#outside of just like the heavy heavy implications i found

[gaycragula]

Hello there

Please could i request a child male reader (around 9-12, maybe younger idk you can choose) x 141. Platonic obv. Reader is being held hostage for reasons and they have to go on a rescue mission. When reader is saved he’s scared of them all except ghost who he just clings onto LMAO

cheers mate 🙏

Lost and Found

Pairing: 141 x Child Male Reader (Platonic!!!!) Warning(s): Heavy implication of parent death, politician family, child reader, locked in a basement, he gets fed i promise, i have no idea how the military works, angst? Word Count: 2069 Masterlist

The walls were an ugly, cracks running along them, and you’re sure there was mold growing in one of the corners. The only light in the room was a small lightbulb in the center of the room that was rarely left on. The only door leading out of the room was locked from the outside. You’re not sure you exactly wanted to leave the room. Not with the heavy thumps of feet that stomped through the first floor of the home.

It was a nice summer day when it happened. You’d just finished a nice dinner with your parents when the sirens began to blare. The sound cut your ears and you covered your ears, trying to block out the noise. You were whisked out of your chair by your dad before  you could get up yourself.

Hushed words were shared between your parents as they rushed through the home to the basement. Your father’s grip was tight on you as he toted you down the stairs, your mother right on his heels. 

Dad set you down in a corner, trying to keep you out of direct sight of the stairs. He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead, your mother doing the same. 

“Be good and stay here,” your mom whispers, giving you a pained smile. Her lip quivered as she pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Mom and Dad love you. We always will.”

. Then, they left you, footsteps receding back up the stairs into the home. You heard the door shut and a silent darkness covered you. The silence only lasted for a moment. 

Something crashed upstairs and loud bangs made you cover your ears again. You curled further into the corner, trying to make yourself as small as possible. More crashing and something heavy hitting the ground sounded before it fell silent again. It was over… right?

The basement door slammed open and you gave a full body flinch. A flurry of steps rocketed down the stairs. Way too many to be just your parents. 

Five or six men came into your sightline. Each of them looked like they were armed to the teeth and it sent a jolt of fear through you. These men just ran through your house. Where your parents were. Where were your parents? 

They scoured the basement, flashlights leading their guns as they searched. For what? You weren’t quite sure but you hoped they would just look over you. The fear surging through your body was almost unbearable. It was hard to breathe, each breath fighting to force its way out silently. You tried to stay hidden for as long as possible but their flashlights soon exposed you.

They said something you couldn’t understand before moving on and returning upstairs when they finished. You heard the faint click of the lock to the basement and you were left in the basement by yourself again. You tried to fight the tears that began falling down your cheeks as you curled in on yourself. It wasn’t a very long fight and your face soon became wet with your tears. It hit you then that you’d probably never see your parents again.

It had been a week since it had happened. The men would leave food for you at the top of the stairs. You spent the majority of your days sitting under the light in the room, playing whatever you could find. Trying to distract your mind. You were suddenly happy your parents kept a chunk of toys down in the basement for storage.

Totes of toy cars that you pretended to race with, some toy dinosaurs you’d gotten years ago, left forgotten in the basement until now. There were planks of wood you’d dragged over that you drew on with some chalk your parents kept down there. The chalk worked well on the walls as well.

Drawings littered the small walls of the basement. Cars and dinosaurs littered the floor. Your house.. Your home, your family. Where did it all go?

You’ve tried to talk to the men on multiple occasions but they only either looked at you with disdain or spoke in a language you couldn’t understand. 

On the eighth day of the occupation, you heard those loud bangs and the shouts of men again. You started crying again, you didn’t even have a chance to try to stop it as you scrambled  back into a corner in the room again, hopefully out of sight. Out of mind.

It felt like ages before the house fell silent again. You heard the doorknob wiggle, muffled voices coming from the otherside. Light filtered into the basement as the door creaked open. “After you, Sergeant,” a gruff voice huffs, a hint of teasing to the tone.

A short laugh followed the words before steps were coming down the stairs again, flashlights dancing over the walls as they descended. “Ohhhh hell, look at this, LT,” a second voice whispers, a light lingering on the drawings on the wall. Silence fell again as the sound of more boots started down the stairs, flashlights whipping around the room before one fell on your form. 

—-----------------------

Clearing the home was easy. The bastards inside weren’t expecting an attack for a while. A home far outside any city line would surely work as a temporary base, right?

They thought so at least. So when the Scotsman barged through the door followed by six others, the occupants weren’t prepared. The firefight was short. The men inside scrambling to get to their weapons as fast as possible. 

It was Roach who’d noticed the door to the basement, calling over the rest of the team. “What d’ya thinks down there?” Soap chuckles as Ghost takes a hand at picking the lock. “More guys? Prisoners they been keepin’?”

“If I had to take a guess, probably prisoners. Family who lived here was big in the political field here. Probably kept them as hostages for ransom,” Price says, gesturing for two of the guys to stand guard at the front and back doors. 

The door clicked open and slowly swung open with a nasty creak. “After you, Sergeant,” Ghost huffs, nudging the Scotsman forward. Soap let out a short laugh before starting into the dimly lit basement. Ghost close behind him. Soap’s flashlight scanned the floors and walls. He noticed dinosaurs and cars littering the floor around the bottom of the stairs. He initially thought nothing of it. They knew a young kid lived here. 

He was almost to the bottom as his light scanned over a big drawing of a home and a family of three drawn in chalk. 

He felt his heart drop at the image. Soap was no master in chalk or anything, but the drawing looked pretty new. “Ohhh hell, look at this LT,” he says, nudging the other. Ghost went rigid for a second before gesturing back up the stairs for the other three to come down quickly. 

Flashlights scoured the basement, Soap wandering towards the darkest part of the basement. His light danced over the stone floor before the body of a little boy was illuminated.

“Over here,” Soap calls out, almost missing the way the kid jerked in response to his words. Soap handed Price his gun before crouching down next to the boy. Your eyes were locked onto him, tear stains evident on your cheeks and fear clouding your eyes. “We’re here to help ya,” Soap says, trying to offer his hand to you.

“Back off the kid, Soap,” Ghost mutters. “He’s scared shitless.”

Soap let out a quiet, barely audible sigh as he stood back up and stepped back to join the rest of his team. 

Your eyes shot from man to man. Your breath was heavy in your chest and you could hear yourself wheezing because of it. “Where are my parents?” You almost sobbed. Your voice was hoarse, throat tight as you waited for an answer.

The men felt their hearts drop at the pure pain in your voice. This kid, no older than 11 or 12 had his life turned upside down in a matter of fifteen minutes just a week ago. 

It was Ghost who made the first, well technically second, advance towards you, much to the surprise of the rest of the team. Just as surprising was the way you sat up to be face to face with him as he crouched down. 

He pulled a small picture out of pocket and handed it to you. It was a picture of your parents and yourself that you’d never seen before. “I don’t know where your parents are, but I do know that if you remain here, you’ll never find them,” Ghost spoke lowly. Just loud enough for you to hear. 

You nodded in understanding, shoving the picture in your pocket as Ghost stood up. He went to turn back to the team but paused when your hand grabbed his. You avoided his gaze when he looked back at you but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he picked you up and maneuvered you onto his back. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, laying your head down on his back.

Ghost turned towards his team who were all gawking at the scene before them. “Get goin’ and quit starin’ at me like that,” he huffs, nodding towards the stairs before turning to speak to Roach, Gaz, and Soap. “Get the kid some clothes and we’re gettin’ out of here.”

“Aye, L.T,” Soap almost stutters, pushing Roach and Gaz towards the stairs. Price chuckled to himself before heading up the stairs after the three, rounding up the other two that he’d stationed up there. 

“What’s your name?” Ghost hears you ask quietly.

“They call me Ghost,” the man answers as he heads up the stairs. He felt you nod against his back and you fell silent for a moment. “What’s your name?”

You tell him your name, which he already knew but he wasn’t going to tell you that. That started a short and quiet conversation between the two of you. You asked how long he’d been in the military, where he was from, what his family was like and Ghost answered you and asked you the same questions in return. 

It was a stark contrast to what the 141 was used to. Ghost was generally quiet on these kinds of missions. “It’s gotta be the kid,” Gaz whispers to Soap who nods in agreement. 

“Yeah but what about this kid is different from others we’ve found?” Soap whispers back, rubbing his jaw as he watched you and Ghost interact. Gaz shrugged in response before Roach chimed in.

“Maybe he reminds him of a family member? Younger brother or nephew?” Roach suggests and it was like a lightbulb went off in the other two’s heads.

“That’s gotta be it,” Soap nods. “Does anyone know anythin’ ‘bout his family?” 

Gaz and Roach shake their heads and Soap sighs. He opened his mouth to say something else, stopping when he saw Ghost shoot a look over his shoulder at him.

“Quit chattin’. Be on guard. We’re still in hostile territory,” Price mutters, ignoring the noise of complaint the three made before begrudgingly doing what they were told.

It was your first time on an aircraft. You were glued to Ghost’s side, eyes locked on the floor in front of you. Soap had tried to get your attention a couple times to no avail. If you did make eye contact with him, you were quick to look away as quick as possible. 

The others didn’t have much luck either. Roach had tried to speak to you while Ghost was carrying you and all you’d done was bury your face into the fabric of Ghost’s shirt. 

Price had been the most outward about it, asking to actually carry you so give Ghost a break. That was the only time you’d spoken to anyone besides Ghost. “No,” was all that came from your mouth as you shook your head. Ghost had chuckled and told Price he was good to carry you the whole way.

Ghost had given you his hand to basically ‘play’ with. You braided his fingers, bending them and whatever else you could do to keep your mind calm. The rest of the team couldn’t keep the smiles off their faces at the sight.

Who would’ve guessed. The big bad Ghost had actually a big softie.

#kid reader #kid male reader #male reader #reader #call of duty #soap cod #ghost cod #roach cod #captain john price #gaz cod #extra unnamed characters #parent death #heavily implied #hostage situation #fluff #angst question mark #angst #yippee im working on requests that are like a year old

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖆𝖇𝖗𝖊

PART TWO

Pairing : Hannibal X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: implications of sexuality, things get steamy for a minute, reader brings up sexual traumas, Hannibal wants to murder the guy, yeah⚠️

After your initial meeting with the doctor, another appointment leaves you wondering just how much of your character you're willing to share, and how peculiar your situation with Hannibal Lecter may be.

Your jacket whipped hard against your body as the wind really picked up; weather forecasters had mentioned that tonight would not only be a significantly cold one, but everyone on foot would be subject to rain and thunder. Thankfully, the foreseen lightning wasn’t supposed to hit until after your meeting with Dr. Lecter, which you were thankful for. Still, the night seemed eerie and even creepier was the looming building before you, its high walls and seemingly taller windows looking down upon the freshly tilled earth below. The architecture of the building with its corinthian patterns and lavish details had raindrops cascading into the most beautiful ripples with the water splashing onto the sidewalk leading up to the man you had awaited to speak to in anticipation all afternoon. 

You hurried yourself inside, finally letting your hold on your coat loose as you no longer had to battle the forces of the weather. Your heels had picked up some of the mud from the outside and to your dismay, had stained the ends of them. Why had you chosen to wear the red ones? The rest of you, however, was fairly dry as you had done a good job protecting your hair and business attire clothing from the rain. You had hoped Dr. Lecter would have something to dry your shoes off with as you didn’t want to come across as rude for walking in with muddied heels. You tried your best not to slip on the hardwood with your shoes in the state that they were in. 

Walking to the waiting room, you sat down on one of the comfortable chairs, waiting for the man himself to come and retrieve you for your one weekly session. Things had been going fairly well with him and the more time you spent with the doctor, the more you felt yourself opening up and becoming more and more comfortable in his presence. The feeling seemed to be mutual between the two of you, and he seemed to be sincerely interested in your conversations, and not just in the “I’m a therapist so I have to pretend to care about your problems kind of way.” And oh, was he so observant and understanding. It was hard not to be enthralled with someone so interesting, charismatic, and charming. Even with the comfortability you felt with the man, you couldn’t help but notice the darkness in his eyes that you had before; something so entrancing about the way he spoke to you as he gazed into yours. You found yourself melting into his comforting words and allowing him into the crevices of your brain that you hadn’t allowed anyone to do before. 

A few minutes after you had been seated, you heard the large, heavy door opened on your right, signaling that the moment you had been waiting for all day was about to happen.You had silently scolded yourself for not wearing better protection for the weather and gave your clothes a pat-down before standing up coming face-to-face with Will Graham. He must've been just leaving his appointment like the first time you'd met except he somehow seemed to be in an even worse state than before. His eyes were droopy and his glasses were foggy as every gravitational force tried to turn against him and make the frames fall off his nose. His clothes were slightly damp and his hair was flying in multiple strands. 

His appearance (although you'd hate to admit it out loud) made you feel slightly better about yours. If Hannibal was okay with Will walking in like that, then maybe he wouldn't care all that much about your muddied shoes. 

"Hello Will." You said, trying to be friendly with the man even after he'd shown such blatant rudeness to you the first time you'd met. 

"Ah, hello- uhm-" he said, looking for the words. 

"(Y/N)." You said, offering up a smile knowing now that if you were to reach out for a handshake he might not be so inclined. 

“Right,” He said, with more courtesy this time than before, “He’s all yours.” You didn’t realize there could be a joking bone in Will’s body but this statement brought out a chuckle from you. “Thanks.” Was all you replied. 

• • • 💉💉💉 • • •

The marble flooring led to the lavish room you had remembered almost to perfection by now. It had become something of a safe haven for you, as you were often here, but it was also a place where you had truly allowed yourself the ability to truly feel. You stood in the doorway still, taking note of Hannibal sitting at his desk with a warm smile and inviting eyes, staring at you from where he sat, this time wearing a grey button-up and a black tie. 

“Do you happen to have a towel I could dry my shoes off with?” You asked, trying your best to keep up appearances but also to be respectful of his space, “I don’t want to stain your carpet.”

Hannibal found his heart doing cartwheels in his chest. It was as if you always knew the right thing to say that would make him fond of you and your visits. You were always so careful, so polite, it shook him to his core sometimes. He pushed back his chair and pushed up his sleeves, pulling out the handkerchief he had in the pocket of his trousers as he made his way over to your frame. 

“May I?” He asked, moving downwards towards your heels, not taking his eyes off yours once. He so divinely looked up at you with soft eyes, softer than you’d ever seen them, an image of feigned innocence. It was as if it were nothing more than an impression of innocence, however, as his movements suggested his interests in something more profound- something more lustrous. 

This movement took you off guard as he waited for your permission to clean the soles. It was a polite gesture, sure, one that you wouldn’t think twice of if anyone else had asked. Coming from him, however, brought a blush to your face. “I-I don’t mind cleaning them up myself, I-”

“I insist.” 

You nodded softly, allowing him to gently wipe off the remainder of the mud within a few short seconds. Almost as fast as the offer had been extended to you, he was back upright with his eyes slightly above level to yours, a smile on his face as he threw the cloth into the can by the door. He walked towards the chair he usually sat at that would begin the long sessions between the two of you and held up the clipboard that was placed on the side table. 

“Shall we begin?” He asked, paying no mind to the flushed mess you were in the corner. It was almost as if he knew how you felt deep down and had decided to torture you with extra long glances and sweet, meaningful gestures. Here he was, smiling to you once more as if he hadn’t just thrown you into a frenzy of being forced to hurriedly collect yourself. 

“Yes.” You said, heading over to the sofa that had become your usual position across from the doctor. You pat your skirt down as you sat, turning so that your back was up against the chaise lounge in the most comfortable position you could possibly muster after a stunt like that. You pursed your lips as you awaited his first question or observation that would throw the both of you into the conversations you were familiar with. 

Things had become different with you and Hannibal as of late. He was always trying his best to do something sweet for you that most people wouldn't think of doing. He was so kind in his words and his actions that you were beginning to feel some sort of longing in you, much to your dismay. Crushing on your therapist wasn't something you'd ever want to do, especially after not dating for so long. There was no way the feeling was mutual, right? This all had to be a coincidence.

“So, (Y/N),” he began, resting one leg atop the other with his ankle against his knee and his notes on top. The pen was twirling in between his fingertips as he took a deep breath. He was in no rush to start the session, it seemed. “Tell me some more about what we’d discussed last Wednesday.”

You felt yourself starting to relive some of those painful memories you tried so hard to shut down. You had mentioned to Dr. Lecter  the unfortunate circumstances of your last relationship, which had left you with more trauma than exhilaration. He had twisted all of your words against you and left you crying to yourself many nights, leaving you wondering if he even cared. He was always on the phone with other women or trying his best to court them that it had become the norm for you to find other laundry mixed in with yours or extra makeup items lying around the house. It was such a stressful time for you and was even more stressful for you to find a way to leave the relationship as the months dragged on.Two years ago, you had spent only seven months with this man and your life had gone up in flames. 

“I find myself looking into the mirror sometimes and seeing the image of me through his eyes.” You started, starting this conversation off with a whisper as it was hard to just instantly delve into the traumas you’d had in your life. You noticed for a moment that your therapist’s gaze darkened and his expression changed from concern to what appeared to be anger before he went back to his usually calm demeanor. 

