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hyunverse · 7 months

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lucky number five ☆ hwang hyunjin.

pairing: hyunjin x fem! reader. tags: fluff, drabble. words: 3k words. warnings: reader is referred to with she/her, called as wife. about: the five most memorable memories you share with hyunjin. note: i haven't written in a while, so my writing's definitely a little rusty. i hope you'll like it! please reblog, and feedback is very much appreciated <3 disclaimer — © 2023 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

𝐨𝐧𝐞.

Five is Hyunjin's lucky number.

Hyunjin first met you when he was five. He had pointed out that you were wearing the same shirt as he was — and you've been attached to the hips ever since.

His first tooth fell out on the fifth day of Summer. He could recall holding the baby tooth on a tissue in one hand, looking up at his mother with puppy eyes. His mother patted him on the head and told him he had grown up. The tooth fairy gave him a single gold coin chocolate, too. Tucked it under his pillow where he placed his baby tooth. He remembers having a lisp until the tooth grew back — remembers how jealous you were that he had "grown up."

The first feeling of victory Hyunjin had ever experienced was when he won fifth place in a colouring contest. Truth be told, he could've easily won first place — but he wanted you to win over him just to see you smile, so he coloured messily. Though the trophy for first place looked glorious, he thought that the smile plastered on your face as you held a medal beat the shine on the trophy.

It was the fifth of May when you two started dating. Hyunjin remembers everything about the fated day, bit by bit. He could play each scene, each dialogue in his head like an overplayed radio song. He was merely sixteen, studying in an all boys school with little to no knowledge about dating. Boys his age didn't care about dating. They only cared about soccer and video games. While he cared about all of that too, a lot of the space in his heart was overtaken by you. Figuring out how to ask you out was tough, he had spent a lot of time pondering. He even gathered up the courage to seek advice from his friends, yet to no avail. They were barely any help. In the end, he observed television dramas and prayed for the best.

Under a cherry blossom tree, you sat on a bench. Your eyes were fixated on the sky as your legs dangled over the wooden bench. The clouds on the sky were huge, luminous — enveloping the sky the way lovers do.

"Jinnie!" Hyunjin heard you cheer as he approached you. The nonchalant look on his face immediately turned into a bright smile, his footsteps becoming more hurried.

Standing in front of you, Hyunjin was the perfect depiction of nervous. Both his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans, front teeth nibbling onto the inside of his cheeks and the little rocks underneath his foot tumbled as he kicks on them.

Hyunjin gulped, "Hi."

You tilted your head with concern, "are you okay, Jinnie?"

The concern laced in your tone reminded him of all the reasons why he liked you so much. You cared like no other — loved as though nothing could hurt you in this world.

"I am," he replied, rubbing on the back of his neck, "I just —"

"You don't have to rush it," you tapped on the seat beside you, "sit with me. You can take your time to tell me whatever that's on your mind."

So, Hyunjin sat. His legs reached the ground unlike yours, and his eyes fixated on the stain on his sneakers. He was painfully aware of the rapid beating of his heart. The urge to tell you his feelings were bottling up quickly.

Then, it spilled.

"I like you a lot," the words were muttered before Hyunjin could stop them.

"Hm?"

"I like you," he repeated. This time, he sounded more sure, looked more sure. The raven was looking at you, blinking sanguinely.

It took a while for you to process the words, for your jaw to relax and finally respond.

The first response came in a way where you slowly turned your head towards him, blinking profusely.

You stuttered, "like me? Like like, or just friends like?"

He sighed, "like like. I like like you."

"Oh."

There it goes, the rejection. Hyunjin had expected it, but it hurt nonetheless. You were the only person Hyunjin had ever liked, his best friend since kindergarten. His feelings for you ran deep. He was merely sixteen, yes, but he was well aware of how strongly he felt for you.

You didn't expect it, but he tapped on your shoulder comfortingly, as if to say, "I know you don't like me, it's okay."

You were right.

"I know you don't like me, it's okay," he comforted, "I just wanted you to know."

"No, I do like you," you confessed.

"What?"

"Yeah," you replied, breathlessly, "was just shocked, that's all."

"Oh."

Silence blanketed the two of you as the conversation exchanged slowly seeped into your brains. Hyunjin looked like he was simply admiring the view in front of him but really, his brain was going haywire.

"No, I do like you," the words repeated in his brain over, and over. They filled his brain with dopamine, the kind of rush that even his favourite football team winning could not replicate.

The five words which will be engrained in Hyunjin's mind forever.

"I like you a lot."

The five words which will be engrained in yours.

"So..." you broke the silence, "what now?"

Hyunjin's pointer circled against the wood of the bench, itching to hold your hand, "we... you know. Date."

"Yeah. Okay."

For best friends who have known each other for years, it was abnormally quiet for the two of you.

But it was okay. Hyunjin was content with the small smile lingering on your pretty face, and your hand in his — finally in his.

𝐭𝐰𝐨.

The sound of a pan sizzling and a kettle crackling seeped into the guest bedroom, though the sound of Hyunjin and his mother's voice caught your attention the most.

You were spending the weekend at the Hwangs'. Your parents were on a company trip that weekend and didn't trust you alone so naturally, they dropped you off there. You were about to take your morning shower, a towel slung over your shoulder when their voices stopped you in your tracks.

"You really like her, Hyunjin?" his mother asked, her voice the epitome of motherly.

She truly is the stereotypical loving mother — soft, and nurturing. Lunchbox ready on the table every morning, not a single football match of Hyunjin's missed. Treated you like the daughter she never had, braided your hair by the porch as Hyunjin ran around with his beloved dog.

"Um," Hyunjin muttered, silverware clinking against plate as he cut through a sausage.

You clasped your ear against the door, eager to hear more.

"You don't have to be shy with me, Hyunjin."

"I do like her," you heard him say, "a lot."

Crimson crept up your face, and you could picture his face doing the same. You could imagine the tips of his ears going red, and his mother looking at him with a grin.

"You want to marry her?" she asked jokingly.

"I do," he answered. Confidently. Surely. Absolutely no hesitation. As though it was the one sole thing he was sure of in his life.

"Oh, my Hyunjin," his mother cooed, "you're all grown up now!"

You didn't know what happened next, how their conversation continued because you were too busy stifling yourself from giggling giddily. Your back was pressed up against the door, replaying the eavesdropped dialogues in your head over and over. Overcame by excitement, you failed to notice the footsteps approaching the door.

Before you knew it, your head came in contact with the wall as the door swung open. Hyunjin stood in front of you, confused as you rubbed your forehead.

"So aggressive, and for what?" you grunted, looking up at him with a pout.

"Who told you to stand by the door like an idiot?" Hyunjin huffed. Nevertheless, he reached towards your forehead, checking for any bruises.

"You'll be okay. Next time, don't stand by the door like an idi—" he paused, "wait. Did you hear anything?"

You batted your eyelashes innocently, playing dumb.

"Hear what?"

Hyunjin sighed out of relief, ruffling your hair, "nothing you need to worry your pretty self about. Just go shower. I saved you some pancakes."

"Aw," you pecked his lips, "you're so sweet, and so caring. You must want to marry me."

He smiled, but the face soon contorted into one of annoyance.

"So you heard!"

"Heard what? The fact that you're obsessed with me and want to marry me so bad?"

"You're so annoying, y/n."

"You still want to marry me though."

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, "shut up, or I'll take it back."

He wouldn't.

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞.

Exhaustion lugged on Hyunjin as he exited the entertainment building. He's been a trainee for a couple of months now, and the burn-out was no joke. A day with you was exactly what he needed. A couple of days spent with his home, his solace — and he refused to come empty-handed.

Thus, he roamed around the park, in search of wildflowers. Anything he could get his hands on, just as long as he could form a bouquet from them. Hyunjin ducked and moved around, pulling out any flower he deemed beautiful enough. A black hair tie tied together the ensemble of florals. He wished he had managed to get his hands on some ribbons but alas, he couldn't. For now, the black hair tie on his wrist would suffice.

You arrived right when you promised you would. Clad in a pretty yellow sundress, Hyunjin swore that you came right out of a daydream. He watched you wander around in the park for a while, admiring from afar. Even with a confused expression plastered across your face, he still found you gorgeous. A part of him wished that he was simply your secret admirer, so that he could keep watching you from afar for hours. Not being able to be around you would suck though, so perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Y/n!” Hyunjin finally called you out, waving his hand to catch your attention, “here!”

You whipped your head towards his direction, lips twitching into the cutest smile once you caught a glimpse of your boyfriend.

An arrangement of colourful flowers was handed to you once you were in front of him. You vividly remember how beautiful it was — petals of yellow, pink, and white which coincidentally matched your dress. Hyunjin on the other hand remember how you looked, the pupils of your eyes practically shining at the ensemble.

“For me?” you asked, looking at him with big, bright, eyes.

Hyunjin nodded, “for you, of course. Flowers for a flower.”

“Oh,” was all that you could utter, overwhelmed by appreciation. You gently pet the petals, “they’re so pretty.”

“Really?” Hyunjin queried, “I don’t have any money. I wish I could buy you pretty roses and tulips, but I really cannot afford them right now. This is the best that I could do, and I’m sorry my love.”

“Don’t you dare say sorry, Hwang Hyunjin. The fact that you spent time to find these flowers means a lot to me, and makes them even more special. I love them, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

He nodded, smiling sheepishly. All the worries he previously harboured immediately disappeared at your words.

“Okay, love. Let’s go then, find more flowers and I’ll make a wreath out of them for you.”

Years later, and the flowers had long wilted away — pressed and put in a frame for display, resting on a table with vases of flowers accompanying it.

Hyunjin never stopped gifting you flowers.

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫.

A yellow bus drove away, leaving two figures at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere.

The outskirts of Seoul — only ever acknowledged as a place vehicles pass by. No stores, no houses in sight, just a lonesome bus stop surrounded by greens.

Hyunjin would’ve never stepped foot in this place if it wasn’t for you. If it wasn’t for you climbing into his window and hysterically crying, he wouldn’t have purchased tickets to the middle of nowhere. He would probably be in bed and wake up at noon.

“I want to run away,” you told him, hours before.

“Okay,” he replied, “I’ll go with you.”

Normally, Hyunjin wouldn’t support your attempts at rebelling against your parents. Honestly, the words, “don’t be dumb and just say sorry,” sat at the top of his tongue, but they dissolved at the sight of your mascara running down your cheeks. He knew that even if he was to disagree, you would’ve packed your bags and left anyway. He would rather follow to keep you safe.

Plus, the boy knew that the rebellion would only last a couple of hours.

“Let’s sail off without a map. Just walk and see what we’ll discover.”

“Okay.”

God knows how many of those he already said to you that day.

You walked, hand in hand, him siding with the highway. You looked far too relaxed for someone who was running away. Hyunjin, on the other hand, was terrified. If anything were to happen to the two of you there, nobody would be there to help. His free hand dug into his pocket, tightly clutching onto a butterfly knife.

Minutes soon turned into an hour. Two people walking soon turned into one — Hyunjin ended up carrying you on his back after seeing that you’ve blistered your feet. He nagged about your choice of footwear, but amidst the nags, he still opted to carry you anyway. Your hands rested around his neck, chin on his head as he walked aimlessly, just waiting for you to finally cave in and ask to go home.

“Hyunjin, look!”

“Hm?”

The boy turned around, gasping at the sight which greeted his eyes. A field of flowers stretched as far as his eyes could see, green plains decorated with splotches of colourful flowers.

Before he could say anything, you were already running towards the field, screaming in glee. He followed in pursuit, taking in the breeze and letting blades of grass sway against his legs.

“Hurry!”

Hurry, Hyunjin did, running towards you and lifting you off the ground. Hyunjin took advantage of the seemingly infinite space to twirl you around, and run around until the two of you turned breathless, lying on the grass to look at the sky.

“I love this place,” you mumbled between heavy breaths, “feels like something you only see in your dreams.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with his elbow.

Quietly, he admired you. The tranquil expression your face held matched that of the sky. He couldn’t stop the hand reaching towards your face, calloused thumb caressing your face with the same softness of a feather. Each stroke of his thumb whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Thank you,” your words reeled Hyunjin out of his daze, “for coming here with me.”

His eyes on you softened.

“You don’t have to thank me. Just be around forever,” sat at the top of Hyunjin’s tongue and dissolved.

Instead, he pressed a kiss onto your lips.

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞.

Hyunjin asked you to marry him five years after you started dating.

It was the peak of his career. He was everywhere around the world, collecting awards and breaking records. The little boy who loved football slowly turned into a superstar. He had to bid goodbye to his quiet life, making space for all the glory the world had to offer to him. His name sat at the tip of everyone’s tongues, talk of the town — Achilles reincarnate.

That was when he decided that he would have to marry you. For amidst all that glory, you were the only stagnant thing in his life. You continued to annoy and nag him as you always do. You continued to be the first person he thinks of when he wakes, and the last person he thinks of as he shuts his eyes. You’re always the person he has in mind as he looks for souvenirs, and when he watches old couples sitting on benches in different cities.

You, you, you.

Always you.

Boxes scatter around the living room, some opened and some not. It’s been a few hours since the moving truck unloaded all of the boxes. Honestly, you could’ve gotten so many things done if it weren’t for the two of you constantly procrastinating.

“Just a five-minute break, babe,” Hyunjin whines, landing on a (still wrapped in plastic) sofa.

You roll your eyes, “you’ve taken breaks like three times just this hour, Jinnie.”

He whines again, making grabby hands, “need my wife here right now or I’ll die.”

The sigh which leaves your lips cannot fool him, because the slight grin on your lips gives away that you like his clinginess. You seat yourself in his arms, burying yourself in his neck. The familiar scent of fresh laundry and cologne fills your nostrils, washing away the exhaustion from the day.

“Me, my wife, and a new house,” you hear Hyunjin mumble, “feels like a dream.”

You voice your agreement by humming. It’s when you stare at the boxes surrounding you that the reality finally sinks in. You’re married to the boy you met in kindergarten. His toothbrush will be in a cup next to yours, his mug will be in the dishwasher with yours, and your dirty laundry will be in the same machine. You’ll wake up next to him every day for what you hope will be your entire life.

