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notjoelmiller · 3 months

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i cared

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader summary: three and a half years ago and an ocean away, he tore you apart. now he's turned up at your door. wordcount: 4.1k warnings: smut (fingering), drinking, AFAB reader, possible past dub-con (reader was in a bad mental state and simon knew), simon is a shitty guy in this, talk of hypothetical suicide, talk of past bad mental state (depression), mentioned PTSD, heartbreak on both sides, death mention (MW:III canon) a/n: hey remember when i said that my next fic would be joel and i posted a little insert. that was a lie! instead of working on that (12k word, currently) monster, i wrote something else. if you couldn't tell, i started this before the holidays and then forgot about it.

ao3

The house is much nicer than Simon anticipated. When he saw the New York City address, he had expected you to be crammed into a shitty 6th-floor walk-up. But no, not you. Instead, you have an honest-to-God three-story home with red brick delicately dusted with snow. You certainly couldn’t afford it on the 141 salary. He always suspected you came from means. This just confirms it. It just makes him wonder why the hell you decided to slum it in the services for so long.

It reminds Simon that he shouldn’t be there. You weren't made for that life and left for a reason. Who is he to ruin your peace?

He’s not alone on the street. Well-to-do families of strangers pass by, all watching the masked man observe their neighbor’s home. He can still turn around and leave you to the life you so clearly want.

Something shifts in one of the windows, the curtain being tousled by something. A dog. You got a dog– a golden retriever with sharp eyes and, evidently, an even sharper bark. The canine goes berserk, barking and howling and growling at Simon through the window. It’s Simon’s cue to leave, to leave you be with your semi-rabid, semi-domestic canine.

But before he can move, the curtain shifts again– pulled this time –and you’re there. You squint for a moment, surely wondering what masked freak is standing in your walkway like he owns the damn place. He lets you scrutinize him. It’s now or never. Either you’ll tell him to fuck off once you realize who he is or you’ll call the police on him, though it’s not like they would do anything after he calls Kate.

Instead, you disappear behind the curtain, your loyal steed of a dog following hot on your heels. In a moment’s notice, the large front door, with a gilded knocker and door knob open. You beckon him in. He follows, eyes trailing up and down your body once you’re facing away from him. You’re dressed casually but smartly in a short denim skirt and cashmere sweater. Simon’s never seen you in that getup before, even when going out to the pub.

“Shoes off,” you order, motioning towards the neat shoe rack next to the door. They’re all women's shoes of the same size. Simon’s shoulders relax, and he slips off his boots. It was for the best, he figures. His old boots would have just dragged dirt into your space. He takes off his mask too, hanging it up with his jacket. It’s nothing you haven't seen before.

Simon follows you into the sitting room– at least, that’s what Simon guesses the room is. It’s too neat for your taste, or his memory of what your taste is exactly. The couch and single chair seem untouched, the air still, like Simon’s presence is cutting through some sacred stillness.

You point to a couch and Simon obeys, sitting with his hands on his knees. Your eyes lock with his without granting him any semblance of your thoughts. Simon keeps his gaze soft, neutral. You can scrutinize him all you need.

You sigh, straightening your posture. A smile pulls at your lips. Your smile lines crease deeper than he remembered. Or maybe they always creased that deep.

“Tea?”

***

“He’s quite protective,” you drop two sugar cubes into a cup of tea. The spoon in your hand lets out a delicate tink as it hits the porcelain cup. You hand Simon the teacup, it’s just how he likes it. “Always has his haunches raised, even when he’s not working.”

Ah. A service animal. He’s surprised to not have put that together sooner. Always loyal, the pooch plants himself at your feet, gaze burning into Simon. If looks could kill…

“Your home?” Simon asks. He lifts the teacup to his lips and sips. Simon places the teacup on its saucer impossibly slowly. Simon can’t believe you’d trust him with something so delicate.

“I inherited it.”

A smile creeps on Simon’s face. Teacups and generational wealth. He always knew you were posh. Or whatever Americans call posh.

“You’re on holiday?” You ask.

“‘Tis the season.”

You hum. Your house is the only one on the block without some sort of holiday decor. Simon wonders if it was a pointed decision.

“And you came here.” Why?

He can’t tell you the truth. The fact is that every day since you left– all one thousand two hundred ninety-eight of them since John uttered to his fuming lieutenant that you just weren’t fit to serve any more –he’s ached. One thousand two hundred ninety-eight days of no contact. Of his only proof that you ever existed being a photo and a tear-stained note with one sentence scribbled in ink: John has contact info– emergencies only.

“I wanted to wish you a happy holidays.”

You laugh dryly, though it sends a pang of pain through Simon. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound. “Usually people send a card for that.”

You observe Simon with precision, like you never left the force, though the way you scratch Yogi’s belly unconsciously betrays the hardened exterior. It’s a glimpse into the last three and a half years. Of the woman you’ve become– so foreign to Simon. Foreign to your past self. Or not. Maybe this is who you’ve been all along, just hidden behind fatigues. Maybe the woman Simon thought he knew was just a farce. Rich girl playing army for a few years.

Maybe you joined the force just to fuck around for a bit. After a few years, you’d have stories to tell your socialite friends back home. Except, you didn’t get what you wanted, didn’t you? Simon knows well and good that serving, the 141, and him, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, destroyed something in you.

You tap the porcelain of your teacup. It makes a pleasant ding. “Did John tell you where to find me?”

“No. Well–” Simon tries to tell you the truth without throwing his comrade under the bus. The truth was, John had indulged in one too many drinks at the pub one night and hadn’t locked his quarters. An envelope addressed to you sat front in center on his desk. “Not intentionally.”

It’s a satisfying enough answer. Only a small twinge of annoyance crosses your face before you hum. “This isn’t a guilt thing, right Simon?” You ask, “I didn’t do what I did because of what happened.”

“What we did back then, on the field,” Simon traps you under his gaze. His stare is aggressive, but he hopes it conveys the intense feelings he’s struggling with. “I can’t just leave it. That’s why I came.”

Simon doesn’t dare speak. He doesn’t dare breathe while he watches you process his words. It’s a load of crap, he knows it, and he knows you know it. It’s just a matter of whether or not you want to kick him out.

You smize, teeth coming out to tug at your bottom lip. “Have you ever had New York pizza?”

***

You order two pies, hushing Simon when he insists it’s too much. You were right. Two isn’t enough. Simon scarfs down one pie without coming up for air. It’s delicious. It isn’t until he’s four slices deep that he realizes that you, smiling widely at him, haven’t yet picked up your first.

You’re a gracious host– a natural, really. You perch yourself on the kitchen island, legs crossed in a way that makes your skirt ride so sinfully up your thighs. Simon doesn’t look of course, he’s a gentleman. At least, he is for the first bottle of the ungodly expensive red wine you procure. It’s then that you perch your leg on the counter opposite your spot on the island, right next to Simon. Old habits die hard– especially when inebriated –and Simon places a hand on your leg, massaging the skin of your ankle.

You pay no mind to Simon’s ministrations, though, lost in the domestic bliss and mindless conversations you’ve probably been drowning yourself in for the last few years. You wave the glass of wine wildly about, like you wouldn’t give a damn if it spilled all over your expensive clothes. It seems so natural for you. Simon wonders what you were ever doing with the 141 when posh city living fits you like a second skin.

Simon inches his hand higher up your leg as you speak. He doesn’t get very far, but it’s enough so that he can trace patterns into the soft skin of your thigh. It’s too much, though, because your eyes lock onto his. But you’re not mad. You don’t tell him to stop. Rather, you examine him, and in your eyes Simon sees what looks like mirth.