“His image of you being…?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat ever so slightly. It was still a difficult discussion to have and a conversation you tended to avoid whenever you could. You knew you could trust Hannibal with this information, but your body held onto the weight of the events you’d experienced and made it difficult for them to fly out into the open, instead, they laid deep within your soul as they fed on the negative thoughts they placed into your brain. 

“He would always comment on my appearance. Compare me to other women.” You started to play with the hem of your skirt, looking up to the tall roof above you and trying to keep yourself calm. You had gotten over the stage in your life where you’d have panic attacks over these times of remembrance, but there was still fear in sharing them. “I always felt so belittled, so unimportant. I gave him everything I could to maintain the peace and to convince him to fall in love with me again but it just never worked out in my favor.”

Hannibal felt his chest tighten. It was clear that this man had done so much damage to you, but why? Why would he have chosen the most polite and caring person he could to ruin? He felt anger and  sadness on your behalf- something he didn’t find himself doing with others very often. He couldn’t usually relate to anyone all that well as he had notoriously looked down upon them. You, however, were a different story. You brought out something animalistic in him, something that he had never ventured into before. Of course, he had found other women attractive before (there was that one time with Bedelia), but this was unlike him to have an infatuation with someone of this standing. He wanted you, wanted to know you, and strangely he wanted you to know him. He saw you as an equal and dare he say, he might’ve even thought of you as better than himself.

He would never, ever, dream of putting you through the kind of mental torment others had. Ever.

“What would you give him to keep this peace?” He regretted asking the question as soon as it left his mouth but he just had to know. He had to learn more about you, how to approach situations with you and how to handle your insecurities. He would become the walking image of the perfect man and he would stop at absolutely nothing to obtain that. He wanted you to be his. Purely a product of his own creation. He knew he would mold you into the shape you were always meant to have and give you back the power those in your life had tried to take from you. 

You took a deep breath as you prepared yourself to finally let the truth seep out, to let the reason why you had decided to take up therapy in the first place to arise. You had hoped Hannibal would be able to take the knowledge. 

“My body was the only thing I could offer him as that was the only thing he wanted.” 

Hannibal’s anger was on overdrive now, trying to take over. He kept himself composed on the outside while his insides seemed to light on fire. He was beyond upset. But he felt the anger subside ever so slightly when he calmly looked to you and asked for the man’s name. 

He was going to have to consult his ethically sourced butcher.

#fanfiction #hobisfavoritespritecan #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal nbc #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen x reader

[iminloveweveryone]

Miguel O’hara

mafia au fic, NOT proofread 🌚, no SA but implications of it almost happening.

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Your working in a run down old diner, somewhere on the corner of pine street. the smell of stale coffee and cooking oil fills the air.

this is not where you’d expected to end up, all though you didn’t mind it. The pay was..okay and atleast you got free food every shift, so it’s whatever.

the bell attached to the door rings as someone new enters the diner, their heavy footsteps clanking on the old floor as they move closer.

You look up to a man, obviously taller then most, his hair is messy and a bored expression plays on his face.

he sits down in front of you, letting his calloused hands rest on the counter as he does so. You eyes trail over the surface before slowly looking up to him.

“what can i get you sir?” you ask with a small cheery smile hovering on your face. “Coffee, one milk and no sugar.” he says in a rich tone, making you wonder if he always sounds like that. You nod slowly and turn around to prepare the bland drink, before placing it down in front of him.

“anything else?” you ask with a small smile before he shakes his head. “It’s not safe for you to be working alone this late.” he points out “I know, i know.” you nod along with a sheepish smile “but my manger doesn’t seem to agree.” you shrug.

he only huffs in response, you start to move away when a sudden loud noise rings through the air, immediately catching your attention as you turn toward the noise.

“don’t worry, it’s under control.” he says plainly, taking a sip of his freshly poured coffee before standing up with a sigh. “you just sit here pretty while i go clear some things up out there, yeah?” he opens his wallet, taking a 20 out and placing it on the counter in front of me. “thanks for the coffee.” he grumbles as you stand there with a nervous expression, as he walks away.

the little bell rings once again as the door is opened and shut. slowly, you make your way over to the door, peering out only to see him gone. and whoever made the loud shorting noises no where to be found either.

that was three nights ago, and you haven’t seen the suspicious man since. And honestly you were a bit thankful, danger wasn’t something you had wanted to find yourself involved in.

walking down the cold and empty street, your heels clicking on the concrete sidewalk as you made your way home from your late night shift.

every rustle in the bushes, or gust of wind knocking abandoned objects over only making you more paranoid as this wasn’t exactly the safest part of town.

Your legs move quicker as you try to escape the cold night, wanting nothing more to be home right now. Your thoughts distract you as you suddenly bump into someone.

your stunned for a moment, obviously not expecting the interaction before you fall into profusely apologizing.

“An honest mistake, i’m really sorry.” you mumble before looking up to the man..The Man who seems all too familiar.

“That’s alright.” he mumbles, looking down at you with a cold face. You stare at him, trying to remember who he was. “wait..oh, you came into the diner a few nights ago” you say with a intrigued expression painted on your face. “Did you ever find out what all that noise outside was?” you ask curiously.

“oh.” he pauses to think as he brushes a hand through his neat hair. “Nothing, just a small misunderstanding between some friends of mine.” he shrugs non chalantly, causing you to nod slowly, still a bit suspicious of the whole situation.

“It’s not safe to be out this late, thought I told you that” he mumbles digging through his pocket before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and taking one out.

he lights it and you just shift your weight, trying to figure out an answer to his statement. “Needa’ have a chat with your boss?” he asks, inhaling deeply.

you quickly shake your head. “No, it’s just uhm we’re short on employees right now. i just have to close up alone for a little while.” you shrug.

he lets out a low hum in response, always seeming a bit uninterested in whatever the topic was. “so..what about you?” you ask politely. “what are you doing here so late?” you blink curiously.

he lets the cigarette rest in his hands as he turns to face you, his strong face almost entrancing you. “some business.” he looks down, his eyes dragging over your figure slowly. “Just tying a few loose ends up, that’s all sweetheart.” he grumbles as faint yelling can be heard inside the building.

you finally take notice of the surroundings, a few expensive looking black cars parked out front of the building.

The shouting grew louder, followed by a loud shot. something that didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. You turn to look at him, wide eyed and worried, he only stared back coldly.

“Don’t worry about it, yeah?” he says with a chuckle, putting his cigarette out on the ground. “You heard nothin’ doll.”he stands up to his full height as two other men walk out of the building, one with a small cut across his face.

he looks up to the sky, studying the dark atmosphere. “You needa’ ride home? it’s late.” he asks looking back down to you.

you chew on your lip, not sure about getting in a car with a with someone you’d just met. “come on cariño, don’t wanna leave you alone out here in the dark.” he says in a sincere tone.

you let out a quiet hum in thought. “Okay, thank you” you mumble as he starts walking towards the vehicle.

you open the door and sit down, shutting it firmly and reaching for the seatbelt. “Where you goin’ too?” he asks, turning to face you.

you tell him the address to your apartment and the car engine roars to life, driving down the empty and dark road.

the radio plays mindlessly in the background as you look out the window. “How come you’re still workin in that shit hole?” he breaks the silence “Coffees less then decent and it’s dangerous for you to be around there at night.”

you sigh a little. “Not sure where else i would work, i don’t have much of an option.” You look over to him, his dark eyes staring down the road and his rough hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel.

he turns a corner and your apartment building comes into view, the front entrance dimly lit by the lamp posts.

he parks out front, turning the engine off and looking over at you. “let me give you a ride from now on, i’m in the area anyway.” he gives you a stern look “And i have no problem doin’ something extra to keep a sweet thing like you safe.” he grins at you.

you wet your lips, trying to think. Sure it would be great to not walk home in this dangerous area at night..but yet again-

“Don’t think about it too much, darlin” he pulls you away from your thoughts. “i’ll go by your work round’ 10, you can decide then.” he shrugs .

“okay?” he asks “okay.” you nod slowly before grabbing hold of your purse again and turning to open the car door. “thank you for the ride..” you trail off, realizing you don’t actually know his name.

“Miguel.” he finishes for you. “Y/N” you say with a sheepish smile before exiting the car and closing the door gently.

you walk into the lobby of your apartment, peering out the window as the car slowly drives away, And then he’s gone.

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The night passes quickly and you find yourself back at work, struggling to drag the trash outside. you let out a groan of annoyance.

“Need some help muñecita?” he chuckles, almost scaring the life out of you. “God! you scared me” you say dropping the bag on the ground harshly.

he hums and walks forward to pick the bag up out of your hand, swinging it into the trash bin with ease.

“your shift over?” he asks and you only nod, following him as he walks back towards the door of the diner.

you lock up the diner and stand out front of the building with him. “you want that ride yet?” he asks looking toward you.

you glance down at your shoes and back up to him. “yes please.” you mumble, following him to the car.

once again the engine roars to life, driving along the road. “hope you don’t mind, gotta stop by work.” he sighs “No, i don’t mind at all” you say politely as he nods.

You reach the large brick building and he motions for you to follow him inside. you walk along side him, into the luxurious building, your heels clicking on the marble floors.

he leads you to a sort of waiting room and assures you he’ll only be a moment before taking off.

a minute or so passes by before a man walks in, he’s short and round, with a grouchy look on his face.

a whistle escapes his mouth as he looks over to you, looking you up and down in a gross manner.

he takes short strides over to you, making you lean further back in the chair. you look around the quiet room nervously.

“what ya’ doin here, sugar?” he asks stroking his chin. “waiting for a friend.” you reply in a monotone voice.

“think i can keep ya’ company?” he chuckles, licking his lips. “no, that’s okay. i wouldn’t want to trouble you.” which only seems to earn another laugh from him.

“trust me sugar, it’d be no trouble.” he grumbles on. “it’s okay, really.” you try to tell him but he only seems to move closer, his hand now on your arm.

suddenly heavy footsteps can be heard approaching, before miguel walks in. A cold look covers his face, but it only seems to become sharper as he sees the man near you.

the man turns around, also hearing the footsteps and immediately backing off when he saw who it was.

“Boss! Was just..” he rambles nervously as he backs up. “get out.” Miguel warns and he quickly leaves the room.

Miguel’s face softens he turns to look at you, all worried and fidgeting with your hands. he walks up to you, a sorry expression on his face.

“you okay sweetheart? did he hurt you?” he asks, his gaze analyzing you. “i’m fine..” you mumble, quickly standing up.

“m’sorry muñecita, i’ll deal with him tomorrow.” he nods “promise.”

the two of you make your way to his car, he opens the door for you before getting in his side and turning the keys.

you lay your head on the seat tiredly, shifting in the seat to get comfortable, and out of the corner of your eye you see his grip tighten on the wheel.

you must have fallen asleep because you feel someone gently tapping on your shoulder, waking you up just enough to talk.

“we’re here” he mumbles softly. You let out a quiet hum, barely a response. you feel him unbuckling the seat belt and you instinctively latch onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

he lets out a quiet groan into your neck. “come on then” he chuckles, picking you up swiftly. you wrap your legs around him and he walks to the elevator.

you tell him your apartment number as he clicks the button and the doors shut. You shift in his arms slightly, trying to get more comfortable, which earns a groan from him.

“Gotta stop moving like that..” he grumbles in your ear, waking you up a lot.

the doors open to your floor and he steps out of the box, walking down the quiet hallway. he stops at your door and lowers you down to the floor, causing you to let out a dissatisfied whine to which he only chuckles.

you dig through your purse for the keys to your house, pulling them out and unlocking the door.

you turn around to face him, a tired pout on your face as you look up at his chiseled face.

he stares back down at you, a smug look covering his features. “you need to get to sleep sweetheart.” he says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear and leaning down toward you.

your eyes scan over his face. “mhm..” you hum out quietly, biting your lips slightly. “mhm.” he mimics you, his face creeping down to your neck as he places a soft kiss.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

rahhh anyway lemme know how you feel about this freaks AND if i should do a part two or wtv 😋

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #mafia!au miguel #mafia!au #miguel spiderman #iminloveweveryone #oh no big bad mafia boss #sweet spot #this is cute #twirling my hair and giggling #cinammonwrites

[muiitoloko]

11 o'clock girl

Summary: The sheriff notices you and makes you the 11 o'clock girl.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, questionable consent, degradation.

Author Notes: Hey folks! First off, a big shoutout to all 150 of you wonderful followers! *pops open a bottle of budget-friendly champagne* Now, let me tell you about my recent dive into the cinematic masterpiece that is "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves." Can we just take a moment to appreciate Alan Rickman's brilliance in that movie? He practically swiped the spotlight from Costner like a pro pickpocket!

So, I decided to scribble down a few thoughts about the character, but fair warning, I might have taken some creative liberties here and there. So, if the Sheriff of Nottingham ends up doing something completely outlandish, just roll with it, okay? Oh, and I should probably mention that I didn't bother proofreading this gem. Hey, blame it on my laziness! But I promise I'll clean up the mess later. Cheers to that! 🥂

As a lowly servant in the castle of Nottingham, you've always known the dangers of catching the Sheriff's eye. His reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness precedes him, and you've seen firsthand the consequences of crossing him. But when the Sheriff notices you, it's not fear that grips your heart—it's a chilling sense of dread mixed with a strange fascination.

At first, it's just a fleeting glance, a passing acknowledgment of your presence as you go about your duties. But soon, those glances turn into lingering stares, his piercing brown eyes boring into your soul with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

You try to keep your distance, avoiding him whenever possible and praying that he'll lose interest and move on to someone else. But the Sheriff is relentless, his obsession with you growing with each passing day until it becomes impossible to ignore.

One night, as you're tidying up the Great Hall after a banquet, you feel his presence behind you, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in close. "You have a name, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice sending a chill down your spine.

You nod nervously, unable to speak as fear grips your throat like a vice. But the Sheriff doesn't seem to notice—or perhaps he just doesn't care—as he continues to hover close, his gaze burning into your skin with an intensity that makes you squirm.

"I want you," he said abruptly, his words sending shockwaves of terror through your body. The implication hung heavy in the air, leaving you trembling with fear at the thought of what he might do to you.

But before you could respond, the Sheriff gave you a chilling command. "Come to my quarters at 11," he instructed, his voice dripping with authority. "And don't be late."

You nodded numbly, too terrified to refuse as the Sheriff smiled contentedly to himself before leaving, leaving you shaking in his wake. As you stood alone in the Great Hall, the weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket, filling you with a sense of dread and helplessness.

The thought of what awaited you in the Sheriff's quarters made your stomach churn with nausea, but you knew that disobeying him was not an option. With a heavy heart, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that you had no choice but to obey his command.

As the clock struck 11, you found yourself standing outside the Sheriff's quarters, your heart pounding in your chest as you knocked on the door with trembling hands. The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the anticipation building with each passing moment until finally, the door swung open, revealing the Sheriff standing before you.

He was dressed only in his pants, his black hair tousled and his brown eyes gleaming with amusement as he greeted you with a sly grin. "Ah, the 11 o'clock girl," he purred, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Right on time, as always."

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stepped into his quarters, your eyes darting nervously around the room. But before you could utter a word, the Sheriff turned away from you, his attention drawn to the woman lying in his bed.

"Time to go, darling," he said casually, his tone dismissive as he addressed the woman who lay beside him. "You were the 10:45 girl, weren't you? Off you go now, before I lose interest."

The woman scrambled to get dressed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she hurriedly gathered her belongings and fled the room, leaving you alone with the Sheriff once more. As the door closed behind her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over you, the realization sinking in that you were not the only one he had summoned tonight.

But as you looked at the Sheriff, his gaze lingering on you with a hunger that sent a chill down your spine, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. You had been summoned here for a reason, and now it was time to face whatever fate awaited you.

But as the Sheriff approached you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, a wave of doubt washed over you, your mind reeling with questions and uncertainties. Did you truly want this? Did you have any choice in the matter?

As he drew closer, his hands reaching out to touch you, you couldn't help but flinch, your body recoiling instinctively from his touch. But the Sheriff paid no mind to your hesitation, his eyes blazing with desire as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a rough and possessive kiss.

As the Sheriff pulled you into his embrace, his hands roaming over your trembling form, a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine. Despite your fear and uncertainty, there was something undeniably thrilling about being in the presence of such a powerful and commanding man.

"You're trembling, my dear," the Sheriff remarked, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Nervous, are we? Or perhaps just excited to finally be in my arms?"

You couldn't help but blush at his words, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you struggled to maintain your composure. But the Sheriff only chuckled darkly, his hands wandering lower as he pulled you closer, his touch sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

"Tell me, darling," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he trailed kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Do you know why I summoned you here tonight? Or are you content to let me take what I want without a word of protest?"

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. But before you could respond, the Sheriff silenced you with a searing kiss, his lips hungry and demanding as he claimed you as his own.

As his hands roamed over your body with a possessive urgency, you surrendered yourself to him completely, your mind clouded with desire as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment. And as the Sheriff guided you towards the bed with a predatory gleam in his eyes, you knew that there was no turning back now.

He paused for a moment, his fingers caressing your thigh with a disturbing mix of possessiveness and curiosity, he posed a question that made your heart race with apprehension.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked, his voice laced with a cruel edge as he studied your reaction.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stuttered out a nervous "no." The truth was that servants like you were rarely virgins, your station in life leaving you with very few options and even fewer expectations of finding a husband.

