#but that specific fic has so much of my own personal pain in it

[goldengalore]

Ready

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Harry wants kids. Y/N isn’t sure what she wants. Feeling pressured to make up her mind, she agrees to something she’s not ready for.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: angst, smut

A/N: Hello! It’s been a while. This fic is based on this ask I received forever ago. Enjoy :)

***

Y/N has always been on the fence about having kids.

As a young teenager, she assumed she would have them when she grew up, fell in love, and got married. Social norms, along with her own childish naivete, made her believe that this was the only path one could take in life. Having children was the next logical step to marriage, which was the next logical step to falling in love.

And then she matured and realized that life is not nearly as cut-and-dry, that having kids is a choice, not a necessity, and that she can absolutely go her whole life without having any if that’s what she wants. This realization came as a relief but also felt somewhat unnerving because how is she supposed to know what she wants? She is quite possibly the most indecisive person on the planet, so it’s no surprise that she has bounced back and forth between wanting and not wanting children throughout her entire adult life.

On one hand, she thinks of her friends who have kids and how their lives have become utterly consumed by the little humans that require their constant care and attention. There is just so much that Y/N wants to experience and achieve before settling into a life like that.

Not to mention the horrors of pregnancy. It’s not exactly a walk in the park, having to carry a human life inside of you for nine months and then give birth to it. The health complications, the irreversible bodily changes, the sheer, agonizing pain of childbirth.

And yet, on some days, she fantasizes about becoming a mother, of holding a tiny life in her arms and nurturing it into a full-grown adult. An important character in these fantasies has always been the sweet, thoughtful, loving partner by her side who takes equal responsibility for their child. This person was always a faceless individual—an idealistic depiction of the kind of partner Y/N hoped to find someday.

And then Harry came along.

Sweet, thoughtful, loving Harry who, unlike her, was always sure of his desire to have kids. For him, it was never a question of whether he wanted them but a question of when.

That moment finally arrived for him a year ago. But Y/N wasn’t sure if she felt ready yet.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked her one day. “I don’t mean that in a judgemental way. Bringing a child into this world is scary for anyone, including myself. I’m just curious to know what your specific concerns are.”

“Well, there’s the usual stuff, like whether or not I’ll be a good mother—”

“You’ll be a phenomenal mother.”

She smiled at him, then continued, “Or whether my kids will be able to have a good future with so much chaos in the world...” She trailed off hesitantly.

“But there’s something else,” he said, gently urging her to share what was really holding her back.

“I… I’ve always been terrified of the idea of having to raise a child alone, either because something bad happens to the father or he leaves out of the blue or we break up and I’m left to take care of this child by myself. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I… I’ve never been able to shake this fear.”

“Doesn’t sound ridiculous to me. I was raised by a single mother, so I know it’s not an easy job.” He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckle, never breaking eye contact. “But I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. You know that, right? We’re in this together. We’re a team, always.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Well, I’m alright with waiting until you feel ready. I want us both to feel ready before we jump into this.”

In the six months following that conversation, the topic would crop up several more times, like after Harry saw her interacting with his godchildren at a party or they walked past a cute baby in a stroller at the grocery store. Y/N didn’t mind discussing the topic. It gave her a chance to ponder and become more comfortable with the concept of motherhood.

Yesterday, Harry returned home from a month-long movie shoot in Sweden. Y/N surprised him by showing up at the airport. What he doesn’t know is that she has another surprise in store for him.

While he was in Sweden, she decided to go off her birth control and now wants to try for kids.

She plans on telling him later tonight once they get home from their friend’s birthday party. They’ve been all over each other tonight. That’s what being apart for a month does to them. Hell, even a week apart is enough to turn them into a couple of horny teenagers that can’t keep their hands off each other.

“You look so hot in that dress,” Harry whispers in her ear, half-joking because they both know this is his fifth time saying that tonight.

Emboldened by a couple glasses of wine, a tipsy Y/N whispers back, “I want you to put a baby in me.”

His eyes widen. He chuckles. “That wine bringing out your wild side?”

“I’m serious,” she states, glancing around to double check that no one is within earshot of their conversation. “I went off my birth control a month ago, after you left for Sweden.”

He stares at her blankly, like her words haven’t quite sunk in.

“H, I’m ready to do this.”

“Really?”

She smiles. “Yes.”

“We’re doing this,” he says as it finally sinks in. He kisses her wine-stained lips. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

Y/N can hardly keep her composure on the way home. Harry appears to be in the same boat, as he keeps sneaking glances at her while driving, his hand caressing her thigh. While he’s always been a responsible driver, she can sense the impatience in his maneuvers tonight.

Once they’re home, it’s almost a race to the bedroom. Harry gently pushes her onto the bed and climbs on top of her.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to watch you walk around in this dress tonight”—he runs a hand down her front—“and not be able to bend you over and just slip my cock into you?”

She moans as he cups her pussy through her dress with a firm hand. He lets her grind against it for a minute before pulling away to take off his clothes. She follows suit.

Soon, they’re back on the bed, sharing another series of ardent kisses. By the time he goes down on her, she’s already dripping wet and he licks it up as if he hasn’t had a drop of water in days. Her hips grind against his tongue like they did against his hand just a moment ago. It doesn’t take her long to orgasm.

He shifts up the bed to hover over her body. He kisses her again while lining up his cock with her entrance. As he slides into her, she feels a slight discomfort from being stretched open for the first time in a month. He pulls out and pushes in a little deeper each time to let her adjust until he fills her up completely and she’s too immersed in pleasure to have a single coherent thought anymore.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he says, starting to pump in and out. “Gonna come inside you, yeah? Gonna come deep inside your tight little cunt and fill you up, put a baby in you. Is that what you want?”

Those words flip a switch in Y/N’s mind. She makes an involuntary noise that makes it seem like she’s agreeing with him, so he picks up his pace. Just as he finishes inside her, the terrible realization dawns: She is not ready to have a baby. Not at all.

“I love you,” Harry whispers in her ear, his body resting flush against hers as he comes down from his high.

Tears spring to Y/N’s eyes as she realizes what she’s done, what they’ve just done. When she doesn’t reciprocate his statement, he lifts his head to look at her. A tear escapes her left eye at that exact moment.

Concern furrows his brow. “Lovie? Hey, what’s wrong?”

She just shakes her head while staring at the ceiling.

“Y/N.” He caresses her cheek, urging her to look at him. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Did I go too—”

“We shouldn’t have done this. It was a mistake,” she says in a trembling voice.

“What are you talking about?”

She tries to sit up. Harry moves out of her way.

“I’m not ready, H. I’m not ready to have a baby.”

His face falls. “I— But— Then why did you say you were ready?”

“I don’t know… To make you happy?” She covers her face and hears him sigh heavily.

“Y/N, you can’t— You can’t lie about things like that just to make me happy. It’s not like we were deciding what to have for dinner. We’re talking about having a baby, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know that. Of course I know that. But I just— I see the disappointment in your face every time we talk about this, every time I tell you I’m not ready. You seem so sad, Harry. I hate it.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not able to hide my emotions as well as I thought I could. That still doesn’t mean you should lie to please me. I thought we were past foolish antics like this.”

She squints at him. “Foolish antics?”

He sighs again. “I didn’t mean it like—”

She turns away from him and gets off the bed.

“Y/N.”

She shuts herself in the bathroom. For a brief moment, a part of her resents him. Resents him for being ready to have kids before she was. For bringing it up so often. For making her feel as though she needed to lie about being ready just to make him happy.

But now, as she stares at her teary-eyed reflection in the mirror, she knows she has to take responsibility. She is the one who led him to believe that she was ready when deep down, she knew she wasn’t. He never once pressured her to make up her mind or acted like he loved her any less for not wanting kids yet. He never made her feel any type of way about it. He has done nothing but be the supportive, understanding partner he’s always been. It was her who doubted that. She let her own paranoia get to her.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

A few moments later, he knocks again.

“Please, lovie? I’m getting worried.”

Finally, she opens the door. He takes in her red, puffy eyes and tentatively places his arms around her, only pulling her in when she steps into his embrace.

They stand there silently until he says, “Why don’t we head over to the pharmacy and get you a morning after pill?”

She agrees, so they get dressed and head out. The ride to the pharmacy is a quiet one. Every time she glances at Harry, his eyes are focused on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel, and he appears deep in thought. It’s the complete opposite of their ride home from the party, when he could hardly keep his hands or his eyes off her. She tries to think of ways to break the silence, but nothing feels appropriate. The last time she felt so awkward and unsure about what to say around Harry was when they first started going out and she was terrified of saying the wrong thing.

When they get back from the pharmacy, she swallows down the pill with some water and they head back to bed.

***

Y/N: Hey H, you on your way home? Hope you’re hungry, I made your favourite for dinner 😊

H: I have a business dinner tonight. Mentioned it this morning

Y/N: Oh! Sorry I forgot about that. I’ll save some in the fridge for you for tomorrow

H: Sure, thanks

Y/N stares at the message. She can’t tell if she’s reading into things or if Harry’s replies really are as dry and aloof as they sound. Her propensity to overanalyze everything makes it difficult to know. Ever since the incident in the bedroom a few days ago, it feels as though Harry has been avoiding her. Spending long days at the studio, coming home late at night when he knows she’ll be asleep, giving short replies, taking longer to text back. They haven’t had sex again since then either.

After scrutinizing their text conversation for twenty minutes, she comes to her senses and realizes that she can’t keep going on like this. It’s driving her crazy. What she needs to do is talk to him. But he’ll most likely be tired when he gets home.

At first, she thinks she’ll sit him down tomorrow morning and talk it out. But when he walks through the front door just after eleven o’clock that night, she can’t help herself.

She stands in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea, when he enters. The dark circles under his eyes are noticeable. He has been willing to sacrifice his sleep just to avoid being around her any longer than he has to. Her chest constricts.

“Hey,” he says, placing his phone and keys on the counter. “You’re still up.”

“Can’t sleep.” She stares down into her half-empty mug, the remainder of the tea quickly growing cold.

“How come?”

“I can’t stop thinking.”

“About…?”

She swallows the lump in her throat and looks up at him. “About whether or not you’re upset with me and how I can fix it.”

He frowns. “Why would I be upset with you?”

“Because of what happened a few nights ago.”

His frown dissolves into something different—sympathy? Guilt?

“Y/N, I’m not upset with you about that.”

“Are you sure? Because it seems like it. You’re gone before I’m even awake and you come home when I’m going to bed. We’ve barely talked or kissed or cuddled in the past few days. I know you haven’t been that busy since you got back from Sweden, so… I don’t really see any other explanation.”

He stares at her wordlessly for a long time before speaking. “You’re right. I have been avoiding you. But it’s not because I’m upset with you. It’s because I’m upset with myself. I feel like I pressured you into doing something you obviously weren’t comfortable with. I never saw myself as someone who pressures people into doing things they don’t want to do. So, I suppose I’ve been feeling some shame and guilt about it… and then avoiding you because it’s hard to face these feelings.”

Y/N sets her tea on the counter. She never could’ve guessed that Harry felt this way. She was so convinced that he was mad at her, it didn’t even occur to her that he might just be feeling guilty about it all. After how long she has known him, it should have been obvious that the latter is more consistent with his character, but her anxious brain wouldn’t even let her consider that possibility. She walks over and wraps her arms around him.

“H, I had no idea you felt that way.”

He squeezes her tightly, resting his chin on her head. She turns her head to the side so that her cheek is against his chest.

“To be honest, there were times I felt pressured when the topic of kids came up,” she says. “But a lot of that pressure was created by my own fears and insecurities. I just hated disappointing you over and over. I was scared your feelings about me, about us, would change if I kept saying I wasn’t ready.”

“This hasn’t changed how I feel about you or us. Y/N, I want you more than I want kids. Way more. If you decided one day that you don’t want them at all, that still wouldn’t change how I feel about you.”

She pulls back to look at him. “Are you sure? That’s a dealbreaker for a lot of people.”

“Well, not for me. Not when it comes to you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Suddenly, he lifts her up onto the counter and stands between her legs.

“So. What did you get up to today?” he asks, planting a kiss to her collarbone.

She rests her hands on his chest. “Hmm, what did I get up to? I hardly remember anything other than obsessing over this whole situation.” She laughs.

“Aw, lovie, I’m sorry I had you all stressed out.”

“It’s okay.”

“Maybe I can make it up to you. Help you relieve all that stress.” He peppers kisses along the side of her neck and jaw.

She sighs softly and closes her eyes. “I would like that.”

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot #anxious!reader #my writing

[sundrop-writes]

Okay but Emily or JJ kinks headcanons?

Okay, nothing fancy or over-edited, right off the top of my head:

(Reader is intended to gender neutral - let me know if I flubbed anywhere, and there is mentions of Will x JJ. I'm not gonna list the kinks like I would for a typical fic because this is basically just a big list of kinks lmao. Don't click through if you're uncomfortable with mentions of BDSM and anal.)

Emily would have a Mommy kink.

But she would also have a Mistress kink? Or she would love being called M'am. She would love a title. She loves it when you call her by a title that nobody else can call her.

I feel like Emily would be the type of person who would love BDSM as a lifestyle - she would love casual dominance and being called by her title being closed doors even if you're not engaged in a sexual act. She would be obsessed with having a partner who is willing to strip naked and wait, sitting pretty for her when she comes home.

She would also love collaring for that reason - because she would love the idea of owning you. (She would also definitely get you a pet tag with her name on it, or something that says 'property of Emily'.) And she would get you some kind of necklace with the letter E on it to wear casually in public so people subtly know that you're hers when you're not wearing your collar.

She loves the idea of owning you, not just because she sees you as property, but because she understands under the BDSM lifestyle, she takes care of you fully - making sure that you eat, drink enough water, take care of your health, and she will fully assume that role because taking care of you means that she gets to come home to a willing fuckhole that she can use however she wants, and she will take care of your body because she loves you and loves that body - as much as she will punish you and fuck you senseless when you both need that too.

She has a strap and she loves to use it on you. She also definitely loves to fuck you in the ass - with lots and lots of lube. She loves fucking all your holes, including your throat. (Because she owns them.)

I feel like Emily would have a pain kink. She definitely loves delivering pain and seeing you squirm (as long as you're into it) - she loves spanking and seeing the results; seeing how you can barely walk or sit down properly days after. And she might use a tool like a paddle or a flogger, but she loves a good ole fashioned hand spanking, because she loves feeling the glow on her palm of the skin to skin collisions.

She is also obsessed with rules. It's one of the reasons that she loves BDSM. She will make so many rules for you - when you can cum, when you can and can't touch yourself, when you can use your toys, what specific consequences you get if you break the rules.

She will also make rules for when you're supposed to eat and that you're supposed to eat healthy, and how much water you're supposed to drink in a day - because she demands that your (slutty) body belongs to her, and you have to take care of it if you want her to touch you.

Emily is a hard dom in my opinion - I don't think she would sub for anyone. She loves being in charge, and she is looking for a pet that she can fuck senseless and take care of - that's what she wants out of a relationship.

As for JJ?

JJ is a lot softer.

I think JJ is a switch. I think JJ could be a sub to the right person (and that person is not Will - in that relationship, she walks him like a dog. Henry was conceived by Will begging to nut and JJ giving him permission) - anyway, JJ could be a sub, but it would have to be to a really bossy, demanding person (like Emily) - otherwise she is dominant and bossy and in control.

JJ probably also has a Mommy kink. It's probably not something she would ask to be called - but she would love it if it slipped out of your mouth by accident, and she would be sooo turned on by you calling her that.

I feel like JJ would have a thing for pet names - she would call you baby, honey, sweetie, sweet pea, etc. she would call you so many different pet names, and if she found one that really made you shy or turned you on, then she would press on with that one and call you that all the time. She loves getting a reaction out of you.

She loves soft sex and making love. She is the type of person to kiss all over your body and body worship you with her mouth - definitely into heavy, heavy verbal praise. Again, she loves getting a reaction out of you, and if she sees that verbal praise makes you shrink back in shyness or makes you moan extra hard, then she will pour it on even thicker - tell you how perfect you are, how beautiful you are, how gorgeous you look while you're cumming.

She also loves teasing. She loves to see your reaction when your body slowly winds up - when you're becoming more turned on, when your muscles are tensing and your hips are surging forward toward her touch, silently begging for more. In this same vein, she also does enjoy orgasm denial (but not to a severe degree) - because she loves to wind you up and see how whiny and desperate you get when she pulls back her touch right before you cum. She does love to hear you beg for her and say her name when you beg to cum - but she is the type of person to only deny you once (maybe twice) before letting you cum.

Aaaaand what else ? JJ is super touchy imo. So I feel like she would love running her hands all over your body during sex, and she would need cuddles after sex. She loves skin on skin touching when it's simple and gentle on top of mindblowing orgasms (and giving you orgasms).

(That's all I've got for now).

#sundrop writes #requests #requested #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss headcanons #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau smut #jennifer jareau headcanons

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Our Love is Six Feet Under- Nakahara Chuuya

featuring: Nakahara Chuuya (bsd), gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) warnings:- angst throughout, major character death, major light novel (stormbringer) spoilers!! a/n:- my, my, this idea has actually been rotting in my brain for over a month and its my longest fic till date. i loved writing it i hope u guys like it too <33 heavily inspired by 'six feet under' by billie eilish

wc: 3k || masterlists

You feel like you’ve been through worse than hell and back when you drag your eyes open. It doesn’t take you long to assess your situation and remember what had happened to you in the first place to get you attached to a hospital bed with various machines around you.

You promptly wish you’d rather have died instead, or never woken up. Not having had to deal with the pain that stabbed your heart like a thousand serrated, unforgiving knives would be a million times better than being alive. It would have been so much better than being the only survivor. 

Technically, you should feel no personal guilt over the Flags’ deaths. Its not like you had been hired to protect them, and what you had been paid to specifically do is the only thing that matters when you’re an assassin. Especially when the Port Mafia is the one who outsourced you. The blame of their deaths could, in no way, be pinned upon you.

Having feelings is what gets someone killed in the world you live in, a dark world in the deepest shadows of the city. Having an ability is no reason to be confident of yourself, not when the country is littered with ability users everywhere. And yet having an ability as unique as yours is how you managed to save yourself from the certain death brought upon you all by the King of Assassins.