“I missed this,” Simon says. He cringes at the words leaving his mouth. He’s succumbing to the domestic bliss you’ve created, looking at the past through rose-tinted glasses.

You reach for a third bottle of wine and a corkscrew, furrowing your brow in thought while twisting the screw. “I didn't want to abandon you,” you say. Simon, watching you pop the cork off with ease, almost forgets that you’re talking to him until you lock eyes. He watches you sniff the cork, pause, then sniff it again before topping off your glass. You take a heaping swig, like that Pinot Noir worth more than Simon’s monthly pay is unremarkable. “I left for a reason, you know.”

Oh, Simon certainly knows. The rumors had been inescapable in the first weeks of your absence. All around base every soldier had entertained the question of what happened to the American chick in the 141. Simon had only so many threatening looks to give privates before curiosity got the better of him. He abated the desire to ask John for so long, but there was only so much longing he could handle coupled with the cacophony of voices asking the same thing he desperately wanted to know.

John didn’t flounder when Simon finally came to him, demanding to know why you left.

She was discharged.

Why?

For… mental reasons.

Simon lost his shit in Price’s office that morning. He collapsed onto the couch with a gasp, a hand grasping and squeezing his heart. His breath left him, but Simon was too bloody stupid to understand what the hell was going on until Price was handing him a brown paper bag.

Breathe, son.

“Simon,” you breathe, your saccharine voice the most tantalizing sound Simon has ever heard. You lean forward, your finger tracing the scar parallel to the cut of his jaw. You were there for it, saw the knife slice through his mask and the skin underneath. You bandaged it in the helicopter after, making Simon promise to go to medical afterwards. He promised he would. That night he closed the wound with superglue. “Why did you really come?”

Because you disappeared. Because Price said you were on the brink of becoming a statistic. Because I fucked up. Because I said things I didn’t mean and I thought that it killed you.

“Johnny’s dead,” he lies. But it isn’t a lie. It’s true, sure, Johnny’s been reduced to ashes and scattered in the Scottish highlands. But that isn't why he came.

“I know.” You sniffle. Christ, Simon’s made you cry. Nausea washes over him. A voice in his head screams, fix it, idiot! But emotions were never Simon’s strong suit. Instead, Simon reaches for the bottle and tops off your glass of wine, probably a bit more than he should have, but it seems like you need it.

You mutter a thank you and down a bit more than half of the glass. You come up for air and hiccup. “John told me.”

“Price?” He asks, as though there was any other John. Anything to get you talking rather than crying.

You nod. “He dropped by around Thanksgiving. Asked if I wanted to be there when you all…” You wave your hand in the air, “You know.”

Something ugly festers in his chest. Maybe if he actually went to a therapist, Simon could recognize what it is.

“You said no?” He asks.

“I didn’t think I could.”

Simon nods, holding your gaze in a way that he hopes conveys his sense of understanding.

“How’d it happen?” You croak. Your eyes are glassy, a reminder of the ever-looming threat that you could fall apart again. Simon reminds himself that you wouldn’t be crying if he had just kept his distance.

“Bullet in the head.”

You tense, your head flying to Simon. Your eyes are frantic, searching for something in his face. “He…he…?”

Christ.

“No, no,” Simon scrambles to get his next words out, “Makarov. It was-” His voice cracks. Unusual. “-was too fast to stop it. To save himself.”

You hum, slumping down like it’s comforting to you that Johnny had his life torn from his arms. Like it’s comforting that Johnny couldn’t go on his own terms, but on the terms of a Russian terrorist.

“You know,” you say like you know he knows, “Johnny’s the reason I got out.”

Simon shifts. Johnny never talked about your discharge, always responding to speculation like he was none the wiser. “He is?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. It’s deep and watery. “Things were…bad one night. He found me. Talked me through the night. Listened to me.” You throw your head back, eyes tracing imaginary patterns on the ceiling.

“He told Price?”

You nod.

“That was after we…”

You nod again. Simon feels sick.

“It had nothing to do with you, Simon.”

“I never thought it did.”

“Then why,” you ask, “did you bring it up?”

Simon shifts. “Thought it was relevant.”

You smile, though your eyes are still lined with tears. “Guilty conscience?”

“Of course not, love,” Simon laughs, hoping you buy it. It works, he thinks. You seem to deflate, slumping a bit. You take some time to think. Simon, panicking at the thought that your self-reflection could send him out the door, pulls out the one trick he has over you.

He lets your legs fall. They bang against the cabinets with a soft umph from your lips. Simon slides off of the counter and stalks your way. You watch him and put up no fight as he slots his wide body between your knees. You don't even complain as the parting of your legs forces your skirt to ride even higher.

Fingers card through Simon’s hair. He hums.

“Why did you do it?” You ask.

Simon tilts his head, and with the wine in his veins and your hand in his hair, the world spins. Your other hand slips under the hem of Simon’s shirt. Warm fingers graze the skin of his stomach and then side, before your hand settles on his back, palm splaying across scarred flesh.

“I–” Simon croaks, “–I felt something for you.”

You snort. Simon’s chest burns and he takes some deep breaths to calm himself. He imagines Price’s paper bag, inflating and crinkling over and over.

“You knew I would leave. That’s it, isn’t it?” You accuse with a gleam in your eyes. “I was in a bad place and was leaving so it didn’t matter if you hit it and quit it.” You laugh. “You got what you wanted without risking your position.”

“That’s not true.”

Your thighs bracket his legs, trapping him against you. Your words curl around your wine-stained tongue. “‘I don’t love you’. Isn’t that what you said Simon?”

“Love–”

You tense, thighs squeezing him like a vice. “Love,” you coo, the imitation of Simon’s long vowels curtles unnaturally on your tongue. “Love, love, love. You know Simon,” you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and lean into the crook of his neck. Your lips brush against his skin as you speak, “You say it, but you’ve never meant it.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon utters, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re not.”

He’s not. He doesn’t argue. He could– should, rather –but he can’t think straight with you this close to him. The scent of your perfume itches the deepest part of his brain. You never wore perfume when on duty, rather, always coated in the aroma of base-issued shampoo and sweat.

“I really cared for you, you know,” you whisper, your lips millimeters from his, them parting when his fingers rub you through the fabric of your underwear.

“I know,” Simon closes the distance, capturing your lips with his.

He pushes you back onto the counter, you let him, lets Simon cage your body like he has the right to. You groan into his mouth when he traps your bottom lip between his teeth and melt when his fingers slip past the hem of your panties, his fingers plunging through the wetness into your cunt.

It’s obscene— the noises you make as he thrusts his fingers into you. With his free hand, Simon pushes your skirt up over your hips so he can watch your cunt squeeze around him.

He slides his thumb up to your clit and you gasp. “Simon,” you moan. He nearly stops. It’s been years since he’s heard you say his name, let alone moan it. Fuck, Simon can’t help but grind his cock against the island counter, groaning.

It doesn’t take much to work you into an orgasm. Before he knows it, your moans become softer, higher pitched, and you’re coming apart, clenching hard on Simon’s fingers.

He works you through your orgasm, whispering praise into your ears. Simon gives you no time before pouncing, fisting his hands in your hair and devouring you. You wiggle underneath his weight, uttering something, but the words are lost into Simon’s mouth. He pulls away, his eyes meeting your expectant ones.

“What?”

“Upstairs,” you say, chest heaving. “My room is upstairs.”

***

Simon wakes before dawn. He’s lying on top of you, your strong breath rocking him up and down. Your limbs are impossibly tangled. He’s reminded of an identical morning, years ago, of what he did then, and what that choice led him to. But that was years ago. You were different then, broken. How was he supposed to know that his choice would make you shatter?

