#you want to keep a piece from the broken thing? sure! at least that's less stuff to deal with than before

[gailynovelry]

I think about how so many resources for dealing with a hoarder house situation online come from a perspective of hatred and frustration for the person(s) perpetuating the hoarder situation in the household, and I think to myself. Would perhaps people have better results by treating the hoarder with a modicum of respect and applying harm reduction strategies to the situation? Like with addiction?

The household we live in teeters in a weird spot where multiple rooms (living room, porch, back room, guest room, upstairs bathroom) are slowly being overtaken with storage boxes.

It's not a filled-to-the-brim hoarding situation yet, but if I'm not actively organizing and cautiously removing items, it came become a really frustrating environment to live in. Blocked closets, hallways you have to squeeze through, stuff like that.

Bu I've been trying to find resources for helping someone out of a hoarding mindset, and so much "advice" approaches the person having the mindset with distaste.

"The problem with hoarders is that they don't think it's a problem!"

That's usually because they see the hoarding as a solution to some other problem, like resource insecurity, or compensating for memory loss via keepsakes. Maybe we should take those fears seriously and help them dismantle it all on their own terms?

#hoarding #decluttering #cleaning #look the fact that i can move stuff and judiciously get rid of stuff now makes this situation WAY better than it used to be #and part of that was yes asserting some boundaries #but another part of it was . . . not being a dick to the person who is filling the house with stuff #approaching them gently with our own concerns like #hey i'm having trouble navigating this hallway can i move some stuff #hey i noticed this thing was broken to the point of unrepairability can i junk it #you want to keep a piece from the broken thing? sure! at least that's less stuff to deal with than before #like we still have the issue of more stuff coming into the household from spending trips but baby steps; we can work on that next #part of the thing is that people don't confront the situation until it gets fully unlivable for them #so it's like. snap. from the hoarder's perspective you have gone from zero to a hundred #and from your perspective you have been drowning in stuff for so long and your thrashing instincts are kicking in #but you have to take it piece by piece; not all at once

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He���s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

[daruee]

Corner Store :)

Who goes to the corner store at 1 am?

I do.

And who's too dumb to think of putting some less revealing clothes?

I am.

I was lying in bed really faded and completely mind broken after playing with my cunt for hours instead of going to sleep. Nonetheless I realized I was a little hungry but there was nothing I wanted to eat in my house, so after my body calmed down I cleaned myself up and put some clothes on so I could go out. If it were any other time I would've put on joggers and a comfortable sweatshirt, but my mind was over taken.

I wasn't looking to blend in, I wanted to be gawked at like a piece of meat, at least subconciously. I pulled out a cropped pink hoodie with black stars all over it and the shortest skirt I could find (it barely covered my ass)

And for the finishing touches I hoisted my thong straps above the waistband of my skirt and smiled at the outfit I'd created.

"perfect"

The walk to the corner store was quiet...eerily quiet, I just pushed it to the back of my mind and focused on my goal right now.

"get fucked- I mean get some snacks...obviously...I just came out here for snacks"

I start scanning the aisle in the hopes of something catching my eye...when I stand there I realize the lone worker managing the store had been following me, I averted my eyes and just walked down another way because there was no way I was confronting him about it. I was the most scared when I stood back up from bending down to grab a drink from the freezers...I turned back to see a glimpse of him...

"he was looking at my ass" I thought, and suddenly got self concious and tried to turn around and cover it by putting my hands behind my back. I just gave up and went to pay. No words were exchanged between us since I was pretty sure he knew I was aware of what he was doing. When it came time to pay I realized...

"shit I forgot my wallet...I come here all the time would it be too much to ask if I could pay later?"

Would he reason with me...probably not. So I was getting discouraged before I even heard his answer and then that's when his words echoed through me...like a perfectly placed opportunity.

"There's another way you can pay...it's nastier but you don't seem like any stranger to that."

How could he just assume that about me...then I remebered how I was dressed... I had to admit his observation was quite fair.

I put up a little fight but it wasn't long before I was behind the store counter on my knees, legs spread a little bit and using all that knowlege from hypno vides, porn, and practicing on my dildo from home on how to suck him off.

"god you desperate bitches really do it the best eh?”

"keep it going I want to feel my cock hitting the back of your throat."

were all things he said, and I won't lie it only turned me on. I wanted to please him more and didn't care if I had to be a stupid fuck toy to do it. Once that was over with he pulls me up by my hair, not caring how much it hurt me in anyway and bent me over the counter.

I couldn't help but squirm over all the tugging of my thong and what it was doing to my overstimulated cunt, it hurt really bad and whenever I got too loud his rough hand came down harshly on my as…he had no mercy. That was only the beginning though, I started losing it when he went to fuck my ass, it hurt so bad and he went in and out as he pleased with no such warnings.

For that two hours he owned me.

He did everything in his power to make things as painful as possible and put off his cumming because the deal was...

"I'll let you walk out of here as long as I get to cum."

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't asking him for more by that time though, when he'd finally came he crouched down to watch his milky essence drip from my once tight little asshole down to my pussy, of course I gave it a taste after that and shoved some into my pussy for him.

"your such a good slut, and see what'll happen if you try to forget your wallet again, I'll have you crying and drinking my piss...get out of here."

It's safe to say...I will be forgetting my wallet again.

#cnc free use #dumb slvt #girlblogging #daddy's good girl #bimbo hypnosis #bimboification #bimbo girl #fr33use #somno breeding #bd/sm kink #rough cnc #r4p3 kink #r4p3b4it

[thisismeracing]

Die from a broken heart | MS47

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x wolff!reader (she/her) ― Warning: mentions of food, jealousy, and a secret relationship; angst with a happy ending. (3k words) ― Summary: After a fight with Mick, your secret boyfriend, you find yourself crying in your father’s arms, and it won’t take much for Toto to connect the dots. The thing is: what is going to happen when he finally does? (based on this request)

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“He’s just a friend!” Yn finally snaps, voice getting louder and thicker in frustration.

Mick, who’s at the other side of the room, arms crossed, and face twisted in a frown, scoffs at her words just like he’s been doing the past few minutes they have been fighting.

“Yeah, but at this point, so am I to everyone who knows us,” his remark makes her heart clench.

She loved him, she was sure of that even though they had been together for less than a couple of months. They had known each other for over a year. They were friends before becoming lovers. So his harsh words and his lack of demonstrating hurt hit her differently.

Fighting with someone who won’t match your screams can be slightly worse than fighting with someone who will. Mick had his voice even the whole time, lips pursed, eyes hard. His cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and his stance wide, but other than that, he did not cave, did not scream, or point a finger at her.

“And what do you want me to do Mick? You wanted me to make out with you in front of everyone so they could record and we could wake up being the news headlines tomorrow morning? You more than anyone know how the media can be pushy, how they can break beautiful things.”

“Guess sometimes you don’t need them to break it, those beautiful things will break themselves,” he retorted, walking past her and to the door.

“Where are you going?” Yn asked, tears gathering in her eyes.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter to you.”

And just like that, he gave his back to her.

Her sweet, loving, patient boyfriend turned around and stormed off the room as if he was done. As if their relationship was done for.

She loved being Toto’s daughter. Loved being a Wolff, and all the things that came with it, except how her dad’s fame would play out in her life. She wouldn’t mind the constant travel, something she really liked as a kid. She wouldn’t mind the constant questions about her dad and F1, and driver X and Y. She wouldn’t mind the cameras whenever she went to the paddock. Now, she hated how her name affected her relationship. Fair enough, she doesn’t know how she would meet Mick if she weren’t a Wolff. You can never guess destiny, maybe in another life she would have worked in F1 and they would’ve met. But the fact was, she hated how she had to keep their relationship a secret at least for a bit before telling her dad. He had a rule about not dating drivers, but who was she to resist ocean-blue eyes and a dazzling smile?

When Yn started dating Mick they agreed to keep it under wraps until a month or so.

But now it’s been six months, and though Mick had suggested they talk to Toto and Susie, Yn was a bit taken aback. She was postponing the confrontation.

She hated how he stormed off. Hated the feeling of being left behind. It felt like he didn’t want to put effort into fighting with her, as if he was done with the relationship.

Ordering from the app, Yn took a cab to her Dad’s house, and though she tried to keep herself together, the second he opened the door wearing his flannel pajamas, she couldn’t help but sob and hug him.

Toto frowned in confusion but held his daughter, closing the door behind them.

Susie, sitting on the couch, got up, “Oh, baby, what happened?” Her soft tone made Yn cry harder. She clutched her dad and Toto shared a look of worry with his wife.

“Am I gonna be alright?” she whispered against the soft material of Toto’s pajamas.

“You will, baby, you will.” He compromised even though he had no idea of what was happening. Yn was still his baby in his head, he would move the world if it meant making her happy. So he kissed the side of her head, and asked: “Now, you wanna tell me what happened or want me to tuck you in bed?” Yn was similar to Torger in a lot of things, one of them being how she needed to sit on her feelings before talking about them. He knew it, but he always gave her the space to choose, either talk about it as soon as it happened if by any means she wanted a change, or simply wait for her to come around.

“Bed,” she mumbled.

She got a kiss on her forehead from Susie and shared a small teary smile with the oldest Wolff, before following her dad to her childhood bedroom. The decorations still intact, everything the way she left it.

She took off her shoes and coat, and lay in bed, letting Toto drap the comforter over her body and adjust the heather.

“Dad,” she calls with the smallest voice, yet he catches it. It’s like when you become a parent you get some superpowers, you get to hear better so whenever your kid cries from a different room, baby monitor or not, you’re able to pick it. Another thing is that you become good at telling whenever they’re lying or hiding something, that’s why when Yn apologizes and tells him it’s about her secret boyfriend, he’s not mad. A bit hurt that she waited to tell him, but not mad.

“Did he do something?”

Yn shakes her head, “It’s just regular couple stuff, I guess.”

“You came here crying, that shouldn’t be regular couple stuff, Hase.”

This time she nods her head, “It’s our first major fight…I didn’t know what to do, or where to go.”

“I’m glad you came home,” he stated simply, kissing her forehead. “Now get some rest, we’ll be here for breakfast in the morning, ja?”

She agrees, turning on her side and closing her eyes just as Toto turns off the lights and closes the door. Her childhood bedroom used to be the safest and comfiest place and whenever she got there it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes for her to fall asleep, yet it still took her a couple of hours, crying hours, before she finally drifted to sleep.

In the morning, Yn woke up to the fresh smell of breakfast and a weird car noise so close that she opened her eyes to discover Jack setting up a whole Grand Prix on her bedroom floor while waiting for her to wake up. The image of her youngest brother pushing cars around made her smile.

“So, is this der Großer Preis von Österreich?” she asked, and Jack gasped, faking a scare with her waking state, but was quick to jump into her bed, hugging his sister.

“It’s my version of the Austrian Grand Prix, in this one we win!”

“What makes you think that we won’t win in real life?” she arches her brow, knowing all too well how smart her baby brother is.

“We don’t have the best car in the grid, but we do have the best drivers, so…maybe we can root really hard and get it?”

“That’s how I like to see it!” They share a high five.

“We also have the best team principal, you know?”

“Yeah!!”

She chuckles.

“Now, let’s get some food in, shall we?”

Jack eagerly nods, running to the door, but stopping in his tracks just when he reaches the door handle, “Maybe you should…” he points to his face. “You look kinda funny…like a panda.”

“Oh-!” Yn smacks her face after looking at her white pillow case now dotted with dried mascara. “Thank you, Jackie. I’m on it.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he states, turning to his toys and sitting on her carpet again.

She smiles. Though there was a big age gap between them, they had always been close, and Yn missed her little brother every second they spent apart.

She washed her face, changed into more comfy clothes, and gave Jack a piggyback ride to the kitchen where Susie and Toto were just finishing setting up the table.

“Morning!!” Jack greeted loudly making Yn wince with how close he was to her ear. Toto chuckled, taking him in his arms and kissing his smooth cheeks.

“How’d you sleep, honey?” Susie asked Yn after she got a kiss from her dad and he left carrying Jack and a big jar of OJ.

“Ok, I guess…Do you happen to know how to take mascara stains from a pillowcase?” Yn asked, eyes cast down, voice laced with a bit of embarrassment that was quickly pushed aside by the older who hugged her close.

Deep down what she really wanted to ask was: can someone die from a broken heart? What does one do when they have no idea what’s going on? Can you go blind from crying so hard? Was she exaggerating? Did Mick have a shitty night as well? Were they going to be alright?

“I’ll get it sorted for you, how do we feel about some Apfelradln like the old times? They used to cure your pouty lips when you were a kid.”

“They would sure sweeten a bit of my mood,” Yn confesses with a small grin, and they walk with linked arms to the breakfast table.

It’s loud and boisterous, full of smiles and giggles. It feels good to be home, even though there’s a nagging deep down in her heart, a longing. Breakfasts with Mick used to be a mix of things, sometimes full of laughs, other times just the crunching noises and smacks of kisses against any available piece of skin from the other.

Susie pulled her from her thoughts, dropping some of her favorite Austrian breakfast on her plate, and Yn smiled, digging into the sweet food.

When Toto and Susie left to get some things sorted for the Race that Weekend Yn stayed with Jack to get distracted. She knew she would most likely run into Mick had she decided to join her parents, and the hurt was still too raw to put a finger on it now. Maybe she would call him later, and see if he would answer. For now, she got busy with Disney movies playing in the background while she and her little brother put some Lego figures together which proved to be a terrific distraction.

—

“Did you get into the sim earlier than scheduled?” Toto asked when Mick entered the garage, big bags under his eyes and no sign of his trademark sweet smile.

The Schumacher shook his head, “Nah, just couldn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Did something happen?”

“Love happened,” he mumbles, walking to one of the rooms to drop his things there, not before grumbling on the way about how hard relationships were.

Susie who was beside Toto shared a knowing look. The arched brows and darting eyes silently get to the same conclusion.

“Do you really think…?” Toto finally voices and his wife shrugs, biting her lips.

“Maybe. They’re good friends…maybe they’ve been more and we failed to see it.”

Toto sighs, moving the headphones that are on the desk.

“Please, don’t smash it,” she jokes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“She’s our baby.”

“She’s twenty-three, Liebe.”

“Ja, but still…”

“If you asked me to choose someone in the Paddock, it would be Mick. You’ve been working with him for a while now, we both know he’s a good guy.”

“That’s the problem!” He points and Susie arches her brows in confusion, “I’m supposed to hate my baby’s boyfriend, or give him a hard time, but I actually like that blond Ken doll, ugh.”

Susie burst into laughter, and Toto can’t help but let the smallest grin grace his features.

“She’s everything,”

“He’s not just Ken, and you know it, Torger.”

“Well, to me he’s just Ken. She’s my everything, and he’s just Ken.”

They share a look, before Mick walks back and sits on one of the computers across from them, fingers quickly typing on the keyboards.

“You sure you’re ok, kid?” Toto asks and Mick nods.

“What do you think of dinner at ours tonight, Mick?”

The German seems surprised with the invitation but is quick to recover. He scratches his neck and then nods, “I would like that, thank you.”

Susie kisses Toto’s cheek and gives Mick’s shoulder a small squeeze before leaving to do her thing.

Later that day, when the doorbell rang and Toto called for Yn and Jack, motioning for his daughter to open the door, she wasn’t expecting to face her boyfriend with two simple yet pretty bouquets in hand and a wine bottle in the other.

“I-...I thought you may be with your best friend,” his voice is like a whisper, almost as if he was talking to himself, but Yn caught it. She was used to his traits.

“Nope, I came straight to my parents.”

And just when he opened his mouth to say something, Jack came barreling into his legs, “Mick!!!”

“Heya, Jackie! How’s it going, buddy?”

“I’m good! I missed you. It’s been forever since we played games!”

“I know, I’ve been a bit busy, sorry,” the blonde made a face and messed Jackie’s hair, before looking up again only to find Susie at the door as well.

“You’re just in time, Mick.”

“Did you invite him?” Yn asked, confused.

“We sure did.”

“These are for you, and for you,” he gives the flowers to Susie and then to Yn who takes a step back when her body involuntarily leans towards him for a hug.

“Thank you, Schumi,” Susie kissed his cheek and opened the door wider for the German to get in.

He greeted Toto in the kitchen and helped finish setting the table. On the way home Toto and Susie discussed if the invitation was truly a good idea, if Yn would be mad, or if there would be any tension in the room, but as it happens, things were good. Mick was used to the Wolffs, he felt comfortable around them, and there wasn’t space for awkward silence, not with Jack around, or when Austrian dishes were involved because Toto would proudly explain the detail and story behind everything as if the name wouldn’t do it justice.

