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battymommastuff · 11 months

Text

The Loop [Caution: Sharp Objects]

Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: It was all a nightmare...simply a nightmare right? Right?

TW: DARK THEMES, NEEDLES AND DEATH

Masterlist Part 1

(GIF not mine)

You uncomfortably made breakfast as Cassandra stared holes into your head. Every Time you moved too quickly, she would flinch then reach out for you. As if she were trying to protect you from something. While you enjoyed spending time with the people you considered your children, this was making you weary.

You were still trying to figure out what happened earlier that morning. Never in your life were you greeted like that. Every single face that you saw had the same look of pure horror on it. It was like you had died right in front of them or something.

"She's just cooking...cooking breakfast." Barbara said as she watched you from the security cameras in the kitchen. Well it wasn't just her watching. "Every movement, and order she's cooking in was exactly the same." Barbara leaned closer to the camera, she wasn't going to miss any details. Anything that you do differently, she will document.

"A hallucigen?" Tim suggested grimacing when he felt the needle push into his vein. Alfred hummed in thought as he collected another blood sample to test, "We were all at the fight with the League, it's possible they used some invisible drug. Maybe us waking up was the drug leaving our system?" Tim asked as Alfred pulled the needle from his arm. After getting it bandaged, he stood up so Duke could get his blood tested next.

"That is likely, we should have done urine samples instead." Bruce mumbled as he analyzed their blood for any signs of drugs or anything that didn't belong.

"Bruce, all the blood is coming up clean. If we were drugged, I doubt something that strong would wash out that quickly. I mean come on, we were all there. We felt her dead body, I felt her blood soak into my pants. There was no way it was fake. It was too real." Dick snapped and ran his hand through his hair, "I felt her body get cold. How is any of this even happening?" He asked then walked away while weaving his fingers through his hair. Stephanie followed after him to try and console him.

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Okay, you were a little offended. You've just finished your famous breakfast, and no one is anywhere to be seen. Well except Cass, who was still watching you while she ate. After a few minutes of the silence, you stood up and stormed to the batcave.

The team was hard at work trying to figure out what happened when you made your way into the dark and gloomy place. "I made a delicious breakfast, and no one has come up to enjoy it. What possibly is so important that you couldn't wait?" You asked while crossing you arms.

They nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard your voice. They were so focused on finding a solution, that they didn't hear you coming down the steps.

Your eyes drifted from your family to the giant computer screen where you saw the results of their drug tests, "What is going on?" You asked then grabbing the nearest person who happened to be Damian. You turned his arm around to see the gauze and bandage wrapped around his arm.

"After the fight with the League, we wanted to make sure we were under the effects of anything dangerous. A simple precaution." Bruce said quickly as he made his way over to you. He rested his hands on your waist, but you noticed the slight hesitation as he did. "Now, let's go eat your breakfast." He said then started leading you out of the batcave, which only led you to ask more questions.

The surprise party was quickly canceled. Even if it was a dream, they didn't want to relive an ounce of those memories. Instead, they opted to take you shopping to your favorite places. Each store, they took turns buying you whatever you wanted. To you, it looked like a simple family outing, but to others, it looked like you were walking around with bodyguards.

Damian even went as far as threatening someone who glanced at you for too long.

After several stores, it was time to get a snack. Everyone managed to cram themselves into the outside patio of an ice cream shop. Bruce felt at ease being that they were in the safer part of the city. You ate your ice cream while chatting away happily. Everyone began to relax, and finally started to feel as if this was just a bad dream.

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Now fully relaxed, your family abandoned the protection formation. You were pushing Barbara and chatting with Jason casually. Though you didn't miss the sketchy person that had been following you. Your constant glances behind you didn't go unnoticed by Jason who alerted the rest of the family.

As soon as the stalker realized he'd been discovered, he lunged for you. Jason quickly intervened, but this man was clearly skilled. It wasn't long before your entire family was fighting to subdue this man. They had to do so as best they could without raising any suspicion as to who their alter egos were. After their success, they proceeded to question him. He could be linked to their dream...if it was real.

Though they would never think that this man could have a partner. He did. You let out a strangled scream when someone grabbed you from behind and a knife was plunged into your chest. The knife left your body, only to be plunged in again and again. Both men ran in opposite directions after the deed was done. This time, Damian was the one who caught you instead of your body hitting the ground.

The young boy watched as you coughed up your blood, and looked at you bleeding body in shock. You then looked up at Damian and your eyes went cold. "Ummi?" He called out while pressing his small hands against your wounds, as if that would help. How could this have happened? What the hell was going on?

Like the night at the party, everyone stood in shock. It was up to one of the Gotham citizens to call the police.

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Police cars, and news vans crowded the area as the family found themselves reliving the horrible night over again. Though no one was holding your body this time. A bloody white sheet covered it. Jason was currently handcuffed and in the back of a police car after he took his anger out on another one.

Gordon knelt by his daughter's side in an attempt to get her to speak, but she was quiet. All eyes were on your corpse once again. What did they do wrong? Was someone out to kill you? First a bullet through the head, then being stabbed in the middle of the street? It didn't make sense.

Dick sat on the ground with his head in his hands when he felt the urge to look up. Across the street where the massive crowd was, he saw a dark figure standing there. It seemed like no one could see it, but him, "Guys?" He called out as he stood up. Everyone looked at him, then followed his pointed finger. Like Dick, they saw the same dark figure.

They watched as it cocked its head to the side then held up an all too familiar music box. Slowly, it opened and the crank started to spin. Bruce started running across the street to try and stop this figure, but his body collapsed to the ground. Gordon caught his daughter when she fell into his arms. She was fast asleep.

Dick held himself up against the wall while trying to memorize every detail of this figure. Whatever it was, he was going to stop it.

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Damian woke up with cold sweat on his body. He wasted no time in getting out of bed to get to his parent's bedroom. He was wearing the same pj's as last time. He threw the door open, and saw that Bruce had just woken up.

Ignoring his father, he went right to the bathroom where you were rubbing some lotion onto your hands. "Damian, what's-" You were cut off when Damian collided with you. His arms were nearly crushing you, "Ummi." He whimpered out like he did when he was having a nightmare. You rested one hand on his head, and the other was on his back.

"It's alright little bird, I'm right here. Everything is okay."

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TAGLIST

@justafanficsreader @seaweed-orchid @O-n-1-x @jared-oranges

@cumbermovels

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highvern · 7 months

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Say So

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x reader

Genre: suggestive, frenemies to lovers

Warnings: no actual smut but implied at the end, references to nakedness, Wonwoo gets a boner bc he’s kinda a loser

Length: blurb

Note: enjoy :)

“Hey, Y/N, can I ask you a question?” Wonwoo starts.

You pull your eyes away from the tv screen to look at his face. “Ugh, I guess?”

“Why don’t you go back to your own house and stop bothering us?”

“Sweetie, if you’re in love with me just say it.” You try your best at an earnest expression, proving to piss Wonwoo off more.

“Get out of my house!”

Wonwoo is at his wits end. You’ve been sleeping on the couch of his shared apartment with Mingyu after a leak from upstairs flooded your room. Lucky for you the repairs were only supposed to take a week and a half, unlucky for him since it’s been the hardest (pun intended) week of his life.

At first Wonwoo was more than fine with you staying with them, unbothered by your presence since you were out and about most of the day. In reality, you were a better roommate than Mingyu was sometimes. You cleaned up after yourself, insisted on chipping in on groceries, and caused as few problems as possible. But Wonwoo’s attitude shifted after the first few days, frustration seeping in, leaving resentment to fester.

It started with your showers. You were a night owl like Wonwoo and showered last thing before bed. But it wasn’t when you took your showers that Wonwoo had a problem with, it was more so how. You were rather… vocal during the minutes it took you to bathe. Dreamy sighs and moans prompted by the relaxation of tense muscles penetrated through the wall Wonwoo shared with the bathroom. They filled his brain with foggy images of you naked and wet, skin flushed from the hot water and slick with soap. Even the times you hummed a familiar tune, the throaty noise entranced him him like a siren song, only proving to make his infatuation worse.

Then came the clothes you slept in. At first glance there was nothing wrong with your attire, some variation of baggy shorts and a T-shirt each night. Neither showed enough skin or clung to your figure in a way that was remotely suggestive. But in the mornings, when Wonwoo left his room, he could see the way the fabric rode up from your tossing and turning. Your bottoms bunched around your thighs, accentuating the plush flesh. Your shirt slid up so far it barely covered your ribs, making Wonwoo privy to the fact you sleep without a bra on. One morning, he exited his room to witness your shorts rode up so high he could see the bottom of your ass hanging out. From that day on he refused to come out of his room until he could hear you up and moving.

Wonwoo tried. He really really really tried not to be the weirdo that gets riled up just because a pretty girl is in his general vicinity. Especially when he knows you’re not doing it on purpose. He feels like a pervert when the moans you release in the shower make him hard. Or the fact that since that morning he saw you on the couch his thoughts are haunted by all the ways he would wake you up if you were in his bed in the morning.

“You wanna kiss me so bad, Wonwoo.” Your teasing suggestion pulls him back to the present.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” He’s trying his best to stay cool; however, the blush that races across his face and burns the tips of his ears could be spotted a mile away.

“That’s not a no.” You sing, turning around on the couch to face where he stands in the kitchen. Your head tilts to the side, gaze daring him to correct you.

“Yeah well it’s not like you’re any better.” It’s a weak response but he hopes it’ll get you off his back before he does something embarrassing.

“You’re right…”

He says nothing. He can’t have heard you correctly. Even so, Wonwoo is pretty sure his heart has stopped beating.

“I want to kiss you.” Your eyelashes flutter and now Wonwoo knows for certain he’s hallucinating.

“You what?”

“I. Want. To. Kiss. You.” Each word is enunciated, clear as can be.

You wait for a response, but Wonwoo doesn’t look like he’s even registering your words let alone comprehending what you’ve asked him for. You’re beginning to lose your nerve when he shakes his head.

“I—“ he clears his throat and starts towards the couch, “I can do that.”

Across town, Mingyu is unaware how very lucky he is to be sleeping at his girlfriend’s apartment for the night.

#svthub #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fluff #svt x reader #wonwoo x reader #svt #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #🫡 highvern

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hbyrde36 · 8 months

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STWG Drabble 9/19/23

Prompt: “We’re not family”

“We’re not family!” Dustin spit the words in Steve’s face, looming over his hospital bed with a scowl.

Steve's heart sank. Oh no, not Dustin too. “But, you said I was like a brother to you.”

“Maybe at one point you were, but then you let Eddie die. How could you possibly think things could ever be the same after that?”

Had he done that? Was Eddie dead, and was it somehow his fault? He couldn’t remember, it must have been the pain meds clouding his mind. No wonder the kid was so upset.

“I’m sorry, Dustin, I'm so sorry. You know I would have done anything to save him if I could have. Please, you have to know that.” Steve begged. He had so few people in his life that really cared about him, and his heart was breaking at the thought that he’d ruined things with his pseudo little brother. He’d already been disowned by his parents after he didn’t get into college, what more could he take?

“You know what I think?” Dustin began, with a most unpleasant smile on his face. “I think you wanted him to die. I think you were so jealous of him, so afraid that he was going to take me away from ,that you’d do anything to get him out of the picture.”

“No, NO! That’s not true. I liked Eddie! I cared about him! I swear! Why would you…why are you saying these things to me?” Steve cried.

Dustin scoffed. “You're lucky I'm even standing here right now. What good are you to me like this? To us? Bedridden and broken. You can’t even protect these kids you supposedly love now. You’re worthless, Steve. Might as well throw in the towel.”

Steve tried desperately not to fall apart, but what reason did he have to hold himself together now if even Dustin didn't want anything to do with him anymore?

That’s when he heard a familiar voice start screaming his name in the distance. Nancy. She was calling out to him but it sounded like she was a million miles away. Suddenly, he realized that nothing around him made sense. He shouldn’t be in the hospital, and what had Dustin just said about Eddie? Eddie was fine the last time Steve saw him, not ten minutes ago! The last thing he remembered was climbing the stairs to the attic in the Creel house. Robin had just tripped over a vine, he was trying to get to her to help when another one had wrapped itself around his throat.

“You know she’s only trying to save you out of guilt, Steve. She doesn’t love you, she doesn’t even like you.” Dustin-not-Dustin said, his voice dropping lower with every word spoken.

Vecna.

Steve jumped out of the bed on the opposite side and ran for the door. He threw it open and sprinted down the hall. The hospital was a ghost town, which he figured made sense considering none of this was real.

He looked around as he ran, desperate to find a way out. Max had described a portal opening up when she’d escaped Vecna’s clutches in the graveyard, but she’d had the music to guide her then. He knew neither he, Robin, or Nancy had brought a walkman with them into the Upside-Down.

He kept running anyway, desperate to get as much space between himself and Vecna as possible while he tried to think. He wondered what had happened with Max. Had he not taken the bait, or was Max… already dead?

The thought made him want to give up. To just lie down on the floor, curl up in a little ball, and let that bastard take him too, but Robin would never forgive him if he gave up now. He pushed on, rushing past empty room, after empty room, finding nothing helpful or useful.

The feeling of hopelessness became overwhelming but just when he was again considering admitting defeat, the world around him dissolved and he was plunged into darkness.

He woke with a gasp in Robin’s arms. She was rocking him, tears spilling down her face.

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re back!” She cried, squeezing him tightly.

“Where’s Nance?” He asked.

“She’s up in the attic finishing Vecna off. When we couldn’t wake you, we went up there to start the attack, hoping it would force him to let you go. Nancy thinks he was trying to get you and Max at the same time, and it left him too distracted and vulnerable. We got him Steve, it’s over.”

He sagged in relief. Vecna was dead. He was okay, it sounded like Max probably was too. That’s when he remembered what Dustin/Vecna had said about Eddie, and his blood ran cold.

Steve pushed himself out of Robin’s arms and to his feet, quickly grabbing his axe from where it had fallen. He flew down the stairs taking them two at a time and praying he wasn’t too late.

“Where are you going?” Robin shouted at his back.

He paused for only a second to explain. “I think Eddie and Dustin are in trouble, wait here for Nance and meet me back at the trailer!”

He found Eddie kneeling on the ground surrounded by dozens of dead demobats. His spear and shield had been tossed to the ground. He was breathing heavily, hands pressed tightly to a wound on his side. He was hurt, he was bleeding, but he was alive.

