#like it would never happen because she isn’t karen

[ickypuppi3]

i wanna say billy to dustin

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 2

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Underage smoking, underage drinking, ED mentions.

Parts

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

Regina doesn’t say a word to you, or even glance your way.

She storms in and throws her bag down onto the bed next to yours, sweeping your clothes onto the floor with her hand. You open you mouth to protest but she cuts you off.

“Not a word, loser.”

Loser means she hasn’t got anything specific against you. No blackmail material, no weird rumours. Loser is a good place to be.

You sit on your bed and watch in silence as she starts to replace the pillows on the bed with her own pink pillows and satin blanket. She takes up over half the drawers for her own clothes, moving yours into a single pile at the bottom of the shared wardrobe. She puts her makeup and toothbrush, both varying shades of pink in the bathroom. She’s marking her territory.

“Don’t touch my shit.” She scowls, flips her hair and swiftly leaves the cabin. Her faint vanilla scent lingers in the air. It’s both intoxicating and sickly.

You wait a few minutes before you leave too, just to make sure you don’t accidentally bump into her and make yourself a target. The last thing you want is to be Regina’s plaything of the week.

Todays activity would be orienteering. You stand around the campfire pit, avoiding the crowd, waiting for instruction on where to go.

“Please stay in your room groups, follow the map you’ve been given. You’ll be taken to where your group will be starting, just follow the map back to camp. Everyone understand?”

There are excited chatters as everyone groups up with their friends. Unfortunately for you, the crowd parts to reveal Regina who’s giving you a look like she might murder you in the woods and leave you there.

You wait, in silence, next to Regina, for a camp member to pick you up in a jeep and drive through the forest to your particular starting point.

“Please don’t make me, don’t leave me here. I’m too pretty for this” Regina whines as the keep drives away, leaving you both stranded in a clearing.

Against better judgement you decide to speak. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go with Karen and Gretchen.”

“Whatever, just give me the map.” She snaps and snatches it from your hands. Wordlessly she stomps off through the trees. You have no option but to follow like a lost puppy.

As it happens, Regina isn’t a great map reader. And lots of the forest looks identical which makes it even harder. Your feet start to ache, you feel like you’ve been walking in circles for the past couple of hours.

“Can I please just look quickly, I trust you know where we’re going but I think I should still just look at the map” you try to reason which was clearly an awful move because she starts to turn around slowly to face you.

She moves,she’s stalking you like prey as she comes towards you.

“Are you calling me dumb?” She growls.

You shake your head, suddenly unable to speak, afraid that any sound past your lips would make her pounce.

“I’m reading the map, loser. I don’t want to be stuck out here any longer than necessary.” She spins around and continues her forward march through the forest.

This is going to be a long day.

It’s been hours since you or Regina said a word to each other, and hours since you started walking. You hadn’t stopped for a break. You managed to eat an apple while you walked, throwing the core into a bush but Regina hadn’t taken her hands off of the map to eat, drink or give you a look at where you were going.

You felt for your box of cigarettes in your pocket. Regina probably wouldn’t turn around or notice, and you needed one now, Regina is really starting to test your patience. Just as you put the cigarette to your lips ready to light ,Regina’s knee buckles and she trips slightly, heading straight for the ground.

Instinctively you go to catch her, both hands under her arms.

“Get off me weirdo.” She barks but it comes out a little more strained than usual. She’s gone pale and there’s a sheen of sweat across her perfect forehead. Somehow she’s still effortlessly beautiful.

She pushes herself up and tries to keep walking but her legs start to falter again and you rush forward again and catch her as she faints.

You try calling her name, shaking her gently, offering her water but nothing brings her round. Her hands feel cold.

Fuck.

In a panic you call the emergency number a teacher had given you and someone says they’ll come to collect you both in a jeep and administer first aid.

Regina comes round before the jeep arrives and you can feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off her. You try and think of something to say. She doesn’t speak to you the entire way back.

Everyone stares as they see you both come back to camp after being picked up but Regina plays it off well, bragging that she even gets treated like royalty here. You admire her ability to make quick excuses, and to be honest she still looks like royalty. Beautiful blonde hair cascading past her shoulders, icy blue eyes, sweet vanilla scent, outfit still perfect. Only you noticed the lingering sweat, the nervous look in her eye and the slight grass stain on the back of her jacket.

When the car stops Regina gets out and immediately goes to find Gretchen and Karen to sit together for dinner. Half of you is glad she’s gone, she was starting to get irritating, but you also want to make sure she’s okay. You go back to the table you were at before, you can’t help but watch her again.

Just making sure she’s okay, you repeat to yourself.

This time you watch her eat closely, notice she picks up food and when her friends aren’t looking and drops it under the bench onto the dusty floor. You wonder if that’s why she fainted earlier. You’re not sure why the thought of that makes you angry, and a knot forms in your stomach. It makes it hard to finish your food.

When dinner is over the teachers watch the three girls closely, making sure they go back to their newly assigned cabins. All three comply which means there’s a moody Regina heading your way.

You sit on your bed and pretend not to hear the door open, and keep your eyes fixed on your phone, pretending to read or maybe scroll social media.

The giveaway is that you forgot to let out the breath you were holding.

“If you tell anyone what happened I will ruin your life.”

You just nod, not daring to look up at her until you hear her lay on her bed and roll so she’s facing the wall away from you.

Then you allow your eyes to look at the sleeping lioness, her breathing seems slow. Maybe she’s asleep.

Your eyes trace down her curves- that is dangerous territory. You look away sharply just incase somehow she knows you’re looking.

She’s probably asleep.

You reach over to your bag and try and pull out your switch as quietly as possible. Mario kart, that’ll take your mind off of Regina.

You’re on your third lap when you feel the bed move and smell that addicting, warm vanilla scent.

“What is that you’re playing, dweeb?” It’s like she can’t even ask a normal question without it being insulting.

“Mario kart? Have you never played Mario kart?” You question her, meeting her gaze which seems slightly less intense than usual. To be honest, you can’t really picture someone like Regina playing a dorky game like Mario.

You disconnect the joy cons and throw one at her. She gives you a wary, icy look and picks up one of the controllers, scooting closer while still maintaining a large gap between you both.

You’re disappointed for some reason.

She obviously picks peach, and the pinkest cart, completely ignoring its stats which makes you giggle to yourself. You play as Bowser.

The first race you explain the controls to her, she picks it up quite quickly but you have years of experience on her and win.

She pouts and sends a glare your way. You stick your tongue out.

She giggles, Regina giggles and it might be the best sound you’ve heard. You definitely want to hear more. She doesn’t seem threatening like this. How much of Regina was an act?

The second race, she loses again, you win but not by too much, she’s definitely getting better. When you look over at her, her brows are furrowed and she’s completely lost in the game now, determined to win. The way she licks her lips when she’s concentrating makes you blush, and you’re glad she doesn’t look up.

The third game is nearly neck and neck but you beat her again. She finally snaps.

“What the fuck, you gave me a shit controller! I could have beat you!” She yells.

“Not my fault you suck at Mario kart.” You quip back bravely. She also sucks at losing apparently.

Suddenly she springs up and pounces, desperately trying to grab the controller off of you, but you hold on. You nearly forget why you’re holding it, mostly you’re squeezing the controller to distract yourself from Regina’s hair tickling your face, her lips being so close, her knees either side of your thighs.

She puts up a good fight but you start to see that familiar sheen of sweat and she seems cold and clammy all of a sudden. She must notice this because she huffs out a whatever and gets up, wobbling to her bed.

You miss everything about her suddenly, that one hit of the real Regina was enough to have you addicted.

She lays again, but this time face up, trying to control her breathing. You realise she’s on the verge of passing out again.

“I have a cereal bar in my bag, I don’t want it, you’re welcome to have it.”

She huffs and looks at you.

“I’m not accepting food from anyone after that stunt Cady Heron pulled. Who knows, you might be giving me a bar of lard.” She spits, but you can tell even speaking is hard for her now.

“It was just an offer.” You reply quietly.

Once she’s steadied herself again she stands and rummage through her bag, pulling out a half empty bottle of vodka and 2 plastic cups. She pours 2 shots worth into both and fills it with a fizzy orange mixer. She hands you a cup.

“You better not get too drunk and puke and get me into trouble like Karen.” She says as she takes a sip.

You both drink in silence for a while. The alcohol makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and a little too calm in Regina’s presence.

“Why don’t I know you?” Regina suddenly breaks the silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not a new student, so why don’t I know you, I don’t know what you’re about.” She leans towards you like she’s inspecting you.

“I don’t know I just stay out of the drama.” You answer truthfully.

“Huh, boring answer.” She says taking another drink. “You’re friends with Pyro Lez though, that’s not exactly staying out of it.”

You shake your head “I only started hanging with them after that whole mess. Me and Janis have a mutual interest.”

“Is it girls?”

You stutter for a moment and see a glimpse of intrigue flash across Regina’s face.

“It’s art.”

You haven’t lied. That’s what connected you and Janis in the first place, it was a lucky dodge to the question.

She’s staring at you with an unreadable expression and you decide to stand awkwardly and get your cigarettes. You need a break from Regina, this feels all too much like she’s trying to uncover your weak spot.

It’s hard to tell what’s genuine or not.

You sneak outside to your spot from last night and light the cigarette, inhaling deeply, mostly from the butterflies in your stomach, bouncing around your rib cage.

Obviously you noticed Regina at school, who didn’t? But you’ve never had this much interaction with her. You can see why people fall victim to her so easily, there’s a side to her that seems so real, Is this part of her trap? Maybe you’re just easy prey but the chase is feeling all too thrilling.

Everything about her draws you in, golden hair, soft lips, even her scent. Are her lips as soft as they look?

Before you can register, the cigarette is pulled from your lips as you see Regina take a drag and then place it back between your fingers.