“I’m sorry I stormed off,” Mick hesitated for a second. They were doing the dishes while Susie and Toto got Jack ready to bed, and finished some of the chores around the house. And though Mick had a feeling about the whole arrangement, Yn was sure that her parents had set it up. She knew them all too well. “I know how much you hate when people walk off while you’re talking, and I know how you hate to sleep angry. I’m sorry if it seemed as if I was pressuring you into telling your parents about us, I think I’m just…I love you and I wanted to share this with everyone, but I forgot to consider your saying in this.”

She shook her head, trying to keep her tears at bay. It was the first time he said he loved her. Upon seeing the tears finally streaming down her cheeks, Mick dried his hands on the towel and stopped them just before they reached her lips. She smiled this time, and more tears gathered on his fingers. Mick dipped his head and kissed them away.

“I love you too. I’m sorry I didn’t consider your side as well,” she admitted, threading her fingers on the nape of his neck and enjoying the feeling of his soft strands against her skin.

He smiled, but it didn’t last long because their lips found one another in a kiss that tasted like salty happy tears and forgiveness. She missed his warmth and he missed her softness.

“We should tell my parents now, you know. Since we’re already here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, they invited you to dinner after I got home crying, they probably pierced everything together.”

Mick chuckled and pecked her lips again before turning back to the dishes. Once they were done and walked to the living room with dessert plates in their hands, Toto shared a knowing look with his daughter. Yn sat beside Mick on the smallest couch, and they both looked like two teenagers about to confess they passed the curfew and skipped class both in the same week.

Susie smiled.

“I…we have something to tell you guys,” Yn stated, shaking her legs up and down on the sofa, and she would probably go round and round before getting to the point, so her boyfriend ripped the bandage.

“We’re dating.”

“We were going to tell you guys, we just…were waiting for the right time and…”

“It’s ok, love,” Susie reassured.

“It is?” Yn asked.

“Yeah, but I won’t forget you got home crying last night,” Toto huffed, crossing his arms and looking at Mick whose eyes grew two sizes bigger.

“That whole thing was exactly about telling you guys,” Yn started, telling them how everything started and how she was afraid of their reactions. Her parents listened attentively, Toto would eye Mick every once in a while, to which Susie would grip his thigh even though she knew he was just messing with the German.

“Alright, it’s fine by me, but we still have to talk, young Schumi.”

“Of course, Toto.”

“It’s Sir from now on,” he stated and Mick opened his mouth looking for the right words, but settling only for a quick nod and a “Yes, Sir” which caused Susie and Yn to laugh, knowing the oldest Wolff long enough to catch when he was messing with someone.

“It’s a joke, kid. Welcome to the family,” he got up, and shared a quick hug with the youngest, but not before adding, “But I hope to God she doesn’t come home crying again, or else…”

“It won’t happen again.”

“What are you whispering to each other?” Yn intervened.

“Nothing,” Mick was quick to answer.

“I’m just telling him how happy I am to have him in the family now, right?”

They would eventually talk more, but for now, both were satisfied where things stood. Mick was happy to have the Wolffs' blessing somehow and to share with his own family about his relationship, and Toto was relieved his daughter wasn’t dating a driver from a different team.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this piece. As usual, a huge shout out to C (my coffee emoji anon here on Tumblr) for proofreading yet another piece! <3 Please, if you do like this, make sure to REBLOG and leave me an ask/comment because Tumblr put me in some sort of shadow ban so my posts are taking forever to show up (sometimes not showing up at all to some people). Help your writer out and get a virtual hug *mwah* hihiih <3 thank youuuuuu!!!!

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#mick schumacher #f1 x reader #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x wolff!reader #komh #mick schumacher x you #f1 x you #ms47 #f1 fandom #f1 fluff #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fanfic #millie writes #wolff!reader #mick schumacher fluff

[galesleftearring]

Thinking about how sadly realistic Gale's romance arc is right now, and how in different ways this applies to each of the BG3 companions but especially his:

His whole life he's been told or felt for some reason or another that what he has to offer isn't *quite* enough. That being himself is not going to earn him love and companionship, and that those are things that he has to earn in the first place. Even his cat and his mother, who he clearly adores, have not managed to dissuade him from this.

Then he falls for this goddess; she is quite literally everything to him. She is his muse, the literal magic running through his veins. He *worships* her. And she takes his love, because it's flattering or it's there or it's something to do, and gives him very little in return. She certainly doesn't love him. She just loves the control, and he doesn't know the difference.

And then this inevitably collapses, this love built in hubris and self depreciation, and he is left feeling hopeless. Who could love him as he is when nobody else has been able to? Willing to? Surely the problem must be *him.* Surely the things he wants--companionship, adoration, reciprocity--just aren't things he can have. Or maybe they just don't exist.

Then he meets the player, and he finds himself falling again into these desires and he's scared, he's so scared, because he's now living on borrowed time and as much as he wants to give himself to Tav and have them give themselves back, why would they? Why would this person be different from every other form of love he has ever known? And on top of it all, who would want to pledge themselves to a dying man?

Monogamy isn't for everyone and that's fine but it is for him. He wants to give of himself completely and for that to be reciprocated, he wants to love deeply and truly and completely. He wants to find home in another person and give that person a home within himself. He has to wait until he's sure that he's safe, or until he's sure he's unsafe enough that it doesn't matter--his last night, at least he can die knowing he *tried,* Godsdamnit, and if he wasn't enough in life then maybe he can be enough in death.

But Tav loves him. Simple and ordinary and selfless, or incredibly selfish--not wanting him to martyr himself if they could just keep him there with them, keep loving him. They have taken the broken pieces of this man and said that those broken pieces are enough. They don't want to fix him and don't want him to fix them. They have taken his hand in theirs and given him the love that they have. No more, no less. No grand illusion, just themselves.

But he can't quite believe it, because why would he be enough now if he never has been before? So he tries to earn Tav's love, tries to give them what he *could* be, what he wants to try to be for Tav, what he'll never stop trying to be if it earns Tav's love. Love is transactional. And Tav says no, you were already enough, and I want from you what you want from me. Companionship, togetherness, just us, just me, just you. How could he believe it? How could he truly fall into this steady rhythm of everyday love?

When someone is used to transactional love, how do they learn to accept unconditional love?

#screams into the void #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #wizard of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate #gale

[strangermarvelss]

kill bill- e.m

Pairing: Ex!Eddie Munson x Ex!Female!Reader

Summary: i might kill my ex, i still love him though. inspired by sza’s kill bill

Warnings: angst to the max, break-up, sad reader, cursing, drug use, chrissy is kinda made out to be a bad guy (oh well), hints at something towards the end

Request?: No

Word Count: 4k

A/N: sza’s new album slayed and this song is a banger i’m now obsessed with, so let me deliver some angst inspired by this new obsession. hope you enjoy! -sava

thank you to my sweet @myobmaya for beta reading &lt;3

part two

Happiness used to be a feeling you knew all too well, it used to come to you easily. The simplest things in life could brighten your day and allow you to exude rainbows and sunshine, even if there were thunderclouds booming in the distance. The crazy thing called young love can have that effect on people, making them unable to see anything but the light their partner brings to their life.

Pure envy corses through your bloodstream as you sit across the cafeteria, watching your ex wrap an arm around the “queen bee” of Hawkins High, Chrissy Cunningham. You weren’t sure where the hurt ended and the anger started, perhaps mixing together somewhere along the way within the past three weeks. The breakup was sudden, completely out of no where…at least that’s how it felt for you. But seeing Eddie Munson cozy up to Chrissy Cunningham after school ended last Wednesday was even more sudden and off putting than when he broke things off.

To say it hurt was an understatement. You spent a majority of your high school career watching him from a far, keeping your crush under wraps to save yourself the heartache of being rejected by him. You didn’t expect him to walk up to you one day before school with a singular rose in his hand, asking you out on a date the following Saturday night halfway through your junior year. Who would’ve thought it would even come to that, much less a not-so mutual break-up and a quick rebound that left you more broken than the thought of a simple rejection.

You will yourself to turn away from the couple, directing your attention to the sad tray of cafeteria food in front of you, pushing around your peas with your fork as you rest your head in your hand, trying your best to mask the mix of emotions swirling around inside you. Your best friend, Robin, sits across from you, taking in your sad figure as she pauses her conversation with one of her band mates. Looking up, she sees that your table is in direct eyesight of the Hellfire table you called a former home. She watched as Eddie laughed at something Chrissy said, before leaning closer to her ear and making her giggle into his figure.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” Robin mutters out, ripping her eyes away from your ex and landing back on you. “Y/N, please don’t let them get to you.”

“Kinda hard not to Robin. I mean, just look at how touchy they are,” you say, whipping your head back to look at them for a moment, before turning your head to give Robin a knowing look. “I mean, he was never that affectionate with me in public. So it’s like watching a car crash, you can’t tear your eyes away.”

“Screw them. Maybe he’s just doing this to make you jealous,” she suggests, making you scoff.

“Jealous for what? He made it clear that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore, did not sugarcoat things when he broke it off. It’s like…like he never even cared about me to begin with,” you tell her, a frown twisting onto your lips.

She reaches across the table to hold your hand, a frown working its way onto her lips as well. The words cut her deep, wanting nothing more than to go across the room and give Eddie a piece of her mind in front of everyone, just so she could show everyone how much of a shitty person the metalhead truly was. But that wasn’t Robin’s style. Instead, she stayed by her best friend, holding her and trying to comfort her the best way she could.

“Y/N, that’s not true, please don’t say that. Eddie loved you so much, he always made that known whenever we would all hang out. Even when you weren’t there, he couldn’t stop talking about you in all the best ways,” she reassures you.

Looking back at the new couple once more, you see Eddie planting a soft kiss to Chrissy’s lips, smiling as he pulls away from her and watching how soft his eyes are while he looks to her. The same way he used to look at you.

“Given everything that’s happened,” you start, turning back to her. “I have a hard time believing any of that.”

Grabbing your tray, you stand from your place at the table. Robin’s quick to grab one of your arms, pulling you back as you turn back to your best friend once more, a look of concern meeting your gaze. You know she’s just trying to help you feel better, and you appreciate that. But somehow, it’s just doing more harm than good right now.

“Where are you going? Lunch isn’t over for another 15 minutes?” She questions, finally removing her hands from your arm. You sigh, looking to your tray still full of food as you think of an excuse before looking up to her.

“I’m just going to go study for a bit in the library. Don’t feel like being in here anymore. Is it still cool if Steve drives me home today before your shifts? If not, I can take the bus,” you ask. She nods, waving you off like it was no big deal.

“Of course! I’ll see if he can just make a habit to take you to and from school for the next couple months, no big deal.” 

You flash her a tight lipped smile, you silently thank her by tipping your head, then proceeding to walk towards the row of trash cans and dumping your lunch in one of the big bins, thankful you chose the other set of cans instead of the ones the Hellfire Club chose to sit near each day. Ducking out of the cafeteria, you pop in to the closest bathroom, standing over the sink as you look yourself in the mirror. 

Tears you’ve kept from forming quickly gather along your lash line, brimming and bubbling over the edge and blurring your eyesight, making your reflection unclear, like a bunch of blobs just sitting there in a rectangle. 

You wished you had a proper explanation. What made him realize he no longer wanted to be with you anymore? Obviously he didn’t love you anymore, otherwise he wouldn’t have moved on so quickly. No effort into hiding it to spare your feelings, just walking into school with an arm around Chrissy’s shoulder, fingers laced together as they both laughed at something one of them said. It made you physically sick to your stomach.

But the more important question you had was why did he choose her? The two of them had nothing in common. She was in with the popular crowd, jocks, preps, and other elite members of Hawkins High planted at her side while Eddie hung out with the other outcasts, leading his group to victory as they played Dungeons and Dragons together every Friday night. Hell, her ex-boyfriend tortured Eddie for years while she sat back and let it happen, shaking her pom-poms and turning her cheek to the excruciating bullying he endured. It made absolutely no sense to you, yet, still upset you beyond belief.

There was no denying that Chrissy was a pretty girl, that much you could see. She had her whole life ahead of her, with high ambitions, which reminded you of Eddie. He wanted to escape this town, though. Tour around the country, and even the world, with his band, Corroded Coffin. Yet you pictured Chrissy staying back, playing housewife while she took care of her gaggle of children you just knew she’d end up having. The picture perfect suburban family was in the cards for her. It was for everyone who peaked in high school in the state of Indiana.

You’re pulled from your pity party with the sound of the bathroom door opening, turning away sniffling as you wipe away the few tears you allowed to fall from you wet cheeks. The sound of water running fills your ears, turning your head slightly as the curiosity of who it could be eats away at you. Rolling your eyes, you sigh as you see none other than Chrissy standing in front of the sink you were at, fixing her hair before looking over your way.

“Are you okay?” She asks, taking a timid step towards you. You step back, chuckling to yourself at the audacity she had.

“Obviously not,” you curtly reply, flashing her a deadpan look.

“Okay, look. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about…everything. I just hope there aren’t any hard feelings between us,” she reveals, her high pitched voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard to you. You visibly scoff, jaw hanging open in shock. To think she had the audacity before.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You question, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

She nods, looking to her feet for a moment. “Yeah, I am. You just, seem really nice, and I’d hate for things to be rocky between-“

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I want to be on good terms with the girl that stole my boyfriend right out from under my feet,” you cut her off, stalking closer to her. You can see by how her eyes widen that she’s genuinely scared, trembling a little with the more space you close between you. You know you won’t hurt her, but you can’t deny the pride it brings you to see her like this, all things considered. “Don’t try and be my friend, Chrissy. It’s the last thing I want. Do you know how painful it is to watch the two of you walking about together, as if Eddie didn’t rip my fucking heart out and stomp on it in front of me? Do you really expect me want to try and be on good terms with you when I don’t have an ounce of love or a friendly bone left in my body?”

“I-I,” she stutters.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Chrissy. I mean it.”

Sliding past her, you rip open the bathroom door and make your way down the hall, anger now being the most persistent emotion radiating off and throughout your body. Interrupting you in your time of weakness was one thing, but wanting to try and be civil after everything that has gone down? She might be more delusional than you previously thought. 

Just as you’re about to walk through the doors of the library, the bell springs to life, alerting the students that the lunch period has drawn to an end and they all need to report to their next class of the day. With a sigh, you turn on your heel and make your way over to your locker. You had a feeling the rest of the school day wasn’t going to treat you as well as you’d like.

—————————————————————————————————————

Eddie was livid.

Chrissy spilled the beans about your encounter in the bathroom, bending the truth a little to seem more like a victim as she ran to her boyfriend for help. This upset Eddie beyond belief, seeing how terrified his new girlfriend was thanks to his ex. He wasn’t sure why she had to take her feelings out on Chrissy, but he was going to set things straight.

Kissing Chrissy goodbye, he stomps towards the drama room, throwing the doors open and making a dramatic entrance, which wasn’t uncommon for the metalhead. The entire group looks up, stopping all conversations before greeting their Dungeon Master. He walks over to his throne, noticing that the chair Y/N usually found herself sitting in during meetings was empty for the third consecutive week. Scoffing, he shakes his head.

“Guess she’s sent her message loud a clear,” Eddie says aloud, nodding over to the empty shirt.

“I mean, can you really blame her?” Dustin mumbles out, making Eddie’s head whip around so fast it’s surprising he doesn’t have whiplash.

“Something you want to share with the group, Henderson?” Eddie questions, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he quirks a brow at the young freshman. Dustin visibly swallows, beads up sweat gathering on his forehead under his hat as he tries to think of how to brooch the subject without offending his friend.

“It’s just-I see how she is sometimes at school. She looks sad all the time, and being around her ex who already moved on wouldn’t help things,” he tells him. Eddie nods, anger still radiating of his body. “Not to mention, you guys are always on each other at school.”

“So that gives Y/N the right to be mean to my girlfriend, Henderson? Because she’s all sad and jealous?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying I understand why she isn’t hanging around anymore. I think we all understand and maybe…sympathize with her.”

Eddie takes a moment, looking around the room to the other members of his beloved club. Nodding heads meet his gaze, watching even the members of his band agree with the freshman boy. Eddie huffs, fuel added to the already existing fire.

“Well, if you all feel this way, maybe we should cut this meeting short and come back after a little time away,” Eddie announces over-dramatically.

“C’mon man, don’t be like that,” Gareth pipes up. 

“No, I will. I’m going to go over to Y/N’s house and give her a piece of my mind. Just because she didn’t get her way, doesn’t mean she needs to take it out on Chrissy. She’s very important to me and I need her to get that through her thick skull,” Eddie explains.

“Don’t you think you’re being too harsh on Y/N? I mean, you were the one to break things off. How would you feel if the roles were reversed, huh? If she was the one who began dating again, right after she broke up with you?” Gareth questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shitty, yes. But I wouldn’t take my shit out on other people, much less whoever she decides to date after me,” Eddie answers, tossing papers into his backpack. He’s glad the game didn’t start yet, not having much to clean up as he slings his bag over his shoulder. Gripping his lunchbox, he made a quick exit from the drama room, rushing towards his van.