He untangles himself slowly. It feels like the process takes hours, though the sun fails to make an appearance by the time he slips out of bed. The clock reads four in the morning. That explains it. It also explains the way the room around him is spinning slightly. He’s still drunk– or at least buzzed –from the night before.

His pants are an easy find, discarded by the door. His shirt though… Simon spins around the room, eyes glazing over the space. He tries not to take anything in too deeply, too personal for this morning.

He spots his shirt on your vanity. Simon yanks it off, but something hard and heavy comes with it. It nearly drops to the floor, but Simon catches it before it can hit and wake you up.

It’s a perfume bottle, heavy and half-filled. Simon can’t suppress the urge of his half-drunk brain to sniff it. The scent— the scent of you —explodes in his synapses. He tosses a glance over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still asleep, before pocketing the bottle.

The dog follows Simon as he walks through the house. Luckily, as he slips on his shoes, the dog disappears into the rest of the house.

Simon lingers with a hand wrapped around the door knob. It warms under his touch.

“Are we doing this again?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, “I ‘ave to.” Simon stays facing the door, though he doesn’t make a move to turn around. He knows how he must look to you, too cowardly to face you. He’s reminded of the last time he spent the night with you. He got out scot-free. What would have happened if you found him then? Simon can’t say for certain whether or not he would have left then, if you called out for him in the same delicate voice.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“In New York,” you say, voice dry with sleep. “With me. Get out of the SAS, the 141, all that bullshit.”

“‘S not that easy.”

“It is. I left. You can leave. Or you can stay and end up like Johnny–”

“What do you know about Johnny,’ Simon growls, turning on his heels. He straightens his spine, puffing his chest up like you’re a threat. Your dog buys it, growling and worming himself between you and Simon. You don't take the bait though. You honest to God laugh in Simon’s face.

“I know enough.” You step closer to Simon. The pooch gets the memo, clearing the way for you. Simon almost does the same, he wants to. Some instinctual part of his brain needs to cave to you. “You mean something, Simon,” you flick your eyebrows up, letting them drop immediately. It feels like a challenge, like you were asking Simon the silent question. Do you matter?

“You’re more than a soldier– more than a body on a field, waiting to drop.” There are tears in your eyes. You don't let them fall. Simon hopes you’ve finally realized that he isn’t worth your heartbreak. He’s never been, but at least your realization would stop his cruel cycle of him chewing you up and spitting you right back out.

“Come to New York, Simon, please. There– there’s a butcher shop up the block, they’re always looking for help. You said you used to do that stuff, right?”

Fucking hell. He had said it to you, years ago after a mission. Simon went drink for drink with Johnny and Gaz and got positively wasted. It was the night he first set his sight on you, when your tenderness sunk its claws into his heart and refused to let go. You didn’t know then what it would lead to. Simon did. Every love Simon had wilted in his claws. Why would you be different?

“Come here,” you plead, “Take the job with them. I can help you find an apartment or you can live with me but–” You grab Simon’s shoulders, tugging. It isn’t strong enough to turn him around, but he does. Your cheeks are wet and eyes glassy as you stare up at him. “Simon, it’s too late for us, but don’t let it be too late for you.”

Simon lifts his hand to your cheek, fingers grazing the plump skin. It slides to the back of your head and tugs– yanks you into his embrace as he crashes your lips against his own. The morning makes you soft though, as Simon nips your lips with his teeth, you melt, softening and slowing your movements.

It’s you that pulls away first, staring at Simon. You let him swipe his finger across your cheek, caressing you.

“Please,” you beg, kissing the palm of his hand.

Simon lets his hand fall from you. It sits achingly cold at his side.

It would be cowardly to leave you without a goodbye after forcing himself back into your life, even if it was for one night. Simon considers himself to be many things, but never a coward. Yet, standing in front of you, staring into your expectant eyes, words don’t come easy.

You step towards him. Simon steps back. The door knob presses into his back. His heart is pounding, the blood in his eyes deafening him. Your scent wafts his way, your perfume. The one whose bottle he knocked over, nearly let slip through his fingers and shatter. The one which you never got to wear in the 141. The one weighing down his back pocket.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Simon says.

He doesn’t look back. Not when you gasp his name. Not when he opens the door. Not when he walks down the snowy street.

Price and Gaz will ask about his holiday. They’re kind like that. In the cab to the airport, passing the bottle of perfume between his hands, Simon considers his answer. Single word answers are his forté, but won’t suffice with the prying curiosities of his captain and sergeant.

The answer comes to him when he sniffs the perfume once more.

In the coming week, when Gaz claps him on the back, he will ask, “How was the holiday, Ghost?”

Simon will answer, “I had a meal with an old friend.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic #ghost x female reader

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blondwhowrites · 13 days

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Doberman!mattheo who ends uo accidentally hurting you when he bites to hars into your neck and you cry and he immedately lets go.the group rushes over anf teddy picks you uo gently as you cey into his arms

Teddy takes you back to the dorm,coaxing you into turning back into human and you do and he sees a nasty bruise at the back of your neck and cleand you up :(

I let myself take creative liberty....not really proud of this but I hope you like it!!

It's like Mattheo has a second sense for knowing when you're in trouble. Whether it be from doing something stupid, or being chased by an overwhelming amount of cats—he knows, and always manages to swoop in and save you like the knight in shining armor. His nose is to the ground sniffing out your scent like one of those police dogs he heard overheard some muggle-born talk about. While he knew he didn't have to turn, he wasn't able to sniff out your scent as a human.

Following him is Theo, who volunteered right away after learning that you were missing. But, to be honest, he was more concerned about what Mattheo would do if you were wounded than he was about finding you. Despite being what others claimed to be 'defenseless'—you were the opposite. He'd seen you kick ass more times than he could count. You were vicious as much as you were cute.

It's when the scent of you leads him to a trail of blood leading to the courtyard is when Mattheo truly starts to worry. He looked back at Theo, and let out a small whimper. Before dashing into the courtyard, following the trail of blood.

The sight makes them want to gag. Your curled up on the ground letting out quiet, pained, whimpers. Blood stains the grass around you. Those fucking cats.

"Oh princess..." Theo frowned, slowly approaching your tiny body. In some areas, your usually pristine fur was covered in blood which pained his heart to see. He crouched down beside you and gently caressed one of your floppy ears to let you know he was here. With absolute care, he picked you up into his arms. He sent a dirty glare at Mattheo when the dog let out a growl. "I'm trying to help her." He hissed, gently kicking the dog away so he could actually take you back to the common room and get you fixed up.

If he could, Mattheo would roll his eyes at his best friend, but at that moment the only thing he cared about was you. In seconds he was following Theo, not as a dog, but as himself. "lemme hold her." He gently took you from Theo's arms and cradled you to his chest cooing praises at you as he raced back to the Slytherin common room with Theo in tow.

Later that night your back as a human, curled up in Mattheo's bed high off of healing potions with bandages wrapped all over your injuries. "Matty..." You mumbled, reaching out for your boyfriend who had absolutely thrown a hissy fit over the whole entire ordeal. "m'tired."

"I know princess, I know.."

Minding your injuries, he pulled you closer to himself. "Just go to sleep." He whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Already exhausted, you nodded your head, and closed your eyes. With the help of the several potions you had taken earlier, and the sleep potion he had also snuck into given you, you were completely passed out just seconds after.

The next day, to some poor first year's horror, several dead corpses of cats lay buried in the snow just outside of Hogwarts—the professors chalk it up to wolves.