Steve started stripping out of his jacket as he approached. He tugged the t-shirt over his head and ripped it, trying to create bandages the same way Nancy had.

Eddie stared up at him with wide eyes. “Am I dead?”

“No.”

Steve pulled Eddie's hands away from the wound and pulled the shirt up so he could get a better look at it. It was pretty bad, but it wasn’t gushing. If they wrapped it tight, and got him to a hospital quickly, Eddie would be just fine.

“Are you sure? Because the way you just stripped out of those clothes for me is definitely making me feel like I've died and gone to heaven, big boy.”

Steve blushed hard. It was just the blood-loss, he reasoned. Eddie didn’t know what he was saying, so he ignored it.

“You’re gonna be fine, Eddie. Hold that shirt up for me so I can wrap this.”

Eddie did as he was asked, but his gaze never wavered from Steve’s chest. He was pretty sure he even caught the other boy licking his lips at one point, and it definitely didn’t cause warmth to start pooling in his stomach.

Steve fought hard to concentrate on his work, but he had a feeling that as soon as this was over he was going to need an emergency bathroom floor meeting with Robin.

#stwgdailyprompt #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

Note

Can I get prompt #19 with Jake lockley, I’m obsessed with the way you write him.

Afternoon Sun (Jake Lockley x reader)

Masterlist | Playlist | Want to be tagged?

Prompt: ARGUING!!!!! then a heated “kiss me.” and suddenly their hands are all over each other Warning: Alcohol abuse, mentions of past trauma, Jake is a mess in this one, angst. A/N: Thanks for the ask!!! lul im sorry for this. I made the prompt slightly softer cuz everyone’s hurtin’ but I hope you like this xxx Word count: 1.7k

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You hear the door slam and you sigh knowing what you had to deal with tonight. You kept your eyes trained on your book as a figure wobbled in the bedroom. The smell of alcohol wafted toward you and you flinched, remembering the way your father used to drink.

“He won’t see me if I don’t move.” you think, staying as still as possible despite the way your hands betrayed you, shaking as they gripped the book in front of you tighter.

Jake Lockley has never hurt you. He might hate you, but he would never, ever hurt you. Nevertheless, your past gave you a fight or flight response that you couldn’t kick no matter how persistently you went to therapy. Your lip trembled as you shook, tears cascading down your face uncontrollably as memories flooded back to you.

You loved Steven and Marc, they treated you like you were their queen, feeding you love and affection that you never knew you deserved. They knew about your past and they tried their best to help you but were slowly failing by the way their alter was acting up. Steven and Marc found out about Jake long after you started dating them. That was when your nightmare started.

Jake would throw tantrums and run away, only to return hours later drunk out of his mind. He never said a word to you, never asked for help, instead turning away from you and flopping onto the sofa, only for one of the other two to wake up and suffer the consequences. You were on the verge of leaving them and they both could tell it was taking a strain on your relationship.

Your eyes dared to leave your book and meet Jake’s, who was already staring at you, his eyes drooping. He sent you a smirk and hiccuped, falling onto the sofa as usual. Suddenly, you felt sad, oddly enough not for yourself but for Jake. Your mind raced, playing back what Marc had said about his own past, one almost similar to yours, except you didn’t have an altar and you were afraid of alcohol. You had learned about alcohol use disorder and it made you stay clear of alcohol, afraid that you would become like your father and waste your life away. A small glimmer of hope lit up inside your head as you brought yourself to shut your book and climb off the bed.

You cautiously approached the sofa and watched as Jake’s hand twitched from how it was sticking up from where he was lying down. You peaked over a cushion and watched Jake’s face for any sign of aggression. All you saw was the same tired face Steven had whenever he had a long day and your heart broke a little more at the state that Jake was putting them through. You gathered your courage and went around to the front, sitting opposite Jake.

“Pst, Jake, wake up.” you said, softly, and when you had no response, you repeated it a little louder, causing him to jump.

You jumped with him but you resisted the urge to hide as your eyes met his bloodshot ones.

“What do you want?” he croaked, scowling at you.

“I need you to sober up.” you said, trying the gentle approach.

Jake just turned over like a stubborn child and you scowled at him, angry at the way he was treating you. You got up and pulled his arm, causing him to drop to the floor with a groan.

“You little-”

“Go on, Jake, call me all the names you want, hit me, I dare you. I’m fucking used to it. I don’t care, I need my boyfriends back and that means that I need you back.” you said firmly, taking the drunk Jake by surprise.

He suddenly had an expression on his face that you did not recognise. He looked up at you, his eyes wide with fear as his hands shook in front of him.

“I-i don’t know how…” he whispered, his big wet eyes searching yours.

“I’ll get you through it, Jake, I promise.” you said, holding your hand out for him to take.

When he reluctantly did, you pulled him up, steadying him as he swayed slightly. You lead him to the toilet and sit him down on the seat, filling him a glass of water to quickly gulp down. Once he did, he held the glass out to you, unsure of what to do next. You had already prepped his toothbrush, wetting it before squeezing a pea sized amount of toothpaste and handing it to him. He slowly brushed his teeth, occasionally leaning over the sink to spit. Tears were flowing steadily from his eyes and you promised yourself that you would wipe them away once you had him settled down.

You handed him a cup of mouthwash and told him to gargle a few times. He did as he was told and you found yourself relaxing at the feeling that he was listening to you. Once he was done, you realised that he was sobering up fast, from the way his hands stopped shaking and his tears slowed. You left him standing there and you went into the closet, picking out Steven’s softest jumper and Marc’s comfiest sweats along with a towel before handing it to Jake.

“Shower. Properly.” he nodded at your words and you shut the door behind you as you exited, giving him some privacy.

You heard soft sobs coming from the shower and you felt horrible for Jake. Maybe you should have faced your fears and done this earlier, maybe it would not have put such a strain on him. You didn’t realise your own tears were flowing until you heard the shower shut and you hastily rubbed your eyes and wiped your face before Jake could see you. You stood up as he emerged from the bathroom clad in the clothes you handed him, his hair still wet. You stood up and pulled his towel, draping it over his head before dying his hair. His hand comes up to yours and stops you.

“I don’t need this.” Jake simply said, his voice the clearest you have ever heard.

“You need this.” you insisted and continued to towel his hair.

“You’re not mine, you don’t owe me this after all I have done!” he yells, wrenching the towel from his head and throwing it to the floor.

“I owe myself this, Jake!” you find yourself yelling back at him, gripping the collar of Steven’s jumper. “After all I have gone through, I think I deserve much better, but I’m still here.”

“Then go! Leave!” he pleads, desperately.

You couldn’t believe your luck. This was the second person you’ve met on this planet that had such a selfish attitude and you could not help but put him in his place.

“Don’t you dare make decisions for me, Lockley.” you warned, glaring up at him. “I’m here to help you and this is all you have to say?”

“I’m scared of hurting you.” Jake whispered and a single tear left his eyes and dropped onto your hand that was grabbing him at the collar.

It made you drop your hand, as if his tears were made of acid. But you found yourself bringing your hand up to his face and swiping your thumb under his eyes. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes, forcing all of the tears that had collected out of his waterline to drop down all at once.

“I am not scared because I know you have enough in you to be rational, Jake.” you whisper.

He shook his head and hoped that action could cause your comfort to disappear. Jake was not used to this level of affection and he was feeling overwhelmed.

“Jake, please, I want to learn how to love you, please just teach me and let me learn how to love you.” you were crying now, trying to keep your voice levelled.

“I-i don’t… you can’t possibly…” Jake tried to say through his tears.

“I can and I will, I promise that I will but I need you to see that too, please.” you said.

“Too pure… I won’t ruin you too…” he tried to turn away from you.

You pulled him back with all of your strength and stared into his eyes.

“Just kiss me, Jake, and I’ll show you.” you pulled your last card and threw it at him with the force of ten suns, making him stop in his tracks.

It was soft at first, the second Jake’s lips hit yours. You had felt these lips before but they were different. They felt like they held more sadness in them, the way they worked against yours. He turned his head and pushed on deeper, kissing you properly now, his nose digging painfully against your cheek. You could taste his tears on his lips and him yours.

You softly ran your hands through his wet curls, the same way you would with Marc and Steven and it elicited a loud sigh against your mouth from Jake, one that held so much exhaustion that your eyes filled with tears again. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close, a final act of desperation as he seeks out all of your consolation.

You pulled away slowly and leaned your forehead against Jake’s as sobs wracked his body once again. You held onto his hands and laced your fingers with his, gripping them hard, a promise that you would never ever let him go. Once he got a little calmer, you led him to the bed and you lay down before he gently placed his head on your chest. You sang him soft songs as sleep caught him up quickly and once he was fully asleep, you placed a long lingering kiss on his forehead and succumbed to sleep yourself.

Jake woke up in the body, with his head still on your chest. He heard Steven shushing Marc at the back of his head and he smiled up at your sleeping face. The afternoon sun bathed the both of you in a beautiful glow and Jake traced your cheek with the back of his fingers, willing to never see a tear cascade down them as long as he saw the light of day.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~~

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writtenonreceipts · 2 years

Text

I was bored, so I made a list of prompts. Feel free to reblog and use for your fics or other stories!

Random Angsty Prompts

Warnings: some might include references to blood/death/grief

I believe in you. I always have. Maybe that’s my fatal flaw.

I never forgot you. I couldn’t.

After everything, how could you not trust me?

I wanted this to end differently.

There was only one way this could go.

I miss you, more than I thought possible.

You never did trust me, did you?

They were proud of you, even if they never said it.

How many times have we said good-bye?

This is the last good-bye.

I thought you loved me.

I thought I loved you.

There was too much blood loss, I’m sorry.

There was an accident, [Person] is in the hospital.

They aren’t going to wake up, are they?

You’re not listening to me!

You’re the last person I thought would hurt me.

I’m sorry, I forgot.

I just wanted to say I’m sorry.

Would you lie to me? If it meant that I wouldn’t find out?

I forgot you were like this.

Do you think you could ever forgive me?

[You/He/She/They] swore no one would find out.

They never forget a thing.

I made a mistake.

It’s my fault that this happened.

Forgetting will never get easier.

If you go through with this, you’ll be giving up everything you’ve ever known.

Would you please just listen to me?

I hate remembering.

I’m doing the best I can. Can you say the same?

You lied to me? // I had to.

Do you really think I’m capable of this?

If I remember correctly, you never came for me.

I thought you left.

You left me.

I know you’re there, open the door.

I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.

You carry the weight of death with you everyday.

Take me back. I don’t want to be here.

Don’t worry, I’ll take this to my grave.

Stop holding back, I can take it.

I didn’t want this.

What happened to you?

Well, you have everything figured out, don’t you.

There’s no more time left.

Just give me a minute!

I can figure this out.

Please, let’s try and make this work.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

[He/She/They] are still in surgery, no updates.

Where are you hurt?

It’s just a bruise, nothing more.

It was an accident, I swear.

They’re delirious.

This might hurt, okay?

I tried calling you. A few times actually.

You need to eat something.

Is that blood?

When was the last time you ate?

Just keep looking at me.

I brought you some food, I thought you would like it.

There are some things a person should never experience. This is one of them.

When did you start lying to me?

I need to do this, why can’t you see that?”

I know this is difficult // I never said it was.

So? Make me your villain. Everyone else does.

You were never going to be my hero.

I had no choice. // There’s always a choice. // If you believe that, you’re far too naïve.

Forgiveness is a weakness, you taught me that.

I never much liked the dark.

I’m allowed to be scared.

Don’t let this break you.

When will you let this go?

Everything I’ve done has been for you.

Life isn’t a fairy-tale.

You were my best friend.

Why can’t you just listen to me?

Please, just let me forget you.

You’re the one who made it personal

#prompts #writing #writing prompts #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #angsty prompts #writblr #writing ideas #angst #dialogue prompts #prompt lists #story ideas #jily #nessian #feysand #rowaelin #elucien

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sjhhemmings · 5 months

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#14. being torn between wanting to get rid of their feelings for the other and wanting to nurture the feelings in a hopeless, masochistic way

FROM : FORBIDDEN LOVE ~ PROMPTS about showing love without confessing

FOR Brian Zvonecek x fem pls 💜💜💜

Forbidden Love #14

brian zvonecek x fem!reader

a/n: so it took me too long to try and figure out how i wanted to write this so i hope it turned out okay! i’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted anon, i tried haha. much love 🩷🩷

warnings: swearing, angst, aggressive fluff, anything i missed

Y/N’s POV:

Once again, you woke up in bedsheets that weren’t yours, massive hangover, and those same melancholy feelings creeping up on you that you get every time you leave.

You look over to the digital clock on what should be labeled as your side of the bed that read 4:32 A.M.

Trying to slightly sit up without waking up the man next to you, you try to track down where your scattered clothes ended up landing throughout the room.

It’s the same routine every single time. You always wake up before him, and when you do wake up it’s still very early morning. So when you end up tracking your things down and leaving without a trace you were even there, you’re able to make your escape before the sun has even risen.

Once you’ve gotten dressed and prepared your walk of shame, the regret that usually hits you in a few hours comes immediately. You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to leave before the sun has risen. You don’t want to be lying in your own bed at 8 A.M. the morning after really good fucking sex.

Fuck it. You begin to contemplate completely ditching your routine and just laying back down, just spending the morning together like normal people. Enjoying your time together.

But you can’t. So you leave his room shutting his door as quiet as possible and walk out.

Once you’ve made it out of his apartment building at 5:04 A.M. you start crying as you walk down the street. You must look like a hooker right now. Smudged makeup, messy hair, large sweatshirt, and obviously no self respect since you might as well be the face of the definition for ‘The Walk of Shame’.

Once you’re laying in your own bed, you grab the pillow next to you and let out the most guttural sobs you have ever cried. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t continue loving him only in the night and completely ignoring each other in the day. You want him all the time. You want him for all 24 hours of the day, all seven days a week, and every single day in every month of every year. You want to call him yours and be that possessive girlfriend that’s able to leave hickeys on his neck so other girls will know he’s off limits.

But you can’t, and if you can’t then you’re done with the one night stands. You’re done with the praises, and the ‘good girl’s, and the ‘god I love you’s. You’re just done. You just have to be done.