It was supposed to be another normal day, right? You were off-duty, so you were hanging out with the Flags at the usual place, who you had become ‘acquainted’ with over the past few months of working together, Mori’s orders. If you could dare to curse yourself and them by calling you guys friends, you would. One of them, possibly the one you were closest with, had left for some mission with a foreign investigator, long story. So you were chilling out with the others, playing billiards and all that stuff. 

If someone had told you that would be your last memory together, you would have atleast clicked a picture for keepsakes. Or you’d have cherished the moment more, rather than treating it so casually. After all, you never know the value of what you’ve lost until you’ve lost it. 

In the present, you shut out your emotions- they’re too much of a storm for you to be able to deal with. The grief at their deaths, the horror at the memory of the sight, the overwhelming grief- you needed a break. You slipped back into unconsciousness, a weight lying heavy on your chest that would surely never leave you until you die.

********

The funeral seems much too loud and way too quiet at the same time, or perhaps thats just your thoughts. You’re silent in the shadows, yet again, watching the processions and the choir wordlessly. You don’t speak anything. You don’t think you have the right to. 

You haven’t dared to talk to Chuuya, or even approach him. He was the only member of the Flags who was not present when Verlaine struck, and thus the only one alive. He was incredibly close to them, you know, because you yourself were close to them, to him. Barely anyone had spoken a word to him, not even the boss. His aura was such that if you even dared to approach him, you’d probably either have your lungs squashed by gravity, or his own carefully crafted facade would break down. 

If, as someone who wasn’t even part of the Port Mafia or the Flags, you had been affected so badly, how was Chuuya coping? Was he? Yet, out of habit, you can’t help but keep an eye out for him. Silently, selfishly even, perhaps you’re hoping he can find it in himself to forgive you.

The foreign investigator has shown up again, looking much too cheerful for someone entering a funeral, and goes straight to Chuuya. You can feel that he’s pissed off, but a few words from Mori, and Chuuya stands up in a forced manner, going to leave with the detective. 

You manage to meet his gaze finally, but you don’t think you’d ever be prepared for it. His eyes bored straight into yours, eyes that had once looked at you with mirth and laughter, and dare you say it, love, eyes that were always an open gateway to his emotions. They held nothing but silent accusations, hidden anger, all pointing their sharp ends towards you. Not a single friendly feeling. 

Not a word is exchanged as he walks right past you, but there’s no need to. You’ve gotten the silent message he’s sending you crystal clear- he will never forgive you for this.

You think you deserve it fully, you understand. Even now. How twisted, really, but you got it. When he lost the Flags, he lost a part of himself too, but he still remembered you. And remembering you was a constant reminder of them, of your failure to save them, of the pain that came with. 

Though it hurt you, you knew that distancing yourself from him was the best thing to do. If you pursued him again, there was no telling what he might end up doing, but it certainly wouldn’t end well. Chuuya likely knew this too, and he clearly didn’t want you to come back. So you wouldn’t. This funeral would be the last time you associated with the Port Mafia, and thus Chuuya, even if it hurt you to do so. But again, considering feelings is what gets you killed in this world, and you’d rather not die so soon, although you actually don’t mind. 

And well, what did it matter if somewhere, sometime, Chuuya secretly wished you’d ask him to return?

********

Visiting their graves has become a monthly thing to you, due to your inability to let the past stay in the past. Perhaps its your own, guilty way of attempting to make amends, perhaps its your way of keeping their memory engraved in your mind, perhaps its to ensure that they aren’t forgotten, even if you know well they will never be. Deep inside, its a way for you to mourn the dead, as well as the loss of the living. 

You bring flowers every time, stay a while, occasionally leave something for them. Sometimes, you talk to them, sometimes you apologise over and over again, sometimes you stay silent, letting your thoughts still for a while. If nothing else, you just stared at the small rose plants that were growing there, one behind each of the five graves. It always amazed you, that such a delicate flower could grow in such a barren place. It sure seemed like they’d be blooming soon, and whenever you visited, you always made sure to check on them.

Time passes, but the wounds do not heal from inside, they just scab over, concealing the pain at first glance. You’ve gotten better at hiding it, yes, but that does not make it any better. You’ve become stronger, risen in rank as an assassin, honed your skills further. You’ve become reputed for carrying out your tasks in a swiftly lethal, unclouded way that left no traces. Almost a year has already gone by since the incident, and you still havent forgiven yourself. Nor has Chuuya.

That’s why, on their death anniversary, when you feel his cold gaze on you for the first time in a whole year when you were at their graves, you don’t hesitate to get up and start to leave. It’s best for him to not see you again. You’ve cut off all contact with the Port Mafia, except for when you occasionally got hired by them, and even then you finished it quickly, wasting no time. Interacting with no one. 

So that’s why it surprises you, when he holds up a hand, walking past you to lay the flowers on their graves. “You can stay.” He speaks emotionlessly, not looking at you. He sounds older, more mature, which was to be expected, you supposed. You remain standing where you are for a few moments, not facing him as he walks over and sits behind one of the graves. “As long as you aren’t doing anything wrong, of course.” He adds. At that, you sit in front of the grave he’s leaning against, replying quietly with a “No, I was merely paying my respects.”

It was anyways evening when you came, soon, the moon starts its ascent through the sky, as silence settles between the two of you. Not a word is exchanged between the two of you as you sit on opposite sides of the same grave, in each other’s company. The only people who could truly understand each other’s pain and suffering.

You settle for silently staring at the roses. Small buds have formed, but they don’t look well- its as if the whole plant is starting to wilt, little by little. They haven’t flowered even once yet,and you wondered if those roses would bloom before the plant died. Could they? After all, the weather was changing- it was raining more often these days. Maybe they couldn’t take it. Even now, a light drizzle had started as you sat, but it took you some time to realise, because you didn’t feel the rain at all, only noticing the faint red hue around. You didn’t mention it, nor did Chuuya.

Perhaps, whatever once could have been between you and the guy opposite you was symbolised by those roses- it could have bloomed, if given the chance, but life abandoned it,  left it to wilt in the aftermath of the storm. Any possible chances for you two were like the beloved ones who had left you now- six feet under the ground, dead, marked by a grave. This was merely the hand that fate dealt you, you had no choice but to accept it

********

“I can’t see the moon tonight.”. You murmur, almost to yourself, as you remain seated against the graves. It had been years, and even till now, neither of you had stopped coming to the grave to pay your respects, you arriving first every time and waiting for him. Your own visits weren’t monthly anymore due to life, more sporadic, but you still did visit from time to time, and you know Chuuya did too. And every year, on the fateful day that the incident happened, both of you never failed to show up, at the same time. Sometimes you exchanged a few words of greeting, a line or two about life. Other times you sat in silence till the moon’s glow started to dim, leaving as noiselessly as you came. Over time, this became your and Chuuya’s last remaining shared tradition out of all those that used to exist, your last link to each other. Seems like none of you was truly able to stay away from the other after all, huh?

“Say, Chuuya, next year, can you check for me whether the moon is visible or not? I feel like there really is something different about it on this day.” You ask him. He curtly replies, “Yeah no, you can do it yourself when you come back here. There’s no big deal about it anyways.” There’s no real bite in his words though, but it still saddens you. You wave it aside though, as you stare at the rose plants, like you always do. 

Over the years, those roses have wilted, died, and new plants have grown in their place. Not a single one of them ever bloomed though. You want to ask Chuuya to check on those plants next year too, but you don’t.

Tired from your day at work- it was more hectic and dangerous than usual- you lean against Chuuya’s shoulder. He remains motionless- he doesn’t push you away, but he certainly doesn’t pull you closer either. This is another thing you developed over the years- if either of you felt like you needed a shoulder on that day, the other would offer it. And you wanted to do it one last time.

Eventually, you two get up and brush yourselves off, preparing to part ways. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on Chuuya’s for a second more than usual as you open up your umbrella- it always does rain on this day, but today it seemed a bit gentler yet stronger- as if the skies were quietly lamenting over what was to come. 

Right before he left, he quietly spoke, the whisper floating between you. “Don’t think everything’s alright between us, because it isn’t.” He always does say something like this before he leaves every time, and again, there’s no real bite or meaning behind those words, just a formality he wishes to continue. 

You let a sad smile rest on your face as you gazed at him, before responding, “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Take care, Chuuya.”

As you started walking off alone, feeling Chuuya’s eyes still on you, ensuring your safety like the gentleman he was, you wondered if you had truly tied all the remaining loose ends of your thread of life, or did you still have regrets? It was very likely- no one could say they died without any regrets at all. And besides, no one’s end was written in stone, unless they carved it themselves. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was ever all too much for you.

The next morning, you call your boss to let him know that you’re ready to take on the mission. It was an important one, involving both a long period of infiltration for gathering valuable intel, and then the assassination of the target at the end. It was a high-risk mission too, but you were used to those, weren’t you?

Why would this mission be any different?

*********

Another year rolled past. This year, Chuuya hadn’t been able to visit the graves at all after the first two-three months because he had been sent overseas for a long-term mission. During the months he’d been in Yokohama, he hadn’t caught a glimpse of you- of course he hadn’t, he made sure to avoid the days you came, preferring to merely see the traces of yourself you left and leaving his own. After that he only got the chance to return there on their next death anniversary, and even for that he had to fight tooth and nail. He was a man of actions, and he would never be the one to break the tradition.

But he’d never imagined that you would break it either. You too were a person who valued actions, or had you changed over the years? 

His sharp eyes scanned the graves cautiously, but there was not a single trace of you. The only life around were the rose plants, not a soul in sight.

Rage, resentment and hints of sorrow bubbled up in him, taking him by storm as he strode over and angrily sat down by one of the graves. He was silent the entire night, letting his rush of emotions subside, staring at the gates as if he was expecting you to suddenly pop out. He stared at the moon, and at the roses. Did you not notice that they were about to bloom when you last visited? Because they were in full bloom that night, for the first time in years, delicate, fragrant petals shining in the moonlight. The moon, too, looked beautiful that night, a full moon surrounded by clouds. It was raining, heavier than usual, but the moon was never hidden. A memory entered his mind- last year, you had asked him to check whether the moon was visible this year.

“Well, it’s visible, and it sure is beautiful, but you didn’t even show up. Why?” He bitterly spoke out loud.

In the soft blowing wind that accompanied the rain, a stray lone rose petal lying on the ground gently floated in air, appearing as ethereal as smoke. He rose up to leave- you clearly weren’t showing up- eyes following the petal as it blew about, landing on a grave not of the Flags, but right beside, almost as if the deceased had specifically asked it to be there. It seemed relatively new too, for he hadn’t seen it the last time he’d been here. He walked over to it, to read what was written on the gravestone.

A moment passed, then another. And another. And Chuuya doesn’t know how long he spent there, kneeling in front of it. He was slowly getting drenched, because his ability had deactivated itself at some point of the night, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the neatly written words staring back at him, taunting him.

At some point, he understood why he was alone that night. Why you weren’t there to give him company, solace that night. It was because you couldn’t, and so you’d left whatever remained of yourself there, beside him, beside them, eternally. He just hadn’t known.

He could barely breathe, he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to, because his chest felt so heavy then. Eventually, he noticed where the petal had landed- it was a small letter, slightly wet and yellowed, kept in such a way that the rain wouldn’t destroy it. Someone must have kept it there on your request, and so he took it  out, eyes taking in the faintly smudged but still intelligible words.

‘I’m sorry, Chuuya, for everything. I hope you can forgive me someday, even if I myself never could. Thank you for staying with me, for existing.

-Love, [Y/N]’

A silent tear slipped out of his eye, then another. “Idiot.” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’ve always been too hard on yourself. I think I forgave you a long time ago, I guess I just never wanted to acknowledge it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being too late.”

“And don’t worry, the moon looks beautiful tonight, and so do the roses. They’ve finally bloomed. I think you would have loved to see them, wouldn’t you?”

this took me ages to write, but i hope u like it hehehe anyways votes, reblogs and comments are really very much appreciated <333

#skylia's works #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd fic #bsd fanfic #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd nakahara #chuuya #nakahara chuuya #bsd chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya angst #nakahara chuuya angst #nakahara chuuya x reader angst #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd angst #chuuya fanfic #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bungou stray dogs fanfic

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

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

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

Word Count: 4.3k

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

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

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

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

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

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

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

“No. Don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

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

“Olivia,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

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

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“You think that would end my career?”

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

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

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

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

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

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

“An accident?”

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

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

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

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

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

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

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

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

“Can I fix it?"

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

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

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

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

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you murmur.

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

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

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

Yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #doctor!reader #medical drama #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock imagines #charlie cox #do no harm

[acescavern]

END TO START - LEE TAEYONG X READER

Navi - M.list

Pairing: Soulmate!Johnny x Soulmate! reader, Taeyong x reader. ( Ft Mark, Jungwoo, Ten, Jaehyun, Taeil, Yuta. Mentions Jaemin once.)

Genre: Heavy angst my guys, soulmates au, neo frat au, university au, fluff, Hanahaki Soulmate trope.

Synopsis: Taeyong had been perfectly happy to sit back and watch you and Johnny be together. However, when he starts to notice certain behaviors that are all too familiar, he finds himself unable to watch you slowly die. Just because Johnny may not love you anymore... doesn't mean Taeyong doesn't love you either.

wc: 4.9k

Warnings: Heavy angst, Blood, Mentions of death, suffering, choking, johnny is unfaithful, it's a Hanahaki au so they basically cough up dead and thorned flowers. It's not a graphic description but there are descriptions of pain too, mentions of weight loss due to being unwell, Unrequited love, hurt, Taeyong's been in love with the reader since before her and Johnny got together, heavy rejection, soulmate rejection ( Just because i have written this does NOT mean that i think any one of the nct members would cheat or act thi way. this is pure FICTION.) Please let me know if i have missed any warnings

Note: Hi! I have a few fics in the works but I'm worried I wont get them done for Halloween. So, I am blessing you with this heart-breaking fic. I wanted to release this fic early as a thank you for all your love on Operation Rizz! Now, this is the same frat universe as all my other NCT fics. they can all be read as stand alone though, so don't worry! Any feedback is once again appreciated. I do not own the concept of Hanahaki.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated

Soulmates were supposed to be someone's everything—the one person who was meant specifically for them. Someone you can lean on and cherish, who would dote and adore you. Someone to dish out as much love to you as you unto them. To stay by your side and grow old together. However, some people are already at that stage when they meet their destined person. There was also the worry of some people not having a soulmate. Legend says that only the blessed are gifted with such. 

Gifted? Yes. To many, the Soulmate system is a curse - depending on what type you are assigned to. Tattoos? Easy. Mind reading? Okay a little more difficult. Red string? That practically takes you straight to them.  Eternal life? Near impossible! You could spend many years with someone you thought was a soulmate only to see a wrinkle and realize you aren’t made for each other at all. Seeing things in black and white only to suddenly be overwhelmed with color at a music festival and not know who the hell you’d bumped into in that massive crowd that could possibly be your soulmate. Not everyone even had a soulmate, they could be with whoever they wanted without consequences. 

But there was one type in particular that nobody wanted. Hanahaki. Named after the fictional Japanese Hanahaki Disease. It comes from the Japanese words Hana - meaning flower and Hakimasu - quite literally meaning, to throw up. 

In a soulmate's case, when they first meet each other a seed is awakened. It grows thorned roses - the flowers of love - cradling the person’s heart and twining around inside their lungs. For the most part, other than the occasional flutter and heartburn, it goes unnoticeable. So long as the soulmate reciprocates the feelings of love. But, should one soulmate start to fall out of love? The other will suffer terribly. The flowers will die, the spikey stems squeezing at the organs they were once gently caressing with love. Crushing in their anguish.

Of course, unlike the other soulmate types, there are two ways out of Hanahaki... Let the weight of the unreciprocated love drag on painfully until you die, or convince your health insurance to accept the cost of the operation to remove the offending plants. However, by the time one realizes they are soulmates, it is likely that the bond has already been unreciprocated. 

Taeyong knew this. He knew this because it happened to him. He had once been on the receiving end of the agonizing scratch of dead rose stems climbing up his throat in a mess of blood and wilted petals. Taeyong had nearly died. He recognized the signs clearly and that was the reason he was so shocked to see them in who he did. 

Johnny’s soulmate.

Taeyong first took notice when you walked through the door of the club. A celebration night to celebrate the frat’s anniversary alongside Taeyong’s new choreographer position in the dance studio he works in. Your face had a slightly paler tone and although you were doing a good job at keeping your breathing even… Taeyong recognized the telltale signs of a wince when you took the air in too harshly. 

But when he saw Johnny approach you and press a loving kiss to your forehead, he scolded himself for thinking such things. Taeyong knew something was up though, your smile didn’t meet your eyes and when you congratulated him with a hug, he swore he could feel your body tremble. 

He tried not to worry too much throughout the night but when he saw Johnny by the bar, his charming smile dazzled at some sorority girls that had been invited… Taeyong wondered where you’d gone. The disappointment within him only grew when he watched his best friend and frat brother go home with one of them. 

So, maybe his suspicions were correct. A few weeks passed and he’d not seen a glimpse of you, Johnny hadn’t even uttered your name. The rapper hadn’t had time to sit him down and ask him about the incident. Until now. 

Taeyong dabbed the sweat from his brow with the neckline of his shirt, swiping his water bottle from the floor. He shuffled toward his friend, watching as he grinned at his phone as he typed. He was talking to someone and Taeyong only hoped it was you. That you’d both mended things to stop it getting worse. The thought of it all being a misunderstanding had a relieved smile spreading across his face as he settled on the floor next to Johnny. 

“You texting ____? Tell her I said Hey.” Taeyong said, twisting the cap off his drink to take a swig. Taeyong was almost taken aback at the irritated flash that crossed Johnny’s expression at the mention of your name. 

If Taeyong wasn’t so observant, he would have missed it. Johnny shook his head, swiftly locking his phone when his leader went to peer over his shoulder. “It’s not. It’s Yuki.” 

Taeyong’s eyebrows scrunched, posture freezing for a moment. “The sorority girl you went home with?” He tried to keep his tone level. Memories of the same thing happening to himself reoccur in his mind. “What about ____?” The question hung awkwardly in the air, Johnny staring at Taeyong as if he’d asked something ridiculous. 

