#I remember when they put the third one in

[shotmrmiller]

now im thinking about how you're technically johnny's wife of convenience but now also simon's girlfriend.

like maybe you're crazy but you do remember johnny telling you that you can see other people, just don't bring them home. but every time you try to, simon is there.

something always suspiciously happens when you're out, conveniently forcing you to cut the date short, and the one that picks you up is simon. he doesn't even let you walk yourself out either. he'll already be at your table, putting your phone and wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. and what's worse, with the one guy who didn't mind, the one who had asked for a raincheck, simon told him that you have a husband at home waiting for them with a warm dinner.

he chuckles under his breath at the guy's reaction— ashen face, wide eyes, and gaping mouth. "don't know what ya saw in tha' bloke anyway. he didn't even cover the bill." because simon stared at him until he skittered out the front door without a backward glance.

and then their dates. they're supposed to be a couple; you're just a front, so why do they keep taking you with them as a third wheel. is it an exhibitionist kink? because that's what it feels like every time they're together. it's all sloppy kisses, grabby hands and you swear that if you hadn't spun around and briskly walked away that one lazy saturday simon was home, they would've probably let you watch them fuck each other stupid on the living room carpet.

it's also hard to bring it up to johnny because either simon's there, leaning on the kitchen island with his arms crossed as he watches you exist, or is taking up far too much space on the couch so that if you want to sit there and watch the telly, you're obligated to press up against his massive thigh. (manspreading, simon? really? truly?) or you can't look him in the eye after listening to the headboard repeatedly slam against the wall all night. you can still hear johnny's moans curling around the edges of your very conscious.

then, you meet the rest of the 141: a tall, broad bear of a man with the ocean in his eyes and an iconic mutton chop beard. john price, he'd rumbled as he shook your hand. and then the other one, a devastatingly pretty man with chocolate-brown eyes, a small scar on his cheek, and perfect, white teeth. kyle, the boys call me gaz. a pleasure. he'd grabbed your hand with both of his as he also shook it.

johnny doesn't stick around, excusing himself quickly as he takes a phone call but simon does. he stands directly behind you— a suffocating presence a silent guardian— so close you can feel his body warmth on the expanse of your back.

little close there, eh simon?

no' at all, boss.

once he starts showing up at your college with lunch, you feel like your patience is dangling by a fragile, whisper-thin thread so you confront him directly.

only to have him shut you down in seconds.

what's johnny's is mine. now sit, i know ya didn't eat breakfast this mornin'.

at least he brought you your favorite meal:}

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Nine: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, nude vids/pics, rape mentioned (somnophilia), gen. sexual content, Panic/Anxiety Attack, forced nudity [Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin/Ghost having thoughts?? Unselfish ones?? Luke can’t stop roasting/sassing you [diary entries from Ani] [texting/letters/notes]extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: August 10th

I think enough time has passed. I think you’re ready to see Ghost again.

I thought it would take longer for you to recover, but as always, the little fawn in you is curious as ever. Quick to forget fear and ready for the newest challenge.

You’ve responded so well to everything. I’m very proud of you.

I’ve been keeping up with my visits, still cleaning, still watching, still following and protecting.

Now that you know of Ghost, I’ve started completing my tasks. I don’t have to leave anything halfway finished, the dishes are done everyday along with the vacuuming and dusting. I even mop twice a week.

And change the cat litter, which might I add, is disgusting. (Worth it though because I love that little menace.)

I thought for sure you’d run and tell me that you didn’t think the alarms I installed weren’t working, but you didn’t, you just repeatedly tested them yourself. It was very loud, very annoying and I know you could hear the woman down the hall banging her pots and pans together to fight back with her own noise. You didn’t care though, you just wanted to make sure the alarms worked.

They do work, I wouldn’t have installed fake ones, that would be stupid. I’m all for keeping you safe so… what’s one more safety measure?

I just know that they can also be very easily disarmed. Even through the inch and a half thick wooden door to your apartment. A piece of sheet metal (credit card sized) and my handy dandy super strength magnet works like a charm.

You’re such an odd bird. You haven’t told anyone, I don’t think it’s really even crossed your mind too much either. You’ve begun to pretend the cameras aren’t even there. You just go about your normal day to day life and occasionally squint and stare at random objects.

You never actually go check them out though. Is it all for show? I think it might be.

I think you like being watched. I bet it makes you feel safe doesn’t it? Knowing I’m always there for you?

——————————————————————————

You know what the best part of all this is?

Ghost will let me love you in the way that is natural and normal to me. I just hope that you’ll be willing to accept that we are one in the same.

Ghost can comfortably do all the things that I’ve been afraid to. I didn’t want to scare you, but it really was difficult not to leave you things. I’m so glad that you brought that up in your list of questions because it gave me the opportunity to act on it without you flipping out.

Do you like them? I love leaving things for you. Especially little notes.

Ghost has been kind enough to stay out of your way when I’m around, but I can resist making you squirm occasionally. Remember when I left you a note, KNOWING I’d be coming home with you later that day?

Oh babe. It was so oddly intoxicating to see the way you reacted when I got back home and pulled up the footage. You snatched up that slip of paper didn’t read it and didn’t toss it in the trash, didn’t put it in your pocket.

You shoved it in your mouth so I wouldn’t see it. Freak.

I saw it all chewed up and gross in the bathroom trash. You didn’t read it. I know you didn’t. So I’ll have to get alittle more creative.

Don’t ignore me.

DATE

August 13th

For the third morning in a row you woke up to a text from your own cellphone number.

‘Sleep well deer?’

Idiot. Can’t even spell. So finally on this third day, you sent a text back and corrected him.

‘Dear*’

Immediately a response buzzed through.

‘No.’

No? What does he mean no?

‘Little doe. My deer. 🦌’

Oh great, so stalkers use emojis and he’s given you a nickname. How cute.

You laid back in your bed and tossed your phone aside, hands covering your face as you rubbed the sleep away.

The longer this went on, the more insane you felt. This wasn’t normal, of course it’s not normal. So why are you allowing it?

You could ask yourself that a million times and you’d never find an answer.

You could throw away every flower he brought you and they’d still keep coming. You could burn every piece of paper in the city and chew every pen until it’s broken beyond repair and he would still find a way to write you a note.

You could swallow every word he writes, throw it up, flush it, whatever. It’s just going to pop back up. Gross and soggy with an amendment attached and in your panty drawer.

You thought maybe it was an important one. So you read it. Quickly discovered it was semi-important, Ghost just wanted to remind you that he loved you and he was proud of you for continuing to drink your tea even though you knew it was drugged. Once you’re out of it, he’s going to set the pills out next to your birth control. So he ‘doesn’t have to fool with measurements anymore’.

The addendum to the note was tucked inside the original:

‘Good girls swallow.’

You could ignore the trinkets, the jewelry or the pretty stones and shells. But he would just move them to a different spot and force you to eventually set it in your jewelry box along with all the others.

He’s not been bold enough to come around with Anakin in your home. The nights that Anakin sleeps over, there are no gifts, no cleaning done. No disturbances.

But Anakin doesn’t deter him completely.

He’s left you one note at Anakin’s apartment, the first time you’d slept away from your own home in ages. Ghost had the audacity to slip a note into the pocket of your shorts while you slept in the same bed as Anakin in his apartment.

It didn’t say anything, no words, just a heart in red ink. Like he just wanted to remind you that he was there and you were his whether you wanted to be or not. Anakin or no Anakin, Ghost didn’t care.

It’s been horrible lying… omitting the truth to Anakin. Sometimes you feel like blurting it out, but something always stops you. Morbid curiosity maybe. Or maybe you just like the thrill of it, that little shiver of adrenaline you get every time he makes himself known.

It would all stop if you told Anakin. Neither would quit until he’d hunted the other man down and gotten rid of him.

They’d kill each other.

——————————————————————————

Anakin worked tonight, so you had plans to meet up with Luke (sans his pet leech) for a late evening dinner. As much as you loved Han and appreciated everything he did for Luke, how happy he made him, you really just wanted some time alone with your best friend.

So you were thrilled to receive a text around 1:00pm from Luke:

‘Don’t be late. I’m dying to catch up babe.’

You quickly opened the message but before you finished typing, a voice message popped up in your notifications, sent from your number.

You abandoned the chat with Luke and opted to open the voice message instead.

‘I’m coming home.’ then a long pause, ‘have fun with Lukey.’

That scratchy filtered voice; you’d yet to hear it over the phone and this being the first time… it sent you right back to the very first time you watched Scream. That icy chill that snuck up the back of your neck, the tightening of your chest… you felt it now, just not because of fear.

You felt it because you were excited.

——————————————————————————

“Okay, seriously what do you keep looking at?” Luke prodded, snatching your phone and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

“Nothing it’s just-“

“My phone is on ‘do no disturb’, because I have missed my buddy, my pal, my best friend.” He paused, his pointer finger jabbing the table between your plate and his.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I haven’t even unlocked it! It’s just sitting there.”

“True, but the obnoxious tapping to check whatever it is you’re hoping for is getting annoying.” Honesty, brutal or not, was Luke’s love language.

“Fine. I’m sorry, I’ll put it in my pocket.” You agreed, holding your hand out palm up.

“No ma’am. This is mine until the check comes.” His answer was definitive, no room for argument there. “What’s so important anyway? I know Anakin is at work.”

“It’s just work stuff.” You huffed.

“Oh? What’s so pressing at the diner?” He scoffed, “got a big shipment of ketchup coming in? Are you ‘on call’?”

“Luke.” You rolled your eyes at his jab. “No and yes. I am ‘on call’ actually. Sara’s son has been sick.’

Not a total lie, he has been sick. Poor guy. But her husband was home with him and he was being well looked after.

“Okay? That’s your problem how?”

“God you’re so negative sometimes.” You sighed. “Her babysitter hates vomit. If he throws up Sara will have to go home.”

“Ew.” He scrunched up his nose. “I’m eating.”

“Okay? That’s my problem how?” You said mockingly.

“Really? Like for real that’s why you keep checking your phone?”

“Yes really.” Giving him a look that screamed duh’. “Her baby sitter is the 14 year old girl that lives next door to her. Do you really suggest leaving a 14 year old in charge of a vomiting 2 year old? When that 14 year old is disgusted by puke? That’s a recipe for disaster.”

It would be a disaster, her sitter is 14. She just happens to be on vacation with her mother right now. Hence the temporary stay at home husband.

“Okay, first of all, 14? Isn’t that alittle young?”

“No? I started babysitting when I was 12.” You shrugged.

“Fine.” Luke sighed. “Here.”

He slid your phone back to you and propped his chin up on his fist. Watching you check it one last time before turning on the sound and putting it in your back pocket.

——————————————————————————

‘I’m walking home now!’

You shot off the text to Anakin after saying your goodbye to Luke at the restaurant. You’d refused his offer to walk you home, you didn’t want him anywhere near your apartment building knowing that Ghost would be there.

Six minutes later he replied:

‘Good girl.🥰 let me know when you get there safe.’

‘Will do💕’

And you did, the moment you stood outside your apartment door.

‘Made it! See you tomorrow💕’

You waited in the hall to receive his response. You didn’t know what would be waiting for you on the other side of this door, and you didn’t want to chance it.

‘Perfect. Sweet dreams doll!’

Your hand poised at the door knob, you inserted your key to discover your door was already unlocked. You very slowly opened the door, but saw no one in your kitchen or living room.

But your bedroom door was closed, boogie hadn’t meowed as loudly as possible and sprinted to you, demanding to be fed. He did say that they were good friends. So they both must be in your room.

Would it be wise to lock your door? The few precious seconds leaving it unlocked would save if you needed to run… no, no. Just lock it. Doorknob. Deadbolt. Chain.

‘Just stay calm’

You kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag to the floor, walking quietly across the carpeted living room to pause in front of your bedroom. A soft yellow glow shone beneath the door, your lamp must be on. You could hear your tv playing something, not quite sure what it was, but it had the all too familiar cadence of a horror flick.

The audacity of this man astounded you.

When you pushed open the door, he was laying in your bed, shoes off, legs crossed at the ankles, propped against the headboard, arms behind his head. He looked like he belonged there. As big a contrast as it was… your soft, pink, feminine room and him. All black, the mask. He just looked so comfortable.

Your cat, the little traitor, was curled up on his chest. It was kind of sweet. How could such an inherently terrifying scenario seem so normal?

Ever so casually he tilted his head toward you, his right hand raising from its relaxed position to lazily give you gloved finger waggle for a wave.

“Have fun?” The filtered voice drifted over to you.

“Yes.” You answered quietly, glued to the spot.

“Are you just going to stand there?” He laughed. “I would come pick you up, but it’s illegal to move a sleeping cat.” He gestured to boogie who had still not moved from her human pillow.

You couldn’t help but laugh, eyebrows raised in an expression of awe filled shock. This was too weird. Too normal. Too scarily alluring.

Yet you found yourself at the edge of the bed, not really knowing how you got there to begin with.

“Sat you some pajamas out.” He said dismissively, the mask fixed onto the tv screen. “Figured you’d wanna change.”

“Huh.” You snorted, seeing that he had.

You expected to see one of your lacy lingerie sets. But he’d chosen something much more modest that you would’ve ever imagined. Loose, thin, stretchy fabric pajama pants, the matching cropped tank top, and fuzzy socks.

“Um. Thanks?” You said awkwardly, picking them up and turning on your heels to change in the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He chuckled.

“To the bathroom?” You scoffed, looking over your shoulder at him.

“You can change in here.” He wasn’t offering. He was telling you.

“No way.” You shook your head. “No I’m not-“

“C’mon little doe.” The filtered voice left little room for change in tone, but you could tell from his body language that it was a challenge.

“Ghost. No! I have Anakin I don’t-.”

He laughed. “I don’t care.”

“Well I do.”

“Mmm… not enough. You’re letting me be here. You didn’t tell him. You didn’t mention me to anyone at all actually.” He pointed out.

“Well that’s not-“

“Hush.” He snapped, making you stall. “I’ve seen that pretty little body of yours plenty of times. What’s one more?”

“But-“ your face was so red hot that you could feel the heat spreading down your neck.

“What? I’m not gonna get up.” He said plainly. “I’m comfy right here where I can watch you.”

“I don’t… this isn’t right.”

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me.” He scoffed. “Nothing about this is ‘right’. But you’re letting it happen, yeah?” He said and got just a nod from you in response.

“That’s it.” He moved his arm to point two fingers at you, “get on with it sweetheart. I wanna see my girl.”

“I’m not your-“

“You were mine first.” He snapped.

“Well, that’s not very fair.” Your voice shaking. “I didn’t even know you were…. I didn’t know about you!”

“That might be true.” He growled, “but it’s your fault for being so ignorant.”

“I-I don’t…” you felt like you were on the verge of a tantrum. This man was outrageous, coming into your home uninvited, being a fucking perv, acting like he owns the place, and now he’s calling you ignorant?

“Do you realize how stupid it is for you to argue with me about the morality of all this?” He asked, going back to his former relaxed state.

“You. Are allowing me to be here. You had all day to call the cops if you wanted to. But you didn’t.” That smug little bastard laughed. “I’ve been here for over two hours. You knew I’d be here when you got back.”

“That’s not-“

“I’m not finished.” He held up a finger and silenced you. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine and you will continue to be mine.”

“I don’t care that you are pretending to be appalled by the situation you are in.” His voice was even and unyielding, he was so confident in his statements.

“You know why I don’t care?” He asked, tilting his head toward you condescension oozing from every pore.

“Why?” You squeaked.

“Because I know, without a doubt, that if I were to stick my hand down your pretty pink panties; you’d be wet right now.”

How did he know what color your underwear is? Better question: why is that the first thing you thought of when there were much more pressing matters at hand?

“That’s not true.” Your voice sounded hollow.

“It’s not?” He laughed. “Show me then.”

“What?” You whispered, eyes bugging out of your head.

“Do it. Prove to me that you’re not soaked.” He snickered.

“That’s not fair you can’t just-“

“You’re not running are you? You haven’t said no, you haven’t come over here and smacked me.” He interrupted.

You stood there with your jaw dropped, you needed a dustpan and broom to sweep up your shattered facade of denial. How could you dispute that?

“Fine!” You shouted. “Fine. I’ll just change in here.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” He growled. “You’re awfully bold for a spoiled brat.”

“I am not a-“

“When will you stop disagreeing with me?” He laughed. “You know it’s true. I’ve spoiled you so much that you’ve rotted to your core. You weren’t always a brat, but you are now. You like being spoiled don’t you? Being taken care of, being treated like a princess?”

“Your little boyfriend does the same thing doesn’t he?” He snickered. “Spoiled. Brat.”

“You’re just a little girl who needs a man to hold her hand.”

“You’re being mean.” You whispered, your voice breaking.

“The truth is hard to hear isn’t it little doe?” He said, his voice going back to its nonchalant, flat tone.

You couldn’t argue. He’d been right about everything and it’s difficult to argue with someone who throws fact after fact at you like he’s doing. So you took a deep breath and closed your bedroom door.

“Atta girl.” He nodded. “Show me.”

So you did, you turned around and began undressing, you could feel his eyes on you, soaking up the display you were crafting for him.

“Turn around.” His voice alittle quieter, the voice box crackling.

Slowly you complied, swallowing your fear and embarrassment. You kept your eyes closed, it made you feel the slightest bit better, I’m the way a kid would think ‘I can’t see you so you can’t see me’.

“Gorgeous.” He breathed out.

Behind your eyelids you swear you noticed a change in lighting, briefly, but enough to take note of. Your eyes snapped open and saw him holding up his phone.

He’d taken a picture of you.

“Ghost, no! Delete that right now!” You squealed, quickly getting dressed in your fresh pajamas.

“Cool it.” He waved you off. “Just gonna add it to my special folder just for you. See?” He turned his screen toward you and you inched forward.

He wasn’t lying. He scrolled through over one hundred images and videos, some of you in public, some nude, some of you sleeping. All in a folder titled ‘little doe’.

“These are for me.” He said simply. “They’re not going anywhere so don’t worry about that.”

“But these…” he turned the screen back to himself and tapped twice, scrolled and then tapped again before flipping it around.

The images in front of you made you nauseous.

You, spread legs and wet cunt, up close.

You with your hand being held up by Ghost, your fingers buried deeply between your folds.

A short video of your pussy being lovingly stroking by a leather glove. Another of one long digit pumping into you slowly.

A picture of your lips wrapped around his cock.

“S-so you did… you did touch me?” You recoiled.

“No.” He said flatly, before you could protest he laughed.

“You loved it.” He snickered. “Never let you cum. I wanted you to be needy for me.”

“Until… until I saw you.” You whispered.

“Mhm, that’s right.” He nodded. “Took care of your poor swollen pussy properly that time.” He cooed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“You’re sick.” You breathed out. “That’s disgusting… you-“

“Call the cops.” He said gesturing to your phone laying on the bed.

“What?”

“You heard me. Call ‘em.” He snorted. “If I’m so sick and disgusting and you’re soooo horrified by my actions; call the cops. I’ll wait right here.”

“Are you gonna send those to Anakin?” Your voice wobbled as you ignored his challenge. You both knew you wouldn’t call.

“Not if you’re good.”

“Are you gonna hurt him?” You asked quietly.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” He scoffed. “I want you all to myself, but I want you to choose me. I’m not gonna go all Dexter on your boyfriend.”

“You promise?” You sniffled. “Swear it?”

“Pinky swear.” He said confidently, holding out his hand with his little finger raised.

For some reason you took it. You believed him. He hadn’t gotten up and forced you to do anything, he stayed right there the whole time. He had yet to share those pictures with Anakin. A million other twisted reasons you’d started to accept that this was becoming a new normal. A thousand other things that pushed you to believe him.

He’d only bruised your self image with his cold, hard truths about you. That’s not a crime. That’s a reality check.

“Good choice little doe!” You could practically hear the beaming smile on his face behind the plastic mask.

“Now come up here.” He patted the spot next to him. “I don’t like seeing you upset, I’m sorry.”

He was apologizing? He was apologizing.

“You’re sorry?” You repeated in shock.

“Of course I’m sorry. You’re on the verge of tears and I’ve caused it.” He said, holding out his hand palm up for you to take.

“I’m not a monster.”

You hesitated before accepting his hand and climbing into bed beside him. You sat a safe distance from him at first but he lolled his head to the side in what you assumed was a dramatic eye roll and tugged you to his side in a one armed swoop.

The action had you frozen. This was it. He was gonna hurt you. You’d been naive and stupid and he was going to violate you, this time while you were conscious, you’d remember it this time.

“Relax.” He soothed, tucking you comfortably against his side, his bicep behind your head as a pillow and his gloved hand on your side in a way that was almost comforting. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered, what the fuck is happening?

“No, it’s not okay. I could’ve been more gentle with my words.” His opposite hand rubbing his knuckles across your cheek lovingly.

You were quiet for a moment, debating on the course of action you should take. You were in fact very much allowing this to occur. Would it be so horrible to try and enjoy it? He was warm. He smelled nice and familiar, the cologne… you must have a subtle memory of it from all the times he’d been here while you slept. He was comfortable. He was surprisingly kind.

What’s the worst that could happen?

“Before you get comfy.” He spoke quietly, the voice box crackling from his low voice, “you didn’t take your pill.”

“Oh yeah you’re right.” You moved to get up, pink cheeked because once again he proved that you were in fact helpless without him.

“Don’t get up, I have it right here.” He chuckled, reaching over to the nightstand and handing you the pill packet and a thermos. “Tea.”

“Huh.” You stared at him. Gods this was so fucking weird. “Well… wow okay.” You huffed out a laugh and took your medicine with a sip of your tea.

“Tastes different.” You said, handing the packet back to him.

“Mhm. Yeah I poisoned it.” He said nonchalantly, making you almost choked on your second sip.