The next week at work was a shit show. Working with the only person you could ever want to spend the rest of your life with and not being able to do anything about it sucks. The stolen glances, and avoiding, and only being able to sulk the whole time sucks. You don’t honestly know how much longer you can live like this. So you don’t. You talked to Chief Boden and you have some family in Utah so you’ll just take furlough and visit them for the next 2 months. That should be the perfect amount of time to get over this silly little crush.

Brian’s POV:

The part of the night I dread every single time has finally arrived. The routine. Where she thinks I’m asleep when she wakes up, sighs, then gathers her stuff and leaves without a word before the sun has even risen. It breaks my heart each and every time.

Without checking, I can assume it’s probably 4:30 since that’s about the time this whole thing starts.

I try to lay as still as possible. I try to go against every want- every need in bones to stop her from leaving. To stop her from not spending the morning together. But I can’t. I can’t stop her, this is the way it has to be and we both know that. We can create something magical in the night, then pretend it never even happened during the day. The thing about that magic though, is I crave it more and more every time. She’s becoming a drug I don’t think I can continue to live without. I don’t think I can continue giving her up the seconds the sun rises. I want her all the time. There’s never not a moment of the day where she’s not on my mind and working with her only amplifies that.

This morning though, at the time the door should be attempted to be shut as silent as possible, doesn’t happen. Shes still in the room, but she hasn’t left. I can sense her hesitation and the only thing I could ever ask for, for the rest of my life, is that she stays. That she comes back to bed I can hold her until the end of time. But before I know it she does leave. The door is shut, and the room gets cold. It feels empty. My shell of a body is left alone still feeling the warmth of where she once was on her side of the bed.

Her side of the bed. No one else has ever lied there since before our situation has started. Her side of the bed.

This next week at work i’ve been hopeful. I’ve made a plan. On our next night together which should be tomorrow, I’m going to ask her to stay. I’m going to ask her to break the rules and stay with me.

After work I get ready for my shift at Molly’s and I wait. I wait for her to walk in, and I wait for her shyly come to the bar and ask for a drink. I wait for our flirting to begin, and I wait for the night to end so I can take her home. I wait so I can reach the high I can only get with her, and I wait to ask her to stay. To stay until the sun rises, to stay and have breakfast and to let me hold her in my arms. Tonight is the night.

Or at least I thought it was. An hour later than the time she usually comes in has arrived and i’m anxious.

“Hey Brett, have you seen Y/N?” I ask trying to be as normal as possible to draw the least amount of attention to myself.

“Uh, no?” She says giggling obviously already tipsy.

“Oh well usually she’s here by now and I haven’t talked to her so I just wanted to know if she was running late or what.” I say drying off a glass trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

All she does is laugh in my face.

“What?” I ask confused.

“Did you not hear?” She asks getting semi-serious.

“Hear what?” I ask growing irritated.

“Let’s just say I don’t think she’s going to make it tonight.” She says laughing while finishing off her 3rd drink of the night.

“What do you mean?” I ask while making her a new drink, giving her an incentive to talk to me.

“Oh, you really didn’t hear. Um Y/N is going to Utah to visit some family for like the next two months.” She says taking this more seriously.

“What!?” I basically shout out drawing a lot of attention to myself.

“When did she leave?” I ask not having a clue about whatever this little adventure she was going on.

“Her flight was pretty late, like 11 P.M. she left for the airport like two or three hours ago to beat traffic.” Sylvie says with a little more sympathy.

I check the time that read 10:34 P.M. Calculating that the airport is a 15 minute drive from here, I can make it.

“What was her gate number?” I ask a little more rushed.

“Uhh,” Sylvie checks her phone for the exact number, “25”

“Tell Herrmann I have to leave, i’ll make it up to him another time. Um, Thank you.” I tell Sylvie as I gather my coat and keys walking out from behind the bar.

“Goodluck.” Is all she says as I get to the door. And I leave without saying anything back.

“Your light is green, just go!” I yell at the car in front of me. Let’s just say when I’m stressed traffic is not my most favorite thing in the world. Aka why this 15 minute drive turned into a 20 minute drive.

The second I park I run into the airport sprinting to find her. Gate 25, Gate 25, Gate 25, is all I repeat to myself as I’m running around like a maniac.

Y/N’s POV:

I fidget with my nails as I sit looking out the large airport windows. I’m supposed to board in like 10 minutes. I don’t know why I thought this would be like the movies where Otis would come to the airport and try and stop me from leaving, but I guess that just proves how much we don’t belong together.

“Flight 756 to Salt Lake City, Utah from Chicago, Illinois you are now boarding.”

I get up at the announcement and make sure I have everything I need. Taking a deep breath I get in line.

Brian’s POV:

“Flight 756 to Salt Lake City, Utah from Chicago, Illinois you are now boarding.”

I hear the announcement as I’m at gate 7, i’m not going to make it. I continue running through the airport just so I can get there in time. I don’t care if I have to yell that I love her in front of hundreds of strangers or off the top of a rooftop, she will know.

Only If I can make it in time.

Gate 21

Gate 22

Gate 23

Almost there. I continue running with everything I have in me, I need to see her. Oh shit I think I do see her. I see her hair, and her clothes, and how perfect she is even when she’s about to leave me. But before I’m able to fully reach her flight is when another flight has landed releasing at least 75 people in my way.

I look down to check my watch. 10:57, and the line is getting shorter. Fuck. Shoving my way through tens of people at a time I finally reach her gate.

And when I do, the flight attendant is closing the door. No one is here. I drop to my knees giving into the overwhelming feeling to cry. I sob actually. I’ve never felt so broken. 2 months without the love of my life. She’s probably going to come back engaged to a guy from Utah to invite us to her wedding then leave again.

She’s probably going to forget about me. I don’t even know why I bothered, there’s no way she would love someone like me.

After maybe 20 minutes I wipe my eyes not knowing what to do next. Do I buy my own ticket and follow her or do I wait for her to come back? Fuck.

“Brian?”

I hear my name coming from the most beautiful voice that has ever spoken. I immediately look up and there she is. Right in front of me.

Y/N’s POV:

Our flight ended up being delayed due to weather and we got let off the plane. Coming back to the spot I was at before we were basically tricked, I see Brian. Brian on his knees crying. Sobbing actually. The sight makes my knees weak and my lip wobble. I don’t want to make him cry. I didn’t even know he knew I was leaving. He really just didn’t get here in time.

I walk up to him and say his name but my voice cracks because I’m on the verge of tears now also. He looks up immediately. His face lights up as he sees me like it’s too good to be true.

Getting up he pulls me into one of the biggest hugs we’ve ever shared. It’s amazing. Feeling him wrapped around me is something I never want to end.

He pulls back and cups my face with both hands. He’s looking at me like it’s the first time he’s really seen me. Now this does make me cry.

“It’s really you?” He asks sniffling a little bit causing me to chuckle.

“Yes.” I say almost silently.

Taking a deep breath he kisses me on my forehead and lets go of my completely.

The wet kiss is something I still feel even with the empty space between us. The space that neither of us want between us.

“Y/N, I don’t want you to leave.” Is all he says. I give him a little time to add on and when he doesn’t I scoff.

“You came all this way to tell me you don’t want me to leave and that’s all you have to say?” I ask in disbelief.

He stands there in shock because we’ve never had a fight. We’ve never really argued for that matter. Our strong suit is really just in flirting if that makes sense.

I roll my eyes and turn around for a second before I walk back up to him.

“I love you, you know?” I’m so fucking in love you with you it hurts! Leaving you before the sun rises hurts! I can’t do this anymore Brian! I can’t just have you at night then act like I don’t know you exist during the day! We won’t work. This doesn’t work.” I say and his expression changes maybe 10 different times.

I take a deep breath before I say what pains me the most to admit. “I love you but I can’t do this, just go home.”

Fully expecting him to leave without saying a word I turn around and walk off. I’m done.

“Y/N wait!” He finally says running back up to me.

I wait for him to continue talking and when he doesn’t I turn back around. Finally him spinning me and keeping my in place by holding my shoulders he starts talking again.

“Listen to me please. 5 minutes.”

I wait a few seconds before agreeing.

“No. No I won’t go home. I came here knowing exactly what I was going to say, but seeing you leave once broke me. I sat on the floor and sobbed. I’m not going through that again, seeing you come back is truly just a second chance that I won’t pass up. I love you Y/N. I love the nights we have, and I hate the mornings we don’t. I crave you every single day feeling lost without you on my mind. Your smile is my saving grace and your humor is my kryptonite. I want to love you for the rest of my life, I know I will love you for the rest of my life. Please, I’m begging right now. Please stay Y/N. Stay for me. Stay for the future we could have together, stay for-“

I finally cut him off with a kiss. A deep and hopefully never ending kiss. Our lips move in sync, and our bodies feel like magnets that’s shouldn’t be without one another. He’s mine and I’m his. I break the kiss coming back up for air and I admire the way he looks at me. God I love him.

“You’re mine you know that right?” I ask and he nods chuckling.

“I’m in this for the long haul, so no stupid fights where we leave one another after not talking it out, and no not communicating how we feel ever. This is forever.” I say making dead eye contact with him and he nods rapidly.

“So will you stay?” He finally asks.

“I would never leave you.” I say resting my forehead on his.

After I did that, an eruption of applause fills up the room and we look at each other. We were too busy confessing our love for us to realize we just shouted all of that in front of a whole airport. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

credit tagging: @youneedsomeprompts (i hope you like it!!)

#chicago fire #one chicago #otis chicago fire #brian otis zvonecek #brian zvonecek #brian zvonecek x reader #otis x reader #writing prompt

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lucigoo · 22 days

Text

I'm real, I'm here. Open your eyes and see.

#249 - Open your eyes, prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

Pairing -Sirius/Remus

Warnings - Disosociation, PTSD

Words - 871

Summary - Remus often dreams about Sirius and it makes him reluctant ot open his eye to the nothing he knows he will find when he does. But will he? Has he really lost everything? Read on AO3 here

Remus was having a wonderful dream. The last 17 years hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t spent most of it alone. Hadn’t lost the love of his life twice, hadn’t accidentally knocker d up his best friend and lost her, hadn’t had to deal with all the bullshit that came with being a werewolf and a war hero.

No, in his head, Remus got to pretend he was cuddled up in bed with his husband. He got to pretend he was happy.

Remus always hated the early mornings when waking up was confusing, and his life and memories muddled up. He ran his hand over the other side of the bed, knowing it would be empty and cold. It had been for a long time.

Laying there, eyes closed, trying to shut his emotions off, trying to forget everything, how his heart wished for more.

“If you open your eyes Moony, you will get more,” a soft voice said. A voice from his memories, a voice from his dreams. A voice his unconscious mind had obviously summoned to torment him more.

“Is it one of those mornings, love?” the voice asked softly.

Remus couldn’t help but frown. The voice didn’t usually go on tangents. His dreams of Sirius were muddled up with memories, but they didn’t react the way they should, the way the real Sirius would have.

Remus felt himself give a full body shiver when he felt a hand in his. H e knew that hand, he knew every wrinkle and callous, the shape of the knuckles and the way the log, graceful piano playing fingers fit into his. He knew that hand and it felt thing like dream Sirius’ hand.

“That’s right my Moonbeam. Open your eyes for me,” Sirius’ voice said.

Remus wasn’t sir of he wanted to or not. Dream Sirius sounded very much like a concerned real Sirius would ad Remus was terrified if he opened his eyes, he would lose him again. He was always losing him in his nightmares. Again and again and again, and Remus wasn’t sure if he could deal with it once again.

“Oh love. It’s ok. I’m real, I’m here. I came back, remember? I always come back to you Moonshine.” Sirius’ voice said sadly. “just open your eyes Moony, the boys will come bother us soon if we aren’t at breakfast. You know how Harry gets. And Teddy.”

That made Remus’ breath catch in his throat. Dream Sirius didn’t know about Teddy because Sirius had never known about Teddy. Remus had never been sure how Sirius would react to the lad and his subconscious reflected this by not allowing Dream Sirius to know about him.

If Sirius knew about Teddy then Sirius......

Remus reluctantly opened his eyes, prepared for nothing. But there, sitting beside him, hair loose and messy, a soft smile on his face, was Sirius. “Siri,” he breathed out in wonder.

“Hey darling. It’s nice to see those beautiful eyes open. Rough morning,” Sirius said as he softly raised Remus’ hand to kiss the back of it.

“I thought...” he trailed off again.

“I know, love. It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last. We deal with dissociative shit in this household on a regular basis, after all. I still can’t believe harry was going to join the aurors. Kingsley must be batshit. The boy can barely cast an expeliarmus at the minute," Sirius said sadly.

“Sirius,” Remus said in wonder as he launched himself forward, grabbing Sirius and pulling him closer. He buried his head under Sirius’s chin and allowed Sirius to hold him tight, to reassure Remus that he was there, that it was Sirius heartbeat he could hear as he was pressed to him as tightly as possible.

Remus was back in a light doze, surrounded by nothing but Sirius, when he heard the door open.

“We figured it wasn’t the best morning when you didn’t come down, so what did we do Tedster?” Remus heard Harry ask.

“We made da bekfst, bekfust papa,” a soft, sweet, angelic voice said.

Remus opened his eyes and sat up properly, not letting go of Sirius’ hand. He saw their boys in the doorway. Harry looking sheepish at having interrupted and Teddy looking over, excited after having helped Harry make them breakfast.

Remus felt the tears of gratitude sliding down his cheeks.

Teddy noticed too and ran forward and peppered Remus’ face with kisses after Harry helped him clamber on the bed. “Da, you sad?” the 2-year-old asked.

Remus looked down at his baby and smiled. He grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him close too. “No, baby. Da’s happy. Da is right here with you all, our family. Why wouldn’t I be happy?” he asked Teddy softly.

Teddy beamed at the answer and started jabbering on about how he made the breakfast with Harry’s help. Sirius barked in laughter and Harry smiled happily at the family they had clawed and glued back together after Voldemort's defeat and Sirius’ return from the veil.

Remus’ life had felt like it had ended when he was 20 and now at 40 it had started again. He got to be happy. He deserved to be happy. They all did.

#fff249 #Open your eyes #Wolfstar #FlashFictionFriday #PTSD #but also all th efluff

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squidsandthings · 2 months

Note

Kenji & Chuuya "You need to eat more vegetables, mister"

Taking this prompt from you and turning into our racer au.

