peter's eyelids dropped, and although telling himself that it would just be five more minutes of lying down, he promptly fell asleep again. If Spiderman had stuck to his curfew and not exploited his aunt working overtime, there might be a chance getting to school late could have been avoided. When Peter woke the second time, tiredly checking his mobile phone, he sprung up in shock as he caught the time. Twenty minutes before the bell would ring. With no time for breakfast, he had washed up as quickly as he could, shoved the next best sweater and jeans he could find into his backpack, and sprinted out of the apartment. Peter usually avoided swinging to school, but drastic times called for drastic measures. He just hoped there wouldn't be any posts or articles of people wondering what Spiderman was doing, swinging this early in the morning cause that always prompted a rather unwelcome interview with Mr. Stark, or worse, Aunt May.

In his hurry to get to school on time, the boy had packed the wrong folder, thus having to scribble the history homework onto a paper two minutes before classes started. MJ had caught him sitting on the floor before the classroom, rushing to copy Ned's answers as if his life depended on it. She had pulled up an eyebrow before rolling her eyes. The girl didn't have to say anything for Peter's ears to grow red, embarrassed to look this unprepared in front of their decathlon team captain. Classes were relatively uneventful. Well, apart from the Spanish vocabulary test that Peter might have forgotten. Luckily, he could answer everything, although the boy was sure he spelled at least two words wrong. At lunch, Peter had felt the aftereffect of not eating breakfast as his stomach was rebelling, threatening to start eating itself from the sounds of it. The teen swore he could eat at least three portions until he had seen what they served today. To clarify, Peter isn't a picky eater. At all. Living years with Aunt Mays cocking trained him into trying everything deemed edible, and the hunger did the rest. But today, out of all days, the cafeteria ladies decided to let their presumable hate for the students show in the manifestation of the most disgusting-looking meatballs the boy had ever seen.

"Are those capers?"

Ned had glanced from his fork, where a with sauce dripping green ball of something pierced on, over to Peter, who, in return, squinted down onto his plate. He pushed the greens covered in watered-down sauce with his fork around before looking at his best friend with a frown.

"Could be. But to be honest, I don't really wanna find out."

The food had tasted just as it looked, and Peter was glad he was enhanced because he was sure if that weren't the case, he would have gotten food poisoning. How Ned got the funny-tasting excuses for a meal down was still a mystery to him. Having no money to buy something else to eat and knowing that his metabolism wouldn't let him go on without eating, Peter hadn't had much of a choice other than to force the stuff down his throat.

"If I don't show up to school tomorrow, you know what has happened to me," Ned had said with a slightly pained expression as he pushed his empty plate away to put a safety distance between himself and his lunch.

"Same," agreed Peter as he stood up. He had thrown a look at the leftovers, suppressing a shudder as he collected the food tray. They quickly left the cafeteria and the traumatic lunch experience the place brought with it behind. On their way to biology class, Peter had hope that this was the point where his day would finally turn, where it would start getting better. But of course, no day at school could end without Flash strutting up to them, holding onto the need to be insufferable. Flash had been making a beeline for Peter. The intent to bump his shoulder into Peter had been painfully obvious. Flash's nearing presence had sent Peter's spider-sense off, and it took the vigilante some willpower to let the impact happen.

"What, not apologizing for blocking the hall with your stupid face, Parker?"

Not wanting the situation to escalate, Peter tried to overlook the provocation. He wasn't looking forward to a confrontation, minding his business and continuing walking away when Ned whispered. "Don't mind him. Flash probably ate one too many of those meatballs and now feels like crap." Peter was aware that his friend only meant to lighten up the mood. He couldn't help heaving a sigh when their classmate turned around with an icy glare. "What did you say about me, Fatty?"

Apparently, Neds whispering had not been as quiet as intended. Flash had snarled, hand reaching out to grab Ned's collar but grasped at nothing as Peter anticipated the action and pulled his friend out of reach. He had shoved himself between the two and tried to calm Flash down when the teen grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him closer.

"Listen, Parker, one more word from your friend and I-" The rest of his threat had gotten cut off by the booming voice of Mrs. Warren echoing through the hallway, causing the students standing near her to jump at the sound.

"Parker, Thompson! Detention!"

"Fuck you, Parker."

With a glare, Flash had let go of him and stomped away under the watchful eye of Mrs. Warren. Ned had turned wide-eyed to his friend, carefully laying his hand on Peter's arm where Flash had grabbed him.

"Are you hurt? Peter, I'm so sorry, you shouldn't get detention because of me. I'll talk to Mrs. Warren."

Peter had pulled Ned back with a tired sigh. "Don't bother, Ned. You know Mrs. Warren won't change her mind. She's not exactly my biggest fan. I'll message Mr. Stark that I'm going to be late."

Ned was quick to protest. " But you did nothing wrong! Dude, that's just not fair!"

"It's alright, Ned. It's only detention. It won't be too bad."

By the time Peter finally got to step out of the building, he felt the urge to shake his head at his naivety. Detention had been downright awful. The second the supervising teacher had rolled in the antic tube television, Peter had an odd foreboding of what would come. The old device had flickered to life, and the speaker began playing with a static noise that made Peter wince inwardly. Peter swears he could see Mr. Stark before his inner getting an aneurysm at the sight and sound of their school equipment. Peter had ignored the burning pair of eyes trying to bore into the back of his head, courtesy of Flash, the latter trying to get his attention by calling him names but got told off by their teacher quickly. Peter had also noticed the lack of MJ, who chose today out of all days, not bothering to sketch someone's questioning of their life choices, and maybe detention would have been a tiny bit less terrible with her in the classroom. His eyes had flipped back to the TV, where a star-spangled, all too familiar-looking man sat down on a chair and began talking.

"So, your body is changing. Believe me. I know how that feels."

Peter had sunk deeper into his chair with a groan, the need to bid his lunch goodbye stronger than ever. Sixty painful minutes of unwanted advice from America's most popular and still living icon later, Peter is on his way to the Tower when his mobile phone vibrates inside his jeans pocket, Ned's name greeting him on the display.

"Hey, Peter. I'm still really sorry for earlier. But look what I found! This article is about Spiderman!"

Peter was glad his headphones were on as he clicked on the link Ned had sent him, as Never Gonna Give You Up blasts into his ears. It took him a few seconds as he stared down at his mobile phone, where the singer cheerfully danced behind his microphone, only for him to realize what happened. A surprised chuckle makes it out of his mouth as Peter holds his mobile phone up and whispers, "Dude, did you just rickroll me?". The grin was evident in his voice before he sent the audio message. It doesn't take Ned a minute to answer with a series of laugh emojis. Peter continuously chats with Ned on his way, his Spidey sense keeping him from bumping into anyone during the bustle on Manhattan's sidewalks.

Despite being late, there is the hint of a smile tugging Peter's lips upwards as he steps out of the elevator, amused about something Ned had written. Someone clears their throat, and Peter startles at the sound, quickly using his stickiness to catch his phone. The device dangles from the tip of his ring finger while Peter wonders why he has not felt their presence when a pair of familiar black dress shoes comes into view. Realization washes over Peter at their sight, the owner the only other person apart from his aunt, that his spidey sense doesn't go off to.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," greets Peter and puts on a polite smile as he takes in the frown displayed on his mentor's face. Maybe he should have written more than, "Hi, Mr. Stark. I'm going to be late. Happy doesn't have to drive me."

Peter's smile must have looked as forced as it felt by the look Mr. Stark gave him in return. The man stays quiet as Peter walks past him towards the guest room to put his backpack away. Walking into the living room, the teen gets greeted by the rest of the Avengers lingering around. Peter makes a beeline towards the couch where Clint is sitting, hoping to avoid the confrontation with his mentor just a little longer.

"Hey, Pete. How was school?"

"Please don't ask," mumbles Peter, taking a pillow to hug it while he sinks further into the cushions, trying to be one with the furniture. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling while Clint chuckles next to him. "That bad, huh?" asks the man, and Peter hums. He closes his eyes, relishing that he finally gets to rest when the sound of footsteps grows closer before halting in front of the couch. Peter suppresses a sigh.

"Care to explain why you happen to be late?" Mr. Stark doesn't sound too bothered, which Peter takes as a good sign. He ponders if he liked Mr. Stark better when the man had been more indifferent but quickly pushes that thought into the back of his mind. Mr. Stark is just worried. But still, Peter didn't like the curiosity and concern in the older man's voice, the tone making him feel like a little kid getting scolded. The boy hugs the pillow closer, successfully muffling his voice by pressing it against his face. He really wasn't in the mood for this kind of conversation. Pushing his face deeper into the pillow, he grumbles, "I had detention."

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that, Spiderling."

Peter is pretty sure Mr. Stark did catch that. Something cold presses against his forehead, the only part of his face not hidden behind the pillow. Peter peeks from under it up to Natasha, who holds a can of Coca-Cola above him, a tiny smile on her lips. She nodded toward Stark with a reassuring smile, and Peter felt a bit better, knowing someone was there to step in if Mr. Stark became too overbearing. Taking the drink from her, the teen sat up properly and put the pillow down, facing his mentor.

"I hung out with Deadpool after school," he deadpanned, his last attempt to stir away from the topic. Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow, sending a side eye at Clint, who dared to snicker at the kid's comment.

"Funny kid, but just to let you know, I have a pretty little monitor in the lab telling me that you haven't left the school building until twenty-five minutes ago. Oh, and I hope for my and your aunt's sanity that you haven't been around Deadpool without at least a ten-mile distance between you two. That man is a nutcase, Peter."

Ignoring the jab at the merc with a mouth and Peter's secret "Thursday is taco-day" partner, he raises an eyebrow. "Should I file a police report for stalking, Mr. Stark?"

"Kid, I don't need two spies and Snowflake around knowing you are deflecting. Now, out with it. Why were you late?"

Peter picked up on the silence around, aware that, by now, everyone in the room and the kitchen were probably listening in. A little embarrassed by the attention, the teen's eyes wander toward his lap, where he absentmindedly fiddles with his web shooters, a sense of shyness overcoming him.

"I had detention," he repeats, a little timid.

The silence only lasts a few seconds.

"Ouch, detention. I knew there had to be something about you, man. No one can be such a goody-two-shoes all the time," teases Sam with a smile, patting Peter's shoulder as he walks past to sit next to Bucky. Peter's lip twitched at the comment, relief flooding him when he looked around and saw no one looking disappointed. Catching Mr. Stark studying him, Peter fumbles with his web shooters again. Although the man didn't seem mad, the way he was looking at him made Peter nervous. Before the teen knew what was happening, he was already throwing a lengthy explanation the man's way, a sudden flood of words hastily chained together to form a somewhat coherent report of what had happened.

"Those meatballs were seriously bad, Mr. Stark. It reminded me of the time you made me try oysters. I'm not sure if I should ever forgive you for that, by the way. That had been kinda traumatic." Peter was painfully aware he was full-on rambling at this point, but Mr. Stark silently listening was unnerving him greatly, so he pushed on, eyes everywhere except Mr. Stark.

"Flash walked up to us and tried picking a fight. I just wanted to go and ignore him, seriously Mr. Stark, I didn't even look at him, but then Ned said something about Flash feeling crappy cause of those meatballs, and it was a joke, but Flash heard it, and he was going to grab Ned by the collar."

Peter goes on, and by the looks Bruce and Rhodey are throwing him, he should probably take a second to breathe before freaking out the adults in the room. But Peter couldn't waste time caring about who he was freaking out because he was going to freak if not managing to make Mr. Stark understand that he didn't get detention on purpose.

"I put myself between them when Flash grabbed me instead when Mrs. Warren came by. She saw us in the hallway and gave us detention."

"Hold on," says Sam, sitting up as he looks at Peter, wearing an incredulous expression. "You've got detention 'cause you avoided your friend getting roughed up by that Flash kid? Is that what I'm getting?"

Before Peter could answer him, Mr. Stark had already his Stark phone out. "I knew that Flash kid meant trouble. That's it. I'm going to get that gremlin expelled."

"Wait, you can't do that, Mr. Stark!"

The man raises an eyebrow, and Peter backpedals quickly. "Okay, you could, but please, you don't have to. He didn't hurt anyone, and it's only detention!"