You smile at the thought, sinking yourself into Hyunjin even more. He’s holding you with one hand, the other rummaging through a box when he takes out a Polaroid, showing you it with glee.

A Polaroid of you and him under a cherry blossom tree, five years ago.

“Isn’t this from the first day we started dating?” Hyunjin asks, blinking his eyes at you.

You tilt your head to observe the polaroid, “oh… Yes, it is, babe!”

He’s laughing, particularly at how red his face looks in the picture.

“Oh my god, we have to recreate this picture soon, love.”

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flawdchaos · 1 month

Text

Pinky Promises

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1840

- this is a part 2/continuation of Spilled Drinks that was requested by anon.

Ever since the night Y/N had literally ran into Rosie at the bar she couldn’t seem to rid herself of a small smile, no matter what she did. When the girls made it back to their barracks that night, the ambushing of questions went on for well over an hour and even into the next morning.

“You have to talk to him again, Y/N. We both saw the way he looked at you when you were dancing.” Violet declared as she pinned her hair back under the white cap the Red Cross was gracious enough to bless them with. “You know Violet is right, Y/N. He’s already dreaming of a house back in the states and curly headed babies running around.”

“Hazel!” Y/N stopped midway through her dress buttons to lightly smack her friend on the arm, cheeks burning bright red. “I just met the man and for all we know, he doesn’t care and will never speak to me again.” Reaching down to grab her work satchel packed full of supplies.

“Well Y/N if that was the case I don’t believe Mr. Rosenthal would be waiting outside for you, would he?” Violet taunted, Y/N’s head snapping up to meet her friend's gaze. Violet stood peering out the window, fingers holding the blinds open enough to see outside. Hurriedly, Y/N rushed over the window trying her best to not trip over her own feet.

Sure enough there stood Robert Rosenthal - hands shoved in his pockets gaze searching the area around him.

“Go get him, tiger!” Hazel bent forward, laughing.

There truly was not much left in this world that could phase Y/N. She had seen it all in the cruel reality that was war. Men she had grown close to over the span of their visits to the nurses stations would come back battered and broken, some beyond repair - and despite all of what she saw, she was always able to ground herself. She had to. But now, she felt like a young school girl again. Her body was littered with anxiety - sweaty palms, shaking hands, and a racing heart. Why?

All because Robert Rosenthal was standing outside of the nursing barracks.

The squeaking of the barrack front door brought her back down to reality for a moment before the brightness of the sun had her quickly shielding her eyes.

“Rosie, is that you?” she more than obviously knew the answer but she still could not convince herself that it really was him.

“Uh, yeah”, he let out an awkward chuckle “I wanted to stop by this morning and see how things were going. Maybe walk you to the nurses station since I’m heading in that direction.” he was rambling. She stood, head cocked up to him, eyes squinting still from the sun. “I mean, unless, that makes you uh - uncomfortable.”

“I’d love the company. The commute can get a bit lonely.” that same small smile making its way back onto her face. Rosie extended his hand for Y/N to lead the way and with one quick glance back inside she saw her friends staring out at her, smiles plastered on each of their faces.

“What is on your itinerary, today?” Robert finally spoke up.

“The usual. Work until roughly 1900, probably later since there is a mission today and hope to make it back to the barracks in time to do some reading before I get up and do it all again tomorrow.” Y/N paused, kicking a few pebbles along the path before she continued. “How is the day looking for you?”

“Nothing too crazy but I am going up today.” he said nonchalantly, stopping Y/N in her place.

“You’re flying today?” she almost felt like throwing up. Maybe it was selfishness or chosen ignorance but Y/N had grown to hope the war wouldn’t need Robert anymore. She hoped she could protect him from it but all she could do was treat the wounds he would inevitably bring back to her.

“Yeah, debriefing starts at 0730. I’m heading over there once we get you where you need to be.” Her anxiety ridden mind could not help but imagine this was Rosie’s goodbye to her.

Y/N stepped forward to Rosie, grabbing his hands in hers as she looked up to maintain eye contact.

“I know I am just a nurse and you can’t tell me what you're doing up there or where you’re going but you have to pinky promise me you’ll be safe.” Dropping his left hand, she stuck her pinky out expectantly.

“Cross my heart.” he said, as their pinkies connected tightly.

As they continued along their walk, conversation came easily. The pair were still strangers by most accounts and each of them hated it. Y/N wanted to know everything there was to know about Robert Rosenthal and she had made it her plan to figure it out. Stopping outside the nurses station, Rosie removed his hat and began anxiously squeezing it in his hands.

“Be safe up there, fly boy.” Y/N teased, attempting to keep the mood as lightened as she could.

“As long as you do the same down here.” Y/N nodded.

“This mission will be my 20th. I’ve got a two day pass calling my name once my feet hit the ground. Let me treat you to a real introduction and dinner.” Rosie spoke quickly, nerves taking over the brunette.

“I would love that, Mr. Rosenthal.” rising on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss against his cheek. “You know where I'll be when you get back.” With that, Y/N took a step back and hurried inside to her awaiting duties.

There wasn’t any other time that Y/N had remembered the clock dragging by so slowly. The seconds ticking by was beginning to drive her up the wall and she had to busy herself with random duties. It was while she was restocking the gauze that she heard the all too familiar rumble of the engines overhead. She couldn’t make it to the window to count the returning planes but she hoped, with all her being, every single one of them returned. Hazel’s blonde curls popped around the closet corner, an all too familiar sign that the once quiet med bay was about to pure, unadulterated chaos.

“We’ve got boys already headed our way.” Hazel spoke softly, as if she tried to lessen the blow.

“How bad?” Y/N asked but was only met with a small head shake from the blonde - it was never a good sign.

When Y/N finally saw Robert Rosenthal, he appeared in the med bay doors adorning some cuts and scrapes across his face.

“I told you I would make it back, pretty lady. My leave starts at 0700 sharp. Let’s go to London.”

It was pure luck that her days off coincided with Rosie’s rendezvous and that Helen and Violet were great at covering for their friend. The train ride was where Y/N finally got to the bottom of who Robert Rosenthal truly was. Shortly after taking their seats, Y/N couldn’t help but start to prod.

“Alright, tell me everything Mr. Rosenthal. Give me all the dirty details.”, her cheeks flushed bright red ,”uh- not like that i mean tell me - uh - tell me something no one else knows about you or something.” She could have thrown herself off of the moving train at that point but Rosie just flashed her a smile and started speaking.

“Robert Rosenthal, from Brooklyn, New York. I was working in law before all this mess. I loved it. Graduated top of my class actually. But after Pearl Harbor, I couldn’t keep sitting on my ass while my country needed me so - I enlisted.”

“No secret wife or kids back at home?” Y/N poked.

“No ma’am. It’s just me. And - uh - as far as something no one on this side of the world knows about me - I was the captain for my college’s baseball team. I was trying to be the next DiMaggio.” a small chuckle escaping him as he finished his sentence. “Now what about you?” he asked, softly bumping his shoulder up against the girls.

“Nothing too crazy for me. I always loved helping folks, I was told my whole life I was meant to be a nurse. Once we started fighting this fight I knew I had to volunteer - sorta like you I guess. I’m not dropping bombs or toting a gun but knowing I patch you all up before you get back in the saddle is enough for me.” she sighed, turning up to glance at Rosie.

“And no secret husband out at war or kids back at home?” Rosie mimicked her early question. Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “God no, Robert. Where I’m from I don’t turn heads.” He took a moment to look at her, maintaining eye contact before he took his large hand and grasped over hers before pulling them on to his lap.

“Well Y/N Y/L/N you turned mine - and maybe after we get all this nonsense settled with the bad guys, I can give you a tour of Brooklyn. I know just the place that I’d love to take you dancing.”

“I’m most certainly holding you to it but for now, let’s explore London.” raising her free hand to the platform approaching quickly.

“Yes ma’am. How would you feel about a picnic?”

“That sounds absolutely lovely.”

Rosie stood up as soon as the train hissed to a stop, busying himself with gathering the overnight bags each of them had packed. He stubbornly insisted on carrying both to the hotel around the corner. Y/N knew they would have to enter as colleagues and nothing more, separating as they went to their respective rooms to drop off their bags before meeting again in the hallway.

“Let’s go find sandwiches.” he spoke quietly and Y/N nodded, falling in line behind him as they walked past the lobby and out to the streets. For the first time Y/N really took in the size of the city around her and she couldn’t even help that her jaw was almost to the floor. The Germans had done their share of damage but it didn’t lessen the experience for her at all.

“What is it, Y/N?” Rosie questioned, taking a step towards her.

“I’ve never seen a city like this before. This is just - wow.” Rosie broke out into an ear-to-ear grin. “It is awesome but wait until I take you to Brooklyn. We’ll catch the train to New York City and I’ll make sure you take the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty.”

“You promise?” Y/N broke from her trance to look up as Rosie smiled and turned to her fully, sticking out her left hand.

“I pinky promise.” he said, watching as Y/N connected their hands tightly. “You better believe it. I haven’t broken a promise yet.”

AUTHORS NOTE - hi friends, i hope everyone enjoyed this little part two to spilled drinks. there may be a part 3 to this little series if it’s wanted. please feel free to give me feedback or more requests as my inbox as open. i’m still new to this so i appreciate anything :)

#masters of the air #masters of the air imagines #masters of the air x reader #john egan #gale cleven #rosie rosenthal imagines #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #robert rosenthal imagine #bucky egan x reader #buck cleven x reader #john egan imagine #gale cleven imagine

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astroboots · 10 months

Text

Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces.

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes.

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession.

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy.

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all.

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets. Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise.

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect.

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?”

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot.

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman.

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat.

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window.

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life.

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you.

In fact, he’s just plain always there.

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room.

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again. He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder.

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer.

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe.

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching.

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay.

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not.

Are they petty? Oh yeah.

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over.

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud.

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4?

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara.

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange.

His justification?

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO.

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself.

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan.

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full.

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point.

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds.

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?”

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say.

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest.

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu.

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard.

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why.

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons.

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts.

“Why do you hate him so much?” You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention.

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it.

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.”

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated.

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck.

You leave the restaurant frustrated.

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward. It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says.

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both.

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright.

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat.

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that.

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat.

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile.

That was easy.

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played.

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower.

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book.

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–”

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing.

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you.

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore.

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does.

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world"

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours.

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure.

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask.

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time.

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now.

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses.

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon.

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you.

You sigh.

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money.

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away.

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down.

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life.

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb.

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had.

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel.

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists.

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse.

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck?

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop.

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing?

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection.

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time?

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer.

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it?

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!?

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you.

Maybe you need to give up too.

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death.

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face.

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

“Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing.

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.”

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing. He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body.

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you.

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away.

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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tangyangie · 10 months

Text

— 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 ϟ

synopsis. 6reeze boys and how they initiate + receive physical touch with their s/o!!

characters. 6reeze boys [aether, heizou, kazuha, scaramouche/wanderer, venti, xiao]

notes. when am i going to get out of the grasp of only listening to taylor swift i'm never going to be able to escape her

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

he likes physical affection a lot!! he does it almost unconsciously. kiss, touch—it's so natural for him when he's doing it to you. there will be something next to you that he needs, and he'll place his hand on your shoulder while he grabs what he was looking for. then, he'll smile at you and kiss you on the cheek before walking away. now, on the other hand—he treats your physical affection as if you're doing unspeakable things!! his face is sooo red—you swear that you should compare the color of his cheeks to the reddest pigment in the world. (the creators will need to make a new formula.) but, he loves it and will take everything you want to give him.

"...aether? hi, there." you giggle, aether having hugged you from behind with no warning. his face snuggled into your neck, feeling his breath on your skin.

"mm, hi." he kisses your shoulder, hugging you a bit tighter. "what's up?" he asks, looking up at you with a sweet smile plastered across his face.

"you tell me. i'm not the one latched onto their lover like a koala bear." you laugh, bringing him around yourself so that he's in front of you. intertwining his fingers with yours, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his nose.

"mm—y/n..." he sighs, looking away while taking one of his hands from yours to cover his face. "you can't just do that." under his hand is also a hidden smirk.

"you're such a hypocrite. c'mere." you giggle, tugging him closer and wrapping your arms around him. you start placing multiple kisses across his face, before finally concluding on his lips, having it last a bit longer than the others.

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

he's a cheeky one. will leave you wanting more after every single touch, and then simply leaves. he'll simply smirk at you and slip a few words, leaving you confused and unsatisfied. luckily, he's not so mean that he'd leave you completely hanging. will make up for it with lots of kisses. now, when you initiate physical affection, it's a different—just kidding, it's almost the same story. if it's completely out of nowhere, it only makes him even more confident. he'll tease you with a smug look on his features. will never deny your love, though. unless he's trying to make a point. or tease you. actually, there's a lot of times he'll deny your love. but, it'll all be playful, and always he's sure to pay you back.

"heizou, you're taking forever!! when are you gonna be done with your work?" you whine, draping yourself over one of the chairs in his office.

he hums, almost trying to make you more patient. it's really only a delay tactic. "hmm, i dunno." he laughs, that inerasable smirk of his on his face.

"ugh." at this point, you're completely upside-down in the chair. legs on the wall and head hanging down. when, you get the idea to coax him to leave early.

awkwardly gracefully falling out of the chair, you slip behind him, seeing his focused eyes almost squint. he hasn't seemed to notice you, somehow. so, you throw your arms around him from behind.

looking back in your direction, he chuckles and shakes his head. "aww, do you love me so much that you just can't bear to be away from me for two seconds?" he teases, kissing you softly, letting it linger—and then turning right back around towards his paperwork.

you had your eyes closed, and everything—and he just leaves you hanging?? literally. your jaw is hanging to the floor right now. not literally. well, sort of.

almost gliding around him, you melt into his lap, placing your arms on his shoulders while giving him the most pitiful look you can.

he simply smiles, but he knows what he's doing. so, you take matters into your own hands. cupping his cheeks gently, you kiss him—not letting his lips escape, this time.

you can feel him smile against you, the laugh that escapes him being muffled by your kiss. his hands fall to your waist, playing with your clothes.