#bunny!reader #dobermann!mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle #theodore nott #matty and theo 💀#mattheo riddle prompt #mattheo riddle x reader

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franki-lew-yo · 11 months

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Fifty actually good Free to Watch Animated Movies

Most are on Tubi, of course, but I don't think you'll mind that. Get em while they're hot - please dm/pm with any potential triggercontent warnings that you think might be needed.

I especially recommend Mary & Max, Kubo and the Two Strings, Last Unicorn, The Wolf House, Ernest and Celestine, Rock & Rule, Hair High, and Nocturna.

They're all beautiful and absolutely worth your time while they're still on Tubi, Youtube, or just online at all.

Safe for Families

The Legend of Hei (Chinese, English Dub) Action, Fantasy

Ernest and Celestine (English Dub) Comedy/Drama

All Dogs go to Heaven (English) Fantasy/Action/Musical

The Secret of NIMH (English) Adventure/Action/Drama

Nocturna (English Dub) Fantasy/Comedy

The Mouse and his Child (English) Drama/Adventure

The Magic Pony/The Humpbacked Horse (English Dub) Fantasy/Adventure

Ferngully: The Last Rainforest (English) Fantasy/Adventure/Musical

Here Comes Peter Cottontail (English) Comedy/Fantasy/Musical

Moon Man (English Dubs) Fantasy/Comedy

The Legend of Sirius/Sea Prince and the Fire Child (English) Fantasy/Romance/Drama

The Adventures of Unico and Unico and the Island of Magic (English Dubs) Fantasy/Adventure/Comedy

The Snow Queen (English Dub) Fantasy/Adventure

Long Way North (English Dub) Adventure/Historical

Eleanor’s Secret (English Dub) Fantasy/Adventure

The Last Unicorn (English) Fantasy/Drama/Adventure CW: Contains a harpy for one scene that your super religious mom might have a fit at but otherwise safe

Night on the Galactic Railroad (English Dub) Drama/Fantasy

Havoc in Heaven (Mandarin, subs available) Fantasy/Action/Adventure

Tito and the Birds (English Dub) Fantasy/Action/Horror

The Thief and the Cobbler (English) Adventure/Fantasy/Action CW: Ideologically sensitive despictions

The Adventures of Mark Twain (English) Adventure/Fantasy CW: May disturb some children, ideologically sensitive material

Raggedy Anne and Andy: A Musical Adventure (English) Adventure/Fantasy

On Happiness Road (Hokkien/Mandarin, English Sub) Drama/Comedy/Adventure CW: Systemic oppression

The Tale of the Fox (German, English Sub) Fantasy/Adventure

Ringing Bell (Japanese, English Sub) Drama/Adventure CW: May upset some children as it's an analogy for child soldiers

- Hey there, It's Yogi Bear (English) Comedy/Musical/Adventure

Mature

Have a Nice Day (Mandarin, English Sub) Action/Thriller/Crime CW: Violence, Domestic Abuse

The Painting (English Dub) Adventure/Comedy/Drama

Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade (English Dub) Drama/Thriller/Action CW: Police Brutality

A Cat in Paris (English Dub) Action/Comedy/Crime

Penguin Highway (English Dub) Speculative fiction/Drama

When the Wind Blows (English) Drama/Horror CW:Radiation poisoning, Elder Abuse

I Married a Strange Person (English) Comedy/Horror/Romance CW: Violence

Blood Tea and Red String (English) Horror/Arthouse CW: Violence, Sexual assault imagery

The Wolf House (SpanishGerman, English Sub) Horror/Arthouse/Psychological CW: ASMR, themes of religious abuse, csa and cannibalism

The Plague Dogs (English) Drama/Action CW: Animal abuse, animal death, violence

The Romantic (English) Fantasy/Horror CW: Domestic abuse

A Dog's Courage (English dub) Drama/Action/Adventure CW: Animal abuse

Mary & Max (English) Comedy/Drama CW: Selfharm and ablism

Vampires in Havana (Spanish, English Sub) Comedy/Drama CW: Violence

Gandahar (French) Fantasy/Action/Adventure

Animal Farm (English) Drama/Thriller CW: Animal death, animal abuse

Technotise: Edit & I (Serbian, English Sub) Thriller/Fantasy

Dante’s Inferno: An Animated Epic (English) Horror/Fantasy CW: Religious/sexual/domestic abuse imagery, violence

Louis by the Shore (English dub) Drama/Psychological

Memories (Japanese, English Sub) Horror/Thriller/Action CW: Violence

Rock & Rule (English) Fantasy/Action/Musical

Ghost in the Shell (English Dub) Action/Thriller/Drama

Millenium Actress (English Dub) Fantasy/History/Action

Away (Latvian, no talking) Arthouse/Drama

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thedaughterofadam · 2 months

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My S.O. headcanons for the #redactedaudio universe. Because I can and why not. {#NSFW under the cut, Minors Do Not Interact.}

Angel:

- Has thrown a cane {Because of course they broke their leg doing something illegal}, at a police car.

- Baaabe and Angel have been best friends since middle school. As soon as Baaabe knew who Angel was it was immediately our girlfriend to David.

- Has said Davey Wavey with puppy dog eyes to get David to grab things from the top shelf for them. {Immediately was told to never call him that while he was laughing}, Now climbs to the top shelf and mock growls at David when he pulls them off.

---------------------------------------------------++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

- Has been a horrible person to play with one on one with Mario Kart. {David definitely has focused enough to pause the game and immediately fuck their brains out}, but horrible none the less.

- Has made David wear a Devil costume for Halloween because they dress as their pet name an Angel which makes David both horny and laugh.

Baaabe

- Has been in an abusive relationship so makes sure to praise Asher and make him feel like a priority as Asher does for them.

- Wears Asher's gym Shorts while running. {They're a runner and a track star, don't ask why, I just think Gym Babe}

- Is taller than Angel so definitely has thrown David's mate over their shoulder more than once when they did some mischievous activities.

- Baaabe doesn't do puppy dog eyes, they do a cat smile when they want something. Why? {Because they always have a devious plan, Angel's best friend for a reason}

- They prefer warm sweets to cold, I don't make the rules, but they like warm things.

Sweetheart

{They're my favorite, so if you thought I forgot you're wrong.}

- Met both Baaabe and Angel in college, has not been able to escape them since.

- Disappears on top of the fridge so they can scare Asher, has succeeded and got stuck in top of the fridge.

- Has been a dancer their whole life, so them being bendy definitely doesn't make Milo horny, and their practices aren't always timed so perfectly that Milo sees them when he gets home from work. {Wink, Wonk}

- Jumps onto furniture like a cat when they get scared, hissing at the thing that scared them has happened more than once.

- Loves when Milo gets out of the shower, helping him get ready for bed. Because they like that he lets them around when he's vulnerable.

Darlin'

{Also one of my favorites top Three along with Sweetheart}

-Military Dad, divorced parents, friends with the boys for years. Always cries on Gabe's death anniversary because that's the only good Father figure they had.

- Left for college at an Arts school met Quinn when their Dad had basically disowned them for not wanting to stay in Dahlia with him. Hence the Daddy Issues.

- Has called Sam Daddy once by complete accident, it was one of those joking things and immediately got Sam turned on, they both learned things that night.

- Likes to paint on the porch, watching the sun set and rise to relax. Sam has had to pick them up and bring them to bed because they fell asleep painting in the sun.

- Likes when Sam showers with them. They like washing his hair and making sure he relaxes makes them feel at ease.

Freelancer

- Has hidden themselves behind the large stacks of chips at Costco as a child.

- Prefers the blue candy to the red candy at stores.

- Has made Gavin carry them after sex because they like being close to him, and they get princess treatment.

- Dances around the apartment while Gavin cooks, because they like making him laugh as they try to do the Tiktok dances.

