#the little ghosty guy will go on the front left chest

[wazzappp]

IM SO PROUD OF THIS!! IVE MADE MISTAKES!! IM TAKING IT AS A LEARNING OPPORTUNITY!! AND WHEN I PERFECT THIS ITS GONNA FUCK SO HARD!!!

[nia-writes]

Headcannons of Jealous and possessive Ghost and Konig 😙😙

Please include:

1. What they would say/do to the other person if they were flirting with you

2. What they would say/do to you if you were being flirted with

3. Smut HC for jealous angry fucking hehe

4. Would they apologise for being possessive and jealous

Thank you

Hi~ I absolutely love this request! Thank you for sending it <3 I got a bit carried away~ also I’m just learning to write smut so please don’t judge too hard

Minors DNI!! 18+

A/N: female reader! NSFW, rough sex, the boys being mean, fingering, choking let me know if I missed any a little OOC Konig?

My requests are open~~

Ghosty~

Gimme jealous Ghost-

You’re at the bar with the 141, after successful mission

Of course, Johnny, Gaz and yourself were having a drinking competition- while Price gives his disappointed dad stare.

Simon’s eyes never left you, each passing second he was growing more and more possessive.

He hated the way his other teammates touched you, even though it’s innocent. The way Johnny playfully nudges you, or when Gaz rests his arm on your shoulder.

He knew it was innocent- but he couldn’t stop the growing jealousy in his chest.

You lost a game of cards, it’s your turn to buy some drinks. As you got up from your seat, you ruffled Johnny’s mohawk, Simon growled at that, his mask muffled the noise.

As you wait by the bar, playing with your necklace, a man slips himself next to you. He was friendly- funny, a bit flirty but you shot him down immediately.

Simon was not happy. He grew possessive, his eyes flashed red as he got up from his seat, dashing his way to you.

You noticed him and smiled- telling the other man "This is my boyfriend!" Super proud to call him that.

But Simon was already in a fit of jealousy and possessiveness, and before you knew it, he wrapped his shoulders around you, leading you out the bar.

Before he does, he shoots a nasty glare at the man, causing him to leave.

Your eyes widen in surprise, as you glance over at him. "Everything ok, big boy?” You asked, your anxiety only growing as he stays silent.

Simon opened the car door, waiting for you to enter. You give him one last glance before entering, when you did, he slammed the door shut.

The car ride home was silent, not even the sounds of your breathing can be heard. You try to lighten up the mood up a bit, "Is this your new way of talking?” You joked, lightly touching his arm.

"Do you like it when other men touch you?"

This caught you off guard- your eyes widen as your mouth parts. Your brain malfunctions as you try to process his words.

"I- what? No! You know I only want you to!" You reassured, but Simon clicks his tongue.

"Didn’t seem that way, little one."

"Simon? What are you talking about?” It then clicked for you, "Oh! The guy at the bar? He- that was innocent, I swear. I shot him down so quick!" You defended.

Simon stays quiet- and you knew he was jealous.

Once you’re home, he wastes no time in coming to your side, grabbing you by the waist and throwing you over his shoulder. You yelp in surprise, as he harshly smacks your ass.

He doesn’t make it past the door before he’s on you, shoving you against the closed door. His hands trail between your legs, slipping a finger in your panties. "Wet already? Knew it, dirty slut" he growled in your ear.

Before you can respond, he’s turned you around- your front pressed against the door. You hear his belt buckle behind you, your panties get ripped off, before he presses himself to you.

"I’m gonna be rough, baby" he warned, rubbing himself against you.

Simon fucks all his jealousy out on you, over and over again. He won’t play with your clit- doesn’t let you either. He has your hands above your head, fucking you with so much force the door rattles. "You’re going to cum from only my cock"

"Bet you’re thinking of that fucker, aren’t you?" He said, gripping your hips and pressing you closer to him. "Gonna think about him when you cum" he teases, pinching your nipple.

When you do cum, he doesn’t stop his pace- he picks it up instead. He wants you drunk on his cock, the only thing in your mind how good he’s fucking you.

Afterwards, he does apologise. He knows you would never betray his trust, his jealousy and possessiveness got the best of him.

He gives you the best aftercare, cuddling you close while whispering how much he loves you.

König~

König has his leg pressed against yours, his arm behind your head as you both sit peacefully in the common area of the barracks.

Since he’s not into PDA, you both show affection in small ways. Hand holding, arms or legs touching and occasionally, when its just the two of you, small kisses.

You were telling Konig a story about your rookie days, he smiles as he listens, in love with how expressive you are.

When, suddenly, an old friend of yours comes in the common area.

"Y/n!" He exclaimed, a huge smile on his face.

Your eyes shoot up to him, a smile appearing on your face. "Oh my god, Harry!" You rush over to him, hugging him tightly.

While the both of you talk, Koing stares at you, both in hurt and jealousy. He knows you're just excited to see your old friend, but he can’t help but feel a little insecure.

Your excitedly turn to him, "This my boyfriend, Konig!" You introduced, proud of who your partner is.

Harry eyes Konig, with a scoff he turns back to you. "Seriously? you choose that guy..."

Before you can defend your man, Konig is already out the room. You punch Harry in his stomach before running after him, scared that hes hurting.

You enter his room, seeing him on the bed you think hes upset. But, hes angry. Trying to contain himself to not fuck you senseless. You reach over and place a hand on his shoulder, and he snaps.

He grabs your waist and throws you on the bed, straddling you with his weight.

"Konig, i-"

"Shut it." He growled, his hand coming up to your neck, squeezing slightly. "You belong to me. Only me."

His hand trails to your trousers, unbuttoning them before roughly dipping his fingers into your wet heat.

You cry out as his ruthless pace, his fingers not slowing down. "I'm being nice and prepping you, be grateful"

Before you can cum, he removes his fingers. You don't have any time to complain as he enters himself inside. You moan and your fingers grip his arm, hard enough to draw blood.

" This pussy is for me only" he growled, quickening his pace.

Unlike Simon, he bullies your clit. Not letting you have any time to recover as he doesn't stop when you cum.

You don't know how many orgasms he ripped out from you- all you can think about is him.

Afterwards, he's more apologetic than Simon. He went too far with you, and he'd cuddle you close to him, rubbing a soothing hand over your arms and legs.

[gaybananabread]

TickleTober Day 10 - Ghost

@hexalianrebel-blackfeathers Kinda went in a fun direction with this prompt! I figured I could make a buncha fun ghost puns with Spot as the ler, and I’d like to see a few more fics where he gets to mess around with the spider kids. Thank you again for all the fun requests! As always, I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Gwen

Ler: Spot

Summary: Gwen gets caught up by The Spot, trying to get back some stolen parts. Spot, not wanting to be caught, retaliates. He doesn’t want to hurt the young hero, though, so he finds a laughable alternative.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

“C’mon Spot! You know how this ends, just give it up!”

Gwen swung on one of her webs, quickly thwipping another and twisting away when a hole went flying at her. That fight with Spot had been going on for a half hour now; she was getting tired. Still, she dodged every attack, finding new ways to zip behind him and try to land a shot. 

“Man, you really are just like a ghost, not making it easy on me! I guess you picked a good name!” The so-so villain wasn’t trying all that hard. He had grown somewhat of a soft spot for the arachnid heroes, never giving their fights his all. Still, he left them with a few bruises. The guy had a reputation to maintain, afterall. 

Not the jokes again… She grunted, trying to land a few more shots of web fluid on him. The dalmatian-esque villain was surprisingly slippery, using his portals to catch the webs and send them who knows where. He had definitely gotten better with his powers. 

He snickered, sending more and more little portal holes her way. “Gotta say, your spirit is pretty impressive! You really don’t give up.” Spot knew how to play their game; it just needed some pizazz. By pizazz, he meant telling arguably funny jokes. For this particular bug, ghost jokes seemed to piss her off the most. So, of course, he told plenty. 

“Shut up and hold still!” The joke got to her a bit more than she’d have liked to admit. Gwen lost her cool, abandoning a bit of her regular caution to try and catch him. She charged him, sloppily shooting out a few webs as backup.

Really? He had thought it would be at least sort of hard to get under her skin. Maybe she’s having a rough day. Either way, left her wide open for him to nab her.

Spot shot out two portals, one to distract, and one to detain. Gwen dodged the first one, but the second caught her off guard. She ended up with her arms stuck out in front of her, keeping her from moving anything other than her legs. The spotted villain came up behind her, deciding on a new game. One to both entertain him and distract her from getting back the dinky computer parts he stole.

Snickering right in her ear, Spot came up behind her, hovering his hands over her sides. “We’re gonna play a little game I like to call…hide and shriek.” He tasered her sides, his chuckling only getting more smug as he heard her squeak and muffle giggles. “I’m taking us on a little trip. Don’t want anyone else getting wind of our fun.”

A spot was sent out from his chest, enveloping the both of them. He had portaled them to an old warehouse. Spot may have been a bad guy, but he wouldn’t publicly embarrass her. True, he was gonna wreck the hero’s shit, but he wouldn’t do it around people that would use the info against her… well, in a much worse way than he was about to..

The portal around her hands slipped off before disappearing. Gwen backed up, the bug-eyes on her mask wide, curious and…something that could be read as excitement. Spot chuckled, but decided not to tease her on it. “Better get going, ghostie…”

The teen didn’t need any more persuasion. She bolted, using her webs to catapult herself up and away from Spot. He was planning on counting to ten, but the chase just seemed too fun. Barely five seconds passed before he started to search for her. 

Gwen zoomed through the old facility, trying to find a way out. On any other occasion, she wouldn’t have run, instead going after Spot. But right then.. She was in an unfamiliar place, Spot knew one of her main weaknesses, and she wasn’t sure how much web fluid she had left. Pretty much, everything in her screamed to run.

Things weren’t looking too good for her. Spot had a pretty good idea of where the young hero was headed, portaling around to try and find her. Every Time he’d get close, she’d shoot away on a web and leave him in the dust. She was fast, he’d give her that. “You know you can’t win this, little spider! This place is one of my oldest haunts, I know it like the back of my hand!” 

Seriously? How many ghost jokes can one guy have? Gwen found a small storage area, filled with crates and an old, dysfunctional crane. Perfect hiding place. The spiderling quickly ducked into the crane’s cockpit, hiding between the seat and the floor. It wasn’t awesome, but it was better than being caught…

Spot chuckled as he portaled into the storage room, seeing the long strand of web hanging from the ceiling. “Awfully big spiders, eh? Better get pest control in here.” He made yet another terrible joke. They weren’t even funny, but to her anxious and giddy mind, it was horrid. Every joke meant he was one step closer.

The villain sent out a few dozen spots, leaving them in random places throughout the room. His plan is to find her, let her think she slipped by him, and snatch her up in a few portals. It was strangely well-thought-out, for one of his plans.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are~!” Spot looked behind the crates, letting his feet slap against the warehouse floor as loud as possible. He knew Gwen was somewhere in the room, he just had to find her. 

He combed through the room, checking everywhere. Behind each crate, the rafters, even pulling a few of the crates open. He knew she was probably in the crane, but where’s the fun in just finding her right away? Gotta build up the anticipation. 

Gwen was getting antsy. True, she didn’t outright want to be caught, but…she didn’t wanna just leave. That would be letting a villain get away with…computer parts? She couldn’t really remember what he stole, the anticipation getting to her. At she was safe for the-

“Gotcha!”

A hand grabbed her arm, trying to yank her out from the crane’s cockpit. She panicked, predictably shooting out a web and trying to get up into the rafters. What she didn’t expect was to immediately get trapped in a few of his stupid portals. 

Shoot shoot shoot…

Gwen thrashed around, tugging at her restrained limbs. She could feel her hands and feet moving, but…they were nowhere to be found. Spot had managed to catch her off guard, trapping her hands and feet in four of his black holes. She was completely stuck, and pretty much defenseless.

“Well well well, what have we here?” Ugh, so cheesy… Spot was right behind her, his slightly nasally voice teasing her. He had known she would get caught, the bastard. This was actually a plan…and it worked. Maybe he had been getting better at the whole “evil dude” thing. 

He went behind her, thankfully leaving her mask on her face. “Too bad your plan to ghost me failed...” He knew they were younger than him by a few good years. Best guess, she was 16 or 17. Still, he didn’t want to know that for sure. These kids deserve their secret identities. 

Suddenly, ten fingers danced across her sides. Gwen squealed, bubbly laughter unwillingly pouring from her lips. “Sh-shihiHIHIT! GEHEhehet ohoff mehehe!” 

“Woah, watch the profanities there, Casper. We’re a family friendly hero-villain pair!” Did he Google bad ghost jokes before the fight? Gwen twisted and turned, tugging at her portal-trapped arms as she tried and failed to stop her laughter. “STOHOP WIHITH THE bahahad johokes!”

He gasped dramatically, stopping his fingers for a moment. He came around to the front of her, hands on his hips. “Bad jokes?! I worked hard on memorizing those joke articles, thank you very much!” So he did look up jokes…

In retaliation to her “hurtful” command, he dug his fingers into her stomach, hoping it was just as ticklish as her sides. He was not disappointed. “NAHAHA- SPOHOHOT! GEHET OHOFF!”

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. How ticklish are these kids? “And you said my jokes aren’t funny. Look at how hard you’re laughing! I’m hilarious.”

A groan broke through her laughter, his dumb teases making everything worse. She distantly wondered where her feet and hands were, knowing the portals had to spit them out somewhere. But mainly? She was thinking of how much it tickled. 

Gwen really wished she’d put more padding in her suit. The thinner fabric was practical, made flipping and twisting through the city easier. It did not, however, protect her very well, especially from this villain’s wiggling fingers. “JUHUST- QUHIHIHIT!” 

Now, normally, he would’ve stopped there. But this time…well, she did insult his jokes. That deserved a bit of extra retribution, no? He moved his fingers up to her armpits, drilling his bony fingers into her hollows. Her response made her cheeks heat in embarrassment, the noise one she would forever deny. Gwen Stacy snorted. 

“Ohoho, that was fun. Mind letting me hear it again?” Spot dug back into her underarms, and she had no choice but to comply. Miles constantly picked at her about the noise, but to have Spot do it? Indescribably embarrassing.

His jokes really weren’t helping, either. “That’s the spirit!” If he had a mouth, Gwen would duct-tape it shut. Spot had the humor of a middle-aged father, and he abused that fact. It also didn’t help that he apparently knew how to tickle the snot out of them.

Gwen could feel tears of mirth gathering in the corners of her eyes, extra glad that Spot hadn’t removed her mask. Her bright red face and teary eyes are something she would never live down. “P-PLEHEHEASE! NOHO MOHOHORE!” 

Okay, time to stop. He removed his hands from her torso, backing up a safe distance before releasing her limbs. The portals spit out her hands and feet before closing, dropping the giggly teen to the ground. Spot crossed his arms, chuckling as the spider woman tried to regain her breath. It was kinda fun.

Of course, he had to get one more joke in. “Ya know, I needed this. Really raised my spirits.” That got him a web to the face-hole. He wiped away the goop, making a portal over to her and nudging her side. She swiped at him; his hand quickly darted back into the portal. Yep, she was fine. 

And by fine, he meant about ready to try and capture him again. “Welp, this has been fun. See you around, ghostie.” Spot slipped into a portal, leaving her in the warehouse…alone. Where even was the exit?

Then, as if on cue, a big red “EXIT” light flickered above a nearby doorway. Seriously…?

She pushed the door open, still feeling the giddy buzz in her chest. The bright sunlight of her dimension was a stark difference to the deeper, saturated colors from inside the warehouse. Gwen adjusted her mask, rubbing at her concealed, blushing cheeks. Stupid Spot…

She didn’t totally hate it, though…

Ugh. Gwen shot out a web, flipping up and scanning the city for any signs of the cow-print thief. To be honest, she wasn’t really looking. Her mind was much more focused on what happened a few seconds prior. How did he know? Wait…oh, Miles…

At least he probably got it too. She swung between the buildings, her mind racing with possible payback and diversion ideas. But those stupid ghost jokes… those took corny to a whole new level. She’d have to get some jokes of her own in order. With a special punchline…

[ehveerivv]

VENT

I’ll edit later bc I know it’s written all wacky and the tenses make no sense. I’m tired and I need to go to bed, it’s already light out 😭😭😭

I love my partner; there’s literally nothing she could do that I wouldn’t crumble into a pile of adoration over.

Her stepdad is a different story…I’ve met the guy twice in our relationship so far. The second time was after a night out with my partner and Ghostie. We went to a popular urban legend spot and ran out like little bitches after hearing a LOUD shriek which at 4 in the morning really fucks with you (lol). We went there to drop my partner back at her place. Our interaction consisted of a simple “goodnight be safe yada yada, nice to meet you by the way, I’m dating your kid”

The FIRST time I met her stepdad was at work. I was working fast food at that point in time. I had NO CLUE who he was. He came up to the front counter and said (word for word)

“hi, can i get a medium fry to go? Who’s your T doctor?”

My guy W H A T ? You meet your kid’s partner and the first thing you do is ask about my medicals? What happened to “hi nice to meet you?” And either way, I was on the clock, at work; doing work things. At the time I didn’t even know who the hell he was either. There was zero introduction. For all I knew he was a complete stranger.

While it was an incredibly invasive question I answered honestly, explaining that at that point due to the law change I stopped taking T until after my birthday (which was a month before this interaction) he kinda “hmm”’d at me and said something about his T shots and it hit me; bro is also trans. I wouldn’t have ever guessed that. I thought that was super neat cause now I knew I already had something in common with him.

A few days ago my partner told me that because I don’t bind or go out of my way to present one way or another that her stepdad was making comments that I’m “not really trans” because I don’t bind at work.

First off, not that it’s her stepdads business, but binding in a hot and greasy workplace while being a smoker and on top that being off of T which means my estrogen levels rocketed and thus made my boobas painful didn’t seem like a great idea. I choose breathing over chest pain :)

Second, I was stealthing at work aside from like 2 other coworkers who I know outside of work.

Third, I don’t owe anyone any type of masculinity or femininity. I dress comfortably and while I do present masculine outside of work sometimes I’m just lazy or not feeling like putting a lot of effort into the way I look.

Fourth- blud has been on T much longer than I have at that point, so no. Im not gonna look like a cis dude. And I don’t really give a shit 🤷

Why in the world was someone who has years of being trans on me try to beef with me and “out trans” me??? I’d met him twice at this point and both times I had been as respectful as possible to him.

The part that really got under my skin though, was that her stepdad has been raving about how I seem delicate and stupid, I’m going to be hate crimed, I needed protection from my partner, etc.

Delicate? Sure, I have vulnerable moments, but for the most part I’m delicate like a landmine and if you step on the pressure plate too hard yeah, I’m gonna explode.

Stupid? Yes. But just because I do stupid things and make some stupid choices doesn’t make me a stupid person. I’m competent and capable. I wasn’t climbing the work ladder with my stupidity that’s for damn sure.

Hate crimed? Unfortunately yes, but I do my best to not instigate and try my damndest not to put myself in situations like that.

Need protection? Nah, I’m good. Daddy raised a cryer with good aim, not a bitch :)

The “delicate” comment came from right after my parents nearly got divorced twice in one month and I lost the only grandparent on my dad’s side of the family that I had left. The women who raised me and the other woman I liked calling “mom”. Why can’t I be vulnerable in that moment and let myself feel upset over something devastating like that???

I’m not gonna go create beef with her stepdad or anything; but it’s really fucking frustrating that I feel like I suddenly have something to prove :(

Dysphoria is usually like a 3/10 like I can handle it and all, but now it’s like a 6/10 and it hurts a little more :/ and I was really hoping I might be able to get tips or even bond over also being trans with him over time.

[only-in-december]

Chapter 3 of "I'M GOIN'..." is done! Here's the AO3 link. Or read it below. (...Or don't read it at all. I'm not your mother. Do what you want....but don't forget to brush your teeth. And get a decent amount of sleep. And brush your hair. And-)

I'M GOIN'... Chapter 3: "Friendship"

Danny went home after a couple long days in the hospital. He was glad to be home. The very first thing he did was run to his bedroom, jump onto his bed, and look up at the stars on his ceiling. He heaved a heavy sigh, naming the stars, looking for his favorite constellations. Maybe things would be back to normal soon.

He was just beginning to believe that things were still normal, that things were safe, when suddenly his arm fell through his bed. A yelp escaped him as he pulled his arm back out of the mattress. "Danny? Are you okay?" Jazz poked her head into his room, her eyebrows knit in concern. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything's fine Jazz." Danny scowled lightly and crossed his arms over his chest. He really hoped that she didn't see anything. "I just want some time alone if you don't mind."

"O–okay." Jazz's eyebrows somehow managed to knit together even tighter. "I'll leave you alone for a bit then." She looked a little hurt, and plenty worried. But Danny didn't really care. He was too caught up in his own panic, because as Jazz left the room, his legs both seemed to vanish.

He stopped himself from screaming, and tried to make his lower-half visible again. The issue was, that Danny didn't know how to control what was happening to him.

Danny was panicking. He changed. He was different. He wasn't himself anymore. There was a flash of white light, and then he was different. He could feel it. See it. And sense it all at once. And he didn't know how to change back.

He was practically touching the ceiling and curling in on himself because he was freaking out.