"He was about to hit your friend, Peter," comments Clint, and Peter did not doubt if Mr. Stark wasn't about to call his school, then the archer would be the one to do it. Clint could get weirdly protective at the most random times.

"He does dumb stuff, yes, but if you expel him, it could get him in serious trouble. I know he has problems at home, and getting expelled isn't the solution." By the pointed look he's receiving from several of the Avengers, Peter had a hunch that his arguments weren't cutting it. He needs to pull out the big guns. The teen leaned forward and looked up to Mr. Stark with the saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster. "Please, Mr. Stark. Don't call the school."

If he hadn't been panicking about Mr. Stark trying to expel his classmate, Peter would have found it funny how quickly the hero calling himself Iron Man crumbled. Tony rolls his eyes with an excessive sigh passing his lips as he pockets his Stark Phone. "Next time that hooligan starts something, I will have him expelled faster than you can say, Mr. Stark, got it?"

Peter grins at his mentor. "Got it, Mr. Stark," he chirps back, leaning back into the couch and feeling content for the first time that day. He catches onto the amused glances the others send him and Mr. Starks way.

"So, how many pizzas should I order?" asks Rhodey, the man successfully breaking the silence. With the promise of Pizza and the knowledge that no one minded him getting detention, Peter takes out his phone to text Ned, the smile from before back on his lips. He looks up, feeling someone looking at him, and meets Bucky's eyes.

"Still can't believe they give you detention without clearing up the situation," says the man, crossing his arms over his chest, a sour expression on his face. Peter was about to tell Bucky that it was alright, honestly touched that the man got bothered on his behalf when Captain America chose that moment to walk in. A groan builds up in his throat as the man settles next to Bucky. Steve's brows are furrowed in concern as he glances around the room, lines on his forehead deepening before his eyes turn to the teen. It takes only a second for Peter to guess that Steve had only picked up the detention part of the conversation.

"You've got detention?"

Steve says it so seriously it makes Peter want to throw the pillow at something. Or someone. Too tired to retell the event, Peter merely shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn't that bad."

He had hoped they would leave it at that, but who was he kidding? He's talking about Steve Rogers, after all. Peter's good mood starts deflating when Steve puts on his disappointed Captain America face.

"You're a good kid, Peter. You shouldn't get in trouble."

The teen's expression turns sour at Steve's comment.

"Steve, leave him alone," begins Bucky, frowning at his friend and leaning forward to intervene when the teen sinks into his seat with a low groan. Tony shoots him a worried glance. "What's wrong, Pete?"

Peter ignores the question in favor of sending Steve a glare. Steve dared to look baffled by the look sent his way. If today hadn't been so bad, Peter wouldn't even consider rolling his eyes at Steve, but now he couldn't be bothered to be polite to Captain Popsicle. "I had to listen to your lectures for sixty minutes today, Steve. Sixty. Minutes. I think I had my fill, so please don't bother starting another lecture about what is right and wrong if you don't even know what happened!"

Mr. Stark looks highly amused, not bothering to stop Peter from throwing his sass at Steve, which the teen usually kept for being alone with him in the lab, not often showing it in front of the rest of the team. Bruce raises an eyebrow, head slightly tilted in question. "Peter, Steve had been here all day while you were in school. When should he have lectured you?"

"He wasn't, but I had to listen to his PSA during detention, and I don't feel like hearing more now," answers the teen with something that might, under some circumstances, resemble a pout. Not that Peter would be pouting in front of the Avengers.

"PSA?" asks Clint while Bucky carries a thoughtful look before glancing at the blond sitting next to him.

"You shot PSAs? They still do these?"

Taking in all the puzzled faces around them, Peter quickly realized something that filled his inside with nothing but delight. It was like someone turned a switch, the not-pout on the teen's face morphing into a grin bright enough to lighten the room while Steve's face darkened with every new question asked, their expression the complete opposite of each other.

"They don't know," whispered Peter under his breath, eyes locked on Steve. He lets out a surprised laugh, a grin wider than ever.

"Oh my god, Steve, they don't know!"

He sits upright, the tiredness completely wiped off him as he beams at the blond, eyes gleaming with mischief rivaling Loki.

"Peter," says Steve slowly, the warning heavy in the undertone of his voice. Said warning meets deaf ears, Peter not even thinking about stopping any time soon. He had felt like crap the whole day. Nothing went his way, and Peter knows that that's not on Steve. But having to listen to Captain America's lecture when he did nothing wrong only for the man himself to assume that he did something the second someone uses the word detention in context with Peter without giving him a chance to explain rubbed him the wrong way. The teen isn't a fan of revenge and retaliation and holding grudges, but today, Peter felt petty. If Steve thought he could spoil the rest of the day after school had been that bad already, then he could buckle up. Peter knows his behavior is childish and petty, traits no one would connect with Spiderman, but the teen isn't Spiderman right now. He is Peter Parker, a feeling wronged fifteen-year-old who holds the perfect blackmail material of the person who wronged him in his young, inhumanly sticky hands.

"So," begins Peter in the most serious voice he could muster, giving it his best Captain America impersonation. The way Steve's expression contorted into a grimace was worth it. "you got detention."

"I give you one chance to stop, Peter," warned Steve, eyes narrowed dangerously. Peter only grins wider at that, having way too much fun rilling the blond up while the others could only share confused glances.

"Something tells me this goes over my head," stage whispers Clint.

"Doesn't everything?" shoots Sam at him simultaneously as Tony throws a, "Nothing new, then."

"Harsh," says Clint, rubbing his chest in mock hurt, causing the others to chuckle. "But back to Spider-kid and Cap, does anyone know what those two are on about?"

Choruses of no clue and a beat from Rhodey are all he gets before all eyes are on the pair, who are now challenging in a silent stare-off. Peter leaned forward, openly enjoying teasing the older man. Steve is ready to jump at him by the looks of it, but Peter isn't intimidated in the slightest, knowing he could outrun the older man. "You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is, how are you gonna make things right?"

Peter's grin widens at the same time Steve narrows his eyes.

"Last warning, Pete."

The blond raises his eyebrows, caught off guard when the teen leans back into his seat. He watches with surprise how Peter fishes his phone out of his pocket, taking a short glance at it before calmly placing it on the coffee table.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Peter mercifully, stretching as he stands up and walks towards the kitchen. The blond's eyes follow the teen's movement, and Sam snickers how his friend's body deflates at the tension vacating his shoulders, amused by the power a teenager holds over Steve's head.

"Oh, by the way, Steve," Steve's heads shoot up at the tone in Peter's voice. He locks eyes with the teen, who wears the cheekiest grin any of the Avengers ever had seen him carry as he beams at the man.

"Maybe you were trying to be cool. But take it from a guy who's been frozen for 65 years... The only way to be cool is to follow the rules."

Peter's grin was about to reach his eyes. He couldn't help himself.

"Are you following the rules, Steve?"

In hindsight, Peter should have anticipated that the super soldier wouldn't let go of it without some retaliation. It had been too much fun to watch the man's patience thinning than to think what the outcome of that scenario would mean for Peter. He ducks at the same time his Spidey sense peaks, blocking the pillow flung at him just in time. The low buzz had begun to surr in his ear since he started teasing Steve and was growing into a shrill ringing when the man got up from his seat incredibly fast. Peter turns around while stepping out of reach, avoiding the hands reaching for him by vaulting over the couch, including Clint.

"Hey, no jumping over my furniture!" scolds Mr. Stark, but the crinkling of skin around his eyes betrays the stern act as he watches his mentee chased by Cap, wearing a grin on his face.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark!"

The sincerity of the apology suffers under the smile lying in his voice.

Peter stands still, eyes not leaving Steve, who hovers on the other side of the couch, waiting for him to move. Despite focusing on the blond, Peter catches onto the excitement in the room, their little chase entertaining the others immensely, followed by the cheering they receive from the rest. The whole situation was so silly. Peter couldn't help but laugh when he feinted a step to the side, causing Steve to flinch as the man was ready to pounce but narrowing his eyes as he caught on Peter trying to fool him. He couldn't wait to tell Ned that he had teased Captain America, the thought alone bringing a grin about to split his face.

The excitement in the room only increases, so much that Peter doesn't notice the new presence of a person before nearly bumping into them. Thanks to his sixth sense, he barely keeps from barreling into Mrs. Potts. He comes to an abrupt halt despite wearing socks, only possible thanks to his stickiness. Pepper holds a hand over her heart, the surprise written all over her face when Steve takes the chance of Peter not paying attention. The last thing Peter catches is Pepper's green eyes widening, her mouth forming a silent o before something slams into him at full speed, turning the world upside down.

"Whoa, careful Steve. I don't want squished spiders on my clothes."

Clint scowls playfully at the blond, who ignores him in favor of wrestling with a laughing teen on the couch. The archer rolls his eyes at being ignored and points his thumb at the pair.

"Children. It's like herding cats." He snorts at the sight of Peter with his back pressed into the couch, one foot pressed against the super soldier's chest, and pushing the 240-pound weight off of him without much difficulty. "So, your body is changing," begins Peter, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face despite Steve looming above him, looking ready to throw him out of the next window. The blond reaches out to cover Peter's mouth to block more parts of his most embarrassing PSA coming out of the teen, the panic in his eyes causing Peter to break out into laughter. Steve narrows his eyes at the laughing teen, who half-heartedly shoves him off of him.

"Can someone please tell me what is going on here?"

Peter perks up at Mrs. Pott's question, glancing at Steve with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh, I was just about to tell the rest about Mr. Roger's PSAs, Mrs. Potts," he chirps, ever so helpful. He was about to elaborate when Steve finally managed to clap his hand over Peter's mouth, successfully shutting him up.

"Noo, why did you turn him off?" complains Sam with faked disappointment. "It was just about to get interesting."

"Since when do you believe anything Peter tells you?" counters Steve, struggling to hold the teen down and keep him from spilling another word. Despite Peter's small size, the teen was powerful. Steve needed to trap him in a hold, somewhat resembling an uncomfortable back hug, to keep a hand over his mouth, but the teen with his freaky flexibility didn't even seem too bothered.

"Well, the kid can be very persuasive. And he did sound like he had something important to tell us. Isn't that right, Peter?"

Peter nods vigorously despite the hand still covering his mouth. They watch the teen worming an arm out of Steve's bear hug, tugging on the hand that kept him from talking. Sam grinned as he observed Steve's face fall at the ease Peter pulled his hand away. The older man tried reclaiming the position, but the teen had it in a tight hold, successfully keeping him from putting his hand back on his mouth. Peter grabs Steve's other wrist and pushes the man's arms away, wriggling out of the hold. A bright grin adorns the teen's face as he pushes Steve away, who is back on his heels in a second. Peter jumped off the couch as a hand seized his leg, causing him to fall over. Several surprised gasps could be heard, along with a rather colorful curse directed at Steve from Tony as Peter catches himself, keeping from faceplanting into Mr. Stark's pristine white living room floor. In contrast to the glares Steve receives at the rash action, Peter openly cackles as Steve tries pulling him back by his leg.

"There is a perfectly equipped gym two floors down, and they decide to do this here?"

"Don't be harsh on them, Tony. They seem to be having fun," appeases Pepper, surprisingly one of the few people along with Bucky and Natasha who weren't shocked by seeing Peter fall.

"Where does that look like having fun?" He asks, but one look at his mentee's face tells him his fiance was right. The kid is enjoying himself.

Meanwhile, Peter plants his palms on the floor, his upper body hanging off the couch. He sticks onto the tiles, sticking one hand down at a time, and crawls away while Steve still holds onto one of his legs. He keeps moving forward, laughing at the strained huff Steve lets out as he avoids Peter's free foot from kicking him in the stomach. The super soldier bats the flailing limp away, shortly loosening his hold on the teen's leg, which the latter quickly uses as a chance to create some leeway.

He doesn't get very far.

"No!" shouts Peter as a hand wraps around his ankle and pulls him back half a meter. "Sam! Bucky! Help!" pleads the teen half-heartedly, reaching out for the two men sitting on the opposite couch.

"What do you say, Buck? Do we help the munchkin?"

"I know Steve long enough not to interfere when he gets like that. Punk is a mad dog when he throws a fit. Sorry, kid, you're on your own."