Enjoy :D

(I cannot write dialogue well asdsjklgh)

"You need to eat more vegetables, mister!"

Kenji's voice rang out through the small apartment as one by one Kenji inspected each of Chuuya's cabinets, each barren shelf bringing a slight frown to the kid's face.

Chuuya was reeling trying to piece together exactly how he ended up being lectured by some kid he barely knew and how exactly that kid even ended up in his apartment in the first place. His tired mind tried to replay the events.

This week was a shitshow for Chuuya. His second week of teaching was far rougher than the first, and the ungraded assignments were starting to pile up alongside the empty bottles of wine. He didn't mean to get behind. Chuuya didn't didn’t like to leave messes in his work or personal life, but it certainly didn’t help that he kept getting distracted by a certain blonde math teacher whenever he tried to work. Every day he seemed to wake up with a worse migraine and another set of problems to fix.. And to top it all off his "side hustle" hadn’t been nearly as profitable as usual. His neglected bike sitting unused continued to make his heart twist, but he was tired, and it seemed this week he couldn’t seem to catch a break, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t keep up.

All this to say he didn’t exactly have the energy to argue when he was woken up at 6 in the morning (on a weekend for some god forsaken reason) by a persistent knocking at his apartment door. He answered half-asleep and fully unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

A mop of dusty yellow hair and a matching straw hat. Patchy blue overalls which highlighted sparkling bright blue eyes that stared up at them. To top it all off a smile which rivaled the damn sun nearly rendered his groggy mind comatose. He buffered trying to recognize the sunny kid in front of him, in the meantime he vaguely registered that the person in his doorway was now talking to him.

After a moment his brain clicked into recognition, right, this was the kid who ran the farmer's market stand he bought from each week. What was his name again? The farmer boy in front of him just kept talking until Chuuya's mind finally snapped everything into place.

Oh right, Kenji.

By the time he put that all together he just barely caught the end of Kenji's words.

“-which is why I figured I’d stop by and give you these!”

Chuuya blinked as Kenji stopped talking and gestured to a pair of large brown bags overflowing with produce he didn’t have time to object to before Kenji walked right into his apartment setting the bags on Chuuya’s counter as the kid started to…put away groceries for him? What was this kid's deal? Chuuya sighed and closed the door looking over at the kid, Kenji.

“Wait back up, why are you here, how did you get here, and why, exactly, are you going through my kitchen right now?” Chuuya tried to make sense of the whole situation.

Kenji looked back at Chuuya tilting his blonde head slightly.

“Oh did you not catch it? Sorry, I must have gotten excited. My grandmother always says I need to be careful not to get too excited when I talk but I just got excited to see you’re alive and somewhat okay Mister Nakahara!” “Just Chuuya is fine kid,”' “Oh okay! Well Mister Chuuya. I noticed you hadn’t stopped by this week at all, which was weird, and I got worried because what if you were sick and you couldn’t have good food to make you feel better, my grandma always says fresh food is the best medicine, so I figured I’d bring you your usual orders and also make sure you were okay,"

Kenji took a deep inhale before continuing to speak, Chuuya wondered how the kid could possibly have that much energy to talk this early.

“By the looks of it, you are alive but you don’t look okay and my grandma says to always help people when they need it, so obviously I can’t let you unpack all your own food, but looking in your cabinets here maybe I should have brought more? It’s awfully barren. You really need to eat more vegetables, Mister Chuuya,”

Kenji’s words only left Chuuya with more questions but he quickly realized the kid meant no harm he was just a bit…over enthusiastic.

Chuuya sighed and sat at the kitchen table near where Kenji was currently stocking his fridge with more eggs than Chuuya thinks he’s had in his apartment in his life.

“So you got worried because I didn’t show up at the farmers market so you somehow tracked down my address just to give me groceries and now you’re stocking my fridge because you think I look like shit?” “Yep!”

Kenji's reply was as chipper as Chuuya expected and caused Chuuya to let out a snort. Kenji continued to hum as he finished packing away all the produce. Once he finished he turned to stare at Chuuya with the widest, brightest, smile Chuuya had seen. This whole situation was so absurd, and yet, Chuuya’s headache hadn’t bothered him nearly as much while he was trying to figure out why there was a sunshiny 14 year old in his kitchen. He looked Kenji up and down once before joining the kid in the kitchen. Chuuya wasn’t even surprised as he found laughter escaping from his lips as he thought the situation over.

“Well, I’ll give you this kid, you’re very honest.”

Chuuya pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down something on it before holding it out to Kenji.

“Here’s my number, next time, just call me instead of breaking into my apartment at 6 in the damn morning” “I don’t use the family phone very often, but for Mister Chuuya, I’ll figure it out! I always like trying new city folk things,”

Chuuya just chuckled, the kid was strange, but, Chuuya couldn’t help but be endeared by his sunny disposition.

“Right, well, since you're here, and you’ve given me more food than I can probably eat in a month, do you want some breakfast? I make a pretty good omelet,”

Kenji thought about it for a moment.

“Well, usually I only eat after I do all my chores for the day, grandma always says I do my best work on an empty stomach…”

The hesitation that crossed Kenji’s face made Chuuya’s heart twist as suddenly it became his mission to give this kid a good meal. He knew that kind of hesitation well. Wanting to do the best you can so the people around you are happy and taken care of even at your own expense. He tried not to think of the sheep bracelet still in his nightstand.

“Hey, well, you did a really good thing today by bringing me these groceries, my week has been a mess and I’ll admit your little delivery made it a lot more bearable. So consider my repayment for what you did for me this breakfast. It’s like my gift back to you.”

Kenji blinked, seemingly considering Chuuya's words.

“Grandma always said it’s rude to refuse a gift…”

The blonde boy burst into a familiar beaming smile

“Okay Mister Chuuya, I’ll stay for breakfast!”

Chuuya smiled.. Maybe this week wasn’t so bad after all.

#ask #squid inks #beloved mutuals #bringing fluff to the angst war <3

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a-constant-gay-panic · 1 year

Note

Hii! I love your work sm ong. I was wondering if you could do a richie tozier angst using prompts 7,9,12,15 from the angst/emotional section where they get into a fight or wtv and then the reader has like a near death experience from pennywise after? I feel like that would be nice bc I'm craving angst 😻

Last Fights

masterlist

pairing: richie tozier x gn!reader

summary: things between you and richie seem to be getting worse and you finally manage to confront him but it’s all in vain. none of it matters and it’s true what it said, you’ll float too.

warnings: self-doubt, very angsty. that’s it.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i am so sorry this took me so long but i was locked out of my account for a good while before i managed to get back in- this is rlly emotional and i'm kinda sorry… thats a lie. i'm in an angsty mood. hope you enjoy this anon :)

not proofread in the slightest, beware grammatical mistakes

promts: angst 7. “wake up please!” 9. “no! don't you dare close your eyes!” 12. “is everything just a joke to you!?” 15. “you always do this!”

— — — — — X — — — — —

your mind is filled with regret and fear as silent tears stream down your face, hair caking against your forehead which is damp with blood and sweat. you regret the way things between you and richie, your supposed boyfriend, were left. but the fear you felt? that had nothing to do with your fight with the glasses-wearing idiot. this wasn’t like any other fear you’ve felt before. this was a primal fear, as if every cell in your worn out body was begging you to run, get out of there no matter the cost.

you couldn't. not only were you quite literally stuck where you were, a mountain of items separating you from the exit, but the sight of beverly’s floating body halts your flight reaction. you couldn't reach her, it was in your way. its orange eyes which stare through you as it approaches you slowly, mockingly. its mouth is upturned in a sick grin, rows of sharp teeth on display as it spews razor sharp words at you, each syllable coming from its mouth causing your body to grow weaker as you start to give up.

“there’s no point. they’re not coming to find you.” it starts off, a bubbly laugh being pulled from its chest. “they’re only interested in bevvy which means we get to have so much fun together!” you shudder at the thought of its version of fun. “they’re better off without you, y/n. richie too.”

your heart aches at the mention of him, a wave of self doubt crashing over you as you consider the possibility of your friends not needing you. “you’ll float too.” its words pull you from your inner debate and you flinch when you see its face right in front of yours, close enough to smell the rotten breath which escapes its mouth. you desperately try to move further away but your back hits a wall almost immediately. you have nowhere to run.

you close your eyes and feel a gloved hand wrap around your throat, breath hitching as you await the pain, the darkness, anything.

a loud scream echoes throughout the sewer and you could've sworn it sounded like bowers. whoever it was though, spared your life. its hand loosens as it turns to look into the one tunnel, obviously knowing more than you do in that moment.

it whips its head around to grin at you, “guess our playtime will have to wait.”

all of a sudden a wave of nausea oversomes you and you start to feel lightheaded, the fear you were feeling doubling as you lose control of your body. “sleep tight!” it laughs maniacally as your eyes droop shut and body drops to the floor, sewer water soaking the rest of you.

the last thing you see is the huge figure of the clown looming over you, as you go over the argument you and richie had 2 days earlier. it was the last time you spoke to him and even now, on the verge of death, the only thought which floats in your mind is about him.

‘i wonder how rich is doing…’

— — —

you slam your front door shut and throw your bag onto the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the top as you grip the roots of your hair in frustration. a knock at the door makes you sigh out loud, already knowing who it is: richie tozier. you had left him at the arcade but he doesn't seem to understand the fact that you want nothing to do with him.

with a major eye roll, you make your way to the front door, silently thanking whoever could hear you that your parents weren't home.

“what is it, richie?” you ask as you're greeted with the annoyed and confused expression of derry’s very own trashmouth. “what the fuck was that?” he asks, pulling another eye roll from you. “you mean when you flirted with that chick right in front of me?” he frowns at your words, clearly not agreeing with your conclusion. “i wasn’t flirting. i was being polite.” he says matter of factly.

“oh please,” you scoff, “richie tozier isn't polite.” he looks at you in silence for a good 5 seconds before responding drily, “i can be sometimes.”

“so you only choose to be polite when a pretty girl comes up to you, is that it?” your blood starts to boil. “maybe. i’m polite to you, am i not, toots?” he smiles and you swear that you could punch him into next year. “is everything just a joke to you!?” you shout, finally having enough with this nonchalant attitude of his.

he blinks, not expecting your outburst in the slightest. “why would this be a joke?” he asks dumbly. “you’re fucking kidding me, right?” you deadpan. “no.” is all he says and you laugh. “y’know, i always ignore the fact that you flirt with others, the idea that you’re looking for something in someone else but i can't anymore rich! i can't!” you pace slightly, richie still in the doorway as he watches you, tears slowly fogging your vision as you become angrier and angrier.

“i’m done! done with your bullshit and with undermining myself and this relationship!” his eyes widen at those words, not expecting you to go this far. “hey, calm down alright? i’m sorry, it’s fine. i-” you cut him off and pull your arm away before he manages to get a grip on you.

“no, it’s not ‘fine’, richie! you always do this, don't you see? i try to get over it, ignore the self-doubt, but i can't anymore! it hurts… you keep hurting me.” your voice gets softer towards the end and you blink away the tears which threaten to spill over. “i can’t do this anymore.”

your gaze is downcast but if only you looked at him and saw the broken expression on his face, the tears which shine in his own eyes, size enhanced by his glasses. “so, what? this is it?” his voice cracks ever slightly at the end and your heart aches at the sound but you refuse to meet his eyes as you whisper, “yeah, maybe.”

he stands in silence, not knowing what to say or how to reassure you that you’re the only one on his mind. the only one he’d ever consider being with, the one he wants to spend his whole life with. the only one in this world that he truly loves. he can’t form the word to tell you this, the only words which manage to leave his mouth are lousy and unimpactful, “i got to go. we can talk about this tomorrow.”

and with that, he’s off. picking up his bike, he doesn't look back and quickly cycles off, heading straight for his house and he fails to see the heartbreak on your face, the way you crumble in a heap on the ground, hand covering your mouth as you cry. you cry harder than you ever have before.

if only he knew that you wouldn't be able to talk about it the next day. maybe then he would've said what was on his mind, what he desperately wanted to tell you, things he may never get to tell you.

— — —

“-n!” your eyes flutter under your lids, slowly being dragged from the memory of that night.

“y/n-” you manage to make out your name, “-please!”, the voice is oddly familiar and it pushes you to try open your eyes. they’re heavy and strained but you need to see if it’s who you think, if it’s who you hope.

“wake up, please!” your eyelids peek open slightly, taking a second to adjust to the newly found light.

as you get accustomed to seeing things again, you feel your torso being squeezed, warmth and a familiar smell filling your senses. your eyes prickle with tears as you see the mop of messy curls, weak arms trying to wrap themselves around the boy in comfort.

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles and you shake your head, causing him to lift his own from your neck. you look into richie’s eyes and you’re filled with regret, wanting to take back everything you said to him. “no,” your voice is hoarse and scratchy, “i’m sorry… i didn’t mean anything i said.” you admitted.

he smiles sadly and you finally notice the wet lines running down his face. guess you weren’t the only emotional one right now.

“you have nothing to apologise for. i was a dumbass.” he sniffs and you laugh lightly before coughing loudly, causing his eyes to widen as panic rises in his chest. “no you weren’t,” you manage to get out as your coughing calms down a little bit, “i was… i-” you cough again, face scrunching up in pain, your throat feeling as if you’ve swallowed glass shards and then some.

you feel your eyes slowly start to close, exhaustion taking over. “no! don't you dare close your eyes! you hear me? don't leave me again, please!” he cries out, the rest of the losers quick;y making their way over to you, the sight of pennywise disappearing down the sewer fresh in their minds.

“keep them open!” he urges, more tears streaming down his flushed and dirty face. “i’m tired…” you slur, voice sleepy and mind foggy, finally feeling safe. “i’m fine, jus’ lemme… sleep…” you plead.

richie shakes his head. “just wait, alright? hang in there!”

you smile at him softly, hand slowly making its way to cup his cheek. “dumbass…” you start, eyes glazing over, “i love you…” you whisper, hand soon falling off his face as you finally give in to the exhaustion and darkness overcomes all your senses.

you faintly hear richie cry in the background, the other losers calling your name in vain. you try fight, you wanted to fight for richie but 4 words put an end to your struggle. 4 words which you’ve always wanted to hear from him:

“i love you too.”

the words echo throughout your mind as you drift off into the dark abyss, a smile on your face as you take your last breath in the arms of the boy you fell in love with, the only one who’ll ever have your heart.