“You what?” You shrieked, waking up the cat who bolted from his lap.

“Aw look what you did,” he groaned gesturing to the empty space with a few stray cat hairs.

“You- are you serious?” You started to almost hyperventilate. “Should I make myself throw up?”

Why are you asked the man who poisoned you that? Like he’d tell you.

“No, that would be a waste of good tea.” He snorted. “I put cinnamon in it you idiot.”

“What?”

“Cinnamon.” He repeated. “It’s just cinnamon. It was a joke.”

“That’s not fucking funny!” You shouted, smacking his shoulder.

“Ive already told you once.” His hand shot out and grabbed your jaw firmly. “Do not. Raise. Your voice. At me.” He growled.

“I believe you meant to say ‘ha-ha, ghost that was funny. you got me!’” He snickered and released your jaw, soothing you with his hand now gently raking through your hair.

You were stunned. Absolutely shook by his quick turnaround, this should be terrifying. This man can be so gentle one moment and the next he’s speaking to you like he’s ordering you to lay down at the guillotine. It wasn’t terrifying in the right way. Not the type of fear you should be feeling at his unpredictable actions.

You weren’t scared of him at all. But yourself? Yes. Who is this girl? Why is she… why do you like this? It’s scary because you’re not scared. It’s horrifying because you want more. It’s terrifying because you’re morbidly curious about what he’d do if you acted out again.

You shook your head and picked your jaw off the floor, deciding the best course of action was to just tuck yourself back under his arm and watch whatever movie he had paused when you entered the room.

Might as well. You’ve already come this far.

Date

August 14th

When you woke up the next morning Ghost was gone. Your home was devoid of any trace of him, no note, no gift, no messages. Nothing.

He had hardly moved while you sat with him, the only consistent movement was the gentle twist and twirl of one long lock of your hair around his finger. It was repetitive and soothing, just like the calming rise and fall of his chest.

How could he be so calm? So off guard?

You could’ve turned on him at any moment. Ripped off his mask and saw who he was, grabbed your lamp and wacked him with it. Punched him in the nuts and ran.

But, to be fair, he could’ve done the same to you. Yet you stayed there, albeit anxious and on high alert for majority of the time spent with him. Despite the fact that you knew he carried a weapon, even though you were well aware of what he’d been doing to you all this time, even after he’d manhandled your face when you smarted off to him.

It must be a twisted form of mutual trust.

Or you might just be delusional.

Either way, it was wrong and you knew that. You intentionally got naked in front of another man, while he laid on the bed your boyfriend so sweetly makes love to you in. You fell asleep in the arms of this man. Not just *any* other man, the one who has been stalking you relentlessly for months.

You’ve cheated on Anakin. If he knew, it would crush him. It would break apart his big, soft, velveteen heart. Your betrayal would rip a hole right through the middle and slice up the fabric so badly it couldn’t be sewn back up without ending up smaller, weaker, and deformed.

What could you do? Was there anything to do? Telling him to his face… the thought of it soured your stomach so badly you thought you might form an ulcer.

Telling Ghost to fuck off and leave you alone wasn’t an option either. No matter what you did, the precautions you put in place; he would find you. Not only would he find you, but he wouldn’t allow Anakin the privilege of breathing anymore.

You couldn’t tell Luke. He’d lecture you until your ears bled while he dragged you to the nearest police station. Then Luke would be in danger, Anakin would know, and Ghost would still be your problem. And if Luke didn’t believe you, he’d ship you off to the long term care loony bin.

Your sister? Of course you couldn’t tell her either. She has her own family. Ghost already knows where she lives, he’s told you so.

He knows everything about you. Your family tree, your friends list, your schedule, your medical information, banking account, he has complete access to your home, your phone…

You are a canary in a cage and he is a cat pawing at you through the metal bars.

It’s only a matter of time before one of those claws nicks you. A feather or two might come loose, open up a weak spot on your frail body. The next swipe might draw blood, maybe it won’t. Or maybe he’ll be lucky enough to bat you to the bottom of the cage.

It’s hard enough to escape when there’s someone always watching. When there’s a lock on the door. But to attempt to flee with broken wings? You couldn’t hobble your way to safety anyway. Bird cages don’t have doors at the bottom, they’re halfway up. They don’t have horizontal bars. You can’t climb.

You are stuck.

It’s up to you if you want to be trapped there intact, or if you’d rather wallow at the bottom in pain.

——————————————————————————

Maybe you should just break up with Anakin.

Ghost said he wouldn’t hurt him, but how long will that last? How long until he gets tired of waiting? Should you ask Ghost again? Just to make sure? Make him sign a fucking contract?

Maybe it would be best if-

“Sweetheart?” Anakin whispered softly, waving his hand in front of your face. “What’s going on? I’ve been standing here for almost a minute.”

Anakin was here.

“What?” You whispered back, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of your surroundings.

The diner. You were at The Bluebird. You were working. A glance to the clock told you that you’d been here for over two hours, a quick scan of the tables and the counter proved that you hadn’t neglected any customers. Your notepad and pen were in your hand, there was money in the tip jar.

Anakin was here.

“Hey, c’mere.” His voice soft and concerned.

He gently took the pad and pen from your hands, put an arm around your shoulder and held your hand as he led you through the kitchen. Not an uncommon occurrence, Anakin was well known to everyone at the Bluebird due to his frequent visits to see you. He often walked with you out through the kitchen to sit on the curb with you while you took a break and he smoked a cigarette.

“Vigo, I’m taking her out back.” He said quietly, speaking to the dishwasher.

“I was about to call you man.” He spoke back in a hushed voice. “She’s been actin’ like that since she got here.”

“Yeah? Well next time don’t wait to call.” Anakin grumbled, scowling at your coworker.

The heat of the afternoon sun soothed over your skin, making you painfully aware of the cold sweat lacing the back of your neck. You blinked and it felt like it was the first time you’d closed your eyes in hours. Your mouth was dry, your teeth felt cold and your brain might’ve been better described as soup.

Anakin sat down on the curb and pulled you down with him. Placing you sideways between his legs, your arms immediately threw themselves around his neck and you curled up into him.

“Jesus baby.” He whispered, the wind getting knocked out of him at your aggressive tackle.

“An-” You started to sob before you even finished his name.

“W-what’s wrong?” You could feel his heart beat quicken beneath you, hear it pounding in his chest. He was feeling real, true panic.

“Hey, hey talk to me. Breathe.” He tried to soothe you by petting your hair, rocking you gently, kissing your forehead… anything, anything he could think of and nothing was working.

You were sobbing so loudly that Anakin was glad there wasn’t a back parking lot. If someone wanted to see where this horrible wailing was coming from they’d have to walk all the way around back, thankfully most people didn’t care enough to do such a thing.

Unfortunately though, your coworkers did care.

The back door creaked open and you could hardly hear the conversation over your own tears.

“Anakin!” Vigo whisper shouted. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t do this!” His voice angrily gritting through his teeth. “What happened today?”

“Nothin’ man! I dunno!” Vigo squeaked raising up his hands in surrender. “She just clocked in like that, no cryin’ though. She’s hardly said a word.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me!” Anakin grunted, “I’m her emergency contact for a reason you idiot.”

“Hey? Don’t get mad at me!” Vigo scoffed. “I figured she was in a funk because of you, why would I call if I thought it was boyfriend troubles?”

“Jesus- did you even ask her?”

“What?”

“Oh my fuckin’-“ Anakin took a breath to regulate himself, one arm firmly holding you while the other was wildly gesturing as he spoke. “Did you ask her what was wrong?”

“No?”

“Are you stupid? God just fuck- go back inside before you end up crying on the ground too.” He snapped at him, huffing as the back door shut behind a quickly retreating Vigo.

“Sorry baby, I’m sorry,” He whispered, petting your head and squeezing you tightly. “I’m sorry, that probably didn’t help did it?”

“N-not really.” You hiccuped out a laugh.

“She speaks.” He gasped, “want me to yell at him some more? I’ll do it just say the word-“

“Anakin-“ you snorted, wiping your eyes and nose on his shirt. “Aw shit sorry.”

“You think I’m worried about alittle snot?” He scoffed, “Sweetheart, I’d lick it out of your nose like a cow if you’d let me. C’mere I’ll prove it.”

He stuck out his tongue and flicked it at you, chasing your face as you squirmed away from him. Despite to horrible ache in your lungs and the scratchy feeling in your throat, Anakin had a way of making everything better. Even if it was accomplished by making a fool of himself.

You laughed in spite of trying to catch your breath, fighting those awkward stalled inhales with a the goofy little giggle only he could force out of you. He relented finally when you gave up struggling, opting for a kiss on the tip of your nose rather than his tongue up your nostril.

“Wanna talk to me now?” He asked quietly, his playful attitude tucked away and replaced with seriousness.

“I don’t know Ani.” You sighed, feeling horribly conflicted. “I just want to go home.”

“Then I’ll take you home.” He said, not leaving room for argument. “But I’m not letting you get up until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Please? Please I don’t wanna talk about it.” Your eyes already filling back up with tears.

“It’s nothing really! It’s okay.” You pleaded with him, “I’m just… I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff and it’s all overwhelming.”

“That’s not okay, don’t say it’s okay. You just wailed like a banshee.” He said sternly. “Talk, let me help.”

“I just feel like I’m losing my mind.” You scoffed, “Im going nuts. I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it without you thinking I’m insane.”

“Princess.” He said, his voice cracking with pain. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

“W-what if hypothetically…” you whispered. “It’s only hypothetical okay?”

“Okay. Imaginary scenario, let’s hear it.” He nodded solemnly.

“Hypothetically, if I was having… nightmares of someone being in my house. What would you say.” You whispered.

“Hypothetical nightmares?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. “Well… I’d suggest that maybe you… go to therapy? See if you can find the root of the problem.”

Therapy? To find the root of the problem? That would work if you didn’t already know where to find the problem: in your apartment at any given moment. Hell, he was probably there right now.

“Are you having these dreams because of that night at the bar?” He asked softly, tucking loose hairs behind your ear. “You know we didn’t see anyone put anything in your drink. No one left at the same time as you but your friends.”

“Now like I said before, just because we didn’t see it on camera… it doesn’t mean that no one slipped something in your drink. Stuff like that unfortunately happens all the time.” He sighed.

“I know.” You nodded, your eyes wet and sad, you knew you weren’t drugged there. You were drugged in the security of your own home. “I know, I think maybe I was just alittle more tipsy than I thought I don’t-“

“Hey, no… it’s okay.” He soothed you. “I believe you.”

“But there was no one who followed you home from the bar. I can say that with 100% certainty okay?” He said sternly.

“Ani but-“

“Look at me.” He said sharply, his voice turning soft again immediately after. “No one followed you home. I watched that video a hundred times over from every angle possible. No one else left the bar until about 17 minutes after you and your friends left.”

“Now don’t get upset baby okay? Listen I know, I know that it scared you shitless.” He said in a pained way, his face not quite matching his tone of voice like he was having a hard time trying to decide how to respond.

“Which is perfectly valid. It’s totally okay to be terrified if you saw something like that.” He soothed you, squeezing your upper arms. “I’m not saying it didn’t happen, I would never say that. If you say that you saw something, I believe you.”

“But, just because you saw it… doesn’t mean that it was truly there. Those kind of drugs can really fuck with your head baby.” He said gently.

“I know.” You sniffled, wiping your eyes and hiding against his chest again.

Gods… this man. He really was one of a kind, not just any man or person in general for that matter, would respond so well to such a strange temporary delusion. Your past boyfriends would’ve run for the hills. But not Anakin. It was clear he wasn’t deterred easily, he was your personal emotional support pet leech.

It was strange, feeling so comfortable like this with someone you hadn’t known for very long. After this conversation you thought maybe it would be okay to tell Anakin the truth about it all. He’d handle it perfectly well wouldn’t he?

But, you can’t risk putting him in harms way. You wouldn’t know if Anakin would be safe without first speaking to Ghost. If Anakin was your pet leech… Ghost was the the neighborhood street dog who’d decided your porch was the safest place to sleep. Who would be heartless enough to kick the poor thing out without a proper meal first?

That’s the problem with strays. Give them a scrap and they’ll love you for life.

Diary Entry: August 14th

Jesus baby I’m sorry. I thought things went well last night, I didn’t mean to make you so upset. I really didn’t. I guess you weren’t ready to see Ghost after all.

That’s my fault, I apologize. I should have known better.

It’s just… you seemed kind of excited for it you know? I thought we had a good time. Was the stripping down in front of me what freaked you out so much? Or seeing the pictures? I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t have, that was too far, too fast.

I see now that I made a mistake and I plan to rectify it as soon as possible. I’m going to give you a choice, one that I really don’t want to give you. But I will for the sake of your sanity.

I’ve been selfish for too long.

I’ve not truly considered your feelings on the situation, I’ve taken your response at face value and never attempted to dig farther than that. It won’t happen again I can assure you of that. Ghost will still be Ghost, but perhaps just a bit more considerate of your opinions and boundaries.

You must understand though, it’s hard to deal with this for me too. I know it’s not fair to compare our separate sides of the situation like this, but it’s true. It’s painful to watch you get so upset over something I’ve done, knowing I can’t really resolve the issue. I don’t know how to help, or fix this.

I’ve dug myself into a hole. A Pit if you will.

How could you ever forgive me now? After all this time that I have been so stupidly self-centered… I imagine it would be unlikely that you could find it in your immensely kind soul to forgive and forget my transgressions.

Maybe not though? I do see you as a godly entity, my own personal deity. If I leave enough at the altar, bow at your feet for long enough, serve you unconditionally… maybe then you would see that I have discovered the error of my ways. You could see that I am truthful in my pursuit of repentance.

Date

August 15th

Anakin drove to the opposite side of the city to purchase your apology gifts from Ghost. He knew well enough that Luke never had a set schedule, Han was always at the gym and you were at book club. There was limited space in time and even smaller proximity of location for him to safely collect the supplies he needed.

If someone saw him buying a dozen red roses and told you about it without his knowledge… well there goes Ghost. It’d be real hard to explain that away.

So he went to the florist, chose the most beautiful bouquet he could find and tucked it away in a large brown bag with tissue paper over the top so he wouldn’t accidentally bruise the petals.

He strolled down the side walk to another small mom and pop store, just to browse through stationary and cards. Ghost needs to be alittle more classy in his opinion. Maybe if his notes are on nice paper and written in plain black ink… that could ease the discomfort of it. It’s probably not super welcoming to find a ripped scrap of paper with red ink scrawled on it now that he’s come to think of it.

It was amusing to him before, but after your display of emotion, he’s feeling guilty. Very, very guilty. There was no reason to go the extra mile on stupid little things like that.

So, pretty grey paper and matching envelopes join the bouquet.

Now he just has to find something else. It can’t be chocolate or something generic. It has to be something meaningful. Something thoughtful to solidify the sentiment behind his offer for you. Something that will push you to make the right decision.

——————————————————————————

Anakin walked into your apartment, and went straight to your bedroom, it was time for Ghost to set up his apology present.

The big red bouquet was carefully placed in the center of your bed along with the pretty stationary propped against it. Your name carefully and neatly written in **black ink** on the envelope.

Your other gift, had turned into two. A small black box accompanying a short and squat black gift bag with grey tissue paper.

He was proud of his staged display, so proud that he couldn’t wait for you to see it. He was itching for you to get home, he needed to know what you’d choose. He was dying to see your pretty face light up with joy at his thoughtfulness.

So against his better judgement, he snapped a picture of himself standing at your bedside. The photo taken from a high angle to capture just the corner of your red rose bouquet, with himself taking up majority of the frame. His mask tilted to the side and his free hand held up a gloved peace sign.

He’d wait to send it.

He wanted to see your face when the message came through.

Anakin was prepared to be patient, but he didn’t have to be patient for long. He got the notification that there was movement out front of the building, he pulled up the live feed from the stairwell camera on his laptop and excitedly jolted up out of his seat before sitting back down quickly to scoot his seat back up to the table.

He rubbed his hands together and practically combusted from the inside when he confirmed it was you. His fingers moved quickly to send the text message and just as he thought you would, you paused and pulled your phone from your hoodie pocket.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a bit of panic and maybe a bit of excitement. But mostly, Anakin was saddened to see fear. You were scared, but so brave as he watched you sprint up the steps. He shook his head and let out a deep breath, pulling up the split screen of all the cameras in your home.

You burst through the front door and slammed it shut, tossing your bag aside. Anakin turned up the volume just a bit and immediately realized that was a mistake because you yelled directly underneath the kitchen camera. The audio crackled as you shouted out for Ghost, Anakin realized then that you must think he’s still inside your home.

‘Just missed me.’ He texted quickly, watching you check your phone quickly and let out a sigh of relief as you muttered under your breath.

He thought you might text back, but why would you when you knew he was watching at that very moment?

“Hey!” You said, spinning in place, your eyes darting around to scan the room. “Where did you go? I didn’t see you!”

You rushed over to the living room window and down to the alley below, then up the fire escape, your gaze traveling over to the next building’s roof.

‘You won’t see me unless I want you to.’ He texted back.

“Jesus.” You muttered, rubbing your wrist anxiously. “I guess you want me to go to my room huh?”

‘Yes please.’

“Fine.” You sighed, kicking off your shoes as you walked over to the bedroom door, flinging it open quickly just incase he was still hiding out.

Your eyes drew to the center of your bed, the roses, the bag and box, the envelope. If the situation weren’t so strange you might consider this a romantic gesture. But it’s not, it’s not romantic and you shouldn’t want to open the gifts and sniff the pretty, sweet smelling flowers. You should want to call the police and have them haul the shit off for evidence.

“What’s all this for?” You asked alittle quieter than before, holding up your phone to read the text as it came through almost instantly as you knew that it would.

‘Letter.’

“Letter? That’s all?” You scoffed, “you did all this for a letter?”

‘It’s important.’ The response came quickly, followed by a second in rapid succession. ‘Gifts first.’

“Okay… alright. Gifts first.” You sighed, pulling your hand back from where it was inches away from the grey envelope.

The small box seemed like a good first thing to open, easy enough to snap shut if you didn’t like what you saw inside. Tentatively shifting the lid back and forth you wiggled it free and lifted the small square of padding to reveal a very nice, very ornate, obviously hand crafted hair-pin with a silver rod for the pin.

You gingerly lifted it from the box and held it in your hand to examine it, walking over to the window to open the curtains and see it more clearly. Smooth, black ceramic, gorgeously curved and curled silver fittings. But the most intriguing, the most breathtaking part of it, was the delicate lines and the daintily carved cameo in the center of the ceramic oval.

A woman standing under a willow, with a fawn at her feet.

You wanted to hate it, but how could you hate something so beautiful? How could you pretend to be unappreciative of something that clearly took time and effort to find, it wasn’t just vintage, it was antique. The fact that he’d searched for and seized the jewelry was a feat in itself.

You gingerly laid it back in its box, almost too afraid to hold it. Afraid of its fragility, afraid of what it stood for, how it made you feel. The tiny claws of emotion ripping at your throat stole your voice, you could only hope that Ghost couldn’t see your face from where you were standing or he would clearly see what he’d stirred up inside you.

You picked up the small bag and lifted the tissue paper gently, hoping it wasn’t another emotionally draining surprise.

It wasn’t draining, but it sure as hell was a surprise.

“What’s this?” You snorted, turning the bag over and dumping out a few cat toys.

You waited, checking your phone periodically but got no response. You knew he was still watching, so why wasn’t he answering? Sighing you shook your head and opted to take a look at the toys.

A felt kicker toy shaped as a bloody knife. A couple of fluffy spiders, eyeballs with bells inside, and a little vampire bat that was almost too cute to be a cat toy.

“Thanks.” You said quietly.

It was infuriating how well he knew you, he knew how to crawl into your brain and make you want more. How could you not when he did things like this? Thoughtful, well planned gifts, including your pet too. He knew that your cat was your baby and he’d taken the time to befriend her, cared about her enough to buy her things.

It made it all the more irritating that his choice of toys was just alittle funny. But you’d die before you admit that seeing the knife made you crack a grin.

Finally you decided it was time to open the envelope, as soon as you did, you understood why he’d asked you to open the gifts first.

LETTER

Little Doe,

I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. The hurt I saw, the words heard… I felt it in my soul when I watched you crumble.

My purpose is to love you, my job is to keep you safe, my goal is to make you happy. I’m only doing one of those things, it’s selfish of me to love you the way that I do. I know that.

What I’ve done is wrong, I’m aware. I can’t justify or explain it to you. Just know that the long and short of it is love, it’s not a normal love, but it’s mine and I’m giving it all to you.

There’s no way you’d understand the lengths I’d go to, the things I would do for you. You’d never comprehend how deeply I adore you. That’s okay. It’s hard for me to understand myself too.

The hairpin, it’s the goddess of the hunt and her fawn. I thought considering it all, it would be more than suitable for our situation.

You’re a saint, a deity, someone worth the labors of worship.

Goddesses aren’t meant to be touched, held, loved corporally. They’re meant to be imagined, a comforting presence that you feel all around you, bowed to in hopes of receiving grace. I’ve tried to go beyond the altar to reach you and for that I’m truly sorry.

Please, please take my offerings.

I love you, I need you, but I don’t deserve you. No one deserves attention from the heavens, especially not me. But if you are listening, if you’re willing, I’ll try my best to be the perfect follower.

So I’ll ask for a boon from my goddess:

Grant me passage on the road to repentance, or take my hand to walk through the valley.

You sat on your bed in silence for a long while, your cat coming to join you and accept the gifts left for her excitedly. It brought you a moment of peace to watch her waller around and smack the eyeballs across the floor.

So the overwhelming weight of the thin grey sheet of paper in your hand felt even heavier when she scampered off with her brand new bag toy hanging from her mouth like a fresh kill. She’d left you alone and undistracted again. Just you, your thoughts, and the suffocating silence surrounding you, the creeping tingle on your neck that told you he was still watching the cameras.