You skin burns where her hand brushes yours.

Suddenly she reaches to grip your hand, steadying herself. She clearly feels faint again. She’s swaying slightly and she looks like she’s losing focus.

“You need to eat something.” You state bluntly.

“Whatever you don’t know me.” She spits back, but she’s still gripping your hand. She starts to lean a bit too much.

“Fuck, Regina. Okay we’re going back inside.” You have to half drag her back inside the cabin and prop her up on the bed.

You check the cabins mini fridge, you brought enough food to sustain you that week. You didn’t know if the camp would have vegan food so better safe than sorry. Luckily the cabin had a mini fridge, probably for drinks but you stored some meals in there to keep fresh, and there was a microwave in the small kitchen.

You grab a pot and throw it in the microwave. Hopefully Regina doesn’t mind mushrooms.

She’s still laying on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get the room to stop spinning. You feel momentarily guilty for drinking with her, you knew she hadn’t eaten, it was a bad idea.

The microwave pings and you grab a fork and take it over to Regina.

“I’m not eating that, it’s probably processed shit.” It comes out as a defeated sigh.

“I made it, just eat something please, passing out wouldn’t be a good look” This makes her think, and she picks up the fork and takes a bite. The whole time she’s glaring at you so you decide to sit on the bed and play on your switch again.

You don’t look up for a good half an hour. Worried that Regina will stop eating if you so much as move. Clearly the whole thing with Cady has made her wary of food. The thought makes you feel sick. The plastics may rule the school but the constant insecurity that seems to come with it is too big of a price to pay.

A quiet voice breaks the silence.

“Thank you.”

You smile slightly but still don’t look up from your game until you hear shuffling and Regina is holding your sketchbook before you have time to snatch it back.

Your heart is in your throat, you’re not sure why her possible criticism of your sketch bothers you so much.

“This is beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, you idiot why don’t you see it, you think, but don’t say it out loud.

She tears the page from your book. Great, Back to cruel Regina, tearing up anything she doesn’t see as worthy.

What you don’t expect is her folding and placing the sketch under her pillow.

“I’m tired now.” She yawns and climbs into bed, flicking the lamp next to her off.

You’re left in the dark, confused, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps across your lips.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, “with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside. 

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

.

.

.

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

 Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

[shanastoryteller]

happy birthday! 🌻🌻🌻 mdzs identity porn or dealer’s choice please :)

When Shawn is twelve years old, he goes out to ride his bike before dinner and never comes back.

It’s not the first time Shawn’s stayed out later than he was supposed to, so Madeline sighs and puts dinner in the oven and goes searching, figures the walk will at least be an opportunity to snap some photos with her new camera. But as she walks block after block and there’s no sign of her son, she becomes even more concerned.

One hour crawls to two. She returns home to phone the Gusters, but they say Shawn isn’t there, that Gus hasn’t seen him since yesterday. Heart in her throat, she dials the station.

“Hi Honey,” Henry says, distracted. “I told you I was working late-”

“I can’t find Shawn,” she says.

There’s a one tense beat of silence then he snaps, “What are you talking about?”

“He went out on his bike and he didn’t come back for dinner and I didn’t see him anywhere and he’s not with Gus,” she says and she can hear the tears in her voice. “Henry.”

“Karen and I are taking a cruiser out to look for him,” he says, voice suddenly all business. “You stay at home and call dispatch if he comes home, alright?”

“Alright,” she whispers, “what if-”

“Maddie,” he interrupts, voice firm and unyielding and still not enough to hide his fear. “This is Shawn. I’m sure he just got caught up in something. Everything is going to be fine.”

~

“You can’t just take him!” she says, eyes wild in a way they hadn’t been while he helped her unload groceries. “He’s not like the practice people, someone will notice he’s missing!”

“Yes,” says the old man, with a sturdy, implacable face that’s somehow so much unsettling than her mania. “That is unfortunate. We’ll have to move. But you shouldn’t have invited him inside.”

“Just let him go,” she insists. “We have to move anyway. Just tie him up and pack everything and we’ll be long gone by the time he wriggles free. He doesn’t know anything.”

He sighs. “Darling. He noticed the blood.”

“No, he didn’t,” she says, then looks to him. “Did you?”

Shawn shakes his head, the gag in his mouth preventing him from talking, which is unfortunate, because he’s better at lying when he’s speaking.

He had noticed the blood, faint as it was against the wall, and the scuff marks, and he was planning on getting out of there and going straight to his dad and telling him that he thinks he knows what’s really happening to the beach bums that have washed up on shore, and it’s got nothing to do with too much alcohol and high tide.

She would have let him leave. He was almost out the door when the old guy showed up.

“He’s a clever boy, I’ll give him that,” he says, offhand. “It’s unfortunate.”

He opens into a drawer and pulls out a knife. Shawn tugs even harder at his bonds, but they don’t give an inch.

“No!” She steps in front of him, arms wide. “I like him! He’s nice, and good, and you can’t play with him. I won’t let you.”

Anger wild enough to make Shawn flinch away steals across his face before he folds it back under his veneer of civility. “Very well, darling. You can have a playmate. But if he can’t be controlled, he must be disposed of. Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, shifting to completely block him from Shawn’s view – and Shawn from his, which he thinks may have been her goal. “Thank you. We’ll be good.”

“You better be,” he says sternly. “Don’t make me regret this, Yang.”

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cabin in the woods (yan!slasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!slasher!Horangi) part 3

Little birdie got caught. Konig is simply too excited to let you go. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 AO3

TW for the chapter: Light blood and gore, dead bodies, mentions of drugs, spanking, kidnapping

— Those fucking bastards killed Karen! Don’t you care?! 

Shouting at your friends was never your forte, but you expected that it would come out at some point in your unwilling journey, You never knew it would because of the psycho killers on the loose, wanting nothing more but to make a nice set of decorations from your bones and eat your liver. 

You try to scream some senses into Chad’s tough skull but, just like his name suggests, this is a useless endeavor and you would be far better off running for your life, abandoning your friends, and hoping that killers would be satisfied without your sacrifice. But, you’re too nice. But, you have a bleeding heart and a death wish – and you feel guilty over not feeling guilty that Karen is dead. This is a new, overwhelming feeling for you, the one that almost revamps your whole essence. There are changes occurring, and you would rather die than acknowledge those changes. 

— Listen to me, goddamnit! We’re all going to die! 

You must be looking horrible – mouth covered in blood like you just ate a bunch of raw meat, smelling of dirt and fresh guts, hands shaking and your face resembling the horror mixed with anger – even Marty is surprised to see the resident mouse behave like this. God, even you are surprised to see just how horrified you look, screaming at them in the hope of saving at least someone. 

Marty drops a hand over your shoulders, pulling you to the side. You try to resist, but his clanky figure is surprisingly grippy and strong – you are being pulled to the nearest tree branches, just out of the range of the group. You spend the previous few hours trying to find them and yell some senses into their heads – and the only thing that they advised is that you should stop drinking for today and that stealing pills from Marty’s stash isn’t very nice even if he kinda doesn’t care where his junk goes. Still, you are fucking trembling. 

Marty pushes you to the tree, whispering in your ear – you feel his hot, deranged breath on the side of your face, making you wince. Even compared to the killer’s smell of sweat and blood, they still were nicer to be around than Stale-Beer-And-Cheap-Weed-Breath Marty. 

— Hey. Heeeeey, doll, what was happening back there? 

— Karen is…

— Nah-nah-nah, this is where you should shut up, yeah? Karen isn’t dead. I mean, I’m glad you think she is, it means my prank is fucking awesome. 

Prank? Her fucking head was chopped off and then tossed over to the nearest creek when the shorter killer decided that he wants you to perform a blowjob on his knife, making sure that you are licking all the blood away. You don’t think that there are ways to fake this – and if there are, then your friends and their hired goons are no better than actual killer psychos anyway and you’d still want out. 

— I saw her! 

— Sure you did, hon. Listen, I’m really glad you were the first to notice and everything, but keep it down for now, yeah? I have this sick mask and I was actually planning to prank the group later at night, but if you found it first…

— Prank?! There are two actual killers on the loose, this is the worst time to do pranks! — God, you’re annoying. This is why I fucking asked Jenny not to invite you. There are no killers, alright? Karen agreed to partake in the prank, so she is hiding somewhere in the forest until I’d pull out that sick knife and fucking scare everyone shitless. You were probably hallucinating from booze. 

— I saw her severed head!

— Sure you did. Listen – you can help me, yeah? Just rile everyone up a little, then you will come back and say that…hmmmm…that Marty was taken! Everyone panicking, screaming, crying, and then I show up with this big-ass knife and…

You never heard the last of his amazing, perfect, simply brilliant idea – because before he could finish it, his head was impaled with…oh, no. No-no-no, you can’t do this anymore, not so soon after Karen is dead, not when you are still shaking and can barely think straight not when you are far away from others because Marty fucking led you to another secured place just to get his stupid head impaled with a fucking crossbow bolt – something that you only saw in video games or historical dramas. 

This was completely silent – the quiet music of the bolt flying through the air, a small grunt that escaped Marty’s lips before he fell to the ground beneath your feet. You didn’t even manage to see from what direction this thing came from, too disoriented to observe the world around you properly. You feel the adrenaline running up again, probably breaking the record for you in the whole year – you jump from the body on the ground, tears dwelling in your eyes. You can’t do it, you can’t do it, you won’t do it, you were never a fighter, the freeze-fight-flight instinct always coming up to curling down in a small ball and sucking on your thumb. 