The Sheriff nodded, his fingers trailing under your servant's dress, which was little more than a rag draped over your body. "How many men have you been with, then?" he inquired, his tone mocking and derisive.

You lowered your gaze respectfully, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you admitted, "Only one, milord. A stable boy here at the castle."

The Sheriff's brow quirked in amusement, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as he considered your response. "Ah, a stable boy," he remarked dryly. "Is he your betrothed, then? Your one true love?"

You shook your head quickly, your voice barely above a whisper as you denied his assumption. "No, milord. We were... merely acquaintances."

The Sheriff chuckled darkly at your response, his fingers continuing to roam over your trembling form as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Well, my dear, it seems you and I have something in common," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "Neither of us is meant for love, only for pleasure."

You shuddered at his words, a chill of dread creeping down your spine as you realized the true nature of your predicament. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you knew that there was no escape from the Sheriff's clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

And as he pressed his lips to yours once more, his touch hungry and possessive, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that there was no turning back now.

As the Sheriff of Nottingham stripped away your meager garment, revealing your naked form to him, a predatory grin spread across his lips, his brown eyes gleaming with a cruel hunger. His gaze lingered hungrily on your exposed body, savoring every curve and contour as if he were appraising a prized possession.

"You're beautiful, my dear," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he traced a finger along the curve of your hip. "Almost too beautiful to be a mere servant."

You flinched at his touch, feeling a chill of dread wash over you as you realized the true extent of your vulnerability. But before you could protest or beg for mercy, the Sheriff's hands were already moving with purpose, stripping away your last shred of modesty with callous disregard.

As he tossed your underwear aside, leaving you completely exposed before him, you couldn't help but tremble with fear and shame, your heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for what was to come.

The Sheriff's smile widened at the sight of your nakedness, his eyes devouring you with an insatiable hunger that made your skin crawl. He wasted no time in making his intentions clear, his movements rough and commanding as he positioned himself between your legs, his erection throbbing with anticipation.

With one hand gripping your thigh possessively, the Sheriff used his other hand to guide his throbbing member towards your entrance, his touch sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body.

"No, please, wait," you pleaded, your voice trembling with desperation as you tried in vain to reason with him. But the Sheriff paid no heed to your protests, his lustful desires driving him forward with relentless determination.

Ignoring your cries, he thrust himself into you with brutal force, causing you to cry out in agony as he stretched you beyond your limits. You were not ready for him, not prepared for the searing pain that tore through your body with each merciless thrust.

But the Sheriff showed no mercy, his movements relentless as he claimed you as his own, his grunts of pleasure mingling with your cries of pain. He was rough and demanding, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pounded into you with a primal intensity.

"Ah, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he reveled in the sensation of your warmth enveloping him. "That stable boy clearly didn't know what he was doing if he left you like this."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to endure the agonizing pleasure, your mind clouded with a dizzying mix of pain and arousal. The Sheriff's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you closer to the edge of oblivion as he claimed you as his own.

And as he pressed your hand against your lower stomach, forcing you to feel the full extent of his penetration with each thrust, you realized with a sickening sense of despair that there was no escape from his clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

As the Sheriff continued to thrust into you with a relentless determination, his words became more cutting, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his breath hot against your ear as he reveled in your helpless submission. "A filthy little servant like you, enjoying being used like a common whore."

You whimpered at his words, a mixture of shame and arousal coursing through your veins as you struggled to reconcile your conflicting emotions. You knew you shouldn't be enjoying this, shouldn't be responding to his cruel words with such eagerness, but you couldn't help yourself.

With each thrust, the Sheriff seemed to find new ways to demean and degrade you, his words like daggers piercing your already fragile sense of self-worth.

"You're nothing but a plaything to me," he sneered, his tone laced with contempt as he continued to pound into you with a punishing rhythm. "A worthless little whore, good for nothing but spreading your legs and taking whatever I give you."

But instead of recoiling from his words, you found yourself growing more aroused with each insult, your body responding eagerly to his dominating presence. With a newfound sense of confidence, you reached out and grabbed the Sheriff's back, pulling him closer to you as you urged him to intensify his thrusts.

The Sheriff's eyes widened in surprise at your boldness, a dark grin spreading across his lips as he realized the depth of your depravity. "Well, well, it seems our little servant has a bit of a backbone after all," he chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. "I like that. Let's see how much you can take, shall we?"

With a renewed sense of purpose, you gripped the Sheriff's ass firmly, urging him to thrust into you harder and faster as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment. Despite the pain and humiliation, there was something undeniably exhilarating about being dominated by such a powerful and commanding man.

And as the Sheriff chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands roaming over your trembling form with a possessive urgency, you knew that there was no turning back now—that you were his to command, body and soul. And strangely, in that moment, you wouldn't have it any other way.

As the Sheriff took your hand off his ass and pinned it to the bed above your head, you felt a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. His touch was rough yet electrifying, sending shivers of anticipation racing down your spine as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment.

Leaning down, the Sheriff pressed his lips to your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he trailed down to your collarbone. With effortless strength, he took your other hand and pinned them together above your head, his large hand easily holding them in place against the mattress.

You moaned with pleasure, the sound music to the Sheriff's ears as he reveled in the intoxicating power he held over you. With each thrust, he drove you to new heights of ecstasy, his movements relentless and commanding as he claimed you as his own.

As he kissed down your collarbone, the Sheriff couldn't help but marvel at the scent of soap on your skin, a stark contrast to the other women he had been with. "You smell divine," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration as he praised you for your cleanliness.

But you were lost in pleasure, your eyes closed and face contorted in ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the Sheriff's desires. With each thrust, your back arched and your body writhed beneath him, the sensations overwhelming your senses as you neared the brink of climax.

The Sheriff watched you with a hunger that bordered on obsession, his brown eyes dark with desire as he imagined what it would be like to see you cum on his dick. It was a thought that had never crossed his mind before, the idea of giving pleasure to a woman rather than just taking what he needed.

But as he gazed down at you, lost in pleasure and utterly vulnerable beneath him, the Sheriff felt a strange sense of longing stirring within him. He wanted to see your expression as you reached the peak of ecstasy, to witness the raw, unbridled passion on your face as you surrendered yourself completely to him.

With a newfound sense of determination, the Sheriff quickened his pace, driving you towards the edge of oblivion with each powerful thrust. And as you cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over you, he knew that he would stop at nothing to make you his own.

For in that moment, as you lay beneath him, utterly vulnerable and completely surrendered to his desires, the Sheriff realized that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—to possess you body and soul, now and forever.

#sheriff of nottingham #alan rickman #robin hood #Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves #sheriff of Nottingham x reader #alan rickman x reader

[xiefuyu]

Brother, I'm here.

-- Kurokawa Izana x little sister reader

🖤 — Tokyo Revengers

📝 — angst, implication of domestic abuse, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff at the end

:a/n — this one is a bit heavy :'> (wc: 2.4k)

— PT. 1 / PT. 2/PT.3/PT.4/PT.5

You, Kurokawa Y/N, only wanted only one thing.

A family.

A household with the said family who’s loving and will treat you with care and affection. A family who won’t paint your skin blue and purple at any given chance and will protect you from all the things that you find to be scary.

That was the only thing you want but apparently, you’re considered greedy by the world for longing for something that’s supposed to be given to anyone the moment they were born.

Something was wrong with you.

Something has got to be deeply wrong with you because if not, why else would you be standing outside the hospital where you just got discharged a few minutes ago and currently drowning the moment your Kuya Mikey fills you in with what happened and the truth?

The fucking truth of not being related to them at all.

Your Kuya Mikey- are you even allowed to still call him that?- who you see walking towards you, panic in his eyes because you're walking backwards, walking away from them as if walking away from the truth.

He was saying something. Emma was saying something, also reaching out for you. Hell, even Takemichi was saying something but you’re drowning, you’re falling, and you’re…

You’re just there.

Alone.

A part of you begs to listen to them, to run to them, to beg for them to accept you as their little sister because God, oh dear God, you loved how they treated you for the last few days in your stay at the hospital.

They treated you like glass. Like someone precious. Treated you in a way that you didn’t even know was possible.

It got you questioning if you even deserved it because your stepmother said that you didn’t deserve anyone else’s love but only her’s.

And then it hit you.

You don’t deserve it, don’t you?

It was just a pity. It wasn’t love, it was pity.

But guilt bubbles in you as the thought passes through your mind. Who do you think you are to judge their actions? Who do you think you are to doubt their love for you?

You’re just a fool who wanted to force her way into their own little bubble of family.

It’s fucking embarrassing, you tell yourself.

So you run away. Turn your back on them like how Izana did to you. You ignore their calls of pleas and waits. You drown everything around you.

As they curse at how fast you could run, you’re grateful for the times you need to run away and hide on the nights where your stepmother’s wrath was too much. Maybe it was a destiny to be abused for this very moment. This moment to run away from people who turned out to be not blood-related at all.

You should’ve just remained in your own hell.

You’re not supposed to be here.

You don’t belong here.

Kakucho kneels in front of his king. His king who he found in front of the orphanage. He felt like a fool for not thinking about this place first.

Because as much as they wanted to leave this place before, it was still their home in their younger years.

"Izana, please. She's looking for you. She begged me to bring you back to her." He remembers the way your lips wobbled, your eyes dripping with unshed tears as you begged him to bring your brother back.

As you told him that you want Izana to stay with you because he's your family.

"She doesn't deserve me and I don't deserve her." Izana says and it hits Kakucho, as well as the Haitani brothers who helped him in finding Izana, that their king was just as desperate as you but in a different way.

While you're desperate to run after him, he's desperate to run away from you.

All because he thinks he doesn't deserve you and vice versa.

"She's…she's too pure for me, Kakucho. She's too bright." Ran looks down, eyes glancing at Rindou because he knows what Izana is saying. He understands.

But he frowns and shakes his head, stepping forward.

"Your sister…" he starts and he could see Rindou's eyebrows rising in surprise. "I understand that you want to push her away. Hell, I wanted to push Rindou away from this…gang activities before but he's all I have and I'm all he has." 

Ran stops, sighing.

"What I want to say is that she deserves at least an explanation of why you want her away from you. That is, if you still want to push her away after all this talk. She was longing for you, you know? Kakucho told me."

Izana looks up at the sky. It was so…unfamiliar. Did the sky always look that way? It was always dull before, wasn't it? Why is it suddenly blue and white? 

Why is it suddenly bright?

His hands are painted with blood and violence and yours looked like they aren't even aware of what violence is.

His head was filled with dark thoughts and you looked like all your thoughts were all flowers and sunshines.

How could he face you after all he's done? How could he tell you that he also wanted to stay with you because apparently, you're his real blood-related sister and that's all he ever wanted?

He breathes out shakily.

God fucking damnit.

If he's selfish to want to have you accept him even though he knows he fucked up his first interaction with you, then so be it. Make him look selfish. Greedy. Asshole.

He doesn't care anymore.

Kakucho's phone rings before he could even tell them to bring him to you.

"Hello?"

Something grips Izana's heart as he watches Kakucho's eyes widen as he looks straight back at him.

"What…what do you mean she's missing?"

The concept of family was always known yet unfamiliar to you. Everytime you go out and see parents with their children laughing happily, there’s a longing, a nostalgia that you feel. It was ironic how nostalgia is present when all you could remember was rough hands and sharp nails connecting with your skin.

However, when you got informed that you have an older brother miles away from you, it was enough to at least dull the painful memories and it was changed to an imagination, hope, that your brother will let you piggy ride his back, will let you play with his hair, and just…just simple bondings that a family do.

But you found out that it was merely imagination. A feeble hope to be destroyed by said brother.

You found yourself running and running and running.

You don’t even know where you are. You don’t care anymore. You just want to run away from here, want to get away from these almost familiar looking streets. Your eyes and lungs are burning. Exhaustion seeps through your body and your head is back to letting something hit it from the inside.

Everything is becoming blurry; was it because of the tears? The dizziness? Either way, you kept running until your feet took you to a soft feeling under.

A beach.

You’re on a beach and the sand felt so soft underneath you it was making you sick. Everything seems big, bright, dull, soft, and rough. They’re loud. The waves are loud, entrancing and calling you.

Your mind is racing with a million thoughts and yet, it is empty. All you could think about was how nice it was to just rest naturally like the sun setting beyond the horizon in front of you. All you could think about was the “what-if’s” and “could’ve been’s” if you didn’t look for your brother, if said brother didn’t turn his back on you, and if you didn’t turn your back on the people who were nothing but nice to you.

Your unshed tears were dried by the breeze, thoughts seemingly getting blown away with it, the waves in front of you engulfing it and taking it away.

And then you’re just there.

An empty shell of what used to be you.

You’re just there, feet slowly walking towards the waves.

Family is a concept you tried so hard to understand. It’s something you know and don’t know. It’s something you experienced in a wrong way.

Something that got you questioning your true purpose in life. It was supposed to be given to you the moment you were born so why?

Why are you all alone and trembling in fear and yet, you keep walking? The water is cold and it’s pulling and pushing you in and out. It’s shooing you away at the same time it’s pulling you in.

You were born in a household that paints your skin blue and purple. People are supposed to be born and cradled with gentle and soothing hands, aren’t they? So why were you even born if you don’t have those?

Ahh.

You get it.

You were born to die, weren’t you?

Izana’s vision was obscured with his own unshed tears. He’s trembling and running. A part of him blame the Sanos for your disappearance. How could they tell you about the truth? Couldn’t they have just hid it from you? Protect you from it?

But then he’s too aware of what could happen if people let the water boil for too long. He’s seen it in himself. He’s seen how he was so full of hope and was ignorant of the truth that it utterly destroyed him when he was forced to face the reality.

It was funny, he thinks. Funny how he uttered the words that you’re no sister of his but the both of you are just too similar, aren’t you?

Both longing for a family.

It was funny because you’re there, a family, and yet he pushed you away. He’s such a fool, isn’t he?

But he vows to himself that this time, he’ll make things right. This time, he’ll open his heart and accept people. He’ll open his kingdom and let people do whatever they want. He’ll be a king who comes down from his throne for you- his family.

He’s running along a beach, he registers, and your name comes out of his mouth as if it’s the last thing keeping him sane. And maybe it was, maybe you are the only thing keeping him sane because he’s running like a madman, the word “No” stumbling out of his mouth over and over again.

You’re the only family he has. The only blood-related family he has so why are you trying to run away? He’s selfish, he knows. He’s the cause of this and he wants the waves to engulf him instead.

The waves already reached your waist but you’re just looking ahead, unaware of the people running towards you. Your eyes looked empty and it terrifies him. Those similar lilac eyes are supposed to be shining albeit a bit dim. They’re not supposed to be empty like his.

He reaches for your hand and tugs you to him. It scared him how you were so limp that you let him engulf you in his arms as he frantically dragged you towards the shore, how you let the both of you fall on your knees.

Kakucho, the Sanos, Draken, the Haitani brothers, and Takemichi sees the pure terror in Izana’s eyes as he holds you against him tightly. They notice the trembles of his body, the wobble of his lips and his tears that are freely flowing, carving their way on his cheeks.

His mouth was gaping, opening and closing, finding their words but it seemed like the waves took it away with them. He doesn’t know what to say.

He almost lost you.

Forever.

One moment, you’re feeling the water reaching your waist and the next, it was trembling warm arms around you. Having disassociated with your reality, you were baffled because you’re suddenly at the shore, kneeling, and leaning against someone.

You didn’t have to look up to see who it was for he smelled like a family, a comfort, and safety.

You sob quietly against your brother, feeling him tense under you but his arms around you further tightens. You’re also trembling, fear creeping in you with full force with the realisation that you were so close to killing yourself.

You feel lost.

Afraid.

Are you even alive? What if you’re actually under the waves and all of this is just an imagination? A last resort of your brain that’s seeking comfort?

Your hand grips your brother’s clothes, hard and tight, as if he’ll disappear if you let go for at least a second. You hear him shushing you, calming you down, but it just made you sob more. 

Despite being treated softly by the Sanos, being treated in the same way by your real blood-related brother was different.

You felt loved. You felt safe. You felt accepted.

This was the purpose you were cradling in your delicate, trembling hands years ago. Now, it’s being cradled by you and your brother; shared.

But something inside you is still not content. You need to make sure that everything is real. That right now is not just a figment of your imagination.

“Kuya…” you cry out.

“Yeah?” Izana says, so soft and gentle.

“Kuya, I’m here…I’m here, right?” you question the reality, daring. You hear Izana breathing out shakily, his right hand cupping your cheek, tilting your head to his direction. 

And his eyes. You have those eyes, don’t you? They’re so similar to yours and it makes you sob more. You’re finally staring at your family. 

“You’re here, Y/N, you’re here with me.” he reassures. It took you a moment to process his words but after a while, a wobbly little smile made its way to your lips before it fell- in relief- as you hid in his neck once again.

Your sobs echo through the area. The waves were calm as if giving you privacy, the sunset basking you with its gentle light and warmth.

The Sanos and Haitani brothers watch with a smile and deep gratitude to the world. Even though their family is broken, they know they were lucky enough to have each other since the beginning unlike you and your brother who had to cross multiple challenges just to see each other.

With a soft grin, all of them made their way to the both of you.