“Sure as hell doesn’t seem like it,” Gareth mutters out, letting out a sigh and shaking his head.

The drive over to your house was quicker than anticipated, Eddie’s foot heavy on the gas pedal as he ran over a quick script of what he wanted to say to you. He wanted to make sure he was being clear tonight, addressing your behavior towards his new girlfriend and bringing up the topic of maturity. You were both seniors, so it's time you started acting like one, he thought.

Pulling in your driveway, he makes a hasty exit of his van, slamming the door shut and running up your driveway. Knocking on the door persistently, he steps back and waits, swinging his weight from the heels of his feet to his tip toes, chest still bubbling with rage. He’s shocked to be greeted by your mother as she begins opening the door, a wide smile stretching onto her face.

“Eddie! What a lovely surprise! We’ve missed you over the last couple weeks, we almost thought something happened between you and Y/N,” She greets, pulling him in for a hug.

You never told her.

You never told you parents that Eddie broke up with you. It wasn’t something that Eddie considered when everything went down, not bothering to worry about the timeline of anything really. Yet it still comes as a shock to him that you haven’t broken the news to them, making him wonder how many other people in your life were unaware. Word travels fast around Hawkins, and having their daughter dating the town freak was always subject to the gossip mill.

Some sick and twisted part of his brain wanted to break the news on your behalf, letting your mother know and making her aware of the situation. But he also did still have some kind of heart, even if you didn’t particularly think so ever since the breakup. He flashes her a smile, looking to his shoes for a moment as he thinks of what to say for a moment.

“Yeah, sorry. Just been pretty busy these last few weeks. But, um, Y/N didn’t come to Hellfire today, so I was just wondering if I could see her? See if she’s okay and all?” He asks, putting on his best performance for the woman in front of him.

“Oh that’s right! It is Friday, isn’t it? Well, she seemed fine before asking to take the car. I just assumed she was on her way to hang out with you at your little club meeting,” she replies sweetly.

“So she’s not here?” Eddie asks, digging his hands into his pocket. Your mother shakes her head no, which prompts Eddie to nod. 

“I’m afraid not. But she should be here around the afternoon tomorrow. Her father and I leave for a trip in the morning and she tends to stay put when she’s at the house alone,” she explains.

Bidding her a farewell, Eddie rushes back to his van and sits in the drivers seat, pondering to himself. Robin was at the basketball game Chrissy was currently cheering at, which meant Steve was closing Family Video tonight, so you couldn’t have been with either of them. You only went to Benny’s on Sundays, so that’s also out of the question. So where the hell could you be on a Friday night? Had things changed so much that you got into the habit of picking up a new hobby or activity within the last three weeks? Surely not, but it isn’t like he would know. 

Turning the engine on, he pulls out of your driveway, turning back towards the school to go get Chrissy. Maybe he’d have a better chance trying to talk with you tomorrow.

—————————————————————————————————————

Shutting the car door, you walk along the path until you’re planted right in front of the door you need to be at. The sound of small waves splashing about in Lover’s Lake comforts you slightly, shaking out your nerves and rapping your knuckles against the door. You weren’t even sure if he was here, but it was worth a shot. Worst case scenario is that nothing happens, and you turn around and leave, simple as that. The door opens to find just who you’re looking for, a brief small making its way onto your face as you give a timid wave.

“Y/N! How are you? Definitely wasn’t expecting your pretty self to turn up here. Especially on a Friday night,” Rick Lipton, better known as Reefer Rick, tells you.

“Hey Rick, how are you? Glad to see you’re out of jail,” you tease, chuckling a little under your breath. He lets out a hearty laugh, clutching his stomach.

“Hey, I am too,” he says. He takes a moment, furrowing his brows. Stepping closer towards you, he looks around the area for a moment before looking back at you. “Where’s Eddie? That man never lets you come here without him being here to keep guard.”

“Uh…Eddie and I actually broke up a couple weeks ago. Which is why I’m here.”

“Oh really? I'm sorry to hear that. What’s up?”

“Do you have any edibles? Usually I’d go to Eddie for this kind of stuff, but you see why I can’t.”

“Yeah! Come on in, make yourself comfortable. ’S not like you haven’t been here before.”

Walking through the door, you slide yourself onto one of the couches in the living room, trying your best to relax. Rick was right, you’ve never been here without Eddie right there by your side the entire time, as if protecting you from the older man. He was nearly 30, so it wasn’t like he was alarmingly older than you, but Eddie still kept an arm around you at all times in the presence of Rick, and making sure if he did leave your side, it wasn’t for too long.

It doesn’t take long for Rick to return into the living room, holding up a small baggie with six small gummies inside. He slides next to you on the couch, leaving a small gap between your bodies as he turns to look at you.

“What’s the price?” You ask.

“How about we say $20? Give you a sympathy discount since you and my boy Eddie broke it off,” he answers, sending you a smile. Nodding, you reach for your wallet and pull out a twenty, handing it over to him just as he places the baggie in your hand.

“Thank you Rick, really. Do you mind if I stay a bit and do this here? Parents don’t leave for vacation tomorrow and I just…really need this after the day I’ve had,” you ask. 

“Yeah, go for it, I’ll do some too,” he tells you. Nodding again, you open the small bag and take one of the gummies between your index finger and thumb, rolling it around for a second before popping it into your mouth. “So how bad was your day for you to need to give little ol’ me a visit?”

Sighing, you slump backwards and let your body relax into the couch cushions, softening your shoulders and plant yourself in place. “Just some shit went down between me and Eddie’s new girl. She was trying to be all cute and friendly with me after practically stealing my boyfriend right from under my feet, so I set her straight.”

“He dump you for this girl?”

“Yep. Fuckin’ asshole,” you reply. 

The two of you sit there for a moment without speaking to one another, the soft whirring of the box fan by the door being the only sound filling the room. Your arms begin to relax more, a tickling sensation slowly traveling up your spine and beginning to nest in your head. After a few more minutes of neither of you exchanging any words, you feel the high settle in firmly, a small smile creeping on your face as you begin shaking your head.

“I hate him.”

“What?” Rick asks, turning to you with a low chuckle.

“Eddie. I fucking hate him for what he did to me. Breaking my heart and walking over top of it every time he walks through the front doors of our school with his new piece on his side. I could fuckin’ kill him,” you let out, laughing to yourself. “But the sad part is…I still love him. More than he could ever love me it seems.”

“It sounds like you need to get back at him,” Rick suggests, twirling around the bag from his pocket and opening it up once again. You turn to him, lifting your brow slightly as you watch him pop another edible in his mouth.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” You question.

“Oh I have an idea,” he lets out, turning to you. You notice a small smirk on his face, his glossy squinted eyes looking at you deeply. “But first I have to ask: you’re 18, right?”

“Yeah, just turned 18 not too long ago.”

“Even better. Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking-“

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #stranger things angst #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #dustin henderson #gareth emerson #reefer rick #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #strangermarvelss

[romanoffsbish]

I Almost Do

Florence Pugh x Fem!Reader

…and Broken Promises

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

I bet, this time of night you're still up. I bet, you're tired from a long hard week. I bet, you're sittin' in your chair by the window looking out at the city, and I bet, sometimes you wonder 'bout me.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Florence had just returned to her hotel after another successful week of shooting in Prague. There were mints laid out on her pillows, and a few complimentary pieces of hotel swag on the bed but she only swept it all onto the floor. Her body collapsed into the soft mattress, and she curled in on herself while staring at her phone.

The notification-less phone, one that used to ding all day long until she had to put it on do not disturb was now drier than ever before.

Tears soak the white sheets beneath her as she once again mourns the greatest loss of her life. Mistakes she herself made led her to moments like these where she was left without the warmth of the only person she'd called home.

———

———

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

I bet, you think I either moved on or hate you. 'Cause each time you reach out there's no reply. I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can't say "Hello" to you, and risk another goodbye.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"Please, Y/N, once you get this message call me back, I-I'm desperate.," Florence chewed on her lower lip as she left yet another voicemail. A heavy sigh left her lips as she pondered over the fact that you'd yet to block her, a tiny part of her believed there was a chance to fix this.

With a cigarette between her lips she felt the stress of this predicament melt away, you'd always pleaded with her to quit, and for the longest time she had. Funny, you made her a better person, and yet she wasn't ever enough. If it wasn't the smoking, it was her long hours, if it wasn't the hours it was her partying with friends, and she's sure the list goes on. Deep down she knew your feelings were valid, but she was too angry to rationalize them as such.

How following her dreams, and becoming an overnight sensation led her to losing you was beyond her. Five years of bliss down the drain as soon as she shot to stardom, the same one you encouraged and supported her to chase. Now though, without you it's just an empty accomplishment; if you'd only answer the damn phone you'd know she wants you more, she'd give up the stardom if it meant you were back in her life, and more over in her arms.

As she stomps on the cigarette and makes her way through the bustling streets of New York she prays to stumble upon you. Hope in her ever beating heart that you'll be at the cat cafe, or at the park you two used to frolic through. When she stumbles throughout Central Park though, to go cup in hand, her shoulders fall.

Where you are is a mystery to her ever since you turned your location off. Her heart aches with the prospect of you finding a new love, something fresh, and that will allow someone else to fill the hole in your heart she once did. It's infuriating the more she thinks about it, how you could consider such a thing when she is still so heartbroken over your absence.

Day in, and day out her heart continues to beat for you, even when you continue to give her nothing to show for the dangerous hope that she's desperately clinging to; she misses you.

Unbeknownst to the starlet, you miss her too.

However, after the last blow out you know that the distance is all that's keeping your heart from total ruin. Another movie that would "raise her star power" came around, and she refused to turn it down, even with your threats to leave. She walked right out the door, so you helped her by pushing her out of your life.

That day broke you in ways you'd never imagined possible, at least not coming from her, because she’d always promised to cherish your heart, and yet there she stood, breaking it into tiny pieces without even a glance back.

Florence never really was much for the bigger picture, she was always for what she could see right now, and so these opportunities knocking at her door were ones she couldn't fathom turning down in the thrill of the moment.

So as you sit here with your phone to your ear, cycling through this months set of voicemails you let the tears fall. A once blooming love is showcased in the memories on your phone that you can’t bare to delete, and her heartbroken voice flows through your ears and strikes at your fragile heart:

“Y/N, my darling girl, what happened? How did this break so tragically? I miss you so….”

“Y/N/N, this is getting ridiculous, talk to me!”

“Hey baby, I saw a cat while filming today, we shared lunch on the lot and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was uncanny, but the little feline had your eyes… I miss those eyes.”

“I love you, and I will never stop. I’m not giving up on you, even if you’ve done so with me. We’re soulmates Y/N/N, I’ll wait forever.”

You wipe away another set of tears, your heart aching for the love of your life’s affections, but you remain steadfast in your decision here, you cannot contact her. Because you’re absolutely certain that if you were to let her back in, she’d only ever break your heart further.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

I just wanna tell you it takes everything in me, not to call you. And I wish I could run to you, and I hope you know that every time I don't I almost do.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Florence continued to sulk as she traipsed around the city of New York, your once shared villa up the road now sits barren as you'd vacated it to go live god knows where, with whom she doesn't know either. Echos of your shared laughter hits her as she passes on by, her heart aches, and her knees nearly give out.

Especially when she realizes the sound wasn't imaginary, not at all, because just across the street you're sat with your phone to your ear. You're alone, which Florence internally beams about, but you're also in a melancholy state. Tears streaming down your cheeks lead her to wonder why you were laughing, then it dawns on her when a reminiscent glint shines in your eyes that you're watching super old videos.

"Y/N?," she calls out hesitantly, she honestly didn't want to break the moment, it'd been half a year since she'd last been this close to you, and when you jump to your feet, looking to her like a deer caught in the headlights she knew she should've been closer before speaking.

"For fucks sake.," she groans, taking off in a sprint as you'd just done seconds prior, you were never going to make any of this easy for her, of course not, it was as if you two were in your very own, incredibly frustrating rom-com.

"Y/N, please! We need to talk!," her plea seems to only make your legs move faster as you descend into the underground subway tunnel, the blonde groans at your decision, but she's far too stubborn to relent so she follows.

By the time she passes by the influx of people she's hobbling over the MetroPay machines to get to you faster, whatever fine comes her way would be affordable anyways, so like any main character would she breaks the laws for love.

Then in true antagonist fashion you evade her by mere seconds, the subway door slamming right in her face, she tries to pry them open, but when a security officer pulls her back she knows she failed her objective of getting you.

The both of your teary eyes meet though, she can see the fear that keeps you from her, it has your heart on lockdown, and she wants nothing more than to pull you close and quell the fears. To tell you that she's sorry, and she's ready to fix her mistakes, even if she's still a bit lost herself on what exactly she did to break this.

Then she see how your eyes fall to the ground suddenly as your hand grazes over your throat, a panicked fist hits the glass and she follows your gaze to find your locket was on the dirty cement. She drift's back up to see you running through the car's in desperation as the train had left the station, and she swiftly holds the jewelry up and sends you an apologetic smile.

You still had it, the heart necklace she got you for your first anniversary with the photo of you two on your first date together. It was a shot of you with a script in hand, in a silly get up to emulate that of the leading male love interest. Helping her run lines for a last minute audition even when you'd originally planned to take her to dinner. It's in this moment, when Flo's tear hits the millimeter long photo that it clicks.

Never once did your support for her waver, it was her lack of reciprocity that brought this relationship to ruin. Every new film came with expectations far too demanding for your heart to bare. Relationships were about give and take, but now she knows she'd stopped giving to you, and the realization is truly debilitating.

Six months of your silence and all it took was the memory of your start to give her clarity.

She collapsed to her knees, uncaring of the filth of the ground or the flashes and whispers that came with her very public breakdown. With the shakiest of hands she pulled her phone from her pocket, sending you a hopeful text, and all she could do now was pray for a miracle.

*6pm, Joes Pizza, I’ll be there—I hope you will show up. Y/N, my sweetest love, I’m so sorry.*

——

1,702 Words

Final Taylor fic

❤️ Kaitlyn 🤭

#florence pugh #florence pugh oneshot #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh angst #florence pugh pov #florence x y/n #florence x you #florence x fem!reader #florence x reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x female reader

[incrediblyaccuratethoughts]

I’m Gonna Tell ‘Em (Don’t you Dare)

Ao3

Tim just wanted coffee. That’s really all he desired in life. Coffee. His position as Red Robin. And Wayne Industries to get its shit together for one goddamn day. In that order.

“Are you shitting me? I was a fucking crime lord you little terror, I don’t give a fuck-”

He’d done an all-nighter in the Batcave. Again. Trying to crack a cold case he was sure had something to do with Riddler's vague warning a few nights ago. And he was so close, but his eyes had started to close for just a little too long.

So tell him why he walked into an argument that seemed to be based around the topic of murder, at 7 in the morning. Between Jason and Damian. Who both tried to kill him at least once. Respectively.

“And I am the Demon Prodigy of the League of Assassins. I could kill a man before I could speak.”

Tim stands in the doorway, contemplating if his need for coffee is higher than his potential rate of getting maimed in the dining room.

“Yeah, but you were fucking sheltered inside the bases like goddamn Rapunzel in her-”

“I was not sheltered. You of all people should know of Mother’s harshness for disobedience-“

“Oh and I’m sure you were so disobedient Mr. Goody Two Shoes-“

Ultimately, the urge for coffee wins. Tim crosses the kitchen as unnoticeably as he can, skirting the edges and keeping his footsteps as light as he can manage on 10 hours of sleep in the last week.

He’s busy, okay?

“I’ll admit I wasn’t raised to go against the orders of a higher-up but that did not mean-”

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.”

“Did my propensity for sneaking animals into the house escaped your notice? I thought you were better trained-“

“So what? You save every bird with a broken wing you come across, but you’d willingly slit the throat of a human?”

“Yes, Todd. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The coffee pot is half full. Tim counts this as the one redeeming factor of this morning. The threat of getting stabbed is nothing in the face of sweet, sweet caffeine.

“What’s your fucking number then?”

“I can’t possibly know the exact-“

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that shit on me-“

Tim considers pouring himself a cup, but he’s gonna drink the whole thing anyway and he’s exhausted enough to zone out during Alfred’s inevitable lecture, so he takes the whole pot and tips it back.

“I was sent out for missions when I was barely more than a toddler. You can’t expect me to remember every-“

“Ra’s had files on every fucking mission I did while brain dead and high on Lazarus rage, there’s no fucking way he didn’t have an exact-“

Tim chugs his precious coffee. The temperature is surprisingly cool enough that he doesn't immediately burn his tongue. Not that a few scorched taste buds would stop Tim from inhaling the only thing between him and unconscious. But it’s the thought that counts.

“What’s yours then, Todd?”

