#A real fucking purse dog type

[vergess]

Oh every single thing Jack Seward does is more pitiful than the next good god

He apparently just spoke the fucking date into the recording and didn't label the cylinders in any way.

Please, what the actual fuck. Oh my god.

#automatic op tag #It's fortunate that Mina's mommy domme thing is so strong #Anyway it's super funny that the actual first second he meets Mina or hears about Jonathan #He's right back to being twitterpated #Absolute fucking dork of dorks #A real fucking purse dog type #Sopping wet depressed kitten of a man #Dracula #Dracula Daily

[o0aj0o]

Mc is so real for this

But no seriously lets talk about my husband Paimon. Ever wanted a dom mommy AND femboy? Well merry Christmas, bitch. Paimon is so far one of my favorites right next to dog boy Leraye and Bimet (the 7th Kardashian). Paimon is a bestie that'll fuck you silly and he's got crazy fashion sense (Peep the Louis V purse). He also likes blood and probably slurps tampons in his free time or some shit but thats ok we don't kinkshame here!-

Oh

Oohh nooo....

We only SOMETIMES kinkshame here. Anyways, spoiler alert, you guys have a little privacy together, as you do with every other demon in this godforsaken dimension. (No, seriously, was Solomon just getting his back blown out every hour of the day? I NEED to know. ) Anyways, without spoiling the fun of chapter 3, I won't get into it.

What makes it even better is that our sweet prince is from Gehenna, aka the ROMANTIC demon country, as told by ppyong in some sweet ch 3 lore. From what Ppyong told us, devils in Gehenna tend to be about that shit. Weddings are their fucking bread and butter. In fact, the H in Gehenna stands for 'holy matrimony'. That means Paimon is most likely willing to lock your shit down.

And i just LOVE that for us. Anyways, I'm done rambling. I'm not the type of bitch to have shit to say. Just know Paimon is better than the best of us.

#whb #what in hell is bad #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad? #wbh paimon #paimon #appreciation

[robitherat]

i said as much in an end note for a chapter in "tell me what you see," but i once admitted myself to a psychiatric hospital after a major depressive episode and stayed there for several days (this was years ago and i'm fine now). there was a separate children's wing at the hospital for inpatient and outpatient kids. we never saw the kids, but one day, in the little courtyard where we'd get to take breaks and do outdoor activities, a saw the words "i don't trust anybody" written in chalk on the sidewalk in a child's scrawl. that has always stayed with me and probably always will. it haunts me; it broke my heart.

and then after watching "marble hornets" and hearing about tim's time in the hospital and reading the forms more carefully and figuring out just how young he was when admitted, that "i don't trust anybody" in chalk came back to me. and i'm just like, "tim 100% would write that on the sidewalk at his hospital."

God honestly reading that part in your fic broke me, then reading that is was based on real events broke me all over again. I've thankfully never had an experience in a psych hospital (came close in 8th grade a couple times, but, yknow, 8th grade) but ive got some friends who have, and honestly I can't even begin to imagine the kinds of things those kids must face. I mean, hearing the stories about it is heart wrenching enough, but then you get things like that chalk message and it's like. Fuck. These are real kids. There are real kids out here that feel like they have no one and it fucking breaks me.

This is obviously a bit off topic from mh, but shit man. Just from an outsiders' perspective, and as someone who's dealt with severe mental illness and episodes and similar shit to an admittedly lesser degree, the fact that Troy, Joseph, and Tim were able to so accurately portray those types of issues without even necessarily meaning to when so many other storytellers fall short when thats what they set out to do is just. It's phenomenal to me. I mean obviously I can't speak for everyone and I definitely cant speak on some of the specific issues shown (or implied) in mh, but it seriously impresses me, and I think it says a lot that so many people with things like schizophrenia, DID, and the like are drawn to the series and specifically Tim's character. Like, I know Tim Sutton didn't sit down and say "I'm portraying a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder" but fuck if he doesn't show it. Like, theyre all just such talented actors and storytellers and the subtleties in the characters and their sheer relatability show that.

Just. This fucking show, man

(on a related note, please please please please please go read kit's fic Tell me what you see because it owns me. like a little purse dog does it own me.)

#robi answers #kittensmctavish #marble hornets #ask to tag #childhood trauma #trauma #tim wright #seriously ask to tag if i need to bc i know theres things but idk for sure what to tag eep #fic rec #also tacked on #pls its so so good and im dead serious i had to pause at that line because it Broke. Me.

[knowlesian]

do you think we’ll get a scene where ed explains to frenchie the real reason why he kept him around and that there’ll be a lot of parallels between the two next season?

SO MANY DAYS LATE AND NO STARBUCKS

but i do! to start with a little tldr i think there's a lot going into ed's choices in the finale re: the crew of the revenge, but one of the threads i'm interested in is that when we drill down to core motivations, ed's impulse and desire was to keep the crew around, have a talent show and attempt a new type of piracy. (or maybe not piracy at all, see "the level of talent on this ship!!!")

his choice to abandon the crew comes after everything that happens with izzy and then with the calls for eddie. and on a narrative level, he couldn't actually kill any of our leads (or have them killed), in terms of 'holy shit what IS this show then', but in-world the option stays on the table.

(the way this show sort of requires everything to be a little bit a metaphor and that real world logic sort of also breaks the story is also lovely to me, ngl.)

he could have left them all; jim is the most obviously capable when it comes to the stabbing/not dying side of piracy, but jim also shares a thread of connection to ed, when it comes to knowing what life is like living under an identity and with a name that does not fit and isn't who you actually are. adjacent lanes on those two, but i think part of the jim choice is about ed once again seeking connection in under the radar ways. (ed, constantly seeking connection and reaching out, even if he doesn't always nail the landing: so good.)

which leads me to frenchie! because frenchie is the next on the list after jim in terms of being aware about metaphorical genre switches, so frenchie will be able to read the room and know when to keep his head down and play along with the vibe of the new revenge.

frenchie is the only good association ed has left with that horrorshow of a party in e5; he's the one who brought the invite, who agreed to go when ed said he wanted to without needing to be convinced, and who had the immediate reaction of OHHH THOSE FUCKS AND THEIR SPOONS, ED THIS IS NOT ON YOU. (and who fed stede the info he obtained from abshir to wreck the place.)

that memory of stede is now retroactively tainted because ed is stuck on 'stede was probably lying about the larger scope of his feelings for me'; frenchie, however, is not. frenchie had his back, instinctively, and frenchie is smart and savvy enough to realize that if he's gonna talk to ed as ed, he's gonna have to do it away from certain purse dogs and be very, very careful in his initial approach.

i couldn't even hope to predict the exact plot path for s2, but i would assume frenchie and ed are going to have more screentime together and i reeeeally want ed saying something to him about the spoons.

(also ed has apologies to make to the crew, but i just feel like he needs somebody already on his side, too? and frenchie of all people is set up to understand where ed was coming from and get it and move into 'well, those were certainly some poor choices you made!!!! but like. on the level: i do get why your head is at where it's at right now' and open the potential for the two of them to have some really interesting conversations later on down the road, when ed's not in the belly of the whale moment still.)

#laaaaate asks 'r us

[slocumjoe]

3, 18, 27, and/or 45 (depending how many u wanna do lol) for the ship ask 👀 bc we all know gage is bad at Verbalizing Feelings but what about ur oc??? tell us everything

3; What was their first impression of each other?

Gage knew of her before she knew of him, so he had time to form assumptions. He knew she was a manager type in a shipping company/trade network across the east coast, and he knew she came from wealth. Expected someone like Mags, someone prissy and full of herself. More importantly, the circumstances of Florence working with the Minutemen on the partnership was sketchy as hell, and he didn't trust Isadora's judgment yet, so he went to investigate himself.

Florence, for her part, had just moved to Sanctuary to help stabilize the Minutemen's place in the trade network, and then this guy shows up at her office, clearly a raider, clearly pretending he's definitely not a raider and definitely not looking for something.

So, Gage's first impression was suspicion with some dread at the thought of dealing with another rich girl. Florence knew she was being assessed and psychoanalysed by someone starting out with a bone to pick.