Then his bedroom door opened. And shut. So quickly he almost didn't notice. There in front of him stood Sam and Tucker, looking concerned.

Danny suddenly turned back to normal, and fell hard on his bed. His panic didn't die down though. "Guys! I….it...just"

"Danny, calm down. It's okay. We're here to help." Tucker sat on Danny's bed, and put a hand on his knee. "Best friends don't leave best friends to deal with sudden mutations on their own." Danny looked over at Sam who nodded her agreement.

"We're not going anywhere."

"W-what am I?" Danny's choice cracked. "I'm not–not completely human anymore. I can–I can tell. I can feel it when I change. So what am I?" Sam and Tucker shared a concerned look.

"We'll have to figure that out together." Tucker scooted closer to Danny, and elbowed him lightly. "I'm sure your parents have something that can tell us what's going on."

"Y-yeah. You're right." Danny nodded.

 

Tucker handed him a small acrylic pin. It looked like a classic alien head, and the bottom said 'out of this world.'

"I thought you were gonna stop with the pins for a while Tuck?"

"After everything that happened, I think this is a justified purchase." Tucker said with a shrug. "Plus Sam brought you a couple things too." Sam stuck her tongue out at Tucker before tossing a plastic shopping bag at Danny.

"Here. For your collection." Danny looked inside and saw four 'Ghostie Energy' cans in bright colors.

"Thanks. You guys rock." Danny smiled softly at his two best friends, and gave Tucker a half-hug. "Let me put these away, then we can raid the fridge downstairs."

Getting downstairs proved to be a slight challenge, when Danny's left leg suddenly fell through the second step. He almost fell all the way down, luckily Sam and Tucker had fast enough reflexes to catch him before any real damage was done.

Danny's parents were both in the kitchen working on some new project. It looked like a handheld computer of some kind. "Hey Dad, we're gonna get some snacks from the fridge and play some video games in the living room, okay?"

"Alright Danno. Just try not to make a mess okay?" Dad looked up from the blueprints he was studying.

"Sure thing Dad." Danny flashed a smile at his Dad as he opened the fridge up.

"Danny, could you Thank your friend for calling an ambulance for you after your accident, for me?" Mom had her goggles pulled down but Danny could still tell she was looking directly at him.

"Okay. Guys my mom says thanks." Danny said distractedly as he grabbed more snack foods from the cabinets.

"No, your other friend. The athletic one." Dad chimed in while writing a note.

"Athletic one?..." Danny almost dropped his armload of snacks when he realized who his parents were talking about. Then it hit him, he realized the one thing he had been trying not to think about. Kwan. Saw everything. Kwan saw what happened to him! "You mean Kwan?" Danny managed to choke out. "He's not really a friend. He was probably here looking for Jazz."

"Still. Make sure to thank him for us." Mom smiled sadly. "I don't know what we would have done if he hadn't called for an ambulance." She shuddered, and Danny nodded.

"Yeah okay." Danny nudged Tucker on the arm and handed him some of the snacks. "We'll be in the living room. We might head back upstairs in a little while though."

"Alright. You kids have fun!" Dad said, with a slightly distracted wave.

————————————

Meanwhile, Kwan tried not to think about everything that had happened at the Fenton's. Over the past few days he had been mainly attempting to pretend that it hadn't happened, and that he has been in no way involved. Although that didn't really happen, because The A-List inadvertently "adopted" Jazz into their group...at least tentatively.

Kwan looked up as Dash entered through his front door, dragging along a slightly confused looking Jazz. "Hey, Kwan." Dash tossed a football softly at him. "You wanna hang? The other girls already packed an entire picnic." Kwan couldn't help but grin at that.

"That sounds great actually. But, when did Star have the time to pack a picnic?" Kwan and Dash both knew that Paulina wouldn't pack anything herself unless she was forced to, and Val was absolute trash in the kitchen. Dash shrugged.

"No clue. 'Lina just called me about half an hour ago, and asked if we could all hang and have a picnic, I said sure, got Jazz, and now I'm grabbing you." Dash grinned as they started making their way toward their usual picnic spot in the park. (Luckily Kwan lived close by.)

As they reached the picnic spot the rest of the girls were all doing their own things. Star was weaving together flower crowns, Paulina was reading a fashion magazine, and Valerie was laying on her back on the picnic blanket, watching the clouds.

"Hey! Did we miss anything exciting?" Kwan skipped a little bit as they got closer.

"Nah. Star made PB&Js for everyone except 'Lina." Val said, sitting up to make room on the picnic blanket.

"No worries though! I made her a very nice sunflower butter and honey sandwich." Star dropped the flower crown she was working on and leaned over to hug Paulina.

"You guys do this kinda thing often then?" Jazz asked as she sat down.

"Not all the time, but whenever we get the chance." Kwan told her, he sat next to her and smiled. "How's your brother doing?" He didn't want to think about all the things that happened, but he did want to make sure that the Fentons were all doing alright.

"He's doing better, thanks for asking. He's back to kicking me out of his room, only talking to his friends. So that's a big plus." Jazz gave a half-hearted shrug.

"I'm so glad things are getting better!" Star beamed. "If you need anyone to talk to, you're welcome to talk with us." As if to prove her point, Star placed the crown she'd been working on, on top of Jazz's head.

Kwan looked over at Dash and Paulina, he knew those two worked hard to make sure the A-List was only the most popular kids in Casper High. Dash looked uneasy, and Paulina looked like she was working out who could possibly be bumped out of the group. While Jazz and Star kept talking about the picnic, Kwan pulled Dash and Paulina aside to discuss it.

"Guys. I think it's fine. We don't have to be an exclusive group. Plus, we all know that Jazz is cool. No one would question her hanging with us." Kwan kept his voice low.

"It's not her that we're concerned about." Dash admitted softly. "Her parents really take her down the social ladder." The football star sighed. "I just don't know if she's got enough to stand on her own in the social climate."

"Plus she's just a tad nerdy." Paulina wrinkled her nose. "We don't want nerds. That takes us from the A-List, to like… the F-List."

"Guys. She isn't that nerdy. Plus we've all needed her help with homework plenty of times." Kwan defended. "She's good at moving between social groups anyway. So we don't have to make her an official A-Lister. We just need to be open to talking with her in public." Dash and Paulina still looked unconvinced. "We have been hanging with her for the past few days already. We brought her along on a picnic for goodness sakes! Get a grip! We're the only ones who care about social standing!" It took everything in him not to yell. Kwan had to stop and take a deep breath, otherwise he might have snapped.

"Kwan. We can let her join peripherally. Anything more than that and...you know how it is." Dash held his hands up in surrender sign of mock surrender.

"Dash. You're my best friend. I would jump off a bridge for you." Kwan narrowed his eyes. "But if you're lying to me. If you don't put your best effort into making this work out. I'll step down and let her take my spot on the A-List." Kwan didn't know where this was coming from, but he did recognize that Jazz needed friends. Especially right now.

"I'll do my best. Let's get back to the picnic and have some fun." Dash lightly punched Kwan on the arm, and Kwan relaxed. He knew Dash would keep his word, he may have overreacted a bit.

@i-cant-go-ghost

[rougebangtan]

pairing: jungkook | reader

genre: strangers to lovers, fluff

word count: 1.840

prompt: old rock + can fulfill the ghostie bingo prompt

warnings: there’s a little making out in the end, so if you don’t like that, please be warned.

You roll your eyes in annoyance at the man in front of you. It is the third consecutive week that he has come to the store without making any purchases. The young man always wore all-black outfits, and would come by in the afternoons, granting you the honor of his visits. He would browse the store, flicking obnoxiously through the CD’s and records for hours on end.

One thing you had to give credits where the credit was due, however, was his impeccable sense of style. He dressed himself in a very unique and pristine manner; even as he tried to look badass, he most certainly looked soft and innocent. The amount of detail he put on his looks was nothing short of admirable. You caught yourself more than once enthralled by the way his earrings would dangle on his lobes.

The shop you work in is in a rundown spot of the city’s downtown which, in turn, had caused you to see all kind of people. Not many where as pretty as the handsome boy that was showing up so often, but you weren’t going to allow yourself to be biased; his pretty privilege had already cut him a lot of slack. You’ve grown impatient with waiting. It’s already been close to a month and the guy hasn’t bought anything.

Sucking in a breath, you think about your options. You have two: you either ignore him or finally set him straight. The choice is clear to you since your mama didn’t raise you to be a quitter. You feel yourself marching towards him before your mind processes the closeness between the two of you. You have your resting bitch face on and that’s what you attribute his stunned expression to as he gets even more wide-eyed.

With a silent sigh, you observe how he shifts in his spot, his legs alternating which one sustains his weight. Oh, boy, now he’s anxious? If anything, it’s you who should be.

“Hi,” you utter with a blank expression plastered on your face, adopting the most authentic salesperson persona you can. “We usually rather to let your customers pick what they want themselves, but you seem kinda lost. I’ve noticed you come to the shop often… I was wondering if you need help?”

He shifts under your gaze, looking absolutely caught off-guard. “Hmm, yeah,” he agrees while his hand goes to scratch his nape in a deflective move. “I could use some help… sorry about always leaving empty-handed. I’m just a very indecisive person.”

You chuckle lightly at that. The boy is super cute. “What are you looking for, pretty boy?”

“A gift.” He answers, and something evil stirs inside of you. You’re going to hell for the thoughts that swirls in your mind.

“A gift? For who? A significant other? A friend?” You query, subtly gauging his relationship status, and he seems to pick it up quite fast.

“It’s for a friend. We’re in a band together, and this store has many LPs that he’d like to add to his collection.” He explains, but he doesn’t keep eye contact for too long.

His cheeks heat up at how intently you pay attention to him. You figured that if he’d just waltz inside your workplace during three weeks to buy something, you had the prerogative to make him squirm.

“I like this one better,” you say as you pick up the Queen LP. “Their music definitely tells a story… I’m not quite sure about the words to describe it, but it just makes you feel nostalgic. In a good way, though. Makes your heart beat a little faster.”

As he stays quiet, you continue to go off about your favorite music in order to give him some insight in what to buy.

“Whereas this one,” you lay the LP in your hands down to grab another. “is kind of a little chaotic. I won’t say it doesn’t grow on you, but it’s a hard one to wrap your head around. At least for me.” You admit with a shrug.

“It’s hard to really get into it every time I try to listen.” His eyes were wide when you said that, and the pink shade that tainted his cheeks had started to creep up to his ears.

“I will take that one, then. Jimin will probably like it. He’s a chaotic person, so the concept suits him.” The man nodded.

“You sure? Don’t you want to hear a few tracks before you make a decision?” You question him, not wanting to be the one to blame in case the LP turns out to be a bad choice.

When he nods again in reassurance, you comply and walk back to the cash register, so you can ring up his purchase. What you don’t expect, however, is when he mutters: “What’s your name?”

You grin at the sheepish manner that he asks for it, and you wish you could hold his face between the palm of your hands seeing as he looks adorable, even with the pretense badass look. “Y/n. And yours?”

“Jungkook,” he replies earnestly.

“Well, Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you. Here’s your LP,” you announce and hand him the record. “It retails for a total of $15,99.”

He reaches on his pockets after taking the LP from you, and drops a 20-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change,” he whispers once he watches you moving around the register.

You gape at him briefly before you watch as he begins shifting again, and you could drool when he bites his already very pink lips. It’s not difficult to notice he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know how to, which is why you wait for him, Jungkook, with an expectant expression gracing your features.

“Thanks,” he settles on saying. Lifting the bag in hand, he clarifies. “For the LP, I mean.”

“You’re welcome,” you respond, a smile never leaving your face. “Thank you for your purchase. Hope you make good use of it.”

He still looks uncertain, but he nods and moves to the door to leave. “Yea, thanks again… Catch you a next time?”

It’s your turn to nod at his words. “Sure. See ya next time, Jungkook.”

When you return his hopeful sentiment, he beams, and as he makes his exit, you swear you could see a skip to his step.

Today was insanely hot, not even your outfit was helping, and you had chosen a smaller tank top paired with some bike shorts because of the weather. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen Jungkook, and your days felt like clockwork. You hated that he spent weeks coming to the shop, but as soon as he was confronted about it (very nicely, you add), he stops passing by.

You weren’t sure if it was the sweltering heat, but what you knew for certain is that the day passed in an agonizingly slow pace. You could count in your two hands how many people had entered the stop, and for that reason, you decided to close earlier. It wasn’t super early to close, though; it was only 10 minutes before your actual schedule.

When you get to the door, however, you’re met with a pleasant surprise. A scarcely dressed Jungkook is sweating in front of you, gasping for air, and his eyes twinkle in street’s lighting. He looks delicious, and the neediness you often feel quickly rekindles at the glorious sight you were gifted with.

“Y/n, hi!” He greets you, but you can see he’s still a little breathless.

‘Hi,” you greet back, second-guessing what you should do. You cave to the needy part of you that wishes to eye the boy for a longer while. “I was just about to close up… but you’re sweating buckets. Do you want a glass of water?”

He only signals in consent, and you step out so he could enter. You close the shop regardless, since that way you’d spare yourself of the trouble of leaving it open and Jungkook stays behind, watching as you do so.

After you give him a huge glass of ice-cold water, you observe him suspiciously. Resting against the counter, you wonder what was he doing there? His eyes are mesmerizing, and even as he gulps the refreshing liquid down, they never stray from your figure. You smile smugly to yourself. Your tank top left your bountiful cleavage on display as well as your back tattoos, and you’ve been proved that such combo had an interesting effect in men.

“What are you doing here, Jungkook?” You finally speak up when he stays silent. He seems surprised because his eyes, which were glued to your chest, are suddenly looking back at yours.

“Like what you see?” You tease.

He blushes at your statement and his hand soon find his nape. You noticed his recurrent mannerisms relied a lot on body language, and you could sense how shy the boy actually is around you.

“I forgot…” He mumbles with uncertainty, then shakes his head. “I didn’t know how to… askforyournumber.”

“What?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowed.

“I didn’t know how to ask for your number.”

“Oh?” You gasp, then slowly stalk over to where he is. “Really? You should’ve told me… instead of coming to the show so many times, then vanishing.”

You watch in entertainment as his eyes widen so much, it looks like they could bulge out of their sockets. “Oh… I’m sorry about that.”

“How about this, Jungkook?” You say and your eyes flutter while staring at the beautiful boy, at the way his tongue moistens his lips. “You give me a kiss, and I give you my number. Would you like that?”

He nods repeatedly, eyeing your chest and tattoos wantonly. “Do you want to touch?”

Without saying anything, Jungkook touches the ink on your shoulders reverentially, his fingertips soon finding the crook of your boobs. You also put your hands on him, sneaking them underneath his shirt, and you swear you had to hold back a moan when you feel his pecs.

Needless of verbal communication, your lips brush against his, and he eagerly accepts the kiss. The pair of you kiss for minutes, his tongue brushes against yours sensually and you lose it when you feel Jungkook’s hard dick poke on your thigh. As you separate from one another, you realize you don’t want his manly hands to get off you.

Resting your hands on his chest while you gaze him through your lashes, you try to ask him out in the most nonchalant way. “Do you want to get out of here?”

His smile is blinding, and his hands grab your hips in reassurance. “I’d love to.”

The smile on your face is also uncontainable, so you rush to pick your stuff up and lock the backdoor. On your way out, you almost can’t believe you’re in fact walking hand-in-hand with the mysterious boy that thought dropping by at your work was a good flirting method.

If it was good, you didn’t know, but it was damn well effective.

a/n: Sammy !!! here it is, i envisioned the reader as you @breadoffoxy ily! Jester, @youarejesting, thank you for borrowing me your prompt. I hope to have done it justice. 🤍

[make-me-imagine]

Rescue

👻13 Days of Halloween: Day 10

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Prompt: “How do you ACCIDENTALLY become the leader of a ghost army?” “I don’t know, long story”

Pairing: Kai Parker

Gender: Neutral          Triggers: Violence, blood, torture

Theme: Mostly angst with a little humor/fluff at the end.

Note: I haven’t seen much of TVD with Kai in it, so I may not be the best at writing his character + I don’t know/remember if he was ever a “good guy” and I also can’t remember how much magic he actually had, so, yeah...just go with it

Ghosts. Why was it always ghosts? You wondered as you faced the crowd of angry spirits staring you down. Anytime it was vampires, werewolves, or witches that were trying to take over the town you always had the jump on them. But never with ghosts, they always seemed to...well, appear out of nowhere.

You looked around, seeing an empty house for sale you quickly sprinted inside, locking the door and running up the stairs, dialing your brothers number.

Damon stared Kai down with a frown, debating whether or not to kill him or listen to him “Why are you telling us this?”

“Well” Kai began “We’ve had a fairly rocky relationship, and I thought warning you about this might give me a few good guy points” he shrugged “Believe me or not, those witches are sending an army here to deal with you”

“So it wouldn’t have anything to do with your crush on Y/n?” Caroline broke in

“I never said that it didn’t” he smirked. 

Damon looked at Stefan, just as Stefans phone began to ring, taking it out he answered it, your voice audible immediately “Stefan! Somethings going on, there’s a crap ton of angry ghosts stomping through town, some of them were definitely not happy to see me”

Everyone was listening intently, worried for your safety. Even Kai found his heart to be beating much faster. He had been hoping you would be here when he arrived. No such luck. For either of you. 

“Y/n, where are you!?” Stefan asked as all of them began making there way from the house.

“I’m at-” your voice broke off when a loud bang was heard.

“Y/n? Y/n?!” Stefan called your name desperately, he looked at the others “Look everywhere” they all nodded as they all went separate ways, leaving Kai behind.

You dropped your phone when the door flew open, almost falling from it’s hinges. You fell into a defensive position, knowing they would try to kill you. Three familiar witches walked into your room, all three of which you, Damon and Stefan had killed months prior. “Hello Y/n” the one you had killed said, venom dripping from her voice “I told you we’d be back for you”

“What happened to the Earth needing to stay in balance? That doesn’t happen when you come back from the dead”

“No, but it will be back in balance soon enough, after we kill you and your friends” the other said.

“We killed you once, we can do it again”

They all smirked before they lifted their hands towards you. Your head filled with an immense pressure causing you to groan in pain, trying to fight through it you lunged towards them, but were thrown back into your wall. Everything went dark.

-

Kai sauntered into the large broken down house, immediatley met with a group of witches, their bewildered stared made him chuckle “Ladies” he greeted.

“Malachai Parker” the head of the group spoke, walking up to him “What brings you here?”

He chuckled “Oh, ya’ know, something about those ghosts wandering around town killing a bunch of people. Nice spell work by the way” 

She smiled back at him “Thank you. Would I be being to hopeful to believe you are here to help us destroy the Salvatores and their friends?”

Kai audibly sighed “You know...About a month ago, that would be much more tempting than it is now. But now that it is, well now, I’m actually here to stop you”

A quite murmur ran through the group of witches “And why is that may I ask?” the leader asked, trying to hide the anger and fear rising in her tone.

“Well...it wouldn’t be to bad if you were just threatening the Damon and Stefan Salvatore, but you just had to go and threaten Y/n”

“Y/n?!” the witch scoffed “Don’t tell me you’ve befriended them? They are worth nothing to people like us Malachai” she tried to reason with him.

“Y/n is worth something to me” his tone was serious, threatening, almost deadly. He took a step closer, the witches stepped back “Now call of your ghosties that are hunting them down”

She smirked “Sorry Malakai, you’re too late”

Kai’s head twitched to the side, anger rising “What does that mean?” 

“Y/n Salvatore is dead”

-

The others ran around the town trying to find you, or  a group of ghosts, to find out where you were. Stefan called Damon on his phone “Have you found y/n?”

Damon sighed “No, I don’t think anyone has. We need to find the witches that started this”

Stefan thought to himself “Didn’t the sheriff say they had reports of some people crashing in that old broken down house on the edge of town?”

“I’ll meet you there” Damon hung up, immediately heading to the house.

They all met up at the house at the same time, ready for a fight. As they barged into the house, they stopped in their tracks. Finding the bodies of almost a dozen witches. All dead, sprawled around the room.

“What the hell?” Damon muttered, looking over at Stefan “Y/n?”

“No” he shook his head “Y/n would never be this...violent” he finished while looking at a decapitated body. 

Damon quickly sped through the house before meeting back with the others “Y/n’s not here”

“Then who did this?” Elena asked

“Wait” Caroline spoke up “What about Malachai?”

They all shared looked, agreeing silently that it must have been him. And all of them silently agreeing it was because they took you.

-

You pulled against your restraints, hissing when the vervain doused ropes burned into your skin. You eyed the ghost staring at you, a young boy, didn’t look to be over 18. He looked familiar “Who are you? Or who were you, rather”

“Tobias Stanton”

You frowned “I recognize that name”

“You would. We went to school together about three years ago...I knew there was something about you” he scoffed, shaking his head “A vampire. Crazy” 

“Yeah...you died in a car crash like a year ago...why are you here? You had nothing to do with any of this”

“I know. But.” he looked around “I have to do what they ask, I can’t resist. The spell these witches cast brought back anyone that died within the last year, and now they are controlling us.” he frowned “I’d let you out if I could”

Your frown deepened “Thanks Tobias. I’m sorry this is happening to you”

“Would you two shut up with the reunion crap” a man walked in, another one of the witches that had been killed a while back “Get out” he warned Tobias, as he left quickly, giving you one more parting glance. 

