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cherryskyies · 2 years

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Somnophilia with The Grabber

The Grabber x fem!reader // some hdcs

a/n: why is he so hot gn i haven’t even seen the movie yet and i'm still thirsting over him and upset at his lack of content. also probs not my best work simply because i do not know his character very well yet tysn

Warnings: The Grabber himself is a warning, noncon, somnophilia, drugging, unprotected sex, fingering (f.recieving), dry humping, probably a mistake or two. This is dark content, mdni.

Masterlist || Navigation || Ao3

You’d been so teasing earlier that day; sucking the egg crumbs off his thumb that he had swiped across your bottom lip, crawling on your hands and knees when he called you to him — watching him expectantly with those big doe eyes of yours.

God, you drive him crazy — whether you mean to or not.

When the thought crossed his mind; you sprawled out beneath him, body limp from the drug, eyes closed with soft moans leaving your mouth, he knew he had to try it.

It was fairly simple. He had already made some rohypnol infused chocolates to use on boys for kidnapping, so all he needed to do was get you to eat one or two pieces — likely two, seeing as you, a grown woman, are much bigger than the previous boys he’s taken.

“Open up, doll.” The Grabber demands, voice as sweet as honey, gently placing the two chocolate tabs on your tongue. “Good girl, now swallow.” His thumb is still resting on your tongue when you close your mouth, lips wrapping softly around it as you begin to suck, allowing the chocolate square to melt and glide down your throat. Grabber releases a throaty growl, pushing his thumb the rest of the way, other hand gripping your chin – forcing you to look up at him. “Playing a dangerous game here, bunny.”

He stays with you, watching as your eyes get heavy and your sentences turn to slurred mumbles, holding you against his chest and petting your hair as you continue to doze off, “That’s it, honey. Get some sleep.” And in hindsight, you should have seen the red flags, you should have fought against the sudden drowsiness consuming you whole — you shouldn’t have felt so safe and loved in The Grabbers arms.

As soon as you’re asleep, he wants to dive in – to wrap his large hand around your throat, using the other to slide your pink panties down to your ankles and stuff you full of his cock, but he doesn’t. He decides he wants to be slow, starting with those perfect lips of yours.

The Grabber crawls on top of you, sliding a hand from your waist to your breast, teasing the soft nipple through your shirt until it's poking through, and finally, he brings his hand to your throat, pinning you down to the dirty mattress. “You’ve been so good for me,” He whispers, taking the soft flesh of your earlobe between his teeth. “My good girl, mine.” Grabber all but growls, leaving hickeys on the parts of your neck his hand can’t cover — which isn’t much.

He can feel himself losing control as he begins to rut against your cloth covered pussy, undoing his belt and pulling his jeans down — have they always been this tight? His boxers are all that’s left keeping him covered, save for his shirt, but it still feels like there is too much in the way; he needs to be inside you.

With great resistance, he tears himself from you, all plans of being slow and savoring you flys out the window. His fingers trail down your body, pushing your panties to the side, allowing him to slip one, then two, fingers inside — he attempts a third, but there isn’t enough space and he finds himself hoping his cock will tear you open when he forces it in. “Feels good doesn’t it, Doll?” He asks, already knowing the answer is a yes with the way you’re moaning; mixed with snores and the occasional mumble.

Your cunt swallows his fingers greedily, wet squelches emitting with each harsh thrust of his fingers; how he wishes he only gave you one tab, the desire for you to wake up and watch the mess he will make of you overwhelming his senses – next time, he decides.

He stops when he feels you getting close, retracting his fingers with a wet ‘pop’ as a thin trail of your slick follows. Grabber brings his fingers to his mouth, pressing them down onto his tongue to taste you; this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven.

You’re breathing heavily, wetness seeping through your underwear, but still you remain asleep, blissfully unaware. You miss the way he lines himself up with your entrance, the way his touch sets your nerves on fire.

He groans, sliding the tip of his dick up and down your glistening slit, pressing in ever-so-slightly when he passes your needy hole. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He sounds humored, like he’s won a bet you promised he’d lose.