Some people are simply not built for survival – this is a natural order, something that Darwin was talking about. Soft, weak humans are meant to die, meant to be the food for stronger predators, for monsters dwelling in the shadows. Some creatures are never meant to exist – fleshy cute creatures, the ones that melt at the slightest touch, someone like you – when your first answer to a threat is to roll on your back and show your belly to a mountain lion, you just knew that evolution never meant for you to live past the crib. And yet, civilisation allowed you to survive. To thrive even, before you were put in this fucking forest. 

You run before everything else can kick in – at least some of your instincts are working properly, adrenaline running through your veins as you are leaving Marty behind, not even bothering to check if he is still breathing or not. The man was never thinking with his head – not the upper one anyway – but you doubt that he would survive a bolt shot perfectly between his eyes, separating his brain in two perfect halves. Like a fucking apple. 

You ran 

 ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎   ‎‎      ‎    and you ran ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎  ‏‏‎  ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎      and you ran some more

And you ran right into his chest. 

Wall of muscles, no less – you aren’t even sure if this is a human’s body, too sturdy and hard and perfect to belong to something less of a Roman statue. You feel tears running down your face, panic not even bothering to settle in – you know you would be dead in the next few moments, brain tragically easy saying goodbye to being intact. A pathetic sob escapes your throat as you are caught for the second time in this night – lady luck might be smiling upon you the first time, but you doubt you can be her favorite for long. 

— I thought the rule of escaping was to run away from danger. 

This is the tall killer – low voice, secured by the mask, making it almost unrecognizable. You shake as a big, glowed hand goes on your back, laying there heavily. Even more pathetic sounds are produced from your lips, and you are almost ready to beg him for a quick, painless death – his hand is big enough to cover your head and you don’t want to think of the implications that he might crush your skull with just his fingers. 

König listens to your sobs, doing nothing but keeping a firm hand on your back, securing you in place. You sob and whine and tremble in his hold – and he was never more hard in his life. What an adorable, pathetic little creature you are. Helpless in his hold – even squirrels can fight, scratching and biting. You were sobbing in his hold like the perfect kleine prey you are, and he could almost pretend this was a hug. 

— Tshhh, Hase, don’t cry. I won’t be able to let you go if you’d proceed with those sweet noises, ja? 

His revelation only makes you squirm more. You finally try to get out of his bear-like hug – only to realize that all of your little movements and struggles fit perfectly with the enormous, pulsating bulge in his pants that can probably be considered a murder weapon on its own and shouldn’t be concealed since this is an obvious threat to…ah, on second thought, running around from a serial killer who has his monstrous dick hanging out would be worse. Much, much worse. 

— Let me go! 

You squirm one of your hands, punching his chest. Feels like punching a marble statue – the only thing you are hurting is your own hands. You try to resolve to a different form, jerking up your knee to land a blow on his crotch. 

He fucking moans. 

— Never knew you were such a fighter, Schatz. But I warned you, aren’t I? 

You don’t understand what he is talking about before he suddenly lifts you in his hands, dropping you on his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. You are crying, trying to get away, [unching him with your legs and your hands, all the adrenaline in your veins working solely for the purpose of inflicting as much pain on this enormous figure as possible. 

You tug on this weird hood he is wearing – if you are going to die, at least you would die exhausting all possible options, not feeling like you gave up without a fight. This is still a journey of self-respect and deep insight searches for the mysteriously hidden backbone of your body – maybe, yoga classes would be more effective and less dangerous but, unfortunately, you’re not a rich white housewife in her thirties, so not like you have money for a guru who would spend hours trying to convince your ovaries to stop dying on the inside. 

— Let! 

You punch him on the back, a multitude of well-served punches right into his back. He laughs, spreading his shoulders, cocking his chest forward like you were giving him a massage. With a groan, you made a very deliberate punch right in the middle of his back – and he moans from satisfaction, probably releasing some pent-up tension that he got from killing grandmas and destroying hotels. 

— Me! 

You tried to kick him in the chest, your legs working overtime as you cosplayed a rabid rabbit – only for him to laugh even more, his arm securing you holstered across his shoulder like your punches meant nothing. They probably didn’t – he is literally still holding a fucking crossbow in his other hand, managing to secure it on his side while moving towards…you only assume it to be a murder cabin because of course those freaks would have a murder cabin, why the hell not – probably with some cool classy furniture made out of bones. 

— Go! You finally manage to secure hold on the edge of his hood, yanking it upwards in hopes of actually revealing who the fuck is he – a dirty businessman who doesn’t like those damn kids and their dog to ruin his plans for burning down the forest to create a shopping mall? A nice old man who showed you the road when you were lost, but he is actually on a spree to get revenge on all young people for killing his pet chicken in 1997? One of those creepy guys at the corner store who was weirdly obsessive over you, talked like a serial killer, and was constantly and also came in pair with the guy whose height and manner perfectly resembled a pair of killers that are after you now? 

Probably the grandpa. 

You yank the mask up and…

Ah. 

Of course, he is wearing a freaking balaclava. The only thing that you managed to see were his eyes – blue, icy, pretty, filled with anger as he pulled the hood down, concealing his features again, without you even managing to take a closer look. You gulp loudly, preparing to die. 

He smacks your ass with a power that would be enough to break a bone – your only saving grace is that the flesh of your butt provided some cushion, instead leaving a nasty bruise and inability to sit for at least a few days. That is if you would even survive long enough to have problems sitting on your backside. You won’t have such problems if you’re dead, right? 

— Quiet, Schatz. I already breaking the rule for taking you too early. 

— Br…breaking a rule? Do you have a freaking hunting pact? 

— I promised Tiger that we’d let you roam around a little. Make things interesting. 

Ah, yes, because letting you go the first time was such a brilliant idea on their behalf. The only reasons you didn’t go straight to the police is because A) You don’t speak rural Austrian German, B) Your phone can’t connect to anything, and C) You don’t even know in what part of the forest you are. Also because you’re scared that the police are going to turn out treacherous people, just like in horror movies, and that it would fucking destroy your trust. 

— I can roam around. I can roam around just fucking perfect, ass…

Another loud smack on your ass makes you feel like a misbehaving kitten. He grips your ass through your jeans and you whimper a little bit, starting to cry again as his hand goes straight for the bottom, gripping your cunt through the tough layer of denim. You thank every god you know for making you wear ugly, but protective and thick jeans. Every time his hand goes to cup your most intimate parts, the fabric of your jeans protects it – you don’t even feel too violated when he pushes his fingers even more, desperately trying to get a reaction out of you. 

— Language, Hase. Don’t make me discipline you, ja? — Fuck you! — Very gut then. That’s what you will do very soon.

Oh, but the rough material grinding over your delicate, thin panties and the sensitivity of your cunt really makes you feel…something. You won’t want to admit it, he smells like blood and sweat(still better than Marty, but you shut down that thought before it was born because fuck the new abortion laws), and he spanks your ass only to grope your pussy right after – and he also has masterful fingers that are working at the hem of your jeans, making the fabric press even more against the sensitive skin and…

You try to think of something – anything. 

Dead bodies, dead bodies, a lot of dead bodies, and there are some dead puppies too and everything is gross and smelly and…ah, it’s not working. 

König touches your lower parts with a wide grin under his hood – you’re fucking perfect, a nice addition to their house. You bite when he needs a little fight and you shut up when he touches you – perfect birdie, adorable birdie, Horangi will probably be bitching about spoiling the fun since you’d be stuck with them without a proper chase like he wanted, but the tiger would come around once he’d emptied himself on your warm body just once. 

You squirm under his touch, moan and cry and tremble and he can’t stop imagining you in millions of different positions. Stuck in the basement of their house, on your knees like a good girl you are, maybe with some branding or a collar – it’s more of a Horangi’s thing, even though König hopes he won’t have to break you too much until you’d call him daddy – pushing you to their shared bed, making sure that you’re nice and stuck in some open positions, allowing them to take you without much repercussions. 

— Let me go. 

— Nein. 

— Please? 

— I like your begging, Spatz. 

— It means you’d let me go? 

— Nein. You will tell your little friends, and then you will run to the police, ruining our fun. You are not going anywhere. 

— But, um…your culprit will be mad, no? 

As cunning as you can, you’re trying to seal the seeds of destruction among them. You’re trying your damn best not to act too charming or too fake, just so he won’t fall in love with you for real and would try murder-suicide you, but also with enough charisma checks so you’d actually convince him. 

But, it’s not really working – maybe, you aren’t as good at spreading havoc as you thought you were. 

— He’d live. We would get to hold you in your house, little one. It’s enough to make him understand my reasons. 

It’s definitely enough to make you want to puke. He is fast, not even bothering to check on the body of your friend as he goes past it – he just marks it with something that resembles a piece of torn fabric and pushes some leaves and sticks on the body, probably signalling to his friend to come and get rid of the body – and then he changed your position a little bit, securing a hand on your ass he goes deeper into the forest. 

You’re trying to remember the location, maybe counting the trees and every bush that seems like a good mark – but you, a city girl raised on a cocktail of Google Maps and a constant internet connection, have already grown tired of trying to remember everything. Every tree is the fucking same, every turn feels like the one before and, at some point, you were sure that he is actually going in circles to make you understand the location even less. Your blurry vision obstructs the goal even more – you cried so much, it feels like your very eyes gave out. With a sigh of defeat, you metaphorically roll over to your back and present your belly to the predators. 

After a hike that felt like hours, but was probably like 10 minutes long – this guy has long legs and the determination of a dog dragging a really cool stick home and, before you know it, you’re standing in front of a…house. Nice house. Expensive house, a big house, something less of a mansion, but more of a shed that you thought he was going to live in because he is literally a serial killer. 

Even serial killers made good property investments in the respective years – and you were too busy with useless stuff, like learning how to walk or trying not to choke yourself on a piece of carrot. 

— Welcome home, Schatz. 