- Likes when Gavin's hands are ein their hair, it brings them comfort

Lasko's S.O.

{Let me know if they have a name}

- Prefers tea to Coffee

-Likes cold sweets, definitely eats an ice cream cone during a snow storm.

- Likes to be under all the blankets while sleeping because Lasko is cold and they want all the cuddles.

- Has made Lasko read to them just to distract him with kisses and soft touches.

- Likes seeing Lasko in charge so they watch him do paperwork so they can stare at his RBF without being noticed.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted sam #redacted milo #redacted asher #redacted david #redactedverse #redacted headcanons

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hersurvival · 3 months

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You know the word 'visceral'

You know it's deep, soft guts and gore, involuntary, abhorrent, out of control

It's feral, it's violent

It will find you

A black bear hit by a truck, pulled off the road to watch it cross, you're eight, you see the cubs in the trees

One morning the police have the road blocked, driving home later, you see the blood in the street, fur and flesh, a moose lay in the ditch

After school on the highway, a jeep has rolled over between the lanes, you can see the driver's face, upside down in the snow, people rushing in aid

Thanksgiving dinner, the sirens are rushing downtown, they shot a friendly homeless man outside of the gas station, they didn't clean it up very well

Missing posters for a kid, a long investigation, he went to school with your cousin, they found his truck dumped miles out of town, but he was pistol whipped at the house behind your backyard, led with a blindfold down to the river, executed by his 'friends' over something that never came out

Some teenagers lured a girl to the falls, you've hiked there with your dogs, it's a long fall, they pushed her over the ledge and left, they were only caught because they took her phone

It's just after midnight, you heard the gunshot, a coworker has just drunkenly shot your friend, they were roommates, lived in the cul-de-sac over, she was 90 pounds and a big sister

You work night shifts now, you smell the smoke, this is the second house fire in two years, not yet any emergency vehicles, the first time the report said everyone was fine but it's 2 am, the population is aging, people are sleeping, this time a couple burned up in their bed

He was found on the ice, he's covered in bruises and blue, they let you in the room, they're trying to warm him up, but his brain is bleeding, he's thrashing, he only lives for another hour or two

Visceral,

You know where it comes from but you won't see it coming

It drags you under, a quick undertow out to sea, too far, too deep

You never truly make it out, snowy roads and smoky neighborhoods haunt you now

@nosebleedclub March 10th - Viscera

#poets on tumblr #writing #poem #poetry #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #writing prompt #original writing #spilled poem #spilled writing

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that-writing-raccoon · 11 months

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MEET CHAOTIC PROMPTS

Alright, kids, listen up.

We’re all suckers for a good meet-cute. Don’t even try to lie to me. Like, yeah, they’re cliché, but, if done well, it can be really cute, hence the name.

Meet-uglies on the other hand can be super funny, and they almost always lead to enemies-to-lovers or rivals-to-lovers, even if just for a hot second. They’re great, too.

But here’s the thing:

I want more meet-chaotics. Not meet-cutes, not meet-uglies, meet-chaotics.

What do I mean by this?

Well, you know how crazy life can be sometimes? How wack shit happens, it makes a good story to tell your friends, and it makes you low-key question reality for a second? Yeah. Meet-chaotics are like that. How you met is just so weird and chaotic that it was a bonding experience.

Here are some prompts/concepts so you understand what I’m getting at:

“Normal”/Humor:

“I’m an uber driver dropping off my last customer, and you and your friends(?) just jumped into my backseat right as they got out and yelled a variety of ‘DRIVE! FUCKING DRIVE!’ and ‘FLOOR IT!’ There are flashing lights behind me, but I panicked and stepped on the gas, and now you’re trying to assure me that it’s not what it looks like, but I’m too busy worrying that I’m a wanted criminal now.”

Bonus points for found family and/or polyamory!

“I’ve had a really bad day, and it started to rain, so, because I’m dramatic, I blasted my ‘*insert playlist name here*’ and lied down on my sidewalk/lawn/driveway facing the sky, and you just drove by, backed up, and ran out to join me as ‘Chasing Cars’ by Snow Patrol was playing. I have never met you before, but I’m pretty sure we’ve bonded and might be soulmates.” (Yes, I got this idea from a TikTok. What of it?).

“I was walking my dog at the park when he got off his leash, and now I’m running after him through the park calling his name and yelling to ‘GET THAT DOG!’ You’re having a barbecue/family reunion/birthday party, and my dog sprints towards you, knocks someone over, and begins eating your food. You see me sprinting towards you and trying to catch my dog, but he’s faster, so now we’re both chasing my dog, and I may or may not be swearing words that’d make a sailor blush. Eventually, one of us or a random stranger catches him, and we finally stop, and, hey, sorry about that, but, wazow! You’re pretty cute.”

Bonus points for anyone vaulting over a table or something.

“We’re on our way to class, and I just witnessed you run past me down the stairs holding a bunch of books, trip, roll down two flights, and roll to your feet and keep running like nothing happened. And, like, we didn’t talk, and I don’t think you noticed me, but now I can’t help thinking of you. Like, that was impressive, but are you okay?”

“We’re at a house party, and it’s gotten pretty wild. Music is blasting from the speakers, people are dancing on tables, stuff is breaking, etc. Suddenly, the music shuts off, and someone yells, “POLICE!” and everyone s c a t t e r s. It’s pure chaos. I trip while running outside and curl up in a ball to not get trampled, but then a hand reaches down and pulls me up, it’s you, and we run off together still holding hands. Who are you, again?”

Bonus points if this goes back to the uber driver prompt.

Bonus bonus points if this couple is coming from the same place as the folks from the first prompt, so it’s same universe, but they’re completely different people having their own meet-chaotics running from the police ‘cause they were at the same party.

Could be any illegal/big crowd scenario. A concert, a protest, etc.

Sci-Fi:

“We live in a world where superheroes exist. One day, I’m minding my own business in my own apartment when you, *insert superhero name here,* crash through my wall while I’m just lounging on the couch, mug of coffee/preferred drink to my lips, feet up on my coffee table, and laptop open on my lap. We stare at each other. You get up, apologize, and fly off through the hole in the wall. Little do I know, you feel bad about the whole thing and decide to try making it up to me, except every thing you try just descends us more and more into chaos.”

Bonus points if this ends up being enemies to lovers, seeing as the protagonist, Character A, would probably be hella bitter about not having the specific superhero insurance needed to fix their wall.

Bonus bonus points if Superhero has to save A from x during one of their attempts to fix the situation.

“It’s the zombie apocalypse. I’ve set up camp in a (mostly) abandoned town, scavenging to survive. One day, there’s an unusual amount of zombies in the road. Panicked, I start to climb something. When I’m about halfway up, I hear a weird noise, and look down just in time to see you and your friend whizzing by on a shopping cart down the incline- you in the basket and your friend riding on the back. You’re screaming/yelling and swinging a bat around. The zombies are too slow and uncoordinated to catch up with you. At the last second, you look up at me and we make eye-contact mid-me making at wtf face. It’s such a stupid strategy that I’m low key in love.”

“It’s an alien invasion. We’re all running and screaming for our lives. Suddenly, there’s a spot light, and you start being pulled up into a ship. You panic and grab something. For some unknown, ungodly reason, I try to help you. It goes as well as it sounds. Cue us both getting beamed up while holding on to each other for dear life.”

“We’re on a spaceship. There are so many people on board that it’s impossible to truly know or recognize anyone. I’m working or reading or what have you, when I so happened to glance up at my porthole/window, just in time to see you, who’d been fixing something on the outside of the ship, floating away and doing some space gymnastics with your lead and etc., and swimming, to get back to the ship. I do what anyone responsible would do and sprint off to the docks to get you back safe inside.”