‘i may only see you in another life, rich, but i’ll love you in every one of them.’

you should be scared or anxious but you’re not. you feel content, safe, comforted… loved.

— — — — — X — — — — —

#richie trashmouth tozier #richie tozier #richie tozier angst #richie x reader #richie x gn!reader #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x gn!reader #the losers club richie tozier #the losers club x reader #the losers club x gn!reader #the losers club #gn!reader #angst #it stephen king

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caitierose-butwithfics · 11 months

Text

Birds Of A Feather

Description: After the events of Majesty, Jack decides it's time to move out of Nightswan tower, at least until they can defeat Nightswan for good. But when his final trip home turns more bitter then sweet, he finds help and sympathy in the most unlikely of places.

Authors Note: This is my first fic on this site, so please remember to reblog, like, and share your love. This particular fic is not based on any other preexisting fic. This is based on a prompt from the fabulous @anja-the-sane-sibling, so make sure to show them some love as well!! If you have a prompt you would like me to write about, make sure to message me!!! I also have a different blog, @caitlynnrosespn, which is my primary blog. (Side note: In advance, I would like to apologize for any missing special characters, since Tumblr is causing me issues :D)(Side note #2: If the panic attack scene reads a bit too much like Imperfect's panic attack scene, that's mostly because @thornkinglegacy is a terrific writer who perfectly wrote what being triggered looks like. I have PTSD, so I'm basing my scene off of actual triggers I experience:D)

VIEWER DISCRETION: There is discussion of child abuse, child neglect, and alcoholism. Characters are depicted to have scars on their persons, and one character experiences a trauma related panic attack. Mention of bruises, burns, and blood.

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Jack paced his old room impatiently. Wanderlust and the others insisted on helping Jack pack up his things, despite the fact that Mother had not allowed him to own much more than the clothes on his back. They said that this day may be quite hard on his own, and he should have others to help him. In a way they were quite right.

Jack had never lived anywhere outside of the Tower; had never even ventured outside of Cygnus. All his life he had been deepened on Mother to live, depended on her to decide he was worth something enough to keep him alive. Now that the Tower was empty of all inhabitants, Jack thought that he could just survive there until he figured out a better living situation. But things were... strange here. Odd things kept happening to Jack. He could be going down the stairs, and almost be to the bottom when he would suddenly reappear at the top. Or when he tries to sleep, how the second he drifts off a million hands seems to appear out of nowhere and cling on to him. Only when he wakes up, the feeling disappears instantly. Jack couldn't remember the last time he actually slept.

Wanderlust had asked his father about it,and his father said that it was possible that they were just lingering effects of Mother's magic. She had managed to disturb the Flow of millions of Dancers, after all. But, he also said that there was a possibility that Mother knew Jack was back in the Tower, and was trying to reach him through her magic. He said that that might explain why Jack felt like millions of hands were trying to drag him away in his dreams. Because they might be trying to drag him back to her.

Either way, The Traveler had suggested that Jack live with him while they sort things out. Jack would be safe with them, he had said, since The Traveler already had extensive barriers against dark magic around his home. They were quite the powerful family, after all. Jack had, at first, rejected the offer. For one, he barely knew Wanderlust's family. For years Mother had told him that they were terrible people, and while Jack knew she was probably lying, years of conditioning does wonders on one's psyche. And for another, if they were truly good people, he didn't want to put them in harms way. The Traveler may be powerful, but Jack had seen his Mother's power too. Were these magical barriers truly enough to keep them all safe from Mother's magic?

But despite his protests, Wanderlust was persistent. He was the only reason Jack eventually agreed. He trusted the Prince, and if he genuinely thought this was a good plan, that Jack will trust him.

Almost as if thinking about him summoned him, a portal appeared behind Jack, and four giggling people stepped out. Wanderlust, with Sara, Brezziana, and Mihaly. Their good mood was almost enough to brighten Jack's dim room. Almost.

"Jack!" Brezziana was always the first one to rush forward and give him a huge hug. Ever since the battle with Mother, Brezziana took every opportunity to remind him that he was one of them, despite who his mother was.

"You are about twenty minutes late," Jack said with a small smile, bending down slightly to wrap his arms around the energetic Dancer.

"We would have been on time if Mihaly hadn't lost their earbuds!"

Mihaly stood, admiring the room, earbuds surely blasting music, completely oblivious to the new attention turned their way. They spun on one foot, suddenly realizing all eyes were turned on them. They removed one earbud, and sure enough music loudly blared out of it. "What?"

That was met with more laughter as Mihaly did their customary bow. Mihaly was not one for physical touch, which Jack appreciated. Sara, on the other hand, gave him a soft hug. She always seemed to understand him better than the others, treating him gently and giving him space when needed.

Lastly, Wanderlust stepped forward, giving him his signature bow with the biggest smile. Jack gave him a slight bow in response. He didn't really know what was the right way to respond to his greetings, but that always seemed to work alright.

Brezziana bit her lip, taking the room into consideration. "Is this your room Jack?"

"Always has been."

Brezziana touched one of the gray walls. "But it just seems so..."

"Lifeless? I believe that's the point."

His friends looked at him, shock, disbelief, and sympathy all toying with their features. They knew his life was far from pretty, but now being inside of his childhood room, everything he said about his childhood felt different. Jack looked down, suddenly ashamed. He had been careful not to share too much about his childhood. Had they seen too much already?

The silence seemed to stretch out forever before Wanderlust finally said, a bit too cheerfully, "I have an idea! How about me, Brezziana, and Mihaly stay here to pack up your room, and you and Sara go and see if there's anything around the Tower you would like to take with us?" Brezziana nodded eagerly, while Mihaly shared a small smile. Jack stood for a moment, scared to venture much past his bedroom door. Finally, he nodded. His mother kept many things from him in this Tower, and it would do him good to find them again.

Sara grabbed his hand and gently guided out of the room, where the others were already packing up anything they could find. Their laughter, and Brezziana's startled "Dios mio, Wanderlust! Who taught you to pack?" were soon nothing but echoes in the halls.

"So, where do you want to start?" Sara asked, inspecting the walls of the Tower. Jack stared straight ahead, thinking about everything that he could possibly want from his childhood home. His clothes, of course, maybe a few trinkets from his room, his ca-

Oh no. His cane.

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"My cane. It's in my rehearsal room."

"Oh. Oh no."

The rehearsal room. The room where he spent every waking moment of his childhood. The room where his mom tortured him with endless hours of dancing, singing, and beatings if he was not perfect. Jack could feel the sting of her claws still, making deep cuts on his face and his arms.

"Jack? I could go and grab it for you."

He shook his head. No, that wouldn't do. Because then he would be left alone. And he couldn't be alone right now. He couldn't go back to his room either. That would worry the others, and they would panic more than Sara if they saw him like this. The only option was to press forward.

He moved, almost mechanically, towards that dreaded room. Sara followed at a safe distance, biting her lip nervously. She was unsure of what she should do, what would even help at this point.

Jack considered leaving it, but that wasn't an option either. It was left for him by his father, and one of the only things from Father that Mother actually let him have. He couldn't leave that behind.

He reached the room, breathing heavy. The mirrors, identical to the ones underneath the performance room, were reflecting back his panicked face. In, out. He tried to keep breathing as he entered the room, unwelcome memories pouring in. Memories of his mom stalking the doorway, watching him dance. Watching him continuously fail. Always there to remind him what the cost of failure was. Such painful reminders, they always were.

There. His cane was lying, neglected, in the middle of the room. He just had to grab it and get the fuck out of here. But he could barely breathe, his vision blurry. Sara called his name, distressed. She had been calling his name for a little while, but he couldn't hear.

He dropped to his knees suddenly, unable to go further. He pulled his knees close to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut so hard that he could see patterns in his visions.

"Again." Mother would demand, watching him fall to the floor in exhaustion, not moving to help him up again.

"I can't," He would breathe in exhaustion. It didn't matter if he was 8, or 12, or 15, or as of just recently, 18. That response always would get her moving. She would stand over him, waiting for him to get up on his own. But he never could. Exhausted, sleep deprived, and starved, Jack couldn't move. So Mother made him. She would grab him by the arm, or the collar of his shirt, or his throat, and force him back to his feet, her claws always so close to tearing his skin. Sometimes she would cut him, to make a point.

"Did I say you could practice until you couldn't?"

"No, Mother."

"So when did I say you could stop practicing?"

"Mother, I can't do much mo-" A hard smack to his face would always cut him off. Those claws would often times would cut deep into his skin as well, leaving it blue, black, and covered in blood.

"When, Jack, did I say you could stop practicing?"

"When it's perfect," he would whisper pitifully.

"And is it perfect."

"No, Mother."

"Then you will keep practicing. I don't care how long it takes, I don't care if you drop dead! It will be perfect!"

She would throw him to the ground like a ragdoll, and it would take all of his willpower to stand up and keep practicing.

Jack could feel each tiny little scar on his arms, each one of them from her. She had always shamed him for how easily his arms scared. If he was truly strong, she said, she wouldn't be able to hurt him as easily. But he wasn't strong, Mother would taunt. He was weak. Fragile. Nothing. A failure.

Even now, he could hear her voice yell at him for messing up once again. Jack. Jack. Jack! JACK!

"JACK! Can you hear me?"

Jack blinked in surprise. That wasn't Mother's voice. He looked up to a shocking display.

Sara sat on her jacket, directly across from him, palms up. She was so concerned, her eyes focused on him. But that was the least shocking thing about her.

This was the first time he had seen Sara without her jacket. Scars danced up her arms, mostly burns that looked like they were caused by a cigarette, but some cut scars as well.

It took a second for her to notice where his gaze was, but when she finally did, she put her hands down and instead thrust her arms towards Jack for inspection.

"These? They were caused by my father. He always had a hot temper, but when my mom left him and I when I was 10? He uh... he found his comfort in other things. Alcohol, mostly. And when he was drunk, his temper turned from hot to scorching. And I guess I looked a little too much like my mom when he was drunk, so he took all the anger directed at her out on me." She gave an empty chuckle, lowering her arms. "That's why I poured so much of myself into my job. Why I hid myself. Wanderlust taught me to live when he transported me here. You guys helped me heal."

Jack stared at her, shocked. He would have never guessed that he and Sara were so...similar. She knew his pain. Things made so much more sense now. She looked him in the eye and gave him a small smile.

"You don't have to hide what you went through Jack. You're not weak because of the things she put you through. You were vulnerable, and she took advantage of that. But she's gone. We are here for you, now." She reached out and gently held out his hand. "And you are safe now."

Jack stared at Sara, something building in him. Safe? He didn't think he deserved safety. Love. But maybe Sara was right. Maybe...

Jack couldn't help it as uncontrollable tears slid down his checks. Sara smiled sadly, and wrapped her arms around him gently as he wept quietly on her shoulder. It felt good. Years and years of pain, sadness, and broken trust all let out in a moment. Sara gently rubbed his back, reassuring and encouraging him to let it all out.

Minutes, who knows how many, passed before Jack finally sat back, taking a wavering deep breath. "We should go back before they start to worry."

"Of course."

"First, I should probably grab my ca-" Jack looked up from wiping his eyes, to see Sara standing, already holding his cane.

"You needed some space, so I thought I would grab it for you," Sara said with a smile as she offered him her hand.

He accepted with a similar smile, only ruined a tiny bit by his red rimmed eyes. "Good idea."

He held his cane in one hand, Sara's hand in another, as they walked together out of the room that held so much hurt, so much pain. But no longer did it hold any power over Jack.

"Sara?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you. Thank you for... well... thank you."

Sara met his eyes with a kind smile. "Anytime.

***

Back with the others, Wanderlust, Brezziana, and Mihaly had made quick work of Jack's room. Thankfully, the red in Jack's eyes had gone down. He will tell them everything, eventually, but not yet.

"You ready?" Wanderlust asked with the biggest smile on his face. The excitement he had over having a new roommate was almost palpable.

Jack took one last look at the childhood room. The room that was vacant of life, vacant of light. It hadn't changed much, they hadn't taken much. No longer would he have to dread sleeping in this barren room. He looked down at Sara, who had a reassuring smile on her face, and took a deep breath.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

And all together, he walked through the portal with his four friends, into new beginnings.

#jd jack rose #jd sara #jd mihaly #jd brezziana #just dance 2024 #just dance #jd wanderlust #jd headcanons #jd night swan

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philtstone · 1 year

Note

Ok but I’d die for 37 Bucky and Sam. Platonic or otherwise I’m die

#37 -- you know you're still holding hands, right?

this prompt is so old and this prompt fill is so unhinged i have to genuinely apologize. @firstelevens the worm paper is dedicated to you but more importantly @foolgobi65 the rest of the fic is dedicated to you. the KD featured in is hot cheetos flavoured just so everyone knows. inspired by life events. love yall

They cross paths at like two a.m. when Sam has long since stopped being able to read the words on the university website in front of him. He's reading through legal jargon and policy that no one wants him or any other student to understand, so he can bring that exact fact up with devastating accuracy at the next interdepartmental mental health policy seminar. He's interrupted when the alarm goes off from bedroom number two and Bucky shuffles out of its depths with an awful wrenching noise. His door sticks, because their building is old and decrepit. Sam watches as his roommate walks wordlessly into the kitchen, digs out an ancient pack of kraft dinner and mangles the plastic covering the top before he sticks it in the microwave. Bucky's pulled the hood of his sweater up to cover his hair and has wrapped their rattiest grey bath towel around his shoulders like he's an ailing king in one of those sci fi fantasy novels he keeps on the shelf. It flaps lopsidedly on the side where he's not wearing his prosthetic, because it's two a-fucking-m.

He notices Sam while taking the KD out of the microwave, and stands there in silence to stare at him in faint but not quite concerned bafflement for a good minute in the half dark, like he forgot something important.

"Sup," says Sam.

Bucky blinks. A tuft of dark hair pokes out of his hoodie, flattened downwards to point towards his nose.

"Worm paper," Bucky says, sounding like he hasn't slept in twelve years.

"Ah," says Sam.

Bucky nods, and disappears whence he came.

"Take the garbage out tomorrow!" Sam calls after him.

He's rewarded by a loud knocking noise from upstairs, as if those fuckers aren't already wake too, trying to tell them to be quiet.