“What about her?” He shrugged. “Just because I do stupid things, doesn't mean I don’t love her. She’s my soulmate.” He paused, an almost defeated sigh sagging at his shoulders. “The only one I got.” 

Taeyong took notice of the slight bitterness in his words. Almost as if he didn’t realize that he did it. “Do you?” 

Johnny rubbed at the back of his neck, his mouth opening but no words coming out. Once again, a defeated shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah… yes.” He cleared his throat as his voice broke. “I’m sure we’d of noticed by now if I hadn’t.”  Johnny left no room for debate, standing up with a clap of his hands to suggest they continue their lacrosse practice.

You knew. You knew Johnny’s feelings for you were dwindling. You were reminded every time you coughed. Reminded by the way your breath left you in an agonizing squeeze when Johnny would kiss your forehead.  

But, even though you knew… it didn’t make you love him any less. You knew what he got up to when your nights weren't spent together. You didn’t do a thing, didn’t bring it up. You almost tried to ignore it. You loved Johnny. You always would. And, as long as you continued to love him, he wouldn’t have the same fate as you. You would never wish this pain on him even if he was the cause. 

You wished you’d heeded Mark’s seemingly lighthearted warning at the beginning of your relationship. ‘He’s one of my closest friends but he doesn’t always do the right thing, just… please be careful.’ Mark had said one evening. You hadn’t truly understood why he had said it, nor did you get to question him before Johnny had slid his arm around your middle. 

You understood perfectly now. Especially as a sharp tickle wheezed in the back of your throat, your eyes discreetly scanning the new text message from your seat at the very back row of English lit class. ‘Can we rain check date night again? Coach is being a hardass and wants us to stay late.’ For the third week running, the same excuse. Sure, you’d seen Johnny. But Thursday was always date night. Something you’d both stuck to like glue once before. 

Pain twisted in your chest, your breath rough. You brought the sleeve of your hoodie to your mouth, attempting a discreet cough. It didn’t do anything for you, the feeling like you’d swallowed razorblades. The world felt like it was spinning for a moment and you had to close your eyes and count to ten to steady it again. 

One look at your sleeve had you frowning. The next stage had started. You’d read about this. Discoloured petals. You’d only coughed up one but one was enough for you to be sure. With one last attempt at clearing your throat, you brushed the blackened petal to the ground. 

Taeyong shared this class with you. Whilst he didn’t often sit next to you, he was mostly always on the same row. Not many people occupied the back row and so, when he heard the muffled hack come from your direction he had looked over, shoulders tensing as he watched you. 

He approached you at the end of class, watching your sluggish movements as you shoved your laptop back into your bag. “____, Are you alright?” He asked softly, noting the sheen of sickly sweat coasting your forehead. 

Lips pressed firmly together, you nodded. You were certain if you opened your mouth you'd start coughing and choking again but you didn’t want to be rude. “I’m fine.” Bad idea. “Sorry, Yong, I gotta go-” Taeyong had never heard your voice so scratchy and coarse. He had also never seen you flee so quickly before he could even open his mouth, your notepad falling from your unzipped bag as you vanished before his eyes. 

As he knelt down to collect it from the ground, his fingers made contact with a velvety, withered texture. 

A blackened rose petal. 

 The next time Taeyong saw you, you were much worse than he could have imagined. He had only turned up at your apartment because he assumed Johnny had left his phone at your place. He couldn’t really understand the rushed words of ‘Shit! I left my phone at her place, I’m already late!’ When Taeyong offered to go and get it, he naturally thought of your place. 

So when you answered the door, he was standing frozen at the sight of you. Your eyes had bags under them that would put JFK airport to shame. Your complexion was grey, lips cracked and dry. Taeyong could definitely see you’d lost some weight too, your knitted sweater nearly slipping off one shoulder. His gaze caught onto the marks along your neck, long red streaks almost looking like you had been clawing at it in your agony. Your winced call of his name kicked his brain into gear. 

“Now isn’t a good ti-” His hands flew out to rub and pat your back as your words were interrupted. 

Taeyong’s heart broke as he watched you struggle. You couldn’t get your breath, your face turning red from the strenuosity. Taeyong backed you into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. He sat you on your couch, disappearing from view for a moment.

You didn’t even take note of what exactly was being thrust under your nose, only that it would catch what your body rejected. One of his hands held the bucket, the other sweeping your hair away from your face. It was all too familiar for him. Except for Taeyong, he had done it alone. 

“It’s okay, ____” He hushed, palm flattened over your back to rub comforting circles. “Breath through your nose and count to ten. It helps.” 

You did as such, shoulders relaxing as the air finally seeped into your lungs. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, sighing at the crimson residue that was becoming all too familiar. You opened your mouth to speak, only to be gently hushed once more. 

“It’s okay, it’ll hurt too much if you talk.” He set the bucket down on the side table. “You should get yourself some grapeseed oil. A teaspoon a day should at least prevent the attacks so often.” Taeyong didn’t look at you as he spoke, his hands busying themselves with opening the small drawer to your coffee table in search of tissues. 

“You mean this?” You rasped, pulling the small droplet bottle from your pocket, and setting it down on the surface before you. Taeyong’s eyebrows creased. 

It was the exact same bottle he was sure he had. Though, catching sight of the label on the bottle he knew it was his bottle. ‘Taeyong’  scribbled messily on the labeled sticker. He looked at you expectantly. 

“Johnny gave it to me.” Just uttering his name sent a pang of hurt through you, a wave of emotion rippling from your jaw to the tips of your toes. 

Taeyong understood immediately, a deep sigh resonating as he nodded once. “He knows then.�� To which you nodded, eyes fixed on your lap. 

He had never seen you cry, and he would hate to admit it but your eyes looked pretty when you did. It was as if the glaze of tears enhanced the colors of your iris. “He doesn’t know it’s this bad. He thinks the tickle has just started.” 

“____, you’re dying and you’re telling me Johnny hasn’t noticed yet?” To say that Taeyong was in disbelief was an understatement. The new knowledge that Johnny knew now had floored him. 

Why? Because Johnny hadn’t once let it show. Taeyong had been around the guy all week and he was still the happy comedic genius he always was. Not a hint of anything bothering him. 

“Yong, It’s okay. I..” You drew your knees up to your chest, patting the spot next to you for him. “I’ve come to terms with it.” 

“Come to terms with it?!” He spluttered. “____, you are in your twenties! You can’t be okay with dying in your twenties.” His hand raked through his hair, eyes blinking rapidly like he couldn't come to terms with how calm you looked right now. 

Taeyong could feel the anger bubbling up in his chest, his gaze hardening as he addressed you once more. “You know he’s been seeing her too, don’t you?”

You were silent, shame eating at your subconscious. “If I ignore it then he won’t have to be like this too.” 

Taeyong sprung up to his feet. “Wake up! He’s out there living his life with no regrets and you’re the one to suffer? I can’t…” He shook his head, shoving his clenched fists into his pockets. “I’m sorry, I just-” With one last shake of his head, Taeyong left you there. The slam of your front door announcing his absence.

Johnny remembered the conversation between the two of you very clearly. He was convinced he still loved you a lot. Just not in the way you need. At first, he thought it was doubt, but as time went on he started to notice the dry tickly cough and the abundance of petals scattered in your trash. He was sure it wasn’t harmful yet, certain that he still held the love in his heart for you. 

Johnny didn’t love Yuki. She was fun. She was different. She wasn’t you. He could spend time with her without any strings attached. It was freeing, knowing he wasn't destined to be with her no matter what. 

He felt guilt at first. He didn’t like lying to you, but it was for his own selfish gain that he did. Johnny had seen Taeyong go through the pain and near death of a soulmate falling out of love, he didn’t want that for himself. Johnny had too much to live for, as arrogant and self-centred as that sounded. 

 He remembered what you said when he gave you the vial of grapeseed oil, how your shaky hands had placed over his own. How you told him it was okay, it wasn’t his fault. But Johnny couldn’t help but think it was. Johnny tried so hard to make himself love you still. Your words of comfort swirled in his mind and kept him up at night. ‘Nobody can help who they do and don’t love. Feelings change, People don’t’ You’d said to him.

Johnny felt ashamed. Being unfaithful to you whilst you still loved him with every ounce of your soul. Deep down, Johnny knew you only had two options he just hoped you made a decision before it was too late. 

Taeyong had been seen by barely anyone all week. It was as if he was attending his classes and then picking up every extra shift or odd job imaginable. The Neos were even more shocked when Mark slapped a flier down on the dining table ping pong table in front of some of the brothers. A for sale flier, advertising their frat leader’s motorcycle. The very same one that he cherished and spent a fortune to modify. 

“Do you think he’s in debt?” Jungwoo frowned, setting his beer on the table. 

That question alone earned a chortled laugh. “Woo, we’re in university. We’re all in debt.” Yuta clapped him on the back. “But, on a serious note, He’s been acting super weird lately.” 

Everyone launched into debate, trying to determine why Taeyong would be selling his pride and joy so suddenly. Conversation ceased when the front door opened and the man in question shuffled into the open-plan living space with an exhausted wave. 

“Ty, are you actually selling the bandit?” The question came from Taeil, Neo frat’s oldest member. 

Taeyong moved through the living area, taking a seat at one of the beanbags littered around the table. “Already sold it.” He bobbed his head in a nod. 

It earned him many concerned looks. “Are you in trouble or something? Are you trying to cover the water bill from when Mark broke the faucet?” 

“No, Jae. I’m not in trouble. It’s not for me.”  He reassured, his voice dying down quietly. “It’s for ____.” 

Everyone stopped. Mark locked his phone, Yuta stopped chipping at his nail polish, and Taeil nearly spat out his beer. Jaehyun and Jungwoo were already staring at him. 

“Why?”

Taeyong took a deep breath, anticipating the question.It didn’t take long for him to catch them up to speed.  “You haven’t noticed? I can’t watch her die. Even if she’s come to terms with it.” 

“She’s not been to class for a few weeks. Professor Choi just straight-up skips over her name now. I’m guessing they know.” Jaehyun hummed. 

“Hm, Jaemin said he saw her last week on his midnight ramen run.” Mark recalled, “Said she looked like something out of living dead.” 

“Mark,” Taeyong gave him a warning look. The younger just shrugged his shoulders. “I’m going to book the operation for her. She doesn’t know. I just need the deposit. After that, it’s monthly payments. I can scrape enough together for the monthly just fine.” He looked pained. “Whenever I see her, it’s like I’m watching myself go through it again.” 

One by one, Jaehyun, Mark, Jungwoo, Yuta, and Taeil offered their help. 

The six of them didn’t make it known what their plans were but soon enough, after Taeyong had put what he had already saved with what the others offered, it was enough. He rocked up to the private medical center, cash in an envelope that was tucked neatly within the inside pocket of his jacket. 

Taeyong was pleasantly surprised that he was allowed to schedule and pay the deposit on your behalf. Acting on best interest. The receptionist did stress that you needed to fill in the form and sign consent upon arrival but Taeyong was more pleased that he was giving you a chance at life. That there was a possibility that you could carry on.

What he didn’t expect, was your immediate refusal when he brought the leaflet and forms over to your apartment the following morning. The smile dropped from his face as you tried to hide away from him.  ‘He could die.’ You’d cried at him. And whilst it had been proven he wouldn't, you were convinced. 

“He won’t, ____.” Taeyong begged. “Please, you can’t just accept this.” The bed dipped as he sat on the edge. The many times he had visited you now, you had always been. The last time you got up to open the door, Taeyong honestly worried that you would pass away right there on the doorstep. He took your spare key after that. 

Taeyong’s gentle fingers lifted the damp wash cloth from the bowl at your bedside, running the cool material over your brow and cheeks. A light smile twitched at the corner of your lips, the sensation easing your fever, only a little but it was better than before. He knew he wasn’t going to get many more words from you this evening. You’d exhausted yourself already for the evening. Taeyong was just content enough to sit here and care for you. 

Honestly, before it was known that you were Johnny’s soulmate, Taeyong had hoped you’d notice him. He had often found himself wishing that it wouldn’t last so he could at least have a shot with you. His hopes were crushed when Johnny had run through the fraternity declaring you were both soulmates. Taeyong had made peace with the idea that maybe he was meant to be alone, satisfied just by seeing you whenever Johnny brought you over to hang out. 

He never wished for this, though. 

Tenderest of touches brushed your hair away from where it had clung to your forehead. Taeyong clicking on the standing fan in an attempt to offer you some cool relief. “Trust me, ____.” He whispered, voice brittle. “I went through this.” His confession had your right eye cracking open. 

“Back in the first year,” Taeyong recalled. “Watching you and Johnny go through this… it’s like a mirror. I nearly died,” He picked up your hand, engulfing it in both of his own. “I refused the operation until it was nearly too late. For the same reason, actually.” 

Your fingers twitched in his own, your index finger hooking around his thumb to offer comfort. You have suspected Taeyong had some close experience with this. Especially in the way he always seemed to understand your pain, the sad gazes, and his drive to help you. You had never expected that he would be the one in your position though. The meer thought had tears welling up in your eyes. You seemed to cry a lot around the man these days. 

“He didn’t die though. Apparently, he just… coughed up the root.” He lifted your hand, the ghosting feeling of his lips against your knuckles. “I promise you, Johnny won’t die… At least think about it.” To which you nodded in agreement. 

Taeyong made you soup, your favorite kind. You weren’t even sure how he knew it was your favorite but he did. He parted from you with a lingering kiss to your hairline. Just like every night. This form of unrequited love seemed to of hurt him more than his last. 

He’d left the forms and leaflets on the empty bed space by your feet.

You’d asked Taeyong not to come over for the last four days. As worried as he was, he had to respect your wishes. You didn’t want him to see your sudden decline as you entered the last stage of the rejection. Meaning, that Johnny had almost fallen completely out of love with you now. 

You were expecting it, Taeyong too. You and Johnny had broken things off the last time you saw each other. Both of you doing so without even having to clarify the matter. He was free. Almost. 

Taeyong had been stressed all week, even his frat brothers had given him a wide berth. Many put it down to the lacrosse game the pending evening. Only a select few really knew that it was because today was the same day Taeyong had scheduled for your surgery. 

He hadn’t known it was the same day as the game, Jungwoo uttering the words with caution the day before. Taeyong swore to himself that he thought he booked it for next week. He didn’t even know if you were going to accept it… Any time he brought it up you tended to change the subject. 

How Taeyong managed to even pass the ball with steady swings amazed even himself, his hands hadn’t stopped shaking. He had nearly skipped the game in favor of being with you, but he knew he couldn’t.  The game had gone smoothly, they were winning by one. In fact, Johnny had to take the penalty shot. 

The whole field waited on bated breath, all eyes on Johnny as he just stood there, his expression morphed in such a way that Taeyong exchanged a look with Jaehyun.

“Seo! Take the damn shot already!” The coach didn’t even get through his ending word before Johnny’s form curled over, knees slamming into the ground. 

Taeyong rushed over as his friend tore off his helmet and spat his mouthguard to the ground. He would worry about that later. Taeyong slid to his knees beside Johnny, his own helmet crashing to the ground out of his grip. 

Johnny had never felt such pain. His airways were burning. The sensation in his chest felt like all the oxygen was being torn from him. The team crowded around him, blocking anyone else's view of the scene.  A choked cough left his throat, a shout of agony following after. Petals. Blood. Stems.  The flower was unwinding itself, pulling at the roots from within his chest and lungs. 

The team managed to maneuver Johnny back to the locker rooms, it took four of them to carry him but soon the male was slumped against the tiles of the showers. Taeyong was beside him once again. “Cough it up Johnny, you’ll do more damage if you don’t.” He tugged Johnny’s arm to sit him forward, his fist thumping down in the center of his back. “Johnny, come on!” 

To say Taeyong was relieved when Johnny finally started coughing again was an understatement. “You gotta carry it on, it’ll hurt but I’ve got you.” He pleaded over the sound of his friend’s cries and chokes. 

Johnny doesn’t know how long he continuously coughed for. All he knew was the last one to shake through his body finally offered him release, Taeyong tugging him away from the mangled mix of plant and blood only to rip him, Johnny, from his shock-induced state by shoving him under the freezing cold shower stream - kit and all. 

A big, clear breath left him. 

“What the fuck, John?” Ten peaked his head around the corner, having raced in after the team to check on his best friend. 

“Dude, that's your flower.” Mark grimaced, crouched down next to the offending object. 

The announcement made Johnny’s spine straighten, and Taeyong hung his head. “What does it mean?” Johnny shakily stood, pressing the button to stop the stream of cold water. 

It was fascinating how Johnny already felt better. He felt no pull in his chest, no weakness even after the whole ordeal. He felt new. But if he felt like this… then what had happened to you? The realization of what had happened weighed heavy on his guilt. 

He turned to address the sort of traumatized, faces around him but it wasn’t him that spoke up. It was Taeyong. “It means I need to find ____.” 

Taeyong had raced past his teammates and into the locker room without any further explanation. His phone cramped between his ear and shoulder as he tugged on his sweats at record speed. “C’mon, Petal. Pick up.” He swore to himself, only removing the device from his ear to throw on a t-shirt from his locker. It was a term of endearment he had taken to calling you of late, though quite often when you were too dazed to notice. 

He ignored the looks of confusion from his friends. Well, from those other than Mark and Jaehyun. From the look on Johnny’s face, he was still piecing things together. Taeyong didn’t have time for that, snatching the keys for the beat-up Honda he had gotten recently and sprinting from the room. 

Taeyong continued to call you on the way to your apartment. He had just hoped you’d gotten yourself to the appointment. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of losing you like this. He found himself afraid to enter your building, scared of what he may find. His head thumped against the steering wheel, eyes burning with unshed tears. You had to be okay. 

His phone buzzed, body jumped when he saw your name flash on the screen. He swiped to answer, bringing it up to his ear with a relieved sigh. “____.” He listened to your breathing for a split second, registering the steady beeps in the background. 

“Is he alive?” Your tone was filled with urgency but your voice was clearer than Taeyong had heard in weeks. It had a relieved laugh bubbling from his chest, salty droplets cascading down his cheeks and leaving his tear ducts with the tension in him. 

