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howaboutcastiel · 2 years

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That One Angsty Fic (Moon Boys)

Summary: It doesn’t always make sense, but some days are just bad ones. Sometimes you’re your own worst enemy, and it takes losing a battle with yourself to see that. Marc, Steven, and Jake are able to see it, even if you can’t at first.

Author’s Note: This fic was originally supposed to end differently. Writing it was therapeutic for me, and the ending was also supposed to be, but revelations in therapy and changes in medications have made things different. Just… it exists.

Content Warning: ⚠️ Mental illness, sensory overload, anxiety and panic attacks, self harm ideation, self harm (cutting), suicidal language/suggestiveness, kinda graphic depiction. Other stuff I don’t know how to tag, just generally take caution. Hopeful ending.

Word Count 7.3k

Sometimes rabbit holes are hard to climb out of.

Sitting at your desk alone, waiting for your boys to come home, it was easy to dig yourself deeper. The cars on the street below you were too loud. The overhead lights were too bright and the draft from the windows was far too strong. The inclination to sink into your own thoughts was hard to resist, especially since you didn’t realize you were doing it.

Today really fucking sucks. I feel like I can’t do anything. I can’t eat right, I can’t sleep right, and I certainly can’t do my schoolwork correctly. I’m overdue on returning a library book and I haven’t scheduled that very important meeting with my advising professor. Everything is working out and my life is going dandy right now, but holy fucking shit do I feel like a massive failure.

They always say to reach out for help. The professionals say “you have people who love you, they want you to come to them.” God if that isn’t further from the truth. Sure, my mom told me she was proud of me yesterday, even after I told her I can’t graduate with honors like I planned to do. Sure, my friends tell me all the time that I’m funny and smart, but they’re just being nice to me. They don’t like making fun of people. Maybe my grandma cried the other day over the phone because I’m the only grandchild who calls to ask how she’s doing, but I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.

I’m the bare minimum. I feel like I'm at the bottom of the barrel. I’ll never live up to my potential or to the expectations of the people that I love.

I don’t even think that I’m enough for Steven anymore.

If I’m not enough for him, then I really have nothing at all, don’t I? There’s no question either, if I’m too much of a fuck up for him, I’m certainly not good enough for Marc or even Jake. Hell, the way I’m performing right now, Jake Lockley probably wouldn’t even give me the time of day.

Rabbit holes are hard to climb out of, especially when you’re alone.

There wasn’t anything in particular that made today worse than any of the others. By some metrics, in fact, it was a very good day. You had gotten an A on your midterm exam. You’d found a twenty-dollar bill inside of your coat pocket. Hell, someone had even left your favorite dessert in the break room, and you’d gotten to eat a serving of it between class and work. It should have been a good day, but it just wasn’t.

That’s the thing that people don’t understand about being ill. It’s just that: an illness. It doesn’t matter how much you eat healthy, or how much you exercise. It doesn’t matter how much meditation you do or how much you write in your diary or how much you pray to God—sometimes a day is just going to suck. It’s not rational, or even understandable, but that’s the truth of the matter. Sometimes sick people just… feel sick.

Steven understood that. So did Marc, and so did Jake. If there was anything in this world that they did understand, it’s that sometimes a person can be their own worst enemy. They understood that it wasn’t your fault, and they understood that some days were harder than others. The compassion that you couldn’t have for yourself? Well, they somehow always managed to have it.

You were convinced, though, that they wouldn’t have it today.

This has to be the final straw for them, doesn’t it? They’re going to come home and the dishes won’t be done, the laundry will still be dirty, and there won’t even be dinner on the table for them to eat. I’m going to have to tell them I don’t have a reason for it. I didn’t get it done only because I’m lazy and the lights were too bright. They’re going to laugh at me. They’re going to hate me.

Steven Grant is going to hate me.

I think maybe that’s what I deserve. He's so much more than me, isn’t he? They all are. They’ve been through so much, and yet they’re so strong and so wise. Steven is so kind. But look at me. I’m not… any of those things, am I? I’m all the wrong things. Too big, too awkward, too stupid. I’m not enough for him. I’m not enough for any of them, and I think maybe today they’re going to realize that. I don’t know if I can handle that.

It was half-past seven now. Steven would be coming home from his shift any moment. Or someone would. Whoever was fronting tonight didn’t really matter. It was all going to end the same way, you were convinced. You moved from the desk, tired of the weight on your back, and curled yourself up on the floor of the study. It wasn’t exactly a screaming and crying kind of panic, but it was still panic.

Why can’t I just do more? Why can’t I get up and get all of these chores done, right here and right now? Nothing’s stopping me. I know exactly what to do, I’ve done all of this a million times or more. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Why can’t I just get up and do it?

It wasn’t just that, though. How much easier it would have been if it was, but it wasn’t.

Why can’t I do anything right? I can’t even be sad right. Why can’t I cry? Maybe they would understand if I was crying. God, what if they yell at me? I don’t know what to do if they yell at me. Please don’t yell at me. Just get up and do the damn chores. Just do something. Do something.

They’re going to yell at me.

This is all so pathetic. I’m being dramatic, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I feel like I’m ready to explode or implode or just wither away. I feel like I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I can’t stop it, though, and it makes me feel like I’m insane. I feel like I’m out of control. I want to feel in control. I want to be in control.

I want to be in control. How do I take back control?

You heard the familiar footsteps coming down the hall, instinctively curling in on yourself a little bit more. You had memorized the sound and usually it brought you a warm and welcoming feeling. Today, though, it only made your pounding heart sink deeper into your chest. You braced yourself resignedly for the yelling and anger, or at the very least for the disappointment. Honestly, you didn’t know which one of them was worse.

It was Marc Spector who walked through the front door of the apartment. Admittedly, you couldn’t tell that he was at the front just by his body language, but luckily the boys were used to announcing themselves as they came through the door. It made things easier, and they knew that it comforted you.

“Hey, baby,” he started, the keys clinking in his hands as the door latched shut behind him. He was the only one who called you that. “I didn’t mean to be so late, but we got distracted on the walk home. Why’re you sitting in the dark? Are you here?”

You didn’t have the energy to answer him. Well, you had the energy, but you didn’t have the confidence. That, and you couldn’t really find your voice under all of the panic. Your tongue was too heavy in your mouth, and you were nauseous. You feared if you opened your mouth, it wouldn’t be words that came spilling out. Marc ventured further inside and finally spotted you, hugging your knees in the space between the desk and the wardrobe. He tilted his head and widened his eyes in concern, and you could feel the heat on your face.

“You okay?” He furrowed his brows when you didn’t answer him. You could only look up at him, breathing slowly around the lump in your throat, and you wanted to bury your head right back into your knees when you saw the look on his face. Of course he was going to be concerned, and you were going to have to tell him he had no reason to be. It didn’t make sense for it to be so difficult, though. Why couldn’t you just make yourself speak up? It was the simplest thing.

“Did something happen?” His voice was low and little, and you managed to shake your head at his question. Some other feeling was fighting the paralysis now that he was here, but it wasn’t a good feeling. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. “No? Well, are you hurt?”

Again, you shook your head. It was technically true, right? You weren’t hurt. You couldn’t really even pinpoint what was wrong with you. He pressed his lips into a thin line, surveying your body for any signs of damage. He found none, so Marc brought his hand up to touch your arm and you instinctively cowered away. You felt guilty as soon as you did it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of the pressure on your skin.

“I don’t know how to help, baby.”

That was what made the tears start to slowly stream. You didn’t feel the need to sob or choke, just to press your nose between your knees and hide your face from him as it contorted into a crying mess. For him to understand, you knew that you had to say something. It was just so hard to get anything out.

“I didn’t do the dishes,” you mumbled. Your admittance confused him and he moved to sit down across from you. You fought back a sob that tried to erupt from your throat. Hearing it out loud, you could understand how your words didn’t quite clear things up for him. “I didn’t do the laundry, either, and I haven’t made dinner.”

“Okay?” He almost laughed, but he could see anguish that you were in, so he stifled it. Marc waited for you to explain yourself further. It became clear you were having trouble with that, so he began to think meticulously through his answer.

“I’m sorry.” A sob broke around your words, but they were still unmistakable. His face twisted again into confusion and something that looked like offense. You hoped it wasn’t that.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. That was a hard question for you to answer.

“I should have done it by now. I should have finished it all. You should be able to come home to a clean apartment and a warm meal, and I said that I would do it. I should have done it.”

The self-inflicted misogyny aside, he was shocked by your statement. Marc understood the mindset of having to please your housemates. When he was a child, skipping his chores meant more than just a few words of disappointment from his mom. But this wasn’t that. Marc had never, never yelled at you before, and he certainly didn’t expect you to do all of his housework for him. You were partners. You shared the responsibility.

“Honey, they’re just chores,” he tried to explain. He couldn’t imagine exactly where you were coming from, but he’d talked you down from enough panic attacks to at least know where he should start. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal, and we can order take-out for dinner.”

You felt stupid. He wasn’t even mad, and you’d made such a big deal out of all of it. Of course he wasn’t going to yell at you. Marc would never yell at you. None of them would. You should feel relieved now, right? But you didn’t feel relieved. You just felt stupid.

“You with me?” He peered into your eyes with nothing but genuine softness. You couldn’t resist that look, not even in the state you were in. So, you pretended for him.

You nodded.

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

Marc took your hands into his and helped you to your feet. Your limbs were stiff from sitting like that, and your chest was heavy from all of the worry. He gently led you over to the couch, coaxing you to sit down and pulling a throw blanket from the shelf under the coffee table. You shuddered as he opened it and tossed it over you. He noticed that you were shaking.

“I’m gonna order dinner, okay? You need to eat something.” Marc moved to pull his phone out of his coat pocket. You didn’t really feel hungry, more nausea than anything filling your gut right now. “I think that you’ll feel better after that.”

You put on a brave, numb face for the rest of the evening. Well, for the next little while, at least. Marc ordered one of your favorite meals for dinner, making sure to buy so much that you would have leftovers. He wasn’t too great of a cook himself, so he was used to ordering out after a long or busy day. When the food finally came, you nibbled at it just enough to prove to him that you were trying. It tasted pretty good, but you couldn’t be sure you would keep it down, and the thought of swallowing just made you shudder some more.

After a while, Marc had decided that you looked calm enough. He let Steven take control of the body once he finished his meal, the tiring day having weighed on him, too. He made sure to warn his alter to keep tabs on you, noting how you seemed to be having a particularly rough day. Steven had no problem with that, as he was more than happy to give you his attention no matter the circumstances.

He didn’t exactly know what he was getting himself into.

When dinner was done and you’d convinced Steven that you really couldn’t eat any more, he packaged the rest of your food in heat-safe boxes. He also did the dishes, which he meant as a gesture of affection. Steven didn’t realize that his simple act of service would send you farther down the spiral.

Now you felt guilty. Not only had you failed to do the housework you’d promised you would, but now he was picking up your slack. To you, that was just unacceptable. I’m so much more trouble than I’m worth, you thought. Maybe they were just dishes, but they felt like so much more than that to you. They were a symbol of your failure, a symbol of all of the good things that he was and the bad things that you were, and why you could never be deserving of him.

The familiar urge started to bubble in your chest. You knew you should have said something the minute you felt it, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to, not in the middle of the spiral that you’d already begun. It always started as a spike of energy, an ironically paralyzing energy, and a buzzing in your skin. From there, it would grow and evolve and mutate into something else. It was an urge to self-destruct, to punish yourself and gain control. It didn’t make any sense, not in the slightest, and it surely didn’t make sense now, but such was the nature of being ill.

It didn’t have to make sense. It just had to be.

You felt the heat draining from your body as you watched him pass the plates from the sink to the drying rack. The shivering was only beginning, and you knew already that nothing would help you get warm. Not a blanket, not a hug, not a piping hot cup of tea. This was the kind of chill that ran further than skin-deep. The sensation grew outward from your chest. It made you want to press your palms into your eyes and scratch at your skin until it was raw. A lump was starting to thicken in your throat, your saliva becoming too thick to swallow.

I can’t believe I’m letting them baby me like this. I should be taking care of him, not the other way around. They must be so tired of coddling me like this. I wonder if they think I’m too sensitive. They must think that. I am too sensitive. It’s a matter of time before they get enough of it and kick me to the curb. It must be. I just wish I could stop. I have to stop.

Steven was turned away from you, intently focused on the task at hand. He didn’t notice how you had gone pale. He had a chore to complete. He wasn’t one to leave a dish half-washed, so he had to meticulously scrub each plate until he was sure it was clean.

He’s even better than me at this. What else do I have to offer him?

You pulled yourself up from your seat at the table, making sure to drag the legs of the chair against the wood just enough to alert him to the movement. You shuffled over to the couch as he finished up at the sink. When you clicked the power button on the TV remote, it flashed on to reveal some old sitcom you weren’t interested in seeing. It would look normal, though, when Steven dried his hands and emerged from the kitchen to join you. He would think that you were okay, and that was a good thing. You didn’t want him to think that you weren’t okay.

“Can I join?” Steven meekly asked as you scuffled to one side of the couch to make room for him. He was wearing a soft expression that made you feel like he saw you as fragile. He looked away from you as he sat down. “I think I might stay up a bit tonight. I want to read this new book I got about Neferefre.”

“What is that?” You prompted him, knowing you were opening the conversation to a classic Steven Grant infodump. If you looked interested and you got him to start talking, he wouldn’t even notice how much of a mess you’d been today—and how much of a mess you were now.

Steven began his little spiel. The man he spoke of was apparently one of the pharaohs of Egypt, a prince who ascended to the throne and died young. You watched his face light up as he told you about the man. It wasn’t uncommon of him to lose himself entirely in his little stories about ancient Egyptian history. He would speak for hours if you let him, which was a relief, because you certainly didn’t know how to fill any gaps of silence. Steven’s eyes widened and glistened as he went on, touting knowledge to you that would impress even the most prestigious academics of the subject.

His smile was such a pure and innocent thing. Steven was proud of himself, as he very well should have been, and he was happy that someone was here for him to share his knowledge with. It put into perspective for you just how much you didn’t compare. He was a living, breathing encyclopedia. A life-long researcher who would pour his heart and soul into the subjects he loved. In contrast, you were just going through the motions. You had reached your last semester of your undergrad, but you had no passion at all for your major anymore. Maybe you would get some fancy latin honor at your graduation, but you were by no means a good student, and you sure as hell weren’t an expert on the subject.

Why can’t I just stop myself from spiraling? Why can’t I just be someone that he deserves?

It was getting to the point where you were afraid that the feeling in your chest was going to start boiling over. Your skin was on fire and you were covered in a thin layer of icy sweat that did nothing to calm you. You wanted to curl into a ball and rip out your hair. You wanted to rock yourself back and forth with your head between your knees, and you wanted most of all to take yourself apart piece by delicate piece.

The urge was almost overwhelming. You had managed to hide this part of yourself from them for your entire relationship up to this point. Marc had his suspicions about your behavior in the past and Steven had noticed your sensitivity and lapses in communication, but neither of them had ever been there with you when you had an episode of self harm. You’d been in recovery when you first started dating them, and you’d only broken your clean streaks on occasions where they weren’t around. They didn’t really know what to look for and they didn’t know how close to the edge you really were.

You were very, very close to it.

Steven blinked at you confusedly. He’d asked you a question, apparently, and you’d failed to hear it over the pounding thud of your heartbeat inside of your ears. There was no denying that you’d spaced out while talking to him, no pretending your mind wasn’t clearly somewhere far away from here. He raised his eyebrows at you as you widen your gaze and pressed your lips together, pulling yourself back to him.

“Sorry, I just have had a long day, love,” you tried to deflect his unyielding inclination to peer into you. Steven Grant was a caregiver, an innate protector of those who were mentally vulnerable, and you certainly fit that category right now, but you would be damned if you let him baby you. Or, god forbid, worry about you. “I wanted to hear about your Pharoah guy, but I think I’m too tired to take it all in.”

You hoped he would ignore the fact that, despite your words, you seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy. The last thing you’d ever want to do was make Steven worry. You hoped to God that he couldn’t see the panic rising within you, stirring up the familiar frenzy in your limbs and enticing you to have a rendezvous with your razor in the bathroom.

He scooped you into his arms, pressing around you with a calming strength that almost touched the chill underneath your skin. Your body was half-limp as Steven encased you in a sturdy hug. He nuzzled his face into your neck and he breathed you in with an exhausted sigh.

“It’s alright. I’ll talk about him later.” Steven hummed into your skin, no doubt just as tired as Marc had been. “I’m sorry about your long day. It’s okay now, though. You can just relax with me.”

Guilty. Stupid.

“Okay. Thank you, baby.” You swallowed hard and dipped your head into his chest. Steven’s grip around you was strong, but casual. To him, as far as you could tell, you appeared to be doing just fine. A little tired, a little shaky, but overall just fine. That was a good thing, right? You were glad to not be worrying him. But some primal part of you was screaming to tell him you needed his help. You suppressed that part—it was bound to make things worse for you both.

There was silence for a little while. The television droned on, drawing small, breathy laughs from Steven and smiles from you in response to his laughs. The beating of his heart against your ear served to chip slowly away at your unease, dampening the pounding in your head. The pressure in your chest released bit by bit. The unspeakable urge fizzled out from your hands just a little. You finally were starting to feel like you could breathe normally, when a stray thought drew Steven away from the telly.

“When you did laundry today,” the words shot hot iron spikes through your ribcage. You froze in place, “did you happen to see my green button-up? The one with the stripes. I was going to wear it tomorrow to the museum holiday party, but I couldn’t find it when I looked this morning.”

How could you respond to him? You’d have to tell him it wouldn’t be clean in time for the party. You hadn’t washed it. You had not even touched the laundry today, in fact. You’d come home from work a few hours ago and plopped right down at your desk, wasting the evening away instead of doing the chores that you’d promised.

“I’m sorry,” you began. His lips turned downward into a puzzled grimace. “The laundry isn’t done. I don’t know if your shirt is in there, but if it is, it’s not clean. You won’t be able to wear it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” His face remained as puzzled as it was, now tinged with disappointment as well. You couldn’t live with his disapproval, no matter how much your body and mind seemed incapable of performing correctly.

“But I can go wash it right now! It will be ready by morning if I start a load—”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it, darling. It’s late, and it’s just a shirt. I can wear something else to the party. God knows Donna won’t appreciate the effort I put into my outfit anyway.” He bore an uneven smile and grazed the back of your neck with his hand, pushing your head back down to rest on his chest.

The coil around your heart re-tightened.

You laid in his arms as long as you could manage to sit still. Soon enough, the shaking of your bones and the pounding in your chest was so strong that it would be noticeable if you continued to sit in his grasp. So, with a shy cough and a fake, lopsided smile, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid! Stupid! You couldn’t believe the way you were behaving. Why couldn’t you just be normal for one single day? Why did you have to worry your boys, why did you have to be so miserable, and why did your heart still threaten to beat right out of your chest even though Steven had held you in his arms and told you everything was okay? Stupid. So fucking stupid and pathetic and whiny and stupid.

You could feel the ice trickling down your spine, sinking into the curves of your ribs and clenching your muscles tense. The heat of your anger—at yourself and at the world, but mostly at yourself—did nothing to warm the deep chill in your bones.

Be fucking useful for once.

The sound of the electricity was too loud, the light coming under the door too bright. You banged your open palms against your head, curling them into fists and pounding harder when the noise only grew more irritating. Your breathing was rapid and empty, silent tears streamed down your face. Your knuckles drummed against your skull forcefully, over and over and over again, until the action was automatic and numb.

Stop being a burden. Stop being stupid. Steven has been through more shit than you ever will have gone through. You’re a useless fucking partner to him. Stop wasting space.

The dull knocking against your head wasn’t nearly enough. The seething inside your bones demanded something more. Something urgent and strong. You grew tired of the motion and lowered your hands, leaning into the dizzying soreness at the sides of your scalp. Your heart began to calm, unbeknownst to the agony in the rest of your body.

Stop wasting space.

You clutched the vanity. Your now-raw knuckles were white and the room was spinning. Maybe if you’d eaten more, you’d feel the need to throw up.

Stop taking up space.

The way that your hand rose to the medicine cabinet made you feel like an observer inside your own skin. For a passing, ever-so tiny moment, you wondered if this was what Jake felt. What Marc felt. Was this what Steven Grant felt when he wasn’t in control?

No, surely not. This was you taking control.

You weren’t one to show yourself mercy. Even in something like this, where mercy was a severely relative term. The thoughtful thing to have done would have been to grab your razor from the shelf, or taken one of Steven’s replacement razors from the pack beside the mouthwash. A sharp, unyielding weapon for a clean, quick punishment. You didn’t want to cut yourself open, though. That would be too generous, too easy.

You didn’t want something smooth, something to leave pretty and even stripes in delicate skin, like guiding lines on an empty notebook sheet. No, you didn’t want to cut yourself deep. This was visceral, personal. You wanted to rip yourself apart.

From the top shelf, you grabbed the old and rusty scissors that you had left in the bathroom for your spur-of-the-moment haircuts and for cutting tags off of new clothes. They were dull and awkward and hardly able to cut warm butter at this point, which is exactly what you were going for.

Stop. Being. Stupid.

You didn’t know if it made you feel better or made you feel worse, but it made you feel. Digging the blade into your skin, jabbing the open edge into your thigh after pulling parallel strokes on your forearms, it made you feel more in-control than you had all day. It was intoxicating. It was all-consuming. Before you knew it, you had fallen into a trance of sorts and the repetition was only halted by the realization that you had to breathe eventually.

A sharp breath in. Pain. A slow, shaky exhale. Stupid. A stifled cough, a desperate sucking in of air. Useless. A wheezing huff, like a deflating balloon.

Tired.

The blade slipped away from your hand and clattered unenthusiastically onto the floor. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as there could have been. Your teeth chattered, and now, despite having barely grazed dinner, you feared that you might up-chuck. A low groan tumbled out of your lungs as you crouched over the toilet bowl, thick red streams trickling down to the creases of your skin. You heaved once, then twice, then the vague remnants of your dinner were out of your stomach and the pressure against your chest forced a cry from your lips.

You sighed, flushed, and slumped into a weak puddle on the tile. There was a knock at the door.

“Darling?”

No. No. No no no nononono. What did I do? Your mind was racing and your heart had re-started its blunt assault on the inside of your ribs, but your limbs were like jello. Your tongue was like sand. He can’t see me like this!

“You sound like you’re sick. Was it the dinner, love? Let me hold your hair back, at least.”

He can’t see me like this. I can’t do that to him. But you couldn’t move, either. You could barely keep your eyes open. You tried to yell at him to go away, but your lungs were too heavy to muster more than a hoarse whisper. That was if you could even get your lips to part.

Guilty.

You could hear Steven’s breath rattle on the other side of the door. “You’re worrying me. I’m going to open the door now, yeah? Don’t mean to pry, of course, but sure as I don’t, you’ll have hit your head on the sink or something and be out cold—”

He’d turned the knob on the bathroom door—the stupid old thing never did lock correctly, you’d been meaning to get that fixed—and pushed his way inside, only to stop dead in his tracks the moment he saw you.

Your pale and shaking hands clenched your knees, blood lazily tricking into your elbow’s crease and tapping the floor in a steady drip. It wasn’t nearly an amount of blood loss to be worried about, but that didn’t matter to him. There was blood dripping onto the floor, and it was coming from you. Steven’s color drained from his face as he watched the forming puddle for a moment. He didn’t move, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, and his hand still lingering on the doorknob. After a few seconds, he gathered a shaky breath and broke his gaze away.

“What happened?”

His voice was whining, panicky. You could see sweat beading on his forehead as he knelt across from you. He trailed his hand up your arm, looking for the incisions that were causing the flow. His fingers were careful not to touch the long, parallel slits that ran up toward your wrists. You heard a breathless whimper leave his lips as he pulled your arms up, revealing the jagged, shallow puncture wounds in your thighs that looked just as bad.

“Darling, what happened?” He was more urgent now, his voice louder and demanding. “Are you hearing me?”

He grabbed the nearest towel from the shelf under the sink, wrapping it around the wrist closest to him and pressing the other one underneath. Steven’s breathing was shallow and his eyes danced rapidly between your forearms, your thighs, and your face. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes focused on him. It was all that you could do to keep them open at all. He continued pleading with you, but his voice was distant in your head.

Tired.

“What have you done?” You didn’t know if his intention was for you to answer. “Why did you—what did you do to yourself? I don’t understand. I don’t… I don’t…”

His breath was quickening. You tried to pull your head together, to ignore the pounding in your skull and force your eyes to work. Weakly, you wiggled your fingers. If they could move, perhaps the rest of you could as well. Your tongue was as heavy as lead in your mouth, but you forced it up anyway. The wheezing breath you drew caught his attention immediately.

“I’m sorry.” The tears that had welled in his eyes began spilling over, painting his cheeks as he tried desperately to blink them out of the way. Steven wrung a towel under the sink as you drew another gasp. “You weren’t supposed to see.”

“Why?” He scoffed and you shook your head. The dull thump in your head was winning out. Words were failing you. Apparently they were failing him to, as he couldn’t muster much more than “I don’t understand.”