He was waiting.

So you sighed and crawled off the bed with your bouquet in tow, cutting the stems into the kitchen trash can and filling a glass vase with water to display them on the counter.

The grey paper followed you from room to room, seat to seat, from one hand to the other as you read it over and over. You could recite it by memory, it was burned into your retinas, you could still feel the indents of his pen on the paper long after you’d sat it aside, the smell of the paper dye singed your nostrils and didn’t leave even after your shower.

You thought you could clean yourself, wash your hands of the problem both literally and metaphorically.

No amount of scrubbing could rinse your brain well enough to wash away the thousands of jumbled words swirling around. You’d been trying to formulate one, just one, coherent sentence for a response. But each time you made progress, you changed your mind on the decision, you scrapped the idea, sent it to the shredder and recycled it into a slightly different, just as illegible mess.

He’s giving you an out. Take it.

Who cares if he still watches you? He won’t interfere. He won’t show up for visits, he won’t leave you gifts or notes.

He’d left you with an offering. A little piece of himself in exchange for your so called ‘divine intervention’. He was asking for the hand of god to stir the pot and serve it too. At least, that’s how he saw it.

For you it was just an awkward toss up of a bunch of jumbled pros and cons.

On one hand he was offering you freedom. Opening the bird cage and giving you the option to escape but clipping your wings, ensuring you can’t go too far.

He’d still watch, just not make an appearance… keep himself hidden like before.

This would also solidify Anakin’s safety, which you valued highly. You’d be free to have your beautiful blossoming relationship, without the worry and stress from the Ghost that haunts your apartment.

On the other hand he gave you the choice to join him in some capacity. To walk through the valley with him; would he walk two steps behind? Two in front? Or side-by-side?

It’d give you the opportunity to explore this stranger you’ve discovered living inside your mind and body. That weird itch that only Ghost can scratch, the thought of him alone just doesn’t do it for you anymore.

You’d have the chance to see who is under that mask and that was more intriguing than anything. You felt like the more you spoke to him, the more you watched him in person… maybe you’d be able to narrow it down to a few people. That might be worth the risks that come with allowing him to continue visiting.

So, you swallowed your fear and closed your eyes. A few silent moments later you spoke aloud, assuming Ghost was still listening.

“I’ll walk with you.” You said slowly, tasting the words as they left your lips. “On two conditions.”

‘What are they, deer?’ His response came instantaneously.

“You leave my friends and family alone. You swear on your life they’re safe and that includes Anakin. I mean it, I’m not fucking around about it okay?” You said confidently. “I already feel guilty enough, don’t make it worse for me.”

‘Guilty?’

“Yes guilty! I have a boyfriend, who I really, really like.” You said, feeling exhausted from the complexity of your choice. “This isn’t fair to him!”

“But it’s… it’s not fair to me either!” You said frustratedly as you blew out a long breath of air through pursed lips. “I deserve to know who you are! You’ve been watching me for god knows how long and I haven’t even heard your real voice.”

“And… and it’s not fair for you either.” You admitted quietly.

‘Why?’

“You’ve been… mostly harmless. Kind.” You confessed, considering saying more, much more. “You’ve been helpful. Despite everything you’ve done, you obviously care about me. I can’t ignore that especially now.”

‘Mostly harmless??’

‘Why ‘especially’ now?’

“You’re joking right?” You snorted in disbelief, shaking your head and trying to stifle a laugh of indignation. “You… well I mean it feels wrong to call it what it is. But- you.. you know what you did!” You crossed your arms frustratedly.

‘Ah… the extracurriculars.’

“Sure if that’s what you want to call it.” An expression of, strangely enough, amusement, crossed over your features. “What it is… well you know what it is.” You sighed.

“But for some reason… I don’t want to call it that.” You said quietly.

‘Hm. I’ll remember that.’

“I’m sure you will.” You huffed in spite of yourself, because if you were honest you’d be telling him you liked it. Your body liked it, your brain liked it, asleep or not, he’d affected you in ways you were unsure you could get with anyone else. Including your sweet and precious boyfriend, he’s too tender and loving.

“Second condition: you promise me that you’ll eventually tell me who you are.” You said firmly. “I deserve to know.”

‘I accept.’

“Okay then.” You sighed with relief and a bit of resignation. “You still have to warn me if you’re gonna be coming to visit though!”

‘Yes ma’am.’

“Ew. Add that to the list. Never call me ma’am again.” You snorted and it rolled into a full laugh when you finally looked up and caught your own gaze in your bedroom mirror. You were sitting in your room alone, speaking aloud, having a fully fleshed, seemingly one-sided conversation.

If anyone were to walk in on this scene playing out, they’d think you’ve lost your mind.

Maybe you already have.

The pendant that inspired the hairpin! I forgot to add it in sorryyyyyy

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 1@mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrott @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

[gglitch1dd]

Well... aren't you a pretty doll? Pt3

Army Soldier Midoriya Izuku x Secretary Reader

Context: After having spilt your drink on the man, you finally meet him for dancing.

Note: Set in the 1940s/1950s

[PART 2] [Well... aren't you a pretty doll- Masterlist]

“Isn’t he just grand, mother?” You asked as you washed the dishes, watching your Midoriya stand by the railing outside as he talked to your father. The two of them had been out there for a while and you weren’t exactly sure how it was going but considering your father hadn’t pulled out his shotgun yet, you assumed it was going just splendid.

Your mother chuckled as she took the cloth and started drying the newest dishes you had laid out. “Your father seems to have taken a liking to him. He seems really well spoken.”

“Oh he is.” You let out excited looking at her. “He’s so smart too! He speaks like one of those science professors on the TV. He’s so kind and gentle.” You sighed as you thought about him and how much he treated you like a lady. How he’d hold open the door for you, always accompany you back home, almost always refused to stay the night because he wanted to make sure he always had the right intentions.

Your mother looked at you with an amused knowing look before giggling. This was the third visit that Midoriya had to your parent’s house, it got better and better everytime. Although he had met your family on other occasions, a few times when you had dragged him to church on a Sunday. “How long have the two of you been courting again?”

You sighed. “A whole nine months so far, but I get so worried.” You settled your hands in the warm water with the sponge resting on one of the plates. “Especially when he’s sent somewhere, to another base or on a rotational. I get so worried, war changes men.”

Your mother hummed as she moved over beside you. She wrapped her arms around you with a gentle smile. “It does, but it also makes them all the more eager to get back to the things they care about the most.” Your mother placed her arms around you as she gave you a hug from behind. “Don’t worry dear.” She spoke softly. “With the way that man looks at you, I don’t think there is anything that will keep him away.”

You smiled at the observation she had. You trusted her wholeheartedly. You leaned back and gave her hand a squeeze before finishing off the dishes. It was starting to get late and you knew that it wasn’t advised to drive in the dark, but Midoriya did have friends in high places that seemed to let him do such.

Your father walked into the house first, moving to pick up the paper as he leaned back to read the paper on his recliner. Walking in after him was Midoriya, who closed the door behind him and walked over into the kitchen. He leaned against the doorway, hands in his pants pockets as he did so. “Ready to go doll?”

You nodded as you picked up your ration book and put it in your sling bag that you had brought with you. “I am.” You stood up and gave your mother a hug, placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll ring you later, mother.”

“Please do, and stay well. Remember to block out your windows at night.” She stated as she moved closer to watch the both of you head out. “Goodnight, Mr Midoriya.”

Midoriya nodded his head to your mother. “Goodnight, Mrs L/N. Have a good evening, and stay safe.”

You quickly moved over to your father, kissing his cheek. “Goodbye Daddy, I’ll see you soon.”

He looked up at you, and besides being the stoic man he was, he mustered up a smile just for you and kissed your cheek back, before lifting up the paper to focus on it. “Bye.” You giggled but let him be as you made your way over to Midoriya.

“Goodbye Mr L/N.” Midoriya waved to your father, who only gave him a grunt in return, making you giggle.

Midoriya moved to put his hand to the curve of your back, as he walked you both outside. You walked down the steps of your house. Midoriya moved to open your door for you, allowing you to step inside before heading inside the driver’s seat himself. With a turn of the keys, the engine came to life and the both of you head down the road heading back into town.

You smiled as you looked at your house in the rearview mirror before turning to look at Midoriya in the low light of the evening. The sky was dimming and was turning from a dark orange to a purple. His dark green hair had soft waves of his curls slipping out of the gel that was supposed to keep his hair neat and slicked back. A single curl fell on his forehead, making him look just dashing.

You adjusted your seating as you faced him. “What did you and daddy talk about?”

He glanced at you before chuckling. He pat your thigh gently. “Nothing to worry your little head about.”

“Nothing to worry my little head about?” You asked surprised at the statement. “Well if you’re talking to my father, I sure am worried.”

He laughed at your concern but found it endearing. He glanced over to you. “It was just guy talk, Y/N. Nothing bad, just a conversation between two men.”

“About?”

“The future.”

“What about the future?”

Izuku chuckled at all your questions as he moved to take your hand that was closest to him. He raised it to his mouth and kissed it gently making you ease. “Have I ever told you how much I love how inquisitive you are?”

You tried to fight a flush to your cheeks as you took your hand and looked out the window. “Don’t try and distract me, Izuku.”

His smile broadened to a grin at the way you said his given name. One that he treasured. “I promise you doll,” His eyes stayed forward, watching the road. “It was a good talk. A very good one and soon you’ll understand.” He told you. You hummed, deciding to trust him as you relaxed into your seat. He glanced over at you before smiling at your resting face. “Did you miss home?”

You nodded your head with a soft smile. “Always. But I mostly miss the familiarity of home. I’ve always wanted a house just like it.” You revealed to him with a smile. “The white railing, the washing line outside-”

“The three chickens for eggs in the morning.”

You looked at him with wide excited eyes, so glad he understood where you were getting to. He chuckled in amusement, nodding his head, showing his understanding. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted! And a kitchen too! A proper one that looks right out to the lawn. And neighbours to wave good morning to everyday.” You leaned back with a dreamy sigh. “Wouldn’t that just be a dream?”

Izuku looked at you, his expression eased. “It would… Hey doll, I’ll be a bit busy for the rest of this coming week.” He told you. “But I’ll see you Friday at your place. I promised I would take you somewhere nice.”

You smiled at the fact that he remembered his promise. “You did.”

“I did, and a promise is a promise. I just gotta get all my ducks in a row.” He informed you.

You nodded your head. “I understand. Don’t worry about me.” You put your hand on his shoulder. “You do whatever you have to do. I’ll be here.”

“Congratulations Midoriya. Your promotion is one you should be proud of.” Sargent Aizawa said as Midoriya stood in front of him in his office. He stood up straight and proper like a good soldier as his sargent looked over the papers in front of him. “You’ve worked hard for it and in a short amount of time too. You just keep on rising.”

And Midoriya knew you meant it. Which is why he was so sure about what he had planned.

“Thank you, Sarge.” He said with a gentle smile, knowing Aizawa wouldn’t mind his eased posture when they were alone.

Aizawa looked over the papers in front of him. He sighed, putting them down on his desk. “First Kirishima, then you, at this rate, I’ll have none of my soldiers in the barracks.” He let out with a shake of his head. “You’re moving out. Why?” He asked as he joined his hands together.

Midoriya seemed to visibly soften, which made Aizawa raise an eyebrow. “I have a woman, sir. She’s…” Midoriya couldn’t think of words just at the pure thought of you. His smile broadened as he looked down at the wooden floors. “She’s the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life. She’s smart and funny, strong in her own way too. She’s so supportive of me. She has a smile that shines like the sun and I… I mean to marry her, Sarge. I’ve talked to her father and he’s given me permission. I just… I don’t wanna die knowing that she isn’t mine.”

Aizawa stared at the young man in front of him. “Wow, Midoriya. Here you almost have me blushing. She’s Enji’s secretary isn’t she? I’ve seen you two sneaking around the base like two high schoolers.” Midoriya’s face bloomed pink as he straightened up. Aizawa opened up a drawer pulling out his stamp. “A little word of advice, marry that girl as soon as yesterday, Midoriya. The war isn’t getting better.” Midoriya’s expression didn’t change. He knew. Being close to All Might, meant he knew certain things that were above his pay grade but it also meant he got to plan ahead. Aizawa lifted up his stamp, pressing it onto the ink pad before pushing it onto the paper. “If you want someone to mourn you when you die, make sure to do so. The government will take care of her if anything happens to you. And should the war turn south-”

“Nukes, sarge?”

Aizawa looked up at the emotionless expression on Midoriya’s face. Aizawa knew that Midoriya knew a lot. It was the reason why he was in so many high level meetings. He was smart, an exceptional strategist and someone that provided more good plans than bad ones. He was the reason they were holding on where they were. He was someone who All Might would save over the president himself.

Aizawa let out a grunt, answering Midoriya’s question enough. “Should a fallout happen, with the future of this country in mind, all you high ranking married young ones will be on the first train out of the trenches and on the first ship to Okinawa.”

“Okinawa?” Midoriya saw the look on the sergeants face and knew that it was self explanatory if he thought about it. His eyebrows furrowed but he nodded. “Yes, sarge.”

“My point being, Midoriya.” He signed off on the last document. “Marry that girl and make sure you take my rations when you do. She makes amazing scones and I’d like to have some.”

Midoriya paused before chuckling and nodding. “Yes, sarge.”

“Where are you going to stay?”

“I’ve saved up enough for the deposit on a house sarge, but I’m thinking of just a larger apartment for now. That way we can save up if I ever- when I’m gone off.”

Aizawa nodded. “Good. You’re a smart spender, but have a nice wedding. This place needs something to make people happy. Now go, before you infect me with whatever marriage bomb is going off in your squadrant.”

Midoriya nodded with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Sarge.” He bowed at the waist, before heading out. He was grateful to have someone like Aizawa who was so understanding and caring (despite what he believed himself).

Midoriya hastily made his way to the barracks, a smile on his face as he walked. He noticed new recruits marching on, making him remember when he had first enlisted. The buzz cut and short hair with skinny arms that couldn’t even carry a rifle for longer than what was necessary. He was glad he spent the past three years since entering the army being smart and training hard. Now all the work he put in, all the effort and experience will benefit you as well.

Midoriya walked into the barracks with a pep in his step.

“Izuku!” He turned to look at Iida. “What did Aizawa say?” he asked.

He smiled and nodded with a smile. “Consider me gone, Tenya. This Friday, I’ll be out and hopefully engaged.”

“You actually going to ask her to marry you?” Bakugou asked with a raised eyebrow and a disbelieving look on his face.

Midoriya chuckled as he threw open his arms as he headed over to his bed and area. “Well, of course. I want to give her the best a man can do and the only way I can do that is if I ask her to marry me. Hoping to get married by the end of next week. Never know when I’ll see her again with the way the war is going.” He reminded the blond man.

Kaminari sighed as he got his hat out of his trunk at the foot of his bed. “Thinner ration books, blacked out windows, airraids every other day. I thought it was finally settling down before all this happened.” He stated with a hopeful look on him.

Midoriya understood the feeling, but there wasn’t time to think about it. He opened his mouth to say something.

“I’m not surprised at all, if I were honest.” Todoroki pointed out with a shrug. “They’ve been going steady for a while now. It makes sense.”

Midoriya pointed to Todoroki. “Thank you, Shoto.” He stated with a smile. “Now lets stop talking about my doll and I, and get to training.”

“That was so groovy!” You giggled as you sat on against the hood of the car, the both of you out in a clearing just outside of town as the sun began to set. You looked to your right at Midoriya, a wide smile on his own face. “Why have you never taken me before?”

“Deflector.” Bakugou tsked making some others chuckle.

He chuckled and nodded his head. “It’s a little army soldier secret, doll. We don’t need you telling your boss about it.” He reminded you. You gave him a pointed look. He raised his hand in defense as he chuckled. “Just a precaution, doll. It isn’t aimed at you.”

“Well it sure sounds like it.” You told him. You looked out at the setting sun, smiling at the plains before you. It was times like this where you could forget, for just a second, that war was not happening and that you were going to be just fine. “Is the view not just wonderful, Izuku?”

“Yah… she sure is…” You paused as you turned to look at the soldier next to you, his eyes were down on you, not looking anywhere near the sunset. You felt heat bloom to your face as you looked away from him. “Doll…” He started, glancing to his right for a moment before looking back at you. “I know we haven’t been going on long but, well… I sure don’t think I have any regrets with what I want to say.”

You tilted your head confused as he pushed off the front of the car and moved to stand in front of you. “Izuku? What d-do-” You couldn’t even finish your words as you looked down at him, speechless. He was down on one knee in front of you.

“Y/N, I know you deserve more than me.” He started, his eyes only ever being focused on you. “You deserve a good life, with a man that can afford to give you the big house and picket fence that you dream of. A man from a good and stable family that has more to his name than what he’s made of it.”

“Oh Izuku.” You started with a frown on your face, shaking your head. “You know I don’t need that.”

“But you sure deserve it. Doll, I- I don’t know what tomorrow might bring. I might leave off to war tomorrow and never see you again but, if there is one thing this soldier does know is that…” He took your hands in his large ones, encasing them in his loving and soft embrace. “I love you, doll. I love you so much and you’ve made me the happiest version of myself that I’ve ever been. So if it would please you,” He took out from his pocket a delicate golden ring, one just for you. Not too fancy but one that made your heart melt anyways. “Lets get married. I promise you doll, I’ll do everything in my life to protect you. I’ll protect you, and respect you and work twice as hard to get you what you want and I-”

“Oh shut up, Izuku!” You pulled on his shirt and leaned down into a kiss.

His eyes widened but easily held onto you, kissing you back. “D-does that mean-”

“Yes!”

“Yes?”

“YES!” You cheered as you flung yourself into his arms making the poor man fall back into the long grass with a laugh.

The both of you laughed with tears in your eyes, nothing but each other and the world a distant memory.

-Glitch1d

[lavenderstobins]

Steve dies the night of his 24th birthday.

His friends had thrown him a surprise party at Nancy's apartment. Argyle had given him a 'birthday joint', the kids had all shouted surprise, and he'd had a minor breakdown in the bathroom about turning twenty-four. He'd had a good night, drunk too much, and on his way home he's hit by a taxi, killing him instantly.

Steve opens his eyes to see his reflection staring back. He's in Nancy's bathroom again. His face is dripping cold water from the water he's just splashed on it. His heart is racing, the vision of the taxi clear in his mind.

He's alive, though. He's here. He leaves the bathroom and finds Dustin there, again, impatiently waiting for his input on some argument about Star Wars.

He writes it off as a weird high. Who knows what Argyle had put in the joint?

Then he dies again. Not a taxi, this time. He'd avoided the taxi. No, this time, he drowns.

He comes to in Nancy's bathroom again.

And again. And again. And again.

At first, he thinks it must be the joint fucking with him. Some new strain of weed he hasn't tried before, something that doesn't sit well with him. The more he dies, the more he keeps finding himself in that bathroom, he starts thinking otherwise.

Truthfully, he thinks he's losing his mind. Especially when he keeps dying on the goddamn stairs.

In any other scenario, it would be funny, the amount of different ways he's discovered he can die. He takes the window out of the apartment instead of braving the stairs. Nancy, Jonathan, Dustin—none of them are experiencing what he is. None of them remember reliving the evening over and over. They look at him with concern, like they think he's having a mental breakdown, like he's crazy.

Steve's lived thirty different Thursdays when he reaches Friday. He's ecstatic. He managed not to die. The curse is finally, finally, broken.

He's meant to meet Dustin at the mall. He's in the elevator with a handful of other people when the lights flicker. He looks up, hearing a loud groaning noise, and then they're plummeting.

Chaos breaks out. There's four other people with him: two of them are screaming, clinging to one another, a third is sobbing hysterically, and the fourth...

The fourth doesn't react at all. She stares ahead, past the others, and she looks bored.

"Hey, didn't you get the news?" Steve asks. She glances at him, and he notes that she's got more freckles than he's ever seen on someone. "We're about to die."

"Doesn't matter," the woman says. She's twisting a silver ring around her middle finger. "I die all the time."

He stares at her, stunned. He opens his mouth—

and comes to in Nancy's bathroom. It's Thursday, September 27th, again.

But.

Maybe there's someone else out there going through what he's going through. A tall, freckled woman he's pretty sure he's never seen before and doesn't know anything about, except that she possibly dies in Starcourt Mall on a Friday.

He has to find her.

[hitlikehammers]

recovering!Eddie Needs Help With The Whole Showering Thing💦

Good thing Steve's there to help give Eddie a goddamn stroke at the idea of being naked in front of him? help him, huh?

or: put-up-or-shut-up time, Edward Munson

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< one: drink 🧊

🧼 two: wash 🫧🚿

“You’ve basically got two choices, man.”

Eddie folds his lips over on themselves, mashes them together until it fucking hurts, might put the last of the stitches in the gouge out of the left side out of their misery early and pop them clean out of the skin for the force of his, his…

“Pout all you like, dude, they’re not changing.”

He is not. Fucking. Pouting.

He is a grown goddamn man.

“I reject your binary options, Steven,” Eddie volleys, because he’s not pouting, he is applying logic to an honestly-offensively illogical proposal like a mature adult; he is rightly pushing back against two unacceptable options when another has to exist, obviously, because the ones presented are impossible and so there must be a possible one he hasn’t found yet. One that’s just hiding from him. Sneaky.

“Reject all you want, man,” Steve scoffs, and leans back with arms crossed over his chest, stretching his sweater across the expanse and that right there is why there has to be a secret hidden third option waiting for him somewhere, Jesus H. fucking Christ: “they’re not going to change.”

Eddie blinks probably too long, too many times; is quiet for the whole span of moments before he decides deflection is really his only way forward, here.