Growing impatient with his slow movements, Grabber begins to push inside, groaning when he hears you whine — the stretch is almost painful for him, but he can’t stop, not now when he’s finally got a taste.

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ivvmell · 22 days

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i wanna pick the trope "lightsaber is alive" and make it "cody's antenna is alive" and 'cody's antenna hates him'

#hurt/nocomfort #antenna is a pissy creature

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kailuva · 10 months

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I wanna see hurt comfor. I want to see Chisaki cry and wail while he's having his hair petted. I want him to suffer but I also want to kiss his huge forehead. Can you do that?

be MORE than happy to :) sad baby chisaki is my fav.

(tw for a VERY brief mention of eri in this, just in case)

A few minutes pass of you laying there staring at the ceiling and listening to him snivelling to himself, and somewhere in those moments you realise you get a strange satisfaction from hearing it. His body is wracked with poorly contained gasps for air and little sobs that he can’t seem to stifle. Why he’s suddenly acting this way is a mystery to you, because he had been fine a few minutes ago. Quiet, maybe, but he’s been quiet for months now. Ever since he lost his arms. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him to just… stare and do nothing. A little unsettling, maybe, but completely normal.

“It must have been building up all day,” You think as you turn on your side to watch him shake. He’s self soothingly tucked his knees into his chest and turned his back to you. He looks small. You catch yourself feeling bad for him and quickly remember who exactly is it is that’s laying in bed next to you throwing a pity party. A villain. Chisaki Kai. Overhaul. The man that killed hundreds, his own father included, the man who tortured a kid for the sake of his own twisted, stupid belief and desires and selfishly ruined his entire life— he’s not the victim here, he’s anything but. He’s awful, just awful, and you don’t feel bad for him in the least— but he’s so pretty. He’s vulnerable and he’s in bed beside you and you just long to hold him.

“Stop that crying,” You tell him and he only cries louder.

“I’ll never see him again,” He whimpers. “I’ll never, ever see him again,”

“Yeah, you made sure of that.”

“You don’t get it!” He wails, facing you at last. His cheeks are ruddy, his lashes stuck together from mournful tears. It makes your heart skip a beat.

He truly doesn’t understand how what he did was wrong and usually that’d cause an argument. You’re feeling so content tonight, though. You’ve had enough fighting, you don’t want to fight because all it will do is put you in a foul mood too. So, you choose to ignore his little outburst and instead you pull him close.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” He hiccups, hiding his face in your neck as you wrap your arms around him, his legs instinctively curling around yours despite his distress. “Those league rats did this…” He snarls, placing the blame on anyone but himself, “This isn’t what I wanted, I was going to fix everything… why did this happen…”

You press your lips against his forehead and shush him, “c’mon baby,” soothingly running your fingers through his auburn hair. It’s getting longer each week— a trim is in order, maybe? You’re not a barber but you could probably do an alright job. Chisaki trembles and whines. Your shoulder is wet with his grief.

You could tell him that it’ll all be okay, that time will reverse itself and he’ll never have fucked it all up so badly— but that would be a lie. You know that. He knows that. So, what do you do?

You lie there and caress his soft skin and mumble sweet nothings. You listen to his incoherent, pathetic regrets. You look forward to hearing it more.

You love him so much and you really, really hope that he’ll stay sad forever. It’s what he deserves, after all.

#overhaul #overhaul x reader #hurt/comfort #hurt/nocomfort?#chisaki x reader #mha #bnha chisaki #chisaki overhaul #kai chisaki #angst

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saccharinebreath · 2 years

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Crumbling Love (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/316096411-crumbling-love?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=saccharinebreath&wp_originator=YYslIPxwYP%2F2s8P28sAAuZ2xeN96ZATg9xm6hXATYur2ubIe8MFE8aCT37iSUPUowDJpiJihJMx9UJKOHBPG0bM3UqXXfpnDcxcW8ZS%2Bo3GDgJ8ZKgQKahxS2Q%2BpFo8l The blood is so bright, like fresh pomegranate has stained her skin. She knows better. Her lover, cradled in her arms, eyes wide and unseeing... This is a SHORT STORY, like was originally published on Tumblr short. It's literally half a page, don't let that scare you away though!