The third year sitting with her arms crossed in front of him looks as overtly suspicious as it is possible for one person to look. Her eyes, which are narrowed, keep pinging between the people in the room. Sam sighs. He hates wrangling undergrads, sometimes.

"Kate, put your notebook away, you're weirding her out."

Kate does, looking sheepish. She volunteered with them so she could learn more about trauma-informed organizing, and Sam's not sure if he's doing much of a good job teaching her anything, but Clint recommended her and even baby steps are good. Parker, who is their other undergraduate member, the only one of them who's a real live actual science student, is at the end of the table working on the graphics for Sam's upcoming presentation to the faculty board, which Sam is not dreading at all. It didn't help that when he told Sharon about it last week, she laughed in his face. Then again, Sharon is getting a business degree; Sam's not sure what he should've expected.

"My aunt passed," says the third year. "Student services fucked me over for a final because they didn't process my accommodation. I had to have pictures proving she'd died."

Bastards, thinks Sam.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sam says. "We're here to help. When did she die?"

Her eyes narrow another four degrees. It would be kind of intimidating if she wasn't like, eighteen, with the worlds biggest bush of red hair and freckles literally up to her ears. She's trying to hide it all under a ratty hoodie but it's mostly unsuccessful.

"Look, kid," says Sam. "This is a safe space. I wanna help you, but you gotta help me out first, okay? Everything you say stays in this room."

Beside Sam, Kate nods enthusiastically.

"What about him?" asks the girl.

They all look over at the lanky figure sitting on the couch. Bucky is deeply embedded; he's almost horizontal and his legs are extended all the way to the table, which wouldn't be so bad only it puts the giant hole in the toe of one of his socks on display. The Social Work department's cat is sitting on his head. Sam thinks she's fully betrayed them for Geological Sciences at this point. Or whateverthefuck department Bucky's with -- none of them quite know. Bucky's wearing the same hoodie from the other night, which is still in hood-up mode. He's been staring so intently at his laptop without writing anything for the last ten minutes that Sam is impressed the poor electronic hasn't combusted.

"That's just his process," Sam says.

Bucky reaches a hand out and types one single letter. Then very slowly he reaches out again and deletes it.

"You said I'd get to talk to you alone," the girl grumbles.

"Is this the worm paper?" asks Kate tentatively, from Sam's other side.

Sam thinks of the many paragraphs of his thesis he's been neglecting. He rubs at the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"No, you are absolutely not moving in with us next term," Sam says into his phone. He writes down another note for Chapter 1b, Theoretical Underpinnings and then writes himself a reminder to email Todd from the ombudsperson's office. And also that lady with the student mental health alliance. And -- fuck, Professor Bradley too, probably. Sam was supposed to answer that email like a week ago.

"Why the hell not?" says Sarah. "It's economical. It's close to campus. Undergrad dorms are disgusting, it's safe, Mr. Big Brother who was worried some chad white boy would get me last year, and I know for a fact y'all need a roommate."

Okay. So maybe Steve fucked off to finish his degree in Boston so he could be with his perfectly wonderful girlfriend, whom they all love, but that's not really the point and they still haven't found a third roommate who can. Like. Put up with them. Bucky glares at the empty room whenever he passes it. It's really not that dramatic. But also,

"And even with all of that, you ain't moving in here. There are -- principles."

"For the twelve hundredth time Sam, your sad roommate is not gonna secretly seduce me."

Sam wouldn't put money on that.

"You could definitely seduce him, though."

"Oh my God! Forreal, Sam --"

"We just got a lot going on!" His frustrated attempts at organizing the mental health policy council under the umbrella of the social work department, for example. Bucky's term paper on prehistoric worms.

"Is Bucky there?" Sarah demands.

"He's in the middle of something."

Bucky is talking at the voice to type software on his laptop in the next room and sounds like he is five minutes away from flinging said laptop out of the window. Still, Sam feels fondness in his chest; Bucky used to put towels under the door to stop the noise from travelling before. There's no embarrassment involved anymore. Not for disability accommodating paper writing practices or for playing Taylor Swift songs out loud on a fucking vintage record player, which was bequeathed to them by the great betrayer himself.

Steve left a really nice note with it and everything.

"Tell B to force feed you a granola bar," Sarah says. Then, "I could always get myself a sexy boyfriend and move in with him."

She hangs up to the sound of Sam spluttering loudly. To calm himself, he checks off talk to Sarah from his notes app to do list anyway, then sends Bucky a text.

We got any granola bars left?

The door to the second bedroom opens -- it sticks, because their building is old and decrepit -- and a box of granola bars is flung out with shockingly precise aim to land skidding on the kitchen table in front of Sam.

"Thanks, man!" Sam calls.

"FUCK!" Bucky yells at top volume, and slams the door shut again.

The phone rings a second time; Sam has to pick up, legally, because it's his mom. She wants to know if he talked to Sarah, and also how things are.

"You know how grad school is," Sam says. He opens a granola bar. It is extremely stale. "Yeah. Uh huh. No. Just my presentation next week. Well, we'll see if it'll actually make any difference ... No, mama, I have not been forgetting to shower. Whatever Sarah tells you, don't listen to her. I'm a grown assed man, okay?"

Sam sits in the industrial flickering lights of the MHPC's reserved library room and lets a modicum of peace soak in while the undergrads chatter.

"Well, at least the board presentation went well. It was like, fruitful discussion, right?"

"It was pretty badass. I liked the bit where Sam lost his shit and yelled at the dean."

"He didn't yell at the dean ..."

"You know you guys are still holding hands, right? It's been like, an hour."

Sam doesn't respond right away, because he's trying to figure out why the hell the sentence in front of him doesn't read like a sentence.

"They're exchanging long protein strands," says Parker. "Like in the Simpsons."

"No one watches Simpsons anymore," says Kate's girlfriend, who seems to be eating a pack of lunchables with a pocket knife.

"Well --"

"I'm holding his elbow," Bucky mumbles, which might be the longest string of words he's spoken for two weeks. He's swapped his hoodie out for a clean one, at least.

"Emotional support," Sam agrees, still with his eyes narrowed at the screen. They are actually holding hands, but semantics become irrelevant after the month they've had. "Man, what the fuck is this supposed to say?"

"You're the editor," says Bucky.

"You're the writer! It's due in two minutes!"

"It's about the genealogy," Bucky says, levelling his free, prosthetic hand in front of him for emphasis.

"Of the worm?" Parker asks, in a whisper.

"Just let me submit the fucking paper, Sam!"

"No! This is degree defining!"

"Says the guy who's neglected his thesis for three weeks -- gimme the laptop --"

"No -- ow!"

"I don't think I ever wanna do grad school," Kate says solemnly, to the room at large, while somehow, despite the tangled heap they make on the couch, Sam and Bucky are still holding elbows. But then, who else would they hold elbows with, in such a moment?

Sam gently raises this topic with the next struggling undergrad who comes to them for accommodation help; in many ways, that's really all you need to make it through college.

#my writing #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel #touch prompts meme #karli morgenthau #sarah wilson #kate bishop #peter parker #yelena belova #sam x bucky #i am going to tag this as #sambucky #so the sambucky girlies can enjoy it #however it is also just literally based on me and maya and if we ever dated we'd kill each other within a week so.

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sirowsky-stories · 25 days

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The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 7 - Perfectly Awkward Things

Description: Seeking out Marcus for answers turned out to be fruitful in more ways than one.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 3884 (1831 words added) Masterlist (this story)

“My mother did what?” Marcus exclaimed in shock after you knocked on his office door and asked if he had a minute to talk, before telling him about the events of the morning.

He’d looked so happy to see you, which had made it very difficult to remember why you’d come to visit him at all.

“Yep. Suddenly I see why you felt the need to protect me from her. I still haven’t decided if I like her or not.”

“I should think the answer would be ‘absolutely not’, after waking up to that,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “But I guess now we know what she was up to yesterday.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was fuming,” you recalled with emphasis. “I just can’t help but admire her sass. I could’ve done without the weird questions, though. I mean, unless you’re a florist or trying to impress someone, a deep-dive into the history of their favourite flower isn’t exactly the most enticing subject.”

But hearing that made Marcus look extremely nervous, suddenly.

“She asked you what flowers you like?” he wondered, and he sounded as though this one topic could somehow ruin his life, which of course only made you that much more confused.

“Yeah, do you know what that’s about?” you asked, subconsciously leaning forwards in the sofa as your curiosity peaked.

He was sitting across from you, in an identical sofa on the other side of a coffee table, and he’d been leaning forwards the whole time you’d been there. But he now fell back against the backrest, as if needing to be as far from you as possible.

“Uh, it’s something she does sometimes. She loves flowers, always has. She’s got the nicest garden you’ve ever seen, and she knows everything about every flower there is. But she has this… I don’t know… insight, maybe? Don’t ask me how the flowers are involved, cause I’ve been trying to figure that out my entire life, but she somehow just knows shit. She asks about your favourite flower and whatever response you give, it tells her something more than what you’ve actually said. Almost like it… connects her to you. I honestly don’t know if it’s an ability or just her extensive understanding of both people and flora, but whatever it is, as far as I know, she’s only ever used it to-...”

He cut himself off then, as if he’d been about to say something wrong, or inappropriate. He’d been looking around the room while he’d spoken, occasionally flickering back to you, but now that his gaze returned to focus fully on you… you could’ve sworn he was blushing.

“To… what?” you tried to prompt, but he just cleared his throat and adjusted himself in the sofa.

“Um, that’s not important right now. I’ll talk to her about staying away from you,” he dodged, and you thought about pushing him to answer, but he seemed uncomfortable enough that you decided not to.

You’d known him long enough by now to know that he rarely avoided a subject unless there was good cause. Plus, you already knew that any effort he made to keep his mother away from you probably wouldn’t be successful, and that thought brought you back to your original reason for coming here.

“Hah, good luck with that,” you cautioned with thickly layered sarcasm.

“What do you mean?”

“Only that the point of the weird questions was apparently to assess me for a job, which she then hired me for, without telling me anything about it. Does she even have the authority to hire people? How much pull does she have here?” you questioned, hoping to learn more about the elusive woman.

But Marcus looked only baffled.

“Your guess is as good as mine, really. I’ve never known what my mother does here, besides meddle in everything and bark orders at everyone. She’s not officially employed here anymore, but given how everyone treats her, it’s safe to say she has a lot of power among the Heroics organization. So, if she wants to give you a job, you can be sure they’ll let her. She didn’t say anything about the position at all? Not even which branch?”

“Only that I have to be here at 7am tomorrow if I wanna take it, and the assumption I made was that it would mean I’d be working for her. But I’m not sure about any of this.”

His office was a surprisingly comfortable room. The furniture was all wood, either in light colours or just lacquered so the veins and life of the trees could be seen. And while there was a good-sized desk with an ergonomic chair (the only piece of furniture which wasn’t made of wood), those were pushed into a corner, to make room for the two big, soft, moss-coloured sofas in the middle of the space, where you were now seated.

There was a small potted plant sat in the middle of the coffee table between you. You didn’t know what type of plant it was, but it suited Marcus somehow. Beautiful leaves, large but somewhat fragile, growing tightly to conceal the surprisingly thick and sturdy stems, and you got the distinct impression that this plant could take a lot more than anyone thought.

Seeming more nervous again, he got up and rounded the little table to come and sit down next to you instead, and you had a feeling it was mostly to comfort himself. Not that you ever minded his proximity.

“I really don’t know what this might be about. She’s never wanted or needed an assistant, but I can’t think of anything else she might want you to do,” he pondered, and you leaned back again so you could see him.

“I’m just an artisan, a craftswoman. I design logo’s, sew and knit, make sculptures and ceramics, the occasional leather or metalworks. Small things for individual buyers, never anything large scale. I’ve never done anything else.”

“Maybe she thinks we need re-branding,” he offered, probably as a joke, but at this point, you were about ready to believe anything.

“Have you heard any discussions about something like that?”

“Nope.”

“Shit,” you slumped further and closed your eyes for a moment. “I don’t know what to do.”

Abruptly restless, you opened your eyes again before getting up and starting to pace about the room, still relishing in the fact that you were even able to stand up without assistance. But you missed the disappointed look on Marcus’ face as you left his side. And before he could object, you launched into a speech about all the things you’d been mulling over in your head while you’d cleaned your house.

“I mean, she’s right, I need a job. It’s not like my former employer could just wait for me to get better while a third of her entire workforce was missing, with no word on whether or not I’d even be able to come back. She had to replace me; I get that. It’s just that it’s a very difficult business to get back into, because most of them are small and privately owned and they hire people they know are good and then stick with them. I should know, I’d been with that company for a decade. And yeah, I’ve played with the idea of maybe trying to start a business of my own, but that’s not easy, especially when I have no experience or training as a business owner or production manager. Not to mention the economics, taxes, legal crap…”

You sighed into a grunt as you came to a stop behind the sofa across from Marcus and rested your hands on the back of it. So much of your life still had to change before anything would have a chance to get back to some manner of normal. And it all seemed so big and difficult, and you didn’t want any more of that. You’d had more than enough of difficult to last you the rest of your life. In that sense, being offered a job out of the blue was a gift. The problem was, you felt like there was a catch, which meant you didn’t trust it.

“At the same time, I can’t help but feel that working here… Ugh, I don’t know,” you speculated, somehow feeling trapped. “I can’t see how I could possibly do anything here that would make me feel like I was contributing.”

“Hey, come here, hermosa,” he suggested, patting the seat next to him.

You brightened a bit, hearing one of his nicknames for you. You’d gotten so used to them in the past three months, the sounds of them felt like home to you now, even though you didn’t speak Spanish, beyond “hola” and “buenos dias”. Still, you’d never dared to ask him what those names meant. You had guessed the meaning of some of the words you’d heard him say, like “felicidades” when you’d succeeded on the obstacle course, but about the nicknames, you didn’t know if he was calling you something endearing or just practical.

Rounding the sofa you’d been standing behind, you sat back down not quite next to him, since you weren’t sure how comfortable you could be with him. During your recovery, he’d been up close and personal with you every day, having to touch various parts of your body to help your muscles heal. But once that had ended, there was no manual for how to behave anymore. No way to know what was appropriate beyond the professional. And it wasn’t like such a thing ever came up in casual conversation.