“He’s fine.” He sniffled, rubbing at his face. “ Petal, you’re okay. I tho-” You interrupted him with a soothing call of his name. 

“You were right.” He listened to you pause, the sounds of you sipping through a straw present in the receiver. “There are things I do have to live for.” You spoke quietly. “The first one being myself.” 

He hummed in agreement, starting up the car again. “Yeah? I’ll be there soon and you can tell me all about the second, Petal.” He was rewarded with a breathy laugh. “What?”

“Petal.” You murmured, Taeyong could hear the slumber lingering back into your tone. 

“Get some rest. I’ll be there soon.” He was about to pull the phone away from his ear when you quietly called his name again. 

“Yes?” He hummed, clicking the hands-free and setting the phone into the holder on the dash. 

“Can I tell you my second reason?” 

“What’s that, Petal?” He smiled softly to himself. 

“It’s you.”

©Acescavern - I do not give permission for my works to be copied, translated or reposted

#nct #Lee taeyong #johnny suh #johnny x reader #taeyong x reader #college au nct #nct 127 #nct angst #nct fluff #nct scenarios #Nct u #Nct 127 x reader #Taeyong x reader #Taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #johnny suh angst #johnny suh x reader #Yuta nakamoto #ten lee #nct yuta #nct mark #nct jungwoo #nct taeil #nct jaehyun #nct fic #nct fanfic #nct 127 fluff #nct fic rec #nct imagines #nct johnny

[bubblegump-1-nk]

Shall I Write It in a Letter

pairing: Gryffindor!Reader x Theodore Nott

summary: In which Theo wakes up one morning and realizes he can no longer not have you, so he writes you a letter. But when that letter gets lost, things become complicated. - inspired by Anne with an E; song: Bloom by The Paper Kites.

Warnings: angst that could be fixed by simple communication 😒, hints of cheating

P.S: I super duper highly recommend to listen to the songs either before, during, or after you read my fics . Not only do they encapsulate what the fic is about, but they’re also just super good songs!! <33d

~~~

Christmas break had been in session for about a week and a half, and Theo was spending his time off at home. Although he was sad to be away from his friends, he was happy for the much needed alone time.

The sun was shining brightly through the dark velvet curtains in his room, and he slowly woke up from his dreams. As his eyes fluttered open, he felt a pang of pain in his heart. His dream had been of you, specifically of kissing your soft lips on a warm summers day by the Black Lake. He’s found that more recently than ever, his head is full of you, as is his heart. As he’s laying in his bed, he closes his eyes once more, trying to hold onto the bits of you he won’t ever experience. In this moment, thoughts of you more prevalent than ever before, he realizes he doesn’t have to not have you. Quickly, becoming fully awake, he springs out of his bed and walks quickly to his desk.

He pushes all the papers and miscellaneous items off the surface, and pulls out a paper and quill. He’s become fully aware of just how much he longs for you, and why should he not be able to tell his best friend that he’s in love with her? He’s been yearning for your love for as long as he can remember, and it has finally transformed him into a fool, giving him the confidence to express his love for you.

My dearest y/n,

I’ve found that you’ve been circling my thoughts more than usual lately, so much so that I can hardly call them my own anymore. I think about you all the time, yet I’ve been too much of a coward to say anything. But I’ve realized that I don’t want to wake up one day, either in the near future or in the years to come, and regret not trying, because of pride, or embarrassment, or just simple fear. I need to escape this torture chamber I’ve made for myself, where I must hold you at arms length though I know I wish for nothing more than to be wrapped in your embrace at all hours of the day. So I need you to tell me if it’s all in my head. That the lingering touches and longing stares are just simple delusions I’ve created in my mind. But if they’re not, and Merlin how I hope they’re not, I’m telling you here and now that I am in love with you y/n l/n, and I don’t think I can bear to be apart from you any longer. I also want to go ahead and apologize for telling others I loved you, that they knew before you did, but to be fair I think everyone knew before I did, too. You are my breath of fresh air, the light in all my darkness, my proof that life is pure and good and that happiness is achievable. I may not be a religious person, but if worshipping you was a religion I’d be its most devoted follower. And if my feelings are not reciprocated, please find a way to put this past you because I could not endure losing you as my best friend as well.

Yours Forever, Theo.

After pouring his heart out onto the page, he carefully placed it into an envelope, wrote your name on it, and walked to give it to owl. After sending it away, he walked back to his room, his anxiety suddenly crashing through. Thoughts swarmed his head: She doesn’t love me, I’ve ruined everything, I should stop it from reaching her. But his heart quickly stopped his brain from doing too much damage. You needed to know or else Theo would live in agony for the rest of his life. Upon reaching his room, he sat back at his desk and sent letters to each of the Slytherin boys, confessing what he’s done. He even slipped a copy of the letter to Mattheo, the only one he felt he could truly trust with that piece of his heart.

~~~

It had been two days since the letter had been sent. Had his owl reached you by now? Had you seen it? What were you thinking?

He was an utter mess, his mind swarming with questions and his body teeming with anxieties.

Soon it was 4 days, then 6, then a week, and then the last day of break rolled around the corner. Still he had received no response from you, perhaps you wished to talk in person? His heart hoped that that was the answer, and that the lack of a letter was not your rejection

~~~

You got onto the train just as it was about to take off, thanks to your missing jumper. The train was packed with kids saying their hellos and catching up, and with much effort you finally found Harry, Hermione, and Ron and got inside the compartment.

“Is it just me or is it crazier than usual?” You ask as you sit down.

“Definitely crazier, apparently Lavendar and Parvati got into a huge fight over break so everyone’s running around to hear about it.” Hermione explains as she hands you some candy she bought for you.

You say your thanks and continue talking with your friends when there’s a knock on your compartment.

“Hi Dean!” You say as you get up to slide open the door. You step out quickly to talk with the tall Gryffindor boy.

You have a friendly conversation, lasting about 10 minutes before entering the compartment again.

“What was that about.” Ron asks, before anyone else has the chance to.

“I saw him at Diagon Alley over the break and he asked me out. We hung out a couple times over the break.” You explain.

“Never would have expected that one.” Says Harry.

You raise you eyebrow at him, “and why would that be?”

“Just always assumed it would be Nott.” Harry says.

“I can’t just sit around like a fool waiting for him. He’s shown he just sees me as his best friend and the quicker I get over him the better.” You explain.

“But, he hasn’t shown you that he feels that way.” Explains Hermione, who is team Theo and y/n.

“He hasn’t shown me any differently. Wake me up when we get there I’m taking a nap.” You say, tired of constantly being reminded of your inability to be with Theo.

~~~

You arrive at the castle, and you make your way through the crowds to find your Slytherin friends. Just as you spot their group, Dean Thomas stops you.

“Hey, I’ve saved you a seat next to me, ok?” He asks, while his hands snaked around your waist.

“Thanks, I’ll be right there.” You say to him, giving him a small smile before turning your attention back to the group

-

“Merlin.” Theo says, causing the group to turn their heads. He had seen you walking around the crowd, and had turned away quickly when you had finally spotted them. He hadn’t seen you on the train and obviously hadn’t received your letter, so a part of him still hoped that you just wanted to talk to him in person. His anxiety began to take over him when he saw you walking towards him - would you tell him to fuck off? That he’s some sort of creep best friend? Or would you tell him that your heart beat for him? - that’s when he saw it. Dean Thomas gripping your waist and you sending him that sweet, tooth rotting smile his way.

“Oh shit.” Said Mattheo, who had been the first to spot the pair.

“Fuck that’s messed up.” Said Draco.

“I’m sorry mate.” Enzo said, patting Theo’s shoulder.

“How’d that even happen?” Asked Blaise, confused because he had never really seen you interact with Dean.

Mattheo sent him a look, warning him to drop it.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Mattheo said, gently grabbing Theo’s arm, pulling him away towards the dining room.

Theo could still feel his heart breaking, each shard falling to the pits of his stomach and stabbing him. He got his answer at least, not only did you not love him, you clearly didn’t care enough about him to even write back to him. And now, his God-sent Angel, was flaunting around with another man. How could the sweet girl he grew up with, the one that showed him that even salt could be beautiful, break his heart and crumble its pieces in your fist?

-

You were confused when you suddenly saw the group leave, making their way into the dining hall. You tried to get to them, but the crowds of people pushed you back until finally, you realized it was fruitless when the crowd began pushing you back towards the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall. You decided to just sit down, and that you would try to find the group, Theo specifically because you missed him deeply, after dinner.

Dinner passed quickly after the tedious sorting ceremony. You talked with your friends and caught up with those around you, sneaking glances towards the Slytherin table as often as possible. Finally, Dumbledore dismissed the students and you all made your way towards your common rooms. Since it was the first day back, teachers were making sure students went directly to their rooms, leaving you no time to find the Slytherins. You decided it would be best for you to just wait until tomorrow, though you thought you might implode if you spent one more second away from Theo. A thought that made you feel instantly guilty when Dean appeared at your side.

~~

The next day rolled around, and still you hadn’t been able to get ahold of the Slytherins. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have assumed they had been avoiding you. Finally, right before lunch you entered the library to grab some books when you saw the boys congregated in the back. You made your way over to them, carefully stepping around the stacks of books Madame Pince was reorganizing.

Once you finally reached the group, you went to announce your presence before Theo looked away from Draco (who was telling some boring anecdote) and looked down at you. Before you had any time to give him a smile or say your hello’s, he detached himself from the group and stormed right past you, through the stacks of books, and out the door. You stood shocked, facing the doors before finally turning back around to face the group. Your face was painted with an expression of confusion, which only deepened you received a nasty look from Enzo.

“We’ll be on our way now.” Said Enzo, walking past you with Blaise following close behind.

What..?” You finally managed to get out in your state of shock.

“Listen, y/n, just do us all a favor and leave us alone, especially Theo.” Mattheo said, in quite a rude tone before walking passed you. You stood confused and shocked at the interaction that had just unfolded. What had you done? Why were the boys mad at you? What had you done to Theo?

~~~

“I just have no idea what it could possibly be.” You said to Hermione, as you paced around your dorm room, recounting the story from earlier.

“Maybe it’s Dean. Maybe he’s just jealous.” Hermione offered.

“No, but I’ve had flings with guys before, and it’s not like he hasn’t been with girls before. It’s some thing deeper than that I know it.” You state, picking at your fingernails.

“And your sure you haven’t done anything? I mean you can’t think of one thing that could possibly have led to this?” Hermione asks, just as confused about the situation as you.

“Yes, I mean I literally cannot think of one thing that could have led to this. I would never hurt Theo, ever.” You say, plopping down on you bed, exasperated by the days events.

“I’m sorry y/n but I have absolutely no idea why they’re acting like this.” Hermione said, sad she couldn’t be of more help.

“It’s fine Hermione, it’s not your fault. I’m just going to go to bed.” You say, wanting this nightmare to end.

Could you really be losing your best friend to a reason unknown to you? Not only can you not be with the man that you love because he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, but now you may have just lost him completely. You fall asleep after hours of rolling back and forth contemplating your complicated relationship with Theo, and even in your unconscious state you cannot escape him because he peeps into your dreams.