#angst #death #hurt #nocomfort #pain #romance #sad #sadness #sadromance #short #shortstory #story #worldending #books #wattpad #amwriting

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

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Through The Ashes | Chapter Seven

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), PTSD themes, canon-typical violence, slight gore, mentions of trauma, references parental death, grief, hurt/comfort but also hurt/nocomfort

A/N: should I write an epilogue? (not proofread) | Word Count: 3.2k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter // requests | ao3 | playlist

Loose Ends

You dig out the packet from your pocket and slide it across Price’s desk.

“It’s all in the form, Sir.”

He takes it and flips through the pages, skimming the highlighted parts. “Stress leave? You’re sure about this, Private?” He flicks his eyes back up to you and raises a brow.

“Just a few months, until I can figure out my options. And I don’t want anyone to know about it, I don’t want it causing a fuss.”

“I understand.” You nod, relieved for it to be approved. You head for the door and place your fingers around the handle. You’re stopped by him speaking once more.

“You’ve done good work around here. I’m sure you’ll make a good decision.” You flash a friendly smile at Price, and then exit his office.

You’re happy to be back at the Safehouse where your career in the 141 first started, even though it came with plenty of ups and downs.

El Sin Nombre is in custody, Hassan is dead. For the first time in months, the roster is clear—a perfect time to slip away.

—

You’re sitting in your barrack, gazing out the window at the secluded country around you. You yearned for the blissful ignorance people carried every day. The horrible things you and your coworkers see and protect everyday citizens from—it does something to you; it makes you look at things differently, even the beautiful scenery around you.

As your eyes are glued to the sky, the enjoyment is null. Your ears fill with the screams of innocents you heard in Chicago over and over again. It’s been a persistence ever since you returned, during any moment of solitude.

You needed out—a few months, maybe a year, and you’d be back in duty. Or maybe, you fulfill your contract and retire early.

A rapid set of knocks stirs you out of your thoughts, making you look up at the culprit. It’s Soap, leaning on the doorframe with a look of unease written on his expression.

“Price wants you. Something about that bastard Graves.” Before you can question it, he zipped down the hall to the meeting room.

Graves? As in, Philip Graves? He was presumed K.I.A. It’s always one problem after another, never seeming to end.

You stand yourself up and quickly follow in Soap’s footsteps, taking your usual spot next to him. Price barely waits for you to be seated before he begins his speech. His brows are tightened, his face is carrying a tension worse than when El Sin Nombre went silent.

“Graves' whereabouts are somewhere stateside, and he’s working with the Russians running some sort of Task Force of mercenaries.” You nearly fall out of the seat with the force of the shock. Russians? How has he flown under the radar so long?

Ghost shifts in his seat a bit, and his eyes grow cold. “Soap killed the bastard himself, how is that possible?”

“He’s had a plan in the works for months.” Price adds. “We need to stop his convoy coming in, and evacuate the civilians nearby.”

Goddammit. The last thing your psyche needed was more casualties weighing on you, especially in the hands of a traitorous con artist like Graves.

“We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Stay sharp out there.”

—

Ever since the meeting about Graves, you’ve felt half-in-half-out. He was supposed to be dead, dead and gone, but he’s not. And now he shows up and has some malicious plan to get back at your team.

You must not have noticed it until now, but you’re spacing out again for God knows how long. You snap out of it, and force your hands to continue stapling the papers in front of you. You look over, and Ghost stares briefly, before his gaze goes back to the straight ahead. If anybody knows how you feel right now, it’s probably him.

“Forgot these.” He places a stack of folders down in front of you. You can tell he’s trying not to mention the obvious, not that he would anyway.

There’s no turning back now—you’ll be gone in a few days anyway.

“Ghost.”