You had done this enough to know it would take a few minutes for the bleeding to stop. Nothing was deep enough for stitches, though the divots on your legs would threaten to scar for sure. Steven grew more distressed, though, as the seconds ticked forward and the wounds refused to wipe clean. Firm and steady pressure seemed to be too slow a solution and panic was painted plainly on his face.

You felt the need to explain to him. You had to make him understand.

“I had to do it.” He held his breath as you began to speak. Steven looked terrified. “I deserve this. It feels… right. I had to. I had to.”

“No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You don’t deserve this. Why would you deserve this? Is it because of the laundry? You can’t have done this because of a load of clothes…”

“Not the laundry,” You breathed, interjecting. “It’s everything. I’m not good enough. I can’t do anything right. I’m a waste of space. I have to stop taking up space. Your space.”

“You're not.” He uttered immediately. Steven seemed to be choking on his next words. He stared at the blood soaking through your bandages. “You’re not… you’re…”

He pressed his eyes shut and your voice was loud in your head as you let your own heavy eyelids flutter closed. He’s finally getting it, isn’t he? I’m no good for him. This is the final straw.

More trouble than I’m worth.

Stop wasting space.

You resigned yourself to the damage you’d done to him. The three of them were better off without you here. You’d leave them alone now. They’d kick you out and you’d move back in with your mother. At least she was used to being disappointed by you. You could handle her disdain, but not theirs.

So fucking tired.

“You’re not a waste of space.” His voice broke you away from the deep crevice in your mind that you’d sank into. “Mi Tesoro, how could you ever think that about yourself? You are plenty good enough.”

Jake unwrapped the wounds that Steven had dressed so haphazardly. If medical training was a contest between the three of them, Steven was certainly in line for the bronze, while Jake could perform surgery with kitchen utensils if prompted to. They had finally stopped bleeding, but the cuts needed a layer of antibiotics if they had any chance of healing right. Especially considering the rust on that gross pair of scissors.

“I scared him.” You didn’t need to elaborate. The absolute mess that you’d made of yourself had thrown Steven into a panic, sending him so far back in the headspace that Jake Lockley was forced to come out to take the reins.

“Yes, you did. But he’ll be alright.” Jake’s voice was steady and smooth, and he was finished with your bandages before you even realized it. “You’ll be alright, too. Just try not to mess with these.”

“You’re never going to look at me the same. Any of you.”

“Maybe that’s true,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t matter. You can’t scare us away that easily.”

He lifted you by your shoulders, helping you stand against the bathroom wall. The floor was riddled with blood and towels and bandages, and your shirt and pants were far from clean. Jake was careful not to put pressure on your wounds as he supported your weight. You started toward the living room.

“I would guess that you’ve done this before.” He guided you step by step to the couch. You say gently against the cushion, curling back into a ball as your eyelids gave up altogether on staying open. “But not since I’ve met you. Why did you start this again tonight?”

“I deserved it,” you repeated. There was no other way to explain it, or rather, no explanation you had the energy for. “I needed it.”

“We’re going to talk about this later.” He knew that you didn’t have the energy for a conversation right now. That didn’t mean that he’d save his ultimatum, though. Just because you couldn’t talk didn’t mean he couldn’t. He placed a blanket over you, leaving for a few moments to grab some water and painkillers. Plus, a package of crackers that he would force you to nibble on later.

“You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it. There’s nothing you could ever do to make you worthy of something like that. I can’t speak for the other two, but I’ve never met someone so loving, so wonderful. Eres la mejor persona que he conocido. There’s nothing you’d ever do to make you deserve that.”

Silent tears slipped down your face as he continued, and his voice wavered as he spoke. You assumed, though your eyes wouldn’t open, that we was fighting tears as well.

“You really scared us, but we’re not angry at you. We’re not scared of you. We just can’t bear to see you hurt yourself. You know that you can’t be in pain without us hurting, too. We’re scared because we don’t know how to help. You have to tell us what’s wrong, so we can make sure you don’t hurt anymore.”

“But I need to.” I need to hurt. How else am I going to stay in control?

“No, chica, you don’t.” The cushion shifted underneath you, indicating that he’d sat down beside you. “You need help. Not this. Nothing good comes from this. We don’t want to see you like this. Not ever again.”

How else am I supposed to stay in control?

“Please promise me you’ll talk to me about this, alright? I want to hear all of it. I want to know why this is happening.”

“I don’t want to bother you.” Sleep was weighing on you by now. Thoughts drifted out of your lips without restraint, but they threatened to cease altogether as your limbs grew heavy.

“You won’t bother me. This bothers me. Nothing that you could say would bother me. I want to hear about everything. Every thought that leads to this, you say it to me first.”

There was a pause that almost let you drift off completely.

“That goes for the others as well. We all want you to talk to us. No matter when, no matter where. Okay?”

I can’t put this burden on them—

“Promise me!”

You pried your eyes open one last time. Jake’s gaze was pleading and tears were streaming down his face. He looked plenty burdened already. He was right. Nothing could be worse than this. You couldn’t ever hurt them more than this. And now that the urge had come and passed, the dull ache in your arms and the stinging in your thighs was a sore reminder of how little it was worth it. Not to mention the pain in your head.

“I promise.”

Sometimes, when you say something out loud, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. It helps to keep you in check, and it keeps you from being your own worst enemy. If nothing else, it gives you perspective and keeps you from forgetting your voice. And before you ask, no. I’m not okay, but I am in therapy and on medication. Take it or leave it.

p.s. I started this fic obviously in a bad mood, and then I wrote most of it when I was no longer in a bad mood. For that reason, it may be gibberish. Don’t think of the reader as yourself. That’s probably unhealthy. Thank you to my beta readers, @moonmoonboys and @rmoonstoner

#moon knight #moon boys #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight angst #angst #masterlist

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demibats · 3 years

Text

Unsteady - BENEATH THE BLOOD MOON

summary: Bludhaven and Gotham take a fearful turn when a new threat is posed in both Batman and Nightwing’s territories, neither of them equipped for it. That is, until Dick crosses paths with an unlikely new ally...

word count: 4k warnings: brief mention of violence.

A cool breeze ruffled Dick’s hair as he looked over the city of Bludhaven, way up on the tops of the buildings. He’d been hunched over, listening intently on his police scanner for far too long. It was too quiet of a night. Not even the common street criminal was causing a disturbance. The silence was far more vexing than any goon he’d come into contact with over the past week.

Dick tried not to let the little noises pester his paranoia further, though it was hard. The sound of an animal rustling in a garbage can or a car’s horn was enough to make him jump. Dick stood, taking in a deep breath before he flipped from one roof ledge to a lower one. Landing with a hard thud, he turned over his back, eyeing the spot he’d just left and the gap below. Below, consumed in the darkness, he swore he heard voices.

Dick turned and peaked down, seeing nothing in the bleak emptiness between crumbling buildings. He continued his typical patrol around the tops of the buildings, looking over the city. It was the first night in months that not a thing gave him a good chase. While he felt like he deserved a break, the sudden change in activity felt odd. It was as if an entire world of crime just stood at a stand still, completely unmoving as Dick traveled the rooftops of Bludhaven.

Faintly, Dick heard a grunt and blows landing. It was quiet, but Dick’s trained ears focused on it and could make out a cocky ‘that all you got?’ He did a front somersault off the ledge and slid down the opposite wall, skillfully as to not disturb the others in the alleyway. He turned on his heels and crouched down behind a rusty dumpster, peeking his head out to survey the scene.

A woman was facing with her back toward him, striking whatever was in front of her with her palm, upward into her attacker’s nose. Jesus Chirst, Dick thought, usually now is the time I have to come in. She spun around and delivered what should’ve been a near-fatal kick into the attacker’s ribs, but he only stumbled before throwing his hand into the woman’s head. She took barely a second to steady herself before grabbing her attacker’s next hit by the wrist to twist it upward. At an impressive speed, she unsheathed what looked like a wooden stake and plunged it into the chest of her attacker. Dick caught a glimpse of the man’s face, seeing it contorted and molded with yellow eyes before it burst into dust.

He was in awe. Of all the metahumans and villains he’s faced throughout his entire life, he’d never come across something quite like that. Maybe he’d read about them but seeing one perish in person was an entirely new ballgame. He stood up from his spot, stepping out from behind it, but didn’t trek toward the woman. She was relatively new and, to be frank, scary. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that maybe now isn’t the time to ask questions?” Dick spoke clearly, despite being unsure of this new vigilante, if that’s what she was.

She flinched at his loud voice and whipped around, fists clenched. When her eyes laid on him, her mouth dropped, but her shock didn’t last long and was soon replaced with some form of annoyance, “Nightwing, is it? A little birdie told me to watch out for you. Well, another little birdie.” She said, poking fun at his alter ego.

“In the way that we’d be brawling like your little friend or just as a precaution?” Dick quipped.

“Neither. Just a piece of information I needed to have before I moved here.” Her shoulders relaxed as she walked toward him, “We done here?” Her shoulder bumped into his and which only spurred Dick’s talking on more.

Before he could get a word in, she said, “You were watching for a while before I dusted that creep. Is it a part of the job to leave capable dames to their own devices now? I definitely could’ve used the help.” Her tone was sarcastic, Dick couldn’t tell if she meant it, or was just annoyed simply by his presence.

Dick blinked a few times before answering, “I have no idea what that was. Or what or who you are. I was a little taken aback, needed time to plan my next move.” he responded, following her out of the alley.

She stopped in her tracks and turned around, narrowing her eyes on him. She examined his face for a moment and Dick grew anxious that she was trying to figure out his identity for a split second. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, he furrowed his eyebrows. “You really have no idea what I just killed?”

The fact she’d said ‘what’ instead of ‘who’ returned the uneasy feeling, but this one was different, “No, I don’t. Mind telling me? This seems like crucial information I should’ve known when I moved here.” He mocked, but the woman could only smirk at it.

“It was a vampire. Like, a genuine dracula. Blood-sucking demon of the night, fangs and all. There have been sightings and nests popping in Atlantic City, Gotham and Bludhaven more and more recently.” She explained, continuing her walk down the empty street. Dick didn’t realize he was supposed to follow her.

He jogged up to her, slowing down and matching speeds with her pace. Dick never walked through the neighborhoods at night, too busy flipping from the rooftops to realize how things looked down here at night. Gazing at the woman through his peripherals, he sucked in a breath, “And you’re.. What? Just doing a public service by driving stakes through their hearts?” he asked, question after question popping into his head. If she was a civilian, where’d she learn how to fight and defend herself like that? Why was she absorbing blows that should’ve knocked her on her ass? How did she know all this? Especially that these supposed nests were in Bludhaven?

“I’m the Slayer. It’s my destiny, or whatever, to hunt them down and send ‘em back to hell.” She clarified, sounding less than enthused.

Dick chuckled, “Whoa there, try to contain your excitement.”

Rolling her eyes, she picked up speed, wanting to shake the nuisance that was Nightwing, “Look, I’ll go my way, you’ll go yours. There’s no need to be all buddy-buddy. I’ll kick vampire ass, you’ll beat down criminals, simple as that.”

Dick stopped on their walk, grabbing her wrist just for her to rip it from his clutches, “Would you listen for one goddamn second?” he raised his voice, surprising her, “If these creatures are as dangerous as I’m thinking, and to the extent you said, you’ll need help. This doesn’t sound like much of a cakewalk. I’m not an idiot who wears a mask and punches cat-buglers, okay? There are more important skills than brute strength, ones I have, that could help you.”

He could tell she was considering it. It took only a few seconds for her to answer, “This isn’t something that’s a team effort. I’m the slayer, and whether I like it or not, I have to do this on my own.”

Dick let her go off on her way this time. He couldn’t wrap her head around the events of that night, especially not the fact that Bludhaven and Gotham, his home and former home, were riddled with creatures like the one she’d just fought. Grotesque, monstrous creatures that were preying on the innocent the way that they were. He feared for the citizens of Bludhaven, knowing that he might not be able to protect them from the vampires he knew nothing about. Sighing heavily, he took out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t saved but could recite from heart at any given time. It only rang once before a familiar voice spoke. “Master Dick, it’s been too long.” Alfred chimed.

“I miss you too, Alfred. Tell him I’m driving up. There’s something brewing in both our cities and we might need all hands on deck for this,” he paused, “I’m gonna send you some information of my current location, can you please use the cameras in the area for facial recognition for the woman I was with tonight?”

“I’ll hop to it, Master Dick. I’ll let him know, as well and make preparations for your sleeping arrangements.” Alfred spoke in his typical calm and calculating, yet stern tone.

“I’ll get a motel, just tell Bru-”

Alfred cut him off, “I’m afraid not, Master Dick. You will be staying in the manor and there’ll be no arguments made against it. The facial recognition you requested will be done within the hour.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick smiled, “Yeah, alright. See you soon, Alfred. Thank you.” And with that, Dick ended the call, inhaling sharply. His night just became a lot more eventful than he could’ve ever guessed.

“Fuck.”

-----

Dick pulled into the long stretch of driveway through the gates, his tongue running over his teeth. It’d been some time since he’d been home and it still felt cold and distant. He didn’t plan on staying too long, but would stay as long as needed to research and learn about any lore pertaining to vampires and ‘The Slayer’. Bruce had more money than God and enough books to educate a small community, some of those might even be older than God.

The sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor, while being the apple of any remotely smart person’s eye, made Dick feel more alone than he ever had. However, he did what he learned as a child, and pushed those feelings down, trying to focus on the task at hand. After stepping out of his car, now parked in the garage, he met up with Alfred. That old rascal always brought a smile to Dick’s face, even after the time he’d seen him. “Nice to see you, Master Dick. Master Wayne is waiting for you. The facial recognition was successful.”

Dick couldn’t help but grin at the butler before clapping him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Alfred. I owe you one!” He shouted as he booked it toward the indoor entrance to the cave.

The manor was always remarkably clean, thanks to Alfred ( and sometimes Bruce ) . With Alfred’s older age, you would think that he was ready to give up the butler life, but there was no way he would, not while Bruce was running rampant in the streets wearing a cape and cowl. Dick waited patiently in the elevator ride down, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He shoved them into his jean-pockets as the door opened, revealing the dimly lit cave.

Bruce was standing before the bat computer, pictures and records up on the large screen. He was hunched over the tabletop in front of him, rather than sitting in the chair. He wore a black tshirt and dark jeans, rather than the full form of the batsuit or head-to-toe formal wear. Bruce heard Dick’s footsteps and straightened his back, turning toward the younger man. “You look different,” Bruce said in monotone.

Dick chuckled, “Yeah, living on your own does that, I guess.” He knew that Bruce wasn’t one for physical affection but that didn’t stop Dick from giving him a brief hug, which to his surprise, Bruce reciprocated for the short while it happened.

“So, did you pin-point our mystery girl?” Dick said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyeing Bruce as he pulled up what looked like an ID photo.

“Y/N L/N. Goes to a community college in Bludhaven, lives alone. She previously lived in Chicago, graduated from high school, got accepted into a community college there, held a steady job, but moved here after her mother was killed eight months ago. Coroner’s report says animal attack but given the information you sent, I’m guessing that whatever she fought off last night is one of the things responsible for the murder of her mother. Who is she to you, Dick?” Bruce slowly turned to face Dick, raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

Dick shrugged, “I’m interested in her line of work.” He said, but Bruce knew exactly what Dick wasn’t saying. He let it slide, obviously not wanting to open that can of worms.

“I’ve pulled up every known instance of vampires over the past twenty years and… a lot of it is complete nonsense, Dick. Very slim picking of what compares to Y/N’s vampires. Something about Twilight-” Bruce was about to continue but Dick cut him off.

“Steer clear of anything marked under that, you won’t get anywhere.” Dick turned away from the computer and walked toward the dark oak bookshelf away from where Bruce stood.

“And where are you going?” Bruce asked.

Dick turned over his shoulder as he walked, “There has gotta be something in one of your dusty old books that’s more helpful than you skimming teenage fanlore.” He chuckled, eyes running over the spines of all the books. He didn’t have too much to go on, but anything would help them at that moment.

Bruce and Dick spent hours researching vampire lore, hoping something would point them in the direction of some sort of slayer prophecy. Of course, it would’ve been much easier if Y/N complied with Dick in the first place, but she was dead set on avoiding Nightwing like the plague. While Bruce appreciated literature, he knew how to find needed information on the web better than anything else. It bothered him that he wasn’t coming up with much, but he’d never tell Dick that.

“Any luck?” Bruce called out.

“Not on the slayer, but this volume and the one like it talks all about what they are and the lore behind them,” he paused for a moment, then realized Bruce was waiting for him to continue, “They’re essentially demons, soulless creatures from Hell. They can only inhabit earth if they possess a human corpse. Apparently they’re considered hybrids, less pure than other demon species.”

Dick looked up from the pages of the worn book, seeing Bruce look absolutely lost in thought. He cleared his throat, hoping he’d have some sort of feedback. “What are they doing in Bludhaven?” Bruce asked.

“Add that to the pile of answers we don’t have.” Dick huffed.

The two men were up into the early hours of the morning, almost 5AM before Dick had a breakthrough in one of the thousands of books in the cave. “Here!” he called out, getting Bruce’s attention. The older man quickly made his way to the table that Dick had been hunched over, reading and researching.

“Every generation, one girl is chosen to be the Slayer. She wields the power to fight demons, vampires and other forces of darkness. Apparently the first slayer actually had the gifts of a vampire given to her by said vampire.” Dick read.

Bruce was silent.

“Are you going to say anything? We’ve been at this for hours and I finally find something and you’re a statue.” Dick was annoyed and tired and beyond ready to burn every book in the manor and then go right to sleep.

“That’s just it, Dick. We’ve been at this the entire night and all we’ve learned is that some otherworldly force picks a woman to fight the undead. We’re still at square one in my book. Get some sleep, we’ll regroup and pick it up again after some rest.” Bruce said, turning to shut down the computer.

Dick grumbled, gathering up all the books he hadn’t read through, along with the one who explained who the Slayer was, and went to his old bedroom. He would probably only get a few hours of sleep before he would be up and at it again. He needed to find more out before going back to Bludhaven to find her again. He wanted to be prepared, knowledgeable. Dick knew that there was no way Y/N would let him help if she had to teach him all there was to know about vampires. He still didn’t know if she could be swayed even if he had already learned.

As soon as Dick hit the mattress, books surrounding him, he was out like a light. He hadn’t pushed himself to the extreme of staying up over 24 hours in a long time and he felt like he would go insane from lack of sleep. That first night back at Wayne Manor, Dick had nightmares. He was in his Nightwing suit, except for his mask, standing in an alleyway that seemed like it went on infinitely on both ends. He tried to run one direction but felt like he was getting nowhere. On all sides of him he heard someone crying out for help and a hiss that felt too familiar. The cries continued as did the hisses for what seemed like mere minutes, but when Dick opened his eyes, he’d realized it was nearly three o’clock.

He felt like he’d been hit by a semi-truck, or maybe a large pick-up at the least. There was a cup of coffee next to his bed on his nightstand, still steaming. After all these years, ALfred had a knack for knowing when his boys would be awake. Dick grabbed it sluggishly and took a small sip as he sat up. The room was still and quiet, while he enjoyed the peace, sometimes it was deafening. After he’d downed most of the coffee, he pulled his shirt off and headed to the shower.

-----

“Let’s just say that she does allow you to work with her, will you keep me informed?” Bruce posed the question as Dick looked over yet again, another book. He peaked over the pages of the book he was reading, lips on the rim of his coffee mug.

Bruce looked like he’d gotten enough sleep for the both of them, had his healthy breakfast and already did his eight mile run. It was appalling how easy it was for Bruce to hide his fatigue, while Dick, Jason and Tim had always looked tired, constantly.

“If what she said is true, that Gotham as well as Bludhaven, has these nests, then yes. You’ll need to stay in the loop and be hypervigilant during patrol. These things are no joke, Bruce.” Dick answered, “Mind if I take the books with me back home? I’ll scan over any information I deem important.”

Bruce nodded, but before Dick could exit the kitchen to pack up his belongings, the older man called out, “Be careful.” Bruce might not express his fondness or affection for his son, but he knows that Dick knows exactly what his simple words mean.

Dick turned back and nodded. “You too.”

The drive back to Bludhaven was tense. Dick knew he’d have to betray what little trust he’d managed to create the first night he met Y/N by essentially breaking into her apartment. He fought with himself mentally about his next move. He still had research and planning to do if was going to seriously enter this world. He was too stubborn to just let Y/N tell him no. He didn’t care if it was her destiny to battle these things alone. He was going to make sure she wasn’t on her own and that he upheld his oath to protect Bludhaven.

Within the wall of his Bludhaven apartment, he stood in the kitchen, unmoved as he pondered his options. There weren’t many. It was either he’d help Y/N and go to her apartment, maybe get his ass kicked if she was startled or not help her and go about his regular vigilante activities. It shouldn’t even be a question. Dick tried to put his impulsivity aside, tried to think before jumping immediately into this unprepared. Y/N told him to stay out of it, he should respect that. But what if it becomes too much for her to handle on her own? Wouldn’t she rather have an ally? Someone to depend on? There had to be a reason why she was so harsh about it.

A million more questions spurred Dick’s thoughts on, but in the end, he decided he’d rather have her be pissed off at him interfering with the slayer business than her, laying in an alleyway, dead because of some demon. He’d set out to find her before it got dark, he didn’t want to risk getting a wooden stake to the torso because she couldn’t see the black and blue suit.

He donned the Nightwing garb as he seemingly flew over the rooftops, cartwheeling, backhandspringing, flipping, somersaulting all over the ledges and landings to get to her apartment which was about ten blocks from his own. From the roof of a building opposite to her apartment complex, he could see into her living room through a window. The curtains were parted and the soft lighting illuminated Y/N on her couch, a bowl of cereal in her hands and a textbook in her lap. The domestic scene almost completely masked her slayer personality. She simply was a college student, trying her hardest to be normal, plagued with the responsibility of protecting innocent life.

Dick slid down onto the fire escape below him before leaping to one on Y/N’s building, careful not to cause any reason for a passerby to look up and see him. Perched on her fire escape, he carefully knocked on the glass of the window. She nearly jumped ten feet in the air, almost spilling her cereal. Looking over to her window, her expression showed pure confusion. Dick was surprised, he expected blind rage.

Getting off the couch, Y/N placed her cereal and textbook on her coffee table before storming over to the window, sliding it open. “What the hell? Are you stalking me now?” She whisper-shouted.

Dick shook his head, “No, no. It seems like that but I promise that’s not the case.”

Y/N sighed deeply, clearly unamused. She remained silent, crossing her arms as she stepped out of the way of the window frame, “Come on in.”

Dick slowly climbed into her apartment, hunched over for a brief moment before standing tall, scanning the room. It was simple and neat. She had multiple potted succulents and a few framed photos on the wall. She had a couch and a bean bag in her living room as well as a small tv stand and coffee table, which looked to be covered in books and paperwork. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected it to be like.

Before he got lost in thought about her apartment decor, he turned to her, “I read about the vampires and slayer lore. We didn’t have much to go by, but I found out the basics.” Dick could tell she was on the verge of interrupting, “Let me finish. I know that it’s your so called destiny to do this on your own, but I say fuck that. I want to help and technically speaking, if I’m not working with you, I’d just be hunting them down on my own. We can work together. Two minds are greater than one. You don’t have to babysit or coddle me, I get the gist of what you’re up against. Let me lighten the load. If you don’t like working together after some time, I’ll hit the road. Just give me a chance to show you I can be worth your while.”

Inhaling sharply, still with her arms crossed she spoke finally, “You’re not gonna leave me alone are you?”

Dick grinned, “Couldn’t get rid of me if ya tried.”

Feeling defeat sink in, Y/N rolled her eyes and walked back over to her couch and coffee table, resuming her spot where she was studying. “The second you get on my nerves, I’m kicking your ass.” She said, not a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.” he did the hand salute thing before taking a seat next to her on the couch.

Once more, she rolled her eyes and felt the weight of her decision start to sink in.

#nightwing x reader #nightwing #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fic #nightwing fic #dc #batman #batboys #batfamily #red hood #red robin #tim drake #jason todd #robin #nightwing x y/n #nightwing reader insert #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson reader insert

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cherrybracelets · 4 years

Text

We Fell In Love in October

dad!spencer x reader

a continuation of these blurbs. you do not need to read them to read this fic, but they all take place in the same universe

word count: 2.7k | warnings: pregnancy, hospitals, other than that all fluff

We fell in love in October, That’s why I love fall, Looking at the stars, Admiring from a far

There was nothing that broke your heart more than the fact that you were missing your daughters first time trick or treating. But, as Spencer reminded you every day, you were way too pregnant to be out walking around all night while she got candy. You were devastated, but you knew he was right. You were nearing your due date and felt like you were carrying a whale around at all times. There was absolutely no way you’d last longer than 20 minutes without whining about how your feet hurt.

So you and Spencer decided you’d stay home and hand out candy while he took Imogen to the fanciest neighborhood in your suburb so she could get the best candy. You remember trick or treating in the same neighborhood as a kid, and the houses always had full size candy bars and toys. There was one house that made a mini haunted house in their front yard every year, and it was your favorite thing as a kid. You felt sick thinking that Immy was going to experience it for the first time without you.