And all of a sudden, affection seeps to your head from their pats. It was overwhelming but you found yourself smiling and not running away. Your eyelids feel heavy, making you sigh.

Before succumbing to darkness in your brother’s arms, the last thing you felt was warm lips against your forehead along with a soft “thank you for not giving up on me, Y/n.” and,

“Thank you for being here.”

A/N: i swear we're getting fluff next hehe (with a sprinkle of angst)

@bontensbabygirl

#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers platonic #tokyo revengers spoiler #kurokawa izana x sister reader #kurokawa izana x y/n #sano manjiro x sister reader #sano emma x sister reader #haitani brothers #xiefuyu's

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (12/22)

Chapter summary: Wanda and her therapist discuss the topic of forgiveness; During a 6-miler running event, Kate accuses you of forcing Yelena to stay away from her; after which you find Wanda and her new friend in the same event

Chapter word count: 6k | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: Enjoy :)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next Chapter: Thirteen

--

Twelve

The heavy raindrops dance in an intricate rhythm upon the streets of New York City, as Wanda’s gaze returns to Dr. Calliope Williams. She is seated opposite her, wearing the kind expression that always soothes Wanda in an unexplainable way. Mid-sentence, while sharing an anecdote about her time with you in college, she realizes you’ve been the topic (yet, again) for a while now.

"I've been going on about her too much, haven't I?" Wanda looks down at her hands, her fingers woven together.

“We can discuss whatever is on your mind, Wanda. I’m just here to listen and help you navigate those thoughts.” Calliope assures her with a warm smile.

As Wanda observes the gentle patter of rain on everything it touches, a question lingers in her mind. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” she wonders aloud.

“What makes you think she hasn’t?” Calliope asks.

"She’s moved on," Wanda argues, cracking her knuckles and twisting each of her fingers almost painfully. The bitter memories of your anger, the hurt she endured during those stormy weeks, remain vivid, imprinted on her soul. She can't erase the cruel image of you leaving her half-naked in her own bedroom as she pleads with you to stay.

None of your actions back then gave any indication that you wanted to forgive her.

“She's found someone new, someone who can give her the love and stability and trust I failed to provide. How can forgiveness exist in the face of that?" Wanda asks.

“It isn't bound by the presence or absence of a romantic relationship, Wanda. It transcends those circumstances. It’s about ultimately granting yourself and others the freedom to heal and move forward,” Calliope explains softly. “But, going back to your question, I’m afraid Y/N’s the only person who can answer that for you.”

“I know that. But I can’t really talk to her about it, can I? If I wanted to upset her, I definitely could.” Wanda sort of chuckles towards the end, her shoulders slumping slightly. All the amicable conversations she’s had with you over the past months were expertly navigated to avoid dredging up your shared, painful past.

"When the time is right and when both of you are ready to discuss it respectfully, you can approach her," Calliope tells her.

"And what if she never forgives me?" Wanda's voice trembles, recognizing how plausible that could be. "What if I've irreparably damaged what we had, what we could have been?"

Calliope leans in, underlining the gravity of her following words. "Wanda, it's important to recognize that you cannot control Y/N’s response or dictate the path of forgiveness for her. What you can do is show genuine regret, reflect on your actions, and strive for personal growth."

Uncertainty looms, casting a dark shadow. Being in control is one of life’s biggest illusions, and Wanda has fallen into its trap more times than she could count.

Pausing thoughtfully, Calliope tilts her head and says, "Wanda, I'd like to ask you something."

Wanda glances up, surprised to find her fingers clenched tightly into a fist. "What is it?" she asks.

"Do you believe you deserve forgiveness?"

The question hangs in the air, pregnant with implication. The rain outside seems to intensify, echoing the tumultuous emotions swirling within Wanda. 

"I... I'm not sure," Wanda confesses after a beat. "I don't think I would forgive myself if I were her." A lone tear escapes her eye, streaking down her cheek, paralleling a raindrop sliding down the windowpane.

Calliope makes a noncommittal sound and then gracefully adjusts the glasses perched on her nose.

"Have you ever thought about forgiving your mother?" It carries a gentle curiosity–a clear footnote that there’s no right or wrong answer–delicately drawing parallels between Wanda's own experiences of betrayal and the concept of forgiveness itself.

“What does she have to do with this?” Wanda asks, her demeanor shifting instantly to a guarded stance.

“From what you told me before, your mother cheated on your father several times before she left you and the rest of your family. And your father, heartbroken, turned to substance abuse,” Calliope breaks off for a moment, knowing how being reminded of her tragic childhood continues to weigh heavily on Wanda. 

“And that ultimately led to his death. Have you ever thought about forgiving your mother?” Calliope repeats the question.

Wanda's hollow grin etches the lines of bitter irony on her face.

“You can’t exactly forgive someone who isn’t asking for it, can you?” she retorts.

"You're right, Wanda," Calliope acknowledges, something akin to sadness in her tone. "It… It is a multifaceted process, and it becomes even more compounded when the person who has hurt us doesn't seek forgiveness or acknowledge their actions. It leaves us grappling with unresolved emotions and longing for clarity."

Calliope leans back in her chair, her eyes never leaving Wanda's face, contemplating the layers of complexity woven into their conversation. Wanda, on the other hand, looks suddenly withdrawn. Calliope can sense that her attention is divided, as is often the case when the conversation delves into her complicated relationship with her mother.

“Have you decided to answer her letters like I’ve suggested?” she asks Wanda, trying her best to seek out her avoidant gaze and rope her back to the present.

Wanda mumbles a no, face straight and devoid of any emotion.

“At least think about it,” she urges mildly. “It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow, or even next week. However, the longer you ignore the unresolved feelings you harbor towards your mother, the more profound your resentment may grow.”

Confusion flashes across Wanda's face, her brows knitting together in frustration. “I don’t understand why she needs to seek a relationship with me. She’s managed to deceive at least one of us. Pietro talks to her all the time.” Wanda states, her voice strained with a venom she can barely hold back.

Calliope's gaze softens as she considers Wanda’s statement. "Wanda, we have to keep in mind that everyone's choices and behaviors are influenced by their own unique circumstances and motivations. Although I can't speak directly to your mother's specific reasons, it's possible that her wish to reconnect with both you and Pietro comes from a place of seeking forgiveness and reconciliation."

Wanda’s face burns at the thought that her mother is capable of repentance. "But why both of us? Why not just focus on rebuilding a relationship with one child? It feels like she wants to have it all, to mend what she broke without fully understanding the consequences of abandoning her children."

Calliope observes the tension in Wanda's body, sensing that her resentment somehow also spills over to her brother who has chosen to keep a steady connection with their mother despite both of them experiencing the pain of her leaving. She can sense that Wanda feels a little betrayed by his decision, and somewhat insecure that in this situation, he’s come out to be the bigger person between them.

"I wish I could understand," Wanda murmurs, eyes falling shut. "She abandoned us when we were so young, leaving scars that still ache. How can I reconcile the desire for closure with the fear of being hurt all over again?"

Calliope gives her a meaningful glance, as if Wanda has unknowingly stumbled upon a puzzle piece.

Following a few silent moments, Wanda connects the dots with a look of remorse.

“Is… Is this how Y/N feels about me?”

Calliope nods slowly. “It’s possible,” she says. “Just as you struggle to reconcile your desire for closure with the fear of being hurt again, Y/N might be going through similar emotions. The pain caused by betrayal runs deep, and it can be difficult to trust again, even when the desire is there.”

Wanda's eyes shimmer with regret. "I never wanted to hurt her," she whispers. “I thought if–if I simply put a stop to it and she never finds out, I–”

“I know. But it’s human nature. We are disillusioned when it comes to control. We convince ourselves that as long as we're in control, we can evade the fallout of our actions," Calliope explains.

“Other people will never make the same stupid mistake in their lifetime.” Wanda points out, feeling a sudden envy towards those who have easily exemplified unwavering loyalty.

"None of us are immune to mistakes, Wanda," Calliope reminds her. "While it may feel as though others have effortlessly avoided the same missteps, every individual has their own struggles and battles. The path is unique for each of us.”

Wanda nods, feeling a little comforted by what she’s hearing.

Calliope slowly rises from her chair, her movements purposeful as she makes her way towards the desk adorned with a pen and a notebook. She’s eager to jot down her notes while the session is still fresh.

“And as much as I want to continue this, our time is up. Shall we reconvene next week?" Calliope proposes.

Wanda, caught between a sigh and a fleeting smile, agrees to the schedule. "Sure, Next week."

She hadn’t once thought that understanding her own feelings could lead to insights on yours. It makes her more than eager to keep working on herself.

***

It’s still dark out as you stand amidst a sea of runners at the starting line of a 6-miler event being held in Central Park. 

You’ve been looking forward to this the entire week, and have been rigorous in your preparation, getting up at four in the morning just so you can squeeze in your training plan despite a busy schedule at work. Aiming for nothing short of a personal record for this run, you start doing some drills on the side, getting your heart up to speed and your muscles warm. It’s a relatively cold morning, a long-sleeved shirt provides just the right amount of warmth, and the leggings you wear are rather thick, but still offer flexibility with every stride.

As you’re nearing the end of your warm-up, a familiar silhouette approaches you, their features barely discernible in the dim lighting.

“What did you tell her? Did you tell her to stay away from me?” The voice demands, causing you to straighten up. Kate maintains a jog in place, looking rather uncomfortable in her windrunner, but it’s obvious that the scowl she’s wearing has nothing to do with the freezing temperatures.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, your breath forming a visible fog as you speak.

“Yelena initiated a transfer to another team,” she mutters impatiently. “And she requested a different mentor as well.”

The blaring sound of the alarm kicks off the countdown before they release the runners. Runners around you start to position themselves, their focus shifting to the commencement of the race. 

"Yelena did what? I... I had no idea..." you say absentmindedly, your voice tapering off as you feel a sudden jostle from someone pushing past you in the queue. Honestly, you don’t understand what’s so concerning about Yelena making changes in her career.

“She’s putting her career in jeopardy. First of all, everyone on her new team is going to treat her as a competition because despite being a junior, she has already won an industry award. They'll be gunning for her, ready to undermine her success. And to make matters worse, her new mentor lacks the journalistic expertise she deserves. He's essentially the epitome of political maneuvering within the company.” Kate bombards you with her reasoning, just as the starting gun pierces the air, signaling that the 6-miler has started. 

“Y/N! Are you even listening–”

On instinct, your feet hit the pavement in quick, measured steps, leaving Kate just a few meters behind as you stare blankly ahead. You had anticipated the weather and conditions of this race; what you didn’t see coming was finding out that in an effort to safeguard your relationship, Yelena had taken drastic measures, making a move that you had neither requested or approved of. Not that she needs your approval on such things, but you didn’t want to be the reason if it happens that the recent developments derails her career. And seeing how Kate has been nothing but respectful of Yelena’s decision to be with you and stay friends with her, it’s quite unthinkable for Yelena to do such a thing. 

Though what’s troubling you the most is the realization that she's willing to make such sacrifices very early on, believing you to be deserving of them. Deep down, you find it hard to accept such unwavering dedication from her—or from anyone, for that matter.

As you push your body forward, immersed in the run, you fail to check your watch and follow your pace. Lost in your own thoughts, the race passes by in a blur, and before you know it, Kate is emerging from out of nowhere, sprinting all of a sudden to finish ahead of you. You both cross the finish line a mere five seconds apart. 

As the organizing team places the coveted finisher's medal around your neck, you duck your head in humble acceptance before making a beeline for the hydration stations. The cool liquid cascades down your throat, replenishing your parched body after the arduous race. Kate trails closely behind, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Y/N," Kate calls out through the post-race commotion. She regrets a little that she attempted to outpace you, pushing herself beyond her intended limits in a bid to reach the finish line ahead. Glancing at your watch, a smile unconsciously graces your lips as its record of your run confirms that you have indeed beaten your personal best. With the task of reaching your goal out of the way, you turn to Kate and finally acknowledge her.

“I’m sorry, I was aiming for a specific finish time,” you murmur as your smile turns strained. “I didn’t mean to literally run away from the conversation earlier.”

"It's all good," Kate gasps, a hint of discomfort evident in her voice as she tries to catch her breath. "But seriously, how on earth are you able to carry on a conversation like nothing happened? You just ran that entire distance at an incredible pace!"

You offer a lighthearted chuckle. “What do you mean? You beat me at the finish line!”

"Yeah, and look where it got me," Kate mumbles, her words punctuated by labored breathing. "I think I’m gonna pass out…"

“Whoa, there,” you stammer, concern flickering across your face as you reach out, gently grasping her elbow to guide her away from the bustling crowd. Kate allows herself to be led to a quieter spot where she can find some relief. Then, to alleviate the tightness in her breathing, she unzips her jacket, allowing fresh air to circulate and provide some respite.

"So, about Yelena..." you say, finding a bench and settling down in a cross-legged position. The weight of the news still lingers, leaving you unsure of where to begin.

"I assume you two have talked about me and..." Kate gestures wildly with her hands.

"We did," you affirm. "And if my memory serves me right, I simply suggested for her to give you some space.”

"Dude, why would I need space? What more space could I ask for since she moved out of our place?" Kate retorts, sounding slightly exasperated.

The word "our" catches your attention. It’s exactly why you think Kate needs space. Now that you’re aware of the depth of her feelings for your girlfriend, it’s not hard to spot the subtle clues she unknowingly reveals by the way she talks about Yelena. Your concern for her trumps the slight jealousy you feel knowing someone else is blatantly in love with your partner.

"Have you spoken to her?" you inquire, choosing to overlook her rants.

"Not exactly," Kate sighs. "I think she's upset with me for carelessly letting slip that we were friends with benefits."

"I'll have a word with her," you assure, offering Kate an extra sports drink you picked up from the station.

"I'd appreciate that," Kate replies, casually uncapping the drink and taking a prolonged sip. "Her career means the world to her. If she's not willing to reconsider, then I'll submit my resignation first thing tomorrow."

"No, Kate, you don't need to do that.”

Kate dismisses your worry with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "I'm wealthy," she states as if it's a mere fact. "I don't really need a job. I just need something to keep me busy."

Wanda finishes the same 6-miler event in record time. She notes that only a small number of female participants managed to run faster than her. In her mind, she's certain she could've overtaken them if she had kept up a steady training regimen. The reality is, Wanda only rekindled her interest in running when she started therapy. Calliope suggested that exercise releases natural endorphins that boost physical energy and mental focus throughout the day.

And besides, it felt oddly comforting to partake in a hobby that her ex-wife used to thoroughly enjoy, even if it's no longer an activity you both share. Running is one of those bridges to you that she wishes to maintain, an unbroken connection that she can enjoy privately, without the worry of hurting anyone in the process. A somewhat delicate balance between holding on and letting you go. Wanda used to think that her love for you had nowhere to go, but in learning to love herself, she had discovered that she can unearth traces of you–even in the tiniest moments that paint life with vibrant hues. Love doesn’t go away–it simply transforms. 

After quietly dedicating her medal to you, Wanda’s about to start her post-run stretch, when she is interrupted by a soft touch on her shoulder.

"Excuse me?"

With a quick turn, Wanda shifts her attention to the person behind her. It’s the customer from a few days ago, the one with the captivating deep brown eyes. She instantly recalls how this woman had oddly requested a 'surprise me' drink, prompting a warm smile to spread across Wanda's face.

"It's you!" Wanda exclaims, recognizing the woman as she rearranges her ponytail into a messy bun.

“Yup, it’s me,” The woman mutters with a grin, delighted to run into Wanda at this event. “I couldn’t help but notice, you're fast enough to clock a mile in under seven minutes.”

"You think so?" Wanda replies, her cheeks warming up at the unexpected compliment.

She nods at Wanda with an infectious enthusiasm. “I’m actually a co-founder of a running club. We're mostly from Queens and Brooklyn. How about joining us?”

Wanda couldn't recall the last time she had been involved in a group or community outside of work. The thought of meeting new people–individuals that share a common interest and goal–fills her with childlike excitement.

“Oh, I would love to!” Wanda exclaims. “How often do you guys meet?”

Wanda listens attentively as the woman gives her a rundown of their weekly group runs and the list of running events they had decided to join as a group.

The woman then extends her hand towards Wanda. "By the way, I'm Valkyrie, but just call me Val."

Grasping Val's hand, Wanda feels the warmth from her palm seeping into hers. “I’m–”

"Wanda. I know," Valkyrie interrupts, winking at her slyly before releasing her hand. Just as Wanda is about to respond, the sound of your voice captures her attention, taking her by surprise.

“Wanda?”

Wanda's smile trembles slightly, the vulnerability in her eyes betraying her surprise as she hears her name uttered by you. All week long, Wanda had put up walls, deciding not to contact you in an attempt to make it easier to bear the ache of missing you. But the opposite proved true. The act of holding back only amplified the very thing she’s been trying to avoid.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly turns to face you, trying her best to appear casual, “Y/N!”

Your face lights up at the confirmation that it’s indeed Wanda that you’ve spotted in the crowd. 

Leaving Kate momentarily, you dart towards Wanda.

“Hey! Did you run too?” you inquire as you reach her, slightly breathless. “I didn’t spot you on the course at all.”