Once you’d settled in, he angled himself towards you, and feeling your temperature rise with his closeness, you begged for an interesting subject to pop into your head. Fortunately, that was when you suddenly remembered the word his mother had called you when she’d spoken to you. Granted, not the most interesting topic ever, but since things were getting more awkward by the second, you decided it was as good a question as any.

“What does ‘mujer’ mean?”

“Woman,” he said without pause, and then cocked his head to the side, probably confused by the apparent randomness of the question. “Why do you ask?”

“Anita called me that.”

“Yeah, she does that. She still calls me boy. Chico, or hijo if she’s in a good mood. She claims it’s just her way of calling it like it is, but I suspect in most cases, it’s just because she doesn’t bother to memorize people’s names,” he tutted, which almost made you snicker because it was such a Marcus thing to do.

But there was another question burning a hole in your brain, and you were too busy fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, trying to decide if you dared to ask, to fully appreciate his adorable little tut.

“Oh, I see,” you answered generically, while working up the courage. “Um, since we’re on the subject, I was wondering… about hermosa?”

He responded by smiling that melting smile of his, damned near taking your breath away.

“It means beautiful,” he softly explained, and something in his eyes turned liquid and hypnotizing.

Shit. You just had to go there, and now you were blushing like an idiot, not knowing where to look or what to say or how to behave like a normal fucking person. He seemed only delighted, though.

“I’d happily call you something in English, if you’d prefer,” he offered, sounding entirely sincere and much too inviting. “Like sweetheart,” he added, barely over a whisper now.

But you couldn’t look at him, so you didn’t know if he was being flirty or just friendly. If he was saying that he wanted you to be his sweetheart, or that he just wanted to call you that. You couldn’t tell if your own desires were tainting what you heard to make it sound more involving and romantic than it actually was. Coming here had been about discussing his mother and the job, not give yourself more opportunities to fall even harder for the guy.

You had, though. You’d probably fallen for him the moment you’d first heard his voice that day in the med-chamber. Every day since then had been spent in either denial or a continued attempt to confirm that you had no shot with this man. It had never been this difficult to be around him when you’d been recovering, even though you’d been attracted to him, because there’d been a professional barrier separating you. It was only in the last few weeks when you hadn’t really needed him anymore, it had started getting out of hand.

Maybe because against all odds, there could be a slim chance he liked you as more than a friend as well. Or perhaps you just needed to know, either way. For the moment, all you wanted was for the pressing awkwardness to end.

“Uh… you can call me whatever you like,” you timidly responded, after what seemed like hours.

“Thank you,” he replied, with a deep kind of rumbling warmth, and suddenly you had to look at him again, had to know what expression could make his voice sound like that.

Whatever you might’ve imagined, you were totally unprepared for the desire looking back at you. It had you leaning towards him like he was a magnet. And amazingly, the moment he realized what you were doing, he responded by quickly closing the remaining distance between you, as though he was afraid something would interrupt if he simply sat back and waited for you to get to him.

His lips were warm and soft as they moulded to yours, eager, but not demanding, his moustache tickling you in the sweetest way. His hands came up to cradle your jaw, holding you to him with the lightest touch, sending flares of tiny electric pulses through your skin. The rapid sensory overload had your pulse racing and your entire body flushed with the heat of arousal in the blink of an eye.

To your own shock and disbelief, both clearly dulled by your libido for the time being, a few seconds later you found yourself clambering onto his lap and straddling him. Your own lips being every bit as demanding as his hadn’t been, and your hands rough and craving against his delicate touch. But if he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His hands quickly found their way to your thighs and up your back instead, making you shiver with pleasure. Then a throaty grunt of a moan escaped him, and he opened his mouth, as if seeking refuge from the heat of his own body, by begging for entry into yours.

Panting and grinding yourself against him, feeling him harden underneath you, you were suddenly snapped back to reality by the sound of the phone on his desk ringing. You froze on his lap and pulled back to stare at him, mortified at your own reaction to what had started out as a simple kiss, literally just seconds ago. Your first kiss, no less. He grinned as he watched your face go from arousal to panic, and his arms closed tighter around you, holding you to him, while you tried to hide your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea where that came from, I’ve never done anything like this before, I don’t even know what happened…” you fumbled, wishing you could just run from the room and never come back.

“Do I look uncomfortable to you?” Marcus smirked, obviously not bothered in the least, and quite completely missing the point.

“No, but I-…” you tried, but he cut you off.

“Hermosa… you can attack me any time you like. I’ve wanted to be touched by you for a long time,” he said, still grinning happily, totally oblivious to the storm which was churning inside you.

“You don’t understand. I’m not like this,” you sighed, looking for the right words, and strangely feeling more comfortable talking about it the longer you went. “I’m not… confident, not about sex. I’ve never been the one to instigate, much less push or demand more. I don’t ever do that, it’s not in my nature.”

Finally realizing that you weren’t just being bashful, but that your own actions were genuinely frightening you, he frowned while softening his grip around you and stroking your back soothingly.

“Hey, don’t be scared. I’m not in any hurry with you. If you need to understand this before you’re willing to take things further, then that’s what you need to do. Just… promise me you won’t shut me out. Please?”

You stared at him, utterly enthralled, your hands drooping down onto his chest while you tried to process the truths behind his words. That he was willing to take things slow even though you’d just teased him in the worst conceivable way, just so you’d be comfortable with him. But more than that, he obviously wanted to be included, to be a part of your life. Which wouldn’t matter to him unless he was looking for something long term. Holy shit. You’d just come here to ask for his advice…

“Y-You are real, right?” you asked him, so staggered by this revelation that you needed to make sure. “This isn’t some perfect fantasy I dreamed up, is it?”

His smile came back even wider before he answered, and there was a happy little laughter hiding in every syllable.

“Of course I’m real, sweetheart. You could never dream up someone so dorky.”

“You’re not dorky,” you countered with conviction, and you guessed that it was probably the stern look on your face which made his laughter blossom.

“According to Missy, who’s known me a lot longer than you, I am the Superdork of dorks. But I’m apparently also very lovable,” he finished with a wink, finally making you laugh too.

“That I can agree with. And I’ll promise not to shut you out if you’ll do the same for me.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling this is one promise that’ll be easer for me to keep than it will be for you. But I promise.”

“You might be right, but that’s just because I haven’t had any people in my life I could rely on, ever since I was a kid,” you told him, and the mirth cooled a bit.

You hadn’t told him anything about your family yet, and you didn’t want to, so you were relieved when he didn’t ask about them.

“In that case, from now on, I’ll consider it my mission to make sure you always know you can lean on me,” he added to his promise, still smiling so warmly.

“I don’t know how I can ever deserve you, but I sure as shit won’t turn you down,” you smiled back. “Thank you. For this and everything else. And I promise not to shut you out.”

He just kept meeting your eyes with unflinching focus, and gently caressed your cheek. You leaned into the warmth of his hand for a moment, but then you suddenly remembered exactly where you were sitting, and your cheeks began to flush under his gentle touch.

“Um… I should maybe…” you tried, while you started working to move yourself off his lap.

His grin widened and his eyes turned playful as he realized what you were blushing about, but he quickly offered you a helping hand to make sure you got up with your dignity intact. Thank goodness you’d opted for jeans today, rather than a skirt or dress. He straightened himself up a bit on the sofa, and you moved to sit down across from him again, taking a breath to try to cool yourself down.

Then you both visibly flinched when the door abruptly flung open, and Mrs. Moreno appeared on the threshold. She didn’t even glace in your direction, keeping her eyes on her son, although she most certainly knew you were there, there was no way she didn’t see you in her periphery. But you also got the impression she’d known before even opening the door. Just like you were sure she knew that something… heated, had happened between her son and you.

You made a mental note to check the room for cameras or microphones later, because that timing was eerily perfect.

“Honestly, chico, what’s happened to your manners lately? You can’t even be bothered to answer the phone anymore?” she chided, and you stifled a curse trying to spill from your lips as it dawned on you that it had been her calling earlier, also with impeccable timing.

“Wow, mom. You barge into my office without even knocking, or saying hello, being extremely rude to my guest, and yet, I’m the one with no manners? Really?” Marcus challenged, clearly truly sick of his mother’s meddling.

She, on the other hand, was apparently immune to his retorts, completely ignoring his challenge as she turned to you instead.

“I was not expecting you until tomorrow, but since you’re here, we might as well get started,” she declared, and then swept around and left the room while delivering a final command: “Come along, mujer.”

“Mrs. Moreno, I-…” you tried, but she was already gone, so you sighed and looked at Marcus who just shook his head, still staring after her. “She’s the one who called? That timing was-…”

“Don’t even go there,” he cut you off, cautioning you. “She’s omniscient, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

You looked towards the open doorway and felt yourself frown, although if it was out of confusion or frustration you couldn’t tell.

“I don’t know if I wanna go after her. I haven’t even decided if I want the job.”

“Don’t let her push you around, sweetheart. If you want to take the time to think about it, you have every right to,” he reminded you, and you turned your head back to meet his gaze, scrunching your nose up at him in a childish manner.

“I think I prefer hermosa,” you declared, which brought his grin back, but before he could reply, you heard Anita shout after you from further down the corridor. “On the other hand, I can always resign from a job I’ve already taken, so I could go find out just what it is she wants me to do, and if I don’t like it, at least I’ll know.”

You sighed with equal parts irritation and sulkiness, then you got up and he mirrored you, cutting you off from leaving by stepping in front of you and taking your hands.

“Remember, whatever happens, I’m here. If you need anything I’ll be there, and if you can’t find me, call me,” he reassured you, letting his hands slide up your arms and come to rest at the top of your shoulders, before he leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you,” you said, closing your eyes and inhaling the scent of him, hoping to bring it with you for extra strength.

Then Mrs. Moreno shouted again, louder this time, making you growl as you stepped around Marcus to follow her down the corridor.

“If I haven’t called within the next two minutes, you can go ahead and officially declare me a saint.”

#marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno x female reader #marcus moreno x reader #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes au #au fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories #superhero stories

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phanfictioncatalogue · 1 month

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Sweetheart!Phil Masterlist

Baby, It's Cold Outside (ao3) - benotafraidofwriting

Summary: Dan and Phil are on vacation. Cue feelings and consummation of said feelings.

Bad Days And Good Cakes (ao3) - JenCollins, WordsAblaze

Summary: Dan's having a pretty bad day but despite the tears, emergency food orders and forced sweating, he and Phil use their love to get a beautiful cake out of it. Enjoy!

Change Will Come (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: Dan’s a depressed university student. Phil’s just a cute coffee shop barista who writes notes on Dan’s hot chocolates.

Commitment Phobe (ao3) - AlexStandallsSmile, Howlterssmile (AlexStandallsSmile)

Summary: Based on the events after the 4/03/21 live show when Dan reveals he’s scared of commitment.

The story behind why Phil had so many sweet treats after the live show.

Or: Dan has a freak out after mentioning the marriage comment live on stereo, and Phil Lester is a sweetheart.

drunk words are sober thoughts - danhasacrushonphil

Summary: The opportunity of a life time comes in the form of Phil Lester actually showing up at a party, all tattoos and bright blue eyes. Dan’s been crushing on him for far too long, so getting the chance to play Never Have I Ever with his crush? Yeah, he can’t pass that one up. What could go wrong?

Fighting the Tide (ao3) - NovakSunshine

Summary: Dan hasn’t self harmed in years, so when Phil wakes up with Dan next to him, arms covered in red lines his mind goes the darkest place. Or I write a drabble about Dan using a red pen to keep the demons at bay until Phil chases them away.

Fireworks (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: obligatory 2009 dnp fic featuring blushy!insecure!dan and bold!shameless!phil, manchester eye, and gross fluff

I Asked You To Dance But You Said No (ao3) - AnotherPhanficWriter

Summary: Dan and Phil are Soulmates, they are SUPPOSED to be together, at least that's what all the other angels in The Above tell Dan. And it becomes Dan's mission to make Phil fall in love with him so that the Lords that own him can release him from the hell they are putting him in. Unfortunately, Phil turns him down at the end of the first date in every possible way, despite Dan redo-ing the day over and over so he can get it right. Somewhere along the way he figures out why he can't ever get Phil to say yes at the end of the night.

I Dare You To Stay (ao3) - realityfallsapart

Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco's to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

i'm going to watch you breathe again. (ao3) - ziamilo

Summary: He can't breathe. Dan can't fucking breathe, there's something rooted in his chest and it hurts.

But Phil is there, and he swears Dan's going to be able to breathe again and that he'll be there to see it.

God, it was always going to be Phil.

Jokes, Costumes, and Taxi Fares - placingglaciers

Summary: In which all his coworkers just adore Phil and Dan can’t see why they do. Until, of course, he figures it out.

Right to Exist. (ao3) - phansb

Summary: In a universe where Dan has been questioning his gender throughout Interactive Introverts.

Share A Bed, Share A Life (ao3) - JenCollins, WordsAblaze

Summary: Having a child is a stressful, time-consuming, argument-inducing process but, naturally, Dan and Phil ride the ups and downs together, ending up just fine. Fulfilling prompts 'age changes' and 'sharing a bed' for the phandom fic fests, enjoy!

slipping through my fingers (ao3) - Gal_tic

Summary: Even though he said he’d never grow up, Phil grew up.

Or, Kath reminisces on how time flies

The Storm (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan is scared of thunderstorms. Enough said.

Those Who Trust - theshyauthor

Summary: (tw) Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.

Trust Me, I’m Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #sweetheart!phil #sweetheart!phil masterlist #sweetheart

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mckiwi · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 Day 3: Hair's Breath from Death

Characters: Stephen Strange

Prompt: Impaled

Summary: Being impaled seems to be a common way to die across the multiverse

It occurred to Stephen one night, as he stared up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, that just about every Stephen Strange across the multiverse had been killed. Granted some were only temporarily, such as himself on multiple occasions, but most did not walk away from their deaths. Thanks to the actions of his Sinister variant, he was sure there were even more Stranges than even he knew of that had died. Every Strange he's ever met or heard of had been murdered unless you counted Sinister's victims as suicides. Stephen still pondered that from time to time. He had technically killed himself, after all. Would that count as suicide or murder? What would killing yourself multiple times be considered? He could never figure it out and didn't want to risk asking someone else for input. They would think he's insane. Stephen's already thought that enough himself.