Peter is about to give the men a piece of his mind when he gets pulled another good amount of inches back before he gets back to stick on the floor. He crawls away again, but Steve has none of it and reaches for the teen's other ankle. Thanks to his spidey sense, Peter avoids the grip by turning on his side, but it causes him to roll further towards the couch than away from it. Steve quickly takes the opportunity to reach down and hook his hand under the teen's side, attempting to heave Peter off the ground. The teen twists in his hold, and Steve curls his fingers into Peter to keep a hold of him when an honest-to-good squeal escapes the teen.

An eerie silence hangs over the room, no one daring to speak as Steve stares at the frozen teen in his hold who avoids meeting his face as best as he can, but he catches onto the reddened tips of his ears. Steve's lip twitched knowingly. He knows that kind of reaction. He squeezes his hand abruptly, lips forming into a grin as the body on the floor jumps like a fish on land at the action.

"Oho," says Clint, sounding way too gleeful, the first to break the silence, having watched the silent realization come over Steve with amusement.

"What a way to reveal your secret, kid. At least I won't have to keep this to myself anymore," comments Tony with a grin.

Now was Steve's turn, carrying a mischievous grin.

"A secret? What kind of secret could that be, Peter? You like sharing information. How about you enlighten us about this, huh?"

Peter feels his heart jump at the tone in Steve's voice. He kind of regrets having made fun of the man. Peter begins crawling again, but this time with more vigor than before. He doesn't get very far as Steve instantly pulls him back but meets resistance as the teen sticks to the ground. The problem resolves itself quickly as Steve releases one of Peter's legs to reach forward and claw at the teen's ribs. With a shriek, Peter's left hand unsticks, arm shooting down to protect his side. Steve's hand darts to the teen's other side, repeating the procedure and efficiently getting the teen off the ground. From there on, it was easy to throw the already laughing boy back onto the couch.

Never one to back down quickly, Peter instantly tries climbing over the couch, but an arm sneaks around his middle and prevents him from escaping. He tries reaching for the backrest, but a hand worms its way into his underarm, and every attempt to reach his arm out to grasp something becomes futile. He quickly gets pushed down, back pressed into the couch cushion as Steve looms over him for a second time that day, but this time, Peter could crawl out of his skin at the grin on the older man's face.

"Dohon't do this," says Peter, voice void of any conviction as nervous giggles accompany his words. Not knowing what to do with his hands, the teen awkwardly holds them in front of him, half shielding his upper body and half waiting to catch any hands that were about to attack. Steve watches with growing amusement how the boy's eyes jump from his face to his hands and back as if he were unsure what was more important to keep track of. He had never seen such an amount of nervous energy radiating from the teen. It was adorable to see him this unnerved about something harmless as this.

"This? What do you mean, Peter? Is this about the secret Tony mentioned?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. I don't have any secrets. Apart from being Spiderman, I mean," Peter stumbles over his words, lips twitching upwards when Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "No secrets to share, no information to keep. I have nothing to hide, so you can let me go. Please?"

Steve turns towards Clint, who hasn't moved an inch, even with the literal wrestling match happening on the seats next to him. "What do you say, Clint? Does he tell the truth?"

Peter throws a pleading look towards the archer. Clint grins at the pair.

"You see that face," he asks, pointing at the teen. "As a spy and a father, I can tell you that's the face of a liar."

"That's not true!" protests Peter as Steve turns back to him. Catching onto the look the man bestows on him, Peter snatches the next best thing he can get his hands on, a decorative pillow, and uses it to shield himself, a giant grin about to split his face. Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Seems like I have to get the truth out of you."

"Noho!" shouts Peter with a laugh as Steve pulls at the pillow. Nervous giggles are pouring out of him as he tries to make himself as small as possible, and it is faint, but Steve's enhanced hearing could pick up on the wild pace of the kid's heart beating.

"Let go of the shield, Spiderman," commands Steve, eyes gleaming playfully at the boy.

"In your dreams," says Peter, only fastening his hold onto the pillow, the only thing keeping him safe from the fingers getting closer. Steve catches a movement out of the corner of his eyes, lips twitching ever so slightly. He focuses back on Peter, the boy watching him with his whole attention, unaware of the hands reaching for his feet. A shriek escapes the vigilante, eyes widening at the feel of blunt nails running over his socked soles, causing him to flinch and pull his legs up at the ticklish feeling. Steve uses the moment of surprise to tear the pillow out of Peter's hand, depriving him of the last thing to shield himself from his attack.

"Thanks, Clint."

"No problem, Cap."

Peter sends a glare Clint's way, but the archer only needs to reach for his feet for the teen to let the glare turn into a panicked grin, quickly tucking his legs close. "That's what I thought," says Clint with a smug grin. Steve uses the moment of inattention, poking the teen's stomach in quick succession. The reaction didn't disappoint.

"Hey! Stohop it!"

Peter tries glaring at the blond while his hand fails to catch the poking fingers, jumping when one poke lands dangerously close to his lower rip. The motion doesn't go unnoticed by the soldiers' trained eyes, a sly smirk forming on the man's face. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Yehehehes! Stahahap pokehihing me!" complains Peter, but it was hard to take the teen seriously with the constant giggling. Steve does stop at that.

"Alright, I'll stop. Would you prefer this instead?"

He skitters his fingers over the teen's stomach, grinning at the squeal escaping Peter before he tries curling on himself, hysterical giggles pouring out of him, unaware that the sound causes amused smiles to appear on every face in the room.

"Nahaha, gehehet your hahahands of mehehe," Peter manages to bring out between his laughter as he twists on his side, addressing the others.

"Sohohomebody hehelp!"

"Anyone here knows who that somebody is he's talking about?" asks Sam, feigning ignorance.

"I hahahete you, Bihihirdman 2!"

"Yeah, I can't take anything you say seriously giggle-bug."

Peter is about to counter, but a set of fingers dug into the part where his ribs and upper back meet, sending a ticklish shock throughout his body. He jumps at the touch, and Steve latches onto the reaction, taking both hands to claw at his ribcage and digging his fingers in on the search for that spot. Peter's giggles had long ago turned into bright laughter, now accompanied by an occasional shriek and a whole-body jump as Steve found what he'd been searching for.

"Oh, what's this?" he asks, voice full of glee.

"NOHOHOTHING, IT'S NOTHINIHIN!"

"Something tells me you're onto something, Cap," comments Rhodey with a grin, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, amusement written all over his face.

Peter shakes his head at the words, chanting "Stopstopstopstohohooop," while trying to catch the hands that are way too skillful in sending ticklish sparks under his skin, leaving him in stitches. "Why? Is this the spot I have to go to to get you to tell me about your secret? Although I think I can already guess what it is."

Steve grins down at Peter who tries so hard to scowl at him but fails miserably. It leaves the man wondering where all the strength has gone, and while the idea of tickling being Spiderman's big-bad weakness sounds fun, Steve knows for the better that this couldn't be the reason for the teen's failure to escape.

"OH MY GOHOHOHOD, NOHOHO!" Peter kicks his legs, wriggling from side to side and throwing his head back when Steve finds a way to slip his hands into his underarms. He presses his arms down, quickly rendering Steve's fingers immobile, but the feeling of them simply touching his armpits tickled like mad.

"Peter, I kinda need my hands back, or we're stuck here until tomorrow," teases Steve, amused when the boy shakes his head with a giant grin.

"Buck, a little help here?"

The other man huffs a small laugh. "You're seriously stuck?"

Steve grins at him. "I can't move a single finger."

With a shake of his head, Bucky makes his way over to the couch. He assesses the situation before glancing at Peter, the latter trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Bucky clasps both hands on Peter's thighs just over the kneecap, squeezing and massaging his thumb into the muscle. Peter kicked like mad at the action, breaking into loud belly laughter, and Steve could pull his hands away as the teen was busy twisting and wriggling, trying anything to get Bucky's hands off his knees.

"How did you know that would work?" asks Sam, impressed, as Bucky walks back to sit on the couch as if nothing had happened. Bucky shrugs. "It works on Steve," he answers cooly, but with a smirk playing on his face. Steve glares at him but quickly focuses on Peter, who uses the moment to try crawling in the other direction of the couch. Clint only watches with amusement as he has a lap full of enhanced teen trying to crawl over him as if that was your normal Monday afternoon thing, only to get caught by the shoulder and get dragged back.

"We're not done yet, Queens."

"Steheheheve, pleaahahse. I cahanah't tahahake anymhohore!" whines Peter, but Steve catches onto the playful spark glinting in his eyes.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Steve, mimicking Peter. "But there's one thing I'll have to tell you." The teen narrows his eyes at the blond, not trusting one word coming from Steve.

"What I tell you now is about one of the most valuable traits a student or soldier can have."

Peter's eyes widen comically. As soon as his brain registers the words, he gracelessly flails in his place. The teen tries to throw himself off the couch as he knows where this is going, but Steve, having anticipated the action, jumps forward and catches the teen around the waist. He keeps his arm wrapped around Peter's middle, hugging the teen against his chest and kneading his free hand into Peter's side without further ado.

"Nohohohot anohohother one! Steve pleahahahase! Dohohohon't do thihihhis! I-I'll goho insahahane!"

Steve keeps a stoic face despite the madly giggling and protesting fifteen-year-old half-sitting squirming in his lap, batting and pulling on the arm holding him in place. He continues his speech with his Captain America voice, causing several eyebrows to raise in amusement.

"Patience." he begins, while his hand slips under the teen's shirt, skittering his fingers over bare skin, "Sometimes, patience is the key to victory."

Peter doesn't know if it's the teasing or the fact that Steve keeps dragging his fingers over the bare skin of his sides, but he can't help kicking his legs into the air and throwing his head back into Steve's shoulder as his whole body shakes under the force of him laughing. Steve takes advantage of Peter's head being this close as he speaks the following words right into his ear, earning him the cutest giggle he had ever heard as the teen desperately tries to scrunch his shoulder up and shield his ear from the tickly air. "Sometimes, it leads to very little, and it seems like it's not worth it, and you wonder why you waited so long for something so disappointing."

At his last word, Steve changes his tactics and uses his free hand to poke every place he can find that Peter isn't poorly trying to protect. The boy can't do anything in his hold but giggle his head off, and Steve wonders once again why Peter doesn't escape since he certainly could until he realizes that, maybe, Peter doesn't want to escape. The thought sparks his interest, and he might as well test that theory while the opportunity's still there.

"STEHEHEHEHEHEVE! NO! Anywhere but there! Please please please, please not thihihis it's so bad. Seriously, dohon't do it! STEHEVE NOHOHO, WHY AREN'T YOHUHU LISTENIHIHIHN! AHAHAHAH NO STAHAHAHAP!"

Peter trashes in his hold as the super solider gets another chance to dig into that sweet spot between his back and rips, sending the kid into a laughing fit, face reddening as he squeezes his eyes shut, the corner wettening with tears of joy before his laughter turns silent.

"Steve, I'll think he got the message," interrupts Tony, having caught onto the change from silent laughter to coming out a tad bit breathless. Not wanting to overdo it, the blond stops the tickling but keeps his arm around the teen, afraid Peter will fall if he lets go of him. The boy hangs slack in his hold, trying to catch his breath.

"You good, Queens?" asks Steve, a little worried he might have overdone it as he carefully loosens his hold on Peter. The latter let himself slip to the side, landing with a groan on the couch. Feeling Steve's eyes on him, Peter turns his head but keeps lying on his side. He sends the man a tired grin.

"I think now I know the true meaning of patience. And ruthlessness."

With a smile, Steve reaches over and ruffles Peter's already messed-up hair.

"You need another lecture, and you know where to find me," he jokes, smirking at the dramatic groans it earns him.

"Yeah, no, I think I pass. You know what I would rather listen to?"

Steve raises an eyebrow in question.

Peter grins at him.

"Some Captain America PSAs."

#ticklish! peter parker #ticklish spiderman #lee peter parker #ler steve rogers #marvel tickle fic #peter parker #spiderman #captain america #steve rogers

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blueberrypancakesworld · 1 year

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The lack of charlie fics on this app should be illegal so you’re doing gods work 🧎🏻‍♀️

could you please do more perv creepy charlie

Perv!Charlie Walker ~ headcanon 2

warning : obsession , touching without consent , sexual assault basicaly , drugging, touching , hurt , clueless reader , obsessed Charlie Walker , obsessive love , pervert Charlie Walker , kidnapping , dark themes , open ending , alkohol , one-sided love

Info : Thank you for your kind words anon. I appreciate that really and if god don't do his work...well I'm happy to do it ;)

first part , third part

masterlist

++++++++++++++++++++++

°It had been a few days since he had put the cameras in her room. But his obsession, his search for her, had not diminished. It had gotten worse.