He gently lets you down from his shoulder, allowing you to take a closer look at your surroundings. Normal living room – literally nothing weird. Maybe a bit too much hunting trophies, maybe a lot of guns lying around, some overly manly decorations, and very questionable art pieces but if you’d see that house advertised on the property website, you wouldn’t even consider it too weird. You were expecting…something. Blood on the walls, furniture made out of human flesh and skin, a devilish feast for imps and every like them…

You saw nothing as König punched the back of your head, putting you to sleep. 

You fucking hate forest trips. 

[morganbritton132]

Eddie doesn’t post much over Parents weekend. When he does post, it’s a picture to the Official Corroded Coffin twitter account of Wayne rocking a vintage CC sweatshirt (vintage as in Eddie made it for him before the band even existed).

Overly invested fans don’t have to fret though because whereas Eddie isn’t posting, the kids are.

Every year they fill out bingo cards with Very Specific Things that they think will happen over the course of the weekend and play to see who gets bingo first. This all plays out across their TikTok accounts because the rule is: if you don’t get a video, it didn’t happen (the rule was made after the cheating scandal of 2016).

The game is always centered around whoever is hosting so this round is Steddie-centric. So, no one makes it obvious that Steve’s mom clearly didn’t show up, but if you’re invested enough in his mama drama than you’d pick up on everybody’s effort to keep him engaged enough that he doesn’t really have to think about it.

(1) The first to get a piece on the board are El, Mike, and Lucas. They manage to catch on video Claudia Henderson fully lifting Steve off his feet when she hugs him. You get three different angles of Dustin next to them with the most ‘are you shitting me?’ look on his face because she hugged Steve first.  This is a staple of these events. It happens every time. Everybody had it on their bingo cards but the others didn’t get it on camera. 

(2) Will has ‘Karen says something that would’ve gotten Steve’s neighbor burned at the stake’ on his card. He posts a TikTok of Karen referring to Steve and Eddie’s salt and pepper shakers as ‘kitschy.’ Steve smiles and says, “I know! Eddie picked them out.”

(3) ‘Eddie stands on a table’ was banned from being on the card because it has happened at every single event ever. ‘Eddie falling off a table and being caught by Steve’ however? Very specific. Weird it happened. Lucas gets points, but also a little side eye.

(4)It’s not going to win Erica any points, but she posts a video of her mom talking to Robin about finding her a good man. Now, don’t get her wrong. Sue Sinclair’s LGBT+ ally-ship is only rivaled by Joyce Byers, but she never remembers that Robin is a lesbian and Robin is always too awkward to correct her. It’s like watching two robots have a conversation because Sue mentions that Dustin is single and Robin is just like, “And…short?”

Eddie is not in the video but you can hear his wheezy laugh next to her. Erica’s just like, “Would you use your inhaler or die somewhere else?”

(5)Dustin posts a video of Steve standing by the window, clearly lost in thought as he stares out at the road. You can see Eddie sneaking up from a distance but instead of scaring Steve, he takes him by the hand and spins him around so they’re facing one another. Dustin isn’t close enough to hear what they’re saying but you can hear him mutter ‘gross’ when Eddie presses Steve up against the window to kiss him.

Steve’s the one to pull Eddie towards the stairs going to the studio, but they don’t actually make it down them because Hopper pulls Steve away to talk to him. There’s an argument between the party in the comments of the video of if this counts as ‘Steve and Eddie sneak off to make out like teenagers in the studio’ because they don’t actually succeed in sneaking away.

(6) Every single person playing gets a video of Hopper looking at Eddie and asking if he’s on drugs. Eddie says, “I don’t doOoOo drugs, Dad. It’s just marijuana.”

Dustin gets an extra point for catching Steve’s eye roll. Eddie has repeated that phrase at least a hundred times since Dustin told him about the Russian elevator.

(7) Max and Dustin both score a point with ‘Steve and El pull a “prank” on Eddie’ and it’s just Steve very confidently claiming that he can roll a nat 20 easy-peasy just by rolling the dice in a special way. Eddie obviously calls bullshit and then Steve rolls a 20 three times in a row.

After the fourth time, Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve and then spins around until he spots El on the other side of the room and points at her like “YOU!!!” No one watching understands this video. There are fights in the comments about what the hell is even happening here.

(8) Max is the only one with ‘Eddie says ACAB’ on her card. She posts a video of her handwritten card and then pans the camera up to Eddie. They’re all sitting around a bonfire later in the evening. Steve’s practically in Eddie’s lap as Eddie says, “-exactly what I mean, ACAB! All cops are bastards!”

Steve: Not Hopper

Eddie: Especially Hopper! Are you kidding me? Do you know how much weed he stole from me?

(9) Mike catches Steve and Eddie sharing a cigarette on the front porch later that night. It’s only after someone edits the video to remove the sound of the wind that you can kinda hear Steve say ‘It’s just that this is kinda it, right? I opened the door and she slammed it in my face.’

Most of the conversation is inaudible, but Joyce catching them and taking the cigarette from them is not. Neither is her shooing them back inside and finishing the cigarette herself.

(10) The party members all end up staying the night and everybody sleeps in the living room since Hopper and Joyce have Steve and Eddie’s bedroom and Wayne has the guest room. Steve and Eddie sleep on the couch because Eddie’s back can’t handle the floor. Max and Lucas get an air mattress, and Dustin claims the other side of the couch with El since they’re the only single people there. Everybody else is on the floor

Max wins bingo with a one-two punch the following morning with Mike complaining that Steve stepped on him with his big ass sleepwalking feet and Dustin posting a picture to his Instagram of him, Claudia, and Steve with the caption “best moms a guy could have.”

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[river-of-wine]

I hate the attitude that so many people in the RDR2 fanbase have that gun = strong. When discussing the women - Abigail, Molly and Mary specifically here because they are who I was talking about when I was told these things - who are, to me undoubtedly, strong women who withstand horrible circumstances, I am told that no, actually, they’re not strong. Only women like Sadie are strong, or maybe Miss Grimshaw, on a rare occasion Karen, but always Sadie, because Sadie has a gun and she kills people with it.

I know I pin a lot of things on misogyny in this fanbase, but in a gaming space mostly full of men, you’re going to see a lot of it, and the way men and some women who like Sadie discuss her has always reeked of it to me. They reduce her down to only being a gun, taking away the actual depth and emotion of her character in favour of seeing her as one of the men, because she wears boy clothes and has a gun and she’s nice to Arthur, so she’s cool. Not like Molly who cries all the time and wants to die, not like Abigail who’s doing everything for a man, who aren’t strong at all despite what they have been through because they never go on a shooting spree, which as we know is the only thing that makes a woman strong.

The way Sadie is viewed by these people also completely diminishes the person Sadie actually is. I have so often found that Sadie is only held in such favour by certain men in the fanbase because she is the easiest woman to turn into a man, as it were, or they’re attracted to her. She dresses like them, spends most of her time around them, kills lots of people like them, and she’s still very pretty, so if you only value women for fitting in with men or for how attractive you find them, Sadie is the perfect candidate. She challenges plenty of men, but not Arthur, so she’s a good one, and she’s even got a more neutral stance on Dutch, so she’s doubly a good one, because now she’s not angry with the cool leader either.

This is not to say Sadie gets no hate. She absolutely does, and it’s all as unwarranted as you’d expect. Sadie has established skills with her gun, she’s going to be skilled with it when she picks one up, her and her husband shared the work as she says. She is rash and she has a short fuse, but her husband was murdered and she’s not going to be at all calm about that. Her final mission is optional. If you don’t want Arthur to go on that, don’t make him. She got a lot of people killed unnecessarily. She’s flawed, she’s very, very flawed, and she’s also not the only character to cause the deaths of innocent people during the game. But just as much as overly criticising her behaviour and looking at no motivations or reasoning she might have had, treating her more critically than you would the men, reducing her down to her flaws is an unfair view of her character, so is reducing her down to a generic cool woman character with nothing happening besides guns and chest, because that’s apparently all women are good for to plenty of the men in the fanbase.

The point of this ramble is just that Sadie is more than her gun, she has a whole personality in there, and while I do think it’s a shame that the entirety of her character was hinged on her revenge until the epilogue since it gave us quite a limited perspective on her, we still get to meet her properly when the epilogue comes around and she has mostly gotten over her grief. Sadie isn’t just a gun and her strength doesn’t just come from her killing lots of people, and there is no lack of strength in Molly, Abigail and Mary because they either kill very few people or none at all.

The strength these women have does not come from the bodies at their feet. Arthur Morgan isn’t a strong man because he kills people. Why is that only a condition for the women? Why does Abigail coming from being a teenage sex worker, a dangerous industry at the best of times, to a very young mother trying her best to keep her family together, to give her son a better life than she had not constitute as strength? What about that does not make her a strong person? Same for Mary, same for Molly. Both went through a lot of abuse, Mary did all she could to protect her brother and Molly’s drove her off such a frightened, paranoid edge, leaving her convinced everybody in the gang who she already knew weren’t the biggest fans at her were laughing at her, and yet she still went through multiple sessions of being sweater by the Pinkertons - who, I’ll remind you, treated Strauss rough enough to kill him - and didn’t say a word. How aren’t they strong?

They don’t have guns. Abigail kills Milton, but he’s a character you 100% hate by now. Mary and Molly never kill anybody. If your one condition for a female character being cool and strong is they shoot a lot of people, these three don’t fit that, but if that’s your condition for the women, that says more about you. Stop using Sadie Adler to back up your misogynistic feelings about the other women, she’d hate that

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine

TW: little bit of nsfw, BDSM mention, angst

You shouldn’t be googling ‘how to tell a guy no in a nice way’ at the nurse’s station, but something has to be done. You thought after you left Julian’s place that there would be a mutual understanding of “this isn’t going to work out, we’re too incompatible”, but he didn’t seem to get that memo. 