Gage is lucky Flora doesn't hold grudges about shit like that.

18; How do they care for one another when one of them is wounded or sick?

Florence is very doting to people she cares for, and is, for lack of a better way to describe it, kind of house-wifey, so she's ON that shit. Will call him an idiot when he gets hurt as she stitches him up, but he's still gonna have to deal with her coddling. She's a hoverer. Gage will grumble and bitch, but never actually turns her away.

Gage, when something's wrong with Flo, is...neurotic. Sick? Okay, that's fine, she just needs to rest and take her—Flo, why are you in the office? Forget the damn—go to bed. You're barely standing. She's a "I'll just power through" kind of person and it drives him crazy.

If she's HURT?

Florence (in my Canon, ignore in-game) isn't a fighter, she's a business woman. This isn't someone who's on the field. So, something/one would have had to attack her out of nowhere.

Gage is a fucking nightmare to deal with in this scenario. Hovers, flinches at the slightest hint she's hurt or in pain, eye twitches when she still insists she's fine to work. Anyone who wants to see her gets grilled, God forbid you somehow approach her without him noticing. Becomes the most annoying bodyguard. He can't do much besides protect her while she recovers, he's not a doctor. Paranoid as hell, and rides Isadora's ass to make sure it doesn't happen again.

Florence finds this adorable.

27; How do they say 'I love you' non-verbally?

Florence's love language leans towards Acts of Service and Gift Giving. Cooks for him, fixes up his armor and clothes, makes him a new, safer/comfier eyepatch. She's quick to say It, but quicker to express it. She's not a shy, insecure person and has no reservations. So, hope Gage adapts quickly to being spoiled like some kind of purse dog.

He does not, being the emotionally stunted asshole he is.

Gage...I've described him as a feral tom cat that will take food, but hisses and runs if you try to pet it. Thats...yeah. As time goes on, he gets better with it, but habits die hard.

His first real act of love is something literally no one could notice; he stops trying to read into her, psychoanalyze her. Stops the "I need to be two steps ahead" thing and lets himself let her be...just a person, not someone to be used, not someone up to something. It sounds weird, but for Gage...that's something no one else has gotten, not even Isadora gets that. It's purely a mental thing that Gage and Gage alone knows about, but it's more significant than one could fathom.

The first noticeable thing is a lot simpler, and partially on Isadora's recommendation. He just takes her to the shooting ranges and teaches her how to handle a gun. Gage is not a teaching sort, but he is protective, and anyone watching would notice how careful he is hovering around her, touching her to help adjust her holds on firearms.

45; How do they support each other?

Gage acts as a bodyguard and the muscle to help her get her way. Flora can be scary, but sometimes, getting a brahmin baron to hold up his part of the deal needs more than talk.

Florence sweet-talks her way into getting the local traders and doctors to give Isadora and her party some generous discounts, which helps them all, but was really intended for Gage.

In their emotional relationship? Florence and Gage don't need much. Gage wants someone who thinks like he does and doesn't pity him, and Florence wants someone who will listen to her and respect her for her skills. A snapshot of what this looks like is just Florence going through an extensive explanation of future negotiations and economic development while Gage listens and occasionally gives his opinion.

For a more emotional need...Gage needs space when he's upset for any reason, Florence needs grounding because she tends to drift and it can be hard for her to 'come back'. They compromise. Gage doesn't want to talk? They don't talk, he holds her and plays with her hair. It's a very quiet relationship. On the rare occasion Gage does want to vent, Florence listens and doesn't tell him how to feel, what do to. He appreciates that she doesn't try to guide him, like Isadora is prone to.

#oc; florence #asks

[simmonsized]

!! pls tell me about Quarters for the WIP grab bag meme! :)

Sure, SK!

Quarters are a type of currency, but I am mostly familiar with the American or Canadian kind, representing both of us in this instance I suppose, and

I'm just kidding! Love to make a quarter joke just a little money humor for you here haha

I have technically already talked about it a little bit BUT because you do not go here (homestuck) I am never above both talking about it MORE (because I secretly love talking about this stuff) and also trying to explain it in a way that makes sense for a Non-Homestuck in this instance (keyword here: try lol).

(Future Novie here: i have decided i am putting this under a cut lmao.)

Hmm where to start hmmmhmhm. Basically, the main main character is a dude who grew up in an experimental cloning facility but was raised separate from the others with one (1) whole friend and so had kind of a weird upbringing but eventually grows up and makes a series of mistakes that culminate in him working alongside (though not technically for) a group of people that put him in contact, and doing a Huge Favor for another, larger, and admittedly Worse group of people. I'm using the term "people" to generalize. There are aliens. Multiple kinds but the general shape is humanoid.

He is given a Gift, and this gift ruins his life.

It ends (and our story begins) with him isolated from the only family he has ever known, working as a glorified work hound for a person who does not really want him as her weird purse dog at all, and both of them under the thumb of someone much larger, and much crueler. He is not entirely himself, at least fifty percent of the time, and that is sure something I decided to incorporate into this.

The other non-main but unfortunately I've roped into this is a person who fell into favor with the same dude, but instead of being given a Gift he was given a Job, except he was not necessarily given the opportunity to turn down this job, and he as Free Will but is not Free To Go Home, u feel???

anyway so it is like that, currently. I have like. all backstory but still have to sit down and write more than just character interactions bc eventually my sad plot will need like, an actual middle and end LOL

thanks, SK, for letting me ramble heh

oh and the codename for this au is Gutterball, but it doesn't have a real name yet bc i'm unsure how deep into the Joaks i wanna go!

here is a snippet (edit: i got carried away) that means nothing to u but it feels like it's been part of the wip game so i will share with u:

"Come," she says, bringing you to heel, and you are beyond eager to obey, a wire fit and ready to snap, so quick to lope after her, to fall into step just behind. If one were perceptive enough, they may even imagine you are using her as a shield. "Leaving so soon?" The tone is enough to freeze you in your tracks, and it is against your will when your heels dig in, grinding you both to a halt. Your boss (though perhaps boss is wrong, because truly what is she other than your keeper?) pivots just enough to make her glare known, and you rotate as she turns, far enough behind that her weapon of choice would not hit you, if it came to that. She never speaks English. She very rarely uses Alternian. "What the fuck else could you possibly want, you wretched creature?"

#hehehehe hi sk #sorry for ur dash btw i was in my likes for four days straight #writer ask meme #the secret is that i can talk about this all day i get very excited #also this fic is going to be So Rated M lmfao #it's a lil different from my usual. flaps hand. #anyway #jazzes my hands i'm so awkward talking about this lol

[ihatebnha]

mean!bakugo

Thinking about.. God…... I can’t even say it… I’m thinking about m-mean!Bakugo… FUCK! 

Mean Bakugo who’s all nasty glares and teeth, to everyone, everywhere; his eyes like red hot coals when he watches you laugh with your friends around campus. He knows he’s not right for you, with his body that’s so much bigger than your sweet and soft form, toned after all his years of picking fights... but he really cannot help himself, still without shame about his dirty sneakers and even dirtier mouth… 

Even when he asks you out, spitting out the words like they hurt, his eyes cast downward despite the single red rose wrapped in tissue paper he brings you gripped tightly between his scarred fingers… he’s gentle when he hands you the delicate thing, asking you to at least, just... “think about it...” before storming away and expecting nothing in return.

He would never let himself say he didn’t try.

(But you text him back less than a day later, and already by the next, he’s walking you to all your classes and buying you your morning coffee.) 

Mean Bakugo who’s all black hoodies and ripped jeans, thick belts and silver chains… hanging out with boys who are heads taller than you and look equally as scary. Still, you know you’re safe with him, with all of them; the only pretty girl in their group and the only one they ever dote on… knowing that if they didn’t, Bakugo would have their heads on sticks if not worse… 

Still, he never hesitates to show you off like candy, puffing up his chest whenever they all come to pick you up and you run straight into his arms first. He’d never admit it, scowling even when you grin at the way he brushes back your baby hairs and fixes the chain around your neck, but he likes the way they ogle, sucking on their lips whenever he then leans down to kiss you. 