Wanda feels a sudden surge of self-consciousness, awkwardly sweeping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, not from the exertion of the run, but from the self-awareness that she's soaked in sweat. She fights the urge to take a quick sniff of herself in front of you. “I, uh, started near the front, so you might have missed me,” she says, clasping her hands together, trying to hide the lingering dampness that clings to her skin.

"Damn, I completely forgot how insanely athletic you are," you say in genuine awe. "You must have crossed that finish line way ahead of me."

Barging in your conversation, Kate clears her throat pointedly from behind you.

"Oh, this is Kate," you quickly introduce, gesturing to your friend standing nearby.

"Kate Bishop," Kate reaches out her hand, giving a short, somewhat awkward wave.

Wanda reciprocates the gesture, mimicking Kate's awkward wave.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Wanda," Wanda says with a friendly smile, and then remembers as well that she has company herself. "Oh, and guys, this is..."

“Valkyrie. But everyone just calls me 'Val',” Valkyrie chimes in, finishing the introduction herself. Your eyebrows raise slightly as you take in the newcomer, realizing that you don't recognize her from anywhere. Wanda's circle of friends has always been small, and your mind is quickly consumed with thoughts of how they met.

“You and Wanda…?” you find yourself asking, unable to stop the question before it tumbles out.

“We, uh–”

“We’re–”

Wanda and Valkyrie both start to speak at the same time, before sharing a laugh, while you manage to maintain a tight smile on your face.

Breaking the brief silence, Valkyrie takes charge of the conversation. "I met her at the cafe earlier this week. I didn't know she'd be here too, so I asked her to join my running club."

Kate jumps in with a teasing tone, "Meet cute," causing you to whip your head towards her, a grave expression on your face.

“Y/N, you should come along too,” Wanda suggests enthusiastically, before quickly realizing that it wasn't her place to invite. She turns apologetically towards Valkyrie, “I mean if you're looking for more people. Y/N is pretty fast–”

“Not as fast as you,” you say to Wanda.

“–and really committed to running. Her consistency and work ethic is nothing short of impressive.” Wanda finishes coyly.

Valkyrie eyes you up and down skeptically, her gaze sweeping over your toned body, particularly over your calves and thighs as she makes her assessment based solely on your physical looks.

“If Wanda’s vouching, then I trust her,” Valkyrie says, shifting closer to Wanda, her hand lightly touching Wanda's arm.

A surge of discomfort stirs within you as you witness their interaction. You decide right away that you don’t like this Valkyrie person. Something about her just rubs you the wrong way.

“Wanda, can I have a word with you?” you ask, not managing to keep the sharpness out of your voice.

At your words, Kate looks at you expectedly, but you're too preoccupied watching your former spouse to notice it.

"Sure," Wanda agrees, slightly taken aback by your sudden request. As you both excuse yourselves, the pair of you weave through the bustling crowd, Wanda falling into step beside you.

You can't help but steal glances at Wanda as you both walk side by side, her striking profile softened by the warm sunlight bathing the park. You can feel the curious eyes of both Valkyrie and Kate following you from a distance, their watchful gazes prompting you to maintain a respectable distance between you and Wanda.

Once you've found a less crowded area, you pivot to face her, trying to marshal your thoughts into coherent words. Yet before you can speak, Wanda preempts you.

“I’m sorry I never replied to your last text,” Wanda blurts out as soon as you both come to a stop. “I was on my way to the cafe when you... and then I just forgot about it, and I only realized I left you on read the next day–"

"Wanda, it's fine," you interrupt gently, smiling softly as you observe her anxious rambling. "There's no need to apologize. Life gets hectic, and we all have those moments. How is Sparky by the way?" 

“He's in better condition and has adapted to his new diet. I no longer have to force him to eat, which is definitely an improvement.” Wanda says.

“That’s a relief,” you say faintly. “I'd be more than happy to help out and take him in from time to time.”

“Yes, he'd really appreciate that,” Wanda affirms with a nod. “And I-I would, too.”

A ripple of nervous laughter passes between you before Wanda redirects the conversation back to your intended topic. "So, what was it you wanted to discuss? Is there something on your mind?" she inquires.

You swallow hard,  the growing anxiety clouding your ability to articulate your thoughts. Then, a sudden spark of inspiration kindles your mind. "T-The club," you stutter, snapping your fingers as though you've just recollected a vital detail. "What's the story there? Can anyone join?"

“Val didn’t mention anything specific. But it seems like a private group. Perhaps it's by invitation?” Wanda suggests.

“And you think it's okay for me to be part of it?" you ask, uncertain.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

You shrug, your thoughts circling back to Valkyrie's smug expression and her tendency to invade Wanda's personal space. You couldn't help but sense that Valkyrie's interest in Wanda extended beyond recruiting a fast runner to the group.

And isn't it quite the coincidence that she bumped into Wanda at this particular event?

It just…doesn’t sit well for you. 

(Or perhaps your trust issues are a lot worse than you think.)

"I don't think she's thrilled about me joining," you say. Wanda gives you a baffled look that you’ve always found so endearing.

“You can’t be serious,” Wanda dismisses. “We've just met her today, so I think it’s a little weird if she doesn’t like you.”

You consider challenging her perspective, but instead you offer a polite smile, keeping your reservations to yourself.

"I'll tell you what," Wanda proposes, "If you don’t join the club, I won’t either."

"Wanda–"

"I'm serious, I'd feel out of place if I didn't know anyone there–"

"I'm not sure," you retort, nonchalantly shrugging. "You seem to have hit it off with Valerie."

"Valkyrie," Wanda corrects softly, a suspicion in her gaze, as if she's attempting to decipher a riddle she can't quite solve. "Not really. I just met her the other day. She doesn't even frequent the cafe.”

“Not yet," you mumble quietly, your words barely audible. “Alright. Inform me about the training schedule and location and I'll make an effort to attend.”

“I'll do that,” she agrees, and the two of you lapse into comfortable silence.

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Wanda questions after a while.

"Sort of. I mean, it was getting crowded over there, and I wanted to say congratulations," you explain, a bashful smile gracing your face.

“Same to you, Y/N,” Wanda finds herself whispering the words–as if caught up in a romantic comedy movie scene, with a montage of breezy moments where the best parts of life simply pass by. It’s a feeling that’s becoming hard to escape whenever you’re around, even under ordinary circumstances; just you–with no makeup on, smelling of sweat and grass and soil–seems to just captivate her so.

“Come on,” she says and unwittingly takes your hand, biting her lip the second she realizes the contact she initiated. But she couldn't simply drop your hand as if she had been scorched.

As you near the spot where you'd left Kate and Valkyrie, you pull your hand free from Wanda's grip. Taking a deep breath, Wanda briefly manages to suppress the sting of rejection that grips her.

"So, sorted everything out?" Kate teases, her tone slightly acerbic as she addresses you privately. You can tell that she likely knows who Wanda is and can perceive the undercurrent of tension. Taking a casual walk with Wanda, especially with Kate around, might not have been the best decision, but you rationalize that you're not doing anything wrong.

You shoot Kate a dirty look in return, then bid goodbye to Wanda and Valkyrie.

"Catch you later, Y/N," Valkyrie throws in, her smirk conspicuous as she speaks just before you can head in the opposite direction.

***

You make it home just in time for breakfast. Yelena has ordered bagels and coffee, but her culinary abilities are also on display, illustrated by her recent success in frying bacon to the perfect crisp, steering clear of the usual outcome of a charred mess.

"Hey, baby, how was your run?" Yelena asks while setting up the breakfast spread on the dining table.

"I broke my personal best," you report to her, your face lighting up with pride. Swiftly, you begin to strip off your sweaty running clothes, heading towards the bedroom for a much-needed shower.

In just a few minutes, you step out of the bedroom with a towel slung over your neck, dressed in a threadbare shirt and nothing but your underwear. Your stomach rumbles loudly in anticipation of food. Yelena chuckles at your evident hunger and begins spreading cream cheese on your bagel while you add milk and sugar to your cup of coffee and hers.

"By the way," you begin tentatively, aware that it might be premature to broach what Kate had revealed to you. Nonetheless, you recognize the necessity of addressing the issue sooner rather than later. "Kate was there too, for the 6-miler. She... shared something with me that I think you should have discussed with me first. Something about a team transfer at work?"

Yelena's body stiffens noticeably, and she remains frozen for a brief moment. Her eyes betray a sense of uncertainty as she absorbs your words. But, after a few quick blinks, she collects herself and passes you your bagel on a plate.

“There's some truffle and honey in the fridge if you want to add them to yours,” Yelena offers.

An obvious deflection.

"Did you hear what I said? I said Kate–”

"Kate really ought to stop broadcasting every detail of my life whenever she has an opportunity,” Yelena mutters coldly.

“Don’t be mad at her. She was doing what she thought was right–”

“She had no right to meddle!” Yelena yells, her voice escalating, startling you with the sudden outburst. Her emotional fervor is more intense than you've ever seen, leaving you taken aback. 

“She’s just worried about you,” you respond, striving to keep your voice calm to temper the situation. "But why didn't you tell me? We had an understanding that you didn't need to push her out of your life for me."

“Because it's my career–my choice,” Yelena insists, her tone unyielding. She is steadfast in her independence.

But her independence isn't the issue here. You’ve always been proud of how she can handle herself.

"Telling me about it isn’t an invitation for me to control you in any way, Yelena," you assure her. "I just wish you had enough faith in me to share the things that matter deeply to you. I care about you, and it stings a bit to be left out of these aspects of your life."

Yelena grows quiet at that, her fingers closing around her mug tightly as she processes your words and what it means for your relationship.

Trust.

It’s not that she doesn’t trust you enough–

“I feel guilty,” Yelena admits in a soft murmur, so faint that you strain to catch her words. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about how I've treated Kate, starting from when she confessed her feelings to me, right up until we started dating. Despite us being together, Kate and I remained close at work. We'd take lunch and breaks together, and we'd even take turns buying each other coffee, depending on who got to the office first…”

"It's like... I've been leading her on, you know? I've never given her the chance to get over me. I've come to realize that the feelings she had for me back then... they're still there, maybe even stronger than before. I can't keep messing with her emotions like that," Yelena confesses, sipping her coffee as if seeking solace in the soothing warmth of the drink.

You nod, the pieces finally starting to fall into place. “Did you talk to Kate about this? Or did you just cut her off?”

The guilty look that flashes across Yelena's face tells you everything you need to know.

“She thinks you're angry with her because she told me about... about what happened between you two,” you say, still a little uncomfortable bringing up the past.

Yelena lets out a sigh, her shoulders sagging. “I've been handling this Kate situation all wrong, haven't I?”

“Just talk to her,” you advise gently. Getting up from your chair, you walk over to Yelena and start massaging her tense shoulders. “She said that she would rather quit her job than let you transfer to another team and mentor."

“Really?” Yelena sounds surprised. “Did she mean it?”

"I'm not sure," you reply, shrugging your shoulders. "She simply mentioned that she's rich.”

“She’s grossly rich,” Yelena confirms, letting out a content sigh as you find a particularly tight knot in her muscle. "But she loves journalism. I won’t let her quit something she's passionate about.”

You recognize the irony in Yelena's last sentence but decide to remain silent on the matter.

“By the way, Wanda was there too,” you say carefully, watching Yelena's reaction closely. “She crossed the finish line way before me, I think. She was with a friend.”

Yelena's response is evasive, offering no real insight. "That's nice for her," she remarks, keeping her emotions well in check.

You quickly change the topic, feeling somewhat foolish for bringing up something she apparently doesn't care about, even though you were simply trying to be open and honest. You decide to avoid mentioning your ex-wife for the time being.

“Anyhow,” you segue, hoping to direct the conversation in a new direction, “Would you like to join me for my next fun run?”

“Me? Up and running at four in the morning? That's about as likely as snow in the Sahara,” Yelena replies, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “I'll just use a line from my favorite show,” she quips, her laugh filling the room. “‘Jogging is the worst, Y/N! I mean, I know it keeps you healthy. But God, at what cost?’”

Your mouth forms a small 'o' as you consider your response, feeling slightly let down that she isn't even slightly tempted to join you. “To be fair, jogging and running are not the same thing. Running recruits a different muscle group–”

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Yelena cuts in, a mischievous glint in her eyes as her hand delicately finds the back of your neck. She draws you nearer until your lips are tantalizingly close. “Keep doing what you love, baby,” she murmurs, her breath brushing over your partially opened lips. “And I'll continue pursuing mine.” Then she claims your lips in a deep kiss.

Your body instinctively melts into her touch, your hand gently tracing the curve of Yelena's waist, sending a shiver racing down her spine.

"I've got a better idea for a workout that doesn't involve clothes but might be more fun," Yelena suggests with a breathless laugh, stepping back slightly.

A playful smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth as you pull your shirt over your head.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife | @justagurlwholikes

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

[whatbigotspost]

What I wish I could get people who didn’t grow up in highly controlled, abusive environments to understand is that when the very people who are forming you are really fucked up and bad, you are FULLY incapable of knowing that as a kid.

You’re not capable of “damn my dad is really not ok” or “mom is toxic” for a long time. It’s years and years of “this is life. That is my dad. That’s my mom. It’s just how it is.” It often takes PAINFUL moments of realization to get to even questioning if your life isn’t normal. In fact, in my experience, it takes many painful moments to eventually get you there. Someone at school making fun of your parents, for example. Or some outside caring adult noticing things they seem worried about w/ you. Or a particularly extreme incident of abuse that shakes you. Or reading/hearing someone recount abuse they survived and you get the sick realization it’s like a mirror for you.

When your primary caregivers are your means of survival, your brain wraps you in many many many protective layers of denial and whatever the fuck else it needs to so that you can get through it. Many folks like myself will spend more time healing ourselves as adults from our childhood than we spent in the childhood of trauma itself.

Also, let’s be real, an implication I’m making here is that a lot of folks don’t even pick at the thread of “was I abused?” because it’s too overwhelming all together. Or even “was my childhood kinda fucked up?”

Spoiler alert. If your childhood was kinda fucked up, it’s better, in the long run, to acknowledge and address that. Anyway, this is my characteristically long winded way of wanting to recommend some books on the subject that I have found deeply relatable and meaningful:

•Jeanette McCrurdy’s memoir I’m Glad My Mom Died: If you’d be up for an unflinching look at a deeply difficult childhood that includes physical, sexual, and emotional abuse and neglect and disordered eating in the Disney-universe, this is your read. Thinking about what McCurdy has had to overcome chills me to my core but the feelings she shares in words felt deeply relatable and I know they will help many.

•Ashley Ford’s memoir Somebody’s Daughter: I’m biased to love her because she’s a fellow Hoosier but you will love her too. Incredibly well written and deeply moving, Ford’s memoir covers her childhood with an abusive mother, a father in jail for rape, and survivorship of her own rape, as well as her place thriving now. She offers us such meaningful processing of her story. (And just writing style wise, this one is a mega fave.)

•Grace Cho’s memoir Tastes Like War: this one is a deep dive into Cho’s upbringing with a mother (who like one of my parents) has schizophrenia. I found her account of having a first hand seat to a parent’s mental health decline too relatable. The components of her story that focus on her mom’s experience of war and immigrating from Korea and the role that Korean food plays in their lives, are moving beyond words.

•Tara Westover’s memoir Educated: having been raised in a very isolated, survivalist Mormon family and tiny community in Idaho, Westover shares her personal story of a quest for escape and education. Although my family was nowhere nearly so unusual and isolated as Westover’s, I feel what she chronicles will highly resonate with anyone raised by someone who seeks to keep you away from “mainstream influences” or who is any level of survivalist.

Obviously, these are heavy reads and DO NOT check them out if you don’t feel in the right headspace. Each one moved me to tears multiple times. But if your awful/strange childhood and leaving it (them) behind makes you feel alone trust me YOU ARE NOT ALONE ❤️

I also recommend these reads for anyone who wants to see at an anecdotal level what are experiences of people raised in highly abusive environments and/or raised by parents struggling with mental illnesses and/or people raised in high control situations. Chances are you know/love someone who fits that description and you may gain helpful insights.

#abuse #rape #mental illness #child abuse #neglect #resources

[yournameloveskpop]

Jealousy

Paring: Lee Know x Reader

Style: SFW, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Friendship

Word count: 743

Summery: Lee Know gets jealous over Hyunjin and Y/N closeness to the point he needs to leave for fresh air. Hyunjin suggests that y/N follows after him.

Minho's gaze lingered on y/n and Hyunjin, a mix of emotions swirling within him. He tried to focus on the conversation around him, but his attention kept drifting back to them. They were close, too close for his liking. Hyunjin's laughter echoed in his ears, and the sight of him being so tactile with y/n made Minho's heart clench uncomfortably.

A flash of annoyance crossed his face when Hyunjin casually wrapped an arm around y/n's waist, pulling her in for a selfie. His lips brushed her cheek in a playful peck, and that was the last straw for Minho. He abruptly stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, drawing startled glances from everyone. Without a word, he stormed out of the room, leaving a tense silence behind.

Outside, the cool air did little to calm his racing heart. Minho leaned against the wall, trying to process his feelings. It was no secret among the group that he harbored deep affection for y/n, but he had always kept these emotions to himself, especially around her.

Back inside, Hyunjin nudged y/n gently, a knowing look in his eyes. "You should go check on him," he suggested softly. "He might not say it, but he cares about you a lot."