“Yeah?” He halts, turning to face you.

“How do you do it? That… way about you? You just… Shut everything off and keep working.”

He almost scoffs right through his mask, leaning a hand on your desk. “I don’t recommend it, Sergeant.”

“Then when does it stop? The things that keep replaying in your head?” Your question hangs in the air a few seconds, before you continue your ramble. “I can’t see past it—the lies and the violence, and the way we all just avoid it.”

He steps a little closer, leaning down to meet your eyes. He knows that feeling all too well, but he’s learned to mask it.

“If you keep thinking like that, it’ll swallow you up. You’re a good soldier, better than most of the muppets I’ve seen. You know that, right?”

You’re fiddling with the paper in your hands, trying to deflect some of the feelings you’re having right now. You press your lips into a line, and nod your head. His words meant more than most.

“You’re not planning on jumping off a cliff, are you?” He asks, letting out a dry chuckle. “Don’t tell me it’s something terminal, either.”

You can’t control the smile spreading on your face. It was not the line you were expecting to lighten the mood, but it worked nonetheless.

He reaches out a fist and gives your chest a few knocks right over your heart. “Feels pretty sturdy to me. You’ll be ‘right.”

Saying thank you would be pointless. He’s not a man of many words to begin with, especially not words of appreciation. You outstretched your arms and gave him a brief embrace, as if to let yourself say goodbye to him without the pressure of figuring out what to say. You debate on even telling him you’re going away.

It’s an unexpected move on both parts, but he doesn’t jerk away from you like he did last time. Instead of pulling away, he places his palm on the back of your head, giving it a gentle clasp.

You both pull away, and he looks as if he doesn’t know what to do with the affection. He loses his eye contact, and his inelegant demeanor returns.

“Felt more like a goodbye… We’ll need you out there when we hunt that bastard down.”

“I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” You reply, almost boastfully. After a seconds pause, you bite the bullet. “I put in for some leave, not sure how long, yet.”

He’s less shocked than you expected him to be, but given the way you vented maybe it isn’t.

“I’ll pick up the slack while you’re gone. But then I want you back bright and early, five-o-clock sharp.” His words lighten, having an edge of humor to them. Then again, he could be serious and you wouldn’t know.

You crinkle your nose to stifle a laugh, finishing sorting the papers that you have procrastinated on for months. You place the boxes under the desk, and then move onto the next batch. You’ve expected him to be gone by now, but he isn’t.

“Before you go—” Ghost speaks from the entrance of the room, as if he stopped in the middle of stride. His eyes look soft again, and they’re scanning you like they’ve done a hundred times.

“—we should have a round together.”

—

The tires screech to a stop on the pavement, jerking all of you around with force. Door opens, and you and the others pile out, guns drawn and ready.

“I want everyone to evacuate civilians first.” Price commands, standing in front of the group.

“Go in pairs and take one building each. Direct them to the triage center down the road. Graves’ll destroy anything to prove a point, so get the hell out of there.”

You follow Ghost, who’s the first person to your right. Your feet pound as you both bolt up the road. You claim the first building, which is some sort of an office, but the structure looks ancient. He smashes through the glass entrance and steps inside. The flashlight attached to his barrel is the only thing allowing you to see ahead of you.

You turn off and check the lower level, but it’s clear.

“Anyone upstairs?” You shout, since he’s sure to hear you through the thin walls.

“Clear.” His voice echoes down the stairwell.

You meet him outside, waiting to regroup before you move onto the next building. The next one is further up the road—a hotel closed for construction. This time, you take the lead, bursting through the door.

There’s a few employees that you usher out of there, directing them to the triage center. There’s no time to answer their frantic questions, anything could happen in a matter of minutes.

“Convoy is a few miles out. Make sure you’re out of there before then.” Price chirps through, only heightening your apprehension to get through this operation. You rush up the flights of stairs, sweeping each vacant room for anyone. “We’re heading down to the triage center. Both of you meet us there.”