“You’re very cruel sometimes,” he laments with the best sigh he can heave with the remaining stitches in him; “leaves me positively despairing, almost.”

And it was a good, solid, drawn-out sigh, that he heaved, just for the record. Because there are fewer stitches holding him together today than there were yesterday, and fewer yesterday than last week, and it’s progress, there is so much progress—

It’s just that progress is a very big reason for why he has this particular goddamn problem right now.

To set the stage: he’s been home for almost a week. The freedom is glorious. The new trailer the Feds set them up with is a little bigger, close enough layout though to still feel like home. His room is almost suspiciously similar given that 98% of his belongings were collateral damage or in government lockup. Certain questions Steve had asked him over the past weeks make a little more sense; the main orchestrator of the set up likewise clear on context. Eddie is warm with it every time he thinks about it. Which is whenever he’s in his room. And whenever he sees Steve.

Which is probably the main thing to add, for context: Eddie had been grateful as fuck for Steve while he was in the hospital, the man rarely leaving his side, usually just to check on Max who, while not yet awake, was making progress in healing and Eleven—who Eddie’s finally met now and kind of fucking adores—thinks she finally understands what’s blocking her ability to reach Red, meaning she can work on obliterating it: all good signs. And if Steve’s abounded presence did absolutely fuck all for Eddie’s old and apparently latent crush on the asshole jock-king from high school, flamed into kind of a fucking inferno over the course of spring break—if Steve’s steadfast presence and tireless attention to Eddie’s needs in the hospital had only managed to tame it into some kind of big and bright and undying eternal fucking flame—and that’d be a good song title, he needs to remember that—but if that was the payoff, as it were?

The burn of it—incredible and unbearable alike—was kind of almost secondary to the mixed emotions Eddie was having over leaving the hospital and losing this; losing Steve.

Except—and here’s the fucking kicker—he doesn’t. He doesn’t…lose Steve. Like, not at all.

Sure, maybe Steve goes home more, like, touches base at his own house, and he pops to the hospital where Eddie currently isn’t anymore to check on Max, but on the flipside Eddie is awake more and so he gets to soak up all the time Steve is here, in the trailer, next to Eddie, breathing air in the same space, breathing the same air as Eddie and, and, and—

“Look,” Steve’s sighing, slapping his thighs—such fucking distracting thighs—and leaning in pointedly on his palms; “Wayne’s pulling the night shift,” he nods at Eddie’s little TV tray with the crust of half a grilled cheese and a little cup of his medications; “you take your pills, you’ll sleep until after he’s turned in,” then Steve leans back, lifts a finger demonstratively: “so there’s another day.”

Eddie pouts, now, sees where this is going.

“Wayne might be pulling night shifts all week, in fact,” Steve adds, another finger pointed upward, counting in the air.

Eddie doesn’t nibble his cold crust petulantly or anything. Like, he does nibble. And it is cold.

But petulant; him?!

Never.

“The nurse isn’t due by until Thursday,”and Steve pauses before arching his brow even higher; “afternoon,” and he raises two fingers for that and Eddie’s got enough presence of mind to shoot back, even if it’s muffled, bread still in his mouth:

“You saying I smell?”

Steve’s eyeroll is such a fucking impressive feat it should be, like, an Olympic sport. But it’s probably too arousing for national television, so. Shit, that wouldn’t work.

“I am saying,” Steve draws out the word obnoxiously and why is that attractive, good fucking god: “you’re itching places you’re not even fucking stitched up,” he pokes at Eddie unapologetically in a safe place on his still-fairly-bandaged body and Eddie jumps harder than he should, but makes sure he grins for it, that he doesn’t play up the annoyance or the shock because one, Steve’s eyes go wide and incredulous and kinda fucking scared, like he knows he didn’t touch anything healing or tender, because Eddie’s thinks Steve knows his wounds mapped out so goddamn well he could draw them out blind and he didn’t touch anything bad actually, and that brings up two, which is: Eddie didn’t even have to exaggerate his reaction; he hasn’t been touched playfully in so long and he didn’t realize how much he missed it, how much his body missed it and he’s also kind of fucking thrilled it’s Steve, who broke the sad little standstill—Eddie makes sure to laugh a little and it’s not fucking hard once he starts because the way the tension melts off Steve in a huff is a shot of adrenaline, a hit of dopamine, a bubble of joy stretched to bursting and then fucking popping to spill warm and gooey in Eddie’s chest and he—

What the fuck is happening to him?

But then Steve’s poking him again and he twitches for it and just laughs more because fuck he missed that but also fuck he wants this to mean something and it’s wild and insane and he kind of doesn’t know what to do with it at all when Steve leans in and whispers slyly:

“So I am guessing you’d feel better with a shower.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie but when he says it, particularly paired up with how he says it?

How the fuck can blood run hot and cold all at once?

Because Eddie does want a fucking shower, so he doesn’t feel fucking gross. And Eddie knows he needs help: moving like that, reaching what needs reached, and fuck all, but avoiding all the bandages, for fuck’s sake—but.

But: there’s this line, newly discovered beyond theory for one Eddie Munson, that divides an idle crush from an active wanting; that separates your fantasy jerk-off material from something that sits and grows branches and roots, heavy and tight and real in your chest.

Basically: there’s a difference between imagining what sucking pretty boy asshole King Steve off in the locker rooms might be like and coming hard in the privacy of your own bed for the gorgeous absurd impossibility of it, and the genuine article, not a king but something worse, something more like, like a benevolent god for how he speaks, how he touches, tends to Eddie so careful but sure, so goddamn competent and beautiful, dear god, he’s so much more breathtaking up close, but it’s not even that, it’s not even that, or well, it’s that, but it’s so much more than high-school-distanced-Eddie could have guessed even in his quickest, most satisfying jack-sessions, because Steve as a human being?

Fucking…captivating.

Funny. Bitchy. Cares so goddamn much it makes his heart crack wide to see it, let alone be the focus of it but then he’s so strung tight, so anxious with frontline reflexes that shatter that cracked heart and let it bleed with the desperate fucking need to care for him in kind but somehow tenfold but then you’ll always fail because this level of compassion and just, just this pure kind of love, how can anyone match it, which is where Steve has to land in benevolent god territory, some ineffable chaotic good, and Eddie—

Well. Yeah.

Of course, Eddie’s quiet for the whole of running this through his head and Steve’s taken the entry to care some more and cross over to Eddie, move his tray and hold out his hands expectantly. Like Eddie’s got a choice in the clear intention Steve has to…haul him to his feet?

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

And oh, wow, good thing Eddie's not actively dying anymore, because his heart goddamn stops for that, no getting around it for the way it bangs upon restarting; and if he'd still been half-dead regarding the rest of his body, that'd probably have done him in because Jesus flying fuck.

So it’s: haul him to his feet and drag him to the shower. Which he does, so careful but so precise, when Eddie’s mind blanks out and loses the window available to protest by way of stunned silence, which continues all the way to the bathroom where Steve lowers him to the closed toilet lid, again so careful, and goes to work.

Readying a shower. Eddie’s shower.

Which he needs help with. Lots of help.

While he’s, as indicated clearly: fucking bare ass naked.

And not even just in front of Steve, no, nope. Not that that wouldn’t be bad enough. But this?

This is him actively needing Steve’s help. Like…hands-on help.

Eddie thinks his heart’s about ready to crash into his chest wall for the reckless speed it’s taken to racing at because, just…

Holy fucking hell.

“Skipping gym class may have done half the work of failing your ass, but it’s not like you never showed,” Steve points out, still unbothered, so, so fucking unbothered when Eddie’s over here with palms sweaty enough to leave wet-marks on his sweats; “you came into the showers,” Steve barrels on as he moves the bottles of shampoo and the bar of soap out of the way for Eddie to maneuver in, with help, with Steve’s help;

“More than once,” Steve tacks on and Eddie has to blink, has to refocus on what they fuck was being said: he came into the showers. More than once.

Right.

“Wow, thanks for noticing,” Eddie quips, or tries to; it falls fucking flat, and for the way Steve stills, and then sighs with, like, the whole of him, it’s obvious he missed his mark.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, and pulls away from where he’d been learning to start the water, to warm it up right.

“Look,” Eddie breathes out shaky, because fucking hell; “it’s not like…that. It’s not the same.”

Steve stills, and doesn’t know what to expect of the way he freezes, back to Eddie but his muscles going tight beneath his shirt, and Eddie’s stomach drops preemptive-like, because, because—

“Oh,” Steve’s voice gets a little sharp around the edges; “so it’s okay when thirty dicks are swinging alongside yours, I get it.”

Except it really doesn’t sound like Steve fucking gets it; not least because Steve wouldn’t be fighting this, wouldn’t be putting up the front of pushing the point if he did get it. It he got it for real.

“It’s different when it’s you,” and honestly the words come out before Eddie can think them through; they’re not inaccurate but when he hears them out loud he winces because it sounds wrong no matter what he means and—

When he sees Steve’s face fall, eyes so wide, that flash of hurt, he, just: fuck.

He hurts too; he might even hurt harder.

“Jesus,” Eddie half-gasps, half-pleads already because no, no, fucking no; “not like that—“

“No,” and oh god, if Eddie ever thought about what real heartbreak felt like, he only has to hear that voice, in that tone, because Jesus fuck, he feels like a hand’s gone into his chest, snapped a couple ribs, and used the sharp bits to twist his heart around like a goddamn knitting needle.

“No, man, I get it,” but Steve’s tone’s too dull, too measured, and his shoulders are too tight, and he’s not looking at Eddie at all and Eddie kinda want to fucking cry, and—

“No need to explain,” and oh, god, did Steve’s voice break a little? Did Eddie cause that, all on his fucking own? What kind of monster is he, and all for his goddamn…what, shame? Pride? Cowardice? God, he can’t, he can’t let this happen, he can’t let this keep going—

“Maybe I can, like, get you some washcloths? And like, a bar of soap, just for now,” and fuck, no, shit, Steve’s rambling in that anxious way that’s also kind of….mindless, robotic and hollow and then he looks up, finally; he hadn’t been looking at all and Eddie thinks he can hear his own heart crack for the way those eyes are too damn bright, and look too fucking dead all the same:

“Is it still, like, a problem if I help? So long as you’re mostly covered,” Steve asks, and god, it’s like…it’s like he’s a stranger. It’s not like he’s mean, or distant really, but it’s like Eddie was welcome inside this door to him, pulled in close from the threshold and welcome and now it’s not the the doors shut in his face, nothing so definitive or rejecting: more like the door was gone and never there.

And that hurts…so much fucking more.

“Or, all the chairs are too big but maybe a stool,” Steve’s saying, moving things around in the bathroom where Eddie’s followed him, that voice still tomblike where it should be filled with sun; “just gotta make sure the bandages stay dry, do you think you can—“

“Steve.”

And the man stills, a bar of Ivory soap denting in the shapes of his nails for the way his hand’s clenched and…Eddie was scared. Of losing. Of being tossed aside, which would hurt with anyone, for anything. But the things he’s started feeling now, for Steve, changing the shape of him as much as his healing scar but for the better, if somehow far more terrifying—losing that, even where it lives alone and unrequited, and Eddie’s suspects also only half-formed yet even for how big it stands?

Losing the source of the star in Eddie’s chest would do him in quicker than the fucking bats ever had a chance to.

And the feeling of seeing Steve think…come to the conclusions he’s coming to now because Eddie’s a coward, like he’s misstepped or not given enough or said the rough thing or been supportive or, or, or—

The look on Steve’s face, and the crack in his voice: they’re causing pain under Eddie’s ribs in a way he hadn’t even considered the torment of.

And Eddie’ll probably crumble if this goes wrong, if Steve flinches away for knowing and if Eddie

loses this thing, this person whose presence he’s already grown to depend on, not for the help Eddie needs but for the >i>person Steve Harrington is: but he’ll fall apart anyway if he lets things stand as they are and he refuses to be the reason Steve’s pulled down in the collapse.

So he reaches, and fights the way his heart drops when Steve tenses as Eddie tries to nudge him into turning around, into facing Eddie. Into looking him in the eyes and seeing, or else, Eddie hopes like hell that he will see—

“It is different, when it’s you,” Eddie makes sure he says it careful, gentle; that he pitches it like a prelude to the way he’s gotta give up the cowardice, gotta face the music and be brave for this beautiful boy in front of him who’s scared for all the wrong reasons, for the lie of him somehow being the fuck up here, like he’s the one who did anything wrong—

Impossible. Impossible, so Eddie’s gotta pull back the curtain and if he holds his breath around it then—doesn’t fucking matter. So long as he says it.

“Because I never had an,” he chokes just a little, coughs around it and clears his throat too much; “umm, well, like,” and he stumbles, he stumbles but he tells himself it’s acceptable, that it’s to be expected, gotta build momentum to get this out:

“Never had an arguably-debilitating crush on those other guys,” Eddie finishes, a little shaky but without a hint of nervous laughter, closer to nausea than anything, and yeah: given that he can’t seem to get fucking words out when he tries to just say it, and shit: words are kinda his thing, y’know?

But the fact that he can barely string any of them together makes it really clear, at the very least inside his own chest: it’s debilitating, alright, and it’s already far more than the high school crush that started years ago. It’s…it’s so much more than that, now which, fuck.

Fuck, can Steve hear the truth of it in the shaking, the stuttering? Does he know?

“Plus y’know, eww,” Eddie covers up nervously, always with the babbling, the lunge for distraction; “I didn’t go perusing the dick selection in the Hawkins locker room on the regular, please give me some credit,” and he tries so fucking hard to end on comic disgust, he tries, he thinks he might be shaking, he’s—

He’s being caught by the wrists. He’s being pulled in chest to chest so his own can heave with the trembling gasps he’s not even trying to fight but that can’t really build to their potential against the wall of Steve’s chest but; he can’t feel his heart racing against that sturdy splay of chest, he’s held so tight. He can’t kinda feel Steve’s heartbeat too, faster but not like Eddie’s. Just…faster than normal. It kinda feels like it should mean something. Eddie doesn’t move of his own choosing, but also can’t manage to stop with the shaking. Which is…not ideal.

“Eddie?” And Steve’s looking up at him, chin tipped down so he can glance through those goddamn lashes, so Eddie can have proof in the wild off-pace thump his heart gives, that rattles his bones just for extra proof that ‘crush’ alone left the building long ago. He mostly just…just tries not to tremble, mostly wills his knees not to give out even if he trust with everything in him that Steve’ll catch him, it’s just—

Steve looks up at him, and says his name like it’s delicate, like it’s worth something, like he is worth something, then he’s gathering Eddie’s hands in his and that’s, that’s not normal, it’s not for balance or to help guide him save where he need to go: no. No, Steve raises their joined grasps and Eddie’s pulse skips twice to think they’re going to Steve’s lips but he just lifts them to his forehead like a touchstone and breathes for a few long moments, the color on his cheeks changing shade before he sighs long and deep and brings Eddie’s hands under his chin before he whispers:

“Let me help you shower,” and maybe it’s not spoke like a question, but Eddie knows it’s a choice and how; how can this man still want to touch him, see him, he can’t, he can’t—

“Steve,” Eddie barely breathes because of all the ways he’d maybe envisioned this going, from worst case scenario to impossible fantasies, the possibility of it all just…kinda being a non-thing, taken wholly in stride?

That wasn’t in the cards he’d prepared for. Eddie…doesn’t know how to handle that.

“Let me help you,” Steve repeats, as soft and like a given as the first time but then he averts his eyes again and sucks in a breath through his teeth:

“Or, I guess,” he huffs, swallows, really is the braver of them for how quick and firm he meets Eddie’s eyes, then: to ask:

“Do you want me to?” and Eddie’s heart clenches like every way it’s ever clenched before was a trial run, because this is a squeeze and a twist for how earnest he not just sounds but looks, how big and bright and honest eyes are and he’s so beautiful, he’s so fucking beautiful—

“If you don’t, that’s,” Eddie must be staring, quiet for too many seconds in a row because Steve sounds just as earnest but…can you be earnest about being hesitant? About giving someone the space and letting them hold the reins entirely? Jesus, it’s, this is…

“Yeah,” Eddie’s a little breathless, probably doesn’t sound as sure as he wants to but maybe sounds as sure as he can because he’s fucking taken aback, okay? Steve…people in general aren’t this good, y’know?

“Yeah, if you,” Eddie gestures between them, between Steve and Eddie’s crotch because, because, then more generally, more vague mostly to buy time, mostly because Eddie doesn’t even know what the fuck to do with this except, except say yes because he’s grateful, because he’s shell-shocked, because…

“If you’re okay with it,” because if Steve’s is, then: yes.

But Eddie’s gotta make sure.

But of course then there’s Steve, who never once let go of his hands, and now he’s squeezing them, and looking Eddie square in the eyes once more until Eddie returns the gesture; not nearly as steady, but fuck does he try.

“I am here,” Steve speaks clear, enunciates every syllables and barely fucking blinks; “so that I can help you,” and it’s the way he exhales while still holding Eddie’s gaze that nearly does Eddie in before Steve kinda just breathes:

“Okay?”

Eddie’s kinda proud he managed to nod because goddamn.

Given permission, he’s quick to work; he helps Eddie to lean against the closed toilet lid and then he’s shimmying Eddie’s sweats down, waiting for Eddie’s to step out once they’re pooled to the floor, meets Eddie’s eyes with hands on the waist of Eddie’s boxers and Eddie flushes so fucking hot he might set flame to something if he’s not careful but he inclined his head and Steve’s quick about it, stretches the elastic out extra wide around his hips and never looks away from Eddie’s face until they fall to the floor.

Then he’s reaching for something Eddie hadn’t noticed—scissors—and he’s going for the hem, of Eddie’s sweatshirt which—

“What—“ Eddie starts, but it hurts too much to flinch away and even if he could manage it: just because he doesn’t understand doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust.

Which should be fucking terrifying, but here they are.

“I can stitch it back together, promise,” Steve’s saying while he uses the blade not to cut but as an ad-hoc seam-ripper, and making a clean job of it from what Eddie can tell, all things considered.

“Steve Harrington, master seamstress?” Eddie chokes out as Steve moves to tear out the stitches nearest the neckline and then peels the top from Eddie’s body, no painful contortion required.

Man’s goddamn full of surprises.

But then Steve leaves Eddie buck naked while he goes into Eddie’s bedroom, comes back in an instant with more towels that Eddie thought they owned, pops two big ones on the sink and hands Eddie a big stack of washcloths while he starts lining the floor with the rest, pooling them carefully around the base of the toilet near Eddie’s feet, his head not dangerously close to Eddie’s not limp dick or anything while he gets to work, Jesus H. fucking Christ.

Then Steve’s grabbing for one of the washcloths and Eddie can safely place the rest of his lap for this goddamn modesty.

Eddie almost topples them to the floor and ends up with negative modesty when a damp cloth brushes his forearm, unannounced and so fucking gentle.

“Too hot?” Steve asks, and Eddie shakes his head. It should be. The water’s been running long enough. But…nothing’s probably hotter than Eddie’s skin right now for how he feels his cheeks burn so.

Relatively speaking it’s fine.

Steve raises a brow, fiddles with the knobs a little and then soaks the cloth, soaps it up and…starts from the top.

And he’s so careful, so gentle, so clinical but soft in the precise way he makes points, little triangles like a puzzle to clean just up to the lines of bandages, never submerging or letting the wet get to the edges, threaten the adhesive, and he’s no one-trick-pony either, because it’s soap then it’s a fresh towel to wipe clean, the whole of him, save for the behind he sits on and the…not attentive dick and its neighboring real estate under the extra cloths.

Steve holds up a finger, asks for a pause while his footsteps rush to the trailer beyond, and come back with a…

Chair from the kitchen.

Then he’s busy covering it with towels before he wordlessly helps Eddie to his feet and leads him to sit, back to the shower.

“Lean back as much as you can,” Steve says, and Eddie has no reason to argue before Steve’s got another towel gathering his greasy-ass hair up and then making a barrier between the limp matted mess and the wooden spindles, and then—

Oh god, oh god, then his hands are in Eddie’s hair, holding it at an angle so the water he’s pouring from somewhere falls into the tub basin until the strands are wet and if Eddie thought that was heavenly, then he’s working the shampoo in and Eddie’s been afraid for a little while that nerve damage would impair…y’know but good goddamn no worries there save for coming all over the fucking towels because Jesus H., the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair, massaging his scalp, ringing and repeating, combing through the strands with his fingers…

That’s what the word orgasmic means. Every other definition is a lie.

Eddie thinks he’s between floating on the high of the sensation and squeezing his dick to keep from shooting off beneath the washcloths and so he probably misses exactly when the water stops rinsing his hair out, and when Steve’s hands stop touching him save to mop the worst of the soaked ends of his squeaky-clean mop, but when he does blink back to the moment Steve’s frowning, but not, not at Eddie.

More like near Eddie.

“We can’t put it in, but,” and oh, he’s talking about the chair, can’t put a wooden chair into a shower, fair, fair, but then Steve’s eyes are lifting back to Eddie and they look…a little apologetic, but mostly resolute: “if I help, do you think you can,” and he nods at the tub, the mid-height lip of it. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, for the challenge, but.

But also because there is really just one general area of his body that’s not been…attended to yet for cleaning.

So it’s maybe like a 60-40, 70-30 split on that point. Moment of truth, either way.

“I’ll need a lot of help,” Eddie bites his lip, and he’s not even surprised when Steve meets his trepidation with encouragement.

“I can lift you,” and oh, wow, hey, definitely a safe thing to say to a guy before you’re gonna help him wash his dick. “But do you think you can stand if I help you keep your balance?”

Steve’s obviously got a plan and Eddie obviously just needs to not come on them both on the way to, in, and out of the shower right now so, he figures they should both handle their own separate priorities for the home stretch, here.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, even though he doesn’t believe it.