“You promise me you will take a ton of pictures and videos? If there’s not at least 500, we are literally getting a divorce,” you pouted, helping Spencer get his costume on.

“Babe, I promise you won’t miss a second of it. I know it sucks you can’t go, but you have to keep my little baby safe,” he smiled, kissing your swollen belly and then bringing his lips to yours, giving you a small peck.

“I’m gonna go check on her, make sure she’s got her costume all set. Why don’t you go downstairs and relax, you seem a little high strung today,” he teased, walking out of your bedroom together and into your daughters room.

“Of course I’m high strung, Spence. I’m a thousand months pregnant and you’re taking my daughter away from me to walk around alone in the dark.” You felt yourself tearing up, one again out of control of your emotions. Being pregnant fucking sucked.

“Do you not trust me to keep Immy safe? Do you know what I do for a living?” Spencer laughed, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance as you walked down the stairs to go flop on your couch.

You felt the baby kick, and you placed a hand on your belly. You both decided not to find out the gender, the same thing you did with your last pregnancy. Spencer loved not knowing, claiming you got ‘more gifts’ if you didn’t know. But it drove you crazy. Even though you didn't know for sure, Spencer was convinced it was a boy. He wanted a son so bad, so you played along with his fantasy, but you were pretty certain it was a girl. You felt the same as you did when you were pregnant with Imogen, even craving the same foods as before. You had a mother's instinct- you knew who she was.

You leaned your head back on the couch, closing your eyes to rest for a moment. You seemed to be constantly exhausted, despite spending most of the day sleeping. You slowly rubbed your belly, always afraid that if you went too long without touching her she would forget you.

“You ready, Mommy?” You heard Spencer’s voice say, from the top of the stairs. You smiled happily, keeping your eyes closed as the two of them came down to the living room in their costumes.

“Let me see my loves!” You responded, giggling in anticipation as you awaited your daughters first Halloween costume.

“Look at me, Mommy! I’m so pretty!” Imogen said, Spencer holding the girl in his arms. You opened your eyes to see her dressed as a fairy- exactly what she wanted. You felt yourself tearing up, which were a mix of happy and sad tears.

“You both look so amazing!” You stuttered, trying to get your words out through muffled cries.

“Don’t cry, Mommy!” Immy pouted, wriggling out of Spencer’s arms and onto the couch to give you a hug.

“Oh, I’m not sad, Im. You’re just so pretty!” You kissed her on the top of the head, trying not to mess up her costume.

“We should probably get going soon. I don’t want to be out too late,” Spencer frowned, checking his watch and looking outside to see if it was getting dark yet.

“Right, of course. Please keep me updated, okay?”

“Of course, my love.”

“Have fun, you guys. Be safe!”

Spencer and Imogen waved goodbye to you, blowing you a kiss as they walked out the door. You tried your best not to cry as they drove away, trying to focus on getting ready to hand candy out to other kids. You knew it was probably just your anxiety, and the fact that you and Spence had been watching scary movies every night for the past month- but you had a bad feeling about tonight. And it was only a short time later when you realized your feeling was right.

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Spencer was one of the smartest men alive- that was indisputable. But where he excelled in book smarts, sometimes his common sense was lacking. Like how he was consistently forgetting to charge his phone. So when it died after only an hour of trick or treating- probably because he hadn’t stopped taking pictures since they left- he felt like a huge idiot. Especially considering how much you reminded him to plug it in every night before bed.

But he tried not to panic, convincing himself he had recorded enough of the night to satisfy you. Plus, now he could really be in the moment with his daughter, which was what it was all about, right?

“C'mon Daddy,” Imogen groaned, pulling Spencer by the arm up to another house. And as Spencer followed his daughter, he realized where they were. This was the house. The ‘haunted house’ house that you talked about every Halloween, that the both of you were so excited for Immy to experience herself. And Spencer had promised you a thousand times over that he would record the entire experience.

‘Fuck,’ he thought to himself, shaking his head in disappointment, preparing for the inevitable fight when he had to tell you he didn’t record it. Unless, they just don’t go? That could work, right? He would just tell you that they didn’t do it this year, and next Halloween they could all go together. The plan was perfect. Except for one thing.

“Please, Daddy. I really wanna go to this house,” his daughter frowned, crossing her arms in frustration.

“Immy, please just listen to Dad, okay. Not this house.” His daughter was persistent and adorable, which made this incredibly difficult.

“No. I want to go to this one.”

“Imogen Josephine, when your Dad tells you no, you have to listen.”

“No! I want to go!” She turned around quickly, running up the driveway to the house. Spencer rolled his eyes in annoyance, chasing after her. She was running quickly, not paying attention to her surroundings. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and Spencer knew it. But he couldn’t catch up to her before disaster struck. She tripped over one of the decorations, falling on the pavement and falling on her arm.

“Ow!” She yelled, her eyes filling with tears as she sat on the ground. Spencer caught up with her, immediately getting on the ground and checking on her.

“Imogen! This is why you listen to me when I tell you no!” He yelled in frustration, trying to see just how bad her scrapes and cuts were.

“Don’t yell at me!” She responded, now fully crying and screaming.

“I’m sorry, peanut. I didn’t mean to get mad,” Spencer responded, wiping the tears from her cheeks and picking her up.

“My arm really hurts,” she wept, holding her now swollen wrist away from them.

“Okay, peanut, I think we need to go to the hospital and get that checked out,” Spencer instructed, carrying his daughter down the street and back towards their car. He knew you were going to kill him when he got a call from the hospital. He felt sick to his stomach as he got Immy in the car and started driving. What an absolute nightmare. Maybe he couldn’t do it without you. Maybe his skills as a parent were only valid if you were around to watch him.

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Seeing all of the cute kids in their costumes was definitely making you feel better. You knew you had to trust Spencer. He was an amazing Dad and husband, and he would always take care of your girl. You knew he would.

But, everything seemed to fall apart in about five minutes. It all started when you went to check Spencer’s location, a bad habit that you knew wouldn’t solve anything. When it popped up that he couldn’t be located, you felt your stomach flip and your heart skip a beat.

“Damnit Spence. Charge your fucking phone…” you whispered, shaking your head and digging your nails into your palms. It was okay, though. He was fine, they were fine. Right?

And then the worst possible thing could’ve happened. You felt a weird pain in your abdomen, one that caused you to nearly double over and fall on the floor. Only a few seconds later, it made sense. Your water broke.

You weren’t due for another two weeks. This could not be happening. There’s no way. But another contraction a few minutes later made it clear- you were having your baby, and Spencer had no phone. Holy shit.

You reached for your phone and instinctively called JJ, telling yourself it was because she lived the closest but also knowing she was the only person who could handle being in the delivery room with you if you couldn’t find your husband.

“I’m going to kill him,” you screamed into the phone, not even bothering to greet your friend or explain the situation.

“Woah, okay kiddo. What’s going on?”

“His phone is dead, and I am having this damn baby. I am going to kill him.”

“Oh, Jesus (Y/N). Okay… um… we can figure this out. Do you know what neighborhood they're in?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll send Will to go drive around and look for them. In the meantime, I am coming to pick you up and take you to the hospital. Just relax, take a few deep breaths. Everything will be fine.”

You hung up the call and grabbed your hospital bag, patiently waiting by the door. JJ was only about ten minutes away, but it felt like you were waiting for hours. You tried calling Spencer’s phone a few times, but it went right to voicemail. This could not be happening. Holy shit, this could not be happening.

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Spencer pulled into the emergency room parking lot, whipping his car through the lines as his daughter cried in the backseat. He finally found a spot, parking terribly and quickly grabbing Imogen.

“We’re here now, peanut, everything’s gonna be okay,” he reassured her, not truly believing the words himself. His heart was racing, his breath shaky and his mind going a million miles a minute. He needed to talk to you as soon as possible- he needed you to tell him, and your daughter, everything would be okay.

“Hi, um, my daughter fell and hurt her arm. I just need to get her checked in,” he spoke, his voice quick and panicky as he stood at the desk.

“Of course. What’s her name and date of birth?” The woman asked, smiling kindly at the two of them.

“Imogen Josephine Reid. She was born April 8th, 2017.”

“Oh, wonderful, I’ve got her file right here. Let’s get her admitted.”

Spencer stood impatiently, holding his daughters hand as she stood next to him, watching the secretary take her sweet time to admit Imogen. Spencer was tapping his foot in frustration, which Imogen quickly noticed, placing her free hand on his knee and telling him to stop. Spencer just laughed at his daughter, who was always so unapologetic, always just telling people whatever thoughts came to her head.

“Oh no, this is not good,” a familiar voice behind him said. He turned around quickly and saw JJ, a nauseated look on her face.

“What are you doing here…” Spencer asked, furrowing his brows in confusion. She appeared just fine, and she wasn’t with anyone else.

“Spencer, don’t freak out, but-”

“SPENCER REID!” You yelled, your face red and voice fuming.

“Wait, what is going on?” Spencer looked at you, confused, as you were being wheeled into the emergency room by a nurse.

“Why are you at the emergency room, Spencer? What happened to Imogen?”

“Hi Mommy! I fell and hurt my arm!” Imogen responded, her face stained with tears and her costume ripped from the fall.

“What?” You were seething, staring at Spencer with wide eyes. You were about to yell again, but your whole body seized and pain shot through your body. Another contraction. They were getting closer, and you knew it was only a matter of time before this baby came out. You whined loudly, gripping onto the arm of the chair and closing your eyes in pain.

“We need to get you in a room now, Mrs. Reid,” the nurse instructed, looking at JJ and Spencer.

“Wait… are you… are we having a baby?” Spencer’s eyes got wide, excitement filling his face as he realized what was going on.

“Yes, Spencer. Maybe you could try to not let this one break their arm,” you yelled, immediately noticing Spencer’s shit in tone as you yelled at him.

“Okay, okay, everyone. I’m sure what happened with Immy was an accident, right Spence?”

“Yes, yes I promise. She was running and tripped…”

“See, (Y/N)! Just an accident. So why don’t I take her to go see the Doctor and you guys can go… have your baby,” JJ smiled, doing her best to handle the situation. She was used to dealing with yours and Spencer's chaos. She was also Imogen’s godmother, and she did not take that role lightly.

“Okay… okay… let’s go have our baby.”

“Let’s go have our baby!”

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On November 1st, 2020, at 1:17 AM, your second daughter was born. You weren’t shocked at all when the doctors told you it was a girl, but Spencer was at a loss for words. They wrapped your small newborn in a blanket and handed her back to you. You were even more in love with her than you thought possible, and so was your husband.

JJ and Imogen were in the waiting room, along with Will and the rest of the team. Immy’s arm was fine- nothing more than a bad bruise. They had given her a halloween ice pack and a bag full of candy, to which JJ allowed her to have a little too much, and she crashed from the sugar rush pretty hard. She was passed out in Uncle Rossi’s arms, drooling chocolate all over his pajamas.

“Guys… she’s here.” Spencer smiled, walking out of the delivery room to share the news with his family.

“She? Another girl? I knew it. You owe me twenty bucks, Derek,” Garcia giggled, Derek rolling his eyes in response.

“Can we meet her?” JJ asked, happy to have another little girl to spoil.

“Of course. Come on!”

Rossi woke Imogen up, who was thrilled to meet her baby sister. Everyone walked quietly into the room, where you were holding your sleeping daughter in your arms. You were overjoyed to see all of them, knowing they would always be your family, and the first to meet your baby, because they were her family, too.

“Mommy!” Immy yelled, running towards you.

“Shh, be quiet, peanut. She’s sleeping!”

“Got it. Quiet.” Immy whispered, giggly as she looked down on her little sister.

“She looks like you, Spence,” Emily laughed, lightly grabbing Spencer’s shoulder.

“Do you remember how much Imogen looked like (Y/N) when she was born?” JJ asked, smiling down at the two girls.

“We now have a clone of each of us. It’s only a matter of time before we take over the world,” Spencer laughed, his arm wrapped around you and the baby.

“What’s her name?” Hotch asked.

“Lola. Lola Danielle Reid.”

“Welcome to the BAU, Lola.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dad!spencer x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction

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my-major-is-k-howard · 3 years

Text

Invisible String

Happy holidays, everyone!! It’s been a while but I thought I would post this as a gift to everyone! I hope you all are staying safe and finding ways to stay positive. You all always brighten my day and I hope this little drabble manages to brighten yours a little more. I hope you all enjoy! 💙💚

Word Count: 4574

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Anne sat on her bed gazing out her window, lost in her thoughts. Her eyes were fixed on the full moon that was rising in the sky, watching it curiously as her mind ran through different scenarios in her head of the moment she would meet her soulmate.

Anne was acutely aware that staying up late and thinking about her soulmate would not make their first meeting come any quicker but it still became a nightly tradition for Anne to stare at the moon and wonder if her soulmate was doing the same thing.

For a brief moment, Anne broke her staring contest with the moon to look down at her hands. She noticed that she was twirling the red string that was tied to her right pinky around her left index finger, a habit that Anne had formed over the years when she was thinking deeply about something.

Anne tilted her head to the side and smiled happily as she wrapped her physical connection to her soulmate around her finger once more. She thought about the person that was tied to the other end, the only other person that could see the invisible thread besides Anne. Who were they? What hobbies did they have? When was their birthday? Where did they live? Did they think about Anne late at night too?

Anne sighed to herself before checking her clock for the time. Noticing how late it had gotten, Anne reluctantly pulled her blanket over her and laid her head down on her pillow. Unfortunately, she had to be up early the next morning for work which meant she had to grind her daydreaming to halt and catch some sleep. Those thoughts of her soulmate would have to wait until the morning.

~~~

Anne groaned as she rolled over in her bed and tried to muffle the sound of her alarm with her pillow. It worked temporarily until the blaring from her phone grew too loud to ignore. Angrily, Anne threw the covers off of her and reached out to turn off her alarm.

From there, she slowly got ready for the day, putting a simple outfit together and applying some makeup before getting ready to head to the library. Anne loved working at the library, much to the dismay of her friends who never thought she would enjoy a second of quiet given her generally loud nature. Cleves often joked about how Anne would one day get fired for upsetting her boss by disrupting the peaceful atmosphere with her chaotic tendencies. Anne was determined to prove Cleves wrong.

Anne actually found the quietness of the library relaxing, especially when taking in the wealth of knowledge lining the shelves. The only downside to working at the library was her grumpy boss that always seemed to be looking for a reason to punish Anne and assign her menial tasks. The last time she had upset her boss, she had been assigned to customer service for the week to deal with the many complaints that were brought to her.

Anne shook her head and stared at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, appraising her appearance before grabbing her phone and keys. She looked to her clock and silently cursed when she saw that she was roughly ten minutes behind schedule. Not wanting to be late, Anne rushed out of her apartment and onto the street.

As Anne sped walked to the library, she couldn’t help but smile when she noticed her red string leading in the same direction that she was walking. She followed the thread’s path, thinking to herself about how amazing it would be if she finally met the person on the other end of the string. Anne contemplated briefly just following the string until she found her soulmate but quickly shook that thought out of her mind. Her boss would not only fire her if she did that but also probably hire a hitman to take her out silently.

Anne shuddered at the thought as she rounded the corner, finally seeing the entrance to the library loom before her. When she got closer, Anne did a double take as she peered more intently at the doors, not believing her eyes when she noticed a little red string leading into the library.

Anne let out a shocked gasp when she realized her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her and were actually seeing her soulmate thread leading up the steps to the library. Anne all but stumbled up the stairs in excitement, unable to control herself at the thought of finally meeting her soulmate.

She burst through the doors and smiled widely when she saw the invisible string trail over to the classics section of the library. Anne was about to follow her thread of fate when she regrettably heard her name get called by her extra grumpy-looking boss.

“Anne Boleyn!” her boss shouted, disrupting the peaceful quiet of the library. “Come here now!”

“This could not be worse timing,” Anne spat under her breath as she approached her boss, glancingly longingly to the classics where her red string led.

“Do you want to explain why you are fifteen minutes late?” her boss questioned accusingly while crossing his arms.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I was running behind schedule and didn’t have the chance to catch a cab,” Anne reasoned shooting a glance back at the direction of the classics.

“That’s no excuse,” her boss deadpanned. “You’re lucky I haven’t fired you yet for being such a pathetic excuse of an employee. You’ve earned yourself cataloguing duties today for your unexcused tardiness.”

“Yes, sir,” Anne managed to mumble out through gritted teeth. Her eyes dropped to the red string tied to her pinky. Maybe she could just take a few minutes and find her soulmate without her boss noticing.

“Now, Boleyn. The cataloguing is not going to do itself.” Her boss shut down those hopes in an instant. Anne knew that his focus would be solely on her for the rest of her shift, waiting for her to mess up so he would finally have a reason to fire her.

“Yes, sir,” Anne mumbled and walked in the direction of the cataloguing equipment. Of all the passive-aggressive punishments Anne received, cataloguing was by far her least favorite. On top of being boring, she was secluded from the rest of the library and confined to a small desk in one of the out-of-the-way corners. At least with customer service, Anne had people to interact with, even if they were usually angry moms. Cataloguing was just downright depressing.

As she walked towards the cataloguing desk, Anne shot one last glance towards the classics section. When she realized that the string was no longer leading that way, she stopped and looked around for where her soulmate had gone. Her heart dropped when she saw the string leading out the entrance of the library. Anne had come so close to meeting her soulmate only for her dreams to be crushed in a swift turn of events.

For the rest of her shift, Anne sulked in her desk chair, thinking of what might have been if she had just arrived to work fifteen minutes earlier. Anne didn’t twirl her red thread of fate and think about her soulmate like she usually did during her shifts. Instead she cursed herself for an endless list of reasons that had prevented her from finding her soulmate, possibly forever.

~~~

“Anne, you’ll find your soulmate again!” Kat encouraged Anne from her spot next to her on the couch. “If they checked out a book, they’ll have to return it eventually.”

“But it probably won’t be during my shift,” Anne complained, slumping further into the cushions as she grabbed another cookie from the table in front of her. “And even if it was, my boss will find another way to ruin my life. Again.” Anne took a bite of the cookie angrily.

“Have you tried bringing your boss coffee in the mornings?” Kat asked with a hopeful look on her face. “That sometimes works! In movies, at least.” Kat mumbled the last part under her breath before flashing Anne one of her signature smiles.

“Kitty, I love you for trying to fix my relationship with my evil boss but I could literally fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool with coffee for him and he would still hate me with every fiber of his body,” Anne lamented dramatically.

“Why don’t you just quit if you hate him so much?” Kat asked, clearly confused by Anne’s stubbornness in continuing to work at the library if she was so miserable.

Anne sighed. “Because I really like working at the library. Sure, my boss sucks and makes me do the worst jobs but being surrounded by books from so many perspectives and eras is inspiring. On the same book shelf, there can be a novel written in 1899 by a white woman empowering the independence of women from men and an autobiography by a Muslim woman recounting her activism for female education under the Pakistani Taliban. That’s incredible! And every time I check out a book that someone is reading, I have hope that the knowledge hidden within those pages will be passed on from author to reader.” Anne finished her speech with a huff. As much as she loved working at the library, it still didn’t change the fact that she had missed her only chance at meeting her soulmate.

“Well, I’m sure your soulmate would agree with that. You said they were looking in the classics section, right? That means they’re probably super smart,” Kat said in a light tone, hoping to finally break Anne out of her spell of sadness.

“And I’ll probably never see them again,” Anne replied despondently before looking to Kat with a small smile. “At least I have you. We can just move in together and forget about finding soulmates. Who needs them anyway?”

Kat smiled nervously. “Actually… about that…”

“Don’t tell me that you found your soulmate,” Anne whined and threw her head back in despair. “I’m destined to be alone forever!”

“No, you’ll find your soulmate eventually!” Kat exclaimed, preventing Anne from getting lost in her depressing thoughts. “I’m sure they’ll show up when you’re not even looking.”

Anne smiled weakly. “Thanks, Kat. I don’t believe you but your faith in me is comforting.”

“Anytime, Anne,” Kat responded, thankful for any victory in cheering Anne up no matter how small. “How about we watch a movie together! I’ll make us some popcorn!”

Anne smiled as she watched Kat run off to put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. She was thankful to have such a kind-hearted person as her cousin. Kat was always there for her when she needed her and comforted her when she was feeling down. Who needed a soulmate when there was someone like Kat in the world?

Kat stayed with Anne for the rest of the day, making sure that she was alright before Anne finally convinced her to go home. After Kat left, Anne started to get ready for bed, determined to get a full night of rest so she didn’t arrive late to work again. She changed into her pajamas and flopped onto her bed, pulling her covers over her.

Though before Anne closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, she looked out of her window to the moon that was casting its soft light into her room. Anne wondered for a moment how different her life would’ve turned out if she had met her soulmate that morning in the library. She heaved a sigh at the thought and looked down to her red string, twirling it once around her finger before letting it drop. Maybe Kat was right. Maybe her soulmate would show up when she least expected it.