“Nope. Not until you tell me yours first. I’m not about to have you raise the number because I told you mine.”

“That’s preposterous. I would do no such thing.”

Tim calculates his chances of making it back out of the kitchen with a quarter pot of coffee in his hands and decides his caffeine fix is safer off with a few counters between him and his homicidal brothers.

And yah know. His physical well-being. But that’s pretty low on his ‘fucks to give list’ at the moment.

“I don’t trust a fucking word coming out of your mouth-“

“There’s an easy way to settle this if you’d just-“

“What? Shut up? Drop the argument? No fucking-“

“We can write it down separately and then show it to each other at the same time."

“…huh.”

Tim looks up in genuine fear when both of his siblings go quiet. That’s never a good sign. Not in this house.

There’s a window to his right that he could probably smash through if it came to it.

Neither of them are looking at him though, just regarding each other with much less animosity than a few seconds ago. Tim decides he’s probably fine and goes back to his coffee.

“I will go retrieve a piece of paper and two pens.”

Damian leaves the room and Tim freezes like if he stays still enough it’ll keep Jason from noticing him. Unfortunately, now that his older brother’s attention is directed to his surroundings and not just screaming at a 12-year-old, he makes direct eye contact with Tim.

“Oh hey, Timmers. How long have you been here?”

Tim stares at him blankly. He- doesn’t know what answer Jason wants from him and he’s not willing to face his older brother’s wrath if he’d been having what he thought was a private conversation.

“Sorry about the noise. I hope we didn’t wake you up.” Jason says after it’s clear that he isn't getting answers out of Tim.

As if the manor isn’t literally soundproofed. For this exact reason.

Tim’s 17 years of social etiquette training won’t let him just not answer the open-ended comment, but god does he wish that it did.

“No, I was already up.”

Jason nods as if he was expecting that answer. Which is fair. Tim’s sure he looks just as tired as he feels. His eye bags could hold all of his emotional trauma. They’re Guchi.

“And does Alfred know you’re drinking straight from the pot?” Jason motions to the carafe Tim’s clutching like a lifeline. Because it is.

Tim opens his mouth to lie through his teeth, but is saved by Damian’s re-entry. Wow, he’s never been so glad to see his stab-happy younger brother.

True to his word, the kid’s carrying a few pieces of paper and pens. Tim could leave now. He could casually walk right past them, out of the kitchen, and back to the cave to keep working on his case, but dammit, he’s invested now.

He’s still not sure what this argument is about exactly, but he’s willing to wait a few more minutes to satiate his curiosity now that he’s tentatively sure that the argument isn’t going to evolve into physical violence.

“I’ve acquired the tools to finish this once and for all, Todd.” Damian announces, sliding half of his spoils to Jason.

“Great. We’ll write our body count down and on 3 we’ll turn ‘em around. Got it?”

“Don’t tell me what to do” Damian grumbles, but writes dutifully anyway. The kid would be funny if he didn’t back his threats up with swords.

Tim is. Still lost, but he’s always secretly wondered how many people his brothers have killed. In a morbid way. Mostly because he wants to know if the murder attempts on him were a particularly special event or just a pattern. For his mental health's sake.

“Got it?” Jason asks, holding his paper close to his chest so no one can peek. Tim doesn’t know who would, considering he’s the only one in the kitchen that’s not a part of this squabble, but Damian copies the movement and Tim finds himself inching closer, taking the last swig of his coffee.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

They flip the papers around and for a moment the kitchen is quiet.

“FUCK YEAH!” Jason pumps his fist in the air with a whoop. “Ha! Take that, Demon Brat! I’m the Robin with the highest kill count!”

Tim spits out his coffee and coughs violently. It’s partially because he got some in his lungs, but also to cover the incredulous laughter bursting uncontrollably out of him. It takes him a good few seconds to get his breathing under control, but when he looks up, his brothers are staring at him.

For a moment he’s tempted. So fucking tempted. Because he hasn’t told anyone anything more than bits and pieces about his time with the League. Hell, the only reason his family even knows about his little stint playing lap dog for Ra’s, is because he choked out a vague explanation about his missing spleen when he went into sepsis.

They don’t know about the missions he was sent on. The people he sold out. And most importantly, the multiple bases he blew up because he was crazier than the Joker after Bart and Kon’s death and then the near miss with Bruce.

The bases he absolutely didn’t evacuate. With hundreds of people inside. A few actually avalanched down mountainsides, and he’d eat his Batarang if any of them survived.

The only word he’d confidently use to describe his mental state then, is feral.

He didn’t have to blow them up. He really didn’t. A good few of the bases he’d never actually seen before he snuck in to level the place, but he’d been having a shitty year so naturally, he was going to make sure Ra’s got to have one too.

Not to mention that Tim was as depressed as he’d ever been and wasn’t particularly giving a lot of fucks about if he died during his warpath. He’d already lost a spleen, what were a few more organs?

So this argument? This competition? He finds it objectively fucking hilarious.

Damian and Jason are still staring at him in bewilderment, and for a moment -just a wild moment- he thinks about telling them.

Explaining how he was just. So done. And could only think of one way out, so he systematically hacked into every base he could get his hands on. Stole as many files as he could during his time constraint. And then blew all of them sky-high.

Thought about telling them how on one particularly bad night, gone through every log of the people in those bases. How he hadn’t been ‘sick’ as he claimed the week after he managed to crawl out of his safe house.

He was just too horrified to look anyone in the eye.

It would be funny to watch his family’s expressions go through the five stages of grief and add a few more just for funsies, if they even believed him at all. But no. Tim had his secrets and he was going to take them to the grave.

He grinned at his brothers, patted Jason on the shoulder with a quiet congratulations, and strolled out of the kitchen.

Tim had cases to solve and letting his family assume he wasn’t capable of murder was better for all of them in the long run.

No matter how wrong they were.

👻

In my defense. Writing prompts make the brain noodle go brr. You can blame @coffinbirds and @batcavescolony for these posts.

#you thought i was gonna have him spill the beans? #absolutely not #get wrecked #tim drake is a menace #also a coffee addict #it's truly a problem #get this man some therapy #jason todd is far too proud of murder #can't blame him thou #sometimes i also just wanna glock a bitch #damian wayne has no chill #he's twelve with swords #and not afraid to use them #we should all fear him at all costs #bat family #batfics #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake fluff #batkids #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd fluff #tim drake #damian wayne #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne fluff #batman fanfiction #batfamily #batfamily fanfic

[destinysbounty]

I was gonna put this headcanon in a fic but i probably will never write it so instead im gonna share with all of you. Do with this idea as you wish

The fact that Pixal just up and built herself a new body in season 7 suggests she could have done it at any time, but chose not to. And i refuse to believe Zane and Borg didnt at least offer to give her a body - Zane admitted he preferred having her physical, im sure he at least suggested rebuilding her at one point. As he said in season 8, "The choice has always been yours, Pixal." Which leads me to believe she was the determining factor in her own reconstruction. She chose to stay in Zane's head, and Id like to think her reasons for doing so are similar to her reasons for hiding her identity as Samurai X: self-imposed guilt.

Let me explain.

Think of it like this. Pixal was built to assist, right? Even from the beginning of their relationship, she has been put in several positions of saving, protecting, and looking after Zane. Their first bonding moments involved her repairing him and later rescuing him from a junkyard metal shredder. Just as Zane has an integral need to protect built into the core of his existence, so too does Pixal have an integral need to assist.

When Zane gave her half his heart, he seriously disadvantaged himself in combat. Not only that, but it was his heart being unable to withstand the Golden Power that killed him in the end. Im sure there was at least some small part of Pixal that blamed herself for this. Not just because she might see this as a failure to uphold her reason for existence (helping people) - but also bc maybe if he'd had his whole heart during that fight, maybe if she'd just given it back to him, he might have had a fighting chance. It would have only marginally improved his chances of survival, but that small .003% probability increase is enough to make her blame herself. A probability that small is statistically irrelevant, but she cant help using it as an excuse to blame herself - or perhaps, to give her a rationalization for her survivor's guilt. Because the heart inside her, powering her, is the same heart Zane could have used to defend himself against the Golden Power, and the feeling of it inside her is unbearable.

Then Zane comes back, and she gets scrapped. And Zane forgets everything, and his mind is in shambles, and she has to help him piece himself back together again.

She blames herself for this, blames herself for his death and for the scrambled state of his memories that came as a consequence. So she figures, she caused this, so its her responsibility to help him fix his broken mind. Its her responsibility to assist.

So she stays in his head, where she can hold his memories together and keep his mind from falling apart. She insists she prefers it this way, likes being close to him, but deep down she longs for her physical freedom and hates herself for wanting more than she deserves.

Then Borg is kidnapped. And Zane is nonresponsive. And she has a choice. So she chooses to rebuild herself and leave Zane behind.

And...she feels good. Free. She's...happy about it.

But shes also deeply ashamed. Thinks she doesnt deserve to enjoy the experience of leaving Zane's head. He needs her, she's less useful to him outside his headset...and yet here she is, being Samurai X, having the absolute time of her life. She loves it, and she hates herself for loving it so much.

So out of shame, she tells no one. Shes worried theyll be just as disappointed in her as she is in herself.

And Zane...well, maybe theres a reason the Ninjigma didnt become a problem until after Pixal left his headset. Maybe she was the only thing holding him together, and the moment she left, all his memories started spiraling out of control. Maybe the events of Decoded turned out to be for the best, and allowed Zane to sort through and finish repairing his memories on his own, without relying on Pixal for help.

When Pixal reunites with Zane, shes worried he'll be upset. "Was i more...useful...inside the computer?" But to her surprise and delight, he prefers her in whatever form makes her happiest, not whatever form makes her most useful.

And Pixal, backed by the support of Zane and their friends, flourishes in her new role as Samurai X - not just in an assistive capacity, but exploring and embracing her interests in engineering and tinkering. Things are good, for a while.

But then Zane ends up in the Never Realm. And he comes home, and she learns what happened. She hears what Vex did, how she sabotaged his memories and twisted his own sense of self against him.

Once more, she blames herself. Begins to believe that maybe if she had still been in his headset, she could have prevented all that suffering.

Anyway, Pixal with survivors guilt and a raging hero complex my BELOVED

#a lot of fics place the blame on zane for never bothering to build her a body #but! let! pixal! have! agency! over! her! own! existence! #i think pixal deserves some agency over her life. as a treat #ninjago #pixal borg #pixal ninjago #pixane #ninjago decoded #ns3 #ns8 #ns11 #destiny post

[skayafair]

Part 40

Ok so I've slept on it and have a few thoughts now.

First, I'm glad HG decided to tone down the emotional intensity of drama and tragedy - I thought it's gonna be difficult to listen to the finale after some s3 episodes, but s4 was mostly ok and the finale turned out to be lots of fun! I was smiling widely for the most of it. It even made me somewhat like Kayne! A little bit but still!

Second, we didn't "see" Noel die - great, he lives until proven otherwise. Arthur survived a similar injury, people in this universe are surprisingly durable. Noel lasted this long with a neck injury and didn't die - if Kayne didn't yeet him to some wilderness or worse, he'll live. Possible to pol up later.

Third, I thought Arthur was robbed of all his newfound allies, but I was wrong. Daniel and Marie are still in the picture, so Arthur has human "anchors", he's not alone anymore.

Who Arthur WAS robbed of, are allies who can go with him. Oscar is in the hospital and is abandoned in general, Noel... who knows where, and the surprising newcomer in Butcher's face is obliterated. It reminds me of how a lot of official "uncanon" spin-offs of different show return to status quo in the end of he series because they need to keep the cast the same and otherwise the whole outline of the show may change a lot. I'm not sure if that's the case with Malevolent since... yeah, we had a full season of a wider range of characters, but they were concentrated in the same location, which was convenient. How would this work in other cases? Plus, Arthur and John wete going on a vacation trip without anyone else anyway. Also, damn you Kayne for ruining this! They deserve the vacation!

So all in all we're back to where we started, more or less. It was a neat wrap up of the season, together with the location, new characters, some side quests and even a few answers (wild, I know).

For instance, now we know Yellow actually WAS the King in person. Seems like John is rather a big piece of him if Arthur didn't even notice any difference in the entity at first. I kinda liked my idea that Yellow might have been Kayne's creation completely, a simulacrum just for funsies, because Kayne's idea of fun is cruel. So there would have been Arthur suffering from loss of his dear friend and dealing with this ye olde version if him, John suffering either in Dreamlands or in the Dark World, and Yellow, suffering from all the confusion regarding his identity. Imagine how painful it is after all the efforts to remember, to be what you think you were, just to find out that you never were in the first place. All the "I AM THE KING" gone sour and groundless. That might have broken a newborn consciousness of Yellow, his adopted identity. But he also could have explored it and become something new altogether. Man I'd like to read a fic like that.

But he's the KiY, which is why not, too. He has some new info to work with. New lasting impressions to process. I bet those little adventures in the human world and time with Arthur, time with Larson, short and heated but still... connected argument with John won't go without a trace. Damn I wanted them to talk properly SO BAD and now we're unlikely to get it, ever 😭 But at least there was John, clearly uneasy with the idea of killing Yellow. I don't think it's just his concern about himself vanishing as well. He souned rather sympathetic towards Yellow when they talked about him with Arthur. This warms my heart.

Right. There are 3 things related to this.

John's attitude towards Yellow and the King (Yellow still has amnesia so I can't consider him the King, the personas are different) in pt 40, towards the complete separation from them reminded me of going full no contact with abusive/toxic family. It's hard, and one would often wonder if they survive on their own. Arthur having faith in him didn't ensure anything but helped, I think.

The King and John are fully separated now, so John must be safe-er (if Kayne didn't lie) and his journey is more his now. It isn't even remotely perfect since he's still stuck with Arthur but it's still good news. And I believe they don't have to worry about the King anymore. If he regains his memories, he'll know John is of no use to him anymore, and there's no use to try and hunt these two down since they'll win SOMEHOW eventually, anyway. They have powerful patrons. *wink wink*

Maybe some time later, like, muuuuch later, they will be able to talk properly. Like equals. To exchange experience, impressions. The King values art and knowledge, and so does John. I believe his curiosity is an inherent trait they both share. C'mon. The King is too possessive to let such a chance go. GIMME THEIR CONVERSATIONS I NEED THESE

Also, I'm concerned about Larson. Sure he's half-dead (seriously, 3 gunshot wounds in the body - stomach and back, - strangulation, eye snatching, and he's STILL alive, can he just roll over and die please? As a treat?), but physical form has never been his forte anyway. He successfully brainwashed Yellow and tried to do the same to John (ahaha that was a funny attempt, well, would have been, be John not losing himself at the moment, but the outcome was still pretty much predictable and laughable), his power is in his mind. His words are poison, and he can still speak. I am NOT ok with that. With what he can do to Yellow/the King. What if he talks him into something terrible again. Leave my bby be ffs, Yellow deserves some peace and quiet of his home in Dreamlands. Seriously, Larson is terrible to children and I've said it multiple times that Yellow really reminds me of a rebellious teenager.

Next, I've missed the first 5 minutes or so, so I don't know if it's relevant, but CAN SOMEONE PLEASE explain to me like I'm 5 what was up with the Butcher? It was the most out of blue twist ever. Why did he agree to help? Why did he go against Larson when he was so persistent before? I understand maybe admitting defeat and a respect towards Arthur and Noel who caught him, but helping? Was he promised to be set free of smth? I'll relisten fron the very beginning but uh will it really clear thus up?..

Also. When I said "some answers", it was really just a few. We still have no idea what's up with the 3 soldiers, that woman in the woods, the stone. Is Kayne going to show something about that?

And do we just leave the ultimate purpose, the separation device, sitting in that underground place, just like that?

And I did NOT like how defeated, lifeless Arthur sounded when he agreed to go with Kayne. What's the big deal?? He KNEW John was hiding something, knew it was important, could deduce there was some lie due to Johns intense interest in white lies topic, and it wouldn't have been a stretch to assume John really DOESN'T LIKE lying to him if it can be helped and wouldn't harm them (intentionally). Which, it couldn't. All this, prior to Kayne's appearance. All that conversation did was fill in the blanks. Now Arthur has a clear picture. John didn't say anything that could put a blame on himself. If anything, his actions and behavior make so much more sense now. Arthur is WELL aware about the fact that being left alone in the Dark World is John's WORST fear that came true and lasted. It was one thing to end up there the 1st time. Terrible, traumatizing, but how much WORSE it is to be thrown there again after John learned what it's like to NOT be alone, to be himself? To have hope? Just to lose it all. He called to Kayne only after a long time, when there was nothing to hope fore anymore and he could stand it any longer. Did he hope for Arthur to find him? Even if just a little? Just for that to never happen? And then Arthur's words in the mines, about "let's find each other there". Damn, my heart 💔

I understand Arthur may be somewhat shoked and there was no time to process, but if he's gonna be bitching up bout ANY of that, I'll be angry.