The witch glared down at you for a moment before splashing you with water from the bottle in his hand, you cried out as the vervain tainted water burned into your skin. He smirked as he pulled another chair up, sitting down on it, right in front of you “As soon as your brothers show up to try and rescue you, we’re gonna kill you. Right in front of them” his smile widened as you glared at him. 

The woman from before, the one you killed sauntered in. She motioned her head for the man to leave. As he rose he smiled at you once more before passing the vervain water to her and exiting the room. 

She circled you once before stopping in front of you, sitting in the chair. She pulled a knife from her jacket pocket, opening it. She poured some of the water on it. You stared at her, waiting for her to start. She was here for revenge, you had been expecting it. But you decided you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of screaming.

She only glanced at you for a moment before she shoved the blade into the flesh of your thigh.You wanted desperately to cry out in pain, but you held back. You saw the mix of disappointment and surprise on her face, though only briefly visible before she yanked the blade out. 

You looked down at your leg, seeing the blood soaking into your once favorite pair of jeans. You looked back at her, meeting her eyes before she poured some of the vervain water on the fresh wound. 

Your hands clenched so hard you felt your nails dig into your palms. But you refused to cry out. She dumped more water onto the blade before dragging it against your cheek, slowly. The hissing sound audible. 

It seemed like hours had passed before she rose from the chair, annoyance evident on her face. You were covered in slow healing wounds, blood soaked through your clothes on your legs, arms, chest and stomach. You had yet to make a sound. At this point you were too tired too. But you had to admit the satisfaction of seeing how angry she was getting helped you to hold on.

“Getting bored?” you muttered out.

She rose the knife to your neck “I’m just getting started”

Suddenly a large crash followed by some yells were heard from the other room. She smiled at you “Seems like your brother are here, maybe I’ll have to skip the torture and go straight to the good part, killing you”

“Oh I don’t think so”

Both your heads snapped towards the door. Your eyes widened at the sight of Kai standing in the doorway, covered in blood.

“Kai?” you questioned as the witch stepped forward 

“Who the hell are you?”

Kai’s eye grazed over you, seeing all the blood made anger pulse through him. At least he was right, the witch lied when she said you were dead. 

“I’m Malachai Parker” he answered

The witch rose her hand to push him back with her magic, but he didn’t budge, he glanced down at his chest and then back at her “Sorry, but your magic wont work on me.” Confusion crossed both your faces. She glanced behind him, towards the other room “Your friends aren’t coming either. They’re gone”

“What do you mean gone?” 

“Gone, Ya’ know, poof” gesturing with his hands before he smirked at her “I have control over you all now, and what I say goes” he took a step towards her causing her to step back, “And what I say, is, your gone” he point at her before quietly muttering a few words you couldn't hear, and suddenly the witch was gone. You stared at the place she was just standing before being startled by Kai crouching down in front of you.

You met eyes as he frowned at you, eyeing the blood covering your face before reaching behind you and untying you, as he stood you stared up at him “How did you get control over them?”

“Accident?” he said, unconvincingly.

You knit your brow “Kai, how do you ACCIDENTALLY become the leader of a ghost army?”

“Uh, I don’t know, long story, now come on” he gestured for you to follow him.

As you rolled your eyes at his answer, you stood, immediately staggering from weakness. Kai gently grabbed your arm holding you up. You looked at him, your face only a couple inches apart “Thanks” you muttered.

“You’re welcome” he held onto your arm as you made your way from the room. He pulled out his phone before texting someone.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling your brothers where we are, they’ve been looking for you”

“They didn’t know you were here?”

He shook his head. You stopped, causing him to look at you in concern before you spoke “Why did you come?”

You saw his wrack his brain for an answer before he slowly spoke “For you”

You knew Kai flirted with you, but you never thought his feelings might be genuine enough for him to save your life like this. Much to the annoyance of your brothers and friends, the two of you actually got along. Except when they got hurt because of something he did. But he hadn’t done anything recently. You were convinced he was changing for the better. But you never thought it might be because of you. Which is absolutely was. 

“You took over the ghost army and came here just to rescue me?” 

“Uh...yes?”

“Why?”

Kai adjusted his stance nervously “I...uh” he sighed “Ugh, feelings are hard”

You chuckled, causing him to raise his brow in confusion “It’s okay Kai, I think I know” you leaned over to him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek “Thank you”

He stared at you in awe and confusion. He really was bad at this. “You’re welcome, Y/n”

Suddenly the doors flung open, and the two of your turned in shock. You grabbed your side when it pulsed in pain. But a sense of relief washed over you as Stefan and Damon came into view.

“Thank God” Stefan muttered as he pulled you into a gentle hug.

Kai and Damon met eyes, and Damon nodded his head lightly at Kai. A silent thank you. Kai returned the gesture as Stefan began to lead you out of the house, Damon reaching over to support your other side. 

As you rounded the corner to leave, you looked back, catching Kai’s eyes. You smiled lightly at him, as he returned the smile. Wondering if the unusually feelings he had for you were not just one sided anymore. 

[meganlpie]

Stowaway

Another Wattpad request! I do not own any of the Guardians of the Galaxy. They belong to Marvel.

Warnings: None?

Pairings: Drax x fem!reader (platonic?? Enemies??)

You hadn't meant to stowaway on the Milano….Okay, that was a lie. You had snuck aboard intentionally. But you hadn't really expected them to take off so soon. It was just supposed to be a quick grab and run. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to know that. They had found you shortly after taking off and now you were sitting in the brig with the big one guarding your cell while the rest took care of their business.

         "Hey, buddy," you said, catching his attention. "Do not call me that. I am not this 'Buddy' of whom you speak. I am Drax! The Destroyer!" You pursed your lips in an effort to keep from laughing. This was going to be too easy. Schooling your features, you put on your best melancholy expression. You even threw in a little sniffle, once more getting Drax's attention.

         "W-Why are you making that sound? I see no reason for you to cry." You sniffled again. "I'm sorry. It's just…I didn't mean to stowaway. I swear. I was looking for my pet. He wandered onboard. He must have left when I was searching for him because I got stuck where you found me. I-I just wanted him back. My little brother loves him so much." You feigned tears until Drax sighed.

         "Why did you not alert us to your presence earlier then?" he asked. You hid a smirk. Like taking candy from a baby. "Because I didn't know if you would hurt me. But I see that you are good. You were only protecting what was yours. I just want to go home now! Please let me go home and I will never bother you again." You were full on "wailing" by this point. You kept peeking at Drax who looked deep in thought. If he didn't fall for this, you were screwed.

         You heard the barrier of the cell lower. "You are free to go. But do not touch anything." You nodded. "May I have my bag please?" Drax grabbed your pack and handed it to you. "Thank you." Drax escorted you to the door. Keeping up your charade, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," you said before you took off running. You had to get a ship to take you back to Knowhere and fast!

Drax's POV

         Drax had done his good deed for the day. He went back to sharpening his weapons. As he did this, he contemplated you. He knew he had done the right thing, but something still bothered him. There was something about you that was odd to say the least. Still, Drax had no more time to think about it as he heard the voices of his companions getting closer.

         They were speaking animatedly when Drax interrupted them. With a grin, he announced his good deed. "I HAVE FREED THE PRISONER!" Gamora's mouth dropped open and Quill's eyes closed briefly. "Drax! She works for the Collector! She was stealing from us!" Drax's brows furrowed. "No. She told me that she merely got stuck searching for her lost pet." Quill groaned as he threw his bag down. "She scammed you, man!"

         "Scam? I do not know this word." Rocket crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, you gotta dumb it down for these guys. She lied to you, Drax. She's got something of ours that she's taking to Tivan. And I bet I know where she hid it. There's probably a secret compartment in that bag of hers. We should look." Drax cleared his throat. "I have given her the bag as well."

         Rocket dragged his claws down his face. "Great. Guess it's time to hunt her down." He grabbed his missile launcher. "ROCKET, NO! We are not shooting her with that thing." Rocket grumbled as he put it back down. "Come on. Let's go find her before she gets  ship back to Tivan."  

Your POV

         You had almost made it when you heard their voices. You cursed under your breath. "There she is!" You spotted them to your left so you ran in the opposite direction. You pushed people out of your way, jumped over things, anything to get away from your would-be captors. You kept your bag close to your body. It would be awful to lose it now when you were so close to escaping.

         It seemed you knew this planet better than they did because you lost them soon enough. You'd missed your ship but hopefully you could catch another once the people chasing you gave up. Ducking into a back alley, you sighed. This job was taking a lot longer than it should have. Still, that meant more units from Tivan. You were so lost in thought, you weren't paying attention until you ran into something.

         You looked up and saw Drax. He stood in front of you with two long swords. You gulped. "Ah, I see you found me…" You turned to run, but the rest of Drax's friends were there. "Caught me again, I guess." None of them looked amused and you soon found yourself back in the brig of the Milano with Drax on guard again.

         "You know, you're smarter than you look. I would have bet I'd have been half why to Knowhere before you even realized your mistake," you said, trying to get him to talk. You were bored after all. "QUIET, DECEIVER! I shall not believe your lies again." You shrugged and laughed a little bit. "Well, can't blame a girl for trying. But really, that was fun. I don't remember the last time I had so much fun." Drax didn't say a word. He just sat there and stewed over his mistake. You crossed your arms and leaned back. It was going to be a loooooong journey.

(a/n: I hope you like it.)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @aikibriarrose​ @esoltis280​ @lady-of-lies​ @sirkekselord​

Marvel Tags: @ghostie-writes​ @jotink78​ @iwillbeinmynest​ @mala-firebringer​ @badboysdoitbetter2​

[deathfrisbeeinthetardis]

Bliss 7 and 12 please ;-;

Thank you anon, I absolutely adored writing this prompt, but being me I ended up with more angst than I planned to write for such a sweet prompt, but the ending is soft I swear. I hope you like it

Prompt Bliss 7. “Look at you… Goodness, you’re so cute.”

Ryan doesn’t know what they are even doing at this point.  

This is the tenth time this month that he had lingered at the office after work, throwing himself into doing and redoing his editing as people trickled out and the buzz faded away. His neck is straining and his eyes ache, but he catches himself before he rubs them, not wanting to jostle the contacts. The office is not the pinnacle of comfort and luxury, but he would give up his bed and all his jerseys if it meant he could be spared from his mind.  

There is no use thinking about it really, what’s done is done, but he can’t help his reluctance. It’s just an apartment, his rationality says. But why does every empty space hurt to look at, his heart whispers.

There are so many of them now. 

So he had hung back, and Shane had stayed with him, the two of them editing their various projects side by side, a giant bucket of Chicago Popcorn™ Shane’s parents had sent between them.

The problem, as it usually was, is that Shane’s company and some good old fashioned sleep deprivation don’t mix well, and productivity took the fallout, their work ethic gradually sliding off the table until they’re positively undoing efforts that they’ve already put out. 

Yes, maybe Ryan had something to do with Shane’s elbow and back crashing onto his laptop keyboard and deleting nearly two hours of editing, but it’s Shane’s fault he doesn’t save the videos every two minutes like Ryan does, non-compulsively of course. 

So their nights aren’t the most productive, but it’s off-hours so no one can really tell them off. The office is empty, unflipped light switches plunging patches of desks into shadow between the bright spots in mesmerizing patterns. The warehouse desk layout leaves much space for the mind to fill, but Ryan’s worked here for so long that he knows every twist and turn. He’d bet good money that he’d win in a ghost race through this organized mess. 

Ryan’s pretty sure the only person doing actual work tonight has chosen to evacuate from their desk to one of the corners farthest away from the pair of them. He feels a little bad to bother him with the un-moderated volume of their conversations and the not-so-infrequent giggling fits, but right now he’s too relaxed and happy to care. It’s the only time he gets to feel like this anyway. 

The Unsolved title card flashes, pulling his attention back to the screen, a white bar inching through the multicolored blocks of carefully compiled video and audio files at the bottom of the monitor. Ryan’s quite proud of this one, the crew were able to get some stellar shots on-location and there was probably one of the clearest spirit box replies they’ve gotten, no matter how hard the other man tries to discount it. 

“Aww you cut that part out again?’ Shane pouts beside him, headphones perched precariously on his big head.

"You can’t just go and tell ghosts they’re gonna be on Youtube every time.” Ryan swivels his chair to face Shane, a lofty air in his voice as he does his best to look down his nose at the other man, even going so far as pumping his seat up a few inches. Shane’s lip trembles like he’s holding back a laugh. It’s an argument they’ve had before, and Ryan knows how it’s going to go almost down to the line, but it’s always fun, so he plays the game. 

“And why not?" 

"They’re not from this time, they don’t even know what electricity is!”

“So you are admitting the spirit box is wack.” Shane rubs his hands together evilly, smiling so wide he could have been in that truth or dare movie, no special effects needed. “Oh, this is very good.”

“I did not say that,” Ryan protests, nudging Shane’s leg with a foot and feeling intensely satisfied when the boot leaves a dirt mark on the other man’s dark jeans. Jeez, they are literal children sometimes, but Ryan never has this much fun. 

“It’s just, they’re ghosts, and they’re making the effort to reach out to talk to these two idiots, cut them some slack.”

“You’re the only idiot here. I, Shane Madej, am a man of science.” Shane doesn’t even have to level up his seat and he’s still taller than Ryan. It is so, so not fair. 

“This is science!”

“Uh-huh,” Shane says, deadpan. There is movement just out of Ryan’s periphery, and he cranes his head to see the guy leave, wincing internally. He should probably apologize for being loud, but that can totally wait a day. Maybe two.   

“There has been plenty of evidence on ghosts and you know it.”

“From what I’ve seen? You really want to go into that?” There’s a challenge in Shane’s posture, and Ryan feels a rush in his chest that overruns the empty ache there, sees the trap but he jumps anyway.

“Hell yeah I do, we’ve caught some pretty good stuff along the way, Waverly, ‘brown and white’?  The freaking Sallie House?" 

"We both know the whole flashlight test is horseshit, Ryan.” Shane smirks, leaning back in his chair languidly with his hands behind his head, “As to the rest of those, the demons and ghosties gotta work harder than that, cause right now they don’t seem very interesting.”

  “How dare you! They’re more than interesting. They were all people once.”

“Let’s list what they’ve done, hmm? Jostling toothpaste, nudging bouncy balls, whispers so gentle you can’t even–”

“Nope I’m not letting you trivialize the evidence, it was fucking creepy to hear those on location.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a wimp.”

“Fuck you.” Ryan shoots back, but there’s no real feeling behind it. He pulls a serious face to match Shane’s, squaring his shoulders and oh watch how fast he folds now. 

The other man’s joy is infectious, and soon Ryan is joining him, their laughs swallowed up by the high ceilings and far walls. Ryan’s eyes catch on the lights shining down on Shane, tracing golden lines along the edges of his lanky figure against the shadowed monotony of conference rooms. Breathless and curling into themselves, their gazes meet and linger across five feet of space.

They’re just two guys working into the small hours of the night, just another aspect of their life that their ghost hunting career has bled into, it’s all normal. 

Except it isn’t. 

Neither of them needs to be here to work, least of all Shane, and really, Ryan thinks with a twist in his chest, it has just been the two of them spending time in each other’s company. And Ryan does genuinely enjoy it. He loves the ease of their interactions, how they can hound each other mercilessly and bicker, how Shane can poke that special unhinged laugh out of him and make him forget about everything else. 

And how he, in turn, can make the big guy’s eyes all curvy and bright like no one does. 

But there’s no use thinking about things like that. 

There could be, a small voice says, a light shining weak in the churning abyss. Ryan passes a hand over his face and keeps it there, not trusting himself to not let his heart spill right out. 

“Ryan?”

He had thought he found the one with Helen, the person in the world he’d like to spend his life with, but then things had started falling apart, and she had left. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Ryan knows, but he had gotten used to having someone to come home to, someone who knows him for who he is. 

You can have that again, the voice goes on small and determined, and Ryan wishes he could block it out. Isn’t he always good at that on their investigations? It was basically in the fucking job description. 

You just have to let yourself see.

Shane is safe, someone to trust, someone to rely on. No one else would have born with him all the times he lost his mind in those haunted places. No one else would have hummed Mama Mia to him constantly in those first days when Ryan hid the pain so well on camera, knowing the familiar tune would take the tears away, if only for a minute. Just one Shane Madej hailing from the Land of Lincoln, his co-host, his best friend, and the most important constant grounding him while the rest of his world is turned up-side-down. 

“You okay buddy?” There is a sharp tone in Shane’s voice, and Ryan belatedly realizes his eyes are wet. Shane’s face is flushed from laughing, but now he leans forward and there is suddenly so much care in the slight tension of his shoulders that Ryan wants to cry. 

He can’t risk losing this, he doesn’t know what he would do if he manages to fuck up this last good thing in his life. 

“Yeah,” He gives the other man a small smile, turning back to his screen to start up the video again, and he feels Shane relaxing back into his chair reluctantly. 

Soon he’s leaning forward again, attention rapt on every little detail Ryan had painstakingly compiled. 

“Hmm, didn’t you make a face at that point?” Shane taps a finger against his chin, eyes narrowed in concentration as Ryan reaches out to pause the replay, the lines of blue and yellow stark against the black background. 

“Oh, that? I didn’t think it would anyone would be interested to see it.” Ryan’s fingers tap at the keys for a few seconds, pulling up the clip from the front camera and overlaying it on the video. 

"I didn’t know it was gonna scare ya.” Screen-Shane says, tipping his head to the side and schooling his face into an impressive mask of innocence as he batted his eyes at screen-Ryan.

In-real-life Ryan feels warmth coil in his chest at the memory, and he smiles as he watches himself sputter for a bit, finally settling on a determined, You know what you did. He actually huffs out a laugh at his piss poor attempt to look intimidating, when the camera angle in the VO booth put Shane so much clearly taller. 

On the screen, Shane’s looking down at Ryan with a grin, though he at least has the self-awareness to look a little sheepish. Their eyes lock, and with an appropriate pause for dramatic effect, “I do.”

The clip takes another few seconds to end, their raucous laughter sound from his speakers. Then Ryan’s left with the still of both of them looking at the camera, frozen grins bright on their faces, captured in time. 

And Ryan’s caught in fucking limbo again, his free hand flexing in on empty air at the edge of his desk.  

“Good stuff huh?” Shane’s voice is quiet. 

“Yeah.” Breathe, just breathe, how is that so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard. 

“You considering switching the text out for this?” There’s a smile in Shane’s voice, and Ryan clears his throat and drags in a shuddering breath. 

“No it's—I’ll uh, I’ll put it in.” He hears Shane wheeling close on his chair, but he doesn’t turn to look, locking his eyes on the monitor and busying himself with the familiar shifts and adjustments. He just needs a bit of time to clear his head, then he’ll recover the ability to be a half-decent friend again, he’s sure of it. 

Ryan’s got his cursor hovering over the clip, leaning forward to keep an eye on the time markings when Shane loses a soft breath, his voice an awed murmur. 

“God, you’re so cute when you’re focused." 

And Ryan’s world freezes over. 

Around the edges of his vision, he sees realization, surprise, and something like fear flit across the other man’s face. But Ryan doesn’t do much, just holds as still as he can, like he can stamp down the giddy hope in his chest before it even has a chance to rise, so he can convince himself that it’s all just a freakishly detailed fever dream, because Shane can’t have just said that. 

Shane saw him as a friend, nothing more. Ryan does want that to be true, he really should. 

Breathing is becoming such a fucking bother again, he thinks absently. Maybe if he didn’t do it, life would be much easier. 

"Oh-oh god I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that, what kind of shitty friend am I—just,” Shane breaks off, dragging both hands through his hair and tugging in frustration. When he finally speaks he sounds broken, voice thick as if he’s holding back tears, “I’m so sorry.”

It’s all too much, there’s a loud rushing in Ryan’s head. He bolts out of his chair, needing the freedom in space to think, to process. His chest tightens when Shane flinches at the sudden movement, eyes wide, fingers white where they’ve wrapped around the arm of his chair in a death grip.

He needs air, Ryan thinks, and his feet start carrying him away, faster and faster. But Shane follows him, and it has always been like this, he supposes. Ryan takes the lead and Shane hops on for the ride, for better or for worse, always a steady presence at his side when he needs him the most. Sometimes even when he doesn’t want to.

Shane’s steps close in and he catches at Ryan’s arm, “Ryan wait, please.”

Ryan blinks hard, but he doesn’t get to wake up this time. Shane’s fingers are burning points of pressure on his mind. 

He opens his mouth to speak but there’s a strange taste, two cool lines trace down his face and his vision is swimming, and oh wouldn’t it just be perfect if he blacked out, poor little Ryan, can’t even take a fucking joke without fainting—

“Oh god, don’t cry Ry, please, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Was it a fucking joke.” Ryan bites out, voice barely louder than a whisper but it still comes out harsher than he means. He can’t look at Shane, so Ryan keeps his eyes down, stares at the mud on Shane’s boots from their last shoot. He needs to know. 

“No,” Hurt, that’s what it is, and there’s far too much of it in Shane’s voice for it to be right. “No it wasn’t.” Shane lets go of Ryan’s hand to curls an arm around himself, and Ryan aches for the burning contact like it’s a physical wound. 

“Oh.” It’s more a punched out puff of air than a word. Oh.