Bonus if Floating Person is just doing the absolute most ridiculous things to make it back.

I have more, but I feel like this post is long enough. But yeah. Something something meeting someone in the most chaotic, stupid, and unhinged way gets to me. Like, we’ve all have shared moments with a stranger because we both witnessed something or been involved in something dumb or crazy. And usually it’s like, eye-contact or brief, awkward commentary, then at the end of the day you go home and it’s just a funny story that only you guys experienced. Something about it just speaks to me.

#writing #creative writing #writing prompt #writing prompts #meet-cute #meet-ugly #meet-chaotic #writing inspiration #writeblr #books #imagine your otp #otp prompts

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ladamedusoif · 6 months

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Snowflakes (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 6

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, follow @ladameecrit and turn on notifications.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2091

Warnings: Reader is a colleague of Javi’s; set sometime around the events of Narcos S1; non-canon; no use of Y/N; no physical description of reader; alcohol consumption; smoking; references to sex work; swearing; references to Christmas but more often to ‘holiday season’; reader has a large family; fluff; minor angst; heavy making out; implied smut; Javi is a softie really

Summary: With the holidays approaching, you volunteer to stay on and work at the embassy in Colombia so that other colleagues can take time off and head back to the US to spend time with family. It’s just you, mountains of paperwork - and Javier “Where’s Your Festive Spirit?” Peña.

Winding down for the holidays in the embassy in Bogotá isn’t exactly how it was when you were based in D.C. That being said, even narcotics kingpins - and the people tasked with trying to topple their empires - eased off a little around the festive season. It’s three days before Christmas Eve, and the embassy offices are abuzz with colleagues exchanging cards and well-wishes before many of them depart for some much-needed time with family back in the US.

You’ve volunteered to stay put and let others, especially those with kids or older parents, get home. You come from a large family and - while you’ll miss them - you know your absence won’t be felt quite so keenly.

The strains of “White Christmas” float through the office as you sort out stacks of paperwork in preparation for the (hopefully) quieter days ahead, humming along to yourself.

Javier Peña sidles into the room, cigarette dangling from his lower lip and body poured into those stupidly tight jeans and shirt as per usual, and lets out a groan.

“Ironic we’ve got Bing fuckin’ Crosby dreaming of a white Christmas, while we’re here trying to put a stop to a different kind of snow.”

You roll your eyes and exhale. “C’mon, Javi. Where’s your festive spirit?”

He swivels and gives you that hooded stare you feel is more of a practiced defence mechanism than anything else.

“Don’t have it. Don’t need it. Just want to get some work done when it’s quieter. When are you leaving, anyway?”

You put on your best and brightest smile. “I’m not. I volunteered to stay over the holidays, too. Now, when are we planning on making some popcorn garlands and drinking eggnog?”

You hold your wide-eyed, innocent expression for just long enough to spark panic in Javi’s eyes, before collapsing in giggles.

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, man! Fuck. But I do have holiday sweaters and I’m not afraid to wear them.”

Javi rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and leaves.

You know all about Javier Peña and his reputation. Grumpy lothario with a moral compass painted in shades of grey. Supposedly fucked every hooker in Colombia by now, and a few embassy staffers for good measure. Sullen, snarky, and the definition of an asshole.

You don’t buy it.

Okay, he’s not exactly subtle about the way he checks out pretty much everything in a skirt, though he has his limits. And his knowledge of local brothels is just too good to be entirely based on police intelligence reports, though you suspect at least some of the stories are heavily embellished if not entirely made up.

There’s just something about him that tells you he’s not the grumpy asshole people think he is - or, maybe, that he wants people to think he is. It’s like that stare: it’s a way of keeping you at arm’s length. It’s the same as the puppy dog eyes he pulls out when he’s trying to get something he wants. You’re a good agent - you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t - and you can’t resist the allure of cracking a puzzling case. Especially if it’s the colleague currently sitting sullenly at his desk, plume of cigarette smoke rising above his head, while he rifles through surveillance photographs.

The embassy is much quieter now, the day before Christmas Eve, and the usual background noise of phones and chatter has been replaced by the sound of your typewriter, the scratch of Javi’s Parker ballpoint pen against a yellow legal pad, and his occasional frustrated grunt or exhalation.

He hasn’t said a word about the bright green sweater decorated with a glittery Christmas tree that you’ve worn to work, though you’ve noticed him sneaking occasional glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. Eventually you decide to call his bluff.

“I think you’re jealous of this sweatshirt, Javi. Let me know your size and I can get you one for next year.”

He looks over at you and shakes his head with irritation. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” But you swear you detect a little smile flashing across his lips.

On Christmas Eve, you don your brightest holiday sweater and pack a tin of homemade sugar cookies into your work bag. It promises to be quiet - most Colombians will be with family, preparing to attend midnight Mass and come together for dinner afterwards. You aren’t even sure if Javi will be in the office.

He’s there, of course, already leafing through files with his feet up on the desk when you arrive. He does a little salute in acknowledgement - more of a hello than you think you’ve ever got from him, you muse.

He looks up again at the sound of your cookie tin hitting your desk, and mutters something under his breath.

“Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said, that better not contain popcorn for making garlands.”

You grin, take the lid off the tin, and cross to his desk to show him the cookies. “I didn’t think you’d be much good at that, so I made cookies instead.”

Javi cannot disguise the interest in his eyes as his gaze moves from the cookies to your face.

“I don’t like eggnog.”

You shrug. “Don’t have eggnog, so we’re good. There’s coffee. Or, as I suspect, there’s that bottle of whiskey you’ve got in your desk drawer?”

You raise your other hand. Javi groans when he realises you’re holding two holiday-themed mugs, dangling expectantly, but he’s clearly fighting a laugh as he bends down and opens his desk drawer to retrieve a bottle of Johnnie Walker.

“Fuck it.”

It seems that sugar cookies, Scotch, and an empty office are the key to cracking the mystery that is Javier Peña. He’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, stretching back in his chair with his feet up as you sit on the edge of his desk.

The alcohol has emboldened you a little. “I don’t buy it.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t buy what?”

“You not having any holiday spirit. I think you just don’t want to let it show.”

“Fuck, not this again.” He’s smiling, though, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He exhales and sips his drink.

“Holidays were my mom’s thing. Never felt the same after she passed.”

“I’m sorry, Javi, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

He brushes away your apology with a wave of his hand. “No need to say sorry. They’re not bad memories. That’s the fuckin’ problem, they’re all too good.” He chuckles to himself, as if he’s reliving Christmases past. “She loved it, all of it. The food, the lights, the music. Dancing with my pop on Christmas Eve with the record player on - fuckin’ embarrassing, when you’re a kid.”

He laughs at the memory and you can’t help but join in, saying nothing in case he’ll close himself off again.

“She had this little ornament that was like a snowglobe, or something, with a little plastic snowman inside, and she used to shake it every day and watch all the fake snow falling. Don’t get a lot of snow in Laredo, so it must have seemed…exotic.”

“Never had a white Christmas?”

He shakes his head and takes another sip of whiskey. “Not that I recall. Just one day in February when I was, what - fourteen? Fifteen? And I came home from school and she was standing in the yard, staring up into the sky and watching those snowflakes fall like a little kid.”

You let the memory linger for a couple of moments, before silently reaching for the cookie tin and offering it to him.

After another hour or so of work - albeit at a decidedly relaxed pace - you dig out your final Christmas Eve surprise: a portable cassette player, and a mix tape you’ve made of your favourite holiday songs. As the opening bars of “Sleigh Ride” by the Ronettes ring out, Javi sighs and stares at you.