Mean Bakugo who also demands to carry your purse for you, slinging it over his shoulder the first chance he gets, at least so he can then force you to stay still so he can wrap you up in the jacket he brought you (his), muttering about how its “too damn cold” for you to be running around in a sundress and sheer tights…

(Anyone could see.)

Because mean Bakugo is also always fixing up your outfits, inspecting your clothes with harsh eyes for bits of lint or loose hairs, fixing the straps of your bra whenever they stick out, tangle or bunch… even settling your shirts for you and pulling your leggings back up just a little too snug, at least so no one can even think about getting a bit too comfortable around you… 

…and all so he can walk you home with a hand tucked snug into the waistband of your pants, anyway.  

Mean Bakugo even pulls you up against him real close whenever you go the city, too; your hand wrapped tightly in his no matter the time, place, or occasion. He makes you walk on the inside of the road and next to him when it’s safe, and behind him when it’s not… catcalling nothing but a thing of the past with a man like him by your side… a perfect, handsome guard dog willing to give it all up for you.

As this is the same mean Bakugo who makes sure anyone even looks at you wrong doesn’t turn up around you again, and that if they do, they’re scrambling on their feet just to get away from you. The type to get his fists all dirty and bloody if only to defend your honor… while at the same time melting when you thank him for it, wrapping him up in your arms as he silently begs for your mouth against his mouth, your lips pressed to his cheeks, your love on every single inch of him… 

Because Mean Bakugo also always fucks you like he means it, too, like you deserve it; attaching himself to whatever he can touch and absolutely railing you straight dumb, nothing but spit and cum on your mind by the time he decides to finish and paint your guts white…

(He wouldn’t want his cum anywhere else.)

All as if you’re not his baby, his sweet… his love… and despite the fact that you always wake up to him kissing all your bruises, too... breakfast having already been made.  

Mean Bakugo makes the sun rise. 

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo #caitie post #i wanted to make him meaner but my fingers wouldnt let me #honestly my favorite thing recently has been like consensual dark content #like ur boyfriend is scary and weird but u still like him #i've only gotten 2 hrs of sleep in the last 24 hrs #also sorry if I ignored ur ask today I’m aiming to answer stuff tomorrow!

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr robot #rami malek

[darthmaulification]

(Idk why I thought this but I think it’s funny) Imagine din and reader going back to visit Karga for a job and reader is a apparent heart throb to most of the villagers (not that she knows) and like “hi mrs. Parker” Friday style, these women are see them walking by going “hi Reader~” with cara teasing of reader the whole time having to tell the ladies that reader is already taken with din.

A/N: you are my very first  request, so i decided to do a full, bonifide one shot! thank you so very much!! 🥰💕💕

oddly enough, din doesn’t show his bucket in this until the very end. 💀 it became really cara-centric for some reason. hope that’s okay! 😖

also, the trope of “everyone collectively loves person, but person is so utterly oblivious to it” is, without fail, one of the funniest bits any piece of media can pull lmao.

hope you enjoy! 💗

content: references of sex (kinda), saucy language, gender neutral!reader (my first time writing a gn reader 😲), reader being completely “no thoughts head empty” type of oblivious, cara just brutally teasing reader, soft!din makes an appearance!, cara is also kinda a bisexual icon???

word count: 1,775

“... What do you mean?” 

Cara looks at you strange. She searches your face for a few seconds longer, eyebrows furrowed, trying to see if you’re serious. 

“Are you fucking with me?” She deadpans evenly, and you tilt your head slightly, blinking. You slowly shake your head, raising an eyebrow.

“No...?” You drag out the word and Cara barks a sudden, loud laugh at your genuine confusion, tossing back her head as she does. She straightens up in her seat, still chuckling lightly, and picks up her glass of spotchka. Cara leans against the backrest, draping her free arm over it.

“You’re really not fucking with me, huh?” She mutters with a grin, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a low, long sip, her eyes not leaving yours. You frown, puzzled.

“Cara, I have no ide—"

“Everyone wants to fuck you.” Cara interrupts and it takes a moment for the blunt, vulgar words to register, but when they do you feel heat rise in your cheeks. You visibly recoil, sputtering out an answer.

“I— What are— There's no—” All Cara does as you fumble over your words, getting more and more red in the face, is shrug, an easy grin on her face.

“Yeah, everyone wants to get in your pants, can’t say I blame ‘em.” Her grin turns downright predatory and it gives you the final push to spit out a reply.

“WHAT?” The word comes out incredulous and far louder that you had meant, causing you to cringe at the sound of your voice reverberating in the cantina. People glance over at you and you give the crowd a sheepish, nervous smile. Thankfully, everyone turns back to whatever they were doing, no questions asked. Then your head whips back to Cara, whose all smug-looking, to shoot her a glare. Your face is positively burning, and you just know she can see it.

“Are you fucking with me?” You throw her own question back at her, but it falls flat because all it does is grow the shit-eating grin that’s plastered on Cara’s face. She shrugs, gesturing around lazily to the room at large.

“Jax, the Rodian over there, gives you puppy dog eyes, Kol and Zaltor— the Trandoshans, not the Togrutas, by the way— look at your ass every time they get, that pink Twi’lek gal over there practically fawns over you— think her names’ Numa or Nima or something, the Duros over there...”

Cara continues listing off more and more names, and with each one (some who you know and have spoken to) you feel yourself getting more and more flustered. You sink low in your chair, staring wide eyed into your spotchka, hands on your temples.

“Good Maker.” You groan, placing your hands over your face and slumping onto the table. Cara (finally) stops listing literally the entire population of the village and gazes at you quizzically. She tilts her head.

“Don’t like being the sex idol of the town?” She teases and you groan again, louder this time. You glare up at her through your fingers, still furiously blushing. Oh, how you wish Din was here to beat the snot out of Miss Dune...

“No. This is a nightmare.” You growl out, going back to digging your face into the table, hoping the sandstone would just swallow you whole. Before Cara can reply, a new voice sounds up.

“U-Um, hi.” You stiffen and turn your head to the side to see two Twi’leks, one taller than the other, standing next to the table. They seem a bit nervous, fidgeting with their lekku and rocking on their feet, but something tells you they’re here for... something. The moment you meet Cara’s gaze, your face blanches.

“Kill me now.”

“Hey, pretty ladies.”

You groan and Cara flirts at the exact same time, Cara’s strong voice unfortunately gaining the upper hand. Both Twi’lek giggle, and the taller of the two, the lavender skinned one, flutters her eyelashes. Even more unfortunately, you make eye contact with her. She flushes when you meet her gaze.

“O-Oh my— Stars, um hi!” She and her companion devolve into giggles again and you force yourself to sit up. Giving them a forced smile, you rest your hands under your chin and elbows on the table.

“Hello. What can I do for you?” You ask through gritted teeth, attempting to keep your strained voice relatively nice, while also fighting back both the blush that’s still on your cheeks and the urge to shoot Cara with your blaster. Thankfully, the Twi’leks have gotten over the apparent “meeting their idol” giggles, because now the shorter one places a dusty tan hand on the table and leans in. A bright, stunning smile spreads across her face, but something flirty burns in her eyes.

“Mm. Me and my sister here have just been seeing you around so often.” She says, voice a obviously practiced mix of playfully coy and feigning ignorance. You glance from her, to her lavender sister, then to Cara. And your luck must really be in the gutters, or maybe Cara just wants to torture you—or both— but the mercenary only offers you a grin, lifts her spotchka to her lips, and sips. Your hands curl into fists.

“Yeah, I—” 

“You’re talking to Mando’s squeeze, babes.” Cara interrupts yet again and all three sets of eyes land on her. Two of them moon-eyed and incredulous if not also disappointed, one of them so embarrassed that Carasynthia Dune, you are a dead woman—

“Really?” The lavender Twi'lek’s eyes are so blown wide you almost think they’d roll out of her head. Her sister looks just as awestruck, and both look a tad bit fearful. You go to speak, but Cara (you’re really starting to hate her) opens her mouth again and beats you to the cut.