The gifts just keep coming:

A pretty black silk dress in your exact size by Prada. Two crescent thin golden bangles for each wrist from Tiffany & Co that come in a robin’s egg blue box wrapped in a white satin ribbon. Upon close examination, you make out that they are subtly engraved in slanting script, JM. Really? His initials? You almost chuck them out the window just for that. 

An expensive lunch from the fancy bistro that you can never afford, though you would have preferred a gourmet sandwich to an artisan salad. 

A bouquet of fifty fucking red roses for Christ’s sake. They take up so much room at the nurse’s station that they’re a nuisance. They’re addressed to you, not signed—but you know exactly who they’re from. Then you have to field all the annoying questions about who’s your secret admirer? You hear Karen grumble that it must be that Officer Romeo and didn’t know cops got paid that good. 

If only they knew. It would serve Julian right, if you just ratted him out to everyone. 

This has to stop. 

“Julian?” 

He looks up from his mountain of paperwork. “Hey, look who it is. Are you feeling alright?” 

“I’m fine. How are you?” Yeah, great, egg this on a little bit more instead of getting to the point. When will you learn? 

“I’m spectacular,” he says. “I was wondering if you were alright because you called off for the first time yesterday?” 

Yeah, so I didn’t have to face you after receiving the expensive ass jewelry…

Your smile feels forced enough to induce a migraine, but at least it gives you an idea for an excuse. “Yeah, I had a really bad migraine.”

“Oh, that’s not good. Do you get them frequently?”

“Yes.” It’s not exactly a lie, although these migraines you’re admitting to are actually just mild caffeine withdrawal headaches when you don’t have enough time to drink your coffee. 

“Have you talked to your primary care provider about it?” He asks, standing up to flash his penlight in your eyes and dilate your pupils. He grips your chin and turns your head to check lateral eye movement, but you stop him. 

“Julian, I’m fine. I didn’t have a stroke.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re fine if you’re not fine,” he orders. “I can see there’s something wrong. You're pale and clammy.” He pulls out his big leather chair and guides you to sit in it. “Tell me what I can do to help.” 

You look up at him, at this kind eyed, two sided man, and can’t do it. You can’t tell him to stop sending you gifts or buying you food, because you don’t want to be an asshole and you don’t want to hurt his feelings. Your nerves die along with your resolve.

“There, see, you look like you’re feeling better already. I’ll go buy you some water.” 

“No, you don’t-“ he’s already gone halfway down the hall with those mile long legs. 

You decide to take all the expensive gifts and shove them in the bottom of your closet to avoid feeling guilty when looking at them. But that doesn’t change the fact that you still have to look at Dr. Mercer and endure his caring, golden retriever persona.

This is what happens when you lie to yourself. You swear off relationships, move to a different part of the country, and then decide to go on a date—idiot—and these are the consequences for it. You feel like you have absolutely betrayed that girl that packed up her whole life to come to LA for a fresh start, and you’re sure she’s not forgiving you this time. 

“No more,” you say to yourself, pushing the gift boxes to the back of the cobwebby closet. “No more dates, no more men. No more heartbreak. You stupid bitch. Yes, that includes Tom Ludlow. Shut up. I said. No. Tom. Ludlow.” 

You end up screaming into a pillow, then calling your sister. She doesn’t answer, which is typical—probably on the road or using again or even dead in a ditch for all you know.

“Hey, Aggie, it’s me, gimme a call.” You play the voicemail back and then decide to delete it and hang up. You’re not exactly on speaking terms, but that ebbs and flows from one year to the next, so you’re not sure what she’ll think or do when she sees your name on her phone screen. 

Your friend, Sheila, doesn’t answer either; she’s probably at work.

It sucks. You could really use some reassurance and comfort that you’re not alone or unwanted in this fucked up little world. Maybe that’s why you end up with your finger hovering over Tom Ludlow’s number while you sit on the floor of your bedroom. You stare at those digits for a long time, then tuck your phone away and cry. 

You only get a chance to dive a little bit into this self pity session before your phone rings from your pocket. It’s not Aggie, nor Sheila, but a number you’ve unintentionally memorized nonetheless. 

Now, you really have to fight with every piece of yourself not to answer Tom Ludlow. The lecture you just monologued becomes irrelevant next to the burning, awful fucking desire to hear him talk. You almost pick it up. Almost. 

Watching your phone ring and ring, his name emblazoned on the screen, without answering feels like cutting out your heart and crushing it under your heel.

It goes to voicemail, but he hangs up before leaving a message.

A part of you that you didn’t even know that you need dies.

Good. Good riddance. Your heart only gets you into huge fucking trouble anyway.

You wait for your inner strength to return over the days that go by afterwards. Tom continues to call. You keep declining to answer. For some reason, you feel worse and worse every time the phone ceases to ring.

Where is you fucking girl power now? 

All you really feel, is empty, and that is the vulnerable state Julian finds you in one late night at the nurses station.

“Y/n,” he greets you, leaning on the counter, looking down at you with a glimmer of something dangerous in his dark eyes. It’s a look he almost never lets out of the box while at the hospital, and suddenly your heart is in your throat.

“Doctor.”

For some reason this causes him to smile down at you, a slight curl of lips that unleashes a handful of fluttering butterflies in your belly. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

You recall the massive bouquet of pure white lilies he had sent to your door yesterday, and believe him. 

“Julian…”

He comes around the counter, smooth as a dark lake, reminding you of when he jumped over the couch and chased you like he was a wolf rather than a golden retriever. Your pussy gives a timid little throb at this, almost as if she’s asking for permission to come out after days of being punished, locked away in her gilded cage while you dealt with other, more pressing emotions, like the one that stabs you repeatedly in the chest while you let Tom Ludlow’s number go to voicemail. 

“I can’t stop-“ he clears his throat, chin up as if he’s trying not to be nervous, and brushes some wispy, rogue hair off your neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” You can tell by the black matte of his eyes he means more than just platonically. 

Every hair on your body stands at attention for that hungry, eat you alive look on the handsome Doctor’s face. Part of you, and it’s a bigger part than you’d like to admit, wants to have a gag stuffed down your throat and a tight slip knot holding it in place so that he can do whatever he wants without you ruining things with your fat mouth again. 

“We’re just. We’re really not—Fuck.” You slap your forehead into your hands, and he takes it out, ever so gently with a big, shiver-inducing palm at the back of your neck, gripped softly in your hair, not exactly pulling, but lifting your face up to look at him nonetheless. 

“Please, just hear me out.” It doesn’t sound like he’s used that first word very often—maybe not ever, or at least not for a very long time. Dr. Mercer’s picture is in the dictionary under the word ‘Polite’, but he practically runs this hospital, and with that responsibility comes a certain authoritative entitlement. 

“Julian, we’re at work.” You don’t know how he manages to get you on the desk without alerting anyone around. The way he can just lift you easy and gentle has a familiar desire bubbling hot in your hips, and you can’t decide if you’re glad that you chose to chart in a more secluded area of the floor tonight or not.

“I can’t help it.” It sounds like he’s honest about that, voice splintering and needy as he presses his hard torso between your soft thighs. “I know that I fucked up, but if I don’t get a second chance to at least try and rectify this…” He’s not usually a man that doesn’t know what he wants to say. 

This whole swearing off men thing? How is it supposed to fucking work if the men look and act like Julian? How are you supposed to do the whole proverbial keep it in your pants bit when a sexy, tall, beautiful doctor wants—desperately—to string you up to his bed and do horrible things to your body?

You can’t believe these words are coming out of your traitor's mouth as you bend under his will: “what kind of a second chance?”

He kisses you in response, long and slow, tongue slipping teasingly against the sensitive inner sanctum of your mouth. It leaves your toes curling, your chest rising quick and rapid, your white knuckles clutching the polished counter. He’s not exactly nice about it, pressing you back into the lip of the granite, holding the entire side of your face in his hard grip, turning your mouth red and swollen. 

You’re going to have to bleach wipe this desk after all of this is done, because the insistent need of his mouth is making your comfy cotton underwear damp and warm like a humid summer night back at home. 

“Let me take you to the club. Let me show you…let me help you understand.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Isn’t that the fucking understatement of the century? It sounds like a terrible idea. But, you were the one that wanted to understand him better. “When?” 

The thrill seeker, she’ll never die. She needs blood, she’s thirsty, she doesn’t want a boring life of reading and watching the news. She wants to go to a BDSM club in Venice with a fine ass doctor and probably ruin your—her life in the process.

“When are you off next?” The grin on Julian’s face is all Mr. Hyde. 

[erikahenningsen]

93. “It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion.” + rejanis

Janis watches Regina change dramatically over the summer between their junior and senior years. She’s still intense at times, but she’s gentler—apologizing if she snaps at Gretchen or if she makes a dig at Karen that’s a little too pointed to be passed off as a joke. 

Damian likes to joke that the bus knocked the bitch out of her. (Janis smacks him every time he says that because she could have died, you asshole.)

Janis wonders if it has to do with the bus. It was the first time in Regina’s life that she became an outsider, just another unremarkable person stumbling through the crowded hallways.

Janis asks Regina about it one night when they’ve both maybe had a little bit too much to drink. Regina recounts, staring down into her cup, waking up in the hospital to see her mother, Gretchen, and Karen ready with gifts and flowers. 

“I was so shitty to them but they were still there for me,” Regina says. “I’m trying now to be the friend that would deserve that.”

Regina looks up at Janis. “You know I’m sorry, right?” she asks quietly. “I’m really sorry.”

Janis sighs. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

“Thanks,” Regina says softly, looking down at her hands. “I can’t fix what I did, but I will make sure it never happens again.” 

Janis nods, not really sure what to say. She doesn’t like feeling vulnerable and she definitely doesn’t like feeling vulnerable around Regina, so she suggests they rejoin the party.