Anne finally let her head drop onto her pillow and closed her eyes, waiting for her dreams to take over. She hoped that they would be pleasant dreams of unicorns and rainbows rather than nightmares of losing her soulmate before she had even found them.

~~~

Anne awoke to the sound of her alarm and immediately threw her covers off of her and slid out of bed. She swiftly turned off her alarm and got ready for the day. After adding a few final touches to her makeup, Anne deemed herself ready to leave with a final glance in the mirror.

Without missing a beat, Anne scooped up her keys and phone and left her apartment. She was greeted by the warm sunshine as she stepped outside, which brought a small smile to her face. The morning sun always made her walk to the library much more pleasant, putting her in a good mood as she ascended the stairs to the library’s entrance.

However, her good mood immediately evaporated when she saw her boss lingering by the entrance, a scowl appearing on his face as he noticed Anne approaching him.

“Boleyn, you’re early today,” her boss commented as he placed the books he was holding in the return bin next to him.

“Yes, sir. I learned my lesson yesterday,” Anne responded, forcing a smile onto her lips albeit painfully.

“Wonderful,” her boss muttered sarcastically. “You’re shelving books today. And just because you came in early doesn’t mean you get to slack off. You’d better start shelving right away.”

“Yes, sir,” Anne replied, holding back a sigh of relief that she was shelving books instead of cataloguing. Shelving books was actually one of her favorite jobs to do, since she got to see what books had been checked out recently. It was interesting to find out which books were more popular than others and which were diamonds in the rough. Anne had actually found a few lesser known books she had thoroughly enjoyed through this task.

After a few trips around the library placing books back on shelves, Anne came across her first book that belonged in the classics section. It was a compilation of Emily Dickinson poems, a book that Anne was immediately interested in. Anne had always been a huge poetry nerd, loving the aspects of both reading and writing such eloquent poems.

Anne shook her head to clear her thoughts and looked up from the book, searching the bin for a few more books belonging to the classics section of the library before making her way to return them to their spots on the shelves.

As she walked down the aisle to the classics, Anne felt her heart sag in her chest as she remembered how her red string had trailed to this area of the library the day before. Her soulmate had been standing just a few paces away from where Anne was walking now. Anne longed to turn back time to the day before and make this same trip, following her thread of fate to finally see her soulmate for the first time. But instead, Anne was doomed to the reality that she had blown her chance and her wishful thinking changed nothing about how the events had actually unfolded.

Anne sighed to herself, shoulders slumping down as she entered the first aisle to deposit a few books in their place. As Anne bounced bath and forth putting away the classics she was holding, she noticed one person arrive and begin looking around at the selection on the shelves. Anne watched the woman momentarily before sliding another book onto the shelf in front of her.

She was absolutely breathtaking, with her curly brown hair framing the sides of her face and those intelligent-looking eyes intently reading over the titles of the books in front of her. Her lips were pursed tightly together, clearly focused on finding a specific book from the shelf. Her fingers trailed along the spines of the books as she read their names, gingerly touching each one before passing onto the next.

Anne stared at the woman in awe, completely captivated by her every movement. Not only was she jaw-droppingly gorgeous, she was also in the poetry classics section which was a huge win in Anne’s book. After a few moments of admiring her, Anne’s gaze dropped to the final book in her hands, scared that the girl would catch her staring and think she was some creep.

Anne smiled when she noticed that the last book was the collection of Emily Dickinson. She also realized that the location of the book was right around where the pretty woman was scouring the shelves. Anne shot a shy glance in the girl’s direction and noticed something she hadn’t seen the first time she looked at her.

Anne did a quick doubletake and did her best to restrain a loud gasp when she finally realized that the red string tied to the woman’s hand was not a figment of her imagination but actually quite real. And Anne could see it! Anne’s soulmate was standing right in front of her. Anne’s soulmate came back.

Without a second to lose, Anne crossed the distance between them, lingering a couple steps away before clearing her throat. “Excuse me,” Anne whispered out shyly, suddenly becoming very nervous to introduce herself to her soulmate.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” the girl apologized without looking at Anne, shuffling to the side so that Anne could get a better view of the shelf.

“Um, I was actually wanting to… talk to you,” Anne answered as she looked down and shuffled with the book in her hands.

The woman finally looked away from the shelf and turned to Anne with a curious expression on her face. However, the curiosity melted away and was replaced with a look of recognition as the woman’s jaw dropped in shock. “It’s you.”

“It’s… me?” Anne tilted her head in confusion. Anne was certain this was the first time they had met. But then, why did her soulmate recognize her.

“You’re my soulmate,” the girl whispered softly. She lightly twirled the red string that tied them together around her finger and slowly trailed it toward Anne’s end. She stopped about halfway between them before dropping the string and looking back to Anne with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Anne breathed out as she slowly looked up from their red thread of fate. “But, what? How…?” Anne was at a loss for words.

“I saw you yesterday,” her soulmate admitted. “You were talking with your boss. I wanted to say something but I was too nervous to talk to you. And plus your boss didn’t seem that… friendly.”

Anne chuckled. “Yeah, he’s not my biggest fan. I’m just lucky he’s having me shelve books today instead of cataloguing for the rest of eternity.” Anne held up the sole book in her hands so that her soulmate could see it.

The girl laughed as her eyes trailed to the book Anne was holding. Her eyes lit up when she saw the cover. “Hey! That’s the book I was looking for!” She reached out to take the book from Anne and she obliged with a smile. “It wasn’t here yesterday but I wanted to check again today.”

“I’m hoping that wasn’t the only reason you came back,” Anne said with a shy smile, hope glistening in her eyes.

Anne’s soulmate returned her smile with one of her own. “Well, there’s also this really cute librarian that works here. She has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in my life and a gorgeous smile that lights up the room. She’s been on my mind since I saw her yesterday, getting yelled at by her boss. Maybe you know her?”

Anne blushed profusely at her soulmate’s words but managed to recover just in time to reply with a quip of her own. “I know her quite well actually. Her name’s Anne Boleyn and she loves reading all sorts of books, which is why she decided to work at a library. I also know that she’s been waiting her entire life to meet her soulmate and she’s happier than she’s ever been in her life right now.”

It was her soulmate’s turn to blush this time. “That’s really sweet, Anne.”

Anne smiled victoriously as she saw her soulmate’s cheeks heat up. “So, can I get your name, love?”

The girl’s eyes widened as her blush deepened, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself yet. “Yes! Sorry! I’m Catherine Parr, but most people call me Cathy.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cathy,” Anne said, savoring the feeling of her soulmate’s name rolling off her tongue. She could definitely get used to saying it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too-” Cathy began but was cut off by another voice.

“Anne Boleyn! Stop slacking off and get back shelving books! You’ll be lucky if I don’t fire you after this shift for your misbehavior.” Anne’s boss suddenly appeared in the aisle behind Anne, who turned to see the man standing with his arms crossed and a condescending look on her face.

Before she could apologize, Cathy cut in with her own response. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir! She was just helping me find a book. I didn’t mean to distract her from her job.” Cathy turned her attention back to Anne. “What was that book you were telling me about?”

Anne’s eyes flashed with relief before replying, “It’s a collection of poems from the Harlem Renaissance. It’s one of my favorites.” Anne turned to her boss and ducked her head in apology. “I’ll get right back to shelving books after I find this woman the book I was recommending, sir.”

Her boss grumbled to himself before nodding curtly and walking away. Anne let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding until he left. She looked back to Cathy with a huge smile. “Thank you for that. You probably saved me from a month’s worth of customer service duty.”

Cathy giggled at Anne’s way of thanking her. “You’re welcome! Now, do you want to show me that book on the Harlem Renaissance?”

Anne nodded and quickly led Cathy to the right aisle and pulled out the book. She handed it to Cathy with a grin. “My shift ends in an hour and a half if you want to go somewhere after.” Anne bit her lip nervously, hoping that Cathy wouldn’t reject her.

Much to her relief, Cathy smiled warmly and nodded. “I would love to.”

“Awesome! That’s great!” Anne replied excitedly, staring back at Cathy for a few seconds as they both took in the other as their moment of silence stretched longer.

“You should probably get back to shelving books before your boss yells at you again,” Cathy remarked, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’ll be in the reading section when your shift is over.”

“Yeah! Okay!” Anne stuttered out. “I’ll see you later.” Before Anne could think about what she was doing, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Cathy’s cheek, leaving both girls blushing as Anne pulled away. “Bye!”

Cathy bit her lip before breathing out a small “bye” as she watched Anne walk off to continue shelving books.

Anne spent the rest of her shift running back and forth, depositing books back in their places on the shelves. Though, a few times Anne took the long way to her destination just so she could walk by the reading section and take a few moments to watch Cathy read. Anne’s heart fluttered when she noticed that Cathy was now wearing reading glasses. She didn’t know it was even possible but Cathy’s frames made her even cuter to Anne as she read one of Langston Hughes’ poems from the book Anne had picked out for her.

The final 90 minutes of Anne’s shift passed incredibly slowly, which only made Anne even more excited when it finally ended. She signed out of her shift mere seconds after it ended and sped directly to the table where Cathy was intently reading another poem from the Harlem Renaissance collection. In fact, she was so focused on the page in front of her that she didn’t even notice Anne slide into the seat in front of her.

Anne picked up on this and took a few moments to admire her soulmate. Her heart started beating a little quicker and she felt butterflies erupt in her stomach when it finally sunk in that Cathy was really her soulmate. Anne silently declared herself the luckiest person in the world to have someone like Cathy as a soulmate.

“You are so much more beautiful than I ever could’ve imagined,” Anne blurted out before her eyes widened as she realized she had said that thought out loud.

Cathy looked up from her book with a little smile. “I could say the same thing.”

Anne ducked her head to hide the color creeping into her cheeks and cleared her throat. “Um, do you like the book so far?” Anne gestured to the poem collection in Cathy’s hands.

“Yeah! It’s amazing!” Cathy responded ecstatically. “You have really good taste in poetry.”

“So do you!” Anne pointed out and glanced at the Emily Dickinson collection lying on the table. “I love Emily Dickinson!”

An annoyed shush caused the couple to jump in their seats. They ducked their heads sheepishly when they realized how loud and disruptive they were being.

“Maybe we should get going now,” Anne suggested.

“Maybe we should,” Cathy agreed.

The two queens got up from the table and made their way hand-in-hand out of the library. Anne shot a quick glance at their intertwined fingers and smiled when she saw the red string hanging below their hands, swinging back and forth as they walked. Anne had spent so many years twirling that red thread by herself, longing to do what Anne was doing in that moment. Longing to hold hands with her soulmate. Longing to smile and laugh with her soulmate. Longing to kiss her soulmate. Longing to build a future with her soulmate.

A rush of emotions overtook Anne for a moment as all of her midnight daydreams came back to mind, suddenly much more vivid and only an arms-reach away. She stopped walking and squeezed Cathy’s hand to get her attention. Cathy turned back to her with concern in her eyes, noticing the near-desperate look on Anne’s face.

“Is everything okay-” Cathy was cut off by a pair of lips being pressed desperately to hers. Cathy smiled into the kiss before melting into the slow rhythm and movement of their lips. Anne tenderly brought her free hand to Cathy’s cheek, slowly caressing it as she pulled away.

“Sorry, I just-” Anne started but was cut off by Cathy.

“Don’t apologize!” Cathy pressed her forehead to Anne’s gently. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to do that.”

Anne blinked slowly as she took a second to treasure the special moment that she had just shared with Cathy. They had just shared their first kiss, the first of many Anne hoped.

Anne sighed happily and pulled away from Cathy, bringing their intertwined hands up to her lips and pressing a light kiss to the back of Cathy’s. Anne’s eyes darted momentarily to their red thread of fate which was no longer red anymore. A glistening gold had mysteriously replaced the crimson red it was before.

Anne’s eyes trailed up from the string to meet Cathy’s soft gaze. They both let a grin take over their features before Anne finally broke the silence between them.

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

#parrlyn #parrelyn #parrlyn fanfic #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #anne boleyn #catherine parr #anne boleyn x catherine parr

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shihozaki · 3 years

Note

TW mention of anxiety

hi!! im so excited for your matchup event and i’ve really liked your writing style so far :) if it’s not too much trouble, i’d like to request a haikyuu male matchup please!! my name is joyce, i’m 17, and i use she/her pronouns. (i’ll message you my appearance and stuff :D )

i’m ISTP-T, a slytherin, and leo. my voice is pretty quiet and i’m just a quiet person overall when i’m around new people (social anxiety goes brr). i love baking, making hyper specific spotify playlists, and reading. i don’t really show my emotions well and i have pretty bad RBF so i usually come off as cold even when i dont mean to according to what my closest friends told me. also my self esteem goes from *i am the sexiest mf to walk this earth* to *im an ugly POS and deserve nothing* with no in between

my love language is anything tbh but especially gift giving and physical touch, even though i’m terrified of initiating it bc i didn’t really grow up in an affectionate household and i think i might be touchstarved :/. quality time is also nice since i’m completely down to just sit in comfortable silence with them, spending time together

in an SO, the most important thing is that they need to understand sometimes i just need time to myself. i’m not mad at them at all but i tend to isolate myself whenever my mental health deteriorates and i sometimes go a few days without contacting people simply bc i don’t have the energy to do so. whenever it does deteriorate, it’s usually because i just feel really down out of nowhere and it lasts 12 hours to a week.

i don’t really mesh well with clingy or unloyal people. i feel like i’d be okay if my SO focused on volleyball a lot bc i respect that they need time to work on their own things, so i wouldn’t say i’m necessarily needy in relationships. an ideal first date to me is going to an amusement park. i LIVE for the adrenaline roller coasters give me and i just think everything about it is super fun. plus it minimizes the chance for awkwardness bc there’s so much to do :D (i’m kinda awkward around people i don’t click with so uh yeah)

my favorite relationship dynamic is light hearted bullying. making fun of people and getting made fun of (with love ofc) is definitely a love language, and i’m not taking criticism <3 but i still want to be able to talk to them about serious stuff so knowing that i can wholeheartedly trust them is big for me

my athleticism is close to zero so in the HQ universe i’d probably be a manager. actually, i would give ANYTHING to be able to manage a team in haikyuu so rip 😔🤚

other facts:

i have a huge caffeine addiction bc i’m usually tired/sleep deprived (monster energy, coffee, whatever)

i also just love coffee in general (the aesthetic, the smell, everything is *chefs kiss*)

i’m more of a cat person but i still think dogs are so cool

my relationship w my parents SUCK so bad

i’m 90% book smart (my one flex is being good at math) and 10% street smart/common sense

even though i can bake well, i can’t cook for sh*t unless it’s avocado toast which i can make surprisingly well

i can be eliminated by a single peanut

Big Anxiety bc the only way i could get approval from my parents growing up was straight As and now my biggest fear is being unsuccessful 😎

artists i’m obsessed w right now are cigarettes after sex, chase atlantic, lil peep, the 1975, arctic monkeys, conan gray, and lana del rey

i love wearing my SO’s clothing and all of a sudden, their closet is now ~Our Closet~

thank you so much for doing this, and i look forward to the progress you’ll make in writing and whatever else you choose to set your mind to <3

Hi! Thank you for requesting! I’m also a Slutherin and a Leo, happy to meet you :)

I pair you up with Tooru Oikawa!

- You guys first met when you signed up to be your school’s volleyball team’s manager. Oikawa was immediately intrigued. A girl who doesn’t immediately faint when he waves at them? Wow.

- When he first made you smile, he KNEW he had to ask you out.

- First date at the amusement park, just like you suggested. Oikawa was a bit shocked that you enjoyed rollercoasters but that just made him more interested in you.

- Since he is the captain of his Volleyball team, and quite obsessed with the sport, he is willing to give you lots of time for yourself. He does check on you from time to time though, maybe by texting or giving a call :)

- Never makes you uncomfortable. He knows how you don’t do well in social situations, so he didn’t even tell his volleyball mates that you had started dating (of course they somehow found out later)

- Teases you SO. MUCH. Always makes some type of remark about your height and how much you drink coffee (even though he buys you coffee for Volleyball practice)

- He can always make you smile. He brings out the “Leo” side of you often, and raises your confidence up. In return, you help him with the “book smarts.”

- You guys trust one another and understand each other well. Even if you guys have a “silent date” (where you are reading and he’s watching videos of volleyball matches), you don’t feel any awkwardness.

- He hates it when your self esteem is low. He doesn’t understand how such an amazing girl could feel that way.

- Oikawa’s self esteem is sometimes kind of low too, so whenever you give him a motivational playlist on Spotify, he listens to it on repeat.

- Overall you guys bring out the best out of each other :)))

Scenario: When you guys talk about the future.

“We could get a cat.” You suggested. “A cat?” Oikawa quickly wrote down ‘cat’ on the list named ‘our future’. “We need a name.” You claimed. Oikawa shrugged. “How about… ‘Peanuts’.” “No.” Oikawa laughed. “I think it would be ironic. It’s a cute name too.” You rolled your eyes. “Okay, let’s scratch that then. What about our jobs?” You asked. “Quite obvious. I want to be a professional volleyball player.” Replied Oikawa. He grabbed the pillow from the couch and pretended to set it, acting as if it was a volleyball. “Yeah… I believe you can do it.” You smiled at Oikawa. Oikawa’s eyes met yours. “What about you, Joyce?” He questioned. You stayed silent for a bit. “.. I’m not too sure. I just don’t want to make a mistake and choose the wrong career, you know? I don’t want to fail.” You mumbled. Oikawa slowly moved towards you and pulled you into his arms. You immediately relaxed on him, your heartbeat going slightly bit faster. “You won’t.” Oikawa declared. “I’m sure no matter what you do, you’ll be great. There’s so many things to choose from, Babe. You’re gonna be okay.” You smiled. “Besides,” Oikawa added with a smirk on his face, “You might not need a job if you have me as your husband.”

Song: Campus by Vampire Weekend

I hope you enjoyed it, thank you once again! Constructive criticism is encouraged :) I hope to see you again soon!

#haikyuu matchups #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #oikawa x reader #matchup #matchups open #haikyuu!!

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noocturnalchild · 3 years

Text

Of Thieves and Poets

Warning : Mention of abuse, light depiction of wounds, hurt

Well, that was a hard chapter to write, mainly cause I’m still strugling with my English, and sometimes, ideas are here but I find no words to describe them as I want to !

Many thanks to a great friend who’s always been there to beta read my fics and correct the MANY language mistakes I’m still making,it’s a shame that I can’t tag her here !

Sara maybe you’ll never read this but I LOVE YOU ( this is me talking to myself lol)

Also many thanks to all who are sharing and liking my fics, I love you guys, you are the best !

All the poetry in this chapter is William Carlos Williams’ !

Chapter one here !

Chapter 2

Give me something to eat! Let me take you to the hospital, I said and after you are well you can do as you please. She smiled, Yes you do what you please first then I can do what I please

“Who’s she?”

The day Laura died, he wrote his most accomplished poem. It rested between her cold fingers, folded in a small sheet of damp paper and he briefly wondered if the dead could read. Heavy rain washed the sleepy city that day, and everyone said that they’d never seen so many white peonies in the same place before. He buried all his other poem books with her, tucked between her curls and the black and white satin.

He never made a copy.

Paterson didn’t write love poems anymore. But never were his fingers as ink stained, bruised and abused by so many hours spent writing as they were now, and never was his desk inundated by so many notebooks. They piled up in complete disorder, competing with books and tools, making the old wood squeak uncomfortably.

“Who’s she”

Only now he saw her fiddling with the framed photo he kept on his living room table, so that it was always the first thing he saw as he woke up.

“Wife?”

Paterson didn’t answer.

Mina had her back turned to him. She couldn’t see the man’s eyes watering, or the frown of his brows, nor could she feel his struggle with his breath, repressing the tides of anguish that menaced to crash on him again.

“Gorgeous, dude! bet she gives great head” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, winked suggestively.

Beaming and smug at the same time, Mina looked like one who’s sure just dropped something so smart and funny, completely oblivious of the hands clutching on the cold marble of the kitchen counter. White knuckles, white pain…

“No complaints.“

Paterson’s reply of choice. Life was going on for everybody, for him too. Doc got a TV in his bar after all. Marie went to New York and Everett to LA. And he was still a bus driver, eating cereals every morning, writing in his yellow pages and sitting on the wet benches of Paterson’s waterfalls, so why would he complain?

“Go and freshen up, bathroom first door to the left”

“You’re no fun” She stuck out her tongue and left. Paterson couldn’t be mad.

Laura was laughing, straddling the arm of the sofa and eyeing him with mischief in her eyes. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Won’t ya help me with my clothes?”

“I can’t do much with a broken wrist”

“It hurts”

(…)

“Dude, come on, so prudish!”

Laura had a hand on her mouth now, in mock shock, her eyes were still laughing, and Paterson was confused, a pretty blush rising to his cheeks. He remembered now that the only clothes he had that might fit Mina were Laura’s, and even those were big for the bony creature waiting for his help in his bathroom.

“Hold… hold on a second”

Paterson drew in a shaky breath, fetched one of his sleep shirts from his bed drawers, strode to open the bathroom door and… oh God.

A trembling dry leaf stood before him. Only in her white crop top and equally white panties; Paterson imagined her cracking under the passers-by’s soles, giving in under their rough stumpings, each one leaving a stain on her weak frame. Paterson’s eyes descended to her bare thighs, and she kept her eyes on the floor.

“Jesus… Who… who did this to you?”

Her thighs were a hideous map, little red and yellowish scabbed dots and circles on tarnished, discolored skin.

She shrugged, eyes avoiding his. Why would he care, why was he so insistent, why couldn’t he just be like the others, why won’t he try something with her, on her, like she deserves… she would let him, this one, she would.

“Just help me with my top” a wobbly voice replied, but Paterson was already looking for something in his medicine cabinet.

“Sit on the stool there” His hands were shaking as he put the ointment and the bandages on the side and proceeded to wet a washcloth.

“Can… I?” He kneeled, and their eyes met. She kept silent and nodded and he thought the sparkle in her eyes was gratitude.

With infinite gentle touches, Paterson washed her thighs and legs, dried them carefully, applied the ointment and wrapped them in clean bandages.

Laura was watching in reverence. The scene exuded something religious; the saint washing the sinner’s faults. And none spoke a word.

Afterwards, Mina laid in white clean sheets, but for all the comfort she had, she couldn’t sleep the few hours separating the night from dawn. She counted the hours, watching the bus driver as he slept peaceful and soft; not so far from her spot on the sofa.

The domestic rituals, the warm clothes, the vanilla soap smell lingering, the nice buzzing of the fridge in a quiet space, and the dim light he kept on just for her… His… his kindness coiled her like sticky ropes. Mina was suffocating.

She got up, slid in her dirty jeans, but kept his shirt on, and with a final brush of his hair, she took his watch and slipped out of the quiet house, and the monsters took her in their arms again.

***

Recycled air and synthetic notes, shopping carts rolling and low, lustful giggles.

With his favorite brand of cereal in hand, Paterson’s food shopping was almost done for the day. He was just strolling, verses starting to form in the fog of his mind as he saw two forms melting in each other, just against one of the snack vending machines. A smile began to tug on his lips. Life was simple, young lovers making out in malls and supermarkets, in the streets and gardens; the boy handsy, in baggy jeans and a loose jumper, fake golden chains around black collar, the girl…the girl.

Paterson’s mind went blank, and verses fled away like frightened pigeons.

“Oi man, whatcha lookin’ at!”

The guy addressed a dazed Paterson, and the girl turned her head from off her lover’s chest.

In all the scenarios she imagined at night, curled up in the corners of the streets and between the brushwood of the parks , meeting him again while in the arms of another man was never on the list. It shouldn’t be like that, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. He shouldn’t think that she… but what was she anyway? She was everything he might think of her now.

He was so beautiful she wanted to bury her pain in his chest, between the threads of his regal hair. Curl all the hurt in a bundle and he would take it, in his large warm palm. He would know how to make it disappear, like by magic, vanish in thin air. With a touch of his finger pads, he could wash away scars; wipe away the purples and the blues and the burns. He was so clean she feared to touch him. He was so wholesome and she felt so queasy, so sickening she wanted to puke. Her hand skimmed the hidden pocket in her rat nibbled jean vest; the watch was still there, burning a hole in its worn fabric. She didn’t pass it on to Ian. It earned her new cigarette burns and a slap that made her nose bleed a little, but she had survived worse treatments.

“Who’s that, you know that guy? You do boring now?”

Carlos giggled, showcasing many missed teeth. He pinched her sides playfully, slapped her cheek playfully, squeezed her tits playfully, and she wished to die.

“Yo dude, wanna suck my dick? Ow no? Maybe a threesome? My chick here gives amazing head”

Oh, that again.

“See, not interested”

Carlos giggles sounded like gallows bells.

“I’m not your chick, for fuck’s sake!”

Mina screamed in frustration, pushed a stunned Carlos away, wriggled free from his sloppy hold, hand reaching out for salvation.

“I’m… I’m sorry!”

What she meant to be loud and clear, came out as a choked whisper.

But Paterson was already turning his back to her. This time he didn’t wait for her, not even a hum or a discarding hand, his long silhouette drawing away, swallowed by the light.

Life was going on, no complaints.

***

Mina was out, really out.

Even when she told him she wouldn’t play “pretend” with him anymore, Carlos still hung around for some time, and the money she could get from him she saved with scrutiny, starving herself to death. She never came back to the “pack”; her steps always took her to the quiet small house at the end of the stairs. She lurked there, watching when the lights went on, and stayed hunched behind shrubs and bushes, clutching the watch to her heart, listening to their combined tic tic tic… the mechanics soothed her, and she slept there every night.

Whatever happens, never sell the watch.

She started doing windshield scrubbing too, helped some nice grocery shop owners with their crates for some dollars, and by the end of the month she could buy a dozen cigarette packs and tissue boxes to sell in the streets. She was always hungry, but at least she could picture him in the back of her mind smiling, not disappointed in her anymore. He might not know, for now, but the thought was comforting. The thought was like a pier, supporting the bridge she was building towards him and she was sure she would reach him again, one day.

***

Sun benches at the curb bespeak another season, truncated poplars that having served for shade served also later for the fire.

It was Saturday morning. The rainy clouds of the day before blew over for a shiny crystal sun to come out. Excitement and expectations wired the air with buzzing electricity around Hinchliff Stadium. Kids and teens, middle aged and old people formed noisy groups, stomping on empty chips bags and placing bets.