It just. It's the only explanation I can find for why he sounded so... like he gave up. Like the backbone he was relying on betrayed him. When none of that actually happened.

#malevolent podcast #masked #malevolent spoilers #malevolent part 40 #john doe malevolent #yellow malevolent #the king in yellow malevolent #malevolent

[rickie-the-storyteller]

Steph's Crew - Book 3 Summary

I was meant to post this last year to sort of close the Steph-related content and focus more on other projects. Actually, I was meant to post a lot of things last year...

Bretanie analysis (on here)

Season 1 of AU (on my second blog)

Jekyll and Hyde, but in the modern world (I've been working on that for fun on the side, and I've decided to post the full story on Wattpad)

Revealing the identity of the secret blogger (I'll probably do it in this post, since it is relevant to this part of the story as well)

I've been so busy, y'all. Sorry for the delays.

I just want to make sure I have time to do everything as best as I possibly can, so you can enjoy it. I think it was less pressure posting the Steph's Crew dialogues and snippets because they were old pieces of work, and since the time I first wrote them, I've neatened it up and made it considerably better than it was... I know that the stuff I've shared isn't the final product, so I don't feel the urge to make it perfect. At least not to the extent that I do with all these other projects lol.

Hopefully this can help make up for lost time. I'll get to the other posts mentioned on that list as soon as possible, but until then... here's a summary of the third and final instalment of Steph's Crew!

Enjoy!

Keep in mind that I'm still working on this one. It isn't finished yet, but I wanted to give you guys a rough idea of how it goes. And prepare for this, because it's pretty unhinged lol. I collaborated with my sister on some of the wackier ideas...

Book 3 is titled "Story of a Broken Thing." It picks up where Book 2 ends off, more or less (or at least, it fills us in on what went down since the end of Book 2). If you can't remember how UVC ended, then here's a link to that summary:

But to put it briefly, the crew have successfully solved the mystery, Brelise have split up again, Bret's gone on tour with his band, Dalice are together, Bephanie is over, and Stephanie got arrested... but then escaped from holding. Nobody knows where she could have gone.

Which leads us to Book 3. It is set a couple of years later (I think about 5 years after Book 2 ended), and a lot of stuff has happened in all that time...

Dylan and Alice have broken up. Wasn't meant to be, I guess. But don't worry - they're still friends, and there's no bad blood between them or anything.

Victor and Jen have unfortunately split up as well, leading to Jen moving back to Texas. Alice decides to go with her. She's doing alright - currently taking some classes at a local college, and helping out at her old dance studio in her spare time. She's also still making YouTube videos.

Bret's band is still doing well. They're not touring anymore at the moment, but they are super busy recording a new album, and filming music videos. Plus, they have been asked to perform at the Jingle Bell Ball towards the end of the year, which is very exciting. Even though he has moved back to the UK, because of the nature of Bret's job, he can't just stay in London with his aunt anymore like how he used to... but he still comes to visit her as often as possible. And he and Elise are still close friends, so that's cool. He's been seeing other people over the past couple of years, though.

Elise and Charlie are together. She decided to give him a chance. They're really happy together and they seem to have a pretty healthy, solid relationship for the most part (they've been together for two years straight by the time Book 3 has started). Charlie still harbours some degree of jealousy/wariness towards Bret, though, since she's still really good friends with him. He's never once brought it up to her, though. But it becomes a big deal in this part of the story... more on that later.

Ben isn't really in this part of the story... at least not until towards the end, when Stephanie randomly decides to call him for some reason. But he's doing fine. Moved back to his cooking job from Book 1 lol. It was good money, and now he doesn't have another person to share it with! Wait, that sad-

And by now, Dylan, Connor (who has finally moved on from Daisy! Thank God), Elise and Charlie have all finished their university courses. Yay!

In fact, this is what kickstarts the plot. Dylan's family (we get to see them again in this one! Specifically his mother, her new husband and his younger brother Sam. I feel like we didn't get enough of them last time) is very proud of him for finishing such a long, tough course (3 years, + 1 foundation year + 1 year of masters), and they decide to reward him with an epic summer trip to Australia. And it is during this holiday that he sees Steph again (she's not in Australia btw - he sees her when he goes with a family friend to the Samoan islands).

She fills him in on how she got there. I haven't neatly worked this part out... but basically, Reggie helped her leave the country (idk whether to make him a villain or some kind of loose cannon/antihero type of guy. Like, he's awful most of the time, but he's also one of Stephanie's oldest friends, and he can be genuinely nice when he wants to be. Especially to her. He needs to be in trouble tho lol. I think the thing about him is that he gets away with his awful behaviour easily, whereas Stephanie is kind of forced to be held accountable, even if she actively runs away from the consequences of her actions sometimes...)

After that, she was stuck on her own again for a while and needed a job. So she applied for a job at a local Natia hotel (Natia is a famous line of hotels... kind of like Hilton, to give a known real-life example). She didn't have enough money for a cab or bus, so she had to walk the whole way there through heavy rain. By the time she got there, she looked terrible lol. But when she arrived, she bumped into a handsome young man who kindly helped her out. He got her a room and some clothes to change into, which helped in making a good first impression and whatnot. She got the job!

Later, she found out that the guy's name was Jordan Natia. The son of the hotel line founder (he also owns the hotel she got a job at). She thanks him for her help, and he invites her for dinner... and the rest is history.

And by history, I mean she ends up marrying him lol. Dylan finds out that she now lives at the resort that he and his family friend are currently staying at. She also has a baby daughter named Mia (short for Miranda. Not suspicious at all). She loves her life so much right now. She's always prided herself on being a strong independent woman who can take care of herself, but she's surprised at how much she's enjoying being a stay-at-home mother and housewife lol. She loves spending time with her baby, and she loves her husband a lot, too. He takes good care of her. However, similar to Ben, he doesn't really know all that much about her (Jordan goes through a similar arc to Ben's in Book 2, where he finds out the truth about Stephanie, and it changes the way he sees her. Minus the cheating lol).

Dylan is shocked at how much Steph has changed since the last time he saw her, but he's happy for her at the same time. He can see that she's genuinely happy and seemingly at peace, which is great.

Meanwhile, back in the UK, Charlie has decided to propose to El. He's taking it VERY seriously - even asked for her family's blessing and everything. They all said yes... even Adam lol (he's grown to like Charles by now). One summer evening, he pops the question (in a truly beautiful and romantic way btw), and Elise says yes in the moment, but she doesn't know if she truly feels ready for marriage yet. Something about the situation feels wrong to her, but she doesn't know what it is. However, instead of communicating her mixed feelings to her now fiance, she decides to distract herself with hangouts with her family and friends, as well as getting into her work and other hobbies, preferring to think about anything other than her problems (man, does THIS sound familiar lol). Charlie starts noticing a change in El's behaviour and it begins to really upset him (especially since Bret is one of the people she starts spending more time with, and we all know how she feels about him), causing more strain in their relationship. It only gets worse when they find out about Stephanie's whereabouts...

Dylan messages the others about his trip everyday through a group chat. One night he reveals that he's reunited with an old friend of theirs and sends a picture of him and Stephanie hanging out. The others are shocked. Elise especially.

The situation started becoming somewhat of a controversy in the news... people started talking about it more online, many blogs and news websites (including The Looking Glass) started covering it. Alice made a video on YouTube talking about it (and it came from the unique angle of her knowing the person from school and being their friend and everything. She didn't mention Steph by name, though). It blew her channel up.

The story of Stephanie's escape was quickly resurfacing back into people's minds after being forgotten for such a long time. And this wasn't good for Steph lol. Especially after finally making a life for herself that she was genuinely truly happy in.

But that's not the end of the story.

I'll tell you the rest in part 2 of this summary!

#rickie-the-storyteller #writerblr #steph's crew #original content #book 3

[synthetickitsune]

sf9 + drunkenly flirting with them in front of the members

Youngbin ❧ He’s flushed pink, both from the liquor in his system and the way you’re trying to seduce him. The presence of his members does little to help, but perhaps it’s not all that inconvenient. It makes something in him come alive. He knows you. He knows that you’d be mortified in the morning when Inseong would no doubt join you as soon as he woke up to show you the video he took of you flirting with your boyfriend, voice slurred and leaning into his side heavily. And he knows you’d then start apologizing and barely look him in the eye thinking he was embarrassed by your behavior. That’s the thing though. The members are here and he is their leader, and while not one to take advantage of the role he was given, this is one situation where he will make an exception. Perhaps that’s why his friend only chuckles before turning his screen towards Youngbin to show him that not only he stopped recording, he also deleted the file. There’s soft laughter to be heard around the room, fond as much as it is teasing. They can tease him all they want, but you will be protected. He turns back to you, still cooing about how handsome he is. He leans closer, throwing a compliment right back at you. The stars in your eyes as you realize your flirting is working is worth every not-so-quiet whipped that he hears and no doubt will hear in the days to come.

Inseong ❧ He’s used to it, he’s fine with it. He’s long since accepted and grew comfortable with occasionally making himself the fool for the entertainment of others. Besides, his priority is always you, and if you want to whisper into his ear and blush and giggle as if you were confessing the dirtiest wishes, then so be it. He humors you, gasping and averting his eyes in mock shyness and embarrassment. The others would have told you to get a room a long time ago if they didn’t know better. It’s not dirty fantasies you’re so secretly murmuring into Inseong’s ear. I think my Spotify is broken. You’re not listed in the hottest singles. That one makes him chuckle for real, and he considers acting offended because hey, he really is on spotify and he is not in the hottest singles. However, he knows how easily your mood can flip in your intoxicated state and he doesn’t want to cause you distress. It’s getting late anyway. And so instead he informs you, a conspiratorial smirk on his lips, that it’s because he’s not single. Before the confusion on your face can turn into hurt, he kisses you slowly, sharing the catch - you’re the reason he’s not single, and do you maybe want to go home with him? You agree and get up before he can assure you he only cares about your safety. As he helps you into your coat, the boys impatiently demand to know which terrible horrible pick up line has done it today. He grumbles his response, whining that they need to work hard this year so you can’t use it ever again.

Jaeyoon ❧ He wants to pay his undivided attention to making sure you’re alright, but it’s near impossible with the way you keep not-so-subtly checking him out. He’s told you to be careful with how much you drink and apparently he should’ve also told Zuho. Maybe then he could avoid this mess. Jaeyoon makes a mental note to never let you talk and wine with the other man again. What’s worse is that now everyone is staring at both of you, in various states of intoxication and loudness, as you practically drape yourself over Jaeyoon and start cooing at him about how handsome he is. He feels his cheeks heat up while you’re apparently smitten with his smile. At least with your arms around his neck and his hands on your waist he can steady you and make sure you’re not bumping into every single piece of furniture. It feels good to have your attention solely on him, to know that even when your mind is altered he’s the only one you want. It makes him soft, much softer than he cares to admit. What’s less endearing is that you refuse to leave his side - ‘i’m not taking any chances, you’re too hot’ - and so you need to shout to converse with the others. All the noise gets too much, and soon whoever wants to talk to you or Jaeyoon needs to come closer. You cling to him more, squeezing yourself against him. His chest puffs out in pride. Everyone must’ve underestimated your attraction to him - whoever teases either of you gets an earful about why Jaeyoon apparently is the only man ever, and he couldn’t love you more.

Dawon ❧ It’s getting worse by the second. You’re flirting - he should have known your tolerance wouldn’t be the same as his - and your hand is on his thigh and the members are looking and cheering for him and he’s lost. He really should’ve tried drinking with you before allowing you to meet the members under these circumstances. Now he doesn’t know what to do and it’s not a good feeling. He hasn’t drunk that much but maybe he could feign feeling sick? Only as soon as he starts getting up you’re pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. You’re pouting, the cute pout you always do when you want something and that makes him cave every time. He hears some chuckles about how cute you are and - “Yeah, that’s my cute baby” he coos at you, sitting right back down. Your eyes sparkle as he stretches his arm on the back of the couch behind you and you lean into him almost immediately. As if he could leave you here with these animals. Who knows what embarrassing stories they’d tell you, he does a pretty good job of ruining his idol image in front of you himself, thank you very much. Or worse yet, maybe they’d steal your attention away. He wouldn’t blame you, you’re intoxicated and his members are handsome. Yet when he does have to leave to use the bathroom, he returns to you pouting once more. Taeyang obviously wants to talk to you but you look like you’re about to kick his ass for trying. Apparently Sanghyuk doesn’t have to worry at all.

Zuho ❧ He doesn’t mean to be hurting your feelings, really not. But you’re adorable and he’s shy. He’s surrounded by people most dear to him and everyone is having the time of their life so forgive him if he’s feeling just a little out of his mind. You cross your arms over your chest as he laughs at yet another of your attempts at seducing him. You’re doing such a good job and you don’t even know it. He leans into your personal space, the smile still on his lips and it grows bigger as you lower your gaze. From the corner of his eye he can see Sanghyuk dramatically reaching for the bowl of popcorn. He cups your cheek as he reminds you that you’re already together and there’s no need for that - that there hasn’t been a time when he didn’t want you to be his. His mind reels when in the next second you smirk and poke his cheek, telling him that you know that but you want him right now in a voice low enough for the onlookers to whine about not having caught that. Not to mention that their curiosity only grows seeing Zuho’s wide eyes and shocked expression. He did not expect that. Lowkey panicking, he scans the faces of his members if they indeed are oblivious to the words that left your mouth. It seems so, just like it seems you won’t be patient for much longer. Maybe it’s best to end the night here.

Rowoon ❧ Your shyness around him now is a faint blush, maybe a second of your gaze being averted from under the scrutiny of his eyes. Finally you’ve reached a stage in your relationship where you’re comfortable with each other. So perhaps he shouldn’t feel warmth spread through his chest as the tips of your ears turn red and your giggles carry that sweetness of genuine bashfulness. And yet you still try your best to charm him. Quiet flirtatious whispers meet his ears and he leans closer to you with each of them. The noise in the background is insignificant and the eight pairs of eyes watching you too. It’s been so long since he’s seen you like this, since he’s thought back to when you started dating. His chest is tight and eyes soft, and really it’s almost exactly like back then- He’s about to start leaning in when a hand falls on his shoulder, startling him. Both of you jump in surprise, creating some distance between you like two teenagers caught doing something improper. Here goes the teasing, and the blush is disappearing from your cheeks as you start bickering with his friends. Yet he remains smitten, eyes insistent on watching you. You’ve put a spell on him. And then you turn, your eyes meet. Ah, there’s the blush spreading again… You smile at him and he’s gone.

Yoo Taeyang ❧ You push and he pushes right back. Having cornered you away from the prying eyes, Taeyang feels more at ease. You’re cute with your cheeks flushed red and eyes slightly out of focus as you flirt with him. Call him selfish, but this isn’t a sight meant for the eyes of anyone but him. Besides with a wall behind your back and to your side, plus him in front of you and his arm around your waist, you can sway all you want but you’re safe. No falling, no tripping over your own feet. He keeps a glass of water nearby and sometimes he makes you work for his attention, for his own flirty responses, and makes you drink water before giving you what you want. Call him antisocial, but he sees the guys every day and you’re his person. He needs to take care of you first. And since he’s not going to get away from this situation with a new bunch of things Dawon will tease him for no matter what he does, he can at least make sure you won’t suffer the same fate. He sees the moment the alcohol begins catching up with you and you respond more and more slowly. If you realize that now he’s just coaxing you to stay awake until you get to the car, without any implications of behavior improper for a public space, you don’t respond with more than a loving smile. And if he notices that you cling to him, yet seem more wary of his members as you say your goodbyes and it gets his heart racing in his chest, well, that’s only for him to know.

Hwiyoung ❧ He can feel all eight pairs of eyes on the two of you. Worse yet, he can hear the guys teasing and cooing, and he knows there’s a flush to his face and neck that has nothing to do with the two shots and half a bottle of beer that he’s been nursing the whole evening. He moves in his spot so that at least he can cover you with his body. A purely gentlemanly gesture meant to protect you from their curious eyes, and his selfish desire to guard you and keep you all to himself in this vulnerable state. What Youngkyun isn’t expecting is for you to grab his collar and pull him close as you walk backwards until you’re against the wall and he knows he’s red red. The wolf whistles in the background do nothing to help and he could almost cry with relief when Rowoon tells them to calm down even as he’s laughing himself. And when your hands slide down his chest to his waist, Youngkyun’s a goner. His brain shuts down. The way you’re looking at him should be forbidden outside of your bedroom. He really doesn’t know what to do. A breathy chuckle spills from his lips, a reflex to hide his embarrassment. It saves his life, though. Your face breaks out in a bright smile at the sound and suddenly you’re hugging him tight. He’s confused, but honestly you’re finally acting like yourself and not like any little touch will make you drag him to the bedroom and he couldn’t be more grateful.