°Every free minute of the weekend he had watched her on the screen through the cameras. He recorded everything he could see of her and imagined her with him.

°He felt how excited he was when Monday came and he finally saw her again. He only half heard Robbie talking as he gave her a smile and wished her a ,,Good morning". His heart beat faster when he heard her voice, her eyes on him and she thanked him for his help with her mobile phone.

°My best work he thought as he watched her disappear into the history room. Her mobile phone in his defence was not broken at first, it was a coincidence that played into his hands. Which is why he had happily taken care of her phone. Now he could not only see all her messages but also keep an eye on her location all the time.

°You're slowly becoming mine he thought and a brief smile crept onto his lips as his hand went into his pocket and he stroked the soft fabric of her panties. It would all be a matter of time.

°The hours passed and the lunch break arrived while Charlie looked at a table outside with Robbie, the brown-haired man fixed her with his gaze. Because of the heat you had put on a top with a short skirt and seemed to show him so much of your body outside your room that a confidence mixed with obsession came out in Charlie that for a moment he wasn't sure if he should go over to you right away, keep watching you from a distance without your knowledge...or sink a knife into you.

°Maybe all together he thought and bit into his apple as a sigh came over his lips. You would taste sweeter he was sure. You just had to be his in a moment of carelessness.

°The lunch break came to an end and when the bell rang to end the lesson he went over to her to escort her to the film club. It was a normal meeting, a briefing for the incoming Stabathon, the final formalities. ,,I mean I'm looking forward to the films but now?" he heard her question and had to stifle a laugh. So naive he thought with a grin even as his eyes wandered over her form.

°He would have done anything for her safety, even if it meant killing her and his classmates. But that was something of a means to an end. Along with Jill, it would be something that would only bring him closer to her. Though their question was quickly overrun by shouts and disagreements, he addressed her after the meeting.

°There was a fake worry in his voice as he said, ,,Don't worry about the Stabathon. I don't think Ghostface would hit in such a crowd, it's not like him" he said and smiled at her carefully. He saw her think about his words for a moment. Before he saw her relief.

°She wasn't stupid, he knew that, but she had no idea about his second persona. She had no idea what lurked inside him, what he was capable of. ,,It will be fine," she said with relief and thanked him. He could hardly wait to see her at the Stabathon.

°The evening of the Stabathon came quickly and he found himself looking at his mobile phone to see where she was. But it stayed that way, the little red dot moving quickly towards the barn. What will she be wearing? he asked himself, letting his mind wander. A short skirt with a view of her legs so short that he could almost see her panties? Or a pair of tight jeans with a belly top with a view of her upper body? He could hardly wait to finally see her.

°A pleasant feeling ran through his body as she came in. A short tight black cocktail dress clung to her body. Showing enough skin to let Charlie use his imagination and yet not rush in to touch her. Just for me he thought and walked up beside Robbie to greet her.

°After a few exchanging words, he had managed to brush Robbie off and join her for the alcohol. He himself sipped a little from his cup before he saw her greet one of her friends and turn from him. Now's my chance he thought and reached into his pocket. Inwardly he thanked Jill for the small vial of sleeping pills she had stolen from her mother. One advantage of a killer duo. Like Billy and Stu he thought with a grin as the powder dissolved in the dark red drink.

°With a small nervous smile he handed her the drink and fixated her lips as she unknowingly took a sip. She tasted no difference and thanked him before joining her friends. Not knowing that it was only a matter of time. A matter of time before the drug took effect.

°When Stab One began, he stood behind the seats, half watching the film and half watching her. He had placed her in the back, out of sight of the crowd. Saw her touching her head from time to time and sipping her drink. Before she said something to her friends and stood up slightly unsteadily.

°He saw her walk towards the side exit and hold on to the wooden wall for a moment. It's time, he thought and withdrew from his seat before following her. It was noticeably cooler outside than it had been and he saw her seemingly trying to get some clarity in her head through the air. ,,Ch-Charlie?" she asked uncertainly as he came out of the shadows towards her. She had been leaning against one of the wooden bales outside.

°He couldn't help but smile and let the mask fall. His other insecurities that he couldn't seem to get rid of fell away. Every time he had the knife in his hand, saw the bodies and knew he was in control, he seemed like a changed man. ,,What's wrong? Are you not feeling well...are you dizzy, tired or even nauseous?" he enumerated and saw something like fear flicker in her tired gaze. ,,How...do you know?" she asked slowly and tried to move away from him.

°He tilted his head slightly before coming closer and placing one hand next to her head while the other reached for her hand gently and almost lovingly. ,,You don't know how long I've waited for this moment," he murmured and felt his heart beating fast. He finally touched her, she was so warm and soft. Her smell seemed to surround her. It was addictive.

°With his hand next to her head, he ran it over a strand of her hair. They were as soft as he had imagined. What noises she would make if he pulled on it, what would she tell him, confess and admit. Leaving her strand of hair behind, he gently ran his hand over her cheek for fear he might hurt her. The warm soft skin of her body. She was perfect.

°He felt her trying to free herself from his grip. ,,Too weak" he whispered and saw her trying to say something but the drug seemed to have clouded her mind. Finally, with one last attempt to free herself, she succumbed to the substance and passed out. ,,There you go," he praised her and caught her before observing her sleeping form for a moment.

°Brushing a strand of hair from her face, he felt the satisfaction and anticipation inside him as he took her with him.

+++++++++++++++++++++

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the-eeveekins · 10 months

Text

Why The Witch From Mercury is Important to Me

This will be a long, somewhat rambling and mostly personal thread. It's not about the show's quality or any issues I had about it (and YES, the show is flawed and has issues), but about why G-Witch's characters and themes were important to me and I think many others. Most of this I've already shared to a degree, but I wanted to expand my original thoughts, and put them all into one post.

I've been a Gundam fan for over 20 years, I got into the series with Wing on Toonami and have watched the vast majority of the animated series. As a woman, I longed for the day Gundam would have a female main character in the spotlight of a major show, but honestly at some point I'd given up on it. I just thought that if they hadn't done it by now, they never would.

Then, last March, they released this short 30 second trailer revealing The Witch From Mercury, and showing off Suletta and Aerial, and I was ecstatic! Finally, a female MC in a Gundam series, I was so excited for a new Gundam series for the first time since 00! I watched that short clip countless times over the months in anticipation of the series airing, I even grew addicted to the little song that plays during it.

youtube

Over time, the characters and key art were revealed and I saw some people float the idea that maybe Suletta and Miorine would be love interests. I didn't pay it any mind at the time. I was sure they'd milk their relationship for bait along the way, but there was no way they'd commit to Gundam's first female MC being gay. Even after the first episode aired I was still skeptical: There was the bait I was expecting, they're not seriously going to go through with it though.

And here we are, almost 10 months after G-Witch started airing, and Suletta & Miorine are married. It not only wasn't bait, but they committed to it in a way I never would have imagined coming from a franchise I loved like Gundam. It was done with care and respect for the characters, it didn't feel like it was exploitative or added just for fanservice, but was a very real relationship.

I'll admit, I was initially among those disappointed we didn't see a kiss or the wedding at the end, but my greatest fear was the ending would be as ambiguous as possible, or even worse, walk back what we'd seen, so as not to offend people. Instead we got the sister-in-law line, the matching wedding rings, how close they were and they way they looked at each other with love and talking about going home together. We didn't see them kiss or see the wedding, but we got to see them married, and I think that's incredible.

As a gay woman, and a Gundam fan of over 20 years, Suletta is an immensely important character to me. Suletta and Miorine's relationship, and it being a central focus of the story, is immensely important to me. They're things I dreamed of having in Gundam, but never really thought would ever happen. I've been so happy about them for a long time now, but these last two days I've been so unbelievably happy that I was given their story. I love them so much and I'm never going to forget these two.

And this ties into why I think G-Witch has been important to so many people, regardless of how they feel about it's quality, because of it's representation and themes. Suletta, the main character of the show, is a queer, neurodivergent, disabled woman of color. She was well written, and she got to have a happy ending married to the woman she loves, where she's thriving and happy despite her mobility. She's not treated with pity or remorse, and she's still pursuing her dreams of making a school.

And not just Suletta, there were so many characters belonging to different minority groups that got strong representation and happy, satisfying endings. If you're a woman, if you're queer, if you're a POC, if you're any sort of ND, if you're disabled, The Witch From Mercury not only gave you good representation, but also said you're deserving of love, empathy and happiness.

With regard to it's themes, I absolutely love how G-Witch stressed love, empathy, compassion, acceptance and forgiveness over hate, vengeance, punishment and karma. Suletta and Miorine made many mistakes during their journey that they could never take back, but they accepted each other, including their mistakes, and resolved to move on together and makes amends for them if possible. Suletta never got mad at Miorine, Prospera or Eri for the things they did to her and she never blamed them, all she did was understand and accept why they did the things they did, and move forward with her love for them. She accepts the people she loves, mistakes and all, because of her unrelenting love and compassion for them.

Even Prospera, the main antagonist, ultimately rejected revenge for the sake of saving her daughter. She was a less than stellar parent to Suletta, and her actions lead to a heavy death toll, but ultimately Suletta accepted her and her actions to save Eri. And rather than go for an easy karmic death, she was allowed to have a happy ending: Eri was saved, and she's living a peaceful life with her family. A life that was robbed from her 24 years prior.

And ultimately, those themes are why we had an ending where literally no one died, and nearly every character got to have a happy ending. Gundam has always said that violence is bad, but The Witch From Mercury was the first to say "Alright, then we'll solve the problem without violence." We got a big magic spell that was a Gundam Pride Parade in space, and combined with Miorine's actions, events were resolved peacefully.

That's why G-Witch is important to me. It gave me and many others representation in ways you almost never get from a major franchise like Gundam, and without feeling like it was doing it to just check boxes off on some executive's diversity list. It stressed themes of love, empathy and acceptance and rejected hate, revenge, karma and even death. And I think that's incredibly important in this day and age. Representation Matters. Love Matters.

I've been very emotional over this show the last two days because I've been loving it for a while now, and while I'm sad to see it end, I'm so grateful that it happened, flaws and all. I've been crying on and off since the last episode ended and I've had trouble sleeping, but I've been so unbelievably happy over what this one show did and how much it's meant to me. The characters may not be real, but the happiness Suletta & Miorine have brought me is very much real.

For me; Suletta, Miorine, and The Witch From Mercury were truly a blessing.

#gundam the witch from mercury #g witch #the witch from mercury #sulemio #suletta mercury #miorine rembran #Youtube

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 8 months

Text

All Good Things Come to an End

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 500+ words

Warnings: mentions of vomit and generally being hungover, Bucky being a bit smug but generally supportive.

You passed Bucky as you stumbled into the bathroom, barely noticing the surprise on his face. There was only one goal on your mind; making it to the toilet before you blew chunks all over the bathroom floor. He hadn’t expected you to be up, let alone mobile. But let’s face it, the thought of cleaning up after yourself was worse than the thought of moving with the thumping in your head.

Bucky poked his head around the door just in time to hear you retching into the toilet bowl. Luckily there was nothing much in your stomach to make an appearance, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Bucky was at your side in an instant, holding back your hair and rubbing your back comfortingly.

Eventually the waves of nausea ebbed away and you found the strength to sit up.

“Better?” he asked.

A groan was the only suitable answer to that question. How dare he even ask such a stupid question? Did he not understand the agony you felt?

Bucky chuckled, wiping your mouth with a towel.

“Yeah, that’s right, laugh it up,” you croaked.

“Sorry sweetheart. I’m just not used to seeing you this hungover.”

“What makes you think I’m hungover? I could have the stomach flu for all you know.”

“Sweetheart, last night, you came home and tried to give me a lap dance which ended when you couldn’t unhook your bra!”

You looked blankly at your boyfriend who laughed again. “Don’t remember that, huh?”

“Could you keep your amusement down to a lower volume please?” you said, resting your head against the cool toilet basin.