Mina thought herself lucky when she laid hands on second hand baseball game tickets. Her wrist completely healed now, she roamed the area around the stadium, surfed the crowd, hands full, voice rusty from a cold she was nursing, over exploited vocal chords, yelling, trying to convince hurried passers-by to buy, by means of jokes and charms.

That’s when she saw him.

“Fuckin’ Carlos” a livid Mina stumbled a few steps backward, eyes seeking a gap between the crowds, quickly calculating her way out.

Fuck!

She could recognize Ian’s red sneakers anywhere. She thanked the heavens for his poor cover-up skills, giving her the high ground for a moment. She knew he could see her, but she took her chance. One group blocked his vision for a moment, and Mina took off her oversized leather jacket, let her hair down and started to walk slowly in the opposite direction.

She mentally counted to ten, chewing furiously on an overused gum, her hands started sweating. She knew that if caught this time, it wouldn’t just be cigarette burns on her thighs.

So Mina ran.

She ran aimlessly, not looking back, eyes closed and breath shagged. She could feel the adrenaline rush shot through her bones, just like every time she plunged her skillful hands inside the pockets of an oblivious passer-by, but this time there would be no euphoria of the gain waiting at the end of the road, just a sliced head.

Five minutes of sprinting and she couldn’t take it anymore, were her lungs that damaged? Fuck you Carlos, couldn’t keep his trap shut! Fuck! She was losing speed, she could hear Ian’s red sneakers batting the asphalt, tap tap tap, just behind. It was common belief that, at moments like these, the film of your whole life would flash back before your eyes, that the spool of all your wrongs would unfurl the threads that would wind around your legs and throat, choke you to death, drag you to hell. But Mina only saw two amber gems, Mina saw warmth and large, strong arms wrapping her in endless depths of comfort, and she felt peace descend upon her, Mina saw the future so she ran faster, and this time, with one destination in mind.

#paterson #adam driver #paterson x original female character #paterson 2016 #adam driver fanfics #fanfics #hurt #she's a mess #forgive her #he's wholesome #pat needs a hug #paterson fan fics

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final-girl96 · 3 years

Text

Radioactive Spider Bite

Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Warnings: language, vilonce, muture content? Maybe later on?, jealousy, death, idk its marvel... slow updates.

A/N: please don't be rude. Feed back is welcome but be kind. If there is any little details you would like to change to fit your style and personality please do so. This will also be on my WATTPAD along with all my other stories. This begins with Civil War when Peter comes home to find Tony Stark there. It will go to Homecoming, Infinity War, End Game, Far From Home, and then when No Way Home is out and I watch it the story will continue as long as there is a new movie with Spider-Man.

Word Count: 1106

Captian America: Civil War

Chapter One

Peter Park was my best friend since we were six when he moved in upstairs with his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. May always watched me when my mom was out of town on a business trip which was often. With Peter living a floor above me, we always used the fire escape to get to each other's bedrooms. Often sitting outside for hours talking.

Peter and I were very different people. Where he was extremely book smart, I was street smart. I wouldn't be passing any of my classes if it wasn't for Peter. He was always helping me with homework and to study for tests. That's why I didn't get it when he dragged me to the science exhibit. That's where it all went weird. I was taking pictures when I felt a pinch on my hand "ouch!" I said and looked down to see a red and blue spider. I was about to smack it when a hand grabbed my wrist. "Stop," Peter said and picked it up off my hand only to be bitten too and dropping it. "You were saying?" I said. "You can't kill it. It was only trying to defend itself," he said rubbing his hand.

That was six months ago. Now, we both have some abilities that spiders have and other abilities as well like... Superhuman strength, agility, endurance, ability to stick to and climb walls and other surfaces. Peter made self-designed web-shooters that allowing us to fire and swing from sticky webs, he uses it more than me. We also have some kind of special "Spider-Sense" that warns us of incoming danger. Once the shock wore off Peter was all into being some kind of superhero. He went around the city saving people from "evil" and other things, he made a suit (that looks ridiculous) and everything. I wasn't all that into it, I never used the web-shooters or went out doing good like he did.

That was until one day Peter and I came home from school walking intp the apartment and Tony Stark was there at the apartment talking to May in the living room on thw couch.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Peter and I stood in the elevator going up to the seventh floor. He had t.v. box or something in his hands to work on one of his projects and I was on my phone and we both had earbuds in with on hanging out so we could hear each other. The elevator dinged and the door opened. We walked out and to his apartment as he pulled his keys out and unlocked the door. We walked in not even looking at May. "Hey, May," we both said. Peter grunted as his backpack fell off his shoulder and ended up tripping me since I was paying attention making me fall into him. "Ow," I whispered. "Hmm. Hey," May said as we set our stuff down.

"Dude, watch where you drop your shit," I said pushing him as we walked into the kitchen. "Watch where you're going," he laughed and pushed me back. "How was school today?" May asked. "Sucked!" I said. "It was okay," Peter said. "What's up with the car outside?" I asked. "Yeah, there this crazy car parked outside," Peter said and we both came to a stop looking into the living room to see May sitting on the couch with Tony Stark. "Holy shit," I said and hit Peter in the chest with the back of my hand. He grabbed it as he grunted. I sometimes forget about the super strength we have.

"Oh, Mr. Parker and Miss. Jones," Tony said. "Um..." peter and I both said. Peter was a huge fan of Tony Stark aka Iron-Man. "What are you doing... Hey! Uh, I'm... I'm... I'm Peter," Peter stuttered out. I rolled my eyes "pretty sure he knows that Pete," I said sarcastically. "Shut up, y/n," Peter said. "Tony," Mr. Stark said. "What are you... what're you doing here?" Peter asked crossing his arms. I stood beside him and crossed my arms as well. "It's about time we met. We've both been getting my emails, right?" Mr. Stark asked. "Yeah. Yeah," Peter said. "Right?" He asked me. "Oh. Umm. I have no idea. I don't look at my email," I said shrugging, and Peter looked at me. "What?" I asked and shook his head looking back at Mr. Stark.

"Yeah. Regarding the..." Peter started but May cut him off. "You didn't tell me about the grant," she said. "About the grant," Peter said. "Grant?" I asked. "The September Foundation," Mr. Stark said. "I'm confused," I said. "Check your email," Peter said. "Remember when you two applied," Mr. Stark said. "I did..." I started but Peter cut me off. "Yeah," he said smiling. "I approved, so now we're in business," Mr. Stark said. I just stood there still confused. "But you didn't tell me anything. What's up with that? You're keeping secrets from me now? What's up with that?" May asked.

"We... we just know how much you love surprises so we thought we would let you know..." Peter stuttered out. "Anyway. What did we apply for?" I asked Mr. Stark. "That's what I'm here to hash out," he said. I nodded my head. "Okay. Hash it out, okay," Peter said. "It's so hard for me to believe that she's someone's aunt," Mr. Stark said about May. My eyebrows shot up as May laughed and blushed. "Yeah, well, we come in all shapes and sizes, you know," she said. I grabbed Peter's arm and we looked at each other before looking back at the two adults. "This walnut date loaf is exceptional," Mr. Stark said.

Peter held his left hand out "Let me just stop you there," he said. "Yeah," Mr. Stark said. "Is this grant got money involved or whatever? No?" Peter asked putting his hands behind his back. "Yeah, it's pretty well funded," Mr. Stark told us. "Yeah? Wow," Peter and I said. "Look who you're talking to. Can I have five minutes with them?" Mr. Stark asked May. "Sure," she said. He stood up and Peter grabbed my wrist pulling me along "my rooms this way," he said and we lead Mr. Stark to Peter's room. We looked at Mr. Stark who closed and locked the door before walking over to the small trash bin in the corner and spit something in it. "As walnut date loaves go, that wasn't bad," he said.

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blackhyena · 3 years

Text

gothank you @slutteryingreen for tagging me to uhhh. do this deep dive i guess.

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? black ideally but like, whatever’s there in practice? i seem to have got hold of an aqua blue bastard right now and i feel somewhat foolish

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? i love the country but i need to be in a city where everything is convenient and it feels like im part of.... something at least. the idea of being far from amenities is quite frightening to me given how paranoid i can be lmao

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? i know i already play guitar but i would like to be actually genuinely good at it rather than mediocre. i also would like to be better at doing makeup, and i’d really love to be able to make my own clothes alas i can’t even work a sewing machine

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? i do not

5. What was your favourite book as a child? omg megan horrible histories is such a shout. i did love those dragonology/egyptology/pirateology books though i still have them somewhere cause im not throwing away QUALITY like that

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? showers

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? Oh To Be A Gender Non Conforming Vampire

8. Paper or electronic books? paper

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? my assorted flashy blazer collection

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? i mean.... it’s unusual, and i suppose that makes it feel very personal to me. but then also i love my nicknames/alternative names so much, i have genuinely considered changing it, but then i also like the idea of going by several variously

11. Who is a mentor to you? ummm. literally? my supervisor

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? i still daydream about being a musician, that hasnt changed since i was really small haha. though sometimes in my daydreams i am also a screenwriter/director maybe. i don’t know. id hate to be super famous though megan is on the money, gotta be niche

13. Are you a restless sleeper? hmm, i take ages to get to sleep but when im out i am OUT. as in people have to make sure im not dead out.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? in every sense of the word!

15. Which element best represents you? this is probably just from astrology shit but i think air is also quite representative of me!

16. Who do you want to be closer to? oh to be close to someone! in this economy...

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? SEE ABOVE. everyone!!!!!

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory: my two cousins arguing over who got to give me a horse-ride in my nana’s living room, meanwhile i’m crying in the corner begging them not to fight

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? oh take your pick! chicken hearts, ostrich, springbok.... all very delicious would recommend

20. What are you most thankful for? im very loved by my family and friends 🥺 even though i can get insecure and not realise it, it’s something i need to commit to heart more often.

21. Do you like spicy food? yes but my body does not. doesn’t stop me though!

22. Have you ever met someone famous? ive met miles kane! and jason manford. and some randos from coronation street. oh and kate mulgrew. and lee mack, who was getting my train along with catherine tate. there’s probably more ive forgotten.

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? lol NO but i do have a planner because if i didnt my life would have fallen apart completely by now.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? pen.

25. What is your star sign? libra

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? crunchy... but i also don’t eat cereal. ive fully gone off milk (no pun intended)

27. What would you want your legacy to be? that i created something beautiful or though-provoking, or at least funny

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? ahah if i didnt like reading doing what i do then id be FUCKED. i just finished reading the ebb-tide by robert louis stevenson!

29. How do you show someone you love them? i get them something nice... i suck at expressing it because i’m so nervous it won’t go down well. a gift does nicely to get around that.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? i guess?

31. What are you afraid of? failing.... being forgotten.....rejection.... oh and wasps, hugely. bug sounds freak me the fuck out!!!!

32. What is your favourite scent? woody, earthy rain smells. and jasmine/honeysuckle too i suppose

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? i... whatever they go by????

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? my house would be so beautifully hideous and full of beautifully hideous clothes.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? pools, just cause i can’t be dealing with salt water in my nose where it has no business being

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? i .... GUESS i would turn it in to see if anyone had lost it, but you can bet i’d be fuming

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? no!!! i think i’m too short-sighted to pick most of them out. really mad about that actually why did you ask

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? im not planning to have kids but i did come to a conclusion that, while formerly i would have simply told them to be kind, i would also tell them to be smart. because natural intelligence aside critical thinking is a GIFT and they should rightly question everything rather than taking it as gospel.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? urgh i know exactly what i would get and if covid/money/parental expectations truly were no object i’d be getting little fragments of cathedral architecture from all the cities i’ve lived in tattooed on my wrists.

40. What can you hear now? the garage door creaking open under our flat

41. Where do you feel the safest? at home, with a cat curled up on my bed.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? insecurities yes.... anxieties.... fears.... all that. i should get therapy probably

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? it would not be permanent because i do NOT want to live without modern niceties but i WOULD go back to the eighteenth century/regency.... and just meet some people i’ve been reading about in the flesh, and see if they live up to the hype.

44. What is your most used emoji? red love heart emoji....

45. Describe yourself using one word. odd...

46. What do you regret the most? not sticking up for people being bullied at school. i know it was a self preservation thing at the time and i was a kid and didnt necessarily know better but like.... i wish i hadnt tried to distance myself from it, i could have been a lot more empathetic and made the world a bit kinder for people going through it, you know?

47. Last movie you saw? belle!

48. Last tv show you watched? succession

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. you know when you give your cat a gentle shove and it rolls over dramatically onto its back? that’s tipcat.

i tag @ceolfriths @wutheringdyke @mycravatundone @colubride @renfield @goblinmarquess

#text post

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

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Flatbush & Atlantic: part iv

And here’s part iv! I’d love it if y’all would reblog, this is a work I’m really proud of and the more people it’s shared with the better! My inbox is always open, and I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just “AAAAAH.” Enjoy!

part i part ii part iii

part iv

December 12

Cass grimaced, looking over at the tab on her laptop that had the Islanders game open. They were down 3-1 late in the third, and it didn’t look like they were going to be able to pull it off. It was the last game of a ten day roadie, and they had lost all but one against the Red Wings right at the beginning. And the Wings were 10-21, so it wasn’t even a confidence booster. To make matters worse, Mat was on a points drought; he hadn’t gotten an assist, let alone scored, since the first game of the trip, a 4-1 loss to the Blue Jackets. They also were playing a few players down, an MCL sprain and the ever-vague “lower body injury” kept the team from being at full strength.

As the game came to a close, she didn’t even know if Mat wanted to talk to her. His relentless dedication was one of her favorite things about him, but it also led him to take things way too personally and be way too hard on himself even when — especially when — the situation didn’t call for it. He was probably beating himself up as the boys headed back into the locker room, being short with his teammates and trainers and whatever poor sports reporter had been sent to ask “how they planned on snapping this unfortunate streak” in the post-game interviews. He’d never be deliberately mean or unkind to anyone, but just like anyone, her boyfriend got stressed and overwhelmed and didn’t always know how to deal with it. I saw the game, she texted him, I’m proud of you. Call me if you want.

Dec. 15 (wed)

Mat had barely spoken to her since the return from the roadie, and it was starting to get on her nerves. Texts were responded with single words, if they were answered at all. They were supposed to have visited the Met yesterday , but that hadn’t happened either. He had cancelled, saying that “some team thing came up” and he wouldn’t be able to make it. Barely apologized. And what pissed Cass of more than almost anything was that she wanted to help, she wanted so badly for him to just talk to her, she wouldn’t judge him or make him feel like he was a shitty player or a shitty person, but she couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even picking up her damn calls. Who do you talk to when there’s almost nobody in the world who understands the position you’re in?

Maybe that was just it. She’d go to the people who did understand. Paige had added her to the WAGs Whatsapp group the week prior, and from everything she had gathered so far, it was exactly the sort of place to go for advice. Cass pulled up the chat, torn between not wanting to seem like she was oversharing but not really sure what else she could do. Hey, guys, she started. Mat’s been taking the losing streak pretty personally (as I’m sure a lot of your guys are) and seems to be pulling away. Any advice? I don’t want to push him but I know it’ll get worse if he just keeps it all bottled inside. Clicking send, Cass sighed, leaning back in her desk chair and trying desperately to study for her Environmental Law final.

At some point after midnight, she closed her books and laptop with frustration. The test wasn’t until next week, but she wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to study as distracted as she was. She grabbed her phone, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and check the group chat. No fewer than six of the women had written back, some of whom she hadn’t even met, with long, sympathetic paragraphs overflowing with advice. She read them all, touched by the time, effort, and care that everyone has put into making her feel just a little less anxious. But the overwhelming message was clear. Find balance, but don’t let him blow you off. Be a support system, but you’re not his therapist. And repeated again and again, Talk to him.

She tapped out a message before she turned her bedside lamp off, hoping that with morning would finally come a proper response from Mat. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? You know as well as I do that we need to talk. I’ll be at Donahue’s at 8.

Read: 12:23 AM

Dec. 16 (thurs)

Her foot tapped nervously, hands clasped tightly around the cup in front of her and beanie pulled over her head, curls poking out from under. He had read the text, but Cass had no clue if Mat was actually going to show up or not. He hadn’t responded. It was ten past eight, and Cass was just about ready to give up and head to school early. She had just put her laptop back in her bag when she caught Mat out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a small smile, equal parts nervous and almost — bothered? “Hey,” he said softly, unzipping his puffer coat and sliding into the chair opposite her. “You said you wanted to talk?”

Suddenly, the whole elaborate speech Cass had prepared, about letting her in and supporting him and communication, left her mind. “Yeah.”

“So, talk,” Mat said, with a slight edge to his voice.

She looked down at her cup. “I get that you’re disappointed about the losing streak. I get it and I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped —”

“I don’t think you do get it, Cassidy —”

She cut him off. “Let me finish, Mathew. I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped, and I do get how shitty it is when you know you’re putting in the time and effort and practice and it doesn’t seem like anything’s working, but you’ve barely talked to be about any of it.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to,” Mat mumbled.

Cass leaned back in her chair. “And I get that. I get if you don’t want to talk to me. But you’re not talking to anyone. You’re not talking to Tito, I asked him and he said you’ve been just as closed-off with the team. You’re not talking to any of the other guys. And I’d bet you’re not talking to your parents or your sister either.”

No one gets it!” Mat said in frustration, a little louder than was necessary. “I go through so much shit and have so much pressure on me and…” He trailed off for a minute. “I don’t want to disappoint the team, I don’t want to disappoint the fans. I don’t want to disappoint my family. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Everyone had their ups and downs,” Cass started.

“And I get that,” Mat said, holding his head in his hands and looking down at her coffee cup. The same white-and-blue one he had gotten her two months earlier. “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I’m feeling like the fans aren’t getting what they deserve when they come to games, and like I’m not worth what they’re paying me right now. I know you want to, but you don’t get it.”

Cass looked away, turning her eyes to the street. The sidewalk was dusted in white, turning to slush every time someone walked past. It was the first snow of the year. “Then help me to.”

He breathed out, finally relaxing a little. “It’s not that easy.”

“I want to help you,” Cass said, leaning over the table and clasping his hands in hers. “But you can’t keep freezing me out like this, chou. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.”

Mat closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t want this to become your thing too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I know right now kind of sucks for me but that’s just how it is sometimes, you know? It’s just how it is and I have to get over it. I have to get over myself.”

“Mat, your well-being and mental health isn’t something you can just ‘get over.’ Or even something you should. I’m not a professional, and if you need one that’s something we can find,” Mat wrinkled his face, and Cass was pointedly reminded how often men’s mental health was ignored, “but I’m here for you to talk to. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

He ran his thumb over her hand. “But you didn’t sign up for this.”

Cas shook her head. “Mathew Barzal. This is exactly what I signed up for. I’m pretty smart,” he cracked a smile, “and I knew what I was getting myself into. Dating someone with such an unconventional job and schedule can be stressful, and frustrating, and confusing for everyone involved. But I chose it, Mat. I chose you.”

Dec. 21 (mon)

For once, Cass wasn’t headed straight home after work, or headed to a game, or — God forbid — back to the library to study. Her last final had been that morning, and she was free for three blessed weeks until the New Year. Which meant that she didn’t have to worry about turning in another essay or memorizing another case, which meant that she was more than free to go to the team Christmas party with Mat later that night. He had somehow been coerced into hosting, and Cass had promised to get to his apartment early to help set up. He was mostly done by the time she got there, so “setting up” turned out to mean setting up the bar and putting out snacks, Cass mixing up an enormous pitcher of her favorite sangria, a signature standby from her sorority’s Wine Wednesdays.

Mat had even put up a proper Christmas tree, and Cass smiled at the piney scent as she headed down the hallway, bag in hand. “Cool if I change in your room?” She shouted down the hall at Mat, who was currently engrossed in pouring a bowl full of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Yeah, go for it,” he called back. Cass didn’t have a lot of excuses to dress up, but liked taking advantage when the occasion called for it. Her dress was short, red satin with a slit on one side and silver embellishment on the other. She used his bathroom to touch up her makeup, swiping her burgundy lipstick on and double-checking her brows. Cass shoved her work clothes back into her backpack, tossing it onto the plush armchair in the corner of his room.

She walked down the hallway, which was pretty much bare save for a few pictures of his friends from home and one with his family on the day he was drafted. She was kind of surprised that Mat owned a single picture frame. Cass sat on the couch in his living room, looking at the Christmas tree. There were one or two Islanders ornaments, a paper Santa that she assumed had been a kindergarten art project, a photo of his family around the fireplace that looked like it had been taken a year or two earlier. Mat wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha looking at, babe?”

She smiled. “Your ornaments. They’re really pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

The door rang, Mat kissing her quickly before walking across the room to open it. A group of the younger players piled in, mostly rookies and call-ups from Bridgeport. One of them had brought along a keg of beer, and Cass had to fight back a laugh while showing him to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. He was just out of college, she’d stake her life on it. By the time she’d secured the keg and started getting people set up with drinks, the living room had started to fill up. “What can I get you?” She asked Paige, who had left Tito with the boys by the tree and made her way over to Cass.

“What are my chances of getting a Moscow mule?” Paige asked. “I don’t want to be a difficult guest, but,”

“Very good,” Cass said, turning around and grabbing the vodka and ginger ale. “We don’t have the proper mugs though, so don’t be complaining.” One shot of vodka. Half a can of ginger ale. Squeeze a lime. She had bartended for a little over a year when she first moved to New York, and it was still one of her favorite things to do for friends. Mixing herself a whiskey sour, Cass wandered back over to Mat and Tito.

---

It was well past eleven and the party was nowhere near stopping. While everyone was conscious of the noise level — for the most part, she had seen a few of the guys being reminded to use their inside voices — the conversations were still going and the drinks were still flowing. Cass had passed the tipsy point somewhere around 10:30, though she was nowhere near as hammered as some of the team. Or their dates, for that matter. She was cuddled up against Mat on the couch, heels long having since been abandoned and nursing what she was pretty sure was a vodka sprite with way too much vodka and way too little sprite. Whatever, Cass thought ruefully as she tipped the last of it back. It gets the job done.

Mat was a touchy drunk, Cass had learned, and one hand seemed to have taken up permanent residence at her waist while he sipped a beer with the other. “What do you think Christmas will be like for you?” Cass asked softly, tilting up her head to look at him. “Since you won’t be with your family.” Mat knew it was a possibility, but he was still pretty upset when he looked at the schedule and realized that his family wasn’t going to be able to fly out to spend the holidays with him, and he didn’t have enough time to go back out to Vancouver.

Her parents had extended the invitation for Mat to spend Christmas with them when she had been back up for Thanksgiving; he couldn’t make Christmas Day, but was able to carve out two days to visit. He smiled at her, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “You’re cute when you’re worried, y’know that?” Cass scrunched up her nose. “It’s not like I’m going to be alone. I’m doing Christmas with Beau, since Paige’ll be out of town too, and some of the guys usually plan a nice dinner thing for anyone who’s not with family.”

“That sounds nice,” Cass noted, still feeling a pang of guilt.

“Hey,” Mat said, noticing her distraction. He sat up, turning her face to look towards him. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown-ass man.”

Cass cocked an eyebrow. “Sure about that?”

Mat giggled. “Okay, okay, fine. Point taken. But yeah, it would be nice to have my family, but I kind of do, y’know?” He said, nodding around to the guys. Cass could have sworn that in that moment, her heart melted. “And I want you to spend time with yours. I’d be kind of a shitty boyfriend if I didn’t want you to.” Mat leaned in, and his lips brushed against hers so that they were almost touching but not quite, hesitantly. Cass pressed against him, her fingers finding purchase in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. She loved that he was letting his hair grow out. He tasted like whiskey and tequila and some cheap beer that she was pretty sure was Natty Light, but she couldn’t have cared less, just like she ignored the not-so-subtle wolf-whistles from the teammates.

Everyone started clearing out around midnight, a few staying to help stuff cans and bottles into trash bags that were left unceremoniously in the kitchen to be dealt with the next morning. Cass yawned, rubbing her eyes. She had sobered up some, but was still well past the legal limit. “Whatcha doing?” Mat asked, seeing her about to order an Uber.

“Calling a ride?” Cass questioned.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Mat asked haltingly. “If you want.” Cass had obviously been over to his place before, multiple times, but hadn’t stayed the night yet. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, because she did, but it was something that was a big step for her. That meant a lot to her. But it was late, and she was sleepy, and Mat did make a really good pillow. “Okay,” she conceded.

Mat smiled, taking her hand and leading her back to his bedroom. He rummaged through his dresser, grabbing an old Thunderbirds t-shirt and athletic shorts and handing them to her as she walked into his ensuite. “I don’t have stuff to get your makeup off, but there is soap?” He offered.