“Mm hm. Y’all are hitting on the Mando’s sweetheart. Pretty bold, honestly, he’s real protective over this one.” The blush you put all your hard work into smothering returns full force at Cara’s words, and the Twi’leks start looking a bit flustered themselves, though for another reason.

“So sorry!” The lavender one breaks first and goes running off to a Rodian and Zabrak sitting at a far table. She leans in close, seeming to whisper something into their ears, and suddenly all three of them are looking at you with a strange mix of disappointment, lust, and fear. You hastily look away and hide your face behind your hand.

“Aw. Shame.” The tan Twi’lek purses her lips, pushing herself off the table, and you begrudgingly force yourself to look at her. She gives you that stunning smile again and winks.

“You know I’m here for you.” She says and sashays off to where her sister is. Across the room, she gives you another wink and flutters her fingers. Pretty sure that all your bloods’ in your face, you turn to Cara, slowly.

“Cara.” You say her name lowly, looking her dead in the eye. She’s grinning, and blows a lock of her hair out of her face. She feigns an unassuming, innocent look, but both you and her know better.

“Yeah?” She’s walking on thin ice and she knows it, but you also know she’s never been afraid of risk.

“I’m going to kill you.” You say, coming across as deadly serious as you possibly can. Cara’s grin widens, her eyes twinkling, and she downs the last of her spotchka.

“I know,” She starts and she shrugs, “But you know I couldn’t resist.”

You want to reach over and smack her a good one, but a voice alerts you to a certain someone at your side.

“Hey.” Din’s low, modulated voice gentle pulls your attention to him and you turn your head to look up at your silver-clad lover. Even with the dark T-visor, you know exactly where to look to find those soft, doe eyes beneath it. A small smile creeps across your face.

“Hey.” You reply and he offers a hand to you, which you gladly accept. Like always, his hand is large and warm and strong, and it makes you feel completely at peace. Din helps you up to your feet, settling you close, but not too close, to his side. 

“I got the next few pucks, and the kid’s already in the Crest, so we’re ready to head out...” Din trails off and tilts his head, and you can feel his curious gaze roam your face. 

“Your face is... pretty flushed. Are you feeling okay?” He asks it so gently and sweetly, his gloved hand still holding yours, that it’s almost enough to make you forget why your all disheveled in the first place. Letting out a forced, somewhat breathy laugh, you pull your hand away to cross your arms over your chest.

“Um, yeah, yeah— I’m good.” You assure him, but Din knows you so he turns his attention on Cara, whose sprawl in her seat, looking like a satisfied loth cat.

“What did you do?” He asks, keeping his voice neutral, but there’s a hint of that good ol’ Din Protectiveness seeping in too. Part of you celebrates that Din’s finally here to beat up Cara, but all the other parts of you just want to hop on back the Razor Crest and get the Hell out of here. Cara lazily raises her hands in mock surrender, tilting her head into her shoulder.

“Just playing, that’s all.” She replies, eying your spotchka from across the table. She and Din are in some type of staring match even as she reaches and snags your drink. You don’t care enough to protest. Din stares at Cara for a few seconds longer before he shifts on his feet and turns back to you.

“Ready to go, cyare?” His voice is like warm like sunshine, and it makes your entire being light up. You nod and smile, uncrossing your arms to grab his hand. His thick fingers close around yours, encasing your hand in his.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” You reply as you both start walking, tethered to one another by the most sacred link you can while in public. Din and you walk side by side, a Mandalorian and his beloved, through the cantina and out the door.

Cara watches you leave, then looks around at all the inhabitants of the cantina who had also watched you and the Mando leave hand-in-hand. She nearly laughs at all the looks of disappointment. You really were the village heart throb.

And as Cara downs the last of her (your) spotchka, she ponders,

Dammit. Wish it was me instead of Mando.

#star wars #star wars din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #cara dune #anon #anon ask #request

[you-did-well-moon]

Werewolf!Yunho meeting his mate

Type: Werewolf au, angst, fluff

Pairing: Werewolf!Yunho x HumanFemale!reader

Word count:  2,994

A/n: I know this took a long time, trust me, it felt like a long time for me too. With how I view Yunho, I expected this to be happier than it is. I was having a hard time while writing this, and it reflected on the story. Anyways please enjoy and stay safe!

TW: toxic relationship, financial struggle, deadlines, stressed reader, emotional and verbal pain, toxic masculinity, if I missed anything please tell me.

You sat at the foot of your bed, still not made, staring at the mirror resting against your dull colored wall with lifeless blank eyes. Your posture slouched as you finished tying the laces of your running shoes huffing and letting your arms flop to the ground. Looking at the mirror, you tried smiling, but it was meak and disappeared as soon as it appeared. 

You hadn’t smiled a real smile in so long, you forgot what it felt like. To smile. To be happy. The forgotten emotion was one you took for granted when it was easy to to bask in the warmth of it. Now it's just cold. Cold and empty. 

You looked away from the mirror with a tight feeling coiling in the base of your chest not being able to bear looking at the stranger staring back at you any longer. Your gaze fell to the laptop, abandoned, due to frustration on your desk in the forgotten corner of the room. The thought of unfinished drafts and incomplete sentences shook violently in your mind. Disappointment in yourself pooling in your gut remembering your editor’s words. 

“If you can’t give us at least a first draft by the end of the month, we’ll have to unfortunately let you and your novel go.”

How pathetic was it that you couldn’t even come up with a simple sentence. A description, dialogue, a metaphor. Nothing. Anytime you sat yourself in front of the desk, your mind went blank. The cursor blinking at the top of the page mocked you with the possibility of millions of words. Not one ever made its way onto the page.  

The end of the month was in two weeks. 

You felt tears of hopelessness stinging the corner of your eyes, and you abruptly stood up grabbing your wireless earbuds, phone, and bag. Making your way into the kitchen you grabbed the water in the fridge and placed it inside your back, nothing but a numb feeling alienating you from reality and its broken expectations. You heard the front door of your little apartment open and slam close shaking the thin walls of the building. 

Your heart lurched as you winced immediately feeling like you were walking on eggshells. You were usually quick enough to leave before he got home from work, but you had been a tad bit late this one time. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly hoping for it to ground you through whatever vile words came from the one person you should have been able to trust with your ugliest feelings. 

Trying to walk past your boyfriend, eyes trained on the chipped wood of the front door did no good when he kissed his teeth and huffed as soon as he caught sight of you.

“You’re never home when I get home from work, and the one time you are here, you run away not even saying hi to me? Not even a “hey honey how was work today” or maybe a “hi love what would you like for dinner?” and never a “you’ve worked hard would you like a massage?” It's the same shit every day. You treat me like nothing when I'm the reason you even have a roof over your head woman.”

You kept your mouth the whole time he rambled on trying to ignore the clear stench of beer being able to reach you even with all the distance separating you, and the feeling of disgust mixed with desperation pooling at the bottom of your gut at yourself for not speaking up for yourself. Opening your mouth instead of letting your voice be taken from you. A long time ago, you would always say you would rather die than be without your voice. In a sense, you had died a long time ago. 

Around three months after you had started dating. That had been two years ago. 

Your English degree really did you no good. Not having enough time to be an intern in college really screwed you over when no job would take a bright eyed girl with the same passion in her heart for writing as a Karen’s passion for business that wasn’t hers, but with no experience. Even if the apartment was under your name, you’d probably be kicked out in weeks time.

You hated all of it. Everything that made up both the small and big parts of your life, you hated it. You hated his greasy hair and beady eyes, the nasty rough stubble covering the lower part of his face as a result of his laziness. You hated the hesitation in leaving him because of the fear of the stack of bills piling up next to the fridge. You hated the editors who couldn’t find it in some part of their greedy selves to extend your deadline. You hated the empty drafts sitting in your laptop collecting what could only be dead dreams and despair. You hated the cold emptiness that was always present in the confines of your chest. 