He believes in Steve, though, so. Probably that’s enough.

And Steve does lift him, and the towels are still covering his front but Steve doesn’t shy from lifting his ass and wow, okay.

Okay.

“You lean on me, like this,” and of course he’s manhandling Eddie as he runs a quick cloth—soap, then water—over Eddie’s back and then across the curve of his ass, holy mother of—; “and then,” Steve holds another soapy cloth to Eddie and gestures, this time hidden from a full frontal view by propping Eddie against his still-clothed chest:

“Then you can finish up,” Steve says like it’s simple. Maybe it is.

Eddie’s soaped up his pubes and barely dropped the cloth before he reaches for the wet one to rinse but—

Nope. Nope, Steve’s got a cup, maybe what he was using for Eddie’s hair, a crackled novelty one from the Pizza Hut in Muncie, Eddie remembers getting the damn thing; but Steve got that cup angled so he pours directly below Eddie’s lowest dressing, letting him use both hands to work the soap all the way out.

“How,” Eddie starts, kinda marveling that his short and curlies are…distinctly not bubbly.

“Got good aim,” Steve’s smirk is audible behind him, and tangible for how it lifts his chest with a little huff; “basketball and shit.”

“Fuckin’ jock,” Eddie lobs back without any heat at all; shit, if anything, it sounds fond on the outside.

Adoring if you go any deeper.

“Dry off,” and it’s then that Steve hands Eddie the last of the bath linens that had been his little loin cloths before being hauled into the tub; he dries his front as best he can and then tosses the cloth before Steve’s reaching around him with a wider towel, drying him hip-to-thigh, and cupping across his ass. again before loosing the towel to the floor and grabbing around Eddie

“Hold onto me here,” and Eddie’s being hoisted ever-so-gently over the side of the tub and deposited back on the toilet which has a…fresh towel on it for him to sit on. When’d that get there, anyway?

“Okay, now,” and oh, wow, okay, Steve’s kneeling between his legs and when’d he get there, anyway?

“Slip these on, for your modesty,” Steve winks as he works a new pair of boxers up Eddie’s legs, quick and efficient like Eddie hasn’t had a fucking stroke here; “and let’s get you toweled off the rest of the way and into some clean fuckin’ clothes.”

He gets the boxers up as far as the line of his pelvis before it’s unavoidable, and Eddie assumes he’ll try to stretch the waist far again, to keep his hands as far from anything too weird no, nope: Steve sticks with quick and efficient and he gets those fucking underwear up and settled in no time at all.

And he brushes his forearm twice against Eddie’s shaft in the process, and does nothing. Has no reaction. Is…fine.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

Steve does, though, apparently: which is to careful dab the towels where he can’t rub him dry, and do exactly that until Eddie’s got nary a stray droplet left to be soaked up by the unseamripped sweatshirt and clean sweatpants Steve helps him into, before helping him to bed but Eddie shakes his head, nods at the door, toward the living room.

Steve eyes him appraisingly before helping him in that direction and Eddie’s glad he could fake whatever amount of wakefulness was necessary to bypass the bed because the fact of it is he’s bone fucking tired—all the arousal did not help that specific point—but Steve’ll sit next to him on the couch, as a given, where sometimes Steve sits next to his bed instead of next to him in his bed.

And Eddie wants to tip over exhausted against Steve, okay? Because Steve doesn’t seem to fucking mind, so.

They settle, exactly like always, exactly like Eddie expected. And Steve’s arm welcomes his rapid descent along Steve’s ribs, the soft echo of his heartbeat this hallowed, magic thing that just makes Eddie feel warm.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, for this, for the shower, for the way this is the same and also maybe better beyond all probabilities: for everything, really. For Steve, being Steve.

And Eddie’s almost asleep, and it might be the magic warmth of the way he tipped into Steve’s space and the tangle of their bodies for it but the words Eddie hears last before he’s out come from near his scalp, and lips move in his hair and maybe that’s just coincidence, or maybe all probabilities are still being shatters and it’s almost something like a kiss but either way—

Either way, Steve’s voice is so soft and open when he whispers Eddie into sleep with the most perfect word imaginable:

“Always.”

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[formula1blog]

Crazy Cat Lady

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You got home to find out that your boyfriend has got a new friend.

wc: 551

It was late afternoon when you finally walked into the building. It was one of those days where you had way too much planned, and all you wanted to do now was take a warm bath and go to sleep. 

You open up the door of your shared apartment and put down your bags. You walk into the living room and see Max laying on the couch. To your surprise, you see that your boyfriend is holding a small kitten that you haven't seen before.

"Love, who is that?" you walk up to him and place a kiss on his head.

Max looks up at the sound of your voice, and a smile forms on his face. "She doesn't have a name yet. I wanted to wait until you got here." He carefully stands up and extends his arm to hand the cat to you.

 You accept the cat and give her a pat on the head. "She is cute." It is a Bengal cat, just like the other two cats that were walking around in your apartment most of the time. Max loves this type of cat, and you can't blame him. The fur of the kitten resembles a pattern of a jaguar. Her eyes are kind of large in a beautiful green and gold color. She is a piece of art. 

“Just like you,” Max says. You blush at the compliment and give the kitten back to your boyfriend. "Why did you buy her? Aren't two cats enough?" You mention Jimmy and Sassy, who were both sleeping in the corner of the room.

Max looks around the room. "You can never have enough cats. I love to have hundreds of them, but you also have to take care of them all, so that isn't the best option. I remember you saying you would like one more." "That was ages ago. I didn't think you would actually buy one."

Max pats his hand on the couch, signaling you to sit next to him. "I would buy anything you want. A third cat is a great addition to our little family. I should have gotten one sooner." 

"You are going to turn into a crazy cat lady if you buy any more." You chuckle.

 "Well, I hope that is your type because when I retire, there are going to be more of these little angels." Max gives the kitten a pat over his head. You laugh at his comment. In your head, you pictured Max laying on the floor surrounded by ten cats. He is wearing a crazy sweater, just like those ladies. You wouldn't really mind it. You couldn't help but smile at your boyfriend. He looks so happy with his cats, and you were definitely going to get him one more over a couple of weeks, maybe as a present for winning a race.

"We still have to decide on a name for this sweetheart," you said as you lay your head on Max's shoulder. "I was thinking about naming her Nala, you know, after the Lion King. She is a badass, and I am sure this little angel will be too."

 "That is a great name, love."

 And so you spend your evening laying on the couch with your boyfriend and three children. You would trade this over everything else in this world.

[fluorescentbalaclava]

training season's over (double chapter)

Chapter 7: Gleaming & Chapter 8: FISH n' CHIPS

Summary:

Gleaming

To describe something as good, desirable or brilliant. A particular favourite of the Guards Division. If something is ‘gleaming’ you’re probably onto a good thing.

FISH n' CHIPS acronyms, Fighting In Someone's House and Causing Havoc In People's Streets.

TF141/female reader, König/female reader

spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, military inaccuracies, suggestive language, language, canon typical violence, second chance, domestic fluff, enemies to friends, becoming buddies, referenced torture, hurt/comfort, hugs, bar fights, alcohol, cuddles

previous: chapter six "contact"

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Chapter 7

How to tell a guy has a crush on you?

You immediately groan to yourself for googling this at your grown age. There was a time when you dated, you even had a boyfriend before all of this. Still, it feels like a lifetime ago, those thoughts were pushed to the back of your head for a while, but after your encounter with König you need answers. 

God, at what point I got so disconnected with emotions?

Ah, the good old WikiHow.

 1 - He talks to you—a lot.

Uhm...maybe?

2 - He makes eye contact.

Definitely, it’s kinda unsettling sometimes.

3 - He gives you his full attention.

Uh... I mean, yes. But isn't this like the bare minimum?

4 - He laughs at your jokes.

This is ridiculous.

5 - He tries to impress you.

Eh, perhaps.

7 - He lowers his voice when he speaks to you.

The fuck?

You cringe at yourself, before closing your computer and placing it next to you. I mean, maybe it’s not romantically? He clearly cares about you, after all, you don't just go through that for anyone, at least you wouldn't. Or would you? Fuck, this is hard.

König was---is your friend. You began to remember the first time you met him; you fresh joined KorTac, lined up in a row with other new recruits. Upcoming missions required weeks long deployments, and you were informed that some of you were needed for them as there was a shortage of staff in the base, due to the many operations KorTac was contracted to carry out, and that the commanding officers would pick a few rookies to fill the spots.

The first two officers went past you, not even giving you a second glance, just picking the biggest people in the row and calling it a day. The third of them, an American, just looked down at you and with a sarcastic tone said.

"I think you're in the wrong place, doll."

Cunt.

The sight of the fourth one immediately made everyone on the row stand straight. You heard someone beside you whisper "colonel". He was intimidating, tall as fuck, with a black sniper hood over his face and clear paint smeared on the fabric under the holes of his eyes, looking straight out of a Friday the 13th film.

He walked in silence, taking the time to examine each one of the remaining recruits in line. Opposite to the other officers, or at least the ones he talked to, he liked rookies. They were fresh meat, easy to mould to his liking. You saw him looking at you, slightly tilting his head like a curious dog, and you made yourself hold his gaze.

That might have caught his attention, because next thing you knew, he was in front of you. Looking down, probably standing too close on purpose only to make you look up even more, putting your neck in an uncomfortable position. God, it was humiliating.

"Name?" He asked, surprising you as his voice was not as deep as you expected.

"Sage, sir"

"SAS?" He asked, pointing at the Union Jack on your chest.

"No, sir. I was hired before I could try for selection. Corporal, British Army." You explained, and you saw him narrowing his eyes while looking at your face.

"You're coming with me, Maus." He said before simply turning around and walking away. Leaving you a little dumbfounded, as well as your fellow comrades, but soon you followed after.

And that was it, just like that you were under his command until you had the requirements to try and become a sergeant. You never asked him why he exactly did it, you didn’t want him to feel like you were questioning him. He was your superior, after all. Google just told you that "Maus" was a common term of endearment in German.

Those thoughts brought back to that day in Uzlovoye, Russia. Everything felt calm enough— just a rural town, you thought. You really don't remember much; you remember getting into what seemed like an abandoned building and having to collect a computer with vital information inside a bunker. You remember hands behind you, König's voice asking for updates through the comm, the growing anxiety in his voice at the lack of response, the hands squeezing your neck, and then everything went black. The next thing you remember was lifting your head, trying to move to no avail, something hard behind you, the feeling of restraints all around your body, and the disgusting smell of rust and humidity.

A knock on your door distracts you.

“Who is it?”

“Me,” Soap voice says from outside the door.

“Come in.”

He opened the door, finding you resting on your bed already in your pyjamas. One with bunnies this time. Looking around, he quickly realises you have already made yourself quite at home. The room is fully decorated now, except for some boxes piling up in the corner. He could even bet you would have painted the walls as well, if given the chance. You can tell he’s also ready for bed with a shirt from some band you don’t even know and tartan pyjama bottoms.

“Came for a tour?” You said it with a teasing tone from bed, looking up at him.

“Oh, sorry” He answered clearing his throat.

“I'm here to formally invite ye to our monthly film night” Soap said with a playful, elegant tone.

"Monthly? How come I'm first learning about this? I've been here for four months already" Seeing Soap standing on the doorway with a cocky grin.

"Sure, ye can get mad at us for not inviting ye...or ye can be over the moon we are doing it now" He said teasingly.

"Fine...just give me a minute."

And now you were there, in the usual sitting position, with Gaz in the middle, you on one side and Soap on the other. Ghost and Price are sitting on individual sofa at each end of the couch. All of them looked more casual, in their pyjamas as well. Maybe next time you could convince them to do a face mask and turn this into a proper sleepover, like the ones you held with your girlfriends back in high school. You brought a blanket with you to snuggle as well as a cardigan, the base felt like a freezer in the winter.

They did a rock, paper, scissors competition to see who picked the film. Something in you got suspicious when everyone groaned when Price won, even Ghost, but you gave his taste in movies the benefit of the doubt.

Fucking hell...

He picked Gangs of New York, and about half an hour later, the only thing keeping you awake was the feeling of your head bobbling every time you were close to falling asleep.

The only thing keeping Kyle entertained was seeing how hard you were trying to stay awake. From what Johnny told him, you apparently had trouble sleeping, often waking at night to sneak to the kitchen. So, to try and help you, at some point he shifted his shoulder a bit, so when you fell asleep, your head fell against it.

He felt how your breath slowly became even and calm, and you soon were sleeping like a baby. At least she can spare herself from this. As much as he tried to keep focused on the screen, trying to at least follow the storyline, you kept leaning more of your weight against him, seeking his warmth, to which he felt his cheeks warming up.

He took a look around, Ghost was watching the screen, Soap was asleep as well, and Price was watching the picture attentively.

His hand was awkwardly behind you, not sure what to do with it, as your body was pressed on his side. After a few minutes of consideration, he decided that to be comfortable, or so he told himself, to delicately put his arm around your waist, careful to be respectful and gentle. You shifted slightly, and he almost pulled away, but you just snuggled more against him, making him confident enough to cuddle you some more.

He leaned back on the couch, relaxing. It was surprisingly pleasant to rest like that. He could feel the warmth of your body underneath your clothes and how your body gently moved with each breath.

The light of the television illuminated your sleeping face, your muscles relaxed and a peaceful expression, quite the opposite of what he normally sees in you. You looked like a powerhouse when you trained, running through the o course like it was nothing, doing series after series at the gym, and relentlessly hitting whatever thing you had in front of you to train: the bag, mannequins, or Soap. 

In your sleeping thoughts, the heat coming from an unknown source was soothing, the aroma of cologne appearing in your dreams and the softness of the cotton of his shirt against your cheek.

He tried to remember the last time he ever was with someone like this. Probably before he joined the 141. Since he met Price, his life has been dedicated to the task force, his country, and saving the world. He almost forgot how nice this was.

The thoughts started to drift even more.

He imagined coming back to someone after work, lying like that while relaxing after a hard day of work, ordering takeout, watching the telly, and then heading to the bedroom. He didn’t realise until now that he craved that, the intimacy of a partner and the closeness of someone outside his friends. So focused on his job he almost forgot the feeling of a warm body pressed against him, the softness of the fabric of your shirt under his hand, your steady breath...he felt slightly flustered at the thoughts crossing his head, but he allowed himself to enjoy in silence. Just two co-workers resting on an evening—it wasn't a big deal. You looked adorable, he had to admit. And he enjoyed the moments he spent with you off-duty; going for the groceries, watching reality TV, or going for runs in the morning. All the stuff he dreaded or felt like chores of civilian life was now enjoyable. They almost made him forget he was a soldier, that he was in a base, and that you are there because you are a criminal. Of course, he would never tell you any of that.

"Kyle" You whispered groggily, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at you. You couldn’t even open your eyes, the sight bringing a soft smile to his face.

"How long until it ends?" You added it, making him chuckle silently.

"It's almost three hours long, and we're only one hour in, luv" He whispered back, amused.

"For fuck's sake" You muttered in an annoyed groggy tone, curling up on yourself even more while pulling the blanket up, wrapping yourself as you were still leaning against him, going back to sleep.

He could get used to this.

Chapter 8

With a unanimous vote, or so they told you, they decided to take you to the Battleship, a small bar close to the base opened by a retired SAS member mostly for other soldiers to hang out in.

You decided on putting on a long-sleeve shirt with some open buttons on the front that let it hang open enough for your tank top to peek out. As well as just some normal jeans, your tactic boots, and a jacket. You also decided to leave your hair down with clips to prevent it from falling all over your face. And just the tiniest bit of makeup—you were actually excited to see yourself a bit more dolled up than usual. Still casual enough, you think.

When Price sees you, a realization quickly strikes him. Yes, you were a merc, a spy, and you murder people—all crimes he was already too familiar with, and by the looks of it, so were you. But you were only a girl. When you arrived with a soft smile to meet them in the car park, it was like you didn't belong there with them. In other circumstances, you probably would have finished college by now; you would be getting ready to go out with your girlfriends for a drink after a normal day of work and chatter about your lives; you'd have a flat (a new one); and probably a partner. But instead, whatever life choices you made brought you here, going out on a Saturday night with four war criminals, older than you, to a shitty bar on the side of the road. He almost feels pity for you.

Pity he's quickly snapped out of when, apparently, once you got in the Jeep and you were getting comfortable, Soap got in behind you, accidentally pulling your hair with his arm against the seat, to which you winced and almost instinctively threw a very hard push against his shoulder, making him loudly groan but back out.

"Get off my hair," you said, glaring at him, picking up your hair and putting it over one of your shoulders, brushing it together again.

"I'm trying, but it's fuckin' everywhere. Can't ye put on a ponytail or something? Jesus Christ, no need to dislocate my shoulder." He said it with a small wince of pain, rubbing his shoulder.

"Muppets, behave," Price said with a sigh before getting into the driver seat.

It's probably going to be a long night.

He had yet to ask you for what fucked-up reason you ended up enlisting in the first place. But he saw you were uncomfortable enough when he tried to make you call your parents more frequently, and he didn't want to push any further.

He saw on the rearview mirror that Soap and you had made peace, and he was now telling you about how terrible the new recruits were and how they couldn't even handle a few runs around the base, and he was surprised when he heard a “I give them two more weeks” from Ghost, who was sitting next to you.

You seem well enough, considering your situation. He was glad when Kyle came to him, asking for permission to take you along with Soap to the town on a small shopping spree by the sounds of it.

Soap very much enjoyed the little getaway, even if it was for mundane things such as going to the supermarket, the bakery, and a small shop to get your mug. They made you wait in another aisle while Gaz and him debated between getting you the “I’m not short, I’m just more down to earth than most people!” one or the "Don't be a cuntcake" one that had a little drawing of a cupcake. Ultimately, their decision was the right one when you opened the box and cringed at the mug about your height. He really enjoyed getting to taste the macarons you bought. They were a bit overpriced for his liking, but they were tasty, so it was worth it.

"So... thoughts?" Gaz said, walking beside you as you entered the bar.

"It's...not bad," you say slowly, looking around.

It's clearly not your style or your idea of a bar. The decorations look like they were clearly chosen by a retired soldier (in a bad way), and it reeks of cigarettes; you could be smoking two cigars yourself by the amount of smoke you're breathing. Needless to say, it is quite busy, and Ghost and Price walk in front of you, with Soap behind as they go to the bar. Gaz just chuckled, probably sensing that this wasn't really your cup of tea.

"After a drink, it'll grow in you," he says as you start walking to the counter as well.

"Price! It's been a while, mate, what you've been up to?" The man at the counter asked cheerfully, already grabbing a bottle of whisky.

"Very busy months, Arthur. We are catching a break while we can," the captain answered while leaning on the counter.

"He is the owner," Gaz whispered to you.

You glanced at the man, looking him up and down. Checkered shirt, long beard, curly hair, missing a leg. Probably the reason why he retired in the first place.

"Oh, and who's this? Your daughter?" He said it with the same cheerful attitude, noticing you were looking at him and extending his hand to you. You chuckled as you shook his hand, and Gaz and Soap snickered at the comment as well.

"How old do you think I am? No, she's a new recruit," Price said in a mock-offended tone.

"Sa---...eh, Wire" Old habits die hard.

"Sorry, John. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.” He said it with a friendly tone, letting you go and putting a small bowl of peanuts in front of you.

“What can I do for you today?"

"Water, I have to drive."

"Whisky"

"Bourbon"

"Guinness, please"

"Do you have absinthe?"

"I actually do! It's been a while since someone ordered, but we serve it the classic way. Give me a moment." The man behind the counter, seemingly excited by the request, left to search for the necessary tools on the back.

When you looked next to you, your teammates were looking at you as if you had a second head.

"What?" Your tone was already defensive.

"Are you an alcoholic, bonnie?" Soap answered with his own question.

"I like the taste! It’s like liquorice."

"That doesn't help your case, luv," Gaz said teasingly, winning a playful scoff from you.

"Fuck off, it's just to warm up."

After Arthur came back, he made a small show of serving your absinthe, ice-cold water, absinthe spoon, and sugar cube, and you were surprised to even see a Pontarlier reservoir glass. After that, he went to serve the rest of the drinks less excitedly.

Once the first round was finished and Soap gagged after asking to try your drink, the five of you left the counter in favour of an empty table next to the pool, dividing into two teams: Soap and Ghost against Gaz and you. Price opted to be a spectator while smoking a cigar. After Ghost broke the aligned balls, their team had the solid ones, while you were left with stripes.

Alcohol must have really warmed you up because you were laughing more than usual at playful banter and at Soap's stupid dick jokes directed at Ghost regarding balls and pool cues.

Simon grumbled, but deep down, he didn't mind. For a change, it was nice to hear your laugh and to see your cheeks flush as you got hot from laughing and the heat of the place. He could see the men from the other tables ogling you, and although he knew you were perfectly capable of handling them yourself, he couldn't help but shoot glares in their direction when you weren't looking, making them immediately turn around at the sight of a man like Ghost catching them red-handed. A strange feeling of protectiveness was brewing in his chest—something about someone like you in a place like this and surrounded by rough men. It was foolish to think; he was well aware, and he felt almost embarrassed to even entretain the idea. Three months ago, he hated you and everything about you, and he let Price know multiple times that it was a terrible idea to have a criminal on the team.

But now...he had to look away when you bent over the table on your turn; suddenly, the inside of his mask was too warm.

"I need a drink," you announced, bubbly, stretching your back before handing Gaz your pool cue.

"No more absinthe, bonnie, won't hold yer hair while you throw up." Soap said, teasing, making you chuckle.

"I'm getting a coke; don't worry, mom."

"And I'm going to the bathroom," Price announced from the nearby table.

"Does anyone want anything?" You asked as you began to walk away.