Regina agrees, her eyes flashing for just a moment with what looks like disappointment.

Janis half-stumbles behind Regina into the kitchen, scanning the counters for a bottle of water. All of a sudden, Jason Weems materializes in front of her, looking (and smelling) like he grew up in a parallel universe where toothbrushes hadn’t been invented yet.

“Hey, Janis,” Jason says, much closer than Janis would prefer. “I have a question for you.”

Janis eyes him warily. She’s used to his routine: cornering her wherever he can find her, making some crude “joke” about her sexuality, then bringing whatever she says in response to his equally hygiene-challenged buddies.

Janis just sighs and rolls her eyes. Better to get this over with quickly. 

“Does the carpet match the drapes?” Jason asks.

Janis just stares at him. “Huh?”

Jason looks pointedly between her and Regina, who Janis just realizes now is lingering a few feet away, watching this exchange with a sour expression on her face. 

“I saw you two come back in here,” Jason says, voice low, and Janis is actually grateful for it—the last thing she needs is another nuclear Regina gay meltdown.

“Fuck off, Jason,” Janis mutters, and tries to push past him.

“Hey, come on,” Jason says. “Don’t be like that.”

“She said, fuck off,” someone says, and Janis belatedly realizes it’s Regina. Her acrylic nails are curled into the skin of Jason’s shoulder.

Jason jerks his shoulder, trying to shake her off. “Jeez, relax. We were just talking.”

People are starting to look over at them, and Janis feels her heart rate start to spike.

“Well, conversation’s over,” Regina snaps.

“You’re such bitches,” Jason says, finally shaking Regina off and starting to walk away. “Both of you.”

“It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion,” Regina growls at him.

Janis looks nervously around the kitchen, where people are openly staring, then at Regina, who’s breathing hard. Regina seems to come back into herself and catches the stricken look on Janis’s face. Abruptly, she turns and walks away, pushing past people and disappearing out the back door.

Well, Janis certainly isn’t going to stick around to be gawked at like an animal on display at the zoo, and she doesn’t particularly want to be seen chasing after Regina, so she locks herself in the bathroom for a few minutes to calm herself down. 

That was strange. Like, so strange. Since when does Regina George come to her defense?

Janis finds Regina sitting on the steps of the back porch, shivering a little against the night air.

“So that was weird,” Janis comments. 

Regina stares at some point off in the dark woods of the backyard. “I hate him,” she comments quietly. 

“Yeah, everyone does,” Janis agrees. “Probably his mom, too.”

Regina laughs a little at that. “I’m sorry,” she all but whispers. “I heard what he said, and I—”

“It made you uncomfortable,” Janis finishes for her, looking away. 

“No!” Regina says quickly. “Well, yes. Kind of. Because he’s a gross freak. But it was worse because he feels like he can say those things to you... because of me.”

Regina says it more to her feet than to Janis, and the words hang there between them for a moment. Janis kind of hates the devastated look on Regina’s face, feels like she needs to fix it for some reason.

“Tell you what,” Janis offers. “Kill him and make it look like an accident, and it’s water under the bridge.”

Regina doesn’t laugh, exactly—more like an amused exhale—but she smiles a little. It makes Janis feel lighter for some reason.

“Yeah, okay,” Regina says. “Deal.”

She smiles wider, and it’s the best thing Janis has seen all night.

[halliestinks]

Hello!! I really loved your cartman and reader who’s like his sister headcanons so i had a similar request

could you write another wholesome headcanons for a female reader who treats karen like her little sister? the reader only had brothers so karen is like her adoptive younger sister, and how would kenny react?? maybe he also has a crush on her? sorry if it’s too much <33

Karen McCormick w/ Fem!Reader who treats her like a younger sister

a/n: ty for the request! I had a lot of fun writing this and I love karen, she and her brothers deserve sm better :C I hope you like it 🎉🎉 (reader is in highschool & karen is 12-13)

• growing up with brothers was a struggle to say the least

• it’s not like you didn’t love them or anything, you just found yourself yearning for a sisterly bond

• so when you first met karen you instantly felt a connection and took on the role as the protective older sister 💪😤

• you met her at the park one day, she seemed really upset so you approached her and asked if she was okay

"my friends ditched me to go shopping, they said I couldn't come because I wouldn’t even be able to buy anything..."

“……do you want me to beat them up"

• ngl you probably freaked her out a bit at first LMAO

• she’s like ??? who are you???

• the only reason you recognised her was because she’s related to kenny. and even then, you barely spoke to him so it took you a little while to realize who she was

• to cheer her up, you took her to go shopping by yourselves. you willingly payed for whatever she wanted (though she argued that you didn't have to). and from that day on, you found yourselves hanging out frequently

• karen was definitely unsure at first, she’s never had an older female friend before so she didn’t know how to behave.

• but as time went on she started to open up, and before you knew it, you were having deep conversations and learnt a lot about her

• you occasionally invite her over to your place. and you have a girls night! giving each other makeovers, playing video games and watching horror movies is the usual routine

• since karen is also in the same sister-less situation as you, she will go to you for advice if it’s something she doesn’t want to talk to kenny about

• driving around mindlessly while blasting music is another fun activity you and karen enjoy (you jokingly follow people around town and make them think you guys are stalkers 🤭)

“isn’t that Clyde Donovan?”

“yah I think so”

“let’s follow him next”

“good idea 🫡”

• you then proceeded to follow him around until he took off running and squealing

• going over to her house is a rare occurrence, and it only ever happens when nobody else is there. you suspect that it’s because of her parents

• she only told you a little about them, but from what you heard they weren't very good people. luckily she has her older brother to take care of her, even though you didn't know kenny very well it sounded like karen really admired him

• speaking of kenny… karen constantly begs you to become friends with him. the conversation usually goes like this;

“you guys would be such good friends!! and then you can fall in love, get married and have babies so I can be a cool auntie!!!”

“…”

“😇”

“what! 😃”

• you do eventually run into kenny one day when you’re dropping karen off at home and he waits until karen can’t hear to thank you for everything

• you suddenly start seeing him a lot more after that encounter, getting to know him as well (karen teases you whenever she sees you two hanging out)

• he also joins you two whenever you’re at their house, and you manage to force him into modelling with you doing his makeup and karen paints his nails (he claims that he’s only doing it for karen but in all honesty he just likes spending time with you)

• sometimes when it’s a nice night out, you’ll take karen out to go stargazing

• you find a nice spot somewhere just out of town and you lay down either on the top of your car or on the grass

• pointing out silly imaginary constellations and giggling about them until you get tired and go back home

• you couldn’t wish for a better sister 🫶

[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

5 times Steph and Eddie refer to each other as husband and wife +1 time they make it official

Part 1 (also on ao3 here)

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

Stevie probably should have shut this all down weeks ago.

The kids have been calling her mom since before she even came out to them, so she’s admittedly kind of given up on stopping that one. The problem is now they’ve gotten Eddie in on it.

Well, Eddie’s not calling her mom. If he started doing that, she thinks she’d no longer be fit for public. She’d have to crawl in a hole and never come out, like how old cats sometimes wander away to die alone, except she’d be dying not of old age but of the mortification of an unrequited crush. So luckily, that isn’t happening.

But now, as she arrives at the Wheelers’ house to pick up the kids after a D&D session, she’s forced to confront the fact that Eddie calling her mom is not apparently the worst thing that could come of this whole thing.

It starts when she’s getting on Dustin’s case about leaving his shit all over the basement. These kids treat every space they’re in like they own it, but Stevie is very aware how hard Karen had to work to convince Ted to let Eddie host Hellfire here, and she’s not about to let that hard work go to waste just because the kids left the basement a bomb site.

Dustin rolls his eyes at her nagging, lets out a long-suffering sigh and a “Yes, mom,” and Stevie has barely finished giving him an obligatory sisterly noogie before things get out of hand.

“If Stevie’s our mom, does that make Eddie our dad?” Lucas says, casually, completely unaware that putting ‘Eddie’ and ‘dad’ in the same sentence has just completely broken Stevie’s brain.

Eddie, though. Eddie smells blood in the water. He’s got that look on his face, that one Stevie usually loves, the one he always gets right before he commits to a bit with overdramatic vigour.

Sure enough, Eddie immediately prostrates himself over the couch, hand to his forehead, looking the picture of a lovelorn idiot. “Stevie,” he says, sounding genuinely heartbroken. “It’s just been so hard, raising our kids alone since the divorce.”

Stevie scoffs. “You’re raising our kids? You get them for a few hours once a week, pretty sure I’m the one shuttling their ungrateful asses to and from school every day.”

“Ungrateful?” Dustin splutters, as if he doesn’t show up at Stevie’s door at entirely random times of the day and demands she drive him to whatever nerd shit he’s got going on next.

“You’re right, that’s unfair,” she says, and then before anyone can get a word in: “You’re lovely, Will, always so polite. But the rest of you little shits. Ungrateful.”

Will smiles serenely as his friends immediately erupt into complaints, and Eddie ignores them all to prostrate himself at Stevie’s feet.

“I know I haven’t been around often, but baby, won’t you give me another chance?”

Stevie thinks she’d probably give Eddie anything he asked for, as long as he’s asking on his knees before her. It’s definitely a good look for him, and it’s only the clamour of the kids around her that keeps her face from going bright red.

She’s gotta play it cool here. Roll with the ridiculousness, always the best way to deal with Eddie, to keep him grinning at her like that, his whole face lit up like sunshine.

“Well…” she says, pretending to think it over, like she wouldn’t marry him in a heartbeat if he asked for real. That would be a bit much, given they’ve only known each other for a year and some change. “I suppose… although I’m not seeing a ring.”