You recoiled at the way he said “woman” the same way someone would talk about a bug. Small and insignificant. Patronizing and confident in the worst way. You set your mouth in a tight line not even being able to look at him. Shifting your feet, you crossed your arms and looked up to the sky as if calling out to some unknown being to get you out of this pathetic corner you were trapped in. You cursed under your breath looking at the dying flowers on the coffee table with distaste as they wilted towards you mocking you. 

“What was that?” His voice got rougher with the menacing edge of fanned masculinity and control. Something that could put you in a dangerous place in a very fast amount of time. You looked at him with dull eyes poking your cheek with your tongue as a cold feeling settled in your gut. 

Your hands fell limply to your side and you chuckled humorlessly. 

“Fuck you”.

Those two words were enough to set him off as you slowly blinked and looked at the ground feeling your heart falter when he abruptly got up. You tried to stand your ground, but the surge of confidence was quickly withering away with fear taking its place. 

Ethan was bigger than you. Even if he wasn’t that much taller than you, there was a noticeable difference in his frame and yours. Weirdly enough, you didn’t regret your curse at him. The words still burned brilliantly on the tip of your tongue. 

It was bittersweet of course. His nose flared, and his eyes bulged as he took large strides over to you knocking the coffee table over on his path to you.

“What did you say to me you-” his words were said through gritted teeth, brash and loud in the silent apartment.

 Maybe he was bigger and stronger than you, but you were faster.

You inhaled sharply reacting fast as your hand reached behind you, turning the knob and slipping around it slamming the door close. Your bag bumped against your back while you bolted to the door with the word “stairs” painted in big bold letters across it. You were already at the door when you heard your apartment door open and Ethan angrily called your name. Threatening to break your laptop if you didn’t go back right this instant. 

You couldn’t help but snicker at the weak attempt. It’s not like there were much but empty pages anyways. 

A heavy feeling soon settled on your chest as you went down the stairs. Your apartment was on the 4th floor, and the stairs weren’t the most taken care of, but it’s not like you had much of a choice anyways. It seemed these days you were always wanting to run away from something. 

Your heart felt a little lighter when the warm rays of sun met your skin and the fresh air outside flooded your senses. Your walk to the park went as usual. Cars racing to get where they needed to, people chattered about everything and nothing, and your thoughts wandered to a world far away from this one. 

A world that wasn’t as dark as this one. At the same time your mind became your executioner, it became your safe place. The sick contrast making a nasty feeling flood your chest.

You arrived at the park with a small smile. The normalcy of the day bringing a little comfort to your still racing heart. Kids ran around, laughter ringing in the air around them as their parents watched on benches gossiping among themselves. People raced fast either by foot, bicycle, or skateboard, a visible sheen on their necks. You looked for the kind old man who always looked after your bag while you ran. 

He owned a music store a few blocks away, and he always sat on the bench closest to the pond with his cute corgi and habitually feeding the ducks peas and lettuce leaves when finished  with a certain chapter of his book. You walked up to him with a small smile as he looked up and took the sight of you in with fatherly worry.  

“You look a little pale kid, everything alright?” 

You did your best to liven up and gave your best customer service smile which the older man immediately saw through.

“Of course Mr.Jung. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m just a little tired from the editors. They’re on my back more than usual”, you laughed nervously as he hummed in understanding.

“I hope that boy of yours isn’t giving you any problems. Hey kid, have you ever heard of the term “break up?” he looked so serious you had to compose your shocked face. 

You waved your hands rapidly “I promise Mr.Jung everything is fine there is...I...oh my” you took a shaky breath as he simply shrugged his shoulders and pet his smaller companion who was having a very serious stare down with a duck. 

You wiped your sweaty palms on your yoga pants while you looked around at the tacky named paths trying to decide which one to run today. 

“The Pupper Runner path looks particularly nice today,” he suggested. You looked at the path pursing your lips in thought. The path wasn’t one you ran frequently. Since it was one of the wider and flatter paths, there were more people such as families or people walking their dogs. You also didn’t like having run-ins with the cyclists who were grouchier around this time of day for some odd reason.

After contemplating it, you shrugged and decided why not. Getting run over by a ticking time bomb on wheels wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen today. With a small smile sent in Mr.Jungs way, you checked your shoe laces before starting out with a light jog making your way down the specific path.

There was nothing really different about today’s run than others. Just having to dodge the wheel demons and kids happily running ahead of their worried mothers. You were grateful for the distraction. It kept you from straying too far into your head. It was just you running. Running like you always did these days, your shoes slapping on the concrete path and Got7 blaring in your ears. 

The heat of the sun shone on your skin, but oddly you still felt cold. It was always cold these days. A light breeze fresh to your burning skin as desperate eyes caught yours, and you were once again bought out of your stupor. 

A small boy was kneeled down fingers clutching his untied shoelaces not far from his dad who was trying to calm a crying baby. You didn’t really have a strong adoration for kids, but his panicked pinched face compelled you to come to a slow stop in front of him. Your chest heaved as you bent down to his level sitting on your heels and wrapped your arms around your legs.

“Hey bud, you need some help there?”

The kid made a distraught sound as he nodded his face shaking his hair out of his eyes. He looked dumb founded as he stared at his shoe laces in search of answers they would never give.

“Mama said to make a bunny, but this looks more like my aunt Carol’s dog” he sadly told you.

You snorted reaching out gently to tie his laces with a double knot.

With a grin you looked up at him ruffling his hair and giving him a thumbs up which he happily returned with a toothy smile.

“It’s alright kid, you’ll eventually get it. Just keep trying yeah? Don’t settle or you might catch yourself tripping next time you go on a walk. You’ll get hurt. Wouldn’t want that would we”, you said, lips still stretched kindly upwards, but something in your words struck stingingly deep in your chest. 

As the kid nodded happily with a carefree laugh you were about to get up when you heard the air being split and a strained voice yelling “watch out!!”. 

You looked up, panicked, only to see a frisbee racing right in your direction with alarming speed. With the goal of protecting the small child, you quickly turned your body. Your shoes making a rough sound against the concrete as a startled light cry left the younger boy’s mouth.

With your hands ready, you easily caught the frisbee gasping at the shock of the situation. You quickly shook it off as you gripped the frisbee turning back to the child who profusely thanked you, his small hands shaking as they clutched onto the hem of your shirt. 

You simply smiled reassuringly tapping his shoe and ushering him back to his father who has begun to successfully calm the fussing baby down. 

With shaking knees you tried to get up only to wince and slightly waver at the sharp sting that hit your ankle area. You clenched your jaw feeling more than annoyed at the current situation in hand. 

You stood up grumbling under your breath as a tall figure jogged over to you. While he made his way toward you, your narrowed eyes met his wide, apologetic ones. 

You felt the world shift around you as a calming warmth shot through your body melding with the confusion and panic pooling in your gut, and his eyes widened impossibly as he stumbled managing to stabilize himself right in time in front of you. His figure standing just inches away from you as his hands trembled, and his lips slightly parted.

You got a slight whiff of cologne and mint, but more than anything, the weird feeling in your gut was making a way for the dreadful panic clouding around your heart. 

You felt warm. 

After feelings of feeling nothing but the hollow cold licking at your veins, there was a nice warmth settling in your chest. 

You were scared of it. 

With a heavy chest you slightly inched back left somewhat immobile due to the aching pain in your ankle. “What the hell?”, you immediately set off on questioning him leading him to shake his head frantically at you. 

“I’m so sorry, i really am.” He put his hand on his chest as if trying to prove his sincerity to you, but you breathlessly took a step back stunned by the intense feelings taking over your heart and mind. 

You tried shaking it off, but the warmth lingered. 

You weren’t sure you wanted it to go away. 

“There’s kids here”, you were so distracted by all the emotions circling your mind you couldn’t possibly put any effort into arguing with the young man. His lips parted to make way for his lips as he nodded his head in understanding. “I know, I'll be more careful next time. I promise.”

Somehow, you knew he was being truthful. You went to say something, possibly something dangerous, but you shook your head and waved your hand. 