Cass laughed. “I brought some wipes, but thank you. That’s really sweet.” She changed and took her makeup off, finding a spare toothbrush in one of the drawers and brushing her teeth. She popped out after a few minutes. Mat was already changed, dressed in pyjama pants and a comfy-looking heathered grey top. “The red toothbrush is mine now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, cracking a smile. A few minutes later, she had claimed the left side of the bed and he had come back from the bathroom. They were lazily kissing, Mat’s hand just barely brushing the skin on her waist from where the shirt had ridden up. Cass was still tipsy and she knew Mat wouldn’t try anything, not like this, but God, it was nice just to feel close to him. After a few minutes he pulled back, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the loose messy bun she had thrown together. “What’s running through your head, babe?” He murmured.

Cass looked down, biting her lip. She was usually good with emotions, good with communication, but something about Mat made her heart skip a beat and brain go into overdrive all at once, and somehow she was convinced that it was the best feeling in the world. “I’m just really happy right now,” she breathed. “It’s Christmas, with our friends, and you...It’s everything I could want.”

Mat gave the softest smile. “You, with me, right now? That’s all I could want, Cass.”

Dec 22. (wed)

Cass zipped her suitcase shut, double-checking that she had everything she’d need for her two weeks in Connecticut. It wasn’t a big deal if she forgot something, there was probably some stuff left in her old dresser, and her little sister Eliana was about the same size. Mat had just texted that he was almost there. Cass grabbed her backpack and suitcase, stopping for a moment to pop out the final few chocolates on the Advent calendar her mom had sent down. She closed her bedroom door, wishing a harried goodbye to Ryanne and Stella, and ambled down the stairs as fast as her bags would allow her. She didn’t want Mat to have to double-park and risk getting a ticket.

True to his word, Mat was just pulling up when she came out of the building, waving one hand and double-checking the street was clear before flipping his hazards on and hopping out to help her put her bags in the trunk. Kissing him on the cheek in thanks, Cass slid into the passenger’s side, giving Mat a very pointed look when she saw that the first song on his playlist was Justin Bieber. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbled, blushing.

“Who said I’m making fun of you?” Cass said lightly, trying and failing to hide her smile.

They had decided that Mat would make the drive, since he was only staying two nights they had figured it would make more sense. The directions had been plugged into the Bluetooth system, and they had just made it out of the city when Mat looked over at the passenger’s seat, furrowing his brow when he saw Cass’s expression. Something was bothering her. “What’s up, babe?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, we both decided we weren’t going to do this anymore. You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but I think you want to talk.”

Cass looked down at her lap. “I got a letter from the company that’s handling my student loans.”

“I thought you didn’t have any debt?” Mat asked quizzically.

She let out a single, humorless laugh. “That was for undergrad, and that was only because I was really, really lucky. I got some money from the school and I worked some, but that only covered about half of my costs? A little less?”

“Which leaves you with how much?”

“A hundred and ten thousand dollars, give or take. They were sending me the payment schedule, I have to start paying it back late next year.”

Mat breathed out. He knew that Cass didn’t come from money, but being from Canada and not having gone to college himself, he wasn’t really aware of just how debilitating student debt could get. “Do your parents know?” He asked gently.

Cass picked at a loose thread on her scarf. “Yeah. They helped as much as they could, but there’s three of us and they’re not made of money. “I, uh,” she paused briefly, “I told you I went to private school, yeah?” Mat nodded. “Catholic school doesn’t come cheap, so I was actually on work-study at my high school, which helped a lot. But I hated it.”

“Your school?” He questioned.

She shook her head. “No, I loved my school. It was great. I just hated feeling like a charity case. My school’s in a pretty well-off neighborhood, so most of the families there had money, and some were like proper ‘old money’ New Englanders. I had some great friends and nobody ever really outwardly was an ass about it if they knew, but still…” She trailed off.

“You felt like you never quite fit in.” Mat finished.

She nodded. “It was hard and it sucked sometimes, but that’s just how it is, I guess,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Two hours later, Mat pulled into Manchester, following Cass’s directions down the winding roads and corners of her hometown. “Do you think they’ll like me?” He asked nervously, eyes flitting between Cass and the road in front of him.

Her brow furrowed. “Who? My family?” Mat nodded. “My family’s going to love you. You’re kind and you treat me with respect. That’s all they’ve ever wanted for me. And my brother already worships the ground you walk on, practically,” she added with a smile.

“He’s a junior, yeah?”

“Mhm,” she responded. Cass’s younger brother Noah was a junior in high school, and one of the best players on his club hockey team. Hockey didn’t run cheap and he had been lifeguarding the past few summers to pay for it, but it was all starting to pay off and he was having some interest shown by college scouts.

Mat pulled up beside the curb in front of her house, killing the engine and shoving the keys back into his pocket. Cass popped the trunk and took her backpack, while Mat got his duffel and her suitcase. She reached for his hand as they walked up the driveway, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she rang the doorbell.

“Cass!” Eliana squealed, hugging as much of her sister as she could manage around the bags. “Put your bags by the door, Dad’s grilling out back and I think Mom’s making your bed.” Mat had had an afternoon game and the two had left not long after, so it was dinnertime and Cass was ravenous. “Grilling in December?” She questioned.

Eliana shrugged, closing the door behind them. “You know Patrick, you go be the one to tell the man he can’t make burgers in the winter.” She turned to Mat, also greeting him with a hug. “You must be Mat, Cass talks about you a lot.”

Cass swatted her. “El!”

Mat chuckled. “Yeah. Mat Barzal, nice to meet you. Good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Eliana said, leading them through to the back porch, where her dad was grilling on the patio while Noah was doing sprints up and down the lawn. He almost fell when he spotted Cass and Mat, causing Mat to have to hide a laugh behind his hand. Her dad turned around, setting the spatula down when he saw them. Mat swallowed, sticking out his hand for a shake. “Mat Barzal, sir.”

“Call me Patrick. Good to meet you Mat, go get settled and we should have dinner ready in a few, okay?” Mat nodded. “Noah, pick your jaw up off the floor and go help them with their things, okay?” Noah ducked his head, brushing the dirt off his shorts before jogging over to where Mat and his sisters were on the porch.

“Do I hear my Cassidy?” Cass could hear her mom inside, walking down the hallway with Noah and Mat before she ran into her by her old bedroom. “It’s me, Mom!” Cass said excitedly, hugging her mom. Mat initially went for another handshake, but she shooed it away, embracing him. “We’re huggers in this family,” she said by way of explanation, pulling away after a moment. “Ysabel Cabrera, so nice to finally meet you, Mat.”

Mat smiled. “It’s great to finally meet you too.”

Ysabel pointed down the hall. “Noah’s got bunk beds, so you’ll be with him in there, it’s the last door on the left. Cass, I trust you still can find your room.”

“Yes, mamá,” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “See you in a few, chou.” He kissed her on the cheek, under the watchful eye of her mom, and followed Noah down the hall.

---

Two hour later, Mat and Cass were cuddled together on the living room couch, his arm slung around her as they half-watched reruns of Parks & Rec. “D’you just want to do presents now?” He asked, looking down at her. “Because I know we’ve got plans tomorrow, and I don’t see how it really matters if we’re not going to be together Christmas Day.”

Cass looked up. “Uh, sure, if you want?”

“Meet you back in a minute,” Mat said, hopping off of the couch and disappearing down the hall. Cass rolled her eyes, walking into her room, grabbing the envelope, and returning to the living room. Mat got up when she entered, proudly handing her a surprisingly well-wrapped present.

“You look very pleased with your work,” Cass noted, laughing.

“I watched a Youtube tutorial,” Mat admitted, “but did you know that there’s so much that goes into folding neat corners? It’s practically an art!”

“I’ll take you word for it,” Cass said, handing him his envelope. “Open yours first.”

Mat sat back down, running his thumb through the flap and pulling out a coupon. He looked at it quizzically for a minute. “Beer delivery?”

“Craft beer delivery,” Cass corrected pointedly. “Because I don’t want you to have to resort to Natty Light ever again. I saw your fridge, it’s actually the worst. You need taste, babe.” Mat snorted. “And they deliver to Canada, so you don’t have to worry about missing out on the offseason.”

“I love it, pretty girl,” Mat said, kissing her. “Now open yours.” Cass carefully popped the corners open, unfolding the wrapping paper. My Beloved World - Sonia Sotomayor. “You said once that you really admire her, and I didn’t see it on your bookshelf, so I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, I love it. I love that you remembered even more,” Cass added.

But Mat wasn’t done. “Open it,” he said expectantly.

Confused though she was, Cass opened the cover of the book. “It’s...signed? She said softly, reverently tracing her fingers over the inscription.

“Yeah.” Mat went on, explaining, “I found it in this little bookstore in Brooklyn, and knew I had to get it for you. Knew what it would mean to you.”

“It’s incredible. You’re incredible. I can’t believe you’d do something like that for me.”

Their foreheads touched. “Why wouldn’t I?” Mat whispered. “It’s for you.”

And in that moment, there was nothing anyone could do to take away how happy that made her feel. How happy he made her feel.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #nhl imagine #mat barzal imagine #hockey smut #mat barzal #nhl smut #nhl writing #nhl imagines #nhl fluff #hockey imagines #hockey fluff #islanders imagines #islanders writing #new york islanders #islanders

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fandomrewrites · 4 years

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Season 1; Episode 9: Wolf’s Bane

Hi everyone! I hope you all like this chapter and are enjoying the story so far. As always constructive criticism is appreciated!

Season 1; Episode 9: Wolf’s Bane

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend, Nate Wilson (OC) x Reader

Warnings: Mild violence, swearing

Word Count: 3,919

Season 1 Masterlist

I gripped the wheel of Derek’s black Camaro as I was speeding through side streets of Beacon Hills. Scott was beside me in the passenger seat and Stiles was in the back. Kate Argent and another hunter were in a black SUV behind us, thinking that we were Derek. Scott and Stiles keep glancing out the rear windshield.

“Faster?” I ask.

“Much faster,” the two boys say in unison.

I step on the gas to speed up. Finger still tightly wrapped around the steering wheel.

Stiles blurts out from the back seat, “I don’t think you’re grasping the concept of car chase.”

“If I go faster I’ll kill us.”

Scott then speaks, “If you don’t go faster-”

Stiles interrupts, “A lot faster.”

Scott continues, “They’ll kill us.”

I sigh but step harder on the gas, glancing in the rear view mirror to check how close the other car is.

I turn a corner and Stiles looks behind him once more then says, “They’re gone.” He looks down at the police scanner in his lap and raises the volume. “All units, suspect is on foot headed north, last seen on Hancock.”

I quickly change direction, making my way towards the area Derek was last seen. I speed the car into an alley, where Derek is trying to get away from Mr. Argent.

The car screeches to a stop. Scott throws the passenger door open and screams at the werewolf, “Get in!” He then climbs into the backseat beside Stiles as Derek pushes off the ground and throws his body into the car.

As soon as he is inside I slam my foot back onto the gas and speed away from Argent.

From the backseat Scott immediately starts scolding Derek, “What part of laying low don’t you understand?”

Derek ignores him and lightly hits the door with his fist, “I had him.”

“Who? The Alpha?” Stiles sticks his head between the front seats.

“He was right in front of me. And then the police showed up.”

“Hey, hey, hey, they’re just doing their jobs.” Stiles defends.

“Thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the state.”

Derek and I simultaneously glare at Scott as he finishes talking. Scott then gets annoyed, “Can we seriously get past that? Yes, I made a dumb ass mistake. I get it.”

“I told you it was stupid to blame him, it’s why I told Sheriff I never saw him.”

Stiles ignores our argument and asks Derek, “How’d you find him?”

The werewolf falls silent at the question. Scott sighs, “Can you try to trust us for half a second?”

“All three of us.” Stiles says, once again sticking his head between the seats. Derek glares and Stiles shrinks back allowing Scott to take his place.

Derek takes a breath before answering, “The last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out. She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris.”

“Our chemistry teacher?” Stiles asks as I knit my eyebrows together and frown.

Scott then asks, “Why him?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s the second?” I prompt.

“Some king of symbol,” Derek then reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls our a folded piece of paper. When he opens it I glance over to see a simple photocopy. I hear Scott sigh as I suck in a breath.

Derek glances between us, “What? You know what this is?”

I nodded as my twin answers, “I’ve seen it. On a necklace.”

“Allison’s necklace,” I whisper as I slow the Camaro.

*_*_*_*_*_*

The next day Scott, Stiles and I arrive at school together. As we make our way through the double doors Scott speaks up, “This is going to be impossible, you know? Why can’t you just do it, (Y/N)?”

“Because I like seeing you sweat,” I smirk.

Stiles interrupts before Scott can start arguing, “Just ask her if you can borrow it.”

“How?”

“Simple. You ask. Hey Allison, can I borrow your necklace to see if there’s something on it or in it that will lead me to an Alpha werewolf I need to kill in order to get back together with you.”

I burst out laughing as Scott glares at us, “You’re not helping.”

“Just talk to her.” I answer when I stop laughing. “It’s about time you have a conversation anyway.”

“She won’t talk to me. And what if she only takes it off when she’s like in the shower?”

“That’s why you ease your way into it. Get back on her good side. Remind her of the good times. Then you ask for the necklace.” Stiles advises his best friend.

There’s a pause in conversation as we both turn to look at Scott, who has a dazed look on his face, “You’re thinking about her in the shower, aren’t you?”

I start shaking my head as Scott says yes. Stiles then snaps in his face, “Stay focused. Get the necklace, get the Alpha, get cured, get Allison back.”

“In that order.” I add on.

Scott nods, “Get the necklace.” We then separate as we make our way to class but before I make it to history I spot Lydia down the hall. I quickly make my way over to her and gently pull her into an empty room.

“Why did you kiss Scott?” I ask before she can speak.

She looks slightly taken back, “I never-”

“Don’t try that Lyds. You and I both know I’m great at telling when people are lying.”

She sighs and her shoulder’s slump, “I guess just knowing how well he’s been doing in lacrosse and knowing that you were right about him trying to protect us the other night...” She trails off.

“You just couldn’t help yourself?” I raise my eyebrow waiting for her to continue.

“I know that sounds horrible and I’m a total bitch.”

“You know I love you and that will never change, but for someone as smart as you, sometimes you’re really dumb.”

She purses her lips then links her arm with mine as we head out the room. Only separating when I get to my class.

*_*_*_*_*_*

After first period I stopped by my locker then went to find Nate. As I walked towards his locker I spotted Danny, “Hey, Danny.” I smiled, “Have you seen Nate?”

“Yeah, he was headed to the stairs about a minute ago.” He pointed in the direction he was talking about.

“Thanks,” I quickly made my way to where Danny pointed.

As I turned the corner something caught my eye in an empty classroom. I paused for a minute peering in. Inside the class were two people, a boy and a girl. I couldn't make out either of their faces but they were standing very close and had their arms wrapped around each other.

As I took the two teens in, I noticed a red backpack on the table beside them. It was then that I realized who the guy in the room was. I jumped when the warning bell rang, the two teens springing apart and fixing their clothes.

I stumble away from the door, my fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of my backpack. I abruptly turned and walked away before either person noticed I was there.

I walk into class a minute late and sit in the last available seat, the one right near Stiles. I mumble a quick apology to the teacher and she continues class.

Stiles leans over noticing my dazed look, “Are you alright?”

I stiffly nod keeping my eyes locked on the notebook in front of me.

*_*_*_*_*_*

As soon as class ends I quickly stand up and head out the door. Stiles chases after me and unfortunately catches up. He grabs my hand yanking me to a stop, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Can you please let me go?” I answer emotionlessly.

“Something clearly happened. You look like you’re about to cry.”

I gulp then shake my arm loose. I run a hand through my hair and take a deep breath, “I don’t want to talk about it. At least not right now.”

Stiles nodded, face full of concern as I turned and walked away.

I opened my locker and shoved my books inside and quickly slammed the door shut. I headed to the cafeteria but when I see my friends sitting together, I couldn’t bring myself to sit with them. So instead I looked for Scott.

The minute I saw Scott I made my way to his table and sat down.

“Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?”

“You and Stiles are my friends too.”

Scott raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Stiles dropped his tray on the table sitting beside me.

He quickly glanced at me but then turned to Scott, “Did you get her to give you the necklace?”

“Not exactly.”

“So no.” I deadpan.

At the same time Stiles asks, “What happened?”

“She told me not to talk to her. At all.”

“Great job.” I roll my eyes, both boys look at me, clearly wondering why I’m being so bitchy.

Instead of acknowledging me Stiles brings his attention back to Scott, “Did you find anything else?”

“Just that I know nothing about girls and they’re totally psychotic.”

I glare at Scott as he mumbles, “Sorry.”

Stiles sighs, stopping us from an argument he knew was bound to happen, “Okay. I came up with a Plan B in case something like this happened.”

“What’s Plan B?” Scott asks as his eyes fill with hope.

“Just steal the stupid thing.”

Before Scott can react his eyes drift behind us. I turn my head to see what he’s staring at to meet the gaze of Jackson.

“He’s watching us.” Stiles then turns his head to follow our eyes.

“Why is he watching is?” I question, clearly left out of the loop.

“He found out that Scott’s a werewolf.”

My eyes widen, “What? How?”

“We don’t know.”

“Just act normal,” Scott speaks up for the first time since catching Jackson’s eye.

Scott looks panicked as Stiles and I watch him, “What’s wrong?”

“Jackson’s talking to me. He knows I can hear him.” Stiles starts to turn around as I lightly slap his arm and Scott continues to talk, “Look at me. Talk to me. Pretend like nothing’s happening.”

Scott stares at his tray as he tries to concentrate on anything but Jackson’s voice.

It’s silent at our table as Scott clenches his teeth and look up at us, “Say something. Talk to me.”

“I... I don’t know what to say. My mind’s blank.” Stiles speaks, panic lacing his voice.

“Your mind’s blank? You can’t think of something to say?”

“Not under this kind of pressure! And FYI, he’s not sitting with them anymore.”

Scott and I both turn our heads to the table seeing that Jackson is no longer sitting there. My eyes drift and notice that Nate isn’t there anymore either.

Scott breaks me from my train of thought, “Where the hell is he?”

I can tell Scott is getting angry but before I can say anything a hand is place on my shoulder. I turn and follow the arm up to see Nate standing slightly behind me, “Hey babe, why aren’t you sitting with is?”

I knock his hand off my shoulder and stand up making my way out of the cafeteria, knowing that he was going to follow.

Once we are in the hall we turn to each other, “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Seriously, (Y/N/N). Why are you mad at me?” He knits his eyebrows together and tries to grab my hand.

Before he can touch me, I slightly back away and cross my arms, “I saw you” I say through clenched teeth.

“Saw me what? You’re going to have to be more clear babe.”

I hold out my hand, “Don’t,” I whisper, tears threatening to spill. I take a deep breath before I continue, “I saw you and Claire kissing.”

Nate’s mouth drops open, he quickly starts speaking, trying to defend his actions, “(Y/N), I...”

“Don’t try to come up with an excuse Nate. No one is going to treat me like that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m over this stupid relationship.”

“(Y/N), please. You don’t mean that, baby. I love you.”

“Don’t try.” I choke out, tears now falling freely down my cheeks. “We’re done.” I turn away from him quickly wiping at my face.

*_*_*_*_*_*

At the end of the day I find Stiles heading to his car, “Wait up!”

He turns at the sound of my voice. “Can I hang out with you? I don’t really want to be around anyone else at the moment.”

“Yeah of course. Hop in.” He opens the passenger side door for me and I smile as I step into his jeep.

As he pulls out of the parking space I can see him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. Finally he breaks the silence, “Are you-”

Before he can finish the sentence I interrupt, “I caught Nate cheating on me.”

“He what?”

“He was kissing Claire. I confronted him about it when he came up to our table at lunch and I broke up with him.”

There was a pause as Stiles took in the information, “I’ll punch him for you. Do you want me to punch him for you?”

I cracked a smile as I looked at him, “No, if anyone gets to punch him I want to.”

He gently smiled back, “Are you okay?”

I sighed, “I don’t know.”

He just nodded as he continued to his house.

When we finally got there, we quickly made our way to his room. Both of us throwing our bags to the floor as I go to sit on his bed and he goes on his computer. “Stiles?” We hear his dad call.

“Yes,” We both turn to face the door and see Derek.

“Derek?” We both ask, looking at him with wide eyes. We both then quickly shut our mouths just as Mr. Stilinski cracks the door open.

“What did you say?” He asks, “Hi (Y/N).”

“Hi Mr. Stilinski.”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Just headed back to work. But I’m coming tonight. Your first game.”

“Great.”

Mr. Stilinski doesn’t make any move to leave, “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“So am I. Very proud. Of myself.”

The sheriff turns to leave then pauses and asks, “They’re really going to let you play this time?”

I nod my head and answer, “Yes, he made first line.”

Sheriff’s smile widens, “So proud.”

As soon as Mr. Stilinski shuts the door and walks away Derek speaks, “Scott didn’t get the necklace?”

“He’s still working on it. But there’s something else we can try. When we were trapped in the school that night Scott sent a text to Allison telling her to meet him there.” Stiles replies.

“So?”

“Scott didn’t send the text.” I answer.

“Can you find out who sent the text?”

Stiles shakes his head, “No. But we know someone who can.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

After waiting for a few minutes Danny walks into Stiles’ room with his bag hanging over his shoulder.

“You want me to do what?”

“Trace a text.” Stiles says like it’s no big deal.

“I came here to do lab work. That’s what lab partners do.”

“And we will. After you trace the text.”

“What makes you think I know how?”

“I saw your arrest report.” Stiles shrugs.

“I... That was... I was only thirteen. The charges were dropped. No. We’re doing lab work.”

Danny pulls up a chair to sit beside Stiles at his desk. I was casually laying on Stiles bed and Derek was sitting in a chair as far away from Stiles and Danny, reading a magazine trying to look inconspicuous.

Danny leans over to Stiles, “Who is he again?”

Before Stiles can answer I reply, remember the lie I told Nate, “His cousin...” I trail off not thinking of a name.

Stiles continues for me, “Miguel.”

Derek glares over the top of his magazine as Stiles cringes. “Is that blood on his shirt?” Danny asks.

“He gets horrible nosebleeds. Miguel, I thought I told you to just borrow one of my shirts?”

My lips immediately pull into a smile. Seeing Derek shirtless is just what I need today.

Derek’s glare hardens, he slowly stands up and puts the magazine down. He moves to Stiles’ closet, looking at his shirts.

Stiles starts talking to Danny but my attention stays focused on Derek.

“Stiles,” Derek grumbles. He is holding a shirt in his hands, “This... no fit.”

“Try something else.”

Derek pulls out another shirt and Stiles speaks, a smirk evident in his voice, “That looks good. What do you think, Danny?”

“Huh?”

“The shirt?”

“I think... I think it’s a nice shirt.”

“Think he should try something else?”

“I do,” I mumble, knowing that Derek would hear me. As he quickly fixes his glare on me I lick my lips but just as fast as he turns his attention on me he turns back to the boys.

Danny is having trouble speaking but manages to get out, “It’s... It’s not exactly his color.”

Annoyed, Derek pulls off the T-shirt, exposing his abs once again. I bite my lower lip raking my eyes up and down Derek’s body as I hear Stiles whisper something to Danny.

Derek looks over at the boys once more, “None of these fit.” And once again the t-shirt comes off and I get to sit back and admire his gorgeous stomach.

Derek finally picked out a shirt and y eyes move to Danny who is tracing the text. After a couple of minutes he speaks, “There. The text was sent from a computer. This one.”

Derek and I move to stand behind the two high school boys to look at the screen. Derek then asks, “Registered to that account name?”

“That can’t be right,” Stiles says. My mouth is hanging open in surprise. The name on the screen reads Beacon Hills Hospital - Melissa McCall.

Danny soon leaves and Stiles, Derek and I make our way to the hospital.

I sit in the back of the jeep staring down at my phone as Stiles speaks with Scott. He’s on speaker phone but the words aren’t registering. Nate keeps texting me and trying to call.

He’s apologizing and asking if I’m coming to the game tonight.

I close my eyes and take a breath, gripping my phone tightly. I finally open my eyes and shove my phone back into my pocket, tuning back into the conversation just as Derek asks, “Is there anything on the back of it? There has to be something. An inscription. An opening. Something.”

“No, the thing’s flat. And no it doesn’t open. There’s nothing in it, on it, around it, nothing. And where are you, Stiles? You’re supposed to be here. You’re first line.” There’s a pause then Scott continues, “You won’t play if you’re not here.”

“I know. If you see my dad, tell him... tell him I’ll be there. Just a little bit late.”

He hangs up. Derek begins speaking the moment Stiles’ phone is in his pocket, “You’re not going to make it.”

“I know.”

“And neither of you said anything about your mother,” Derek continues looking at me.

“Not until we know the truth.”

We all turned to look at the looming building that is Beacon Hills Hospital.

Stiles opens his door but Derek stops him before he can get out, “Wait.” Instead of saying anything else he punches Stiles’ shoulder.

“OW! What was that for?” Stiles grips his arm as he gapes at Derek in shock.

“You know what that was for. Now go.”

Stiles gets out and waits in front of the jeep for me to follow. I climb over the seats and into the drivers spot but once again Derek stops me before I can get fully out, “Was it really necessary for you to be drooling over me too?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a sucky day. I needed it.” I shrug then step out of the jeep, making my way to Stiles.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Stiles and I pace the empty hospital corridor looking for Derek’s uncle, Peter’s room. There is an eerie silence surrounding is. Stiles then picks up his phone talking to Derek, “We can’t find her.” There’s a pause as Derek answers. “Yeah well, he’s not here either.” Another pause as my mind races, oh no, “He’s not here. He’s gone.”

I turn to look down the hall when Stiles talks. My eyes land on a man with a half burned face and a long coat. He has a seemingly friendly smile on his face as his eyes meet mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Stiles lower his phone and turn his head to look in the direction of the man.

“You must be (Y/N) and Stiles.”

I suck in a big breath and quickly find Stiles hand to clutch onto. We both take a shaky step back then see Jennifer, Peter’s nurse, standing on the other end of the corridor.

“What are you doing here? Visiting hours are over.” She states.

Stiles and I look between the Alpha and his nurse. He starts nervously mumbling, “You... and him... you’re the one who... and he’s the one... Oh, my God. We’re going to die.”

Once the words tumble out of his mouth a hand presses to Jennifer’s cheek and slams her head into the wall making her crumble to the ground.

“That wasn’t nice. She’s my nurse.” Peter pouts mockingly.

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people.” Derek says to his uncle. He then turns to me and Stiles, “Get out of the way.”

Derek opens his mouth revealing sharpened fangs, he lowers in an attack pose. Stiles whispers. “Oh, damn.”

We both press ourselves to the wall as Derek launches himself at Peter. Peter however barely moves. His eyes flash red and he grabs Derek by the jacket, slamming into the wall. The wall cracks on impact. Peter then slams him into the opposite wall with the same result.

I stand shocked, frozen to my spot against the wall. Stiles pulls me down so we can avoid being hit by the wall plaster that crumbles around us.

Peter drops Derek and drags him towards the nurses body, “You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?” Peter pauses digging through his nurses unconscious body for her car keys. “My mind, my personality, was literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct.”

Stiles and I slowly start crawling away but we can still hear Peter and Derek. “You want forgiveness?”

“I want understanding. Do you have any idea what was happening to me in those years? Slowly healing cell by cell. Then even more slowly coming back to consciousness. Yes, becoming Alpha, taking that from Laura, it pushed me over the plateau in the healing process. I can’t help that. And I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried warning you.”