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then nodded, understanding the unspoken feelings that Minho harbored. With a determined look, she excused herself and headed out to find Minho, hoping to bridge the gap that had formed between them. Y/n approached Minho with caution, her heart pounding in her chest. She found him still leaning against the wall, his figure tense. "Minho?" she called out softly, hoping not to startle him.

He looked up, his expression initially hard. "What are you doing here, y/n?" His voice had an edge, but his eyes betrayed a warmth that contradicted his words.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay," she replied, stepping closer. "You seemed upset."

Minho scoffed lightly, trying to maintain his composure. "I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me."

Y/n noticed the strain in his voice, realizing that there was more to his feelings than he was letting on. "Minho, talk to me. What's going on?"

He hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. "It's just... seeing you with Hyunjin. It's hard, you know?"

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. She had always sensed a certain tension from Minho, but she hadn't realized the depth of his feelings. "Minho, I..."

Before she could finish, Minho's emotions overflowed. "It's like I'm invisible to you whenever he's around. You’re with him all the time and I can't stand it, y/n. I can't..."

Not knowing how else to respond, y/n stepped forward and gently pressed her lips against his, silencing his words. The kiss was soft and tentative, a question more than a statement.

Minho froze for a moment, stunned. Then, slowly, he began to respond, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her closer. The kiss deepened, filled with the pent-up emotions he had been holding back.

Meanwhile, back with the group, everyone turned to look at Hyunjin. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken questions.

"Did you know about this?" Changbin asked, his eyes wide.

Hyunjin just shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I had a hunch," he admitted. "But I wasn't sure until now."

"Wow, I didn't see that coming," Felix commented, his eyes still fixed on the door where y/n had exited.

Seungmin nodded in agreement. "They always had a special connection, but I never thought..."

Han chimed in, "Well, it's about time, right? They've been dancing around each other for ages."

The group fell into a speculative chatter, wondering about the implications of this new development in Minho and y/n's relationship.

Back outside, Minho and y/n slowly broke the kiss, each searching the other's face for answers. "I've liked you for a long time, y/n," Minho confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n's heart soared. "I had no idea, Minho. I just thought..."

He cupped her face gently, his gaze intense but full of affection. "No more thinking. Let's just be here, together."

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world around them fading into the background. It was a new beginning for both of them, a chance to explore what had been hidden in their hearts for so long.

#stray kids lee know #stray kids minho #lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know x female reader #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x you #lino x reader #skz lee know #skz minho #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x female reader #stray kids x female reader

[with-love-from-hell]

Neverending Nights

written for Gn!Mc (you/yours)

genre: hurt/comfort

pairing: Mammon x MC (can be seen as platonic/friendship)

Cw: depression implication, self-loathing, FOMO, rejection sensitivity, reader is gn but coded as shorter than Mammon.

"I sincerely apologize, Mc, but I will have to postpone our date tonight." Lucifer sighed, rubbing his temple. "Diavolo urgently needs me at the castle to review RAD's cost analyses and approve a budget for next quarter- especially considering the cost for repairs has been much more significant this quarter."

"That's ok." You mumble mournfully. "I understand."

Lucifer winces, feeling the disappointment glaring through in your tone of voice. "I do hope you know I will be making this up to you ten fold when I have the opportunity, Mc."

You smile weakly before wishing him luck at his meeting and returning to your room. It didn't hurt- at least, not at first. Lucifer was always busy- it couldn't be helped, after all. Besides, he always made due on his promise to reschedule your quality time together- all the brothers did. They valued your time...right?

"Sorry Mc, I'm at a photoshoot with Devilstyle right now! Talk later, mmkay? <3"

"I'm at a banquet to honor one of my close associates. Maybe tomorrow?"

"MC! I'm currently in line at the music shop on Dogma Street! Surce Frenzy is here signing autographs. Can you believe it?! The line is so long though...I probably wont be back until morning LOL!"

"Fangol practice is running late. I won't be home for awhile..."

"Too...tired..."

Tears begin to well up behind your eyes. Even your friends at Purgatory Hall were all out together at a movie without even thinking to invite you... The breaking point, though, was the fact that Mammon didn't bother to respond to your texts at all.

Your stomach feels heavy as you set your phone to the side. Every rejection from your found family replayed in your head on a loop. Part of you was sure it was a coincidence that they all happened to be too busy for you right now, and that this is just what happens from time to time. Another part of you, though, was reminded of all the other times you were cast aside, ignored, forgotten, and rejected by others.

Your kind weren't exactly cruel to you, but there was a sense of belonging shared amongst humans that you just didn't really feel with very many of them. And part of you was convinced that they felt it too, which is why you often felt left out of...well...everything during your time there, and why the Devildom, and the friends you made here, had felt so much more like home to you.

But now, here you lay- curled into yourself in the corner of your bed. The same hurt from back then worming its way from your stomach, to your heart, and up through your throat. Your entire body felt tight and tense; the only catharsis it allowed was from the shuddered breaths and muffled cries that escaped your lips. Darkness shrouded your vision, not even the light from your phone was enough to permeate it. The blanket you've surrounded yourself with closes further and further in on you, slowly making its way over your face and shielding you from the outside.

Had you done something wrong? Maybe you unintentionally said something insulting about one of them and it spread around the group. Did they all hate you now? Maybe your "new shiny object" charm wore off, and they were bored of you- like when a child gets a bunny for Easter and their parents end up getting rid of it after a month because they lost interest. Or maybe you were never really interesting to begin with. They could have been faking it, just to get on Diavolo's good side. Or maybe they were using you...There definitely was evidence to suggest that could be the case. So they'll come back when they need something again...But maybe they never will? Maybe they'll send you back to the human world and forget all about you...

The thoughts hurled their way through your mind rapidly. Somehow, you managed to sift through what you thought to be the plethora of evidence that supported each one of your theories. It didn't make sense for all of them to be correct of course, but you believed it was more likely than sheer coincidence. How else would it explain why Mammon and Belphie just ignored your messages?

You tighten your grip on the blanket you bundled yourself into, pulling the fabric down over your eyes. The self-deprecation and rejections replayed in your thoughts like a broken record. The inside of your mind was so loud, you barely heard the sound of your door flinging open and slamming against the wall.

...barely.

"Oi, human! I just got back from winnin' big at the Casino. Ya won't believe how much I got this time!" Mammon quipped loudly as he strolled into the dark room. The light from the hall spilled in, illuminating your lumpy figure under the blankets. Mammon cocked his head to the side as he noticed you, fiddling with a small box that he was hiding behind his back.

You don't reply, only curl into yourself further, praying for him to go away. You were certain that he was only here to brag, and hadn't even glanced at the message you sent him about wanting to spend time together. Clearly, the Casino and his greed meant more to him. He was a demon, after all.

"Aye! I'm talking to you, Human! This aint no time to be sleepin'! C'mon!" Mammon paused his movements as he reaches the edge of your bed. His brow now furrowed with a mixture of confusion, irritation, and concern. After you don't respond a second time, his anxiety begins to spike.

"What, are ya sick or somethin'?" Mammon shakes you a little to roughly with one hand, but the action becomes more gentle when he finally hears your sniffling, despite your best attempts to hide it. "Hey...what'sa matter?"

You shake your head enough to where you're sure he can see the movement from beneath the covers, but still say nothing. Mammon's frown deepens on his face, now heavily concerned with whatever had you to the point of tears.

"Did someone..? I swear if anyone dared lay a damn hand on ya, their head would be mounted on The Great Mammon's wall!" He growls protectively. Mammon squeezes your shoulder gently, but is taken aback when you swat his hands away.

"G-go away." You mutter.

Mammon blinks, taking a minute to process what he'd heard you say. "Huh?"

"I said: Go. Away." Your voice is louder as you snap at him, finally revealing your face from underneath the blanket cocoon you had nestled your woe into.

Mammon's eyes widen at the state of your tear-stained face. "Hey now...I ain't goin' anywhere 'til you tell me what's eatin' ya."

You sigh, folding yourself back under the blankets without another word. Mammon stands there, confused, trying to think of what to do. Clearly you weren't going to make him leave, despite saying you wanted to be alone. For a minute he ponders what could have you so upset. After his mind continues to draw blanks, he pulls out his phone, trying to see if you had maybe left any clues in the group chat. After reading through the innumerable messages declining the request to spend time with you and you're dejected "that's ok..." in response, he begins to put the pieces together.

"I'm here now, Mc..." Mammon clears his throat, sitting at the edge of your bed. "So...er...we can hang out, if ya want..."

Again, you don't reply to him. The only thing swimming through your mind now is the pity he must feel for you, seeing you like this. He probably thinks you're pathetic.

Mammon shifts his jaw. He hadn't often seen you in a state like this, but something about being lonely must have set you off. He thinks back to all of the times he himself had been lonely, and everyone else was too busy for him. The difference for him, though, was he found comfort in greed- that was his way of feeling less lonely. The casino, the horse track, and even online gambling dens were crowded with demons. Sure, many of them would roll their eyes at him or make snide remarks when he passed them by, but at least he wasn't alone.

He lets out a sigh, fidgeting with the box in his hand. "I'm sorry Mc. I didn't know you were so lonely. If I woulda known, I'd've come right home and skipped the Casino..." He pauses, glancing at your form that lay hidden underneath the blankets. "..but, I also wouldn't've been able to get ya this."

You barely have time to register what he says before a box is shoved into your face. You blink a few times before carefully taking it out of his hands. You swipe the blankets away from your face, taking the chance to study Mammon's intentions. You were surprised again to see him blushing, now turning his head away from you. With an uncertain breath, you open the box. A small gasp escapes your lips, and you snap your attention back to Mammon, who's blush seemed to have spread to his ears.

Inside the box is two sparkly gold necklaces, the heart-shaped pendants appear to be two halves that connect in the center with a magnet, showing that the wearer of each has a "half" of the other person's. "Partners in Crime" is spelled out in black cursive when the pendants are connected to each other. The gift seems befitting of a pair of middle schoolers who labeled each other as best-friends.

But as juvenile as the gift was in theory, you couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Mammon...this is very sweet."

"Yeah, yeah..." Mammon cleared his throat, trying to hid the reddness deepening on his cheeks. "I- uh- just got it so that other demons wouldn't mess with ya, not cuz I got a crush on ya or somethin'... If they see us wearin' the same necklace, they'll know you belong to the Great Mammon!"

For some reason, the comment doesn't phase you. If he'd said something like that 10 minutes ago, you would have been convinced he wanted nothing to do with you, but the gesture of the gift and the adorable flustered state he was in was proof enough that he cared about you...so much so that he went out of his way to pick up a good quality set of jewelry for you both to wear together with his winnings from his gambling. Instead of acknowledging his words, you hug him tightly.

"I...uh..." Mammon interrupted your thoughts, looking down at you with a sheepish smile on his face. "I still got some money left over from my winnings...did ya wanna order a pizza and watch some movies? I ain't got anythin' to do for the rest of the night and-"

"That sounds perfect." You smile warmly up at him. "Thank you."

Mammon finally returns your hug, squeezing you tightly. "Good. You ain't goin' anywhere cuz I got ya all to myself now, ya got that?! And...no more cryin' like that either...The Great Mammon's gonna make all yer problems go away!!"

You let out a small laugh, nuzzling into his chest. "Sure, Mammon..Sure."

#obey me! #obey me mammon #mammon #mammon x reader #gn!reader #gn!mc #mammon x mc #hurt/comfort #OM!

[roomsofangel]

. . BY YOUR SIDE / DESTROY YOU

# CHAPTER TWO !

synopsis in which you were always the type to push down and never confront your past and the feelings that came with it — all of the pain and regret. but now you’re back at where it all started, having no choice but to face it and feel everything all at once

warnings y/n has a panic attack but its not detailed, only showing an implication that she is but the scene ends before it goes further

wc 1.4k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ^_^

you stretched out your body as someone would an old childhood shirt, bones cracking and falling into a more comfortable place with a quiet satisfied groan before rolled your shoulders back, looking around at the warehouse that was an agreed upon meeting destination. the nostalgia weighed heavy, you could swear you saw droplets of memories splattered around the scene outside and you cringed.

as if your mind was being read, you felt a warm calloused hand on your shoulder, “yeah. me too.” you glanced to see seonghwa who had a similar gaze that mirrored yours, lips pressed together in an attempt to give you a thin lipped but reassuring smile before he patted your back and continued on with his bass that was in his hand, resting in its own case.

part of you wanted to change your mind, but music was your passion. even when things fell apart back then, you still craved music and the arts of being on stage again someday kept you going. however ever since him, you struggled making a name for yourself after. for your own band after he left.

sometimes you could still taste the smoke if you focused hard enough but hongjoong snaps you into reality with a few calls of your name, you follow shortly after with an unsettling feeling in your stomach. just ignore it. you didn’t eat today so that could be it. just ignore it.

“you okay?” mingi noticed your discomfort, his voice a bit lower to keep the conversation between the two of you as he put his drumsticks in his back pocket and you nodded in response. “yeah, just nostalgic.” and he hummed, laughing a bit as a response as the two of you started to walk again to catch up with seonghwa and hongjoong. “yeah.. i feel that.”

you returned the small laugh, looking ahead and watching how hongjoong and seonghwa talked and looked at each other with stars in their eyes even after all these years, even after the three years all of you separated. at times, it feels as if none of you parted ways for that long. you could feel the lump in your throat, but you swallowed it down harshly and kept going. “so, we set up here and then what?” mingi’s voice prompted when the two of you made it to the others

“explore a little, we haven’t been on this side of town in.. what? three years?” hongjoong’s features scrunched up when he attempted to recall, seonghwa mumbled a confirmation while he was kneeled over tying his shoe and making sure everything was settled. “a lot has changed, and trapnest wont be here until another hour so we have time.” hongjoong continued

sooner rather than later, you found yourself walking the same streets that you swore you would never even think about again, much less be back where the air is suffocating and your clothes now felt tight. a lot has changed, only the dread stayed the same. it was a bittersweet atmosphere.

“oh! check it out, sakura boutique is still going strong,” seonghwa’s head motioned ahead, your gaze followed to see the light pink and beige clothing boutique where you used to spend some of your time with the owner. you wiped your damp palms on your hands, “crazy, do you think keomi still works there?” mingi asked before pausing to light the cigarette he had between his teeth, covering enough to block the wind with his hand until he lit up and continued walking.

“beats me, its been three years.” seonghwa shrugged, shoving his hands in his jacket’s pockets. you wondered if keomi still did too, but the last time you two talked she was eager on following after your footsteps and had a ticket to leave with you. the guilt was overwhelming, maybe its best to convince yourself she moved a long time ago and there was a new bubbly employee taking her spot.

exhaling the nicotine, mingi chuckled, “we should stop by there sometime.” he voiced his thoughts out loud as you all continued walking, seonghwa muttering a somewhat agreement while hongjoong only nodded to acknowledge the suggestion but not voice if he would be down for the visit or not. sharing a stolen glance with hongjoong, he lifted his finger to his head and swirled his finger to mimic a ‘this guy is crazy’ expression which made you snort, rushing to brush your hand over your mouth in an attempt to cover it up

“what’s so funny back there?” seonghwa teased, glancing towards you and hongjoong who smiled and tilted his head towards mingi who was focused more on looking around at the familiar shops and some if the new ones you assumed came long after all of you left.

the four of you looked around a bit more, deciding to wander around the shopping center you all used to hang out in a little too much that it seemed as if you lived there. and you weren’t sure how you got here, why your feet began to wander further and further away from your group until you walked into the bittersweet record-shop. you cringed at the scent that filled your nose rather then relished in as before, forcing a smile when an employee greeted you.

your manicured nails grazed some of the records, nearly scoffing at seeing a trapnest vinyl propped up with more of their works, noticing how blackstones were scattered around nearby. even now, you were living in someone’s shadow.

“there you are,” seonghwa chuckled, you only smiled in response, setting the vinyl down and giving him a bit more attention. “here i am,” you voiced back with a soft sigh. “can you believe they still have blackstone albums here?” you questioned with a slight smile and head shake, and seonghwa looked where you head motioned towards with your head and smiled

you noticed his eyes graze over and scan the more bigger shrine for trapnest, “used to be us.” he chuckled, his tone playful, “but it’s nice to see people see listen to us even after..” his voice trailed off and you knew exactly what he was referring to. no one liked to talk about it out loud, or even mention it fully unless it was like this and you only nodded.

“where’s mingi and joong?” you asked to steer the conversation into another direction, the two of you starting to walk down more of the aisles and looking around at more of the albums and vinyls. “food court, came to get you.” he replied, fixing his hair back up into the small ponytail he had it in and you nodded, “yeah i could use some food before going back.” you laughed, patting his shoulder and he playfully nudged you to the side causing the two of you to laugh a bit more before your attention faltered and wandered towards a specific part of the store

the lump in your throat was more prominent than ever, heart racing and stomach dropping. “what are you looking at?” seonghwa asked, before he followed your gaze and his face dropped as well as yours had. “y/n, come on,” he tried to drag you away so you didnt hurt yourself more by staring but you shook your arm out of his grasp

you swallowed harshly, unsure of whether it was okay to move yet or if you needed to hold onto something, “did you know?” you managed to croak out and seonghwa shook his head. “none of us did.” he reassured, voice barely audible and you couldn’t rip your eyes off that poster.

it was a band of five, four guys and a girl who you assumed to be the vocalist but your eyes weren’t on her, they couldn’t seem to hold on anyone except one member with a familiar lock necklace that you still had the key to even now, mockingly staring at you.

mouth dry, you blinked away tears and pulled seonghwa along out of the record shop in a haste, and seonghwa didnt hesitate to follow and the two of you walked and walked with no sign of stopping until you got to the food court where you saw concern gazes immediately from hongjoong and mingi when they noticed

“what happened?!” hongjoong asked, bringing you into his arms immediately and you could feel your knees giving up. no no, you cant do this here. why here? why now?

seonghwa looked at mingi and hongjoong, swallowing before speaking, “san is in trapnest.”