He still dreams sometimes, of other universes, and he always wakes up gasping for breath as his variant takes their last. Never before. Some were quick, such as the time Thanos decapitated a variant of him. Others were prolonged, like when Thanos separated him limb by limb using the space stone or when Defender had been stabbed by the creature trying to capture America. (She had dubbed the 'other' him as the Defender variant. She had also named the Sinister and Supreme variants. He once asked her what his name would be, to which she responded, 'My Stephen').

He almost laughs as the thought came to him. Three of four variants had been impaled. Himself by Dormammu and during the possible outcomes. Defender by the creature. Sinister by the fence post. He hoped Supreme's death was painless. Having a rod or spear shoved through your torso wasn't a nice feeling, then again neither was having your lungs fill with blood. He didn't know which was worse, actually.

Christine of the 838 universe had told him all Stranges were alike. She was right, he even admitted it. What she didn't know was just how much of a truth that was. He had told her not to let anything happen to America. He had used the Darkhold knowing it would cause corruption to save America. Defender's last act was saving America. Sure, Stephen had died on his own millions of times, but dying in your variant's body was a whole new experience. On his own, he had control of his actions and emotions. He wasn't just a puppet like he was in his dreams, forced to feel the phantom pains of death and the outskirts of love, grief, and guilt. So much guilt. Even as Defender lay dying, he felt such an intense fondness for America, guilt over leaving her and hoping she would make it without him. (Part of him wondered if that was why he got attached to her so quickly). It was almost enough to overshadow the agony of having a hole seared through his chest.

The other variant that had been impaled was Sinister. The variant that he killed. He couldn't think about that much. He couldn't think about the thousands of lives that variant had perished. That wasn't him. Couldn't be him. How could anyone with his same DNA do such a thing? Maybe he did himself (himselves?) all across the multiverse a favor by killing him. It was ironic, really. Poetic in a sadistic way. Have you ever had that dream where you're falling as if you've been pushed off a tall building? That was probably me. He wasn't wrong, in the end. Stephen had even gained a third eye like him. Had been corrupted for love just like Supreme, as well.

Maybe they were all more alike than even he realized. What makes Stephen Strange… Stephen Strange? Having your career ruined? Unrequited love worth dying/killing over? Apparently being impaled? Death? Was every Stephen's life purpose just to die?

Then why was he still alive? What was the point?

Stephen closed his eyes at that and rolled over onto his side, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

#whumptober 2022 #no. 3 #impaled #stephen strange #sinister strange #defender strange #supreme strange #christine palmer #america chavez #multiverse of madness #late night thoughts starring a lonely doctor #character analysis #fic #fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #mckiwiwrites

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ailendolin · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 - Day 30 - BBC Ghosts

Title: Fall From Grace [3/4, AO3]

Prompt: "Please don't touch me."

Characters: Mike, Alison, Thomas, the Exhibits

Warnings: drowning, panic attack, swearing

Summary: On a cold autumn morning, just minutes before sunrise, Francis Button drowns Thomas in the lake. - Night at the Museum AU where Button House is a museum and all the ghosts are exhibits that come to life every night thanks to an ancient stone circle under the ground.

————

Chapter 3 - Day 30 - "Please don't touch me."

“So, what now?” Mike asked once he’d caught his breath. “Do we just … leave him like this?”

He stared down at Thomas’s figure on the floor, still dripping water all over the place even though he had turned back into wax with the day’s first sunlight. Only a few seconds ago, he had felt achingly real in Mike’s arms: his skin had been cold where he’d pressed his face into Mike’s neck like any living person’s would after being repeatedly plunged into freezing cold lake water, and his panicked, wheezing breaths had sounded achingly human to Mike’s ears. And now he was lying on the floor in their front hallway, curled in on himself like a child trying to make himself as small as possible – as if that could protect him from the sun.

Mike glanced at the door, at the beautiful sunrise casting the grounds of Button House in warm, golden light, and shivered. They’d almost lost him today.

He would be lying if he said that he liked Thomas. Thomas had been insufferable when he and Alison had first arrived to the house and discovered that the museum exhibits came to life every night. He’d pursued Alison like a shadow – only with besotted smiles and lines of awful poetry, thank god – and no subtle or not-so-subtle hints had been able to deter him from his misguided affections in those first few months of their co-existence.

Then, on the night of their anniversary, things had escalated to the point where Alison lost her patience and snapped. Months of pent-up frustration had exploded out of her and she’d berated Thomas so harshly that he actually shrunk back from her. Mike had almost felt sorry for him – not because he thought Thomas didn’t deserve to get chewed out for his actions but because he’d sounded genuinely heartbroken when he’d whispered, “I am sorry, Alison. I … I know it’s not right – you’re married! – but I don’t know how to stop. I just – I want to be loved. Just once.”

There was a lot to unpack there, Mike remembered thinking, before Alison had asked in an icy whisper that made him very glad that he wasn’t the one facing her wrath, “Loved or liked? Because right now I’m pretty sure you’re neither.”

Thomas had looked like she’d punched him. His face had crumpled and he’d wrapped his arms around his chest, looking so miserable that Mike was sure he would start crying any second. Instead, Thomas had begun to talk, very softly: about the real Thomas Thorne and the life he’d led and gambled away protecting the honour of a lady who hadn’t loved him back.

“He had died alone and unloved.”

And then about his own life, about waking up in this museum with memories that were not his own but felt like they were and strangers who had taken one look at him and rolled their eyes, their minds already made up about him. About the loneliness that came with not fitting in and the pain of always being mocked for his work.

None of it excused his behaviour, of course, but Mike had found that it explained a lot, especially when Thomas had admitted to him in a quiet voice, “I think I would have turned my attentions on you as well if I thought there would have been even the tiniest chance of you returning them.”

Mike had never heard anyone sound so resigned – or so lonely – before in his life, and his chest had tightened uncomfortably when Thomas hung his head and walked away from them with another small but sincere, “I’m sorry,” on his lips.

Things had gotten better between them after the dust of that difficult night had settled, though. Old habits obviously died hard but Thomas was trying, that much had been clear right from the start. He no longer sought Alison out at sunset or hogged her attention during group activities which, quite frankly, was a huge relief for everyone.

But after a while, his newfound quietness had become a reason for worry. Unwilling to let Thomas fade into the shadows and become even lonelier than he already had been before, Alison had slowly and very carefully begun to spend time with him again – on her terms this time. A bit of quiet conversation here, a few minutes of listening to the latest album of Thomas’s favourite bands together there, always with the intent of showing him that they could still be friends – that she wanted them to be friends.

Mike had mostly stayed out of it, figuring they didn’t need him to find some common ground, and he’d been right. It had taken time but eventually, life at Button House had settled into a new, calmer normal – until Francis Button had arrived with a charming smile and clever wit, taken centre stage as if he’d always belonged there and pushed Thomas to the side lines without any of them noticing.

Mike shook his head and wiped a shaking hand across his face as the night’s events fully sank in: Thomas had been drowned by his own cousin – however that was possibly for a wax figure – and would have died today if little Jemima hadn’t been so insistent that he’d needed help. If he and Alison had hesitated even a second longer–

“Screw this,” he muttered and balled his trembling hands into fists before he looked up at Alison. “Never mind Thomas – what do we do with that asshole cousin of his?”

He almost spat out the word in disgust. Judging by the dark look on Alison’s face, she shared the sentiment. “Burn him until he’s nothing more than a disgusting puddle of wax.”

“Okay,” Mike said slowly, a little taken aback. “Bit drastic.”

Alison closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. When she opened them, again she looked pale and weary. “I want him gone, Mike. I want him gone from our home, as far away as possible.”

“All right,” Mike said softly and pulled her into his arms. “We can do that. We’ll take him away. Put him in storage somewhere where he can’t harm anyone until we figure out the rest.”

“Thank you,” Alison sighed against his chest. “God, I can’t believe he–“

“I know,” Mike said, understanding the guilt in her voice only too well. “We all fell for it.”

He felt her hands tighten on his wet shirt. “How are we ever going to fix this, Mike?”

Mike glanced down at Thomas’s form, remembering the panicked puffs of breaths against his throat, and swallowed hard.

“I don’t know, Ali,” he whispered. “I don’t know.”

————

After finding a storage unit close by that they couldn’t really afford but gladly paid for anyway, they managed to get Francis Button’s wax figure into their car with a lot of non-too gentle pushing and pulling and shoving and drove him away from the house and Robin’s ancient stone circle so that he wouldn’t wake up come nightfall. A part of Mike would have loved to lock him up somewhere in the house just so Francis would feel a sliver of the torment he had put Thomas through but the last thing he wanted was to stoop to Francis’s level. Not to mention that none of them would ever sleep soundly again if there was even just a chance of that bastard coming back to haunt them.

So storage unit it was.

Before this night, Mike had never considered Francis’s smile to be anything but kind and friendly but as they put him in the small and dimly lit room, it suddenly looked strained to him, almost as if some part of Francis was aware of what they were doing and silently screaming at them to stop.

“That’s ridiculous,” Alison said when he shared that thought with her. “The exhibits don’t dream during the day. That bastard is feeling nothing, and if I have any say about it he will be feeling nothing until the end of time.”

They drove home without looking back.

Having decided to leave Thomas where he was until sunset so he wouldn’t have to deal with waking up in different surroundings than he remembered on top of everything else that had happened, they tried their best to get them some sleep and keep themselves busy for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t easy.

“I just don’t get how we didn’t see it!” Alison exclaimed in the middle of a conversation about the weather forecast neither of them was particularly invested in. “God, Mike, I can’t even remember the last time I saw Thomas before this morning. He was gone from our lives and we didn’t even notice. If Jemima hadn’t seen what happened–“

“But she did,” Mike told her softly. “And we’ll make sure something like this will never happen again.”

Alison looked down at her half-eaten plate and put down her fork with a sigh. “Doesn’t change that it did. Doesn’t change that we’ve failed him.”

No longer hungry, Mike put down his fork as well. “I know.”

————

An hour later, they were back in the hallway, sitting far enough away from Thomas to give him space but close enough to offer comfort and reassurance. And then they waited.

They’d done that a lot since they came to Button House – waiting for the sun to set. Every night felt like an adventure here, like time travel and Indiana Jones and Jurassic Park all put together, and there was rarely a time when they weren’t excited for night to fall and the house to come alive.

Today, the waiting drove them mad. Mike couldn’t stop glancing outside through the open door towards the horizon. Beside him, Alison alternated between nervously wringing her hands and tugging an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. It couldn’t be long now. Any sec–

The sun dropped below the horizon and Thomas came awake with a gasp.

Mike had seen the exhibits wake up at nightfall countless of times before. There were always tell-tale signs to herald the return of consciousness: a blink, a twitch of fingers, the beginnings of a smile. They all had one thing in common: they happened quietly, peacefully.

Thomas’s awakening was nothing like that. It was violent and painful and panicked. His hands kept clawing at his throat as he gasped and coughed, desperately trying to expel water that was no longer there thanks to Robin’s stone circle magic. His whole body seemed to struggle against an invisible hold as he fought for breath, and Mike couldn’t help but wonder just how often Francis had actually drowned him before he’d let him be.

Probably more than once, Mike thought as Thomas’s gasps turned into helpless sobs.

Whatever the equivalent of dying was for a wax figure, he had a feeling that it was worse than the real thing since death offered no relief to someone who couldn’t die. It must have been an endless cycle of panic, drowning and reawakening for Thomas and it made Mike want to drive back to the storage unit just so he could punch Francis in his stupid face.

“Thomas?” Alison called softly when Thomas showed no signs of calming down. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re safe now.”

Thomas whimpered and shook his head.

“Just open your eyes,” Mike said gently. “You’re back inside the house.”

Thomas shook his head again, still desperately gasping for air as if he he’d never stopped drowning.

“He’s gone, Thomas,” Alison tried again. “We found you. You’re safe. See?”

Before Mike could stop her she reached out to touch Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas’s flinched so violently that his arm hit the wall beside him with a painful thud.

“Don’t–“ he managed to choke out as he scrambled away from them until there was nowhere left for him to go. Eyes wild and full of blind terror, he pressed himself against the side of the grandfather clock and pulled his knees up to his heaving chest.

“Please don’t touch me,” he whispered brokenly against his knees.

Alison, her hand still hovering mid-air in front of her, opened her mouth, no doubt to apologise. Mike silently shook his head. The last thing Thomas needed right now was any of their guilt.

“We won’t,” he said instead, careful to keep his voice calm and quiet. “I promise.”

Thomas didn’t reply. Mike wasn’t even sure he could with how desperately he kept sucking in air.

“Is … is there anything we can do for you?” Alison asked, finally dropping her hand. “Get one of the other–“

Before she could finish that sentence footsteps thundered down the stairs and drew closer. Mike turned to Alison, realising the horrible mistake they’d made in leaving the rest of the exhibits out of the loop at the same time as her.

“What on earth is going on here?” Fanny demanded the moment she spied them through the open door to the common room.

“Alison, we have a man missing,” the Captain said, marching forward. “Where is Francis?”

Not where is Thomas –even though he hadn’t been upstairs either when they woke up. The anger Mike had felt simmering just below his surface all day suddenly boiled over with a vengeance. Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and blocking the door, forcing both of them back. “Shut up and back off!”

Thomas whimpered behind them. Mike glanced over his shoulder, saw Alison hovering between himself and Thomas, torn between the urge to go to him and to keep everyone else away, and was too slow to stop Kitty from slipping through under his arm. “Thomas?”

Mike didn’t think he’d ever forget the panicked, wheezing sound Thomas made in that moment. Kitty froze, her mouth falling open in shock as her eyes landed on him, and Alison gently but firmly forced her back through the door with a quiet, “This is none of your business, Kitty.”

Kitty was too surprised to argue but the others behind her started pushing forward in earnest now, eager to see what was going on. The worst thing about it wasn’t even their curiosity or lack of tact – it was that they were keeping Alison and him from being at Thomas’s side like they’d promised, Mike thought angrily as he shoved at Julian’s chest. Right now, Thomas was sitting curled up against the grandfather clock behind them, still drowning in the lake and probably feeling as alone and scared as he had this morning, and there was nothing he and Alison could do about it.

They were failing him all over again.

#whumptober2022 #no.30 #Please don't touch me #bbc ghosts #fic #mike cooper #alison cooper #thomas thorne #my fic #bbc ghosts fanfic #bbc ghosts natm au

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