After checking the rooms, you take the elevator back to the ground level, meeting up with Ghost once more. “Upper level is clear,” you say, in between catching your breath.

“Dining hall is the last area. Let’s sweep it before we’re sitting ducks.”

You reach the dining hall, which seems to be the area under remodel. Tarps are spread over the missing pieces of the roof, but you can still see the stars glimmer through the gaps. Pieces of drywall are peeled away, and there’s equipment still left laying askew.

You search through the entirety of it, but it’s as empty as the upper levels.

When you pass by the bar alongside Ghost’s eyes don’t leave the path in front of him.

As you’re both nodding to one another, signaling that it’s time to go, your radio chimes in. It gargles for a while, as if it’s struggling to receive the message at the right frequency. You furrow your brow and press the button, “Repeat that again, frequency is shot.”

Ghost stops in his tracks as he listens through his own, trying to pick out any words or phrases in case it’s an important callout. He shakes his head and pulls out his walkie-talkie, which is also emitting the same error.

He gives it a few smacks and curses when it doesn’t work. He keeps it in his grip just in case it works again, but motions his head in the direction of the door. “Let’s get out of here, I don’t like this.”

“Good to see you boys again.” The glitched voice emitting through your wire stops you dead in your tracks. You place a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, yanking him into a stop so you can hear it further.

When he does, he sprints to the other side of the large room, checking the entrance and windows for any sign of hostiles.

You look at him wide-eyed, as the line goes dead again. Graves had patched into your frequency and clogged it so you couldn’t reach your team. Whatever he was planning before, it’s here now and there’s no time to stop.

Your earpiece unexpectedly picks up the frequency again when you reach the middle of the dining hall. It gargles out a few words that you can’t understand, and then it emits a high-pitched shriek so boosted it makes you keel over and rip it out.

Ghost moves quicker than before, as your hurried steps try to catch up with him, your boots echoing with each careful stride—as if to not get your foot caught in any of the uneven patches of flooring.

The glass on the chandeliers began to rattle, as did the glassware packed away in boxes. You felt the floor vibrate, and the tarps over the exposed drywall began to whoosh. The electricity flickered as a loud whoosh of a jet passed overhead. The lights exploded into sparks, making you cover your ears for cover.

You had no time to get any closer to the door before the force of a nearby explosion knocked you to the hard ground. The world around feels like it’s been tilted on its axis, and your vision is doubled. You see Ghost already scrambled to his feet, and he’s outstretching his hand to help you up.

You reach for it and just barely brush against his fingertips. When you’re too sluggish, he clasps your upper arm and jerks you toward him, just barely getting you upright.

Another jet passes overhead, the sound of the engine fills your ears once more. When another bomb drops, it’s closer than the last. You knock into one of the pillars, losing your balance again. A clamorous groan of the building causes him to lose his grip on you, and you’re knocked down again, fading in and out of consciousness.

Ghost ripped himself away just as the already fragile structure began to crumble. He covered his head as the blast proceeded, gathering himself when the destruction came to a stop. Ghost coughed away the dust and stumbled through the dimness of the large space.

“Where are you?” He rasped as he felt around, gripping onto one of the pillars still standing.

He climbed through a gap in the boards, looping through one of the neighboring rooms to locate you. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you—draped across the floor with rubble surrounding you—illuminated only by the night sky, its radiance shining through the faulted roof.

Your foot was pinned by a piece of cement, rendering it unusable.

He throws his radio onto the ground and is by your side in a second, knelt beside you. When you finally come to, you try to move, but your foot is pinned completely.

“Don’t move your feet.” He spouts in a low tone, looking around the room for anything he can use to jack it up, but everything nearby is smashed to pieces.

Your eyes dart around the room to assess the damage, but you can’t crane your neck enough to see it all.

Finally, he finds a board to shove some of it away enough. He grabs your calf and pulls your foot out from under, but it’s completely limp. You can’t feel any of this, as if you’re under anesthesia, which is both a blessing and a curse.

You swallow, giving some saturation to your dry throat. “How bad’s the leg?” You murmur, unable to see what kind of deformity he’s tending to.