"No thanks, luv," Gaz said, as Soap and Ghost only shook their heads as they were studying the table, seeing the best way to proceed as they were losing.

You walked away to the counter, which was across the bar, allowing the three men to keep sight of you.

Soap lowered his upper body over the table, hitting a red ball but missing the pocket, making him curse under his breath. Gaz chuckled at this, and they had a small break while you got back since it was your turn. He saw you waiting for Arthur to be done with another customer when a man he didn't recognize but saw on a nearby table approached you, shamelessly putting his hand around your waist as he stood beside you. The men on his table were watching the scene with a smirk on their faces.

This made him annoyed, and apparently, he wasn't the only one.

"Fucking dogs." Soap said, standing next to Ghost.

"Should we go for her?" Gaz asked, trying his best not to sound too eager. He saw you turn around with a scowl, clearly not happy.

"Lass can take care of herself," Ghost bluntly answered. Although his eyes were betraying him, he was still glued to the scene.

When he turned to look back at you, you were saying something to the man while glaring at him. The men chuckled and said something back, and you rolled your eyes. Your face went back to face the front. Maybe you didn't mind?

Then he saw how the man's hand slithered down your back, and he felt his blood boiling. But before his hand could reach its destination, a quick blow from your elbow harshly met its own destination, connecting with the man's nose. Not only making him pull his hand away but making him fall back with a whine of pain, and now everyone’s eyes were on the scene.

"You fucking whore!" The man said loudly before he got up, clearly aggressive. But you weren't backing up, either.

"Fuck," Gaz said before he quickly hurried up to the scene, followed by Soap.

As they arrived, Gaz got in between the man and you, and Soap quickly held you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist. The man's friends are also holding him back, muttering stuff along the lines of “it’s not worth it” or “it’s just a chick.”

"Put your fucking bitch on a leash," he said angrily, blood pouring from his nose. Ah, a yank.

"Haud yer wheesht," Soap barked at him from behind you, still holding you as you tried to break free from his arms.

"I’ll chop your hands off." Not even you knew you had so much pent-up anger inside you, probably looking for the right situation to explode. Johnny was struggling more than he would like behind you, feeling like he was trying to hold back a bull. Bloody hell, maybe I should do more weightlifting.

"The fuck is your problem, mate?" Gaz through gritted teeth, but before the man could scream back, you were approached by Ghost. The man's eyes widened, and he stayed quiet, all the blood draining from his face.

"L-Lieutenant." He said this while standing straight, trying to sloppily clean the blood off his face with his hand.

"You are?" Ghost asked.

"Shadow Company, sir." You heard Soap muttering 'of course' under his breath, still holding you back.

"T-This girl broke my nose!" He said, pointing at you, making your efforts to break free from Soap's grip increased.

"Yer awfy crabbit, mo leannan," Soap whispered to you, not letting you go, trying to get you to calm down.

"Only because you tried to touch her ass like a fucking mutt in heat," Ghost answered bitterly, looking down at the man who looked as if he wanted the earth to swallow him.

"What’s the problem here?" Price approached the situation, fresh from the bathroom. At the sight of the captain, the man looked like he wanted to throw up.

"Graves men were getting handsy with the lass," Gaz explained, and he heard you groan in annoyance behind him.

"I can take care of him myself." You said through gritted teeth.

The same alcohol that made you giggle like a teenager is now making you thirsty for blood, as well as annoyed that they felt the need to handle the situation themselves, like you weren't an adult and a trained killing machine, just like them. All the frustration, sadness, and anger that you obediently swallowed in the first months of your new life, not wanting to worsen your already poor situation, is now coming back to bite you in the ass. You wanted to unleash every little one of your frustrations on the man in front of you.

"Mo chridhe, calm down," Soap said again. Gentle but struggling, you were using all your force to get out of his embrace.

"LT, help." He said in a strained voice as he kept trying to lock you in his arms, to which Simon rolled his eyes, but he eventually approached you. With ease, he wrapped his arm around your waist and threw you over his shoulder.

"Fucking hell, Simon," you said, now with a view of the 'Lieutenant Riley' written on his back.

"Some fresh air will do you good, flower." He said as he walked out of the bar carrying you.

This was a rather embarrassing situation, everyone was watching curiously. It was not the first time you were carried out of the bar, and certainly not your first fight. Probably not the last, either. You deep down knew that the gossip of the new girl getting into a fight and being carried away by her lieutenant was going to spread like wildfire on the base.

But, your head felt slightly woozy making you accept your fate as fresh air was starting to sound very nice.

"Sorry, Arthur," Price said with an apologetic look, looking at the bartender.

"Don't worry, John; good to see the new recruits still have some fire on them." He was hinting at the direction in which you disappeared.

"And you," Price said, turning around to the other men again. The main culprit is now holding a napkin against his nose, sitting down like a wet dog. John had a severe look on his face, making the men look more miserable. "Name. Now."

You sat in the Jeep with the door open. Ghost was standing in front of you, his mask lifted as he smoked a cigarette. You notice the blonde stubble; the concept of someone as big and intimidating as him being a blonde named Simon was quite funny, but right now you tried to focus on deep breaths, trying to calm your own anger down.

After a few minutes, you saw the Shadow Company men being pushed out of the bar by Gaz and Soap, followed by Price, who seemed to be on the phone. Your anger, far from diffusing, spikes again. You began to stand up again.

"Let them handle it." He says it in a calm tone, putting his free hand on your shoulder and making you sit again.

"I can handle it myself. My ass is the one involved, not yours," you answer, glaring up at him.

"I know you can, and as much as I would enjoy seeing you beat the shit out of them, you don't have to." He says, voice husky but surprisingly gently, looking down at you. You arched your brow at his words, and he decided to elaborate some more.

"Price is most likely calling Graves; they'll probably get a written reprimand, extra shit to do, and they will be banned from our sector on the base."

"I don't need Price to rat them out for me; I can take care of it."

"My point is that you don't have to. Listen: Despite everything, you are still on thin ice, flower. That thing is not a bracelet." He was gesturing to your ankle monitor.

"We don't give a shit if you kill them; in other circumstances, I would have gladly help you. Shadows are cunts, and they all act like mutts after a bone. But getting into a fight with people who are guests in our base is not a good view for the higher-ups, and Laswell and the Captain can only do so much in your defence." You listened attentively, his words making sense, but you still couldn't help but feel annoyed as you saw the man and his friends being escorted to their car, Price still on his call.

"Besides, you don't have to do it all yourself, you know?" He said that, and you directed your glance back to him.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't have to take care of yourself alone. We are a team; we take care of each other." You can't help but show a hint of surprise on your face.

"Are we?"

"Yes."

After almost four months...the bastard.

A smile slipped from your lips, and he kept looking down at you. In another context, he would be pissed at giving in, but he let you savour your victory, you deserved it.

The moment was broken as Price approached.

"Back to base, muppets," he said, opening the driver door, not before watching the car of the members of the Shadow Company leave the car park.

Soap came behind him to ruffle your hair, making you groan playfully.

"You okay, bonnie?" He asked warmly.

Gaz also arrived behind him, handing you your forgotten jacket and a can of Coke he bought you.

"Thanks, Kyle...yeah, I'm fine. Fuck... I’m sorry." A hint of embarrassment got to you as you rubbed your temples.

“None of that, bonnie. Anyone would have done the same. Not me, though; I would have kicked his balls.” Soap said, shrugging, making you chuckle.

“Not for punching him. For ruining the night.”

“Sweetheart, everything is fine. I talked to Shepherd; he’ll chew Graves ear off. For now, they’ll enjoy cleaning the showers with a toothbrush, and they’re banned from the mess hall and the gym, so you won’t see them.” You listened to Price, and you looked back at Ghost, who was giving you an ‘I told you so’ glance.

“Arthur said that you'd get a free drink next time.” Gaz said, also trying to lighten your mood.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, trying to avoid their gazes. You felt vulnerable, accepting help; it felt both terrible and surprisingly heart-warming.

The way back was actually nice, with Price telling a story from when he was a private and they had a few drinks while camping. One of them got so drunk that they made him believe there were lions in that zone, and he was scared shitless until he sober up enough to realise, they were in the German countryside.

The stories were a bit silly, but the way they were telling them was both endearing and entertaining. There was a fuzzy feeling in your stomach, and your cheeks hurt a bit because you were not accustomed to laughing and smiling this much.

next chapter: coming soon!

Thank you to the lovely people following this! <3: @no-lessthan3 , @blush-haze , @eustassh , @valkyrieunknown

if you like it leave me some kudos or suggestions on ao3! <3

[dianawinchester03]

Season 1, Episode 17 - Hell House

Third Person POV

Dean is driving down Interstate 35, Y/N is fast asleep in the back seat after beating Sam in rock paper scissors for it, while Sam is fast asleep in the passenger seat with his mouth open. Dean smirks mischievously at the two, taking up an old spoon he found in the car and shoving it in Sams mouth gently.

Then taking a pen from his jacket pocket, and gently shoving it in Y/N's nose. He smiles proudly, flipping open his phone to take a picture of Sam and then one of Y/N. He then turns the radio up that's playing Fire of an Unknown Origin by Blue Oysters Cult. "A FIRE OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN TOOK MY BABY AWAY!!" Dean sings along loudly, drumming along to the beat in the steering wheel.

Sam jumps awake along with Y/N, panicking when he feels something foreign in his mouth, spitting the spoon out. "What the fuck!?" Y/N yells, startled when she feels something foreign in her nose, pulling the pen that's stuck in her nose out. Sam wipes his mouth as Y/N rubs her nose.

"Ha-ha, very funny" Sam says dryly as Dean chuckles, laughing hysterically. "Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in east Texas. Kinda gotta make your own" Dean chuckles. "And my nose has to suffer for your boredom" Y/N scoffs, rubbing her nose. Dean smiles at her through the rearview mirror as she rubs her nose like a puppy. His heart flutters at how cute she looks.

"Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not gonna start that crap up again" Sam says annoyed. "Start what up?" Dean feigns confusion. "That prank stuff. It's stupid and always escalates" Sam snaps. Y/N chuckles a bit at a memory, "Awww what's the matter, Sammy. You afraid you're gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?" Y/N teases her best friend.

Dean laughs hysterically at the memory of a bald soapy hair 13 year old Sam, running out of the bathroom, butt ass naked, screaming in terror like he's in a horror movie after Y/N put Nair in his shampoo because he made cookies and replaced the sugar with salt, then offered it to a innocent Y/N. She's the way with cookies, the way Dean is with pie. You don't mess with her cookies. "Alright. Just remember, you two started it" Sam challenges.

"Oh no no noooo. I am not getting involved in your weird sibling rivalry. I always get caught in the middle of it. No thank you." Y/N protests, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest Dean smirks at her through the rearview mirror. "Wuss" He snickers and Y/N glares at him, flipping him off. "Bring it on baldy" Dean chuckles looking at Sam. "Where are we, anyway?" Sam asks him.

"Few hours outside of Richardson" Dean tells him. "Give us the lowdown again" Y/N asks Sam to explain the case they were working. Sam pulls out his file, "Alright, about a month or two ago, this group of kids go poking around this local haunted house-" Sam explains but Dean cuts him off to ask. "Haunted by what?" He asks.

"Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit" Sam responds and Y/N groans. "Just wonderful" She mutters sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anyway, this ground of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar." Sam continues. "Anybody ID the corpse?" Y/N asks, leaning forward in the backseats between the boys.

"Well, that's the thing. By the time the cops got there, the body was gone. Some cops say the kids were just yanking chains" Sam tells them and their eyebrows shoot up at this. "Maybe the cops are right" Dean suggests. "Maybe, but I read a couple of the kids firsthand accounts. They seem pretty sincere" Sam says. "Where did you read these accounts?" Y/N asks him curiously.

He chuckles lightly, a bit ashamed to answer her question, "Well, I knew we were gonna be passing through Texas to go to Y/N's safehouse. So, uh, last night, I surfed some local...paranormal websites. And I found one" Sam says lowly. Dean smirks as Y/N shakes her head, knowing what this might mean. "And what's it called?" Dean asks his brother. Sam chuckles again before sheepishly answering,

"HellHoundsLair.com". Dean scoffs laughing as Y/N chuckles, "Let me guess, streaming live out of moms basement" She jokes, making both boys erupt loudly with laughter. "Yeah, probably" Sam agrees laughing. "Most of those websites wouldn't know what a ghost was if it hit 'em in the 'persqueeter'" Dean chuckles. "Look, we let our dads take off, which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don't know where the hell they are, so in the meantime, we gotta find ourselves something to hunt" Sam suggests.

"You're right I guess. There's no harm checking this thing out" Y/N shrugs agreeing. Dean sighs, "Alright, so where do we find these kids?" He gives in. "Same place you always find kids in a town like this" Sam says as if it was obvious.

________________________________

Richardson, Texas

A couple hours later, the trio pulls into the parking lot of the local diner by the name of Rodeo Drive to question the teens from the police report.

Boy 1: "It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life. I swear to God."

Boy 2: "From the moment we walked in. The walls were painted black"

Boy 1: "Red."

Girl: "I think it was blood"

Boy 1: "All these freaky symbols"

Boy 2: "Crosses and stars, and.."

Boy 1: "Pentagons"

Boy 2: "Pentecostals"

Girl: "Whatever. I had my eyes closed the whole time"

Boy 1: "But I can damn sure tell you this much: No matter what anybody else says-"

Girl: "That poor girl"

Boy 2: "With the black..."

Boy 1: "Blonde.."

Girl: "Red hair, just hanging there"

Boy 1: "Kicking"

Boy 2: "Without even moving"

Girl: "She was real"

Boy 1: "It's 100%"

Boy 2: "And kind of hot...well you know in a dead sort of way"

"Okay!" Y/N exclaims, chuckling a bit awkwardly. Disgusted by the last comment. She and the boys, sitting across from the three teenagers in the diner. "And how did you find out about this place, anyway?" Sam asks them, the trio confused by the inconsistencies in the stories.

"Craig took us" The three teenagers respond in unison as the three hunters share a look.

________________________________

The three hunters enter the record store after asking where the Craig guy could be found. "Gentlemen and Lady. Can I help you with anything?" A young man working in the store asks them, carrying a box of records to the register. "Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?" Sam asks him.

"I am" The young man confirms. "Well, we're reporters with The Dallas Morning News. I'm Dean, this is Sam and Y/N" Dean lies on spot, covering as reporters. "No way. Yeah, I'm a writer too. I write for my schools lit magazine" Craig chuckles, boasting a bit. "Ahh, well good for your Morrissey" Y/N jokes, Dean snorts at the reference.

"Um, we're doing an article on local hauntings and rumor has it, you might know about one" Sam says casually and Craig's face drops. "You mean the Hell House?" He asks them. "That's the one" Dean says smiling. "I didn't think there was anything to the story" Craig says. "Why don't you tell us the story, hun" Y/N says sweetly. Craig puts the record in his hand down and sighs.

"Well, supposedly back in the 30s, this farmer, Mordechai Murdock, used to live in the house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn't have enough money to even feed his own children" Craig explains, sighing. "So I guess that's when he went off the deep end. "How?" Sam asks curiously as Dean checks out the records.

"Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them." Craig further explains, the three hunters listening intently. "And they screamed, begged for him to stop but....he just strung em up, one after another. And then when it was all finished. He turned around and hung himself" Craig finishes.

"Now they said that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside" He adds. "And where did you hear all this?" Y/N asks him, cocking her eyebrow. "My cousin Dana told me. I don't know where she heard it from...You gotta realize. I didn't believe this for a second." Craig defends.

"But now you do" Sam says. "I don't know what the hell to think man" Craig responds lowly. "You guys, I'll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real, alright? She was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don't wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?" He assures them fearfully.

Y/N cocks her eyebrow at his claims. Not fully convinced but she decided to go with it. They share a look before turning back to him, "Thanks" Dean says gratefully and they all leave the store.

________________________________

Later the boys and Y/N ask around and found the location of, Hell House. Now walking down the path to the abandoned house. "Can't say I blame the kid" Sam says. "Yeah, so much for curb appeal" Dean agrees. Sam and Y/N walk around the side investigating while Dean pulls out his EMF that begins to make some noise.

"You got something?" Y/N asks him. "Yeah, but the EMFs no good" Dean responds, tapping it. "Why?" Sam asks confused. "I think that things still got a little juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings" Dean says, pointing to the power lines. "Yeah, that would do it" Sam says, looking up at it. "Yeah" Y/N sighs and Dean turns to her.

"What about you?" He asks her. "Huh?" She says confused. "You know....your whole ESP thing" He says, pointing to his head and she rolls her eyes. "1, I'm not ESP." She says firmly making him chuckle. "And 2, I actually don't feel anything" She says, crunching her eyebrows.

Knowing normally she feels a heaviness around areas where people have died violently, etc. "Really? No, 'I see dead people'? What about you, Sammy?" He smirks, teasing the two, now turning to his brother who is glaring at him. Y/N shoved him lightly making him laugh loudly. "Come on. Let's go" Y/N ushers the boys towards the house, them following behind.

Dean whistles lowly as they close the door behind them at the state of the house. It was completely trashed, most likely by stupid teenagers. With a bunch of weird symbols all over the room. "Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger during his time" Dean says, his eyes on the reverse cross painted on the wall.

Y/N notices that some of the symbols are relatively new. "And after his time too" She says, nudging Sam. "The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries" He says pointing to cross. "But this Sigil of Sulfer didn't show up in San Francisco until the 60s" Sam finishes pointing the Sigil.

Dean stares at his brothers blankly, "This is exactly why you never get laid" He deadpans while Sam rolls his eyes, taking a picture of the sigil. "Hey! I get laid" Y/N says defensively. "Yeah, because you're hot. Sam's not" Dean blurts out, shocking the Sam and Y/N, their mouths agape. Only realizing what he said, after it escaped his lips. "You think I'm hot?" Y/N smirks, her tone teasing.

Dean freezes in his tracks as he was walking to the other side of the room. He looks back at the two, Sam with a smug grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows at his elder brother suggestively, making mock kissy faces in Deans direction. Y/N with her arms crossed over her chest, an amused grin on her face, her back turnt to Sam, so she's oblivious at what Sam's mocking.

Dean clears his throat and gulps. Heat rising to his face. His eyes shifting between his bratty brother and even the brattier women he's in love with. "I- Shut up and work the case!" Dean retorts lamely as the two best friends burst out laughing. Y/N's heart skips a beat at the fact that she's sure now that Dean finds her attractive. Dean then notices a weird looking symbol on the wall, "What about this one. You seen this one before?" Dean asks them, tilting his head a bit to look at the symbol.

The symbol looking somewhat familiar. It was practically an upside down question mark with three lines going out the side of the dot. One on top and two on each sides. Y/N walks next to him and tilts her head also to look at it. "Nope" Sam responds, taking a picture of it. "I have...Somewhere" Dean says in recognition. "Yeah...me too. I don't know where" She agrees.

Y/N then leans forward to touch the symbol, the color of the paint staining her fingers. "It's paint" She informs them, showing them her stained finger. "Seems pretty fresh too" Sam points out. "I don't know, guys" Dean sighs. "I mean, I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind...but the cops might be right on this one" Dean says.

"Yeah, maybe" Y/N agrees. The suddenly, they hear rustling in a nearby room. They share a look before going to the door and pressing up against it on either side, Y/N next to Dean and Sam on the other side. They all nod before bursting in, only to be startled by lights shining in their faces by two guys, Ed and Harry, screaming in fear.

One with a camera and one with a bright studio light. "What the.." Y/N mutters as they all share confused looks on their faces. "Cut. Just a couple of humans" Ed scoffs as Harry switches the camera off. "What are you guys doing here?" He asks the boys annoyed, his eyes settling on Y/N, looking like he's practically in love. "What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks them, just as annoyed.

Ed clears his throat, his eyes shifting back over to Dean, "We belong here. We're professionals" says cockily, shrugging as if it's obvious. Y/N cocks her eyebrow at this, "Professional what?" She asks them. A smirk rises on Ed's face, "Paranormal investigators" He boasts, pulling out three business, handing it to her. "There you go. Take a look for yourself, gorgeous" He winks at her.

She rolls her eyes, taking the cards from him. Dean glares daggers at Ed, his nostrils flaring. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me" Dean groans as he looks at the business card Y/N handed him and Sam. "Jesus Christ" Y/N groans in annoyance. "Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler. HellHoundsLair.com" Sam looks up as them. "You guys run that website?" Y/N asks them.

"Sure do, gorgeous." He winks at her again and she cringes. "What? Was Venkman and Stantz taken?" She retorts snidely, making them glare at her, a cheeky smile taking over her face. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We're huge fans" Dean says sarcastically, going over to the cabinet, rummaging through it. "And uh, we know who you guys are too" Ed says. "Oh, yeah?" Sam responds as Ed clears his throat cockily.

"Amateurs. Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills. Yeah" He says. The three hunters hold back a laugh at his cocky nature, sharing a look that says 'get a load of this guy'. "So, if you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here" Harry finally chimes in. Their amused faces don't falter.

"Yeah? What do you got so far?" Dean asks them snidely. "Harry, why don't you tell them about EMF?" Ed says. Y/N decides to have a little fun with this, "EMF? What's that?" She feigns confusion, scrunching her eyebrows. Dean chuckles lightly at this, shaking his head. "Electromagnetic field" Harry responds smugly.

Turning around to go into his bag to grab his EMF. Sam has a small grin on his face. He and Y/N share an amused look as they begin to explain, "Spectral entities can cause entertainment fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector. Like this bad boy right here" Harry shows them the EMF that begins going crazy.

"Whoa. Whoa. That's 2.8 MG" Harry points out. Dean and Y/N glance at each other, holding back snickers. "2.8!" Ed exclaims as Dean whistles lowly. "Wow" Sam says in a fake impressed tone. "Huh. So have you guys ever really seen a ghost before or...?" Dean asks them, putting on a curious face as Ed takes the EMF off.