"fine, you win. let's get out of here."

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

touching you is his favorite form of anything. love?? communication?? keeping warm?? sleeping?? he loves it all. he always finds some way to have his fingers on you—whether it's on your face or somewhere else, he finds so much peace in just holding you. he traces shapes all over you unconsciously—he could literally be asleep, and he'd be drawing stars and hearts on you. don't ask how. he almost collapses when you initiate touch—he loves you so much, and touching him reminds him that you love him just as much.

you're resting your head on kazuha's shoulder. the look on his face is almost comical—he's smiling widely with his eyes closed, leaning back as he strokes your shoulder.

"kazuha, you look high. are you okay?" you tease, giggling as he suddenly opens his eyes and looks over at you.

"of course i am, my love." he whispers, running his hand to your cheek and smiling softly. his legs are kicking softly as they hang over the edge of the crux.

you poke him on his nose a few times. he simply chuckles and wraps his arms around you closer, bringing you to lay your head on his lap.

he gently plays with your hair, almost giving you a head massage while doing so. you can feel your mind giving into the grasps of sleep. the soft rocking of the boat doesn't help keep you awake, either.

kazuha looks down at you, tucking your hair behind your ear before leaning over and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"sweet dreams, y/n."

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄/𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

he's definitely the least touchy out of all of them. that doesn't mean he doesn't do it at all, though. he doesn't like being super close to anyone in public, but he'll occasionally hold your hand. but when you're alone, he's super sweet. he'll just lay in bed with you, his arms wrapped around you tightly. he'll hear your breaths, trying to get his in the same rhythm. he also loves to play with your hair. he'll do it for hours, if you'd let him. he'll definitely braid whatever he can. but, his fingers tend to be pretty cold—so when he touches you, don't be surprised if your body shivers for a second.

the moonlight was seeping through the windows, engulfing the room in a dim glow. you were sitting in scaramouche's lap, leaning your head against his chest. his fingers started out only resting on your back, but they eventually found their way to your head. again.

he simply twirled your hair around his long fingers, wrapping it around in a repetitive motion. it was almost like he was hypnotizing you.

one of his hands went to rest on the base of your neck, resulting in a harsh inhale from you.

"what—y/n? are you okay?" he asks, a bit of sleepiness mixed with annoyance showing through in his voice.

"your hands are freezing, scara. i thought we established this." you giggle, trying to get used to the temperature of his fingers.

"stop being a baby." he grins, running his hand around more of your skin in order to get a reaction from you.

squealing, you swat at his hands as you notice the smirk on his features. "stop having hands the temperature of a dead body!!" you retort back, laughing.

he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you to lean against his chest.

"i'll put you into a coffin myself." he teases. "then we can be the temperatures of dead bodies together."

"you have an odd way of showing affection." you huff.

"okay. be like that." he rolls his eyes, earning a punch (affectionately) to the shoulder.

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎

he... definitely needs some help getting used to it. whether it's giving or receiving, he's going to be nervous about it at first. he's probably teleported away the first few times you tried hugging him. not that he didn't like it—it's just so unexpected for him and he's worried about you being close to him. once you've gotten to know each other a lot better—and you're both basically inseparable, his hands are inseparable from you. constantly resting them on your shoulders. he likes when you hold his hand, he just thinks it's so comforting when you lightly trace his scars!! i would like to think that he cried one of the first times you did that but i'd only be fooling myself...

"xiao?" you ask, turning around to face him as you feel his arms around you. "hi." you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw before turning back around and going back to making the almond tofu he loves so much.

"hi, y/n." he says softly. he watches over your shoulder as you cook, noticing every movement. his hands rest at your waist, his touch gentle—yet holding you tight.

smiling, you finish up the tofu and plate it. turning around, you finally pass your attention to xiao. cupping his face, you bring him into a short kiss. he wasn't expecting it, and lets out a noise of surprise.

you laugh, watching as xiao's face begins to heat up. "y—you... you're..." he grumbles, but gives up and stops speaking.

"aww, do i leave you speechless?" you tease.

"you're not funny." he says, raising an eyebrow.

"you pain me, xiao." sighing, you lean back in to kiss him. he accepts you this time. eventually, the smell of the finished almond tofu coaxes you apart.

"..."

"tofu first?"

"tofu first."

he smiles, and you both eat your almond tofu in comfortable silence.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

constantly teases you with his touches. will come up behind you and place his hands on your waist and peek his head over your shoulder. he acts as if you're his personal cat tree—if he wasn't allergic to them. he'll completely drape himself over your lap, jump onto your back asking for a piggy-back ride, or spin you both around. it gets 100 times worse when he's drunk, which—as we know—is very often.

"oh, y/n!!" you hear a voice singing behind you. of course, you know exactly who it is. venti jumps from behind you, his arms squeezing you as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"hi, venti! what do you—" you take a second to inhale the smell of wine coming from his mouth. "have you been drinking again?"

"what—? my dearest, you know i would never—"

"venti." you warn, your voice firm.

"okay, maybe i did. just a little bit, though!!" he giggles, showing you how much he says he drank by nearing his thumb and index finger together. slowly putting them closer, and closer... but you still aren't convinced.

"you smell like you've been bathing in wine and grapes for years." you sigh, taking his hands from around you and intertwining your fingers with his. you turn around, looking him in the eyes as you raise your eyebrows.

"y/n, i'm naturally scented like that! i can't help if the wind feels that i just need to smell so nice." he laughs, leaning back as he spins on his heels, forcing you both to rotate like a carousel.

eventually, he jumps on you and you plummet to the ground together in a laughing heap. "whatever you say. and, by the way—i saw a few cats earlier!! they cuddled with me, and it was really fun."

"y/n, what—?!"

notes. haha update by the end of this i'm starting to listen to mitski again and tv girl is slowly joining my playlists ❤️ my music taste is finally expanding again (taylor is still number 1)

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fritz-federleicht · 10 months

Text

His robe/ Vessel x reader

Summary: your hands are cold during the video shoot to Alkaline, Vessel makes sure you're warm

Words: 840

FLUFF

Fortunately, the shoot takes place late in the evening. That means you could sleep in comfortably and prepare. Not like Vessel. He had to be on set two hours ago, giving instructions and getting ready.

When you arrived on set you were greeted by him, he was under pressure and could only talk to you briefly. Still, he had enough time to steal a kiss from you. After that, he quickly moves on, into a large dark room.

You look around. III and IV didn't show up for the shoot, they aren't in the video after all. They probably prefer to sit at home and play video games together.

Only II apparently couldn't miss it. He wanted to make sure that Vessel is doing well, he tells you as he stands next to you and greets you with a friendly hug.

His eyes are constantly checking the situation, keeping everything under control. A silent observer.

First shots are taken. Vessel sits on a chair, only dim light from the fireplace behind him fills the room. He wears his robe and his closed mask. In each shot his hands move, contort.

Next to you, II nods. "He's doing really well." He whispers so as not to disturb the recording. You agree with him, murmuring.

"Okay Vessel. We'll take a short break." Says the director. Immediately II leaves the place next to you and goes to a person. Probably to discuss some small details.

You look at Vessel who is coming towards you.

"It's going pretty well so far, isn't it?" You ask.

Vessel wraps his arms around you. "It's going perfectly love." You touch his chest, he shivers slightly under your fingertips.

"Wait." His hands settle on yours.

You look up at him. "What?"

"Why are your hands so cold? Are you not feeling well?" He asks you worriedly. He ignores the fact that you are standing at night in an old abandoned house that happens to have no radiators.

He loosens one hand and touches your forehead. "You don't have a fever." He says thoughtfully to himself.

"Stop it. I'm fine." You laugh and push his hand off your forehead. It slides to your cheek. "It's just really cold in here." You look around the old room. Plaster is crumbling off the wall, piling up on the floor. Knocked-over cabinets stand in the corners.

"Why aren't you freezing, anyway? You're wearing a lot less than I am." You push your free hand against his chest.

He doesn't move a bit, ignoring your question and continuing to speak. "Are you sure you're okay?" He cups your face. "I need to know that you're okay?" His mask touches your forehead. His hands roam over your shoulders and clasp your hands. You notice he's trying to warm you with his body heat, through his chest and his hands tightly enclosing yours.

"Honey I'm fine." You assure him.

"Really?"

You nod against his mask. "Yes."

"All right. But go to II. Tell him to give you my other robe, I always carry a second one. Won't need it today anyway." He pushes his mask up slightly so that only his mouth is visible. "It's so big you can probably wrap it around your little body twice. Snuggle into it okay?"

You barely catch what he's saying, instead staring at his exposed lips. The lips that show you every time how deep love can go. The lips that have tasted you in so many places, places where no one has ever kissed you so lovingly. Exactly these lips are now forming into a light smile.

"Baby, please respond." He squeezes your hand, bringing you out of your trance and back into the real world.

"I'll go to him in a minute."

"Good. I don't want you to get sick. And if you do, we'll do it together." He says softly and leans in. He releases your hands and caresses your cheeks. His kiss is short, demanding and affectionate at the same time. He pulls back.

You look at him, flushed. "Ves, I'm not sure that's how it works."

"It does." He asserts, pulling down his mask. "Now go to II. Break's about to end." He turns you around.

You smile and walk toward II, focusing on him so as not to lose him in the throng of people.

You reach him and ask him for the robe. He gives it to you, you put it on. Immediately you feel warm.

During the next break, Vessel comes to you. Before he even speaks to you, he grabs your hands. When he feels that they are warm, he exhales with relief. "That's good... even if I would have liked to spend the whole day in bed with you." He says cheekily.

"We can do that anyway." You grin at him.

"I'll gladly accept that offer, my love." He answers, brings your hand to his mouth and kisses it through the mask.

#vessel one shot #sleep token vessel x reader #sleep token vessel #vessel #vessel x y/n #vessel x reader #sleep token one shot #sleep token x reader #sleep token #sleep token x y/n #sleep token imagine

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ashwhowrites · 1 year

Note

I saw someone request rockstar Eddie with a groupie I was thinking maybe a groupie is all over him and backstage after a concert Eddie hates it and just wants his wife then reader his wife walks in assuming he was cheating and I trust you with the end🤍

Love it!! Here we go! I did your idea! But for some reason made it way more painful than needed so oops

⚠️angst as usual but fluff ending

Also I deleted this like three times and wrote it multiple ways. And I still hate how I wrote this so whoever requested it- if you hate it too, let me know so I can fix it babes

When her husband is a rockstar that girls have wet dreams about, she knows she'll spend a lifetime being jealous. When his fingers can work fast on the guitar while he multitasks with singing, she knows where other girls minds run off to. She was the same. She started as a girl who had a crush on the lead guitar player and singer. She watched him on stage and had dreams about his fingers, mouth, voice, and body constantly. And it was like he knew it. He'd smirk in her direction during his solos. Always standing near her side of the stage when he'd kneel down to sign girls'boobs. Eyes always flicked to hers, never even looking at who he was signing. The sexual tension got too hot and too high. Before she knew it she was in the bathroom being fucked against the mirror.

That's how they started. A bathroom fuck, so romantic right?

She never would have guessed the same man would be proposing to her years later on stage, in front of a sold out crowd in New York.

She was by his side when he was a small bar band and now he took her all over the world as he grew. Eddie was in love with her before he even learned her name. Getting to fuck her was just the bonus.

They were in love and maybe got married too young, but they didn't care. He wasn't letting her go anywhere.

Eddie doesn't even remember what they were fighting about before he left. He remembers screaming and her screaming back.

He remembers yelling, "DON'T EVEN FUCKING COME TONIGHT!" as he slammed the door.

Which he regretted the second he played the first song. Looking to his left where she stood backstage, and just like he asked, she didn't show up.

His first performance in months without her there and he felt like an asshole. He couldn't even remember who started it or why it started. And if he couldn't answer those questions, then he knew it wasn't important enough to keep being upset about it.

He collected together all of his stuff in the dressing room, throwing it harshly in his bag.

"hey Eddie, I know you are in a rush to get home but we have a fan out here who is dying to say hi" Gareth said. He knew Eddie and his wife were fighting before he came here, Eddie showed up tense and pissed off. The couple has been on short circuits. Screaming at each other at the drop of a hat.

Eddie thinks it's the stress of trying to have a baby that was taking a toll on their relationship. She was getting upset at her body for not accepting a baby and she took it out on him. She knew it wasn't fair but she couldn't stop. And Eddie, instead of understanding how hard it must be on her, he got pissed that he became her target. They both didn't talk about their feelings and that's where they kept going wrong.

"I'm really sorry dude. But I am not in the mood. Y/N's upset and I need to apologize. Just ask her to come next week" Eddie sighed. Gareth gave him a guilty look as the door opened and the girl squealed excitedly. Jumping in her dress as she screamed about the band in front of her.

Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Plastering on his best smile. He could suffer for a few minutes.

She was drunk in seconds. Already throwing herself on Eddie's lap.

"no no" he mumbled, unhooking her arms but she laced their fingers together.

"I'm married" he mumbled again, trying to shift his body from under her. He was not in the mood for this type of game.

But she stayed put. Not even moving a muscle. Eddie looked around the room and noticed he was alone

"if you are married ,where are they?" She asked

"she's at home. I told her not to come" he sighed. And now he wanted her to be here more than ever. He didn't want a random girl on his lap. He wanted his wife to be here.

"how come?"

"because I was stupid and she's pissed.But seriously I need you to get off of me. This isn't happening and will never happen" he tried to push her again

"I know what you can do to make her feel better" she sounded genuine but Eddie still didn't want the feeling of other girls body on him

"okay how about you tell me while you get off of me?" He asked, giving up on moving her for a slight second to hear what she had to say. Letting her absorb his words.

But she didn't say anything. She smashed her lips onto his. His brain was slowly realizing what was going on. The hands that she had laced were stuck. He was trying to pull his body away but he couldn't move anywhere

"Eddie?"