Chani ❧ He realizes that he made a mistake the moment the words leave his mouth. He groans, quickly picking up another breadstick and shoving it in your mouth. You glare at him, chewing and trying to pout at the same time. Apparently the line you prepared and didn’t get a chance to say was a good one. One ice cold look of his is enough to shut up the others and their whines of wanting to hear what you had to say. You wildly gesture towards them, expressing your support, only getting Chani’s eye roll in response. It’s bad enough to be the youngest and be in a relationship, but this is a nightmare. Maybe you’ll sober up if he keeps feeding you though. He realizes that you’ve been quiet since that last snack and so he turns to you. The sight has him sighing. You look so dejected he feels a little bad. And so he leans closer to you, motioning for you to whisper to him what you had to say before. You perk up and do. To be fair, it’s the corniest line he’s ever heard. At the same time, you look so proud of yourself he allows himself a little smile and a quick peck to your cheek. He can blame it on the alcohol later. Or sooner, since his older brothers begin demanding kisses too. But it seems your intoxicated self is not only much cheesier than your sober self, you’re also more protective. He doesn’t protest when you all but wrap yourself around him. Maybe he’ll blame that on the booze too.

#sf9 #sf9 reactions #sf9 scenarios #sf9 imagines #sf9 fluff #sf9 x reader #requested

[kitthepurplepotato]

Shouto’s journey to self-love

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x GN Reader (both aged 25+)

Genre: Angst, fluff, comfort, (happy ending, SFW)

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Season 6 spoilers, description of a panic attack, mentions of self harm in the past, depression, blood (because of a fight scene), self hate

+ so sweet you might need a dentist by the end of it.

16+ for safety!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Todoroki hates himself more than he hates his own enemies; or at least until he meets Y/N who’s more than keen on the idea of making Shouto love himself and his flaws.

This story is about two broken people mending each other’s hearts and becoming one with another.

I was in a terrible mental state due to a tragedy in my family so I used up my pent up emotions and healed myself through Todoroki-kun, thank you.

English is my second language, be kind.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Todoroki Shouto is a perfect example that blood doesn’t mean anything.

Everyone thought the Todoroki name was forever destroyed after his father fell from being the Number 1 hero to a lonely old man hiding in a cottage far away from everyone due to his old, terrible deeds.

Todoroki himself was also sure his life will be stained forever by his father’s terrible reputation; but things… didn’t go the way he thought they would.

After his father’s scandal died down, Todoroki slowly but steadily made his way to the top; hand in hand with his best friends, he reached the heights his father never could; Todoroki might not be the Number One Hero in Japan but he is sure one of the most liked, most respected and most desired hero in Japan.

And also, being on the second place isn’t as bad as his father made it seem like.

Shouto Todoroki is a great person. The press loves him; he’s mysterious, but kind; he’s comedically dull but also extremely intelligent; he’s hot and cold in every single way possible.

Most people think Todoroki Shouto has no flaws whatsoever; there’s never a mean article about him in the media, no love scandals, no drunk fights, no nothing; he lives happily in his massive mansion on the side of the city, surrounded by his friends and family, maybe even a secret lover.

But the truth is…

Todoroki Shouto is a broken soul.

As someone who grew up in an unloving family, far away from caring hands and warm hugs, Shouto has an issue with human touch. He got better since he was reunited with all the important family members he had to keep a distance from when he was a child, but being hugged and caressed by a stranger is Todoroki’s personal nightmare.

Why, you ask?

Because he’s undesirable.

Todoroki is absolutely sure he is the most repulsive person the world has ever seen; nothing but a mess of random genes, a poorly made work of “art”, a human trash bag filled with nothing but unimportant, rotting bits and bobs, rolling on the side of the road waiting to slowly decay and disappear into nothingness.

Todoroki Shouto wants nothing more than to be born again; in a different body, with a different soul and a less broken mind.

He really tried his best to achieve his “dreams” after he graduated (if you can even call a piece of paper stating the completion of his course a “graduation”.); his wrists wearing the constant reminders of his “hard work”, masterfully hidden by his long sleeves from spring to winter.

Todoroki might be a loner, but he is also surrounded by the bestest friends a person can ever have; he never really understood how he deserved to be so loved and appreciated by anyone in their right mind; but maybe they are all just messed up in the head. There is no other reason for a person to willingly hang out with him and stay with him for longer than a day; yet there they were, slapping him out of his stupor after trying to end everything, naively hoping it will make all the pain go away; there they were, sleeping on the little plastic sofa next to his bedside in the hospital; there they were, taking his hand and forcing him out of his little, safe bubble, giving the half and half hero a chance to find the ultimate happiness he was always dreaming about.

Todoroki Shouto is a carefree, cool person in the eyes of the media; but no one knows the real struggles of the hero and no one ever will.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The present

“You are a bit out of it today.”

Shouto gets shaken out of his stupor by a pleasant voice; his sidekick/soon-to-be hero partner, Y/N.

It took Midoriya years of begging for him to get a sidekick. Todoroki is a lone wolf; he might be trying his best to be as different as he can be if it comes to his cruel father, but he still has this one thing in common with the old man; he can’t trust anyone enough to work with them in a team; or at least he thought, until Y/N came in the picture.

Shouto knew right away that Y/N is different; they were the first person Shouto could feel a little connection with; the first person who didn’t try to fake a smile for the sake of a good first impression; the first person to look into his eyes without any kind of ulterior motive. Y/N was the first person to immediately see through Shouto’s facade and see the broken, young boy hidden in the 27 years old body.

It only took Y/N a month to melt Todoroki’s frozen heart; to break all the walls sheltering him into tiny pieces.

It only took a few more months for Todoroki to realize he just found the missing puzzle piece he’s been subconsciously looking for all his life.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The first time meeting an interesting stranger.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The past.

Todoroki Shouto is not really listening to the interviews anymore; he’s done with hearing the same clichè answers every single time, over and over;

“I want to work with the best people!”

“I’m a big fan!”

“I want to be the best hero!”

This is all nice and lovely, but Shouto isn’t looking for the perfect pupil; he’s looking for a partner he can trust and he can talk with, about more than just the weather and the current stock prices.

After two hours of mindless chatter and fake smiles, Shouto raises his head to a strong, extremely honest voice.

“Apparently, I can’t run away from my problems, so I might as well just do something useful with my life.” Says Y/N nonchalantly while playing with the hem of their sleeve. Shouto knows the indication of that motion way too much.

He also knows that this person was Midoriya’s recommendation even without looking at his paperwork in front of him.

“I sent someone over to you, someone really dear to me. They reminded me of you.” Shouto recalls Midoriya’s conversation with him a week ago.

Y/N was saved by Midoriya a few years back when he started his hero work; or to be exact, Deku was saved by Y/N after he made a terrible mistake during his rescue.

After the big war, the government opened a special program for civilians with special quirks. To enroll, they needed to be recommended by the heroes working on the field; it’s similar to the way All Might found Midoriya, just on a bigger scale.

Y/N was the part of the first course back then, graduating with the highest score possible.

“I know you already answered this question, but knowing your friendship with Midoriya… why are you here exactly?” Shouto asks, startling the other team members around him; this is the first time he was willing to ask anything from anyone. He barely looked up at the interviewees until now.

“Midoriya is great, but I don’t want to be the best hero in the world. I just want to find a reason for my existence. I want to have purpose. Izuku’s overly excited team is too much for me and he knows that.” Y/N looks straight into Shouto’s eyes by the end of their sentence with a sad, but honest smile on their face.

Shouto knows this interview is over. This is what he was waiting for. Honesty.

“I want them on my team.” He speaks up and closes the folder in front of him.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Shouto doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Shouto barely believes in “love” in general.

After years of struggling with emotions he managed to get the hang of them though; he now understands friendships, understands what missing someone feels like and understands how worrisome it is when someone goes radio silent for a week without a single word, just because they don’t feel like talking - Shouto can thank Bakugou for this one and his sudden midlife crisis at the young age of 25.

Shouto can also endure a hug from a close friend now; he still squirms in Kirishima’s arms, but he tries his best to hug back anyway.

What Shouto can NOT do is to survive being touched by anyone else except his close friend group - or so he thought, until Y/N has arrived.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The first time sharing an office.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Shouto is having a hard time sharing his private office space with someone new.

While he’s excited for the new journey and he’s already thankful to Midoriya for finding him such a perfect companion - Y/N is quiet, understanding and a little bit fucked up in the hand just like him - a shared small office space come with huge difficulties; like close proximities when working on the same paperwork, fleeting, accidental touches when passing by one another; and also the weirdly constant assessing of the other person’s face for signs of distress.

This might sound silly and childish but putting two socially awkward people together in the same room can get really weird, really quickly.

And just like that, Y/N sighs into the awfully quiet space between them, utterly done with being stared at every 5 minutes.

“You and me. The sofa. Now.”

If this conversation would be between Kaminari and someone else, Denki would probably make a really dirty joke. But Shouto does non of that; without a single world, he stands up from his comfortable chair, walks up to the sofa and sits down; his posture straight, shoulders tense with clear worry on his otherwise cool and collected face.

“Let me guess.” Says Y/N, slowly sitting down on the other side of the sofa. “You are not a fan of human interactions nor understand any of them.”

The sigh leaving Shouto’s mouth is loud and dramatic; his shoulders slowly slump from their uncomfortably straight posture, his body now one with the soft sofa. No need to answer with words; he’s clearly a mess of emotions.

As he slowly looks up at his new office partner, terrified to see the disappointment in their eyes, he’s met with dazzling, curious eyes staring into his soul.

Shouto, for the first time of his life, feels butterflies in his stomach when he hears Y/N’s amused giggle from the other end.

“I am not a fan of this either, you know.” Smiles Y/N. ”But I’m glad it’s you I can be so uncomfortable with.” Shouto can’t help, but giggle. This is the weirdest, and the most honest compliment he has ever gotten in his life. “I am opening up to you and you have the audacity to laugh in my face, alright!” Laughs Y/N, not even trying to act “offended”.

Funnily enough, this is all it took for Shouto to let himself completely loose, tension evaporating from his body like the summer rain on the hot concrete in the middle of a heatwave.

“I am really glad it’s you, too.” Shouto can’t help but smile; actually smile, a sudden surge of happiness running through his veins making the corners of his mouth turn up. Shouto’s eyes shine with the sudden emotion, making him look younger and carefree.

If Y/N’s breath hitches by the sudden sight, Shouto does not realize.

What he does realize though, is his own alien emotions towards the person on the other end; the butterflies, the shared happiness, the sudden need to protect their bubble; because what was once Shouto’s little secret hideout is now a home of two; it took Y/N a day to claw their way into Shouto’s heart permanently.

“So I had this idea… Can I scoot closer?”

Y/N’s voice is full of childish excitement and hidden awkwardness; while his body twitches uncomfortably by the thought of being so close to a stranger, Shouto’s heart thinks otherwise; he can’t help but nod with anticipation. Y/N indeed scoots closer after a few moments of hesitation; and for Shouto’s surprise, he doesn’t mind the sudden closeness - if you can even call sitting next to each other that - at all. He can’t help, but search for the eyes of the other; deep inside, he’s still terrified that people will see the ugliness of his soul when they’re too close, or his ugliness in general. His scar might look cool and edgy from far away, but he’s more than aware of how disgusting it looks like up close with it’s bumps and random discolorations through half of his face; but instead of disgust, his eyes are met with pure wonder; Y/N’s eyes shine with appreciation, looking deep into the heterochromatic eyes; Shouto can’t seem to look away as he usually does when someone tries to make an eye contact; he just stares back, dumbfounded, incapable of words.

“This went better than I expected” A sudden blush appears on Y/N’s face, making them look soft and adorable; personality traits Shouto never thought will ever see in another human being with his own eyes.

“Cute…” mumbles Todoroki, not even realizing he said the words out loud. As soon as his brain catches up with his mouth, the left side of his face literally flames up, making his companion jump in their seat. “I… didn’t mean to say that… out loud.” Shouto looks away while cooling himself down.

“So… your quirk acts up when you’re embarrassed.” Y/N states the obvious with a soft smile on their lips. “That’s so…sweet.” Giggles his companion with an obvious blush on their face.

“So what’s the idea?” Asks Todoroki, still hot from embarrassment.

“This is the idea. Well, a part of it.” Comes the answer.

Weirdly enough, even though it makes no sense for the mismatched eyed hero, he doesn’t question it further. The happy smile on Y/N’s lips is enough for him as an answer.

This is how it all starts; with innocent conversations on the office sofa, early in the morning and late at night; when eating breakfast, lunch and dinner; if Shouto comes in sooner just to have an hour chatting with Y/N before his official start time, that’s a secret he will take to the grave with him. Shouto also doesn’t question why Y/N is in the building an hour before their official start; he surely believes he is the only one who’s stupid enough to spare so much of his free time on a random stranger.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The life of a hero isn’t just about chats and giggles on an office sofa and filing paperwork.

Shouto was so comfortable with his new side kick he almost forgot the constant worry of loosing the other while in battle. As Y/N wasn’t allowed on the battlefield before completing their newcomer training, which is a month worth of training and studying while Shouto fought his battles alone as always, the first time Shouto sees Y/N in pain, it breaks him completely.

Shouto was always known to be a bit sensitive about his friends getting hurt “because of him”, especially after he had to fight his own brother to save his friends from a gruesome death, but this feeling in his chest was on another level.

Shouto always thinks it’s his fault when his partner gets injured; he thinks it should be him and only him baring scars and burns all over his body, and not being able to prevent others getting hurt next to him is nothing but an utter failure as a hero.

The half and half hero is usually cool headed enough to put his harmful thoughts away to think about them later, knowing it’s only the aftermath of all the trauma he had to live through in his childhood; but this time, his vision gets blurry with anger and frustration, his mind blank with the need to avenge, heart beating with the urge to terminate the villain who left his favorite person bleeding and terrified.

Today’s mission is the first big case the two had to work on since Y/N started. They spent the first few weeks doing smaller gigs to not make Y/N overwhelmed, but this case needed all the people available in the area.

The plan was easy; scatter around the area and catch the massive villain gang in the middle of the act.

Shouto and his agency was lucky enough to find the leader’s hideout, but they acted too quickly; their team was heavily outnumbered.

Being outnumbered wasn’t the main issue though; Shouto’s constant side glances to Y/N gave the leader the idea of making Y/N the main target to fuck with the famous hero.

This brings us to the the present Shouto, judgment clouded by fury and concern, the leader pierced to a wall by sharp icicles.

The mission is technically successful; except for the fact that the main villain has several icicles poking out of his body and is bleeding heavily to the floor under him.

“We are not murderers. We are fucking heroes, what the fuck were you thinking, Todoroki?!”

Shouto doesn’t know when did the fight end or how he ended up sitting on the floor, staring into the distance, with no thoughts or feelings whatsoever, nothing but heavy heartbeats and the lack of oxygen taking over his mind as the rescue team and the police takes over the area.

“I think he’s having a panic attack.” Comes a calm voice from next to him. When did Shinso join in? “I can brainwash him to breathe if you want.”

“D-don’t.” Interrupts a stuttering voice; a voice Shouto wanted to hear; no, NEEDED to hear.

“Shouto… breathe. Please.” A body plops down in front of him like a bag of potatoes, covered in blood and dust. “Sorry, I am going to touch you.” Y/N takes Shouto’s hand and puts it on their heart. They take a deep breath in, then out, slowly, their chest expanding and contracting under his cold hands. “Can you do this for me?”

Shouto can’t help but nod. He tries to mimic the motion, slowly but steadily taking an actual deep breath again. As Shouto’s dizziness disappears, he looks up at his savior; Y/N’s cheeks are dusty and tear stained, their costume torn and bloody in several different places. He can’t help the sudden urge to put his head on Y/N’s shoulder for a moment of peace, his hands slowly snaking around their waist to pull them close.

Shouto has no idea how does he even know how to embrace someone; he never in his life felt the urge to initiate such an intimate contact himself, but here he is, clinging to Y/N like a hurt Koala, walls down, surroundings ignored.

“You are hurt because of me.” Shouto sobs into Y/N neck, making their breath hitch from the sudden warmth on their shoulder. After a moment of hesitance, Y/N’s right hand finds their place in Shouto’s hair, slowly caressing the back of his neck, their other hand clutching the clothes on his back. Shouto can’t help the shiver going down his spine from the pleasant touch as he molds together with the broken body opposite of him, taking everything the other can give and giving it right back.

“WE are hurt, because we stupidly made our friendship obvious. But we lived and we learnt a good lesson today.” Mumbles the other, not letting go of the hero until the tension leaves his body at last.

The aftermath of the fight is awkward; Y/N and Shouto doesn’t talk about their warm embrace after they let go and the team decides to not mention the fact that they were staring at the two the whole time, utterly confused by the whole situation.