~~~

The following week is agony. Your best friend won’t talk to you, let alone allow himself to be in the same room as you, the boys you’ve known since childhood give you nasty looks every chance they get, you have to entertain a relationship with Dean your not even sure you want to get into and your teachers are stuffing you with assignments. All you need is a good party with lots and lots of alcohol. Once Friday afternoon finally rolls around, you can feel a slight weight lift from your shoulders.

~~~

You walked into the Slytherin common room with Dean. Pansy, Daphne and some other Slytherin girls hosted the first party since break and seeing as you’ve been close with them since 1st year, you were clearly invited. You decided you were going to look your absolute best for this party: you’re makeup was flawless, your hair done to perfection, and the corset and low-waisted mini skirt you were wearing was doing your figure perfect justice.

“Fuck me.” Said Theo as he saw you walk in with Dean. “I’m going for a smoke outside.” He says.

“Need company?” Mattheo asks, not wanting to leave his vulnerable friend alone.

“Nah mate, thanks though.” He says, before walking outside quickly, before he can see anymore of you.

It had only been a few minutes, and you had already downed about 3 drinks. Once the alcohol started to hit, you detached yourself from Dean’s grip making up some excuse, before finding your way towards the Slytherin boys.

You spotted Mattheo sitting on the arm rest of a couch, sipping out of a plastic cup. You walked up to him, hips still swaying to the music.

“Where’s Theo?” You stated, once you reached him, your confidence booming.

“What do you want?” Mattheo asks, looking up at you with contempt.

“I need to find Theodore Nott. Where is he?” You state.

“You have some serious nerve.”

“What?” You ask, taken aback.

“Listen, y/n, you’re once of my closest friends, but Theo’s my best mate. And what you did, that shit’s just fucked up. Like seriously, I didn’t even know you were capable of that.” He says, disgust leaking out of his words.

“I’m sorry?” You say, confused by his words.

“Merlin y/n, I mean how dull can you be? You just expect everything to be all right after you not only completely ignore his letter where he fucking tells you he fucking loved you, but you turn up with some Levski (famous quidditch chaser) wannabe? I mean that’s some next level shit.” Mattheo says, getting up as he presents his rage induced speech.

“What letter?” You say, unaware of what he’s talking about.

Mattheo just stares at you, stuttering to get some words out.

“I said: what letter, Mattheo?” You say, much more sternly.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you never received it?” Mattheo asks, in shock.

“I don’t even know what I didn’t receive.” You say, exasperated.

“Just, wait right here, I’ll be right back!” Mattheo says, before running up the stairs towards the dorms.

You stand there in shock, your adrenaline pumping. Had you heard him right? Theo had sent you a letter confessing his love to you? How had you missed it?

“Here! Here! I have it!” Mattheo yelled, running towards you, waving a piece of parchment around in his hand.

“This. One.” Mattheo says, between breaths as he reaches you, handing you the parchment.

You rip it from his hands, reading it quickly yet thoroughly. Tears brim at your eyes, did he really feel this way? Merlin you felt so stupid, how could this have gotten lost?

“I-I…” you stuttered, unaware of what to say.

“Outside. He’s outside. Go!” Mattheo said, stilling catching his break.

“I- ok, thank you!” You say, before quickly running out the door, finding your way outside.

You see Theo sitting outside, smoking a cigarette. His face is illuminated by the moonlight and you swear in that moment that you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“Theo! Theodore!” You yell to him, as you run towards his figure. The grass was still wet from the rain that had fallen earlier that day, and the blades of grass began to stick to your calfs.

Theo looks at you, before getting up and attempting to escape you.

“Theo, wait, please! Mattheo just showed me the letter! I never got it!”

He stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around.

“What?”

You finally catch up to him, breathing heavily.

“I never got your letter, I didn’t know about it until just now.” You explain, showing him the letter Mattheo had given you.

“What?” He said again, bewildered by what was going on.

“I wasn’t ignoring you, or your feelings. I just never got to read about them until tonight.”

“So, you’re telling me you never received it, at all?”

“No. I never got a letter.” You explain, your eyes searching his for some hint of how he was feeling.

“Did you read it?” Theo asked slowly.

“Yes, just now I did.”

“And…” Theo asked, hope returning to him and hitting him like a truck. He was filled with anxieties and he felts his stomach doing flips waiting for you to answer.

“Of course I’m in love with you, I thought I made it so obvious!”

“I thought I made it obvious!” Theo said with a laugh, all negative feelings and thoughts leaving his body and head at your confession.

“My heart quite literally beats for you, Teddy. I’ve never been so scared then when I thought I was losing you.”

“Really?” He asks. His eyes are lit up and he can barely contain his smile

“Yes you idiot!” You say, smiling wildly

“What about Dean?” He asks, afraid.

“Fuck Dean! It’s only ever been you, Teddy. It’ll always be you.” You say, staring up at him with nothing but love and devotion.

“Does this mean that you’ll have me?” He asks, grabbing your hands.

You nod vigorously, unable to get any words out as tears of happiness are threatening to spill if you utter a single word.

And with that, Theo dips down and kisses you. The kiss is deep and passionate. You two explore each others mouths, and your hands explore each others body. You taste every bit of each other, and feel each others hair, faces, arms, waists, chests, in ways that you’ve never felt before. You take this chance to make up for all the lost time you’ve spent pining for each other in secret. The kiss is hungry, yet gentle and Theo holds you close, as if if he doesn’t hold you as tightly as possible you’ll slip away from him. After a few minutes he pulls away, touching your forehead to his and holding your face in his hands.

“I’m so so sorry for believing the worst in you. I was just in so much pain. Ignoring you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done” He states, referring to the week prior.

“It’s ok, Teddy. Let’s not worry about that now.” You say, causing his lips to come crashing down on yours again.

#slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #theodore nott #jealousyfic #harry potter #theodore nott x y/n #angst #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #lost letters #the paper kites #anne of green gables #anne with an e #theo nott

[enviedear]

this is an anakin request because i’m hyper fixating over him coming back in ashoka (spoiler alert)!

i was wondering if you would be down to write a fic based around friends to lovers. but like there is a whole admission thing brought on by jealousy.

backstory: reader & anakin trained together under obi-wan in the jedi temple, growing close as friends. but then he sees padme again and falls in love, when the reader is already in love with him. and when he says he’s gonna marry padme, reader looses it and admits their feelings.

i’m sorry this is so long & so specific but it’s been rotting in my brain

ily x

this ask really spoke to me as a certified jealous girl

okay so i'm not sure if this is perfect but i had a vision and went with it, so i hope you like it <3 this is angsty, so warnings for that. and also warning that reader is a jealous jealous jealous girl.

wc— 0.8k |tw— anger, jealousy, running away from your problems, unresolved ending, delulu reader <3

aggravation flares throughout the entirety of your being at the sight before you. anakin, your anakin, with his arms around Senator amidala.

he had mentioned her, far more than any normal amount, in the days leading up to seeing her again. and it wasn't such a bother at first.

you'd laugh off his worried nature at the idea of her presence. you'd ignore how loud his thoughts were whenever she was brought up. you had thought it nothing more than a crush, an interest, an idea.

he didn't even know her. not like you knew him.

and yet, here they were in a passionate embrace, completely immersed in each other and oblivious to your presence.

you clear your throat and watch them stumble away from eachother. anakin's eyes slowly meet yours for a split second and before he has the chance to explain himself, you're darting away.

fury. that's what you feel. seeing him cling onto her in the way you've ached desperately for him to want you, is torturous. you can't decide who deserves more of your wrath— yourself, for being foolishly devoted to a fellow jedi, or anakin, for not comprehending your obvious feelings.

as you run, you can feel him trailing you, can hear him calling out for you— but you continue to run. trying to find anywhere to hide in the damned naboo retreat.

you take a sharp left turn, only to be confronted with his towering figure.

"go away." your voice is dripping with vitrol.

anakin disregards your plea, instead grasping hold of your arm and yanking you into an isolated hallway, "please, y/n, don't be mad at me. i can't help it, i love her."

you fight against him and wrench your arm away from him, "you're insolent, skywalker. you don't love her. you just like to break rules."

he takes a step away from you in shock, "why are you being this way?" when you don't reply, he continues, "i know it's wrong but i do love her. i plan to marry her, here. i wanted you there— i want you to be there."

his words pierce through your soul like shards of glass, shattering your sanity until nothing remains but fragments of pain and anguish.

"marry her?" you can barely get the words out, suddenly feeling breathless.

your anger has evolved into something much worse – something injured and broken apart irrevocably.

anakin nods, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "yes, i love her that much," he says, almost pleading with you to understand.

you feel a pang in your chest as his words sink in. of course anakin was going to fall for someone; how could you ever expect him not to? but you so desperately wanted it to be you.

"i won't be there," you say, barely above a whisper. "i'm sorry."

anakin's face falls and it takes all of your willpower not to reach out and touch him, the way you're so used to. it would only make things worse.

"why?" he questions, eyes searching your own.

"because i—" you trail off for a moment before continuing more forcefully, "because i can't watch the person i love marry someone else."

it feels too real, admitting those feelings out loud to him. hearing yourself verbalize something that has been buried away for years. from the mind of the young girl who used to go easy on him when sparring, to the women in front of him today.

anakin's face falls and a heavy silence stretches between them, until he finally speaks again, voice laced with tenderness. "i didn't know, y/n."

you can feel the tears welling in your eyes but you bite them back and force out a bitter laugh, "of course you didn't," it's all you can say.

you turn away, unable to bear looking upon him anymore. you struggle against your emotions, trying to keep them at bay. how hard it is being so close to something that you can never have.

"i'm sorry," he says softly, his hand hovering over your shoulder before dropping back down. "i didn't mean for it to come out this way."

you close your eyes and let out a deep breath. "it's fine," you say, though there's no conviction in your voice.

anakin steps closer once more and takes hold of your hands gently in his own. you can feel the warmth radiating off him as he speaks.

"but i want you to know that you'll always be important to me y/n." he pauses for a moment before continuing with renewed determination. "and if things were different…if i got to choose who i loved…" his gaze meets yours intensely, locking onto them like iron bars holding fastened shut on an unbreakable door.

you let him give your hands a squeeze before pulling away, "but you can't, believe me, i understand."

and with that you turn from him, leaving him alone.

#anakin angst #anakin skywalker angst #anakin x reader #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader angst #anakin x reader angst

[takeme-totheworld]

Okay I admit it: when I say I’m not in GO fandom spaces for the angst, what I really mean is that I’m not here for the endless firehose of Crowley-specific angst where Aziraphale is either the source of Crowley’s pain, or repeatedly fucks up by making it worse in the most agonizing ways possible. (Or else it’s the exact opposite—he’s the perfect savior and caretaker, with no agenda of his own except to heal Crowley’s trauma.)

Like, obviously people should write what they want to write and what speaks to them personally, and more power to them. But that’s 90% of the creative writing I see in this fandom, and it sometimes feels very isolating to want something different and struggle to find it.

As someone who identifies on a really intense level with Aziraphale’s trauma, and who has had my own extremely similar trauma aggressively trivialized and dismissed a lot in my life (often by people with more Crowley-coded life stories who would definitely identify with him if they watched the show)… Some more good Aziraphale angst in this fandom that honestly explored his trauma in a non-trivializing, non-victim-blaming way would honestly mean the world to me.

(I’d normally say some apologetic, self-deprecating words here about how weird that probably sounds, but so much of this fandom is openly and proudly obsessed with Crowley angst that I refuse. 😂)

I was writing some Aziraphale POV fics of my own for awhile, exploring his relationship with Heaven and his trauma at their hands in more detail, and then… -waves hands vaguely around- …y’know, life. And I plan to get back to it, and I will when life calms down a little.

But I am hungry for more of those stories than just my own and the couple of others I’ve been able to find.

(If anyone knows where I can find what I seek, feel free to point me in the right direction!)

#good omens #aziraphale #personal

[sitp-recs]

Hello, do you know Drarry fics that contain Draco having a boyfriend or dating someone? I just look through the jealous!Harry and pining!Harry tag but not all of them that specific "the person I want is already with someone else :( " angst im looking for

Hi there! Jealous!Harry is such a juicy trope. I don’t often read them with other people in the same fic (I especially avoid OCs because I hate feeling conflicted between ships 🤣), but I think you might enjoy these:

Stay by @kbrick (M, 5k)

Life is all about what we do with the opportunities we're given - the ones we miss and the ones we refuse to let pass us by.

To know the pain of too much tenderness by @cibeewastaken (T, 6k)

Harry is in love with Draco, and Draco sometimes goes on dates with other people, but it’s not like Harry could be bothered by it when he never told Draco about his feeling, right? Right. So Harry isn’t that bothered by Draco’s dates, what bothers him is when one of those dates knocks Draco up and doesn’t want the baby.

Constellation Prize by @andithiel (E, 12k)

Harry’s been pining for his friend and Auror partner for almost a year. But despite what his friends say, he and Draco aren't an old married couple...Draco has a boyfriend, there's no way he'd ever be interested. Right?

Friends? Is That What We Are? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 33k)

What the hell is Harry even supposed to do when he finally realises that he loves Draco? He's an idiot and it takes him a while but he gets there. They get there.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k) - Draco doesn’t date anyone else but Harry’s jealous of a specific person (more info in the tags) so I think this fits your ask!

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Left My Heart by emmagrant01 (E, 85k)

Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him.

Level Two: Series One (E, 113k)

By Ashii Black (ashiiblack), blamebrampton, Catsintheattic, dustmouth, epithalamium, incandescent (lmeden), josephinestone (orphan_account), leveltwo, nerakrose, raitala, Romaine, Vaysh, Writcraft

Witches and wizards are disappearing in a seemingly random fashion. Coincidence? Abductions? But no one is claiming ransom. The Aurors are not even sure the disappearances are connected, then one of the missing turns up dead. Meanwhile, Auror Harry Potter is thrown into the infamous Sirius Black Muggle murder case from 25 years ago. Given a chance to clear his godfather's name for good, Harry is not above accepting even the help of magical specialist Draco Malfoy.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (E, 122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Close Behind by @oflights (M, 134k)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (E, 193k)

Five years after the war, Harry finds himself drawn to Draco Malfoy by memories that aren't his own. Or, in which Harry hates his Auror partner, Draco flips houses, Pansy sleeps around, Hermione is a magical creatures’ justice warrior, Blaise is getting married, and Ron is just along for the ride.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #jealous Harry

[weebsinstash]

FINALLY SOMEONE BRINGS UP HANAHAKI WITH YANDERES, THEY'RE SUCH A GOOD COMBO THAT I NEVER SEE!

The best part of Hanahaki is just how many different variations there are to it imo.

For example for it to form does one have to actually get rejected? Or does assuming you will be, or them actually just not liking you work too?(imagine finding out your crush doesn't return your feeling by getting Hanahaki, quite literally the worst way to find out)

Is it fatal or just stay till you move on or they reciprocate? Does the surgery exist and if so what are the after effects if any(usually loss of feeling and/or memory of crush, or feelings as a whole)? Would the disease scar/ruin your lungs?

An idea I've had for Hanahaki is someone having to go back repeatedly for the same surgery because they either keep falling for or never fall out of love. Meanwhile their lungs just keep getting worse from their constant surgeries and the plants....

NO SHUT UP BECAUSE THE MOST PAINFUL HANAHAKI TROPES ARE "you can have surgery to cure it but you'll forget all your memories of the person you love" OR "you're dying BECAUSE they don't return your feelings and there's no way to save you even if you confess you're just dying knowing they don't love you back" and now that I think about it it was specifically the ultra sad fics that kind of drove me away from the trope, but.... it has its uses....

A yandere begging you to have the surgery to forget about how much you love them so you can live, and you'd rather die than forget all the time you've spent with them, what they mean to you, especially if they're your only friend or someone you've had all your life. Your yandere knocking you out and having you operated on against your consent, taking your love away, so you can live, even if it breaks their own heart, crying as they know you LOVED them but, soon won't even remember their name...

A yandere who, very happily actually, forces you to have the forgetting surgery because it's SOMEONE ELSE you love, not them, and once that person is out of the picture, well, your savior has a greater chance at truly wooing you, don't they?

A yandere who develops hanahaki and HAS to have the surgery to live, they can't protect you if they're dead, but they circumvent the amnesia by recording tons of videos first, talking all about you, about your times together, their memories of you, how much they love you, which things, why, and once they've forgotten you, they watch those tapes and their passion is ignited all over again

IMAGINE A DANGEROUS YANDERE FINALLY FORCED INTO HAVING THE SURGERY AND YOU THINK YOU'RE SAFE BECAUSE THEY SHOULDN'T LOVE OR EVEN REMEMBER YOU ANYMORE BUT NO IT WAS PART OF THE PLAN TO LOWER YOUR GUARD AND TAKE YOU--

Yandere who use their knowledge of you previously loving them to lovingly recreate events in the past that caused you to fall for them, lowkey manipulating you into loving them again by tweaking little behaviors or doing specific things, being genuine but, measured, practiced, calculating

Yandere who are like "you know what? Watching you nearly kill yourself with this totally preventable disease that couldve been cured by an immediate 'i love you' which i obviously would've accepted has actually completely cemented my own delusions about you absolutely 100% literally needing me to survive and you're gonna live under my roof and my constant supervision now :)"

Honestly just the potential like... plot and obsessive potential from the yandere from you almost dying. Like. What obsessed manic possessive lover wouldn't absolutely dial up their behavior and devotion after almost losing you? What kind of self proclaimed hero wouldn't bend over backwards to cater to your every need when they see you so weak and wheezing and needing medicines and special care and maybe even mobility aids now? Can you imagine something horrible like, the hanahaki damaging your lungs to the point you temporarily or permanantly get winded with prolonged exercise and need a wheelchair for longer walks? Or it weakens your body so much you develop allergies or autoimmune issues?

There's just so much GUILT POTENTIAL too. Here's your stalker thinking they knew every little nook and cranny of your mind, obsessively collecting every last detail of your life, and they didn't know you loved them? Loved them so much you got sick for them? AND you were so scared and assured they would reject you, they wouldnt love you, the thought of which hurt you so much, you would rather die than hear them turn you away? Certain yanderes would CRY, they're like, begging for forgiveness at their secret closet altar of you, saying they WRONGED YOU, they PROMISE THEY'RE DEVOTED TO YOU, they'll spend the rest of their life proving it with every ounce of their heart, PLEASE let them prove it--

Of course I also can't help but think. You confess to cure your hanahaki and your yandere accepts you, but then once you're in their house and getting to REALLY know them, you're INSTANTLY "um actually this is. Gross. I'm not attracted to you at all anymore and actually now our entire friendship all these years feels fucking tainted and creepy because I was looking at you with love and you were like. Taking photos of me sleeping and stealing bristles from my toothbrush the entire time"

Finally, because we are so dramatic. We've discussed fandoms on here before where the series can delve into multiverse shit like Spiderverse or Justice League stuff. Imagine a version of your yandere from another universe coming after you because they watched their version of you wither up and die from refusing to confess but the yandere found out their feelings afterwards anyways and it drove them to their breaking point 💀like maybe your universe's version of this person is actually totally normal for you, but, in the acts of defeating this new threat, they realize how easy it would be for someone to hurt you, TAKE YOU AWAY, and one day after the battle to defeat the doppelganger is over, you're looking over at your friend and smiling, and they wait for you to turn your back until *cough* a few little petals fall to the floor....

#yandere stuff #yancore #yandere x reader #sinprompts

[adventuringblind]

Mend Me

Lando Norris X Reader

Genre: Magical Realism via Superpowers (kind of), A mix of fluff and angst

Summary: After a long history of being running and hiding, she finds someone who isn't afraid of her. Enough to risk it all for him. Feat Oscar and Carlos being a chaotic duo for once.

Warnings: A tad dehumanizing (if you really squint), mentions of hospitals, mentions of blood/wounds/weapons/bruises, reader literally bring someone back to life,

Notes: This is incredibly experimental. I like these kinds of AU's that incorporate racing still. It's fun to see different concepts come to life in a normal world! I'm currently working on a few A/B/O fics and a few other experimental things :)

Side Note: and another request! I had so much fun writing these two and this story in general! I'm hoping to write more like this, or for these two specifically, in the future!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

This is not the life she envisioned for herself. The running, hiding, forging papers to try and keep herself safe.

Stupid unnatural abilities that she never asked for. A danger rating that started at three and moved up steadily as these abilities expanded. Classified within a unique group that tends to be more isolated due to their nature.

A healer is what her new papers say, a danger rating of five. Her armband required across the globe remains the same color. Unassuming and weak, which is how she needs to be perceived.

Powers, abilities, magic, auras, whatever you want to call them, manifest in different ways. Some are element based, some a material, some deal with things like the mind and soul. Smaller groups include shapeshifters, psychics and mediums, shadow work, and her own group.

Those who deal in life and death are not to be messed with. The healers and the reapers. Which, you would think wouldn't be dangerous. She was lucky enough to not be sentenced to a life in captivity. The reapers can decide who dies when, if they are strong enough. Usually prompted by the healers if they person is out of reach. It's a peaceful passing. Yet that doesn't stop people from fearing that kind of power and control.

No, she's a healer. Lower levels are kept as doctors and nurses. Knitting wounds together, feeling the pain of others, being able to x-ray a body without a machine, are all useful.

Raising people from the dead? yeah, that tends to freak people out.

Her wound transference started small. A scraped knee on a friend became her own, but without a mere itch. Soon it progressed into deep lacerations which bled less on her and healed faster. Then it was bigger injuries like broken bones and concussions.

Training was required for anyone with abilities. In order to see where they fall in rating, where they can be utilized, and make sure they have control over the chaos.

She spent ample time in the local hospital with the other healers. The paramedics had rushed inside. The body nearing death. They flatlined, mangled in different ways, yet she still managed at the age of sixteen to bring them back.

The amount of pain she was in was nearly unbearable. She'd almost killed herself in the process.

Her rating shot up to seven after that and she was whisked away to a facility for people like her. They moved her up to nine after another year. She'd managed to bring back someone who'd been dead at least a day.

She's a necromancer.

Whatever she is, they all knew they couldn't stay in that place. Inevitably escaping with their combined powers. She'd never run so fast. She was provided new classification papers and sent off to a different country.

Which is how she found herself here. Traveling and healing despite the prior adversity. She likes this job, specifically because she's strong enough to manage drivers and personnel in the paddock who hurt themselves with their own abilities, but not enough to look conspicuous. Which is a fine line she's toeing, but she makes it work.

She has regulars. Max Verstappen frequently asks her to come around. Metal tends to slice him when he's not grounded and specifically more agitated. Lando has a tendency to hit himself in the head with things when he's excited and the telekinesis decides he needs something right that second. Carlos shapeshifts into a bear, which comes with its own set of problems (she didn't know she'd have to be a vet, also). Then there is Alex, who always seems to be summoning feral street animals.

The year she started; she was nineteen. Lando and Carlos were teammates then. The Brit a in his sophomore year of the sport. The number of bruises on both drivers was ridiculous due to Lando randomly pushing and pulling random objects was ridiculous. Carlos even joked he might have been doing it on purpose at the time.

It was 2021, and the encouragement of Daniel, that got him to ask her out. An invitation she accepted. It was nice, but there was that lingering fear in the back of her mind that he would figure her out and turn her in.

A night out in 2022 is what changed everything for her. The ability to trust and a longing for connection driving her to spend the night with him.

Now, her suppressor band is strong enough that she's only supposed to wear it for twenty-four hours maximum. She'd put it on when she woke up the morning prior and hadn't taken it off sense. Lando had asked if she wanted to take it off, let their energies meld together. A privilege only people like them have. But she'd declined and he hadn't pushed.

She slept in. The best sleep she'd had in a while, mind you. Yet the pain firing through every nerve of her body had her crying. She hadn't cried in pain in so long. This was entirely new to her, and if she's honest with herself, terrifying to experience.

~~~~~

Lando stirs beside her. His hands cup her face and eyes scan her body as he attempts to understand what's wrong. She's unresponsive and he panics. Enough to call Carlos and ask if it's something to do with her classification of power. She could've overdone it, or it's the residue of a different injury she took on herself. Whatever the case, he needs help.

"Lando, mate, she's a five right?"

"Yeah? why?"

"Suppressor bands for five and up tend to be stronger than four and below."

Lando pauses for a second. "Aren't you a seven?"

"And I take mine off in intervals." Carlos' explanation makes sense. Enough for Lando to calm himself and locate the chain on her wrist. "Just take it off and see if it helps. It might not be immediate though so give it about ten minutes and then call me back."

"Thank you, Carlos."

"Not sure what we'd do without her. Maybe kill ourselves? So, you better keep her alive, mate!"

Lando ends the call. Her body seizing in his arms in a scary kind of way that makes him want to vomit.

The chain doesn't come off easily. The second he manages to unclasp it; she becomes deadweight in his arms. But he doesn't get the kind of relief he is hoping for from it.

The aura she has around her is strong and intense. The kind he's never felt before. It's not nauseating like when Carlos or Max is high on emotion, this is serene. Like he's never felt better in his entire life. Which is strange, considering how strong it is...

He calls Carlos back. This cannot be normal for a five. The fact he has it off, but she's sweating and gripping his hand like she's in turmoil makes him wonder.

"Did it work?"

"Uh - possibly?"