Eddie grins like she’s fallen into some trap, and immediately slides the ring off his right hand- her favourite one with the big round stone in the middle that she likes to play with sometimes when they’re smoking together- and holds it up to her, a challenge in his eyes. Well. Only way out is through. She holds out her hand for him, the left one, and he slides the ring gently onto her ring finger. It fits perfectly.

“There you go,” he says, softly. His eyes are so warm, like pools of melted chocolate, and Stevie feels like she might drown in them. Her whole world has narrowed to the man on his knees before her- she’s distantly aware of the kids around them losing their minds (she’s pretty sure Mike is gagging, but that’s so far from her mind right now it might as well be happening on a different planet).

Eddie smiles up at her. “There’s my wife.”

“Your wife,” she whispers, unbearably fond. Stevie wants to hear him call her that for the rest of her life.

This really isn’t helping with her crush.

Sound filters in slowly, the world around them coming back in with the hushed whispers of the kids. Honestly, they’re quieter than she thought they’d be after this display, although the way Mike is rubbing his ribs suggests that this peace was hard won. They round the kids up pretty easily after that, with surprisingly little complaining as Stevie harangues them into cleaning up their shit. Eddie helps, occasionally glancing up at Stevie and looking quickly away with a fierce blush.

Later, after Stevie’s dropped off most of the kids and it’s only her and Will left in the car, riding home in silence as Stevie fiddles with the ring still on her finger, she tries not to read too much into everything that just happened. Will isn’t helping.

“So,” he says, in that sly, quiet way of his. “How long have you and Eddie been together?”

Stevie splutters. “That’s not- we’re not together. That was just- you know how Eddie is, he’s… theatrical.”

Will hums noncommittally. “He is. I don’t think that’s what that was, though. You like him, right?”

If this was any of the kids other than Will, Stevie thinks she’d deny it. God knows Dustin couldn’t be trusted with that information. But Will, quiet, sensitive Will- she thinks he’d get it.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I really do. But it’s not- he doesn’t like me like that.”

She pulls up to the Byers’ house and parks the car in the drive. They both sit for a moment, basking in the silence. After a moment, Will suddenly leans over the gearshift, wrapping Stevie up in a weird, slightly uncomfortable hug. It feels nice.

“For what it’s worth,” he says as he pulls back and opens his door, “he looked really happy when he called you his wife. Even Eddie’s not that good of an actor.”

With that, he gently closes the car door behind him. Stevie watches as he runs up to his front door, and waves when Joyce comes out to greet him.

She drives most of the way home on autopilot, fiddling with the ring on her finger and thinking of Eddie’s face as he’d placed it on her hand. His gentle smile, his warm, chocolate eyes, full of something like love. His fingers had been rough with callouses as they’d brushed against hers, but still soft in a way that had nothing to do with his skin.

Maybe, she thinks, as she enters her quiet mausoleum of a house. Just maybe.

She goes to sleep that night, alone in her bed, with her last sight before unconsciousness being that of a gleaming ring on her left finger, and dreams of a husband who loves her.

[southangel]

hi! romantic stan and kenny (separate) x reader whos afraid of the dark? like they could be hanging out and then the power cuts off? thanks ! <3

Stan and Kenny with scared of the dark Reader

Warnings: none

Notes: Gender-Neutral, also assuming they’re already dating reader. Sorry for it being a little short!

Stan Marsh

The way I see this happening would be during the very first time Stan invited you over to his house.

After weeks of dating, Stan finally felt ready to actually have you over at his house for the first time, without getting nauseous.

He told you that he wanted you to be over at 6:30 to watch a movie together, the whole time he was mentally panicking and pacing around his room on what to do.

What genres do you like? What if you don’t even like movies, maybe a show?

After you eventually came over and was sitting on the same couch as him, big achievement, light rain started pouring.

None of you minded it, well, not until there was thunder.

Stan could tell you seemed uneasy, so he held your hand, not knowing that it was because of the sky getting increasingly darker over time.

The last thing Stan expected was to hear a quick but loud scream from you as the TV shut off in-front of your eyes.

You unexpectedly grabbed onto his arm, not really meaning to like that. Nonetheless, Stan knew he shouldn’t be so happy at your action considering how terrified you seemed.

A phone flashlight was the best he could do for now, trying to comfort you the best he could even though he really isn’t that type of guy.

The best way that Stan can comfort you is through physical contact and affection, but he doesn’t know it you would be uncomfortable with that or not.

He really does care about you, he just needs to learn how to express it better.

Whenever you both have sleepovers together, Stan always remember to turn on a nightlight or keep a small light on for you just in case.

It would make him upset to know that you’re uncomfortable or scared, so he tries his best to cater towards your fear.

Since then, Stan has tried his best to help you improve and lose your fear of the dark, not caring how long it’ll take.

Stan has also gained a habit of buying you packs of glow sticks, the ones from any dollar store that you snap to light.

He wants you to always have light, in a way where you can remember him without being scared at the same time.

“I want you to think of me when you light these, okay?”

Kenny Mccormick

I feel that Kenny would be more experienced with fears like this.

Kenny has Karen to take care of, so she most likely has a fear of the dark or something similar.

Even though he doesn’t live in the best area or environment, he wants to hangout with you, which is why he invites you over.

Kenny knows that you would never judge him for his lifestyle or being poor, which is why he trusts and loves you so much.

His options were limited, but he didn’t really want to spend another day at Stark’s pond, talking about things you would both forget about the next day.

Once you came over to his house later on in the day, he took you straight to his room without even engaging with anything going on in the living room.

Kenny pulled out a box from inside his closet, revealing a board game for you both to play.

Throughout the game, there were multiple light flickers and such. You thought it was normal, normal until all the lights in his house cut out.

You didn’t know if it was the weather, problem with the electricity, or even the bills not being paid, but the cause didn’t matter as you immediately reacted.

Kenny saw how your reaction shifted playing parts on the board, shaking and speaking in an unsteady tone.

He moved over and took you into his arms, trying his best to comfort you as much as he could.

Even though Kenny was still hooded and you couldn’t really understand what he was saying, it made you feel more comforted for some reason.

Kenny would be the best at comforting you with his words and actions, even though he’s more of a physical affection guy.

He cares about you a lot, a lot to where he saved all of his money to buy you a small but portable flashlight.

Since then, you and Kenny’s relationship has grown closer, and you love how he’s considerate enough to do these things for you.

Don’t worry, you paid him back for the flashlight.

“I know it’s not much, but I want to help you as much as I can.”

[half-oz-eddie]

I had a thought.

tw for: mentions of grooming, sexual harassment, violence, karen wheeler

What if Karen was the one to get flayed, because Vecna was observing Billy and Karen’s interactions and thought he could use Karen to groom/manipulate Billy (who was the one he actually wanted to use to lead the army) like let’s just say he somehow got Karen while she was in the bathtub or something idk.

Anyway

They actually meet up, and she’s being like—way too aggressive and Billy doesn’t like it and feels uncomfortable so when she starts showing signs that something’s wrong with her, Billy accidentally knocks her out in the pool and thinks he killed her so he runs away.

Anyway the mind flayer is stuck using Karen so flayed Karen starts putting together book clubs or whatever to create little armies of moms and teachers that can seize control of young people.

So while all the moms are acting a little weird (not Joyce because we’re giving her plot armor) The party is investigating the suspicious acting parents and these “book clubs” they’re always having.

All while Max is trying to find Billy practically on her own because nobody, except El, really believes his disappearance is connected to any of this. El tells Max that Billy is “hiding in the woods…and scared” so Max is determined to find him.

Maybe Steve finds Max skating around late at night and listens to her and offers to help. Because finally someone believes it makes sense that Billy would have run off a long time ago if he wasn’t scared of Neil, so something must have spooked him more than Neil did.

Normally she wouldn’t care what Billy’s doing, she’ll admit, but she worries he could be in grave danger.

They drive around for a little bit looking for him and they spot his car by the quarry. He confesses to Max that he “killed Karen” but he didn’t mean to, and he would never do something like that. He’s stammering and crying, pleading with her and explaining that he knows he takes his shitty jokes too far but he’s not a killer and he’s really not like Neil.

Max tries to calm him down and tell him she believes him, but Karen isn’t dead.

“How?“ he questions. “I hit her pretty hard. She was floating in the pool and bleeding when I left.”

“She’s fine, but she’s been acting really weird. A lot of the moms in town have.”

Once Billy’s calmed down and they try to explain some things about Hawkins to Billy, Steve raises a question.

“What were you doing at a motel with Karen?”

“She wanted swimming lessons. I-I dunno what else was gonna happen. But she started acting weird and freaking me out and when I told her to cool it, she kept being pushy and trying to force herself on me and I-I…I panicked.”

“That’s…eww.” Max replies. “Doesn’t she know you’re like…a teenager?”

“The moms have been going to the pool everyday to check Billy out. I guess they don’t care.” Steve would say, begrudgingly.

“Whatever—look, you’re not in any trouble. Karen’s probably not gonna say anything because she doesn’t want her husband to find out that she’s a creep.”

So anyway Steve and Max convince Billy to come back home and Max keeps Susan away from those book clubs something something Neil gets flayed somehow and there’s no reason for Billy to die and he's kissing Steve on the mouth the end bye

[sapphicantics]

She’ll Live

Pairing: Gretchen Wieners x fem!reader

Summary: A game of truth or dare reveals that Gretchen’s feelings might not be as unrequited as she thought.

Contents: insecure!Gretchen, jealous!Gretchen, talks of not being good enough, starts off kind of angsty but gets fluffy by the end, one (1) use of y/n

Word count: 1.1K

Note: Never struggled so hard to write a kiss scene like I did here. I’m not really proud of how this ended, it’s kinda rushed but it is what it is.

— — — —

Gretchen Weiners is having an existential crisis.

Okay, so that’s an over-exaggeration, but she is freaking out.

Why?