“You’ll be alright, need to find a way out.” He crawls back to your side, looking every which way as if an exit door was going to appear out of thin air.

He intertwines your hand, attempting to hoist you up. “Lean on me,” he says unsteadily. You can’t use your weight at all, or move for that matter—almost immediately dropping back to the ground.

A sharp, shooting pain runs up your backbone, making you wail in agony. His hands hasten around to find the source of it. Your excruciation is like someone running a knife along his skin. He knows that sound all too well.

He turns your torso, revealing the source of it—shards of metal plates embedded deep within your spine, and it’s been bleeding this whole time. He masks his panic as best as he can, but his silence is every answer you need.

“I can’t feel it anymore…” You whisper, now unable to move anything in your lower half.

The marble floor you’re limp upon is slowly becoming covered with your blood, seeping into the grout and cracks of it. You’re losing too much, too fast—and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

You feel each breath turn into an irregular wheeze with an increasing amount of seconds between each of them.

Ghost shifted the position you were in so your head was hiked onto his thigh, having no choice but to look up at him. You rest your palm on the ground beside you, using the last of your remaining energy to trace the pattern of the marble.

He stops your hand and clenches it, halting your twitching. He moves his other hand to your hair and holds onto the side of your head, not breaking eye contact with you for a second.

“We should get that drink, Sergeant.” He speaks softly, his eyes wrinkling over the weight of his own words.

You titter at his words, allowing them to distract you from the despondency of the situation you’re in. There’s nothing you can say to him that won’t fissile into the air—the silence is loud enough to fill those gaps in.

Ghost is mirroring what he did when his mother passed, cradling her as if he could nurse the wounds away. He recalls the same way her eyes were washed over with emptiness, no longer hosting any soul in them.

The way your chest rattles, the crimson seeping through the cracks of your skin and leaking onto his clothes—it’s a familiar sorrow.

He leans down and presses his lips to yours after the labored breaths stopped—something he didn’t have the courage to do when you were right in front of him nearly everyday. It was not the lustful, craving kisses you two shared, it was a kiss expelling the torment causing his heart to flutter.

“Ghost? How copy?” His walkie that he tossed chimed, finally coming through clearly. They were minutes late—minutes that they could’ve helped you.

“Ghost, what’s your status?”

He didn’t dare take his eyes off your lifeless body, only wanting to savor the last bits of warmth your skin still had. His lips left yours, quivering in a way that hadn’t since he was a tormented child—something he’d never openly express to anyone.

He removed your head from his thigh, then placed your hand down gently, rising to his unsteady feet.

He looked down at the blood coating his hands and the fabric of his trousers, the way it ran down his fingers and onto his sleeve—it made his skin crawl.

“Ghost, do you copy?”

His head pivots to the radio on the ground. His lip tightens in frustration when he hears the callout. The emotions he’s having all stewing inside him all at once—it’s too much.

He picks up the radio and projects it onto the ground, hearing each piece of it shatter at his feet.

His fists clench at his sides as he looks at you one more time, with you remaining in the same limp position he left you in. The sounds of your agony echoed within him, the feeling of your skin turning cold when he sat there long enough, the fabric of his balaclava now saturated with his own tears.

“I’m sorry.” His words felt void against the emptiness of the degradation surrounding him.

It was a phrase he uttered to you multiple times before,

a phrase he’d never be able to tell you enough,

a phrase you’d never be able to pardon him for again.

[Alternate Ending]

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee @ladyelissarose @almightywdm @glitterypirateduck @brokenghostgirl1 @a-jupiter-n-mars-blog @liliumbosniacum (IT WONT LET ME TAG SOME OF U GUYS SORRY)

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost mw2 x reader #call of duty

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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What's wrong with comfort?

Aaaaaalrighty then - that caught attention fast.

I know I joke about being hurt/nocomfort like it's edgy or something, but in reality comfort is far too close to real life for me. I've been a caretaker far too much and through far too intense of situations for me to find anything but pain and panic in those scenes.