“I-” Shane swallows, eyes shifting then settling back on Ryan, “I was looking at you, and it-it slipped out, I’m sorry.”

The silence isn’t complete, of course it isn’t. The sound of traffic exists at all hours of the day here. But it still envelops Ryan, wrapping around his throat and trying to suffocate the words he’s struggling to form. 

“Don’t be."  

"What?” Shane breathes, hesitant, almost disbelieving, his eyes dart to search Ryan’s face, “you’re not saying—do you—”

“I think I can.” Ryan says, and he tastes truth on his tongue. 

Not now, not even tomorrow, but maybe next week, or the week after that.

“You do?"  

"I do.” He affirms, and Ryan’s throat closes up with something warm when a lopsided grin starts to form on Shane’s face, small and hopeful, a gentle flush creeping onto his cheeks. They’re just standing in the office looking at each other, and Shane’s hand lifts up a little as if to reach out, but he catches himself before it makes it into Ryan’s personal space. 

“You wanna head back home? I’ll pack the popcorn.” Ryan can’t really breathe, so he just nods and offers Shane a watery smile. 

Their fingers brush when Ryan hands Shane a blanket for the couch, the corners of Shane’s eyes are crinkling and Ryan is breathless. He’s been feeling like that a lot tonight, and it seems that life is determined to keep him that way with all the curveballs it’s been chucking at him. 

But this time it’s not a bad feeling. Not at all. 

He fiddles with his sleeve and watches Shane settle down, making his way around his apartment with a familiarity accumulated over years’ worth of movie nights and beers and popcorn. 

It’s still too soon, and he doesn’t think he can do anything about this whole thing he’s got himself into. But he’s got Shane with him, and for once Ryan’s not afraid he’s going to leave. 

And maybe, Ryan thinks. Maybe one day he won’t need to hide from his apartment and its empty spaces. 

[hockeylvr59]

Life Changes Part 4 || Paul Bissonnette

Summary: It’s crazy how quickly your life can change...one minute you’re a struggling personal injury lawyer and the next you’re working for one of the hottest sports podcasts to supplement your income. A new job and the end of a long-term relationship was just the beginning for Leigh Thompson when it comes to life changes. Thankfully she has the one and only Paul Bissonnette at her side to help her handle them all. 

Authors Note: I added 568 words to this one plus the social media posts that accompany it. Next chapter is probably going to be the one that gets the most editing but please let me know what you think about this one as I kept both Leigh’s and Paul’s pov in it. 

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no     Warnings: cursing, angst.    Word Count: 3,361

_________________________________________________________

“Change is never easy.”

Waking up my third day in Arizona I felt nauseous, but it wasn’t bad enough that I needed to bolt for the toilet. Deciding that I needed breakfast before getting some work done, I slipped a sweatshirt on before heading out to Paul’s kitchen. There I found the man himself cooking up some eggs and bacon. The smell made my stomach twist but I fought back the urge to throw up, instead grabbing a bottle of water and murmuring good morning to him.

“Good morning, want some breakfast?” He questioned peering at me over his shoulder while he cooked. When my stomach once again twisted after catching a whiff of the smell, I could only shrug my shoulders, pressing a palm to my stomach.

“My brain says yes, but my stomach is suggesting that maybe I should hold off. I’m managing to hold onto my stomach but just barely,” I admitted, wishing that my body would pull itself together and get over this whole nausea thing because it was really getting old. “So maybe I’ll just have a banana and go get some work done.”

Grabbing a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter, I tried to ignore the look Paul was giving me as I peeled the banana and then headed back to the guest bedroom.

Staring at the words on my computer screen as I tried to work made my head spin a little, so I put everything to the side, instead just laying back down for a few minutes waiting for my vision to clear. I was almost back asleep when Paul appeared in the doorway declaring that he was going to go work out and then he had some content to film so he would be back around dinner time. Raising my hand in a thumbs up in acknowledgment I rolled back over and laid in bed for a few more minutes, the sound of the front door and Paul leaving following just a few minutes later.

Any additional rest I was attempting was cut off abruptly when the nausea took over and once again sent me bolting for the toilet. Throwing up was really the worst and left me feeling drained and gross. I couldn’t understand why I kept getting sick in the morning, other than that maybe it had something to do with drainage from sleeping and the humidity and air pressure. Deciding to clean up a little, I brushed my teeth and then turned the shower on, letting the heat from the water flow over my skin and the steam fill my lungs as I bathed until it ran cold.

After cleaning up, I redressed and my little bit of self care seemed to settle my stomach enough that I was able to spend a few hours working. Deciding I was done for the day around 1, I padded back out to the empty kitchen, digging through Paul’s cabinets for anything that my stomach might tolerate. He had a few boxes of protein bars and since only one sounded moderately decent, I grabbed two bars from the box and worked on breaking off pieces to eat while I changed to head out to the pool.

With my suit on under shorts and a tank top, I slipped my sunglasses onto my head and sandals onto my feet before pulling my book from my bag and phone from its charger. As I passed through the kitchen I also grabbed a bottle of sunscreen, a bottle of water, and the pool pass and condo key Paul had left behind. Arizona weather was nothing like the east coast this time of year and the sun on my skin felt wonderful. Laying out on a patio chair with my book was the perfect way to spend the rest of the afternoon and I couldn’t help but be jealous of the snowbirds that spend their winters like this while enjoying the more mild summers up north. 

I was still at the pool hours later when Paul found me, appearing over my chair as I lounged watching some of the kids playing before dinner. He was in his own swimsuit and simply plopped down on the chair beside me, setting a fresh bottle of water down for me next to my empty one.

“Glad you’re finally enjoying the pool.” He declared. “Or at least the pool deck…” He clarified because there were no signs that I’d gone into the water, though I definitely had gone for a swim an hour or so earlier.

“A girl’s gotta work on her tan.” I teased and once again I felt his eyes graze over my body before he smirked and slid his sunglasses back on. 

“Yeah...you are pretty ghosty looking.” 

He laughed as I chucked my empty water bottle at him. Moments later some of the kids in the water spotted Paul and called out for him wanting him to come play with them and I raised an eyebrow.

“Go on…you can’t let those kids down…” I teased, grinning over at him. Standing he sighed and turned to go to the pool but before he got two steps he turned and suddenly his hands were reaching for me, tugging me to my feet and then carrying me over to the pool where he promptly dropped me into the water before jumping in himself.

I was sputtering a bit when I came up for air, and spotting him mere feet away I simply shoved him before splashing as much water as I could manage his way. The kids didn’t give me much time to be angry even if I wanted to be (which I really didn’t) as they quickly pulled both of us into their game, tossing a foam football around. Their laughter was probably the best medicine I could ask for and Paul was unsurprisingly a good sport, getting super into the games. Watching him play with these kids only reaffirmed in my mind what a good guy he was and I knew that I was lucky to be in his life, even as just a friend and coworker.

We stayed in the pool for nearly half an hour after the kids went inside for dinner, just swimming lazy laps and watching as the sun started to set. Back inside, Paul set to start dinner while I changed, having picked up steaks and some broccoli to grill at my suggestion. After dinner, he made a fire once again and we spent the evening just relaxing and enjoying the weather outside. My week here was flying by way too quickly and I didn’t want these moments to end. 

______

Paul’s POV

It was eight in the morning and once again the sound of Leigh vomiting served as my alarm clock for the day. She had been in Arizona for four days and had vomited or been nauseous each morning since arriving. Though she kept insisting that it was just stress, my gut was telling me otherwise. 

Pushing myself out of bed, I slid on a pair of sweats before padding to the guest bathroom, again pulling her hair away from her face while she spilled whatever might have been left in her stomach at this point. Squatting down beside her, I rubbed my left hand over her back gently. Once she appeared to be done, I stepped out of the bathroom while she finished cleaning up, grabbed my phone from the bedside table and proceeded into my bathroom pulling up my text conversation with Whits. 

She threw up again.

Brushing my teeth after taking a piss, I splashed some water on my face waiting for a text response.

Seriously? This is what day four?

That I’m aware of…

And she hasn’t been drinking tap water? And she’s fine the rest of the day?

Yeah, still think it’s just a bug? Because if it is I’ve never seen one like it.

No. Gonna get her to see a doctor?

I mean I think I have to. I don’t think she has any clue.

Or she does and is just in denial…

Man…good luck with that. Can’t say I envy you. Definitely sounds like your suspicions may be right though.

Man do I hope I’m wrong…

Within fifteen minutes I’m ready to go for the day and after checking with a buddy who operates a local clinic I’ve got a spot for her in an hour to be seen by a doctor. Convincing her to go is another problem entirely. Peeking into the guest bedroom, I see her curled up in a ball and after tapping on the door I walk in, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. She looks so small like this and my chest clenches at what she’ll have to go through if my suspicions are right. 

“Come on. Get up.” I prod and she groans softly murmuring that she just wants to rest. “You can rest after you see a doctor.” Her face pales at my words and I start to wonder if she actually knows what is going on and is in denial. “Come on. I got you an appointment at a clinic a buddy runs.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s just a bug.” She declares attempting to get me to leave her alone.

“If it’s a bug then they can get you something to help your body fight it so you aren’t praying to my commode every morning. Come on. Let’s go. Get dressed.” Part of me feels bad because it’s clear she doesn’t feel well this morning but I’m not sure that continuing this routine is going to do her much good.

Finally, she works herself to her feet and motions for me to leave the room so she can change. Moving to the kitchen I grab one of the protein bars she seems to like so that she can eat it in the car as well as a bottle of water before making myself a quick smoothie so that we can get to the appointment on time.

When she enters the room I take in the dark circles under her eyes and her hair thrown up into a messy ponytail, simple shorts and a t-shirt covering her body. To say she looks tired is an understatement and after grabbing my keys I usher her out the door and into my car. 

Once in the car, she slumps against the window and winces as I start the car and music fills the cab. After quickly reaching to turn it down I back out of my parking spot and drive silently to the clinic, my worry growing the closer we get. The whole point of her coming out here was to get her feeling better and currently she looks worse than when she landed after not sleeping at all. 

Arriving about fifteen minutes before her appointment time I couldn’t help but smile seeing that she had fallen asleep. At this point, any rest that she could get would be to her benefit. Slipping out of the car, I move around to the passenger side door, opening it gently before reaching out to shake her awake softly. As she stirs, her face turns pale and after quickly unbuckling and scrambling out of the car she was puking once more into a bush at the side of the building. A soft groan falls from her mouth when she finally finishes and she gratefully takes the mint I offer shooting me a look that suggests I’m better off not saying anything because she doesn’t want to admit that I was right and she needs to see a doctor.

Guiding her inside I watch as she fills out the paperwork as best she can while feeling sick and not having full mental capabilities. When a nurse calls her back I softly murmur that I will be here when she is done unless she wants me to go with. Standing, she shakes her head, so I sit back in the chair, pulling out my phone to serve as a distraction until she is finished.

******

Every few minutes I find myself glancing at the clock, my knee bouncing as I try and occupy myself while I wait. Multiple other patients come and go as I sit there growing more worried the longer she’s back there. After what feels like forever the door finally opens, but when I glance up its a nurse and not Leigh. Seeing that she has my attention she silently motions for me to follow her and we walk back to an exam room where she knocks softly on the door before opening it and motioning for me to enter.

The sight in front of me immediately breaks my heart, Leigh is clinging to a nurse, her body shaking uncontrollably with sobs. The same instinct that had propelled me forward when she was crying outside of the building in Boston caused me to do the same thing now and seeing me in her periphery the nurse helps slide Leigh from her arms into my chest. Wrapping her up tightly, I rub her back, a litany of curses filling my mind. I wanted to be wrong, I prayed that I was wrong and that my stupid male brain was just missing something. For once being right is the worst feeling in the world. 

Eventually, she stops shaking, though I can feel the moisture of her tears continuing to soak through my shirt. Moving a hand from her back, I rub my fingers over the top of her head before pulling back just enough to wipe at the tears in her eyes. When she finally looks up at me, her mouth opens and then shuts repeatedly, words refusing to form. As more tears fall, I continue to wipe them away not sure what else I could possibly do to comfort her. 

“Why does the universe hate me?” She finally mumbled, the faintness of her voice signaling that she was barely holding herself together. Honestly, I didn’t have an answer for her and so I just shook my head, bending enough to press my mouth to her temple, kissing softly.

“I don’t know.” Swallowing hard, I sighed softly. “But it’s all going to be okay…” Though my words were meant to be comforting, it seemed like they were anything but when she pulled away from me like she’d been burned.

“What do you mean it’s all going to be okay? I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant with my fucking married ex’s child. The same ex who lied to me for the entirety of our relationship. Who made me the other woman. How am I supposed to have a baby?!” Her rant came with a raised voice that was just short of shouting and suddenly she slumped back down into a seated position on the exam table.

“Oh my god…I’m having a baby…” I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind and while I wanted to say something, I was certain that anything leaving my mouth right now would be the wrong thing. “I’m having a baby…what am I gonna do Paul?” Suddenly her eyes were focused on me again and feeling the shift in the air I pulled her back into a hug.

“You’re gonna be a kickass mom and a milf. That’s what.” Her body shook briefly, this time in more of a laughing manner than a sobbing one, and when her eyes met mine again there was a bit more light in them than before and I let out a sigh of relief that my humor had actually helped for once. “You’ve got your parents and sisters, all of your extended family to support you. You know you’ll have the rest of the guys, they all think of you like a sister already. And of course, you have me.” A second after I finished speaking it hit me that maybe she would get the wrong impression by the fact that I separated myself from the rest of the guys, so I opened my mouth again in hopes that she wouldn’t notice. “That fucking moron doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” The small smile that had started to appear on her face disappeared and I quickly realized it would have been better if I had just stopped and let her dwell on my previous statement. Stupidly mentioning her ex was a mistake and I watched as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, an angry glare flickering in her eyes. 

“I’m not telling him. He doesn’t get to be a part of this.” She paused almost like she was waiting for me to tell her that he deserves to know. When I didn’t, because I had already fucked this up enough, she continued. “You know, considering everything, this was probably the only good thing he ever did for me and I’m not going to let him ruin it by letting him be involved. He chose her, by breaking my heart and lying to me he lost any right he had to ever get to know this baby. This baby is better off with no father than with one who doesn’t see the harm and lying and cheating his way through life.” I couldn’t really fault her for that and instead just nodded rubbing her back again.

“Wanna get out of here?” I questioned certain that this wouldn’t be the last breakdown she had about this but for the moment she had seemed to accept it which is probably better than I would be in her situation. When she responded affirmatively, we left the exam room and checked out of the clinic, a nurse handing her a million and one pamphlets as well as what looked like two prescriptions.

Sliding back into my car I asked if she needed to go get the scripts filled and then if she wanted to go home or wanted to go do something distracting? Her response about the pharmacy was certain but she seemed to waver on the latter, glancing at herself in the mirror and cringing. 

“Why don’t we just go for a drive?” I suggested, causing her to smile a bit brighter from beside me. While we waited at the pharmacy drive thru she pulled up a scenic driving route and after a little prodding I convinced her to try and eat the protein bars and to drink some water knowing that she had to take care of more than just herself now. 

The sun had set before we returned home, having driven the Apache Trail with music blasting over my radio and the brunette beside me singing at the top of her lungs from the passenger seat before we eventually stopped for dinner. Settling onto the couch, Leigh seemed much more relaxed than earlier that day or even since she’d gotten off the plane in Phoenix.

Peeking across the room, Leigh was going through the million photos she’d taken on her phone, trying to decide which ones were the best and worth sharing on social media. I’d already decided what I was uploading: a few scenic shots, a short clip of her performing car karaoke, and a photo of her from behind while she was gawking at the landscape in front of her.

For a few hours, it had seemed like she’d forgotten all about the life-changing news thrown at her that morning. Forgotten that thanks to the idiot who had broken her heart that she was about to become a mother.

A knock at my door around 2 am signaled that the illusion had been broken. After waking up, I motioned her into my room, lifted the covers for her to crawl into bed and then tugged her into my chest and wrapped my arms around her. Feeling her tears against my skin I sighed softly and began running my fingers through her hair just tucking her as close to me as I could.

This was going to be a long and emotional journey for her and it looks like I’m along for the ride and all of these big life changes.

Chapter 4 Social Media:

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (1)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up  tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter & total) summary: Phil's got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story. Bingo squares: met on tumblr

new wip? NEW WIP.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The wind is loud in this one. That's frustrating, and it makes Phil's job a lot harder, but he can't control the weather. Be cool if he could. He does his best to level out his voice and the background noise of Mother Nature before he settles in with his good headphones and really cranks the volume.

It's even more annoying to listen to the alternating crackle and whistle right in his ears. Phil has dealt with worse during this whole process, though, so he finds the strength to power through it. He listens to the full thing three times, scribbling a few timestamps down on a Post-It pad as he does. He takes a break after that, does some stretches around his tiny bedroom and tiptoes out to get a snack without waking the whole damn house, and then he's right back in his apparently ergonomic office chair to subject his ears to more of this nonsense.

Wind, wind, and more wind. And sometimes just Phil's own voice. Nothing of note.

Phil is about to give this video up as a loss altogether when he hits one of the final timestamps and... can't figure out what that noise is.

For the first time since he opened this file, Phil grins. He exports the clip and plays around with it in Audacity. Some videos are always more fun than others, and Phil had felt like he was slogging through this one until now.

"Do you hear that, Theodore?" Phil murmurs. The tiny cactus on his desk, thankfully, does not respond.

It sounds like a person. It sounds like a person, whispering, and it definitely isn't the wind, and it isn't Phil's own voice, because he's in the middle of a question in this clip.

Phil might just be going crazy from sleep deprivation or wishful thinking, though. He pulls out his phone and texts the only group chat that doesn't cause him anxiety, which is comprised of the housemates that he actually gets along with. Anyone up? he asks, adding a single eye emoji for good measure.

Even though it's gone two in the morning, he gets immediate responses from all of them. A string of vaguely dirty emojis from Chris, a simple yeah from Sophie, and a cheerfully morbid did you know that insomnia leads to an early death? from PJ.

Wanna listen to a noise for me?

Within three minutes, Phil's bedroom is full of people in various states of sleepiness. All of them are in ridiculous pyjamas - including Phil - and PJ's hair in particular has taken on a mind of its own. Phil's room isn't really big enough for all of them, so there's some awkward shuffling before PJ claims the office chair. Phil sits at the foot of his bed with Sophie and Chris on either side of him, pressed close against each other's shoulders. It's a good thing he likes these people.

"I mean, it isn't the wind," is PJ's confident opinion. "Did you have anyone with you?"

"No, it's just me and my camera against the world," says Phil.

"No need to be a twat," Chris informs him. He taps at PJ's upper arm, impatient. "Let me have a go, then, if there's something there."

Chris is famously bad at hearing things in white noise, but PJ acquiesces the seat easily enough. Phil laughs, watching them do a weird step dance around each other in the small space between Phil's bed and desk.

"I can't hear any specific words," PJ says as he flops down across Phil's pillows, making himself comfortable. Phil just nods, because neither can he.

"How d'you know it's a person, then?" Sophie asks. Her voice is probably the only one soft enough for the hour. Their other housemates hate them for their frequent all-nighters, but Sophie is kind and quiet enough that she slips under the radar.

"You'll see for yourself."

When Sophie goes to respond, Chris interrupts in a hilariously loud voice, as if he's forgotten that having headphones on doesn't mean they can't hear him. "It's some kind of ghoulie or ghostie! I can barely fucking hear it, Philly, why didn't you mic it?"

"Why didn't I mic the ghost?" Phil asks, bewildered. Naturally, Chris doesn't hear him.

Sophie taps Chris on the shoulder and stands, leaning over his shoulder as she takes her turn listening to the sound clip over and over. Chris spins in the chair a few times and gives Phil an unhinged sort of grin.

"You got something this time," says Chris. He sounds like he's having just as much fun as Phil is, now that there's actually a thing to listen to besides his own voice and the loud, loud wind.

"I think so," says Phil. "Why didn't I mic the ghost?"

"I'm saying it would make your job a lot easier if you mic the ghost, yes."

"If I could mic a ghost, I'd be a millionaire."

"Then you better get on it, eh?" Chris laughs, spinning a bit faster. Phil has never seen the man sleep. It's a little bit worrying.

"Sure," Phil says, giving up on trying to teach any logic to someone who's clearly long lost their hold on it. "Next time I spend all night in a graveyard, I'll mic any spirits that might be hanging out."

"Shut up," Sophie tells them, mild.

Chris mimes zipping his lips, wrapping an easy arm around her waist, and PJ laughs.

For the first few months they all lived together, Phil had struggled to keep up with whatever dynamics were going on between the three of them, but he's long since given it up as something he's not going to understand.

After a moment of quiet, Sophie nods. "I hear it," she tells them. Even with the headphones on, she's quiet. "It's not words, I wouldn't put any subtitles over it."

"Yeah," PJ agrees. "Just let your audience duke it out in the comments like they always do."

"Thanks, guys," Phil says, feeling a sort of warmth sink into his shoulders. He notices that Chris is pulling up another application and half-heartedly protests. "Chris, you don't need to edit this one for me. I still haven't paid you for the last video." Or the one before that. Or the three or four previous. Phil has it written down somewhere.