“That better not have any Bing fuckin’ Crosby on it. Or Sinatra.”

You chuckle as you bob your head in time to the music, swaying in your office chair. “Don’t worry, Javi, I wouldn’t force that on you. Who knows, we might even have the same taste in holiday tunes?”

He grins and shakes his head, but you smile with satisfaction when you notice his foot starting to keep time.

No holiday spirit, my ass.

The next track is your favourite: “Christmas Wrapping”, by the Waitresses. You stand up from the desk and dance your way over to the filing cabinets, shimmying a little as you put away some completed paperwork and looking over your shoulder just in time to catch Javi nodding along to the music.

He looks up as you extend your hand towards him.

“I know you want to, Javi. I could see that Rio Grande boot tapping from across the room.”

He stands up. He extinguishes his cigarette. He stares at you like you’ve come from another planet.

And then he takes your hand and starts to dance with you, right there in the middle of the office: his moves a little reserved and awkward at first, but his body language becoming more open, more relaxed, as the song progresses.

By the time Patty Donahue is recounting how she’s turned down all of her Christmas Eve invitations, Javi’s broad hands are around your waist, yours resting on his shoulders, both giggling at the bizarre holiday party you’ve created for yourselves. He suddenly twirls you around and you throw your head back and laugh out loud.

He pulls you back in as the song reaches the final, repeated chorus. You lean in and whisper in his ear.

“I knew you weren’t a grinch, Javier Peña.”

His laugh is low and warm, resonating through his broad chest, and it sends a spark through you as your eyes meet.

He tastes of whiskey and tobacco, of sugar cookies and coffee, and he holds you close as you deepen the kiss and move backwards towards your desk. Your last few manila folders of paperwork hit the floor as he eases you up onto the edge of the table, your hands already starting to unbutton his shirt as his long, thick fingers work their way under your sweater and find the soft, sensitive skin of your breasts.

You sit up a little so you can take the sweatshirt off, hastily discarding it before reaching for Javi’s belt buckle.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur as he undoes your jeans and encourages you to raise your hips just enough to pull them down.

“You don’t want to?” he asks, breath warm and heavy against your neck.

“I want to.”

“Good,” and he moves his mouth to your nipple as you whine with pleasure. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

You’re gone when he wakes up the next morning, the sheets on your side of the bed already turning cold in the grey light of a Christmas morning. He sits up and reaches for his cigarettes before dialling your number.

No answer.

He had planned to go into the office one way or another. No point hanging around at home on his own when he could be getting some work done, right?

And maybe you’d be there, too.

The embassy is completely silent as Javi makes his way to the office, flicking on the lights and realising that all the evidence of yesterday’s festivities has been cleared away. Your desk is neat and tidy as ever.

It’s like nothing happened.

There is one change, though: a little red gift box on Javi’s desk, topped with a bright green bow. The tag reads simply:

Merry Christmas, Agent Peña.

He raises an eyebrow and opens the box, reaching in to retrieve the gift within.

The fake snow glitters inside the cheap, plastic snowglobe as he holds it up to the light.

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos #javier peña #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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freckle-face-ace · 1 month

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Portgas D Ace X CisFem Reader

It was a crisp November morning, not quite the time of year for snow but certainly cold enough. You had just finished a night of data entry for one of the two insurance companies you worked for. This wasn't how you'd pictured your adult life, though honestly you weren't sure what you were supposed to picture. When people asked you what you wanted to be you shrugged.

Not being very social in school and inheriting your grandmother's home at a young age, you just slipped into a reclusive lifestyle. Hermit life chose you and it suited you just fine. You found a job you were great at, could make your own hours for and best of all didn't have to deal with people. You were just soaking up that sweet hermit life with your adorable but protective blue nose bull terrier, Kuma.

You wanted to name him bear because when you found him near the creek you'd initially thought he was a tiny cub, really, he was a beefy pup. Bear is such a used-up name for a dog, so you researched the word in different languages settling on Japanese.

"We should go to the store today." You mused as Kuma settled next to you on the porch.

A cold breeze stripped the nearby trees, carrying along the scent of chimneys down the lane. You sat quietly for a few minutes watching ripples travel across the pond nestled at the mouth of the forest. It was indeed a nice autumn day. You closed your eyes listening to the wind shift debating over having a nap before going into town. A high-pitched whistle caught your ear. There was some distance to it starting out high and getting lower as whatever it was neared. You assumed it was a charter plane, out here that was pretty common. Photographers were always trying to get a good shot of the forest meeting the bluffs that hung over the bay. But it wasn't the right time of day for that. You opened your eyes as the sound grew louder and alarmingly close. Kuma stood puffing out a low growl shifting his ears back.

Then you caught sight of the source. It wasn't recognizable - just a black ball that seemed to be on fire?

A meteor?

You rose as it plowed into the earth sending a tremor through the house. Kuma jumped off the porch following as you made your way toward the small plume of smoke.

Your breath hitched while you stalked closer, it was a man.

A man...fell from the sky.

How he wasn't splattered across the bank of the pond was beyond you. In fact, he looked quite peaceful. Freckles dotted his lifeless face. You bent over him brushing the soft black waves that had tangled with his lashes. A frown ghosted your lips for the stranger. You'd have to go get your phone to call the police to pick him up.

His blood-soaked chest heaved startling you and sending Kuma into a protective stance. His eyes snapped open wide, pupils dilating in a mixture of fear and pain as a scream tore through his throat. You held up your hand signaling Kuma to sit while the stranger writhed and blindly reached for someone who wasn't there.

Slowly you stepped closer taking his hand, gently brushing your fingers passed the bruises on his wrist. Humming softly, you tried to get him to focus and catch his breath before pulling him into your chest. He continued to huff and mumble to himself as he shivered in your arms.

"I've got to get you out of the cold. Can you walk?" You pulled back.

His head lulled over your forearm.

Great he passed out.

It took almost an hour to wrestle the man into your wheelbarrow and drag it through the house. Kuma followed closely keeping his gray eyes fixed on the sleeping stranger until you dumped him onto the bed. While he slept you cleaned the blood off his bare chest revealing not a cut but freshly scarred flesh.

"What happened to you?" You whispered moving to remove his worn black boots.

Kuma climbed onto the mattress and curled up with the raven.

"Oh, you like him huh?" You asked the dog who merely huffed shutting his eyes.

Figuring he'd sleep for a while you decided to leave him in Kuma's care and head to the store. Your usual anxiety about dealing with public places had faded while you pondered what to do about the stranger. No one would believe that a human fell from the sky seemingly unscathed and was sleeping comfortably in your unused guest room. It seemed more like a plot for a comic than anything remotely possible in real life.

After picking up some essentials and some spare clothes for your guest you parked the old beetle in the gravel drive that lead up to your small house. Kuma met you at the back-door woofing and pacing between you and the hall that lead to the guest room.

"Is he awake?" You asked only getting a more excited response from the dog.

You placed the groceries on the counter keeping the bag of clothes with you and made your way down the hall. The ravenette had curled up facing the window. A large tattoo covered the middle of his muscular back. You couldn't make out what it was exactly because an almost identical scar from his chest marred the inked skin.

"Where am I?" He rasped in a sad husky tone.

"Portland." You replied dropping the shopping bag in the doorway.

"I've never heard of that island." He murmured.

"It isn't an island, it's a city in Maine." You raised a brow, "What's your name?"

He rolled over to face you not bothering to move his wavy locks from his garnet eyes.

"Ace. Portgas D. Ace."