I absolutely understand people wanting comfort and I'm not saying it shouldn't be there by many means. It's just not healthy for me in fiction. I can emotionally distance myself from the hurt. I can't from the comfort. It puts me back into trauma responses and it hurts. Badly.

Every once in a while I do comfort because the plot demands it or I'm having a very very very hard time and I need a little bit of softness. But those are situations where I'm not able to emotionally connect with the caretaker and I can't be triggered by it.

So that's why I don't do comfort.

I'm very sorry I'm not able to write the content you want to read. It's not healthy for me. It's a personal thing, not by any means objective.

#sand asks #today is the day for being misunderstood #when it rains it pours ig #please give me a little grace #im trying #i have bad ptsd failed caretaker nightmares and stuff like this triggers them #im doing more disclosure than i normally would today #idk maybe ill delete it later #i just get this question a lot and wanted to give it a full answer for once #and im emotionally drained enough rn to write it out #drink water #take care of yourselves

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depression-culture-is · 1 year

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Depression culture is trying to write hurt/comfort to explore your feelings and count your blessings, but it always turns into hurt/nocomfort because you don't see a way out, and/or haven't experienced support and so you don't know how to write it.

You can't fanfic your way out of this one. 😔

#depression culture #“you can't fanfic your way out of this one” my new favourite line

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amnignsity · 6 hours

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Mistakes from the past?

Yang Jeongin x F!Reader

Kinda Oblivious Yang Jeongin x Female reader.

Contains : Angst, Slight fluff >if you squint<, Hurt/NoComfort, Oblivious, jealousy - Metaphorish words.

╰┈➤ He smiled at her.

Jeongin lets out a laugh as he looks at her, gently grazing his fingers over her cheeks as he tugs a piece of her hair behind her ear. You slightly gulped - sipping on your juice box as you smiled along with them.

"Thank you for tagging me alone, jeongin..." She said as you all walked together - your hands placed over your hoodies pocket. You walked beside jeongin over the side walk as you looked at the ground seemingly thinking at the moment - not like they'd notice anyway.

Jeongin chuckled - he was in between you and her always in the middle. His hands dangling against his side as your arm brushed against his but his fingers graze against hers gently twitching against contact as he smiled at her fondly while she returned the gesture.

"It's nothing really I just decided why not tag you along after you were free..." He says sheepishly a bit shy reaching behind his ear as he gently scratched his neck - you glanced over at their side but your eyes always remain at jeongin the most. Noticing how reddish his ears were and how soft spoke he became.

Seoji grinned looking at jeongin as she reaches up and ruffles his hair - the three of you came to a stop as it was already her stop, jeongin gulped slightly looking down at her figure while Seoji smiled looking up at him.

And you? You were just there standing watching as he looked at her with a flustered expression although seoji was oblivious to this as she pulls away - jeongin's hand slightly twitched, your eyes darted how it slightly tried reaching out like he didn't want her to go just yet.

"Also thank you..for allowing me to join you guys! You're really a great company as jeongin says." Seoji looks at you with a shy smile while you looked at her and nod - you rarely spoke during the whole thing but you noticed how she'd always try to make conversations but you were just nonchalant at best since you didn't know what to say next. But you still did respond back.

"It's nothing as innie says...The more the merrier." You looked at her with the same nonchalant expression while she smiled her eyes brighten at your words. She bid goodbye as she went inside - you glanced at jeongin as he smiled dumbstruck.

"You look high." You said bluntly - ignoring the weird aching in your chest as you looked at him confused, he chuckled as you noticed the redness over his cheeks as you reached up and tried to graze your fingertips against his skin but he flinched and pulled away still smiling though.

"Shut it I don't...I'm just happy...that's all." Your hands slightly twitched at his response before nodding as you pulled away - you guys walked, the space in between was suffocating as you placed your hands back in your pockets.

Ignoring the pang over your heart whilst he talk and talk on about how great it was inviting her and that you guys should do it again sometimes. But wasn't this only our thing?