You tried taking a step but lightly hissed at the sharp pain that shot from your ankle up your leg. The man instantly dove forward steadying you with a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, and the other hovering in worry near your collarbone. 

With wide eyes you looked at him as he realized his un-asked for touch and immediately went to back away. 

He couldn’t.  

Your hand was clutching the cloth of his shirt near his shoulder blades. Hands slowly uncurling, you smiled awkwardly, but he kept his hand where it was. At his touch, the warmth licking the insides of your body became all the more distracting. 

“Um, I don’t think you can go all the way back home like this”, he cleared his throat looking at you shily under his bangs. Flustered, you smiled at the ground before looking back up and timidly asking “I can't. Mind helping me out?”.

At your question he let out a beaming grin nodding eagerly. He went to stand in front of you, and he crouched down looking at you over his shoulder with soft brown eyes. You did a small jump, and were caught by his hands slightly gripping under your thighs. 

He gave a low chuckle that somehow was felt from where your chest was pressed up against his shoulder blades. “So...what’s your name?”. You let a light giggle escape, “Y/n, yours?”. You saw his jaw move with the syllables of your name whispering it to himself. 

“Yunho”, you smiled also sounding out the name on your own mouth. You gave a shuddering exhale, and you laid your head on his shoulder letting yourself really rest for what seemed like the first time in forever. 

That night you walked right past Ethan who was quick to begin yelling at you, and you tucked yourself under the safety of your blankets feeling the warmth still encasing your heart, so comforting and alive.  

#ateez reaction #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #werewolf ateez #werewolf!ateez #ateez werewolf au #yunho x reader #yunho x you #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #yunho fanfic #yunho au #yunho fluff #yunho angst #jung yunho x reader #jung yunho au #jung yunho imagine #werewolf!yunho #yunho werewolf #yunho werewolf au #yunho oneshot

[peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology]

I'm so excited to read everything for Summer of Love ✨ could i request prompt 37 + 53 with Tom? Maybe friends to lovers 👀

YES I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THE VEGAS REQUEST I AM SO EXCITED

Okay no more screaming but I seriously hope you like it! This is one of my favorite prompts so I was super excited to get to do it 🥰🥰 Anyways, thanks for sending it in, feedback, as always, is appreciated and encouraged. Love you so so much xx

Drive Thru Wedding

37 - Getting drunk and getting married in Vegas

53 - "We are not platonic, and my feelings are never going to be platonic."

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (friends to lovers)

Warnings: light angst

Summary: You had a drive thru wedding with your best friend

Masterlist

Taglist

Summer of Love

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Tom sat up, groaning and rubbing his eyes as light streamed into the hotel room. The room slowly came into focus and he spotted (y/n) passed out on his bed. He knit his brow and padded towards the window, pulling the blinds closed to try and dull his throbbing head. He made his way to the bathroom, wincing as he turned on the light. He splashed water on his face before realizing he was still in the same clothes he’d put on the night before. With a heavy sigh he returned to the bedroom and peaked at his phone. Calls and texts from his family and Harrison, nothing unusual outside of the fact that it was nearly noon.

“Shit,” he swore, glancing back over at (y/n), “Darling wake up,” he set a hand on her back, shaking her lightly.

She groaned, “Go away.”

“It’s nearly noon, come on, time to get up,” he chuckled.

“Fuck you,” she swore back at him before rolling onto her back, “I feel awful.”

“Yeah, me too,” he sighed, “I barely remember last night.”

“Me either. I hope I didn’t do anything embarrassing…”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” he assured, “We should go get some water, and eat.”

“Good call, but I need to shower first,” she yawned as she finally sat up, “Mind if I use your shower?”

“No, no of course not, I’m just gonna call Haz.”

“Cool, I’ll be quick,” she promised.

“Take your time,” he waved her off as he punched in his friend's number.

“Ah, he lives,” Harrison teased as he picked up the phone, “How’s (y/n)?”

“Showering, we’re both a bit fucked,” he frowned, “You aren’t in the suite are you?”

“No, we got breakfast and now we’re heading for the mob museum. We were going to wake you guys up but it seemed like you needed the sleep. You want to come meet us here?”

“Maybe, we’ve got to go eat first though,” he sighed, “Dude, what happened last night?”

“We all got really trashed, you and (y/n) were taking shots and you two took the driver and disappeared. We were all too trashed to even notice you were missing until we left though, but you guys were passed out when we got back to the hotel, so we figured you must have just headed back,” he chuckled, “Don’t remember a thing huh?’

“Hardly, I mean I remember being at the club for a while, but I don’t remember leaving…”

“Does she remember anything?”

“No, I don’t think she remembers anymore than I do.”

“That’s good, at least if you, you know, confessed something, she doesn’t remember.”

Tom blushed, “Yeah, that’s a plus…”

It was obvious to Harrison that something was wrong, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Tom sighed, “I’ve just got this feeling something happened, I just can’t remember what.”

“Hey, I’m sure if you did anything too bad it’d be in the news by now. You probably just threw up or fell or something.”

“Probably, I just hope no one got it on video.”

“I’m sure they didn’t, look I gotta go, our Uber’s here, but let me know if you end up heading our way.”

“Yeah, no problem, I’ll get back to you in a bit.”

Tom rubbed his eyes and dug around his suitcase for some fresh clothes, after finding them he headed across the suite to use a different bathroom. He desperately wanted to clean up and figure out exactly what had occurred the night before. She still looked exhausted when they reunited outside of his room, he was sure he didn’t look any better.

“Everyone went out already huh?”

Tom nodded, “Yeah, they’re at the mob museum right now. They said we can meet up with them if we want, I figure we can see how we feel after we eat.”

“Good idea,” she rubbed her stomach with a sigh, “Do you think a mimose would help or hinder me right now.”

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, “Definitely hinder. I think both of us should be on an alcohol detox today.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she sighed, “Alright, a boring, virgin breakfast it is.”

“Oh you poor thing,” he laughed as they stepped onto the elevator, “It’s just tragic.”

They both opted for something easy on the stomach, simple eggs and fruits, regretting that they didn’t bring sunglasses down from the hotel room. They were both certain they couldn’t make it through a day on the strip, the lights and noise were bound to be too much, which ruled out the possibility of going to meet their friends. Tom still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, it was an unreachable itch in the back of his mind.

“What do you remember from last night?”

“Uh, being at the club, doing some shots,” she tapped her chin, “I don’t know Tom, not much, it’s all kind of blurry really.”

“Same here. I just wonder where we were…”

“I’m sure we just came back here,” she yawned, “I mean you’re pretty high profile, if we were out doing anything crazy I’m sure we would have heard about it by now.”

“Yeah, probably…”

“Mr. Holland?” the waiter approached their table with a smile, “I have something for you from the front desk.”

“Oh, thanks,” he frowned at the manilla envelope placed in front of him, “Uh, who’s this from?”

“Your diver returned it this morning.”

“Thanks,” he repeated as he tore into the envelope, suddenly going wide eyed at its contents, “What the…”

(y/n) frowned and scooted towards him, “I wanna see.”

Before them laid a series of photos of them, clearly taken the night before at the Little White Chapel. (y/n) held a bouquet and Tom held her, his lips pressed to her cheek in one photo and her lips in the next.

“Holy shit,” (y/n)’s jaw nearly hit the floor, “No fucking way…”

“We must have been there for someone else,” Tom tried to explain.

“With a bouquet? Kissing?” (y/n) frowned at him, “Oh my god we eloped in Vegas!”

“Guess you can mark that one off your bucket list,” Tom tried to joke.

“Tom!” she flushed, “This is serious! We need to go somewhere right away and get this annulled!”

“Look even if we did do it, it doesn’t mean it was legally binding, I mean we were drunk, they probably just let us take some pictures to entertain us.”

“God I hope so,” she groaned, “We need to go down there now, get this sorted out right away.”

“I’ll call a driver,” Tom assured, “We’ll sort this out.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

(y/n) drummed her finger along her arm nervously while the elder lady at the chapel typed away at her computer, checking if anything had been registered under either of their names.