Stiles and I slowly inch ourselves towards the Morgue, where Derek and Peter last were. But when we peek around the corner, neither werewolf is in sight.

#sister mccall imagine #series rewrite #teen wolf imagine #lydia martin imagine

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deathdoors · 4 years

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𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ! meredith here. nineteen twenty, they/them or she/her, the best admin in the world. it’s why i’m using manny for my gif for this, when he’s the best and my mascot on the main <3 if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. so: a little about me ! i’m a libra, from new jersey, in my second year of college, use a lot of emojis, have recently and embarrassingly been both playing fortnite ( i know ) and reading like 2 books a night, which might seem like it makes me smart but actually just makes me go to bed at seven in the morning. which also makes me a dumb bitch. on to the show !

name: emma phillips age: thirty occupation: preschool teacher trope: the wide eyed idealist aesthetic: fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, wildflowers in a vase, half empty bottles of pink wine, stopping to pet every dog, happy tears, rom-com movie nights, coffee with too much cream and sugar.

emma was born and raised in the suburbs outside springfield, missouri. her mother was incredibly anxious and doting, disliking emma riding bikes in the streets with the other kids and climbing trees, etc she was thus much closer to her dad: camping trips, bedtime stories, the works. she adored him, and when her twin younger siblings were born, emma’s mother interpereted being a daddy’s girl as hating her, and started ignoring emma when she wasn’t scolding her, instead focusing a much more positive attention on the twins.

then, of course, because life sucks, her dad got sick of it and left without so much as a goodbye. ran off with his secretary when emma was twelve, leaving her with a toxic mom and two little toddler twins. she entered mom mode when her mom’s anxiety turned to severe, don’t get out of bed depression ... emma was cooking for the twins ( and failing miserably, most of the time it was pizza and frozen dinners. to emma’s credit, that did include frozen vegetables. ) helping them with schoolwork, getting them to and from school, etc.

her grandparents were semi - well off, and sent some money to the phillips clan, but emma got a job as soon as she was able. the combination of the two, and her mom’s on and off working was enough to not go hungry. the twins could go on some field trips, there was enough for new clothes when they grew like weeds ... but obviously, no pre-teen / teen wants to constantly care for little kids. it sucked.

the money continued when her grandfather died when she was sixteen, and then, a little while later, right before emma graduated high school, her grandmother died, leaving them her house in fort elms, washington.

the phillips clan moved there, with a month left of high school for emma. as soon as she turned eighteen, a mere month after graduation: emma was kicked out of the house. her mother wanted nothing to do with her anymore, saying emma was tearing her away from the twins. for the rest of their childhoods, emma was not allowed to see either of her siblings, with emma’s mother telling them that she had left on purpose.

thus: she went to college, moved out of the house into a new apartment, fell in love and pined boyfriendless for years like some kind of loser, was incredibly on and off, got cheated on. she hasn’t been able to land a mans since, despite wanting a storybook romance.

while all that was happening, she got a degree, teaching at the fancy private preschool school in town. remember when i said she entered mom mode when her dad left ? yeah. she never left it, apparently. she loves her job, though. lots of stickers.

tl;dr: toxic mom, dad left when she was 12, effectively raised her younger siblings. moved to fort elms when she was about to turn 18, finished out high school, and was kicked out. she became a preschool teacher, inexplicably staying in fort elms.

personality: emma is kind hearted and optimistic — she's a little bit of a people pleaser, and a lot a bit of a hopeless romantic. she's pretty friendly / chatty, and considers people her friends approximately .5 seconds after meeting them. she's a little naive in the sense that she believes everyone is good, or can be good with just a little effort, and is pretty forgiving. she's much more of a go with the group kind of person, and hates being alone.

tw alcoholism, depression;

name: philippa “pippa” espina age: twenty-two occupation: unemployed trope: fallen princess aesthetic: bottles of vodka, half burnt cigarettes, red lipstick, shattered glass, parties going late into the night, adept fingers rolling joints, sleeping in late, the twinkle of a chandelier.

in retrospect, pippa was destined to be spoiled: she never got attention as a child, and her parents had money, and anyone who's seen a movie about rich kids knows that's a cocktail for disaster. california born and bred, pippa was used to two things by the time she could toddle: the sun, and getting what she wanted.

her father was a successful ... something with a desk and lots of people reporting to him, she never even payed attention. her mother was more focused on tennis practices and galas and book clubs where they just drank wine. a series of nannies raised her: not one or two where she could bond with, cling to the maternal attention she desired.

instead, her frequent temper tantrums and outbursts lead to them either quitting or getting fired when pippa made up stories: she was so mean to me, i think she's stealing from the jewelry box, she's been drinking your fancy wine. she didn't know why she was doing it. maybe it was the way her mother would stroke her hair gently, eyes blurry with drunkeness saying they'd work on finding someone better to take care of her. for all her twisted lies, pippa could be brutally honest. yet she never asked her mother why she couldn't take care of her.

by the time pippa had hit the sixth grade, she'd been kicked out of two of the private schools in the area. her third was all all girl's school, full of catholic sensibilities and a headmistress that refused to dismiss pippa, no matter how much she acted out.

she was twelve the first time she was the one breaking into the liquor cabinet, little sips of sweet liquors that made her head feel fuzzy. a lock was placed on it three weeks later, and she didn't get drunk again until high school. but pippa decided she liked that feeling, and more importantly, she liked the feeling of her parents finally looking at her.

at one of the rare family meals a month after her thirteenth birthday, pippa said i don't want a nanny anymore at the same time that her father said we're moving to washington. some business deal her father's company had made with the military base, it was a wonderful town. she didn't want to hear it. another tantrum she was far too old for, a slap across the face. selfish brat.

they moved to washington three days later. she didn’t have a nanny.

pippa was never popular in high school, nor unpopular. she was a bit of an outcast: mean and pretty only got you so far if you were already top dog, and she wasn't. she, however, threw big parties that drew the attention of high schoolers and the lamer end of the college crowd. holidays, breaks, every weekend: an unlimited supply of all the weed and alcohol at pippa's house, combined with the loud thunk of music and no one to get mad at you if you broke a vase or woke up on the floor the next morning. her parents were rarely ever home.

when they were, however, things weren't pretty. slammed glasses on tables, shouts so loud they made voices sore. pippa would stand there and she would cry until her face was red, and say sorry for breaking things, and the next day her parents would give her a new allowance and a kiss atop the head. that was their apology. she never accepted it. she kept the money and embraced back, of course. but she never meant it. she would do the same thing again, and again, and again.

attention was better than any drug, and almost as good as the bottom end of a bottle or a shot glass. she was mean and she was catty, sure, but then she was warm and fun and bought you lunch. by the time she had made stronger connections, latching on to the only two people, the only two friends she had was easy. they were her friends, and thus everyone else was her enemy.

after high school, she didn't do anything. no college, no job. her parties persisted, and so did kisses behind locked doors and afternoons spent sleeping off a hangover until she woke up and did it again. she was still mean, still catty, still desperate for attention: growth had been stunted, immaturity and a desperation making her miserable to be around.

she doesn't know why she does it. not even deep down: sometimes, it's like she's staring down at her own body, watching herself be cruel or unkind, sparking up a joint to call someone a bitch and someone a cow, or taking another shot and whispering into the nearest fellow partygoers' ear that they should go upstairs. sometimes she wakes up and feels like she's the worst person in the world. especially after one of those partygoers is the ex of one of those two friends. she feels like the worst person in the world, and she likes it better then, she decides. at least then she feels something.

tl;dr: rich bitch, loves partying, classic mean girl. not so functional alcoholic, hooks up with a lot of people. turbulent relationship with her parents, desperate for attention. definitely needs a therapist and a psychiatrist.

personality: pippa is very ... sugar and ice. or more aptly, sugar and fire. as long as you follow her my way or the highway mentality and give her plenty of attention, she'll drag you along on all her plans, lavish you with attention ... until she doesn't anymore. she's reckless and self-centered, but she's a hell of a lot of fun. if you manage to get into her inner circle, she'd take a bullet for you, but ... well, as mentioned before she still might sleep with your ex <3 or ur current bf, honestly.

tw bullying, anxiety, depression, suicide;

name: theodore "teddy" larsen age: twenty-three occupation: graduate student trope: shrinking violet aesthetic: pages and pages of notes, shiny comic book pages, freshly sharpened pencils, home cooked meals, deep shaky breaths, science fiction movies, 100% exams, thick books full of knowledge

theodore larsen came out of the womb miserable. he was a colicky baby, born to a loving, young american mother and a his british professor father in england. he was a quiet child, once he grew out of the constant exhausted crying: much preferring the company of his mom than other kids. he was smart though, and a heavy reader.

when he spoke was when the trouble began: as his vocabulary began to grow and he talked more and more, a stutter came with it. he spoke kindly and eloquently for his age, but he struggled sometimes to get words out. kids were cruel, naturally, and it only made teddy more reclusive.

out of isolation came anxiety: he was an intensely worried child, mostly involved with his parents rather than people his age. an investment in books, comics, nonficiton, novels. teddy was perfectly content with books as his friends, and of course, his mother, his favorite person in the world.

and then his world came crashing down. nothing horrific: no one died, no one was sick. but when the only thing that brings you comfort is security and repetition, your father cheating on your mother and moving across the world is a pretty far crash to the bottom. port elms, washington: his mother’s hometown, where teddy would finish out high school.

he was relentlessly bullied, still. the label of new kid paired with a lack of social grace and nerdy dispotion, there might as well have been a target painted on his back. he had one friend, endlessly kind to him. she’d saved his life, figuratively, and he saved hers literally, an appearance at her house shortly after her suicide attempt.

it made sense that he’d have one too. depression was a dark shroud that hung over him, exacerbated anxious behaviors. that was months ago now. a secret, locked inside him, not quite ready to come out. therapy, once a week. maybe twice.

he’s not excited about finishing his degree, not really. he feels good about teaching, it’s what he wants to do. but the idea of being back in fort elms high isn’t exactly leaving a good taste in his mouth. he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, no matter how much it makes his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. he’s got all the time in the world

tl;dr: nervous mess, bullying target, has one real friend. very sensitive mama’s boy. british accent, moved to fort elms when he was in high school. sad. doesn’t like his dad very much.

personality: the nerdiest mf alive. teddy is a total sweetheart, very socially awkward, and pretty damn smart. he know a lot about typical nerdy shit. superheroes, star trek. he LOVES star wars. he's also in a band, playing bass. fun times. he's nervous as hell — also super cautious, he never likes to do anything without it being meticulously planned. total mamas boy.

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rynhaswritersblock · 4 years

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swing and a kiss | p.p.

a/n: do y'all like my play on words. like... swing and a miss... but. okay you get it

summary: crushes from english class and a *touch* of ptsd turn into a new form of transportation, messy rooftop shenanigans, and a lecture from one (1) tony stark

warnings: hi i turned y/n into the stereotypical book nerd who's really pretty and smart and shit (aka rory gilmore) because we all like to dream don't we? 🚨🚨🚨🚨 ALSO THE READER DEALS WITH PTSD FROM A CAR CRASH THIS IS YOUR WARNING IN CASE IT MAY BE A TRIGGER (it's really not too descriptive i think BUT STILL)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🚨🚨🚨🚨

+ + +

"just take the car, honey."

sure. simple. just grab the keys and slide into the driver's seat.

no biggie.

you stand in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the small black car parked idly along the street. a few people walk past you, barely glancing at you in your silently panicked state.

it's not like you were a horrible driver. it was just that simply sitting back down in a car after nearing losing your life in a car crash last time you drove was just a tad bit difficult.

the screech of tires burning against the concrete fills your head, the sound making your skull fill with pressure. just breathe just breathe just breathe.

you clench the keys in your hand and scrunch your eyes shut, forgetting about how stupid you look and trying to get rid of the sensory overload from the flashback. you see the black van tear in front of you, speeding through the intersection right as you were crossing it, hitting your car with a shattering impact. an overwhelming sense of dizziness comes over you and you open your eyes, gasping for air as you stumble and feel yourself slip into unconsciousness.

"woah-! are you okay?"

a gasp falls from your lips and you jolt out of shock, looking up. wide white eyes blink at you.

"shit," you whisper, gulping. "uh, sorry."

the hero in red and blue helps you up, and it's then that you realize that he'd caught you from falling and whacking your head against the hard concrete. "no problem, it's, uh, it's my job."

as you try to regain your senses, spider-man, peter, stares at you, feeling flustered and helpless.

y/n l/n. from english class.

peter, ever the observer, always found himself resting his bored gaze on you. how you took the most attentive and organized notes, how your glasses would sometimes slip off of your face, how as soon as the teacher gave you free time, you'd immediately stuff your nose in a book (which would always be a different book every time). he'd even read one of your papers you'd accidentally left behind and fell in love with the way you worded each sentence and how it flowed so effortlessly and intelligently. you were blessed with the power of words that, along with your looks, had peter caught up in your spell.

so maybe he had a bit of a crush.

but, as ned always reminded him, "peter, you fall in love with a new girl every two weeks. don't get too caught up over her."

yet here peter was, not only caught up over you, but having- quite literally- caught you.

you brush yourself off, clearing your throat. peter snaps out of his trance, sucking in a breath and looking at you. "is this your car?"

"oh," you breathe, glancing back at it, "yeah, um. i've just got like a... touch of ptsd with cars, or something, so that's..."

you chew on your lip as spider-man looks at you, the eyes of his mask wide as he nods. "oh, i'm sorry about that... do you need a lift?"

well that was an idea.

peter sees the surprised look on your face and immediately regrets ever opening his mouth.

"could you?" you ask.

oh.

oh!

"yeah, yeah, definitely," he nods, a bit eagerly, looking around with his hands on his hips. "where did you, uh, where'd you need to go?"

"stark industries."

peter practically chokes. "s-stark industries? what do you-"

"oh, i just have a quick meeting with mr. stark. tomorrow's my first day interning for him, so he just wanted to prep me beforehand," you nod.

your mind drifts to the cute boy from english- peter parker- and how he also interned with mr. stark. you also think about how mj would tease you about the possibility of having secret makeout sessions with him in the janitor's closet of stark industries and get flustered, pushing her voice away.

suddenly, peter can only think of two things: one, how sad it was that you had a panic attack before your meeting for mr. stark, and two, how incredibly difficult it was going to be to cover up the fact that he didn't actually intern for mr. stark.

"oh, cool! yeah i uh, i work with him. he made my suit," peter blurts. you crack a small smile at him. "anyways, just... hold on tight."

you nod and the hero steps to you, looking at you cautiously before gently wrapping an arm around your waist. your legs wrap around his torso and suddenly you're flying through the brisk new york air, face stuffed into the crook of spider-man's neck as he swings you from building to building.

a small chuckle vibrates from his chest and makes you feel warm. you pull your face from his neck to peek at the view, gasping as you see just how fast you're moving and how gorgeous new york looks from high up.

"holy shit," you mutter.

peter catches the slight tremble in your voice and holds you tighter. "don't worry, i've got you."

"you'd better," you laugh, stomach twisting from nervous excitement. "i can't believe i'm handling this better than sitting in a car."

the boyish laugh that exerts from spider-man sounds far too familiar and it makes your stomach twist again, but in a different way. a good way.

you weren't stupid.

even though you'd never actually spoken to peter parker, you'd always hear the laugh he let out occasionally during class, louder than any word you'd ever heard him speak. the sound became music to your ears, and anytime anyone said a joke you'd immediately perk up, listening carefully to hear that laugh in the crowd of your class' noise.

so, according to your suspicions... spider-man is the cute boy from english. peter parker.

you smile to yourself, letting your eyes drift from the buildings and instead towards the sky, watching as the colors change in front of you. "holy shit, peter, look at the sky."

the grip on you loosens slightly and you gasp, the noise making peter regain both his composure and hold on you. heavy breaths fall from your lips as you stare at the boy, heart racing as he suddenly lands the two of you on the roof of a building.

you step back, feeling weird standing on the hard concrete after soaring through the air, but mainly confused. "why are we-"

"how do you know my name?"

you relax slightly. "so you are peter parker."

his hand goes to his head, pulling off the mask and shaking out his curls. your stomach flutters at the sight. a heavy breath exerts from his mouth as he looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. "but how did you-"

"your laugh," you say, smiling slightly at the bewildered expression on his face. "you almost never speak, but sometimes, every once in a while, you'll laugh in class and it just... i don't know. i guess i just associated it with you because we've never spoken, so..."

peter stares at you, processing the information. "you pay attention to me?"

your face burns and you give him a look. "don't act like you're not special, parker," you gesture towards the suit, looking him over.

"okay, but you didn't know about this until a few minutes ago," he smiles, cocking his head slightly.

"peter, don't make me say it out loud."

all the boy does is let out a laugh, but it's not the same loud one. it's smaller, more like a satisfied humph as he shakes his head at the ground. not wanting to meet his gaze again, you look out at the sky, a bright mix of oranges and reds, littered with bubblegum pink clouds.

peter looks at you and follows your gaze to the sky and gasps, standing next to you. "so that's what you said to look at."

"yeah, dummy."

there's that laugh again. he nudges you in the stomach and you gape, shoving him back until the two of you break into a fit of playful shoves and giggles. he pokes you in the stomach and you yelp, stepping back.

your heart falls to your feet, a scream erupting from your throat, as well as peter's. "shit- y/n!"

the sensation of nothing underneath you makes everything blurry as the air folds around you and pulls you down towards the ground, taking you in and wrapping you in the blankets of oblivion.

or not.

you open your eyes to see a web tugging at your chest, peter standing on the side of the building and pulling on the web, bringing you back to the roof. a sigh falls from your lips as your feet touch the side of the building and peter's hand wraps around your wrist. with a final pull, peter helps you back onto the surface.

you grab him by the shoulder, stepping forward and feeling something brush against your lips.

holy shit.

it hits you that you and peter just accidentally kissed, but just after, a mountain of metaphorical boulders plummets into you, yelling hey, you almost just died, too!

peter's hand is still on your wrist as he looks at you with wide eyes. he gulps. "are- um- are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm okay, are you okay?"

his face contorts, confusion. "yeah, i'm fine, i'm not the one who fell off the building but..."

you smile and he cuts himself off, looking at you nervously.

"and we somehow kissed?"

"yeah," you breathe. you look down to see your arms still intertwined like old tree branches, holding onto each other as time rolls away like rugs. you squeeze his arm and he gives you a look, to which you nod.

and this time it wasn't a simple brush against your lips, but a gentle kiss, his lips pressed to yours firmly. your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head slightly, the branches of your arms twisting around each other's bodies and holding the other close until air runs out. you pull away, foreheads pressed together as you let out a breath.

when you open your eyes, peter has a shit-eating grin on his face.

"what?"

"you just keep falling for me today, don't you?"

you step back from him, laughing and shaking your head. "get over yourself. i have a meeting in five minutes, parker."

peter's eyes blow up, chocolatey irises filled with shock, mouth falling agape. "five minutes? we gotta go!"

+ + +

"ah, the teens of the night."

you freeze, breath catching in your throat. peter looks over at you, perplexed expression matching yours.

tony scoffs. "look at that."

he points behind him to the tv playing the news. pictures of peter saving you from falling- even one of your bodies molded together as you kiss- are on display.

"just minutes ago, a bystander caught spider-man saving a girl from falling off of the roof of an apartment building on 23rd street. and, not only was the hero not wearing his usual mask, but the miraculous move ended in a kiss! now to steve, on the scene with the bystander," the reporter states.

the video shifts to in front of the building of the incident, an middle aged man standing next to a brightly smiling old woman. "thank you, rebecca. i'm here with evangeline davis, who witnessed the incident. evangeline, describe to us what you saw."

"thank you, steve," the old woman croons, poking the man playfully before grabbing the microphone out of his hands. "i was just outside taking pictures of my flowers when i heard a scream and saw this girl falling off the roof and spider-man saving her. you see, my grandchildren recently gave me a lesson on how to use the new cell phone i got for christmas and i like sharing my garden on facebook. i've got this new rose shrub that recently flowered and, might i add, looks much better than my friend darlene's, who-"

"ma'am, if you could just-"

"right. yes. i started taking pictures, since i had my phone out, and all of a sudden the girl was saved and they were kissing! from what i could see, spider-man looked like a very attractive young man-"

despite the situation, you let out a small snort, peter's face burning as his eyes bore into the screen.

"- but i don't think my camera skills were good enough to catch everything."

the tv pauses and your attention turns back to tony, the quiet frustration on his face slightly terrifying.

especially since this was your first real life encounter with the man.

"care to explain yourselves?"

you and peter stood there awkwardly as your sentences fumbled over each other's, nervous glances over at each other as you managed to describe the whole backstory. how you maybe had crushes on each other, and then how you needed a lift because of your ptsd (which was a very uncomfortable part of the explanation that peter definitely let you explain since he didn't want to overstep), and how you recognized his voice and that led to the two of you talking and, eventually, kissing on the rooftop. and how you fell off the roof.

an awkward nothingness fills the air as tony stares out the window, hand wrapped over his scruff in concentration. the man sucks in a sharp breath and turns to the two of you.

"alright. peter: i should've known you'd pull a stunt like this. we'll talk later."

peter, wide eyed, looks back and forth between you and tony and starts gesturing towards the door. "do i- am i supposed to-"

"y/n," mr. stark cuts the boy off, attention turned to you, "firstly, well... welcome to the stark industries team. i'll be adding a section pertaining to this whole spiel onto your contract. we should also probably do something about that ptsd... anyways. both of you: cute love story, really, but be more responsible. as in, maybe don't take off your mask in public and if you do, don't attract attention to yourselves by falling off the roof. makes my job harder. it also risks your life, so."

the two of you nod viciously, grateful for the lecture as opposed to a heated yelling session. "we're really sorry, mr. stark-"

"i accept your apology, mr. parker, now get out of my office."

peter, expression still as rigid and startled as ever, begins stuttering. "o-okay, yes, of course, mr. stark. have a, um, have a great day."

tony nods, raising a hand at him as peter almost trips, walking towards the door and giving you a nervous yet knowing smile as he shuts the door. you return the smile, tight lipped, before turning to the man sitting at the desk. "mr. stark, i'm so-"

"no need," he shakes his head, gesturing for you to sit down. you do. "peter's a good kid and, quite frankly, i think you're a good fit for him, based off of what i've seen."

your face burns. "thank you, mr. stark. i promise it won't happen again and we definitely won't pull anything... you know... while we're here. and from what i'm assuming, i'm gonna be a bit to busy running around for you to deal with his antics."

tony smirks at you proudly and nods.

"so, about your internship."

+ + +

was feeling a bit spunky and decided to make a few parts a little more spicy with ~figurative language~ who am i

don't forget to unstan ansel elgort for clear skin ✨

#peter parker #tom holland #peter parker imagines #marvel #mcu #spiderman #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #fanfic #fluff #writing #peter #parker #thomas holland

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spacevivorarch · 4 years

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THE VAMPIRE DIARIES VERSE — IF THE MONSTER ALWAYS DIES AT THE END OF THE BOOK, WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

valkyrie astrid sloane was born into a coven of witches called the arcadia coven. their magic was a gift from the first gods. their traditions, their beliefs, the way they lived wasn’t the same as the modern world. they relied on their magic for everything, and their magic was different. the arcadia coven had an elemental magic, a magic more powerful than can be comprehended by modern witches. it is a magic that requires a sacrifice. every few years, a witch would be born into the coven, but they would be a witch like no other. instead of being a provider, a nurturer like most arcadia witches, this child would be a leecher, a siphoner, sucking power from other witches because the gods were not kind enough to give them their own, these witches would drain the life force, along with the magic, from every living thing. and, whenever one is born into the coven, they must be returned to the gods. these witches are evil. they are stains. they are monsters.

valkyrie astrid sloane was born a siphoner. when her parents discovered this, they ran from their coven. they wanted to keep their daughter, not sacrifice her. but, just because they left, doesn’t mean they were allowed to leave. especially not with valkyrie, who needed to be sacrificed so that the witches of the arcadia coven could keep their magic. it was the only way that they could.

the first few years of valkyrie’s childhood were happy. she never really understood why her family was always moving around so much, never staying in one town for more than a couple of months, and she didn’t understand why, sometimes, when she touched her parents, they would struggle for air and start to turn a sickly grey. she was only five years old when they had to sit her down and have “the talk.” from that moment on, chaos seemed to descend on the sloane family.

since a siphoner is born and sacrificed every five years, it had now been ten years since the arcadia coven had paid their due to their gods, and so their magic was starting to run out. it hit valkyrie’s parents hard, one week they were fine, and two weeks later, they had no magic to speak of. which was a problem, and not just because the arcadia coven was hunting them more ferociously than ever so they could get their magic back, but also because revna and leif slone relied on magic for everything. without it, the three of them were now on the run and homeless, living in a tiny, beat up car that smelled like feet and onions. valkyrie tried not to complain, though. she knew that, technically, all of this was her fault, even if her parents insisted otherwise.

when valkyrie turned elven, the arcadia coven caught up with her family, and the ensuing fight was deadly. val’s mom told her to run and hide, that they would come find her when they could, but, even at such a young age, she knew she couldn’t leave her parents to fight this fight alone. valkyrie siphoned the life from four of the hunters before the rest of them made the smart decision to run away and regroup. but not before they took one last shot at revna. they killed her.