"Don't be stupid," Chris hums, already clicking around erratically. It makes the editor in Phil want to scream, but he has to admit that Chris manages to find more weird visual stuff to isolate than he could on his own.

"I feel bad," says Phil, chewing his lip.

"I've told you," says Chris, "you can pay me back in chores and sexual favours."

PJ's slippered foot knocks against Phil's hip, and he grins brightly when Phil turns to him. "You know, I do have a bit of a laundry backlog."

"Funny thing, that," says Sophie.

Biting back a laugh, Phil shakes his head. "Alright, alright. Everybody leave their laundry in front of my door tomorrow."

"That's a no on the beej, then?" Chris asks, raising a single eyebrow and pointing dramatically at Phil. It has been near two years of this, and Phil is still too afraid to ask if it's a joke.

It's not as if Phil's answer would change if it wasn't a joke, because he's not interested in Chris, and he's especially not interested in becoming entangled in whatever nonsense his housemates have gotten themselves into. But, still, he might be kinder about letting Chris down if he were being genuine.

"That is a no," Phil confirms. "But I will wash your pants."

"Kinky," says Chris. He turns back to the screen and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture. "This is pretty shit. You know that, right?"

Yeah. Phil does know that. It's getting harder and harder to have the same optimism in every video that he'd had when he first started recording his wanderings around the supposedly-haunted places of Rossendale. He'd brought the camera with him when he left, but might have left that optimism behind. Phil only kind of believes in supernatural things - the way he only kind of believes in giraffes or true love - but it's been more fun than anything else to pick up a camera and try to find some evidence.

He's been doing this since he was nineteen, though, and he's getting a little bored by the formula of it all. Go into a haunted place, try to communicate with the spirits, pick up some garbled words or creepy noises, highlight visual oddities like orbs, and let the internet tear it all to shreds. Honestly, he'd have more fun making proper horror at this point in his life.

Phil shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest. He wants to hide away from the sympathy in Sophie's eyes, from Chris' blunt words. "Yeah. I'm getting kind of... I don't know. Restless."

"Maybe you should ask people to submit things again," PJ suggests. "That went well last time."

It had, actually. Phil had needed to sort through a lot more ridiculous stories and obvious hoaxes than usual, but he'd found some nuggets of gold in all that hay. Or however that saying goes.

"People did like having their stories read out," Phil says slowly. "I'd just need to be extra sure that nobody's, like..."

"Ripping off r/NoSleep," says PJ.

"Yeah, exactly."

"We can help," Sophie says, and Phil could cry at how easily PJ and Chris agree with her.

He really doesn't deserve to have such great people around him. They've got work and lives of their own, but they're always happy to spend time crowded around Phil's computer listening to weird noises together. Phil sometimes wonders what they get out of it. Do they just like helping him, the way he has fun holding the boom for PJ's films or testing Sophie's concoctions? Or are they just as fascinated as Phil by the weirdness of it all? Do they want to see the cool instances of paranormal activity, too? At this point it feels nearly impossible to ask.

"That's going to be a lot of washing pants for me," Phil sighs. He doesn't know how to thank them, not when they always just wave it off.

"Sure is," says PJ. "But you should... ask the audience!"

"Your Chris Tarrant is pretty good," says Phil, only a little surprised by it. PJ's voice is as much of a tool to him as the rest of his body, and it's one he's always been skilled with. The impressions still tend to catch Phil off guard sometimes.

PJ tips an invisible hat. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week."

At his friends' not so gentle encouragement, Phil makes a few posts on his socials to ask his followers for new creepy things to explore. It might be the middle of the night in Brighton, but he has a feeling that Chris isn't leaving his desk until he's found every instance of an orb or strange shadow in the fifty minutes of currently uncut footage.

It seems like Sophie is on the same page, because she excuses herself to make tea for everyone. PJ leans over Chris' shoulder and watches the clips without sound, his lips moving as if he's murmuring to himself.

Sometimes this feels more like a group effort than Phil is comfortable with. He's never been very good at asking for help. As grateful as he is, he still itches with the need to take back control of the situation. He uses the slow trickle of fan submissions to distract him from that feeling, because all three of them do make his videos better when he stops being so possessive over his footage. Phil flops onto his back and scrolls through the incoming emails, tweets, and Tumblr messages to see if there's anything promising.

For the most part, the answer is a resounding no. Some things are blatant lies - there are countless ripoffs of films or novels that Phil happens to be familiar with, a few things swiped from creepypasta or subreddits, and his usual amount of conspiracy theorist fans insisting that some high profile person or other is a lizard - but most of it, to Phil's dismay, just doesn't grab his attention the way he wants it to.

Sophie comes back with tea and snacks. She leans her head against Phil's shoulder and watches him cycle through his apps, fact-checking idly and sighing every time something easily proves to be a hoax. Her hair smells like coconut and she makes a soft humming noise every time she lifts the mug to her lips. Her presence alone, small and warm and supportive, is enough to keep Phil from throwing his phone across the room and having a right sulk about how his career is in a tailspin because nobody makes ghosts like they used to. At some point in the night, Sophie's breathing evens out to the point that Phil thinks she's asleep, but then she reaches out to tap a tiny finger to his screen.

"What's this, then?" she murmurs.

Phil has been zoned out entirely for at least fifteen, and he blinks back into reality. There's a new message in his Tumblr inbox, one that seems like it must be over the character limit for asks. He must have submissions turned on or something, that's the only possible explanation for an actual essay being sent to him. It's barely broken into paragraphs with very little punctuation and no capitalization, and Phil has been staring at screens for far too long to try and parse this on his own.

"Can you please make sure this isn't, like, the entire Bee Movie," Phil asks, handing Sophie his phone with only a slight twinge of anxiety. He trusts her not to go snooping, but. Still. "I need to pee."

"Mhm," Sophie hums, already apparently lost in whatever stream-of-consciousness has been dropped into Phil's inbox.

The floorboards in this old Brighton house creak, and Phil has always envied some of his housemates for being able to sidestep the noises. It doesn't seem to matter how long he lives here, how much he tries to avoid making any noise, it's like the floorboards are determined to creak under Phil's weight. He winces as he passes two bedrooms whose occupants surely don't appreciate creaking outside their doors at such an ungodly hour.

At least he doesn't run into any walls this time. The nightlight in the bathroom at the end of the hall is the only thing lighting Phil's way, and he tends to stub his toes on absolutely nothing in this kind of semi-darkness.

When he makes his - very, very creaky - way back to his own room, he's bewildered by the scene that greets him. PJ and Chris have joined Sophie on his bed, and all three of them are poring over Phil's phone as though they're looking at a map to the Holy Grail.

"Hello," Phil says slowly, closing the door behind him. It creaks, too. "You aren't going through my pictures, are you?"

"No," Sophie and PJ chorus without looking up.

"You got nudes on here or something?" Chris asks with a mild sort of interest, clearly also too engaged in Phil's phone to put his all into the flirting.

"I don't," says Phil. It doesn't sound convincing, even though it's true, and he waits for Chris to tease him about it some more. When he doesn't, Phil has to admit that he's curious. "So I guess it isn't a meme or something?"

That makes them look up, in almost comedic synchronicity. Sophie blinks a few times, as if she's coming back to herself. She holds out Phil's phone and shakes her head.

"It's not a meme," she says. "And near as we can tell, it's genuine."

Phil joins them and takes his phone back, adjusting his glasses. His bed really wasn't made for four people, but his housemates have never had any personal space amongst themselves, and Phil isn't one to say no to human contact when he isn't getting it anywhere else.

The message is just as hard to read as it was at first glance, but Phil puts his brain to work. If his friends are reacting like this, it usually means he's in for something good.

hi ok so the thing is that this is completely ridiculous and i dont think its what youre looking for at all but theres a building near my uni thats got a ton of stories around it and it only started happening like this year like it isnt an old obviously haunted type of place but theres a lot of weird shit that goes down there so i found all the references to it online that i could and ive summarized them here (w/ sources ofc im not a dick) and its all just this side of strange so it seems like the sort of thing you might be interested in ok here we go SO

And it goes on like that. Phil feels his eyebrows raising as he clicks the provided links in the following walls of text, which are exactly what they're advertised as. Not a single rickroll in there. Just a handful of posts on Reddit and Facebook and independent blogs about various experiences people have had with a particular abandoned building in -

"I know this place," Phil says, surprised. He looks up at PJ's grin, Sophie's wide eyes, Chris' palms rubbing together in exaggerated interest. "I've been to parties here. Well, okay," he corrects himself before his friends can do it for him, "I've gone with Martyn to parties here and left early."

"Yeah, it isn't far out of Manchester," PJ hums. He bounces in place a bit, like he's suddenly energized enough to go jump on the soonest train up north.

"It didn't seem that weird," says Phil. "It's been a few years, I guess, but it wasn't even that scary."

"Sounds like it's only just started, though," Chris pipes up.

Phil isn't sure how much he likes that. The idea of a place he's been a few times, half an hour from his childhood home, being so suddenly full of haunted activity feels... weird. Still, it's catching his interest in a way that nothing else has in months, so.

"I'll look into it some more tomorrow," he decides, glancing at the time. His brother is probably still awake, to be honest, but Phil doesn't want to be that guy asking 'hey, do you remember the Wilkins place?' before dawn has even broken. Again. He has definitely done that sort of thing in the past. "I'll have plenty of time while I do, what, seventeen loads of laundry?"

"Something like that," PJ laughs. "Want us to clear out?"

As nice as the company and help has been, Phil still feels a rush of relief at the concept of being left alone again. He nods, still scrolling idly through the Wilkins place submission.

It hits him, very literally, too close to home to ignore. He wonders if his fan knows that, if this is somehow an elaborate prank that will end up just wasting Phil's time, but he's too curious to leave it alone. He'll just have to ask around, see if anyone else has heard these murmurings.

Til then, maybe he ought to try and get some sleep. Phil's computer, still open on the editing software, tempts him.

Well. What's another couple hours at this point?

[thedeadwritinggod]

Heartbreak hotel

Part 3 bitches. Let’s get it

Warning: Hints toward Cursing/Cussing, Suicide, Self harm, abusive relationships, Polyamory(idk if there’s a need for this one tbh-) but ye a h- Hope you enjoy!

Special warning: This chapter has an almost non-con kiss! (The kiss almost happens but does not.)

Just maybe, Skylar was worried for nothing. I mean, getting third wheeled with someone else is never as bad right?

It had started as a group but Kara isn’t the greatest with loud environments so they stayed seated with Ben there in case anything set them off. Annie was off dancing on her own while Vi and Star decide to be dumb together on the dance floor, they still manage to make it look cute though.

And somehow, someway Kasper and Skylar ended up dancing together.

Their hand felt cold on her belt as her hips shift and sway-she really is a great dancer.

She places a hand on their neck and swings her hips, pulling them closer together in the same moment.

Their eyes lock, hers are half closed and she smiles lazily-humming along to the music and there’s are wide and unblinking hypnotized almost.

She giggles lazily, drunk on the music and colors surrounding her. Their look softens, eyes falling to her lips where her lazy, soft smile rests.

‘Pretty lips...’ they bring their other hand to her side, rubbing her skin gently. Warm. Small streams of light escapes between their fingers.

“Say my name~ Say my name~” And she pulls them closer again, as she sings along.

“If you love me, let me hear you~” Pressing their foreheads together, eyes peacefully closing.

They lean in, still staring at her lips as they sway and dance together. Their eyes fall closed and-

They shoot back open and they pull away from her quickly, leaving her confused- “S-Skylar I....” their voice trembles, along with their body. They grip onto their arms-cold. Cold leather where they used to have her body, ‘breathe. Just breathe.’ But that hurts,like there’s this miasma, this blackness crawling up their throat and killing any breath they can try to draw in.

Their grip tightens as they back into something-someone? They can’t really tell- it’s hard to focus when it feels like there’s a pressure- a weight, on your chest...it makes it hard to breath-

‘D-did I just almost kiss her-‘

Meanwhile still on the dance floor Skylar blinks to herself, brought out of her previous state. She spots them. The flowers blue and white flowers that litter the ground, she starts to pick them up, following the trail.

Nearby, Annie blinks having seen everything

“Bitch. Did anyone else see that besides me?”

“Hell no- Annie. My dear bitch. I believe we have a new ship.” Star calls, having also seen that.

“Believe? You believe?!-“Annie says storming up to them “They almost kissed!”

“Kasper doesn’t seem to happy about it though.” Vi mentions, glancing at them.

“Yeah they really don’t...”

“Should we try an help?”

“Well sky’s already over there so-“

“K-kasper?” Skylar had kept follow the trail, ending up with arms full of flowers white and blue flowers though with all the lights they didn’t exactly look white and blue.

They look up, tears lining their eyes and eyelashes. “Di-did I-“ they get up and speed walk away....

A thick trail of Carnations and Acacia flowers lead back to the hotel after Skylar’s trudge home.

Rejection is never fun and well since they left...why should she stay and get third wheeled? It’s not like they’d actually notice anyway...

Well in reality of course they knew. They saw them.

The next day she almost doesn’t come to the window-she does though, guilt having struck all at once.

“Kara!”

“Hey sky!”

“Did your sound sensitivity go off at all while we were out?”

They shake their head “Benny was there in case, but it really wasn’t bad.”

“Okay! Sorry I wasn’t there, won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine! Also-We won’t be around too much for the next couple weeks..We’re going on a bunch a dates since Annie’s been bursting with ideas!”

“Oh, hope you guys have fun! See ya-“

‘Guess I better prepare...least they told me.’ She shrugs

And the next day. Nobody came.

One day turned into two, two to three, three days to a week and...

She closes the calendar.

Weather she tried to prepare or not it was never enough.

It’d never be enough would it? She sits up in bed and pulls her headphones off, even in death you can’t escape sore ears I guess…

‘Pool being used..game room wouldn’t work...I could try ...No-‘

So she wanders the halls of the hotel. Empty as her mind.

Maybe they’d stopped now?

‘And maybe they’ve finally forgotten?’

Of course not….

‘Finally they forgot me...it was a long time coming I guess..’

‘They haven’t forgotten you dumbass. You’re just blowing this out proportion. Just like your “abuse”’ how the mind itself scoffs? She’s not sure...

‘Home was a hellscape though.’

‘You forget what Kara and Robin went through.’

“no..” Skylar mumbles aloud

‘I’m right then. Your mother put a hand on you sparsely, your father and siblings never. You’re fine.’

‘That doesn’t fix the fact you’re getting left..’

“Wow...thought the brain died when you did.” She rolls her eyes.

Yeah this was fine. She could deal with these two bickering incessantly. Yeah she could deal with that.

What she knew she couldn’t handle was the little voices- the tiny hands that grab and pulls at your psyche- begging, screaming for the pain to stop. That pain that your active mind is numb too at this point.

‘What did I ever do?’

‘Why won’t it stop?’

‘What’s wrong with me-‘

After dealing with those for four hallways already she sighs “I thought this would stop with my damn heart.”

“What would?”

She threw a glance behind her to see a familiar black haired person.. “Nothing ghosty.”

Kasper jogs up in front of her “That’s a bad lie.”

“Really it’s nothing.” She starts trying to walk away

“Still a bad lie.” Kasper walks backward in front of her

“Look can we just not..?”

“Not what?”

“Talk about this.”

“Talk about what?”

“Look Kasper I’d rather not lash out at you-“

“And why would you be lashing out at me?”

“That can happen when people feel lonely-“ she switches directions and Kasper follows her.

“Why ya feelin lonely?”

“Don’t know. Have been since way before I died and at this point I couldn’t care less why.”

“But you have friends here..?”

Skylar stops and sighs, sounding exasperated “over half of them aren’t my friends and that’s not how loneliness works.”

“Then how does it work?”

“Google it ya fuckin genius.”

Kasper stops, letting her walk away now. She’s talking to people. Good.

He knows enough about loneliness, just not enough about Skylar to see the effects. He pulls out his phone, staring at the small amount of contacts he has-then he puts it away. She probably won’t want him to tell anyone.

His attention is derailed by a soft sound and he strains to listen-Small, quiet, mutterings of words. Singing. Something about snow..?

He follows the voice-but can never seem to catch it, the he glances down at his feet..he doesn’t need to catch it anymore.

Tiny white flowers and larger yellow ones. Skylar.

// @the-lavender-creator

[unpack-my-heart]

The Ghost of You – Updated

New chapter of Property Developer!Richie / Ghost!Eddie AU

Read it on AO3 HERE or I’ve pasted it under the cut.

Preview:

When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.

The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.

The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs,  and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.

The door wrenches open and Richie screams.

Tag list:

@violetreddie @constantreaderfool @xandertheundead

When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.

The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.

The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs,  and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.

The door wrenches open and Richie screams.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“Jesus Christ on a fucking crackerbread, Hanlon, don’t you knock?!”

Mr Chips bounds through the open door, tongue lolling lazily out of the left side of his mouth. Richie crouches down, partly to keep himself from fainting from shock, but mostly to give Mr Chips a scritch behind the ear.

“Why’dya scream like that, lad?”

Richie’s hamstrings start screaming at him, and after debating standing up and doing something productive, Richie flops down onto his arse, legs splayed. Mr Chips, delighted, lies on his back in between Richie’s legs. Richie rubs his fluffy tummy. Mike laughs at them, and begins filling up the camping kettle.

“Och aye, just regular wee things, laddy”

“Git tae fuck” Mike scolds, but he shoots a smile at Richie, who has progressed to lying on his back, with Mr Chips front paws on his stomach.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just trying to practice, I’m determined that eventually I’ll be able to go shopping in Portree and convince everyone I’m actually Scottish”

“You do realise that everyone on the whole Isle knows you’re American, right? I don’t think anyone who isn’t Scottish has lived here for decades. You’re the most exciting thing to happen to this little isle for years” Mike says, passing Richie a mug of steaming coffee. Richie stands up, accepting the mug graciously.

“Yeah, about that…”

“So let me git this straight. Ye’v bin seeing a guy in this house dressed as an army officer?”

Richie rubs his hands over his eyes, scrubbing hard enough that stars bloom in the darkness behind his eyelids.

“Sort of”

“Is it some guy playing a joke on ye or something? One of the wee bairns from the town?”

“Naw, it’s definitely not a kid. He’s a fully-grown man, like, my age or sumthin’”

Mike hums thoughtfully, his face screwed in concentration as he wrestles with the pipe he’s trying to bend into place. Richie stands behind him, half-heartedly screwing a mirror into the wall. The drill spends more time on the floor than in Richie’s hand, though.

“and ye said he told ye he was dead? That he’d died in ’45?”

“Yup, s’what he said”

“and yer sure he’s not a ghost?”

Richie scoffed incredulously.

“Michael, ghosts aren’t real”

“What makes ye so sure?”

“Common sense”

Mike shoots Richie a raised eyebrow.

“… Do you not have common sense?” Richie mumbled.

“I guess not” is all Mike says, shuffling closer towards the pipe-bend.

“Mike, look. You’ve either left a gas tap loose and I’m going mad, or I’m genuinely being haunted so I’d appreciate it if we could approach this little bit more seriously”

Mike finally bends the pipe into place, and sits back on his heels with a triumphant grin. He stands up, and turns to face Richie.

“I saw my maw three days ago”

“… Ah yes, an entirely relevant digression”

“She died six years ago”

“… Shit”

After a large amount of begging on Richie’s part, and a desire to get the washing machine plumbed in early on Mike’s part, they came to an arrangement. Mike would stay in the cottage on the moor overnight, sleeping in the guest room right next to Richie’s bedroom. They’d stay up as late as possible, and try and lure the man in the khaki uniform out of hiding.

“He said his name was Eddie, so maybe I can just stand in the gardens and … yell for him?”

Mike shot another incredulous look Richie’s way.

“Are ye sure that’s tha best way to beckon a maybe-not-real ghost out of hiding?”

“I have no idea, Michael, I’m not the one who seems to commune with the dead on a regular fucking basis now, am I”

They’d finished working for the day a few hours ago, and were now sat out on the grass near the lake. The lake was a lake of fire, reflecting the golden rays of the sun. Mr Chips was sniffing in the undergrowth lazily, occasionally coming back over to Mike for an ear scratch. Richie had cooked them pasta – about all he could manage on the small camping stove. The moor was bristling with noise, but the two men were silent. Mike’s eyes were closed as he lay on his back, head resting on his arms that were folded behind his head. Richie was throwing small stones into the lake. plip plip plip.

When it was dark, they moved inside and sat around the small burner.

“So what normally happens, then? When does yer army fella normally come out?”

“He’s not a train, Mike, he doesn’t have a schedule”

“Y’know what I meant”

“He just sort of … appears. I’ve never had to actually do anything before apart from –“

“Apart from what?”

“Well, every time he’s come out, I’ve hurt myself”

Mike’s face lights up, and Richie’s clouds with horror.

“No, Mike! No”

“Just a wee cut, ye’ll barely feel it”

“NO, MIKE!”

With this, Mike began to chase Richie around the house, brandishing his pen-knife like a sabre. Richie was hollering with half-delight half-genuine panic that Mike would carve him up with the small, probably incredibly blunt, blade.

“MIIIIIIKE! I changed my mind, it’s not that I hurt myself then see him, I see him then hurt myself! Put that fucking knife away” Richie screamed, very aware that Mike was a hairs distance away from him now.