“Oh, yep, here it is,” she smiled to them, “Looks like we did hold a wedding for you two last night.”

“Like a real, legal one?” (y/n) pressed.

She nodded, “Yep, you two are married.”

“W-Well you have to delete it,” she demanded.

“Oh hunny, I can’t do that,” she apologized, “You’ll have to go to the county court to apply for an annulment.”

She groaned and Tom smiled at the lady as he ushered her towards the door, “Thanks for all your help, have a nice day.”

“You’re welcome!” she called after them cheerfully.

“This sucks,” (y/n) pinched her brow as they returned to the car, “I guess we’re going to the county court then.”

“We’ll get this sorted out,” Tom blushed, “I just hope we can stay friends after the divorce.”

She laughed while he gave instructions to the driver, “Depends how big my alimony checks are.”

“Why are you the one that gets alimony checks? What about me huh?”

“Because there’s no way I make more money than you movie star,” she poked his chest, “I’m taking Tessa too.”

“Oh now you’re taking it way too far,” he shook his head, “You can take the kids, and the houses, and the money, but no way you’re taking Tessa.”

“Dick,” she shook her head, “After everything we’ve been through, I can’t even keep the dog?”

“Absolutely not,” he laughed, “That’s my baby, I’ll go to war over her.”

“You used to talk that way about me,” (y/n) rolled her eyes, “See this is exactly why we’re getting this divorce.”

“Maybe we should have tried counseling,” he hummed, “You know I don’t think it would be so bad.”

“A divorce?”

“No, if we were married,” he flushed, “I mean just cause we’re like best friends and everything…”

“Yeah but you don’t marry your best friend,” she laughed, “You marry the love of your life.”

“I know, I know, I’m just saying, you know,” he wrung his hands nervously, embarrassed he’d said anything at all.

“What? That’d we’d be a super hot celebrity power couple? Because that’s totally true,” she smiled, “We’d be the best dressed at every premier.”

“Yeah, we’d be a good power couple…”

“I’m sure you and your eventual wife will also be a power couple,” she squeezed his arm with a big smile, “Well, second wife.”

He nodded and pursed his lips, “Can you believe we kissed?”

She laughed, “Oh yeah, lucky you.”

He was upset he couldn’t remember their first, and possibly only kiss, he always imagined it would be more special. “It’s just weird not remembering any of it.”

“I just don’t even know where we got the idea,” she sighed, “I wonder if we drove by it or something…”

“I don’t know, maybe we just talked about it.”

“Maybe, like we got all drunk and got up in our feels.”

“Probably.”

“Tom, what's wrong?” she frowned at him.

“Nothing, I’m just hungover,” he insisted.

“Alright, well we can go lay down again after we sort this out.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

They were quiet the rest of the drive, with Tom growing more and more anxious as they approached the courthouse. It wasn’t that he wanted to be married, but he wanted some kind of relationship. He wanted to confess that he liked the idea of kissing her and being married to her and all of that, he just couldn’t seem to spit it out.

“Hi,” (y/n) smiled at the woman at the front desk, “This is kind of embarrassing but we got really drunk last night and ended up getting married, we just needed to file for an annulment.”

“Happens all the time,” she nodded, “Just fill this out and we’ll call you back to get this sorted out.”

“Thanks,” she took a clipboard and sat down beside Tom, “Time to start dividing assets.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Tom took the board from her and began scribbling information down.

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad of a wife.”

“Ah, what’s got you in a sour mood Tommy?”

“Nothing,” he insisted, “I’m just trying to get this over with.”

“(y/n).”

“Fine, fine, I’ll just sit here,” she sighed, “Guess we aren’t getting divorce ice cream after this huh?”

Tom said nothing.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Tom continued to be quiet as they signed papers and drove back to the hotel, all (y/n) could get with her were one word responses. She wasn’t sure what had changed and made him so upset. She was worried he’d gotten a message from his managers or something.

“Tom come on, you can tell me what’s going on,” she begged, “I know you're upset.”

“It’s nothing okay? I keep telling you I’m fine.”

“But you aren’t, I know you aren’t, and I’m just trying to help, you know you can tell me anything.”

He pinched his nose, “I can’t tell you about this.”

“Of course you can,” she set her hand on his back with a frown, “You can tell me anything.”

“I don’t know, today was just stressful.”

“I’m sure no one saw anything, somebody would have contacted you already.”

“Not about that,” he sighed.

“Okay, what about then?”

“What if I didn’t want to get the annulment?”

She wrinkled her brow in confusion, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because it’s you,” he blushed.

“You want us to have some kind of platonic marriage?” she laughed.

Without a word he cupped her face, pressing his lips to hers for a bruising kiss, “We are not platonic, and my feelings are never going to be platonic.”

Her whole face flushed and her jaw hung open in shock, “You’re into me?”

“I’m completely crazy about you,” he nodded.

“S-So you want to marry me?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “Not right now at least. But I don’t want to throw away any chance of us being together.”

“Tom annulling our drunk Vegas wedding isn’t the same as throwing away any chance of us being together,” she bit her cheek, “I mean I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m into you.”

His cheeks flushed bright red, “Really?”

She nodded, “Obviously dummy, I don’t think I would have married you if I didn’t.”

He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, “So it would be cool if I wanted to take you on a date?”

“Very cool,” she nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck, “But maybe this time we can wait a little longer for the proposal.”

“Yeah well a Vegas drive thru was never exactly my dream wedding anyway,” he squeezed her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Maybe we should go somewhere without alcohol though, just to be safe.”

“Considering my head’s still throbbing, I actually think I’m good on drinking for the rest of the year,” she got on her tiptoes, giving Tom another quick kiss.

“Speaking of which, how would you like to come take a hangover nap with me, girlfriend.”

“Sounds like a lovely use of our time, boyfriend.”

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Taglist:

@niallberry @spideyssunshine @namoreno @thevery-firstpage @outshineallthestars @roseke @zspideyy @emistrash @andreagf956 @tomsirishgirlx @peachyafshawn @agbspidey

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader angst #tom #tom and harrison #tom and haz #harrison osterfield #harrison #summer of love #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction

[ceilingfan5]

trapped by a storm!!!!!!!!!!! oh no whatever shall they do

Taako wakes up disoriented, mask still on his face, and panics for a second--has he finally gotten his dumb ass caught??--before he realizes where he is. He’s at the safehouse with his Reaper, their limbs still tangled. His skin is bizarrely cool against Taako’s overheated body, and it’s grounding, in a funny way that isn’t funny at all. It’s a mess he’s gotten himself into, and deep, and there’s no sight of the sun anymore. All he has is Kravitz.

The weird feelings from last night come back in full force, and following that nauseating journey, thunder cracks again overhead, loud and nasty and world-rending, and Taako’s heart stops. He registers, belatedly, the hammering of torrential rain on this shitty little house’s shitty little roof, the storm sounding so much closer than it would if Taako was home in his apartment. If he was home, he’d turn his music up real loud (fuck the neighbors) and hide in the bathtub until the stupid thing was over.

But he’s here.

And so is his Reaper.

Kravitz stirs in a strange way at the noise and Taako’s movement, going from full unconsciousness to eyes wide open, hand reaching for a weapon, and it makes Taako feel some type of way knowing that he, too, has had to become a light sleeper to keep his stupid ass alive in dangerous situations. The more he realizes they have in common, the sicker he feels. He’s inventing a new fucking disease. Name it after him. Should it be Flux, or Taako? Does he want to be unmasked after death? Who fucking cares about his secret identity? There’s one person on the planet, and he’s got Taako in his arms already.

Fuck, he’s molten-core-of-the-planet deep in this mess.

“Flux,” Kravitz whispers, voice rough and sexy, for sleep reasons and also last night reasons. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my man, nothing.” Maybe if he lies it’ll come true? Ah, nope, that’s not his super power, even if it is close. ���Just a storm. You can keep snoozing.”

“Your heart rate is up.”

“Fuck you.”

Kravitz raises an eyebrow, which is a little hard to tell with his mask still on too (it’s not comfortable in a physical way, but it’s been easier to slowly let this become something entirely new when they don’t have to look at each other’s full bare naked faces), but Taako’s got practice reading him now, and he flushes hard at the implication there.