“Be back in a sec,” Bucky got up and left the bathroom.

He was back pretty quickly with a glass of water and thankfully some painkillers!

“Take a sip of this,” he lifted the glass to your lips, letting you sip the cool fluid. “You need rehydration.”

“Thanks, Dr. Barnes,” you muttered sardonically.

“Here is the Tylenol and some Zantac.”

“What did I do to deserve you, Bucky Barnes?” you asked, leaning into his chest.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable right here,” your muffled voice reached his ears.

“Well I’m not. Come on! Your problems are of your own making!” Bucky got up, leaving you unsupported.

“Don’t get smart with me, Mr. ‘I can’t get drunk’.” You lifted your arms so that he could help you to stand.

Bucky put his arms around you and escorted you to the living room, opportunistically grabbing a pair of shades from a table in the hallway.

“Is that coffee I smell?” you asked, sniffing the air.

“I put on a pot when I came to get the water. Now sit and will get you a cup.” Bucky placed the shades over your sensitive eyes.

You relaxed on the sofa until Bucky came back with a mug of steaming coffee and a pain au chocolat. He pulled the coffee table over so that it was within your reach and set your breakfast down in front of you.

“You take such good care of me. Thank you, my love.”

“You deserve the best, doll,” Bucky pulled your feet into his lap and started massaging them. “Although, maybe next time, try to drink a little less?”

You lifted your shades to glare at him for a few seconds before going back to your much needed java fix.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader

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comradekatara · 1 month

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Hi! Not sure if you've posted about this before, I had a quick look and couldn't find anything, but what are your thoughts on the fanon idea of Sokka having chronic pain from his injury during sozin's comet? Sorry if you've talked about this before and I couldn't find it, I'm interested in what you think about this 'cause your posts about Sokka are incredible and I love your insights on the character 💙

well i love it as both a chronic pain haver and a sokka tormentor. one thing about me is that i DONT want sokka to heal i want to keep putting him in miserable situations until he dies <3 (except for him reuniting with yue in the spirit world which i do recognize is totally self-indulgent fluff. anyway)

i definitely think that sokka would not only fuck up his leg from falling on it wrong on the airships but also fuck up his shoulder from the angle at which he was holding toph (it was like?? entirely twisted back??? the fact that he managed to kill two people while in that much pain and at that angle is insane btw. whatever) and then exacerbate the injuries by refusing to get any help for it (he doesn’t have TIME for PT!!!!) or tell anyone about it at all. like obviously katara would heal his leg, and we see it in a cast in the finale, but he still wouldn’t actually bother taking good care of it, he’d just walk on it all the time and pretend he’s not in pain. same goes for his arm. since he’s ambidextrous, he’d just use his good arm for everything without bothering to do exercises to retain the strength and mobility in his bad arm until it gradually gets worse and worse.

and he wouldn’t actually communicate this pain to anyone, obviously. i think toph would be the only one who actually knows, both because she was there when it happened and because she can tell via her seismic sense. but toph isn’t in the business of airing out people’s secrets (especially not sokka’s) so as much as she confronts him privately about it she’s not gonna push it, even though maybe she should. and sokka is very grateful for that because the thought of katara yelling at him for not telling her about his pain is something he absolutely cannot bear to think about. also, in a kind of perverse way, he does kind of enjoy the pain. it’s like a punishment. serves him right for nearly letting toph die. serves him right for still being alive.

toph would be the only one who could ever potentially get through to him just by being like “you shouldn’t be ashamed of your disability” to which sokka is like “im not ASHAMED and im NOT DISABLED!!!!!!” and then she just kinda stares flatly at him until he concedes. at which point he decides that he will try doing physical therapy and sometimes use a cane. which is still not much, but hey. it’s progress.

#elfantasmadejanis #asks #sokka #toph #sokka&toph #postwargaang #ish #i love the idea of sokka using a cane that has a sword inside. just in case yknow #anyway toph and sokka’s relationship is so beautiful 😭😭 if you even care.#i think their dynamic is what got me to like sokka in the first place as a kid #which is so real of me

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sovereignjojoz · 2 years

Text

How Bucci squad would carry you/carrying them

Warnings: bizzare

Pairings: Bruno x reader, Mista x reader, Giorno x reader, Narancia x reader, Fugo x reader, Abbacchio x reader

Note - firstly thank you so much for 40 followers! And ik I’ve been away for so long but I’m back and I’ll start answering requests now!

Bruno Buccarrati

He’s a gentleman and a man of class, he will undoubtedly carry you bridal style.

He definitely prefers carrying you around to you carrying him.

Probably makes a stupid joke about how he swept you off your feet literally.

If you wanted he could carry you for hours, so long as you don’t mind.

He’ll definitely carry you if your sick or injured or needing to be taken care of!

Carrying him

Not a fan of it.

Unless you REALLY like it or beg incessantly he will most likely say no.

The only time you’d be able to carry him would be if you caught him of guard yet even that may be brief.

I think he’d be most tolerable to be carried piggyback style or likewise bridal style.

Narancia Ghirga

He may look small and as though he may not be able to carry you but surprisingly despite his stature he’s really strong.

Good luck with him, once you get picked up you’re not getting put down.

Carrying you on his shoulders is his favourite thing to do since he can still be mobile and he can scare you by pretending to drop you.

He’ll even go as far to suggest testing out those obscure poses on the internet and will attempt to carry you with no hands, which will result in a bruised head!

Carrying him

Do not offer or else you’ll be carrying him all day.

He’ll treat you like his chauffeur, making you carry him along to places he needs to be!

If you’re both short, it’s an efficient method to get stuff down from high places.

If he’s feeling cheeky he’ll feign an injury to be carried.

His favourite way of being carried is piggyback!

Leone Abbacchio

Why should he carry you, you move around yourself perfectly fine.

No matter how much you whine or beg he won’t indulge you, only choosing to do so when you become evidently disheartened.

If you annoy him he will drop you.

He doesn’t get the appeal but if you’re rendered immobile he supposes he’ll carry you.

Once he saw someone being carried by their ankles online and decided to try it on you.

Laughed when he dropped you on your head.

Carrying him

Absolutely not.

He doesn’t like it one bit.

Although he will be impressed if you can even carry him since he’s a six foot two male.

You’d have to catch him completely by surprise in order to carry him.

Realistically you’d probably be able to only carry him once before he clocked on.

Guido Mista

So unruly

Anywhere, any time, any place ,if you allow it, he’ll carry you.

Over the shoulder

Fireman carry

Piggy back

Bridal style

Shoulder ride

You name it he’s doing it

He’s so unnecessary, he’ll even do it whilst you do your daily tasks.

Want to make breakfast? He’ll fireman carry you to the kitchen, need something from upstairs? Over the shoulder and up the pair of you go. Need the toilet? Don’t worry he’ll piggyback you to your destination.

Those around you would 100% be used to it.

If your sick or injured it becomes ten times worse, you won’t even be able to take a step out of bed without being carried to where you want to go.

Attempted to lift you by your arm once and almost dislocated your wrist.

Doesn’t have a favourite way of carrying you, he enjoys it all!

Carrying him

Not afraid to admit that he quite enjoys it at times, especially since he gets to relish in the fact that you have to do all the work!

He’d want to be carried bridal style since he wants the royal treatment.

He’ll jump into your arms randomly just so you fall over whilst attempting to carry him.

If he’s injured or sick expect on over dramatised performance where he informs you that he expects you to carry him like he did you (he’s only half joking).

Pannacotta Fugo

He doesn’t love carrying you nor hate it, yes somewhat in the middle.

For some reason the first time he carried you he carried you from under your knees and it was very awkward.

Was definitely embarrassed after that.

Then progress and evolved into giving you piggybacks, although they’re not proper piggyback since he just lets his hands drape at the side of him.

Partial to fireman carrying also since it’s easy.

Carrying him

Again he’s more on the no side but will make an exception if he has to.

The first time you carried him you carried him from under his knees like he did to you and he was extremely embarrassed.

After that he’s so done with your attempts of carrying him.

Giorno Giovanna

Not the type to carry you often however when he does it’s very spontaneous.

Type of guy to carry his damsel in distress.

When you want to be put down he’ll put you down.

But he’ll also tease you when your being carried by him.

Not subject to carrying you only one way but also a huge enjoyer of bridal style.

Carrying him

Doesn’t hate it doesn’t love it.

Initially surprised at how weird it feels be carried bridal style.

If he’s injured he’ll let you carry him.

#jojo x reader #bucci gang x reader #fugo x reader #giorno x reader #bucciarati x reader #mista x reader #narancia x reader #leone abbachio x reader #crownprincegojo #abbacchio x reader #bruno bucellati x reader #guido mista x reader #vento aureo x reader #jjba x reader #golden wind x reader #jjba hcs

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shybunnie20 · 1 year

Text

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Bff!Robin Buckley

★My Masterlist

Summary: Your relationship with Eddie isn't what it used to be. Things take a turn for the worse and he faces the fragility of life when you're left at death's doorstep.

Author's Note: This is the longest one shot I've written so far. I worked on this for two months, so please let me know if you enjoy it! Be sure to reblog, follow, and show some love ♡

Author's Note Cont.: Established relationship. AU with no Upside Down. No use of Y/N. Predominantly angst but has fluffy moments. Bittersweet ending! PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of physical trauma (of the reader). Heartache, arguing, Eddie being a crybaby, includes swearing.

tags: @protecteddiemunson4vr

Initially, you were on the fence about moving in with Eddie, it was his childhood home after all. You were worried about imposing and it’s nerve-wracking to officially combine your life with someone else’s.

Wayne assured you that he was happy to leave the trailer to the two of you so that you and Eddie could pursue your lives together. You were considered a part of his family and he knew you’d take good care of his nephew; he expected Eddie to look after you just the same.

Once you had agreed to make the transition, Eddie had to learn to accommodate your needs in the confined space he’d previously shared with his uncle.

You folded your arms and took in the cluttered bedroom. “Can we please take some of these posters down?”

Eddie feigned annoyance with a throaty groan, but beneath it, he was eager to appease you. “Fine, but the Corroded Coffin banner stays up.” With a devilish smile, he pulled you into his embrace.

The unnecessarily secure hug caused a strained giggle to escape you. “Eddieee! That’s too tight!”

He chuckled amusedly and loosened his grip. After nestling his nose into your hair, he hummed with contentment. “This is your castle now, princess.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and sighed. “Someday I’m gonna get you a big house with a yard and I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

You smiled and buried your face into his neck. “My home is wherever you are. If we grow old together in this tin can then so be it.”

That was well over a year ago and things are far from how they were. The air, once saccharine, has a sour aftertaste that has failed to melt away as you’d hoped.

Eddie is making every effort to juggle his responsibilities. He plays twice a week at The Hideout with his band, which means frequent late-night practice sessions. Despite being a Hawkins High alumnus, he remains the Hellfire Club Dungeon Master. In addition, he works extended shifts at the auto shop. More often than not, they need all hands on deck, being that it’s the only one in town.

Due to his demanding schedule, you don’t see him much anymore. There’s always something that he has to tend to. By telling yourself that his absence isn’t personal, you’re unknowingly making excuses for your boyfriend’s inability to make time for you.

Each day, Eddie wakes up at the crack of dawn to get ready for work. If you’re lucky, he’ll place a brief kiss on your forehead while you’re tucked under the shabby blankets; not even awake to savor the gesture of waning affection. Most nights, you’re exactly where he saw you last. Fast asleep and worn out from your own job and keeping the mobile home tidy.

The lack of physical intimacy has Eddie feeling rather unsatisfied. On a few occasions, he slipped into bed beside you and his hands searched your body in the dark. It was low to be copping a feel but his self-restraint had been whittled down from exhaustion. You’d pushed his hand away and mumbled in semi-cognizant disinterest. Left rejected and frustrated, Eddie’s hurt feelings have brought on a distant shift in his demeanor. His internal thunder matches the rumble of your own.

At this rate, you’re merely coexisting with one another. Hardly so, given that he’s rarely home. You’ve been nothing but patient and supportive of his copious passions. Truly, you’re glad that Eddie has these things in his life that make him feel fulfilled, you just wish that you were still one of them.

There’s a good chance that communicating will resolve the strain, but you can’t bring yourself to speak up. It’s pathetic to beg for his undivided attention. Thinking that you could tough it out, you’ve broken your own heart by waiting for him to realize how lonesome you’ve been.