“Fine, I’ll stab ye when I see him!”

“You do that!”

They both slowed to a walk, Richie’s chest heaving markedly more than Mike’s. They’d ended up in the kitchen, and Richie watched as Mike put the pen knife on the kitchen table.

“Tea?” Richie asks, picking up the kettle and filling it from the newly functioning tap.

“M’gasping, thanks, lad”

They sat huddled close together for the rest of the night, neither bothering to take to their beds upstairs.

Eddie didn’t appear.

Richie awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck and a tongue in his eye. He gently shoved Mr Chips off his chest, where the collie had slept for most of the night, before rolling onto his knees and hauling himself up. Mike was already in the kitchen, fiddling with the back of the new washing machine.

“G’mornin’, Guvna!”

“M’not from London, Rich”

“Eh, same difference. Howzit?”

“Yeah, she’s bein’ a brat right now but I’ll soon ‘av ‘er singing” Mike grunted, still fiddling with some bendy tubing he was fixing to the back of the washing machine.

“He didn’t show up” Richie said, filling up the kettle.

“I know”

“I think I’m losing my fucking mind”

“I know”

Richie placed the kettle on the gas burner, twiddling the knob to allow the gas to flow from the gas canister into the burner. He jumped backwards when the flame bloomed suddenly, glowing orange then red then blue.

He hadn’t showed up. Richie had sort of expected it. It was sort of like when you did something really impressive, and then ask someone to watch you do it, and then you can’t do the impressive thing again, no matter how hard you try. Not that seeing (hallucinating?) 1940s army doctors was impressive or anything. It was probably quite the opposite.

“I need a break” Richie mumbled, mostly to himself.

Mike stops what he’s doing, and stands up, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth.

“How long have ye been out here on yer own?”

“To be honest I can’t remember”

“Yer obviously in need of a break, Rich. You’ve been out here on yer own for too long, s’bound to make ye feel a bit squiffy. Come back to mine for the weekend, we can take it easy and ye can come back here and if ye do see the ghostie again, we’ll know its something we need to sort oot”

Richie decides on the spot that Mike is one of the best friends he’s ever had.

Mike lives in a modern house that sits almost jarringly in the mouth of a hill. It’s all clean, white lines and sloping ceilings and Richie both hates and loves it. The first thing Richie does when he gets there is collapse on Mike’s squishy black sofa, arm flung dramatically over his face. He intends on only resting his eyes for a few seconds, but before he knows it he’s out for the count. Several hours lost to a dreamless sleep later, and Richie wakes up. He feels alert, and more rested than he ever has since he moved to Scotland all those months ago.

When he looks around, he spots Mike sat in an armchair next to a fire. He’s got one hand on Mr Chips’ head, and one hand flicking through an old looking photo album. There’s a glass of honey-coloured liquid on the table next to him, two orbs of ice floating in it.

“Oops. Sorry, dude, I think I’ve been sleeping a bit worse than I thought”

Mike laughs indulgently, and Mr Chips’ head perks up at the sound of Richie’s scratchy voice.

“S’okay, lad”

Richie swings his legs off the sofa, and leans forward, eyes scanning the photos glued on the open page of the album Mike is looking at.

“Is that you?”

“Aye”

“Aw, you were so cute. What happened?”

“get tae fuck, cheeky bastard” Mike scolds, swatting half-heartedly at Richie’s head, before he points at another glass of honeyed liquid on the floor by Richie’s feet.

“It’s scotch, if ye want it.”

Richie nods gratefully, leaning down to pick up the glass. It’s a welcome cold against his slightly clammy skin.

“Is that your mom?” Richie asks, breaking the silence. He points at the photo with the young Mike whose sat on the shoulders of a young woman with sparkling eyes and a kind smile.

“Aye” is all Mike says, eyes glazing over for a second.

Richie doesn’t know what to say, and so he says nothing.

They sit in silence for a very long time, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, Mr Chips’ snuffly breaths and the crackling of the photo album paper.

“They died in a house fire”

Richie doesn’t say anything.

“Arson, it was. Some wee drunk bastard from the city. Threw a lit cigarette in through their window and it caught the curtains.”

Richie doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes.

“The first time I saw her was a year after she died. She was in my garden, watching the birds. I damn near had a stroke. I yelled out to her, anything to get her to talk to me. But she didn’t. I’d see her, occasionally, always sat on the same bench in my garden, but she never spoke to me. She still doesn’t.”

“Do you ever see your dad?”

“Naw, never have”

“So that’s why you don’t think I’m insane”

“Aye”

“Will you think I’m horrible if you say I don’t believe you?” Richie asks, hesitantly.

“No” Mike replies honestly. “Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore”

The weekend is over before Richie even blinks. He spends most of it asleep, or mooching around Portree with Mike. They drink a lot of scotch, play a lot of card games and eat a lot of food. Richie eats a lot of food. After eating only camping-stove-pasta for months on end, oven pizza tastes like the nectar of the gods.

Before he knows it, and before he’s really ready, he’s clambering out of Mike’s van back at his little cottage on the moor.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, lad”

And then Mike’s gone.

Richie stands on the porch of his little cottage, and takes a deep breath. He opens the door.

Eddie’s sat at the kitchen table.

“I am fucking insane”

“Hello”

“You’re not real”

“I mean, I’m a ghost, so I’m about as real as a ghost can be”

“You are a figment of my imagination. I am not standing in my kitchen talking to a dead person”

“… You are”

“Why didn’t you come out when Mike was here? When I was yelling for you in the back garden? Did you even hear me? Can ghosts hear? You must be able to hear, I mean, I’m talking to you right now and you’re responding so you must have some capacity for hearing which means you were just ignoring –”

“I’m shy” Eddie interrupts, face turned towards the floor.

“Huh?” Richie grunts, pacing back and forth.

“I didn’t want to come out when the other man was here, I didn’t know who he was and I got … scared …” Eddie trails off. His face was still turned towards the floor, and Richie was sure that if it were possible for a ghost without blood to flush, Eddie would be scarlet red by this point.

“In my defence, you barely know who I am either and you don’t seem to mind popping out of the woodwork every so often to scare me shitless, do you!” Richie responds, accusingly.

Eddie tilts his face, and meets Richie’s gaze.

“I sort of do know you, I’ve been watching you for the past few months, after all"

“That’s fucking creepy, Eds”

As soon as he says it, Richie knows he’s fucked up. Eddie’s face twists in pain, and he stands up and leaves the room. Only, he doesn’t leave through the door, he walks straight through the wall. Richie stares at the spot in the wall that Eddie had disappeared through, slack jawed.

“Wait! Eddie!”

Richie scrambles around the kitchen table, and follows Eddie (through the door) into the living room. Eddie is crouched in the corner of the room, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I’ve just been on my own for over 74 years and I – I am so desperately lonely, Richie”

Richie’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. He squats down, but leaves several feet between him and the ghost.

“Aw, shucks, Eddie. If I could touch you I’d give you a hug right now”

Eddie snorts, and looks up at Richie. His eyes aren’t wet, which Richie assumes is because there is no water flowing through his spectral form. His eyes are slightly shinier, though, and they’re more insistent, more earnest.

“I don’t think you can touch me”

“Maybe we could try?” Richie asks, before he can stop himself. He doesn’t have long to panic about being forward, though, because Eddie agrees almost immediately.

Richie debates just trying to touch Eddie’s hand, or his shoulder, but decides to just go all out and leans forward, arms open, expecting to enclose a solid form in his arms. That doesn’t happen. What does happen is Richie falls forward, straight through Eddie’s ghostly form, and almost headbutts the wall. The air that Eddie’s form occupies is scalding hot. Eddie leaps forward, shaking his limbs violently.

“Bloody hell!” Eddie exclaims, face contorted in pain.

“Huh” is all Richie says. He shifts so he’s sat on his arse, knees folded up against his chest. Eddie stands before him, looking mildly scandalized.

“Why aren’t you freezing?”

“Pardon?”

“Ghosts are always freezing in movies. You’re not. You’re like I just fell head first into fuckin’ Mount Vesuvius. Why aren’t you freezing?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just continues to look upset.

“Wait – when I fell out of the window you managed to put a pillow behind my head. How’dya do that if you can’t touch anything?”

“Well, I’ve done some experimenting over the past seven decades, and I’ve worked out that I can touch things that aren’t alive – so things that aren’t made of flesh. Or things that are also dead, I can touch those, too. I just can’t touch living matter”

“I see, very scientific” Richie replies, but he’s mostly lost in thought. Without warning, he scrambles to his feet, and disappears into the kitchen. A confused and still scandalized Eddie follows, floating through the wall, where he finds Richie triumphantly holding out a pair of still-in-the-packet oven mitts.

“Put these on”

Eddie does as he’s told.

“Why am I wearing these? What are they?”

“Oven mitts. I bought them to help me carry pots of boiling water up the stairs but I haven’t needed them so far – I thought we could -“

Richie trails off, and reaches out to touch Eddie’s oven-mitt covered hand. Eddie flinches away a bit, but doesn’t move his hand.

Richie makes contact with the oven mitt, and squeezes.

Eddie squeezes back.

[liamakorn]

Spoopy Love

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (Ghost-Hunter AU) 

Warnings: None. It’s a fluff fest y’all. Seriously, hand me Peter Parker, and watch my heart explode. 

Words: 5,092

A/N: GUYS!!! I had so much fun writing this, you have no idea. Somehow, it turned into a Buzzfeed Unsolved AU, and I aint even mad lol. This is for the August AU Writing Challenge by @after-avenging-hours . Hope y’all enjoy it as much as I did, our smol awkward boy deserves all the love! 

I tried to keep it as short as I could, lol, but uh....I think I failed. Sorry XP 

------

“I am so not going in there.”

A small whine that sounded vaguely like your name left his lips, brunette curls shifting in the small autumn breeze.

“Oh, c’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Glancing at Peter, you must’ve made a face, because now he was chuckling, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own. A small, handheld camera hung by a cord on his wrist, swaying to and fro with every movement.

You focused your gaze on the house in front of you, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. It was cold, the sun was setting, and you really didn’t want to be here. How you’d managed to let him drag you on this “adventure”, you’ll never know. Oh, wait, that’s right, he’d flashed those puppy dog eyes and you’d just melted.

However, this was a little beyond your comfort zone. The house was huge, three stories in all. But what it had in grandeur was ruined by the state of the building itself; exposed wood paneling, the rotted porch with hardly a pillar left, shutters barely clinging to their windows. God, you could smell the mold from here. You noticed a few rats dart beneath the cracked walls and nearly fainted.

After another nudge, Peter finally grabbed your attention, pouting at your expression.

“Oh c’mooon! We’re about to catch the only known footage of Eliza Cartwright’s ghost! Aren’t you at least a little excited?”

Allowing yourself one last sigh, you managed a nervous smile, readjusting the heavy bag slung across your shoulder.

“This is a health and safety hazard.”

Somehow, you put one foot in front of the other, forcing your steps closer to the hell hole you were about to spend the majority of your night in. After a few seconds, you noticed Peter wasn’t following, glancing back with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, c’mon, Dimples. This ghost aint gonna catch itself!”

The crooked grin you received was worth every discomfort this house could throw at you.

It’s not like you didn’t want to believe in ghosts. You would’ve loved to have had the same enthusiasm for the supernatural that seemed to flow through Peter every time someone uttered the word “haunted”. It just seemed like there was always a more logical explanation, an answer that made more sense than the supposed “paranormal activity”. Banging in the walls? Faulty pipes. Scratching noises and flickering lights? Mice. Doors closing by themselves? Wind.

Yet, somehow, you ended up a moderator on Peter Parker’s ghost hunting blog, staring up at a dusty old house, on a Saturday. Life sure did have a sense of humor.

Stepping through the creaky front door, you were met with a wall of what could only be described as old people smell, kicked up to eleven. You couldn’t help but cough, taking stock of your surroundings. Dust hung in the air, catching the last few beams of sunlight creeping through the slats of decaying boards, which were haphazardly secured to the windows with rusty nails. The walls were nothing special, decades old paint flaking from the plaster, faded and worn from years of neglect.

The furniture was coated with a thick layer of dust and dirt, making it nearly impossible to discern what color each item had originally been. The cushions seemed to be missing; you counted that as a blessing. Who knows what would’ve been living in there.

A sudden achoo! startled you from your thoughts, shattering the silence of the otherwise abandoned house. Spinning on your heel, you just caught Peter’s wince, the brunette lifting the camera as you pressed your hand to your chest.

“Give me frickin heart attack, why don't’cha?”

His smirk was almost shy as he apologized, chuckling when you lightheartedly shoved his shoulder. You plopped your bag onto the couch, a cloud of dust kicking back into your face. You dug around for your own camera, hiding your face from view and trying to calm your blush. Jesus, how had he wormed his way under your skin so easily? You’d only known each other for a few months, having become fast friends after you’d transferred to his high school at the very end of the year. It was an odd experience, walking into this new school the first day and having Peter and Ned bombard you with greetings.

One minute you were the weirdo loner girl who couldn’t keep up with the new curriculum because she’d moved in fricken June, and the next, you had two amazing friends who actually wanted to hang out with you. Hell, it was that first day of school where Peter had nervously approached you and asked if you wanted to come with him to check out this stupid house in the first place. 

You’d been inclined to say no, but after looking at his expression...you just couldn’t. He’d sounded almost scared, like you would make fun of him or something. Well, needless to say, you’d caved, and here you were, the day before Halloween, hunting a ghost. And, despite your best efforts, enjoying yourself.

Heaving out a sigh, steeling yourself, you turned to face Peter, unable to keep the smile from your face at his fascinated gaze raking the dilapidated living room.

“You ready, Parker?”

An excited grin stretched his features, brown eyes sparkling in the dim beam of your flashlight. His enthusiasm was contagious, and you soon found yourself just as impatient to explore as he was. Attaching a go-pro to the side your head, you noticed Peter staring at you with an expression you couldn’t read. He quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat and fiddling with the camera. You could’ve sworn you saw pink dusting his cheeks.

As happy as seeing Peter this excited made you, that was quickly dwindled by the borderline dangerous nature of your surroundings. Everything was either rusty, dusty, moldy, or all of the above. You noted the exposed wood of the walls, some of the panels rotted away completely, other rooms visible in some places. Meanwhile, your companion continued to monologue, recounting on camera the details of a grisly death.

“The first spirit we’ll be covering is Christopher Requaitt. He came from the incredibly small town of Seboeis, Maine, and had a relatively poor upbringing. And yet, somehow, he managed to graduate at the top of his class, earning him a job in the household of one James Cartwright. It was rumored that he had been working off a debt to Cartwright, and that, after it was paid, he was hired full time due to his incredible culinary ability. However, these claims were never officially documented.”

You hardly realized you’d stopped scanning your surroundings, completely enraptured by the way Peter’s lips moved as he recounted the tale. Even as you started fiddling with various settings and EMF machines, you kept an ear on him, glancing up every once in awhile, enthralled by the story he was telling. Although you were a skeptic, it was hard not to be interested in the lives of people before you, hearing their history sending a shiver down your spine.

Peter continued, the confident edge to his voice catching you by surprise.

“One night, Cartwright’s wife, Cheryl, became incredibly sick. It would soon be known that she was pregnant with her first, and only, child; but, at the time, she claimed to have food poisoning, contracted from undercooked chicken. Due to Requaitt’s incredible reputation and skill, many have speculated that the accusation was meant to get Christopher fired. She had made her distaste for the cook obvious, never missing a chance to denounce him to her friends and acquaintances.

It is widely believed, by both residents and historians, that James and Christopher had been in the midst of an affair, an incredibly taboo subject at the time. Cheryl, either jealous or afraid for their reputation, might have wanted to take drastic action to halt their activities. Although he was saddened by it, Cartwright had no choice but to fire the cook. Finding himself wracked with woebegone, Chris-”

A snort escaped your lips, earning a playfully annoyed look from Peter. You coughed, trying to disguise your giggles behind your hand. He raised an eyebrow, directing the camera at you, catching your amused expression.

“Something wrong, munchkin?”

You chuckled again, shaking your head.

“Nope, nothing, I’m good. Please, continue.”

Rolling his eyes, he readjusted the camera, a soft smile on his face.  

“Anyway. Finding himself wracked in woebegone-”

He stared directly at you as he emphasized the word, setting off a new round of giggles, prompting a wider grin to stretch his lips.

“-Christopher found he couldn’t live with James’ decision, stuffing his face in the deep frying, killing himself and burning his face off before they could make him leave.”

“Christ, Parker!”

He halted, furrowing his brows in bemused confusion. You tried for an aggravated expression, only just managing a mildly miffed look before a smile broke out.

“Could you be a bit more blunt?”

He chuckled, pink dusting his cheeks even as he shrugged.

“What? That’s what happened, what d’you want me to say?”

You released a huff of air.

“I dunno, Pete, just...you can’t speak ill of the dead, man, that’s like, rule number one in the ghosty handbook.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Oh, there’s a handbook now? Miss (Y/N) ‘I’m sure it was just the wind’ (L/N)?”

A flurry of giggles interrupted your sentence, covering your mouth to try and contain them. “I’m just saying, have a little respect, Parker!”

A victorious grin stretched his features, your heart skipping a beat when he let out the cutest laugh you’d ever heard.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Should I mention the fact that the only way they could identify him was by his clothing, because his features had melted together-”

You faked a disgusted face, covering your ears. His snickering sent a warm feeling dancing in your chest, the smile on your face lingering even as your chuckles died. You admired him for a moment, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, dimples fully on display with his wide grin. Even in the dim beam of your flashlight, shadows dancing across his features; god, he was breathtaking.

After a few seconds, Peter cleared his throat, a touch of shyness flashing across his face.

“You, uh, you alright there, munchkin?”

Snapping out of your daze, you nodded, fiddling with the EMF meter at your belt.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s move on. You mentioned a little girl?”

That familiar sparkle returned to his eye, gripping your wrist suddenly and practically dragging you up the creaking staircase. You fought a laugh, heart pounding at his touch, no matter how minor. You really needed to get a grip on your crush.

You ended up in yet another dusty room, covered wall to wall in what was once a pale pink, but had faded to grey over time. The same confident tone as before overtook his voice, face stone serious as he began his spiel about the area’s most popular spirit.

“Here we are in the bedroom of James Cartwright’s six-year-old daughter, Eliza. She was born barely a year after the death of Christopher Requaitt, leading the residents of the town to question Requaitt’s death. Though nothing came of it legally, gossip and rumors of the supposed affair between Cartwright and Requaitt resulted in Cheryl’s eventual suicide, leaving James with Eliza when she was only four. Tragedy would strike again two years later, when Valerie Peridot would witness one of the many supernatural occurrences in the home. Only, unlike the others, this one was fatal.

“Peridot was the most recent in a long line of women James Cartwright dated after his wife’s death. She had only been dating him for three months before moving in, treating Eliza like her own daughter. But, as she entered the little girl’s room, she was startled to find the large window open, the child standing on the balcony railing and speaking to someone Valerie was unable to see. She seemed upset, screaming at the unseen figure to go away. When Valerie opened her mouth to scold her, Eliza jolted, as if she was pushed, flying from the third-floor balcony to the asphalt below”

Your eyebrows shot up, catching Peter’s attention for a brief second. The crooked half smile he sent your way was enough to catch your breath, hoping to any god out there that he didn’t notice.

“After Eliza’s death, Peridot was obviously suspected, her story of an unseen man shoving the girl out a window seeming preposterous. However, diary entries were found of Eliza’s, mentioning an imaginary friend named “Krissy". Law enforcement thought nothing of it, but spectral enthusiasts disagreed. It was speculated that perhaps “Krissy" was actually the ghost of Christopher Requaitt, enacting his revenge of what was the product of his demise. Eliza mentioned Krissy’s distaste for her family, specifically her mother. Even after her death, the spirit had apparently denounced Cheryl to the young girl, trying to convince her to “remind her father of his sins”. While these claims are somewhat far fetched, is it impossible to believe that Requaitt, heartbroken and betrayed by his lover, would seek retribution in the way of Eliza’s death?”

Peter glanced at you again, tilting his head slightly in question.

“Are you cold?”

You furrowed your brows, confused for a moment. You hadn’t even noticed your own arms encircling your torso, goosebumps rising on your bare arms, too engrossed in his story. Shrugging, you tried rubbing your palms together, the temporary warmth doing nothing to soothe the chill.

“I’m fine. Just a bit chilly is all, let’s keep moving.”

After a few seconds, he nodded, but not before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“We’ll only be a few more minutes. Just wanna use the spirit box and then we can head out.”

He lead the way towards a narrow hallway, just missing your intense blush. You tailed him, whining slightly.

“Can we not? I fucking hate that thing.”

He snickered, glancing back at you briefly; your heart fluttered at his bashful smile, slipping your arms into the sleeves of his coat. The fabric completely obscured your hands, filling you with a warmth that rivaled the pink on your cheeks.

Leading into the maid’s quarters was a rundown hallway, barely any plaster left on the walls. This area of the house seemed...moister than the rest, a distant leak echoing around the space. It sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Well....this is ominous.”

Peter laughed, pointing the camera at you once again.

“You scared, Munchkin?”

You lightheartedly shoved him, shaking your head. It was getting increasingly difficult to be annoyed when he flashed those stupid dimples. Peter began setting up the camera against a far wall, pulling out a small black gadget, explaining the mechanism simultaneously.