"Once" Ed responds, turning to him. "We were uh investigating this old house..." He begins to explain taking a deep breath. Dean crosses his arms over his chest nodding as if he's shocked. "...and we saw a case fall right off the table" He finishes. "By itself" Harry adds in a low tone, "But we didn't actually see it...but we heard it" Ed explains, Dean looks down shaking his head in disgust.

Sam and Y/N roll their eyes. "And something like that...it changes you" Ed whispers. "Yeah, I think I get the picture" Dean says nodding, walking back to Sam and Y/N. "We should go, let them get back to work" Y/N adds sarcastically. Ed flashes her a wink. "Yeah, you two should go." He says to Sam and Dean. "You could stay, gorgeous" He grins widely at Y/N.

Deans head snaps in his direction, his jaw clenching. A laugh bubbles in Y/N's throat, amused at the fact that Ed thinks he has a shot, "Never gonna happen" She laughs at his lame flirting walking out the door, the boys following behind her. Ed's eyes fall to her hips as we walks away, trailing down. As she walks out, she gets the sense that Ed was staring at her ass, which he was.

"Stop staring at my ass, Venkman!" She shouts, making Sam and Dean laugh. Deans genuinely relieved at the fact that she wasn't into Ed, not that she would be. But the sight of Ed flirting with her just amped up and fueled his jealously.

I need to get laid and get these thoughts out of my head. Dean thinks to himself.

Yeah, sure. Like that's gonna help.

________________________________

Sam and Y/N walk out of the Colin County Public Library, "Hey" They hail Dean. "Hey, what do you guys got?" He asks them. "Well, we couldn't find a Mordechai, but we did find a Martin Murdock who lived in that house in the 30s" Y/N explains. "He did have children's but only two of them. Both boys. And there's not record he every killed anyone" Sam adds.

"What about you?" She asks Dean. "Well, those kids didn't really give a clear description of that dead girl. I did hit up the police station. No matching missing persons. It's like she never existed" Dean tells them what he found. "Guys, come on. We did our digging. This one's a busy" He says to them.

Y/N sighs, agreeing. "For all we know, those Hellhound dorks made up the whole thing" She says. Sam sighs, "Yeah, alright." Dean says. "I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend for the locals" Dean suggest, giving Y/N a wink before jumping into the Impala. "Amen to that" She laughs, jumping in shotgun.

As they jump in, Sam has a devious smirk on his face. Dean then starts the car, Sam leans down to see their reactions and instantly salsa music starts blurring from the radio and the wipers on the windshield start moving, scaring the crap out of him and Y/N. "WOAH!" Dean yells turning off the wipers. "DAMMIT!" Y/N screams, quickly turning the radio off.

They hear Sam laughing as he jumps in the backseat. He licks his finger, putting up a one and pointing to himself with a smug look on his face and they glare at him. "That's all you got? It's weak" Dean scoffs as Sam laughs, closing the door. "That is bush league dude" Y/N adds as rolls her eyes.

________________________________

Y/N's POV

The next day, the boys and I find out that there was a dead girl found this time in the Murdock house. Police are currently taking pictures and reports of the incident as we're walking towards it. "What happened?" Dean asks a man who was at the scene. "Cops say that poor girl hung herself in the house" He tells us.

"Suicide?" I ask him shocked. "Yeah. And she was a straight A student with a full ride to UT too. It just don't make sense" He says sadly before walking away. "What do you guys think?" Sam asks us as they're wheeling the body out. Dean turns and looks at us, "I think maybe we missed something" He says.

Later that night, the three of us are crouched behind a bush, waiting for the police to leave so we can go investigate again. But they haven't left yet which is strange. "I guess the cops don't want anymore kids screwing around in there" Sam huffs. "Yeah, but we still gotta get in there" Dean says. I then hear some whisper not too far from us.

I turn my head to see Ed and Harry with their geek equipment, trudging through the woods. "I don't believe it" I groan, rolling my eyes. Sam and Dean turn their heads also. "Those idiots are gonna get themselves killed" Sam grumbles. "I got an idea" Dean says, getting up slowly, he cups his hand to his mouth and yells loudly.

"Who you gonna call?!" I bite back a laugh at his Ghostbusters reference. "Hey, you!" A police officer spots Ed and Harry. They panic when they see the officers, "Freeze!" The officer yell, running after them. They begin running away, their equipment partially slowing them down. "Get back here!" They yell at them.

"Come on, don't leave me here!" I hear Ed plead with Harry who's running quicker than him. They boys and I take the clearing to run into the house quickly through the backdoor without them noticing, we shut the door behind us. Sam drops the bag, taking out three rocksalt shotguns, handing one each to me and Dean.

We cock our guns as I shine my flashlight around the house. The light lands on the symbol and I try to remember where I've seen it. "Where have I seen that symbol before." I grumble as I point my flashlight to it. "I know right, it's killing me!" He exclaims. "Come on, we don't have much time" Sam says to us.

We nod and move towards the next room. Walking down into the basement, Dean goes up to a shelf that has a bunch of jars with a weird looking red liquid inside as Sam and I check out the other side. Picking it up, he smirks, "Hey guys, I dare each of you to take a swig of this" Dean says to us, we look at him like he's crazy. "What the hell would we do that for?" Sam cocks his eyebrow.

"I double dare you" He smiles, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I give him a blank stare and shake my head. We then hear creaking by a nearby cabinet, giving each other a look. Me and Dean cock our guns at the door as Sam moves next to it, on the count of three. He quickly opens it and some rats run out squealing.

I grimace as Sam laughs and Dean shudders in disgust, "Ugh. I hate rats" He groans. "You'd rather it was a ghost?" I ask him chuckling. "Yes" He says and I shake my head smiling. Then suddenly I feel the familiar chill run up the back of my neck and I turn my head quickly to see the shadow of a man in a cowboy hat, his wrists slit, holding an axe, ready to chop me.

"Fellas!" I scream, ducking before he can chop me and the boys spin around in an instant, shooting him but he doesn't budge. Disapparating into a black smoke "What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rocksalt?!" Sam yells. "I don't know" Me and Dean respond. "Come on, come on, come on" I grab them to run out of the room.

But the spirit destroyed the shelf of jars and it topples onto me and Dean, throwing us to the ground. The spirit tries to hit Sam but he breaks with his shot gun, "Go! Get out of here!" He yells at me and Dean. Then kicking Murdock in his stomach, we all run up the stairs and bolt for the front door that was board up.

We all crash our bodies through it, breaking it on impact, we fall off the porch and through the police tape. When we get up, we see Ed and Harry with their cameras, "Get that damn thing out of my face!" I yell at them angrily, shoving Ed roughly. "Go, go, go!" Sam shouts. "Get out of here!" Dean shouts at them warningly as we make a break for the Impala.

________________________________

After fleeing for our lives, we are back at the motel. The next morning after getting some rest, Dean is on his bed with his sketch pad, doodling, while Sam and I are at the table doing research. "What the hell is this symbol. It's bugging the hell out of me" Dean says frustrated. "This whole damn jobs bugging me" I agree with him, shaking my head, already fed up.

"Tell me about it, I thought the legend said that Mordechai only goes after chicks." He says. "It does" Sam says. Dean nods, twirling his pen in his finger. "Alright, I mean that explains why he went after you and Y/N. But why me?" Dean mutters, scratching his head. I snort a bit at his burn and Sam's eyes snap over to Dean, glaring at him.

"Hilarious" Sam deadpans. "The legend also says he hung himself. But did you guys see those slit wrists?" I ask them. "Yeah" Dean responds. "What's up with that? And the axe too" Sam points out. "Ghosts are usually pretty strict. Following the patterns over and over" I add as I scroll on the HellHounds website.

"But this mook keeps changing" Dean says. "Exactly" Sam sighs, handing me the book he was reading. I take it from him and hand him the laptop. He then begins scrolling on the website as he rubs his eyes from exhaustion. "Im telling you. The way the story goes...wait a minute" Sam goes to say but pauses, turning the laptop to me as he's found something.

"What?" Dean asks him from his bed. My eyes cork up as I quickly read the new post. "Someone added a new posting to the hellhound website" I tell Dean. "Listen to this: 'They say Mordechai Murdock was really a satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before spitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in a house for eternity" Sam reads the article out loud.

"Where the hell is this going?" I mutter. "I have no idea" Sam mutters back. "I don't know. But I think I might have just figured out where it all started" Dean says, pointing to his doodle of the symbol. He gives us a smug smile before getting up and grabbing his jacket.

________________________________

We all enter the record shop we were at earlier after Dean explained to us what he figured out. I gotta give it to him, he's smarter than he makes himself out to be. "Hey Craig, you remember us?" Dean calls out to Craig as we enter. From his body language alone I could tell he was annoyed. "Guys, look. I'm really not in the mood to answer any more of your questions, okay?" He says exasperated.

"Oh don't worry, hun. We're just here to buy an album, that's all" I tell him and he sighs relieved turning back. I give Dean a look and he smiles at me as I shuffle through the records and hand him the Blue Oyster Cult album. "You know, I couldn't figure out what that symbol was. And then I realized it doesn't mean anything" Dean says with a smug tone as we walk towards Craig.

"It's the logo for Blue Oyster Cult" Dean calls him out on his bullshit. Craig freezes, instantly giving himself away. "So tell me Craig, you into BOC or just scaring the hell out of people" I narrow my eyes at him and Dean hands him the album which he takes. "Now why don't you tell us about that house. Without lying through your ass this time" I say in a snarky tone.

I could see a smirk rise on Deans face at the corner of my eyes as Craig sighs heavily. Panicking. "Alright. I- My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted. So we painted symbols on the walls. Some from some albums. Some from some of Dana's theology textbooks." He begins to explains.

"Then we found out this guy, Murdock, used to live there. So we-" He pauses, taking a deep breath. "So we, made up some story to go along with that. So they told people who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website" He adds rolling his eyes as we listen intently. "Everything just...took on a life of its own. I mean. I thought it was funny at first, but...now that girls dead" He says, absolutely horrified.

I sympathize with him because he's a stupid kid that didn't know any better and was just looking for a kick. They don't know about what's out there but at the same time. It created a mess. "It was just a jokes. You know, I mean, none of it was real. We made the whole thing up. I swear" He stresses, tears forming in his eyes.

The boys and I nod understandably as he sniffles back his tears, "Alright. Thanks" I say to him calmly, offering him a small smile which he returns lightly. The boys and I turn to walk off, "If none of it was real, how the hell do you explain Mordechai?" Dean questions as he walk out. Me and Sam sigh, shrugging. Absolutely stumped.

________________________________

Later, me and Sam are at the motel room while he's taking a shower, I'm by the window smoking a cigarette, waiting for him to finish so I can shower. Dean walks in and throws his keys on the table, a mischievous look on his face. "Hey Princess" He smiles at me, closing the door behind him. "Hey charming..." I cock my eyebrow suspiciously as he pulls out a little familiar looking baggy.

His head pans over to me slowly, before bringing a finger to his lips, "Shhh" He shushes me with a smirk on his face. I shake my head as I take I drag from my cigarette, chuckling lightly. "Hey I'm back!" Dean announces his arrival to Sam as he rips the bag open. "Hey! Where were you?" Sam asks him from the shower.

"Oh I went out!" Dean responds as he throws the itching powder all over Sam's pants and boxers. "Seriously dude. Itching powder?" I grumble at him, dusting my ash into the ashtray. He just winks at me. "Game on, sweetheart" He whispers back, a smirk on his face, blowing me a kiss. I roll my eyes chuckling. "So me and Y/N may have a theory about what's going on!" Sam says from the shower.

"Oh yeah?" Dean questions, still throwing the powder on Sams clothes. ""Yeah, what if Mordechai is a Tulpa?" I suggest. "Tulpa?" Dean questions. Sam then opens the door, walking out from the shower as Dean quickly hides the powder in his powder. "Yeah, a Tibetan thought form" Sam says as he walks out of the shower, naked from the waist up, a towel around his waist.

Dean scratches his head, trying to mask his mischievous actions. I shake my head, holding back a snicker as I crush my cigarette in the tray. "Yeah, no, I know what a tulpa is...Hey, why don't you get dressed. Me and Y/N can go grab something to eat" Dean says quickly, pulling me by my hand before I can protest.

He grabs my leather jacket before giving Sam a cheeky smile, closing the door behind us. "He's gonna kill you" I snicker as he helps me put my jacket on, pulling my hair out from behind it. He smiles at me, flashing me a wink. "Wait till you see what I got in store for later" He brags, I just roll my eyes chuckling. "Boys" I scoff.

________________________________

Third Person POV

They're all now at a diner in town, "There you go, love" The kind man at the counter hands Y/N and Dean their trays of food. "Thank you" She says sweetly, taking her tray as Dean takes his. Y/N turns around as they're walking to a table to see Sam itching away at his pants. Y/N and Dean share a look of amusement as she bites back a snicker at this. "Dude, what's your problem?" Dean asks Sam feigning confusion.

"Nothing, I'm fine" Sam tries to brush it off, still itching. "Yeah?" Y/N asks him innocently. "Yeah" He assures them. "Alright? So uh, keep going. What about these tulpas?" Dean asks me as they take a seat at the table. Sam rests his bag down as he takes a seat. "Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. A group of monks visualize a golem in their heads. They meditate on it so hard, they bring the thing to life" Y/N explains while she pops the lid off of her coffee and stirs it up, taking a sip.

"Out of thin air" Sam adds. "So?" Dean questions, taking a sip of his coffee. "That was 20 monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do" Sam says, pulling his laptop out of the bag. "I mean, Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people, all believing in the bastard." He says, typing on his laptop.

Sam cringes in discomfort, still scratching his legs. "Okay, wait wait wait. So you're trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he's real?" Dean cocks his eyebrow. Y/N and Sam shrug. "I don't know, maybe?" Sam says, typing on his laptop, grimacing from the itching. She bites back a smirk as she eat her fries at his discomfort.

'I feel a bit bad for the kid but I'm not saying anything because I'm not trying to be pulled into this.' Y/N thinks to herself.

"People believe in Santa Claus. How come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?" Dean says sarcastically. "Because I'm pretty sure you're the first name on Santas naughty list" She shoots back with a cheeky smile. Dean glares at her a bit but a slight smirk rises on his lips.

"I'll show you who's on the naughty list" He whispers to her lowly in a husky tone so Sam wouldn't hear. But he damn well heard, rolling his eyes at their stomach churning flirting, he's too irritated by the itching in his pants to care. A blush rises on Y/N's face but she covers it up with a stunned look. She then raises her foot, kicking his shin below the table with her boot.

Dean huffs a "Ow" as she shoots him a warning look. Dean snickers at her reaction, pleased. "Don't test me, Winchester" She flirts back, matching his tone. Deans smirk grows wider. He seems pleased with her response, she takes notice of the way his chest heaves.

'The things I would do to this breathtaking women. Son of a bitch.'

Dean thinks to himself as he pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, causing her stomach to flutter, a familiar heat rising in her southern region.

'Fuck, what I would do just to get a taste of his lips. Oh god, not now. Seriously y/n? The dudes biting his lip and you're turnt on? Get a grip girl! Thirsty ass bitch.'

Y/N practically mentally reprimands herself for feeling so flustered by Dean.

'Hey God? It's Sam again. Please, I'm begging you. Just make these too lovesick puppies fuck already for Christ's sake.'

Sam internally groans.

Y/N's POV

"Here, look at this" Sams voice breaks us out of our heated gaze. "Hmm?" We both say innocently as Dean clears his throat, Sam then turns the laptop to us, showing us a picture of the symbol we found. "That's a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house" Sam says. "Craig said they were painting symbols from a Theology textbook. We're thinking they painted this, not even knowing what it was" Sam explains to Dean, cringing from the itching again.

So I decide to take over. Dean bites back a smirk when he realizes the itching is getting worse. "What Sam's saying, That sigil has been used for centuries. Concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass. So people are on the Helldweebs website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai" I add as Dean nods. "I mean, we don't know, but it might be enough to bring a tulpa to life" I say, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"It would explain why it keeps changing" Dean agrees, taking a sip of his coffee as Sam continues to scratch his legs. "Right. As the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like a game of Telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn't work" Sam says, pointing to the laptop with one hand, grimacing as he itches.

"Yeah, because he's not a traditional spirit, per se" Dean says. "Yeah" Sam huffs, cringing still itching. "Okay, so why didn't we just uhh... get this spirit signal thingy off the wall and the website?" Dean suggests and I shake my head as I wipe my mouth. "It's not that simple. You see, once tulpas are created, they take on a life of their own" I say. Dean sighs, wiping his nose.

"Great. Alright, so if he really is a Thought-form. How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?" Dean asks a bit frustrated. "Well it's not gonna be easy with these guys helping us" Sam says, me and Dean roll our eyes at the thought. "Check out their home page" Sam turns the laptop and pulls up the helldorks page to the video they posted of Mordechai. "Holy shit" I gasp in shock as I look at the views.

"Yep. Since they posted the video, the number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone" Sam stresses, nodding at my reaction. "Huh. I got an idea. Come on. You done?" Dean asks me quickly. "Yeah, I'm finished. Where are we going?" I tell him, gesturing to my empty tray as we pick up our coffees and Sam closes his laptop.

"We need to find a copy store" Dean tells us. Sam gets up, still itching his legs. Shakily putting his laptop into his bag. "Man, I think I'm allergic to our soap or something" He groans. I can't hold in my amusement anymore so me and Dean begin laughing hysterically at this. "You two did this?" Sam asks us shocked. I shake my head and point at Dean with my thumb.

"It was all him" I snort as Dean continues walking away laughing. "You're a frigging jerk!" Sam shouts at Dean who's still laughing. "Oh yeah!" Dean retorts back chuckling.

________________________________

The boys and I pull up in the trailer park, near Ed and Harrys trailer. "Gosh, can they get anymore geeky" I cringe as I step out of the Impala. "You guys ready?" Dean asks us. "Like Freddy" Sam nods with a smirk. "Let's punk some dorks" I snort. I knock harshly on the door, I'm pretty sure I heard someone squeak. "Who is it?" Harry asks fearfully. The boys snicker at his reaction, "Come on out here guys. We hear you in there!" Dean bellows.

The two open the door and I snort when I see the shelf behind them. "Oh look at that. Action figures in their original packaging. What a shock" I say sarcastically as Dean snickers. I notice Ed biting his lips as he looks at me and I cringe. "Guys, we need to talk" Sam says. "Yeah, um, sorry guys. We're a bit busy right now" Ed says smoothly as they step out of their trailer.

Busy my ass. I roll my eyes, "Yeah, well, we'll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website" Dean says plainly with a fake smile which Ed finds funny for some reason. "Man, you know, these guys get us busted last night. We spend the night in a holding cell" Ed laughs while Harry looks annoyed. "I had to pee in that cell, in-front of people. And I get stage fright" Harry complains. "Why should we trust you?" Ed narrows his eyes at us.

"Look guys, we all know what we saw last night. What in that house. But now that's to your website, there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai" Sam says. "That's right, which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person. Somebody could get hurt" Dean warns them. "Yeah?" Ed smirks. "Ed, maybe they've got a point" Harry interjects.

"No" Ed shakes his head. "Nope" Harry suddenly says. Jesus, Harry's practically this dudes Yes Man. "Okay, we have an obligation to our fans, to the truth" Ed says cockily. I chuckle annoyed at this, "Well I have an obligation to kick both your asses right now-" I snap angrily, fearful looks taking over both their faces but Sam and Dean cut me off.

"Y/N/N, hey. Just forget it, alright?" Sam says calmly. "These guys. You could probably bitch slap them both" Dean adds, making the two idiots chuckle arrogantly. I narrow my eyes at them. "I could probably even tell them that thing about Mordechai..." Sam adds suggestively, Ed and Harry becomes a bit intrigued by this. "But....they're still not gonna help us" Sam sighs.

"Let's just go Princess" Dean says, giving me a knowing look. I get where they're getting at and nod. Putting the plan into action. "Yeah you two are right" I sigh and we begin walking off. The two following behind us like lost puppies. "Woah woah woah. Wait wait" "Hold on a second here" Harry and Ed stutter in unison.

"Yeah, what thing about Mordechai, you guys?" Harry asks us as we walk away, a slight smirk on my face. "Don't tell them, Sam" I say lowly, staying in character. "But if they agree to shut the website down, guys" Sam fake protests. "They're not gonna do it! You said so yourself" Dean denies as we continue walking, the two following behind us. "No, wait wait! Don't listen to them, okay? We'll do it" Ed finally agrees.

We all share a amused look before turning around to them. "It's a secret, Sam" Dean adds, fueling the act. Sam sighs, "Look, it's a pretty big deal, alright? And it wasn't easy to dig up" Sam says. "So only if we have your word you'll shut everything down" I add, pointing at them firmly. "Totally" Ed smirks at me, his eyes scanning me up and down. I cringe at this.

"And wipe that look off your face, not even an ocean could quench your thirst dude" I snap at him and he looks down guilty. "Yes ma'am" He salutes, causing me to roll my eyes. "Alright" Sam says, pulling a paper out of his pocket. "It's a death certificate from the 30s. We got it at the library" Sam begins to feed them the fake story as Dean hands them the paper we printed at the copy shop.

"Now according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self inflicted gunshot wound" Sam tells them as they look at the paper, then up at us. "That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself" Dean says. "He shit himself?" Ed asks us, shocked. "Yep. With a .45 pistol. To this day, they say he's terrified of them" I respond nodding.