Because Regina’s talked a group of them into a game of truth or dare. Which isn’t actually a problem because Gretchen loves truth or dare, it’s the perfect opportunity for her to get dirt on her classmates, the problem is who is playing the game.

There’s her, Regina, and Karen, obviously, a bunch of jocks from various different sports teams, some random people she doesn’t know or care about from other schools that got invited.

Oh, and her crush is playing too.

You’re sat across from her, nursing a drink while whispering and giggling with Regina next to you. The two of you are very close, too close for Gretchen’s comfort actually, and the fact that you’ve already been dared to take your shirt off so you’re sitting in just your bra and bottoms showing off so much skin Gretchen can’t help thinking about how soft it’d feel under her fingers and under her lips, thinking about how your skin would taste on her tongue and how many licks it would take to have you shuddering underneath of her begging her to go lower and lower until her face is pressed against your pussy-

A loud laugh pulls Gretchen from her head and her breath catches in her throat at her thoughts, ridiculously wondering if someone can read her mind and knows the dirty things swirling in there about you.

It’s a ridiculous thing to think as that’s obviously not possible, but the alcohol is getting to her and making her think crazy things that would never happen — like her having a chance with you.

It’s wishful thinking, but you’re clearly attracted to Regina, and how could she ever stand a chance against her?

She couldn’t even stand a chance against Taylor Wadell for Jason so she knows she doesn’t have a chance against Regina for you.

It’s fine, though, she’ll live.

“Alright, y/n, truth or dare?”

Gretchen watches as you smirk, gesturing up and down your body. “Dare, obviously.”

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Trying to see some live girl on girl action are you, Shane? That’s disgusting.” You down the rest of your drink before shrugging, shaking your head in amusement. “Very well.”

Gretchens’ heart crumbles knowing she’ll have to sit and watch you kiss Regina and act like it doesn’t bother her when it really does. It always bothers her, no one she likes ever gives her a chance, no one she likes ever likes her.

She knows that’s not something that can be helped, not something she can control. She knows she can’t make you like her like that, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt her to want you and know she’ll never have you.

It’s fine, though, she’ll live.

She’ll move on, eventually. Maybe her heart will latch on to another person who wants someone else instead of her, maybe she’ll finally find someone who does want her, maybe she’ll be stuck harboring a crush on you for the rest of her life like she’s been doing since the sixth grade.

But it’s fine, though, she’ll live.

A shadow falls over her and then you’re on your knees in front of her, eyes shining brightly as you stare at her. “Hi, Gretchen. Can I kiss you?”

Her cheeks flush and she’s glad this is her fourth drink because she can blame the redness in them on the alcohol coursing through her system and not the fact that your question is everything she’s ever wanted to hear from you.

“W-what?” She stutters.

“I have to kiss the prettiest girl in the room,” you explain to her, head tilting ever so slightly as your lips curl into a half smile. “So is it okay if I kiss you?”

This can’t be real.

She’s dreaming. She has to be.

Gretchen can’t help it, her eyes shoot over to Regina expecting to see the blonde glaring at her, subtly daring her to try if she wants to, but instead she sees Regina smiling at her.

“Gretch?”

Her eyes turn back to yours and immediately drop to your lips. She stares at them, wondering if they’re as soft as they look before she swallows and nods her head in agreement. “That’s fine,” she says, and she prays you can’t hear the way her voice rises in pitch over the music.

You lean in and brush your lips teasingly against hers and Gretchen can’t help the soft sigh that escapes at the contact. You cradle her face in your hands, stroking your thumb softly along her cheek and pull her face closer to yours, this time fully connecting your lips in a proper kiss and, holy shit, it’s like fireworks going off.

Gretchen’s lips are so, so, soft against yours, softer than you ever imagined, and they taste sweet like cherries which admittedly you don’t like the taste of, but on Gretchen’s lips the taste is amazing.

You have no idea similar thoughts are going through Gretchen’s head.

You break the kiss for but a moment, taking a breath of air before diving back in and swiping your tongue along her lips in a request for entrance which she obliges eagerly, a shiver rushing down her spine as your tongues battle for dominance.

“Hey, we’re still in the middle of a game, you know.”

Gretchen breaks apart from you this time, her chest heaving as she processes the prior moments.

You got dared to kiss the prettiest girl in the room and you kissed her over anyone else.

You think she’s the prettiest girl in the room.

The knowledge makes her heart flutter and she can’t stop the smile that rises to her face.

“Alright, Gretchen,” you call, voice raspy from lack of oxygen and Gretchen flutters her eyes open to see you still in front of her, a blissed out smile on your face. “Truth or dare?”

Gretchen wants to kiss you again. She can say dare and you can give her the same one then she can feel your lips against hers once more. She licks her lips at the thought; she really wants to, but even drunk she doesn’t have that type of confidence.

So like a coward, she takes the easy way out. “Truth.”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?”

Her brain short circuits and her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red. “I… I’d love to.”

Gretchen doesn’t remember much after that, but when she wakes the next morning in Regina’s parents spare bedroom with her head on your chest and your arms wrapped around her waist, the sunlight peeking through the blinds casting an ethereal glow on your skin, she knows that when she says it this time, it’s true.

She’ll live.

And she’ll live in happiness with you.

[motherstone]

Silas's true colors

Ok, y'see @chi-the-idiot and I have been losing our minds when we combined our observations about Silas, and I thought it's developed enough to be a meta post about him and his actual character.

He's not a good person. He's not even a "flawed" misunderstood type - nope, just straight up someone who genuinely doesn't have the wellbeing of others in mind.

Main Points

Silas has always been suspicious since Book 1

Leon has a miscommunication with Emily about Silas’s intentions.

He assumed that Silas passed away too soon to tell Emily his noble goals. Thing is, if that was truly Silas’s intention, he would’ve prioritized saying that on his deathbed, especially when he’s fully aware he’s going to bite the dust soon.

Except he didn’t.

From the get go, Silas first attempt to hook Emily into claiming the Amulet is that it grants power and authority - not the ability to help other people.

Indeed, Silas’s last laments weren’t even about his failure to help the Resistance, but rather his failure to achieve great power. When Emily makes it clear that she’s not interested in it, Silas makes a point to switch tactics, and this time properly nails Emily’s actual desire - an ability to return to a time she’s happier.

And then, proceeds to give the worst possible advice to Emily about stonekeeping - listening to the stone (Which we already know, it’s a horrible idea). And to add insult to injury, he wistfully wishes that he at the very least could partake in the Amulet’s blessings would apparently gift Emily with, but alas, the bell tolls.

What’s even more sinister is Silas’s last words to Emily’s valid question of “why me?” 

Silas already knows Emily won’t be able to reject the stone to begin with. It’s not a stretch that he manufactured or at the very least allowed the events to happen that would lead to such a situation.

From start to finish, this was a sales pitch. A trap. And Emily has so very little choice but to take the bait - all hook, line, and sinker.

2. Miskit’s design and potential purpose (All Chi's notes)

Chi brought it up to me about her suspicions about Miskit’s design.

Miskit’s design looks like a plushie - he’s small, cute, all round features unlike the harder edges of bots like Cogsley or Theodore.

For one, it’s quite unique and unusual, even among bots seen in the series. But especially when compared to the rest of the Charnon bots:

Put Miskit there and he sticks out like a sore thumb.

Oh, and also, he’s Silas’s apprentice and has all his knowledge stored in his memory banks. Which is. A very weird design choice. You’d think an adult like Silas would design a bot that matches him more - but Miskit looks out of place when put beside Silas.

Unless, Miskit wasn’t built for Silas’s sake.

But rather, for his successor, Chi noted. A child successor.

Miskit, standing next to Emily, looks like a perfect match. He was built to be her companion from the get go. Silas was never going to choose his son or Karen for the stone - he had the intention of an adult succeeding him to begin with. Miskit’s design, in context of the story, is meant to emotionally manipulate the successor, because Silas wanted someone malleable, someone who is yet to grow into their place and their sense of self, and who is more perfect for such a role than a child?

3. The Charnon bots and their reliance on Silas's stone.

I want you to take note of some things:

Emily’s stone fizzled out the same time Silas died, meaning his life force is connected to it.

2. Pink energy glows and crackles in the bots' eyes.

It goes unstated, but it’s clear that Silas uses his stone to power the house AND the bots. The lights and bots going out isn’t for dramatic effect nor the stone shutting down - it’s Silas’s will over the magic spell that keeps them up running fizzling out at the same time as his life does.

Signature pink energy crackling as they're restored back to life - they're powered by their very creator, and currently, their new master.

The house lives as long the stone does. It’s why Miskit is so panicked when Silas dies and is frantic on begging Emily to accept the stone - aside from being saddled with a massive duty out of nowhere, their lives quite literally depend on it. Sure enough, when Emily accepts the stone, they all come back to life. I’d bet my entire shoe collection (which comprises three shoes) that had Emily rejected the stone, they, along the house, would remain stone dead.

Sounds reasonable enough that Silas would use his stone to power them - it is a power source after all.

But the thing is - he doesn’t need to do it.

We don’t get further context later, but then we get to see other bots in the series and -

They all operate independently of a stonekeeper providing them power to function. We get that confirmation as early as book 2.

Meaning Silas built in the bots' dependence on him from their inception - they’re quite literally chained to Silas by life. It’s true that they’re loyal to him by choice, but that’s all the more convenient for Silas, as he makes it quite clear that he has no intention of letting them go if they wish to - either they serve him, or die.

In other words - SILAS HAS ALWAYS BEEN A TERRIBLE PERSON. I don’t know what the fuck Kazu was thinking trying to retcon him as a flawed hero, but it’s obvious he was never a good guy to begin with. He’s a power hungry, control freak who’s a slave to his desires - there’s not an ounce of decency nor noble intentions in this man.