grief - stricken over the loss of his soulmate, leif took valkyrie and returned to the village that the arcadia coven built. he was so consumed with rage, that he attacked the coven’s leader. he had no chance. even valkyrie knew that, and she begged him not to go, not to do it. she begged him not to leave her. but leif felt like he had to avenge his wife’s death. he didn’t get the chance to, however. he was killed mere minutes after he stepped foot in the village. he failed his mission, and he failed his daughter, who was now alone, an orphan, near a village that wanted her dead.

valkyrie ran as far and as fast as she could. she lived on the streets. she slept in alleyways and forests and abandoned buildings. for the next few years, her life was hell. the only bright spot in an otherwise dark and dreary existence was her new best friends. one day, when she was searching through dumpsters for something to eat, she found a garbage bag with two tiny puppies inside. they were so small, so frail, she was sure that they would die. but they didn’t. they were strong. they were survivors. just like her. she named them thor and ingrid. they were her family.

she was fourteen when she started planning avenging the deaths of her mother and father. she would pick up her father’s mission, and valkyrie swore that she would succeed where he had failed. two years later, after spending those two years learning how to properly siphon magic from nature and the dead, valkyrie stormed the acadia coven’s village. literally. and she killed them all, every man, woman, and child. she saved the leader for last, and she made that horrid woman beg for mercy. she told her that her old gods were dead, and she had taken over their kingdom.

she was a little lost for a couple of years after that. she had done what she had to do, she had gotten justice for her parents, and now. . . what? she fell into a spiralling depression when the realization of what she’d done finally hit her. she killed so many people, taken so many lives like they were nothing. she became a god, and she was not a merciful one, a kind one.

#✨ v. if the monster always dies at the end of the book‚ why am i still alive? » verses.#✨ a princess should be built of stars and suns and forevers. » about.#this is longer than val's actual bio rip me

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insane-control-room · 5 years

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Do You Know?

Scout doesn't have much respect for people who drink too much, but a little comment hits off a conversation.

(ao3 link here)

Scout liked to think he was, and looked, and acted, unique. He liked to feel special, to feel important and helpful. Out of his siblings, he was the runt, and out of his mercenary pals, he was the youngest and also, again, the runt. Despite it all, he still felt happy where he was, hurting people before they could know what hit them, whether it be a shotgun bullet to the chest or a bat to the face. He took pride in his work, flanking and blasting away, snatching and shoving, jumping so fast it seemed he glided on air. He did his job, and did it hella well.

And he did not like the time that he was not doing it.

Like mess hall.

For one thing, the eating area was loud, almost painfully so. It reminded him of his crowded Boston lunch table, trying to get a bite of food to eat, his brothers devouring it before he could, and his mother trying to make up for it by giving him half of a sandwich or an apple, but it never filled him much, he feeling hungry all the time. It also reminded him of school, where he struggled to do anything, his teachers always bypassing him in favor of smarter students. It made him angry, but more upset? Frustrated. It made him frustrated to always be overlooked.

And left behind, by everyone and everything; his brothers, his team, his troop, his father. So he learned to run ahead of the pack. He was the one to slam in and leave with a bang. He was the rough one of the group, the one that caused problems for the other side, and even sometimes for his own team. The only person that tolerated him was Miss Pauling, and that was only when she was around. He felt rather lonely, but he ran ahead of it, not letting his loneliness catch up to him. He ran fast, and he ran often. He ran to and away, and into the fray. The adrenaline kept him good, rough, and tough company. That was the way it was and always would be. He did not need anyone or anything.

He was the best of the best, top of the line, Scout master extraordinaire, Jeremy [REDACTED], and his good for nothing father did not matter, never did, never would.

Or, so he thought.

He wished he was not around that night, he wished he had gone jogging with Sniper or chatted with Medic, or just relaxed and listened to Engi’s music. He wished he was not there the night Demo and Spy had gone out for drinks, and he especially wished he was not around for the aftermath. Seeing Spy come in and leaning heavily on Demo, both smelling of expensive sherry, vodka, and Pinot Noir, Scout lifted his chin and turned away from them both in disgust. Though he was a rough and tough lad from messy streets, those same streets gave him standards, and those that drank on the battlefield for fun lost some of his respect, which, despite what people believed, he had a lot of. He could respect people, just as he respected Sniper and… um… Medic, and Heavy. The reason why he hated drinking was the cost and toll it had on a person, and how badly it lowered their chances of survival. Also, Miss Pauling had told him that she was of the same opinion, and it made him feel good to be verified. Scout personally disliked the idea of inebriation, why would anyone remove their clarity willingly when they could die at a moment’s notice? Why would someone waste their life for a little bit of buzz or good feeling? It just was not worth it to him. He trusted Demo to hold his alcohol, and yes, Spy knew what he was doing, but it still felt very wrong to him, a primal gut feeling. In his life, rather short so far, he learned to trust that instinct, and seeing Spy in a drunken good mood set off that fire screaming something was terribly wrong. He sucked in a breath, and let it out, just like Medic taught him, to calm down.

The mess hall was quiet, for once, and for once, Scout wished it was not. Demo crashed into his room to sleep (quite literally), and Spy chuckled, waving him off before his gray blue eyes swept over to Scout. Scout pretended not to notice, burying his nose in the picture based novel Miss Pauling had gotten for him, Cugo Habret. He loved the storyline and mystery, and the big print in the written parts made it much easier for him to read it. Miss Pauling was the best.

He felt Spy’s eyes on him, and he shuddered. Couldn’t the guy just go to bed or go to his room or just leave him alone?

No. Instead, Spy sauntered over to him, sitting beside him in an armchair. Scout went through the motions of curling up a little more and putting his face in his book, but his eyes were trained on Spy. Spy, who was looking at him with a… strange expression, and was that a smile, not a smirk? Scout could not tell from the corner of his eye, and frankly, either would just make his skin crawl with the anxiety of it.

“You look like her,” Spy softly spoke, his cheek in hand, studying Scout with semishut eyes. “You got her attitude, too. Spunky, street smart, the works.”

“Uh, hey, Spy, pal,” Scout made it seem like he just noticed him as he processed the words. “Didn’t notice ya sneak up on me. Hey, the hell are you talking about?”

“I know very well that you saw me,” Spy curtly corrected him. “You should know better than play dumb with me, Jeremy.”

“I ain’t playin’ dumb,” Scout defended himself. “I really don’t know what you’re yammerin’ on about. Look like who? Got whose attitude?”

“Your mother’s.”

At first, Scout was going to brush it off as a snappy joke, one that fit Spy’s personality very well. But something clicked, and it hit him in the chest harder than a flyby baseball.

“Well, bonne nuit, Scout.”

He got up and left to his room, Scout staring after him with a slack jaw.

Then he jumped up and ran to Spy, his hands flying to the other man’s chest to stop him.

“Wait, wait, what do you know about my Ma?”

Spy, even in his drunkenness, could hear the desperate plea in Scout’s voice.

“Do… do you know where she is?”

Scout’s voice broke.

“C’mon Spy, you gotta help me, I’ve been spending so much to look for her, I need to know that she’s safe, please… Spy. I’m not good at lookin’ for people, I’m good at runnin’ from people looking for me. Do you know where my Ma is?”

“She is safe,” Spy coldly told the young man, watching relief flood his face, then worry. Spy spoke again before Scout could, his mouth already open. “I can assure you, she is fine.”

“Oh thank god,” Scout muttered under his breath, trusting the intelligence. “Thank you, man. It means a lot to me. To know she’s safe and ok. That’s why I got this job, bein’ a merc, you know.”

Spy did know, so he just nodded.

“Thanks again, Spy. You have a good night,” Scout smiled at him. Spy rose an eyebrow, and asked, “Aren’t you going to sleep yourself?”

“Nah, I didn’t run today. Too much energy.”

“Hmph. And what about tomorrow? What will you do when we are under attack?”

Scout shrugged.

“Ain’t the first time I went without sleep, Spy.” He folded his arms and grinned. “That surprised you, didn’t it? Guess I’m more elusive than I thought.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Spy ordered him, but it was a bark without bite. “Just because I don’t keep my eye on your schedules doesn’t mean that I don’t know more about you than you do.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Scout smiled. “You have a lovely night, Mr. Spy. I’m gonna see if Medic is up, or maybe look at the stars with Engi. I’ll see when I get to it.”

Spy rolled his eyes and turned back to enter his room, when Scout suddenly spoke again.

“If you know my Ma…” he shifted uncomfortably, both men’s backs to one another. “Do you know my Pop? Like, who he was? Where he is, if he’s still alive?”

“Your father?”

“Yeah. My brothers all tell me that I had a different dad than them. That their dad died a year before I was born.”

“I do not know him.”

“Oh. Well, that’s ok.” Scout tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. “Makes sense. Still, thanks for the info on my Ma, Spy. G'night.”

Scout saluted, and left. Spy sat alone in his smoking room, foot tapping, then took out his booklet, flipping through it, stopping on a page.

An old photograph with a baby in a grinning man’s arms peered at him. He smiled softly, touching the baby’s face through the waxy paper.

#miss pauling #mentioned #scout #tf2 #spy #dad spy #control art #control writes #team fortress 2 #others mentioned #found family #hurt/comfort #loneliness #questions #alcohol mentioned #queue pasa?

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domesticatedantelope · 5 years

Text

star-crossed

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: E, NSFW 18+

Word Count: 3686

Summary: The one under the stars. For RoD Appreciation Week.

Mercy is four hours deep and only halfway through her second problem set when Logan scoops her from the desk and sweeps her smoothly over his shoulder.

“Hey!” She gasps as the world spins around her, stunned by the sudden upheaval. Her hands grip instinctively at the line of his shoulders for balance; and despite her indignation an appreciative warmth still flushes through her at the firm span of muscles there. She almost forgets to be mad, until the sight of her work growing steadily further out of reach reminds her that she was just piecing together a particularly difficult equation, and she is being actively carried away from its solution. “Logan! I was working on that!”

His touch is the same gentle reverence that she’s learned to expect from him when he shifts her against his chest, where she hangs in the cradle of his arms like an oversized doll. “I know.” He offers her a sympathetic smile, pressing his lips somewhere among the dark waves of her hair. “But even big smart brains like yours need breaks sometimes.” Then he pauses, rocks back on his heels, reconsidering; hesitation wavers in his features. “Let me help you unwind for a little bit.” It’s not exactly a question, but she knows that he is waiting for permission, and harbors no amount of doubt that he would put her right back where he found her with the utmost care if she requested.

Reluctantly, the irritation fizzles out, worn over like erosion by her own fatigue, and that fondness for him that is just as much a part of her as the beat of her heart. She presses her hand to his cheek, and a warm curl of affection flutters in her chest when he turns to kiss the palm of her hand. “All right, hermoso. What did you have in mind?”

The smile that unfurls across his face ought to be criminal, every atom of his body so openly pleased and easy to read - like the pages of a book she’s learned and loved a thousand times before. “Wanna go for a drive?”

She leans up to kiss the hollow underneath his jaw. “Always.”

With enviable ease, he carries her outside and tucks her lovingly into the passenger side of his car. And when he reaches past her to buckle her seatbelt, he sneaks a kiss to her lips while he’s there, full and sweet and slow; and she thinks if his smile should be criminal, the other things his mouth can do are downright dangerous.

She’s still blushing when Logan slides into the car beside her. Behind the wheel, he’s the absolute picture of ease, a man most firmly in his element, and it looks so unfairly good on him. He grins at her, puts on a song he knows she likes and starts to drive.

They wind their way out of the city, buildings racing by in flashes of dark colors and bright lights. She luxuriates in the impermanence, how quickly all the streets and people flicker past and disappear as they speed down the freeway and leave everything behind them.

When his hand reaches across the center console, she meets him halfway, and their fingers thread together with all the ease of second nature. She traces the ridge of his knuckles, touch soft against the hatch marks of old scars that split the skin there. Lifting his hand against her lips, she soothes them over with a series of tender kisses, and his thumb strokes gentle as breath across the rise of her cheekbone.

“You know, I remember when you used to help me study.”

Logan laughs. “Did I really, though?”

“I recall doing quite well on that exam.”

“You’ve never needed anyone’s help for that, Mercy.” He meets her gaze just long enough for her to catch the earnest warmth in his eyes before turning back to the road. “But… this should help, too. Trust me.”

She squeezes fondly at his fingers. “I do.”

When they merge off from the freeway, Mercy starts to recognize the route they’re riding up into the mountains above the city. Her eyes glance over to the clock on Logan’s dash, where the late hour glows in bright block yellow numbers. “Is this where we’re heading? Won’t it be closed?”

He flashes her that reckless smile, the one she fell so irreversibly in love with, and her heart leaps with the same wild excitement that only Logan can inspire in her. “When has a little chain link ever stopped us before?”

She bites her lip, fighting the grin that threatens to break free across her face. “Never.”

“That’s my girl.”

After a dizzying drive along the twists and turns that hug the Santa Monica mountains, Logan kills the headlights and pulls up to the front gate of an expansive and very familiar parking lot. He reaches into the back seat and retrieves a neatly-folded blanket, tucking it under his arm and turning to her with a mischievous grin. “Shall we?”

He catches her by the hand when she steps toward the front gate. “This way. I know somewhere a little more private.”

Despite the chill of night, a blush warms her cheeks. “Want me all to yourself, huh?”

The glance he aims her way is lingering and dark with desire. “Since the moment I met you.”

Their fingers laced, Logan leads her away from the parking lot, through the chapparal and underbrush that skirt the side of the observatory. Their boots crunch over dirt and vegetation, marking the sound of their travel until finally they break around the corner, and the dazzling lights of Los Angeles sprawl out like so many stars before her.

Logan eyes the fence that stands between them and that breathtaking view with a smirk. “This all they got to keep us out?” He tosses the blanket over first and braces back against the fence, locking his hands over his knee. Then he shoots her a wink. “C’mon, troublemaker. You know your criminal trespassing by now.”

Mercy rests her boot between his cradled palms. Before she leaps, she fists a hand in Logan’s shirt and yanks him up into a kiss, feeling him stiffen with surprise before he smiles and eagerly responds.

“For good luck,” she says, when he lifts a brow at her.

Staring at her mouth, he licks his lips and hums an eager noise, deep in the base of his throat. “All my luck is yours,” he promises, easy as breathing. He boosts her up and over the fence in one swift, practiced move, and she clambers expertly down the other side. Her feet touch ground among soft blades of grass, and when she turns -

Wow.

The city stretches out as far as she can see, miles and miles of glittering lights and glassy silver skyscrapers that reach up with jagged hands to graze the dark night sky. She must have come here a dozen different times when she was a child, but this isn’t the same view she remembers.

Then Logan fills the space at her side, leaning close to take her hand, and she thinks that the company might have a lot to do with it. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, it’s… beautiful.” The word feels insufficient; she knows so many words in many different languages and none of them seem right. “More beautiful than I remember.”

“Good. ‘Cause I saved you the best seat in the house.” He flops down onto the blanket with an inviting smile, patting the empty space beside him.

Blushing - because even when she’s feeling bold, she’s always blushing - Mercy folds herself decisively in Logan’s lap instead. “Best seat,” she declares, and taps the tip of his nose with her finger.

His arms hook eagerly around her, sweeping her tight against his chest as he nips playfully at the curve of her neck. “And don’t you forget it.” Giddy laughter rises from her lungs, fond and freeing, and his eyes soften at the sound. “Haven’t heard you laugh all day. I was starting to miss it.”

She smoothes the hair back from his face. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Always.” Framing a hand against her cheek, he draws her close to claim her mouth in a gentle kiss. His fingers lace through the thick tresses of her hair, his grip an anchor locking them together when she pushes him onto his back. Eyes dark and ardent, he stares up at her and submits freely to her lead, his features taken with a sudden hunger that makes her skin ache to be touched. “What’s on your mind, troublemaker?”

Mercy smiles and dips her mouth against his jaw, shaping a slow, teasing kiss there. “You,” she answers easily, and slinks lower to kiss his throat, his collarbone, the muscles above his heart. “You, and you, and only ever you, hermoso.”

He trails a rough hand down her waist to the curve of her hip, where his fingers chart slow shapes over her skin. With the winds of late night LA cold against her back, the scorching heat in his palm summons liquid shivers through her body. “You’re warm,” she moans, sinking down against his chest and nestling greedily into his body heat.

Logan chuckles and runs his palms up her arms, trying to press his warmth into her skin. “Maybe I ought to be warming you up.”

“Mmn, you can do that?”

“I have my ways.” He rolls her under him with a low, rumbling laugh, until his body shields her protectively from the cold. His lips find the pulse in her throat and linger there just long enough to make her gasp. “Where should I start?”

“My fingers are actually freezing,” she confesses, flushing, but he only smiles and wraps his hand around her wrist, bringing her fingers to his lips, where he breathes warm air across her palm, dragging his mouth down the line of her knuckles. When his teeth nibble softly at her fingertips, she bites back an unexpected groan as desire circles down in the pit of her gut, nerves tingling under the languid path his mouth tracks. He catches her gaze as he reaches for her other hand, seeing to its care with the same meticulous devotion. His lips part against the valley of her hand, and she sucks in a sudden breath as the flat of his tongue travels hot and wet across her palm.

“O-oh! That’s -” Mercy bites her lip until it hurts, tossing restlessly through her vocabulary for the proper words and coming up forever short.

Thankfully Logan continues, seemingly encouraged by her speechlessness. He attends to the sensitive skin of her wrist with several tender kisses, then charts his way across the palm fronds that fan leaves of dark ink down the length of her arm. She buries a hand in his hair, tugging lovingly at the soft strands as his teeth find a nerve in the slope of her shoulder that makes her whine.

He sneaks one last teasing bite at the rise of her throat before his eyes find hers once more. “Anywhere else?” he asks, and her heart pounds at the rasp of want in his voice.

Mercy has come to terms with the fact that Logan puts her far beyond the realm of words. She drags her fingertip down the center of her chest instead and whispers a shaky please, hoping he will understand.

The first soft kiss he drops against her sternum is barely there at all, a ghost of lips and gone again. The second lands with more conviction, and once he works through the top buttons of her blouse, the third and fourth are sinful with tongue. His breath spills warm between the curves of her breasts, that tickle followed quickly by his searching mouth and the barest hint of teeth.

She thanks a god she hasn’t prayed to since her childhood for front clasps when he easily unlatches her bra and frees the stiff peaks of her nipples. A shiver of discomfort grips her from the frigid air, and Logan is quick to cover her bare skin with a series of attentive kisses and love bites to compensate.

His name frays on her tongue, and she is hurtling toward incoherency.

“Mmn.” He glances up at her through his lashes, a wolfish smile curled across his face. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

She licks her teeth and manages to scrape the words together with great effort. “Then keep making me say it.”

“Oh, I’ll keep you here all night, troublemaker.” Logan laughs under his breath, his voice just as satisfyingly wrecked as her own. He reaches back with one hand to tug his shirt above his head, and then she’s clutching eagerly at the delicious heat of his bare skin and nearly sobbing at how good he feels against her.

“You are so soft,” he groans against her throat, his fingers burning trails of warmth like hot coals down her waist. “And sweet…” His tongue laves hungrily over a muscle in her neck. “And you smell like cookies all the fucking time.”

A delirious laugh bubbles like champagne up her throat. She swallows it back, squirming as he pops open the last few buttons of her blouse and splays the full roughness of his hand over her stomach. His eyes drag ravenous with need down the curves of her body, and he bites a groan into his teeth. “God, it makes me want to just…” He trails off, a sudden ruddy flush coloring his cheeks.

“Just…?”

Logan pins her with a searing look. “Mercy, I want to eat you ‘til you’re screaming.”

Well. Her throat works when she swallows empty air, her own face flaring red with vibrant heat. She offers him a timid smile and taps her finger at the end of his beautiful mouth. “Show me, handsome.”

He crushes his mouth to hers, slipping a hand under her skirt to tease the soft lace of her panties down her legs. His knuckles graze the slick heat where she throbs for him, and they shiver together at the contact. Groaning her name, he locks his arms under her hips and drags her back on top of him, and it will never fail to thrill her when he shifts her around like she weighs nothing at all. And then he grabs her by the thighs and yanks her up his chest until her knees tumble apart above his shoulders, holding her open and exposed and inches from his face.

Her confidence threatens to buckle, and he seems to feel it in the way her thighs tense around him. His thumbs soothe gentle circles into the soft skin there, head turning to kiss the inside of her thigh but never dropping her gaze. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

“Yeah?”

A positively devilish smirk forms on his face. “Let me show you.”

Lip caught between her teeth, Mercy gives him a determined nod.

Logan starts slow, kneading his fingers at her hips as he bites sucking kisses up each thigh, never hard enough to hurt. Gradually she eases into his hold, threading her fingers around a fistful of his hair, and he hums beneath her in approval. His eyes flicker up to meet hers from between her legs, and there is an unspeakable rush that flutters in her stomach at the sight of him there, staring up at her like she is something holy.

When he drags her down against his mouth, she gasps at the first searching stroke of his tongue. Her back arches as white hot pleasure bleeds across her nerves, heat etched into her skin from the tip of his tongue, each languid shape dancing like cast shadows through her body. Broken words bounce uselessly behind her teeth, half-syllables of curses and sacrilegious invocations.

Emboldened, he grips tighter at her legs, working his lips and tongue in firm rhythms against her skin as she sobs and starts to tremble. His name shivers up from her lungs, and he groans beneath her, hunting rough fingers up her thigh until he finds the point where they connect, slick folds parting around his tongue, and then she feels him pushing in, thick fingers filling, fucking, crooking softly and wrenching the last of her breath in a shattered gasp.

“Oh, god!” Her hips begin to rock before she can stop them, and Logan slows to match her pace, that hot, hot tongue like a scorching sun between her thighs as he spirals blazing shapes around her clit. His mouth spells out the most exquisite bliss, and he is unrelenting, like a man at his last meal, feasting on her as if he might never get another chance, and though she lacks the faculties to reassure him, she would tear the world apart before she let anything take him from her.

Love and rapture sing in her heart, dance with blissful fingers down her nerves. Logan never tears his eyes from her face as her legs start to tense around his head. The brutal flat of his tongue glides in tight over her clit, sucking her between his lips when he staggers a third finger in beside the others, and that devastating stretch is what finally tears her apart. Her eyes twist shut into darkness, and she screams as blinding pleasure overtakes her.

It feels like a thousand tiny deaths ripping all at once across her every nerve, and if this is how she passes on - straddled over Logan’s face for all the stars and the city of angels to see - then she submits to her undoing with no regrets.

Little seismic echoes drift through her twitching body as the pleasure gradually recedes, and Mercy blinks her bleary eyes until her vision clears to reveal Logan smiling triumphantly up at her. His wet mouth scatters kisses down her shaking thighs while she recovers.

“I could watch you come all night,” he sighs, lashing his tongue over a mark his teeth left in her skin. She lifts away from him on unsteady legs, and he eases her gently back against the blanket, rolling to occupy the open space between her thighs. Her hands roam lovingly over his shoulders, down the first few notches of his spine, tugging his mouth down against her own. Her lips are clumsy in the wake of coming, so he kisses her slowly, lifting his hips to let her fumble with his belt.

“Need you,” she breathes, feeling him tense against her when his cock fills her hands. “Please, baby.”

“I’m here.” He soothes a few steadying kisses down her jaw, licking his fingertips and slicking them over the head of his cock. She whimpers at the hot, hard feel of him against her, and he watches her expression twist with relief as he pushes in, inch by perfect inch until they’re seated firmly together, and the world is squeezed abruptly down to the exquisite width of him inside of her.

Logan chokes out a strangled noise against her throat. “Oh, fuck… Mercy.” His lips shiver down the column of her neck. “Perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Scoring her nails up his sides, she urges him into motion with a hushed moan. “Logan, please.”

His hips surge against her, and the dull stunning pleasure steals her breath every time he sinks home. The dark strands of his hair spill over his face as he ducks his head against her shoulder, his hands roaming greedily down her back, over her hips, gripping the curves of her ass to drag her hard onto his cock, forcing a wordless squeak from her lungs.

He catches her mouth in a messy kiss, moaning against her lips when his tongue dips between them. Her knees hug in around his waist, and she pleads for him in shattered syllables, head falling back as pressure carves a hot path through her belly from the wet, tight point inside of her where they connect.

Tears bleed at her lashes, gushing down her face as she presses clumsy kisses to his temple. “I love you.”

Logan muffles a groan against her shoulder, lifting the frantic black of his eyes back to hers. “Say it again,” he breathes, and strokes his thumb down the soft plane of her cheek. “Please.”

“I love you.” She says it on the back end of a gasp, and again when he fucks into her with renewed urgency. She pants the words into his skin, over and over, soft as prayer, and when he seizes up against her, fingers biting at her hips as he comes inside of her, she presses her mouth to his neck and shapes the words against his racing pulse.

Gradually the tension fades from his clenching muscles, and his body relaxes into her embrace. He kisses her forehead, her cheekbones, her nose, and finally the swollen curve of her mouth before he smiles down at her. “Love you too, beautiful.”

After slipping clumsily back into his jeans, Logan dresses her with reverent hands, replacing her clothes with the same attentive care that he removed them. The strength slowly returns to her limp muscles, and she helps tug his shirt back down his chest with a carefree giggle that doesn’t quite form, her voice still weak from screaming.

By the time they stretch out side-by-side under the stars, the moon hangs high in the night sky above them, glowing white against the darkness. Mercy reaches up to trace what little constellations she can find amidst the endless LA lights, naming them from memory. Logan plays with her fingers as he listens, and when she glances over, she finds him watching her with a smile to rival the stars on his face.

Eventually the temperature dips too low for even Logan’s body heat to keep her warm, and they trek back toward the car on somewhat unsteady legs.

She falls asleep on the drive home with Logan’s hand cradled between her own, and dreams a sea of stars that fills the sky from horizon to horizon.

#rodaw #ride or die #choices ride or die #rod logan #logan x mc #ns*fw #happy rodaw y'all!#let's start things off real sweeeeet #did i spend way too long deliberating whether sneaking into griffith observatory and banging on the grass is actually feasible? yes #this is fanfic please just let me have this #it's what they deserve #mercy booping logan's face: best seat #logan: then sit there #these kids are fun #mc: mercy castellano #dom writes #ship: grand larceny

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