"As a matter of face, they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought iron rounds. You'd kill the son of a bitch" Dean adds. The two look at each other in glee. Harry then runs to the trailer. Presumably to post the story. "Thanks gorgeous" Ed winks at me. I scoff as he runs behind Harry. "Harry. Slow your roll, buddy. They're gonna know we're excited" He calls out to Harry lowly.

I notice Deans jaw clench whenever Ed flirts with me. "Dorks" I snort as we walk back to the Impala. "I think one of those dorks has a thing for you, sweetheart" Dean snickers, his jaw still clenching. I roll my eyes as Sam laughs at this. "Please, y/n/n's standards aren't THAT low" He snorts. I shove him lightly as Dean laughs. "I hate you two" I grumble chuckling, causing Sam to laugh more.

________________________________

Due to Deans never ending hunger, we're now again at a diner. Sam on my laptop searching the website, while I'm reading a book about tulpas. I'm next to Dean while Sam is on the opposite side of the booth. Dean, being the man child he is, is currently playing with a string machine that's next to up on the wall.

Where when you pull the string, a man plastic man with a fish in his hand, starts laughing. This has been going on for about five minutes and it's getting annoying. Sam pulls the string, stopping it while we both glare at Dean. "If you pull that string one more time, I'm gonna kill you" He deadpans. Dean stares at him blankly. I look back down at my book and pulls the string again, making it laugh.

My head snaps up so instantly raise my foot and kick him in the shin under the table with my boot. "Ow!" He exclaims, a smile on his face. Sam pulls the string to stop it, glaring at Dean who chuckles at the both of us. A cheeky smile on his face. "Come on, guys. You need more laughter in your lives. You know? You're way to tense" Dean chuckles as Sam sips his beer, annoyed.

"I'm fine, thank you" I grumble. "Yeah, sure you are" Dean snorts, making me glare at him.

"Did they post it yet?" I ask Sam, who then turns the laptop with the article to me and Dean, picking up his fork and stabbing his pancake. "We learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock has a fatal fear of firearms." Dean reads off of the site as Sam nods.

"Alright. So how long do we wait?" I ask them as Sam chews his pancake. He shrugs, shutting the laptop. "Long enough for the new story to spread and the legend to change" Sam suggests, picking up his beer in a toasting manner, "I figure by nightfall, iron rounds would work on the sucker" He smirks, me and Dean pick up our beers and cheers with him. "Sweet" "Hallelujah" Me and Dean say in unison, picking up our beers and gulping them down.

When I go to rest it down I realize it's stuck to my hand, my face contorts to confusion until I see Sam with a smirk on his face, bursting into a fit of laughter, clapping because Dean couldn't put his down either. I clench my jaw in annoyance, "You didn't" Dean says. "Ohhh, I did" Sam laughs, holding up the super glue. I groan, "Dammit man, I didn't do you anything. Why did I get superglued!?" I exclaim. Sam laughs shaking his head

"You saw him throw that itching powder in my clothes and kept your trap shut, you're in this whether you like it or not crackhead" He smirks, sipping his beer. I narrow my eyes at him, "Oh, you're on dipshit" I challenge him, glaring at him. He laughs, pulling the string on the machine, as it blurs out it's annoying ass sound, laughing along with it as Dean and I try to get the bottles off our hands.

________________________________

After practically having to pry our hands off of the beer bottles Sam glued ours to. We stole that weird ass noise making machine that Dean loved playing with at the diner and turned it on outside in the woods for the cops to go looking for the noise, stalling a bit so we can run in, kill Mordechai and shag ass out of town.

The boys and I creep into the Hell House, shining our lights and aiming our guns around after bursting open the door. "I barely have an skin left on my palm" Dean complains. "Quit whining, you started this stupid prank war" I grumble back at him. "I ain't touching that line with a 10-foot pole" Sam retorts as we move into the other room. Scanning it, Dean then kicks the door to the basement down, we all file in carefully.

"Well, you think old Mordechai's home?" Dean asks us. I shrug. "I don't know" Sam responds. "Me either" A voice behind us says, scaring the tartar sauce out of me. We all quickly turn around, aiming our guns in the direction just for it to be those Hell Dorks with their stupid equipment on. "WOAH WOAH!" They both scream, putting their hands up in surrender.

We draw back our guns, "What the hell are you two dumbasses trying to do!? Are you trying to get yourselves killed!?" I yell at them angrily like a disappointed mother. "We're just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?" Ed says shakily. Then suddenly the sounds of an axe sharpening comes from the door behind us and we all aim our guns at it

"Oh, crap" Harry mutters. "Uh, guys, you wanna...You wanna go open that door for us?" Ed asks us fearfully from behind us, gulping. "Why don't you?" Dean retorts, absolutely fed up. The door unlocking alone scares them and then, Mordechai comes bursting through the door yelling. The boys and I empty our clips into the bastard who screams in pain and disapparates into a black smoke.

Dean nods at us, giving us a look. We return the nod, "Sam, upstairs, I'll take the rooms, Y/N, stay with dumbledorks" Dean orders as they begin the check the rest of the room. "Oh, god. He's gone, he's gone" Ed gasps in shock. "Did you get him?" Harry asks him. "Yeah, they got him" Ed responds, still frightened. "No, on camera. Did you get him on camera?" Harry asks him shakily. Ed begins to fidget with the camera.

"Well, I...uh..." He tries to look but Harry grabs the camera. "Let me see it, let me see it" That's when Mordechai appears and knocks the camera out of Harry's hand. "Fuck!" I yell startled, ducking when he tries to chop me, disappearing into a black smoke again. They boys enter back the room, "Mordechais still kicking fellas" I inform them.. "Didnt you guys post that bullshit story we gave you?!" He bellows at Ed and Harry.

"Of course we did" Ed says. "Yeah but then our serves crashed" Harry adds and I roll my eyes annoyed. "So it didn't take?!" I ask him. "Uhhhh-" They stutter. "So these- These guns don't work?" Dean asks. "Yeah" Ed answers guiltily, I angrily toss my gun aside. "Great, just great" Dean mutters sarcastically.

"Fellas? Any ideas?" I ask them a bit panicked, they both give an 'I don't know' expression. "We are getting out of here" Harry says, rushing off but Ed is stuck in place. He runs back and grabs Ed. "Come on, Ed" He drags him out in a hurry. Then we hear Ed and Harry screaming. "Jesus, he's gonna kill them" I mutter, Sam goes to play hero.

Running in to save them. "Let's torch this sucker" Dean suggesst, "Yeah, fire always works" I agree nodding, we rush into the kitchen to get lighter fluid, dousing the ground it in. "Dean! Y/N!" We hear Sam yell. I grab an old can of bug spray and a lighter. "Hey!" I yell at Mordechai who has Sam up on the wall with his axe, choking him.

Igniting the lighter with the bug spray. "Go! Go!" I yell at Sam who breaks out of Mordechais hold. "Come on" I help him up, grabbing him to run over to Dean. "Look, if Mordechai can't leave the house and we can't kill him" I say quickly. "We improvise" Dean adds. He then lights the lighter and throws it where we doused the place in lighter fluid.

The whole room sets aflame. Sam looks baffled but we all run out of the house and into the bushes as the whole house sets on fire. "That's your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?" Sam asks us. "Well no one will go in anymore" Dean defends "I mean, look. Mordechai can't haunt a house if there's no house to haunt" I say. "It's fast and dirty but it works" Dean adds. "What if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?" Sam says baffled.

I pause. Why the fuck did I not think of that? "Well, then we'll just have to come back" Dean shrugs. Sam looks at us in disbelief, breathing heavily, "Kind of makes you wonder, out of all the things we've hunted. How many of those things existed just because people believed in them" Sam wonders out loud and I can't help but agree with him as we watch the house burn.

________________________________

The next evening, the boys and I are hanging out on a picnic table at the trailer park as Ed and Harry walk out towards their car that's attached to their trailer, holding grocery bags. "I was thinking that Mordechai had a really super high attack bonus" Ed says to Harry. "Dude, I got the munchies right now" Harry snickers.

"Gentleman and gorgeous" Ed greets us, a wide smile on his face. "Hey guys" Sam responds back. "Should we tell them?" Harry asks Ed. "Eh, might as well. They're gonna read about it in the trades" Ed says boastfully. Me and Sam share an amused look as they begin to brag. "So, this morning we got a phone call from some important Hollywood producers" Harry brags as we follow behind them.

"Oh yeah, wrong number?" Dean retorts with a snort. "No smartass" Ed glares at him. "He read all about the Hell House on our website and what a to option the motion picture rights. Maybe even have us write it" He says boastfully as he puts the bags in their car. "And create the RPG" Harry adds.

"The what?" Dean cocks his eyebrow in confusion as me and Sam bite back laughs. "Role playing game" Ed says as if it's obvious. "Right" Dean says, still confused. "Just a little lingo for you. Anywho, excuse us, we're off to La-La Land" Ed smirks, his eyes panning over to me.

"Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great" Sam says sarcastically. "Yeah, that's awesome. Best of luck" Dean adds, snickering. A smug look takes over Eds face. "Oh yeah, luck. It's got nothing to do with it. It's about talent. You know, sheer, unabashed talent" He says as Harry nods proudly.

Ed then bites his lip and I roll my eyes, bracing myself. "You're welcome to jo-" He goes to flirt again. "I'd rather eat my own filth, Venkman" I snap back, narrowing my eyes at him. He shrugs nonchalantly, "Your loss, gorgeous. Later" He winks at me before giving us a peace sign, jumping into their car. Cocky bastard.

I scoff at this, not feeling bad whatsoever for setting them up. We watch as they drive off. The boys and I share an amused look as Dean mutters "Wow", while we walk back to the car. "We have a confession to make" Sam breaks, holding back his laugh. "What's that?" dean asks us, looking down smiling.

"We uh- we're the ones that called them and told them we were producers" I admit. Me and Sam chuckle as Dean looks at us shocked. Turning back to look at their car, bursting into hysterics. "Well, I'm the one who out the dead fish in their back seat" Dean confesses. I laugh loudly along with the boys. "I knew I smelt something!" I laugh as Dean grins proudly.

"Truce?" Sam ask Dean. "Yeah, truce. At least for the next hundred miles." Dean says, getting into the Impala along with Sam. "Don't worry, Princess. We won't drag you into it this time" Dean assured me, starting the car as I'm still outside. Too late for that, darling. I take a step back from the car and then BOOM!

The second the ignition starts, flour explodes inside of the Impala. Coating them all over, inside of Baby. They both cough, glaring at each other angrily. "You said truce!" Dean growls at Sam. "I didn't do this!" Sam exclaims. Their gazes snap over to me as I laugh hysterically, bending over, clutching my stomach. I pull out the flour bag from my jacket and wave it in the air victoriously.

"You didn't!" Sam exclaims. "Ohhh, I did" I mock his words from earlier when he stuck our hands to the beer bottles. Jumping in the back seat, “Victory is mine!” I claim proudly, grinning at them. "This is gonna take me forever to clean dude!" Dean groans in annoyance. "Maybe next time don't drag me into it" I shrug innocently, smirking as the boys glare at me.

This makes me laugh even more. “Awwww, turn those frowns upside down fellas. At least for the next 100 miles at least" I tease them, leaning over to fix Deans frown with my fingers. I notice he holds back a laugh, Sam shakes his head in amusement.

________________________________

Authors Note: Hiiiii, sorry this one took be a bit longer. I went on a trip recently so I’ve been pretty busy but I hope you guys enjoyed this one. This chapter is unedited but I do plan on coming back and editing it so just ignore any mistakes. Just a little insider, Y/N’s flour prank was symbolic to Sam’s cookie prank when they were 13. Let’s just say, she’s still salty about that one LOL. Make sure to leave your honest comments and thoughts, I look forward to them, love y’all😘

Xoxo

[rubydubydoo122]

Hi, anom from recently who binge-read most of IEU:SIR. I finally read the No Capes AU. Thank you for putting so much fluff before the death and making the death relatively short in comparison.

I love how Dick still had no clue about the vitiligo. It's so funny.

Bruce's speech even made me teary-eyes. But more than that, the hug. That simple line "Whole. Jason felt whole"

And how AU!Dick sees Robin has something to share with them, when Jason just found out the origin of the name Robin.

I took a look at the next chapter and O.O WOW how many words are those? I don't think I can read all that in a single day. Heck, not even in two day.

But yes, I love No Capes AU and really wholesome chapter

Thank you so muchh for reading!!! I know it's a heavy story, and honestly, it's getting hard writing death after death after death, so I can't even imagine reading it. (I will a couple months after finishing writing the fic and I come back to read my own work with fresh eyes.)

It's just a funny little gag. Like Dick is super smart and competent, but "Jason? White streak? Must be from Magic."

I knew this chapter was going to HIT when I started crying while writing the speech. Cus I literally haven't cried over my own writing since.... I think the Toddler Jason chapter, because writing that completely desensitized me.

And Jason feeling like he finally has a support system is where I was getting to this entire fic. It's a subplot lmao.

I'd like to think that since No Capes AU Dick (and Bruce) probably went to therapy, instead of punching bad guys at night, and he's basically been Cass's older brother since he was 10, he would be more open to the whole family and siblings idea. And I don't think Normal Dick ever had a problem with sharing Robin, it wasn't Bruce's to give away, and that's why he was somewhat upset. But it was never with Jason.

The four AUs I had vividly in mind since the beginning were the Toddler AU, the No Capes AU, the AU you're currently reading, and the Last AU which I'm not gonna say anything about just yet because I still haven't started writing it

The chapter "A Better Ressurection: Part one" Is basically a third of the word count. It's 23,000 (give or take) out of 60,000 and that's not even the entire AU 😭😭😭😭. It's super long, because they're in that universe for much longer than they are for most of the other ones, and there's just a lot of info I need to stuff in there and space out just so that it isn't rushed and the foreshadowing doesn't feel glaringly obvious (it still is kinda obvious tho lmao) Lowkey, I've been hinting at this AU since the first chapter, but I barely remembered that I did that, so...

I loved the no Capes AU too. It was like the other married Talia and Bruce AU but even more family vibes.

[fandom-trash-goblin]

This is a chance to post your not-posted chengxian ideas if you have any. Please gimme gimme gimme gimme-

nonnie you've come at the sort of the right place. i'm like so late to fandom strolling without starbucks because in this house we boycott, and i'm sure this idea must have been done before. but. still. thanks for the ask, i put actual effort into this, hope you like it!! <3<3

A) to the point of invention AU

literally "i love you to the point of invention"

jiang yanli is at lotus pier and she dies :(. wwx and jc proceed to go absolutely feral and codependecy skyrockets

golden core melted-wwx in total breadown canon followed

until golden core transfer fails. fuck. dealers choice how

maybe smthing smthing jiang cheng wakes up to see he's being operated on. his brother lied to him about baoshen sanren and he's about to lose another sibling. #traumatised

both wwx and jc lose their core. they mad angry abt it, at the others throat- codependecy spirals. maybe they fuck. maybe they don't. anyways.

wwx invents demonic cultivation with the intent to protect-- he's mad about it being safe coz his shidi is gonna have to learn it to rebuild lotus pier and take revenge. they'd do it together. cue mad frenzy! wwx, jc handling it with the same ease he's done for years, and wen sibs watching this absolute clusterfuck wondering if these freaks are brothers or lovers or a secret third option.

demonic cultivation being so op and still mad safe because that's his shidi who he has to protect! . maybe they figure out how to power zidian through resentful energy

so you have DEMONIC CULTIVATORS! JC and WWX, both of them. rebuilding lotus pier, taking in E.V.E.R.Y.O.N.E that passes their dodgy moral code. unconventional sect numero uno. super-effing-powerful. No. 1 power couple #lifegoals.

nobody knows whether these two are fucking or not. even i don't. parasitic relationship but like lichen.

Jin Ling don't exist (sad face) but Jiang Yuan, sect heir, new gen demonic + spiritual cultivator, all around powerhouse. his xian-gege and wanyin-ge are so so proud.

where's the rest of the world, isaac? where's lan zhan. oops. forgot about them. pretend they're avoiding the demonic cult. (baby there's so many holes in the plot that it's practically cartoon cheese.) I just know there's gonna be a lot of cultivation science. and politics. and worldbuilding. and wwx being shidifucker extraordinaire.

B) blur on the horizon AU

title from Lady Lazarus by Slyvia Plath. //my brother is still alive. still dead. was brought back with a lazarus shot and a slap to the face// when visibility's poor, i'm the blur on the horizon//

wwx dies. and wakes up. not in mo xuanyu's body.. but in some random cultivator's body. like. and year or two post siege or burial mounds

he travels straight to jc. lotus pier still be recruiting. the recruiters take in this shady man.. let's be real. everyone here is just as shady.

he get's the intro. gets shown the rebuilt pier, the rules and The List. The List being how to defend gongzhu from shitty people and shittier politics. he's so fawking proud bit also resentful and angry because he should have been there. twin prides on yunmeng, remember? (for once in my life let wwx be the more bitter one abt yunmeng shuangjie yeah?)

WWX tries to stay away from JC. but he can't. let's be real he cant.

he climbs up the ranks fast... everyone can see this man would give his life for sect leader jiang. cue Second in Command being WWX 2.0 . wwx, for his part is so bitter but also incandescently happy. man never met an emotion he couldn't twist.

Jiang Cheng is wondering why this random cultivator seems so familiar. it get's so bad that he uses zidian to check this one whether he's wwx every once in a while.

but Jiang Cheng is also so tired of seeing ghosts from the corner of his eyes. and jin ling likes this new SIC when he barely likes anyone apart from his jiujiu. he lets go a little. wwx can wait, for once in his life.

cue wwx gaslighting jc into thinking there's no way this one could be wwx. also him being conflicted because on one hand jc's starting to trust him, and this life is almost everything he's dreamed of, but on the other, he's doing this as Random Cultivator and not WWX, how could you forget me, Shidi?

again, for once in my life let wwx be the more bitter one abt yunmeng shuangjie yeah?

idk i havent resolved this one. but there's a scene where wwx finds out abt chenqing, and jc in a fit of anger, after a hell lot of provoking, talks abt how SIC should have been his brother's (the feared yilling laozhu's) and not some strangers. and jc thinks this guy's gonna run far away from the madman his sect leader is but he's only more loyal more sticky more everything? is everything alright up in his head??

C) digging your grave AU (attempted sexual assault tw. it fails and the man's dead.)

title from Richard Siken's / our father who art in heaven / our father who art buried in the yard / someone is digging your grave right now. /

all of jiang cheng's life, he's never been wanted first, yeah? His father prefers his elder, adopted brother. His mother prefers her work and if she has to interact with someone it's his elder sister. His elder sister's got her own life- a boyfriend madly in love with her- a future mother-in-law who's more of a mother than her own- and sometimes Jiang Cheng thinks even she prefers Wei Wuxian more than him. (jin guangshan was rich, and is dead, good riddance.)

the only one who's cared about him is Wei Wuxian- JC's always been his person for wwx. and that matters so much... here's the person who loves Jiang Cheng for himself, someone for who he isn't a disappointment.

so when one day, on the day of wei changze and cangse sanren's tenth death anniversary, jiang fengmian, drunk out of his mind, tries to kiss wwx, saying how he looks so much like his parents and jc watches it happen. he sees how wwx is so fucking scared.. his brother, his person, the only person who has ever mattered is terrified.. and he just. sees scared and so fucking angry that he doesn't think. it's red. grabs his mother's favourite vase, and smashes is against his father's head

there's a dead man on the floor, bleeding into the carpet. baby jc going hysterical that he killed his dad. and wwx is cold. he can think it through. he's been betrayed by a man he thought as a father... and there's no one he can trust anymore. he has to save jc.

they bury jiang fengmian in the backyard, and run. they dont look back.

years later, jiang fengmian is a homicide case, wwx is a deranged kidnapper and murderer still at large, and jiang cheng is presumed dead. meanwhile, there's two lovely men living in a backwater town, bickering like old married couples do, and it's so nice to see love is in the air. nothing strange about them, yeah? they must have had those old-fashioned prejudiced people for parents. good on them for running away.

@jcs-singular-slut-strand come see what i wrote!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Stop flirting and start fighting

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[maddy-ferguson]

coming out as a play disliker because why the heck are they even doing this play and with the 'its gonna be key for s5' bullshit. most of the audience ain't gonna be able to see this shit and why should we have to watch a play to get an idea abt what might happen in s5. it's just so cash grabby it is not even funny.

i'm not a play disliker i'll only be a play disliker if it turns out to be bad and there's no reason for it to be bad but it does annoy me because if it's key for s5 it's gonna be on netflix right? because it's not like everyone's gonna go to london to see the stranger things play. but like. it's a play. made for the stage. and i know filmed plays can be nice like when they put hamilton on disney + and everyone was like wow this filmed play is so nice...but it's still a play so it just won't be the same. and the you have to watch this to understand this thing generally annoys me like this is not the mcu...and i know it's just one play but it's the principle. i hate being forced to watch things that are not my show to understand my show they had deluca be stabbed in a station 19 episode and die in a grey's episode and i still didn't watch station 19 because they've been trying to force everyone to watch it for years with the crossovers (i know what i'm describing is just a spin-off. but the way they do it is just so out of pocket) and it annoys me SO MUCH if it's important information i shouldn't have to watch something else to get the info!!! and i know it's just one play and it's in the past anyway i just wanted to give an example of how much i dislike having to watch something else. it annoys me. both the having to watch something other than my show to understand my show and the fact that it's a play so watching it on netflix is just not gonna be the same.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[navree]

hm.

hm.

[yellow-faerie]

Wow, I have a fic description and a fic title before I've even established a proper fic plot

(this is probably because I'm very excited about this fic and it's potential...)

Edit:

Here are my tags because I started explaining the plot and want it actually in the post rather than just the tags lol:

[jaeyunverse]

only 6 more days for 12th grade to officially finish and my exams to be over. perhaps jaeyunverse comeback with a long fic ????? 😳