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#. .by your side / destroy you𓈒ིུ˚.🎸 #choi san fic #ateez fic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez writing #ateez au #ateez ff #choi san #ateez san #rockstar au #choi san imagines #choi san smut #choi san angst #choi san scenarios #choi san au #choi san x reader #choi san fluff #choi san fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios

[just-jae]

Eddie's crisis

Okay, imma put this out there.

Spoil Mc Noil

My interpretation of Eddie's meltdown was that he was so used to working so hard that the moment he sat down to relax and have fun he had a nervous breakdown. Even before Eddie left the office he was irritable about having no work to do- something that apparently wasn't planned, because normally the neighbors have Eddie deliver all the presents.

This is also hinted to by Frank's comment that he works too hard and Eddie's promotional toy being called "stretched thin Eddie".

Another thing I noted was the fact that the playfellow exhibition apparently found that several characters mostly stay in their buildings. Poppy's never seen outside of the barn, I think Howdy' also rarely outside of the shop. There could be this implication that, out side of scheduled or planned events like the Halloween event, the neighbors don't know how to function outside of their given roles.

Eddie basically broke script when he went to the party and it was like breaking reality itself.

Like how his relationship with Frank probably also breaks the script.

That's how I saw it anyway.

I don't know why people seem to think Eddie's only character trait is talking a lot. Its not even something unique to him. Howdy doesn't shut up when it comes to products, Sally becomes passionate about anything acting related. Julie's like if skittles could talk, and Frank's gotten a bit chatty too about his garden and what-not.

I think Howdy's comment about Eddie talking too much has more to do with the fact that he's not supposed to talk so much. He's the heavy hauler, the hardworker, the mailman, and it seems like not too many neighbors really see him or notice him as a personality. He's just the mailman.

I think its also interesting that Eddie's memory loss seems pretty severe and oddly selective. Like, he can't remember his past, and couldn't remember whether he picked up the phone to answer it or to make a call. Its mentioned that he sometimes forgets to deliver a package, but he can apparently remember what artist Sally was dressed as.

Like-- seriously what's going on with this dude? I suspect some of gis forgetfulness is self-fullfilling, where he easily doubts himself and back petals as soon as something doesn't match up-- he assumes he must have forgotten something or gottensomething wrong, and just ends up "forgetting" bc he has no confidence in his own memories.

Also probably some demon magic but that could explain literally anything.

I think the pea on the plate was meant to represent Eddie. Bc in the dish's description it says not to let any other peas get too close to it. And Frank was wearing a pea-colored shirt. Eddie's sitting on the loveseat, alone, no one else is even visible, and no one comes to talk to him. So it could very well be a message that Eddie's experiance in the neighborhood is a relatively isolated one. Except when it comes to Frank, which isn't supposed to happen.

This could just be a matter of the shows writing, but could also be something special to Eddie, who"s mysterious origin could have something to do with why he's singled out.

#welcome home #eddie dear #march 9th update #awayfrompryingeyes #theory #commentary #observations #wh spoilers

[spnbabe67]

The Simple Act of Breaking Hearts

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: This is pure angst (fucking made me cry writing this), Hurt/No Comfort, Slapping, Cursing, Dean is a belligerent drunk, implications of cheating, implications of child death (nothing graphic)

Summary: After a hunt involving multiple casualties, Dean goes missing. When Tori finds him, words are exchanged and ties are cut. When Dean comes to the following morning, he is forced to face his actions.

Word Count: 1694

Authors Notes: This was inspired by the songs Last Night by Morgan Wallen and Something In the Orange by Zach Bryan

Let me know if y'all want a part two

It had been a hard hunt. None of them had realized that the nest of vamps was working with a demon, and by the time they figured it out, 3 small children were dead and two more, Tori and Sam had sent to the hospital in critical condition. Like always, Dean had taken their deaths the hardest, not to mention Tori herself had a nasty black eye and a gash slicing across her bicep. Despite her protests that she was fine, Dean still insisted on doing the stitches himself. After he'd completed the last stitch, Dean had fled her room. That was two hours ago, and Tori hadn't seen him since. Well, that was until she found him in some rundown tavern just outside Lebanon city limits.

The first thing Tori noticed as she set foot into the bar was the blasting music, followed by the stench of body odor mingling with cheap alcohol. It was nearly enough to make her vomit, and definitely, enough to trigger an ache at the base of her skull from all her senses being assaulted at once. Tori swallowed hard and made her way, weaving through the throng of bodies. It wasn't hard to find Dean, she'd know him anywhere. The hunter she'd lived with, whose clothes she mixed in with hers, the hunter who'd just a week ago shared her bed.  But what she wasn't expecting, was the scantily clad blonde practically curled up in his lap, the two sequestered away in a booth near the back. Tori felt ice flood her veins, making her shiver despite the overwhelming heat in the bar. She licked her lips, huffing an irritated sigh as she walked up to the table.

"Mind if I join you." Tori bit out, ire practically leaking from her body.

If Dean was surprised to see her, then he didn't show it as he spoke. "Actually, I think we do." 

The girl on his lap looked up at Tori with a heavy-lidded gaze from where she had been nuzzling at Deans neck. It took years of masking and self control to keep the rage bubbling up in check and not drag the woman by her bottle blonde hair and throw her to the ground.

"Well to fucking bad, Dean." Tori pulled her eyes away from where the girl was sucking another dark mark against Dean's tanned skin, adding to the myriad of them already littering his skin. "Tell your," Tori ran her tongue over her teeth, "Friend, to go get us another round of drinks."

Tori, pulled a few bills from her pocket, slamming them hard enough onto the table to rattle the empty tumblers and cast a few glances their way. One sharp look from Tori had the onlookers quickly returning to their conversations. The blonde looked at Dean and he leaned in whispering in her ear, nipping at the skin below it before pulling away. The woman crawled over Dean to snatch the bills from the table, sauntering up to the bar.

"What are you doing here, Tori." Dean slurred, knocking back what was left of his drink before slinging an arm over the back of the booth. 

"I'm bringing you home, Dean. We were fucking worried." Tori started, curling her hands into fists to keep the tears that threatened to well up at bay. "Sam was worried. I was worried."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine." Dean snapped back, words sharp as a blade. "You can go tattle to Sam and tell him I'm fine. Peachy even."

"Dean. I love you, and I will not let you drink yourself to death."

Dean chuckled darkly, the sound roiling some uneasy part in Tori's stomach. "Yeah, well the feelin' ain't mutual sweetheart."

And like that, the bottom of Tori's heart fell straight into her stomach. She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head. "You don't mean that."

"I do." Dean shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "What're you  gonna do about it? Cry?"

Tori blinked, eyes blurry with tears. How could he be so fucking cruel? It was sheer will now keeping her from breaking down completely, and even that was beginning to slowly crumble.

"Fuck you, Winchester." Tori spat, clenching her fists so hard she barely registered the blood trickling from where her nails had bit through the flesh of her palms. "You're drunk."

Dean got up from the table, legs unsteady enough for him to place a hand on the table to prevent himself from falling. Tori reached out, but he slapped her hand away. He took a step forward, their chests millimeters from touching. She could smell the alcohol on his breath invading her nose and into her lungs to the point Tori wondered if she could get drunk if she breathed deep enough. 

"And you're a nothing but a fucking slut. But you know what?" Dean gripped her chin, making her gaze shift from where she had been staring a hole into his chest to meet his. "In the morning I'll be sober, and you'll still be a pathetic whore who sucks the life out of people."

Tori's hand made contact with Dean's face before she had time to think. Her eyes were drawn to the lines of red dripping down his face from where the impact of her nails had sliced into his face, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I wish I'd never met you." Tori snarled, ripping Dean's hand from her face before he spun on her heel and disappeared back into the wave of patrons with no look back.

The first thing Dean registered when he woke up the next morning, was the pounding in his head. It was a herculean task for him to crack his eyes open. All he could remember was leaving the bunker, images of the dead on a reel in his mind, driving to a bar. Flashes kept coming in and out, drinking at a bar, Tori being there, but most too fast for him to comprehend. At least not while he was this hung over. Dean rubbed a fist against his eyes before blinking them open. It was much to his confusion when he was met with the sight of a naked woman sharing his bed. A naked woman that was very much not Tori, and in a bed that was very much not his room at the bunker. A sinking feeling started to nag at the back of his mind. He sat up, not caring if he woke the blonde woman in the bed, surveying the dingy motel room. If the sun peeking through the cracks in the yellowed blinds had indication, there were several hours between the present and the last sober memory he could recall.

Dean slipped out of the bed, frowning at his own nakedness before slipping himself back into the jeans that were discarded on the floor. He closed the bathroom door behind him before walking to the sink. He cursed under his breath as he beheld the blue and black mottling the left side of his face along with the two or three small cuts on his cheekbone. He ran the water in the sink cold before splashing it onto his face. The icy water was enough to send a shock through his system and the dam broke. Everything came flooding back like the water tumbling from the tap. Getting rip roaring drunk, making out with the blonde in the bathroom, Tori showing up, his downright vile words, her slapping him before disappearing as quickly as she came, tumbling through the motel room with the woman in the bed. 

"Fuck." Dean whispered, before turning the water off and stumbling back into the room, hastily pulling his shirt on. He didn't take the time to tie his boots before running out of the motel room.

Dean was sure he'd broken a significant number of driving laws getting back to the bunker, not bothering to lock Baby before making his way into the bunker. The silence he'd grown to love about he bunker was now eerie without the sound of Tori's laughter, the music she'd blare while doing practically anything. His heart sunk as he approached his room, the door left cracked open. He slowly pushed it the rest of the way. Just days before he'd helped Tori move her stuff into his room. But now, every trace of her was gone. The bed was made, with every piece of clothing she had borrowed from him folded neatly on her side. A quick check in the dresser revealed that her clothes, along with the ones in the closet, were gone.

Dean's eyes slid to the desk, where Tori's sketchbook and pencils had taken up residence. Those were gone too. And in their stead, was a single folded piece of notebook paper addressed to him and a set of key. One was a copy of the key to the Bunker he had made for Tori when she officially moved into the bunker years ago, and the other was the key to the car she'd fixed up in her time here, the car Dean had given to her for her birthday last year. Dean took the note with a gentleness you'd think he held a bomb, not a piece of paper. He slumped down onto his bed, and with a shaky breath and equally shaky hands, opened it and began reading the note written in Tori's familiar, elegant scrawl.

Dean,

By the time you read this, I'll be long gone. Don't bother asking Sam where I went, he got his own note, but nothing regarding my whereabouts. The keys to the bunker and to the car are on your desk. I took nothing I didn't come here with, or bought on my own. 

I'm not sure if I'm to thank you or curse you for the memories over the years. Those aren't so easily washed away as it was to wash the clothes I stole from you. I owe you no debts, and you owe me nothing in return. I wish you no ill will, only the best, which is what you deserve

Don't bother coming to look for me. I've disappeared once, I know how to do it again. 

Love,

Tori

#dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural dean #supernatural fanfiction

[miraclewoozi]

congrats on 500 followers! 🥳🥳🥳 may i request seungkwan & angst prompt «am i supposed to just let you go?»

TIL DEATH DO US PART. -b.sk

500 follower party <3 ( accepting until 14th March ! )

pair : bsk x gn!reader. prompt : " am i supposed to just let you go? " wc : ~900. warnings : zombie apocalypse au. implied character death/'turning' and mentions of death by being bitten and also slightest implications of murder. blood. gore/body horror. angst. please drop me a line if i've forgotten anything.

You’ve never known pain like this.

From the middle of your bicep all the way down your left arm, every inch of flesh is burning. Your hand is a dead-weight, anchored to the metal floor beneath you with the thrum of the infection working its way through your veins. Seeping into your muscles, pulsing through to your erratic heart, already winding into the depths of your brain. Dust and grit scratch your eyes every time you blink and the tears welling up in them do nothing to soothe your abraded corneas. You’re weak. Fading. Clammy, feverish…

But Seungkwan, beaten and bruised yet somehow otherwise okay — most importantly, unbitten —, begging on his knees in front of you? 

That’s somehow what hurts the most. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he says for the third time, swallowing back his own tears. You know anger is a symptom and you're consumed with the need to ask him why he’s fighting this, why he's being stupid, why he won't just leave. But even quicker than the frustration was able to build up, it ebbs away: a droplet falls from the corner of his eye and makes a solitary path down the side of his face, distractedly silencing you before the words come out. You watch it cut through the ever-present layer of dirt no one can quite seem to scrub off before it clings to his jawline. Then, it continues to roll down his neck, mixing with the dried blood surrounding a day-old cut and turning from grey to pink, before it finally reaches its destination, disappearing into the shredded collar of his old t-shirt. “I can’t— I can’t do this without you—”

“You have the others,” you tell him with a shudder. Your head feels a thousand tonnes. Even your eyelids are weighing you down. 

He doesn’t have all the others, though. Not like he used to. When you first met Seungkwan he was with twelve other men: his band of unlikely brothers. A found family, navigating their way through hell with a few beat up guitars, a janky old radio and a can-do attitude. Four of them are gone now. Two to the virus. Two… otherwise. 

And now, he’s going to lose you too. Lucky number five. 

“I can’t—”

But as much as this will be hurting him now, he isn’t going to be alone once it happens. He won't believe you if you say it, but even as you fight through the fog you know you need to convince him that it's true.

“You have to,” you grimace. “You know I’m not still going to be me when—”

“Don’t say it,” he snaps, standing up to his feet and pressing his long fingers into his scruffy hair. 

“Seungkwan—”

“What— am I supposed to just let you go?”

You hold your breath as he starts to cry for real. He’s shaking, head to foot, and the scuff of heavy boots just outside the door tells you his friends have heard him raise his voice. You hear the handle start to squeak, but he desperately calls out for them to stop. No one comes in, but you’re sure they’re still waiting out there on their haunches. You can't blame them.

He manages to pace back and forth six times before the next wave of scorching agony crashes through you. You stiffen. Your toes curl. It pulls the fingers of your working hand into a fist and you can hardly even manage to breathe through it. But before you can so much as blink, Seungkwan is right back on your level, crouched with one hand on your cheek and the other curling around your good forearm. It feels like he’s covered in very fine, very hot pins and they’re all piercing your fragile skin, but the gentle pressure gives you something else to focus on: with gritted teeth, you manage a tiny smile.

It's not a good thing that the pain starts to subside, that your extremities start to go numb. You know that. So must he.

“I won’t be the one who hurts you,” you say, chest stuttering every time you try to take a breath even when the stiffness eases and your limbs turn to jelly. “Please — you can’t let me—”

“I love you,” Seungkwan chokes, tears falling freely, snot dribbling from his nose. “I’m going to love you forever. Just— just like we said—”

“I know,” you nod, closing your eyes to the feeling of his cool forehead pressing against your own. His hand travels up your arm, over your shoulder, resting at the curve of your neck. “For better, for worse.”

He laughs weakly, the musk on his breath ten times stronger than usual.

“In… in sickness and in health,” he continues, mumbling through the long kiss he presses to your prickling temple before he forces himself to pull away. Another involuntary spasm from you is apparently the catalyst that brings him to his senses and Seungkwan seems to realise he doesn’t have much time left before it happens. It registers that there really is nothing he can do, not when you no longer even have the strength to pull your lids back open.

You think you hear him say he's sorry, but his heavy, defeated footsteps are the last thing you hear as fear starts to roll in. There’s a creak as the door swings open on its hinges, and a harsh clang that follows: you jump, even as your mind grows cold and distant and everything starts to go dark.

There's a click. The lock. Then a deafening cry: a frustrated, angry sob, and a set of fists slam once against the door that now serves as your prison.

I'll waste away in here, you think.

Maybe that's the virus talking.

Maybe it's not.

#💌 - mailbox. #💝 - anon. #mw500party! #seungkwan angst #svt angst #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seungkwan au #svt au #j writes. #*

[lighthouseas]

- brick fireplace // a byler ficlet

Mike thinks he might have a sixth sense, of some kind.

Having not slept very soundly these past few months, Mike has miraculously found that he's actually fallen asleep the night Will has to stay in his room due to the limited space in the Wheeler household.

And those two things are NOT related. Obviously.

It's just coincidence, then, when he jolts awake, utterly disoriented, to the sound of heavy breathing - like someone is having a panic attack. Mike turns to the side, where Will is currently stationed on the floor, sleeping in a sleeping bag that Mike had had to shake the dust out of due to it having been left at the back of a storage closet for...who knows how long.

"Will?" he whispers. He can't really see anything, since his room is pitch black - but he can hear the gasping breaths, which immediately stop once he speaks.