Instead of counting sheep, you lay and wonder if it's fate that the two of you have grown apart. Regardless of kismet interpretations, it’s debilitating to continue a masquerade of pretending that this isn’t torturous. You’ve killed a part of yourself to keep this love afloat with no lifeboats in sight.

This relationship is more than its worst moments but you’ve exhausted the idea that this is simply a rough patch. A day where anything changes for the better remains a pipe dream.

You’ve bid farewell to the little moments that once meant so much. Light years ago, Eddie couldn’t bear to have you out of his arms for more than a few minutes. He'd wrap his arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you washed dishes at the kitchen sink. He would pull you closer by the belt loops of your jeans to kiss you with fervor after just a few short hours apart. At the time, hours felt like an eternity.

It stings, feeling that you’re not missed. Or at least not missed enough for him to make an effort to be home more. You’ve stopped looking for reasons to stay because he hasn’t given you any. But for the sake of it, you give him one last chance.

Eddie pinky promised he’d be home for dinner tonight. With renewed optimism, you whip up his favorite comfort foods. It feels odd to be cooking after countless weeks of takeout leftovers. You’ve gotten so used to gnawing on cold pizza that eating has lost its significance.

After swiping on a little makeup, you slip into an outfit that’s a step up from your usual sweatpants and t-shirt. The uneasy feeling in your gut bears a striking similarity to how you felt the night of your first date with Eddie. The inexplicable desire to impress him is undeniable. Maybe if you look pretty enough, he’ll remember that you still exist. Ultimately, how the evening goes will determine where you belong. Whether it be in his life or elsewhere. You’re sincerely coveting the former.

Eddie swore on being home by six sharp. Even so, the steam rising off of the hand-cooked meal dissipates as it grows cold. You take a final glance at your watch and concede defeat at the forty-five-minute mark of his tardiness. As much as you hate to admit it, you should’ve known better than to trust that he’d show.

Time has always had a way of throwing it all in your face, but it never fails to wreck you. Just like the days that led to this one, the sun came up and went down. You can’t discern whether it’s what Eddie did or didn’t do. If it was the lack of effort or the intentional cold shoulder. At the end of the day, all of the love is still there but it serves no purpose now.

The chair creaks as you get to your feet. You step into the kitchen and refill your drinking glass at the sink, promptly gulping down the milk-tinted water as a placeholder for the meal you didn’t have. Your skull acts as a cauldron for the boiling hurt and it bubbles to a feverish froth. Before you can stop yourself, you chuck the glass down onto the worn linoleum and jagged shards scatter across the floor. Along with it, you fall to pieces. Your back slams against the cupboard as you slide down until your tailbone meets the floor.

At fifteen minutes to ten, the trailer door slams closed with a thud. Eddie toes off his grimy work boots and notices the romantic setting for two, the plates entirely untouched. It’s immediately evident to him that you went out of your way to put together a special evening that is well past expired.

Eddie’s gaze then finds the broken glass. He inhales sharply and concern coats his lungs. He heads down the hall toward the light emitting from the bedroom and calls out. “My bad for being late, I was-” Eddie reaches the doorway and his sentence drops off when he sees you haphazardly shoving clothes into a duffel bag. “What’re you doing?” He asks, his voice sewn tightly with puzzlement.

Mutely tugging open the top drawer of the dresser, you grab a fistful of socks and underwear and tuck it into the bag. Eddie used to be able to finish your sentences, but tonight you’ll be finishing his. You’re already anticipating the bullshit justifications that you’ve heard time and time again.

Eddie becomes frustrated with being blatantly ignored. When you shift to step past him, he blocks the doorway by extending his arm. “I’m talking to you. Where are you going?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You look into his hardened eyes, your own marbled with inflamed crimson veins. “But there’s no way I’m staying here.”

There’s a throbbing in his ribcage at the sight of how visibly saddened you are. Finally being confronted with the consequences of his actions, Eddie swallows hard. “You can’t be serious.”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” Your icy stare falters with the release of a shaky exhale. “I'm done waiting around for you.” Eddie’s expression only adds insult to injury, the fucking nerve of him to play dumb right now.

He throws his head back and scoffs, “Give me a break, I didn’t mean to be late! I was the only one closing tonight.”

Unconvinced, you mutter, “Uh huh,” while ducking beneath his blockading limb.

Eddie scoffs louder this time. “Okay, I see how it is. You think I’m lying.”

You don’t care if he’s telling the truth or not. Even with all of the space that’s amassed between the two of you, there’s no room for honesty. Eddie continues to prod while you rummage through the bathroom drawers gathering necessities.

The beat of your heart thumps wildly in your ears. All the while, your bones have caught a fever, and the fire in your chest spreads, charring your throat as the flames continue to climb. The blistering smoke irritates the backs of your eyes, causing tears to reform and your nose to run.

Eddie makes a sound of artificial amusement and it reverberates off of the shallow walls as he follows you to the living room. “Convincing performance, babe. You’re really sellin’ it, but you can put the bag down now, alright? I get it. I learned my lesson.”

While putting on your shoes you swallow a whimper. Your backbone is coming apart at the seams, but you refuse to express how distraught you truly are.

Folding his arms across his chest, Eddie continues. “Are you seriously making this big of a deal over one missed dinner?”

You stand and take a step toward him, accusingly pressing your pointer finger to his chest. Applying enough pressure that your nail leaves an indentation. “If you think this is because of one dinner, you’re fucking delusional.”

The hinges on the front door squeal as you push it open and walk outside. For far too long all you’d wanted was him, but now being in the same room is unbearable.

Eddie treads on your heels, descending the concrete steps out into the ill-lit trailer park. “Can you not be so overdramatic for once in your life? This is ridiculous. C’mon, let’s just go back inside and talk it out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You growl while jamming the keys into the door of your car and tossing the duffel bag onto the passenger seat. It’s not improbable that if he begged you right now, you’d give in. Part of you is relieved that he isn’t on his knees because you’d never be able to walk away otherwise. Without sparing another glance in his direction, you reverse and steer out of the trailer park.

Cemented in place, Eddie’s socked feet press into the rocky gravel. The lights from the neighboring mobile homes flare like lasers as tears deluge his vision. The utter disbelief that you’re leaving him causes a surge of nausea to churn in his abdomen. What the hell just happened?

As luck would have it, Robin answers when you ring her doorbell. “Hey! Oh- you look like shit.”

Your shoulders slump with the bow of your head, feeling just as shitty as you look. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Errr, sorry. Come on in.” Robin insists, stepping aside for you to enter her home.

The two of you plop down on her living room couch and share a short-lived silence before unpacking the evening’s sequence of events. To the best of her ability, Robin digests your nonsensical blubbering about how you didn’t want to ask Eddie to give up the things he loved.

Half a box of tissues later, you’ve calmed some. “I feel like such a fucking idiot.” You sniffle and fiddle with a loose thread on your sleeve. “Y’know, I can’t even remember the last time we showered together. He treats me like a roommate. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t in love with me anymore.”

Robin frowns. “I don’t blame you. I’m sorry that you’re going through this.” She takes your hand in hers and squeezes it reassuringly.

Shortly after you’d left Forest Hills, Eddie did the same. He figured taking a joy ride down the streets of Hawkins could help clear his conscience. With heavy metal crackling from the stereo, he drives down the sparsely illuminated avenues. In an attempt to escape from his bleeding reality, he focuses on the beat of the music; tapping the steering wheel with his sterling silver-adorned digits.

This is the worst fight you and Eddie have ever had. Sure, there have been trivial arguments over him leaving water on the bathroom floor after taking a shower. Not to mention, Eddie was particularly explosive about you misplacing his belongings while cleaning the trailer. However, it has never gotten heated to the extent that either of you stormed off.

As much as you appreciate Robin’s hospitality, you feel that you’ve overstayed your welcome. Especially since she has to work in the morning. On your way out, you hug her firmly to convey your gratitude. “Thanks for being such a good friend, Robin. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Robin rests her arms on the car door as you settle behind the wheel. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

With a nod, you force a grin as a semblance of emotional stability. “I’m a big girl, I’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, but still. At least let me know when you get to the motel.” With a sympathetic expression, Robin pushes the door closed and watches as you back out of the driveway.

Truthfully you would rather stay at Robin’s place than at a crusty motel, but you can’t bring yourself to burden her with your hardships. The radio hisses with a channel teasing to stick. A faint melody fades in and out of the static as you concentratedly twist the tuning dial to find the sweet spot. While preoccupied, you fail to notice that you’re driving through a four-way intersection.

Glass rains down like hail when the driver’s side door is struck. The echo of skidding tires halts as your vehicle comes to a complete stop, the passenger side crushed inward by the thick trunk of a tree. The other driver stumbles out into the street, disorientated by whiplash. They frantically shout for help and flag down a car that pulls up to the intersection.

It’s not long before the accident is encircled by emergency responders. Dismal gray columns of smoke lift into the air as the engine’s inferno heats the mangled steel frame that cages your scathed body.

Meanwhile, Eddie ventures to decompress at the private spot he used to frequent with his trusty lighter and a single lazily rolled joint. As he turns the corner of Highland and Chestnut, he’s taken aback by the twirling red and blue streams of light.

The firemen work skillfully to free you from the burning structure. Secured by your seatbelt, you’re slumped forward in your seat; your chin digging into your clavicle. The blaze roaring just inches away caresses you, leaving fiery kisses across your skin. Even so, the warmth gradually drains from your complexion as you begin to sink into the earth to lie forever. Death coaxes you with its enticingly bitter embrace and you're lured beyond control.

Eddie’s van slows as he drives past the scene. The catastrophic sight is unsettling but he can’t take his eyes off of the sparks from the jaws of life that cut the driver’s side door from the frame. It’s far too dark to make out what models of cars are involved.

By the looks of it, there’s a slim chance that whoever is being pulled from the vehicle will survive. There’s a morbid sense of comfort in knowing that he’s not the only one having an awful night. More than anything, he’s glad it’s not him who got into an accident.

Lakeside with the doors wide open, Eddie lies in the back of his van. He drags an ample hit from the joint, striving to cloud away the image of the ecstatic look you gave him when he’d assured you that he would be home on time. Eddie hasn’t seen you that excited in longer than he can remember. He wonders how this evening would’ve gone if he’d kept his word.

The argument replays, and it’s the frailty in your voice that’s penetrating deep into his memory. Eddie convinces himself that it was just a bad fight because that’s what couples do. You’ll come back in a day or so, you’ll hug and make up, and your lives will go back to normal.

Except that‘s exactly what got him into this situation. Things cannot go back to how they were, he has to do better. You deserve to be prioritized and he realizes that now.

Rattling fills the ambulance as it speeds over fragmented pavement caused by the most recent blackberry winter. Strapped on the gurney, you lie motionless. Catatonic, in essence, you're wading in and out of consciousness. Even though your eyes are practically swollen shut, you can see. Though, it’s like looking out of a frosted window. A pearlescent film alters the clarity and runs red due to the blood trickling down from the gash in your eyebrow.

The gurney wheels wobble as you’re rushed down the corridors of the hospital, lungs struggling for air as the bag valve mask offers little assistance to your labored breathing. Under the knife, the surgeons struggle to contain the internal bleeding and operate tirelessly to keep you alive.

After smoking himself as numb as physically possible, Eddie glances at his watch which indicates that it’s half past midnight. He zones out during the drive home and focuses on the painted white dashes that repeatedly disappear under his van. Once he stumbles back into the trailer, it feels exceptionally vacant and the silence is deafening.

Be that as it may, he’s bone-weary from the weed and the strenuous shift at work. Ultimately, he decides he’ll go to bed and deal with his emotions tomorrow. It’s probably for the best since he tends to make poor choices when he’s overtired.

Eddie shucks off the layers of denim and leaves them in a jumbled pile on the floor. His high has broken sooner than he preferred, which makes it difficult to doze off. For a while he tosses and turns on his side of the bed, respecting that the other side still belongs to you.

He listens to the sounds that he’d forgotten about. The crickets outside the window chirping like an off-tempo symphony, the buzzing of the outdated refrigerator in the kitchen, and dogs barking off in the distance. All of the sounds blend to create a foreign cradlesong, lulling him into the twilight of his mind. Your steady breathing is the lullaby he longs for. Shortly after his restless adjusting, exhaustion overtakes him.