She sat at home all night. Crying on the couch after he slammed the door. She hated what she was doing to them. She was ruining their marriage day after day. But she didn't feel good enough. She couldn't give him a baby, and that's all he talked about.

Finally ready to just apologize and talk things out, she headed to his gig. She knows he doesn't want her there but as a wife, she had the right.

She smiled to Gareth as she walked to the dressing room. Lance, their manager, noticed her right away and let her through the hallway. She smiled gratefully and walked into the room.

Her husband was there, but so was a girl in a tiny dress sitting on his lap, kissing him.

"Eddie?" She gasped out in disbelief. She knew she wasn't being a good wife lately, but he'd really throw it all away?

Her eyes burned as the girl pulled away and looked behind her. Eddie's eyes finding hers once the girl moved.

"hold not. This is so not" he stuttered out fast. Throwing the girl off of his lap as she landed on the couch next to him.

Y/N felt her eyes roll, turning back around and leaving the damn bar

"BABY WAIT. I CAN EXPLAIN THAT!"

But she just kept walking. Never in their relationship did she think he'd ever cheat on her. But apparently she didn't know him well.

She made it out of the bar. Gasping for fresh air.

Eddie was right behind her, arm snatching her hand and yanking her into him.

"listen you need to listen" he pleaded. He knew if he didn't explain soon enough, more damage would take place

"no Eddie I don't!" She spat back, throwing his hands off of her

"is that why you didn't want me to come tonight? So you can go screw a groupie? How many girls were there?"

Eddie shook his head at each question

"no that is not why I asked you not to come. I should have never asked that! I want you here. And fuck no, there has been no one but you. You are my wife, I wouldn't screw that up! I don't want anyone else. She came on to me. I've spent the past hour trying to get her off of my lap. I would never do that to you. I love you"

He watched as silent tears were running down her face.

"why?" She asked, throwing her hands in the air with frustration

"why what?" He spoke softly, seeing she was seconds away from crying harder. One hand held her jaw and the other one rubbed her back softly

"why do you love me? I mean God Eddie, you married me expecting a family and I can't even give that to you! If I were you I think I'd cheat on me too" she sobbed

Eddie felt his heart shattering

"baby no. Just no" he shook his head, holding her face tighter in his hands moving his forehead against her

"when I married you, I married you because I am in love with you and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I wanted us to share a name, a house and our hearts. Listen to me, I don't need a baby to make me want to stay with you. Nothing would MAKE me, I want to stay with you and that's not ever going to change. I should have been more understanding of the stress you are putting your body in. And I would never cheat on you. There is no one in this whole world that would ever compare to you. You are it for me, okay?"

He smiled and pecked her wet lips. Pulling back slowly as she nodded and sniffled.

"I love you too" she spoke just as soft. Kissing him again.

She pulled away with a small gag, "we need to wash your mouth. Taste like pure alcohol"

Eddie laughed, "yeah that girl was pretty wasted"

He smiled as he threw his arm on her shoulder, walking to the car.

He didn't need a baby to be a family.

Just having her, was the only family he needed.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson fluff #rockstar! eddie x reader #husband eddie x wife reader

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sakurayumekun · 9 days

Text

PRO-ANA GUIDE HANDBOOK

An anorexic mind

First of all, let's work on the psychology first. Be sure to fuck up your relationship with food from the start. You want to make yourself as neurotic as possible about food, eating, kitchens, cutlery, refrigerators, restaurants, and hey, why not stretch this out even further and start hating the actual source of foods, in other words the actual animals and plants. I myself am utterly opposed to factories. Any kind of factory. Even pillow factories, hell they're all the same. But you! Spread those bad thoughts! Hate that chicken!!! Unless of course, you're going for the sympathetic, oh the poor animals, vegan slant. That's a good one too. Firstly, reaffirm your mission. Immortalise it. Buy a fat, blank notebook, this will become your own personal anorexic sanctuary of sorts. Write down WHY you want to lose weight. Be sure to include things like how you will feel when you're 10lbs lighter, the glorious clothes you will fit into, an occasion that you would like to be thinner for like your sixteenth birthday, etc. Give yourself a final goal, and break it up into several, smaller, goalpoints. For example, if you weigh 140lbs and would like to eventually be 90lbs, list points along the way which signify a victory for you. For example, 130lbs, and then 115lbs, then 110lbs, then 100lbs, and so on. Re-read this again and again for inspiration. You will be using this notebook later to create tackytown anorexia-inspired collages and other paraphernalia.

Visualisation. Following the same strain as NLP, or Neuro Linguistic Programming, we must use the principles of association to retrain your consciousness, and sub-consciousness, to turn food into one of the greater evils of the world. (Read: the greatest evil!!) Start by associating food with disgusting things. For your first ever fast, it may be helpful to draw pictures of juicy red apples, somehow morphing into giant dead rotting pigs. Plaster these all around your house, preferably on the food itself. Never underestimate the power of images. Put pictures of fat girls on your fridge, or better yet, pictures of yourself; you're pretty fat. Conversely, stick pictures of rakish models everywhere you can see them, for inspiration, and a bit of productive self-loathing. Also, practise writing things like "I'm fat" over and over. You want to drill this into your brain. "I will be thin" is a good one, as well as other "I will" affirmations. These are positive statements and very conducive to big time weight loss. Now create a list of suitable punishments either for thinking of food, or for caving in and eating food itself. A good one to try is to keep a rubber band on your hand and flick your skin whenever you think of eating. Eventually you will have a swollen hand, and a shrunken body; you will have ceased thinking of food so much. Other punishments include ridiculous amounts of exercise, purging, self-mutilation, isolation, basic denial of necessary comforts such as blankets on a cold night, or shelter when it is raining... Or simply menial, disgusting tasks such as cleaning the bathroom. Remember, you need discipline. Invent pain and hassles for yourself. Trick yourself into believing your life sucks. Be mean to people so that they instigate fights, just to make you constantly on edge, or nervous, so you cant eat. After all, you'll be light-headed and dizzy, and irritable from not eating, so you have an excuse. I used to love when dad got mad at me because it meant I was so upset I could not eat. Become an angst ridden teenager. You'll be making yourself nauseous from worry and self hatred in no time. Find another anorexic to consort with. Whether this be in real life, or on the internet. You can swap tips and indulge in your little sordid anorexia world together, force each other to exercise, pat each other on the back when you reach goals, etc. You want to completely surround yourself with all thoughts of anorexia. Find pro-anorexia websites, or create your own. Sign up for one of the dozens of pro-anorexic mailing lists at Yahoo! and you'll be bombarded daily with like minded individuals. Now, immerse yourself further in anorexia propaganda, read anorexia or otherwise 'thin' inspired literature, listen to anorexic music, watch as many triggering films as you can get your delicate little mitts on, look up to very thin hollywood stars and supermodels. Also, visit as many of the aforementioned pro-anorexia sites as you can to get a bunch of quotes and mantras to write in your anorexia notebook, and repeat inside your head daily. I have compiled a list of such sources of thinspiration.

Thinspiration

Triggering music

This is essential. You must familiarise yourself with the very teenage and angstyartists and be sure to play the music over and over to thoroughly depress yourself. Ones to keep in mind are:

Fiona Apple - "Paper Bag" ... Hunger hurts but starving works...

Silverchair - "Ana's Song (Open Fire)" ... And I need you now somehow, and I need you now somehow ... On my knees for you... In my head the flesh seems thicker...

Juliana Hatfield - "Feed Me"... Oh baby if only you knew, I'm down to 102...

Tori Amos - "Jackie's Strength" ... You're only popular with anorexia, so I turn myself inside out, in hopes someone will see...

Anorexic mantras

You must collect as many of these as possible. Write them in your anorexia notebook, memorise them, let them comfort you. Some examples are:

"An imperfect body reflects an imperfect person."

"You will be tempted quite frequently, and you will have to choose whether you will enjoy yourself hugely in the 20 minutes or so that you will be consuming the excess calories, or whether you will dislike youself cordially for 2 or 3 days for your lack of willpower."

"I'm not starving myself...I'm perfecting my emptiness."

"I can get thinner. I can cut it all off. I can wear low slung Levi's and crop tops and long straight dresses like willowy models, and I gasp with the breathlessness of being airborne. I can fly and be free. Jesus! I never realised how easy it was!"

"Nothing tastes as good as thin feels."

"The greasy fry, it cannot lie, its truth is written on your thigh,"

Devour literature, not food

Words and text are very very triggering when it comes to not eating. For one thing, it gives you a world to inhabit, your very own private, magnificent anorexia world which nobody else around you can touch, and you shall have characters to understand you. You will be so riveted that you will not need to eat. Books to check out include:

The best little girl in the world by Steven Levenkron

Wasted by Marya Hornbacher

The fountainhead by Ayn Rand - not about anorexia per se, but Dominique

Francon is the fucking epitome of ethereal, insubstantial, bony grace.

I am an artichoke by Lucy Frank

Starving for attention by Cherry Boone O'Neill

Hunger scream by Ivy Ruckman

Diary of an eating disorder by Chelsea Smith and Beverly Runyon

My sister's Bones by Cathi Hanauer

Stick figure by Lori Gottlieb

Eve's apple by Jonathan Rosen

Thinspiring films and TV shows

These might be about anorexia itself, or it might simply be glamorous and include very thin beautiful people. Movies and television programmes I know others find thinspiring are:

Girl, Interrupted

For The Love Of Nancy

Ally McBeal

Role models

You need somebody to idolise. You must research him or her to the bones and become as close to her as possible. Become obsessed. Some suitable examples include those in the following list, who are either very skinny, or have, or have had anorexia:

Kate Moss - 90's waif

Angelina Jolie - skinny sexy actress, e.g. Girl, Interrupted and Gia

Christina Ricci - actress, had anorexia

Calista Flockhart - Ally McBeal

Lara Flynn Boyle - glamorous and snobby, never eats

Tracey Gold - actress who suffered from anorexia

Karen Carpenter - musician and classic anorexic

Portia de Rossi - actress on Ally McBeal who went through a stage of dangerous dieting

Geri Halliwell - formerly Ginger Spice, engaged in a 'thin war' with:

Victoria Beckham - formerly Posh Spice

Courtney Cox - actress on Friends, bony and gaunt

Twiggy - iconoclastic model

Mary Kate - had anorexia... perfection

Jodie Kidd - impossibly thin model

Nicole Richie - Thin thin thin

Audrey Hepburn - quintessential class, very petite

This should be enough to sufficiently fuck up and cloud your perceptions. Above all, convince yourself you are above others, a hero, owing to your spectacular powers of restraint. Feel elitist. Feel as though you are somehow super-human for resisting the urge to eat. Feel better than the other mere mortals who dig in to their cereal and their donuts. Believe in the power of starving as though it were a religion.

Extreme dieting

Now we can move on to the actual act of excessive dieting itself. First off we should establish clear limits. Make up rules you cannot deviate from. Only eat yellow foods on Monday, and brown foods on Tuesday. Or only eat every other day. Or only eat at night. Or only eat on days with the letter "u" in them. Or become a vegan. Or a fruitarian. Or follow your own version of a well known diet, such as the ever popular low carb diets, e.g., the Zone Diet, Atkin's Diet. Use your imagination. I knew a model who swore her secret was living on sushi, candy, oranges, cigarettes, and water. Another tip to try is to only allow yourself one food a day. You will get sick of the taste and therefore eat less due to boredom.

Now, compile a list of safe foods. Here is a fairly comprehensive list:

Low Cal Jelly (or Jello, for you Americans)

Celery - it is composed highly of water, it is crunchy, which is said to cause you to eat less, owing to the amount you have to chew it, it is considered acatabolic food

Carrots are also another safe vegetable (although most vegetables can be on your safe list, these are merely the safest of the safe)

Salsa and mustard - dieting staples. You can dip vegetables in them, they are fat free and low cal, and salsa brings cravings to an abrupt halt.

Spicy foodsare also thought to fire up your metabolism

Vinegar - thought to thoroughly reduce your appetite. It is suggested you drink a tablespoon or two before each meal.

Lemons dipped in a sugar substitute such as Splenda or Nutrasweet. (note: In some anorexia circles, even fruit is no good, besides oranges, which are a 50cal food)

Broth (only 5 calories per cube!!)

Egg white - much needed protein

Pickles

Lettuce - an absolute 'nothing' food

Cucumbers - very very low cal

Soup

Safe foods are merely foods that are safe to eat if you are craving foods outside your set meals. They are extremely low cal, or no cal. As for your actual daily intake of food, most wannabe anorexics tend to stick within the 500 - 1000 calorie range depending on how much exercise they do. Never be shy when it comes to considering taking certain drugs to reduce or diminish appetite. Some antidepressant medication such as Wellbutrin have this effect, as well as Topamax, which is originally an anti-convulsive but has been and can be prescribed for things such as ADD and bipolar disorder. Steal your little brother's ADD medication. Dexedrine is gold when it comes to killing appetite. Just ignore the paranoia and nervousness that comes with it. Think about diet pills and supplements such as Metabolife and Ephedra.

Day to day

Now we move on to the ever important area of ritual and habits, tips & tricks, to get down to a science.

Graze constantly throughout the day so that your metabolism never gets the chance to rest and become sluggish. Eating 100 calories five times a day is better than eating one meal consisting of 500 calories.

Fool your metabolism by constantly changing the number of calories you consume daily. This will prevent your body going into starvation mode, meaning that lesser amounts of calories will make you gain weight. For instance, eat 500 calories on Monday, 100 on Tuesday, 800 on Wednesday, no calories on Thursday, and 400 calories on Friday.

Get a full night's sleep, at least eight hours. Although staying up late does make you burn more calories, don't become sleep-deprived or your metabolism will become sleepy. Your appetite will even increase by 15%.

Record everything you eat in your anorexia notebook. This serves to motivate you, as well as to be aware of all the extra calories you may not be aware you are consuming. It may also let you identify emotional or environmental triggers, such as boredom or sadness.

Take vitamin pills frequently so your body doesn't crave nutrients, causing binges.

Diet coke and other diet sodas cause that bubbly, full feeling in your stomach, for about 1 calorie per glass.