There is a brief pause. "What does that even mean?"

"Okay, so, energy of a five healer, is it supposed to be this intense? Cause I feel like I'm on cloud nine and she's still in pain." He wishes he could reverse it, just get her to settle and not look like she might die until he can help her.

"I'm coming over."

It takes Carlos too long to get to his room. His anxiety is getting worse by the second. She's finally exhausted herself enough to fall asleep, but her energy is still permeating the room in a way he can't describe.

Carlos nearly falls over when he steps inside the door. "You like this?!"

"I feel fantastic!"

"Well good, we know you have a soulbond now. We'll talk more about that later. I'm going to pass out if she doesn't have a suppressor on."

Lando whines, but he knows Carlos won't last like this. He just hopes something reset and bought them time to figure it out. He puts the chain back on her wrist and Carlos immediately looks better.

"Verdict?"

"She's not a five, that's for sure." He inspects the chain and her arm band. Carlos' own brown band is still around his bicep. The shapeshifter colors. Lando's is yellow for the energy category, Max's is red for the secondary elements, and Alex's is brown with a green stripe in the middle for the animal handlers. Her band is white with a black ring in the middle, the reapers are the opposite. The number attached to her band is a five. It's the same as a legal document.

Lando snatches the band off of where it lays next to his own. Sure enough, when he flips is around, A different number is crudely patched over enough that nobody could make it out unless staring for an obscene amount of time.

Lando hands the flipped band to Carlos. "She's a fucking ten."

Carlos hums and examines the elastic in his hands. He then fishes a suppressor ring out of his pocket and switches hers for the one he brought. The energy is still there, but the Spainard doesn't look like he's going to be sick anymore. Lando claims this as a win.

On the other hand, he can't fathom why she didn't trust him enough to tell him. "I don't understand-" The crack in his voice is embarrassing.

Carlos gets him to sit down next to him on the edge of the bed. He places Lando's hand on her shin and they watch the tension she was holding in her body disappear.

"Have you ever seen how the treat anyone six and above?"

"No... you never talk about it."

Carlos sighs. It's a pained one; eyes distant as he recalls memories. "Fives toe the line of being stronger than the people deem safe. These universal numbers used to classify us aren't just for the amount of energy we exert, it's what we can do as well. I shapeshift into a bear, which can be destructive, but I can also do it with fewer breaks and for longer stints."

"What does that have to do with any of this?" Frustration now evident.

"Relax, I'm getting there." Carlos gives him a pointed look and quiets himself. "Six and above tend to have more restrictions. They want to make sure we can't cause any chaos or start wars or something. Reapers are immediately labeled as tens. Healers start small but increase depending. I met a good few back in school that ended up being taken away for some unknown reason."

"So, she's a ten, meaning she can do what?"

"I'm not sure... but she is definitely at risk if anyone were to find out."

Carlos stays with him. Explains to him what is probably happening due to the extreme suppression of this kind of energy. He explains this soulbond thing. How their energies mesh well together which is what was giving him that euphoric feeling earlier. It's not rare, Lando is only a three himself, but for her it is because of the intensity.

It's around midnight when she wakes up, panting and drenched in sweat. Whatever these higher energies are, the seem to communicate for them. Carlos gets next to her and switches the suppressors again. He's giving her the familiarity in a stressful situation with no words.

"Fuck - Lan, I'm so sorry!" Her voice is hoarse and cracked. He wants to tell her that he's fine, that he understands, but words aren't there. Not when she looks this sick.

He opts for the physical contact route instead. The gentle kind, so he doesn't scare her. This hug feels different than any he's had before, but he assumes it's because his aura is actively seeking hers. "We have a soulbond. Our energies mesh together quite nicely."

"So, you know now? You're not going to turn me in?"

"Absolutely not! Carlos has been giving me a crash course and everything. I'm sorry that you are treated so horribly..."

She grips onto his shirt and sobs harder than she has in her entire life. It's broken, and Lando can't help but wonder when the last time somebody cared for her and her abilities alike is. "I'm not leaving you, okay? I might be a three, but I'll do my best to keep you safe." And he means it. He has every intention of keeping her out of the clutches of those who would see her locked away.

~~~~~

Lando convinces her to quite working under the FIA and let him take care of her instead. She still attends to the drivers since she can, because she wants to.

It's never a surpise when she receives a phone call from across the paddock asking for her assistance. It's more fun this way, not having the constant pressure of people watching her for any semblance of too much power.

Carlos keeps a close eye on her when she looks on the verge of overexerting her power or suppressing for too long. He had her and Lando set alarms for when to take it off and put it on again.

2023 comes around, and both her and Lando are more relaxed this year. Car wide, the Brit would rather die, but otherwise, he's fine.

Oscar is a rating six water manipulater. Carlos makes sure he knows where to find him if he ever needs anything. The FIA tends to get on the case of higher ratings.

It's because of that rating that Oscar manages to figure out she's not what she says she is. Lando gets wildly defensive when the Aussie brings it up. She just laughs when he threatens to throw his teammates dinner into his face.

They all get along nicely. Lando manages to not send random objects at Oscar despite various threats, and she still finds herself in every garage.

Then Vegas happens, and everything changes.

The crash replays on the screen, but she can't hear it over the sound of her heart. Their soulbond had only gotten stronger, she can feel his pain and discomfort now because of it.

As an established healer, Jon lets her tail him to where Lando is. The medical team only lets her go so far.

But it's worse than anyone is letting on. She can feel his heart slowing, the internal bleeding more than they originally thought.

He's still alive when the race ends, but he won't be for much longer. They won't let her inside. Oscar and Carlos can barely get past the front desk to where her and Jon are sitting outside the door. Doctors are still working away at a problem they haven't found yet.

"They won't let you in?" Carlos gives a look of utter confusion. "Wouldn't it be helpful to them?"

"Yes, but I'm too emotional to be in an operating room as a five."

Oscar's face lights up. "How far does your energy reach?"

"Decently, why?"

"If me and Carlos take our suppressors off, then we can blame the energy on that."

The three of them take off their suppressor in unison with Jon watching the end of the hall in case someone comes around the corner.

The wall makes it hard to navigate. But she knows Lando's aura like it's her own. She's mapped his entire body, healed him more times than she cares to remember.

The flatline of the moniter rings through her ears.

She finds his heart. Where he's bleeding out, where his ribs are cracked and splitting him open.

And she fixes it.

Lando sits up on the table, heat beating erratically, but he's alive. The doctors don't know what to do with themselves.

They open the door. The only one there is Jon, teary-eyed, but not from sadness despire what he says.

~~~~~

Lando is high on painkillers. Though he wishes his human healer were here to make it better. He just wants to meld with her, thank her without words.

Jon had filled him in on the details. It's not safe for her at the moment, but his teammate has her, and Carlos is on his way back to Lando after helping get her settled.

The Spainard drives him back. Even stopping for food on the way since none of them have eaten and Carlos has this perpetual need to store food for the winter. Lando always gets him honey as a joke.

"When you see her, don't panic. There's blood we have yet to clean up from the incisions they made. But it's mostly just pain and exhaustion."

Lando nods and opens the door. The sight is odd, more so than scary. She's on the bed, pale, and covered in different fluids. Her mouth is open, and Oscar is dripping tiny water droplets inside. Her supressor bracelet has been ditched, but her ring is on so the other two can be around her.

Her eyes drift towards him the closer he gets. "Lan!" She tries to sit up but fails after two seconds and yelps in pain.

"If you'd just take the water and stay put, then you might not be in as much pain." Oscar scolds her, but she just rolls her eyes.

Lando crawls onto the bed next to her. His hand drifts over where he heart is, and he places her hand over his. "I'm alive because of you. I can't - I just - I don't understand why they didn't let you in. You're not dangerous. You saved me."

"Lan, it's okay... I'm happy being considered dangerous as long as I have you around."

"Ay! What are me and Oscar then?!"

"Rivals, according to the media." Oscar muses and drops another bead of water into her mouth.

"That was planned and executed well, okay, we make great rivals." Carlos nearly jams some kind of pastry into Oscar's face, but he opens his mouth just in time. "What am I going to do with you three?"

Lando doesn't have the energy to ponder the question. Him and his lover end up falling asleep at some point. Both of them are still in pain and in desperate need of rest.

He wakes up to a call the next morning from Jon. His trainer is adamant about speaking to all four of them.

Yeah, they all get lectured about how he had to go get tested and was humiliated by the hospital staff when they laughed at Jon's own ability. "Aparently, making people sneeze isn't an ability. But I'm happy you're okay, Lando. I would've missed you, buddy."

"I second that!"

"And a third."

Everyone looks at her expectantly. Some kind of response swirls around in her head. Maybe witty or sarcastic with the way she's smiling to herself.

"If you died, Lan, I would've never forgiven myself." Her energy taps on his. It envelopes them, warm and comforting. Their bond still growing stronger as their souls dance together around them.

"Gross, you two should get a room."

"This is our room!"

"Your point?"

Carlos and Oscar can't stop their laughing fit. Delerious from the long night they had previously and little sleep then managed to get. Still, Lando goes back to being in his own world.

He's wrapped up in her, and she's wrapped up in him. Exactly as it was intended to be.

"Reckon you could make an undead army?"

"Osc - I swear to god-!"

#x reader #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #racing #lando norris #lando norris f1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x y/n #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 fluff #ln4 #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz imagine #op81 #cs55 imagine #carlos sainz ferrari #mclaren lando norris #mclaren formula 1 #max verstappen #alex albon #lando norris angst #f1 #f1 x reader

[eggymf-archived]

no place like home;

ft. garreth weasley with f!reader/mc (one-shot)

themes: hurt to comfort, angst to fluff, established relationship, aged-up characters, post-hogwarts, fiance!garreth, ex!dark!mc, slytherin!mc, 3rd person pov

warning: two idiots in love arguing, mc being the bigger idiot for once, implied traumatic events, implied violence, not spoiler-free, get a load of this sap

summary: she couldn't bear to make him suffer with every horrific danger that constantly chases her, hence she decides to run away one rainy summer night.

word count: 3.2k

a/n: happy weasley wednesday! this is my first entry and fic of garreth actually. i’ve decided to frankenstein the [lyric prompts] sent by @applinsandoranges​​ a while back along with the weekly prompt for weasley wednesday, “wet”. also, if you have read these two smut oneshots (pt.1 and pt.2), this fic features the same mc (just older). that aside, enjoy? :D

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

bonus: audio

It was during the summer of 1892 — the year when they finally graduated from Hogwarts. 

She never expected to be given the privilege of spending the summer after her 7th year with Garreth. It was undoubtedly what she truly needed: an opportunity to escape from the utter chaos of the life she has within her own family home in London: specifically her father's seething wrath after that stunt she had pulled, which almost destroyed their own family’s stellar reputation within the wizarding world's pureblood society. 

Family drama aside, not only was it the perfect time for her to rest and recuperate, but it was also the chance for her to contemplate the future now that she has broken free from the shackles of her responsibility as an heiress (temporarily, that is). Perhaps in the midst of it all, she could also make amends for her past wrongdoings.

Oh, but [what on Earth can atone for all the wrong things that she had done]? 

It wasn’t an easy task, to say the least, for the blood that was spilled on her hands all in the name of the greater good has long stained her psyche. There was an insurmountable amount of filth that resides within her as the vessel of accumulated pain, and all she could do was endure the ordeal. The moment she had made that dire decision in the repository during her 5th year, she was doomed to a life of loneliness, but all of that changed during her 7th year when the threads of her own fate were intertwined with his.

She never would've expected that Garreth Weasley out of all people would serve as the beacon that would lead her back to all that had been long forgotten — her own happiness. 

Truth be told, she wasn't the most forthcoming with the notion of romance in general due to her unsavory experiences and personal issues, opting to steer clear of the entire topic in general. In fact, she was better off alone, but for some miraculous reason, the fiery-haired male had managed to creep into her heart, taking his rightful seat on its long-abandoned throne. It was truly a mysterious outcome, for nobody would've foreseen the unusual relationship to even happen, much less prosper.  

A Slytherin and a Gryffindor; the celebrated hero and an aspiring potioneer. They were like day and night; the sun and the moon — ever so different, yet fell in love too soon. Perhaps the irony of it all was what truly brought the both of them together, regardless of all their atrocities, differences, and follies combined. 

But even the greatest of love stories always had their own fair share of trials and tribulations, and the silly, dramatic little tale of her and Garreth weren't an exception. She remembered it all vividly: the times when she'd discourage him from pursuing her, only for her to fall harder and harder for him in the end.

“You'll never know peace a day in your life once you decide to be with me, Weasley.”

“I'm not good for anyone, lest you want a head full of gray hairs before you reach the age of forty.”

“You're better off without me, I assure you.”

“Garreth, please don't. I'll ruin your life.”

Yet her words, no matter how grim, threatening, or incessant, would always be met with his adorably goofy little grin along with the same simple reply that held the undying promise of his devotion and loyalty.

“I know.”

If only things were that simple.

From this moment onwards, ["I know" is never good enough] — not when she's aware of the dire consequences that would soon follow should she decide to pursue the yearnings of her poor, naïve heart. It was too huge a risk to gamble the life of the man who had brought her solace and joy amidst the pandemonium that rages within her blackened soul, for he was all she had left — the only person who would never treat her as a pawn across the chessboard; her most trusted confidant, companion, and lover: her chosen family.  

The musical incantation of Vulnera Sanentur from his Aunt Matilda's lips was all that she heard whilst she silently wallowed in her own thoughts of self-blame, her eyes darting around the damaged parts of their humble abode out of pure guilt. She glances at Garreth's father, who winces as several hands aided him to sit more comfortably on the sofa. His younger sister and older cousins scampered around to repair the several damages within the house whilst checking up on the others after the incident.

It was an ambush by dark wizards: the ones who sought to covet the corrupted power within her. Despite her not being a family member of the Weasleys, they fought gallantly alongside her, defending her as if she was one of their own. Although they are well capable of empathizing and understanding her prior violent display of magic within the heat of battle, it did not quell the bubbling shame that stews within her being. 

It was almost the norm for her to be targeted by the enemies that she had made in her past battles, but to be attacked while she was in Garreth's family home? To put the Weasleys in danger? Preposterous. Utterly preposterous. She'd never forgive her enemies for it. Hell, she'd never forgive herself for it either. 

The warmth of Garreth's palm on her arm startled her from her train of thought whilst she was in the middle of repairing the broken walls, offering her a kiss on her forehead the moment her head turned. 

“Garreth…” her voice, uncharacteristically small and hesitant, trails off while he cups her cheek, tracing his thumb over her delicate face as a form of reassurance.

“It’s not your fault, so please don’t think about it too much, alright? We’ll handle it from here,” he reassures.

Despite her evident disagreement with her fiancé's words, she bit her tongue, not wishing to add any more fuel to the fire. She gave the Weasleys one final glance as she headed to the kitchen to help his mother prepare their dinner for tonight while the others focused on either healing their mild injuries or fixing the damages within their house.

The Weasleys were a beautiful family. It was the ideal family that she would truly love to be a part of in a heartbeat: they were kind-hearted, selfless, and honorable, never swayed by the adversaries that came their way. It was for this very reason that she decided to protect them with all that she has, and she would never allow a single soul to harm even the hairs on their head even if it means that she has to bring herself out of the picture in the end.

Thus, she has made her final decision. 

[She's only safe when she's alone], just as they'd be a whole lot safer without her presence. She could easily slaughter anyone who stood in her way without fear of disappointing anyone with her ruthlessness, and none of her loved ones would be used as ammunition to make her submit to her enemies’ bidding. This painful choice was truly for the best — such as the fate of all fallen “heroes” who walk a lonely, dark path.

Yet despite all the danger he'd have to face and the sought-after coalesced filth of humanity that literally resides within her, her departure was Garreth’s greatest fear.

It was on the same day of the incident that he received the heartbreaking news in the middle of that particular rainy night. His sister was about to pay her a visit for their usual heart-to-heart session, only to find out that she was no longer in their home.

“Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?!” he bellowed, fear lacing his voice as he sped towards the guest room with soft footsteps trailing after him.

“Garreth, I'm sorry. I went to her room and—”

Not giving his younger sister a chance to finish, Garreth barged into the guest room with evident panic, only for his heart to sink at the sight of a room that was entirely bare of her belongings except for a note that she had hurriedly scrawled before she left.

I'm sorry. I love you.

Garreth quickly ran down the flight of stairs and straight to the exit of their home. The shouts and cries of his name fell on deaf ears as he bolted out of the house, racing into the chilly night with a million panicked thoughts buzzing unpleasantly within his head as raindrops drizzled upon his form.

[She had his heart, and he could only hope that she wouldn't hurt him] permanently with one measly written goodbye. He was angry and dismayed with her drastic decisions that lacked his consultation, but he simply couldn't allow all that they'd built to just disintegrate in a blink of an eye. She was, after all, his dearly beloved — the person he'd give his all without a second thought.

As soon as the thunder rumbled, he hurriedly took out the piece of parchment that she had left, casting a tracking charm with his wand. The piece of paper immediately bursts forward, leaving a trail of glittering golden dust for him to follow before the increasingly damp piece of parchment falls to the ground. The spell worked, and it only meant that she hadn't wandered off too far.

He knew exactly where she was from where the trail was heading. With the location clearly visualized within his mind, he apparates to their usual spot, hoping that she was still within the particular vicinity.

Needless to say, he was right.

There she stood in front of the tree where they often frequented for their usual picnics — the place where it's usually just the two of them, gazing upon the meadows of the countryside whilst enjoying the summer breeze. She looks upon the ring that was on her left hand, admiring the ruby and two small diamonds that glimmered under the moonlight. With great reluctance, she attempts to slide her engagement ring off, intending to keep it within their box of little keepsakes before she leaves, which was contained within the tree's hollow.

Amidst the soothing pitter-patter of raindrops, the sound of an audible crack was soon heard from a distance followed by several thuds of footsteps, effectively stopping her. She whips her head in the direction of the sudden noise, only for her eyes to meet a pair of emerald-green orbs. 

[Sometimes, she forgets that she was his] — he'd always find her wherever she may be simply because he knew her that well. She should've expected that he'd figure out her whereabouts within minutes after she had left the Weasley family home. He was, after all, her dearly beloved — the keeper of her heart; the one who knows her better than herself.