“So for those of you not familiar, what we’re about to use is called a Spirit Box. It uses radio frequency sweeps to generate white noise, which theories suggest give some entities the energy they need to be heard. When this occurs you will sometimes hear voices or sounds coming through the static in an attempt to communicate. It basically scans radio stations super fast to give the ghost a chance to roast us.”

Your chuckle is quickly cut off by a wince, plugging your ears to drown out the loud shrill given off by the hell box. After a few seconds of garbled syllables and static, you managed to catch what could’ve been either “starry" or “sorry". You decided on the latter.

“Sorry? For what?”

Peter shrugged.

“Maybe it’s sorry about the house?”

You snorted, trying to contain your giggles.

“Man, it should be sorry, this is a fuckin’ mess.”

Peter had the gall to look offended.

“Hey! Be respectful.”

That set off another fit of giggles, followed by a sarcastic tone,

“Oh, now you care about respect? Besides, what’s a pissy ghost gonna do?”

A sudden smirk found its way onto your lips.

“Ooh, maybe it’ll follow you hooome-”

He shoved you lightly, laughing nervously.

“Shut up! That’s not funny!”

You just giggled, vaguely paying attention to the spirit box. You could’ve sworn you heard something akin to, ‘I don’t want to go’, but you couldn’t be too sure.

After another few seconds of unintelligible nonsense, Peter sighed, switching the device off. Trying to hide his disappointed expression, he fixed the camera on his face, a small smile adorning his features. You began to pack up your equipment while he vlogged his outro.

“Alas, dear viewers, it seems that, while paranormal activity does reside in these walls, we weren’t able to catch much of anything tonight. Until next time, where we take a road trip to the Lizzie Borden Murder Hou-”

All of a sudden, a loud bang! followed by several shuffling sounds echoed from somewhere above you, startling the both of you nearly to death. Peter practically dropped the camera, eyes wide in what could’ve either been excitement or fear. Probably a little bit of both.

“What was that?!”

Your first instinct was that someone else had the same idea as you. Or a homeless man was squatting there. Or a wolf was hungry and craved the flesh from your bones. While some more far-fetched than others, none of those options seemed incredibly appealing.

You tugged Peter’s arm, trying to nudge him towards the exit.

“C’mon, Pete, let’s get outta here-"

Just as you said that, the shuffling got louder, swooping past your face and right past a terrified Peter. As the bird settled on an ancient chair, the two of you stayed silent for what felt like ages. Until the dam cracked, and the giggles you were trying to keep back came spilling out from your lips. When the terror had finally subsided, Peter chuckled a bit too, clutching his heart and leaning against the wall.

The giggles didn’t stop. Forgetting yourself, you’d stopped checking your surroundings, completely focused on Peter for most of the night. So, it’d be just your luck that you’d step right onto a spot of water damaged flooring behind you.

Good news? You’d found the source of that dripping noise. Bad news? Your foot went straight through it, sending you crashing down, banging your head on the wooden paneling. You might’ve heard Peter yell out, but your brain was swimming too much to notice, a ringing settling in your ears. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your foggy senses, only to notice the intense pain shooting up your leg. It was like somebody had taken your ankle and bashed it against a rock a few times. You were almost sure it was broken. You just hoped to god you weren't cut anywhere. The last thing you needed right now was tetanus.

After a few seconds of confused blinking, the rapidly spinning room finally came to a halt; coherent enough to notice your surroundings, Peter came into view, a worried look etched into his expression. His eyes were almost teary as he fussed over you.

Grabbing his hand, you tried your best at smiling, only managing a grimace as your head throbbed. His eyes snapped to yours, squeezing your hand a little too tightly, his free hand checking your head as lightly as he could. When it grazed over the welt right at the top of your forehead, you winced, relieved when he pulled his hand back to cradle your cheek instead.

“Okay, okay okay okay, you’re okay. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Blinking a few more times for good measure, you nodded, soothing some of the panic in his eyes. Slowly, as gently as he possibly could, Peter supported your upper back and waist, lifting you to a sitting position, jostling your leg as little as possible. Even then, you let out a slight whimper. The nausea hit you all at once, forcing you to grip Peter’s arm until the room stopped spinning. Although you could barely pay attention to anything but your swimming senses, Peter continued to mumble out loud; whether it was to calm himself or you was unclear.

“God, (Y/N), I’m so sorry, I was stupid to make you come with me, I should’ve just taken you to get some damned coffee like a normal person, now you’re hurt and it’s my fault, Jesus I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“Peter.”

He stopped altogether, eyes wide and terrified. Giving him another, more convincing smile, you sniffled, wiping your face on the sleeve of his jacket that you were still wearing. Taking stock of your leg, you couldn’t see or feel many splinters or cuts, which was a plus. However, your ankle didn’t seem to be faring as well, the throbbing having only worsened as the minutes rolled by. Getting it out of the rotted floor was definitely a priority.

“Alright...okay, Peter. We need to get my leg out, yeah? I’m gonna need your help.”

Peter nodded, visibly swallowing, clenching your hand to the point where it almost hurt. He reached down, careful not to impale himself on the cracked wood, and began to clear as much of the debris as he could. Although the thought of shifting your leg was nauseating, you tried to help as much as you could, knocking splinters away so there was a clear passage you could slip your foot through. 

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed Peter’s arm, cautiously lifting your foot out of the floor. Even that minor jostling sent stabs of pain up your leg, an unintentional cry escaping your lips. Peter tried his best to make the endeavor as painless as possible, supporting your leg and back, moving anything that could bump into the injury. You saw his pained expression at your cry, brows furrowed in worry.

Eventually, you managed to free your ankle, a sigh of relief escaping your chest. You hadn't even noticed you were holding your breath. Once able to shift without feeling like you were going to die, you released Peter’s arm, wincing at the red marks you’d left. He barely seemed to notice, cradling your ankle to assess the damage.

Despite the awful situation, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. Cheeks flushed, jaw flexing every few seconds, a nervous tick you’d noticed over the past few months. His eyes were trained on you the whole time, a softness to his gaze that sent your heart racing a mile a minute.

Hesitantly, you reached up, tracing his cheekbone with your fingertips. His eyes snapped to yours, the blush you earned filling you with satisfaction. You had no idea where this sudden confidence came from, and you were sure it wouldn’t last. Still, you couldn’t help but make the most of it.

Your voice was barely audible when you whispered,

“You’re so pretty…”

If you thought he’d been red before. Oh boy. Now he was like a tomato, a shy smile stretching his lips before he could stop it. Catching your gaze briefly, Peter chuckled, continuing his examination of your ankle.

“You probably have a concussion. We should get you out of here.”

Giggling, you couldn’t help the fond look you gave him, a dopey grin on your face.

“You’re taking me out? Like, on a date?”

He grinned fully, 50 shades of pink, standing to help you up.

“Alright, you definitely have a concussion. C’mon, let’s go.”

Gripping his hands, you allowed Peter to lift you to your feet, shocked by his strength. Careful not to lean on your bad leg, you hardly noticed when you began to fall, the room suddenly spinning. Peter caught you by the waist, keeping his hold on you until you could focus on anything but keeping your balance. 

The both of you were barely an inch apart, your head the perfect height to lay against his chest. Which is exactly what you did, sighing as your senses began to return to normal. You could just about hear his heartbeat, thumping rapidly against his sternum.

God, you must’ve had a concussion. Or some sort of permanent brain damage. There’s no way you’d be acting like this in your right mind. Peter didn’t seem to mind, though, leaning his chin gently against your hair. It was so calming, you almost forgot about your ankle entirely, letting it droop to the floor absentmindedly.

Immediately on contact, you yelped, clutching Peter’s shirt in a vice grip. He sighed, keeping his arm circled around your waist to support you, becoming your crutch and letting you lean practically all of your weight onto him. Still, he didn’t complain, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Alright, Munchkin, let’s get outta here.”

When you showed up to his apartment, banged up from your adventures, May practically forced you into a cab, taking you to the nearest hospital to be checked up on. You didn’t end up having a concussion, thankfully, just some minor bruises and a sprained ankle, as well as a tetanus shot for good measure. You did, however, get what felt like an eternity of a scolding from Peter’s aunt. Which, to be fair, was incredibly valid. What had possessed the two of you to go to an abandoned ass house, on the night before Halloween, by yourselves, was completely beyond you.

You found it hard to be upset though, laying on Peter’s bed, watching him set up a pillow and blanket on his floor. It was far too late to go home, so you’d convinced May to let you stay for the night. You sighed again, pouting at Peter.

“You really don’t have to sleep on the floor, Dimples. It’s your bed, I can take the couc-"

He paused his activities, a tired smile on his face.

“Are you kidding? You think my injured friend is gonna sleep on the couch? We found that thing on the curb, you’d end up with god knows what.”  

He wandered over, fussing for the millionth time with your pillows and blankets, making sure you were comfortable. You rolled your eyes, groaning.

“You’re acting like I’m on my deathbed. A little fall isn’t gonna kill me, Pete.”

He just chuckled, and, after a few seconds hesitation, brushed some of your hair behind your ear.

“I know, I know. Just...let me take care of you, ‘kay?”

A heavy blush settled on your cheeks, rendered speechless by his sudden shift in demeanor. Wordlessly, you nodded, biting your lip to keep the smile off your face. His eyes caught the movement, focusing on your mouth for a few seconds before falling to his hands. Slowly, almost cautiously, he sat at the edge of the mattress, brows furrowing. As if he was thinking about what to say next.

“Listen…(Y/N)... I wanted to tell you something. And I’m not...well, I’m not exactly sure how to say it, but I feel like this is a good time, because realistically, I know you’ll be fine, but if you’d really gotten hurt in there, I don’t know what I would’ve done, I just-"

He cut himself off, keeping his gaze locked firmly in his lap. Finally, he seemed to focus, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I asked you to come with me on my stupid ghost hunting trip because, well, you’re just-”

Another deep breath.

“You’re kinda, sorta, basically always on my mind. And I wanted to hang out- well not ‘hang out’ but, I wanted to, y’know, ask you out, but I couldn’t find the words, and now you’re hurt and I-"

He kept rambling, but you barely heard it, too focused in on his confession to notice anything else.

Peter likes you.

Jesus, everything made so much sense now! How shy he was, how timid he’d been asking you to go with him. He wasn’t just asking to hang out. He was asking you on a date. Butterflies filled your stomach, a warm feeling settling in your chest. You couldn’t keep the grin from your lips if you tried. Peter likes you. Peter likes you.

Noticing your expression, he finally stopped ranting, an almost terrified look in his eyes. Clearing your throat slightly, you averted your gaze, mumbling softly.

“I, uh, I like you too Peter.”

His expression was almost comical. Eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar.

“W-what?”

You giggled, an affectionate grin on your face.

“I said, I like you too, you doofus.”

He visibly relaxed, features softening into a sweet smile.

“Oh.”

You both sat there, the silence of his bedroom settling over you like a blanket. You must’ve looked like idiots, sitting amongst his Star Wars sheets with lovestruck expressions, glancing at each other from the corner of your eyes. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat, blush never fading.

“So, um...do you, I mean, there’s a movie next week, would you maybe, uh, I dunno, um-"

“I’d love to, Peter.”

His smile widened even more, brown eyes sparkling as he nodded.

“Okay. Okay, good. So, uh...we should probably get some sleep.”

Peter moved to stand up, but stopped himself. After a few seconds of hesitation, he leaned over, gently pressing his lips to your bruised forehead. As he pulled away, you gripped his wrist, eyes fluttering shut to savour the moment. You were here. This was real. You felt his light breaths across your face, nose practically brushing yours. A breathy giggle escaped your lips, opening your eyes to see Peter already staring at you. You could see every small detail in gaze, golden flakes scattered in their chocolate depths. You kept your voice hushed, scared to shatter the moment between the two of you.

“Can you lay by me? Just until I fall asleep?”

His smile could rival the sun in its brilliance. A thrill went through you as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“Alright.”

Careful not to touch your ankle, Peter climbed beneath the covers, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Your head rested against his chest, steady heartbeat a little too quick to be casual. You smirked.

“You nervous, Parker?”

He chuckled, squeezing you in a hug.

“Shut up, Munchkin.”

God, you didn’t think you’d ever stop smiling. Closing your eyes, you breathed out a sigh of content. A year ago today, you never would’ve imagined you’d be here. A new school, ghost hunting blog, and sprained ankle later, and here you were, cuddling with the guy of your dreams.

Things were finally looking up.

Tagging: @captain-ariel-barnes @papi-chulo-bucky @after-avenging-hours @occasionalfics @aliciawentzshadows @writing-parker 

Sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged in this, lol, I just tagged anyone who I thought might like Peter fluff XP 

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 23

Click here for more Numb content OR JOIN THE NUMB DISCORD

Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 3500+

Date posted: 25 Nov 2018

“Are you sure you guys don’t need our help?” Trevor asks for what feels like the hundredth time, shuffling his feet and shrugging on a thick black trenchcoat. Fiddling with the sleeves, he casts glance to his girlfriend that makes it undeniably clear that he doesn’t intend on offering his time to the cause. The quirk of an eyebrow challenges her disapproval.

Lauren gives him yet another exacerbated look, taking the challenge in her stride. Hands on her hips, she serves him a look that would have you wincing if you were on the receiving end. Trevor doesn’t shrink away, rather enjoying himself. “Don’t even think about leaving, asshole. We need you here.”

Alfredo nods, looking as though he understands what you’re saying until he opens his mouth. “Well, if you insist.” He readjusts his sweatshirt, making sure his neck is completely engulfed by his red scarf. He hits you with a cheeky grin, lips hidden beneath the fabric. “But don’t pretend like we didn’t offer.”

“You didn’t offer!” you reject vehemently, “and you’re not even listening to us!”

Trevor looks offended, scoffing at the prospect while latching on to Alfredo’s arm - who’s equally insulted - and yanking open the door. “How dare you? We’re going to the tavern, you funky witch bitches, where our talents are appreciated.”

“They’re appreciated here,” wails Lauren, motioning to the sheer size of the task that’ll take over the night.

“Nope, we can tell when we’re not welcome,” interjects Alfredo, clutching his chest and pulling a pained expression. “C’mon Treyco, let’s get outta here.”

Trevor nods firmly, turning on his heels and storming out into the snow, yelping as the cold settles across his skin. Alfredo suddenly looks a lot more apprehensive, taking a moment before following with a hollar, “We’ll drink drink your share, don’t worry!”

“Oh really?” You laugh, watching them traipse through the garden on unsteady feet, wobbling with every hole they slip into. Knees hitting the ground, forcing laughter from their lungs and smiles across their faces. “What a generous offer!”

“You fucking know it!” yells Trevor heroically, beaming back to the lodge, “don’t forget the sacrifices we’ve made here today!”

“Welp, they’re gone and I hate you.” Lauren’s voice doesn’t waver, certain in her statement as she closes the door after a moment, your friends having been swallowed in the night. “I hate you so damn much, Y/N. Do you have any idea how hard it was to carry all this shit back from the library?”

You smile, settling in the firelight cast across the livingroom floor, tea warm against your fingertips. “You made it home though, didn’t you?”

Lauren follows your lead, sighing into her seat. “Barely,” she snorts, “I nearly died.”

“Really?”

“Not at all. Right, where do you wanna start?” She motions to the left of you, battered books clinging to life and enough dust that your throat burns. “Over there we’ve got the handwritten journal of our ghosty friend, and over there we’ve got town records right the way up to the time her son ran Motbury.” She directs your attention to a collection of binders, surprisingly small in comparison to the amount of information you expected. “Not much, right?”

“Yeah,” you frown, flipping through the closest folder, only to be met with architectural plans and a few lackluster excerpts. You could take better notes in your sleep. “Lots of stuff about how he protected the town… That’s kinda really fucking weird. There’s nothing after that.”

She nods, hand running through her hair before she taps her cheeks a few times, determined to stay awake. It’s only once she’s settled and finished rubbing her eyes that she realises her coffee sits on the counter. She frowns. “And the night just got worse.”

“What are you talking about?”

She motions to her cup, your gaze following the saddened expression she throws across the room. A flick of your wrist sees her mood brighten, concentration burning your palms and static in your fingers while the mug rattles excitedly against the bench. Another smooth motion sees her drink lift, your hand pulling the air like a long string until it reaches you. Across the carpet, threat of spilling mounting to an uncomfortable peak before gently coming to rest in front of Lauren.

She grins, relieved when plucking it from your control and taking a sip. A sigh escapes into its depth, rumbling happily. “Oh yeah, that’s the good shit.”

“You’re welcome.”

She peers over the rim, already brightening. “Your Granddad would be so disappointed. ‘Kids these days and not using their legs! Grumble grumble, I’m so old’.” You cackle, her impression knitting her eyebrows together and flattening her lips into a thin line. The short, sharp jerks of her shoulders punctuate every grouchy exclamation, and a finger jams her glasses up the bridge of her nose so roughly you can practically hear them clatter against her skull. “What next, huh? ‘Back in my day we punched each other for fun. Burnt women at the stake for friend-zoning us’.”

“Stop,” you wheeze, putting your tea down before it can spill. Between laughter she flicks a spark into your cup, contents steaming once again. “Granddad was so old.”

“He knew Jesus, right?”

“He probably cursed Jesus for trespassing on the footpaths. That old fucker was the worst.”

“The worst,” she agrees firmly, snatching at a page and bringing it up to a settling expression. “Speaking of the worst, you got a light?” Lauren asks, straining at the handwriting she attempts to scan for the third time, squinting through her glasses.

“I mean… you got health insurance?”

“In this country?” she scoffs, “hell no, why?”

“Well,” you start, rubbing your hands together, “I could give that light thing another go.”

Her eyes narrow critically, and Lauren shuffles further away. “That crap from the other night? That you scared the bear thing off with?”

“Almost bear, yeah.”

“No,” she rejects, “no no no. You’re gonna fucking shoot me.”

You roll your eyes, offended but completely understanding her lack of faith. “C’mon, it’ll be fine.”

It takes her a moment to reply, but she doesn’t seem any more convinced. “Have you been practicing?”

Your slow response doesn’t fill her with confidence, her groan ruining your attempts to get her on side. “Nope. This’ll be a great time to practice.”

“I’m going to die,” she laments, slipping further in her seat.

“You’re not going to die.”

“Yes I am, oh god. This is it. This is the end…” She sits back up, beaming eagerly. “Well, go on then. Least I’ll die cool.”

“Gimme a fucking minute, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. In your own time, but soon cus we’ve got shit to do.”

“Don’t make me curse you out,” you murmur, attention already drifting.

Staring at your hand, tracing the curves of silver scars and lost in the clusters of ink staining your palm like stars across a night sky, you start to remember. It’s small at first, the feeling. Gentle and timid, pinching in your chest. But warm, surprisingly. Nothing like the searing cold that has surged through your fingers and buckled your elbow. Nothing like the freezing desperation that’d seen seen it fountain from your being like a burst damn.

Because you’re not afraid this time.

And why would you be? Clinging to the sheer fact you’ve done this before, on an admittedly larger and uncontrollable scale, is all you need. You can feel it. Like the light is trapped between your ribs, uncertain, but undeniable. Almost like the warmth of the first sip of a hot drink after walking through the snow, comfort pooling in your chest and stretching throughout your limbs. The thick blankets that come along with winter, or the roaring of a well established fire.

“You’re glowing.”

Glancing up, Lauren is watching you attentively. Eyes glued to your shoulders, her expression caught in the moonlight emanating from your skin. You smile, and airy laugh accompanying your excitement. “I can’t believe this.”

“You’re a night light.”

“Does it help?” you ask, shuffling closer to her to ward off the shadows the night is chasing across the documents.

She nods. “A little.”

The motion happens before you realise you’re doing it, focusing on the redirection of the light. It burns as it follows the lines of your veins, stinging at the wrist before it glows so brightly in your hand that you’re left squinting. A quick flick of your fingers disperses the light, scattering it towards the ceiling where it clings to the air. Suspended and glittering like stars caught by the roof.

“How about that?”

“I - holy fuck! Y/N, this is amazing! You know what we should do?” You can’t quite tear your attention away from the small balls of light, questioning her logic through numb lips. “We should order dinner!”

You rock back, your smile so broad your cheeks hurts. “Fuck yes we should.”

“Can I get HSP?”

“Nope.”

She slumps, groaning in a lackluster flail of limbs. “Ugh. What even is life?”

Tossing a journal at her, you grin. “I’m fucking kidding! Do you really think I’d live somewhere without HSP? I’m not a monster!”

“I want wine.”

“We can get wine.”

She thinks for a moment. “And whiskey.”

“And whiskey.”

-

“Looks like Ryan was right,” Lauren says eventually, feeling no need to hide her disappointment. She slumps in her seat, head resting on the couch while she shares her grievances with the ceiling. “We haven't learnt anything new. Gotta admit, your lumberjack lover is thorough. You and Michael may have figured out that the story is linked to all this, but this Turner person is useless.”

The weight on your shoulders grows heavier, anxiousness scratching against your ribs. Frustration clinging to the hair your force from your face, scalp lined with the effort to sooth yourself. A swig of whiskey doesn’t help. “There has to be something, Lol, there’s a truth to every story somewhere. We can't just give up.”