Brush your teeth and tongue all the time. The feeling in your mouth will ease cravings and additionally, food will taste yukky with toothpaste, so whats the point of eating it?

Drink water like a fish. Drink a glass of water, or a diet soda, every hour on the hour. Drink water every time you have the urge to snack. Ice water is better because your body will burn more calories to heat it up. Drink water with meals to prevent overeating. Bear in mind that often we mistake thirst for hunger.

Caffeine will speed up your metabolism. Have two or three servings a day, in the form of black sugarless coffee, or caffeine pills, or guarana. If stacked with ephedra and aspirin, a synergistic effect will occur that imitates the effects of speed or other amphetamines. Do be aware that this practice can be rather dangerous.

Exercise. Not only will you burn off the calories you consume when you do eat, but it will increase your metabolism for some time afterwards. As well, the consequential muscle mass will increase the calories you burn at rest. It also suppresses appetite. Try running, or buy yourself a skipping rope.

Stand up and move about constantly. Compulsively fidget. It does add up to an estimated extra 500 calories burned a day. Twitch your leg while studying, for example. Also, sit up straight - you'll burn more calories.

Have a very busy and active schedule. It will burn more calories than sitting in your room thinking about not eating, and make sure you don't have enough time to binge.

Find a something other than food to satisfy your oral fixation. Choices include things like smoking, chewing gum, water, iced tea, sugarless mints, and diet coke.

Put a small coin in a jar every time you resist a craving, or exercise when majorly exhausted, etc. This will motivate you, build up confidence in your starving abilities, and keep track of your successes. As well as give you extra cash to splurge on some fantastical treat when you reach your first major weight loss goal.

The type of music you listen to while you eat affects how much and how quickly you consume. The faster the music, the more you eat. Try to listen to nice slow music when you eat.

Eat sweets and the foods you crave early on in the day. This will give you more time to burn them off and it will eliminate cravings later.

Eat while in the front of the mirror naked. You will be completely repulsed, and repelled from the food. This is a good thing.

Feel your hunger..don't try to suppress it. If you're hungry that means you're losing weight; you WANT to be hungry. If you're not then you're not doing it right. In time you will get a wonderful high off of being hungry and thoroughly enjoy the sensation. Hunger is not your enemy! The sooner this is understood, the sooner you will reach your goals.

Did you know that there are 2 pounds of dead skin on you right now!!?! Thats right! 2 POUNDS! ...if you're underweight or in starvation mode your body does not "shed" its skin the way it should. It holds on to it. Use an exfoliator for your face, and a loofah brush or scrub for your body. Make a stack of magazines that weighs the amount you want to lose. As you lose, take off the appropriate amount of magazines. Seeing the weight like that may help you realise what a difference it will make when it is all off. When you're feeling weak Here are some things which will help when your willpower is very feeble, to ward off the urge to eat, or worse, binge!

Pinch your thigh and see how you don't need food, because you should be eating your own flesh all away from the inside first, before you are deserving of actual legitimate sustenance.

Go to the library. You can research dieting or whatever, or you can read the classics, or some of the aforementioned listerature. Or you can do homework, or write letters, but the beauty of it is, since no food or drink is allowed, you'll have no choice but to abstain from a meal.

Buy some baby teething gel and rub it on your tongue, to numb your tastebuds.

If you're even considering eating, just hold your breath and count to 100. Chances are that you'll convince youself not to eat whatever it is you're craving in that time.

The scent of coffee has been proven to lessen ones appetite.

Chew the food but don't swallow it. Spit it in the bin.

If you're feeling dangerous, plan out the next few hours so that you're occupied for every single minute. Write a list of things to do for every 15 minutes. eg. exercise, surf the internet, email your friends, clean a room, read a book.

If you're feeling brave enough to face the kitchen, go there and throw out any potential binge foods. If you must, pour bleach/disinfectant/dishwashing detergent on the food, and then throw it away! (Anorexics are known for retrieving food from bins, or stealing food from strange places).

Pinch your ear! Apply pressure to the front of the ear, one at a time. The front of the ear is apparently a pressure point, in the area that controls hunger.

Let perfume replace chocolate. Every time you have a craving, or pass a bakery, sniff some Chanel no. 5. Apply it to a tissue and carry it with you.

Smell has a powerful effect on appetite.

Clean something. Cleaning something dirty can make you lose your appetite. The toilet, the litter box, under the kitchen sink, scrubbing out the garbage bin, anything grimy or smelly. The mess, along with the smell of the cleaner, can put you off food for a while.

Become a teenage artist. Write anorexic poetry, tragic little verses about bones and stomachs and evil evil capsicums. Anorexics are ever so creative.

Collect pictures of skinny girls. Stick them all in your notebook. Draw pictures of painful bony girls with tear stained faces and their head in their hands (their spines sticking out). This will take up most of your time.

Hiding it

Anorexia is supposed to be a private and tortured place, dontcha know. Deny it at all costs. Pretend you have not noticed the pounds dropping off you. Don't be suspicious. Here are some relevant tips:

Spend time making yourself look healthy.

Drink lots of water and apply a fake tan.

Wear makeup so that you have some colour, and keep your hair looking nice and shiny, take vitamins.

Smile.

Whenever you do decide to eat, do it in the company of others.

That way they can't say they never see you touch food.

On your way out, heat up a slice of pizza or prepare a snack to 'eat on the run'.

Of course, you will dispose of the food at your first convenience.

Leave a dirty plate lying around every so often for your parents to yell at you about.

Drink out of opaque cups, and spit your food into it whilst preteding to drink. They'll never know.

Eat really slowly because if everybody else is on their third slice of pizza, they'll assume you are too, even if you're still finishing your first.

Sign out of Hotmail and clear the history before you get off of the Internet. This will eliminate autofill being ever so helpful while your mum is researching aardvarks, and coming up with www.anorexicsanonymous.com for her. In short, don't leave traces lying around for others to find.

I trust that this guide to becoming a better anorexic will serve you well on your quest to being emaciated and ahem, gorgeous.

Remember, think thin, and try not to faint too often or die.

#an@rexi@

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danmainacc · 2 years

Text

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD

As Leo, Mikey, Don, and Casey ride in the Turtle Tank, Casey tells stories of the future…….and you.

Character: Leonardo

Writing type: One-shot

Warnings: none, just some tooth-rotting fluff and a few innuendod ;) and maybe the teeniest bit of angst if you squint

Author’s note: okay so it’s pretty obvious I am obsessed with Future! Leo and this idea randomly came to mind as I was watching The Thing ( don’t ask ) and just had to write it. ( credit to qoeww for photo )

...

“The Turtle Tank, baby! It’s how we roll in the past. I mean, the present. I mean...Ugh! Time travel’s confusing,” Mikey groaned, slumping in his seat in the Tank.

“They’re on the move. According to the subcutaneous tracker I put on Raph--.” “Wait, does that mean you put trackers on all of us?” Leo cocked his brown bone, giving his twin a suspicious and scolding look, Mikey doing the same.

“No. No, of course I did...n’t,” Donnie sheepishly denied, an awkward smile plastered on his face.

“Based on their trajectory, they’re headed--.” “To the tallest building in the city,” Casey finished, eyes wide.

“That’s right, Metro Tower,” Donnie nodded, confused at how he knew.

Casey shuddered, the memories coming back to him in flashes as he recalled the scary stories Commander (y/n) used to tell him.

“I heard the story so many times as a kid, but I never thought...And behold, from their perch atop New York City, the Kraang ripped open the sky itself. What came out was terror, and what rained down upon us was worse than death,” Casey recited.

Commander (y/n) might’ve been a little dramatic.

“They told that to kids?! Man, the future is harsh,” Mikey exclaimed, slumping in his seat once again.

“Well, I’m not gonna let that happen. We need to get into Metro Tower without being spotted. We’ll take the subway tunnels,” Leo firmly stated, turning to Donnie.

“Subways tunnels don’t offer much in the way of an escape if we need it. Are you sure about this?” Donnie cocked a brow, turning around to give Leo a serious look.

“Yeah, maybe we should--.” “Guys, we’re doing it my way. Remember?” Leo dismissed.

The two brother gave each other concerned looks before focusing back on the road, an uncomfortable silence settling over the Tank.

Casey looked around anxiously, fidgeting with a loose string on his glove.

Being sent to the past in itself was a nerve-wracking experience, but nothing was more concerning than watching his old masters fight like this.

In the future, the brothers were inseparable, the epitome of a strong sibling relationship. Everyone listened, everyone talked, everyone heard.

He had to find some way to get them talking, healthily at least.

“In the future, you guys are beyond amazing,” Casey started, catching the attention of the brothers.

“The mystic powers you’re able to harness from within are on a whole other level.”

“Of course! How have we not asked about my future?” Donnie smiled, putting the tank on auto-pilot and throwing an arm around Casey’s shoulder.

“Don’t let me down, I am expecting BIG things from me. How many Nobel prizes do I have. No! Don’t tell me. I wanna be surprised.”

“Donnie, you were the most brilliant, innovative mind of all time. Without you, the resistance wouldn’t have made it half as far as it di-is...without you,” Casey quickly caught himself, relieved to see that the brothers didn’t notice.

He didn’t want to tell them what happens, not yet, at least.

“You built weapons, tended to the wounded, and trained a select few how to build and program your tech.”

“I’m shocked, I am. Go on, continue to meet my expectations,” Donnie smirked, plopping himself back down in his seat and kicking up his feet.

“What do I do in the future?” Mikey asked, starry-eyed.

Casey turned around and gave the orange turtle a warm smile.

His plan was working.

“You are the most powerful mystic warrior the world has ever known,” Casey started.

“You trained the next generation of yokai and humans alike to wield mystic power, and protected the camp with your infinity chains at every turn.”

He walked over to Mikey, who was absolutely flabbergasted, and grabbed his wrists.

“And with those two hands, you sent me back in time!”

“Wowwwwwwwww,” Mikey marveled, staring down at his hands as Casey let go.

He quickly held them out, wiggling his fingers as he concentrated hard, a few beads of sweat rolling down his head.

It made Casey smile to see one of his former masters so fun-loving and care-free, the break from the constant worry of battle, refreshing.

“Ahem,” Leo nonchalantly cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with the time traveling boy.

“What about me?”

Casey’s gap toothed smile grew wider, the pleasant memories of his Sensei...no...his father running through his head.

“You were our fearless leader. If there was a rescue needed, a cargo shipment to raid, hell, a patrol slot that needed to be filled, you were the man--er--turtle. You trained some of the younglings how to use weapons and hand-to-hand combat, and were the lead strategist when it came to coming up with ways to fight back against the Kraang!” Casey gushed, gasping after finishing the whole thing in one breath.

Leo smirked, resting his cheek in his palm as he soaked everything in.

“I like this. I like this very much,” He nodded.

That’s when Casey remembered one, teeny, little detail, and smirked to himself as he leaned back, casually.

He knew Leo and Commander (y/n) were together in this time, “boyfriend and girlfriend” he believed it was called. So maybe this information might put his former Sensei at ease.

“Oh, and you were married to the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Leo practically choked on air, and Donatello almost slammed on brake, Mikey’s eyes practically bulging out their sockets.

“WHAT?!” The three exclaimed in unison, frantically looking at Casey for some elaboration.

Casey nervously chuckled, confused at their sudden surprise. “W-Well, that’s what you used to call Commander (y/n). I think you guys get married 2 or 3 years after the Kraang first arrive.”

A lazy smile stretched across Leo’s face as he leaned back in his chair, relishing in the thought.

He already knew you were the one he wanted to marry, no doubt about it. You were his one and only. But so soon? And during the apocalypse? How did it work? Did the two of you make time for each other? Did the two of you do...adult things?

“Whoo hoooo! Looks like big bro put a ring on it,” Mikey teased, suggestively wiggling his brow bones at his older brother.

“She’s really that beautiful?” Leo sincerely asked, turning to Casey with hopeful eyes.

Casey returned a truthful smile, giving a firm nod. “Gorgeous. Despite the fact that she was living through an apocalypse, she could still very much compete with the women in the Before-Times.”

Leo grinned from ear to ear at the image, your already stunning self becoming even more radiant with age and development. He was over the moon in excitement.

Until he realized.

“Wait. What do you mean was?” Leo quickly asked, furrowing his brow bones as he turned to Casey with an icy stare.

The color practically drained from Casey’s face as he realized his mistake, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.

This isn’t how he wanted them to find out.

Not like this.

“I--.” “AUTO-BREAK: ENGAGED!” The Tank stated in a robotic tone, the vehicle coming to a sudden stop.

The brothers were sent flying forward, their minds quickly forgetting Leo’s question.

Casey let out a sigh of relief as he stood up, scratching his arm.

‘Thank you, Pizza Supreme.’

...

#rottmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #nickelodeon

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wheatnoodle · 1 year

Text

in the middle of august in 1989, three years since the world fell apart, a year since they put it back together, steve harrington disappeared.

the night before had been…okay. they had a bonfire by the quarry, the whole lot of them. the party, older siblings, friends of older siblings. and steve. steve, who sat silent as he watched his friends.

the kids were up on each other’s shoulders, trying to knock the others in the water. they even got eddie a part of it, mike up on his shoulders. robin is sitting with nancy in the shallow part of the water by the edge, picking up rocks and giggling to each other. and steve stays by the fire, closer to the trees and on one of the logs they pulled over as a makeshift seat. his knees are to his chest, arms on top of his knees, and chin on top of his arms. he watches them. he watches the fire.

he watches the trees and every movement that catches in his peripheral. his ears are tuned into every sound around him. every gust of wind through the leaves, every snapping twig. it gets him flinching, sets his every nerve ending on fire and traps the smoke in his throat. steve clears his throat as quiet as he can. he can’t draw their attention to him. not when they’re all having so much fun. he can’t drag them into his anxieties, resurfacing traumatic memories for them at the same time.

and so, he’s quiet. he wants to go home. or at least anywhere but here. anywhere with a roof over his head and a lock on the door. as if that would protect him. he just wants to sleep. just one night without a night terror that has him waking up to his own hands clawing the scar across his neck open. again and again. it stays red and irritated, angry and raised. all of his scars do. almost like they didn’t heal properly (newsflash, they didn’t).

steve considers getting up and leaving. not even saying a word, just climbing in his car and driving home. but that would make too much noise. that would put their attention on him. that would have people running after him. so he waits. until the fire starts dying down and nancy loads more logs on because her and robin want to warm up after sitting in the water. robin drops down next to him.