“Blast, I shouldn't have loitered around…” she thought ruefully as she faced him completely, a shaky breath escaping her lips as she braced herself for an earful. Instead, he runs towards her with a relieved expression, pulling her into his embrace before kissing her fervently. 

As if it were right on cue, the rain began to pour harder, just like those dramatic little romance novels written by Muggle authors. His touch, although scorching against her cold, damp skin, brought relief to her mind, body, and soul. 

It was only he could bring her such solace, nobody else.

As soon as his lips parted from hers, he grabbed her bag nearby before turning to her direction once again with a tired sigh. Before she could retaliate, he swung his arm around her, engulfing her in his arms before apparating back to his home — specifically into the living room, where the rest of the family was awaiting their return. A blush crept up to her cheeks upon feeling their eyes on her and Garreth, who held her by her waist. The both of them were soaked to the bone with their clothes and strands of their hair clinging uncomfortably onto their skin.

Wordlessly, Garreth set her bag on the ground before flicking the tip of his wand at both of them, casting a drying spell before making his way to the kitchen. She winced at his deathly silence, while the others glanced at each other with an evident grimace as well.

“... Alright, you lot! Off to bed, we go. Come along now!” his mother urges, pushing the other family members right towards the staircase, much to his younger sister's and cousins' chagrin.

“But mum—!”

“Shhh!”

She received several apologetic looks and pats of good luck from his cousins, for she was obviously going to need it. Garreth was upset — abysmally upset to be precise. It was a rare occurrence, but whenever it happens, it was a painful punch to the gut.

Silence looms over the living room, the thumping of footsteps dying out as they scamper to their bedrooms, leaving her and Garreth alone on the first floor of their home.

“Garreth…”

Silence.

“Garreth, please say something?” she pleads, all to no avail. He remains tight-lipped, averting his gaze from her as he grabs the nearby teapot to pour each of them a cup of tea.

She hated it when he was like this, but his reticence was definitely warranted. She sighs in defeat, finally deciding to stop beating about the bush.

“... The attack from earlier—”

“—Was, again, not your fault. And you ran away because you didn't want any of us to get hurt. I know that,” he cuts her off bitterly before he sips his cup of tea in hopes of calming himself down. 

“Then you're aware of the dangers, Garreth. You've seen what they're capable of. You've experienced it for yourself.”

“Yes. So?”

“So why did you bring me back? You know that chaos ensues whenever I'm around, and it's never the good kind.”

“Really, now? Seems like a pretty peaceful night to me until you decided to leave,” he sarcastically snapped, much to her exasperation.

“Garreth, for god's sake—”

He slams his cup on the countertop, nearly shattering the object. His frown deepened, finally looking at her with a glare.

“A note with no explanations? Sneaking out right under my nose? Is that how trivial our relationship is to you?” he asks with a tone mixed with anger and hurt. She visibly pales at this, panic evident within her eyes that he would even think of such a thing.

“Garreth that's not—”

“—what you meant? Oh, believe me, I know. But it certainly feels that way and it's really upsetting. I'm not mad though. I could never be mad at you, but I'm sick and tired of you pushing me away at every bloody inconvenience!”

“I'm doing this for your sake! As long as I'm around, you and your family will always be—”

“I didn't ask you to play hero for us!”

“So you'd rather thoughtlessly sacrifice everyone else just to keep me around?!”

“YOU'RE MY FIANCEE FOR GODRIC'S SAKE!” 

She was stunned into silence by his raging outburst, all retaliations within her head immediately disappearing as he ran his mouth, pouring out every single trace of frustration that had accumulated within his chest.

“Don't you know you're just as important as everyone else in here?! I know what I signed up for — mum knows, dad knows, my little sister knows, every single relative knows! You're already a part of this family at this point!” he continues exasperatedly, running his fingers through his hair out of sheer agitation. “Gods, you’re always like this! I hate that you feel the need to constantly tell me I shouldn’t be with you! I’m still here, aren’t I? Is that not enough for you?!”

She looks away, letting out a shaky exhale while she clenches her fists, her eyes becoming glassy with tears. His heart was thumping loudly, his chest heaving as his emotional hurt slowly descended from its peak. His glare soon faltered the moment he realized the aggression of his words, his fiery anger slowly dissipating as he stared at her with guilt simmering within his gut. Her eyes were downcast while she chewed on her lip, desperately keeping her emotions under wraps while placing her arms gingerly around herself to soothe her nerves.

With an aggravated sigh, he gently pulled her into a warm embrace. She whimpers at his display of tenderness despite the prior exchange of heated words, finally letting her tears run free as she wraps her arms around his waist, a string of apologies pouring out from her lips. He pressed his lips at the side of her head before parting from her as he cupped her face with both of his hands.

“Darling, listen to me. Look at me.”

She acquiesced, her bleary sight slowly trailing up to meet his verdant-hued eyes, which gazed upon her with pure love and adoration despite his recent display of anger. 

“I know I may not be the best man for you, but you best believe that I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe. When I swore to you that I'll accompany you to the ends of the earth, I meant every single word,” he whispers with heartfelt sincerity, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “But all I ask of you is to please have a bit of faith in me; in us — that we’ll manage all of this just fine. Please, I love you too much to let you go...”

“But… Your family…” she meekly sobs.

“Then we'll live alone together, just the two of us.”

“But what about you?”

“Then I'll be stronger for you! Hell, I'll beg Sallow to teach me how to duel better if I have to so please…” he begs, his voice cracking. 

“Don't ever leave again. Stay with me until the very end.”

At that moment, she finally caves into her heart's desire, standing on her tiptoes to urgently plant her lips on his without hesitation while his hand flew to the small of her back, the other placing itself at the back of her head to press her further into him. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally parted, gazing at each other's eyes with a smile of relief etched onto their faces. A surprised yelp escaped her lips as he scoops her up into a bridal carry, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Well then, now that's done and settled, let's get you to bed, shall we?” he grins, his anger completely appeased by her response.

“At least let me bring my bag upstairs first, love. I need my clothes,” she laughs.

“Clothes? For what?”

“...To change in?”

“Oh, trust me. You won't be needing them tonight,” his voice drops into a teasing whisper. 

Her eyes widened, warmth creeping to her cheeks at his insinuation. He chuckled at her reaction, planting a kiss on her cheek before heading upstairs with her in his arms. The tense aura that loomed over the entire building was now completely gone, her soft giggles of sheer elation filling the halls before a peaceful silence ensued the moment the door to her room was closed shut.

Like the moon and stars that reside in the night skies, this was where she truly belongs — right in the arms of her dearly beloved; her most cherished abode.

#garreth weasley #weasley wednesday #garreth weasley x f!reader #garreth weasley x f!mc #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley oneshot #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy garreth #hphl #garreth weasley x you #garreth weasley fluff #garreth weasley angst

[plutowrites]

love is strange

✧ pairing : Armin Arlert x Nurse!Reader (gn)

✧contains: angst, mentions of violence, canonverse (takes place between s3 and s4), Armin in love

✧summary: y/n urges Armin to confront Eren and seek vengeance for her best friend, harmed during one of the Attack Titan's village onslaught. Unknown to everyone, Eren has orchestrated this entire situation to force Armin to view him as the monster he wants to be seen as, believing that if the request of his demise came from the person he cherishes the most, Armin would not be able to refuse.

✧important note: this fic is a reimagining of Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing" (Act 4, Scene 1 to be more specific, the conversation between Beatrice and Benedick). I saw the quote "I want to eat his heart in the marketplace" and the wheels tuned so fast in my head i couldn't keep up! Let me know your thoughts mwahh&lt;3

You're not sure when Armin entered the room, but his voice doesn't startle you as he asks from behind, “Have you been crying all this time?”

You knew he would find you.

Standing up from the edge of the hospital bed you stopped attempting to clean 10 minutes ago, you glance at the dirty sheets, riddled with dirt and other stains beneath you. Your focus remains solely on your friend a few floors above, in her own room, making you indifferent to the mess or the fact that your job entails cleaning it. “I have. I haven't been able to stop."

“I wish you wouldn’t cry…” Armin rubs the back of his neck, his expression weighed down with guilt, which only serves to annoy you further.

“My tears have nothing to do with you,” you retort coldly, making no effort to veil your anger.

“I will say this: Your friend did not deserve what happened today.”

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you snap, “Argh! I would give anything and everything to the person who could make this right!” The thought that Eren can cause such destruction without a second thought, oblivious to the precious lives and the essence that imbues your village with its beauty and heart, pains you. Your closest friend now injured; a disregarded casualty of his rampage.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, not you.” You're certain that Armin grasps your insinuation. What you desire is Eren's head, something he can't deliver.

His incapacity to fulfill your wish isn't a question of ability—you're well aware he's the Colossal Titan, a secret he confided in you after a close bond formed while you nursed him back to health following a particularly brutal mission. You know his hesitance stems from his unwavering loyalty to his friend, a loyalty that now clashes with yours.

As you're wiping the tears you've wept, Armin confesses, “I don’t love anything in this world more than I love you. Isn’t that strange?”

You can't help but smile at his choice of words, “Is loving me the strange part?”

His eyes widen at you, “No, no, I mean loving anyone in times like these is. Amidst all this turmoil and uncertainty…”

You feel a pang in your chest. He’s right. This isn’t a time for any sort of romance, but still, a mix of tenderness and vulnerability lingers between you in the dimly lit hospital room. So, you admit without truly admitting, “What’s really strange is how I feel about you… don't consider this any sort of confession, though. If you mention it, I’ll simply deny it.”

Armin offers you a soft look, taking your hands gently in his. “You love me. I wasn't sure before, but now I know.”

You roll your eyes but don't withdraw your hands from his hold, “So, you think you know my heart? Be careful, I might make you eat those words.”

He meets your eyes unabashedly, “I love you so openly and without caution, everyone knows it. I just need you to know it.”

“God forgive me—”

His brows knit together slightly, “Forgive you for what?”

“For almost admitting I loved you before you so rudely interrupted,” you smile the tiniest bit.

“If you’re going to say it, I need to hear you really say it. Fully, without reservation.”

You sigh, trying to hide your vulnerability with feigned annoyance, “You have my whole heart, Armin. No part of me resists loving you.”

He closes his eyes momentarily, as if to fully absorb your words, then speaks slowly, “Ask anything of me, and I’ll do it. Anything to ease the pain you’re feeling.”

His eyes remain shut. Without hesitation, you demand, “Kill him. Kill Eren.”

A short breath of laughter escapes Armin at the request, which enrages you. You're tempted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, to make him understand what he must do.

“I’m sorry, sincerely and truly, but you ask for the one thing I don’t think I could ever do. Eren is… He's...It’s not simple. I—”

You cut him off, “Then you’ve made your choice. You've destroyed whatever was between us.” You wave a hand in his face, dismissing him.

It was a mistake to think Armin could be the hero in this story. No matter how deeply you love someone, you cannot transform them into something they're simply not.

He doesn’t take your cue to leave. “Wait, my love,” he pleads.

“I am not your love. Enough.”

“Please—”

“If you won't leave then I will, Armin.”

“Then, before you go, can we make amends? Can we agree to be friends at least?”

Your laugh is cold, “You offer friendship now? You wish to be friends yet refuse to confront my enemy? Is that your idea of friendship?”

“Has Eren become your enemy?” he asks with a voice barely above a whisper, his words dripping with hurt.

“He has become all of ours!” you cry out, despair gripping you, “If only I had the power of a shifter! Consumed by pure hatred and rage, that boy... Oh, if I possessed your titan, Armin— I would eat his heart in the marketplace.”

“Listen to me.”

“She lies alone in a hospital bed as we speak!”

“Please, listen…”

“She’s the epitome of innocence and kindness. If she dies... I can’t even begin to imagine—”

Armin grabs your shoulders to hold you in place before saying, “She will survive, but please, I need you to hear me out.”

“If I were a soldier, I’d confront him myself… or if there were someone in the corps, anyone with a shred of honor, willing to seek vengeance for her, for all of us,” you shriek, your head in your hands in frustration and desperation. “It seems like courage and duty are foreign concepts to you all. The very essence of being a soldier, of bravery, has been lost. If someone as vile as him is left to roam free, then what does that make you? I will tell you: Cowards, all of you!”

“I love you,” is all he replies with after moments filled with only the sounds of you catching your breath.

“Proving your love for me would mean much more."

“Do you genuinely believe Eren is responsible for what happened?” Armin inquires, unable to meet your gaze. You know he’s aware of his friend's involvement. Who else could wreak such havoc in mere minutes? Who else is capable of such heartless acts against their own? You didn't need to witness the events that transpired this morning to know the answer.

You lift his chin forcefully, your eyes burning into his, “As certain as I am of anything.”

He nods once, solemnly, lowering your hand from his face, “That settles it then—I’ll do it. I promise he’ll pay for what he’s done," Armin presses a tender kiss to your cheek. "Go comfort your friend."

#armin arlert #armin x reader #armin arlert x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #aot angst #armin x y/n #armin x you

[avelera]

The Curious Absence of Masculine Pride and Competition : Diagnosing Why Male Characters Sometimes Feel OOC in Fics

For all the mockery that's been leveled at male writers fixating on the sexiness of female characters with lines like, "she titted boobily down the stairs," (deriding how male authors have POV female characters thinking about their own boobs an absurd amount) I think it's worth noting that female* writers often do the same for male characters, just not for physical traits, but rather for emotional openness, humility, and vulnerability.

(*There's going to be a lot of sweeping generalizations in this essay, but the gender nomenclature is being used as shorthand and is intended inclusively. Likewise, any mention of "cultural norms" is from a US/Anglosphere perspective and not intended or expected to speak to all experiences.)

Men in female-written fanworks often cry a lot more than their canon counterparts. They're emotionally available and vulnerable a lot more often, especially with their romantic partner. They're more permissive about letting another person tell them what to do or letting someone else see them in an emotionally or physically vulnerable state.

This is not a criticism of works that do this. Oftentimes, what fic is specifically addressing is a desire to see something that isn't in canon, or isn't in canon as much as the writer would like, and that often includes a character opening up in an emotionally vulnerable way, especially to their lover.

But, if you've ever wondered why a male character in fic sometimes don't feel quite right, please feel free to read on. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this, mostly to address OOCness in my own works, and I wanted to share my thoughts with those who might have puzzled over this question as a reader or as a writer.

(Some fandoms mentioned below the cut: Our Flag Means Death, Captain America, and Punisher.)

Let's start with a common scene: a male character has gone through an incredibly difficult time, fighting bad guys, losing loved ones, or going through a stressful experience. Maybe they're falling in love with another character but don't know if that love is reciprocated. Everything would be so much easier if they would just talk about their internal conflict!

Then the man gets drunk. Finally, while inebriated and crying into his cups, he admits he's in pain, or that he's in love, or that he's scared. This is an emotionally powerful moment that reveals a lot about the character and fandoms tend to eat that stuff up. Yet, when fanworks include this character, they include facts we learned from that time they were drunk, but they don't get the character drunk. The character just says the same things.

The vulnerability of that male character's confession has been included in the fanwork but the obstacles to him being vulnerable and the build-up of what it took for him to reach a point where he could be vulnerable have been largely removed.

I can give a few examples, like Steve in Captain America 1 going to get drunk to deal with the loss of Bucky, only to find he can't which means he's struggling to open up even with Peggy about what Bucky meant to him. Or the often derided need for war movies to put men into extreme scenarios just so they can hold their buddy as he dies. Women sometimes tease the emotional constipation of the need for a man to get drunk or be in an extreme situation before he can hug his male friends, but men I've spoken to like my partner find those moments more true and resonant than scenes common in fic, where male characters start weeping about their feelings the moment they're asked. That's because there are a lot of social restrictions around showing vulnerability to other people, especially other men. And as cathartic as those moments might be on screen, they're also rare. This adds to the power of the scene when an emotionally closed-off or intimidating action hero kind of guy suddenly opens up about the pain he's in, but it's not just a deliberate use of scarcity to make the moment resonate.

The thing is, you'd never know how rare it is for a male character to cry or open up about his feelings based on how often they do so in fic. To go back to Steve Rogers in the MCU as a character, I think the man gets maybe one scene per movie where he has a short, stilted dialogue with someone very close to him about the pain he feels or the fears he has? Those moments are heightened because they're rare but they're also kind of realistically rare. A lot of guys just don't go "bleeding" all over the place. It's kind of a huge problem societally, actually.

To go to another example, I've seen a lot of fics for Our Flag Means Death predicting Season 2 and a lot of them have Ed as an emotionally shattered mess because of Stede's perceived abandonment. Now, OFMD is a very unique story in how often it does allow its male characters to be vulnerable. Fic writers can point to moments on screen of the characters crying and being vulnerable with each other, not the case with every fandom source material. But, I think what's being overlooked is that in Ed's "blanket fort" scene and in the final shot of him sobbing in Stede's bed, he is alone. He has hidden himself rather than be seen crying in public. When he does come out of the cabin to sing about his feelings, he specifically notes how scary it is to be emotionally open like that and Izzy as the voice of Masculine Restrictions shuts him down because of it, showing that there was a reason in Ed's mind that was confirmed by the narrative for why he might want to hide those feelings and that vulnerability from the world. It's not right, it's not fair, it's not the way things should be but that's not the point. The reason Ed opening up was powerful and a singular moment was because it was in spite of those societal restrictions and norms.

Men in general aren't being constipated with their emotions and their emotional truth because they're being deliberately difficult. They do it largely because there is a lot of cultural pressure put on the need to do so and a lot of social punishment leveled at those who cry in public or admit something hurt their feelings. This is where masculine pride comes in to, the need to be seen as strong is a huge social imperative thrown at men. The need to be the best at what you do, to not show weakness, and to show constant strength and mastery are enormous burdens they're expected to uphold.

On the one hand, it's why moments where those restrictions shatter are such catnip to fic writers, but on the other, I think it should be noted that they're catnip scenes because they're very rare. Works written created by men spend a lot of time building up to those moments and earning them, not letting a guy cry until his buddy dies in his arms, not letting him say what's going on or that he feels weak unless he's impaired with alcohol or in some other extreme situation like locked up in an elevator with another character until they finally admit what's going on inside them.