You slightly gulped as you sighed - jeongin noticing the darken and tired look on your face slowly stopped his rambles as his brows furrowed, a weird feeling rise over his chest seeing your emptied eyes usually brighten at the end of your hang-outs.

"You okay?...You don't seem like yourself..." Jeongin asked confused as you just gave him a tired smile although he noticed how it didn't reach against your eyes as you looked at him with a tired expression. Jeongin slightly gulps as he curls his hands into a fist fighting the urge to caress those soft cheeks like he always used to do - his eyes darting your lips as you both stopped under a lampstand over the streets.

"I'm fine, innie...I'm just tired you know.." Jeongin looks down at you as his glistening eyes slightly dimmed at your words - tired...that's what you always say...I know the way you look at me whenever I'm with her. He thought as you looked up at him with a pained expression, those smiles painted with sadness and those words painted with lies.

"O-okay...i believe you.." You sighed deeply - your eyes slightly glistening and glossy against the light reflecting by the dim lampstand. Jeongin gulps as he placed his hands over his pockets, hands balled into a fists as he bits his lower lip deciding to look away as you both continued walking.

"Are you happy, jeongin?" You asked with a smile over your lips while you look at the ground deciding to focus at front - jeongin could feel his breath hitched at your question, lies popping up his mind as his gaze flutters against your face, licking his lips as he gulped letting the silence take over for a moment before speaking.

"Yea...I guess I am..Are you?" He answered deciding to say the truth - as you let out a pained chuckle in response - slightly shivering against the cold as you sighed deeply looking at the ground with glossy eyes while biting your inner cheek feeling a lump over your throat.

"If you are...then I guess I am as well." You slowly looked up and meet his gaze with a smile despite the frown over your face - he felt as if time stopped for a brief moment as his breath was taken away. Although in a daze until you looked away and began walking away as he snaps out of it and quickly followed you.

"H-hey! Don't leave me!" He whined while you chuckled as you let a few tears drip down despite the smile over your lips trying to hide it from jeongin as you walked faster putting on a playful facade but jeongin could see those droplets of water as you began sprinting.

"You can't catch me, innie!" His breath hitched as his arms moved forward trying to reach you while he puts on a smile over his lips - panting as he tried to catch you while he laughed, whining louding as you both run on the dark and dim streets only the lampstands placed over the side walks being your light as the snow falls gently over the sky.

"Oh I definitely will! I always catch you and you know that!" He shouted as he smiled - ignoring the pang over his heart as he glances down seeing dark spots clearly from tears as you continued sprinting away from him.

"Well this time you won't be able too!" You shouted back as you let out giggles and laughs dodging every person as you smile saying 'excuse me's and 'Coming through's - here and there.

"Says who?!" Jeongin screamed back laughing as he got closer and closer - his eyes shining as his fingertips finally graze upon your clothes as he gulped, it seemed like fate was playing games with him as another arms catch you instead.

"Says me!-...o-oh!" You shouted back before suddenly bumping against someone you didn't see - their arms quickly wrapping around your waist as they catch you before you fall.

"W-woah there, miss!...Are you okay?" Jeongin slowly stopped his tracks as his eyes widen - looking at you very worriedly before his eyes glanced at your waist with another's arm around it as it made his heart clenched unknowingly feeling a unknown emotion erupt inside of him. You slightly gulped as you looked up at the person making you eyes widen at the sight.

Just as about jeongin was go near he felt his heart ache as he looked at your expression - eyes widen and shining, your hands over the stranger chest as you softly panted. Your eyes locking with someone else with a soften gaze and clearly lovestruck expression. He didn't like that. No. That was only for him. Right?...

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Summary : Jeongin knows reader's feelings for him but he doesn't know his cause he thinks he likes someone else.

Author's note: ¦] How are y'all? currently in a deep creative block lol. This could either be a part 1 or just a one-shot depends actually.

Sorry for the wrong grammars you'll see - English is not my native language.

ᯓᡣ𐭩Mxlist°

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