The first aid team does a quick job of cleaning up their wounds and Shouto gets shouted at by the police for almost killing a villain.

He takes the feedback with a straight face and goes back to his office like nothing happened, with Y/N by his side; words unspoken, feelings completely ignored.

“We will do better next time, Shou. The first time is always a mess.” Smiles Y/N, and Shouto’s not hundred percent sure if this is about the fight, or about the hug or both and he honestly doesn’t care.

“Hm.” He answers, lost in his own thoughts, barely listening.

Yeah. They will do better next time.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

First time touches.

Todoroki Shouto doesn’t feel awkward about sitting so close to Y/N anymore - instead he feels a sudden emptiness every time his new friends stands up to do the actual work they are payed for.

Y/N became much more to him than just a side kick; first, they became friends then evolved into companions; Y/N knew most of the secrets Shouto tried to hide all his life by now, they new about every scar Shouto wore inside and outside, and weirdly enough, Shouto didn’t even think about his inner “ugliness” anymore; Y/N’s honest, caring smile was enough to soothe his raging, self-hating soul. Their teamwork also got better since the accident; they learnt how to mask their emotions in a fight, they learnt how to work well as a team but the unspoken words were still trapped in Shouto’s heart, and he’s not sure he will ever be able speak up about them.

Since the “accident” the only touch they shared were the accidental leg bumps on their office sofa and some softer touches while accessing each other’s body for damage after a fight, but the feeling was always there, in both of their hearts, eating them up from the inside, craving for more; fingers twitching between them on the sofa with the urge to caress the other’s skin for comfort, to get lost in the scent of each other after a dreadfully long day… He also felt the urge to feel the warmth of Y/N’s body slowly melting his ice cold heart so it can beat properly once more.

Shouto ignores all of his feelings once again; he probably doesn’t even know what they mean, to be honest; it all feels like a weird itch in the bottom of his heart; an itch he can’t physically scratch.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Let’s get some work done, boss.”

Shouto feels like he just woke up from a weird fever dream when Y/N turns their head to the office table, which is flooded with half-done paperwork.

“5 more minutes?”

The hero is really… needy today. Waking up drenched in sweat because of a terrible nightmare does that to people.

“My shift has started 15 minutes ago.” Y/N giggles, clearly amused by the longing look on Todoroki’s face. “I’ll stay if you give me your hand.”

“Okay.” Comes the easy answer, which makes them both extremely surprised by the sudden change of attitude - Why does he feel excitement instead of the usual dread, when Y/N takes his hand to hold it in their own? What is this weird electricity in his body? Why is the itch worse now, Wh….

“You okay?” Y/N gives Shouto’s hand a concerned squeeze then lets it go, worried about him being uncomfortable; but the truth is, Shouto’s not uncomfortable, just extremely confused; confused by his own racing heart as Y/N’s soft fingers touch his cold skin, confused by the warmth spreading in his chest after the short contact, confused by the sudden emptiness and longing when the contact ends.

Shouto never understood the word “touch starved” - until this moment.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that…”

There is a lot of things Shouto hates, but what he hates the most these days is the lethargic look on Y/N’s usually cheery face.

“You know that I hate when people touch me.” He admits with a slight blush on his face.

“I’m sor…”

“Let me finish.” Interrupts Shouto and takes Y/N’s hands in his. Y/N’s eyes are filled with tears and utter confusion; he hates this misunderstanding so much. “I panicked.” He admits, slowly exploring Y/N hands with his fingers; he takes a mental note of every curve while he speaks. Why? He has no idea. “I panicked because it feels… different. It’s warm and safe. I trust you so much it freaks the shit out of me.” Says Shouto, voice trembling just enough to make his internal breakdown obvious.

Y/N’s tears fall from their face, their thumb slowly caressing Shouto’s scarred hand with the utmost care and love.

… Love?

Is this love?

This tight feeling in his chest every time he sees Y/N smile at him, the sudden change of his heart rate after their sudden touch; the exact opposite of how he feels with everyone else… and the longing every time Shouto goes home after a long shift… is this why he can’t stop thinking about Y/N, even when he’s dead tired?

His internal struggle comes to an end when Y/N asks the most dreaded question of Shouto’s existence:

“Do you trust me enough to let me touch your scar then?”

Shouto’s not sure if the question is for him or it’s just an accidental internal monologue coming out loud, judging by the look on Y/N’s face. They look conflicted by their own question but they don’t back up, so neither is Shouto.

“I do trust you enough for that, Y/N, yes.” He answers with a slight blush on his face. “But why would you want to do that?”

“It’s a part of my old plan; because I see you looking in the mirror and changing the angle so you don’t need to look at that side of yours. And it breaks my heart.”

Shouto is not sure if he wants to cry or he wants to run away or both. When he looks into Y/N’s eyes he can see a slight hesitation; he nods and releases Y/N’s hand, his posture tense but ready for the challenge. As their hand gets closer and closer to the dreaded area, he flinches out of habit; no one ever touched his scar with pure intentions.

“Why do you look so scared?” Y/N stops in their tracks, their hand barely touching his cheek. Their fingers slowly find the burnt scar, slowly caressing the sensitive area, feeling out every bump hidden under the soft skin. Shouto’s eyes prickle with unshed, happy tears; there are no words to describe his feelings right now, but if he would need to try he would say it’s… the feeling of being accepted or the happiness of being touched by the most important person in Shouto’s life - Because he can ignore his feelings as much as he wants to but even Shouto is emotionally intelligent enough to know how important Y/N is to him, in every way possible.

“That scar is not… too pleasant to touch.” Mumbles the hero while putting his hand over the one on his scar. He slowly takes Y/N’s hand off his face and puts it in his lap to save them from the “terrible experience”. For his surprise, this doesn’t stop Y/N, it only encourages them to do more; in just a few seconds, Shouto’s senses are filled with Y/N, soft lips touch the broken skin on his cheek, peppering small kisses all over the scarred area. Shouto’s breath hitches while his body tenses up, but as Shouto’s nose gets filled with his favorite scent in the whole world, his body deflates and melts into Y/N’s arms. His heart might have a hard time with the sudden closeness, beating out of his rib cage giving him a slight anxiety, but for the first time in his life, Shouto feels like he’s where he is supposed to be; he’s safe, accepted and loved with all his flaws and “ugliness”.

“Nothing about your is ugly, Shou. You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and outside, and I’ll do everything to make you understand that.” Y/N moves back just a tiny bit to be able to see Shouto’s face, their hand now back on the burnt area to prove their point.

So this is what it feels like to love and to be loved; because fuck, Shouto is head over heels for this person, he always was; from the first moment he looked up from his interview papers a year ago; his heart couldn’t stop racing, every time they were in the same room.

He can see it now; the truth behind all the mysterious feelings he felt in the last year. It was adoration.

“Everything?” The sudden eye contact makes Y/N blush even more; they can feel Shouto’s breath on their lips with how close they are to each other. “Can you kiss me, then?”

Even Shouto is surprised by his own bravery, but he can’t help himself; the sudden wave of new emotions make him feel like he can have anything in the world.

“I thought you’ll never ask.” Smiles Y/N and closes the gap between the two.

First, Shouto has no idea what he is supposed to do; he feels clumsy and useless, but the feeling of Y/N’s soft lips on his is so good he stops caring after a few moments of hesitation.

Shouto slowly moves his lips and indulges in the tickling sensation; the kiss is warm and sweet like the freshly made coffee on the coffee table, and it only gets sweeter when Y/N finally melts into his arm completely and there isn’t a single inch between the two.

“We really need to work now.” Chuckles Y/N between two wet kisses. Shouto murmurs something under his nose, and initiates another deep kiss, making Y/N shiver in a new way.

“5 more minutes?” Shouto beams, not even waiting for an answer; the hard press on Shouto’s lips is enough of an answer itself.

Todoroki Shouto hated himself more than he hated his enemies, but with Y/N by his side, he feels like he will be able to love himself a little bit more.

Y/N’s plan worked perfectly.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The present

“So what’s going on in that complicated mind of yours that makes you ignore me of all people?” Y/N pouts in the distance, clearly offended by the hero’s neglect.

“Is it too cheesy and “gross” to say, I was thinking about you?” Smiles Shouto, wider than ever, his whole face beaming with happiness and love.

Y/N can’t help the blush crawling up their neck. They slowly make their way to their favorite sofa and plop down in Shouto’s lap.

“If it makes you smile this sweetly, I don’t mind the cheesiness.” Y/N smiles, their hand around Shouto’s shoulders, leaving a tiny kiss on the man’s lips before going back to work.

Shouto doesn’t even try to hide the lovesick smile on his face; for the first time in his life, he’s happy and proud to be alive.

The End

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

#shouto x reader #shouto todoroki #shouto todoroki x reader #fluff #Shouto Todoroki x Y/N #todoroki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #Todoroki Shouto x GN reader #todoroki fluff

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is Roulette Whee: Swain WIP Pt3

“I'm not allowed to make deals with you anymore,” you tell the raven sternly on your next outing. “Also, that was very rude. It's not like dying is new to me, but some warning would have been nice. Not that I think you can talk, per se. I mean, you have those creepy whispers, but I don't know the demonic language. I can probably guess what you're trying to get at, though, and no. I'm not letting you rip my head open for juicy tidbits, and also, I'm not making any bargains to free you from Swain's control. Anything you know he knows anyway, and he's less likely to fuck me over than a literal demon. Especially one that very rudely let's me get my throat shrapneled from the inside.”

The raven caws from your shoulder. “Yeah, that's what I thought,” you grouch.

—

You don't do much over the next month, honestly. Once every few days or so, a raven arrives with an envelope clutched it's beak, and inside is a time you're to arrive at Swain's office, wrangle Raum under control, and chat. He seems to like talking to you, or at least you assume that's why he keeps doing it. You do occasionally feel like you're on the business end of a reconnaissance mission, but you can't imagine knowing your opinion on yordles somehow gives Noxus an edge on their many conquests. No, at this point you figure that Swain just has an intense demeanor that makes him seem like he's always doing something important, even when he's just asking you how your days been, or how you're settling in, or your thoughts on the book you were reading. That last one might be a reminder that you're under constant surveillance, actually, but it's not like you particularly care. Spending years in a nightmarish hellscape completely isolated save for the inhuman monsters trying to kill you kind of maxed out your lifetime requirement for alone time. Besides, you're pretty sure the birds can't open doors or unbar windows, and if you really wanted privacy you could always rewind yourself to Piltover or something. Still, you leave your window open for the birds most days.

—

The bird on your windowsill caws to get your attention. You wave it over without looking, focused on your book and your breakfast. Noxus probably would've been higher on your list of leads if you knew their food was so good, honestly. Who knew artisanal bread and cheese could elevate a grilled cheese sandwich so much?

The bird lands on your table, Swain's fancy envelope in beak. You wedge your bookmark in place and take it with your clean hand, breaking the crimson red seal and fishing the card out one handed. “Three pm,” you read aloud, tossing the card back on the table. “Standard Raum wrangling duty, it seems.”

The bird croaks at you. You shrug. “I don't make the rules.” You rip off a piece of crust to feed to it, then frown. “Come to think of it, how do you work, anyway? Does Swain see everything you see, or do you just report the important stuff to him?” You frown. “That would be awkward. He is technically my boss. That being said, respect for authority was never my strong suit.” You consider the bird a moment, then turn back to your meal. “Ah, whatever. He has like a hundred of you running around. I'm sure he's not paying attention to me telling you about embarrassing things I did in primary school. Hell, maybe it'll convince him to stop having you follow me around.”

—

“I can hear everything you say, and no, the inanity of your conversation is not going to convince me to leave a mage of your caliber unchecked,” he says by way of introduction that afternoon.

You blink, shutting the door behind you. “I’m not a mage.”

He raises a brow. “Oh? How does one traverse the Void without magic, then?”

You shrug as you seat yourself across from him. He changed the chair out shortly after your first visit–it’s nicer now, with actual padding. You wonder if that's for your benefit, or if someone got the other one broken over their head. “It's a secret. Hand,” you wiggle your fingers at where his left arm lies hidden inside his imposing military coat.

“Would you tell me in exchange for a recommendation to a cake shop?” He asks, placing his red-lit palm in yours. His tone is dry, but there's an edge of sincerety there that makes you think he's not entirely joking. “They make a lovely lemon meringue.”

You click your tongue. “Sorry, no dice. Besides, I'm sure you can figure it out from the tidbit your birdie already got out of me.”

“I understand it was a Voidspawn that took you from your world, and I take it your powers are a result of harnessing whatever you found there,” he says offhandedly. “What I don't understand is how you came to be here.”

You glance up at him. He has that look again, the one that makes you feel vaguely like a butterfly pinned to a board, like he wants to peel you open and see what's inside. “If I knew that, I probably wouldn't still be here.”

“Hm. I hope you know I won't be opening any Void Rifts on your behalf,” he says casually. “Far too much cleanup.”

“If you can find me a trajectory through a hellish nightmare void that defies time, space and euclidean geometry, I will personally slaughter every Voidspawn from here to the nearest Shuriman Rift,” you say cheerfully.

He raises a brow. “Not overselling yourself, I hope?”

You shrug. “I don't die. Don't strictly need to eat or sleep because of that, either. And believe me, I know how to kill Voidspawn.”

“You also take several hours to revive,” he points out. “Hardly time efficient.”

You shake your head. “Reality is…rigid, here. Inflexible. Not the Void. Those things bring a little bit of nothingness with them. Makes it easy to change things, change me.” You frown at his hand, trying to find your way around your curse. “First time I died after coming here, it was morning by the time I woke up, and I was not happy about it.”

“Hm. How fast would you say, with exposure to Void energy? Minutes?” He peers intently at your expression. His brow hitches. “Seconds?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” you say breezily. “And if you don't mind, I'd rather change the subject, before I say something I shouldn't and end up spitting blood in your face.”

He grimaces. “Very well. What would you like to speak about, then?”

You blink. “Yknow, you're different from what I was expecting.”

He raises a brow. “Oh? And what did you know of me, before you met me?”

You open your mouth, except you have no idea how to answer that question. “I don't think I can fully answer that,” you say slowly.

“Partially, then,” he says.

You frown at him. “Hey, you were following me for weeks before we met, and you don't see me interrogating you about what you know about me, other than that I like lemon meringues.”

He blinks. “I did not know you liked lemon meringues, just sweets. And putting aside what you have willingly divulged to my birds, I know that you're stubborn, intelligent, pragmatic, and more ruthless than you like to pretend you are. You go out of your way to help others, but pain doesn't seem to phase you anymore and without that nothing in this world seems to pose any real threat to you, so the life-threatening risks you take aren't particularly high-stakes for you. You subject yourself to the mundanities of human life your powers could erase the need for–food, water, rest, walking to places you've been or practicing a knife when you could unmake a city. You don't shy away from your powers, so you must not think they pose any threat, but you don't use them as a crutch either–that leads me to believe you mistrust them, perhaps that they'd desert you once you return to your world. Please, correct me if I'm wrong on any of those counts,” he says, spreading his free hand invitingly. You don't. “There. I've told you all I know about you.”

You raise a brow at him. “I know you didn't tell me all that just to hear about yourself,” you say dryly, and release his hand. “But if you really must…I know you get kick out of getting under people's skin.”

He smirks. Whatever answer he was looking for, that was apparently good enough. He's handsome when he smiles–well, he's handsome all the time, but in the same way a classical statue is, a cold and untouchable sort of beauty. When he smiles, that wicked little twist on his lips, it makes him look human. Not quite approachable, but at least like someone that lives on the same plane of existence as you. “I can neither confirm nor deny. You may restore the walls of Bitharix tomorrow at your convenience. That will be all.”

“Yes, sir,” you say with a mock salute, rising from your seat as he returns to his work.

“The shop is called Halcyon, and it's near the war memorials,” he says as you turn to leave. You look back to him, taken aback.

“Are you just telling me that because I wasn't expecting you to, and you like throwing me off?” You ask skeptically, though there's mirth in your voice.

“I decided I should reward you for your rare approximation of respect,” he drawls.

“If I'd known I got a reward for being a good girl I'd have done it sooner, sir,” You say teasingly, because spending years in the Void talking to yourself just to stay sane has really done nothing good for your already tenuous brain-mouth connection. Swain looks up at you, brow raised, and the satisfaction you derive from his taken aback expression is almost enough to cancel out the fact that you just hit on your boss.

…Your boss, Jericho Swain, Grand General of Noxus, who you have to look in the eye in a scant few days. Who, judging by the smirk curling on the edge of his lips, has no doubt cottoned on from your deer in headlights that you weren't just fucking with him, and you've completely lost why opportunity to play that off as a joke.

Welp. He might think you don't use your powers as a crutch, but you've never left somewhere so quickly in your life. You make your escape before he has the chance to say anything.