"Sorry," Will murmurs. "I'm sorry. I- I woke you up, didn't I?"

Mike shuffles under his bedcovers, still not really awake but immediately sensing that something is wrong regardless. "Yeah, but -" Will's breathing is still heavy. Mike wonders if he'll take oxygen donations from him. "Are you okay?"

It's a stupid question. No shit, Mike, of course Will isn't okay. He's kind of reliving all of his childhood trauma on full display for all of his family and friends. No, Will is not okay. And as Will's best friend, Mike should know this. He's a little scared, though - a bit hesitant to reach beyond the walls they've built up over the last two years. Scared that if he pokes at one brick - removes a single block, puts one stick out of place - reaches out and says, let me help calm you, holds Will in his arms like he so desperately wants to - the walls will come crashing down, all at once. And that's not what he wants. And probably not what Will wants, either, but really, what does he know?

Beside him, Will is silent for a moment. "Do you want an honest answer?" he murmurs. Mike tenses. He knows what Will is referencing, of course - lying to him about the painting, which had nearly fractured their friendship forever. He's not letting him lie again.

"Well, yeah."

"It was just-" Will sighs. He definitely thinks it isn't a big deal, even though it fucking is, and Mike is overcome with the urge to shake him violently by the shoulders. "A nightmare. They've been getting worse since-"

"...yeah." It doesn't take Mike long to realize what Will is referring to - all he has to do is look through the cracks in his blinds to see the red clouds, probably identical to the ones Will had seen in 1983, coating the Hawkins' skies above.

"Yeah," Will replies softly.

They're silent for another moment. Mike feels like - well, he feels a lot of things, most of which he has a terrible time expressing. But right now, he just feels tired, and he knows Will is, too, if the bags under his eyes Mike's been seeing as of late are anything to go by.

And so he pokes at a loose brick in the wall. It can't hurt. "Why don't you come up here?" Mike pats the empty bedspace beside him, and he swears he hears Will gasp. As if they hadn't done this countless times before as little kids.

It's different now, obviously. The connotation is different, after everything that's gone on. But Mike is delirious from lack of sleep, and the only coherent thoughts his brain is putting together are Will and scared, which he figures amounts to something, especially when his mattress dips as additional weight is added to it and he finds himself naturally giving the bigger part of the blanket to Will, who always shivered if he didn't have at least two blankets, no matter how warm it was outside.

"Mike, you don't have to do this," Will says airily as Mike gently pushes his shoulder to ease him onto the mattress. Mike's eyelids are already droopy. He doesn't fully realize the implications of what he's doing, but Will definitely feels tired, too, and doesn't either. "I'm okay."

"Mm. Then why did you come up here? Could've refused," Mike replies teasingly, but there's no bite behind it.

The brick is coming loose. Wobbling on the other side of the wall, creating a crack in the structure that one can just barely see through to the other side with.

"I-" Despite his previous opposal, Will is now actively snuggling into the blankets. He chuckles. "I dunno. You're like...a human furnace, I guess. And I was cold."

Mike's eyes are closed, now. "I do run hot," he murmurs. "You needed company, too. C'mon, admit it."

"Mike-"

"You love me."

All goes silent for a moment. Mike is beginning to fall asleep. The brick is teetering on the edge of falling out, but not quite removed from the wall yet. Maybe that can wait until tomorrow.

"I'm cold. You're hogging the blankets," Will whispers, though Mike can tell he wants to say something else.

Without opening his eyes, Mike shifts forward, hoisting himself farther up onto the pillows so his head rests atop Will's and his long arms can wrap protectively around his torso. It's nice, and ridiculously cozy. Will breathes fast against his neck, and for a moment, Mike thinks he may be having a nightmare again.

"What are you doing?"

And - okay. Mike doesn't really know what he's doing, at the moment. He's sort of already half asleep, and Will says he's cold, and Mike runs hot, so he's come to the only logical solution: be Will's human furnace (and protector against nightmares, but that's a silly title, and Mike knows Will hates talking like that. Maybe it can just be implied.)

"I'm keeping you warm," Mike answers simply.

Silence. He fidgets, though it's more like a fish flop since his muscles have turned to jelly with sleep. In doing so, he accidentally nuzzles his face into Will's hair, and catches a brief scent of vanilla shampoo.

"Is this...okay?" Mike asks, just to make sure.

Will is silent for a moment, and then Mike feels him nod against his sternum. It sends shivers up his spine, but they're the good kind - the kind that ease Mike into slumber almost immediately.

He's asleep, now, all noises from the outside muffled. Something whispers into his sternum - it feels like lips, tracing quiet words into his skin, begging him to understand. Begging him to just feel.

"I love you."

The brick falls out of the wall, and Mike pulls Will just a little bit closer.

#guys it is almost 5 am send help #sleepy eepy eepers. inspired by me.obviously #fell asleep multilple times when editing this #alsl this was written in my notes app mostly at 4 am sobe nice please. tha ks #sobs im so tired #stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #📝 #byler fics #byler ficlets #st.txt

[hongcherry]

Hi! I'm doing good, thank you for asking and for answering my question :D. I REALLY love your writing and I want to request a roommate!JungKook x roommate!reader enemies to lovers fic, when it's raining a lot, so the power goes out and the reader is scared of the dark, please. I hope you're having a good day/night, don't forget to take care of yourself ♡

Your Light || jjk

"Being stuck in the dark with your annoying roommate was not ideal, however, maybe it wasn't so bad in the end."

💡 Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f)

💡 Rating/Genres: NC-17; Fluff, roommate au, enemies to lovers

💡 Warnings: Cursing, mc hates children (joking...), bantering, mentions of stereotypes of older people/grandmas, that's it?

💡 Word Count: 2.3k

💡 Author’s Note: Anon, I'm so touched that you like my writing so much! That's such a big and sweet compliment. I'll cherish it forever! Tbh, I've been feeling a lil insecure about it, so this really made me feel better. This prompt was also really adorable! I hope you enjoy it. I'm glad you're doing good 💖

part two

bts masterlist | main masterlist

What’s more annoying than telling your roommate to stop yelling at his screen at three in the morning?

Having to tell him for the fourth time.

If you knew Jungkook was an avid video gamer, you would never have agreed to room with him. But alas, his profile was too perfect to be true. A quiet guy who stayed holed up in his room? One that knew how to cook? Someone that could lift your heavy move-in boxes? Truly a winner.

If only that was the whole case.

Jungkook indeed stayed in his room, could cook, and could lift heavy items.

But he also made loud noises in the middle of the night, cooked at the weirdest times so you couldn’t leech off his food, and made you pay him anytime he helped you move items.

What a menace.

“If you don’t turn off that stupid screen at ten, I’m going to cut up all your cords,” you threatened, towel and spare clothes in your arms as you peeped your head in Jungkook’s room.

You were preparing to go to sleep early due to having stayed up late last night because of his stupid shooting game. It was also raining outside, which would aid in you falling asleep faster since you found the rain peaceful.

Jungkook didn’t reply and simply kept his focus on his screen. He wore a headset, fingers flying across the keyboard. Irritated at his lack of response, you stomped over to him and yanked off his headset.

To your utter annoyance, that didn’t even phase him.

“Jeon Jungkook, are you even listening?” you hissed.

Laughter came from somewhere in the room, but you two were the only one's home. It was not until you heard another voice that you knew where the sound was coming from.

“Is that your mom?” the voice laughed. “Tell her to go back to knitting a sweater for her cat.”

A gasp left your lips at the implication you were some old, wrinkly lady. You raised the headset to your face. You didn’t put it on, but you put your mouth near the microphone, so his “friends” could hear.

“How about you go eat your supper and go to bed, little vermin,” you angrily replied. “And I’ll have you know cats dressed in sweaters are cute!”

More laughter emitted from the headset.

“Supper?” another voice echoed. “I don’t think that’s his mom—more like his grandma.”

“Why you tiny piece of-”

“Give me the headset,” Jungkook finally acknowledged you. Not wanting to hear any more of the pests known as kids, you thrust the equipment in his open hand. You noticed his character had died and was waiting to respawn.

Jungkook slipped the headset back on and continued his game. “Relax guys. She’s just my roommate.”

Even though the device wasn’t near your ears, you could still hear their replies.

“Your grandma is your roommate?”

“She’s so uptight!”

“Seriously, tell her to calm down.”

Your hands clutched your belongings tighter. You told yourself to walk away—fighting with them was no use; however, you couldn’t stop yourself when you leaned down near Jungkook’s face to get near the mic once more.

“I hope your parents make you eat a pound of vegetables.”

“Go away,” Jungkook huffed and gave you a gentle shove.

“Tell me you’ll turn that off at ten.”

“Eleven,” he bargained, eyes glancing at you when his character died again. You must really be distracting him for him to have died twice within five minutes. Good. You hoped his ranking plummeted.

“Ten-thirty,” you said. “That or I grab my scissors.”

“Fine. Ten-thirty. Now leave before I get my own scissors.”

You scoffed, hand on your hip. “And do what with them? Make paper snowflakes?”

Jungkook smirked at you before turning back to his game. “Don’t think I don’t know where you hide that stupid stuffed chipmunk of yours.”

Your jaw dropped slightly as you stared at him incredulously.

“Ten-thirty,” you repeated firmly before walking out of his room and shutting the door. The walls weren’t thick, but at least it kept some noise out.

You started making your way to your bathroom; however, you couldn’t get rid of the paranoia that Jungkook really knew where Mr. BonBon was. You made a quick detour to relocate your favorite plushie. You had won it at an arcade on your thirtieth try. It held sentimental (monetary) value.

Once you were done, you trekked to your bathroom. Finally, you could end your day with a relaxing steamy shower. No doubt your shoulders were sore from all the stress you’ve endured lately. From tests to 3 a.m. hollering, you couldn’t wait to have some time to decompress.

The feel of the hot water pouring down on your body had your eyes closed momentarily. You could probably stay there for half an hour, but your goal tonight was to go to sleep early. You kept that in mind as you went through your shower routine. You were just rinsing the soap from your body when the lights suddenly went out.

Startled by the unexpected darkness, you fumbled to turn off the water. It must be Jungkook pranking you.

You hastily grabbed your towel and wrapped it around your body, so he couldn’t get a free show.

“Turn the lights back on, Jungkook!” you exclaimed.

When you didn’t get an answer, your brain started conjuring up fantasies. And not the ones where you find a charming partner and run off into the sunset. No, these thoughts consisted of a three-headed beast clawing its way from your drain, or a long-haired lady crawling from your mirror. While living with Jungkook was a pain in your rear, you much rather live with him for eternity than be captured by one of your “mind monsters.”

The haunting thoughts had you hastily scurrying from the shower, hair still dripping water and making a mess of your tiles. That was the least of your worries as an imaginary hand was reaching from the mirror that you passed on your way out of the bathroom.

You took two steps into your bedroom only to scream when you saw a dark figure standing a few feet from you. Your hand reached to your side to grab whatever was closest while the other clutched the towel around you. When you finally grabbed onto something, you flung it as hard as you could at the mysterious person.

They grunted, stumbling back a little and cursing under their breath.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” Jungkook grunted.

Your heart was still racing, but at least your shoulders eased.

“I could’ve killed you!” you screeched.

“I’d like to see you try,” he huffed. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you just knew that little shit was rolling his eyes.

As you were calming down, a loud thunder cracked outside. It had you jumping and shuffling closer to Jungkook unknowingly. That must be the reason for the power outage.

“I’m going to try to find a flashlight,” Jungkook spoke.

“What about your phone?” you wondered.

“Misplaced it, but I rather not use it right now anyway if I can’t charge it,” he said. He started to move, but you quickly stumbled closer so you could grab his wrist.

“Wait!” you exclaimed.

Jungkook paused in his steps to look at you. “What?”

“I- I can help you find it.”

The quiver in your voice grabbed Jungkook’s attention and he finally put some effort into reading your body language.

You were tensed, hand still holding onto him and your towel tightly. You were also strangely too close.

“You’re scared of the dark,” he stated, a small chuckle sounding at this realization.

“No! I’m j-just trying to help.”

Maybe you were scared. You hated the way your paranoia skyrocketed when you couldn’t see. There was something too eerie about having one of your five senses taken away from you.

“Are you crying?” he questioned, and you felt his hand brush against yours that held him.

“What? No. Why would you-”

“Something wet landed on me. Please don’t tell me that was your snot or something,” he replied, voice full of dread.

Your hair was still wet and probably leaving your floor slippery.

“I just came from the shower! It’s just water,” you groaned and slowly let go of his arm.

“O-oh.” He sounded startled.

Your eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness as some of the moonlight crept in from the window through your curtain.

“Let me change, but don’t-” you sighed at how much you needed him. “-don’t leave me.”

You expected Jungkook to make a witty reply, but he simply nodded, an action you could faintly see.

“Only if you let me sit on your bed,” he bargained. Each time he would climb on your bed, you would always shoo him away—claiming he was spreading his germs all over your clean sheets.

“Fine,” you said. You stuck out your arms as you felt your way to your closet. You could see the outline of some closer objects, but you still felt uncomfortable not seeing far away.

“Ah, fuck,” Jungkook cursed before you heard thudding.

“What happened?” you asked quickly, heart beginning to race as your mind pictured Jungkook getting snatched by the monster under your bed.

“Nothing,” he groaned. “When did you put a bench by your bed?”

Your body relaxed again. He must have tripped over it and fallen. “A day ago.”

Once you found your closest, you quickly changed to whatever your hands touched. You had clothes in the bathroom, but there was no way you were risking getting grabbed by another monster in there.

“Done,” you announced and reached out again. Jungkook met you halfway, taking your hand in his. It was your first time holding his hand, and you didn’t like the way your body warmed at his touch.

“Just going to go to my room; I have a flashlight there,” he instructed. His voice didn’t hold the playfulness or irritation it usually did. It was softer. It was odd to hear, but not unpleasant.

You followed him slowly down the hall to his room, the path familiar to you but still making you anxious.

“Wait here and I’ll get it,” he instructed and started to pull away. However, the moment he took a step forward, you clutched him again.

“S-sorry,” you said quickly when he was tugged back. Jungkook paused, staring down at you with eyes you couldn’t read.

Taking in a steady breath, he repositioned your hands onto his hoodie.

“It’s okay. Hold on,” he said and moved. You continued to hold onto his clothes while he shuffled around in his closet.

“Aha!”

Suddenly light flooded the room. Jungkook’s gaze drifted from the flashlight to you. With the light, your worrisome expression could be seen clearly. Not to mention, just how close you were to Jungkook.

“You okay?” he asked.

His voice had you moving away quickly, your body heating from embarrassment.

“Just fine,” you answered. “How long do you think the electricity will be out?”

Jungkook shrugged. “It depends I guess. For now, we can use this so our phones can save power.”

“Okay,” you sighed.

“Nice outfit,” Jungkook mumbled, voice teasing like you were used to. It somehow made you feel better.

You glanced down, only now taking in your mismatched attire.

“You try getting dressed in the dark,” you grumbled. He smiled and glanced around.

“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said, gesturing.

You wanted to reject his invitation—make some sort of excuse to sleep in your own room; however, you knew you wouldn’t be okay sleeping alone. Before you could make your decision, Jungkook started to pull out an extra pillow and blanket from his closet. He tossed them onto the floor and then set the flashlight on the nightstand, light shining up at the ceiling. It had cast enough light to make you feel safer.

“If you don’t get in that bed, I’m going to keep playing until four,” he threatened light heartily when he saw you standing still.

“You already do that,” you argued but relented to his request.

“And I’ll continue doing that if you don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed as you climbed into his bed. “I’m in.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. “Good.”

A part of you wanted to offer to share his bed, however, you decided against it since you two weren’t that close. One night on the floor won’t hurt him anyway.

“Goodnight, Yn,” he mumbled from below.

You nestled in his covers, taking in the calming scent of them and letting your eyes close. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

Luckily, the electricity was only out for a few hours. It came back on in the middle of the night. You had started to leave Jungkook’s room, but he insisted you stay in case the power went out again. Not liking that possibility, you agreed. It wasn’t that bad being with Jungkook anyway.

Later that week, you came home to a box on your bed. You didn’t order anything lately, so you weren’t sure what it was. However, upon closer inspection, you saw your name on it. Inside was a chipmunk-shaped night light. You’ve seen these in stores and online, usually advertised to children, but that didn’t matter. It was battery-operated, which meant even if the power went out, you could still use the device.

Your lips lifted in a smile while you inspected the cute light. You set it on your nightstand and then returned your attention to the box. You still weren’t sure who had gifted you this. Though, sure enough, you found a card laying at the bottom of the box, face down. Turning it over, it read:

In case I’m not here next time. JK

Your eyes lingered on the hand-written note. Partly in denial that Jungkook, your annoying, disobeying roommate, had gotten you something so considerate. Nevertheless, your view of him was slowly changing—for the better.

You checked your clock and realized Jungkook would be home from his class soon. As a thank you, you started to cook dinner. It wasn’t going to be the most elaborate meal he's had since he was the better chief, but you hoped it would convey the gratitude you had for his thoughtful present.

Maybe living with Jungkook wasn’t that bad after all.

A/N: Thank you again, anon! 🥰

Also if any of you knit sweaters for cats, you're a rockstar. Don't let anyone tell you differently 👿

For my "shy/silent" readers, I've created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

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