#He Fell From The Sky #x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #spade pirates #whitebeard pirates #one piece #mdni #lyndsyh24 #isekai #fem reader

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nftmarket2050 · 2 years

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#113 , DOGS COLOR NFT , snow doggy , snow guard dog , snow police dog , snow dog

#snowdog#snowdogs#snowdoglivinginbrazil#snowdogsofinstagram#snowdogarttrails#snowdogsunday#snowdogsvlogs#snowdogswales#snowdogunderthesea

#113 #DOGS COLOR NFT #snow doggy #snow guard dog #snow police dog #snow dog #snowdog #snowdogs #snowdoglivinginbrazil #snowdogsofinstagram #snowdogarttrails #snowdogsunday #snowdogsvlogs #snowdogswales #snowdogunderthesea

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burningupp · 2 years

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nine: searching

tw: panic attack! pls don’t read if it triggers you, your mental health very obviously has priority over my stories <3

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He had no clue where to even look. Music shows generally took place in very large buildings, and those buildings had a lot of windows in a lot of places, as Hyunjin came to find out. He didn’t really know why he was looking for his makeup artist so frantically - sure, she had looked sad, but there was a deep panic spreading through all his limbs which didn’t really make sense.

How had Chan seemed so calm when Y/n walked out? The poor girl was shaking, teary, and it sounded as if she could barely breathe. She was supposed to be one of Chan’s best friends, so how could he just ignore it like that? The distress of a friend had never been something Hyunjin was able to take lightly; not that his makeup artist truly counted as a friend in his case.

He couldn’t ask people who worked in the building if they had seen her for fear of rumors spreading about him dating someone, so he was left with the option of running around the maze-like corridors like a headless chicken. As soon as he spotted a window without anyone sitting by it, he would do a 180 and run back the way he came. He most likely looked insane.

Y/n’s teary eyes kept flashing in his mind, and it made him more and more frantic as time went on. He was climbing stairs three steps at a time, which most likely would result in an injury if he didn’t calm down, but he didn’t care. He was on the eighth floor, panting and sweating like a dog, and if he couldn’t find her here he was going to call the police. She was a small woman, sure, but she couldn’t hide this well, could she?

And then, just when he was losing hope and thinking about how to explain to the police that he was panicking because his makeup artist had been missing for exactly 23 minutes, he found her. She was curled into a ball under a window, holding the sides of her head and heaving like she had just ran a marathon. Honestly, he practically had and he wasn’t panting that badly.

“Hey…” he said softly, and though her body hadn’t exactly been relaxed when he arrived, it tensed up further at the sound of his voice.

The look she sent him broke his heart into a million tiny pieces. She looked afraid, like he was going to yell at her and hurt her and Hyunjin had never hated himself more than he did in that moment. The way she was gasping for breath sounded almost inhuman, and he wondered how she even made it that far if she was in such a horrible state.

He wanted to do anything to help, but he had never struggled with anxiety to this degree and he had no idea what would make things worse or better. Even though Jisung has had issues with anxiety, he never went that deep into it with most of the members and Hyunjin had certainly not wanted to push.

It felt awkward to just stand there and stare at someone who was very clearly in distress. So, testing the waters, he took a gentle step towards the hyperventilating woman in the corner. She shrunk in on herself as well as she could, and he sunk into a squat, still a few steps away from her.

“Y/n?” he said gently, and was met with nothing but continued gasps for air that seemed like it would never reach her lungs. He waited a few seconds. “Can I sit next to you? I-I promise I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but I figured you wouldn’t want to be… alone.”

Again, nothing but heaving gasps, but she didn’t react or tense up in any way when he stepped closer, so Hyunjin took a seat a foot or so away from her. He rested his head against the wall, his legs crossed and silently watching Y/n struggle.

He hated it. He hated himself for upsetting her, for making her uncomfortable, for being such a judgemental baby, and most of all for never having paid attention to what people needed while having panic attacks. He didn’t know much, but at least he knew that’s what this was. Panic.

“Do you-” at his words the woman tensed up again, so Hyunjin fell silent. Then he decided that it was okay, that maybe if he said the right thing, she would feel better. He took a deep breath. “I’m not very good with this whole thing,” he started. “I’ve never really experienced a situation like this. Jisung had some issues with anxiety, but I’m sure you knew that already. He never came to me with it, though. He mostly went to Felix and Chan hyung.”

Y/n said nothing, just kept gulping down whatever oxygen she could - way too fast, Hyunjin knew, and he was surprised she hadn’t passed out yet. Glad she hadn’t, but surprised nonetheless. He didn’t know what else to say, and reached out a hand to place on her head. She tensed up and let out a sob-like sound, and Hyunjin pulled his hand away like he had just gotten burned.

He wanted to give her something to focus on other than her apparent panic, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know if it would work, either, but he figured that to stop panicking she would have to stop thinking about the fact that there was something to panic about. He racked his brain for something to say, something to catch her attention, and came up with absolutely nothing.

Except… She had been able to hear him and at least somewhat process what he was saying, right? So what if he gave her something to listen to? And really, he was a singer, wasn’t he? Well, singer, rapper… whatever he was, his job was giving people all around the world something to listen to.

So, he did what he does best and started to sing. He was singing their latest title track - really, he had to warm up for the performance anyway, right? - for a good thirty seconds before he heard something from the woman next to him.

She was laughing.

She was still breathing heavily, and he most definitely spotted some tears on her cheeks, but she was laughing. Because of him. He stopped singing, and she laughed harder. He was unsure as to what was so funny, but really, he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything other than the fact that she was no longer panicking and he was the reason for that. She could laugh at him all she wanted, as long as she calmed down enough to get her breathing back to normal.

After a minute or two, her breathing started going down enough to be considered at least somewhat normal, and she straightened her back a bit, wiping her tears off her face. Then she looked at Hyunjin and smiled softly, and his stomach moved in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“You’re terrible at helping people when they have a panic attack,” she said jokingly, looking down at her lap where she was picking at her nails.

“I know,” he answered, smiling softly. “It worked though, didn’t it?”

“That it did,” she mumbled, looking back up at him. “I’m sorry for just leaving, I was just not prepared for all those people, and cameras, and-”

For a second, Hyunjin feared that she would work herself up into another panic attack, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, grabbing her necklace and fiddling with it. He observed her quietly, wanting to learn anything and everything he could about her habits and moods.

“Anyway, that entire situation was just a lot for me. I’m sorry, it was unprofessional of me and I will do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen again, I promise,” she finally finished.

He blinked at her in disbelief. Why was she apologizing? It wasn’t her fault that she had trouble handling large crowds of people. If she was unprepared for a situation like that, it would obviously be overwhelming and unpleasant, and that wasn’t something she had to apologize for.

“That’s okay,” he said gently, pushing her softly with his elbow. “If you ever need a break, just let me know. I know I’m not Chan hyung, and I don’t know you quite as well as he does, but I still care about you and your comfort.”

At his words, she smiled so brightly he almost felt blinded, and his stomach did that thing again. This time a little more violently. He should probably go to the doctor if it kept up.

“Oh my god,” Y/n suddenly gasped, grabbing Hyunjin’s jaw gingerly and turning his head back and forth a few times. “I have to fix your makeup, Christ. What did you do, run across the entire country?”

“Felt like it,” he joked, grinning impishly.

She suddenly released his jaw, blushing furiously and looking down at her lap again. “I’m so sorry! I should have asked before touching you, I-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You were doing your job.” He assured her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he took it out to see at least twenty text messages and two missed calls from his members. His eyes widened and he turned it to show Y/n, who immediately let out a shriek and shot to her feet.

“Shoot, we have to go fix you up! Let’s go!”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway. His arm felt like it was going to be pulled out of its socket, but somehow, he didn’t mind all that much.

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