“dude, you’re so quiet, i swear i almost forgot you were here.” she’s laughing as she talks, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright. steve turns his head to look at her, plasters a sleepy smile on his face that he hopes she can’t see right through.

“yeah, i guess so. ‘m just tired,” he mumbles, tipping his cheek to rest on his folded forearms. her brows twitch a small crinkle in the middle and the corners of her mouth droop slightly.

“everything okay? not to sound like i’m watching you or anything like some creep, but you’re quiet a lot lately,” robin asks quietly. her voice is laced with concern, as if her face didn’t say it already. she puts a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it through his tshirt. he winces feeling her palms run over the ridges of his road burn scars. he knows she can feel how…textured…it is. but unlike himself, she doesn’t pull away in disgust. just wraps her arm over his shoulders.

he doesn’t answer but she hears him. a soft kiss gets pressed to the side of his head and he leans into it, closing his eyes at the affection.

“you will be okay.” she sounds so sure as she speaks, he almost believes her.

“thanks. i think i’m gonna head home though. i really am tired and i’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes out here,” steve says and stands up, stretching his arms over his head. his spine cracks in multiple places, being hunched so long causing him to stiffen. robin stands as well.

“if you need anything you’ll call me, yeah?” she says, her arms weaving around his waist and head dropping onto his chest. steve’s arms wrap around her shoulders, his chin on her head.

“yeah. of course,” he nods, squeezing her tighter, “i love you, robin.”

she sighs softly into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and sun warmed skin. smells like home. “i love you, steven.”

“gross. don’t call me that,” he smirks and pushes her away lightly. he looks over at his friends in the water. just a bit longer. “say goodbye to them for me, yeah?”

“course. go get some sleep,” robin smiles, pinching his cheek before walking back to the water. he turns around to walk back to his car, his face falling now that the facade didn’t need to be held up.

he got in his car, turned it on, rolled down the windows and drove home. he could see the bonfire in his rear view mirror as he left.

they will be okay.

when he make it home, he wastes no time. doesn’t give himself the chance to rethink. he just pulls his suitcases from his closet and loads them up with every piece of himself he can find. clothes, pictures, shoes, sports cards, everything. his room looks fake. it looks like a catalogue. never lived in, no trace of steven alexander harrington.

he takes one last glance around. he hates it here. his house. hawkins. indiana. he can’t breathe here. he can’t sleep. the shadows are shaped like things that try to kill him.

fuck this place.

he packs the suitcases in his beamer, and steve is gone.

#stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things fic #fic wip #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #will i continue this one? i sure hope so #not proofread

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libraryofloveletters · 7 months

Text

chapter three: the eyes never lie

Chalres Leclerc x Fem!Reader + Carlos Sainz Jr x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nerves, guilty feelings, charles is a bit oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend is out here like that, inconsistent race schedules sorry, carlos is ignoring/not feeling the guilt, mentions of cheating, a few cheeky comments from carlos, tension, lingering looks, flirting, the use of 'slut' in a derogatory way.

Word Count: 2.4k

Author's Note: sorry for the wait besties! hopefully y'all are into this as much as I am lmao

Call My Name Masterlist

---

The nerves were racking you and you can't help but feel guilty about your actions.

Your darling boyfriend Charles seems to notice your nerves, but chalked it up to nothing more than nerves over your upcoming exams. It was more than that; it was the fact that you had left him with a good intention of going home and somehow ended up in the bed of his teammate.

There's a bit of a break between the races in Monaco and Monza, you and Charles spent the majority of the break in Monaco, relaxing and unwinding - at least Charles was.

It's eating away at you, swallowing you whole every time you look at your boyfriend. You felt guilty just thinking about Carlos, let alone when Charles brings him up - you push away the thoughts, shutting the conversation down.

You love Charles or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Forcing yourself to think that you were in love with him and in some ways you were, but you knew that it was never going to be the same way it was with Carlos.

Now, if it was love you felt for Carlos? You weren't sure.

All you knew was that Charles never - in the 7 months you've been together - ever made you feel the way that Carlos did.

Days to Monza turned into hours and into seconds; now, there you are, at the home of Ferrari with your boyfriend. You find yourself, surrounded by Charles and Carlos, their faces plastered everywhere, the crowds chanting their names; you can't escape either of them.

It wasn't Charles you wanted to escape, but Carlos.

He was everywhere you didn't want him to be.

It was easy to pretend with Charles after a while. You ignored everything Carlos related, you and Charles lived in a harmonious little bubble without a thing in the world to bother you. Now that you've left, it was hard - so hard. Every single second you had a gut wrenching feeling that you'd be caught. That someone, somewhere, would know what you and Carlos did in Monaco.

They'd find out that you weren't a loving girlfriend but instead a cheating slut.

While you were battling your moral conscience every day, Carlos seemed perfectly fine.

You never understood how he managed to go on with his days as if you two hadn't done anything wrong. It was wrong, so fucking wrong but god, did it feel good. The guilt was eating you alive, you needed to talk to Carlos - you didn't need to be around him, you really should stay away but you needed to get this off your chest.

Charles was in the media pen and you had maybe half an hour before he came back. So you took that as your chance to go speak to his teammate.

Finding your way to his driver's room, you knock on the door. You were expecting Carlos, not Rupert. "Hey, y/n." The ginger smiles, "everything okay ?"

Rupert wasn't expecting you, his brows furrowed as he sees you peek behind him. "Is Carlos here? I uh.. I need to speak to him."

"He had to grab something from his car, he'll be back in a few."

"Oh," you nod, "I'll come back."

"No no, that's okay. You can come in and wait for him, he'll be back in a few and I have to go prep his stuff for quali anyways."

"You're sure?" You asked, hesitantly stepping into the room.

"Absolutely," Rupert steps to the side, letting you make yourself comfortable before shutting the door behind him as he leaves.

You sit by yourself for a while, taking in the surroundings. You had never actually been in his driver's room - you had no reason to be in there. There's a Spain flag hanging on the wall, a few family photos here and there, a terrifying comparison photo of him and his father; something of nightmares but to each their own. The pillow behind you had the Spain flag printed on it, your finger traced over the patterns when the door opens.

"You're not Rupert," the voice calls, shutting the door behind them. Setting the pillow down, you look up to see Carlos. "Would you like me to call him back?" You asked, standing up before you fixed the pillow.

Carlos smiled, shaking his head. "No."

"And why not?"

"Rupert won't kiss me the way you do," he admits, making you roll your eyes. As much as you wanted to scream and fight, he was so charming and you couldn't help the smile on your face.

"If you paid him enough, I'm sure he'd probably kiss you."

Carlos took a step towards you, his hand resting on your lower back. "Still won't be as good as you."

You give him a soft shove, creating some space between the two of you. "Do you not feel guilty, Carlos?"

"Guilty?" His brows furrow, the faintest of head tilts as he looks at you. "What for?"

You scoff; you're not sure if you're more mad at yourself or at him for not knowing what you meant. "Monaco." You say quietly, eyes fixed on him.

Carlos shrugs, sitting on the little couch in his room. You turn to face the man, his eyes wandering up and down your body. "Stop that." You say, rolling your eyes yet again.

"Need I remind you that I'm not the one in a relationship?" His arms crossed as he looked at you.

"So it's all on me?"

He hums, shrugging. "Could have walked out that night, y/n. You didn't have to stay and you definitely didn't have to do that thing with your-"

"Stop." You cut him off, pointing a finger at him. Carlos smirks, pursing his lips as he clears his throat.

"You texted me, you kissed me, Carlos."

"You didn't have to come, y/n. You didn't have to kiss me back, I wasn't holding you hostage."

"Might as well have been."

"Oh please, you loved it." He smiles, raising his eyebrows. You scoff, unable to believe the nonsense you were hearing from the man. "Fuck you, Carlos."

He leans back, his arms behind his head. "You sure did, y/n."

You groan, unsure if you wanted to punch him, strangle him or suffocate him with his stupid Spain throw pillow but instead, chose to walk out of his room; just as you did, you bump into one person that shouldn't have seen you up there.

"You okay, babe?" Charles's hands rest on your arms, steadying you after you bump into him. You smile, nodding. "I was just coming to look for you."

He notices Carlos's door open, the Spanish driver watching the two of you. "What were you looking for me for?" Charles asks, his arm over your shoulder as his glance moves from his teammate back to you.

"My sunglasses are in your room." You smiled, leaning into your boyfriend.

"Were you just with Carlos?" Charles asks, curiosity getting the best of him. You nod, "I just walked up with him, I was waiting for you to come up so we were just chatting."

"Yeah," Carlos pipes up from his room, smiling at the couple; y/n's a quick thinker, he thinks to himself - that'll come in handy.

You look at Carlos, the man locking eyes with you and you look away but his eyes stay fixed on you. Something about the way he looked at you rubbed Charles the wrong way and being the good boyfriend he was, notices the uncomfortableness of the situation.

"Did you get your sunglasses, love?" He asks, walking you towards his driver's room. "No, the door was locked." You tell him, "Andrea must have locked it."

Charles nods, towards his door before unlocking it for you. "Go on," he lets you walk in, shutting the door behind you two.

The two drivers' rooms shared a wall between them, everything could be heard, there was essentially no privacy when it came to them. Carlos could hear when Charles asked if you were okay. You tell him you're fine, Carlos is certain you've got your signature reassuring smile on your face as you tell him you're okay.

He hears the door open and shut again, the footsteps approaching his driver's room. It's Charles, "meeting starts in 15 in the garage," his teammate tells him, leaning on the doorframe.

Carlos nods, glancing at the woman behind him. "I'll be there."

The Monegasque driver nods, reaching for his girlfriend's hand, the two of you interlocking fingers as you make your way to the stairs. Carlos gets up, walking over to the doorway and leaning on the doorframe as he watches you make your way down; red skirt bouncing with each step, your sunglasses pushed into your hair - no one would ever think that you were anything other than Charles' loving girlfriend.

Carlos knew you were so much more than that.

---

No matter how much you tried, how you tossed and turned, sleep would not come. Charles was already in dreamland, his arm over your waist as he snored quietly.

Usually, it'd put you to sleep - even if you did find it annoying at first but now, it's a reminder of your constant guilt.

Unable to sleep, you find yourself getting out of bed. The stirring wakes Charles and the man sitting up as you put your slippers on.

"Where are you going?" He asks, rubbing his eyes.

"For a walk. I have a headache so I just want some fresh air." You turn to face him and he nods. "Do you want some company?"

You smile but shake your head, "it's okay, babe. Stay and sleep, I'll be back in 20 minutes."

Charles smiles, laying back down. "Be safe," he mumbles, eyes already closed. His hand reached out for you, something he did when you left before he did - the different time zones he travelled through often left him in bed for longer than you.

You hold it, walking around the bed to his side and leaning down. Charles opens his eyes for a moment, his free hand cupping your jaw as he smiles sleepily at you.

"You're sure you'll be okay?"

You nod, "I'll be back before you know it." The man smiles, pulling you down slightly to give you a kiss. As horrible as it was, the thought crossed your mind; it didn't feel the same as Carlos. The passion wasn't there.

You pick up your room key, stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind you quietly. You took the stairs, making your way outside through a back door.

You end up by the pool and you're certain no one was going to be out there, it's nearly 2am.

Much to your surprise, there was someone there.

You can't see the person just yet but you can see the figure in the pool, the outline of their body. As you walk closer to the edge, the person comes up to the surface, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

Carlos.

"Seems you keep finding me," he says, floating around.

You shrug, "just needed some fresh air, what are you doing up? Should you be getting your beauty sleep for the race tomorrow ?"

"Swimming helps me relax; Rupert is sleeping and the gym is closed so here I am." Carlos tells you, watching as you left your slippers by the table, walking over barefoot and sitting at the edge of the pool. Your legs hung down into the cold water, your face twisting in momentary displeasure before you relaxed slightly.

You always seem to be on edge these days.

He swims up to the edge, leaning on it. His tanned arms rest over the edge, water dripping off his muscles as he looks over at you. "I don't feel guilty." He says.

"I do."

"You shouldn't." He whispers and your brows furrow. "Charles isn't that great of a boyfriend."

You scoff, unable to believe his audacity. "How could you even say that?"

"If he was such a great boyfriend, if he really knew you; he'd realize something was off by now and considering that you two are still happily in love, he hadn't put two and two together."

It takes you a minute to gather your thoughts; unsure if you should drown him or cuss him out but you bite your tongue and hold back the urge to drown him.

You get up, pulling yourself up from the pool. "I think I'll be going back to bed."

Carlos nods, getting out of the pool himself. You had brushed the water from your legs, putting your slippers back on.

Just as you go to walk away, Carlos grabs your hand. "You shouldn't feel guilty about something that feels right."

Again, you don't answer the man but pull your hand away instead.

"You know exactly what I mean, y/n." He calls out to you as you walk away, you stop to look back at him before you walk into the hotel, half minded to turn the lock on the door and leave him outside.

Once again, you find yourself on the stairs, walking up to the 15th floor. You stop by your room door, feeling your pockets for the key as you catch your breath.

The lock clicks when you slide the key into the slot.

Charles had his back to the door, you set your key down and took your slippers off as you made your way to bed. He feels the mattress dip as you get into bed, his arms wrapping around you before pulling you into him.

You settle into his chest, the tip of his nose brushes against your ear. His brows furrow, the man half asleep when he asks, "why do you smell like that?"

"What?" You look at him, "smell like what? I showered, you know."

He chuckles, "no, like.. the pool, chlorine."

"Oh," the image of Carlos shirtless and wet crosses your mind and you push the thought away. "Ended up by the pool when I went for my walk. There were some teenagers splashing around."

"So late?"