She bristles through a sip from her glass, though barely. “There's only so many times we can read about some woman and her rambling tea habits. I mean, fuck, who drinks this sort of shit?”

“I do,” you reply, offended and rosy cheeked.

“You're the only one.”

Then it hits you, knocking the air from your lungs with enough force that, if you were standing, you'd buckle into the realisation. Lauren sees the shift, watching the energy that had been draped across your shoulders dissipate. Breaking away and fracturing into golden shards as you rock onto your knees.

You're eager, enough to have her waking up from the sleepy alcohol stupor she's almost ready to let take her. “You're right, that's it!”

“What’s it?”

“The tea - the bloody tea thing! You said that I'm the only one that drinks that sort of shit.”

Her brow furrows, struggling to follow as you start rifling through the pile of information. “You and Turner, yeah.”

You emerge beaming, clutching the journal Lauren had tossed aside in disgust. “And what did you mean by shit?”

“What?”

“Type of tea, Lol. What makes up the tea?”

“Herbs and weird flowers and that kinda gross stuff.”

You nod, not even bothering to correct her on the subtle act of tea making, or calling out her strict reliance on camomile or sugarless coffee. Instead you're smiling, flipping through the pages. “Why?”

“Why what?” She pulls a face. “I swear I am going to kill you. It’s too late for this shit.”

“Why do I use those ingredients?”

“Cus they're fucking awful and you hate yourself? C’mon, Y/N. Just tell me!”

Fingers drum against the file, incessant while you stare. When she doesn’t respond your eyes roll. “Witches drink tea.”

Lauren’s face goes blank, eyes widening and eyebrows disappearing beneath her unruly bangs. Her mouth opens with a small pop, hands starting to flap as excitement sees her bouncing. “Witches drink tea!”

You smack the folder to punctuate the point, rocketing to your knees and shuffling over to her as fast as you can. Thrusting your file under her nose, you tap at the margin lined with tea recipes. “Exactly! Witches drink tea. This is the type of stuff I drink when I’m feeling paranoid.” You pull it back, flipping through the pages. “Look, she’s got teas for calming, teas for sleep, teas for cleansing, teas for all emotional healing-”

“That’s crazy!” Lauren exclaims, yanking the closest free journal over and scanning for herself. “The tea shit is everywhere.” She snaps the book shut, moving on to another that’s exactly the same. “Holy fuck.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to figure that out. It all looked normal to me,” you manage, lowering the text into your lap and sitting back down, fingers tangled in your hair while you stare out the window. The cold screams back, faint whispers of snow caught in the lights glowing outside. “It’s kinda sorta really fucking weird. You reckon she was a proper witch, or that she was just really good with tea?”

Lauren makes a weird noise, shrugging. “I dunno, I’m going with no, though? Tradition carries a lot of weight, and recipes and tea properties are used by people without magic all the time. Turner hasn’t done anything remotely witchy that I’ve noticed. Shame the son didn’t keep any journals. There’s nothing from him in this pile. You’d have thought that if your mum was actually a witch you’d want to write some cool stuff down.”

“Moira was incredibly thorough... Her whole life up until her disappearance is here. All we’ve got on the son - oh god, what’s his name?”

“We don’t have a name.”

“Great,” you groan, “brilliant. Fucking fantastic. All we’ve got on no-name-Turner is stuff from his mum and the other crap from the town plans before it all just stops. There’s not even any mention of markings on doorways and stuff.”

She nods, frustrated and exhausted. “Great. We’ve got tea recipes and a man that just disappeared along with his record keeping skills-”

A loud crash cuts her off, the rattle of a lock and smack of a door knob hitting the wall followed by a quick succession of frantic footsteps pounding down the hall. But it’s nothing in comparison to the roarious laughter. Alfredo and Trevor stumble through the door arm in arm, tripping over their feet and bouncing against the entryway. Silly beams split across their faces when you and Lauren glance up, Alfredo breaking away and collapsing on the couch, somehow managing to shove his hand cheekily across your face in the process. The surprise has your concentration shattering, along with the orbs of light you’d managed to keep strong up until this point. Though the alcohol had seen them lower, most of the light having hovered around your elbows rather than dusting the ceiling as they originally had. They dissipate quickly now, dropping the room into the firelight.

Trevor wastes no time in launching forward, letting his momentum carry him into Lauren’s lap despite her half hearted protests, curling up in her arms and determined not to move. “Hey there baby,” he muses sleepily, lost in the smile she presses to his forehead. “Did you miss me?”

“Miss you?” she laughs, running her fingers through his hair, “not at all.”

“It was actually really nice,” you confirm, leaning against Alfredo’s shoulder, “I haven’t had peace and quiet in a long time.”

“Nahh,” Alfredo groans into the couch cushions, turning to face you. His expression crushes, balling into something so comical that you can’t hold in the sniggers. “You missed us. You always miss us.”

“Shut up,” you groan happily, batting away the hand he uses to mess up your hair. “You shut the hell up Fredo, or I’m kicking your ass to the curb.”

“Fine,” he exclaims, sitting up suddenly, “but we made friends, Y/N. New friends. Better friends. One of them was a cop-”

“A drunk cop!” Trevor chimes in too close to Lauren’s ear, causing her to bite back a wince.

“A drunk cop!” Alfredo agrees, swinging his arm around. “And there was a coffee man with this… this beautiful hair. And a British person! I’ve never seen a British person more English than he was.”

“Made up words,” coos Trevor, flailing in Lauren’s arms, “made up words he did!”

“He did! You know what?” Alfredo glares, the expression not quite holding the same accusations they would if he were in the least bit sober. “I’m gone go stay with Gavin. Ma man will look after me.” He moves to stand, swaying as he swipes one of the journals from the top of a pile, squinting at the spidery writing like he’s forgotten how to read. “Maybe I’ll take him this damn book as some firewood, huh? Huh, Y/N? How’d you like dat? Fucking kick my ass to the curb, you animal. You… wait - what is this? This thing that I’m holding?”

Lauren doesn’t miss a beat, smiling sweetly into his confusion. “Alfredo, that’s a book.”

He blinks hard at her, leaning into the motion and holding his eyes closed and eyebrows together for far too long. “I know what a book is.”

Trevor nods into the crook of Lauren’s neck, nuzzling into her like he’s desperate for warmth. She spares him an unsympathetic pat on the head, giving his hand a firm squeeze. Trevor can’t hide his grin. “Sauce can’t read.”

“I can read!” Alfredo wails dejectedly at his drunk friend, offended. Returning to the page that seems to have insulted him so much, he jabs a finger to it’s margins. “I’m talkin’ bout this crazy chick. She’s as weird as you. Yes, you, Y/N. Look. Look, are you looking? Looky. C’mon, just look! See? She’s does the same crazy shit that you do!”

Only minorly outraged, you press a disgruntled frown to your face. “Crazy shit? Rude.”

He pays you no mind, continuing to sway while he fails to grab your hand - not once, but twice - before pulling you unwillingly to your feet. Gripping his elbow to ensure he doesn’t clatter to the ground, you make sure he’s steady before peering at the passage he keeps indicating too. “Well, look,” Alfredo starts, “this bitch be doin’ these weird ass symbol things that you do.” A clumsy finger drags down the side of the page, gliding over ink splattered and familiar illustrations. “See? You see dat? Look at dat… you looking? Dawg, just look-”

“Yeah,” you reply, cutting him off. “Yeah, I’m looking. I didn’t, wait - how didn’t I notice these? This changes everything.” Your attention breaks away from the page, settling on Lauren. She watches you, equally shocked. “This means that Moira was a witch.”

“Course she was a witch!” reprimands Alfredo, “your lumberjack man even told you it was a witch hunt.”

Lauren scowls, struggling around Trevor until eventually standing. He doesn’t want to follow, but reluctantly does; gripping the couch like a lifeline. “Yeah, but the people in witch hunts weren’t actually witches. They were just poor women that we’re caught up in stupid superstitious bullshit. And Turner didn’t do any of the usual shit people used to accuse witches of.”

“So that means she can’t be a witch?” Trevor questions, paling slightly with the churn of his stomach. “How closed minded.”

Alfredo nods eagerly in agreement. “You two see this shit every day, so course you didn’t recognise it as weird. Us normal fucks don’t. This bitch is a witch!”

A hand you can’t deem to be excited or nervous shifts through your hair, brushing away the exhaustion of a long night. You stare at Alfredo, watching him vibrate proudly. “You’re kidding,” you manage around an incredulous laugh, “we spent hours doing this. Hours! We found the tea thing, but we couldn’t pin that to a witch properly. And then you come stumbling in here and do it in 2 minutes?!”

Lauren grins. “That means I can go to bed!”

Your face falls. “It means we’ve got a lot of stuff to do-”

“Bed!” she reiterates, snatching Trevor’s hand and making her way towards the stairs without a backwards glance. “C’mon, Trev, we’re celebrating.”

Alfredo watches them go, offering a clumsy wave to his friend before turning back to you. He looks awkward, pleading. “Please, I don’t wanna celebrate.”

“Hurtful, but mutual,” you agree. His face brightens in relief. “You want a hot chocolate with marshmallows?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, scampering towards the couch and curling up on the cushions. “By the fire with blankets.”

“Done,” you laugh, collecting a bunch and unfurling them over him, watching his face gleefully reappear from beneath the throws. He’s grinning, cheeks threatening to split. Childhood innocence oozes from the expression, eyes sparkling in the light. “We’ll watch Brooklyn Nine Nine?”

You didn’t think it were possible, but he smiles even wider. Wiggling in his spot, he can’t hold in the excited squeal that follows you into the kitchen, sound lost in the sound of the kettle and clatter of cups. “Y/N, you’re my gurl!”

Smiling, you don’t have to turn around to know that he’s already drifted off to sleep.

[bearfacewean]

A Reason for Wearing Nice Undies

I was looking through some old stories and I found this one that I wrote AGES ago. It made me laugh reading it back. Hope you enjoy! 🤗

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

Now, how’s this for a crappy situation?

    I want to make this clear, I was the victim, me.  Not her.  I was the one minding my own business while her boyfriend was feeling me up.  I didn’t ask for it!  Sure I enjoyed it and hoped it would happen every night I went to bed but it wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter!  He was a ghost for Christ’s sake!  How do you tell a poltergeist that no means no?  I mean, what was I supposed to do?  I thought I was dreaming the first few times.  I thought they were just really, really, graphic, intense, vivid, erotic dreams that ended in an almighty awe-inspiring orgasm.  And when it became a bit clearer that actually, I was getting played with by the invisible man (if the invisible man had no actual flesh or understandable substance to speak of) or a ghost, then as far as I was concerned there were only a few things I could think of to do.  One being, this is absolutely fantastic, let it continue.  It beat any so called kinky blind-fold session I ever had.  I wouldn’t know when or if, how or why it would happen.  Talk about spontaneous.

    And then little thought number two; say I didn’t want it to continue, that the fact that I was getting an intimate tickling session by a ghost was a little more like getting raped than getting what I’ve been after my whole adult life (a bloody fantastic sex life which at fifty two years of age is about time) then what?  Am I to flail about wildly and punch at the open space that supported the whatever it was with the great fingers?  Was I to run away only to lock myself in another room considering the fact that he was able to walk through doors and walls?  Because he wasn’t in the room to start with and I checked.

    Then moving onto little thought number three; would it make him hostile?  Now, that tongue was somehow warm and wet when it toyed with my pussy and that dick was hard, hot and throbbing.  The hands were firm when it grabbed my tits and gentle when the fingers rolled my nipples.  Am I not to think that those same hands could be firm gripping my larynx and ripping out my throat?  

    Now I’ve never had great sex.  I married twice and both men ended up fat and flat.  Foreplay was something you might read about in a golf magazine and the clitoris was something that women made up to make men feel insecure!  So yes, I’m sorry.  I let him feel me, touch me, lick me, fuck me.  Arrest me officer, I’m guilty as charged.  I’m not saying I’d let anybody fuck me, because and I’m sorry for the poor taste of joke, but he had no body so I had no beer belly or back beard to be put off by.

    So each night, I’d be lying there and ridiculous as it might seem but yes, I’m washed, and in pretty lacy underwear and no pyjama bottoms (and I know for a fact that that nosy old cow Martha Fairweather from next door is gossiping and storytelling about my range of kinky panties that hangs from my whirligig.  No doubt I’m a scarlet woman), and I’m waiting for absolute bliss.

    Sometimes I knew he was there from a sensation down at my toes.  I think he had my toe in his mouth.  I could feel my foot being stroked and it would feel tickly but I would will myself not to let it away that I was still awake.  I did that once and it stopped for a whole week.  I would self service myself every night that week hoping that as I lay post self induced orgasm he would come along and do me off properly but it wasn’t to be.  So I would only ever be allowed to moan and breathe very lightly.  My legs would only open and my pelvis rock just enough to show that I was absolutely 100% loving it while pretending to be completely unaware.  Very, very difficult let me tell you.  Upon orgasm, and it was an oh, oh, oh, oooohrgasm, I could not help but make a very significant and triumphant “whooooopeeeee!” noise and bend almost completely in half.  I was left then to shudder and gasp and then make “oh I’m so confused, what a wonderful dream” faces.  

    I mean, this was happening to me.  He came to me in the middle of the night.  I could only wonder why.  Was he sexually repressed while alive?  Was he a sex maniac and even after he died, probably of a heart attack from too much fucking, he still had the same carnal urges.  Was he maybe in some kind of hell, only able to pleasure another while he got no release?  I have to admit, I did have a look and feel about the bed to see if there was any ghost-like semen, some fucktoplasm.  If he went it must have squirted into some other ghosty dimension.  Was he maybe an angel from sex heaven, sent by God?  Did he look down upon me standing in the queue of Ann Summers buying my Rampant Rabbit and think to himself; that woman needs a pity fuck, because he really was all about giving.  Or maybe he was one of those fetishist guys who liked to do it to sleeping woman.  I saw that once on a documentary on sex I watched in the hope of some arousing content.

    So yes, I loved it.  I wanted it.  I hoped it would keep happening because apart from the reasons given, I also couldn’t stop it if I wanted to stay in this house and I had searched for this house for a long time.  This was the house I wanted throughout both marriages and now it was just me, a horny ghost and it was wonderful.  Until, of course, when the girlfriend came on the scene.

    One night after a particularly hot session, (I had started taking pretend sleeping pills.  I labelled an old medicine bottle Temazapam just in case he was a hot horny doctor or anaesthesiologist when he was alive) I was lying on my front, legs splayed like a frog mid hop when suddenly he just stopped.  One second he was pumping away, his hands squashed between my breasts and the mattress and the next he was perfectly still, his dick still deep, his fingers still holding my aching boobies and then it was like he was whisked away.  I couldn’t fain sleep because his departure was so sudden and dramatic, his cock was wrenched out of me so directly that I gasped and turned, almost to see where he had gone.

    Needless to say I was left feeling somewhat confused and very unsatisfied so felt some chocolate digestives and hot milk was in order.  So I trundled my still quivering body to the kitchen.

    She was in there and she was very angry.

    Now, tell me this; why is it when the girlfriend or boyfriend walks in on their lover getting it on with another person do they never attack the cheater?  Why do they go for the innocent other party?  

    So like Samara from The Ring movies she comes crawling along the kitchen ceiling.  No “see no evil, hear no evil” with this bitch, no!  She’s all wavering black lines and silver flashes.  I could see the outline of her eyes and her mouth and they were open and shrieking.  She sounded like she was underwater, a raging gurgling spitting curses at me!  So I’m petrified, needless to say, and by the time her shaking, juddering, furious form gets directly above me, I’ve gone and had a heart attack. Well, let me tell you, I didn’t know he had a girlfriend, dead or otherwise so why it should be me that is scared literally to death, yes to the point where I am actually dying, is just beyond me and honestly, a bit extreme.

    So having let out a scream I’m surprised didn’t shatter my windows and laying there, somewhere between a hellish, suffocating, horrified agony and a lighter, floatier, sweeter place, she becomes fleshier.  Her intense colours fade to plain old light beige with hair dyed blond to within an inch of its life and a tight black dress.  Her screams that sounded like something from the pits of hell became a squawkish caterwaul.  

“You fucking slut, fucking old whore-bag.  You get your fat, swollen mitts off my man.” This was then followed by;

“Nicola, for God’s sake!  What are you doing?!  Nicola!”  But Nicola was now on the floor and pinning my purple dying body by the shoulders having a massive hissy-fit, apparently completely ignorant of my convulsing physical body and completely unaware of my spectral body floating a few feet above her.  It was him that noticed me.  By this time I’m standing or to be more literal, floating in the middle of the floor, still in my pretty pyjama top and heavily stretched thong panties and he was hunkered down sitting on his ankles in nothing more than what looked like black cycling shorts, his dick still rock hard making a miniature tepee out of lycra.

    Now I’m not going to go into details about my feelings and subsequent actions of seeing my own dying, twitching body but needless to say my attention rather quickly turned to another.  And, yes I know that I’m being a hypocrite because you would think the “person” that I would go for first would be the bitch that just killed me but no.  I went for him…and then she went for me which honestly I think only turned him on, the bastard.

    So what am I supposed to do now?  I’m getting attacked by a shrieking she-bitch I’m laying there, my final breaths are fizzing out of me and the whole thing is happening in very disagreeable circumstances.

    Until a ghost-like face suddenly appears at my kitchen window.

    Martha!  Thank the heavens (if that’s what awaited me) for your being one nosy old cow!  Now small and frail Martha might be but she kicks like a mule and in comes my kitchen door, chain lock and all.  She’s on top of me like a pro, breath, breath, punching down on my chest as if she had actually heard me call her all those horrible names before and was getting her own back.  I even heard one of my ribs break and through flab as thick as mine that’s saying something.  She was obviously really determined.  Meanwhile, those two bastards have finally turned the fight on one another, completely ignoring this crazy scene around them.

    “You fucking, cheating prick!  And with a heffalump too.”

    “You’ve got a cheek you fucking nympho…”

    “Nympho?!  I’m not the one fucking a fat…”

    “Don’t you dare say another word about her, Nicola.  At least fucking her was comfortable, not like fucking you.  I felt like I was going to get a splinter rubbing up and down that body.”

    “Oh so that’s it, the no body thing again.  You don’t do spirits, huh?  It’s not my fault we died!”

    “Back to this, again?!”

    “We’re going to be going over this for all eternity!”

    So meanwhile, Martha has resorted to harsh language and grabbing me by the shoulders to shake the life back in.  Mr Cotton, my neighbour from the other side has heard her screaming and has rushed in and now has the telephone trying to figure out these new cordless phones work.

    “Dial and then press the green phone button, Peter, not the red one, no that hangs up…BREATHE damnit!!”

    So now all I can think about is that clearly, that’s my dead body lying in my nice new kitchen and that yes, Martha, dear Martha has got to me super quick and the ambulance is on its way but, what if none of it works?  What if my scared out of its wits 50-odd year old heart really has given up the ghost, which in hindsight is a terrible joke.

    What if I’m left to roam this house for the rest of eternity?  I can guarantee I’ll be left hovering about this bloody house now too with less than perfect house mates?  He’ll barely be able to look me in the eye and she’s just going to make the atmosphere really uncomfortable.  Eternity is just too bloody long for that kind of childishness.  It’s like; you killed me so bloody well take responsibility for it.  We have to live – in a manner of speaking – together so can we make the best of it please?

    And I have so many questions!  Like, if the whole Christianity thing is real, then my murderer should be sent to hell, but what if an already dead, floating about limbo ghost kills someone?  Is that worse?  And will we always be around one another?  Can we totter off to another plane between the worlds of the living and the dead, or hell in their case because they deserve a bit of a roasting for what they did to me.

    And then what will happen to my house?  Will new people move in?  This is after all a really nice house, newly decorated, good area, close to all amenities.  Am I going to end up a horny ghost too and try to get it on stealth style with the new tenants?

    Ambulance people start pushing their way inside, contraptions and cables and shouting all included.  Completely ignorant, sex god and bitch from hell just casually move out of the way, arguing about whose idea it was for attempting an orgasm through suffocation.  She keeps casting glances at me with a look of pure contempt and he, still with his massive erection, has a look of total embarrassment and apology, which I refuse to accept for as long as I live, which may be, about ten minutes ago.

    But all of a sudden my body jumps up off the floor a clear foot and a half as they pass a crazy amount of electricity through my heart.  Now I’m yelling at my body and I have to admit it, I’m getting pretty hysterical. Another huge burst of electricity pulses through me, sending my body arching into the air and then the strangest thing happens where my floaty self suddenly feels like it’s on a rollercoaster as it tips over the edge and then I’m opening my eyes to see the faces of the paramedics and my body feels like I’ve just ran a marathon only to get hit by a bus as I crossed the finish line.

The rest is a bit of a blur but I was aware of I’m being hoisted up onto a very hard stretcher, whisked away into the ambulance with Martha, Peter and the rest of the street looking on, including two funny wiggly shapes that I saw through the bay windows of my sitting room.

    So, tonight has been pretty horrible.  I’ve been left horny and unsatisfied to the point of needing biscuits and then scared to death by the dead girlfriend of my ghost booty caller.  At the very least I can say I took my mums advice.  You should always make sure you have on nice clean underwear because you never know what may happen and you’ll get rushed into hospital.

    I wonder if he will visit me in hospital…

The End