“It’s just a storm! It’s nothing! It- It’s nothing. I could leave if I wanted to. It’s fine.”

“Right.” Kravitz still looks skeptical, but he lets the shadows slip back from the shape of the weapon he’d been forming. Can’t sword a tornado. Even if you’re a relentless badass with a bod that won’t quit and a mouth like a fallen angel discovering Hell 2. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Taako fully sits up now, folding his arms and turning away, even though he wants to be back in those strong arms. Thunder claps again, and he jumps, damn it. Usually he can mask this better. Becoming vulnerable with his nemesis has made him soft and weak and...far too happy to last. “Don’t you say a fucking word, Reaper.”

Kravitz nods, and yawns, and sits up too. He pulls Taako closer with those terrible, strong, evil, incredible hands of his, and Taako glares, but accepts the embrace, because at least it didn’t come with some bullshit take on his weakenesses and the childishness of his fears and stupid reassurances he doesn’t need because he knows it’s fucking irrational, damn it, but every time, every single time that thunder bowls the primordial soup, it rattles Taako’s bones like a cartoon in a Halloween candy commercial.

Kravitz smells good. Taako doesn’t know how he’s let that smell become so familiar and comforting, but it is, and he accepts it for now, because it’s keeping him from completely shivering himself apart like a neurotic purse dog.

And Kravitz doesn’t say anything, because he knows when to be a brat and when to be serious, and maybe he’s not so good at being a civilian yet, and for sure, he’s no hero, but two villains like them almost sort of deserve each other, if you think about it. Taako sure won’t, but he can’t stop anybody else from doing it. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, or if he’s even thinking at all. But something deep within him, something stupid and delicate and vulnerable and small, that something feels those arms around him and thinks safe.

He’s not a bathtub, but he’ll do.

#taakitz #taakitz fic #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #fan5fics #it's these fools again #theyre growing softer #more fond of each other #not that theyll admit it. #i hope you arent all tired of this au lol #god i need to get back to cleaning. fuck

[thefanficmonster]

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear  📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go. 

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can’t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

#resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil 7 #re8 #re village #re8 village #resident evil chris #resident evil chris redfield #re chris redfield #re chris #chris #chris redfield #chris redfield fanfic #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x oc #chris redfield imagine #karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #leon kennedy #ethan winters #mia winters #rose winters #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #fluff #romance #request

[kikilefangirl]

Here To Stay

Sam Wilson x reader

(Reader is Tony Stark’s, and I cannot stress this enough, very GROWN adopted daughter, who was snapped during Infinity War. TFATWS spoilers ahead!)

(Word Count: 1k)

It was hot, muggy, and you couldn’t wait to get back in your bed at home after this.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s GPS had guided you to a small country house like only you’d seen in the movies. 

Before you could make it to the porch, three curious faces peaked out from the screen door. It was a woman and two kids. They scattered into the house’s interior as Sam Wilson stepped outside. 

He wore a thin, dark colored t-shirt and jeans. Sweat dripped from his brow, shining against the Louisiana sun. 

“Wrong house.” Sam announced. He had an easy half smile that hovered somewhere between curiosity and reluctance. You purse your lips, and cocked your head to the side.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, disable location. Falcon protocol, Redwing protocol. Voice activation authorized. Stark, Y/N.” You ordered. The AI replied and went to work, finally in proximity with the Falcon suit to do so.

Sam cautiously approached you, and snorted.

“Only Tony Stark’s child would come down here barking orders, wearing high heels on wet grass.” 

You glanced down at your pumps, “I always wear heels.” 

Your dad never expected anything less. Tony Stark was nothing if not flamboyant and you had taken after him in that respect.

“If you fall, I’m laughing.” Sam joked as he led you inside. To your credit, you were perfectly steady as you trudged through the grass and up the front steps. 

As the two of you settled into the living room, you got right to the point. 

“Steve gave you that shield, Sam.” You said, plainly. You were nothing if not blunt. You decided that it was a side effect of your last name, probably made worse after the snap. 

Sam shook his head and clasped his hands together. A thick vein pulsed on his temple as he formulated a response. It wasn’t humility or politeness—Sam didn’t seem like they type for either— it was shame. An intense shame. 

“They have their guy, now. So you can go on back home and leave well enough alone. Take a plate with you, my sister made it.” With his downturned eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching in the silence, Sam Wilson sat slumped in the chair. 

You slammed your palm on the wall, the sound piercing through the house. Like the soldier he was, Sam didn’t react to your outburst, but that didn’t stop you from going off. 

“The U.S. government can have your black ass in those wings running covert ops off the Libyan border with no paper trail, but they can’t let you keep that shield?”

Your question chipped away at Sam’s armor, applying the necessary pressure. You knew the feeling—the creeping thought at the back of your mind, the lingering worry that your best couldn’t compare. Sam’s face hardened after each word but he needed to hear them, especially from someone who could understand his plight.  

“You’re the big dog now, Wilson. Are you really gonna let them keep you the mantle you earned? When it wasn’t even theirs to give away?” You went on. Your heels clacked against the rickety hardwood as you paced back and forth. 

You swallowed hard, not letting the bitterness fester. You loved Morgan, and getting to know her after having been snapped and missing her whole life, was how you reconnected with the regular world. But you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting when people wrote articles about how Tony Stark was survived by his wife Pepper, daughter Morgan, and no mention of you in there. 

“It doesn’t feel like mine.” Sam admitted. He kept staring straight ahead, you could see the thoughts swirling in his head. 

“It’s not theirs either, so fuck them and build your own legacy.” You said, matter of factly. 

You didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh. But ever since you came back, you had trouble self editing. To make up for it, you placed a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder.

He looked up at you so sincerely that it caught you off guard. His warm eyes were different than what you were used to—Sam radiated comfort, even when he was the one hurting the most. He gave you an unsure smile, but he was still leaning towards you. A strange feeling came over you as you felt the thick muscle underneath his shirt, making you snatch your hand away and straighten up. Heat rushed through your cheeks uncontrollably—you silently prayed he didn’t notice. 

“Um, uh, I have the shield’s location as well as the location of the one and only Bucky Barnes at the ready. The two of you have a tight window of opportunity, so take full advantage.” 

As you rambled on, Sam became less and less hopeless. Relief washed over his features, and it calmed you down, too. You had pierced through his resignation, and got him out of his head. 

He suddenly met your eyes with an apologetic gaze.

 “We didn’t speak at the funeral. I’m—”

“You weren’t my dad’s favorite person, either, Wilson.” You cut him off. His sympathy didn’t make you feel better. You had seen the Iron Man murals and memorials and tributes all across the globe and they hadn’t, either. But Sam’s admission did make you feel like a real person, and no one else’s sorry ever caught your attention for that.

You nodded at him. Sam smiled for real this time, and noticed how his gap was more pronounced up close.  It was a charming addition to an already handsome face.

“It’s a new world, and I’ve gotta do my part then.” He declared. There was a shift in him, a glimpse at what might have been optimism. 

“Then get dressed, we’ve got work to do.” You replied.

Sam shot you an amused glance, looking you up and down. You caught him in the act and smirked. As you turned on your heel and headed for the door, you couldn’t resist calling him out in it.

“Stop staring at my ass in here, stare at it on the plane. I’ll be in the car.”  

You smiled at the implication, imagining what Sam’s reaction was as you slipped out the door and back out into the world. 

He was right—it was a new world. And you needed to do something to move it along, starting by reconnecting the shield with its rightful owner.

#sam wilson #Sam Wilson appreciation #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson is captain america #tfawts #tfawts spoilers #tfawts fic #black!reader #poc!reader #woc!reader #marvel mcu #sam wilson x black!reader #imposter syndrome is real y’all #tony stark daughter #adopted!reader #stark!reader #Sam Wilson x Stark!reader #I love Bucky but stop flooding Sam’s tag pls #snapped!reader #the bougie bitch energy is immaculate I must say