"Yeah," you shrugged, "I can change if you want-" "Just stay," he whispers, arms tightening around you.

The room falls quiet, Charles is snoring again and you pray that sleep comes as you close your eyes for the second time that night.

---

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

Text

Pretty Petals 25

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, kidnapping, violence, sexual acts (fingering, oral, anal, dp), coercion, bondage, and more tags to be added as the series progresses. PREPARE YOUR PANTIES, HOES.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You go on a self-improvement retreat, but not all is as it seems.

Girls and Flower Name List HERE!

Characters: Ransom Drysdale, Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker, Curtis Everett, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Loki, Andy Barber, Hela, and multiple OFCs

Note: I am like in dread of work so here it is lolll

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all like birds love to appear everytime you are near. Take care. 💖

Zinnia’s screams haunt your prison. That’s what it is. Not a cabin. Not a house. Not even a fortress. No, you are all trapped here.

Her first night there is shrill and horrifying and endless. Not just for her but all of you. The rare night spent alone but only knowing that she suffers for it. None of you are so foolish to think these men would show pity for her inexperience.

You hear Azalea through the wall, sobbing. A few times, you find yourself awash in a flow of grief. Swollen eyes succumb to drowsiness and you wade through the night in painful sleep, waking now and again to the throbbing ache behind your brow.

The last time you rouse, you’re not alone. The weight in the bed next to your grumbles and shoves you back down as you try to sit up. Ransom rolls over as you lay flat on your back. He tweaks your nipple through the thin layer of your camisole and pats your chest.

“Good girl, Lily,” he closes his eyes and is just as quickly snoring again.

Is it starting all over again? Back to the basics. You and Ransom. You hate to admit it even in your head but his return is almost comforting. You know what to expect when it’s just the two of you.

You don’t sleep again. You can’t. You just lay staring up at the ceiling, watching the morning slowly spread across the plaster. It’s a startling calm that undermines your reality starkly. A reminder that this tiny corner of the world is forgotten and hopeless in a vast world that keeps turning.

You shift onto your side and hide your face in the pillow. You keep your back to Ransom as you rattle with suppressed sobs. It would be so much easier if you could just stop thinking.

You sniffle and try to tamp down your tears. You miss your apartment. After how long of cursing that cramped box, of wanting to be anywhere else, you would kill just to see your ratty couch again. Just to sleep on your lumpy futon or stare into your scant fridge.

Freedom isn’t what you thought it was. Freedom is waking up to an alarm every day and going to a job you hate so you can make a few dimes of your own. Freedom is parsing out that measly check in a desperate struggle to survive. Freedom is that sliver of choice you get in doing so. It’s surviving, all the same, but on your own terms. Not on theirs.

You want to give up, so badly. You should. It only hurts to fight but you won’t. You can’t. Dahlia is right. You can still have that freedom, in that you can choose your end.

You wipe clean your face and sigh. You glance over at Ransom and carefully fold back the blanket from over you. You sit up, jostling as little as you can as you shimmy out of your camisole and panties.

You ease yourself back on your elbow and turn onto your side. Your reach beneath the crumple edge of the duvet and feel around blindly. You wrap your fingers around his dick. He’s soft but not for long as you stroke him slowly, fondling his limpness until he’s hard and groaning.

“Lily pad…” Ransom breathes and pets your temple, “what–”

You hush him as you drag your hand up his stomach. You plant your palm on his chest and lift yourself up. You shove the blanket away from his body and hook your leg over him. You reach beneath yourself and angle his tip along your cunt. You straddle him, inching onto him as you let out a hum.

He’s stunned by his awakening. In that moment, you have power. You have something you can use. You sink to your limit and moan, twitching around him as your nails dig into his firm muscle. His hands crawl up and down your sides as he admires your body.

He shudders and lets out shallow breaths as you rock. You feel the tension knot in his stomach as you trail down. You sense the vulnerability in that moment. You see yourself smashing his jaw in with your fist or bringing your hands to his throat and squeezing until he’s gagging.

You resist that fatal urge and buck fast, the noise of your bodies clapping in the early morning hue. The bed shakes as you huff out your effort, closing your eyes as you cling to the vision of your liberation. The fantasy of violence driving you onward.

Too soon, you know it. Wait, watch, calculate. Don’t strike too soon. Not alone.

“Lily,” Ransom frames your hips as he pulls you down harder and harder, “fuck, what are you–”

“Shhh,” you smother his mouth and fuck him harder, leaning over him as you flick your lashes open, “I missed you.”

He watches you as you hover over him. You poke your fingers between his lips and delve into his mouth. He bites on your knuckles as you keep your hips tilting. He babbles around them as he quakes beneath you. Almost there.

“You going to cum inside me,” you hold back your disgust at the words, “hmm, I want you too–”

He gurgles and his eyes roll back as he spasms. You feel the heat burst inside of you and push yourself up. You lean back and ride out his climax. You stop only as he’s breathless and prone. Then. You could do it then. You could hurt him. You could murder him.

You sit paralysed, horrified at what you’ve done and what you think of doing. They made you a monster too. They’ve filled you with a rage that will never leave you. You will never escape the fractures they’ve rented into you. You can never fix yourself but you don’t care about that. You only want to break them.

💐

The morning brightens through the curtains, rousing Ransom as he sits up with an effort not to disturb you. His caution is uncharacteristic and confounding. You’re already awake but you don’t let him know. You just watch his back as he rubs his eyes and combs his fingers back through his hair.

He yawns and stands, his naked ass greeting you unceremoniously. You squeeze your eyes shut and listen to him move around the room. A low growl in his throat but no words. He dresses in silence and to your surprise, does not try to touch you. He leaves you confounded, hidden beneath your eyelids as you try to figure out what ploy is at hand.

You stay buried in dread, waiting. For his return. For some disturbance from outside; for screams, for thumps, for the eruption of chaos that comes every day. It doesn’t come. You only hear the deliberate movement of bodies trying not to be heard.

You get up and near the door. You grasp the handle and turn it, slowly, easing it around until the mechanism stops. You’re locked in. Fuck. It’s not a surprise but you want to know what’s going on out there.

You lean against the door, cupping your ear with your hand as you try to hear. Who is it? How many? What are they up to? It’s just a shuffle that you can’t make sense of, capped by the final and jarring snap of the front door. You can tell which it is by the weight of it, by the subtle creak of wood beneath several pairs of feet.

You retreat back to bed and sit, thinking. Ransom’s scent lingers along with the dread. They must be plotting something new. Another chase, another game, another humiliation. There’s a new girl so that means you all must suffer. That’s how it works. Their fun is your punishment.

You go into the bathroom and crank on the tub. It’s a small relief amidst the oppression of this place. You ease into the water and recline against the porcelain. There is no sense in letting them taint what little time you’re afforded to yourself. Those tiny moments when you can try to retrieve your sanity.

You think of the night before. You feel weak as the heat of the water seeps into you but there remains that sliver of anger, fueled by the memory of Dahlia’s words. Of the fury laced in her voice. You can’t do this for yourself but when you think of the other girls, you find it hard to admit defeat.

You don’t emerge until the water is cold. You pull the stopper and go through the usual. The routine that’s become second nature. To keep yourself moisturised and pretty for these tormentors. It brings a sardonic chuckle to your throat. You do it nonetheless, there is something soothing in the simple tasks.

You put on a white dress; a simple short baby doll. You go to the window and look out at the back deck, the pool sparkling in the morning light. Leaves sway above reflecting in the water and birds flit from branch to branch.

The soft click of the lock beneath your door handle jolts you. You turn to face the door as it opens and you repress a tide of fury as Hela smiles at you. She’s back in a flowing caftan, patterned with geometrical bands and edged with a crochet scallop. She looks ridiculous.

“Breakfast is served, Lily Flower,” she declares, “won’t you come join us?”

You don’t say a word. You come forward but she doesn’t move from your path. She watches you with a placid smile.

“Lily, do you forget all I’ve taught you already?” She challenges.

“No, Gaia, I am coming,” you assure her flatly. “I remember… I remember it all.”

She looks down at you and her lips curl further. She hums into a laugh, “you are still my favourite. I always knew you were the prettiest of my flowers.”

You try not to show your distaste. She is condescending. You see it now. Those nights you sat at your computer in those nonsense seminars, she was conditioning you, all of you.

She leans in and you fight not to recoil. She tilts your chin up with her long fingers and kisses your lips. You let her and she parts with a sultry breath.

“So sweet,” she whispers and gives a final stroke to your cheek.

She spins, her caftan fluttering and leads you through to the dining room. You take your seat among the several other girls already arranged around the long table. Azalea stares dead ahead, Zinnia’s head hangs low behind her hands, and Violet traces her fingertips over the table as if drawing a picture.

The others are brought in, one by one; Dahlia claims the seat beside you, Marigold emerges with her black hair in tangles, wearing the same outfit as days ago, Daisy enters without expression or reaction, and Rose looks around with an almost cloudy look in her eyes.

Hela floats in and out. She sets a dish of fruit before each of you, along with a cup of greek yogurt, and some yellowish tea with a pungent smell. You all just sit without reaction, glancing at each other in uncertainty.

“Please, dig in, girls, we have a day planned for all of us. We will take yoga on the deck. You recall our first days. And we will have some trust building activities. This is about rejuvenation. As the season comes to an end, we must all welcome new beginnings–”

“What?” Dahlia growls.

Azalea pops her head up, “is it… fall?”

Violet glances out the sliding doors, “the night comes earlier…”

There’s a lull as you all realise it’s been so long since your arrival. So long that you hadn’t noticed the changes all around you. You can smell it in the air, the slow transition is coming, you see it in the sky.

You exhale and peek over at Dahlia. She looks back at you from the corner of her eye as she picks up the bamboo spoon and examines it. A new safeguard. Can’t do much damage with that. She scoops up the yogurt as the other girls languish in their dissonance.

“I can’t believe we’ve come this far,” Dahlia declares.

You grab your spoon and mirror her, the other girls doing the same, going around the table until you’re all choking down the flavourless yogurt in a silent accord. You will play along. The season is not the only change coming.

💐

A day passes, then two. With no hint of the men. It’s strange but ominous. Almost as if knowing the men are around is comforting. Then at least, you know what to expect.

You have another morning yoga session, on your color-coded mats, by the pool. Each of you follow Hela’s direction; making the moves, taking each breath long and low. After, you laze around the pool in a communal daze.

You’re unnerved by the languidity that’s settled over the house. It echoes those early days when this was only a retreat, when it was fun, when it felt like summer camp. When you still wore your own name.

There’s something coming. There has to be.

Dahlia lays beneath a pair of square sunglasses, as black as her string bikini. Her muscles shine with sweat as the sun kisses her skin. You see the strength corded around her petite frame.

Hela looms not far away, on one of the longers as she has Violet sit near her. They speak in hushed tones. Each of you has your turn, beckoned to ingratiate yourself to the mighty Gaia. You roll over and put your chin in your hand.

Your eyes settle on Zinnia. She sits alone, heading hanging, hugging her knees. You can’t imagine how alone she must feel. The rest of you came here together, you went through each step with a sense of camaraderie, but she was introduced to you all as another set of abusers. Your guilt bubbles over and you stand, leaving Dahlia by herself.

You near Zinnia, almost shyly, and stop before her. She doesn’t look up, she only cowers in your shadow.

“Can I sit?” You ask.

She doesn’t answer, just shrugs. You lower yourself across from her and cross your legs. You don’t know what to say, you just felt like you had to come over.

“I’m Lily.”

She sniffs and picks her thumbnail. You take a breath and glance over. Hela watches you. You don’t doubt she’ll be curious but what else are you supposed to do? You’re all just sitting around, waiting.

“I know I can’t apologise because what happened happened. I’d hate all of us too. I could point out that we’re just the same but that won’t change how you feel. I’m not trying to absolve myself. I’m just trying to say you’re not alone so… if you ever need anything, I can do my best and I can speak for the rest that they will too.”

She blinks at the ground then slowly raises her head. She meets your eye and you wince. Her cheek ticks and her eyes gleam.

“I remember you,” she murmurs, “in the meetings. We were in the same breakout group.”

Your lips part and you gape at her. She is familiar. Oh, god. She’s just another dupe.

“Corrine,” you remember and she nods, her tears flowing out. “It’s a beautiful name but you can’t use it here.”

She gulps and wipes her cheeks, “I know. He told me—” she turns her head away, “he taught me my name.”

You shake your head and aver your eyes in turn. You don’t know what to do or say. She puts her legs down and leans forward, touching your arm gently, “I’m not mad at any of you. I’m scared.”

“We all are,” you assure her, “and you do need to be mad. At them. The men.”

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hhhhleb · 13 days

Note

Hi, I just saw your recent post with little!Jake and Marc, and I just wanted to say it's so heartwarming, the relationship Marc is feeling about Jake ! Like you said, the relationship he have with Jake looks so close to the one Marc had with Randall ( Roro ? ) and I find it so cute.

It’s a bit heartbreaking too, but I find so cute.

And just asking, does Little!Jake feel the same, is he too shy to respond to the ( I guess a bit clumsy ) affection from Steven and Marc, or just Jake doesn’t want it ?

And does Jake miss Randall ( Roro ) too ? Since I guess he maybe have the memories of Randall by Marc’s mind and memories ?

I’m just really curious about their relationship with little!Jake, especially with Marc, and their past relationship with their brother and maybe their parents.

( Hope you don’t mind my questions. And hope you get the questions, since my English isn’t really perfect, since it isn’t my first language. Take your time to answer if you want to, I don’t want to overwhelm you. )

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE QUESTIONS!! I’m guilty ur honor, I couldn’t answer them for how long? Two weeks?😶🧎im rlly sorry..

Well, Marc&Jake’s relationship aren’t so simple I guess, in some way it is similar to the Marc&Roro’s but in other way it’s not.