Post-operation, the humming machine beside you controls respiration as you lie in the hospital bed. The cocktail of painkillers in your system has buried you into the bottomless oblivion of unconsciousness. Cessation of internal bleeding is a miracle in itself, but being put in a medically induced coma isn’t exactly a triumph.

Due to having broken ribs, the expansion of your chest is feeble. In order to ensure that you remain stable, the medical staff keeps a close eye.

The sun has long since climbed the horizon. Eddie sleeps well past noon due to his body taking the time it required to achieve a relatively homeostatic state. Last night, he was supposed to have an intimate dinner, make love to you, and wake up with you wrapped in his arms. Instead, he was tormented by the fact that not only failed you but his uncle as well. He was raised better than to take your love for granted.

Eddie finds his hands searching for the comfort of your warmth, only to be met with chilled bedsheets. Given that you didn’t come home, he’s quick to remember the unsteadiness he saw in your eyes. Eddie caught a glimpse of the exposed nerve that was worn down to the point of you giving up on him, and he hates himself for it.

He feels vexed that you didn’t express how you’d been feeling. Regardless, he should’ve known damn well that he was running the risk of losing you. Eddie has to figure out where you wound up and think of a way to make things right. One thing is for sure, Eddie refuses to go a single day without you.

After getting out of bed, he pulls on a questionably clean outfit plucked from a heap on the floor. Hell, it passes the sniff test. Correctly assuming that you went to Robin’s after the fight, Eddie snags his keys off of the kitchen counter and sets out to locate you.

When he arrives at Robin’s place, he’s met with an empty driveway. A tinge of worry casts a shadow but Eddie fights off the pessimistic thoughts that pelt him like an air raid. Without stopping, he drives to Family Video. Eddie suspects that Robin is at work if her car isn’t at home, but that leaves your car unaccounted for.

Distracted by the cyclone of desperation stirring powerfully within him, Eddie nearly trips when he hops out of his van. He strides through the double doors and leans his forearms against the front counter.

Robin appears from the back room having been beckoned by the door chime. She stops in her tracks and a bewildered expression forms on her freckled face.

“What’s that look for?” Eddie asks regarding her strong reaction to his presence.

“Uh- nothing.” She resumes her path to the counter and sits in front of the computer. Her fingers clack away on the keyboard to log returns into the system.

Eddie rubs the back of his neck and shifts his focus to a scuff on the surface of the countertop. “I think it’s safe to assume you’re already aware of what went down.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “She stayed with you last night, right?” If Eddie knows anything about you, it's how much you confide in your best friend. It’s a fair assumption, given that’s precisely where you went.

“No, she didn’t,” Robin says snappily, baffled by how inappropriately relaxed he’s acting right now. What is he even doing here?

Eddie’s brows furrow and he raises his head to look at her. “What do you mean no? Where’d she go then?”

Robin stops typing to look at him. “Wh- Do you not know?” When she learned of your incapacitation, she thought that surely Eddie had already found out.

His posture goes rigid as he straightens from his leaning position. That’s not a sentence that ever leads to promising news.

Swiveling on the stool, Robin cocks her head in disbelief at the lost look on Eddie’s face. “She’s in the ICU.”

Blood rushes to Eddie's head and his ears begin to ring like a pipe bomb just went off in the video store. “What? Where’d you get that idea?”

“I guess she had me listed as her emergency contact, I got the call this morning.”

Eddie shouts vehemently, “And you didn’t think to tell me that?!”

Robin raises her hands defensively. “I thought you knew!”

Already having spun around, Eddie dashes through the doors and hops back into his van. Going twenty miles per hour over the legal limit, he speeds down the drabby roads of Hawkins. Luckily he finds an open parking spot in the crowded lot of the hospital.

Following the wall directory that indicates where the intensive care unit is located, Eddie runs faster than he thought he was capable of. He conquers the lengthy stairwells thanks to the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His eyes scan his surroundings while he blindly navigates the polished hallways.

Eddie fails to heed the “medical personnel only” sign and barges into the unit. A voice calls out for security and addresses his intrusion. “Young man, you can’t go in there!”

Frantically inspecting the area, he spots your name listed on a board. The sharp pang in his side from being out of shape isn’t phasing him in the slightest. When Eddie passes the threshold to the room you’re in, his heart is gouged from his chest; ripped clean from the cavity at the sight before him.

Wrapped in bloodied gauze, your complexion is hellishly bruised with raisin and rust-colored burns. The array of discolored hues makes you look like a well-loved doll that’s been drawn on with a permanent marker.

All Eddie can muster is an exasperated “Oh, sweetheart...” with a wobbly lower lip as tears well in his eyes. He reaches for your hand, but just as his fingertips are about to graze yours, he’s yanked backward by a security guard.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Eddie wails. "Let me go!” His composure disintegrates as he tries to free himself from the guard’s unrelenting grip. The resistance only lasts a few seconds before Eddie’s muscles give out and he’s dragged away.

Astonishingly, Eddie respects the stern warning he receives. He knows that if he impedes, it’ll make things worse for you. He’s done enough damage as is.

In the third-floor waiting room, Eddie settles into the chair in the far corner. Sitting near the window would provide him with vitamin D, which would help him feel a little brighter, but he intentionally avoids it. He won’t allow himself to feel the glow of the sun when you’re clinging to life by the skin of your teeth.

The room is no larger than fifteen by eleven feet and has a sterile atmosphere that makes Eddie feel rather uneasy. The adrenaline dwindles from his system, allowing him to drift off while resting in the firm armchair. Understandably, considering he didn’t sleep well last night without you beside him.

Over the course of the day, the respiratory analysts run tests to determine whether you can be weaned off of the ventilator but you’re still unable to breathe unassisted.

“Mr. Munson?” A tall, older male doctor asks flatly.

Eddie stirs, his frizzy curls flying as he shakes away the drowsiness weighing on his eyelids. “Yeah, yes. That’s me.” He rubs his eyes with his fists and sits up. “How’s she doing, is she alright?”

“Well, the acute agonal respiration has…”

Eddie stares blankly as the medical jargon goes in one ear and out the other. It sounds like an entirely different language, he has no fucking clue what the doctor is talking about. Eddie is trying his best to comprehend the complex terminology.

“...a coma has been induced to allow her a better chance at healing. With that, we’re hoping to see a reduction in brain swelling. Though I do regret to inform you that the likelihood of her waking is a matter of if, not when.’

It feels like the roof is crashing down on Eddie, thrusting him through the layers of the earth until he reaches the molten outer core. Grief eats away at his sweat-slick skin, causing a loss of feeling in his fingertips as if the blood in his veins slows to a crawl.

“...If she does rouse, there’s a likelihood that she’ll experience anterograde amnesia.”

Eddie scoots to the edge of his seat and runs his palms roughly down his face. “Amnesia? Does that mean she won’t remember me?” He gulps sorely and his eyes form a glassy sheen at the notion of everything that the two of you shared being lost forever. He doesn’t even want to imagine what his life would be like without you.

The doctor opens and closes his hand as if to catch Eddie’s concern as it floats through the air. “No, no. She shouldn’t have difficulty with memory retrieval. Consolidation is what may be impacted. Only temporarily, we hope.”

With a disheartened “thank you” from Eddie, the doctor excuses himself. The strength that had kept Eddie’s tears at bay dwindles and he slumps back into the chair, sobbing noisily. He sinks his top teeth into his knuckles in an attempt to muffle the whimpers that tumble from his lips. What is he supposed to do now? Is he going to start praying to a god he doesn’t believe in?

With his optimism beyond pulverized, Eddie is overcome with the fear of losing you. How could he have let something like this happen? While managing the chaos of the present, Eddie lost sight of his future. You.

To say he’s regretful would be a substantial understatement. As Eddie realizes that you were in the burning car that he’d driven past, he feels like he’s going to be sick. The sensation is so strong that he keeps a small trash can nearby just in case.

Beyond the thick panes of glass, the setting sun brushes the horizon and leaves the sky a flushed pink. Eddie attempts to talk some sense into himself. As difficult as it is, he takes on the responsibility of notifying your friends and family by phone call. Of the many, one call goes out to Robin.

As soon as she’s able, Robin arrives to provide Eddie with the emotional support he desperately needs. Few words are exchanged as Eddie drifts in and out of crying fits. She sits beside him and strokes his back reassuringly while he hiccups and coughs.

Robin hasn’t witnessed Eddie this perturbed before. It’s evident to her how sincerely in love he continues to be with you even though he neglected to express that when it mattered most.

A twister of bleak thoughts rips through Eddie’s mind, turning his mental state to rubble. It’s hard to process each emotion individually when they’re all equally loud. At this point, all he can think about is the little things that he may never get to do again. One particular memory stands out from the rest.

In the moments after Eddie made love to you for the first time, you laid in his bed on your stomach; naked, drowsy, and utterly satisfied. You looked ethereal to him. Eddie traced the contour of your spine with the tips of his fingers while you slept. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear to admire your sleepily blissed-out expression. Thereupon, Eddie knew that you were the most important aspect of his life and that wouldn’t change.

As much as she'd like to, Robin can't stay all night. After sacrificing her evening to console him, she has to go home. Which leaves Eddie by his lonesome once again. It’s a rough night but somehow he manages to catch some shut eye.

Come morning, the staff still won’t allow Eddie to visit you. He rings Robin and Wayne to update them when he receives the slightest bit of information. There’s no regression in your condition, but that offers little relief.

In the following days, Eddie camps out in the waiting room. Forfeiting his comfort for the sake of being there for you. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he wasn’t there in the event that you needed him. After four days drag by, you’re finally capable of breathing without the assistance of the mechanical ventilator.

“Mr. Munson, would you like to see her now?” A nurse asks.

Eddie’s eyes widen with the desperate nod of his head. “Fucking finally.” He murmurs to himself.

Now that you’re no longer in critical condition, you’ve been situated in a room outside of the ICU. The nurse leads Eddie to the room and he hesitates outside the doorway. Up until now, he wanted to see you more than anything. But now that he can, he’s petrified. Taking the deepest breath he’s ever taken, he enters.

The blunt discomfort in his ribs is alleviated by how pretty you look. You’ve been cleaned up, which makes you appear less mangled than you did when he saw you last. Eddie's movement resembles a shuffle and his eyes switch between your face and his dirty sneakers. As if trying not to startle you, he carefully pulls up a seat at your bedside to absorb his new reality.

The steady beep of the heart rate monitor brings consolation because it reminds him that you are in fact still alive. Your unmoving hand is gently taken into his trembling palm. Eddie handles it delicately, knowing how fragile you must be.

He contemplates in silence, unsure if you would even be able to hear him if he did talk. Surely, you must be in there somewhere. In a circumstance like this, what would be the right thing for him to say?

The pad of Eddie’s thumb strokes your knuckles with a featherlight touch and his burnt caramel irises are downcast in chagrin. He can’t bring himself to look at you for very long, feeling that he doesn’t deserve to because he hurt you.

With his gaze remaining fixed downward, his other senses heighten in the hopes of detecting a subtle twitch or quiver. Any kind of indication that you know he’s there and that he promises to be by your side for as long as he lives.

Your motionlessness is killing him, but you look agonizingly peaceful. Beneath the plum-colored bruises, stitches, and scabs, you’re still the beautiful girl he treasures. Eddie whispers, “my sweet angel,” as he places a kiss on the back of your hand.

The tears that run astray trickle down his cheeks, each salty droplet holding a memory. Eddie isn’t ready for you to become a real angel. If you do, he’ll spend the rest of his life searching for white feathers and shapes in the clouds. Eddie will endlessly scour for signs that you’re watching over him.

Thirty minutes pass before he finally garners the courage to speak. “I don’t really know where to start, this feels kinda silly. But first and foremost, I owe you an apology.” Eddie tries to swallow the stale air that's making his throat feel brittle. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean shit. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself, so I don’t expect you to.”

With his free hand, Eddie wipes his cheeks with the hem of his shirt. “If I’m being honest, I’m fucking terrified that you aren’t gonna wake up. I miss you so god damn much. I can’t imagine how tired you are, and if you wanna let go… It’s okay.”