Now, let's get into the craft of writing for a second. One thing writers, especially newbie writers, struggle with is obstacles. Obstacles are what stand between your character and their goals. They can be emotional or physical or mental or symbolic. How a character deals with obstacles is what makes us get to know them and get to like them, it's how we learn about who they are as people. Stede and Ed from OFMD, or Captain America, or any other character you can think of would all approach a locked door in a different way. That locked door is an obstacle to what they want: what's on the other side of the door. How a character approaches the locked door tells us who they are. Do they shoot the doorknob? Bash through it with their shield? Test the knob and sigh comically when it's locked? Pick the lock? Do they go around back and look for another way in? When the character gets through the obstacle, the audience experiences a certain amount of catharsis and pleasure, if the creator has done their job right.

Now, masculine pride and social restrictions are an obstacle to the characters getting what they want. A really delicious and tantalizing one for many, especially if you're writing romance: what will it take to get this guy to admit he's in love? Some fic writers though want to skip cracking open the hard outer shell and just go straight to the juicy vulnerable center. And that's ok! Maybe you don't want to write an entire novel about Frank Castle, the Punisher, or any other macho tough-guy character getting worn down to the point he breaks down crying about the pain he's in. Maybe you just want to write the scene where he sobs in the arms of his best friend about it, just go straight for the catharsis.

But, if you're writing a longer work and you can't put your finger on why the Punisher feels out of character, well, it's because a tough guy character like that usually doesn't want to open up. It's gonna take some intricate rituals for him to be allowed to touch the skin of another man or a woman for that matter. These obstacles to him opening up tell us more about the character and they also serve as the meat on the story for the audience, who wants it to feel special when this guy finally does open up. If he was bleeding his innermost feelings and emotions all over the place, those moments wouldn't feel as special, or realistic, or important. Fic writers who just want more of that moment understandably write fics that just go straight for the pay-off, but the wait and the rarity of that moment is what makes the character, especially a male character, feel in character and plays to the traits like being the strong, silent, stoic type that attracted people to that character in the first place. Therefore, keeping or including or simply being mindful of those obstacles to a male character being emotionally vulnerable also plays to why people liked those characters in the first place and will make your story feel more authentic.

Aside from emotional vulnerability as something men avoid showing, there's also male pride as a motivator. A guy who sets out to be the very best at something probably has a fair amount of masculine-typical pride motivating him or as a trait the creator of that character keeps in mind while writing him.

Stede from Our Flag Means Death is a fairly effeminate man and that's actually a pretty big plot point. It's a plot point in how it makes him lash out at those like Nigel Badminton who don't take him seriously enough, and his wrestling with what it means to be a man is a huge part of his emotional journey in the show. If he just wanted to go to sea, he could have run off and joined someone's crew, but instead, he built a ship and styled himself as a captain, and worked as best as he could to be worthy of the title of "Fearsome Pirate Captain", often to hilarious results, but again those obstacles to him being what he wants to endear him to us. But make no mistake, he wants to be those things. He wants to be his own version of the masculine ideal of a powerful leader, killing with kindness instead of weapons, but he still wants to be one.

Conversely, Ed in the show wants to be soft but it's a jealously guarded secret for him, because he has succeeded in the masculine ideal of being a fearsome pirate captain, and felt incredible pressure to hide that he wanted softness in his life. Even as he was trying to overcome those masculine restrictions he was intensely aware of them.

If one were to write these characters without them being aware of masculine desire to be a fearsome pirate captain and masculine fears around being seen as wanting softness in their life, that makes them behave a certain way to hide this about themselves, they'd be missing a huge chunk of what makes these characters tick.

Again, I don't want to tell people how to write fic. But for those this resonated for with an eye towards their own writing, keep in mind the qualities of masculine pride and competition when writing male characters, as something they're at least aware of even if they're not concerned about it within your particular story. These societal imperatives and obstacles are minefields in the lives of many men and are built-in as expectations for many male characters, especially those by male creators. To ignore these qualities and expectations will make the character somewhat OOC, it might make them behave differently in your story than they might in canon, if canon-realism is what you're going for.

Consider talking to a man in your life about how another man would react to a certain situation, what it would take for them to be vulnerable, or how they'd react if another man saw them in a vulnerable situation. Cis male writers aren't the only ones who get other genders wrong and while it doesn't have to be a consideration your fiction takes, it can help one write more realistic male characters to ask these questions and include these common emotional and societal barriers to vulnerability in your work.

#writing #maggie rambles #ofmd meta #long post #I could go on but this essay is long enough as is

[veliseraptor]

So that latest Zelkam art of the core transfer has been sucking my brain out of my head all night. And now I can't stop thinking of how much JC's inherited that he never wanted or knew: Zidian (mother), the core (brother), Jin Ling (sister), Suibian (brother x2). I'd include the Jiang name and clan if I wanted to include his father. And it hurts me. He's left with so many remnants of his loved ones and yet how hollow does he feel? How unloved? Answers surely depend on post/canon timeline but idk. I'm just wrecked. *dies quietly*

I have a lot of Feelings about the ways in which Jiang Cheng really does just keep getting handed inheritances he doesn't want to have. People keep giving him things (in a material and metaphorical sense), but it doesn't seem like the give him things as an uncomplicated gift but as this enormous, weighty thing that comes with an immense price. "Here, take my life," people keep saying to Jiang Cheng, "take this and my death with it." And the hideous irony of the core transfer is that that's true even when Jiang Cheng himself tries to give his own life for the people he loves, only with the result that Wei Wuxian turns right around and gives up his own to "fix" it.

But yeah! His mother bequeaths him Zidian in the process of sending him away while she dies. Wei Wuxian dies and leaves him with a flute and a sword he doesn't want. Jin Ling...it's not that he doesn't want Jin Ling, he always would have wanted to be in his life, but not like this. oh I know I'm going to do the thing I do and quote my own fic

You, me, and a-Cheng, said a-jie’s voice in his ear. We must stay together, and never separate.

He’d never learned how to let go, but he’d been the one left behind anyway.

for someone who is in a lot of ways defined by the way that he holds on to the past, for better or worse (and I don't think it's all bad! his success rebuilding Jiang Sect is I think owed in part to his drive to never let what happened to it before to happen again), he does keep end up being the one left, and left holding mementos and reminders that are just a constant chafing reminder of what he lost.

it really adds something fun and spicy too to the bit during the second siege of the Burial Mounds, both in the novel and in CQL:

Jin Ling had never seen so many fierce corpses before, much less at such a close distance. He could feel his scalp tingle, and clenched Suihua's hilt. Yet, suddenly, his fist was peeled open, and a cold object was stuffed inside. He looked down in surprise. "Jiujiu?"

Jiang Cheng propped himself up with Sandu, which had lost its spiritual energy. His figure wavered slightly. "Try losing Zidian, just see what happens!"

[...] When Jin Ling saw that all of the people his age had rushed over, he couldn't hold himself back either. When Jiang Cheng was distracted, he stuffed Zidian back into his hand and sprinted toward the front... (Chapter 80, trans. Exiled Rebels)

The way it's acted here in particular it feels very much like Jin Ling at least has a sense of how loaded this gesture is, whatever Jiang Cheng says about giving it back. Here he is! Continuing the chain of just passing down things as a legacy that in no way substitute for the person they stand for.

just to set those screenshots alongside this:

there's something I think to Jiang Cheng that's not just incredibly painful in all the obvious ways about the core transfer, but specifically in the way that it's related to a sacrifice he very deliberately made - and now he finds out that not only was that sacrifice ultimately utterly pointless, or worse than pointless, the person he originally made it for made it so. It's this "oh, you can sacrifice yourself for me but I can't do the same for you?" that's so bitter to feel, both because I do think there's some amount of "why do you always, always get to come out of things the hero" but more than that, "why did you do this when I made my decisions specifically to protect you; does my desire to protect you not matter? doesn't it mean anything?"

Jiang Cheng standing with his hands full of memorials going "I don't want these," because what he actually wanted was his family, but the world kept taking them away, and apparently in at least one case his family actively didn't get the memo.

#conversating #apprenticedmagician #been a while since jiang cheng feelings but here we still are! #jiang cheng #the sad queer cultivators show

[antianakin]

So I was recommended Out With Lanterns by SkyBean in this post about other potential masters for Ahsoka back in October, and I've finally gotten around to finishing it (as well as most of the other fics in the series) and I HAVE to say something about it because I feel like this fic has changed my brain chemistry just a little.

For reference, Out With Lanterns is a fic where Ahsoka is chosen by Mace to be his Padawan about a year or so prior to AOTC and follows her life and training with him through the clone wars.

Since this is a fic rec, I'm going to put a few warnings out front. There's absolutely going to be spoilers for this fic because I have a lot to say about it, so if you are interested in the basic premise and don't want to know any of the details so you can experience it for yourself, please don't read past this paragraph. This fic is NOT Anakin friendly, in any way shape or form. It isn't what I would consider a character bashing and he only shows up like 3-4 times total in a fic that's 300k words long, but it doesn't try to be particularly kind to Anakin when he is there. It's also not super kind to Padme or Anidala, unsurprisingly. The fic is completed, but the series is still ongoing. This fic takes the war a LOT more seriously than the show did and it doesn't shy away from some of the darker things that can happen in a war or the violence that the characters might have to go through as a result of fighting in it. Some of the other fics in the series continue past Order 66 and look more in detail at what life might be like for Jedi who have to go on the run and constantly fear persecution. It's dark, it's painful, it's harrowing, but it's VERY very good. This fic is also INCREDIBLY pro Jedi and Jedi friendly.

On to the spoilery bits.

I've been sort-of on the fence about Ahsoka since her show came out last year and it's embittered me towards her character quite a bit, which is sort-of sad because I HAVE really enjoyed her in the past, but nothing about her current trajectory is anything I like or find interesting and in fact it feels like it's leading that branch of Star Wars in a direction I find actively distasteful. And it's hard to look at her character and not REMEMBER where she's ended up, it's hard to look at her in TCW and Rebels and not see all the things that were signs of where she was heading.

But this fic has done a lot to make me like her again. This fic is written by someone who so clearly understands what made Ahsoka a really compelling character initially and focuses in on that in such a way that it makes me remember what I HAVE liked about Ahsoka. It allows Ahsoka to be incredibly flawed, even as she grows and develops and matures, she still makes mistakes and struggles and needs guidance from her master. But those flaws don't make her incompetent or a bad person, quite the opposite. Ahsoka, by virtue of having a real Jedi Master instead of Anakin, ends up capable of acknowledging her own flaws and learning from them. She knows where her strengths and weaknesses are and is able to make decisions with that in mind, and when she makes mistakes she doesn't sit there and dwell on them, but she DOES let herself learn from them. Ahsoka in this fic does not feel like a mouthpiece, she feels like a real distinct character and I LOVE THAT about her.

I love the ways we see her become the Jedi she can't be in canon due to Anakin's influence, the ways she retains so much more of her Jedi heritage as a result of not learning from him, and how that helps her SO MUCH MORE than anything Anakin's training does for her in canon. I also love seeing how much of MACE gets reflected in Ahsoka, the things she specifically picks up from him, both good and bad.

I love the complexities of Ahsoka's relationship with the clones and how it develops from the first initial overtures to the deep friendships she has with them by the end to the complicated feelings she has after Order 66 and after discovering the chips. Her relationships with the various clone characters she interacts with don't feel like they're all the same, they're distinct from each other the way they should be because the CLONES are distinct from each other. I like the balance she has to manage between being their commanding officer and their friend. I like that she can love them and recognize that there are things about the clones that she doesn't want to replicate in herself because it would make her a worse Jedi. In particular, she understands that there's a REASON the war feels very "normal" for the clones and so their reaction to the horrors of it are very different than hers, but she doesn't want to end up becoming numb to the horrors to the point that war starts feeling normal to her because she feels like it would end up making her a worse Jedi down the line. I love the complexity of that, the lack of judgment towards the clones but the recognition that their experiences are very different from hers and she cannot and does not want to be like them in this.

I also love that there's equal attention paid to Ahsoka's relationships with other Jedi and how distinct THOSE feel from each other because the Jedi are also individual people and not a monolith. Her relationship with Adi Gallia is very different from her relationship with Obi-Wan or Agen Kolar or Kit Fisto and Nahdar Vebb. She learns different things from each of them, intentionally or not, and she likes some of them better than others. I love how much Ahsoka loves her own culture and the different ways we see that expressed, from needing to meditate every day to the many times we hear about her interacting with younglings when she's at the Temple. Ahsoka finally FEELS like a Jedi again here and that identity actually means something to her in a way I think canon has sort-of forgotten or intentionally dismissed.

One of the things I think this fic REALLY does well is taking Ahsoka's general irrelevance to the Skywalker Saga and making that a GOOD THING. Ahsoka being Mace's padawan changes nothing. The people who die in canon still die. The war still happens. In general, the missions we know about from TCW still happen and happen almost exactly the same way. Anakin still marries Padme and still joins Palpatine to save her and murders the Jedi. Ahsoka's addition to Anakin's story changes exactly nothing about it because it CAN'T. She isn't the reason he falls, she doesn't save him and never could have, everything he does happens with or without her. So removing her from his story changes exactly nothing about it. But the change in her position within the narrative does change HER. SHE'S impacted by the narrative far more than it can ever be impacted by her. And her irrelevance to the Skywalker Saga doesn't mean she isn't a compelling character anymore, she's almost MORE compelling now than she's ever been before specifically because she's more outside of it and can see it from that perspective. Ahsoka is compelling because she's AHSOKA, not because she's Anakin's padawan the way Felony seems to think. She can be compelling WITHOUT HIM if they would just believe in her ability to tell her own story. And she doesn't need to be relevant to the Skywalker Saga in order for her story to be important simply for being HERS. She has a story to tell and it's a good one, even if nothing major changes because of it.

I love the way that that is woven into the fic because I kept EXPECTING things to change due to Ahsoka not being Mace's padawan. I kept expecting her presence to save some of the people who die during TCW, I kept expecting endings to change somehow, and they just... don't. And even when it DOES, right at the end, when she escapes with some younglings and an injured Mace, and they apparently go on to create an underground Jedi Order, it doesn't change the end of the story in the OT. Luke and Leia still go to Tatooine and Alderaan, they still end up fighting on and over Endor as the final battle, Luke still goes off alone to face Anakin and Palpatine and that confrontation goes exactly the way it did in canon. Ahsoka's presence and the things her new backstory have changed in the background of the narrative have no actual bearing on the major Skywalker Saga. But there are more Jedi survivors in this AU than there are in canon, an entire Order that has been slowly piecing itself together in secrecy for the last 20 years, and even though that doesn't change the actual story, it's not nothing. It's not insignificant that they survived and they're there.

And I think the last thing I will discuss that I absolutely adore about this fic is Anakin's padawan. This character is an OC created seemingly to be a foil for Ahsoka, a mirror into the person she could've been had she ended up with Anakin instead of Mace, a reflection of her canon self even though neither Ahsoka nor this new padawan would ever be able to know that. I love the way that this allows the author to make that comparison for the readers without it being super in your face about it. Ahsoka isn't facing a literal reflection of herself and the new padawan IS her own person with her own personality and struggles, but she still definitely feels like "who Ahsoka would've become if she hadn't been saved by Mace."

The new padawan isn't supported by Anakin, but she's really close with Rex. She ends up feeling almost DEFINED by her years with Anakin and can't really connect to her Jedi upbringing anymore after Order 66 even though she spent far longer without Anakin than she did with him. She's young enough that she can't see the truth about his darkness and defends him to others no matter what, even though she admits after Order 66 that there were signs she can see now and blames herself for not being able to see the truth of them then. She succumbs to her own darkness because it's the path Anakin guided her down and she can't quite figure out how to get back onto the path of a Jedi, no matter how much Ahsoka and Mace try to help her. She's lost, floundering in her own darkness because the person who was supposed to guide her towards balance ended up isolating her from the rest of the Jedi and making her feel dependent on him and then he discarded her like she never mattered to him at all.

And I LOVE how broken and shattered she is, I love how consumed she is by her pain and grief and anger because she's known little else for like two years, I love the way she lashes out because she doesn't know how to control it, I love how difficult she finds it to act like a Jedi anymore, I love how much she feels like she doesn't know who she is anymore. THIS is what I wanted to see Ahsoka struggling with in the aftermath of her revelation about Anakin. THIS is the kind of person I wanted Ahsoka to be in the Ahsoka show. THIS is why I can't agree with anybody saying that she came across as particularly unkind or prickly or broken at the beginning of that show because she really isn't. She's BARELY upset every so often, she's SO calm and in control at all times. I wanted to see her ANGRY, I wanted to see her LOSE CONTROL, I wanted to see her lashing out at people who are just trying to help her because she's lost all sense of who she is in the wake of realizing the person who had guided her on her current path became a monster and she has no idea how much of that has impacted the person she's become and how much it will CONTINUE to impact her going forward. I wanted to see Ahsoka GENUINELY STRUGGLE with the things that have happened to her and see her REALLY changed by it all before being able to come back to herself in the end. And that's not what I was given. Not until this series entered my life, anyway, and it's not even technically happening to Ahsoka herself.

(I'll also point out here that at no point does the padawan ever say anything Jedi critical. Even as an Ahsoka foil who is partially representative of canon Ahsoka, she never falls so far that she blames the Jedi for their own genocide. So despite how much more she's struggling than canon Ahsoka does, she's still a better person than canon Ahsoka has become.)

So if you hated the Ahsoka show, loved the Kenobi show, and want something that's immensely Jedi friendly and Anakin critical that takes things like the war and Order 66 and the ensuing Purge VERY seriously, give this series a whirl. It's definitely an epic (and it's not done yet) and I had to take breaks every so often by reading something a little more light-hearted, but it's SO worth it.

#star wars #ahsoka tano #mace windu #the clone wars #fic #fic rec #anakin critical #anakin skywalker critical #anti anakin #anti anakin skywalker #i'll leave this in the tags but the fact that ahsoka HATES anakin immediately and never changes that opinion gives me LIFE #it gave me like five years of my life back - the fives years stolen by the ahsoka show probably #ahsoka telling anakin's padawan that he was a piece of sith spit from the moment she met him sent me