—

He doesn't call on you for a few days after, and you almost, almost put the incident out of your mind. You've had more embarrassing fuck-ups, you're sure, and honestly everything you've been through kind of puts social blunders into perspective on an odd way. You decide not to worry about it.

—

“What is that?” Swain asks, squinting at the paper bag you've deposited on his desk.

“A lemon meringue?” You say, plopping into your seat and wiggling your fingers at him.

“Why is it here?” He says. He doesn't even look at you when he puts his hand in yours, busy opening the packet to peer inside, as if you've somehow put a bomb in a clearly labeled baked goods bag.

You blink at him. “It's for you?” He gives you a blank look. “I figured you liked them, since you didn't know I did and you brought them up anyway. If you don't want it I'll take it. You were right, though, they're amazing.”

“Hm. No, I'll take it. My thanks,” he says. There's a strange look in his eye when he regards you. “Is there something you want?”

You consider him. “People don't often just do nice things for you without wanting something in return, do they?”

“Implying you don't want something from me?” He asks.

You pointedly do not think about your last encounter. “Well, sure, but you know what I want.”

“Do I?” He says, his voice low and considering. His palm is warm in yours. You're so fucking made.

You resist the urge to squirm. You've spent years in the Void, whatever this is can't be worse. “Look, if this is about what I said last time–”

“It's not,” he says easily, completely derailing what was about to be a very awkward apology about your lack of professionalism. Not that you'd ever had much of that. Before you can ask what the fuck that means, he hands you a sheet of paper. “In any case, your services are required in Ionia. We will be departing tomorrow morning. The details are there.”

You scan the piece of paper, which is part mission detail and part itinerary. “We?” You ask, flipping the page over. “Wait, you got the Leviathan back? Didn't Gangplank steal that?”

He grimaces. “Yes. Captain Fortune returned it after she deposed her predecessor, as a gesture of peace towards Noxus.”

You glance up at him. “Did it work?”

A smirk pulls at his lips. “For now. Bilgewater is more useful to me as it is now. Besides, bringing that mis-managed shantytown to heel would be far more effort than it's worth.”

“Would be useful to have serpent callers on staff, though,” you point out idly. “If there's one thing I'm not going to miss about this world, it's the sea monsters.”

“A fair point,” he says thoughtfully. “Though I must say that relying on the favor of a god sits ill with me.”

You shrug. “Can't say I know much about Nagakaborous, but gods can be brought to heel like anything else. Look at Aurelion Sol.”

He gives you a sharp look. “The celestial dragon? What about it?”

You blink. “Oh. I suppose that would predate your demon. The Aspects enslaved it using a magic crown and bent it to the will of the Ancient Shuriman’s, creating the god warriors which ultimately led to the civilizations downfall. As far as I know he's still floating around Targon doing their bidding. When I tracked him down, he refused to help without the crown being removed, and putting aside how long I'd be comatose for if I tried to undo however many thousands of years, I'm pretty sure he intends to blow up the planet if he gets free.”

There's a predatory gleam in his eye. “I see. What else do you know, about the Aspects?”

You raise a brow. “If you're expecting me to sit here and lay out the secret history of Runeterra, you're at least buying me dinner.” Shit. Wait. You've done it again.

He laughs, rich and dark. He turns his hand in yours, his clawed fingertips brushing over the inside of your wrist, where your pulse is currently thundering through your veins. “I can give you so much more than that, dear girl. Tell me, what is it you're craving today?”

…You're so fucked, and what's worse, he knows it.

—

Once you scraped your brain into your head, the first thing that came to mind to request for dinner that didn't involve clothes coming off was steak. You spend an hour comparing your understandings of the Aspects, Mount Targons general political landscape and possible resources, and you go into a impassioned aside about how the cosmic dragon that created the stars in your sky was a pretentious prick. He does, in fact, get you dinner–which is to say, the tower has its own kitchen staff, and he invites you to dine with him. He's actually very cordial–for all that talking to him sort of feels like you're somehow being played, he also holds open the door and pulls out your chair. You notice he only uses his demonic arm in front of you–in the hall, he keeps it tucked away in his coat when you're walking, but as soon as the serving staff have filed out of the room he's back to normal.

“How many people know about Raum?” You ask, cutting into your food. It is, of course, excellent.

“Only the Trifarix, Katarina Du Couteau, and you,” he says. “More convenient to have our enemies underestimate me as a cripple, and those who witness my powers firsthand don't tend to survive the experience.”

You glance at him. “Is it really that bad, that you lost an arm?” He raises a brow at you, and you wave a hand. “Not as in–look, I've been dismembered before and it fucking sucks, but what I mean is…I don't think having two arms is what makes you dangerous.”

For a moment a bittersweet smile pulls at his lip. “Things were different under Darkwill. Martial strength was all that Noxus valued, and that is one of the many reasons it was rotting from the inside. It's a mentality some still share, inside Noxus and out.”

You snort. “Like it matters how good someone is in a fistfight when they have a fortress and an army?”

“Some would describe that as cowardice,” he points out mildly.

“I'd call it pragmatism,” you retort. “Do you frequently say the opposite of what you mean just to see if people will agree with you?”

He smirks. “No. But I don't particularly care for most people's opinions.” Implying he cares about yours? “Wine?” He offers.

(The wine is, of course, as excellent as the food.)

—

“When you said morning, you did not say pre-sunrise,” you grouch, huddling under your new coat. The wind is bitingly cold in the harbor; Swain seemed unbothered by it, though it sends his coat flaring dramatically around him. The upper deck has a balcony that leads directly to his quarters, and he cuts an imperious figure overseeing the Leviathan's launch.

“Not a morning person, I take it?” He drawls, as if he doesn't know damn well from his birds.

“There are three things that wake me up in a good mood–sex, food, and coffee, in that order,” you say archly. “And I don't imagine you have an eggs benedict and a vanilla latte under that coat.”

He raises a brow. “Unfortunately, no.”

Hm. That's a surprisingly lukewarm response. You pause, finally taking a good look at him. “You look tired,” you say, noting the shadows under his eyes. Exhausted would probably be the better term.

“Yes,” he agrees. “There was much to do before we left, and I hadn't planned on our talk being quite so engaging.”

You hold out your hand and wiggle your fingers at him. He glances at you curiously, but places his gloved hand in yours. You rewind him back to rested, and his brows hitch. “Convenient,” he notes.

“I'm not doing that on the regular, and I don't care how efficient you'd be if you didn't need to sleep,” you tell him bluntly, releasing his hand. “Even without the physiological side effects, there are deep-seated psychological ramifications to not sleeping you really do not want to mess with.”

“I'll take your word for it,” he says. “I appreciate the assistance, but the reason I called you here is because there's been a slight change of plans. You'll be serving as my primary bodyguard for the duration of this trip, not just part of my entourage.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you need a bodyguard?”

“No, but the Ionians’ don't know that, and I'd prefer it to stay that way,” he allows. “That does however mean that I expect you to stay by my side, unless I explicitly order otherwise.”

You nod. Internally, your head is in your hands. You're sure that being next to him all day will have only positive effects on whatever bizarre game of cat and mouse you're in with the man. Which, now that you think of it, you're not entirely sure if he's trying to seduce you, use you for the good of Noxus, or just enjoys fucking with you. Probably all of them, to some extent or another.

He turns to look at you, considering. Then he looks back over the still-grey horizon. “Your quarters are there. I suppose I won't take issue if you chose to return to bed. We are still in Noxian waters, after all.”

And little acts of kindness like that are doing nothing to help you make up your mind.

#league of legends x reader #league x reader #reader fic #leauge of legends #x reader #f!reader #reader #my fics: tiarw #swain lol #swain x reader #WIPs

[madefordvarka]

Kites (Gabriel/Renato)

Trauma is a fickle thing.

It’s something Renato knows all too well- he’s dealt with his own through life, and continues to do so each day.

He knows how it lurks in your chest and waits and waits until something just wrong enough happens, and rips it free from where it’s lodged.

How easy it makes you lose control, erases rational thought.

Sometimes it's next to nothing that causes memories to resurface, and Renato looks over just in time to watch as Gabriel falls into himself.

Gabriel avoids his gaze- his face contorts in anguish before he cries a familiar mantra about being broken.

Oh, Renato understands trauma.

He understands it in a twenty-first century human capacity.

Of bullies and broken hearts and loss.

Not like this.

Renato reaches for hands that tremble, as concerned features soften.

“You’re safe, you’re safe,” He whispers, as he pulls the man into his arms, “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Renato knows this is a lie.

Here he cannot make such promises but he knows he’ll damn well try to do whatever he can to keep Gabriel safe.

Gabriel whimpers, and Renato feels his heart shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. He seems so small, so fragile when he gets like this.

As Gabriel recalls his life- what he’s remembered since arriving in the Fog, Renato wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. As his soul rips apart so do the fail safes carefully put in place to keep him submissive.

He remembers the pain.

The torture.

He was a child.

Gabriel tries to keep it to himself, but Renato hears him as he talks in his sleep. Half the things he chooses to share Renato already knows because of this.

It’s hardly ever that he wills himself to share small details about things he remembers.

None of them are great.

Most are awful.

The only memories he knows are real are the ones on Dvarka - ones of disgusting food, overworking, and fear.

Sometimes, Gabriel shares and Renato pretends not to feel the ache that settles in his chest.

His story breaks his heart, everything about his life is so unbelievable and yet?

Gabriel Soma fills Renato with a hope and love unlike any other.

Renato hopes, he prays and prays that he’s enough.

He wants so desperately to make Gabriel happy- it’s the least he can do, and the bare minimum of what Gabriel deserves after what he’s been through.

Renato Lyra hates talking- but he knows he’ll talk and talk until his throat is hoarse and words won’t come out anymore if it means that Gabriel can have some relief.

He feels as Gabriel curls his fingers into the back of his shirt, and Renato rests his chin in his hair.

His cries dissipate.

Comfort.

“One day,” He says, “I’ll take you to fly a kite, okay? I think you’d like it.”

Renato’s voice is soft yet strong.

He oozes warmth and kindness he never knew he was capable of.

Gabriel shifts in his arms, and buries his face into his shoulder.

Renato keeps going.

“We’ll fly them on the beach with Kate and Thalita,” He smiles as he thinks about it, “And then we’ll get ice cream and I’m sure you’ll get brain freeze because you’ll eat it too fast.”

He’s met with silence- for a moment he considers if he’s said the wrong thing, yet something tells him to sit with it.

When he’s ready, Gabriel speaks.

“I wouldn’t,” Gabriel states. His tone is matter of factly- filled with a playful seriousness, “I’d be busy trying to take yours.”

Renato smiles wider.

Despite the sadness that lingers in his voice, Gabriel’s response is light.

“Unfair,” Renato laughs, “I’d let you steal it because I love you.”

Gabriel shifts away. He quirks a brow and looks up at Renato with eyes filled with absolute adoration, “Do you promise?”

Renato feels the look is less about the ice cream, and more about the sentiment behind it.

He wishes he could make good on his promise now- the waiting game is agonizing.

“Of course I promise! It tastes better-”

Gabriel’s quick to interject.

“No, not about that,” He pauses, teeth sink into the flesh of his lower lip and gaze falls to hands that rest in his lap, “That you love me.”

Renato’s heart races. Has someone ever loved Gabriel before? Can you love someone you inflict so much pain onto? Surely those scientists that raised him couldn’t have.

No, there’s no way.

Renato feels agony whenever Gabriel is hurt, Thalita and his other friends too, for that matter.

When he thinks of what Gabriel went through it angers him- it makes him wish he was there so he could have saved him.

Gabriel is unloved.

Was.

Was, was, was.

Gabriel was unloved.

Renato loves him, loves him more than anything.

But is it enough?

He feels the way he breaks apart, the lump in his throat chokes him.

Now is not the time for this!

Renato forces the smile back upon his features, and reaches to rest his palm on Gabriel’s cheek.

“I promise,” He finally answers, “More than you know.”

#my writing #uploading like this cause some people like it idk #Dead By Daylight #Renato Lyra #Gabriel Soma #long post

[murmurmurl]

long time no H♡L info??!??!?!?!?

I did mention that Toshiro and Seina both have siblings. WELL. I made up my mind about them. Neither has a name yet, but I have a whole leftover name list from when I was naming all of Helianthus. Toshiro has an older brother and Seina has a younger sibling. And uhm. So remember how I ALSO mentioned that I accidentally started thinking about another fan unit. That's because of them. These siblings are in another unit together. I actually already have a general theme and even their sekai in mind????? Somehow??????? All I'm gonna say for now is that it's space-themed. Because of course it is. At this point I might as well make a billion units for each of my interests (/nsrs), but uh ANYWAYS. Yeah. I'll try to design said siblings today, ALTHOUGH. I have like,, 3(??) other H♡L wips, but I just CANNOT stop, my brain is full of ideas and these guys are genuinely one of the only things keeping me going???? Along with my sister??????? Can you tell I'm super excited, did any of that even make sense, idc, I just wanted to say it.

AND. To not make this just me saying some random general stuff, I'll also share what's the idea for H♡L's sekai is FOR NOW. It can change because I. Am painfully inconsistent. Just a heads up – I'm not he best with descriptions, and I'm also not gonna really bother making it sound good right now, it's just to give whatever few ppl care about these sillies an idea of what it'll probably look like. (As I'm writing this, I realized I actually *am* trying to make it sound nice, but if it sounds weird. Hush. /lh)

I mentioned that I call it the overgrown sekai. Because it's, well, overgrown. As you could hopefully guess. The main part of it is an old stone structure, with some intricate carvings still remaining visible and even discernable, although everything does look like it's at least.. a few centuries old, no less. However, taking into account that it's a sekai, it probably isn't that ancient. Almost everything is pretty much overrun by plants – ivy spreading across the grey stone walls, grass (and most importantly flowers) breaking their way through the floor that seems to be made of marble, but it's too old, overgrown and at times dirty to be completely sure. The said flowers are a strange mix of forget-me-nots and sunflowers that may not quite make sense, but it *is* a whole ass other dimension, after all. There's plenty of light, despite practically no windows in sight, save for a few small ones. The reason for that being the roof, shaped like a dome, with holes in it that clearly weren't here by the first design, having appeared because of the stone collapsing over time. Unsurprisingly, the flowers are concentrated in the areas where the most light seeps through those holes. And speaking of light, the time here is always the same – late afternoon, with the season always remaining a comfortable sunny summer.

There's some furniture in the building, mostly along the walls, with the center looking almost like a flowerbed. That furniture seems to represent each of the owners of the sekai – an old desk made of dark wood with a quil and some paper thrown around it, almost giving it an impression that the owner left in a hurry. The paper has become a light yellow color over what may or may not be a rather long amount of time. Next to it – a somewhat fancy wooden chair. There are mirrors hung around this part of the space – some broken, some have the glass taken out entirely. Just a little further – a shelf and an armchair. Both items' materials and overall look fit that of nearly very other piece of furniture here. The shelf is filled with items that seem to have some spiritualistic significance – amulets, crystals and stones, all of them hand-made and hand-carved, yet seeming to lack in accuracy and having been made in a hurry. The armchair strangely has a few long chains hanging on its back. One of the more noticeable pieces of furniture is... a fish tank. It has no fish. In fact, it doesn't even have water, though it's probably not intended to be that way – the tank is spacious and has pretty much almost everything a fish would need to be happy and content in captivity. But it's old and worn out – the driftwood rotting away, whatever plants used to be inside have withered and everything is covered in a thin layer of... dust..? The tank itself stands on top of something of a dresser. If you care to open its doors, you will see rows upon rows of books – as many as could fit in the little space there is inside. Most of them have to do with marine life, but there are also some journals full of incomprehensible messy writing, as if whoever was filling them either didn't have much time, or was feeling too much emotion to care. Perhaps the strangest item in the building is a cage. It's designed just like one of those small restricting bird cages, glistening with gold in the light from above, but for some reason, the cage could easily fit a human. If you decide to step in, you might notice an unexpected aroma. It's vague and subtle, but... it almost seems like fresh black coffee mixed with something citrusy. Outside, the building is surrounded by a dense forest. The light can't penetrate the abundance of trees, but somehow, it doesn't feel eerie or threatening. It feels familiar in an unexplainable way. Have you already seen these woods somewhere..?

WOOOOO I THINK THAT'S ALL. I think. I hope I didn't miss anything. Uhm. I also hope it's not too,, out there, idk. There's also another area I have in mind, BUT. that is some world link territory, where I don't rlly wanna go rn,,,,, RAGHHHH I hope all of that sounds alright. Again, if it doesn't,,,,, I'm not a writer by any means, I just. Felt silly.

#Helianthus♡Light! #also uhm #i should tag sfuff more #you shall be #lore rambles #that makes sense #pjsk #pjsk oc #project sekai oc #toshiro hasegawa #matsu kimura #fumi hatanaka #seina amari