Eddie can feel pressure building behind his eyes as the tears threaten to fall faster. He blinks them away and tries to stay focused. “But I want you to stay, baby. I’m not done being selfish yet, I need you to come back to me. Please come back. I promise I'll treat you better this time.”

It feels like he’s on a bullet train, the outside world soaring by at lightning speed while the hospital room is eerily stationary. “I swear to god, I’ll never make you feel alone like that again. No more broken promises either.” Eddie hooks his pinky finger with yours, solidifying his word.

There’s a knock at the door and Eddie peers over his shoulder. A nurse enters with a full rally bag and a roll of bandages. "You'll need to step out for a moment."

Eddie is unwilling to leave your side, but he knows he shouldn’t interfere. When he rises from his seat, he gives your hand a brief kiss. Eddie glances behind him before leaving and thinks as if saying to you, “I’ll be right back, princess. Don’t be scared.”

As the nurse is refreshing your bandages, Eddie wanders until he happens upon the gift shop. He purchases a wimpy bouquet with the pocket change he has on him. When he’s allowed to return to your room, he places the vase on the utility cart beside the bed. Even though you’re unable to see them, Eddie tells himself that you like them.

From thereon, Eddie never leaves your side. He doesn’t care about the awful nicotine withdrawal or how much he misses his mattress, there’s not a chance in hell that he’s going to be separated from you longer than absolutely necessary. Your hand never leaves his for as long as he's sitting at your bedside.

The staff takes pity on him and brings him ham and cheese sandwiches. Eddie struggles to eat one-handed but he makes it work. He wonders if you’re hungry, considering you’re surviving off of IV mixtures. He misses eating junk food with you and licking the cheese dust off of your fingers on movie nights.

Eddie’s sanity gradually slips due to being confined to the small room, but having visitors is keeping him relatively sane. Over the remainder of the week, the atmosphere vibrantly evolves. The gifts from Wayne, the Hellfire Club members, and your family bring a spiritedness similar to that of a blooming field of spring flowers. Themed balloons, greeting cards, and assorted floral arrangements line the windowsill.

Robin buys you a stuffed monkey that she names Bananas and it stays tucked under your arm. She stops in every other day, usually bringing Eddie clean clothes from home. Robin keeps you company while he takes brisk showers in the private bathroom. She even brings nail polish and paints your fingernails your favorite color.

Eddie wishes you could see how incredibly loved you are. In part, he's glad that you’re not awake because you don’t have to bear the damage your body has endured.

His thoughts continue to consume him. Eddie incessantly scolds himself for having ruined the best thing that's ever happened to him. He feels wholly responsible for you being in this state. If he hadn’t fucked up, there wouldn’t have been a fight, and you wouldn’t have left.

Eddie is slouched in the same uncomfortable chair that he’s been glued to for two weeks. He’s currently zoned out while mindlessly drawing shapes on your wrist. His eyes are fixed on the western program playing on the outdated television across the room. Eddie is pulled back to reality by the twitch of your fingers in his grasp.

His heart leaps in his chest and his eyes switch to where his hand is joined with yours. Eddie holds his breath, sits up straight, and stares intensely. He’s convinced that he’s just imagining things until there’s another twitch. And another.

Eddie’s eyes dart between your hand and your face, whispering “C’mon, baby. You can do it.”

Your eyelashes flutter as your lids steadily retract, though they don’t open very much. It’s like the storm is dispersing and the sky is pulling itself together as you come to.

Eddie is elated, to say the least. He tries to stay calm because the last thing he wants is for you to be frightened.

“There’s my girl,” He says softly while stroking your arm. Tears of pure joy roll off his cheeks. “Hi, sweetheart.” Eddie sniffles, “I really missed you.”

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anki-of-beleriand · 1 year

Text

Bad Liar

Summary: Life is about lessons, and Wanda has been learning some harsh facts that had define her life and taken her to a place in which she was given a second chance. Then, all of a sudden, she meets you, and she realizes why it's easier to lie to yourself than to accpet what's right in front of her.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/ Female!reader - America/Kate - Mentions of past Vision/Wanda - past Natasha/Reader - Some Female!Reader/Carol Danvers

Warnings: Slow burn - Enemies to friends to lovers - Mentions of abusive relationships - Toxic relationships - angst - drama - mentions of abuse - more tags as the story progress.

Author's note: I'm back, and I'm ready to continue with my stories and start a new one. This particular story was something I was curious about, and as you will see it is a very AU story in which I'm trying to reach for a happy ending. I hope you guys like it and please don't forget to comment or like or reblog! I'm also open to hear your advices and requests, so...onto the story!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

Chapter 1 - Running away

It was raining outside.

The winter had been especially impossible that year, and if she were to be honest that year had been an impossible odyssey for her. Her eyesight became a blurry confusion, and she hated the overwhelming pressure on her chest spreading out to her body and mind. Her neck pulsated with the memory of a hand applying harsh pressure until it was difficult to breath, her arms and chest burnt with the memory of heavy pounding while the screams and cries of children filled her mind.

The flashback made her close her eyes tightly, her hand clenched around the wheel just as her lips parted to let out a breathy sob. She opened her eyes to look at her reflection, a couple of blinks helped her focus her attention on the two children sleeping in the back seat. Her body didn’t lose the tension when she felt the mobile gleaming, a familiar sound announcing an oncoming message tearing her attention from her children to the offending item.

She furrowed her brows, trembling hands grabbing the device, only to let out a relief sigh at the sight of Natasha’s name on the screen.

Everything is set up; I leave the key under the pot right beside the front door. Please, tell me when you get there.

She read the message twice before letting out a sigh, relief filled her body when she realized soon, she would be under a warm roof and would be ready to start anew. Her eyes went back to the led lights from the supermarket sign, she gave the twins one last glance and before she could doubt it any longer, she got out of the car.

The wind and the rain were terrible that afternoon, and even though she had parked closer to the door by the time she got there she was already soaked. With another sigh, she grabbed the shopping cart and went to grab the things she would need for the weekend.

*****

You clenched your fist closed whole glaring at the different dairy products on the fridge.

Your day couldn’t have been worse, even if you tried. Life had not been fair to you in the last couple of weeks, the recent break up as well as the problems back at work were finally getting back at you. Life had been spiralling out of control as of late, and you felt as if the world had conspired to make it impossible for you to reach happiness.

With a huff, you grabbed the milk and the cheese America loved so much. Your eyes then drifted to the last sample of your favourite yogurt, your lips tugged upwards just as you stretched out your hand to grab it another hand stretched at the same time. Neither one of you hesitated and your hands found themselves almost intertwined as they hovered over the yogurt.

Your head tilted slightly so you could focus on the offending hand, your mood and patience running thin not ready to give in and be the better person. Not with your food. Your comfort food, by the way.

However, you never expected the other person to be a beautiful woman that was looking as if she just swam her way to the supermarket.

“I’m sorry, I just…” the woman started with a soft voice, it was kind of obvious she was tired and trying to get the upper hand.

In another moment, in another circumstance you would give in. Not that day, though.

“Don’t worry, better luck next time.” You offered a half smile before snatching the yogurt right under the other woman’s hand.

You didn’t stay to see her expression, or to hear her complaints. You smiled with satisfaction, the yogurt safely tucked in your cart just as you continued with shopping; your mind going over the other things you and America would need for the weekend and the following week. The incident would have been forgotten if it wasn’t because of what happened ten minutes later. You were ready to leave, everything you needed safely tuck inside the cart while you take the last aisle when your phone went off.

The message was quite clear, you rolled your eyes knowing you would get hell if you didn’t take the mac & cheese America was asking for. With a sigh you went back a couple of aisles, before setting your eyes on the price.

It was then and there you and her found each other again.

This time around you had the time to take a good look at the woman, it was pretty obvious she was annoyed and with her hair and clothes still dripping from the pouring rain outside. Her clear eyes, of a green you almost lost over in, gleaming with resentment as they settled on yours. For some reason you couldn’t help but smile, it was stupid but the sight of your smile made the other woman flustered and settle her eyes on the pasta section.

With a shake of your head you leaned in grabbing the last box of America’s favourite brand of Mac and Cheese.

“That’s mine.” The other woman couldn’t contain herself; she shot you an angered stare with disbelief gleaming in her green eyes. “I was about to grab it.”

You raised a brow glancing from the box to the woman.

“Funny, I didn’t know your name was Annie.” You replied with a voice filled with sarcasm, “suck it up, lady. Your just too late.”

Wanda clenched her jaw shut, she was tired, cold and miserable at the moment and the last thing she wanted was to fight with some random bitch in a supermarket. She took a deep breath and decided to change tactics.

“My children…they love that…”

You furrowed your brows, “again, you’re too late. You’re not the only one with child-like tastes. Good luck next time.”

Wanda stood there watching you left with a self-satisfied smirk on your face, and your heart heavy with regret.

The house was completely silent.

The lights were off, and Wanda could smell the indistinctively aroma of cleaning liquid and air-freshener. The house itself had been completely tied up and the only thing it was lacking were the very same articles she had bought in the supermarket. The young woman huffed, the memory of what she just experienced in that place made her blood boiled.

“Momma.” Tommy rubbed his eyes sleepily, a huge yawn left his, mouth while his lip pulled up a pout. “I’m hungry.”

Wanda put Billy on the sofa, putting his hair away before turning to Tommy with a tired smile.

“I know, baby, let us go and make something nice before your brother wakes up.” She whispered to a now enthusiastic Tommy.

Both of them made their way to the kitchen, the lights finally letting her see the place she had bought with what little money she could get before leaving her home back in Westview. The place had been neatly decorated, and everything seemed to be either new or cared for. Wanda sat Tommy on the counter before putting the pots and the groceries out of the bags.

“How about some pasta?” She asked to the boy who merely nodded with a smile watching as his mom started working around the kitchen.

It didn’t take long for her to get used to the kitchen, she walked around grabbing the things she needed it while also making mental notes of what else she needed to buy the next day. Tommy watched her with big, brown eyes and a tranquillity she knew the child had not felt before; unconsciously her eyes went to the clock on the wall and Tommy did just the same.

Wanda swallowed down her fear, her eyes drifting to Tommy who tensed all of a sudden turning around to fixate his stare on the living room.

This time around Wanda knew no one would come in from the front door screaming drunkenly or coming over to hurt her or the boys. A minute passed, Wanda noticed how her whole body tensed and her hand grabbed the spoon hard until her knuckles became white. Tommy turned to Wanda chewing on his lower lip.

“Is daddy coming?”

Wanda swallowed down her fears and tears, she approached her child putting his hair back while shaking her head.

“No, baby, not today.” The relief in his face and his posture was everything Wanda needed to know she had made the right decision.

She leaned in kissing Tommy’s forehead before leaning back, her smile just as tentative and weak as the one Tommy was wearing. Wanda wiped away the tears she didn’t realise were falling before wriggling her eyebrows at Tommy.

“How about we finished dinner, go for your brother and watch a movie before eating some ice cream?”

Tommy cheered up allowing Wanda to put him down, the both of them soon were fixing everything in the kitchen until Billy came from the living room rubbing his eyes. Never before had Wanda felt more relief than at that very moment, watching as her five-year old children helped her around the kitchen always relaxed and happy like they had never been before.

Dinner went by and by the time midnight came in Tommy and Billy were snuggled against Wanda sleeping peacefully. The movie was still playing on the TV, Wanda had her arms around her children while her phone kept on flashing messages of unwanted nature. Her heart was at her throat, her eyes wide open in fear while her breathing caught on her chest.

She had forgotten to change her phone.

It was supposed to happen once she received the last message from Natasha but she had been so distracted by what had happened and the incident in the supermarket she forgot. Trembling she tore her eyes away from the device, her eyes falling on the sleeping form of her children putting them closer to herself.

Everything she had done; she had done so for them.

For herself.

She clenched her eyes shut, taking a deep breath while counting to ten.

He could not get to her anymore.

She had run away, and he didn’t know where she was.

She had escaped.

And now, a new life was waiting for her.

That was all she needed it at the moment.

With that last thought, Wanda fell asleep. The mobile forgotten, and the messages filled with rage and revenge flashing over and over for more than two hours until, all of a sudden, they stopped.

#Wanda/Female!Reader #fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wandaxreader #reader #female reader #personal #MCU AU

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