1. Jake isn’t ready to open up to M&S. To people in general. He’s cautious, It is safe when he’s playing adult’s role, it’s like a mask, a shield from the real(adult) world, but when M&S figured out he’s a kid he feels too exposed to them. Too open, too easy to hurt. I feel like he doesn’t want this affection from them because he doesn’t really know how to be a loved child? So he doesn’t know how to respond to it. As I said here Jake never have met Wendy, he doesn’t consider her as his own mother. Thus, all his behaviour&attitude is based on Marc&Roro’s playtime as children. That’s why he’s so into this roleplay of a badass guy))

2. Jake actually misses Roro. If Steven had no idea about him, Jake considered Roro his own brother. It’s the only thing in Marc’s memories he accepts as his own. Marc(Jake) loved Roro so much that he(Jake) adopted this love for art from him(similar to Steven and his accent, I suppose). He also inherited Marc’s feelings of responsibility as an older brother from that time, so Jake’s not used to be the youngest. Therefore, it’s quite an experience for him to adept to this whole new dynamic with S&M. He pushes them away feeling like he shouldn’t can’t rely on them.

Absolutely love this idea of a bunk bad for M&R!! It fits so well! saw it in this concept art for MK. It’s amazing. Like, I think Roro was a very sensitive kid(he looks rueful when Marc calls him a baby for being wary of playing in the cave while it's raining), so he’s afraid of dark and not sleeping with parents SOOOoooo Marc took the bottom bed and have told him, that he would defend him from any monster who would be stupid enough to try to attack them! He also hung all Roro’s drawings there, because he’s very proud of him)

Ahhhh my heart aches for them. I spent half of my childhood on a bunk bad like that, my siblings and I plastered it all over with stickers, there were glasses of juice everywhere lmao, loads of thrilling books on shelves, we used to do a blanket castle on the bottom bed and read some stories with a flashlight

I feel like it’s the thing Marc&Roro could do.. I wish they had more screen time in the show..

(am I projecting? Yes.

Also, I think that’s where Steven’s love for reading is coming from)

ps even though Jake doesn’t want this affection, he needs it just like any other person, just like any other child. He has a hard way ahead of him. Comics about the table thing was one of the first steps:)

#moon knight #jake lockley #marc spector #little!jake #comics #i want to make an art about how different were roro's drawings in comparing to jake's #I hope I won't forget about it....

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animedingus · 5 months

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I'll Help! ||Vinsmoke Sanji x GN!Reader Blurb||

Hey! My name is Pres, I was a somewhat well-known writer for the Queen/Bohemian Rhapsody fandom back in 2019/2020 with my blog @deaky-trash!!! I have returned to write once more with my new favorite thing in the world - One Piece! I am absolutely in love with the one and only Vinsmoke Sanji, but please bear with me! I have only made it to Skypiea so far, so I don't have the most extensive knowledge! Hope y'all enjoy my first fanfic in a long long time!!!

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Pairing: Sanji x GN!Reader

Warnings: Smoking, Swearing, Injury

Word Count: 996

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You sat in the dining room of the ship, watching as that damn flirt cooked the night’s dinner. He moved gracefully across the floor, moving from one task to the next with such precision it appeared as if he were performing a well-rehearsed dance, each step and turn executed with the elegance and purpose of a seasoned dancer. His long legs moved across the kitchen swiftly, and there was something about him…

No! No, you can’t. He flirts with every pretty face. You can’t be the special one, right? But god, he’s so gorgeous… The cigarette smoke billowing from his cigarette and covering him in this sexy haze, his blonde hair that looked oh, so soft and shiny, his sweet smile. It was mesmerizing watching him cook, and he was so natural, so beautiful in this moment of doing what he loves.

“Need help, Sanji?” you asked softly from where you were sitting. He looked up from the stove and turned to you, that same damn smile plastered across his face. His cute face… No, stop that!

Sanji laughed a bit. “Sure! I wouldn’t mind some help.” His voice was so smooth, so sweet, and it was so much more loving whenever he spoke to you. Your heart swelled as you approached the kitchen counter, giddy to be helping him in the kitchen. It felt as if you were a little kid again, your heart pounding in your chest every time you approached the tall blonde. Even the sound of your name rolling off his tongue made you blush.

“How about you toss those in and watch them fry? I have to cut up some meat,” he said, handing you a metal bowl with sliced potatoes. He continued in a teasing tone, “I trust that you can watch some fries,” before giving you a wink and turning to the counter across from the stove.

You poured the potatoes into the frying oil, the hot oil splashing back and hitting you on the cheek and neck. “Shit!” you shouted, jumping out of instinct and knocking over the pot of scalding vegetable oil. The wood sizzled, and it splashed against your legs before Sanji could even react. You winced in pain and Sanji scooped you up, away from the oil and onto the counter. He himself avoided it, stepping over the burning puddle to grab a first aid kit from the cabinet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping between your knees and applying burn cream to the areas where the oil splashed onto your skin. He was never this close before.

“I think so… Did it get you at all, Sanji?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, okay?” His gentle hand rubbed some of the cooling ointment against your cheek, making you blush. He squatted to wrap your shins in the bandages from the first aid. His hands were so gentle, and every touch to your skin was deliberate and sweet. He made sure not to let himself place too much pressure on the burns. He looked up at you reassuringly, wanting to be absolutely certain that you were okay. He cursed himself internally, wishing it were him instead. His frown was evident, and it made you upset in turn.

“Sanji… It’s not your fault, it was an accident. I promise, I don’t blame you at all for anything that happened,” you said softly, reaching down to rustle his hair in a show of affection. That frown softened into a pout, knowing that despite your forgiveness, he still blamed himself for your injuries.

“I still feel bad. Your beautiful skin, and your perfect face got burned.”

Seeing him kneel in front of you like that, with his hands on your knees and your legs spread apart, and that pathetic, begging pout on his face did things to you. You laughed a bit and motioned for him to stand back up, him following the direction of your hand. You cupped his face, pulling him close.

“I promise, Sanji. I’m fine.”

Now, his cheeks were glowing a bright shade of pink, his eyes darting around the room to avoid eye contact. Another giggle escaped your mouth and you turned his face to ensure his eyes locked with yours. You had officially broken the poor man, and it looked as if he was about to melt into a puddle alongside the oil on the kitchen floor.

Sanji finally met your gaze, his eyes a mix of concern and something softer, something more vulnerable. The warmth of your hands on his face seemed to ground him, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen faded away. It was just the two of you, surrounded by the chaos of a minor kitchen disaster, yet in a bubble of intimacy that neither of you had anticipated.

"You're always taking care of us, Sanji," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the ship. "Let someone take care of you for a change."

His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a small, genuine smile. "I guess I'm not used to being on this side of things," he admitted, his voice a blend of amusement and something akin to wonder.

Then, in a move that surprised both of you, you gently pulled him closer, bridging the gap between you. Your lips met in a kiss that was tentative at first but grew more confident as Sanji responded. It was a kiss that spoke of new beginnings, of a shared understanding and a mutual respect that had blossomed into something more.

When you finally broke the kiss, the room seemed a little brighter, the mishap with the oil a distant memory. Sanji stood up straight, a newfound determination in his eyes. "Let me finish dinner. You should rest.”

“I could always help finish up dinn-”

Before you could finish, Sanji had already brought you back to your original seat at the dining table. “Absolutely not going to happen.”

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two-white-butterflies · 11 months

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you're losing me (three) | am. targaryen and j. velaryon

Description: The family reunion happens and you announce your engagement with Aemond. You realize that the Targaryens are an eccentric bunch. Rating: General Audiences Author's Note: Sorry for the Taylor erasure, I was just to lazy to come up with songs hehehe part two

You were wearing a white-satin dress that reached past your knees. It was a vintage Chanel '70 - that was certainly worth it's price. After a few hours of interviewing Aemond, you soon realized that their family was old money - coming from the very bowels of fortune, and Aemond was one of the few members that strived to be different - the few members of the family that the world knew.

You've spent a lot of time with the Old Money folks - you used to work in a country club down in Singapore. They were stingy - and stealth with their money. That observation was evident in the outfit that you wore today - nothing too flashy or bold.

"Are we ready?" he asks, and you turn to look at him. His bowtie was crooked - in a cute way. You smile, walking towards him and adjusting his bowtie. "We are." you reply, holding onto his hand while you walked down the marble staircase.

This was the life that you wanted as a teenager - a trophy wife to a rich man, not ever worrying about money or doing work. Your smile deepens, realizing that you looked amazing and sophisticated. It was a facade, but it was nice to pretend once in a while. He leads you out of the hotel room, the valet stops in front of you - flashing the paparazzi's a good view of the couple.

"I'm nervous," you admit, staring at his flashy car. Mingling with the rich was easy, but meeting the rich family of your fake boyfriend was going to be hard. A smile finds itself etched on his lips, opening the door for you to enter. "Just look pretty, my dear - that's all I want." he licked his lips, entering the car after you.

The car stopped in front of a mansion - heck, it actually looked more like castle. There were guests everywhere - and lights that illuminated the pathway that led to a zen garden. "You said family reunion." you quoted him and his lips turned into a thin line - telling you that he didn't expect this much guests either.

"My mother was quite a socialite back in the day - and all of these people were her friends." he explained, trying to regain his calm. He wasn't prepared to show you to his family's entire circle. He opened the compartment beside him - removing the emerald ring from it's box. "Now, remember the story - I proposed on the beach." he reminded and you nod.

A servant begins to open the doors to the car. "Now let's meet the vipers." he took a deep breath, plastering a fake smile on his face before exiting the vehicle and helping you do the same.

Jace wasn't expecting to see you today. The lady in white that managed to steal the heart of his uncle. He wanted to hate you, but he couldn't - not when you were already over him. God knows how many times he's listened to the songs that you made about him.

A million little times.

He's only felt alive when you were the one describing him - immortalizing him with your soft melodies. His jaw clenches as he watches his uncle's hands snake around your waist, his hands were in the places that he used to be in. Aemond whispers something in your ears, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"Isn't that (Your Name)?" his mother inquires while holding a glass of champagne. Rhaenyra's eyes widen, seeing the man beside you. "Oh, Jace." she cooed, pitying him in that very situation. "I'm alright, mom." he forced himself to smile - taking a lazy sip of his champagne. Jace couldn't understand why he was missing you.

He had everything he wanted - the respect of his fellow writers, all the money in the world, and freedom. Why was he missing the shackles that he fought to remove? You told him that you wanted to teach him what forever felt like - but why was forever falling away from his fingertips? Now, you are just one of the girls that he's loved before - not the one.

Aemond begins walking in his direction - a smug grin was on his face, but there was no way that his uncle knew. "Jacey," the man teased, one hand wrapped around you - and the other wrapped around a glass of merlot. His uncle was glowing.

"Uncle Almond," Jace responded using their childhood nicknames. "Have you met this lovely lady?" Aemond tilted his head, expecting you to smile warmly at his nephew - but you gawked at the sight of Jace. You didn't know that they were related. "Uncle?" she inquired, choking on air.

"I'm too young to be an uncle, huh?" he chuckled, staring at his nephew up and down. "I didn't expect you here, (Your Name)." Jace proceeded with caution, he stared deep into your eyes - searching for the warmth that used to fill it when you looked at him. "I could say the same," you answered, grip around Aemond's back tightening.

Something shimmery in your fingers catches his eyes. An engagement ring - green, like his step-grandmother's favorite color. "Congratulations on the engagement." he smiled, feeling happy for you. Marriage was all you ever wanted - all that you desired. He was glad that you were about to have it. "Thank you," you smile, bringing the ring closer for him to view it.

"When she's the one wrapped around your arms - you can't let her go." Aemond stared at your face - basking in your glory. Jace nodded, feeling bitterness creep up his throat. "I know the feeling." he paused, taking another sip of his champagne.

He should've fought the world to have you beside him. He should've took you dancing, bowling, skating - bought you flowers everyday, but he didn't. He was blind and entitled. He didn't know what he had until it was gone. "Well - excuse us, Jacey, I believe that dinner is about to begin." Aemond smiles, pulling you away from him.

(your first name): i like shiny things but i'd marry you with paper rings. 3 new songs out at midnight. (courtesy of the 3 sleepless nights where I was talking to @officialaemondtargaryen)

23, 912 comments 2, 903,294 likes

sharterpack: It's so nice seeing mom with a man that allows her to post him. If Jace Velaryon has 0 haters, I am dead.

ynkitten009: ya'll the lyrics were leaked 💀

(your name)'s kitten fanbase ya'll i'm sobbing because y/n wrote "i wouldn't marry me either." for jace, but she wore "i like shiny things but i'd marry you with paper rings." for aemond 😭 JACAERYS VELARYON YOU ARE ON THIN FUCKING ICE.

wandamaximoffdefender "i find myself running home to your sweet nothings." JACE, YOU LITERALLY GAVE HER NOTHING BFFR !

PaperRingsStan13 When he's no longer her Cornelia Street, Sweet Nothing, King of My Heart, Endgame, Cruel Summer, and Peace because someone else is her Lover, Dress, and Paper Rings.

Your phone wouldn't stop buzzing, all of your fans were tagging you in their recent twitter posts. A small chuckle escapes your mouth, and you place the phone on silent mode. "You're doing a good job," he compliments, helping you sit down on your chair. "So (Your Name), should I even call you that? I think sister is much better," Helaena makes her way beside you - you smile at her.

"I think sister is much better too." you answer, and her smile deepens. "I actually love your songs," she began to rant - taking note of all the lyrical devices you used in your songs. "I hyper-fixated on them one time, and I know all of the lyrics." she exaggerated - and Aemond places himself in the middle of the both of you.

"That's enough, Helaena." he whined, seeing that the crowds were beginning to make their way towards the dinner table. His father, Viserys, clinks his glass - earning everyone's attention. "I want to make a toast to my son, Aemond, who brought us his lovely fiancee." Viserys boasted, and everyone begins clapping.

"I want everyone to eat as much as they like - and drink as much as their wives let them." he joked, and the entire crowd laughs. "Our family will only grow bigger." he smiled and everyone settled into their chairs.

part four>>

@glame @xcinnamonmalfoyx @winxchesters @yentroucnagol @hotchnerswife @itsabby15 @mxxny-lupin @joliettes @kemillyfreitas @mxtantrights @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kravitzwhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @introverbatim @flrboyd

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